#featured fanfics
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FAQ.
• what fanfictions do you take requests for?
I am currently only taking BTS fanfiction requests for now, since I don’t know the whole kpop community well, and I don’t intend to hurt anyone’s sentiments by doing so.
• do we need to submit our Instagram usernames?
Yes, when i mention a fanfiction that I read, I need to tag you in my posts, so the readers can go visit your page, find your book and enjoy reading your stories.
• Can we submit ongoing stories?
Yes. You can, but make sure you are keeping me informed if you decide to discontinue the fanfiction.
• should we submit fic warnings too?
Not necessary, but if it includes something traumatic like rape, physical violence, then please submit the warnings too, when you submit your fanfic.
• is there any specific fanfiction you don’t want us to submit?
No, all and any fanfictions are accepted, as long as they are BTS fanfictions.
• Is there a specific length for a fanfiction to be submitted?
No, length doesn’t matters, content does.
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gay bar (steddie)
“Well, well, well,” says a voice from behind. “Steeeeeeve Harrington. I must be dreaming.”
Steve turns around to see a guy, dressed in black and chains. Rings decorating his fingers, studs in his ears, curly hair pulled back in a ponytail. He’s hot, yeah, but something about him has Steve squinting, trying to figure out why he looks so familiar.
“I know you from somewhere,” he says, pointing out the obvious. The guy knows his name.
The not-a-stranger snorts. “Of course you don’t remember me. Why would the likes of King Steve stoop to—“
As soon as the nickname leaves his mouth, Steve’s brain lights up. “Munson!” He exclaims, snapping his fingers. “You used to climb on the lunch tables to give speeches.”
It was so obnoxious, too. The kind of thing that had him and Robin reminiscing late at night, celebrating some of the weirder shit about Hawkins that didn’t come from monsters, or Russians, or government conspiracy. Remember that one asshole? Yeah, he stepped on my lunch one time!
Condolences to Robin’s pb&j. She never sat at that table again.
Munson’s whole face turns pink. “Seriously? That’s what you remember?”
“It was pretty fucking memorable, dude. Like, gross, doesn’t this guy know not to put his feet where people eat? Dustin thought you were so cool for it too. I had to nip that in the bud before he started imitating you or some shit.”
“Oh,” he says, voice gone flat. “Because God forbid some poor kid try to immolate the freak.”
Steve gives him his bitchiest, most deadpan stare. “Feet,” he says slowly. “Nasty, fifteen year old boy feet. On my kitchen table. He almost slipped and cracked his skull, and I would have sent you the hospital bill.”
He had to get creative to make him stop, too. Stood there, hands on his hips, and made Dustin tell him exactly how many germs he thought were on his shoes. Then when he tried to do it barefoot, decided the only course of action was to stuff Dustin’s abandoned sock in his mouth and ask if he wanted that shit with every meal. Erica still has the photos.
Munson has the decency to look embarrassed, face flooding an even brighter red that wouldn’t be out of place in a tomato patch. “What are you even doing here, Harrington?”
What does he think Steve’s doing here? It’s a fucking gay bar, it’s pretty self explanatory. “My friend is here somewhere,” he says, waving out at the crowd of people. “She’s going through a dry spell, so…”
“Right,” Munson says. Steve squints at him. Does he look disappointed?
Eh. Doesn’t matter.
“You gave my kids the best freshman year of their nerdy little lives,” he tells him, because he knows Dustin would want him to. Plus, the guy was Mike’s gay awakening. He should probably get some credit. “So thanks for that.”
He lights up. “Yeah! How was Hellfire in my absence?”
“I had to hear them bitch and moan for months about how it ‘wasn’t the same,’ but it’s doing pretty all right. Erica Sinclair is running it now.”
“Erica Sinclair…” Munson mutters, snapping his fingers. “Lucas Sinclair’s little sister? Lady Applejack?” He beams when Steve nods. “She kicked ass. Best finish to a campaign my entire high school career. How’s Lucas, anyway? And the rest of the runts.”
“He’s doing great,” Steve says. “College basketball at Yale. Pretty sure he’s dying under the workload, but that’s what you get for majoring in physics. Dustin’s at MIT, and Mike’s taking a gap year.”
He whistles lowly. “Yeesh, I don’t blame him. How about Byers?”
“Which one?”
“Zombie boy.” Steve’s hackles raise, but Munson just grins. “God, that nickname was badass.”
“How do you even know about that?”
Munson taps the side of his nose. “A magician never reveals his secrets. Besides, all it took for you to remember me was calling you by your high school nickname.”
“That wasn’t my nickname.” Steve rolls his eyes. “Literally three people ever actually called me that, and you were one of them.”
He has a feeling it was Tommy who started it, bitter and vicious. Told himself Steve was self possessed, high and mighty, above it all. That’s why he left his old friends behind. Not because he was in love, or because he wanted to be better. No, King Steve just sits alone in his castle, looking down on the peasants with contempt.
Billy must have taken his angry ramblings and run with them. After all, what better way to get a start in a new town than declaring yourself royalty? Never mind that Steve hadn’t cared about anything like that for almost a year by then.
Munson had just been a drama-loving asshole.
“That can’t be right.”
“I stopped being popular in junior year. Why the hell would anyone call a sophomore King?” Steve points out.
“You were Prom King.”
“Again, in junior year. Pickings were slim. Who else would it have been? Tommy?” He has to laugh.
Luckily, Munson takes the hint and swerves the conversation into new territory. “You know, I always figured you’d be homophobic.”
Steve snorts. “What, and get kicked out for nothing?”
Munson stares at him, and Steve furrows his brow, looking into his glass like it will have the answer to why the hell he said that to this guy he barely knows. He just decided he wasn’t going to spill all his daddy issues to a near-stranger in a dingy bar, dammit. Is he already on his fifth drink?
Actually, this might be his sixth. That tracks.
“What?”
“My dad caught me kissing a boy,” he says. If he’s going to give Munson his life story, he might as well commit. “Can you believe that boy ruined my life in three different ways? Two of them didn’t even have anything to do with the gay thing.”
Maybe four ways, if you accounted for the way he broke his goddamn heart, but everyone and their mother saw that coming a mile away. Even Steve. Especially Steve.
No offense to Jonathan. None of those things were really his fault. Or actually life ruining, but it sure fucking felt like it at the time.
He should give him a call soon, actually, see how he and Argyle are doing. He misses the guy. Maybe he and Robin should save up for a visit to Cali. Get Nancy on it. They could see San Francisco while they were there, that’d be cool. Apparently it was the queer capital of the country.
He’s thinking about asking the bartender for a napkin and a pen to write down the plans he’s forming when Munson speaks up again. Steve honestly forgot he was here.
“I thought you said you were here for a friend.”
What?” Steve blinks, confused, and then catches on. “Yeah, to get her laid. I’m not in the mood right now.”
Munson cocks an eyebrow. “Wearing that? Could’ve fooled me.”
Steve looks down at his Springsteen T-Shirt that Robin cropped, and picks at the frayed hem of his shorts. Okay, yeah, they’re on the skimpy side, but in his defense it’s summer and even if he’s not cruising Steve likes being looked at. “Yeah, yeah. What about you? Here for anything in particular?”
“Just to talk to some pretty boys,” Munson says, leaning on the bar to flag down the bartender. Steve smirks, reaching out a hand to tug at the hanky in his back pocket. Pinned, damn.
Munson whirls around, a flush starting to crawl onto his ears.
“Wearing that?” Steve echos snarkily. “Could’ve fooled me.”
He swears that for a minute Munson’s eyes darken.
He’s almost tempted to follow through, high school reputation be damned, when someone crashes into his side and nearly sends him careening.
“Steeeeeve,” Robin yells happily into his ear. “This is Bernie, she’s gonna take me home, see you la—oh, hi!” She says, noticing Munson. “I know you from somewhere.”
“Eddie Munson,” Munson greets. “Steve and I went to high school together.”
“Munson! That’s it, you climbed on tables and had shit music. I’m Robin. Okay, I’ll call the apartment and leave a message when we get there. Bernie’s waiting on me, it’s-nice-to-meet-you-bye!” Just like that, she’s gone.
Munson’s mouth has dropped open. “You told her I had shit music?” He demands. “Wait, you talked about me?”
“She went to school with us, dumbass,” he says, as if he can talk. He still barely remembers her as more than a vague, glowering figure in his peripheral. “It’s not my fault you blasted your screamy music for everyone in the parking lot. Such a fucking headache, God.”
Munson turns his nose up. “Sorry for having offended your jock sensibilities.”
“Oh, I don’t play anymore,” he says, and knocks on his head. “Concussions, yanno. Apparently brain damage will fuck you up. Who knew?”
“What, like the fight you had with Byers? He did you that bad?”
“He did me just fine,” Steve blurts out, before he can stop himself. Munson chokes. “Shit, sorry, I’m kind of a horny drunk.” Weird thing to say, Steve. “Also, I cannot stress enough how much I needed to be punched in the face. It was a monumental moment for me, you know. Started me on the path for changing my entire worldview. Plus, he was my first guy crush.” He swirls his empty glass, lost in thought, before brightening up. “I should call him!”
Munson is staring at him, mouth opening and closing like a fish.
“What?”
“You’re drunk.”
“Well, yeah. Duh.”
“I should probably stop you from booty-calling the guy who punched you in the face.”
Steve wrinkles his nose. “It wouldn’t be a booty-call,” he says. “He and Argyle are happy together, man. I’m not gonna ruin that.”
“Oh, so you’d call him because…”
“I call him all the time,” Steve says, confused as to why this is such a big deal. “We’re friends.”
“Jonathan!” He yells happily into the pay phone. Munson is standing to the side, looking on in annoyance. Whatever, it’s not like Steve asked him to do this. “Jonathan, man, how are you?”
“…Steve?”
“Yeah!”
“It’s like…” he hears something clatter in the background, like Jonathan is looking for something, “two in the morning there. You okay?”
“I’m doing great!” He exclaims. “How about you? It’s been ages, man, I miss you.”
“This is so fucking weird,” Munson whispers behind him. Steve ignores him.
“Are you drunk?”
“No,” he says. “Well, maybe a little. Do you not miss me too?” He pouts, and Jonathan sighs loud enough he hears it over the phone.
“I just talked to you yesterday.”
Steve frowns. “Yesterday? That can’t be right, it’s been, like, forever. Oh, hey, have you heard from Nance lately? How’s your mom? I love your mom, she’s so fucking cool. Does she know I think she’s cool? How’s Will? It’s been so long, is he taller than me yet? How’s Argyle doing with his degree? I miss you guys.”
“We miss you too, Steve.”
“Awww, Byers, getting soppy on me? Gross, man.”
“You literally just—yeah, okay. Are you alone?”
“Nah, I’ve got this guy with me, he’s walking me home. Oh! Dude, do you remember Munson?”
“Munson?”
“Yeah, Eddie Munson! From high school! The one who used to climb on tables and shit, remember him?”
“Jesus Christ,” Munson groans. “Please let that die.”
“No one is dying,” Steve informs him seriously, and turns back to the phone. Munson sighs.
“Wasn’t he a drug dealer?”
“Yes! Yeah, drug dealer Munson! Did you ever buy from him?” He turns to where Munson is looking around furtively. “Did Jonathan ever buy from you?”
“How about we not talk about this here,” Munson says through gritted teeth. Steve sighs and turns back to the phone.
“Never mind, he says he doesn’t want to talk about that. Not like we can judge him, but whatever. Maybe the guy’s turned into a prude—“
“Okay, give me that.” Munson wrestles the phone out of his hand, and Steve whines at him. “Hey, Byers,” Munson says. “Yeah, it’s Eddie. Or Munson. Whatever. Listen, I’m getting kind of sick of standing here watching Harrington slobber all over the receiver, can he call you tomorrow? What? No, I don’t sell anymore—yeah, total bummer, whatever. Listen, I’ll get him home safe—no, I’m not going to serial murder him. He’s gonna be fine, he’ll call you tomorrow—Nancy Wheeler? Like that girl he dated? Didn’t you—shoot me? Jesus, okay! I’m not gonna kill the guy, Christ. He’s gonna be fine, oh my God. He’ll call you tomorrow. Uh-huh. Uh-huh. Yeah, okay. Bye.” He slams the phone into its holder with more than a little contempt.
“Hey!” Steve protests. “You didn’t let me say bye.”
“You can call him tomorrow and apologize,” Munson says. “Now c’mon, Harrington. I’ve been tasked with getting you home safe, and if I fail, apparently Nancy fucking Wheeler is going to shoot me in the balls.”
“Oh, yeah, she’s really hot when she does that,” Steve says fondly, and Munson splutters.
“What, does Wheeler just go around shooting people? Does she even have a gun?”
“Of course Nancy has a gun.” Steve frowns. It was one of the sure things in the universe at this point. The sky is blue, Hawkins is fucked up, and Nancy Wheeler has a gun. “And she doesn’t shoot people, stupid. Well, she shot at Billy, but he deserved it.”
“Billy?” Munson mutters, starting to usher Steve in the direction of home. “Who the fuck is Billy?”
“He was trying to kill her first!” Steve defends. “I hit him with a car before he could, so she was okay.”
“Okay, yeah, sure. Why wouldn’t you hit some guy with a car?
“It wasn’t some guy,” Steve says. “It was Billy. He was, like, possessed or some shit. Oh, and he beat me up. Total psycho. And that was before the melted flesh monster.”
Munson stops and stares at him. “You know what, sure. Demonic possession. Yeah, okay. Some guy named Billy kicked your ass—wait, are you talking about Billy Hargrove?”
Steve lights up. “Yeah! You remember that? That’s one of the concussions I was talking about. I gotta wear glasses 'cuza that shit. Man, fuck that guy.”
“Didn’t he die?”
“Oh, yeah,” Steve frowns down at the ground. “Shit, I’m, like, speaking ill of the dead, aren’t I? Max wouldn't like that. Unfuck him, or whatever.”
“You wanna come up?” He asks. “For old times sake?”
Munson stares at him like it’s the craziest thing he’s said all evening. “‘Old times’ was your asshole friends calling me a satan worshiper and pushing me around in hallways, Harrington.”
“I know.” He grins. If he was sober he’d definitely feel worse about that, but as it is he’s pretty single minded. “Don't you kind of want to make me cry about it?”
Deer in headlights isn’t usually a good look, but Munson’s got the eyes to make it work. Or Steve is drunk. Either way, it’s kinda cute.
“You’re drunk,” he finally says, stumbling over the words a little. If Steve pays close attention and ignores most of reality, it almost sounds like he’s trying to convince both of them. “You’re so incredibly drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk.” He totally is.
“I just had to supervise you calling Jonathan Byers so you didn’t say something you’d regret in the morning.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended. “I love Jonathan! I tell him all the time. Just because I said he ruined my life—“
“That was him?”
“Did I not say that? Huh. Whatever. Point is, I’m not that drunk.”
“You’re definitely drunk,” Munson says. “I’m not—yeah, no. I’m not coming up.”
“Damn.” Steve shrugs, not too put out about it. It’s a bummer, sure, but he handles rejection like a champ. Just ask Robin. “Worth a shot. See you ‘round, Munson.”
“Don’t kill me,” Steve says.
“Oh, god, did you punch him?”
“No, I, uh.” Steve rubs the bridge of his nose. “I think I tried to fuck him.”
He has to hold the phone away from his face so Dustin’s screeching doesn’t break his eardrums.
“Your exes are weirdly protective of you,” Munson says blandly. “Also, didn’t they date?”
“Yeah,” Steve shrugs, not exactly eager to start spilling his life story again now that he’s sober. Munson doesn’t need to know more about his dating history than he already does. “We’re all a little weird about each other, sorry.”
“Weird about your exes,” he hums. “No wonder you’re single.”
“Oh, fuck you. It’s not like that.”
He raises an eyebrow. “No?”
“Are you always this nosy?” Steve asks, a little waspish.
“Absolutely,” Munson replies without hesitation. “I’d say sorry, but I’m not. When did you even date him?”
“Dude.”
Munson just cocks an expectant eyebrow, hip resting against the bar. He can’t imagine why someone would be so interested in the romantic lives of their old high school classmates. It’s not like Steve is about to ask what was going on between him and Chrissy Cunningham.
“Well, Harrington?”
“First grade,” Steve answers, deadpan. He grins when Munson chokes. “Nah, it was actually after he and Nancy broke up. Fall of ‘86.”
Arms squeeze him from behind, and Robin slides into view, leaving one hand wrapped pointedly around Steve’s waist. She gets clingy when she thinks someone is bothering him, or when she’s just on the side of drunk that she gets possessive. She told him, embarrassed and hungover, that it’s because she registers someone he’s getting along with as infringing on “her Steve time.” Steve thinks it’s hilarious and kind of sweet, an obvious lesbian trying to pretend he’s her date. Especially because he gets the same way when he’s tipsy and feels like he doesn’t have enough of her attention, so she can't yell at him for being a cockblock. Cuntblock. Whatever the lesbians call it.
He wonders what category she thinks Eddie is. Of guy, that is. Not block-anything.
He'd actually be pretty damn happy if the guy miraculously changed his mind and decided to sit on his cock instead.
“What’s going on here?” She asks, almost cattily. He loves when Robin gets bitchy. It brings him back to their Scoops days, except he gets to see it turned on someone else.
“I’m telling Eddie my life story,” Steve says blithely.
“Ugh. Who would want that?”
Eddie grins. “I’m curious about the adventures of a former king.” He dips his head in a bow, waving his hand in a flourish. “I don’t know if you remember me from last time, I’m Eddie—“
“Munson, I know. You stepped on my lunch in junior year.”
Eddie turns beet red in record time.
“Aww, Robbie,” Steve almost coos. “Leave him alone. I wanted to be the one who made him blush like that.”
“It’s not my fault your boy’s easy.”
“Not my boy, clearly,” he mutters under his breath. “And if he were easy, I’d have gotten fucked by now.”
Eddie’s mouth drops open with a choked little sound. Whoops. Steve forgot volume control again.
Robin takes one look at Eddie’s face and bursts into cackles.
“He was asking about,” he waved a hand in the air, “the whole Nancy-Jonathan thing.”
Her eyebrows jut up. “You told him about the threesome?”
“The what?”
Steve sighs. “No, Robin. I did not tell him about the threesome.”
“…oops.”
“When?” Eddie demands.
Robin gives him the evil eye. “Why are you being weird about this? It’s not gonna make him fuck you.”
Steve wisely keeps his mouth shut.
Eddie does not. “Your boy here already asked,” he smirks, leaning closer. “I said no.”
Then, as an added punch to his ego, he twirls a strand of Steve’s hair around his finger and tugs slightly. Steve’s too stunned to protest.
Robin watches the exchange. “Oh, no thank you,” she says. “Nope. I’m out. I don’t want to see whatever this is. Ugh, stop making me hear about your sex life.”
Hypocrite. “We have thin walls, Buckley,” Steve reminds her. He turns to Eddie and stage whispers, “She likes her girls loud.”
“Steve!”
“You do!”
“Oh, because you’re so quiet,” she snaps, smacking him. “How many times have I had to bang on the wall because you couldn’t keep it down? You wanna talk about loud? I know more about you than I ever wanted to.”
His mouth drops open in mortification. “You know it’s rude to be mean to the man who told you how to eat out,” he hisses.
“I’m not dying without fucking Eddie Munson,” he declares. “I mean, his high school nickname was literally ‘The Freak.’ He’s got to be good in bed, right?”
“I think that was mostly because everyone thought he was communing with the Devil or something.”
“Maybe the Devil gave him sex magic.”
“Of course he thinks I’m cute.”
“I do?”
“Do you not?” Steve turns to him, widening his eyes in the same pout that always has Robin throwing something at his face, or the kids reluctantly agreeing to do what he wants. He’s found it’s useful for guys too, especially if he ducks his head to seem smaller and looks through his eyelashes. Makes them imagine him looking like that on his knees.
Munson is no exception. He melts faster than Steve can say gotcha. “You’re very cute, Harrington,” he purrs, and Robin snorts into her drink.
“You’re a weak, weak man, Eddie Munson,” she tells a blushing Eddie. Then she kicks Steve. “Stop bringing out the ‘fuck me’ eyes when I’m around, I’ll gag.”
“You could leave.”
She gasps, affronted, and kicks him harder.
“So you would fuck me if I wasn’t drunk?”
“Uh…” he looks everywhere but Steve’s face, which is just rude. He has a very nice face. He’s been called dreamy before.
Which made Robin laugh so hard she fell off the couch when he told her, but he’ll take the lesbian’s opinion with a grain of salt.
He makes his way onto the dance floor. He’s not a particularly good dancer, but he shakes his ass like he means it. Gets up close with a guy, stares at Eddie the whole time. Keeping eye contact as the guy puts his hands on his hips.
Look, he means to say. This could be you. You could lose your chance if you’re not careful.
From the burning in Eddie’s eyes, he gets the message.
The message is a bunch of bullshit. It’s been over four months, he’s in too deep to go fuck off with someone else now. Still, he enjoys the way Eddie’s hands flex on his thighs, like he had to stop himself from reaching out.
The thing is, Steve’s not an asshole. He can take a hint. No means no, and all that jazz. If Eddie really didn’t want him, he’d fuck right off and find someone who did. He even started to.
Except Eddie pouted up a storm when he flirted with someone else. Got even clingier when Steve tried to back off. At this point, he’s accepted that Eddie does want to fuck him, and maybe even be more (no one flirts with someone as long as they’ve been doing without wanting something like a relationship out of it. At least, he hopes there’s something more on the horizon), but has some weird hang up about Steve being even a little bit buzzed when it happens. Even though they only ever see each other at this fucking bar.
The problem is Steve has no idea when Eddie will be at the bar. He’ll stay sober one night, hoping to see him, and then go home alone only for next time to be when he sees telltale curls and a wide smile. It’s driving him up the wall.
Robin has been similarly affected.
“It’s been six months,” she growls as Steve looks eagerly around. “Six fucking months of you two dancing around in the worlds most annoying mating ritual. I’m going to kill both of you.”
“We’re not that bad,” he says absently.
“You don’t even have his phone number. It’s pathetic. I swear to God, if you see him again and don’t get laid I’m reviving the scoops board. I will go out and buy a whiteboard to keep track of all the times you strike out with a man who used to walk on tables. He stepped on my lunch, Steve. Do I need to keep bringing up the fact he stepped on my delicious, nutritious PB&J? I can’t believe that’s the guy you decide to be obsessed with, that’s so fucking embarrassing for you.”
“Embarrassing? You mean like your crush on my ex girlfriend?”
She screeches wordlessly, pulling her keychain off her belt loop and attacking him with it.
Naturally, that’s how Eddie finds them.
“I swear you guys get weirder every time I see you.”
Steve grins guilelessly at him, holding a flailing Robin in a headlock.
“Eddie! Hey! It’s been a minute.” He hasn’t been able to come in a month, and it’s been longer since he’s seen him. It’s honestly one of the deciding factors on whether it’s a passing fancy or a full blown crush. He still went to sleep every night thinking about Eddie. It didn’t even have to be about sex.
Although maybe not sleeping with anyone else for half a year should have tipped him off sooner.
“Sure has, big boy. I was starting to think you were getting sick of me.” It’s a joke, but Steve catches an undercurrent of insecurity.
“That’d make my life easier,” Robin snorts. She finally wiggles her way out of his hold. “I saw Arty somewhere around here, I’m gonna see if I can crash at her place tonight.” She levels Eddie with a look. “He hasn’t had anything to drink. If you don’t put him out of his misery, I will. And it won’t be the good kind. It will be the bad kind. With bad screams. Lots of screaming, and someone will call the pigs, and I’ll be arrested and jailed for life. Do you want me to go to jail, Munson?”
Eddie shakes his head dumbly.
“Good! Then do something about it.” She slaps Steve’s back, a mocking echo of his jock days. “Go get ‘em, slugger!”
With that, she’s gone, disappearing into the crowd.
“She is,” Steve remarks with amusement, “the worst wingman on planet Earth. Mars too, probably.”
“I dunno, I think it might be working.”
“I’m not doing anything without a condom,” he says, eyes narrowed like he’s waiting for an argument.
“Me neither,” Steve agrees. “Robin has, like, this big fear of diseases. Totally got me with it. She pulled out the library books, those pictures were fucking disgusting. Shit showed up in my dreams, man. Neither of us do anything without protection.”
“I’m going to be totally honest with you, because I haven’t been and it’s starting to eat at me,” Eddie says, hovering above Steve.
Steve wrinkles his nose. “What is it? Are you a spy or something? Are you Russian? Do you have superpowers? Is your name not actually Eddie?” He pauses. “Oh, God, you’re not even Eddie Munson, are you? I’m just some asshole who’s been calling you by my old classmates name and you were too embarrassed to correct me. Shit, we made so much fun of you for walking on tables too—“
“What?” Eddie covers his mouth, expression hovering between amused and baffled. “What the fuck, why would I go along with that? No, Jesus, I’m Eddie Munson. Moved to Hawkins when I was eleven, took senior year three times, walked on the fucking tables, could you let that go?” He moves the hand covering Steve’s mouth to play with his hair, looking annoyed for a minute before it smoothes to trepidation. “No, I, uh, I just felt like I needed to tell you that I used to have a hate-boner for you in high school. Like, I used to jack it to the thought of kicking your ass and making a mess outta you. In more ways than one.”
Steve stares.
“Also, that’s kind of why I approached you in the bar in the first place,” Eddie blabbers on. “And then you said you were just there for a friend, and I was disappointed but it’s whatever, yanno? And then then you told me about your dad, and threw my expectations to the fucking wolves, and then you asked me to come up to your apartment except you were drunk and you probably didn’t mean it. But then the next time I saw you, you kept flirting with me, which you were not supposed to do, and I kept pretending that wasn’t the reason I even talked to you in the first place, and, uh, yeah.” He smiles nervously. “Surprise?”
“I mean, not really.”
“You’re such an asshole, fuck off. At least pretend to be shocked.”
“It’s not my fault you stare at my legs all the time,” Steve says, affronted. “I know I didn’t do too good in school, but I’m not dumb enough to miss that. Like, hello, my eyes are up here.”
Eddie lets his arms give out, flopping on top of Steve heavily. Steve wheezes. “Am I really that obvious?” He whines into his shoulder.
“You got sad and pouty when I even looked at another guy.”
“You could’ve fucked him,” he mumbles. “The guy you were dancing with. It wasn’t any of my business. I’m a big boy, I can deal.”
“Yeah, but I didn’t want to fuck him,” Steve says. “I wanted to fuck you. Can we go back to that please?”
“Thought I was fucking you.”
“Someone’s getting fucked or Robin will kill both of us. I’d like to live tomorrow morning. And not have to deal with any more of her teasing for having no game.”
“You have unfortunate amounts of game,” Eddie sighs, tracing the side of Steve’s neck. It tickles. “It’s kind of embarrassing for me.”
“Yeah, yeah, are we using those condoms or not, Moodkiller?”
“Oh, I’m the mood killer?”
“Yes,” Steve says matter of factly, and pulls him in for a kiss before he can protest.
#gay bar au#steddie#stranger things fanfic#eddie munson#steve harrington#robin buckley#featuring robin as the worlds worst wingman#i'm never not going to bully eddie for walking on those tables#'why does everyone here hate me🥺' mf it's bc you keep putting ur nasty ass shoes where people eat#i've said it before and i'll say it again. someone should have yanked on his leg and made him faceplant. he would have deserved it#we stay billy bashing 💪#in this au the byers didn't move to california#jonathan still goes to school there tho#why? bc he and argyle are soulmates and time and space moved for them to make sense next question#i need u to know eddie does not have sex magic and steve isn't actually as smooth as eddie thinks. they r just obsessed with each other#that one person who was in my notes truthing ab a stoncy threesome. i was excited when i saw that bc i had this written hope u see it <3
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got a job for you, 621.
we're out of milk, you'll need to travel to the grocery store to resupply. ive arranged transport with carla, and left the COAM needed for the purchase on the coffee table.
lets get to work.
#armored core 6#is it just me or does carla give off give ex wife vibes lmao#nuclear family fanfic featuring these 3 when
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Amorous Tension
Summary: Poppy is quite sure her best friend has feelings for our favourite heir of Slytherin. MC is quite sure she doesn't, despite abundant evidence to the contrary. When Ominis asks MC to help him study for an upcoming potions exam, she jumps at the chance. TL;DR: Two idiots in love brew amortentia together.
A collab with the lovely @darch7995, who created the audio version of this story. Listen to the first part here and the second here.
Ominis Gaunt x F!MC
Warnings: the mildest of hand kinks, kissing, a surprising amount of schoolwork, stressing about exams, failure to communicate
Word count: 4185
You tapped your quill anxiously on the edge of your parchment, forming an ever-growing blot of ink in the margin. You were re-reading a paragraph in Flesh-Eating Trees of the World on a South American anteater-eating shrub. The words made as little of an impression in your mind as they had the first time.
A hand settled on top of yours, startling you.
“You’re going to put a hole in the table if you keep that up. And I doubt Madam Scribner would be pleased,” Poppy said teasingly.
You sighed, setting down the quill before dropping your head onto the table. “I’m going to fail. I know nothing. Less than nothing, even. Garlick is going to laugh me out of the greenhouse,” you said hopelessly.
Poppy rubbed your back comfortingly. “No, she’s not,” she assured you.
You let out a frustrated groan. “I’m never learning the difference between Jacaranda muscipula and Delonix geogalinivorae. They’re both just bloodthirsty ferns.”
A smooth voice came from behind you. “Jacaranda muscipula is native to South America, and its diet consists largely of deer mice. Delonix geogalinivorae is found in Madagascar and feeds exclusively on tenrecs.”
Your head shot up off the table. “Ominis,” you said in a higher pitch than you’d intended. You twisted in your chair to see your aristocratic classmate standing there looking effortlessly flawless.
“Hello, MC, Poppy,” he said with a pleasant smile. “I take it you’re dreading Garlick’s exam as much as Sebastian is.”
You scrunched your nose. “More, probably,” you said dismally.
“Well, I had come to see if you might be able to help me study for Sharp’s exam on Monday,” he said. “I could help you with herbology after. Of course, I’d be happy to help even if you don’t have time for potions practice.”
You gaped at him. He was asking you for help? Amit and Sebastian both had top grades in potions. You’d taken to it quite well, but the two boys had several more years of experience than you did. Garreth knew every ingredient and recipe inside and out, though he almost never stuck to the instructions – you could see why Ominis wouldn’t have asked him for help.
Your stomach leapt at the idea of spending time at the bench – just you and Ominis, brushing elbows at the cosy workspace. It was always dizzying being in such close proximity – the effect of his expensive cologne, surely.
Poppy would probably argue differently. She’d just been pestering you just that morning about your alleged feelings for the sarcastic Slytherin.
“You’re the biggest flirt I’ve ever met, MC,” Poppy said, rolling her eyes as you walked to the Great Hall.
Garreth had just been talking to you out in the courtyard about needing to acquire Thornback Matriarch venom for a new potion he was working on. You had told him he’d probably be better equipped than you were at charming the ladies into giving him what he wanted.
“I think you’re jealous and just need to ask the Gryffindor out, already,” you argued, shooting her a quelling look. “I was just being funny.”
“Mhmm,” she replied sceptically. “Well, I think it’s funny how I’ve seen you flirt with Garreth, Leander, Sebastian, Amit, and even Imelda, but when a certain serpent with stormy eyes and chiselled cheekbones comes around, you turn into a frightened little puffskein. You go all ruddy-faced and start stammering.”
She was poorly suppressing a smirk as she looked at you.
You scoffed. “I do not stammer!”
“Yeah, and I don’t fancy Garreth,” she replied sarcastically. “Admit it, you’ve got a crush on Ominis.”
“That’s ridiculous,” you asserted, glaring at her.
She raised a hand to her lips to stifle a giggle. “Then why’s your face match Garreth’s luscious locks right now?”
“Oh, shut it!” you said, increasing your pace so that Poppy fell behind.
She just laughed at you. “You’re only proving my point, you know!” she called after you.
Poppy elbowed you sharply between your ribs. You’d gone far too long without replying. “Ow!” you hissed at her.
Ominis had a nervous look on his face. “Sorry?” he asked.
“Oh, no, that wasn’t at you,” you said quickly. “I mean, I’d love to study with you.”
His expression immediately brightened. “Wonderful! When are you free?” he said.
“How about now?” you suggested as you began to pack up your things.
“Oh, I don’t want to interrupt,” Ominis said.
“No, it’s fine,” you insisted. You shot Poppy a reproachful look. “I’m suddenly feeling unsafe here in the library.”
Poppy stuck her tongue out at you. “Yes, I need to go help Professor Howin feed the thestrals, anyway. You two have fun,” she said much too giddily.
You sent her one more glare as you slung your bag over your shoulder. “So, shall we use the Room of Requirement?” you asked Ominis.
“That sounds perfect!” he replied brightly.
You led Ominis out of the library and started the long climb up to the 7th floor of the astronomy tower. You were glad to stretch your legs after sitting in the library for so long.
“I don’t know how you can keep those carnivorous trees straight in your head,” you commented as you strode down a long corridor. “They look exactly the same to me when they’re not in bloom.”
“Do they?” he replied, sounding intrigued.
For a moment, you wanted to sink through the floor. Obviously, the fact that the two trees looked alike was of little consequence to him. “Sorry, I wasn’t even thinking.”
Ominis chuckled. “It’s all right,” he said, clearly amused. “It’s strange to think that they seem so similar to you. They feel quite different. The jacaranda tree has very rough bark, and the geogalinivore has waxy leaves. Plus, it has a sweet smell – sort of like oranges.”
“That’s actually very helpful. Thank you,” you said.
He smiled softly at you. You couldn’t help but notice how one of the beauty marks on his left cheek disappeared into his dimple when he smiled. “I’m glad to be of service,” he replied.
You could feel your face flush, though you had no reason to be blushing. You were relieved when you reached the 7th floor and the door to the Room of Requirement appeared. You cleared your throat. “Right, well, we’re h-here,” you said, cringing at yourself for tripping over the words.
Ominis held the door open for you as you entered the Room of Requirement. “I appreciate you helping me practice. Sharp’s class was hard enough when I knew what I’d be expected to brew. Having to prepare to make any one of four potions has been quite stressful.”
“It is a bit ridiculous,” you agreed as you started pulling ingredients out of your cabinet.
“Honestly! It’s hard enough keeping the ingredients for one potion straight – let alone for the Elixir to Induce Euphoria, Draught of Living Death, Veritaserum, and Amortentia,” he said.
“It is a lot,” you said. “Where should we start?”
“Hm…Well, I don’t think I would be very productive after testing potions for sleep or euphoria. We’d best leave those for later,” he replied. “What do you think? Amortentia or Veritaserum?”
“Amortentia’s easy enough to test. We can tell if it’s right just by how it looks and smells. Let’s start with that,” you suggested.
Ominis smirked. “You just don’t want me getting you to spill all your secrets,” he teased.
You chuckled. “You’re right; I don’t,” you agreed honestly. You weren’t exactly a secretive person ever since you didn’t have to hide your ancient magic anymore. However, the thought of not being ableto hide anything if you wanted to was terrifying.
“Amortentia it is, then!” Ominis said. “It’s the one I’m best at, anyway.”
He lit the flame to heat the cauldron before beginning to grind the moonstone with a mortar and pestle.
“So, what does Amortentia smell like to you?” he asked, chatting as he worked.
“I’m not sure,” you admitted as you leaned a hip against the bench.
“What do you mean you’re not sure? Were you holding your breath when we brewed it last week?” he teased. He cracked two ashwinder eggs into the cauldron before adding the powdered moonstone and stirring it together.
“No! I just…Well, I guess it’s that it doesn’t smell like anything to me,” you admitted.
“You must be joking. Surely you smelled something,” he replied incredulously.
“Just the usual musky dungeon,” you joked. “I thought I’d just brewed it wrong at first, but yours didn’t smell like anything to me, either.”
His brows drew together. “That is curious. I know I made mine right, because it…Well, it worked for me,” he said, his cheeks colouring a bit. “Do you just not find anyone attractive, then?” he added casually as he began cutting the thorns off of some rose stems.
“I don’t know. I mean, I used to think I did, but…now I’m not so sure,” you replied. “I don’t know what could be wrong with me to not smell anything if I did like someone.”
“I’m certain there’s nothing wrong with you, MC,” Ominis replied.
You sighed. “I hope not,” you replied before biting your bottom lip anxiously. “I thought maybe everyone was lying about smelling different things, and it’s really just an odourless potion. But I checked three different texts in the library, and they all said the same thing Professor Sharp did about the smell being unique to what each person finds attractive.”
“It’s definitely not odourless,” Ominis replied with a smirk. He shook his head as if to snap himself out of something before clearing his throat. He turned his attention back to the potion.
He added the thorns to the cauldron before beginning on the petals. You watched his hands as he plucked the petals off the stems, stacked them neatly, and rolled them together before slicing them into thin, even strips. He was quite skilled in his technique. Despite sharing a bench in potions all year, you’d never really noticed how fluidly he worked. There was an almost entrancing nature to the graceful movements.
“So, what does it smell like to you?” you inquired as you forced yourself to stop staring at the veins winding over his wrists and across the backs of his hands out to his slender fingers. You had always thought there was something nice about his hands.
“Oh, there is no way I’m admitting that,” he replied.
“But I told you when you asked,” you argued.
He rolled his eyes at you. “Nothing doesn’t count as an answer.”
“But it’s the truth! I can’t help that I didn’t smell anything,” you argued.
“I’m still not telling,” he insisted. He added the rose petals to the potion. His brow furrowed as his fingers skimmed over the fronts of several bottles. “Which is the pearl dust?”
“Third from the right,” you said before letting out a laugh as a realisation struck you.
“What?” he asked a bit defensively. “Did I grab the wrong one?” He shook the sealed bottle by his ear to listen to its contents shift within.
“No, that’s the pearl dust. I just…” You giggled again, and his scowl deepened. “I just realised that’s the last ingredient and the first thing I’ve helped you with. Seems like you barely need me here.”
He relaxed almost instantly, even laughing a bit himself. “Well, it’s much easier to brew here,” he explained. “I know which ingredients are which when they’re in my own containers – and even most of yours at this point – but almost all of Sharp’s bottles are identical. I have to figure out what’s in each one every time I pick it up. Sometimes it takes four or five tries to find what I’m looking for. It wastes so much time.”
“That sounds extremely frustrating,” you said sympathetically.
“It is,” he lamented as he added a spoonful of pearl dust to the cauldron. He stirred it clockwise three times before lowering the flame. “There! It should just need to simmer for a bit, and then we’ll see how it turned out.”
“I’m sure it’s perfect,” you said as you settled into a high-backed chair, kicking your feet up on the ottoman in front of it.
“I appreciate your confidence in me,” he said. “You know, I was even worse at potions when I was younger. I tried summoning the ingredients to myself in the early years, and it was usually a disaster. In first year, we had to brew a burn salve during our exams, and I simply could not find the dittany, even after sifting through all the ingredients on my bench three times. I gave up and summoned it, and it knocked over all the bottles in front of it on its way to me. They rolled all over the bench, and I had nearly plunged my hand straight into my cauldron trying to put them back in order. During another exam, I tried to summon flobberworm mucus, and all the bottles of the stuff came flying towards me at the same time.” He laughed. “It was all over me, my bench, the floor. Amit nearly slipped in it trying to come over and help. Professor Sharp was livid, but I think he felt too badly for me to give me detention.”
You couldn’t help but laugh, as well. “Oh, I’d have died on the spot!” you said.
“I nearly did. It was utterly horrifying,” he said. “I pretended to be sick for three days after that because I couldn’t stand the thought of facing everyone. I even had Sebastian bring me food so that I didn’t have to go out to the Great Hall. But I’ve learned to bounce back from my Blind Boy Moments quite quickly since.”
“Could Sharp not just label the ingredients for you?” you asked.
Ominis scoffed. “No, he insists that every good potions student should be able to identify the ingredients on their own,” he said, exasperated. “He wouldn’t even let me come in beforehand to label them myself because other students might see them. He also won’t let me use my own containers because it’s all got to be ‘standardised’ so it’s fair.”
“Well, that’s quite the opposite of fair! He’s putting you at a disadvantage,” you said. You could feel yourself getting angry on Ominis’s behalf.
“I am perfectly capable of identifying the ingredients. Just because I can’t see them doesn’t mean I’m incompetent,” he said bitterly.
You were taken aback as his ire turned toward you. “I wasn’t trying to imply that you are, Ominis, I swear!” you said earnestly. “It just seems unreasonable that he won’t accommodate you at all. It’s so frustrating. I have an uncle who’s blind. He wasn’t born that way – he had an accident. And he’s a Muggle. So…it’s a bit different, obviously. But he’s worked in kitchens all his life. When he first went blind, he couldn’t cook anymore. But his boss’s wife, Marjorie, was blind, too. She taught him how to navigate the kitchen again without being able to see. They made adjustments to things so he could keep working there.”
“You have a blind uncle?” he asked, seeming shocked.
“Almost all my life. He married my aunt when I was just a baby,” you explained. “He cooks even better than a house-elf, too! Don’t tell Feenky I said that, though. Or Deek, for that matter.”
“I can’t believe you have a blind uncle,” Ominis said, still stunned.
“Really?” you asked. “Why not?”
He shrugged. “I’ve never met another blind person,” he said.
“Never?” you said, surprised.
“Not once,” he confirmed. “My parents weren’t exactly looking to find me a support group. It’s exceptionally rare in the wizarding world, anyway. So, they sort of just kept me hidden away until school. They hadn’t even expected I’d get a letter even though I clearly had magic. It wasn’t until I figured out how to navigate by wand that they stopped treating me like a doll instead of a child. Even my Aunt Noctua was rather overbearing. No one ever believed I could do something myself until I showed them I could.”
“I can’t imagine how difficult it was going through all of that on your own,” you said.
Ominis gave a haughty huff. “Yes, well, I think I’ve done all right for myself,” he said firmly, crossing his arms protectively over his chest.
“You’ve done more than all right, I’d say,” you argued. “Which reminds me, you still have to tutor me in herbology after this.”
He chuckled. “Don’t worry; I haven’t forgotten,” he said.
“You’d better not have,” you said sternly. Your severe expression didn’t last, though. You couldn’t help but smile around him. “Wait, so, if you didn’t have anyone to help you figure things out, did you invent the spell that lets you read books?”
“Ah, well, I suppose I wasn’t entirely on my own. Sebastian found that spell in an old tome in the library. Some languorous 17th-century scholar grew weary of having to keep his eyes open whilst reading,” he replied. “It worked quite well in my favour.”
“If there’s one thing Sebastian excels at, it’s research,” you replied.
“Yes, and it’s been both a blessing and a curse in my life,” he said irritably.
“I feel the same,” you said wearily.
Ominis spun back toward the potions station. “It smells like the potion’s ready,” he announced.
You got up and walked over to inspect it. “Mother-of-pearl sheen. Perfect spirals of steam. Excellent work, indeed, Ominis.”
He blushed at your praise. “Any essence of musky dungeon emanating from it?” he joked.
You laughed. You leaned over the cauldron and breathed in deeply to play along. “Oh,” you said, caught off guard by the smell. “Yeah, actually. It…” You took in another breath. It was masked beneath the cologne Ominis was wearing, but you could distinctly smell the cool, earthy scent that permeated the lower levels of the castle. “It does.”
“Merlin, MC! You don’t have a crush on Professor Sharp, do you?” he asked, aghast.
“Gods, no!” you replied immediately. “It’s not the dungeons, anyway. It’s different. But…familiar.”
You tried to smell it again, but it was still too hard to tell. You hadn’t realised earlier just how strong Ominis’s cologne was that day. Usually, you found the scent rather pleasant, but, currently, it was making it extremely difficult to smell anything else. You grabbed a phial and poured some of the potion into it. “I can’t tell what it is. I need to smell it in fresh air.”
“Are you trying to tell me that I smell foul?” Ominis demanded as you walked away from him.
“No, not at all,” you said before taking another sniff of the potion. “It’s just that your–”
Your voice died in your throat as two realisations struck you simultaneously. The first was that the earthy scent you had identified was the exact smell of the Undercroft. The second was that you still smelled Ominis’s cologne just as strongly even though you were on the opposite side of the room from him. The phial slipped from your hand and shattered on the wood floor.
“Are you all right?” Ominis asked, rushing over to you in a panic. “Did the potion burn you? I heard glass break. Did you get cut?”
He took both of your hands in his to feel for any injuries. The tips of his fingers brushed gently over your skin, and it sent a shiver up your spine.
“Sorry, no, I’m fine. I just–I hadn’t realised…something,” you said. You heart felt like it was beating out of your chest. Poppy had been right. You did fancy Ominis.
Ominis released one of your hands to raise his to your cheek. “Are you certain that you’re okay, MC?” he asked.
Your skin burned hot under his touch. “Y-yes, of course. I was just surprised when I placed the smell,” you said.
He tilted his head in interest. “Oh? What is it?” he asked.
You bit into your lower lip, keeping yourself silent as you wavered on whether to confess. He did seem to be rather doting at the moment. You wondered if he might return your affections.
“Perhaps I should’ve brewed the Veritaserum first, after all,” Ominis joked. “Maybe then I could finally get you to tell me what you smell.”
You laughed. “That’s not necessary. I just…Well, I’m pretty sure it’s, um…the Undercroft,” you said. Your nerves increased with every word, but you felt a flood of relief after getting them all out.
“Oh,” Ominis said uncomfortably. His whole body went rigid before his hands dropped away from you. “I…I see.”
“Ominis, I…” you started, trying and failing to figure out how to take the words back. You imagined the mortification you were experiencing was similar to how he had felt standing covered in flobberworm mucus in front of his peers.
“Well, I suppose I should still tell you what I smell, since you told me what you do,” he said sombrely. “Though, I can’t imagine it will be all that surprising.” He took a steadying breath. “It smells like old parchment, like those dusty pages Professor Weasley had you collecting last year. And I smell the mallowsweet you always carry around with you. And your shampoo. I always smell it when you hug me or fall asleep with your head on my shoulder.” He cleared his throat. “So…there you have it.”
“Are you upset about this?” you asked, bewildered by his tense reaction.
He forced a laugh. “What? No, of course not!” he insisted, but it wasn’t quite convincing. “I’m happy for you.”
“Happy for me?” you repeated, even more confused.
“Both of you, I mean,” he clarified, giving you a pained smile. “Although I’ve never asked Sebastian about his feelings toward you, with the way he flirts with you, I’m sure he reciprocates.”
“You think I fancy Sebastian?” you asked.
“Well, he’s the one who showed you the Undercroft,” he replied simply.
“Ominis, you’re the one he learned about it from. You’re the one I hang out with there. It’s rosewood and jasmine from your cologne that I smell in that bloody potion!” you said.
His brows knit together in confusion. “I thought you just smelled the Undercroft?” he said.
“Well, that’s what I thought when I was standing next to you – and in class last week,” you said. “You were right there, so I didn’t realise the smell of you was coming from the cauldron instead of…you know…you.”
His features went slack. “Oh…” he said awkwardly.
“Yeah…” you replied similarly.
“I’m a massive idiot,” he said, shaking his head at himself.
You smiled. “Yeah,” you said. “We kind of both are, aren’t we?”
“It would appear so,” he agreed. He laughed as he stepped closer and wrapped his arms around your waist. “Well, this has certainly been an illuminating study session.”
You melted into him instantly. “Indeed, it has.”
“You smell wonderful, you know,” he said as he nuzzled his nose against yours.
You giggled in response. “You smell quite nice, as well,” you replied.
“I taste even better,” he said cheekily.
Your gaze immediately dropped to his lips. “Is that so?” you asked, your voice coming out husky.
“I can prove it if you’d like,” he said. His breath fanned over your lips as he spoke.
“Yes, I think you should,” you replied. “For…educational purposes.”
Ominis’s lips brushed against yours almost tentatively before he leaned in to interlock them. His heat sank into your body as he held you firmly against his chest. You snaked your arms up behind his neck as you kissed him back. Being held by Ominis – and kissed by him – felt right. You wanted to stay wrapped in his arms forever. If you could’ve, you would have fused into him so you never had to be apart again.
You didn’t know how long it was before Ominis broke the kiss, but you knew it was too soon. “I still have to return the favour for you helping me with potions,” he said.
“Yes, right. The herbology,” you replied, still breathless from the kiss. You had forgotten about those bloody shrubs altogether.
“Actually, I was thinking we should work on divination, instead,” he said innocently, but there was a hint of a smirk on his lips.
You arched a brow at him. “Oh?” you asked. “Are you even taking divination?”
“No. I can’t exactly read tea leaves or look in a crystal ball,” he stated. The smirk spread on his lips. “But if I could, I’d see me in your future.”
You laughed. “You’ve been spending too much time with Sebastian,” you chided. “His terrible jokes are rubbing off on you.”
“You’re absolutely right, darling!” he said with a false gravity to the words. “I’d like to fix that as soon as possible by spending more time with you, instead.”
“I’d like that,” you said, unable to stop beaming at him.
“Me, too. Especially if it involves kissing you again,” he said.
You blushed. “I think that could be arranged,” you replied.
#ominis gaunt#hogwarts legacy#ominis gaunt x mc#ominis gaunt x reader#ominis gaunt x f!mc#hogwarts legacy fanfic#hogwarts legacy fanfiction#ominis gaunt fanfic#ominis gaunt fanfiction#amortentia#poppy sweeting#garreth weasley#he's featured more in the audio though
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#(do option 1 or 2 and then promptly forget about them if you're anything like me)#but also i'm curious how many people bookmark their 'to read' fics because i might start this 🤔#like you can FILTER them then! that's the feature missing in the marked for later page#ao3#polls#fanfic#drarry#wolfstar#jegulus#merthur#ineffable husbands#gallavich#buddie#symbrock#sterek#tarlos#lokius#tomgreg#steddie#solangelo#narumitsu
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felt really REALLY normal when i saw this comic panel ha ha ha !!!!
#scribbles#star trek#star trek tng#qcard#idk i made their cheeks really red not cus their blushing but cus it looked kind of dead w/o it but interpret this however you feel#featuring maybe newts fanfic fanart idk i spent too much time on. buff q
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the more things change, the more things stay the same. Chapter eight of the swap AU is up!
(★my Ko-fi)
#my art#trolls band together#trolls fanart#trolls au#trolls fanfic#trolls#whether you're a brother (trolls au)#featuring some *banger* dialogue
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Forgive me if this is weird, but I'd kind of like to see some moments of Dogday acting like a dog.
I'll do some minis since they're fast, darling
This is a judgement free zone so it isn't weird!! Also I wanna try something new so let me know if it's good
So for starters, we know Dogday can howl,
But he can also bark
He finds it embarrassing, but only does it if he needs too
The house was peaceful, with soft breathing and light music being the only noise as Dogday was pressed against you while you scratched behind his ears.
He sighed happily, drifting off into his own paradise where it was just you and him. Maybe in a house better than this one, with a garden in the backyard and gloves big enough for his hands to help it. But his mind quickly drew blank with annoyance when yipping and yelping started echoing through the room, opening his eyes and looking down at the causes.
Peanuts yipped at Cubby to play while Cubby growled and snapped her little mouth at him, while Biscuits was trying to play with his planes. She suddenly snatched one of the toy cars in her mouth and went to walk off with it while Peanuts was whimpering loudly, and Biscuits mreowing at him softly and trying to press his little blue plane against Peanut's cheek to cheer him up. Dogday quickly put the commotion to an end, and he... Barked? Fully barked to get them to stop, and it worked. He huffed and snuggled back up with you as you snorted and just continued to scratch him behind the ears before murmuring. "Didn't know you could do that, puppy."
He also likes to mark you
Not in a weird way, but he marks you with his paws and head
Dogs and cats both like to rub scent glands on things that they claim is theirs (that's actually why dogs will kick in the dirt and nuzzle and cats make biscuits)
You let out a long sigh as you sat down in bed after a long day of work, gently undoing a few buttons on your shirt as you plopped down. Dogday came in a few moments later, shutting the door behind him and turning keeping the lights off as to not bother you. "Angel? Is everything alright?" He asked softly. You groaned and nodded. "Just stressed.."
He nodded before sitting down beside you, making the bed creak under his weight but not break. He stared at you for a few minutes, before snuggling with you. However his nose quickly caught the smell of someone else, which was your boss. As unhappy as he was he didn't say anything, since he didn't wanna stir anything. He knew you wouldn't be that type of person.
So he instead, very quietly started to scratch and rub your back with his large hands as he nuzzled his fat head into your neck and face. You snorted and looked over at him. "You trying to give me a massage?" You joked, which caused him to shrug with a hum. "You could say that."
You eventually fell asleep, sound in his arms as he relaxed with a sigh. Smiling as he shut his eyes with his head nuzzled into the crook of your neck, since you finally smelled right again. You smelled like his again.
He thinks he's a lapdog.
No, really
This large humanoid dog who is 6× your size thinks he is a lapdog
"Dogday get off-!" You said, struggling to breathe as your overgrown mutt laid down in your lap, after you had only sat down for a minute as the water in the kitchen was boiling. You huffed and continued to try and push but he was just too heavy.
"Dogday, please! I have to go make dinner!" You desperately tried to reason, but he would not budge and instead closed his eyes while pretending to sleep. You groaned and tilted your head back against the couch, huffing and giving up. Before you scratched his head in defeat. "You're an asshole." You huffed, and from the apparently 'sleeping' figure you felt a rumble as a chuckle and saw a small smirk. Jerk.
Thanks for requesting my lovely!
#featuring: cubby#featuring: biscuits#featuring: peanuts#poppy playtime#smiling critters#poppy playtime x reader#dogday#dogday poppy playtime#dogday x reader#dogday x y/n#poppy’s playtime x reader#poppy playtime fanfics#poppys playtime#poppy playtime dogday#dogday x you#smiling critters dogday#sunnyangel
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Concept art for a palace!akechi fic i wrote
#theres a single bonus drawing that is featured in the fic#so if you wanna see that#read#persona 5 royal#p5r#p5#akechi goro#fanfiction#fanfic#ao3#digital art#akechi palace au
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To all of the masculine ladies out there with hairy armpits, bristled legs, big, bushy eyebrows, and “unusual” deep voices, remember you’re extremely desirable in Orcish standards.
That’s it. That’s the post.
#I can’t explain how validated I feel as a women with ‘masculine features’ when it’s expressed in orc x reader fanfics#that those traits are the most attractive in orc standards because they feel the most familiar#just ‘oh my gosh you have hairy armpits? okay that’s hot’#is this a body hair knink? is this what a body hair kink looks like?#monster lover#monster fucker#orc x reader#orc x human#orc
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dream sephiroth and cloud from this fic
#sephiroth#cloud strife#ff7#final fantasy 7#final fantasy seven#FFVII#ff7r#final fantasy 7 remake#ff7 au#ff7r au#ff7 fanfic#sephcloud#sefikura#ein sof#neosketches#drawing dream seph with the wing hair is my favorite thing to do rn#extremely pleased with the SOLDIER gauntlets as well lol#clouds hair is so confusing tho im still trying to get his features down#the whispers do not reach here a jaded sea and silver sun
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Rules.
— please note that all kinds of fanfictions are accepted.
— please DM you fanfiction name, summary, and author name when you DM me.
— please wait 2/3 days after sending in your request.
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bodyswap (steddie)
So, they beat Vecna. Nancy shoots him full of lead, El tears him apart from the inside, and Steve and Robin burn this version of the Creel House down with him in it. It’s over. It’s finally, finally over.
Steve ignores the reopened wounds in his side, racing to get back to Dustin and Eddie before the gates close forever. The ground rumbles again and all three of them stumble, Robin taking his hand and yanking him along when he falters.
“You can pass out when we get topside!” She screams at him, and he tries to give her a thumbs up before he wraps that hand around his bleeding torso.
They get to the trailer park, but Dustin and Eddie aren’t where they’re supposed to be. Steve almost rips Robin’s arm out of her socket when he turns around and runs.
“Dustin,” he bellows. There are dead demobats everywhere, and the mass of them on the ground thickens in a particular direction. He heads that way with a sinking feeling in his gut. “Dustin! We need to fucking move!”
“Steve!” He hears Dustin wail, and all self preservation leaves him as he bolts, landing heavily on his knees at Dustin’s side and immediately checking him over for injuries.
“Are you okay?” He gasps, holding his tearstained face in his hands. “Where are you hurt? Show me.”
Dustin shakes his head, crying harder, and that’s when Steve notices the limp body right in front of him.
Eddie coughs up blood. “Wow, Harrington,” he grins, “nice to see that you care.”
“Shit, shit, shit.” It’s bad. Steve goes into preservation mode, stripping off his jacket and shirt and using them to press down on the many, many bites littering Eddie’s body. He senses Robin and Nancy catch up behind him, and hears Nancy gasp.
“What do you need?” She asks, dropping down on Eddie’s other side.
“Robin and Dustin need to find a new way to get through the portal,” he says, looking over at them. “I can’t carry him and use the rope.”
“Rope’s gone, anyway,” Dustin mutters. “He cut it.”
“You cut the rope?”
Eddie shrugs as much as he can. “Seemed..” he coughs again, red and wet, “…like a good idea…at the time.”
“Stupid,” Dustin corrects angrily. “It was really fucking stupid.”
“We don’t have time for this,” Nancy says frantically. Robin nods, and takes Dustin away swiftly. Steve files Dustin’s limp in the back of his mind for later. “What do I need to do?”
“Help me keep him from bleeding out,” Steve says as he gathers Eddie into his arms. Eddie turns and nuzzles his face into Steve’s chest. It’s weird, but at least he’s alive to do it. “I might need help walking, too.”
“Right.” She examines him worriedly. “On three?”
He heaves Eddie up on the count of three, and Eddie whines, long and pained. “Sorry,” Steve gasps, the wounds on his side tearing. “Sorry.”
“S’kay,” Eddie mumbles, closing his eyes. He doesn’t open them again, and Steve jostles him.
“Hey, no passing out on me, got it? Keep those eyes open for me.”
The last thing he can remember is feeling Eddie’s blood mixing into his, their open wounds pressed together. Then he blacks out.
He wakes up in a hospital bed.
Dustin is beaming at him, teary and happy like Steve’s never seen him before. Not even when he agreed to play one campaign with the scoops troop, and admitted at the end that Dungeons and Dragons wasn’t that bad. Too much math and writing and thinking for him, it made his head hurt, but not, like, awful.
Steve thinks he’d wake up in a million hospital beds if it meant Dustin always smiled like this.
“—Robin’s with Steve, we’ve been taking shifts. Well, the rest of us have. She hasn’t actually left his side. He’s woken up a couple of times, like you, but you both fall right back asleep after,” Dustin’s saying, and Steve blinks, foggy.
“…Steve?”
“Yeah, he collapsed after he carried you out. Went septic, because he didn’t take care of himself again like an idiot and his bites got infected.”
“Wait,” Steve says. “Is there another Steve? Were you hiding another Steve behind my back? Where’s Eddie?”
Dustin stares at him. “You are Eddie.”
“S’not funny, Henderson. I just woke up from a fuckin’ coma, I don’t need this shit right now.”
“Did the bats eat your brains?” He demands. “Shit, do you have brain damage? What’s wrong with you?”
Steve pouts. “That’s not funny, you know I do.” Dustin’s seen him through his fair share of migraines, knows more about what to do and what exactly causes them than Steve, probably. The perks of getting your ass kicked in front of the smartest eighth graders on the planet.
“They gotcha on the good stuff, huh kid?” A man says from the other side of his bed. Steve whips around, only just realizing that this guy is also holding his hand. There’s multiple hand-holdings going on here, which he knows is normal for hospitals but doesn’t know why this random stranger is doing it. Does he know Dustin? Is this the other Steve?
“Who’re you?”
He looks hurt by this, which makes Steve feel like a monster. But his brain won’t work, he’s definitely high on some kind of painkillers, Dustin is being confusing, and he’s tired.
“That’s your Uncle Wayne,” Dustin reminds him.
“I don’t have an uncle,” Steve replies, frowning. His parents are both only children, as far as he’s aware, and they don’t have any friends that would call themselves his uncle. Still, the name sounds familiar. “Doesn’t Eddie have an Uncle Wayne?”
“What the hell are you going on about?” Uncle Wayne asks.
“You’re Eddie,” Dustin insists, confused and somewhat panicked. Now he knows how Steve feels.
“No I’m not.” Steve scowls, sick of whatever game he’s playing to fuck with Steve’s head. “I’m Steve.”
Dustin’s eyes widen, and Steve gets the sinking feeling that something is very, very wrong.
The door slams open.
“Dustin!” Robin hollers, eyes wild. “Something is wrong with Dingus! That’s not my dingus!”
“Robbie!” He says excitedly, and tries to sit up. Which goes poorly for him. Ow.
She looks at him, and a diamonds worth of emotions crosses her face at once. “…Steve?”
“Yes,” he cheers. At least someone knows who he is.
“How did you know?” Dustin demands.
“I’d know that drugged up puppy-dog look anywhere,” Robin replies, eyes still on Steve. “Plus, there’s a guy in Steve’s body trying to tell Nancy what kind of campaign he could make out of this.”
“My body?” Steve asks, horrified, just as that Wayne guy says, “Now hol’ up just one second—“
Robin pulls a compact mirror out of her pocket and approaches the bed with caution.
Wayne is ushered out, still loudly demanding answers for what the hell is going on with his nephew. Steve wishes he had them.
“Wait, wait, wait,” Robin says with a grin. “This is great.”
“Literally how,” Steve deadpans.
“Well maybe not great for you, but I’m about to have the time of my life. Eddie, quick, say something nerdy.”
“What,” Eddie says flatly. It’s weird to see his expressions on Steve’s face. His face shouldn’t look like that, shouldn’t move like that.
“C’mon,” she urges, “I wanna hear Steve’s voice talk about dnd, or your shitty music, or the moral majority.”
“Hey!” Steve objects. “We do talk about the moral majority.”
“Yeah, but we’re always serious about it. I wanna hear Munson give one of his tabletop speeches.”
Eddie looks baffled, which looks so different from the face Steve makes when he’s confused. It’s got the bare bones of it, but the finer details are off, trying to use a face that isn’t his. It’s creepy. Robin must agree, because she shudders a little.
“You, Steve Harrington, talk about the moral majority?”
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Steve asks, offended, at the same time Robin says, “Oh, you should hear him. It’s incredible.”
“I’ll believe it when I see it,” Eddie answers, and Steve huffs, throwing his hands up as much as he can when he’s stuck in a hospital bed. Which means he basically just makes a little gesture and hopes it gets the message across.
“I don’t see what’s so shocking about it! A bunch of assholes declared that my kids were in a cult. They were going to hunt you down. Why would I be on their side?”
“I dunno, Stevie,” Eddie says, eyes glinting. “I guess it’s just a shock to me that the straight, rich-boy jock would have something to say about it. What’re they teaching you in those churches?”
He can’t quite stop the grimace that flashes across his face, meeting Robin’s eyes almost on instinct. Eddie’s eyebrows jut up.
“What’d I say?”
“I haven’t been to church in two years, man,” Steve admits, avoiding the other glaring assumption. “Once you have to save the lives of kids from monsters that shouldn’t exist, God doesn’t really seem that great.”
It was for the better, really, that Steve had given up. No amount of praying or bargaining made him forget how Jonathan Byers’s hand felt in his as they ran for their lives. It didn’t stop the monsters from coming back either.
Still, he hadn’t really stopped believing until Robin came out to him. He looked at her, this scared, brave girl who spit in the face of their torturers, the girl who Steve was pretty sure was his best friend, and quietly came to terms with the fact that if she was going to hell, there was never a god to begin with.
Robin had cried when he told her that.
Eddie is staring at him, eyes wide and searching. It keeps tripping him up, how different his own face is when someone else is wearing it.
“You’d think seeing hell would make anyone a believer,” he says, voice wry. “You keep surprising me.”
Steve fidgets, staring down at his legs. “It was just…it was always a lose-lose situation, you know? Either I stop going to church and go to hell, or I do what they want and end up there anyway. I can’t be what they want me to be, so why even try? There’s no point.”
When he looks up again, he meets Robin’s eyes first. She looks achingly fond, smiling at him as she gives his hand a squeeze. He gives a small smile back, and looks at Eddie.
He’s wide-eyed, surprise coloring every inch of his face. Or, well, Steve’s face. “Yeah,” he whispers. “Yeah, that’s— that's exactly it.”
“Dude, does Jonathan scare you?”
“What?”
“Your body, like, goes haywire around him. He checked my—your—the injuries I’m currently sporting and I thought I was gonna die.”
Steve’s face heats up. “I’m not scared of Jonathan.”
“It’s ok, Steve, you can tell me the truth,” Eddie says, only a little bit of mockery in his tone. “I’ll protect you from Big Bad Byers.”
He closes his eyes in mortification. “I’m not scared,” he stresses, “of Jonathan Byers.”
“Really? Because I wasn’t joking about thinking I was dying. Your heart goes crazy around…him…” Eddie trails off, eyes widening as he clocks the blush spreading down Steve’s neck.
Fuck Eddie’s pale skin, seriously. Steve’s tan enough that people barely notice, but Eddie seems like he spends a sunny day sitting in his room working on song lyrics or campaign notes. He wants his fucking body back.
Shit, he’s in Eddie’s body, and Eddie just found out he’s queer. He’s a queer man in Eddie’s body. He’s going to think Steve’s some kind of perv, or using his dick, or…or…
“Byers?” Eddie finally says. “Of all the men in the world, Byers is the one you pick?”
Steve’s eyes pop open from where he’d squeezed them shut. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
#bodyswap au#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#featuring steve's lowkey crush on jonathan bc i am never not stonathan truthing#stranger things fanfic
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a study of bruises, care, and potatoes.
Zoro’s boots scrape dully as he skids across the deck, bending his knees to drop his centre of gravity, shoulders sinking as he presses a slow breath through his teeth.
“Is that all you’ve got?”
He scoffs as Sanji’s stupid fancy shoes come into view, the steel-capped toes he got the cook for his birthday dripping with the same red that’s flowing from his split brow and blurring one half of his vision to shit. Squinting upwards into the light, he finds the midday sun crowning Sanji like a halo, lighting his hair up gold. Beautiful. “Fuck you.”
“Maybe, if you win,” Sanji laughs, easy as anything as he backs away.
Shusui and Kitetsu sing in his hands as he grounds his stance and spins them around, and he hasn’t unsheathed Wado. Yet. But with the way Sanji’s pushing him back— Zoro grits his teeth and allows a heel to crack across his jaw, letting the momentum turn his body sideways as he ducks low and rams his shoulder into Sanji’s ribs. The cook gasps, managing to drive a knee between them before Zoro shoves it out of the way, spitting out a curse as the swordsman hooks the flat of one sword behind his calf and yanks his leg out from under him, and they hit the ground hard.
Zoro’s laugh rides on his exhale, heartbeat pounding fiercely in his ears, one fist slamming into the ground above Sanji’s head when the cook wraps unfairly long legs around his middle and throws him upwards. It unbalances him just enough for him to go nose-to-plank, just enough for Sanji to flip them and yank Zoro’s wrists down to trap them under his thighs, and just like that—
“Caught you,” Sanji breathes, chest rising and falling rapidly, sweat-damp bangs sticking to his flushed cheek, and Zoro doesn’t fight the grin that bares his teeth.
“Looks like it,” he says evenly, feeling hardwood press against his skull as he stops resisting. “Come here.”
A blue eye narrows sharply. “Why?”
“Just come here.” His heart lurches when Sanji leans down, suspicious, hair falling over them both like a flaxen curtain. It’s getting long, Zoro notes. Long enough that he could braid it if Sanji wanted. He makes a mental note to bring it up to the cook, waits until a barely-trembling mouth grazes his—
And cranes his neck back to slam his forehead into Sanji’s nose.
The cook lurches away with an enraged cry, hands flying to his face as Zoro uses his wrists to lift Sanji by the knees and flip them over again. “You fucking bastard! That’s foul play, you piece of shit—”
Zoro just grins wider, heart pumping hard and body buzzing like a livewire. Sanji looks hot like this with iron dripping off his chin, pooling in his cupid’s bow, staining his mouth rose-rust-ruby even as he smears the heel of his palm over his lower lip, and Zoro isn’t afraid to admit it.
He watches. Watches Sanji’s eyes drag languidly from the blood on his hand to Zoro’s face, watches him tilt his head, lazy and unhurried, and suck the red off his teeth with that piercing gaze pinning him in place. He tightens his grip on Shusui’s hilt and digs his knuckles into Sanji’s shin as something tightens in his gut. “Never said we had to play fair.”
He watches Sanji’s smile sharpen into something downright predatory seconds before a foot is stomping sole-first into his chest, vicious and just off-centre, kicking the air right out of his damn lungs as he flies back. Fuck, that’s gonna bruise. The pain switches something in him into high gear and Wado’s out of her sheath, a familiar weight in his jaw even as he scrambles to get his bearings, and barely half a breath later Sanji’s on him like a fucking hurricane.
Another signature roundhouse kick lands on his temple and re-opens the split in his brow, and he would have eaten shit if not for the palm he slams to the deck, pivoting to pop up behind Sanji and swing two swords parallel into his middle. The cook dodges and slips away, driving his heel into Zoro’s hip, and Zoro backs up to give himself space to breathe.
The sun is blinding even when he isn’t looking up. His breath echoes in his ears, tight as he tries to slow it down, shirt stretching with the heave of his shoulders, pulse a war drum in his veins and his arms nearly trembling with adrenaline and there is blood on his face, in his mouth, sweet and metallic; he spits it in a red splatter onto the ground and sweat nearly steams off his skin.
Up ahead, Sanji leans back against the taffrail almost leisurely, looking far more composed than he probably feels. He rolls his head back, elbows over the railing as he bares his throat almost arrogantly, and the smug look he tilts to Zoro as he tosses his hair out of his face is a challenge in and of itself.
Zoro crosses the space between them in three great strides and swings.
He twists and drops low as Sanji slides beneath his sword, and the cook snarls as Wado grazes over his side just deep enough for it to sting. Sanji’s leg comes down over his head and he throws up a forearm, digs his heels in as he braces for the impact, shoving forward as soon as it connects. A knee jams into the same side as before and Zoro wheezes, core spasming, backing Sanji into the railing with a wide arc of his blade before the cook gets that glint in his eye—
And Zoro gets an inkling feeling that he’s just lost himself this fight.
Sanji spins to spring off the railing in a tight flip that brings his heel down directly between Zoro’s shoulder blades, and Zoro sacrifices his balance and Kitetsu in one last bid for victory. He reaches one hand over his head and grapples for a handful of fabric, yanking as hard as he can, biting down into Wado’s hilt as his knees slam into the planks.
Muffling his pained hiss into leather, Zoro manages to flip Shusui in his grip before his wrist is pinned beneath Sanji’s hip. Fuck. His free arm is grabbed and wrenched back, a sole pressed to his throat and forcing him into a kneeling backbend. Sanji slowly pulls harder and forces his upper body back as he thrashes, a subtle threat; it’s a futile effort, anyway. The cook’s out of Wado’s reach with the severity of the lean he’s in, neck tense, chin pushed up as cold, blunt steel digs into his jugular. Zoro’s arm strains in its socket, and as much as he is prideful— He knows when to admit he’s been bested.
“Yield,” he grits, chest heaving as Sanji puts more pressure on his trachea and his lower back strains with the weight of holding himself up. “I yield.”
“…For today.” Sanji slowly lets go, and Zoro groans as he slumps to the deck. “You’ll beat me tomorrow.”
He spits his sword to the side and unfolds his aching legs from under him, starfishes out, tries to catch his breath. The sky is a brilliant, cloudless, familiar shade of blue. Zoro finds himself smiling and throws an arm over his face to hide it. “Hope that doesn’t mean you’ll go easy on me.”
“When do I ever?” Sanji scoffs, tapping the back of his heel against the swordsman’s thigh for good measure as he gets up. “Come on, marimo. Before the sun turns you into a dried cactus.”
*
He’d been right about the bruising. Purple and yellow blooms vivid across the right side of his ribcage, a deceptively pretty splotch that still makes him bite down a groan when he presses into it with cloth-wrapped ice.
“Let me.” Sanji gently takes the bundle from him, nudging him back until Zoro gets the hint and hauls himself up to sit on the table with a grunt. He lets the cook prod at the edges of the bruise with a frown pulling at his swirly brows, carefully rolling the ice pack back over the area, and he grunts as his ribs shift. Wouldn’t be surprised if he’d strained a couple of intercostal muscles.
The urge to scrub a fist over the blood crusting in his eye is tempting but he resists, knowing that Sanji would probably scream at him if he did— However. His lashes really are starting to stick together.
Sanji notices, because of course he does. “Hold,” he mutters, pulling one of Zoro’s hands over the ice and stretching to wet a clean cloth by the sink. It’s blessedly cool as he sets it to Zoro’s skin, letting it soak for a few seconds before he starts scrubbing away at dried gore and clicks his tongue disapprovingly. “You’re all messed up.”
“And whose fault is that?” Zoro asks dryly. “You kick like a fucking donkey. And twice in one spot? Really?” He ducks his head with a laugh when Sanji moves to yank his earrings.
“You’re infuriating,” the cook scowls, at odds with the slow, meticulous way he rubs the cloth over Zoro’s lashline. “And you were distracted today. What’s going on?”
Zoro closes his other eyes and recalls a fierce grin, blood-slick, golden hair and steel toes and a flawless kick slamming into his jaw. “Dunno. Maybe I just love you.”
Sanji stills, and Zoro clocks his soft, quick inhale before he hears the cook shift and opens his eye. “…I’m still not used to that,” Sanji murmurs, more to the floor than anything else, and Zoro tilts his chin up with two fingers tucked beneath.
“I know.” He feels his own shoulders slouching, sinking as he curves toward Sanji like a planet in orbit. He’s tentative when he cups the cook’s jaw steady and lets go of the ice pack to bring his thumb to Sanji’s bloodied nose, but he twitches back when Sanji hisses. “Shit, sorry, curls. Is it broken?”
“Nah,” Sanji chuckles airily, relaxing into Zoro’s touch and letting his eyes slide shut with a sigh as the swordsman prods at his bridge. “Just tender.”
Zoro hums, unsatisfied. “Pass me another cloth.” He wraps the offered fabric around his index finger and wipes away the blood congealed on Sanji’s lip, turning the cook’s face this way and that to make sure he gets everything as lithe hands press the ice back to his torso.
His own face’s mostly clean now, but his brow still feels a little stiff when he raises it just to make Sanji laugh. No big deal, though; he expects he’ll scrub down before dinner and drag Sanji with him, because otherwise the cook would stay in the galley all night. Zoro loses his train of thought when blue, blue eyes flick up to his, and his breath catches in his chest.
“What?” Sanji murmurs, his jaw nestled in Zoro’s palm, gaze travelling over his face, and suddenly Zoro doesn’t know what to do with himself.
He’s not a man of words. He never has been, really, but he thinks he could try, for Sanji. The man standing between his knees is a prince, for fuck’s sake, in everything else if not in name. Sanji, with skin the colour of white sand under the sunset, eyes like pools of sapphire crystal, slender fingers and gold-spun hair and kindness in spades, given to everyone with a generous hand, even when life had tried to beat it out of him with a stick. He’s regal. Something out of one of those fairytales that Zoro had never believed in.
He’s regal, and sometimes Zoro worries that he’s too rough around the edges for them to fit.
And then Sanji cusses him out with a sharp tongue and kicks his head back on straight, and he remembers exactly who he’s dealing with. Who he’d fallen in love with.
Sanji makes a questioning noise but doesn’t shift back when Zoro pulls him closer, gently carding his hair out of the way to press a kiss to the space between his brows. The strands are soft between his fingers, sweet with the lingering scent of Sanji’s conditioner, and Zoro lets himself bury his nose in Sanji’s crown and just… breathe, for a second.
Arms slide around his waist, and Sanji’s weight leans into his chest. “Are you alright, chéri?”
“I— Yeah.” He shifts a palm to Sanji’s nape and squeezes, mainly to ground himself. “I’m good, cook.” Up this close, it would be difficult to miss the cook’s slight inhale as he draws back, and he frowns. “Your side.”
“S’fine,” Sanji dismisses, shaking his head with a soft smile.
“Lemme see.”
“Honestly, it’s just a scratch!”
“Let me see.” The cook huffs and rolls his eyes, stepping back to pull his shirt up over his side and Zoro hunches down, finding a clean corner of the cloth as he scrutinises the thin slice on Sanji’s skin. “Doesn’t look too bad,” he says, cleaning it up even as Sanji mutters an “I told you so” under his breath. It didn’t matter how bad it was. He wouldn’t take it any less seriously.
Sanji drops his hem back down and slips in close again to rest his cheek on Zoro’s shoulder, hands locking at the small of Zoro’s back, and Zoro smooths his palm over the soft cotton of Sanji’s dress shirt. It’s a texture he knows against his skin. He knows all of it; silky hair and a sharp jaw and a smart mouth, white teeth and strong hands and cotton shirts and wayward kicks to the shin and familiar weight against him as they fall asleep. “What’s for dinner?”
Sanji hums, nuzzling into the crook of Zoro’s neck before he pulls away, reluctant. “Potatoes au Gratin and spinach pesto linguine.” He moves over to the sink, pulling a huge bowl of washed spuds from somewhere, sliding it across the table as he tosses Zoro a paring knife and a pointed look. “Chop chop.”
The swordsman scoffs, leaning back on his hands. “Chop chop, he says. No please, no thank you, no nothing—”
“Oh, come on.”
“No appreciation!” he continues, grabbing a potato and sighing at it sadly. “Or financial compensation, mind you, this is unpaid labour—”
“Marimo,” Sanji begins, pinching his nose bridge but failing to hide his smile. “Darling. My heart. L’amour de ma vie. Will you please peel the damn potatoes, thank you.”
Zoro sniffs, but picks up the knife.
“You know, one day I’m gonna tell the whole crew what a drama queen you are,” Sanji says lightly, pulling a cabinet open to grab a box of pasta and grabbing a pot from the shelves below.
“They’ll never believe you.” Zoro shrugs, a what can you do sort of thing, and points the potato at the cook. “And this is still unpaid labour.”
“You’ll survive. It’s a labour of love.”
“Don’t recall ever saying I love peeling root vegetables.”
Sanji throws a teaspoon, and it bounces off Zoro’s forehead. “Not the potatoes, moron, me.”
Zoro can’t find a retort to that, so he shuts up and peels. It’s… good. He doesn’t recall ever smiling this much before everything. Before bloody scrapping and the gentle hands after and peeling vegetables in the easy quiet of the galley while Sanji watches the pasta boil. The cook pushes him, stretches his limits and helps him break down barriers that he would’ve been loathe to tackle alone. Helps him to dress wounds he can’t reach. Sanji holds him with a care that Zoro has never bothered with for himself, and it’s good.
He's listened to Sanji enough to know that these are baby potatoes, finicky to peel because of their thinner skin, and still terribly tender. Sweet. The one he's working on fits nicely in his palm as he guides the knife, angling the edge the way Sanji taught him. The skin spirals over his thumb as he works his way around and he crosses his ankles when he breathes out.
“Marimo.”
“Hm?”
Sanji’s facing away from him, but the cook turns his head just enough for Zoro to see the shrewd look in his eye. “Depending on your performance in helping with the rest of dinner prep, I may be amenable to discussion about… other kinds of compensation.”
Zoro pauses, blinks, and shakes his head with a chuckle. “You always speak real fancy when you want something, curls.”
“I didn’t say anything!” Sanji sing-songs, wiggling his shoulders as he stirs the pot. “No guarantees, mosshead. Peel!”
A laugh slips from Zoro’s throat, rich and real. Sanji’s steel-tipped shoes tap on the ground as he moves around the galley, comfortable in his element, and Zoro watches him with a fondness that warms his chest. Their cuts will heal. His bruises will fade from green to yellow before they disappear like they were never there, before Sanji paints new ones under his skin, and he’ll peel potatoes while Sanji boils pasta and they’ll curl into bed together knowing that they’ll wake up and do it all over again.
Zoro slips his knife beneath the last strip of peel and places his potato back into the bowl, pale and sweet and tender.
It’s good.
#look. i just need them to scrap nasty and get blood everywhere#and then clean each other up all disgustingly tender#i think i somehow managed to use potatoes as symbolism. i'm honestly not sure#zosan#zoro x sanji#zosan fanfic#roronoa zoro#black leg sanji#one piece#ino writes#one piece zosan#featuring the inherent homoeroticism of sparring with your boyfriend
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how do u mark a fic as read?????????? I don't have that button! what is this sorcery???!!!?? :O
ahh okay sorry it's literally a month late 😭
a lot of people saw this post and apparently didn't know the mark as read feature existed (which ??? i'm 95% sure y'all will recognise it once you read this post)
so anyways. say you're like me and are scrolling for a very specific fic but during that scrolling you pass a fic that also intrigues you. but you don't wanna read it yet. you also don't trust yourself to open a new tab and not lose it so you use the mark for later button!
you'll see it at the top of any fic (example below)
click this. and boom! fic has now been added to your mark for later list. which can be found under history and marked for later on your account
but if you're anything like me you probably won't actually use that list because you switch hyperfixations far too often
it does come in handy still though because when (read: if) you return to this ship/fandom and are yet again scrolling for a good fic it can help you identify fics you've read before or not. usually i'll see something that sounds interesting, open it, and either it will be bookmarked already or it will have this new button at the top:
mark as read my beloved 🥰 means this fic caught my eye in the past but i never got around to actually reading it. so yay! new fic to read!!
(unless, like in the original post, i somehow either forgot to then mark the fic as read after reading it or for some reason never bookmarked it and then i trick myself into thinking i've not seen it 💀)
#hope this helps!!#honestly this feature is a lifesaver#because the amount of times i switch fandoms it's impossible to read every fic that catches my eye the first time i'm there#and also my marked for later list is then a mess of fandoms because you can't filter through it#ao3#fanfic#drarry#jegulus#wolfstar#buddie#lestappen#sterek#sambucky#hotchreid#landoscar#gallavich#asks
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Sssnek BOI in your Cabinet (here to steal ur gender)
Agh he’s soooo much fun. >:D from AU by @spinjitsuburst -all design credit to them!
#He’s been busy collecting abandonment issues like Pokémon#this has been my plan since you told me about his snake features#immediately prioritized after the canary’s that made me too happy#Very glad he is exist now#ninjago#lego ninjago#ninjago art#ninjago fanart#ninjago jay#superstar rockin jay#oli art#ninjago fanfiction#going to be fanfic? I hope#I think I draw more off other people’s Ninjago ideas more than Default show fanart#whoops can’t help that I’m surrounded by amazing writers and artists.#Cabinet man AU#han tag
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