#man this was fun to write
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The meeting
A short in which Jaxon and I meet featuring both my self insert, my peacock insert, and a slight mention of a potential new oc!
It was a normal day in Heartslabyul. Students maintaining the garden, playing with hedgehogs, drinking tea, Ace getting robbed, taking care of the flamingos, and eating sweets. Nothing out of the ordinary really. Ryker had promised Deuce that he would help him study like normal, but Deuce was no where to be found.
"Hey Ace, do you know where Deuce is?"
Ace scrambled up off the ground and glared as a large bird ran off with money in its beak. His hair and clothes were a mess, but that wasn't anything out of the ordinary.
"You just watched a peacock jump on me and take all the money out of my pockets, and you're asking where Deuce is?"
"Considering that it ran here all the way from Pomefiore, I'm guessing you deserved it. Anyway, where's Deuce?"
"I hate you sometimes...but fine. He said he was meeting someone in the laboratory."
Ryker started walking off without another word leaving Ace behind to try and chase a bird for his money. Deuce being in the laboratory wasn't a bad thing. It just means they would work on their potions today for studying. Maybe Deuce wanted to get there early or one of his friends needs help studying too. Either way, Ryker saw no problem with it.
He made his way to the laboratory rather quickly and knocked on the door before going in. Sure enough, it seemed that Deuce brought a friend. Ryker smiled at Deuce and looked towards his friend...only for his smile to become more nervous. Standing over a textbook with Deuce, was the one and only Jaxon Crowley.
Of course Ryker's heard of him. The headmages son who would get into fights all the time and was known to dislike Heartslabyul students. The guy with the ability to make all those around him terrified of him without much effort. He was someone everyone wanted to avoid.
"Ryker-senpai! I swear I didn't forget about our study session. I just thought that maybe you could help Crowley-senpai too."
Jaxon's eyes flicked over to Ryker for only a second, but it was enough for Ryker to feel a bit scared.
"I, uh...sure...on one condition."
"Huh? But we don't have any conditions."
"All I ask is that you don't hurt me. I know you aren't a fan of Heartslabyul students so...I just want you to know that my friends in Diasomnia will be very upset if I get hurt. That includes Malleus."
"I really don't care. Your Diasomnia pals don't scare me, and you're not worth a fight. Doesn't look like you'd be much of a fight anyway."
"That's good to hear...I think. Okay then. What are you two studying?"
"We're supposed to be making this potion for class, but neither of us can get it right."
Deuce handed the textbook over to Ryker who scanned the page quickly. It wasn't too difficult of a potion to make. He glanced between the materials they already had out and the materials on the page,
"Do you guys have the chrysanthemums or the diced mushrooms?"
"No we don't."
"Right. Deuce can you get started on the mushrooms? Jaxon there should be some chrysanthemums on the shelf over there."
Jaxon huffed slightly before walking over to the shelf. It was then that Ryker felt like he could breathe a little more. Jaxon is a very intimidating guy to be around. It doesn't help that he's so much taller than both of them. Ryker himself only goes up to Jaxon's chest.
Though watching him stare at all the bottles and containers on the shelf was concerning. Having been over there many times, Ryker knew the flowers shouldn't be that hard to find. And yet Jaxon has been looking at the shelf for a couple minutes now. Hesitantly, Ryker walked over.
"Can't find it?"
"Crewel probably buried it somewhere."
Looking over the shelf, Ryker spotted the container almost immediately. It was right in front of Jaxon and very clearly labeled as chrysanthemums. How was Jaxon not seeing it? He was pretty much looking directly at it.
"It's right here."
Ryker picked up the container and showed it to Jaxon. He stared at it for a few seconds with an expression that looked like a mixture of frustration and confusion. The longer he stared at the label on the container, the more visibly frustrated he got. It was so tense that Ryker started to fear for his safety.
"Uhm...it's okay! It's pretty easy to miss. It took me a second to see it too."
"Stop. I don't need some colorful tiny brat trying to console me. I can see it just fine."
"Right...of course. Sorry. I was just trying to help."
"I don't need your help."
"Okay...well let's not consider this helping. Think of it as teamwork! Together we found it."
"Yeah. I don't work well in teams either."
"Then we'll say you found it. I came over here and you already found it. Easy as that."
"Why are you doing this?"
"Well, I'm here to help Deuce and you're his friend, so I'll help you too. That, and I really don't want you to hurt me."
"Relax. I'm not gonna hurt you, especially not over something as stupid as this. Besides, I have nothing against the dragon or Diasomnia, so you're fine."
Ryker laughed lightly, "Actually, I think more of the problem would come from my boyfriend. He's probably going to freak out over the fact that I'm talking to you."
"Should I expect him to try and fight me or something?"
"No no. If anything he'll just yell at you...but he yells at everyone. He won't hurt you though."
"Noted. Ignore the yelling if it comes."
"It's more of when than if. You'll hear it at some point while being here at school. It's guaranteed. Especially if you hang out with Deuce."
"Hey guys. I'm done with the mushrooms."
Ryker smiled at Deuce, and the three started working on the potion. While Jaxon seemed to struggle with the reading in the textbook, he did fine with the potion making after a little guidance. Despite how quiet Jaxon was, he got along fine with both of them. After many hours of practicing and working on the potion, the trio finally made it successfully.
"You two did great!"
"Thanks Ryker-senpai."
"Hey we should celebrate. I have some cake in the fridge back at the dorm. Think of it as a reward."
"Pass. It's recommended I don't enter Heartslabyul, and sweets aren't my thing anyway."
"Then how about we go to the Mostro Lounge! You can pick out a food you like there. But I'd have to make a stop at Pomefiore before that."
"Why?"
"Well there's a peacock there that likes to give the money to one of my friends. Oh, and you two can meet her! She's kinda a new student."
"You saying she'll just give you the money from the bird?"
"Yup! She's super nice and I help her out in the Botanical Gardens and taking care of the peacock."
"You have weird friends."
"Weird can be good. After today, you're one of those friends too. That's non-negotiable."
#jaxon crowley#twst oc#across the rykerverse#man this was fun to write#rybek#new oc#ace getting robbed once again
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This.
Alchemist casually grabs your lantern and snatches the candle before throwing it on the floor, stomping on it and in result, destroying it.
:3c
ALCHEMIST ANON
*HEY WHAT ARE YOU-*
.......
[They freeze up and starts shaking a bit, they don't say anything, they're staring at ahead at nothing. Their eyes go complete orange as they look like they're crying. A mouth of the same color that was hidden before tears apart their skin to appear as they scream bloody murder. They're glitching out tremendously. (I mean, they literally just got torn apart i dont judge)]
[They kept glitching until a few seconds later, they disappear, almost as if they glitched out of existence, gone, leaving only the broken lantern behind]
#lantern#Livilence: Eternity#Yes lann has a mouth#It is painful to make appear but yes thay have one lol#Man this was fun to write#Oh yeah wait-#tw body horror#I think-#Ok have fun i gtg to a family event brb#:3c
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got a worm nibbling my brain. can someone help me find a piece of obscure media?
webcomic/indie comic from the 2010s. basically a sci-fi short story about a young girl (with red hair?) who was being raised by scientists as part of an experiment. she receives a haircut/has her head shaved, in preparation for her annual brain scan/testing. it is revealed that while her body is human, her "brain" is artificial, made of computer implants throughout her skull and spine. at some point her biological mother (also a scientist on the same campus?) encounters her and is repulsed, viewing her as a machine who has murdered her daughter.
it was very poignant and it bruised my heart and i can NOT find it anywhere
#i thought it was made by the creator of 'O Human Star' for some reason but apparently not?#goddammit goddammit goddammit#'i don't have to write down the title of this piece of media i encountered in my formative years bc i'll always remember it'#*cut to ten years later frantic googling*#fun fact 'a.i.' is now a completely useless search term#google in general is useless#and stuff i read 3+ years ago regularly vanishes from the internet#bookmarks are not enough! if you like indie media--download that shit! buy digital/physical copies while you can#save it to the cloud back it up and organize that shit!!!#keep a list of the stuff you read (organized by date/media type and possibly with keywords if you want it to be useful longterm)#(or a spreadsheet even if you're like me and rabidly consume short stories/comics like a pack of amnesiac piranhas on a feeding frenzy)#(that stuff PILES UP over the years ok. if you wanna make sure you'll be able to find it again a decade later--curation is key)#because art WILL touch your soul and then vanish into the void leaving naught but a 404 Error in its wake#i am an old man shaking my fist at the kids on my lawn but the kids on my lawn are me and my longterm digital planning skills circa 2012
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pairing: bf!peter x reader
synopsis: peter likes having you close to him. all the time
wc: 630 ish
a/n: surprise! another one oops. im rlly bored can u tell? cuddling prompt with peter. reader is a cheeky and annoying lil shit. one office reference. i saw a tiktok about this a long time ago and thought this would be a cute idea to write about. also does anyone know how cuddling works tho?? if ur laying on ur side, do u just lay on top of the arm ur crushing on? under a pillow? idk lol. anyways i hope u like :D
there's an ache settling in your right side that wakes you up from your sweet slumber. your head lays atop peter’s soft chest, his steady heartbeat against your ears. it was what lulled you to sleep in the first place. but with peter’s body practically being your own personal heater, the warm air filling the room, and the prominent soreness resting on your side, you began to feel uncomfortable.
“pete,” you whisper.
peter is entirely unfazed. his hold on you is strong. his face is towards you, mouth slightly ajar, letting out the softest of snores and drool out the corner of his mouth. although you love your cuddles with peter, you think he could actually suffocate you in your sleep. the boy loved to sleep, especially on top of you.
your limbs are tangled together. your left leg slung around his waist, arms around his torso, while his buff arms embrace your shoulders protectively.
ever so slightly, you begin to move your leg, retreating it back to your side as you push against his body and establish a more comfortable position. you snuggle further into peter as sleep wins you over once again.
it only lasts for a second when you wake from your boyfriend’s murmurs, he seems to talk in his sleep when he whispers your name. he huffs loudly and smacks his lips a couple of times with his brows furrowed. you feel his warm hand reach for the back of your knee to bring it over his crotch.
a confused look paints your face as you gaze up toward him. he’s asleep as dead. did he really just do that? you almost laugh out loud. his quirky behavior never fails to amuse you and has your stomach going in flips. he just wants you close to him. :(
but you think you’re funny, so you test out that theory one more time, this time blatantly stripping your leg away from him.
this gets a reaction out of peter. he seems to wake when he gusts an impatient breath, “no” and grabs your knee again, forcefully holding it against him.
in disbelief, you’re unable to contain your burst of laughter as you hold yourself up with one arm and stare at him wide-eyed, “what is wrong with you?”
“ph’shhh” peter knits his brows together, his eyes shut tight with a cute pout, as he blindly brings a hand to your face and gently shoves your head back against your pillow.
“peter-” “shut up.” he feels you lick the palm of his hand, “yuck,” but he doesn’t care to move it away from you. it’s only when you swat his hand away and settle back down against him to give him peace of mind. only for a moment, though. you have fun annoying peter, almost like a hobby. he’s halfway asleep when he feels you aggressively snatch your leg away from his hold.
“y/n!” peter groans, “stop it.” this time, your boyfriend pushes you on top of him, your entire body weight lays over his while he keeps a tight grasp on you, making sure to keep your leg over his waist and your head upon his chest.
his irritation riles you up, and you’re giggling through it all.
peter’s not having it though, not at all. he heaves another deep breath through his mouth, with the same grumpy look on his face, “why are you the way you are?”
you gasp, “me?!” “yes, you.”
not done yet, you flick his forehead, “you know, you’re so annoying sometimes, pete.”
he scoffs, “oh yea?”
“yea. a total pain in the-”
peter shoves his hand against your face and into his chest one last time, “ass.”
you decided you’ve had your fun but you’re too delighted to go back to sleep. too delighted to know that the boy you love and cherish always wants to be impossibly close to you all the time, conscious or not.
#m's clubhouse! 🎧#m writes ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･#this was fun writing#enjoy#peter parker#peter parker x y/n#mcu!peter x reader#peter parker fluff#peter parker imagine#tom!peter parker x reader#tom!spiderman#peter parker x reader#peter x reader#peter parker x you#peter parker fanfiction#spiderman#spider-man#spiderman x reader#peter parker smut#peter parker blurb#peter parker oneshot#peter parker fic#tom holland#tom holland x reader#tom holland smut#tom holland peter parker#peter parker angst#peter parker writing#college peter parker
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Kote’s House
Kote’s first house is a pathetic thing, and he is incurably proud of it. The twi’lek he purchased it from very evidently could not make up his mind what to do with a man that grinned while he haggled, but it was the first time Kote had haggled over a purchase of his very own. He had thoroughly enjoyed it.
The house is built for one being, and a compact being at that, but Kote doesn’t have much. Moving in is quick, and most of his efforts during the next few days after go into attempting ambitious repairs for things he doesn’t know the first thing about.
His plumbing is an issue, he knows. Something is getting blocked up. Somehow while trying to fix the kitchen tumbler, his fresher spout explodes.
He hadn’t kept his new house a secret from anyone by any means, but it is still surprising when Fox barges in through his jamming front door. He finds Kote on the floor in his cramped kitchen while the fresher rains water in the adjacent room, laughing so hard and so crippled with delight that he can’t get up.
He tries to explain how wonderful it is —
“I-I have to fix my plumbing on my own, vod—”
—but judging by Fox’s single raised eyebrow he knows it doesn’t translate.
Fox, it turns out, is moving into the neighborhood. Kote doesn’t ask about the house Fox already has — the house he has visited, which is very nice and fancy — or point out that Fox’s contract there cannot possibly be up, which begs the question of why he’s here in Kote’s neighborhood — except that Kote already knows the answer to that question. So he doesn’t ask.
Fox doesn’t show him any grace or forbearance, though.
“Don’t even know how to fix a damn pipe, front lining show-off—” His brother snarls, but it is muffled; his top half had to go down beneath the floor they’d pried up to get at the plumbing issue.
“So that’s what they had you doing all these years.” Kote says, because he really is in a criminally good mood. He barely ducks the foot-long pipe Fox throws at his head, feeling giddy.
He makes dinner that night in thanks. Fox stays, ostensibly because now that he’s fixed the fresher he intends to use it, because his new house isn’t hooked up properly yet to all the supply lines and power grids.
They choke on homemade tiingilar (vode-style; Kote can’t pretend at the real thing yet) so heavily spiced it’s got grit to it that sticks between the teeth. It’s disgusting, but Cody had bought fifteen different spices and while usually he likes to keep his approach to the unknown more cautious, more methodical, he couldn’t think of anything he wanted to do more than use them all at once for the first time.
Wolffe joins them not long after; brings a few others along by recommending the apartment he picks out, so that soon most of the complex is taken up by vode, Kote hears, but he doesn’t visit yet. Everyone’s too busy coming over to his house, it seems; filling up his kitchen and asking why he hasn’t fixed the trash disposal yet, why he doesn’t have a couch, doesn’t he know they’re all the rage among civilized folk?
Kote fixes the trash disposal with Rex, who is better at it than he is but says it’s only due to Skywalker’s influence on managing all things mechanical.
“How is Skywalker?” Kote asks, and gets more than he bargained for over the next hour. At first he’s a bit off-put, because he’s trying to get dinner sorted again and he’s not been very fond of Skywalker at the best of times, but Rex is snorting out a story and laughing and it’s contagious, so Kote just resigns himself and settles in to enjoy.
Skywalker has little ones, now. Obi-Wan is the only one that can get them to sleep. Ahsoka is distressed; she knows better, but every instinct in her is apparently in agony over the little ones’ inability to eat meat yet. She obsesses over nutrients in their diet — which, given what tiny natborn humans primarily ingest in the early stages, makes for some slightly awkward conversations.
Rex helps with dinner afterward, and they take turns being incredulous over natborn baby facts, shoving around one another in the tiny, uncomfortable kitchen.
“What’s your next project?” Rex asks at one point, glancing sidelong with a cheeky look, and Kote levels his vegetable knife at him (he’s got a vegetable knife. Specifically for vegetables. It’s a very new concept).
“I make everyone’s dinner on Tuangsdays.” He says. “I’m productive.”
Rex’s sharp-toothed grin turns thoughtful. “Yeah” He says. “Everyone loves coming here, you know. You could be the new 79’s.”
Kote knows. He plans and plots, and puts more work into researching recipes than he’s put into any research whatsoever in months. It feels a bit like coming out of a shore leave; his thoughts quicken and his excitement grows. He hunts down a market. He brings a bag. He shops, bargains, and returns victorious.
He sends out a few comms., and can’t help but shake his head and grin at how different the responses are.
What a marvelous idea, Cody. His general — ex-general — says.
Yus pls, Ahsoka sends back, with some sort of strange tooka vidclip that dances with wiggly gyrations Kote can only assume indicate excitement.
Where is your house, Anakin says, blunt and to the point, and Kote can appreciate that.
He sends the address. He cooks all day. The sun sets, and Fox and Wolffe arrive, already bickering, Rex trailing behind with a long-suffering look sent to Kote, begging commiseration.
“Ugh, don’t you ever stop smiling, now?” He gripes when Kote just grins at him.
“Nope,” Kote says, unrepentantly.
He leaves the soup on the stove, simmering, and takes his cup of caf to the window. He leans on it, breathing in cool air, and just listens — listens to the squabbling as Wolffe gets on Fox’s case for not washing Kote’s dishes correctly the last time they visited. Hears the soft thumps of Rex sneaking into the cramped room Kote has set aside for plants and the sole pet he has; a pastel goullian, fins swaying ever so gently, permanent scowl in place. Thinks he catches, distantly, the sound of his remaining three guests (Padme couldn’t attend, and had made him feel very awkward by how thoughtfully she apologized for it) plodding up the hill.
“Cody!” Ahsoka cries, coming into view and waving.
Kote’s cheeks have stopped aching from all the smiling he’s gotten used to, so it’s easy to let another through.
#fan art#artists on tumblr#star wars fanart#star wars: the clone wars#fix it au#captain rex#commander cody#commander fox#commander wolffe#obi wan kenobi#anakin skywalker#ahsoka#After The War Fluff#Get you some vod that can do plumbing and make fun of your trash disposal unit#OmPu Writes: Snippet#just-typed-this-out-and-it-shows#Kote was grinning like a shark while haggling#It was terrifying#This man waged wars and he cannot wait to utilize every tactical skill he learned in that endeavor on one (1) twi’lek to negotiate the sale#-of a fix-er-upper he was going to buy anyway#First time trying this art style#Star Wars fanfic
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Life's a game, wanna play? | Game of Life AU
(bc you can't tell me even robotics engineer!Phil and pop-star-turned-app-developer!Dan wouldn't somehow find their way to each other)
#dapgtumblrtag#dan and phil#dnpgames#phanart#dnp art#ser sketches#idk man i had fun w this#dnp#life's a game AU#in my 6+ years of phandom... i am finally writing my first phanfic
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you’re an angel, i’m a dog ; satoru gojo
synopsis; an upcoming exam has been stressing you out, and satoru’s pleas for you to take care of yourself fall on deaf ears. he takes matters into his own hands.
word count; 4.3k
contents; satoru gojo/reader, gn!reader, yan!gojo, as far as yanderes go he’s very mild i think (im sensitive u can trust me!!), mentions of blood, implied murder (not depicted!!), he threatens your professor w a knife lol, surprisingly fluffy??, gojo is soooo lovesick & smitten, he just wants his baby to live a happy life :( is that so wrong :((, also your parents love him <33 and he calls you honey <333 ideal man.
a/n; i blacked out & when i woke up this was in my drafts… mysterious. @kissxcore here u go alexis <33 one very smitten morally gray yan!gojo just for u!! i completely lost the plot halfway through but i had a lot of fun writing this!! :33 i don’t dabble in yan content at all so it was a fun lil challenge hehe, i hope it ended up . Somewhat .. decent…
satoru thinks you deserve everything good.
”haah…”
— the sigh spills into the air, dripping with exhaustion, a palpable fatigue that has his heart clenching.
just as he feared, you’re here. again. seated on the couch, in the living room, legs crossed and framed by flimsy strings of moonlight; illuminated only by the dim light of the laptop in front of you. carding through your hair, blinking sluggishly.
another sigh. deep, exasperated — from satoru, this time. he keeps a single hand on his hip, brows furrowed in soft disappointment.
”honey… what do you think you’re doing?”
you jolt, the sudden sound breaking you out of whatever trance you were previously in. when your gaze flits to his, craning your head to see him rest against the wall leading up to your bedroom, he thinks you look a little like a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar.
it makes him smile. despite his disapproval.
”ah — satoru! it’s… um.” a moment passes. he can practically see the gears of your mind turning, searching for a good excuse. ”… not what it looks like?”
he clicks his tongue. ”nice try.”
then he’s walking towards you, in long strides, gliding across the room like a butterfly in search of nectar. from the sweetest flower there ever was.
even when said flower is still awake, past midnight, pulling an all-nighter despite his frequent advice not to. his very frequent, very thoughtful advice not to strain yourself until you just about pass out.
but you just won’t listen.
”’m disappointed in you, baby,” he huffs, just playful enough to ward off any genuine feelings of distress. he could never truly be disappointed in his baby. ”what did we say about studying this late, hm?”
a sheepish chuckle slips past your lips. satoru is standing in front of you, hands on his hips, raising a questioning eyebrow as you squirm. lighthearted, yes, but genuine. it makes you feel a little guilty.
”… sorry,” you breathe, closing the lid of your laptop. knowing he won’t let you stay up any longer. with the loss of light, your face becomes shrouded in darkness. ”just can’t sleep when i’m so stressed.”
at that, satoru makes a tiny noise — something worried, a little sad, from the base of his throat. a soft frown finds its way onto his lips, and he blinks the sleep away from his senses. plopping down beside you.
”i know. i’m not trying to lecture you,” he croons, reaching out to cradle the apple of your cheek. you melt into him like molten honey, easy and sweet. ”just worried. know you’re stressed.”
and he does. he does know — it’s all he’s been able to think about, these past few weeks. to his dismay, he’s even begun to grow used to this sight, used to finding you in the midst of working yourself to exhaustion. fighting the urge to sleep, slumped over your desk, or cooped up on the couch. staring into your laptop like it holds the secrets of the universe.
time and time again, he’s told you to take care of yourself. tried to coax you into relaxing, rubbing your sore shoulders and kissing the puffy skin beneath your eyes. but this exam is important — you’ve told him as much, more times than he can count. he doesn’t doubt that you’re right.
of course you’d be stressed. he gets it.
still, though.
”but you know it’s not good, yeah? that it’ll just burn you out?” his thumb goes to smooth over the dark crescents beneath your eyes, gentle as a feather. ”we don’t want that, do we?”
you bite your lip. trapping it between your teeth. he knows you know. ”… yeah,” you admit, a flimsy little sigh on your tongue. ”it just feels easier to do this at night. don’t know why.”
”my little night owl.”
that makes you smile, a little, but it’s not enough to satisfy him. he curls an arm around your waist, and drags you into his lap; gentle, always gentle, like all that exists under your skin is made of porcelain. like the lines of your face form a string of words, a label of fragile: handle with care. he always does.
with his heartbeat by your ear, his warmth melting into yours, it’s easier to speak. a pressure on your chest that fades away. ”i’ll try not to do it again,” you murmur, biting back a soft yawn. nuzzling into his neck. ”promise. don’t wanna worry you…”
satoru softens.
(always so good to him.)
”it’s fine, honey. i understand.” he smiles, smoothing down your spine, counting the bumps of vertebra that slide along his palm. ”don’t worry that pretty little head of yours over me, alright?”
in return for his comfort, you wriggle away, lifting your head to give him a smile. one of your many smiles, each one fervently cherished by him; the one you’re wearing now is tired, a soft curl of your lips, the kind that makes him want to lull you to sleep. just the sight alone makes the anxiety in his veins feel like a worthy investment.
he doesn’t tell you anything that could cause that joy to diminish. doesn’t tell you that he can’t sleep without you, that he can barely breathe knowing you’re this stressed all time. doesn’t tell you that he jolted awake with a sinking feeling of dread, a gaping pit in his stomach when he didn’t immediately feel the warmth of your skin against his. doesn’t tell you that he always, always assumes the worst.
satoru doesn’t tell you these things. it’s a safety measure, an act of love. a bundle of unvoiced syllables, woven into white lies, silky and sweet. tailor-made to put your aching mind at ease.
satoru thinks you deserve everything good.
it’s a theory, of sorts, a train of thought. a hypothesis made manifest. after many years of pondering, he’s arrived at the following conclusion; you are all that’s good. therefore, it only follows that you deserve everything that’s good, all of it and more. satoru believes you deserve every single thing your little heart desires — and he’s determined to give it to you.
so he’s been worried.
it’s not that he doesn’t trust you. he knows you’ll ace the exam, knows you’ll do your very best, knows you’ll make him proud. you always do. you aren’t the problem, no, never.
he just doesn’t trust your professor.
that unfair, stuck-up, incompetent professor who’d fail his students just for being a couple minutes late, who curates his exams to be as convoluted as humanly possible. you and your friends are starting to suspect he just likes berating people for a living. satoru knows it all, he’s heard it all, of course he has. satoru pays attention to everything, when it comes to you. he knows all about your professor, the man who’s been making your studies pure hell for the past semester.
it makes his blood boil. steady, ruminating, hot and heavy in his veins. a rivulet of lava.
(it was only a matter of time.)
satoru is a teacher too; he knows that type. one that has no business being a teacher, in the first place, one no student deserves to be subjected to. he’s met more of them in his career than he could even begin to count. the thought of one of his own students being at the mercy of someone so incompetent makes his skin itch.
and the thought of you, seated on the couch, crying and sniffling when he comes home because none of the exam questions made enough sense for you to even try —
it makes satoru want to claw his skin off.
it makes that tiny, tiny cavern in his heart extend, widen, like a maw, swallowing up his liver and lungs and sense of morality. an emptiness begging to be filled.
there’s only one way to satiate it.
so he plants a wet kiss on your forehead, ruffles your hair, tucks you into bed and waits until you fall asleep. deep and heavy, a slumber you won’t wake up from anytime soon. he presses his lips to your forehead one more time — for good measure.
then he grabs his coat and slips outside.
the moon is visible through the window.
a thin crescent, nailed next to the dim stars, leaking a dream-like fluorescent shine; illuminating the office, so quiet he can hear those erratic breaths spill out, one by one. a heavy, heavy silence, thick enough to spread like butter over toast.
(ah, that’s right — he forgot to buy the butter you asked for this morning. no wonder he feels so out of sorts. he’ll have to grab it on his way back.)
”who… w — what are — ?”
satoru stays silent. lips pursed, eyes keen, burning into the back of the man in front of him. close, almost chest to back, enough to have him scowling in displeasure.
just being in his presence makes satoru feel a little sick.
he keeps the blade pressed right beneath his adam’s apple, a silver glimmer in an office painted blue and gray. not enough to sink into his skin, but enough to have his heartbeat hammering, enough that satoru can practically feel those rapid flutters of life. brushing against his gloved hand.
he gets straight to the point. voice muffled by the fabric covering his mouth, low enough that it’s barely even audible. he’s careful, about this kind of thing. there’s a delicacy to the ill intent, something he’d be a little enamored with if it weren’t for the compass stuffed into his ribs — the compass that tells him this is wrong.
he just can’t bring himself to care.
”the upcoming exam.” his voice sends a shiver down the man’s spine. satoru can feel it. ”don’t fail a single student.”
silence. pure silence, suffocating them, tangling itself into the air. satoru can practically taste it — fear, familiar, that pang of panic. a ticking time-bomb. the knife stays pressed against warm skin, pushing, sinking, just a little, a drop of red against his pale throat.
it’s enough to get your professor to make a little noise, one that vaguely resembles a whine. like that of a small animal, rolling over on its belly, eager to play dead. no word is spoken in reply, but he nods, just barely, a nervous tremble of his head.
satoru hums, approving. ”good.” he doesn’t loosen his grip. ”there’s a particular student i’m worried about. marked them down in the catalogue... i’m counting on you.”
another noise. a grunt of affirmation, a silent plea — satoru allows that fear to seep into his own bones, just a little, just to get a taste of it. cold on his tongue. he wonders if this is what helplessness feels like.
then he takes a step back. slow, tentative, dragging the knife with him. not before parting his lips once more. ”don’t turn around,” he warns. ”i’ll be back if there are any complications. this’ll be our little secret, hm?”
the man in front of him doesn’t say a thing. frozen in fear, paralyzed, not moving an inch. a fly trapped in his web. it’s a relief.
before he exits the room, satoru puts the final nail in the coffin. just in case. ”i happen to know what school your daughter goes to.” he waits for a flinch, and it comes almost instantly. like clockwork. “remember that.”
it’s an empty threat. your professor doesn’t know that, though. he doesn’t know that satoru knows his daughter, that he walks past her preschool almost every morning on his way to work. that she waves to him whenever he passes by, and that he makes it a point to always wave back. a little troublemaker; the rowdiest of utahime’s preschoolers. she has a bubbly laugh, and just lost one of her milk teeth. she was giddy when she showed him, a bout of giggles spilling from her lips as he cooed and ruffled her hair.
he wouldn’t lay a finger on her.
but your professor doesn’t know that, hasn’t got a single clue, and satoru delights in the fear that must be running through his veins. down his spine, crawling into every narrow of his skeleton, making a home for itself that he’ll never quite be able to root out.
a gulp. satoru hears it, in the quiet of nightfall, just before he shuts the door behind him. good.
the rest of the evening is a blur. satoru gets home, relieved to find you still asleep, and tucks you into his chest. makes a mental reminder to order your favorite take out tomorrow; a little reward for your hard work.
finally, he can sleep easy. knowing you’ll get what you deserve.
three weeks later, satoru places his hand on the familiar doorknob in front of him, dragging his weight behind him. blinking sluggishly.
there’s a sinking feeling in his chest, weighing him down — like an anchor tied to his liver. a compass, tucked between his fourth and fifth rib, one that’ll always stay lodged right there. he’s learned to grow used to it, a natural consequence, a sign that his humanity is still intact.
that doesn’t make it any less bothersome, though.
(ridding the world of a pest shouldn’t make him feel dirty. especially when he felt nothing but contempt for the pest in question, for the way he whistled as you walked by, the words he spewed before satoru met his eye. vile. putrid. why should he feel guilty for wiping a stain off the pavement?
it does make him feel dirty, though. a sinking feeling in his chest.)
there’s nothing to be done about it. satoru swallows the unpleasant taste on his tongue, and drags the door open, closing it behind him with a softness he reserves for you alone.
and there you are.
on the couch, farther away, already looking his way — lips instantly curling up into what he knows will be a smile. this time, it’s laced with excitement. one of his personal favorites. his gaze devours the joy in your features, the glimpse he gets of your teeth, that familiar crinkle of your eyes.
you’re smiling. at him. you smile and his world wakes up, it’s dyed in different shades of blue, it’s brimming with life and love and something too good not to kill for. you smile and everything is right, good, worth it. you smile and it's as if the blood has been washed off his hands.
suddenly, all is well again. satoru exhales a blissful little breath.
“‘m home, honey,” he grins, a light pink dusting his cheeks, hanging his coat up before turning to face you. arms wide open. “did you miss me?”
his heartbeat stutters when you practically engulf him, all giddy giggles and that perfect smile, nuzzling into the crook of his neck. “mhm,” is what you chirp, pressing kisses down his collarbone, and he has to bite down on his lip to stop the shivers trailing down his spine. he tastes iron, but laps it up with a coo. sickly-sweet.
“missed you too, precious,” he purrs. “sorry i was gone for so long — had to take care of something.”
he cups the back of your skull with his palm, large and crafted just to hold you, and marvels at how much you trust him. how you’re melting into his chest, fitting into every crevice of his heart. he wants to keep you there forever. forever and ever, always within reach, always close enough to touch.
but he also wants you to be happy. he wants to see you run away, wherever the wind takes you, if only so he’ll get to feel you jump into his arms again, when you’ve had your fill of the world. when you come home to him, where you both belong.
satoru would never cage you in. never, never, never. he wants you to enjoy your life — confining you wouldn’t do any good, would only stifle that pretty smile he loves so dearly. he wants your world to be large, brimming with life, blooming with fervor, wants the air to be clear enough for your beautiful lungs. he couldn’t build a world for you, here, in this apartment. no matter how big or luxurious.
so his only option is to bend the world into a kinder shape — twist and mold until it forms a path good enough for you to follow.
(it’s worth it, he knows, he’ll always know. it’s worth it to see that smile.)
“is that a new coat?” you ask, naive and innocent, and it breaks him out of his thoughts, attention wired to the lilt of your voice.
“yeah.” it’s stylish, expensive, a nice shade of black. he had to throw the last one away. “looks nice, right? i’ll get you the same one, pretty.”
“you don’t have to, toru!” you hurriedly exclaim, knowing he’ll jump at the opportunity to spoil you. “i like the one i have now!”
satoru pouts. a soft huff, right by your ear. “you don’t wanna wear matching coats?” he feigns sadness, scratching softly at your scalp, drinking up the little purrs that bubble up in your throat.
and you giggle. you giggle and all he can think is worth it, worth it, worth it. a stained coat or two means nothing. the blood on his hands is just insurance.
“well, when you put it like that…” you shift a little, curling your arms around his neck, breathing him in. he wonders if you can smell the cleaning detergent. “i guess i wouldn’t mind a new coat.”
and he grins. like clockwork. “right? want me to buy you new shoes while i’m at it? some jewelry?” he peppers kisses down your neck, amusement laced in his voice. “the whole store?”
again, those giggles. again and again. he laps them up like fine wine. “okay, that’s too much.”
“but you deserve it!” he whines, sickeningly sweet. sick to his stomach with love. “been working so hard, my angel.”
and, suddenly — you light up. his little firefly. brightening, inhaling a giddy breath. pulling away, a little, and he does his best to bite back the frown on his face. you’re practically beaming, sunshine personified, eyes glittering with giddy joy.
“right! i almost forgot!”
then you’re skipping away, happily, to retrieve your phone. and he knows what you’re going to show him, but still feigns surprise when he sees the score on your exam, that perfect 100 on the screen. still makes an expression of shock that he knows will get you to laugh, still picks you up and spins you around and tells you how proud he is.
he almost, almost feels bad, seeing you smile so wide; at what you assume to be the fruits of your own labour. almost feels ashamed, knowing that perfect 100 wouldn’t exist without the knife at your professor’s throat.
but, then again, this is how it should be. those numbers are the fruits of your own labour, because satoru is a part of you. and you deserve it, deserve it more than anyone — he knows you would have gotten it, even without his help, if your professor was competent enough to see your brilliance.
satoru smiles. he is proud of you. and this is exactly how it should be. he’s just bending the world into its rightful shape, cutting strings from a wrongly woven web, righting the wrongs of the people around you.
you, you, you. the only thing that exists.
all of him is for you.
”i knew you could do it. never doubted you for a second, baby,” he smiles, so wide his cheeks hurt, and you return it with a kiss to his jaw.
”thank you. i’m just so relieved,” you exhale a breath, heavy, and it’s like he can practically see the stress melting, slipping from your shoulders and eyes. worth it, worth it, worth it. ”gosh. i’m gonna sleep like the dead tonight.”
”as you should,” satoru chirps, pinching your side. softly, brimming with fondness. ”but before that, we’re gonna celebrate. all day. and tomorrow too!”
another smile coaxed from your lips; this time, it’s a little bit shy. bashful, at the praise, his endless excitement. so precious he wants to kiss you breathless. give you all the air in his lungs.
so precious that he forgets about everything else.
this is what you always do to him; wrap him up in a blanket of your love, cloud his veins with a nectar so sweet he takes the leap into your arms without a second thought. a foolish, lovesick butterfly, sticking to a single rose; dripping with honey, overflowing. the butterfly is too drunk on love to care.
you’re his flower, his joy, the most useful form of anesthesia. with you in his veins, on his mind, your lips on his jaw — satoru can pretend that his hands are clean. that they always have been.
it all slips from his mind. your professor, the creep who catcalled you, that one classmate you’ve been complaining about recently. he forgets that they even exists, and satoru thinks that must be what love is: something that narrows your world down until you can make a home out of it.
(something worth cherishing, no matter the cost.)
as always, it’s your voice that snaps him out of the trance he’s in. turning around at the sound of your call, the orpheus to your eurydice, too in love to save you from himself. you’re both getting ready to head out, dressing up for a well-deserved date.
satoru feels himself smile. he does the dirty work, and you get to reap the rewards. heaven on earth.
“oh, by the way! would you want to have dinner with my parents tomorrow?” you meet his absent gaze with a tilt of your head. “they’ve been asking about you again. it’s such a headache, seriously.”
satoru giggles, barely containing how delighted he is. raising a playful brow. “oh? grumpy that you aren’t the favorite child anymore, hm?”
“okay, first of all —“ you stifle a giggle, pulling a drawer open, rummaging through it. freshly washed clothes. he washes most of your things. “you aren’t their child. and second of all —“
“— yet.”
a pause.
satoru watches your gaze flick over to him, then back to the drawer, collecting yourself. a cute flush to your cheeks. “… whatever.” you clear your throat. “second of all — i don’t like how much they like you. what kinda spell did you put them under? it’s always satoru this, satoru that!”
a huff fills the air, and you mutter something that sounds a little like mocking, an obnoxiously imitated where’s satoru? that makes him chuckle into his fist.
he shrugs. “i’m just a natural charmer, y’know? and, for the record; i would love to have dinner with them.” he sends you a wink, playful, and you roll your eyes. “are you joining us?”
a bout of laughter pushes past your lips, and satoru thinks he could die happy — just soaking up the joy that spills from out your throat. he wishes he could live in it, paint your house in it, wear it. he wants your joy to be all he ever feels. he feels sick at the idea of ever being out of earshot for it.
“yes, i’m joining you.” your scoff is dripping with humour. ”i’d hate to be the fourth wheel, but it is what it is.”
satoru stifles a grin. ”lucky me. three beauties all to myself,” he drawls, a seductive lilt to his voice, just to hear that little noise you always make with the back of your throat. vaguely disgusted.
”you’re so gross.”
a coo. like the buzzing of a bee. ”don’t be jealous, honey. know you’re my favorite, don’t you?” satoru smiles — more sincere than you’ll ever know. ”could never love anyone else.”
”so my parents are in second place?” you quirk a brow, amusement lacing your words, and he clicks his tongue.
”well, they made you. i’d have to be a fool not to worship artists of such caliber.”
”charmer.”
”yours.” the word is a knife at his throat, a stain on his coat, a love so heavy it’ll burn him alive. ”only yours.”
and again, you smile. all he can think is that you deserve everything, everything that’s good, everything he could ever give you. it’s all he can think as you go about your day, as he leads you outside, as he watches a flicker of joy dance within your iris. as he watches you walk wherever your heart takes you.
the thought remains when you return home, when you wrap yourselves up in blankets and he throws a leg over your waist and you curl an arm around his ribcage. it’s all he can think.
satoru was born to be of service — to someone, to the world, to something or another. he was born to carry a weight on his back.
so why not bear the weight of your burdens?
all he wants is to protect you. all he’ll ever need is that smile on your face. he was always bound to be just this: a dog at your heels, a halo around your head, the watchful eye keeping you safe from everything rotten in this world. he’s the butterfly, the spider, the web itself. and he’ll never let you be tangled up in it.
he was born to be of service to you. so service you he will, until it all comes back to bite him.
“satoruuu — stop stealing the blanket!”
he prays it never will.
#im a lil unsure how to feel abt this piece i feel like it lost its flow pretty quickly 😔👉👈but i rlly did have fun writing it hehe#my baseline for yan!gojo is basically; a kind man who’s so in love w u that he’s willing to compromise his own morals to keep u safe#he’s not particularly possessive or even obsessive?? to him violence really is just . a necessary means to keep u happy#this is almost definitely the only yan piece ill ever write bUT im very fond of this gojo … he’s a tortured little meowmeow <33#cw yandere#yandere gojo#gojo x reader#gojo x you#gojo x y/n#jjk x reader#jjk x you#jjk x y/n#gojo fluff#gojo satoru x reader#gojo satoru x you#gojo satoru x y/n#tw yandere
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Draw Neves at the bar , trauma dumping to heket (she's the bartender)
HFSLKJGKDGJLJKLDS pls this is so funny to me. Neves is a mess when she's drunk. she is now Heket's burden....here she is telling a very silly story
#cult of the lamb#cult of the lamb fanart#cotl lamb#cotl heket#cotl narinder#cotl oc#cotl au#BOO! human oc#getting requests of Neves is so fun to me. i'm itching to talk about her but im so locked down on spoilers#like shes traumadumping here but not Spoiler trauma dumping#imagine being a 25 year old woman sent to Furry Cult World........like.....Neves should be at the club rn :/#the Lamb tried to put her in the Contraption but Neves is too big for it. so they just made her write a very apologetic letter instead#Narinder is still one of Neves' biggest haters.#slapping some color on some shitty sketches >>>>>>>#ALSO putting Narinder in grandpa sweaters and cardigans >>> old ass man#my art#also cannot tell you how the egg thing makes me laugh. Like what the hell…
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So hear me out on my headcanon guys:
Sanji with heterochromia (i cant spell that fuckin word man..) where one eye is blue and another is brown. He always hides the blue eye.
The first one to notice is Zoro, who is immediantly like "holy shit youre eyes are pretty" and sanji is like "what the FUCK"
Actually fuck it im gonna write about this nobody can stop me.
Sometimes, on lonley nights in the gallery, when Sanji is busy prepping, he looks in the reflection of his knife. Underneath the frizzy mess of a fringe that is part of his hair reveals the blue eye he struggles looking at. He stares, scrutinizing that light blue in the gleam of his knife gripped tightly in his hand. He looks away to force his attention back on prep work. His hands are always slightly unsteady after those moments. He always ends up with a cut on his hand one way or another on those nights.
When Sanji was a kid, his brothers would use his heterochromia as a weapon against him. He was the freak with two colored eyes. They would say his blue eye was creepy, too. Not only was he weak but also too different to be called their brother.
When you're a kid, you take these insults to heart. Eventually, when you're barely into adulthood, they'll still plague you. They become a part of you, just like how Zeff's teachings became a part of Sanji.
Judge looked at his eyes with disgust masked by indifference. It was another reason for Sanji to assume why he was the failure. The outcast. The runt of the litter.
His mother had blue eyes. She always claimed Sanji got his blue eye from her because her father had heterochromia, too. That was the only time little Sanji felt normal. When she died, Sanji started to grow out his hair to hide the only thing he had left of her: her eyes.
Now, Sanji still hides her eyes from view. Realistically, Sanji is fully aware that none of the crew would give a rats ass what he looked like. Regardless, old habits die hard. He feels safe under the mask he made for himself. As he goes about preparing lunch, perhaps grilled sea king again with how luffy is always eager to fight those things, he lets his mind wander to his eyes more. While hands expertly move through his knife like an extension of his body, he thinks about the mess of blond hair that's always in the way. He'd never admit it out loud, but his hair actually bothers him. Since it started growing out, it gets everywhere; his mouth, in his eyes, and tangled in the buttons of his shirt. Is sanji happy with his longer hair? Absolutely. It's a nusiance to leave it down constantly, though.
As he's thinking this, he's blowing the fringe of hair covering his face out of the way every so often so it stops tickling his nose. He continues to evenly slice through a portion of sea king meat until somebody, Nami he realizes immediantly, speaks up.
"Do you need a hair tie, sanji?" Nami asks sweetly. Her smile is radiant, as always, while she looks up from the map shes been studying. Sanji didnt even realize Nami came in and made the kitchen table into a study until now, but he doesnt dwell on it. Nami is welcome in his kitchen, after all.
"Oh no, thank you, Nami-swan! I think I just need a haircut soon," Sanji lies as he's moving through the kitchen. He gives Nami a quick smile before turning back to the meat on the cutting board and avoids Nami's gaze under the disguise of being busy. His lie wasn't as believable as he wanted it to be, especially when he's stumbling over his words while he is usually eloquent with them towards Nami and Robin.
"But until then, you should take one! I probably have hundreds lying around my room anyways," She says. It's a peace offering designed to be in Sanji's language of communication. It secretly says he's getting that hairtie whether he wants it or not, and Sanji is weak enough to accept the offering. He takes the hair tie with a grateful smile, wrapping it around his wrist and going back to his current task. Nami and Sanji work in comfortable silence after that, but the hair tie weighs on his wrist like a weighted bracelet.
A few days pass by. Through every single one, he stares at the hair tie in the morning. He really should tie his hair back. It reaches his shoulders for gods sake, and it keeps getting in his mouth - but that small part of him that clings onto grief like its all that he knows refuses to. He doesn't think he can bring himself to share the only part of himself that he truly loves deep down. What if the crew really thinks it's weird? What if his brothers are right?
These what if's roam in the back of his mind. They lurk just beneath the surface like an unknown predator hidden in murky water. He ignores it along with the anxiety that crawls up his throat every time he looks at his wrist.
Then, a week passes by. Now he's in his kitchen making a simple breakfast for his nakama. Franky, in particular, will enjoy this since his tastes lie within American style food most of the time. He focuses on seasoning the eggs, some of them cooked differently to cater to everyone's tastes. While he goes through the familiar and therapeutic motions of cooking, the door opens to reveal an annoying head of mossy hair and the steady noise of three swords bumping each other at the hip.
" Oi, go to sleep in your own bunk. I dont need you stinkin' up my kitchen while im trying to work." He utters without looking up from the stove.
"Why can't I just sleep here shit cook?" Zoro grunts. Sanji hears him shuffle around on the gallery's couch behind him. He's probably lying down, or maybe he'll sleep sitting up again, or maybe he'll watch Sanji cook. That's the most irritating one, which usually ends up with them fighting out on the deck one way or another.
"Because youre fuckin' annoying, get out."
"The hell I am, I'm taking a nap here."
"Oh my - You know what?" Sanji whips around to glare at Zoro, making sure the knife he was using is now in his hand to point at the source of his ire, "Fine, but if I hear a single snore out of you I'm kicking you into the ocean!" He threatens and turns around to finish up with breakfast. By now, all he has left is pancakes. The batter was prepped earlier, so now it's just focusing on pouring evenly. It's task that's menial but still important to him regardless.
His hair is covering his face too much. He tries to shake his head to flip it to the side. It falls back to where it was before he can pick the bowl of batter back up. He brushes it over his shoulder, and it simply flows back over it. He blows his hair out of the way, a classic move, but not even that works and he's slamming the bowl down on the counter before he can even stop himself and walks away from his work to grab the hairtie from around his wrist. In a few fluid motions, he ties his hair back haphazardly into a poor attempt at a low bun, but it's out of his face, and now he can focus.
He's too deep in concentration to even remember that he has heterochromia in the first place. Cooking lowers his guard unlike anything else in the world. The gallery acts like a safe space and cooking is his comfort. He still forgets, too, while calling for Zoro to get his lazy ass up to help since he's decided to loiter in his kitchen.
"Hey moss, if you're gonna laze around my kitchen, set the table for me." His request demand is met with a middle finger, which Sanji gladly returns as he walks over to the couch to kick Zoro on the stomach. The half asleep annoyance is now suddenly alert and glares at Sanji for a moment before it's quickly replaced with a look Sanji has yet to add to his mental notes he likes to call "Marimo Dictionary". Zoro's eyebrows are slightly raised, and his eyes glitter with something Sanji rarely sees. He's never been able to place a name on that look. Now he's confused. "What? Dont give me that youre tired crap youre not fuckin 10." He says.
Zoro is still looking at him, though, and now Sanji looks back with confusion because what the fuck is he-
Oh. His eyes.
Shit.
Sanji rips the hairtie out of his hair at light speed, probably pulling a few strands out by accident in the process but he could honestly care less when theres something more important. Like whatever the fuck just happened.
Before he can turn away and go set the table himself to distance himself from the marimo, Zoro's hand moves suddenly to grab his wrist, stopping him from running away.
"Wait, wait, hold on," Zoro pleads. And what the fuck. Zoro has never said anything like that and its fucking with Sanji's head because what the fuck. "You...uh." He continues in his signature graceless way. "Your eyes..." He pauses after that, sitting up and looking at Sanji, but not just looking, he's looking.
"Marimo," Sanji's own voice is riddled with anxiety with how shaky it is now. "Let me go dumbass," He demands but it could have been mistaken for him begging with how much he's struggling to keep himself together.
He's anticipating the worst. He knows what he's expecting. Sanji has experienced it countless times before, and he's aware he will again right now while a pancake is probably burning on the pan for all he knows.
It doesnt.
Zoro is looking at him still, maintaining eye contact but also darting between both eyes. He's looking at him like those golden eyes are looking into his soul and its too much.
It's too much because Zoro's response is uncharacteristically soft in so many ways. Zoro speaks to him like he's speaking with reverence, "Your eyes are beautiful."
Sanji shatters on the gallery floor there. His soul is bare for Zoro to see suddenly and that terrifies Sanji. Nobody has ever told him he's beautiful. Especially his eyes. He yanks his wrist from Zoro's grasp and speed walks to the stove to turn it off and remove the burnt pancake from the pan. He doesnt respond. He cant, not when his heart flutters when it should have been anchored down by rejection.
Then, Sanji walks up to Zoro, grabs onto both his shoulders, pushes him out the gallery door with surprisingly little resistance, and slams it shut. He leans against the door, sliding down until he's sitting on the floor with his head tucked between his knees. His face is burning and his face is probably red like a tomato right now. He stares at the ground with wide eyes and a weirdly giddy feeling in his chest and stomach nearly akin to happiness but also dangerously close to feeling freaked the hell out.
"What the fuck."
#Bro...I will make this a series on god#like man...writing the second half of this was SO FUCKIN FUN#Anyways sanji has heterochromia supremacy#zosan#one piece#roronoa zoro#black leg sanji#vinsmoke sanji#sanji being called beautiful is his gay awakening#and he's late preparing breakfast after that#he'll probably smoke an entire pack of cigs after that too#somebody help this poor disaster#Sanji has Heterochromia
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would you agree that we all need more Sanji getting nosebleeds over Zoro in this fandom?
YES *pelting down a hill waving the proposal for this in my hand like a madman* YESSSSSS
the first time sanji gets a nosebleed over zoro is his clue-in that oh. i’m not straight, am i. the swordsman’s doing a bench press (shirtless, as always) as sanji walks by (and sanji sneaks a look, as always, because who wouldn’t?) and when he glances over the plates he has to do a double take because what the fuck. zoro’s pressing more than twice his body weight. zoro’s repping more than twice his body weight. he’s just registered that maybe he’s stared for a bit too long when he feels something warm and wet on his upper lip, iron dripping over his mouth, and he books it for the galley.
he slams the door shut and presses his back against it before he slides to the ground and screams into his knees because what. the fuck. it’s not even that he’s getting hot and bothered over a guy; it’s just that the guy’s zoro. he’s not supposed to get nosebleeds over zoro.
but he does.
and it gets worse.
zoro walking around shirtless on deck? nosebleed. zoro re-tying the sails and just hanging on with his legs around the mast? nosebleed. zoro strutting out of the shower door, damp with steam and hair dripping wet and a towel around his waist? nosebleed. zoro tsking irritably and grabbing all of sanji’s food and packages from him to haul the whole lot over his shoulder? NOSEBLEED.
and not even that. he starts getting breathless around zoro and his chest hurts. he kicks zoro back while they’re sparring one day and the swordsman grins, feral and unrestrained and all challenge and teeth, and sanji’s heart spasms so hard that he actually wonders if he’s about to go into cardiac arrest. he’s barely twenty, he isn’t ready to die— much less because of some stupid marimo. chiselled abs and a nice set of biceps are only worth so much of sanji’s dignity. he twists and smashes the sole of his shoe right into zoro’s pretty face.
still, it gets so, so bad that he’s elected to just. avoid zoro completely. he’s sneaking around corners and running across open expanses ducked low like some kind of goofy thief and he knows it’s so fucking stupid but he doesn’t. he doesn’t know if zoro likes— no. he doesn’t even think about it. there’s no way, and if he gives himself false hope he’ll just break his own heart. he doesn’t know if zoro likes men, or anyone, much less him; nobody in their right mind would, not really. he's nice to have but not to keep and he's come to terms with it.
…until zoro corners him in the galley and demands to know what the fuck’s going on.
sanji stays facing away, slowly washing the dishes even as his heart pounds so hard it hurts. he is painfully aware of the way zoro’s seething like an over-boiled kettle in one of the chairs behind him, arms crossed over his stupidly broad chest and stock-still because he never, ever shakes his leg even though sanji knows he wants to.
his sponge squeaks across ceramic. the water’s warm against his fingertips, and his eyes flick up to meet his own reflection in the porthole window; he looks… well, he doesn’t know. scared, maybe. nervous. his mouth is thin, eyes wide, cheeks flushed, a shudder running its fingers down his spine even as his heartbeat thumps between his ribs and god, fuck, it aches. and he knows. he looks himself in the eyes and he knows that somewhere along the line nosebleeds had turned into falling in love and he was the stupid idiot who had just let it happen because he was too weak to pry zoro out of his thoughts.
his gaze flicks down sharply when he hears the sudden scrape of the chair, and zoro spits, “look, i can’t fix whatever i did wrong if you don’t tell me what it is.”
sanji’s heart throbs. “what?”
he can hear zoro’s scowl. “what, what? i obviously did something. you’ve been avoiding me like the plague.”
the cook almost laughs. he bites it down and swallows his words, salty-sweet at the back of his throat. guilt nips at him; zoro’s his rival and and his personal annoyance and a blockhead but he might also, maybe, just maybe, be sanji’s best friend. and sanji hasn’t been very fair to him lately.
he swallows again, clears his throat silently. “you didn’t do anything, marimo,” he murmurs to the plate in his hands, trying for airy and getting more somewhat vaguely strangled. he coughs. “just forget about it. sorry i’ve been weird.”
sanji will deal. he will, somehow; he’d been careless and careless is dangerous and for perhaps the first time in his life, he has too much to lose. he’ll squash his heart into a box and lock it down tight like he always has and it’ll hurt, but when does it ever not? he mentally declares the matter done and dusted as he shakes off the plate and gently sets it on the drying rack.
his lungs hitch as a callused hand cups his elbow.
zoro pulls him around. he’s too weak to resist. the edge of the sink digs into his hip as stormy grey eyes scan his face and zoro looks tense, his jaw set in the way it only is when he faces off with a particularly vexing foe.
“did i not look happy enough at dinner?" he asks, and it could be mockery but it isn't, not with that edge to his voice; not desperation, but damn near. like filter paper burning its way to ash. "was it my clothes on the floor? my boots on the bed? what?”
sanji can't stand it anymore. he looks away, tries to twist out of the invisible bonds zoro has him trapped in, but fingers looped around his wrist are all it takes to make him stay and fuck, fuck, he's so fucked.
"sanji, what did i do?” zoro breathes, brow furrowed, voice too near and too damn earnest, and sanji's throat bobs as he digs the heel of his palm into his eye.
this isn't how it's supposed to go. zoro isn't supposed to care. zoro isn't supposed to be standing here in the galley saying his name in that tone of voice. a hand carefully pulls his own away from his face, and zoro doesn't fucking let go, and sanji feels too much like he's been stripped down to the bone.
"i know," zoro continues, gruff like he doesn't know how to be anything else, "that i upset you. so would you please tell me what i did so i can fix it?" he bends lower still, ducking to try and catch sanji’s line of sight but sanji just can't look at him. "i'll fix it, i—"
"you can't fix this." the words are out and in the air before he can stop them, and a bittersweet smile curves his mouth. "there's nothing to fix, so you can't fix it. just let it go, alright?"
zoro wants to argue. sanji can tell. but the swordsman lets out a measured exhale after a long moment and pulls back, face carefully neutral. "at least tell me what's going on, cook."
sanji looks down at his feet. "...i can't."
"like hell you can't," zoro replies immediately, and it's such an abrupt reminder of their normal banter that it wrenches a rough noise from sanji's chest. "i was the one who held your hair back after you had, like, seven margaritas too many. don't think you could tell me anything worse than the experience of trying to stop you from falling into your own puke."
"oh, jesus fuck," sanji swears on instinct, then laughs. it's unfortunately hollow. "that was one time, asshole."
"one time too many," zoro hums, raising an eyebrow. "so you gonna tell me what's going on, or do i have to make it a captain's order?"
sanji grits his teeth.
"i will drag luffy in here, i don't care—"
"fucking—" he holds his breath, flipping around to white-knuckle the edge of the sink and letting it out slow. "fine. you ever loved someone, marimo?"
"sure." zoro shrugs easily, crossing his arms as he looks out the window. "kuina, but i think i learned to love her memory more than anything else. luffy, nami—" a near-unnoticeable flutter of thick lashes. "you."
sanji exhales through his nose as he rocks back on his heels. squeezes out air till it hurts. "you know that's not what i meant."
"what did you mean, then?"
he turns to look at where zoro has settled lazily against the counter, the moon turning his eyes to silver. "I mean the kind of love that makes your blood race. that makes you want more even when you know you'll never take more than you're allowed. the kind that makes your heart hurt so badly you feel empty without it."
the swordsman's face is unreadable as he tilts his head slowly. "i did say i love you."
it hits sanji like a bullet. he sucks in a sharp breath, and his throat burns as he turns away and tries to stop his shoulders from heaving up. "don't fuck with me, zoro. not about this."
it feels rather like a cruel cosmic joke. he's so near yet so far, just one step away with a gauzy curtain between but he can't touch it. he won't. he's got too many things on the line and yet he can't even name one of them.
"hey."
he squeezes his eyes shut against the burn of salt that shouldn't even be there, and look at that. little sanji's gone and broken his own heart again.
"hey," zoro tries again, more insistent, one hand hovering in the space between them and sanji feels the pull of it like a magnet.
he doesn't turn away as it cups his cheek. doesn't run as fingers slide through the short hairs at his nape, a thumb behind his jaw. his lashes are damp. it is everything he wants and everything he cannot have and he can't—
"look at me."
"i can't," he breathes, lungs rising fast and shallow. he's afraid to open his eyes. he's afraid of what he'll see.
"yes, you can." zoro shifts closer and another hand joins the first. it's big and rough and warm and he holds sanji's face like he's the moon herself. "look at me, curly."
he can't.
he does.
zoro's gaze is almost painful to meet straight-on with how intense it is. he seems to realise, face softening as he leans closer, closer, posture loose enough that it would be no problem for sanji to shove him away. "you love me," he breathes. "yes or no?"
sanji's heart stops. his tongue is clumsy in his mouth, his brain a mess of yesnoyesyesnoiwon'tican’tido—
"don't think." zoro's voice cuts through the haze as he shakes his head slowly; a sword through smoke, silver-bright, singing in the air and leaving silence. "don't think. you love me, yes or no."
the galley swims around sanji as his vision blurs. he feels his tears spill hot down his cheek, knows the way zoro aches to brush them away and yet stays still. he opens his mouth and it feels like stepping out of the only shelter he's ever known; he is an open fucking wound and he's raw and everything hurts, everything but zoro. zoro. zoro. "yes."
just one word, three simple letters, and still it feels like damnation; if he'd never said it he could deny it but now it's real. the swordsman relaxes, shoulders dropping enough that his forehead brushes sanji's, and sanji tracks the way his throat bobs. the way steel-grey eyes flicker over his face, molten in the light of the electric lamps and the moonlight spilling through the window, gilding zoro like something out of a dream. a fairytale sanji read as a child until the edges of the pages fitted familiar to his thumbs as his little hands reached for a happy ending that was never meant to be his.
he shakes, now, as zoro reaches up to run tentative fingers through straw-pale hair. "let me love you. yes or no."
"i—" the sound that twists from his mouth is cracked jagged down the middle, unpolished as a common pebble picked up off the damn street. "you don't—"
"yes or no."
"i'm not what you want," he gasps, his face wet.
"yes or no."
sanji wants to break apart. because zoro sounds like he's begging, and he cannot fathom anybody possibly wanting him that much. he wants to scream and cry and claw at the walls until his nails break. he wants to shatter into pieces all over the floor without having to worry about putting himself back together. he wants. he wants, and zoro's looking at him with the closest thing to reverence he's seen in his life, and even that isn't enough for him to believe it. "i'm not what you want."
he can barely look at zoro. he can barely look at himself. the shame is clawing a pit into his stomach, and he lets it, feels every inch of it, because what kind of person doesn't know how to be loved? his breath catches wetly as zoro cups his jaw in both hands, tilting his face up, and once again sanji is too weak to pull away.
"you are everything i want."
the words are so fierce, so sure, and sanji is cracking apart at the seams. the stitches pulled tight by his own hand are unravelling and he can't stop it—
"yes or no."
zoro's breath ghosts warm across his mouth, fingertips in his hair, just far away enough for sanji to see the way his eyes are blazing and yet he waits. his thumb on sanji's cheek is the gentlest thing sanji has ever known.
"you'll get tired of me," he tries weakly, one last time for good measure, and zoro just shakes his head. the resolve in his expression does not waver even once.
sanji breaks.
"yes." the word scrapes itself out of his throat seconds before arms are going around him, and he sobs. lets the swordsman bring them both to the kitchen floor as he curls up in zoro's lap, fingers clawing into his white shirt, numb with how hard he cries because nobody, nobody has ever stayed. not without him getting hurt in the process. he pushes them away when he gets scared and they let him and then it becomes his fault when it all blows up in his face, but zoro's not leaving, and it's so foreign to him that he's shaking so badly and he can't stop.
a warm, heavy palm smooths over his spine and he lets himself be shifted closer, settles sideways as zoro wraps an arm over his shins and rocks them until his breathing evens out. the embarrassment hits like a gut punch; he knows he looks like a mess, face blotchy and hair everywhere and eyes puffy as hell, but zoro cards his bangs out of his eyes and looks at him like he doesn't care, and sanji turns away.
he feels... fragile. like he's made of tinted glass and spun sugar, like he'll cave in at the slightest touch. there is something melting in his chest and it drips down over his ribs; pools fresh as a river in spring, offset by the grounding presence of zoro's hands on his skin. "don't say i didn't warn you," he mumbles, masking his very real fear behind a layer of watery bravado as he hides his face in zoro's shoulder, and of course, of course zoro sees right through him.
the swordsman's thumb traces the swirl of his eyebrow before zoro rests his chin on top of sanji's head. "i don’t listen. you know that."
you know me, is what goes unsaid, and sanji doesn't deign to reply. he buries his face into zoro's chest and breathes in the smell of steel and sword oil and— he sits up slightly, eyes narrowing. "you've been stealing my deodorant, yes or no." the way zoro stills momentarily is a dead giveaway, and he yelps when the swordsman flicks his forehead.
"would you rather i be stinky?" zoro scoffs, rolling his eyes gently as sanji settles back down with a huff.
"you still are stinky. if we're gonna be together i'm expecting you to shower at least once every two days—" zoro groans, and he powers through, raising his voice, "—and if you aren't fussy i'll let you shower with me."
the way zoro instantly stops complaining cracks a laugh out of him. it's weak and watered-down, but it's a start. zoro's hands slide back into his hair and he hums as he lets his eyes fall shut.
the moon's full tonight. their ship rocks gently, and sanji gets comfortable; zoro's warm and solid and happens to make a perfectly respectable pillow. the thought that he can have this now sends a thrill through him.
he's not a fool. he's not optimistic when it comes to this. when it comes to love.
but with zoro's thumb rubbing mindless circles against the side of his thigh and a kiss pressed to the top of his head, he's got a pretty good feeling about this time around.
#er. this dragged me down the hill and i let it#this got so off-topic anon i apologise#but to be fair even after they start dating sanij gets absolutely HORRIFIC nosebleeds#like hello?? that man is hot as hell?? and he's MY man??? good lordy#cue him leaning against the wall in a dramatic swoon and yelling for zoro to catch him#(zoro does not catch him. sanji falls on his ass.)#(he does get a forehead kiss before zoro walks away cackling though so. a win is a win!)#black leg sanji#zosan#one piece zosan#zoro x sanji#roronoa zoro#one piece zoro#one piece sanji#one piece#ino writes#ino's ask box#sanji's issues deserve a tag of their own#my habit of segueing from chill fun rambling to emotionally damaging content should be studied. jesus christ.
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there's no way the bathroom at peppino's pizza is actually that big but ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ . hey ummm anyway.... i care them...... anyway there's a lil ramble on my take on fake pep's like psyche or whatever in tags on the og post if ur into that kinda thing :y
hey! it's a series! fake peppino world tour: [noise] [noisette] [peppino]<- u are here [gustavo] [gerome] [noisette again]
#ramble after realtags yeag. shoutout to serrangelic btw suggesting the silhouettes thing bc i would have Died otherwise#pizza tower#peppino spaghetti#fake peppino#gustavo and brick#arting#pizzaposting#so anyway i think fake peppino has like. a general awareness that he is supposed to Be Peppino and that he was Made to do that#and likewise he does generally try to...do that. the thing he does NOT realize is hes like really goddamn bad at it#not to be mean but like...c'mon. they are pretty distinctly different kinds of guys even beyond the physiology yknow.#he's neither on-brand nor fooling anyone dsjdsjjkgfsd. BUT!#since the rest of the cast generally likes him [at least as I play it] he thinks hes doing just fine#he's like 'oh they r happy with me so i must be getting a good grade in being peppino :)'#so getting told that 'yeah you actually really suck at that but that was never the reason people liked you'#and told that by og model peppino no less--yknow THE guy he's supposed to be living up to#who's already a bit intimidating for that and who ALSO totally wrecked him TWICE in the tower#making him acutely familiar with just how formidable the guy is and how much there IS to live up to....#it's a Moment for sure. not really a sad or hurt one though. just... contemplative.#thinking abt people liking him for being the guy he's already naturally been being even though that guy is Not Peppino#i don't think he's gonna be super broken up about realizing he has a bad grade in peppino given everything else hes got now#nor do i really think he cares enough to go like reinvent himself or whatever after the fact#he seems to b pretty clearly having fun with it already so i think he just keeps doing that#and in some cases he still has the pre-installed peppino traits/instincts like to cooka da pizza. and that's fine#is this projection. yes. but if youve been following me awhile you know most of my character writing is ghdhfdgf#gonna kinda expand on all this in the gerome one which is...one after next. itll be a bit but man.#anyway peppino will never admit to anyone and especially not himself that he's gotten a little attached to the guy. hee hoo#pep tends to be kinda surly but he certainly has his ways of showing he cares. all of which are on display here#''that thing is not my son'' says man currently watching thing's antics with the 'bemused dad' arms crossed pose. yeah ok buddy.#gus is totally onto him already but hes not gonna say anything.#if u read all this ur prize is not having to go decode fp's rot13. his lines are ''meant to be you...?'' and ''wrong question.''
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If I'm being honest, I actually think I would prefer to see Tommy NOT become the boyfriend. I really like the idea of the two of them dating a bit, and Tommy helping Buck to explore a little, but I think it would be much more interesting if Buck doesn't immediately jump into a more serious relationship with him. Allowing Buck to explore more casually as he starts to figure himself out just feels a little more meaningful here. He's always so quick to jump into relationships. I'd rather see him really take his time and let himself have some fun. And absolutely, Tommy can be a major part of that. But so much of the speculation around them feels like it frames him as the boyfriend, but I don't know that that's what Buck needs from him, to be honest.
#i'm a hypocrite i'm currently writing a boyfriend!tommy fic#and i know everyone's just having some fun with the spec and boyfriend!tommy could also be a lot of fun#but in terms of canon i think letting buck have a casual fling with a hot guy he's crushing on#(not like buck 1.0 levels but just a casual fling with someone he trusts)#would be a little more interesting than putting him immediately into a relationship#especially because i think a major part of his hamster wheel was always rushing into serious relationships before he was actually ready#and just because this one's with a man doesn't mean it would be good for him to continue that pattern#anyway#ignore me#911 spoilers#bucktommy#911 speculation
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jin ling, having done some stupid shit: my uncle's gonna kill me!
lan sizhui, serenely: it's ok, your other uncle's a necromancer
#hey bitches i'm back and tentatively looking to enter a new fandom space#first post into the mxtx assorted fandom i can't believe it's something this stupid /lh#fun fact this is the first fandom i've entered that i am actually intimidated by#like idk why maybe bc it's a larger fandom or one more established? like what are the rules here /silly#anyway i might end up writing something for this. i'm also back from having disappeared idk if i'll be here consistently but we'll see#mxtx#mo dao zu shi#mdzs#jin ling#lan sizhui#has this been done? if not i'm disappointed in this fandom#i say as if i have any experience with said fandom#look man this is stupid as shit but it wouldn't leave my head#grandmaster of demonic cultivation
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Not to sound like a boomer on main, because I love my phone- I do. But I really miss the day when I could hang out in public without having to hear everyone else's phones. I don't care if there are babies crying (because babies cry sometimes) or if other people are having conversations (because that's what people come to cafes and such to do) but hearing tinny little phone sounds blasting out loud out of their speakers drives me insane. I'm only in my 30's, why are you making me complain about how things were "back in my day" like I'm 80? Public phone noise is prematurely aging me. Send help.
#Complaining#Like an old lady#I'm not I swear#But also- Back in my day#*shakes fist at sky*#It's giving “Old man screams at cloud”#I am the old man#Only Im not a man Im a woman and instead of screaming at clouds im slowly having my sanity stolen by people watching videos on their phones#out loud in public spaces#Can we normalize not doing this?#Use headphones or something#Please- I beg of you#technology#cafe#coffee shop#writing#im just trying to write a fun little story i don't care whats happening on your phone#keep it to yourself
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Inspired by this post where the older kids get walkie-talkies
“Hey Birdie, is the Master with you?”
Steve’s call got no response, even though he knew Robin never went far without her walkie-talkie.
“Birdie? Is the Master with you?”
Steve was about to get irate until he realize why she wasn’t responding and let out the biggest sigh and eye roll.
“Is the Master with you? Over.”
Finally a crackle came on. “He is indeed. Over.”
“Can you tell him to bring some chocolate chips when you guys come over? ....Over.”
“Can do! Over.”
“Excuse me”, Eddie’s voice came on the line. “Why doesn’t Birdie get the shopping list? Over.”
“Because she’ll either forget to go to the store, or go and get distracted and buy everything except what I asked for. Over.”
“You know me so well~ Over.”
“This is blatant favoritism. Over.”
“I’ll give you the first pick of cookies for your troubles. Over.”
“Complain rescinded.”
Steve smiled. “What was that?”
“Complaint rescinded. Over.”
---------
It had started with Nancy giving them the walkie-talkies, which seemed out of character for her until she gave the reason. They were only able to save Max because they had instant communication. And when they couldn’t reach the gang in California, it felt hopeless. So it had been a precaution. If anything happened, they’d have these. Spring Break came and went. As did the rest of spring. And their purpose quickly went from emergency communication to anything that came to their minds. The first time the kids found out about it, they decried copying.
Nancy was quick to say theirs was more serious. And it was true to an extent. They had codenames, they had protocols they followed. No one ever said Code Red without meaning it. The one time it had been used, Steve called on it after Robin got hit by a car trying to save a kid. If you asked anyone else, they would’ve said he was hysterical. If you asked Steve, he was appropriately concerned for his friend who was hanging by a thread. She walked away with a bruised rib and a couple of stitches.
“This is Wave Rider, asking for permission to land. Over”, Argyle said.
“This is the Master, you are granted. Over.”
Both boys gave each other goofy grins as they stood across from each other in front of Eddie’s trailer.
“Nancy would kill you two if she saw you using them in close proximity”, Jonathan said.
“What she won’t know won’t kill her, right?”, Eddie said.
“You don’t need to tell him twice”, Argyle grinned.
Jonathan gave him a good-natured nudge while the three of them went inside.
------
Steve and Robin had left Family Video and now worked at a nearby convenience store. The You Suck/Rule board had returned. Dustin vaguely remembered it. When he saw all the You Suck tallies, he figured Steve was repeatedly striking out with girls again.
“Maybe you should give up on chicks for a while”, he said one day, when he came for a slushie. “Doesn’t seem like it’s your forte nowadays.”
Steve slumping onto the counter made sense. But Robin’s raucous laughter, not so much.
“This is Birdie to Jonner-Than-You, come in. Over.”
“Jonner-Than-You here, Birdie. What’s your status? Over.”
“Apparently Loverboy here needs to give up on women. Dusty Buns says they’re not his forte.”
Dustin was about to argue that call sign when he heard Jonathan laugh the loudest he had ever heard.
Unbeknownst to him, the board wasn’t for whenever Steve struck out with girls. It was specifically when he struck out with Eddie whenever he came into their little corner of 7-11 heaven.
------------
“Big Wheel to the Master. Come in. Over.”
“The Master reporting. What’s up? Over.”
“Is Mini Wheels with you? Over?”
There was what could only be described as indignant squawking on the other end of the line. That confirmed her brother was indeed on the other end of the call.
“That’s a roger on that. Over.”
“Tell him that even if he’s in high school, he still has a curfew. And I’m not covering for him again. Over.”
“I’ll make sure he gets the message. Over.” Eddie looked over to Mike. “Hey Mini Wheels!”
“Stop calling me that!”
---------------
The six of them had gotten together for an afternoon hangout that slowly trickled down. Nancy had to get home, Jonathan left to meet up with a study group, and as day turned to night, Argyle drove Robin to her shift at the store. Which left Eddie and Steve alone at the Harrington Residence to finish off the movie they’d started.
Steve could do this. He could be smooth. He’d been striking out because the fact it was Eddie and not just some random girl made the stakes higher. Made him doubt himself. But the King Steve shit hadn’t been totally a lie. He could bring back just a bit. Enough to get Eddie to melt in his hands.
It started with playing with his hair and giving him meaningful looks. He’d made out with girls while a movie was on a bunch of times. Depending on how ready they were, it could be easy to pull them out of it.
When Eddie looked for too long at his lips, Steve knew he had him.
“Can I try something?”, Steve asked while curling a long lock around his finger.
Eddie nodded hesitantly before swallowing. “Y-yeah, go for it, dude.”
Steve leaned in slow, giving Eddie a chance to back out. He didn’t. The kiss was slow and warm and Steve’s hand went deeper into his hair. When he pulled away, Eddie came with him for a second kiss. This one went deeper and had Eddie pushing Steve back against the couch. When they parted this time, Steve felt like he was in a daze, when a realization came to him.
He jolted up, nearly knocking Eddie off the couch as he reached for the walkie-talkie. “This is Loverboy to Birdie. Put a point down for I rule cause Harrington’s still got it baby!”, he said, snapping excitedly.
“Bullshit”, Robin replied.
Eddie took the device from Steve. “This is the Master, confirming the Harrington does in fact, still have it. Over.” He then dropped the walkie-talkie onto the floor and went back to kissing Steve.
Argyle had made the astute observation that Robin had put down a tally right after he’d done a transaction with Steve, but Eddie hadn’t wanted to believe he had anything to do with that scoreboard.
-----------
“This is Jonner-Than-You, confirming the retrieval and delivery of five nuggets and a tall drink. Over.”
“Loverboy responding, it’s supposed to be six nuggets, a tall drink, and three sides. Over.”
“Mad Max went off to have dinner with Lucky Number and the sides are not cooperating. Over.”
“You tell the rest of that club that they better get their asses in that van. Nancy, Argyle, and I didn’t slave over a hot stove just for them to-”
Jonathan held up the walkie to the rest of the Hellfire club to hear all of Steve’s tirade. No one turned down an invitation to Sunday dinner. No one.
----------
The six of them laid out in the middle of a field, blissed out. For once, none of them had anywhere to be or anything to do. A perfect opportunity to waste time by passing a joint and watching the sky.
Jonathan picked up his walkie-talkie. “This is Jonner-Than-You reporting in. I love you guys.”
“Birdie to Jonner-Than-You, I love you too.”
“Um, Loverboy to Birdie. You’re supposed to love me best. Over.”
“Wave Rider responding. There’s enough love to go around. You should know that Loverboy.”
“You guys are high as fuck. Over”, Eddie said.
“Big Wheel to the group. Quit wasting your batteries. Over.”
“Birdie to Big Wheel. Not until you admit you love us. Over.”
That started a chant of “Love us. Love us.” through the walkie-talkies which made it reverberate even more until Nancy was covering her ears and everyone ditched the walkie-talkies to dog pile on top of her. Only then did she admit she loved these idiots.
#apo writes#fanfiction#stranger things#spicy six#pushing my nancy is big wheel mike is mini wheel agenda#steve harrington#robin buckley#eddie munson#nancy wheeler#jonathan byers#argyle#can we get this man a last name?#steddie#i had a lot of fun coming up with some of the names#also stobin just work together always#they apply together#interview together#get the job together#they are a set#do not separate them
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