#getting my writing groove back

[starrystevie]

"what's that?" dustin asks one night, eyes zeroed in on steve's chest.

confused, he glances down to where his button up has opened a bit at the neckline, not seeing anything on his skin other than the chain around his neck and bits of chest hair.

"what's what, henderson?"

the chain is simple silver, and at the bottom hidden under his shirt is a ring. he was gifted one of eddie's when they made whatever they were official. eddie let him pick, let steve trail his fingers feather light over his hands and over heavy silver until he found one he liked.

"you gonna pick one in this century?" eddie teased, looking up at him from under his lashes, smirking in the way that gives steve butterflies.

"this is an important decision," steve murmured out in a low voice, his light touch sending shivers down eddie's spine. "i can't just settle on one."

he ends up with a mood ring, one that eddie swore he only had because he needed something on his otherwise bare hand but steve knows it's because he thought it looked mysterious. sliding it off his finger is easy, placing a kiss on the pale bit of skin left behind is even easier.

it doesn't fit on his finger, not even close. he could barely squeeze it onto his pinkie but even then they had to use strawberry lube to get it off after it gets stuck.

"you don't have to wear it," eddie said, defeated with his big brown eyes breaking steve's heart into pieces.

but the thing is, steve is a little more than head over heels for him. he'd do anything to make eddie happy, make him feel loved, and being offered a ring in the first place had him feeling like he could fly. he wanted to show it off, flaunt it around like it was more than a mood ring because it was.

just because his fingers were too big didn't mean he couldn't keep the ring on him at all times. which is how he ended up with it on the simple silver chain around his neck.

the night he showed eddie for the first time, crawling up the bed shirtless to push him into the pillows with a searing kiss, was a night he wouldn't soon forget. eddie stared up at him with something that looked like love dancing behind his eyes as the ring dangled between them, glinting in the moonlight coming in through the bedroom window.

"you're wearing it?" eddie's voice was soft, reverent, as he took a hand up to cover the ring with his hand, pushing it into steve's chest right above his heart. he bent down to give eddie another kiss, relishing in the quick bite of pain that comes from the pressure of him pushing the metal into his chest.

"of course i'm wearing it, babe," steve said against his lips with a smile. "not gonna be able to get me to take it off now."

true to his word, steve never takes it off unless absolutely necessary. he wears it in his sleep, when he slides in behind eddie and curls around him. he wears it to work under his shirts, the metal warm against his skin as it thumps along with his heartbeat. he wears it around the house, when they go out on dates, when he showers. he wears it when he knows eddie will see the outline of it peeking through a tight shirt, driving him crazy.

it becomes habit for eddie to find it, fiddle with it over steve's clothes while they watch tv on the couch. they'll be pressed up against each other, limbs entwined, with his hand directly over the ring, rising and falling with every breath steve takes.

wearing it at all times, however, seems to be causing a bit of a problem. one that even dustin can see.

"don't be obtuse," he tuts as if he was chastising a child, "who gave you a bruise on your chest?"

"what are you talking about, i don't have a bruise on my-"

steve rolls his eyes and goes to the bathroom, flicking on the overhead light and pushing his chest out to get as close the mirror as possible. sure enough, sitting right above his heart, is a barely there bruise. it's a little green, a little brown, but definitely there.

there's something to be said about having eddie bruised above his heart. something to be said about having the indent of his ring pressed into his skin where he's the most vulnerable. the place where he had to learn how to take his armor off to let eddie see in the first place.

steve looks between the bruise and his face, back and forth and back again and watches as his smile grows wide, grows soft around the edges, grows into something that is vaguely eddie shaped which somehow makes it grow even softer.

he can hear eddie get home, the front door slamming as he shouts a too loud welcome to dustin and drops his toolbox onto the floor. his heart thuds a little bit like it always does when he realizes eddie is nearby, and he thinks if he could look close enough, he'd see his eddie shaped bruise jump along with it.

carefully, steve strokes his fingers over the discoloration, presses down just enough to feel it zing through his nerves like the lightning that eddie himself is. he watches as the skin turns pale before blooming back to life again.

steve thinks there's something there that he can't put his finger on. something thrumming through his veins that he can't give a name to.

"baby, you've got to come see this!" he yells into the living room.

something that he has all the time in the world with eddie to eventually figure out.

crossposted on twitter here

[organicxslime]

☆kissing you (gojo, nanami, toji, megumi, yuji, ino)☆

GOJO kisses you like it’s the last thing he’ll ever do. He’s suave about it, wrapping an arm around your waist and giving you his signature pretty-boy smirk before leaning in and pressing his lips against yours. He’s passionate, but not too forceful, and he has a way of flustering you despite having done this a thousand times. Occasionally (read: almost every single time) he’ll get a bit frisky, taking you in both arms and dipping you slightly as he gently catches your plump bottom lip in his teeth or swipes his tongue along the edge of it. The experience is dizzying, and by the end of it you’re always bright red from ear to ear.

NANAMI's kisses are more a bit more chaste. They're best described as sweet - he's not trying to overwhelm you with passion, but you can feel the quiet adoration and his underlying love for you in even the quickest pecks. The best ones are when he's just gotten home from work, not even bothering to shed his coat or shoes before seeking you out. When he finds you, inevitably curled up on the couch or working on something in the kitchen, he'll envelop you in a warm embrace from behind before gently slipping a hand underneath your jaw to cup your face, softly pressing his lips to yours as you melt into each other.

TOJI's kisses are rough. Gentleness doesn’t come easy to a man like Toji, but he’s not trying to throw you around, either. When he kisses you, it’s pure dominance, smashing his lips against yours and squeezing your waist between two large hands. You’ll typically have to initiate, but the second he knows it’s coming he’s taken over the situation and made you his once again. Your favorite is when his tough-guy demeanor has softened a bit and he allows you to sidle up next to him, big doe eyes silently pleading as you look up at him, urging him to take you in his arms and kiss you. When he complies, it’s much more reserved, almost gentle, and you don’t think you’d mind leaving his more forceful displays of affection in the past if this is what’s been available the whole time.

YUJI’s kisses are messy and unpracticed, but he's clearly so adorably excited to be with you that you don't mind. You’ll have to lead while he finds his footing, but once he’s figured out how to position his head, he’s softly planting lingering pecks on you, unable to get rid of the smile that stretches his cheeks so taut that it almost hurts. He’ll seek you out anywhere, anytime - it doesn’t matter if you cross his mind for a fraction of a second, he’s immediately seeking you out with the intent of pulling you into a quiet corner. He’ll brush your hair out of your face, flashing you a lopsided smile of nervous excitement before leaning into you, kissing you deeply before pulling away to get a look at your flushed cheeks and grin before diving right back in.

MEGUMI's kisses are shy, almost hesitant. He's the type of person that has to warm up to you every time it happens, starting off stiff with an air of uncertainty before eventually melting into you the way he wants to. He's not the type to be all over you all the time, but you can always count on a kiss goodnight from him. You'll both be curled up in bed, ready to pass out for the night, but he always makes sure to brush his lips against yours for a lingering kiss before the two of you fall asleep. It's warm and soft, and although he usually acts stoic and unfeeling, you're giddy that you get to know the real, unguarded version of him through these sweet little moments.

INO’s kisses are a bit boisterous - not because he's trying to be, but because he's over the moon to be able to do this with you at all. He usually tries to be slick about it, sweet talking you and creeping a hand up the small of your back beforehand, but he’s easily flustered and tends to melt into you the minute your lips touch. He’s eager, smashing his lips against yours in a way that makes it all too clear how much he wants you, and when he pulls away for some oxygen you can see the deep blush blooming across his cheeks. Sometimes (usually after a mission or when he’s exhausted) you’ll get a softer, even sweeter Ino, where your lips will meet with feather-light touches, warm and soft and impossibly saccharine, and when he comes up for air he’ll press his forehead against yours, with him meeting your eyes with a look of absolute adoration.

[dudethatsmyundeaduncle]

Danny’s parents want to kill him and he’s like “f in the chat y’all dinner boutta be so awkward tonight smh”

Ok so I know everyone loves the angsty headcannons where Danny is terrified of his parents cuz they wanna kill him but we’ve had that hot take since 2005 I’m here for a source material revival, the much more entertaining “Danny’s parents want to kill him and he actively doesn’t give a fuck”

CUZ UH, IM REWATCHING THE FIRST SEASON AND I FORGOT HOW GENUINELY BLASÉ HE IS ABOUT MADDIE AND JACK TRYING TO GET HIS ASS ITS SO FUNNY.

Like mom holding a literal ghost gun to his head: eh kinda unphased he even has time to quip, his parents say they wanna tear em to pieces: meh see u guys at dinner, LIKE OUR GUY IS SO UNPHASED HE THINKS THIS SHIT IS FUNNY! (s1 ep. 14 public enemy)

And he’s unphased despite knowing his parents tech works and knowing that his mother is actually a good shot. So like I love angst Danny and y’all should keep up the good work but where is my s1 Danny ‘COULDN’T give less of a fuck about his parents’ Fenton representation?

Cuz think of this, for your DPXDC AU consideration, Danny would fit in so well with the bat gang if only because they could try to stab, shoot, capture, brainwash, and stalk him and he’d be like “oh cool villain of the week shit? Nice, what’re we having for lunch.” He. Wouldn’t. Flinch.

[cocoreallylovesraiden]

Hi hi hi! Loved ur mk1 sick!reader headcanons, they so silly so cute!

May I request headcanons for hypersomniac!reader? Like they're always tired and sleepy. I mainly wanna see Shang Tsung and Kenshi <3 so feel free to include anyone else you'd like, male or female 🥰

MK1 characters and hypersomniac! reader

(shang tsung, kenshi, kung lao + extra lin kuei trio)

this request was from MARCH um hey... hi... sorry... but im back....requests are open....

Shang Tsung

-He seems like the extremely productive type, so I can’t say I think he’d appreciate someone who is on the more tired side. 

-Will be a gigantic diva whenever you mention it, talking about how ‘he’s been up for thirty hours and hasn’t so much as made a pip!’ 

-Would make all sorts of alarming potions and elixirs to prevent you from feeling drowsy- for the most part they don’t work because he doesn't really know how to make things without lethal side effects (and does not want you to DIE)

-He makes a big deal that he’s going to dissect you or experiment on you if you fall asleep as a scare tactic, and you’ll jolt awake from a sweaty nap terrified that you don’t have all your limbs

-(You are just in the corner of his work space, bundled in pelts and left untouched) (This is overkill on the pelts you are melting here.)

-He turns around and looks at you like WHAT! WHAT DO YOU WANT! NO I DIDN’T EXPERIMENT ON YOU ARE YOU STUPID!! But it is ultimately well meaning… you think?

-In all honesty I think Shang Tsung is the kind to get irritated by constant noise, especially when he’s trying to focus, so if you’re more mellow because of it, he would personally appreciate it. 

-He will exclusively refer to you as sleepyhead or ‘you sleeping lug’ thought i hope you're ok with that

-Will flick your nose if he sees you nodding off

Kenshi

-I feel like he’d be an insomniac, losing sleep because of everything he’s gone through

-Depending on his mood he’d either be irritated or soothed by your hypersomniac tendencies 

-Though because he's an earthrealmer (read: someone with a phone and google) he’d be able to do his own research and realize that it’s something that can impact you too 

-Just like how nights are hard for him, daytime can be a struggle for you as well, and as much as he can rationalize this his head he does metaphorically roll his (late) eyes when he sees you nodding off.

-He feels very chivalrous when you fall asleep against his shoulder so it does get  you good brownie points there

-If someone noisier came in he’d do the super suave cool guy thing where he just puts a finger to his lips and then points at you (would feel very cool afterwards)

-In the event that yall go grocery shopping he will be at the pharmacist counter the entire time asking about vitamins supplements remedies etc and in the end you’ll have a bedside table full of pill bottles that make you feel geriatric 

-Will use you feeling tired as an excuse to leave any social function and will be so happy (you were not fine he was just extremely overwhelmed) ((he hates house parties the floor plan is unfamiliar))

-He’s lived a stressful life and is thankful to take it slower with you

-Until you’ve fallen asleep halfway through a movie and he needs you to describe a scene GET UP I NEED TO KNOW WHAT SWORD THE GUY IS USING IS IT ACCURATE

Kung Lao 

-Takes it upon himself to jumpscare you the moment he sees you dozing off

-He just finds it hilarious, and you DID say you wanted to feel less tired throughout the day!

-Unfortunately he’d be the least gracious about it if you were sensitive about your hypersomnia (even against shang god bless you) but would also never take it to heart

-Maybe the first or second time you fell asleep around him, he’d worry that you found him boring, but once you explain it to him he Does Not Mind at all

-I mean it's The Great Kung Lao how can you NOT feel lulled to sleep safe and sound (completely rhetorical question)

-In all honestly I think your condition might start to change the most you spend around him, either you’d become totally immune to him and therefore ALL noise intervention, or start being more awake

-Would start stacking mahjong tiles on your head, tying your shoelaces together, seeing how much he could do before you woke up

-This means that if you caught him dozing off you have full permission to take his hat and run off to hide it somewhere

-Start the timer, GO! Let’s see how long it takes for him to find it this time! (It’s lodged into the ceiling) ((he will take an hour to find it))

Kuai Liang

-If you are under him in the Shirai Ryu or Lin Kuei, i imagine he would be tough on you like a mentor 

-But if not? He would find you incredibly endearing, always making sure that the places you frequently met in the compound had nearby shade or comfortable seating 

-Encourages you to rest if you are tired, if you want to stop falling asleep, he’ll offer tea

Tomas Vrbada

-Gets scared by you while walking past you since you’re so quiet

-You scared the ninja! Good on you 

-Yells, jolts you awake, then apologizes profusely and then promptly asks if you are interested in becoming a ninja under his tutelage 

Bi Han 

-As long as you stay out of his line of schedule you’re fine

-I too would be pissed if I worked the whole day only to see a sleepy lil guy 

-Yawns whenever you yawn and then yells at you for making him yawn 

[sparkle-fiend]

Eddie is six years old, the first time he hears the voice. 

It wakes him with a jolt – sends him tearing through the house, searching under every bed and behind every door for the boy he hears calling his name.

Mama finally stops him. “Sweetheart, what did you lose this time?” (Eddie is always losing things.) She looks impatient, standing with a laundry basket balanced on one cocked hip, curly hair spilling out of the messy bun on top of her head.

“I heard somebody saying my name! I gotta find him, I think he’s hiding.”

Mama’s whole attitude changes, all at once. She sets the laundry aside and drops to her knees in front of him, squeezing his little hands between her own. “Oh baby. That voice means you’ve got a soulmate!”

She smiles bright as the suncatcher hanging in the window, and presses sloppy kisses all over his face until he screams with laughter, squirming to get away. 

“My lucky, special boy!”

Eddie’s never been lucky before. It’s exciting.

———

In school, they learn all about soulmates. About how rare they are. Uncle Wayne is the only other person Eddie knows that has one. 

When he found out about Uncle Wayne’s soulmate, Eddie was so excited – bubbling full of questions, like a bottle of fizzy pop. But whenever he tried to talk about it, his dad got real mad.

“You keep your mouth shut about soulmates,” he said. “Don’t talk about that shit in front of your uncle.”

It’s hard. Eddie starts staying over at Uncle Wayne’s trailer more and more when Mama gets sick. And Eddie’s never been good at following rules; especially when he’s curious about something.

“Uncle Wayne?” Eddie finally asks one day. “Where’s your soulmate? How come I’ve never seen her?” You have met her right? is what Eddie’s really asking. He can’t imagine waiting until he’s as old as Uncle Wayne to find his soulmate.

His uncle goes sort of brittle, tensing up like every joint is made of glass. His lips press together behind his beard, and his denim blue eyes go shiny and wet – like he’s trying not to cry.

If Eddie could take the question back, he would. Suck it right back into his mouth, like the smoke from his uncle’s cigarettes. This is why you gotta listen better baby – that’s what his Mama would probably say.

“My Lorretta died a few years ago. Before you were born.”

Eddie never considered that. In all the movies, soulmates die together. The thought of it leaves a queasy feeling squirming through his stomach.

“I still hear her though,” Uncle Wayne says, with a terribly soft look in his eyes. “Still hear her singing our song.”

“Like a memory?” Eddie whispers.

His uncle shakes his head. “Time don’t matter for soulmates – no more than distance. I can hear her still, across the years.”

Like a ghost, his uncle doesn’t say. A ghost that will haunt him forever. None of the dry textbooks in school ever mentioned that part.

It starts to worry Eddie. As he gets older, his soulmate’s voice starts to get clearer. He always hears the same thing – a desperate, grown-up voice screaming at him to “Run Eddie! RUN!!!” 

It must be from the future. But his soulmate sounds so scared. What could possibly happen, to make his soulmate sound like that?

Eddie starts to listen to music more. Loud, heavy stuff to drown out the frightened voice. 

Late at night, he curls up under the covers and softly sings his Mama’s favorite song – hoping that somewhere, somewhen, his soulmate will hear him.

That it might help, the way it helps Eddie when Mama sings him to sleep.

———

Eddie is twelve years old, the first time he really listens to the voice.

Mama's been dead two years, and his dad keeps pulling riskier and riskier jobs. Tonight, he's decided to try and break into the pawn shop on Fifth street. 

Eddie is the lookout, stationed on the opposite corner with a pistol weighing heavy in the pocket of his coat (just in case, Ed). 

He doesn't want to be here. He tried to argue with his dad. Said, "I've got a test tomorrow. I've got homework and..." and I hate this life. (He doesn't say that part.) I don't want to steal cars or break into buildings or mug people. I don't want to be like you.

His dad just gripped him by the arm hard enough to bruise, and said, "You like to eat, dont'cha? Well, lookouts get to eat. Lazy little shits don't." 

So Eddie is standing on a street corner in the middle of the night, watching his dad furtively attempt to pick the lock on the front door of the pawn shop, when a cop car slows down at the end of the street.

Fear floods his bloodstream so fast it leaves him dizzy. The cop has clearly noticed something. Eddie can see the shadowed figure inside the car reach for his radio. 

Eddie has two choices.

He could pull the pistol out of his pocket and fire a few shots down the street, forcing the cop to take cover long enough for his dad to get away (which is what his dad would expect him to do). Or he could... 

"Run!"

The sudden loud voice, echoing between his ears and behind his eyes and inside his heart, startles him into flinching. 

"Run Eddie, RUN!!!" His body obeys before his brain has a chance to process the words. He's halfway down the street when the siren shrieks to life. 

Later, as he sits in the backseat of the social worker's car on the way to his Uncle Wayne, he can't quite believe he did it. He bailed on his dad - left him to get arrested and go to prison. This is Frank Munson's third strike; he'll go away for life this time. 

I'm such a coward, Eddie thinks numbly. Such a chicken piece of shit. He digs his ragged nails into the soft flesh of his palms, squeezing hard enough to draw blood. 

As if he'd spoken aloud, a soft voice responds, "You're not a coward. You're one of the bravest people I've ever known. Running isn't always a bad thing, okay? Sometimes it's just the smart thing to do."

His soulmate sounds so fierce, so certain. Eddie blinks hard against the hot burn of tears. The smart thing to do.

———

Eddie holds onto those words, like magic talismans. They provide comfort, not just in the immediate days after his dad's arrest, but other times too. Every time he runs away from a bully or a cop or a deal gone bad, Eddie thinks to himself - I'm not a coward. I'm just smart.

It works... until the night he stumbles out of his uncle's trailer, leaving Chrissy Cunningham's broken body on the living room floor. He's so terrified he doesn't have time to think, not until after he's ditched his van and taken shelter in Rick's boathouse. As he leans against the splintered wall and catches his breath, it hits him.

I left her there. What if she was still alive? (She wasn't. She couldn't have been. Not after... not after that.) He grabs fistfuls of hair and tugs until his scalp aches. Wracks his brain trying to figure out what happened, what he could have done to stop it.

He's never felt so ashamed before, not even when his dad was cursing and screaming and calling him a coward through the thick glass of the visitation window. 

His soulmate's words whisper in his ears, "...sometimes it's just the smart thing to do," and Eddie pounds on his skull with his fists to drown the voice out. "Not this time," he snarls. I should have done something. I should have tried to save her. 

He doesn’t feel smart this time. He feels like a cowardly piece of shit.

His soulmate’s voice falls silent. 

Through all the craziness to follow – finding out that monsters are real, running for his life from an angry mob, fighting alongside Steve Harrington in an evil Upside Down version of Hawkins – Eddie doesn’t hear his soulmate again.

Not until he’s staring up at Dustin Henderson, realizing that he can’t run away again. As he hesitates at the bottom of the rope, Dustin calls out nervously, “Eddie, what are you doing?”  

“I’m buying more time,” he says. He ignores Dustin’s screams as he cuts the rope and slides the mattress out of the way – making sure the kid can’t follow him. 

And then he hears his soulmate say, “Wait, wait a second. Eddie?! Is that you?” 

Eddie is twenty years old, the first time he recognizes his soulmates voice.

He pauses at the door of the trailer and squeezes his eyes shut tight. “Hey Stevie.”

“Holy shit, it’s you,” Steve whispers in awe.

It’s the first time they’ve been able to speak to each other like this, responding in real-time. Eddie wishes it could have happened in different circumstances.

“I’m so sorry Steve.” 

“Eddie? What are you doing?” Steve sounds alarmed.

Eddie doesn’t answer. He slams his way out of the barricaded trailer and grabs one of the discarded bikes, hoping to lead the swarm of bats away as far as possible. 

He makes it halfway across the trailer park before one of the bats knocks him off the bike. He grunts and rolls, gaining his feet quickly. Chest heaving, charged with adrenalin – Eddie hesitates. He could keep running… or he could stand his ground and fight. 

Maybe Steve can hear the hitch in his breath in that moment, because the other boy seems to have worked out what’s going on, even from miles away. Steve screams, “No!!! Run Eddie, RUN!!!!”

It’s like the night his dad got arrested. Eddie doesn’t even have time to think - his body reacts to that voice and he runs, worn Reeboks slapping the pavement.

(In another world, Eddie would have turned to face the swarm. In another world, Eddie would have died.)

He’s fast. He’s always been fast. He buys himself a few precious moments, before the bats drag him to the ground. They start to rip through his clothes, through his flesh, and he tries to hold back his screams – he doesn’t want Steve to hear this…

Those extra seconds save his life. It’s bad - but not as bad as it could have been. The bats start to drop from the sky, writhing and shrieking; they’re dying, although Eddie has no idea why. Hopefully, it means Steve and the girls were successful. 

He struggles to sit up just as Dustin reaches him, crying and frantic. “Eddie!! Oh my god, are you okay? Jesus, there’s so much blood…” the kid moans. 

“Yeah, yep. I’m good,” Eddie pants through gritted teeth. “Help me up okay?”

Dustin insists on binding the worst of his wounds first, using strips of fabric torn from the ghillie suit. The pain makes Eddie want to scream all over again, but he allows it. It is an awful lot of blood.

They lean against each other and limp back to the trailer, where Dustin knots t-shirts and jeans and flannel shirts into the remnants of their rope until it’s long enough to reach the other side again. 

Eddie manages to haul himself up the rope and through the gate – and that’s where his strength runs out. The pain of landing on the thin mattress knocks him right out.

———

When Eddie wakes up, he’s in a hospital bed. 

Holy shit I’m alive, he thinks. He honestly wasn’t sure he would make it.

He moves gingerly, testing each limb, turning his head against the stinging pull of a bandage along the edge of his jaw.

The room isn’t empty; Eddie apparently has a roommate. He clears his throat and the person in the other bed stirs, turning to look at him. 

It’s Steve.

His soulmate.

Eddie feels a funny little swoop of exhilaration in his stomach. “Hey Stevie.”

Steve’s face goes soft at first, like he’s experiencing the same fizzy warmth that Eddie is feeling. Then he blinks, and his brows draw down into a scowl. “What the hell was that, huh? What happened to ‘I’m no hero’?”

Oops. 

Eddie tries to make light of the situation. “Maybe I wanted to try it out,” he says flippantly. “Not too sure it suits me though. Think I might stick to being a coward from now on – it’s a lot less painful.” 

Steve doesn’t smile. He fixes Eddie with a serious look, hazel eyes blazing in the sallow light of the hospital room. “You listen to me Eddie Munson. You're not a coward. You're one of the bravest people I've ever known. Running isn't always a bad thing, okay? Sometimes it's just the smart thing to do."

Eddie’s breath catches in his throat. Those words – once a gift from the future, now an echo of the past. He never should have ignored them. “Maybe you’re right.”

Steve’s mouth is already open to continue the argument. “I…” he stops, clearly caught off-guard, face scrunched in adorable confusion. “Yeah. Yeah, I am right.”

Steve runs a faintly trembling hand through his hair. The angry expression melts into something gentler, almost unbearably soft. “I’m glad you listened to me in the end, at least.”

Eddie shifts his weight, pressing his cheek into the scratchy hospital pillow so he can keep his eyes on Steve. 

He’s so beautiful. Even bloody and bruised, with dirt still smudged along his hairline and dark circles under his eyes – he’s the most beautiful boy Eddie has ever seen. And Eddie almost gave this up – if he’d died in the Upside Down, he would have left Steve alone, with only the echo of Eddie’s voice left to haunt him.

“Yeah,” Eddie says hoarsely, “me too.”

He still feels guilty over Chrissy’s death - he probably always will. But he’s coming to realize that proving himself a hero wouldn’t have been worth the pain his death would have caused.

Eddie’s got a second chance… and he plans to make the most of it.

[sickwhispers]

WRAPPED IN A PRETTY PINK BOW

Pairing: (twisted) glisten x reader

Relationship: romantic

Warnings: yandere, kidnapping, delusions, reader does not enjoy being held against their will, forced affection(?), baby's first attempt at writing toon gore (not towards reader or glisten), no beta just me and grammarly

Type: one-shot (1,404 words)

It was always so soft… so gentle and calming. A rhythmic cycle of one hum after the other, then a pause, and then back to humming. His finger trailed down the sides of the little pink bow he had used to restrain you, rendering you helpless against his own selfish wishes. The soft fabric becoming an almost soothing sensation to him by now as the ribbon muffled any chance of protest you might have tried to voice. 

You were so lovely. Found him the second you entered this hell hole of a floor and lit a fire inside his chest that kept that tiny dwindling spark of hope from finally being snuffed. Loneliness was never his strong suit. But here you were.

“I'm so glad you're here…” his voice was soft, a whisper that seemed to fade into nothing the second the words had left your mouth and into the quiet atmosphere surrounding the both of you. His hand slipped away from your wrists and up to your face, cupping it with a touch so gentle that it was hard to tell if this was the same man that had held you down with such desperation just a couple hours ago. “I'm sorry I was so rough earlier…”

There was an obvious sign of regret behind his words. His thumb gently stroked at the spot just under your eye, observing the way your gaze seemed to flicker around. Your chest moved in rapid succession—up and then down and then up again. It was such a small detail compared to every little action your body had been making ever since he decided getting on the elevator wasn't something he felt would be best for you.

And, with the same gentleness he had been carrying before, he shifted you slightly until he had your back pressed against him. Your body resting just between his legs as he held you much more closer than he had previously. And, your attempt at moving away was met with an increasingly firm grasp. A soft gasp being his first audible reply to your squirming before letting out a weak: “Oh no-! Wait- please don't move…”

He couldn't let you move away. Not now. Not until he knew you weren't running away. He couldn't stand the thought of you slipping out of his sight. The versions of his friends he had once grown to love were no longer as safe as they used to be. The ichor corrupts not only their mind but their psychical forms as well. You could get hurt. You could get torn to shreds.

“You can't go yet! They could hurt you. They could hurt us. Please, just a little while longer…” You were too fragile like this. He knew the others. How brutal they were. The second they laid a hand on you, he knew you'd be brought down. He had seen it before, their hands ripping at a chest, tearing through the body and breaking it open with a crack as ichor would flow through every little wound that they would inflict. A choked gasp coming from the unfortunate toon who had decided to turn a corner a little too late, missing the sound of footsteps coming from behind them.

Each scene was worse than the last. Watching the life drain from a toon right in front of him as they gave quick spasms, legs twitching as the pool of ichor would surround not only them, but him as well. The ichor staining the bottom of his feet such a dark black that even after a million scrubs, he'd never be able to get it off.

He didn't want that to happen to you. He couldn't let that happen to you.

“Just trust me, okay? Please… just be patient. I promise I won't do anything. I need you to stay here. To stay here with me.” Even as your body thrashed around helplessly, he still never loosened his grip. You were too special, too nice. He couldn't give you up. He couldn't let you be taken away from him again. Don't you understand? You need to stay with him.

The loneliness was driving him insane, hearing footsteps even when no one was there, begging for some sign of a living being that didn't bear any kind of resemblance to the corpses he'd spot—a never-ending cycle of walking around in circles.

Maybe he could keep you forever. Maybe this was the best course of action. You didn't have anyone with you when you ventured out to this floor, and he was sure you wouldn't have anyone searching for you. So, you were alone. 

Alone. 

You were alone.

Alone like him.

You could be alone together. He needed company. You needed the help. You could be alone together. It was the perfect option. He wouldn't have to spend his days talking to himself anymore. Please stop squirming. You know he doesn't mean any harm. He knows his grip is tight, but it's only temporary.

Just calm down, just let him hold you. Let him feel you. Let him remind himself that you exist, that you're real and alive and breathing. Stop trying to tell him you want to leave, he's not letting you. What aren't you getting? 

Don't you see he's trying to help you? Don't you see you're the only thing keeping him sane? Your body thrashes once more in his grasp, and despite how gentle he wants to be, his grip around you tightens, bringing you closer against him as he lets out a frustrated sigh. Even with a singular eye remaining, it isn't hard to tell you want to go.

But you can't. You can't go. You're here now. You're home.

He's your home now, and you're his.

“I know this will take some getting used to. But, please, this is for your own good.” You couldn't remember the last time he had ever looked this desperate. A whine slipped through his words as he clung onto you, trying to savor the feeling of every little aspect of your form he could touch. Surely staying with him isn't that bad, right? He could make you happy. Just a little longer in his arms, and you'll understand what he's trying to get at. You're just nervous.

You're just not used to having someone love you so much. You were alone on this floor. Who's to say you weren't alone on any of the other ones? You just haven't gotten used to having company. He gets it. He can understand. He can be patient. He can get you used to the constant presence of someone nearby, holding you, keeping you safe, showing you all the love you missed out on.

“Just be quiet for now, okay? Enjoy the moment. You look so beautiful right now, even more than when I first met you.” He could barely remember the day. Years of isolation blurring the memories he had cherished so much. But he could remember some things. Specific things. Like the way you had smiled at him, eyes wide with what looked to be amusement. 

He had said something, and you laughed. He couldn't remember what he said, but he knew it wasn't anything resembling a joke because the embarrassment he felt was something he continued to carry on to this day. You tried to apologize at the time, and yet you couldn't get a single word out without laughing.

He wanted to hear you laugh again.

“...and you look like a little present, just for me.” He let himself lean closer, resting his head against yours in a fashion that was supposed to resemble a kiss. And yet, with his face shattered to practically nothing, there was no way to kiss you properly. But that was okay. He could show you love in other ways. 

And, hopefully, once you got used to the idea of staying, you'd be the one starting the affection. He couldn't help but wonder just how loving you could be. Would you kiss him gently? Would you cradle his face despite how broken he was? Would you be mindful of the shards and caress them? Tell him he's perfect no matter how smudged his makeup was or how many times you'd cut a finger on his edges?

He needs you to stay. He's not as perfect as he once was, but he needs to know you still love him. He needs you.

[starks-hero]

brother dearest

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Summary: Mycroft had never considered himself to be overprotective. However, he isn't overly pleased with how smitten his little brother is with you...

Word Count: 1.8k

Warnings: John is the only one with any emotional intelligence and Mycroft is faced with the horrifying ordeal of realising his younger sibling is dating, so they're all idiots really

Mycroft Holmes could practically feel his blood pressure rising. Confidential documents had been stolen from the very hands of the British government, putting the democratic well-being of an entire nation in jeopardy. And his little brother wouldn't answer the phone.

The moment word of the breach had gotten to Mycroft his first plan of action was to call Sherlock. Of course, he could have hypothetically dealt with the issue himself had it not required leg work. But to his dismay, contacting the youngest Holmes seemed to be as unlikely as winning the lottery.

Tossing dignity to the wind in the name of restoring balance to the western world, Mycroft stooped to the, in his opinion, ever embarrassing low of visiting Baker Street himself. He ascended the stairs, his displeasure evident in the weight of his steps, and refused to practice the common courtesy of knocking before entering the flat. Sherlock had lost that privilege when he refused to pick up the bloody phone.

Mycroft tutted with annoyance when he found both the living room and kitchen empty. Sherlock's coat, with whom he refused to go anywhere without, still hung idle on the clothes rack. He was in the flat and Mycroft was going to find him if he had to tear away every brick.

With all the begrudgement of a man who'd had his morning routine seriously uprooted, Mycroft marched towards Sherlock's bedroom and swung open the door.

He almost immediately wished he hadn't.

Sherlock lay sprawled out on the bed, white sheets twisting over alabaster skin. His eyes were shut, his hair a tangled mess of curls and you lay by his side.

Mycroft's jaw fell so quickly he expected it to unhinge and clatter against the floor with all the comedic effect of a nineties cartoon.

Sherlock's head rested against your shoulder whilst the lower half of your face was largely hidden by his curls. Your lips brushed his forehead in a prolonged kiss and Sherlock's arm was thrown over you almost possessively. Your own hand curled softly around the nape of his neck.

Disbelief, embarrassment and anger chased each other across Mycroft's expression before he settled with complete mortification. He couldn't explain it, not really, but seeing his little brother in bed with someone made him feel ridiculously nauseous.

Sherlock shifted, stretching out his limbs like a content cat before nuzzling closer to you.

Having no idea what else to do, the eldest Holmes shut the door. After a quick and failed attempt to purge the last few moments from his memory, he made his way back towards the living room.

He was met by John.

The doctor quickly did away with his fresh bag of groceries in order to make small talk, much to Mycroft's disdain. When John got around to the reason for his visit, and therefore Sherlock's current whereabouts, Mycroft shifted awkwardly.

“He seems to be occupied.”

A look of confusion clouded John's expression. He glanced down the hallway, jutting his thumb in the direction of Sherlock's room.

“I'm fairly certain he's just–” John's words were dissolved by the bitter look that was thrown his way by the eldest Holmes. “–oh, he didn't tell you?”

“Tell me what?” Mycroft asked with a painfully fake smile.

John swallowed thickly, suddenly very unhappy with the fact that he was the one that had to break the news to possibly the most powerful man in Britain that his little brother was seeing someone.

“He uh– he didn't tell you about himself and Y/N?”

Mycroft blinked. “It would appear he left out that minor detail.”

The silence that followed was awkward at best and utterly painful at worst. John, who wanted nothing more for the interaction to end but had no idea how to make that happen, nodded. Mycroft cleared his throat and readjusted his hold on his umbrella.

He glanced back towards his brother's room and John didn't miss the subtle glare he was trying to hide. Ah, so that's what this was about. John may not have shared Sherlock's observational skills but he did have a sister. He knew what overprotectiveness looked like.

“Mycroft, you do realise that Sherlock is an adult.”

“If that's what you would like to call him.”

“Right,” John dismissed quickly. “But he and Y/N are together. They have feelings–”

What was very much beginning to sound like a new rendition of ‘the birds and the bees’ was shortened by a scoff on Mycroft's behalf.

"My brother is barely capable of understanding his own feelings, you think he can handle someone else's?"

“You'd be surprised.”

Surprised was certainly one word for it. Mycroft simply couldn't imagine his brother being emotionally involved with anyone, regardless of how much imagination he tried to employ. He failed to imagine Sherlock in any situation that involved intimacy or vulnerability, let alone with you.

As if the very thought of you had doubled as a summoning spell, you entered the kitchen, steps lazy and eyes tired. If you were surprised to see the eldest Holmes you hid it well.

“Mycroft,” you greeted with a tight-lipped smile.

“Y/N.”

Your eyes moved between him and John, trying to piece together what exactly you'd walked into. John cleared his throat. You fought the urge to just go back to bed.

“Can I get you anything?” You motioned to the kitchen.

“My brother, if it's no trouble.”

“Showering,” you yawned. You decided not to add the bit where Sherlock had mentioned needing to ‘cool off before facing the devil so early in the morning’ upon realising his brother was in the living room. “He won't be long.”

“I see. I hate to show up unannounced. But I tried to call this morning and it seemed he was unavailable.”

You smirked despite yourself. Mycroft's grasp on his umbrella tightened.

After a few agonising moments that consisted of you cluelessly making yourself a morning cup of tea, Mycroft glaring holes into your back and John all but hiding behind his newspaper, Sherlock joined you.

His hair was damp, curls frizzed up due to the warm water. Mycroft hadn't seen it in such a state since Sherlock was a child. The unruly nature of his hair, as well as its tendency to make him look far less intimidating and far more endearing, often led to embarrassment. Which is why Mycroft was so surprised to see him so at ease.

Sherlock didn't so much as acknowledge his brother's existence as he made a beeline towards you, accepting the tea you offered and leaving a lazy kiss against the side of your head. He was smiling fondly all the while.

Said smile immediately fell when he spotted Mycroft. Sherlock muttered something about god under his breath and took a long, almost purposefully so, sip from his mug before speaking.

“Terrorist attack or security breach?”

Mycroft raised an unamused brow.

“It's ten o'clock on a Sunday morning, from my understanding you should be having tea with the prime minister or something–” Sherlock waved his free hand around dismissively. “You wouldn't be here if it wasn't of national importance. So which is it? Suspected terrorist attack or a security breach?”

“That, brother mine, is something you would have already been clued in on if you'd learned how to answer my calls.” Mycroft intended for his words to be somewhat scolding but judging by how Sherlock reclined in his chair and crossed his legs he figured his attempt at exerting some sort of authority over his younger brother had failed. “Now, it's not as threatening as initially believed but still relevant enough to warrant some sort of investigation. Which is why I need you to–”

His words fizzled out at the sight of you moving to stand behind Sherlock's chair. Your stance was relaxed, comfortable, as if you felt you belonged where you stood, as some sort of watchful protector. Mycroft glowered.

You seemed unfazed and Mycroft couldn't tell which he hated more, your hand now on Sherlock's shoulder or the fact that his brother was smirking because of it.

By some miracle, he managed to make it through the rest of the briefing without giving away just how much he wanted the floorboards to open up and swallow him.

He didn't know why the sight of you both together irritated him so much but by god was it getting under his skin. The glances you shared that Mycroft knew had hidden meanings behind them. How his brother, who needed a week's recovery in his room after any social interaction, preened under your touch. The youthful look in his eyes, the boyish smile. It was somehow painful to look at.

Mycroft could still recall when he was the only one that could placate his brother. When they were children, spending hours in their garden estate, finding insects and frogs and recalling their Latin names. Anything to keep their brilliant young minds entertained. He remembered how Sherlock would light up with each new nugget of information Mycroft gave him. Even into their teenage years, he was the one Sherlock trusted, the one he looked to for help and guidance. It had always been him.

But now, now there was you.

He had you to confide in. To talk to. To irritate with a tirade of useless facts that anyone else would think irrelevant. He had you to look out for him and comfort him and Mycroft couldn't understand why this was angering him so–

Oh.

The notion that his little brother had, in fact, grown up and didn't need him anymore came as a very unwelcome realisation. Mycroft had the sudden desire to leave the flat as promptly as he could.

“Well,” he cleared his throat. “I should be getting on. I trust you'll fill me in on your findings?”

Sherlock groaned, in agreement or dismissal it was hard to tell.

Mycroft, who now wanted nothing more than to leave, turned to make his way to the door. “Good day, doctor Watson.”

John nodded, not failing to notice the change in Mycroft's stance.

‘He's copped on then.’

Partially because of your closeness to the door and partially in an attempt to rectify whatever you'd done to wrong Mycroft, you moved to show him out.

He passed you silently but as you stepped back to close the door, he stopped you.

He seemed uneasy, an emotion that looked unnatural and foreign on him. His nerves were infectious and you quickly found yourself growing anxious, expecting him to gift you with some horrific piece of information to pass on to Sherlock to save him from dealing with the mess of telling his brother himself.

His actual request was something much softer.

“Take care of him, will you?”

It took a few moments for you to blink away your surprise. As confused as you were, you nodded all the same.

“Of course.”

Mycroft responded with a nod of his own, offered a surprisingly genuine smile and then turned to leave. He'd descended the stairs entirely by the time you finally closed the flat door.

“What was that about?” Sherlock asked nonchalantly.

You shook your head. “Absolutely no idea.”

John took a sudden interest in his newspaper in an attempt to ignore just how hard he was biting his tongue.

thank you for reading!

Sherlock tag list: @miraclesoflove @ilovefanfictions @mylovelysnowflake @quentawewe @bakerstreethound @andreasworlsboring101 @doozywoozy @xxinvisiblexx @the-worst-critic @the-queer-dungeoneer @jellyfishbeansontoast @starrykitn @starryeddie @ladymercury8 @themorningsunshine @evelynrosestuff @mywellspringoflife @simp-for-scammanders @Xhz17x @allieberries @kealohilani-tepise

[artemish]

Sous chef: part 2 | opla!Sanji x fem!Reader

word count: 3.8k

genre/tags: Sanji x reader; first-person pov; fluff; pining (but is it mutual??); angst; hurt/comfort; friends to lovers

warnings: brief anxiety mention

summary: following their late night kitchen heart to heart, things become more complicated when the other Strawhats take notice…

a/n: thankful for the support for the last part! ♥️

Continuing my low key self indulgent series hehe.. 🤭 It took me longer than I wanted to write this next part but I was determined and here we are lol 😅

taglist 💕 @vespidphoenix @dark-academia-slut

𝘏𝘰𝘱𝘦 𝘺𝘢𝘭𝘭 𝘦𝘯𝘫𝘰𝘺, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘪𝘧 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰!

(。･ω･｡)ﾉ♡

“Nami, we are just friends.”

I stated this as matter-of-factly as I could.

“Right, and Zoro likes tea with his lunch instead of beer. Cut the shit, y/n.”

Our sweet navigator hadn’t budged from the spot she was judging me from.

Her eyes were determined to pierce through my shield, but I held fast. I flapped my arms up, exasperated by the fact that she kept pushing.

“Look, I couldn’t sleep so I came to the kitchen, I fell really hard and Sanji helped me feel better, that’s all.”

She smirked, “Oh, I’m sure he did.”

“No,” I scoffed in disgust, “not like that. He was also awake, taking note of our supplies, before I came in, got knocked by the swell, and he patched me up. Then we were talking for some time, and I guess we were both more tired than I thought. Just fell asleep, right then and there.”

“Look,” she said, standing up, placing her hands on her hips, “as much as I love him, I would love him even more if I didn’t have him flirting my way. So if he’s into you now, well that makes me a very happy woman who can finally navigate this boat in peace. That being said, I would still like to know what’s going on between you-“

“There’s nothing going on,” I snapped, “and there never will be.��

I didn’t intend to come off so aggressively and I saw her step back when she heard the anger in my voice.

“Sorry,” I breathed, “didn’t mean to get worked up like that.”

But she took no notice of my apology and pointed at me saying, “Does this have to do with the thing you still won’t tell me about? Is that what’s been holding you back?”

I rubbed my forehead with my hand, “yeah, it is.”

She shook her head and crossed her arms, as her frustration reached its peak.

“You know,” she said, this time with a knowing smirk, “secrets come out. They always do. With time and through fate, they always come out. I mean just look at me. I thought I had it all worked out, thought I could keep my secrets to myself.

“But what Luffy taught me, what this whole crew taught me, is that you shouldn’t have to carry your burdens alone. Secrets are better shared with those who can share the load.”

“I know, Nami,” I sighed, “but I can’t tell you, nor the crew, least of all Sanji. You know how he gets.”

“You know you can trust us, but you still don’t want to tell us? Why?”

“I can’t answer that.”

She looked up at the ceiling, as if asking the gods for help, but of course she got no reply.

“I’m not going to get anywhere with you on this, am I?” she sighed. I shook my head.

She paced about the room as I sat back down on my futon, bringing my knees up to my face. She sat down next to me, letting out a big sigh as she did.

“I’m sorry, Nami, but I promise when the time is right I’ll tell you.”

She glared back at me and looked like she was about to say something, but was cut off from a voice outside our door.

“Nami, have you seen y/n around? I’m trying to- oh. You’re here”

Sanji stood in our doorway, looking a bit flustered but still managing to flash us a wide grin.

“Morning ladies, you’re both looking as lovely as a golden sunrise on a calm sea.”

Nami and I rolled our eyes in unison.

“Morning Sanji, had a good sleep did we?” Nami poked, and I felt my cheeks flush red.

“It was good,” he sighed, “until the chill set in and I realised I was alone in the kitchen.”

“Oh,” she said, “were you with someone last night?”

I could have strangled her right then.

“What, oh no, I was ugh, counting beans and I must’ve dozed off. Didn’t realise I wasn’t in my cabin, you know with the others, yeah.”

“Counting… beans?” I could see her fighting every urge to cackle at his pathetic explanation.

“Ugh, yeah,” he stumbled through his words again, “the beans in the barrel. Coffee beans, green beans, soy beans-“

“Well, you should borrow a blanket or a shawl next time to stay warm, in case you fall asleep again. Y/n has a spare one, you should ask her for it.”

I shoved her shoulder and saw her biting down hard on her lip.

“I might,” he said, looking at me then, “as long as I know she’s keeping warm too.”

I couldn’t take this back and forth any longer, and I couldn’t stand the sight of him in the doorway, looking like a lovesick puppy dog waiting for a bone.

“Sanji,” I said finally, “hi, hello, good morning. Why are you here?”

“Oh well, madam, I was actually looking for you.”

“Me? Why were you looking for me?”

“Well, I’m taking you up on that offer, since breakfast is a big one today.”

“Offer? What offer?”

“You being my sous chef, remember?”

Shit, I thought, I’d forgot, I’m screwed!

“Oh of course, yes, just let me ugh change into something more chef-like. Yeah.”

“Alright, my swan, I’ll start prepping while you get ready.”

He flashed us both a grin and walked back to the kitchen, completely missing Nami’s face of pure joy.

It was as if what she had just witnessed between us was better than any treasure she could ever imagine to find in all the four seas and no amount of berry could be used to describe how much she enjoyed that.

Nami stretched out on my futon, exhaling loudly. She rested her head on my lap, and stared wistfully up at the ceiling. I was numb to her and everything around me.

I felt like I was losing my mind.

Ever since we met him at the Baratie, she noticed how he would go that little bit further with me, how his hugs lingered longer, and how his words were kinder.

And she had constantly reminded me of this fact.

“Even if I never get to know all your secrets,” she said quietly, “at least I can hold this one against you. You know, he only cuts your carrots into heart shapes, when he makes us soup.”

“Really?”, I lied, “I hadn’t noticed.”

“Can you even cook?” she asked after another silent moment had passed between us.

I looked down at her. She knew what I was going to say.

“No.”

I changed into some black slacks and a t-shirt, and headed over to the kitchen.

The room was alive with the sounds of rashers of bacon sizzling intensely on the pan, the crackling of flames within the stone oven and the soft, rhythmic thumping of metal on wood. Smoke rose from the stove and the oven, hanging in the air and carrying the sweet scent of bread, the earthy aroma of mushrooms, butter and thyme, and salted meat to every corner of the room.

Sanji had his back to me as he sliced through potatoes in halves then quarters and then smaller still, probably for hash browns.

He moved the knife intently, with a ferocity that seemed barely human, and yet the potato pieces did not come out mangled or broken as one would expect from such intensity, but instead in perfect little cubes, each evenly portioned to form the hash shapes. To say I was intimidated was an understatement.

“Doesn’t really look like you need my help here.” I had moved back towards the doorway unconsciously, perhaps hoping I could get out unscathed.

“On the contrary, y/n,” he said over his shoulder, “I’m swamped this morning and your help would be invaluable.”

I couldn’t let him see how deeply underprepared I was, or how concerning it was that I had gotten this far in life without ever making a real meal or that I lacked any and every culinary skill there was. But it was too late now.

“Oh, ugh, are you sure? I mean you look like-“

“Grab that apron over there and come over.” He pointed to an apron hanging near the doorframe, without looking back at me, and continued to make his way slicing through various other vegetables he was adding to the meal. I begrudgingly put it on.

“Can you please crack those eggs over there into that bowl?”

He pointed to a large silver bowl that was on the counter, right of where he was dealing with the vegetables and meats.

“We’re going to make omelettes and everything else will go with them. We have to get as much as we can from this batter since we also have to eat, not just Luffy, so don’t worry about adding an egg or two extra.”

He smiled, and I melted like butter in a pan at the sight of him.

I stood beside him and stared down at the eggs in the carton, and at the other cartons stacked against the wall.

It was then that I felt my palms tingle and swell with moisture, as I tried to move my hand to pick up an egg. In an instant, I felt my throat dry up, and I felt a rising surge of heat from within me flush over my cheeks, and panic pulse through my chest.

Thump, thump, thump, THUMP.

The sound of my own heartbeat flooded my ears and nothing else.

My breath quickened and I became acutely aware of it. I tried to take in air in small, quick breaths. I didn’t even notice that Sanji had stopped cooking and had turned me to face him, holding my shoulders and calling my name.

“Y/n, are you alright? Can you hear me? Hey, it’s okay, you’re okay, y/n.”

But I couldn’t hear him. My vision blurred over, as my eyelids flickered sporadically. He stopped calling out to me, perhaps realising that it was no use in this state, but continued to hold me steady, rubbing my arms as he did.

My mouth still gaped wide, trying to take in breath but as he held me, my breathing began to even out.

Gods, I thought, this is what I panic about?

“Sanji,” I felt my mind returning, “Sanji. Oh, my gods, Sanji, I’m sorry.”

“Hey,” he said, “don’t apologise. Are you okay?”

He stepped back, keeping one arm on me still, and reached for a glass of water. I faced the floor, too quickly perhaps. My head felt hollow.

“I should’ve told you upfront,” I began, “that I don’t know how to cook, that I’ve never learnt or tried, or rather had the patience to. I’ve just survived on the cooking of others. I shouldn’t have offered to be your sous chef last night, I don’t know what came over me.”

“Woah, hey, it’s alright, y/n.”

“I’m sorry, oh my gods. The truth is… I’m terrified.”

I could see a slight smirk appear on his face as he listened to me.

“Of me or of cooking?,’ he chuckled, “and please, don’t say me.”

“What if I said both?” I said, sheepishly.

“Well, then I’d say you have nothing to be afraid of and I can teach you how to handle both.”

I felt my breath catch again as butterflies began to flutter and whirl violently around inside me, and I thought about how he could probably use my face to light the pan again with the heat that radiated off my red cheeks.

“Sanji, stop that, I-I really know nothing about cooking. I don’t even know what to do with these eggs.” That seemed to get a genuinely worried reaction out of him, as he furrowed his brow in confusion.

“You don’t know how to crack an egg?”

“Oh, I didn’t even know that's what you wanted me to do with them.”

“How else would you make an omelette? How else… would they get in the bowl?”

I was silent. He inhaled deeply as he studied me with those sparkling blue eyes. A moment of realisation seemed to seize him then, as he guided me to the bench and sat me down.

He handed me the glass of water, made a motion with his hand for me to drink, and as I tipped the cooling swell down my throat he said, “I’m sorry if I made you anxious. I didn’t know you couldn’t cook, m’lady.

“Please, if you’re not comfortable, don’t feel like you have to stay here or like I’m forcing you to be here, it’s alright really, but just know that… well I do like your company all the same.”

Before I could speak, he put his hand up to gesture to wait, stepped away quickly to grab the bacon and mushroom mix in the pan off the stove, and put out the flames from the oven before coming back to squat down on his haunches in front of me, holding the bench to keep him steady.

He must’ve noticed how big my eyes looked staring at him.

He reached out his free hand hesitantly but I took it in both my hands, perhaps a little too eagerly, as he wobbled from being surprised by my grip.

“Sorry,” I said, helping him balance, “I-I’m sorry. I didn’t tell you because, well, I was embarrassed. You’re such an incredible cook and everything you make is so brilliant and delicious, I just couldn’t say no to you last night. But I feel like an idiot now, I should’ve just told you.”

I could’ve sworn I saw his cheeks turn pink as I spoke. I fidgeted nervously with his hand, feeling the coarseness of his fingertips and how soft his palms were in comparison.

“You know,” he began, “if you wanted to learn, all you had to do was ask, madam. But tell me, how’d you survive without cooking anything then?”

“I mostly ate whole foods,” I said, “things like bread, all sorts of bread, fruits, wheels of cheese and dried meats, things I knew would keep or could be eaten quickly. And if I had a pot, anything I could just chuck in with a bit of salt and pepper. Better to survive on that then nothing at all.”

He smiled a soft smile and brought his other hand to where our hands were and pulled me up to stand as he did. I had to look up as he said, “Well today I’m going to teach you how to crack an egg, and maybe make an omelette.”

I sat on a stool to face him, opposite to where he was cooking on the benchtop.

“Now watch carefully,” he said, “you hold the egg like this.”

He took the egg in his right hand, the bowl in his left.

“Crack it against the rim of the bowl, so that the break is clean.” With a deft hand, he tapped it firmly against the bowl, and split the shell with his fingers so the yoke fell out perfectly into the silver crater below. He made it look so easy.

“Now you,” he said, beckoning me to come to him. “Don’t worry, I’ll help you.”

I stood in front of the bowl and eggs and he stood behind me. Taking my hands, he guided my left to hold the bowl and my right to hold the egg.

“Hold the bowl firm now,” he said and I nodded in reply. “Keep the egg sideways in your hand, so it’ll make a clean break in the shell.”

His mouth was so close to my ear as he leaned in and whispered his instructions, I felt the heat of his breath against my neck.

Goosebumps rose and trickled all across my body as I felt the strength of his hands against mine. Holding the top of my hand, he moved my arm to make the action.I suppose it made sense for a chef to have as firm a grip as he did, but I hadn’t thought about it before. And I also hadn’t thought about how that grip was making me feel.

“And now we just tap it firmly but still with power on that edge.”

As he brought my hand with the egg down to crack against the bowl, I was more aware of how good it felt to be touched by him, and that his face was only inches away from mine, and the goosebumps, and how if I just turned to the right, just a little…

CRACK!

The egg split and I jolted a little, as he guided my hand over the bowl and let the yoke fall out to mix in with the previous yoke.

“You’ve done it, madam, you’ve officially cracked an egg.”

I nudged him with my elbow as he laughed, and I hoped he didn’t see me blush.

He showed me how to whisk then, when we had cracked the amount he needed, and when to add the rest of the ingredients. He showed me how to butter the pan, told me oil was good too, showed me how to pour, and wait and flip, and how to watch the colour, how to make sure it didn’t burn.

He broke off a small bit, let me taste it, and I remembered tasting his finger a little too.

At the very end he showed me how to serve the dish and make it look beautiful.

“Almost as beautiful as you” he said, which forced me to bury the urges I felt even deeper down or I would’ve abandoned my oath right then and there.

I took it all in as best as I could but I found that I had made the most effort to memorise his touch, his breath, his smile, his sparkling eyes as they looked at me, and how it felt to be guided by those hands knowing I couldn’t guide them the way I wanted to. Or where I wanted.

By that time, everyone else had made their way to the kitchen and we seated ourselves around the bench. Usopp told tales of his daring adventures while Luffy reacted with wows and shouts of awe, and Zorro sat silently eating as much as Luffy it seemed. Nami gave me a wry smile as she sat between Sanji and me.

“Well done, sous chef,” she whispered, and I glanced up at Sanji to see if he heard her. He met my eyes with a grin.

“I hope you all enjoyed your omelettes this morning,” he said cheerfully, “you have the lovely y/n to thank for them today, I was merely her assistant.”

Luffy gaped, “you made this y/n?”

“Yes but-” I began, but he raised his goblet and said, “A toast to the best omelettes I have ever eaten in my life and the best cooks in the East Blue!”

Everyone raised the mugs in agreement and cheered and drank and laughed, and I could only blush and think how lucky I was to find this crew, even if it may only be for a short while longer.

* * *

I found Zoro on the lower deck, napping against the mast, as I made my way down to mop the deck. With one hand placed on his hilt and the other behind his neck, he slouched lazily, unbothered, as I began on the floor in front of him.

“So you like the waiter huh?” He said after I had been at it for some time.

He didn’t open his eyes.

I stopped and leaned on the mop. “I just asked him to teach me how to cook, that's all.”

“I don’t know what you see in him.”

“There’s nothing there, I just-”

He let out a loud “ha” sound and opened his eyes.

“Here I thought you were gonna stay low, keep your guard up and stay on until you needed to, like you told me in Shellstown, but now you're drooling in your soup over the waiter, who’s so eager to serve. So much for that plan of yours.”

I gripped the mop handle so hard I thought it would splinter into my hand.

I moved close to him so that my words came across as a whispered growl. “You know nothing.”

“I know that I risked my ass to bring you with us,” he growled back, “and that keeping you with us is an even greater risk. I know that if the others knew you were a swordsman, a hunted one at that, they’d ask more questions than was good for them or you. And I know I’m the only one you can trust out here and the only one who can help you track that Baroque works shithead before he gets you too. So please, don’t try to bullshit me.”

He was still slumped lazily against the mast but his eyes betrayed no sign of weakness. I crouched down so that I was eye level with him, holding the mop to steady myself.

“You don’t think I can keep my own feelings in check?”

“I’m not trying to piss you off, y/n,” he said, his demeanour unchanged, “but I can’t be quiet either. You said to call you out if I saw you get distracted.”

“He’s not a distraction.”

“But he won’t be safe either way.”

“Why are you so concerned all of a sudden,” I scowled, “it’s not like you give a shit about him. You two are such best friends, aren’t you?”

Zorro made a groan of frustration as he got up, his swords clinking against each other like bells. I rose to meet his eyes, still clinging to my mop.

“You swore to me that nothing would get in the way of you avenging what you lost and that you would lose nothing and no one else on your path. I swore that I would help you see it through to the end.” He clinked his swords as he rested his hand on top of the hilts. “So I’m warning you now,” he continued solemnly, “if you’re not more careful, you may keep that oath but lose something after all.”

He held my gaze for a moment, his eyes a fiery dark amber in the sunlight, before walking away slowly and down into the bowels of the ship.

My heart pounded in my ears.

My hands ached from where I had strangled the wooden mop handle.

As Zoro walked out of my view, I looked up to the balcony on the mid deck above and saw Sanji standing there, brooding it seemed.

No… watching me.

Swirling grey tendrils of smoke coiled in the air as he pulled a long breath and puffed out.

The glow of his cigarette reflected like fiery embers in the darkness of his glare.

[drawnfamiliarfaces]

i've returned from the shadow(ban) realm

which is the good news. i guess? on strange news - i have no idea how? i just opened tumblr and suddenly i could see my posts in gen tags again.

tumblr support never contacted me back after i sent my ticket. so. like? was i just put in naughty shadowban bucket for a week or so as punishment and now i was let out??? ok i guess????

-

also just wanted to say thanks to everyone for kind words and extra thanks to everyone who reblogged my stuff while i was in shadow(ban) realm ;) it made me happy to know that even if i stayed banned, my stuff still could be found thanks to you guys <3

[luvxiem]

ngl this is my first time asking in this app

can i request luca with 25 ‘ *this* is the guy? ‘ im starving for some overprotective luca 🥹

knight in cotton armor

[ INFO ]

✧ word count: 1.2k

✧ pairing: luca kaneshiro x gn!reader

✧ genre: fluff

✧ summary: a simple craving for ice cream turned into an eventful night when you're stuck with people with malicious intentions.

how you found yourself in a situation like this, you weren't quite sure.

it wasn't too late into the night—only barely past ten—yet the dim streetlights did nothing to help quell your nerves and give you the courage to finally leave your car. you've been sitting low in the driver's seat for almost fifteen minutes now, eyeing the group of drunkards loitering in front of the 7/11 you parked outside. feeling a subtle vibration coming from your hand, you checked your phone to see a message from luca.

'are you still in the car???' [10:07]

'yes ToT' [10:07] 'these dudes wont leave.. wtf do i do. i just wanted ice cream 🗿🗿' [10:08]

with a sigh, you dropped your hand back into your lap and let your head fall back with a small thud against the seat. 'whatever,' you thought. 'it's not like i'll get murdered.' with that you grabbed your keys and pushed open the door, already noting the turn of heads out of the corner of your peripheral. a low whistle filled the stagnant night air as four sets of eyes followed you into the store, a small chime signaling your arrival.

you made a beeline to the back of the store where they kept their ice cream, determined not to stay here any longer than you have to. unfortunately, the universe decided that tonight you were the one it wanted to pick on.

"hey cutie." sighing, you schooled your expression into one that didn't clearly show your discomfort and looked over your shoulder, giving the stranger a small smile and a 'hello.' a quick glance around showed that this one was all alone, most likely egged on by his equally drunk friends outside to follow you inside and harass you.

and you would think that turning your back on the stranger to look for your ice cream was a clear signal that you weren't interested in any further conversation yet it seems this dude couldn't get the hint. a tap on your shoulder prompted you to turn around again, this time a bit more visibly annoyed.

"can i help you?" the man gave you a rather (in your humble opinion) sleazy smile, tucking his hands into this stained hoodie pocket and licking his lips briefly before subjecting you to his inane thoughts.

"yeah, actually," he grinned, reaching up to wipe his nose before holding his phone out expectantly. you raised your eyebrow in contempt. "could i get'cho number?"

"i have a boyfriend, sorry," you replied, turning back to continue searching for your ice cream when a rough grip on your shoulder spun you around forcefully, shoving you into the clear doors lining the shelves. where was the clerk?!

the feeling of hot, moist breath that smelt distinctly of cheap vodka hit your nose and made your face scrunch up reflexively in disgust, your hands coming up to try and push your assailant away.

"he doesn't have to kno-WOAH!" suddenly you were freed from behind held against the cold coolers, shivering from both the chill and the lingering grossness of being touched by a stranger like that.

"hey, the fuck is your problem?!" he scowled, rubbing his neck where he was forcefully pulled away.

"seriously? this is the guy?" looking up, you're met with blonde hair and broad shoulders, the tiniest sliver of a tattoo peeking out from underneath the grey henley your boyfriend wore. his arms crossed rather menacingly over his chest, toned biceps in clear view with the way his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows. across from him, the drunkard is now visibly agitated, however when he tried to approach, luca grabbed the front of his hoodie and lifted him clear off the ground. agitation quickly turned into nervousness as the guy lifted his hands in surrender.

"woah—chill dude; i-i wasn't gonna try anything, i swear," he stutters, scrambling to his feet when luca drops him rather unceremoniously to the floor, cursing under his breath as he fled the store. luca immediately spins on his heel, turning to face you with clear worry on his face. frantic hands turn you this way and that before settling on your cheeks as he rubs his nose against yours.

"are you okay?! no, of course you're not—jesus christ, what the hell! why didn't you just come over to my place if you wanted ice cream?" he moaned, pulling you into his chest in a tight hug. you could hear his racing heartbeat under your ear and you can't help but laugh at the situation. luca was so angry and intimidating not even a minute ago and now he's returned to the cute, cuddly golden retriever you fell in love with.

"baby, i'm fine," you grinned, pulling his arms off of you so you could give him a quick kiss. luca is still frowning when you pull away, however, and you could tell he was still upset with the situation. honestly, you were still shaken up about it too, so you decided to kill two birds with one stone and link your arms with his, staying as close as possible to ease both your nerves.

"c'mon, i still haven't gotten my ice cream," you say, opening one of the glass doors to grab a pint of salted caramel from the freezer. luca unlinks your arms to throw his over your shoulder instead, rubbing the bare skin of your arm with his thumb in an attempt to comfort both you and him (skin to skin contact always seemed to help).

"i still think you should've just come over to my place," he whined, watching the door as you paid with a tap of your phone against the reader. you pat his chest and hum in response, shooting a quick thank you to the cashier before you both exited the store.

"babe, all you have is cookies and cream."

"what—what's wrong with cookies and cream?!"

"i don't like it!"

you laugh as luca fumbles for an answer, mock offense on his face at your distaste for his favorite flavor. the night air felt a bit warmer than before, the comforting breeze easing your nerves. you look around for luca's motorcycle but the parking lot is empty except for your car and one that presumably belongs to the poor college kid inside working the night shift.

"hey—how'd you get here?" you ask confusedly. luca shrugs.

"i ran." you pause, turning to face him fully with disbelief clearly written on your face.

"luca."

"yeah?"

"you live like, five miles away from here."

"and?" you throw your hands up in defeat. of course your boyfriend ran five miles to come save you—he probably left the house the minute you first texted him about being too scared to leave your car. no wonder he asked which 7/11 you were at.

"you wanna come over to mine?" you sigh, watching luca immediately beam at the prospect of being able to sleep over despite having already hung out with you earlier that day.

you unlock your car and slide into the driver's seat as luca slips into the passenger side, placing your ice cream in between his feet.

"can we get back to the important thing here?" he asks as you pull out of the parking lot.

"which is?"

"why you don't like cookies and cream which is clearly the superior flavor-"

"LUCA!"

[ WRITTEN 230601 ]

500 follower event prompt list

[this-violence-of-mine]

Imagine how difficult it'd be for a winged whumpee to fly with their hands tied behind their back.

With wings between the arms the delicate feathers and bones could be injured from the constant compression, not to mention the strain flight would put on them. Arms between the wings would be a different matter, it could be easier to handle, but let's be real, what whumper would willingly make it easy on their wumpee?

Either way, I don't think they'd get very far.

[queerdiazs]

tease tidbit tuesday 🫧

bet yall forgot i moonlight as a writer lmao

Buck, red-faced with his brows knit so close together they’re nearly one, snarls his lip in disgust. He doesn’t say anything and instead cups his palms around Abbie Jean’s elbows, pulling her carefully up out of the pool and passing her off to a paramedic. Once she’s wrapped in a blanket and shuttled off, he turns to stare back down at Eddie.  (Buck is so hot when he’s pissed off, holy shit.)  Eddie offers a smile. It isn’t received well.  Shaking his head, Buck reaches down and knots his hand in the front of Eddie’s t-shirt. He hauls Eddie all the way up and out of the water, and Eddie would be impressed and probably turned on if Buck didn’t look like he’s ready to tear the whole world apart. 

tagged by @loveyouanyway and @wikiangela, mwah

tagging @spagheddiediaz, @jeeyuns, @neverevan, @exhuastedpigeon, @actualalligator, @honestlydarkprincess, @rogerzsteven, @underwaterninja13, @devirnis, and @monsterrae1 if any of you have something you want to share!

[sodacrisps]

Hi

I did half a thing and this lovely piece by dear @tiramegtoons pushed me to finish it up a bit more

No, right?

(also hi I’m back kinda/kinda not, I’m working on it)

[omegaovaries]

prompt: missed opportunity | ao3

“I have to go,” Sabo whispers urgently to him even as he lets Ace take hold of his arm to spin him into the closest deserted alleyway. 

“Just – just give me ten seconds. I haven’t seen you in a while,” Ace replies, tongue feeling clumsy and too big for his mouth all of a sudden. He stares at Sabo across from him, hair muted in the shade of the alley wall Ace is leaning against, hands warm on Sabo’s waist, keeping him close. 

Sabo’s eyes soften and he takes the half step that separates them forward, slotting his body into Ace’s, head leaning down to press his forehead into Ace’s shoulder. He sighs. Ace can feel the shudder of his next inhale, every inch from their shoulders to knees pressed together. 

They stay like that for thirty excruciatingly short heartbeats before Sabo shifts slightly and pulls back. Ace misses him already and he hasn’t even left yet. 

“I have to go but I’ll see you soon,” Sabp promises, squeezing Ace’s hands and pressing a quick kiss to Ace’s cheek before letting go and stepping back out into the street.

Ace curses, head thunking on the brick behind him, and wishes he could have been quicker to turn, lips tingling from what could have been.

[hermannsthumb]

Hey hey could you write something about newt confronting his middle school bully a la this post: https://10001gecs.tumblr.com/post/729455540321779712/my-high-school-bully-reached-out-to-me-and-asked

(post) hmm i wonder who sent this in after we talked about it in discord 7 months ago... allusions to non sfw behavior at the end !! (edit also literally seconds after i posted this i realized this ask says middle school and not high school like i wrote. sigh.)

-----------------

“Oh, shit,” Newton says. “Hermann, do you see that guy?”

He’s doing some strange, jerking head motion over the ambiguous vicinity of Hermann’s left shoulder, and it takes Hermann a good few seconds to realize Newton wants him to turn around and look at the fellow in question. He puts down his sandwich with a small sigh: he waited two hours for Newton to wrap up his work so he would have company in the mess hall for lunch, lunch which will continue to evade him, he supposes.

But Newton kicks his shin under the table as he cranes his neck around. “Newton,” he snaps with a startle. It wasn’t hard enough to hurt, but—offended at the mere principle of it—he hits Newton’s own shin back with the end of his cane. Newton is too preoccupied with attempting to hide the entire upper half of his body beneath their table to put up a fuss.

“Don’t be so obvious about it,” he says to Hermann. “Be subtle, subtle. Yeah, perfect.”

There’s no one exceptionally exciting over Hermann’s shoulder when he turns back about painfully slowly, or at the very least no one he can see causing Newton to get as worked up as he is. It’s the usual gaggle of personnel they see wandering about the Shatterdome with them. “Ugly blue shirt,” Newton whispers, “and a stupid beard.”

Hermann spots him after another glance through the food line—a stocky, unassuming man waiting with a tray in his hands, though admittedly Hermann can’t find anything particularly offensive about his shirt or his facial hair, not even by Newton’s standards. “What of him?” Hermann says.

He doesn’t recognize the man, but that’s hardly surprising. There’s been plenty of new faces about the base recently after the latest round of Shatterdomes shuttered their operations and sent their skeleton crews to Hong Kong as a last resort. Hermann expects he might be one of the transferred ranger recruits. He lacks the, ah, soft disposition of Newton and Hermann and their more technologically-inclined ilk, and is certainly built large enough to hold his own in a jaeger.

“I think I know him,” Newton says.

This is not that surprising either. Newton has a curiously long list of ex-partners spread throughout the various networks of the PPDC, partially because the instability of their employment at any given base up until recently (or, indeed, the instability of their expected lifespan) is not conducive to long-term relationships, and partially because Newton’s personality is not conducive to it either. Hermann envies the people who have had the means to escape Newton: he himself has had no such luck. “Another poor soul you’ve scared off?” he says, and takes a bite out of his sandwich more aggressively than he intended.

“Ew, man, gross.” Newton makes a face at him. “No way. He’s a total asshole. He used to make my life hell.”

Hermann swallows his mouthful of sandwich. This admission, on the other hand, is surprising. Newton doesn’t usually make his dislike of people unknown, especially not to Hermann, and Hermann had been under the assumption he was familiar with the full roster of Newton’s ‘enemies’—most of whom are academic rivals of some kind (though certainly none surpass Hermann’s high ranking in that particular category), and all of whom Hermann had Googled obsessively after being made aware of their existence. “Sounds a bit like the whole 'taste of your own medicine' cliche,” Hermann says.

“No, come on, I'm serious, I mean actual hell, just ‘cause I was out about being into dudes,” Newton says. “Whatever bullshit you can think of—stole my shit, made fun of my glasses, pushed me around, called me lots of really creative and exciting slurs. Really original content. He flushed one of my notebooks down a toilet one time and I got in trouble for it. Just—you know, stupid, immature, homophobic jock-vs-nerd bullshit.”

More than slightly alarmed, Hermann shoots another glance over his shoulder. The fellow with the beard has moved ahead in the line and Hermann has a much clearer view of him now. He’s most certainly at least twice Newton’s size, if not larger, and Hermann doesn’t like the idea of him treating Newton in such a physically aggressive manner by any means (to say nothing of the other half of the harassment he received). “When on Earth did that happen?” he says. “The Jaeger Academy? You reported him to—someone, anyone, I hope.” And if not Hermann is more than happy to do so now.

“Oh, no,” Newton says. “It was back when I was in high school for a year. Before I skipped twenty grades, I mean.”

Hermann relaxes his shoulders, which had grown quite tense. “Ah,” he says. As a child he was unfortunately quite familiar with schoolyard bullies himself.

“His name is something stupid, like Chad or Chet or something. Not actually, but you know what I mean. I used to stalk him on Facebook when I was in grad school to make sure his life still sucked shit. He got divorced the same month I got my fourth doctorate. Really poetic. Oh, fuck.”

He ducks back beneath the table. Evidently he isn’t fast enough, because when Hermann turns, Chad-Chet-something is staring intently at the empty space Newton inhabited seconds prior. If the wide-eyed surprise that flashes across his face is any indication, he has recognized Newton in return.

“He’s coming this way,” Hermann says to the rustling somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles. It must be filthy down there. He hears Newton curse, though given the alarming way the entire table wobbles, it may be because he’s just hit his head on something. “Would you like me to make up a lie and say you’ve gone off somewhere? Or I can stall for a bit, and you can—I don’t know—crawl off.”

“Newt?” Newton’s former classmate says.

Newton rises back up slowly, his hair in significant disarray. Hermann fantasizes briefly—not for the first time—about going at it with a comb. “Heyyyyy, man,” Newton says. “What’s up?”

Newton’s classmate had been squinting at him with a small frown, but (to Hermann’s immense surprise) he begins to smile. “It is you, that’s wild! I don’t know if you remember, but we went to school together—like, fifteen, twenty years ago. We were in the same homeroom.”

“Oh, totally,” Newton says. “Bradley?”

“Seth.”

“What’s, uh, what’s brought you to Hong Kong?” Newton says.

Seth looks down pointedly at the empty chair positioned between Newton and Hermann. “Mind if I sit here?” he says, and though neither of them respond, he drops his tray down with a small clatter and follows suit. “I joined on with the PPDC last year, and I was stationed in Seattle up until a couple weeks ago,” he continues, confirming Hermann’s earlier suspicions. “I’m still getting used to everything. I heard there was a Dr. Geiszler working at one of the labs here somewhere, but I had no idea that was you. Did they just throw you over here too?”

Newton has gone a little red in the face, as if he’s bottling up a great deal of shouting, cursing, and possibly crying, and Hermann is somewhat impressed at his restraint in not making a scene. He feels a small surge of protectiveness for Newton (despite everything) and steps in not-very-smoothly to help him. “Newton—Dr. Geiszler I have been stationed here since 2020,” he says. “I’m Dr. Hermann Gottlieb.”

“Hermann’s my lab partner,” Newton manages to say. “We get along really awesomely. We’re, like, pretty close. Seth and I went to high school together, Hermann.”

“Mm,” Hermann sniffs. “So you’ve mentioned.”

He does not bother hiding his disdain, and Seth is astute enough to notice and jump to the logical conclusion of precisely the conversation he’d interrupted: he gives them a small, embarrassed grin, and an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders. “Yeah, I was kind of an asshole back then,” he says, “but you know how teenagers are.” He picks up his tray and stands. “Anyway, I’ll leave you guys alone. We’ll have to catch up later, Newt? Maybe dinner?”

“Totally,” Newton says.

“I should hire someone to kick his ass,” he says to Hermann as they watch Seth find a seat with some fellow rangers—similarly fresh faces, Hermann presumes them to be his crowd from Seattle—across the mess hall. “I bet I could bribe another ranger into it, just go a littttle too hard in on a sparring match. Maybe knock out a few of his teeth. Ugh. Like I’d ever get dinner with that dick.”

“I got dinner with Seth,” Newton announces in the laboratory a week later.

“I wondered where you were last night,” Hermann says, feigning disinterest as he squints at his computer screen. In truth he’s rather peeved at Newton over it; they’ve had a long-standing arrangement as dinner companions for several years at this point, and he’d waited for Newton at their table in the back of the mess hall for an hour before he finally realized he was being stood up and stormed off to his quarters. He’d debated tossing out the extra chocolate pudding cup he had stolen as dessert for Newton but decided to eat it instead, imagining with relish the whole time how upset Newton would be if he found out. It made him feel a little bit better.

“Oh, yeah, sorry I ditched you, I kinda forgot,” Newton says. “I was on my way to the mess and he kinda accosted me out of nowhere and offered to buy me noodles downtown, as an 'apology'. Not gonna turn that down. I made sure to run up a bill. But, dude, you’ll never believe this.”

“Mm,” Hermann says.

He hears Newton made an impatient little shuffling noise behind him. Then Newton is stomping over and grabbing onto the back of Hermann’s desk chair to spin Hermann around to face him. He boxes Hermann in, one hand on each armrest, and (with nowhere else to go) Hermann folds his arms across his chest and scowls up at him. “Fine. Go on.”

“So,” Newton begins gleefully, “it turns out he’s also gay now. Or I guess he always was, which explains the divorce thing, but you know what I mean. He said the reason he treated me like shit was because he was jealous of me for being out, and also because he thought I was infecting him with my gay cooties or whatever since he wanted me soooo bad. What a jerk.” He drops his arms away from Hermann’s chair. “Anyway, we boned.”

Hermann sits up quickly and nearly collides with Newton's abdomen. “What?”

“Eh, don’t worry,” Newton says, “it’s not like I’m into him or anything. I’m gonna hold that grudge forever, sorry, he’s not hot enough to make me forget all that, even if he isn't an asshole anymore. I know what I’m doing. It’s all part of my awesome revenge plan: I’m gonna string him along and then dump him hard after he gets a taste of what it's like to date someone as cool as me.”

Hermann is of two minds: the first is that Newton’s plan is abysmally stupid, and the second, that he can’t help but be relieved that Newton is not earnestly subjecting himself to a relationship with a man whom he’s professed to hate. Loathe as he is to admit it, Newton deserves—Hermann grits his teeth—better. “How exactly do you intend to ‘string him along’?” Hermann says. “And why would you even want to? He hardly seems worth the effort.”

“Number one, by being hot and charming as usual,” Newton says, and rolls his eyes at Hermann’s loud scoff. “Shut up. I’m irresistible. He’s already trying to get me to go out for coffee with him today. Can you believe how clingy he is? So desperate. Ugh. And number two—” He shrugs, and something uncomfortable simmers within Hermann’s chest at the sight of the light blush rising to his cheeks. “I meeean, I don’t know, dude. The hate sex was kinda doing it for me. I guess technically I was the only one doing the hating there, because I’m irresistible, but it was still pretty hot.”

Being treated to details of Newton’s sexual proclivities is not a new experience for Hermann, as Newton seems to think it both constitutes daily small talk in the laboratory when their work gets slow and something Hermann genuinely cares to hear about, but Hermann finds himself bristling at it now. He wasn’t aware such an, er, act, spurned on by hatred, was even a possibility with Newton—that Newton would enjoy it. Could they have been finding more constructive outlets for their mutual dislike throughout all these years? Simply embraced the fiery passion of it all? Certainly Hermann has crafted list after list of increasingly erotic ways he could shut Newton up, but it is the first time he begins to wonder if Newton might not have done the same.

He forcefully turns his chair back around to hide his face from Newton. He is flushing, his skin hot beneath his collar. His computer screen swims in front of him. “That’s lovely to hear,” he says, after far too long of a silence. “I’m glad you—enjoyed yourself. Best of luck with it all.”

“Right,” Newton says, after too long of a silence of his own. “Uh, I’ll be back in an hour-ish.” He adds, mockingly, “We’re getting coffee. I’ll bring you back a muffin and tea or something.”

Once Newton has gone, Hermann drops his head into his hands with a small groan.

[groenendaelfic]

A Dutiful Welcome (5412 words) by groenendael

Summary: His Majesty The King of Sweden and his very male, very biracial Consort arrive in London for a state visit. Philip’s duty as heir is to welcome them graciously and with all the honors befitting their station. Philip has thoughts. Wilhelm and Simon are in love.

Chapters: 1/1

Fandom: Young Royals (TV 2021), Red White & Royal Blue (2023)

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Simon Eriksson/Wilhelm, Martha Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor/Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Alex Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor (mentioned)

Characters: Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, Wilhelm (Young Royals), Simon Eriksson, Martha Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor

Additional Tags: King Wilhelm (Young Royals), King Consort Simon, POV Outsider, POV Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor, state visit, Philip Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor Being an Asshole, but only internally, because Wilmon outrank him, Duty, Decorum, protocol, Versus, Homophobia, Racism, Classism, or something, Simon Eriksson is a Little Shit, Wilhelm is a Little Shit (Young Royals), Future Fic, Not Britpicked, Canon - Movie, Philip is not envious of anything whatsoever at all, Wilmon only have eyes for each other

Series: Part 1 of Kings in London