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comradekatara · 1 month

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Your atla analysis is the best so I wanted to ask your opinion on something I've found the fandom fairly divided on - what did you think of Azula's ending within the show proper? Unnecessarily cruel or a necessary tragedy? Would you say that her mental breakdown was too conveniently brought about in order to 'nerf' her for the final agni kai? Also, do you think it was 'right' for Zuko to have fought with his sister at all or would it have been better for him to seek a more humane way to end the cycle of violence?

okay so im saying this as someone who loves azula to death like she has always been one of my absolute favorite characters ever since i was a kid and i’ve always vastly preferred her to zuko and found her to be extremely compelling and eminently sympathetic. i am saying this now before the azula stans come for me. i believe in their beliefs. but i also think her downfall is perfectly executed, and putting aside all the bullshit with the comics and whatever else, it’s a really powerful conclusion to her arc. obviously that isn’t to say that she wouldn’t continue to grow and develop in a postcanon scenario (i have a whole recovery arc for her mapped out in my head, like i do believe in her Healing Journey) but from a narrative perspective, her telos is in fact very thematically satisfying.

no, she wasn’t nerfed so that they could beat her in a fight. the fact that she falls apart is what makes them feel that they can confidently take her on (although i do think in a fair fight katara could win anyway), but the whole point is that it’s not about winning or losing in combat. the whole point is that zuko and azula being pitted against each other in this gratuitous ritual of violence as the culmination of their arcs is fundamentally tragic. yes it’s a bad decision to fight her, and zuko should have chosen another path, but the whole point is that he’s flawed and can only subscribe to the logic he has spent his whole life internalizing through violence and abuse.

that’s why aang’s fight against ozai, while tragic in its own way, is also a triumph for the way in which his ideals prevail in the face of genocide, while zuko and azula’s fight is very patently tragic. there is no moment of victory or triumph. even as zuko sacrifices himself in a beautiful mirroring of “the crossroads of destiny” and as katara uses the element of her people combined with techniques across other cultures to use azula’s hubris and ideology of domination against her, it’s presented as moments of personal growth occurring within a very tragic yet inevitable situation. it was inevitable because azula had always been positioned as an extension of her father, and thus to disempower ozai also means disempowering azula, his favorite site of projection, his favorite weapon.

yeah, it does rub me the wrong way when zuko asks katara whether she’d like to help him “put azula in her place.” it’s not a kind way to talk about your abused younger sister. but it’s also important to understand that zuko doesn’t really recognize his sister’s pain, despite the fact that they obviously share a father, because he’s always assumed that she was untouchable as their perfect golden child and thus never a victim. and he’s wrong. zuko and katara expect a battle of triumph and glory, noble heroes fighting valiantly so that good may prevail over evil. but as they discover here, even more so than their previous discovery two episodes prior, a battle is not a legendary event filled with bombast and beauty until after it has been historicized. often a war is simply fought between pathetic, desperate people who see no other option but to fight.

aang’s ultimate refusal to fight despite having all the power in the world is what makes him so important as the protagonist. but katara and zuko both share a more simplistic view of morality and what it means to be good. and zuko assumes that by fighting azula, he can only be punching up, because she has always been positioned as his superior, and she (in her own words!) is a “monster.” and then azula loses, and his entire worldview shatters. joking about putting her in her place makes way for the realization that behind all her posturing and lying (to herself more than anyone) and performance and cognitive dissonance, azula has always been broken, perhaps even more than he is.

azula says “im sorry it has to end this way, brother,” to which zuko replies “no you’re not.” but i think azula is truly sorry, because in her ideal world, she wouldn’t be fighting zuko. she doesn’t actually want to kill him, as much as she claims to. she’s already reached the conclusion that zuko will only truly reach once their fight is over. she lacks a support system, and she needs one, desperately. if she could somehow get her family back, do everything differently, less afraid of the consequences, she would. she’s smirking, she sounds almost facetious, but really, she is sorry. as of this moment, she really doesn’t want it to end this way. but zuko cannot accept that, because in his mind, azula is evil. azula has no soul nor feeling. azula always lies.

her breakdown doesn’t come out of nowhere, either. it’s precipitated by everyone she has ever cared about betraying her. first zuko betrays her, then mai, then ty lee, and then ozai — the person she has staked her entire identity to and to whom she has pledged her undying loyalty and obedience, become nothing more than a vessel for his whims — discards her because she had the audacity to care about someone other than him. what i don’t think zuko realizes, and perhaps will never realize, is that azula betrayed ozai by bringing zuko back home. he was not supposed to be brought back with honor and with glory. azula specifically orchestrated the fight in the catacombs to motivate him to join her, and it’s not because she’s some cruel sadistic monster who wanted to separate a poor innocent soft uwu bean from his loving uncle, it’s because she genuinely believes that she’s doing what’s best for him. she believes that their uncle is a traitor and a bad influence, and she believes that bringing zuko home with his honor “restored” is an act of love. to her it is.

yes, she claims that she was actually just manipulating him so that she wouldn’t have to take the fall if the avatar was actually alive, but also, she’s clearly just covering her own ass. she didn’t know about the spirit water, and only started improvising when zuko started showing hesitation. but even if she was only using zuko, then that was an insane risk to take, because either way she was lying directly to ozai’s face. and zuko admits it to ozai while simultaneously committing treason, so of course ozai would blame azula, his perfect golden child who tried to violate his decree by bringing zuko back home a prisoner at best and dead at worst, and instead found a way to restore his princehood with glory.

we only see ozai dismissing and discarding azula in the finale, but it’s clearly a tension that’s been bubbling since the day of black sun. and we know this because we do see azula falling apart before the finale. in “the boiling rock” she is betrayed by her only friends. in “the southern raiders” we see that this has taken a toll on her, that she is already somewhat unhinged. she and zuko tie in a one on one fight for the first time. and she takes down her hair as she uses her hairpin to secure herself against the edge of a cliff. unlike zuko, who is helped by his friends and allies, who has a support system. it’s a very precarious position; she’s literally on a cliff’s edge, alone, her hair down signifying her unraveling mental state. azula having her hair down signals to us an audience that she is in a position of vulnerability. she is able to mask this terrifying moment wherein she nearly plummets to her death with a triumphant smirk, but it should be evident to us all that her security is fragile here.

and the thing is, even though she’s always masked it with a smirk and perfect poise, her security has always been fragile. azula has never been safe. azula’s breakdown is simply the culmination of her realization that no matter how hard she tries, she will never be ozai’s perfect weapon, because she is a human being. she is a child, no less. and there is no one in her entire life who loves her for nothing. zuko has iroh, who affirms to him that he could never be angry with zuko, that all he wants is simply what is best for zuko. but azula doesn’t have unconditional support in her life. she doesn’t even have support.

everyone she ever thought she could trust has betrayed her, and so she yells that trust is for fools. because she feels like a fool. of course fear is the only way; it’s what kept her in line all these years. azula is someone who is ruled by fear, and who is broken by the recognition that fear isn’t enough. her downfall is necessarily tragic because her worldview is wrong. the imperialist logic of terror as a tool for domination is her own undoing, just as ozai’s undoing is losing the weapon he has staked his national identity to. it’s a battle of ideals. aang v ozai: pacifism v imperialism. katara and zuko v azula: love and support v fear and isolation.

zuko is unfair to azula, it’s true. he tries to fight her even as he can clearly recognize that “she’s slipping.” instead of trying to help his little sister, he uses that weakness to his advantage, tries to exploit her pain so that he can finally, for the first time ever, beat her in a fight. it’s cruel, but it’s also how siblings act. especially considering the conditions under which they were raised, and how zuko has always viewed her. and in zuko’s defense, she has tried to kill him multiple times lately, both in “the boiling rock” and in “the southern raiders.” zuko is someone who gets fixated on a goal and blocks out everything else, including recognition of his surroundings or empathy for others. so of course when he’s promised to put azula in her place he’s going to exploit her weaknesses to do so. after all, isn’t exploiting his weaknesses exactly what azula does best? so he allows himself to stoop to her level, and in fact only redeems himself through his sacrifice for katara. but it is when azula is chained to the grate and zuko and katara, leaning on each other, look down and observe the sheer extent on her pain, that zuko realizes that “putting azula in her place” isn’t actually a victory. it feels really, really bad, actually.

they’re in a similar position as they were when they faced yon rha. and now it is zuko’s turn to understand that he is not a storybook hero triumphing over evil, but rather a human being, facing another human being, in a conflict that is larger than themselves. to “put someone in their place” is to imply a logic of domination, of inherent superiority, that someone has stepped out of line and must be reordered neatly into the hierarchy. but aang disputes the notion, ozai’s notion, that humanity can be classified along these lines, that there exists an ontological superiority among some and not others. so operation: putting azula in her place was always going to be flawed, even if she was performing competency the way she always does, because they’re nonetheless subscribing to her logic.

of course they should be helping azula, of course they should be reaching out to abuse victims through support instead of more violence. but first they must recognize her victimhood. first they must come to understand that they didn’t get lucky, and they didn’t dominate her because they are more “powerful,” that they weren’t “putting her in her place.” they must understand that they are not heroes fighting villains in a glorious trial by combat. that the logic of the agni kai is flawed. that they are all victims. that they are all just scared, hurt children who are still grieving their mothers.

#update: ok i readmored it 👍🏼#azula #analysis #zuko #katara #ozai #azula&zuko #azula&ozai #asks #malatilata #ugh azula is such a beautiful character….. i love her sm #her arc is so beautifully perfectly tragic #just thinking abt the mirror scene gets me sooo . distraught #this was supposed to be like 2 paragraphs lol #as is always the way . with me..

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dragonmuse · 6 months

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Keep It In The Box : An Essay on OFMD Season 2 and the Failure to Heal

(here in is my season two reaction. It contains many many spoilers. It's also about 3k words long so you know what you're getting into.)

“See, I have a system for dealing with all the terrible things I've seen. There's a box in my mind, and I put the things in the box..” -Frenchie, Season 2 of Our Flag Means Death

…..and then he never opens it. Chekov’s locked box has no key in season two.

On first watch, it seemed clear to me that Frenchie’s declaration was a narrative plant. Clearly the whole season would be about that box of pain and trauma being opened, sorted through and at least the beginning of healing. The show had developed a reputation after season one of being kind and focused on queer narratives of healing from childhood. Ed and Stede’s parallels in their childhood traumas were frequently on display through season one and were repeated in flashback throughout season two. Jim’s season one arc about becoming someone who doesn’t think just of revenge and can now forge meaningful connections was profound, beautiful and often funny. Izzy is an antagonist because he doesn’t want Ed to move on or stop acting like the trauma-response version of himself. The antagonist wants to stop healing. The point is to grow, to change, to learn how to love. It’s one of the things that made season one work for me at the time, despite reservations about pacing and tone.

So naturally season two should follow suit. It’s a kind show! About healing and falling in love!

For the first several episodes, the remaining crew on the Revenge go through a gauntlet of trauma, forced to do and receive violence at Ed’s whims as he careens from self-destructive behavior to self-destructive behavior. This is the wounding setup. It was dark, but it seemed like it would have a payoff and at first it did.

Perhaps one of the most beautiful moments of the season comes in one of the small respites in those early episodes as Jim recounts Pinnochio to Fang to soothe him through his grief. That was the show that I expected. The kindness of that moment struck me very deeply. It gave me some understanding of Archie too, who seems to fall for Jim right at that moment.

That scene is the show season one promised. Season two led with packing Frenchie’s box full to bursting. Here is the fight to the death between lovers, there is a first mate who is mutilated and rotting in the very walls (the rot of the Revenge itself), and there is the storm of Ed’s rage and pain that threatens to consume all of them.

So surely these remaining episodes would concentrate on finding the humor in healing from those moments. That is the setup. Frenchie has a box. The box must eventually open.

Except time and again, all the characters who suffered are told that the only way to deal with what they’ve been through is to stick it in the box and never open it again.

Pete tells Lucius that he’s unable to move on and needs to let it go. Izzy has a story about a shark. Ed’s apology to the crew which doesn’t even contain the words ‘I’m sorry’ is just…accepted. I kept waiting and waiting for a meaningful apology to the people Ed had hurt the worst with his actions, but it seems all we get is Fang saying ‘eh, no problem, I got to hit you back so I feel better’.

The playful theme of ‘pirates are just violent sometimes’ from season one becomes a grinding horror machine in season two when every atrocity visited on someone is forgiven because the narrative needs it to be. Ed and Stede spend more time making amends with each other over the bloodless night on the beach than either of them spend trying to repent for their actions towards anyone else.

And let’s talk about Ed. Arguably this season pivots on his narrative, on his path to healing and growth. A path that starts at a very low point. His moment in the gravy basket, deciding he wants to live because there are still things to live for is so great! So one might assume that what would follow would be him pursuing those things, making amends, making connections. He and Stede have a wonderful moment, talking about being whim prone and how they’ll work to avoid that, build a relationship by going slower.

Yet, at no point do either of them stop following whims. They never heal or learn from what’s happened to them. They both keep running from thing to thing, particularly Ed. It’s a whim to sleep with Stede, it’s a whim to run off to fish, and the finale gives us just more of their whims. Ed drops fishing as fast as he picked it up. He finds those leathers in the ocean, murdering the symbolism of leaving them behind. Even the inn is a whim, one of those things Ed decided he’d be good at without evidence. And Stede joins him in that without a single on screen conversation about it ahead of the moment.

Ed needs to heal himself and to do that he needs to confront what he’s done and do the work to heal the wound. Instead, he doesn’t meaningfully apologize to anyone, besides Stede and Fang. Despite Izzy’s dying words (we’ll get to that), not only do we never see the crew caring about Ed, working to make him family in the same way they do with Fang and even Izzy, he also doesn’t choose to stay with them. So what is the point? Where is the healing? Or does even Ed, beloved main character, have to live with it all stuffed in a box?

He ends the season in the leathers he threw away, in a relationship that’s barely stabilized, going to live in a house which we are told by the narrative (in that they are very very clearly paralleling Anne and Mary with Ed and Stede or why do we even get that whole Who’s Afraid of Virginia Woolf? episode) will only end in them setting fire to each other to stay warm.

But Vee, I hear you cry, it’s a ROM-COM. This is all meant to be ha-ha funny and you are taking it so seriously!

Cool beans. Then why the hell isn’t it funny? Healing is often filled with comedy because people deal with pain with humor. You can heal and laugh at the same time. The finale especially is almost entirely devoid of laughs, almost entirely devoid of joy until the last minute for that matter. The episode that should show off with a flourish how far everyone’s come, mostly serves to show that no one has grown.

Okay that’s Ed. I want to talk about Lucius next. Our former audience surrogate (that’s taken away in season two when he doesn’t get enough screen time to perform that role and no one takes his place) really goes through the wringer. He experiences many many terrible things, including sexual assault (which is made into a grimace-laugh line that doesn’t take away from it’s seriousness because oh hey, that can be done as it turns out). He’s nervous, he’s smoking, it’s clear he’s suffering.

There’s a beautiful moment where Pete tells him ‘hey, I was also in pain. I grieved’ and that’s great. It’s good that Pete sets a boundary about Lucius not obsessing over the past to the point of occluding their future.

We even get our comedic moment where Lucius pushes Ed off the boat (still not apology, but I’d lost hope for that by then) and that doesn’t help enough. So Izzy comes in with a shark and the advice that you just have to move on.

Just…you know. Play pretend. Forget.

Shove it in a box. Ed didn’t take my leg, a shark did. Ed didn’t kill you, a shark did. Live with the person that tried to murder you because it’s your fault you dangled your leg over the side of a boat. That is the show’s message. I thought on first watch, that surely this would also come back up and be explained that you can’t live that way, that that is no way to heal. That it would become clear that this was no way through. You cannot make everything into sharks.

Lucius can move forward and still carry pain. He can still want a meaningful apology and still want to talk to his lover about what he’s dealing with while moving forward toward a brighter future.

And what of the flirtatious promise of relationships and connections being the way to heal? Look to Oluwande and Jim, whose heartfelt romance from season one was relegated to the bins of history in favor of a narrative that made him a brother Jim once had sex with. They could have had Archie AND Oluwande, who in turn could also have Zheng, but that never seems to be an option. With a single short conversation, they are broken up with, despite a brief tease at the birthday that they still ‘dance’ together, it never actually manifests. Jim and Archie never talk about what they went through. It’s swept under the rug as fast as knives are lowered.

Lucius also no longer flirts with other people, the solution to his pain is to propose and get married (but not too married, lest we forget that they’re two men, they don’t even get to be husbands or even the more respectful mates, no. They’re mateys.) This season proposes that the only happy endings are monogamous ones, where no one talks about anything painful that went before.

To ensure that message, beyond assuring the success of Oluwande and Zheng’s relationship, Jim and Archie almost entirely disappear from the narrative. Sorry you guys were given layers of trauma and no growth and not even much to do this season, we need to make sure that everyone remembers Oluwande is the break in Zheng’s day so when he says that to her five minutes later we know exactly what he’s referencing. No time for Archie to learn what an apology is or for Jim to get one line in with Oluwande that isn’t affirming their newfound broship. Must do more flashbacks to things we just did two episodes ago!

The show even dangles the conversation of the Revenge being a safe space. Why would any of them ever feel safe when the man who tortured them is allowed to walk among them and they are expected to forgive and forget? What’s safe about that? The ship is never made safe for any of them, but that’s never addressed.

And Zheng! Amazing, hysterically funny Zheng! She loses her ships, her entire way of life, the kingdom she built for herself and then…she doesn’t even get to captain the Revenge. We don’t know what becomes of her fleet, of her plans, her ambitions. Don’t worry about it, she has a romantic partner and isn’t that what every lady wants in the end?

(But Vee, I hear you cry again, there will be a season three! Maybe it will be All About Zheng! To which I say: then why did they present us with the most series finale feeling episode ever? If there’s more, I have no idea where it’s going. BUT VEE: BUTTONS AS SEAGULL ON THE GR- Fine. It’s time.)

Let’s talk about Izzy Hands.

Izzy manages more healing than anyone else this season. He reaches his lowest point, suicidal in the bowels of a ship that’s become a prison (very much in contrast to Ed’s suicidal low). The person he loves most in the world has shredded him physically and emotionally (and if you’re in the camp that thinks Izzy deserves the abuse that Ed gave to him, I would really like you to sit quietly with yourself and ask why you think there is ever anything anyone can do to deserve that treatment). He’s low, he shoots Ed to protect everyone, and then seems to plan to drink himself to death, mourning his losses.

And then another beautiful moment! The crew move past their own pain to help him. They work together for the first time and it’s to give Izzy mobility back. He treasures it. He cries over it. He uses that kindness extended to him to reach a new understanding of Stede and help him succeed, doing the work to make real amends. He sings in drag, he’s vulnerable and beautiful, celebrating the side of himself that he must’ve loathed in the first season. He’s an elder queer man, coming into himself.

He never gets an apology though. (‘Sorry about your leg’ without eye contact is not an apology. There is no responsibility taking, no acknowledgement of the weeks of torture that came with it.) Izzy also never really has an honest conversation with anyone about what it means that the man he loves punished him so severely for the crime of trying to protect the crew (yes, lest we forget, Izzy lost his leg because he was trying to keep Ed from re-traumatizing the crew and himself).

Izzy does all this work, but even he’s not allowed to take it out of the box. It’s a shark, not Ed. Ed is just ‘complicated’ (the language of abuse here is so upsetting and I think not even intentional).

And then he dies. His last act? To apologize to the man who tortured him and shot at him. To have done all this work, to take on all the blame. And then die.

In a rom com.

This show ends in a profoundly unfunny moment of telling the audience: this is the one character that did the work, that made amends, that tried his hardest to accept the parts of himself that he had a hard time embracing and formerly embittered him. He’s fully accepted his queerness and turned it into beautiful music. He’s disabled, and he worked hard to accept that. The man he loves will never love him back, so he worked hard to make Stede able to meet Ed on an even playing field. The Giving Tree gave up its limbs and its trunk, and it’s not even allowed to be a stump to sit on.

Kill the queer elder, who has managed to figure out how to live and in his own way how to heal. Kill him before he manages to teach anyone else how to meaningfully move forward (he almost gets it with Lucius, almost, but it’s meant to be rule of three, you know. Cigarette..shark…and then…and then fuck it, Lucius doesn’t even get to say a word at his funeral).

The message of this season again and again is that there is no healing, just moving forward. Like a shark. Like a bird that never lands.

That is not a kind show.

Season two is not a kind season.

It splinters people up and jams them back together without purpose or reason. It tells everyone who experiences pain that they should shove it in a box and not deal with it. No one who really needs one gets an apology of any sincerity. No one puts in the work to gain forgiveness. (Ed wearing a onesie is not The Work. Ed fixing a door is not The Work. Ed broke people that the show wants us to care about. Ed never does the work of making those amends. He fires off a Notes app apology at best. After all, it’s what he told himself via Hornigold in the gravy basket: you move on or you blow your brains out! Good thing he took his own advice and therefore had to change nothing to get his just rewards.

I would’ve taken just fifteen minutes of Ed trying to actually make amends. It could’ve been hilarious! Imagine awkward Ed trying to dance around what he’s doing with Jim and the two of them having a knife throwing competition about it. Or him and Frenchie attempting to make music together, writing a song about the raids they went on! It’s not just the crew robbed of their healing because of this, it’s Ed himself. He never meaningfully changes or makes amends. How is he any different at the end of the finale then he is standing on the edge of that cliff with Hornigold? He hasn’t moved on, he hasn’t healed. He tried one thing (fishing) that doesn’t fucking work and then he runs right back.

No one leaves this season better than they went into it. They’ve lost an elder queer, they’ve lost their joyous and queer polyamory, they’ve lost a chance for meaningful reconciliation with Ed and Ed lost any chance of looking like he gave shit if they did. Stede grows enough to accept the crew’s beliefs as important and then leaves them behind without a care.

Izzy gets a beautiful speech about piracy being larger than yourself. Ed and Stede, within twenty minutes of that speech, leave piracy. They are incapable of giving themselves to something bigger, apparently. They haven’t learned to be a part of a community. They haven’t healed from their childhood trauma or their fresher wounds. They are still just following their own whims.

Zheng’s life work is in tatters, but it’s fine, she has love. Oluwande and Jim aren’t together, but it's fine because they both have dedicated monogamous partners. Lucius was deeply scarred by what happened, never recovers much of his first season personality, but hey he got-well it’s not married exactly- but you know good enough!

Frenchie, who has a box forever locked in his head, is captain. Because the key to success is to lock it all in a box and never open it. What a message. What a show. Conceal, don’t feel. Smile because it’s a happy ending. Don’t mourn the dead, don’t try to tell people what happened to you (they will literally run away or cry too hard to listen and really you’re just bumming them out), and any meaningful change you make is only rewarded with death.

Frenchie is now a pirate captain with a box in his head full of trauma that’s never been opened, leading a crew with more wounds than scars. Wonder how that could turn out? Wonder how many years before he might want to retire and then happen to run across a gentleman pirate. As if no one learned anything at all.

#our flag means death #ofmd #ofmd spoilers #the strangest message sent #and no idea if it was on purpose #I kind of think it wasn't somehow #but boy howedy did it come across

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stevie-petey · 30 days

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episode nine: the fall

You shake your head at the teen in disappointment. “Never thought I’d have to say this, but please stop licking your sweater, Steve.” He puts his hands up in surrender, albeit with a slight scoff. “Sue a man for not wasting food.”

Summary: surprise ! life still carries on even with minor brain damage from constant concussions :( on the bright side, you and the gang all become homies. meanwhile, steve grapples with the warm fuzzies and parental issues before his worst nightmare happens: you meet robin. the horrors !

Rating: general, some swearing

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, swearing, mentions of wounds

Words: 9.1k

Before you swing in: this is it !!! last official chapter of season 2 :) this chapter is pure fluff yall. just 9k words of utter disgusting bug n steve, so i hope it makes up for how long it took for them to get to this point lmao. enjoy !

True to your promise with Jonathan, nothing necessarily changes between the two of you; things just shift. You stop being so tactile with him out of respect for Nancy, now only reaching for his hand for comfort rather than to have him so near. It takes some trial and error, but eventually the two of you manage to strike up a good balance.

You still spend most of your days either together at his house or yours. Only now, Nancy accompanies you, and it’s lovely.

“Dustin told me that Steve practically drooled over you last night before the Snowball.” Jonathan teases you, hunched over his kitchen table scribbling a half-assed essay that’s already a day late.

Nancy giggles as you throw your pencil at the boy. “That did not happen, mind your own business.”

“I don’t know, Y/N. He kept staring at you today during lunch.” Nancy slides over her paper and taps her pencil on a particular problem she’s stuck on. She’s still getting used to talking about this with you, but she pushes aside her unease and tries anyway. “Do you know the answer for number five?”

Her words cause you to blush, your mind still reeling from your conversation with Steve last night. You told him you’d wait for him, and he looked at you as if you’d promised him the world and more. Then, today at lunch, Steve had boldly found you sitting with Nancy and Jonathan outside and joined.

It was a welcome change, and he sat so close to you that your thighs pressed together underneath the picnic bench you’d been eating at.

“He wasn’t staring at me,” you mumble, embarrassed and still feeling his weight pressed against you, before sliding your paper over to Nancy. “And I got Henry Ford.”

Frowning, Nancy erases her answer. “That makes no sense.”

“My answer or Steve not staring at me?”

“Both.” Nancy and Jonathan say at the same time.

You throw another pencil at Jonathan. “I wasn’t talking to you, write your late essay.”

He ducks, “Would you stop?”

“Not unless you stop speaking.”

“This is my house, bug–”

“And I can call your mom right now and she’d let me stay.” You cross your arms at Jonathan, knowing you’ve already won the argument. “Any more complaints?”

Jonathan goes back to writing his essay, grumbling under his breath about how you can’t keep pulling the mom card, and you giggle at his anger alongside Nancy. He’s the one who wanted the two of you to get along, he should’ve known that you and Nancy would just make his life miserable.

The three of you go back to working quietly at the table, you and Nancy occasionally asking each other for help on certain questions, while Jonathan grows more and more frustrated by his essay. After he’s angrily scribbled out his fifth line, Nancy snatches the paper from him and points towards the back door.

“Out,” she tells him.

Jonathan blinks. “What?”

“Go outside, take a small walk, and calm down. You’re frustrated and won’t get anywhere if you keep this up.”

They stare at each other, Nancy silently daring him to argue with her, and you watch in amusement. She has him wrapped around her finger, and after only a few seconds, Jonathan sighs and gets up from the kitchen table. “I’m doing this because I want to, alright?”

You snort. “Sure, buddy.”

He gives you the finger, presses a kiss to Nancy’s forehead, and then grabs a coat to go outside.

Once he’s gone, Nancy turns to you and sets down her pencil. “So, how long are you planning on pretending that Steve doesn’t like you?”

You whip your head up, dropping your pencil in the process, startled by her forward question. “I’m sorry?”

“You heard me.”

“I…” Though you’ve slowly gotten used to Nancy being with Jonathan, it still feels too soon to talk to her about Steve, even if she’s given you her blessing. It feels too raw, too inappropriate, to discuss it with her. “I don’t think we should talk about this–”

“C’mon, Y/N. It’s obvious he at least feels something for you, and if anyone deserves Steve, it’s you.” Nancy gently takes your hand, her voice sincere. “He came outside for lunch looking for you today, he drove you to the Snowball, he’s been visiting you at work ever since you smiled at him last year.”

You look away from her. “It’s… complicated.”

“It’s not…” Nancy swallows, clears her throat, and looks away as well. It still has taken her time to adjust to the shift between the four of you, to finally understand that it’s now okay to talk about these things with one another. “It’s not because of me, right?”

A beat of silence passes, and when you don’t say anything, Nancy sighs. “Shit.”

“He’s still healing, Nance.” You admit, feeling bad for bringing this upon her. You don’t want her to feel responsible for any of it, it’s not her fault that the boys you’ve loved have loved her first. The wound of it has healed now, though the scar that it has left will never fade.

You both know this, neither one of you want to admit it to the other.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” She shakes her head, the familiar guilt of somehow always the one hurting you clawing at her. “I wish things had been different between me and him.”

You shrug, you don’t see any reason to blame her. “I don’t.”

“You don’t what?”

“I don’t wish things had been different between the two of you,” you admit, knowing how bizarre it may sound. When Nancy raises her eyebrows, you’re quick to explain. “What I mean is, if Steve had never been with you, who knows who he’d be now? Or if Jonathan had never been my best friend, would you still have found each other?”

Nancy bites her lip, still unconvinced. “I don’t know, Y/N…”

“I think, truthfully, that we all unwound with who we were supposed to.” You’re not sure how to explain this, to express your unusual way of viewing such complex situations. “Without our histories, without being so intertwined with one another, I don’t think we ever would’ve unwound how we were supposed to. Does that make sense?”

“I think so,” Nancy nods, although hesitant. “And Steve is still… Unwinding from me?”

You cringe, knowing how silly it all sounds. “I know it sounds dumb, but he is, and while I’m not saying he doesn’t like me… I told him to take his time.”

“You’d really wait for him?”

“I would.”

Nancy sighs and goes back to her assignment, continuously amazed by your selflessness. “You’re too good.”

You shrug again, now used to being told this by others. It doesn’t bother you like it used to, you’ve come to view your kindness as something wholly yours and no one else’s to understand. It took so much violence to become so kind, and you will never, ever apologize for it now. “It adds to my charm.”

Jonathan walks back in right as Nancy bursts into loud laughter, you do as well, the remaining tension between you and her now gone. He sees the way she clutches her stomach and how you have to grab onto the table so you don’t fall over as you laugh. “Did I miss something?”

You wipe at your eyes, still giggling. “No, bee. Sit down and do your work.”

“Yeah,” Nancy giggles again, feeling breathless. “What Y/N said.”

“You two are the worst.” Jonathan slumps in his seat and goes back to his essay.

“You love us,” you tease, knowing that he hasn’t told Nancy this yet.

He smiles shyly and avoids Nancy’s eye. “Yeah, I do.”

They both blush and there’s a childish energy to them, shy and soft and sweet. You watch them with a warm smile, endlessly happy for them both; they’re sweet to watch, still shy around one another.

As you watch Jonathan and Nancy giggle softly as they help each other with their assignments, looking over at you for help as well, you know that junior year is finally starting to look up.

–

Steve continues to join you, Jonathan, and Nancy for lunch. He makes himself a permanent seat next to you, never once straying far from your side, and eventually he even ends up back in the library with the three of you.

It’s reminiscent of your sophomore year, back when you’d just defeated the Demogorgon and Nancy had gone back to Steve. For a brief few months, you’d all study in the library together and formed your own nice, albeit tense, group.

Then lines and threads became tangled and unspoken feelings became harsh actions.

Now, Nancy and Jonathan are whispering about something, off in their own world, and you’re currently helping Steve with an English assignment.

It’s the last day before winter break, so it’s hard getting him to pay attention to what you’re saying. All he can focus on is the way you’ve pinned your hair up, some pieces of hair falling over your face, and how you look so lovely in your white sweater.

“Are you listening to me?” You ask him, narrowing your eyes.

Steve coughs, knowing he’s been caught. “Yeah, totally.”

“Okay,” you cross your arms and lean back in your seat, distancing yourself from the boy, which only makes him frown. “What did I just say, then?”

“C’mere,” he huffs at you, tugging at your chair so that you’re now pressed flush against him; just the way he likes it. You blush, your stomach flutters wildly at the idea that he can’t be more than five inches away from you. Steve sees this, sends you a wink, and tries to use this to his advantage. “We both know I wasn’t listening, angel.”

Angel.

It’s become his new name for you, though he hasn’t said it since the night of the Snowball; the name drips from his lips as if saturated in sunlight. Although you want to litter his face with kisses and call him lovely and handsome and wonderful, you know that in this instance, Steve has only used the nickname to get on your good side.

And two can play that game.

“I don’t know, honey.” You lean in closer to Steve, angling your head so that you look up at him while you use your own name for him. His breath always hitches when you look up at him like this, when you call him honey again for the first time all sweet and soft. “I was hoping you’d been listening.”

Steve gulps, he’s still not used to the way your voice dips low when you want his attention. How when you call him honey he swears he can taste the residue of it in his mouth. He leans closer as well, your faces inches apart, and he’s forgotten what the two of you are even talking about. “I–I’m sorry?”

As soon as he’s apologized, you pull yourself away, just before Steve’s lips land on yours, and go back to the English assignment. You’re immensely pleased with yourself, especially when Steve almost face plants against the library table when you suddenly move away. “Apology accepted! Now, let’s go back to Shakespeare, shall we?”

Steve’s jaw drops, only now realizing that he’s been tricked. “Oh, that was evil, Y/N.”

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game.” You wink at him, and Steve has never wanted to kiss a smirk off of someone’s face more.

He’s addicted to it, honestly.

Later that day, once school has let out, Steve drives you to work. This was another shift that came with Jonathan and Nancy getting together. While your best friend still drives you to school, it’s now Steve who drives you to work and picks you up.

He enjoys spending the time with you, having you all to himself during the simple ten minute drive to Bookstrordinary. The two of you rarely say much during these drives, and it’s everything Steve could ask for and more; he simply has you with him, nothing else needs to be said or done.

Mrs. Waters greets him with a knowing smile, the woman has become more invested in Steve’s infatuation with you than even your mother. “Hello, young man.”

“Hi, Mrs. Waters.” Steve gives her a wave and walks over to his usual station: behind the counter, waiting for you.

You give your boss a quick hug and clock in. “Any new shipments today?”

“All the new books are in the back, so make sure your handsome man does all the heavy lifting, sweetie.” Mrs. Waters giggles at her own words before she slowly makes her way into her office.

“Well,” you nudge Steve. “You heard the woman, you’re a handsome man. Go do the heavy lifting.”

The compliment, though indirect, still rolls over Steve in slow, warm waves. He smiles bashfully at you. “Handsome, huh?”

“Oh, don’t pretend as if you didn’t know.” You flick his nose and walk over to the back door to start retrieving the new shipment. “Seriously, though. Could you help me with these boxes?”

Steve is quick to run over and help, he will always be happy to help you, but before he picks up a box, a thought occurs to him. Leaning against the doorframe, he smirks at you. “I’ll help, after you explain to me that little stunt you pulled earlier in the library.”

“What stunt?” A huff escapes you as you try to pick up a box, but Mrs. Waters had been right. The shipment is heavy, and Steve is currently useless.

“The whole ‘honey’ thing.”

You look up at Steve, knowing exactly what he’s asking, but you toy with him anyways. “Only if you explain the whole ‘angel’ thing.”

“C’mon, Y/N.” He groans, annoyed that you’re so good at dodging all of his questions. He doesn’t know what makes you Hendersons so great at deception, but it’s a terrifying thing to witness. “You’re an angel, it’s a fitting name for you.”

Though you’d been expecting him to say this, hearing Steve’s explanation still causes you to blush. Normally it bothers you when people call you an angel and act as if you’re some person above everyone else, but with Steve you know that he means it so genuinely. To him, you’re an angel because he knows you so well.

He doesn’t view you as this innocent creature that can do no wrong; Steve knows how you came to be, he knows the anger you once held, and it’s because of this that he has come to view you as angelic. It takes a lot for someone to become kind again, and Steve knows this better than anyone else.

“You’re sweet honey,” you finally respond, your face still warm from the vulnerability. You want to try for him, become okay with the feeling of being seen. “You asked for a nickname, and that’s what I’ve landed on. Any more questions?”

Steve practically melts against the doorway, and you almost giggle at the sight. “I’m honey?”

“Mhm, sweet honey, but honey sounds less dramatic.”

He laughs, his head is spinning and he’s so enamored with you. “Okay, I like that, but can I ask one more question before I agree to helping you?”

You roll your eyes but nod, secretly enjoying this moment with him. “Ask away.”

“Why honey? Not that I’m complaining, but…” Steve shrugs. “Not so creative.”

You gasp, “Are you saying you don’t accept my nickname for you?”

“No! I–” Steve frantically tries to correct what he’s said, but you grab his hand to calm him down.

“Relax, Steve. I was teasing,” you give his hand a squeeze, his fingers are strong against yours, and take a deep breath. The explanation is more intimate than you’d like, but he deserves to know. “Did you know that honey can be used to treat wounds?”

Steve shakes his head, silent as he listens.

“It’s a natural remedy, an unsuspecting cure, disguised as something only sweet.” You’re suddenly shy again, but you offer Steve more of yourself because you can; because he’s here, all warmth and love and summer. He’s healed wounds within you that you hadn’t known existed until you noticed their scars fading—cuts that have littered your skin from abandonment, guilt, and love. “When I was young, my dad would take me to this local farm on my birthday every summer and he would buy me honey. We’d use it to make sweet tea.”

You pause, the memory practically on your tongue as you remember the taste of the local farmer’s honey and how it would drizzle, slow and smooth, into your sweet tea. You remember your father’s laugh, how he would boast to the entire town that his sweet tea could win awards. “I never really liked tea, but my dad’s sweet tea was amazing.”

The honey had been his secret ingredient.

Steve is quiet after you’ve finished your story. He takes his time responding, he allows the story you’ve told to sink in, he rolls it around in his head, memorizes its details. He knows that you don’t like talking about your father, and the fact that you’ve shared a happy memory about him with Steve…

“Thank you,” he says. There’s a weight behind his thanks, he knows he will never be able to put into words how much this means to him. He tries, though, and pours every truth that he can into his words, “I love the nickname.”

The two of you begin unpacking the new shipment of books after that, working silently side by side.

It’s a lovely summer day within Bookstrordinary, even though it’s the middle of winter in Hawkins.

–

This Christmas Eve, you have your entire kitchen on lockdown. No one is allowed to come in, all food and drinks have been thrown onto the dining room table for others to use. Your hair is tied up, your apron is on, and you’ve banished Dustin from even looking at you.

“This is excessive, even for you.” Dustin scoffs from the living room, annoyed that he can’t even sit at the counter and watch.

You’ve just preheated the oven and are now whisking your dry ingredients together for Mike’s favorite brownies. There’s a rack of Will’s oatmeal raisin cookies on the counter cooling off, alongside Mrs. Wheeler’s sugar cookies she loves. “You lost your baking privileges when you mixed up the salt and sugar last year. Those gingerbread cookies were awful.”

“They’re both white! How was I supposed to know?”

“Stop talking and leave,” you point towards the living room with your whisk and some powder flies out of the bowl in the process.

Dustin tries to argue, but then the doorbell rings and he immediately breaks out into a shit eating grin. “Perfect timing.”

“What–” You try to question what your brother is up to, but he’s already run to answer the door. Sighing, you slowly mix in your wet ingredients and mumble to yourself, “I hate him. I really do.”

“Who do we hate?” Steve slides into the kitchen, not a care in the world, and slides right into Jonathan’s peanut butter cups. “Shit!”

“Steve!” You quickly catch the desserts, barely able to hold onto the bowl of brownie batter in your hands. Once the crisis is averted, you turn to Steve and begin hitting him with your batter covered whisk, effectively ruining his sweater. “What are you doing here?”

“I invited him!” Dustin now slides into the kitchen as well, a gleeful look in his eyes.

Meanwhile, Steve looks down at the batter he’s covered in and scraps some off with his finger before bringing it to his mouth. He hums, nods appreciatively, and smacks his lips. “Ya know, why haven’t I had this before?”

“The brownies are for Mike.” Dustin says, sneakily popping a peanut butter cup into his mouth.

“Wheeler should share, this batter is delicious.” Steve licks some more off of his sweater and you and Dustin cringe at him. When he sees this, he simply shrugs at you both. “What? My sweater is clean.”

You shake your head at the teen in disappointment. “Never thought I’d have to say this, but please stop licking your sweater, Steve.”

He puts his hands up in surrender, albeit with a slight scoff. “Sue a man for not wasting food.”

You blow a piece of hair out of your face and go back to the batter. “Again I ask: what are you doing here?”

“Like the kid said, he invited me.” Steve points to Dustin, who sends you a thumbs up. “Didn’t know I’d be walking into a war zone, though.”

“It’s Christmas Eve,” you say, as if this is all the explanation he needs. When Steve only tilts his head at you in confusion, you huff and put down your bowl so you can quickly explain. “I bake everyone their favorite desserts for Christmas, and normally it’s fine. However, now I have Max, Nancy, Hopper, and El to add to my baking list and I…”

You stumble, now suddenly feeling the effects of baking all day catching up to you. You’re slightly woozy, you can’t remember if you had lunch today. “I’m doing great, honestly.”

“She’s going insane.” Dustin loudly whispers to Steve, his fingers circling around his head in a “crazy” motion.

Steve ignores the boy and stands next to you, placing a hand to the small of your back and leans over your shoulder, allowing you to lean back against him. It’s a simple gesture, and you melt immediately against him. “Give me a bowl and recipe, angel. I’ll help you bake.”

You reluctantly move away from Steve and quickly find a piece of paper and a pen to scribble the recipe for Nancy’s chocolate chip cookies. It’s an easy enough recipe, you trust that Steve can handle the basics.

As you hand the recipe to him, Dustin’s jaw drops. “What, no fair! Why can’t I help bake?”

“Salt and sugar, Dustin. Salt and sugar.”

Steve gathers the ingredients he needs. “Do you have a spare apron?”

“I mean, sure,” you show him where one hangs next to the doorway. “But you’re already covered in brownie batter, so I’m not sure why you need one now.”

“Wanna match with you,” Steve quickly ties the strings around his waist, the apron is far too small on him and it makes you giggle.

Dustin, now very much third wheeling, throws his hands up in the air and marches out of the room. “You two are disgusting, ya know that?”

“Love you too!” You call after the boy, who responds by marching even louder towards his room.

With your brother gone and with Steve’s help, you manage to get through the rest of your baking list in no time. While you hadn’t expected Steve to necessarily fail in the kitchen, you were also pleasantly surprised by how comfortable he seemed to be while helping you bake.

“How’d you get so good at measuring sugar?”

Steve doesn’t look up from his measuring cup, too focused on the task at hand as he carefully counts out how many cups he will need. “My mom.”

“Oh,” you breathe out, not having expected the answer. He never really brought his parents up, something that you’ve noticed but never touched on with him. You figured it was like your father, never wanting to talk about someone who has hurt you.

Hesitantly, you try to learn more. “Does she bake with you a lot?”

“She used to,” Steve counts his third cup and mixes it into the bowl, now working on Max’s coconut bites. “Back when I was little, we used to bake her banana bread together all the time.”

His voice is light, the conversation isn’t a painful one for Steve, so you decide it’s safe to press further. “Well, if you can remember the recipe, I’m sure we can bake it today.”

Steve looks up at you, eyes wide. “You mean it?”

“Of course I mean it, dummy.” The way he’s looking at you with such genuine enthusiasm makes your heart hurt; he’s surprised you’ve offered him kindness. “I was going to bake you those caramel banana cookies, so I have some ripe bananas anyways–”

You’re cut off by Steve’s arms wrapping around you. He holds you tight, and he smells of sugar and cinnamon; it’s an addicting scent. “Thank you,” he breathes out, touched that you would do such a thing for him, and you tighten around him, happy that you’re able to give him this.

Later that night, when you walk Steve to his car after a long day of baking, he opens his passenger side door and grabs something from the seat. You watch him, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “What are you doing?”

“You think I came all the way here on Christmas Eve without a gift for you?” Steve teases, a smirk on his face as he hides something behind his arms.

You gasp, “You planned this, didn’t you?”

“Dustin called, I answered, and I saw it as the perfect opportunity to surprise you,” he shrugs, as if it’s no big deal. “Plus, I got homemade banana bread out of it, so shush and close your eyes.”

“Fine, but only because I have your gift waiting in my room. The second we’re done here, I’m running inside and bragging about my impeccable gift giving abilities.”

Steve chuckles fondly, knowing that whatever you will give him will ultimately be his favorite gift he’s ever received. “Okay, moron. Close your eyes.”

With a giggle, you close your eyes and eagerly await whatever you’re about to be given. Steve’s gift from last year, a signed poster of the original Spider-Man comic, now hangs on your bedroom wall. You love it dearly, every time you look at it, you smile.

Something soft is placed within your hands. Its texture is woolen, the material is heavy yet lightweight, and while you can’t figure out exactly what it is, you can’t help but notice how expensive it feels. “Okay, open your eyes.”

You do, and when you see what Steve has given you, you gasp. “Oh, it’s beautiful!”

Within your hands is a cardigan. The wool it has been knitted with is a lovely cream color, and you bring the clothing closer to admire all the wonderful details within the knit pattern. With small pieces of wool, hints of baby blues and pinks weave in and out of the cream. Along the front are buttons made from a beautiful dark wood, polished to perfection.

Steve lets out a nervous chuckle and stuffs his hands into his pockets. “Yeah, well. Figured I owed you a new cardigan after basically tearing apart your old one.”

“I was bleeding out, Steve.” Your finger traces over a button, its wood is cool to the touch and so smooth that you can hardly believe it’s real. “If you hadn’t torn my favorite cardigan to stop the bleeding, I wouldn’t be alive today to call you an idiot for even considering I would be mad about that–”

As you admire one of the sleeves, your finger catches on something. Turning the clothing around, you see, within the inside of the sleeve, a messily sewn on patch. The stitches are crooked and horribly uneven, clearly done by someone unskinned with a needle. “What’s this?”

Steve clears his throat, uncharacteristically flustered. “Just… Something I added.”

The patch is small, no bigger than an inch or so, with messy handwriting on it that has become familiar to you through long hours at Bookstrordinary helping you write down all the orders needed for shipments.

S.H.

Steve must mistake your stunned silence for disgust, because he quickly tries to take the cardigan away from you in embarrassment. “Fuck, you–you think it’s weird and you hate it and I went too far–”

He had wanted to give you a piece of himself somehow.

His panicked rambling is cut off by your entire body being thrown against his. Suddenly he has an armful of you, flushed against him in the December chill, and Steve’s heartbeat threatens to beat out of his chest. He has you right where he wants you, in his arms with your perfume swirling around his brain as he buries his face into your hair.

Everything calms within him, all the panic and insecurity he had just been feeling is now gone.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper, not even bothering to hide the fact that you’re now crying. No one has ever made something for you, and the hand sewn patch that now resides on your beautiful cardigan makes everything within you burn.

Steve’s fingers slowly make their way to your hair and he risks pressing a kiss atop of your head. He relishes in the way his lips feel against your hair, how it feels like he’s done this all his life. “You really like it?”

“I love it.” You pull your head from his chest and catch his eye. They shine when they look at you, and you can’t help but think about how similar they look compared to last summer. Last July Steve had looked at you like he’d fall to his knees for you and kiss every crevice of your skin if you’d asked him to, and you had run away, terrified of the feelings you weren’t ready to face.

Now, as Steve stares down at you still as if you’re holding the sun within your hands, all you can think is home.

Home.

What a fascinating concept, being able to find a home within someone’s arms.

And it’s a fall like no other.

“I’m glad you love it,” Steve is breathless, both relieved and in awe that he’s done something to render you this speechless, that he has this effect on you.

Neither of you know how long you stand there wrapped in each other, but eventually you force yourself to detangle from the boy. When Steve groans at the loss of your touch, you gently shove him away with a smile. “I still owe you a gift, dummy.”

He thinks about this for a moment, hums to himself and taps his finger against his chin. You giggle, which is all he wanted to make you do, and finally he seems to come to a decision. “Fine, I will allow this because I wanna know what you got me.”

“Mhm, that’s what I thought.” You flick Steve’s nose and begin walking towards your house. “I’ll be back in a second!”

Steve watches as you run back inside, the cardigan he has gifted you is clutched tightly to your chest, and he knows he’s falling as well. He can feel it, the slight tug within his chest that expands into a warmth that steadily beats alongside his heart.

As you promised, you’re back with a small box wrapped in a simple blue paper within no time. Only this time, you’re now wearing the cardigan and Steve’s heart skips a beat when he sees you.

You’re practically skipping as you return to his side, stupidly excited for Steve to see what you’ve gotten for him; you all but shove the gift into his hands. “Open it!”

He can’t help but laugh at your enthusiasm, though his heartbeat still hasn’t quite settled yet. “So bossy.”

You ignore Steve’s teasing and instead watch the look on his face as he unwraps the box and opens its lid. Within the box, tucked delicately between sheets of tissue paper, is a framed photo of Steve and Dustin.

A mix of emotions cross Steve’s face, from shock to curiosity to pure adoration. His lips part slightly, a slight gasp escapes him. “Y/N…”

You’re beaming, though you shrug as if it’s just another Monday for you. The photo is your favorite, taken the other day while they worked on a robot set that Steve had brought over. “Jonathan left his camera at my place a few weeks ago, and you and Dustin looked incredibly sweet working together, so… I snuck a picture while you two were busy bickering over drill bit sizes.”

In the picture, Dustin’s hands are gesturing wildly at Steve, his eyes manic, yet there’s a genuine smile on both of their faces despite the clear indications that they’re arguing. Tools are scattered around them and a poor, misshapen robot lays discarded on the table in front of them, long forgotten in the midst of their argument.

It’s the perfect photo, honestly.

Steve lets out a wet chuckle, his eyes are shining with fondness. “That kid is such a pain in the ass.”

“Yeah, but you can’t help but love him anyway.” You nudge him, drawing his attention back to you. “It’s not often I see Dustin befriend someone so quickly, ya know.”

Steve ducks his head down, flushed from what you’re implying. “Yeah, well. He’s a good kid.”

“He is.” You stand on your tiptoes and press your lips against his cheek, before whispering into his ear, “and so are you.”

You feel Steve shiver, and he grips at your waist so that you can’t back away again. He pauses for a moment, allows your words to sink in and your kiss to seep throughout his body. There’s more he wants to say, his lips practically beg to be drawn to yours, but he takes a deep breath and says what he knows he can give you. “Merry Christmas, angel.”

“Merry Christmas, honey.” Your lips graze Steve’s ear and he shivers again. This, he knows, is where he was always meant to be.

–

Spring comes, and Steve doesn’t get into any of the colleges he applied for.

It’s a hard blow, and the months you’ve spent trying to rebuild his confidence comes crashing down within seconds.

Steve draws into himself, you don’t see him at school for a few days and he doesn’t stop by your work. He’s embarrassed, hiding from his shame of not being good enough to even get into Tech. He’s everything his father told him he’d be. A failure, an embarrassment to the Harrington name.

You give Steve a few days to himself, trusting that he’ll come back when he’s ready; you know how deeply he carries the weight of his father’s expectations. However, when almost a week goes by without any word from the teen, you decide to take matters into your own hands.

Which leads you to now: knocking on Steve’s door with platters of fresh baked goods, Mike and the others holding their own assortment of snacks and movies for tonight.

It took a lot of bargaining and multiple batches of brownies, but in the end you convinced Dustin and the others to surprise Steve with a movie night at his house. You knew his parents would be out of town this week, they’re hardly ever home anyways.

After a few swift knocks, you don’t have to wait long before Steve opens the door. He looks tired, his hair is a mess and he’s wearing the ratty sweatpants that you absolutely hate on him. It looks like he hasn’t slept in days, and when he sees who is behind his door, he frowns. “Why are you all holding snacks?”

“Well, hello to you too, buddy.” Dustin is the first to enter, shoving past Steve without a care in the world. He looks around and whistles, impressed with the house. “Y/N said you were rich, but damn.”

“Is that a pool?” Lucas makes his way in as well, Max loosely holding his hand as she follows.

El looks up at you. “What is a pool?”

“Mike,” you call for the boy to get his attention. When he turns to you, brownie shoved in his mouth, you point towards El. “Can you explain to her what a pool is while I talk to Steve?”

Mike salutes you and grabs El’s hand, yanking her inside so that you’re left alone with the teen. As soon as they’re gone, Steve lets out an exasperated sigh. “What is this, Y/N?”

“Mandatory movie night!” You exclaim, hoping that your fake enthusiasm will be enough to rub off on him as well. You really, really hope that this plan works.

Steve sighs again, his heart isn’t in it to play along. “Y/N…”

“You’ve missed an entire week of school and Bookstrordinary misses its most loyal customer.” You’re basically pleading now, scared that Steve will turn you and everyone else away. “I just… I miss you and I know you enjoy the kids, even if you try to deny it, and I want you to just spend this one night with us. No worrying about the future, no family drama, just me, you, and the kids as we watch horrible scary movies and eat an unhealthy amount of sugar, okay?”

“But–”

“No, you’re not allowed to argue with me.” Steve stares at you, baffled, but you simply barge past him and enter the home as well. “We’re going to have fun tonight, damn it.”

He watches as you walk inside and start ordering the kids around. Within no time, you’ve arranged a neat row of cookies and brownies and chips and dinosaur nuggets on his dining room table while the kids start making a fort in the living room.

Steve sighs, knowing he’s long lost this battle with you, and joins you to help with grabbing more blankets and pillows for the fort.

One part of the deal for a movie night at Steve’s was allowing all the kids to pick their own movie to watch. You’d been very hesitant to say yes to this, but ultimately Mike’s nagging won in the end. His movie choice goes first, and within the first fifteen minutes of it, a fort has been made and the kids quickly settle within it, a mess of sheets and pillows and blankets.

You’re on the couch, lazily stretched out, knowing that there’s no room for you in the fort with the others. You don’t mind, you honestly prefer having the couch to yourself, and you only further come to enjoy this when Steve makes his way into the living room and looks around.

“Where am I supposed to sit?” He asks, slightly offended that he doesn’t get to share the fort.

“Here,” you pat the couch, though you don’t bother to make any room for him. Your entire body rests on the couch, there isn’t enough space for him to sit comfortably on the edge.

Steve bites his lip. He wants, more than anything, to lay on top of you and melt into your body, but he just isn’t sure what boundaries have been placed between the two of you. When you notice his misplaced hesitation, you simply sigh and tug at his legs, causing him to fall on top of you. “Shit–”

He collapses onto you and your body braces for his impact, the weight of him foreign yet welcome. He’s wearing the cologne you love and you reach for his shirt to tug him closer so that he’s now properly laying on you. You sigh happily, wrapping your arms around Steve. “See, was that so hard?”

“If you wanted to cuddle, you could’ve just asked.” Steve grumbles, but he situates himself so that he’s laying more comfortably on you and scoops you into his own arms as well. He rests his head against your chest and your fingers find their way into his hair, as they always seem to do.

Steve closes his eyes and lets himself enjoy your touch, for once not caring that the kids are just below the two of you in their fort. Normally he’s more reserved around you when they’re near, especially Dustin.

That kid never lets Steve catch a break when it comes to you.

But he’s exhausted and has spent the last week either crying or pretending that he’s someone he isn’t, so Steve indulges in your warmth and relishes in the way your fingers seem to unconsciously draw small circles on his back; he’s so fucking grateful that you exist.

You’re always there to catch him, to remind him of who he can be despite his continuous flaws.

The surprise movie night ends up being everything Steve needs. He laughs at Mike’s horrible jokes, shows El how to use the VHR, he argues with Max about whether peanut butter belongs with chocolate, Dustin throws popcorn at you when you kiss Steve’s cheek, and Lucas even asks him about basketball and if he has any advice for him once he gets to high school.

It’s the most fun Steve has had in a while, and he realizes why you spend so much time with these kids. They’re everything, really. Smart and fucking hilarious and easy to be around. They’re honest with him, they tell him he’s an idiot for not getting into college while in the same breath debating with him about if college is even worth it.

Plus, you litter Steve’s face with more kisses than usual tonight, which only brightens his mood further. You’ve been more affectionate with him lately, holding his hand more often and pressing your lips wherever you can. It’s as if he’s found some key, unlocking all the love you’ve stored within you.

Steve isn’t an idiot, he knows there’s more to it, so do you. However, rather than acknowledge it, you both choose to simply bask in it. It’s not time yet, bringing this into the light. It’s delicate, still forming into something that Steve is sure will be incredible.

For now, he allows his lips to skim across your face while the kids aren’t looking. They’ve been dying to do this ever since he’s known you, and the giggle you let out is more than enough for him.

–

Spring turns to summer and before Steve knows it, he’s graduating.

He rolls over in bed and stares at the ceiling. The Harrington household is quiet. His parents have gone on yet another business trip, his father had scoffed when Steve had asked if they’d be back in time for his ceremony.

“Why should we attend if you’re not going to do anything with that diploma?”

“Right,” Steve had scratched the back of his neck, embarrassed that he had even thought to ask his father to come. “I’m sorry.”

His mother, who had been quiet as they spoke, only stepped forward once her husband had left the room. She brought a hand to his face and tentatively stroked his cheek with her finger. “I’m proud of you, my beautiful boy.”

Steve had smiled at her, knowing that she meant well and yet heartbroken that she couldn’t voice this in front of his father. She smiled sadly at him, as if she sensed what he had been thinking, before following after her husband. As she always does.

The doorbell rings, effectively breaking Steve out of his momentary self pity. He looks at his alarm clock and frowns. It’s early in the morning, he doesn’t know who could be at the door at such an hour.

Sighing, he gets out of bed and makes his way downstairs angry at the world. He’s tired of growing up, his parents suck, he’s almost definitely skipping his graduation ceremony, and now he has to get out of bed to go answer the door.

He opens the door and when he sees that it’s you, his mood drastically improves. You’re dressed in a pretty lavender sundress, a departure from your usual t-shirts and shorts that Steve has come to associate as your summer uniform. By the time he manages to take his eyes off of you, he realizes too late that you’re holding flowers and shoving your way into his home.

“Ready to graduate?” You ask, carefully setting the flowers down on his kitchen table. “You can’t skip it if I’m here, ya know.”

Steve groans. “How did you even know I was going to skip?”

“Because you’re predictable and I enjoy making you do what’s best for you.” You’ve grabbed his hand and are dragging him towards his room. “Now, go find something nice to wear while I put your flowers in a vase.”

“But–”

You don’t give Steve any time to argue as you’ve already left the room to go and take care of the flowers. He lets out another groan, he knows he can’t argue his way out of this one. You’ve dressed up for a graduation, bought Steve flowers, and now he has to put on some stupid outfit to make a smile cross your pretty little face.

He settles on a simple white button down shirt and a pair of nice dress pants, and you return to his room as he’s struggling with the buttons. When you see him, you laugh with affection and walk over to him. “Here, let me see.”

Steve lets you button his shirt, your breath is warm against his chest as your fingers quickly secure the buttons into the place. He admires the cute frown on your face as you concentrate, and he allows his hands to come up to yours and slots your fingers together. You’re taken aback by the sudden affection.

“What are you doing?” You ask, a familiar blush on your face from his touch. You don’t think you’ll ever get used to this.

“Nonthin’.” Steve says, though he lets go of one of your hands and places it on the small of your back as he always does. He uses the hand to push you closer and the other hand remains intertwined with yours. He stares down at you, he’s close enough to count every eyelash that dots along your pretty eyes. “Just admiring you.”

“Is this some ploy to distract me from your graduation?” Though you try to tease him, you’re weak and let out a soft sigh when Steve pulls you even closer, feeling his body against yours. He’s allowed himself to become bolder with you, and as if to prove this, he tucks your hair behind your ear and kisses your brow. You exhale with a shaky breath, your resolve dwindles. “Honey…”

Steve chuckles at your reaction, revels in it. He hopes to one day memorize all the ways he can make you sigh his name and shiver against him. For now, however, he pulls away and finishes getting dressed. “I know, I know. Graduation time.”

The perfectly aimed sandal that you throw at him is enough to solidify to Steve that he is, truly, happy.

–

Dustin is the first one Steve sees in the bleachers, then Mike, and then El, before he realizes that the entire party has managed to make it to his graduation ceremony.

“You invited them?” He turns to you, somehow surprised that you would do such a simple and lovely thing.

“Of course I did.” You kiss his cheek and quickly fix his hair as you adjust his graduation cap. You’ve been fretting over his appearance ever since you left his house, and he hates how giddy he feels whenever you dote on him. “Now, go find your seat and don’t trip on the stage!”

You’re gone in a flash, leaving Steve alone as you go and join the kids in the bleachers with all the other friends and family in attendance. The school’s gym is packed, everyone has someone there for them to see them walk across the stage, and though Steve’s actual family isn’t here, he has you and the kids in the stands cheering for him.

Steve decides, then, that you and the kids are his true family.

The ceremony is long and boring, and Steve spends the entire time sneaking glances at you.

You’re attentive, nodding along to all the boring speeches made by teachers and clapping for every student’s name that is called. He sees you breakup a fight between Mike and Max over something, he guesses it’s probably something dumb, and he laughs when you switch seats with Max in the end.

As he watches you, Steve feels what he felt the first day he ever spoke to you when you almost hit his car with your bike. When he’d gotten out of his car and found you laying in the ditch, he felt what he feels now: a slow, all encompassing wave of sunlight.

He felt it when he drove you home the following week and you’d told him he wasn’t a bad person, and he felt it again when you’d spared him kindness at Jonathan’s while fighting the Demogorgon. Then, in front of the hospital’s vending machine, the sunlight turned into a fireplace within his chest when you’d giggled and told him you were friends.

Since then, the fire has only burned deeper within Steve. It burned when he’d gifted you that poster, when he had spent every day at your job just to be near you. It had burned Steve when you’d left him that summer, the sting of it unbearable as it seared his skin. Then it had dimmed, abandoned, until you came back again and reignited it once more.

When you whispered confessions to Steve in the dark, he felt it then. When you sacrificed your life to save his, leaving a scar on your rib cage that Steve can feel whenever he hugs you, he felt it then as well. The fire was there when you leaned against him, accepted the help he has always tried to provide for you, when he gave you a piggyback ride back inside Jonathan’s and tucked you into bed.

It all comes back to Steve in flashes.

Your promise to him to wait, to stay even though he couldn’t give you what you deserved, what you needed. The gentleness of your promise and the framed photo of him and Dustin that now sits proudly on his bedside table. The surprise movie nights, how you call him “honey” and he calls you “angel”.

It’s always been there.

The warmth had started back before Steve even knew what warmth was, when he first saw you. He had been thirteen and you had been twelve.

Now, at almost seventeen and eighteen, you’re cheering for Steve’s name as it’s called upon the stage and he finally knows what this feeling is. Steve accepts his diploma and shakes hands with his principal and he swears he can hear your voice, screaming his name with pure joy, above everyone else’s; it’s as if his body is attuned to yours.

This, Steve knows, is love.

–

The school year ends and summer break begins.

There’s a new mall in Hawkins, one that’s big and flashy and opens just in time for summer vacation. Dustin spends entire days there with the party before he reluctantly leaves for Camp Know Where. You miss your brother dearly, but you know the camp is good for him.

When you find out that Jonathan and Nancy have become interns at the Hawkins Post, you scream and throw yourself into their arms, incredibly proud of them, yet you’re sad as well. You didn’t realize that you’d be spending your last summer before senior year apart from your best friend, though you know he’s always dreamed of showcasing his photography.

It’s bittersweet, but when Steve gets a job at the new mall, the free ice cream that you get makes up for it.

Plus, his uniform for Scoops Ahoy doesn’t hurt.

“You’re not allowed to laugh.” Steve threatens you, horribly self conscious with how short his shorts are. You made him promise to show you the uniform, but now he’s seriously regretting it as you bite your lip; he sees the laugh before it comes. “I mean it! No laughing, it’s already bad enough that I have to work–”

He’s cut off by your loud, smug laugh. It overtakes your entire body as you hunch over, gasping for breath as you wheeze out, “You look great!”

Steve hides behind the ice cream counter, absolutely mortified. Here he is, being laughed at by the girl he’s so fucking in love with, as he wears a stupid sailor hat and a god damn ascot.

In between your laughs, you see the despair on Steve’s face and you try to calm down. “Okay, I’m sorry,” you wipe tears from your eyes, still slightly giggling. “It’s just… You look so adorable in that uniform!”

Immediately Steve straightens his back and crosses his arms, trying to look more dignified. “One, never call a man adorable. That’s just offensive. Two, I will not get out from behind this counter until you stop giggling at me.”

“Who are we giggling at?” An unfamiliar girl now appears, wearing the exact same uniform that Steve is, and when she sees you standing in front of the teen, she raises her eyebrows in disbelief. “Henderson with Harrington?”

She knows your name, and you quickly wrack your head to try and figure out why she looks so familiar. At the very least, you know she has to be a grade below you, though you can’t quite place her, which you feel bad about. She looks kind.

“Yes, Henderson with Harrington.” You extend your hand out for the girl to shake. “I’m Y/N, though I guess you already knew that.”

“Robin Buckley,” she accepts your handshake, giving you an interested smile. She already seems to like you, which you’re relieved by.

Steve watches this interaction with pure dread. He had met Robin a few days ago during his interview for the job, and she’s made his life a living hell of torment and teasing ever since. Now, with you two meeting, he knows that you’ll only add onto Robin’s incredibly quick wit. “Oh, please don’t become friends.”

“Too late.” You wink at Robin. “Wanna check out this insanely large mall together?”

Robin gasps. “It’d be my pleasure.” She hops over the counter, completely bypassing the door that lets you out, and loops her arm through yours. “Later, dingus!”

“Bye, Steve!”

He stands there, defeated, as you and Robin giggle together while you leave. It only took thirty seconds before you abandoned him like some traitor. Sighing, he picks up a rag and starts wiping down the tables in the ice cream shop.

From the corner of his eye he can see you and Robin running around the mall. You’re giggling as you chase after the girl, your hair is tied in a loose ponytail and one of the straps on your overalls has slid down your arm. You look happy, bright and alive, far from the girl Steve remembers from last winter.

It takes Steve’s breath away.

Then, as if you can sense his eyes on you, you turn. Your eyes connect, your cheeks are flushed from running and you’re breathless as you smile at him. Steve returns your smile, winks, and he can almost hear your giggle.

You finally look away, going back to chasing after Robin as the two of you retreat further into the mall, and as your figure fades in the distance, there’s only one thing on Steve’s mind.

I can’t wait to make her mine.

⌑ series masterlist

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#steve harrington x henderson!reader #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #stranger things #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things rewrite #slowburn #angst #wtlws #m's writing #i think is my first solely fluffy chapter in come home #my god

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lurkingshan · 17 days

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Unknown Episode 8

My god, Yuan is so smart and Qian doesn't stand a chance.

Big change this week, as Yuan started calling his brother by his name (insert grumbling about the subtitles obscuring this by always translating "ge" as "Qian"). Both in the scene when Yuan checked on Qian and wished him good night, and again at the river, he called him "Wei Qian." In both of these moments, Yuan is trying to encourage Qian to accept that relationships can change and that it's okay for him to see Yuan as someone other than his little brother. He's also still calling him "ge" when he's interacting with him more in a familial way, and flirting and caring for him while also establishing some new distance by not catering to him in every single interaction. Yuan still loves him, but he's not a kid worshipping an idol anymore. You could practically see Qian's head spinning as he tries to keep up and get a read on how Yuan feels.

I like the way the show used the Lili and San Pang reveal to shake Qian up. First of all, let me just say that the scene where he found out was absolute comedy gold from start to finish, and I lost it entirely when they showed Yuan in the background embodying popcorn.gif. Qian struggles a lot with change, and he's uncomfortable both with the idea of his siblings growing older and with them engaging in romantic relationships, something he himself has never done. And the show didn't mention it explicitly, but I can't imagine it's lost on him that San Pang was so against Yuan's feelings for Qian, but has no apparent qualms about dating Lili (and covering her with hickeys, what are you, 14, San Pang?), despite all of them being part of the same found family unit. There's a hypocrisy there that is so far unnamed, and it must contribute to his discontent with this situation, though I don't think he'd ever say that out loud. Some part of him must think it's unfair that they get to date happily while he's been tormented for years over what to do about Yuan's feelings for him.

And at this point, it's clear these feelings are mutual. Qian's physical awareness of Yuan was cropping up all over this episode; there was tension in every scene they shared. Their years apart seem to have only ratcheted up the yearning between them, and Qian is not as practiced at managing it. The anticipation was all over his face whenever he was with Yuan, and each time Yuan did not prioritize him in the way he expected, he was confused and disappointed. His words at the river felt more like he was trying to convince himself, not Yuan, that they should move on from any thoughts of a romantic relationship. I loved the way Yuan got up and sat down right across from him so he could look him in the eye and say he is more mature now, and he will always be his family no matter what, but wouldn't it be nice to have more together? His quiet confidence in that scene was excellent. I truly believe he is willing to accept whatever Qian wants, but he also knows Qian needs to be pushed to understand his own feelings. And next week he will be getting a big dramatic push.

#unknown the series #taiwanese bl #shan shouts into the void

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stellarbit · 1 month

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Tech's Calculations

This edges on NSFW, but only slightly. Lots of tension though 1.5k words

You and Tech find yourselves alone on the Marauder. Little do you know Tech has been playing you like a fiddle.

I'm fixated on these men and probably going to be popping out little drabbles while I crawl out of my skin waiting for a new episode. Tech is my main man so he gets the first spotlight. Enjoyyyy

After the Batchers made a jealous fuss about your ties with the 501st legion, you honestly didn’t expect much to change. At most you’d continue to gradually get closer.

That was not the case.

Whatever illusion you had of their physical boundaries vanished within a rotation. How you overlooked their constant intrusion of each other’s personal space, you’d never know. Wrecker tended towards ‘love taps,’ if you could even call them that with how hard he hit. Hunter started herding you around with his hands whenever he deemed necessary. Crosshair maintained the most distance, but his getting in your space for teasing snide remarks was on the rise. Out of all of them, Echo changed the least.

You knew Echo the longest, credited to your shared history with the 501st, and were the most at ease with. He felt more brotherly than the others and made a habit of being the one to tend your wounds or adjust armor you couldn’t reach.

The most changed with Tech. At least on your part. His straightforward approach to things had him moving on impulse. He always pushed you out of the way or reached over you to grab something or make adjustments, his focus more on the task at hand than personal space. On occasion he fully leaned over you, hand on one shoulder and draped over your other to move for you. It happened once when you failed to activate a safety device while piloting. Another time as you were tweaking your blaster in an ‘ill advised and inefficient manner’ as Tech put it. And, most often, as you played dejarik.

Generally, you managed to keep your cool when the boys got in your space. It proved more difficult with Tech. With his observational skills it didn’t go unnoticed.

Tech noticed changes. He was fixated from your initial, and colorful, reaction to his touch. He found himself instigating you, seeing what interactions elicited what physical reactions to you. While reaching over you to activate the Marauder’s safety device, he purposely pressed into you to see your behavioral and physiological reactions up close.

Tech took note of the absent blush, the momentary hitch in your breathing, and, most interestingly, the way your legs squeezed together. Each time, he found himself struggling to suppress the urge to use his hands to provoke even more reactions, torn between his growing attraction and his analytical restraint.

Between missions, and especially when you were bunked directly across from him in the Marauder, he found himself replaying those little moments and wondering what was next to test.

The perfect opportunity came when a section of your armor’s thigh plate cracked off. Echo, Hunter, and Wrecker were off ship wrapping up your current mission. Leaving you and Tech to prep Marauder and prepare for any emergency pick ups.

Your thigh plate wasn’t just chipped; it had bent inwards and stubbornly refused release. As someone who had taken to armor begrudgingly after joining the Batch, you despised every moment spent in it. Being a Jedi trained in cloth, the weight and restriction of armor grated on your nerves.

“Dank farik!” You hissed as you lost purchase on the thigh plate once more.

Echo was nowhere to assist, allowing Tech his chance.

“At the angle it is bent, the anchoring device will need to be disassembled in order to remove your plate,” he stated matter-of-factly, wasting no time in gathering the necessary tools for the job. “An easy and swift task for me.” From the corner of his eye he caught you defeatedly drop your head

Perched on the lowest cot, you sat with your elbows resting on your knees, leaving just enough space for Tech to maneuver between them. As he slid into the gap, your legs instinctively attempted to close, inadvertently squeezing around Tech's torso. You let out a nervous laugh, "Didn’t mean to crush you there, sorry."

Recognizing the need for caution, Tech responded calmly, "Your thighs are not capable of exerting enough force to crush me. I am fine." He met your gaze, his expression conveying both reassurance and a hint of uncertainty. "Close contact is necessary for me to access the anchoring device. Please inform me if you feel uncomfortable, and I will cease immediately." Despite his eagerness to proceed, Tech prioritized your comfort above all else, silently hoping for your consent to continue.

You blinked at him once, then twice, before closing your eyes and letting your head fall back. “Do what you need to do. Just get this thing off of me.” Your nonchalant response took Tech by surprise, unexpected based on your previous reactions to him.

With your eyes still closed, you leaned back against the cot, almost as if basking in the sun. Tech cautiously slid his gloved hand up your thigh plate, keenly observing for any sign of discomfort or hesitation from you. His thumb grazed your inner thigh, a touch that unexpectedly jolted you back to attention. Tech quickly averted his gaze back to the task at hand, pretending not to notice your reaction.

Pressing his thumb into your thigh to gain better access to the jammed anchor, Tech meticulously worked on dismantling the piece. As his thumb smoothed over your thigh, gradually moving higher, you couldn't help but twitch involuntarily. Sensing your reaction, Tech glanced up, adjusting his thumb ever so slightly. “Are you alright?” he inquired, noting the pink splotches creeping up your throat.

You sat up a little more, really looking at Tech and taking in the sight of him between your legs. Between your legs with a finger inches from the apex of your thighs. Watching a second longer, a thought occurred to you. He knows exactly what he’s doing and he’s doing it on purpose.

Deciding to play along, you flashed him a reassuring smile. “Sure am.” You hummed, spreading your legs slightly wider. “All yours, Tech.” He didn’t continue immediately, but kept his eyes on you. You pushed a little more. “Unless you’re stuck on what to do next.”

Tech didn’t break eye contact as he lowered the spanner and pressed his thumb into your thigh once more. His action elicited a new reaction from you—you bit your lip. “I apologize if that is sensitive,” Tech said, his voice laced with more amusement than usual, as he continued his work.

Tech's gaze remained fixated on you, carefully noting every detail of the interaction. With a calculated ease, he maneuvered his hand between your thigh and the armor, deftly releasing the plate. As his hand flattened against your leg, he proceeded methodically, sliding his hand down inch by inch to slide the thigh plate off.

Even after the task was completed, Tech lingered, his hands remaining in place. There was a brief pause between you two until you brought your legs back together to close in on him.

"Is this how Echo typically removes your armor?" Tech inquired in a low breath.

You managed a breathy, "No."

In response, Tech adjusted his grip, his lower hand now circling to the back of your thigh while the other lightly gripped your inner thigh. A shiver ran through you, accompanied by a soft sound escaping your lips.

"Is this how you typically react to Echo touching you?" Tech's asked more confidently than before..

You leaned in closer, meeting his gaze. "What is your hypothesis?"

"I haven't observed you and Echo in such a position," Tech admitted. "Thus, I don't have enough factual data to accurately hypothesize. But my hope is that no, you do not. I think I'd like to be the only one you react to in this way."

An ache bloomed between your legs, just above his fingers. Your hips rock forward just enough that his teasing touch brushed onto your aching bits.

“Tech,” Hunter’s voice broke the silence but still neither of you moved. Tech’s hand remained in place. “Is the ship ready to go? We are inbound and ready to get off this force forsaken planet.

Before Tech moved his hand, you leaned forward to activate the comm for him and bring your face within inches of his.

“Everything is in order.” A subtle crack in Tech’s usually composed demeanor was evident as he responded, “Ready when you are.”

You released the comm at the same time Tech pressed his hand into you and you hissed at the sweet pressure. His eyes widened slightly and in an awe struck voice he said, “Fascinating.” With that he pulled away and stood, leaving you aching even more.

“It would not be ideal to be discovered in this position.” He extended a hand to help you stand. “Although, I look forward to finding myself in such a position in the near future.”

You accepted his hand, but as he assisted you to your feet, you couldn't resist pulling him closer. “All this time, I thought you were oblivious.”

Tech rolled his eyes, a hint of amusement dancing through them. “Obliviousness is not a characteristic I possess,” he countered, his gaze unwavering. “Every action I take is deliberate.”

“Noted.” You reached up and quickly pinched his cheek. “For the record, I too look forward to finding you in such a position in the near future.”

#star wars #tbb #tbb tech #the bad batch #bad batch #tech x reader #tech #the bad batch x reader #if tech doesn't come back I'm going to lose my ever loving shit

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chloe-skywalker · 7 months

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Give Them A Chance - Robb Stark

Robb x fem!reader Baratheon/Lannister

Warnings: GOT

Word count: 1,362

Summary: Robb and Y/n don’t know that their fathers plan to betroth them. But Ned has a reason for not telling. Will his reason work?

Authors Note: Takes place in like the first episode of season 1 Game Of Thrones. Like right after the whole “You got fat” lines.

Masterlist

Game Of Thrones Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Y/n watched the exchange between her father and his friend Ned Stark Warden of the North. It was very odd but she thought it was nice that they were such good friends that they still joked around with each other. She didn’t see her father act so freely like this often. It was a rare welcome sight.

“So I take it this is your oldest.” King Robert sighed looking at the eldest of Ned’s children with a scrutinizing gaze before breaking out into a smile.

“Yes, this is Robb.” Ned introduced his oldest son to his friend.

Robert slapped a hand on the young man’s shoulder, smiling widely. “You're a handsome young lad.”

Robb tried to contain his blushing that he was sure he was doing. “Thank you, your Grace.”

“You should meet my oldest. Y/n!” Robert called over his oldest daughter, but not before sparing a knowing glance to Ned. As Y/n came to stand next to her father, smiling politely at the Stark family before her. “This is my oldest. A year younger than you I believe.”

“Princess.” Robb bowed, before looking at the princess. She had caught his eye when she first entered Winterfell on horse back alongside her uncle. He could not deny she was gorgeous, and he couldn’t believe how fast he had started to fall for her.

“Mi’ Lord.” Y/n curtised, biting her cheek. Thus Robb Stark was by far one of the most handsome men she had ever seen. And she had seen a lot of people growing up in KingsLanding. She wondered if his personality was as nice as his looks.

“Would you like a tour of Winterfell?” Robb asked, offering a way for them to talk and get to know each other a bit. He also was one of the most qualified people to show her around.

“I would love one.” She smiled. Looping her arm through his and the two young adults that in some ways are still kids went off exploring.

While the two went off getting to know each other and everyone else did God knows what, King Robert and Net Stark headed down to the crypts.

“Have you told your son?” Robert asked once they were done talking about Ned’s sister. The King was curious if his friend's son had offered to show his daughter around on his own or out of duty.

“Not yet.” Nod squinted, he didn’t like the idea of taking this choice from his son. But the other part, this was a good alliance, and you don’t deny a king.

“And why not?” Robert had told Ned of the idea to marry their oldest months ago. But to be fair he didn’t tell his daughter either.

“Because I wanted to give them a chance to fall in love before knowing they might be betrothed.” Ned explained his reasonsings, and even though Robert would never admit it he admired Ned’s heart and how he was trying to make this a better situation for their children. It was better than just throwing them together.

“Very well. I didn’t tell my daughter either. She would’ve fought me on coming.” He chuckled. Y/n would’ve tried to fight him or talk him out of it, and it might’ve worked even the slightest. Out of all his children she was the only one that had a somewhat relationship with him.

“They’d be more reluctant if they knew about what we had planned. The two of them being in the dark might lead to them actually gaining feelings for the other.” Ned just hoped that the two would get close and at least see they could make a marriage work. But he was truly hoping that maybe they could fall in love on their own and there wouldn’t be any hard feelings or reluctantness.

^ ^ ^

It had been a few weeks and things seemed to be working out for Y/n and Robb like Ned had hopped. Y/n seemed to fit right into the Stark family. She got along with all his children and they all act as if she’s one of them. Things between Robb and Y/n had taken some people by surprise. The two had been spending almost all their time together. They only separated to sleep it seemed like.

Ned was happy to see they had a lot in common. The two went horseback riding constantly and Y/n seemed to know how to use a bow and a sword no doubt thanks to her uncle. They didn’t even eat apart at meals.

Today Robb and Y/n had gone out riding, once they were far enough away from Winterfell the two dismounted their respective horses walking along next to each other.

“Are you having a good time in Winterfell Princess Y/n?” Robb asked, hoping that the time they’d spent together had been as enjoyable for her as it was for him.

Y/n smiled, nudging him teasingly shoulder to shoulder. “Yes, I am as matter of fact. My favorite part is the company.”

Robb blushed looking down before looking back to her. Robb had no idea why she could so easily make him react like that, but she could and he didn’t mind it. “You flatter me y/n.”

“You’ve been flattering me the whole time I’ve been here. It’s only fair.” Y/n smiled. As they came to the set of trees that they had made their spot over the time she had been in the North.

Robb just stood there watching her for a moment. He never expected to fall in love with her when he first found out the King, Queen, and their children were coming to visit. But he had and he didn’t regret it. “If I may be bold and speak my mind, Princess?”

Y/n nodded, smiling back at him as she turned to face him. She noticed how he wasn’t right next to her and Y/n wondered what had made him stop and if it had to do with what was on his mind. “Go ahead. I won’t stop you.”

“During your time here in Winterfell I have become quite taken with you.” Robb stated walking over to her. He looked in her eye’s trying to notice how his works were being taken.

“And I you.” Y/n blushed, biting her lip at her response back to him admitting his feelings for her. Which she reciprocates.

“I have a proposal for you Princess Y/n Baratheon.” Robb felt an air of convenience hit him at Y/n admitting she feels the same.

Y/n furrowed her brow, it confused her on why he was using her title and first and last name. “Go on Lord Stark.”

Robb took a deep breath, he knew what he wanted he just hoped she wanted it to. “We may not have known each other for very long or very well for the most part. But I would like for us to get to know each other better over time. If you’d like that of course.”

“I would.” Y/n nodded liking where he was going with this so far.

“Would you also like it if we could become husband and wife, Lord and Lady.” Robb stepped right up to her, reaching out to intertwine their hands. Looking into her eye’s Robb reached up with one hand leaving the other one still in hers, he cupped the side of her face, “Would you do me the great honor and become my wife? For all my days till the end of my days?”

Y/n reached up with her free hand and cupped the back of his neck, while squeezing his hand holding hers. Looking up into his eyes with what could only be happiness and adoration Y/n answered. “I would love to.”

In her short time visiting the North Y/n had really connected with the Starks and of course Robb the most. Yes, she’d miss her siblings (minus Joffrey) and she'd miss her uncles but this felt like the better place for her. And as long as she has Robb, Y/n will always be happy.

Taglist; @gruffle1 @padawancat97 @misspendragonsworld

@starkleila

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letstrekintospace · 7 months

Text

Loki Season 2 Spoilers!

•

There is so much about Lokius to unpack here. What a special and heartbreaking episode for them both.

We start with Loki in desperation reaching out to Mobius for help. The person he trusts and looks for any time anything goes wrong. This person, however, doesn't recognize him. Mobius appears intimidating and as a threat. Loki's *only* hope appearing as a threat and a lost cause.

We then see Loki finally finding his own Mobius, and desperately clings to him with that hope that he can help him. His need for reassurance and care is so strong and Mobius answers that call beautifully with his tender touches and his core of sympathy. We see so many special touches on Loki's arm, and especially his back, that display just how much Loki trusts this human. He basks in this touch, never pushing away from it (except for the wall prune, but, you know what I mean).

We see this continue into the elevator scenes. Their sweet banter and care for one another is so evident. The effortless humor, the continued touches of reassurance, the blatant reassuring words they give each other.

Throughout the rest of the episode we're met with a continuation of Loki time slipping, yet looking for Mobius, and Mobius making saving Loki the priority. No matter what.

What really strikes me is saving Loki from time slipping. Mobius, without question and with wittiness, goes along with a possibility of dying in an attempt to save Loki. Loki, while hesitant, knows Mobius is doing it for him and putting his own life on the line, and follows suit.

Then we have the anxiety-inducing scenes of Loki helplessly looking for a way to prune himself, knowing Mobius could lose his life if he failed; he couldn't betray another one that he loves.

Then we have a combination of Mobius choosing death in hopes of giving Loki a chance, and Loki choosing pain in order to try and save Mobius.

In the end we have Loki saving Mobius (with quite a cute topple on the floor scene).

This episode really exceeded my expectations for these two. So many loving and intense moments and I can't wait to see how their relationship grows.

#loki #loki marvel #loki season 2 #lokius #mobius #loki series #loki laufeyson #tva

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recuira · 7 months

Text

after hours

after hours : a live action buggy x fem!reader fanfiction

for some odd reason, you have no idea who he is. and he fucking loved that.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-

chapter one chapter two

chapter three | waves. wanted. wasted.

his pov;

A few weeks passed by and I had not heard from or seen Y/N. It worried me but due to her emotional episode the last time we spoke, I decided to allow her a bit of space without me breathing down her shoulder. It was difficult, but I sufficed. It was odd enough that I had a slight obsession with the poor girl, why must I infest her life as well?

Part of me believed she needed me. Like at any moment, I could sweep in and save her from whatever danger or predicament she was in. I wanted to be there for her. But it deemed up to her whether that could happen or not.

And due to her absence, I took up drinking again.

Stupid, I know.

But I was alone with my thoughts. I wanted to at least drown them out. So I sat by myself night after night, sitting on someone's old fishing boat, a warm bottle of beer in my hand. After the third bottle, which was tossed on the deck, I laid back, arms folding behind my head as I attempted to count each star in the sky without thinking of her. But the farthest I could ever go was seven. After seven, Y/N's sweet, precious smile wafted through my mind like smell of her decadent perfume. Vanilla and coconut. God, I missed it.

I repeated this each night. And tonight, I kept up with the schedule. But I only counted to six before her laughter soothed my aching heart. I smiled to myself, my eyes closing as I thought of her- thought of us. I imagined how pleasant it would be to wake up next to her. To see her sleeping stature as she buried her face into one of the pillows, surrounded by both my arms and blankets would be such a heavenly slight.

The alcohol did nothing to me.

I was still sober no matter how much I drank.

But I was drunk on her.

I shook my head and sat up, taking one last swig of beer before standing up. I gripped the neck of the bottle tightly then tossed it into the calm sea, watching it dip below the surface before it bobbed back to the top. I observed as the tides crashed, causing the boat to glide along the waves. It was a simple sight, but I wanted more. I wanted to be entertained. I didn't want to be alone.

Ever since- no, no, no. I'm not going to think about that.

I left the trash of empty beer bottles and crawled off of the ship, making my way back to the rocky dock. I made my way down the street, not spotting a single soul. It was rather unusual due to the swarms of pirates this small town received. But it was quiet. And I liked it. The sounds of the black shoes echoed as I stepped forward then walked down a small stairway, heading down to the place I liked to call home. It wasn't anything too special, but it was mine. It was somewhere I could be completely alone and relax.

I nudged the stone door open then shut it behind me, the sound of it slamming a little too loud for my liking. I squinted and fumbled around for the lantern that lit up the small abode. I used the dim moonlight to spot the box of matches and I used one to lit the lantern.

I stumbled to my bed, pressing my left foot against my right calf to discard of my shoe, then I repeated it with the other foot. I unbuttoned the striped vest I wore and let it slide down onto the floor. I pulled off the bandana around my neck, dropping it. A puddle of clothing sat by my bedside. Once I was finished, I laid down on the left side of the bed, my arm slung over my forehead.

But a rapid banging noise erupted, causing my body to jump up. It almost felt like I was falling.

Rubbing my eyes, I looked at the door and groaned.

What drunken idiot decided to disturb me tonight?

I slapped my hands over my ears and closed my eyes but the knocking continued, only growing more frequent and forceful. I couldn't take the loud banging anymore and I pushed myself up from the bed, starting to the door. I grabbed the rusted doorknob and yanked it open. I was seething at this point. Who, in their right mind, would disrupt someone's sleep at this hour?

The door opened quickly and I buried my face in my hand, growling. "What the fuck do you want?"

"Oh, I- I'm sorry."

What?

I dropped my hands and my eyes widened upon the sight of Y/N standing in front of me, her hands buried into the pockets of the coat she wore. My coat. "Oh, fuck," I muttered. "I'm so sorry, I didn't know it was you. Y/N, I didn't mean it."

She waved her hands and smiled. "Don't worry about it, it's okay," She said and her eyes trailed down to look at my body. "Uhm, did I come at a bad time?" She pointed at my shirtless figure.

I cocked an eyebrow then met where her eyes were looking and I gasped, stepping back. For the first time, most likely ever, I felt embarrassed. "No, no, I was just heading to bed," I said with a yawn. I stood back, pulling the door open. "Want to come in?"

"Yeah, thank you."

Y/N took a step inside and I closed the door behind her. I watched her closely as she walked toward my bed then took a seat on it, her hands folding in her lap. Apart from the jacket, she was only wearing a black shirt with baby blue shorts. Her eyes dropped to stare at my discarded clothing which I quickly kicked to the corner of the room. She laughed at this then her hands slapped together. An uncomfortable silence fell upon us, the only noise heard being the crackling of the flame inside the lantern. Hesitating, I started toward the bed then took a seat beside her, maintaining a distance between us. Her head dropped to look at her hands. "So," She began, fiddling with her fingers. "I'm sorry to intrude like this, I just-"

"How did you know where I lived?" I asked, raising an eyebrow as I turned my head to look at her.

"Oh, well, uh-" She scratched the back of her neck and clenched her jaw. "It sounds really weird so please don't call me creepy but I saw you a week or so ago. You were sitting on a boat. I followed you back to your home but before I could talk to you, you headed inside. I know it sounds so weird and I promise I wasn't stalking you! I was just too nervous to talk to you," She admitted, her head dropping into her hands.

So, I wasn't the only one. I smirked to myself and I watched her, admiring how nervous and timid she was. I tilted my head. "Don't worry, it's okay. Don't be scared to talk to me, though. I don't bite."

The girl chuckled, nodding her head. "I wanted to give you your coat back. I really appreciated the gesture but I don't want to take anymore from you than I already have," She mumbled as she let the sleeves fall from her shoulders. She folded the clothing and sit it on my lap. "And I don't have your money yet, I'm sorry."

"Y/N, don't apologize. I told you you didn't need to pay me back."

"But I can't accept it without paying you back. You've already done so much for me. You lent me your jacket, paid for my meal, listened to my woes, and gave me forty-three hundred berries. You're doing too much for me. I don't deserve it."

"You do deserve it. What makes you think you don't?"

"I don't know. It's stupid."

"Y/N, come on, tell me," I begged, reaching to put my hand on her shoulder. I was still wondering why she was here. Well, I understood, but why so late? It was well past midnight. Did she realize how dangerous it was to walk alone at this god forsaken hour?

"If I tell you, you need to tell me your problems, okay?" She said with a stern tone that I've never heard before. It was hot.

I held my hands up, nodding my head. "Yes, alright." I scooted back, letting myself rest against the pillows. I folded my arms over my chest, still feeling slightly exposed. “Oh, uh, do you want something to drink?”

“Do you have anything other than beer?”

“Not really, no,” I admitted with a sheepish grin.

“Then I’m okay.”

I bobbed my head then proceeded to remain quiet.

“I just- I’m just me, ya know? I’m not anyone special. Yeah, I have a sad life because my dad left and I have not a single berry to my name, but other than that, I’m like everyone else. I don’t like pirates, I hate alcohol, and I eat dessert before the main course. How am I so different?” She threw her hands up to exaggerate her point. “Why are you doing all this for me? I don’t get it.”

“I see myself in you, or something. I don’t know.” I didn’t want to tell her how infatuated I was with her. Well, I wanted to, but how could I? She’d either run back home or tell me she wasn’t interested. Who would be interested with a nose like mine?

I grimaced to myself. “You’re a nice girl. And you seem sad all the time. I never see you smile. I’m always smiling.”

“That’s because it’s painted on your face.”

I clenched my jaw. “Good point. But you know what I mean. There’s a lot more to life than sadness. I get it, it’s hard. Life fucking sucks sometimes. Before I met you, I was, uhm, I wasn’t that great of a person. I was mean, conniving, evil, some would say. I was an asshole. I was selfish. But I decided to give that all up and move on, start a new life. Being sad and depressive all of the time just causes you to miss our on the good things. I get to see the sun shining each morning. I get to share a meal with a friend like you. Hell, I am fortunate enough to know someone like you. I want to help you. I was in your boat. And now I wanna help you back to shore,” I said as I reached out and let my hand rest on her thigh. Not in a perverted way, no, but as a way of expressing my deepest condolences for her.

Y/N frowned and let her hand rest on my own. “I don’t feel like I deserve it. I don’t give you anything in return.”

“You give me your friendship, your presence. I’m lucky to be friends with someone like you.”

“You consider us friends?”

“Well,” I gulped. “If that’s alright.”

“No, it is. I think we’re friends. too.”

I smiled at that. “Good.”

“Buggy,” The girl started, removing her hand from mine. “This is a big question and you already do so much for me. I’d hate to ask any more from you.”

“Go on.”

“Can I stay here? Just for tonight?”

“What? Of course you can. My home is your home.”

“My mom and I had a little fight earlier and I got kicked out for the night. I told her how I felt about my father and she told me she held no grudge toward him. That I was disrespecting him by saying I hated him for what he did,” She frowned and dropped her head. “Is that so wrong of me?”

“Of course not. You’re entitled to your own feelings.”

“Thank you, Buggy.”

“Don’t mention it.”

Y/N nodded her head, sending a warm smile my way. It was such a heavenly sight. So beautiful, so sacred. To see someone as precious as her so sad made my heart ache. I could physically feel it. But I was determined to make her feel better. I wanted to show her that laughter truly is the best medicine.

I watched her closely, admiring the soft features on her face. She was perfect- beyond perfect, even. She was a goddess. And I’d worship the ground beneath her feet if I could.

“What time is it?” She asked.

“I think around two in the morning. It’s very late. Are you tired?”

“A little, yeah. I just had a long day.”

“Go to sleep then, come on.” I pushed myself up and off of the bed, landing on my bare feet. I pulled the sheets down and allowed for Y/N to crawl underneath them. She was shivering. “Do you want to wear the coat?”

“If it’s okay, please.”

I smirked. “Of course it is.”

The girl slipped her arms through and wrapped the lapels around herself before tucking the sheets around her body. Her head rested on the pillows and she hummed, a small smile settling on her face. “So cozy.”

“I know. It’s perfect for when I need my beauty sleep.”

“Oh, come on, you don’t need beauty sleep,” She mumbled, turning to let her cheek rest atop the pillow. Her eyes closed, her long eyelashes casting a dim shadow along her cheeks.

What did that mean?

I peeked an eyebrow up as I stared down upon the restful angel, watching as she made herself comfortable.

“Have a nice sleep, Y/N.”

“Where are you sleeping,” She asked, her eyes closed.

“Don’t worry about me. Just get some shut eye.”

“I’m sorry for stealing your bed.”

“I’d lend you the very clothes off my back if it were to help you.” I patted the bed. “Now, come on, get some sleep.”

The girl nodded her head and remained silent now. Her lips parted as she breathed softly through them. How is it she looked even more angelic when she was sleeping?

I decided to follow my own advice and attempt to get some sleep. While not comfortable, I didn’t care. I say against the bed, resting my head back against the soft mattress, my eyes closing, and my arms folded across my chest.

It took a while but I fell asleep before I knew it.

-=-

her pov;

I woke up with a sudden jerk, my body tensing as I sat up. A soft groan left my lips and I bawled up my hands to rub at my tired eyes. It was still completely dark out. The small window allowed little-to-no light inside which was nice if I was able to fall back asleep again. But a cold sweat broke over my body and I pulled the sheets off of me. The thick, suede coat I wore slipped from my shoulders and I let it pool around me. My arms wrapped around myself and I leaned back, closing my eyes.

No nightmare or bad dream clouded my sleep so I was unsure of why I was awake. What time was it even? From what I could see, the sun was invisible and the moon shined dimly in the starry, yet cloudy sky. I pursed my lips and continued to rub at my eyes before letting my vision trail down to the sleeping man beside the bed. Buggy, for whatever reason, was fast asleep while sitting upwards, his arms tucked around his chest. He was snoring. Maybe that's why I woke up.

Clenching my jaw, I turned over to face the wall, allowing my eyes to drift to a close as I tucked my hands underneath my cheek. I wanted to fall back asleep because it seemed to be either late at night or early in the morning. I couldn't tell. But when a loud crack of thunder sounded almost directly outside, I realized why I was awake. The echoes of pouring rain followed almost immediately after, the pellets of water drumming upon the tin roof. Normally, the sound would serenade me to sleep but I was wide awake. For hours, at least, I remained awake, staring at the wall in front of me. I tossed and turned, attempting to remain comfortable but the only way I could rest was with a pillow between me legs, and the ex-pirate's coat tucked underneath my head. I sighed and closed my eyes. The rain continued and soon, there was a shuffling heard from behind me. A groan left Buggy's lips as he seemed to be stirring from his sleep. Light finally shined in through the window, the shadow of the man behind me rising from his comfortable spot on the floor. I turned over, my eyes closed to show that I was still asleep, or pretending to me. I squinted my eyes to watch the man as he pushed himself up, groaning while stretching his arms. He cracked his neck and rubbed at his eyes, only continuing to smear the face makeup he wore proudly. His red nose was definitely different but I didn't understand why he needed to follow along with the stereotype and paint his face to match. He wasn't a clown.

"Are you awake, Y/N?" His raspy voice asked which resulted in my eyes gluing shut. The feeling of the sheets lifting off my body appeared before the blankets settled underneath my chin.

"I'm gonna go out for a bit, just to get stuff to eat and drink. I won't be long," He whispered. I peeked my right eye open, watching as he fumbled to put his clothing back on. He buttoned his vest, attached his belt, tied his bandana back around his neck, then pulled the red-and-white striped wrap from his blue hair, a sudden wave of thick, blue hair running down his back. My eyes widened at the sight. He had long hair? Since when?

Buggy swooped his hair back into a ponytail, twisting it in a loop, then tucked it back underneath his bandanna. I closed my eyes again, still completely flabbergasted. I never would've guessed he had long air. That's so shocking.

I only realized that he left when the stone door slammed slut.

I sat up and rubbed my eyes then crawled out of the bed, moving to stand on my feet. Since I was his guest, I decided to tidy up while he was out. I started by making the bed, tucking the sheets and fluffing the pillows to make the bed look comfortable and well-made. Then I moved on to wiping down the nightstand. It was dusty and rather dirty but I wasn't one to judge. I moved on to cleaning the lantern before opening the drawer below. Inside were a few pairs of jewelry and a stack of books. I smirked. Buggy reads?

I sat down and pulled the novels out. I sorted through them, finding nothing to be eye-catching- just boring books about boring subjects. I pushed myself onto my knees and went to tuck the books back into the drawer but something caught my eye. I raised an eyebrow and pulled out a folded piece of crumpled paper. The edges were slightly burnt and torn. I pulled it apart and flattened it before turning it around.

My eyes widened.

Before I could properly react, the door pushed into the hinges, creating a loud noise like metal scraping against metal. I scrambled to hide the paper back underneath the books and I closed the drawer. Just as I stood up, the door slammed open and there Buggy stood with a parcel of fruits and two jugs of orange juice. "Oh, look who's awake," He said with a small smile as he kicked the door closed behind him.

I gulped hard and sat down on the bed.

"Did you sleep okay?"

"Y-Yeah, I did," I whispered in reply.

He cocked an eyebrow up, looking to be puzzled by my sudden disturbed exterior. Dropping the items down on the countertop, he started to tear into the bags. "I figured you'd be hungry so I got you some stuff to munch on for breakfast. I got apples, too. Don't worry, they're not rotten." He chuckled.

"Thanks."

"What do you want? I can make you a plate." He looked at me as he started to cut into one of the fruits.

"I'm not hungry."

"What? You don't want anything to eat? Not even some orange juice?"

"No, I'm fine."

Buggy opened his mouth, his eyebrows scrunching together as he approached me. He squatted down and grabbed my arms, almost to hold himself up and to show me how serious he was. "What's wrong?"

Shaking my head, I declined whatever he meant. "Nothing, I'm fine."

"No, something is wrong. Tell me," He instructed, his face remaining cold and serious, as if he were trying to interrogate me- like I committed some horrendous crime and he wanted me to come clean. I continued to reassure him, lying to him but for whatever reason, he saw right through my guise and gripped my arms. "Y/N, please tell me. Why do you seem so scared?" He frowned then his eyes grew wide. He dropped his hands. "Did I do something?"

I remained quiet, a frown stuck to my lips.

"Please just tell me."

I opened my mouth but nothing came out. The blue-haired man frowned and stood up, letting go of me. "Fine, don't tell me then." His eyes rolled and he approached the counter again, continuing to slice into the fruits. He seemed angry- very angry. The knife was practically slamming into the apple. "See if I care." He continued to talk. "My fault for trying to help you. Last time I'll do that."

A sullen look crossed my face and I looked down at my lap then back toward the bedside table. I reached for the handle. Buggy watched me and he scowled. "What are you doing?"

I jerked my hand back and frowned. "I promise I wasn't snooping."

"What do you mean?" He tossed a slice of apple into his mouth.

"I was cleaning up a bit. I made the bed and I dusted your nightstand."

"Okay?" He raised an eyebrow, now slowly chewing. "Thank you?"

"And- And I was looking in the drawer and I found-"

"What did you find?" He looked skeptical and he dropped the knife.

"Your wanted poster."

#captain buggy #x reader #buggy #opla fanart #buggy the genius jester #buggy one piece #buggy the clown #buggy x reader #buggy smut #op buggy #one piece buggy #one piece live action #live action buggy the clown #buggy the flashy fool #opla buggy #buggy x you #buggy x y/n

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naomihatake · 6 months

Text

A love so deep

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x GN!reader

Synopsis: He loves you so deeply it defies the forces of nature.

Content warnings: weapons, loyalty, maybe it's fluff?

Word count: a few hundred words

A/N: Zoro brainrot hours. I'm around episode 330 of one piece so I don't know for sure if he ever harms any of his crewmates with his sword, so for now this is just a headcanon. Take it as you will, dear readers

Zoro Roronoa is loyal. He's confident, despite the monsters hunting him sometimes, screaming in his nightmares that he's not strong enough, that he has to get stronger and stronger and stronger in order to protect his friends, his lover. If he can't protect the ones he cares for at least through actions — because he's never been a professional at verbally expressing himself — then what the fuck is he even doing?

His will is stronger than steel. Maybe it's tied to his stubborn nature, to the fact that once he wants to do something, there's no way to stop him. His will is the highest and strongest mountain you'll ever lay eyes on and you're either able to accept it or not.

He wants to protect the ones he holds dear to his heart. Out loud there are rare times when he admits such things, but he's proved it countless times. He'll say things with a specific nuance and only his friends would know the deep meaning behind his words.

His will are his swords. His stubbornness runs through the hilts and rests in his scabbards, it makes his katana shine each time he draws them out. He's poured his everything into these swords, even the overwhelming and undeniable love he has for you. Weapons, objects he always used to kill, blades that sparkle with the remnants of blood.

However, not even once did his sword cut through a friend, through you. Even his very body would be manipulated by some supernatural force, the blades would only graze the skin, would mold into your skin and still not break through. There would be marks, it would be obvious something happened, but your blood will never get on his swords.

Especially if you trust him, his abilities and his katana. They're like an extension of his very being, of his own soul. Even the blades recognise you, your haki, your energy. Even their sharpness softens at the contact of your skin and stops, refusing to hurt you, someone he loves so deeply he doesn't know for sure what path he'll take if something happens to you.

And he'd be damned if you're harmed by him. He would rather die one thousand times and run with bare feet through hell than be the one to inflict pain on you.

And he trusts you just the same way he trusts his own will. Whatever weapon you weild, whatever power has been bestowed to you by a Devil Fruit — none of those matter. Deep down, he knows you're not capable of harming him or your friends.

Because, at some point, an enemy you're fighting against might laugh hysterically about how "You'll bend to my will, Pirate Hunter".

Both of you know that no matter what, none of your wapons will ever be drowned in the other's blood. His sword would stop at the contact with your skin and your bullet would ricochet against his bare chest.

A love so deep it defies the forces of nature. The string of trust is thick and stronger than steel, just like his will and your own.

This connection between him and you won't appear out of the blue, but it will certainly grow steadily and once it does, it's unbreakable.

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ipseitydelrey · 4 months

Note

Can I request a nsfw alphabet for Carmy?

of course you can !! and thank you <3

nsfw alphabet ☆ carmen berzatto

ship carmen berzatto x afab!reader

warnings reader has afab anatomy but uses gender neutral terms, smut, oral (m and f receiving), slight bondage?, biting, fingering, use of protection (stay safe kids!), masturbation, sex toys, tiny bit of degradation mixed with praise, tiny bit of exhibitionism, sexting/nudes, teasing

a/n i’m gonna be totally honest: i haven’t finished watching s2. i’m almost done it tho, i’m on episode 7 so my idea of carmy is solely based on everything that has happened up until s2:e6 (technically episode 5 bc episode 6 was entirely set years before s1 takes place soooo).

enjoy !!

A = aftercare (what are they like after sex?)

typically, carmy would be too tired to get up and get washcloths, so he’d rather just hold you and whisper sweet nothings in your ear. that’s his idea of aftercare anyway.

B = body part (their favourite body part of theirs and of yours)

he likes his hands the most. he likes how sometimes you trace the tattoos on the back of his palms and he just loves to hold your hand. during sex, he sometimes likes to finger you so he loves how you moan and writhe while his fingers pump into your fleshy walls.

as for you, it has to be your mouth. he loves to cook for you and you’re the taste tester for a lot of his experimental dishes when he was curating the menu for the bear! although, on the lewd side, whenever you give him oral, it’s so arousing to him how your mouth takes in all of him.

C = cum (anything to do with cum)

he likes to finish either in you or on your stomach, although he does wear condoms regularly so he mostly finishes while still in you. however, when you’re giving him a blowjob, he likes to give you a facial.

D = dirty secret (a dirty secret of theirs)

he wants to fuck you while you have an apron on and nothing underneath. he hasn’t told you this fantasy yet, but if he ever catches you doing it, best believe that he’s bending you over the kitchen counter.

E = experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they're doing?)

oh he definitely has experience. mostly hookups and one night stands, though.

F = favourite position (this goes without saying)

his favourite would have to be camel style. carmy loves having you ass up with your face pushed into the pillow while he pounds you.

G = goofy (are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)

when you first start having sex, he’s more on the serious side. though, over time as your relationship grows and you’re more comfortable with each other, he does crack a joke or two.

H = hair (how well groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

curly and messy, but controlled. sometimes you help him with shaving!

I = intimacy (how are they during the moment, romantic aspect...)

he only ever said “i love you” during sex around one year into your relationship. it was a slip of the tongue, and you can tell how worried he got when he said it. he quickened the pace when you said “i love you too.”

J = jack off (masturbation headcanon)

rarely to sometimes, probably once or twice a week. if he’s pent up but he can’t leave work just yet, then he’ll go into the office or the bathroom and masturbate.

K = kink (one or more of their kinks)

at the start of your relationship, you were both pretty vanilla (keyword: were). maybe five or six months into your relationship, you suggested trying bondage — just tying your wrists together. one of his other kinks that he suggested was biting; mostly biting you, but he wouldn’t mind if you reciprocate the action.

L = location (favourite places to have sex)

while he does prefer the privacy of the bedroom, there are times when he enjoys doing it in the kitchen or a car.

M = motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

a random turn on he has is the way you eat specific foods. for example, ice cream in a cone. when it melts a little and you lap up the ice cream with your tongue, he can’t help but think of you sucking him off.

N = nope (something they wouldn't do, turn offs)

obviously, he would never hurt you, either physically or verbally. and although one of his turn ons his how you eat, one of his turn offs is using food (like whipped cream, cherries, etc.) during sex. he finds it to be a waste of using perfectly good ingredients that he would rather use to cook you something.

O = oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

he likes both, but he likes to be on the receiving end. at the end of a typical day working on renovating the restaurant, he’s tired, but sometimes in the mood. so you’re happy to give him a handjob/blowjob while he lays back and relaxes. if he wants to perform oral on you, then he likes it when you just sit on his face.

P = pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

depends on his mood, which most of the time is pent up anger. rough sex is common in your shared sex life, so it’s a welcomed rarity when he wants to go slow.

Q = quickies (their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)

honestly, he’s perfectly fine with quickies. granted, he’d rather take his time with you, but if you’re in public like a bathroom stall or something, then he’s all for it.

R = risk (are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)

he would be fine with experimenting a little, maybe with bondage, sex toys, and a bit of degradation (usually mixed with praise). he also likes taking risks in semi-public places (for instance, the office at the bear; you two have definitely done it there anytime you come over to visit).

S = sexts (yes? no? pictures?)

more pictures are sent than actual sexts. the texts themselves are more teasing than explicit, as are the pictures. you both partake in send one another nudes, but they’re always either tasteful or the sexual organs are covered just enough.

T = toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

he himself doesn’t own any toys, but if you do — especially later in your relationship when you start to experiment a little — he’ll definitely use them on you.

U = unfair (how much they like to tease)

there are no words to describe how much carmy loves to tease you. the teasing is toned down a bit in public (with a couple of exceptions, like maybe if someone is trying to flirt with you…he’s definitely jealous and will tease you relentlessly), but when it’s just the two of you, he can be so unfair.

V = volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make)

he’s the type of guy to not moan. maybe some grunts here and there, and there are whispers of ‘shit’ and ‘fuck,’ but no moans or whimpers.

W = wild card (get a random headcanon for the character of your choice)

one time, you suggested eating aphrodisiac chocolates to spice things up in the bedroom. of course, carmy does know that he can just buy them at a sex shop or online, but he decided to make them himself. and yes, they definitely put you in the mood…

X = x-ray (dick size)

slightly above average, but girthy. he’s also the type of guy to have that one prominent vein that runs along the side that just feels so good when he’s pumping in and out of you.

Y = yearning (how high is their sex drive? how many rounds can they go for, how long do they last...)

again, depends on mood. if carmy is pent up and still energetic when he comes home, then he can last three, maybe four rounds tops. however, if he’s tired, then one or two rounds before he clocks out.

Z = zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

most days, he falls asleep pretty quickly (hence, his definition of aftercare being quiet praises and cuddling). he does tend to fall asleep before you (sometimes, he can clock out right after he cums), but on days/nights where he’s still energetic, he’ll clean you both up and you both fall asleep in each other’s arms.

#✩ ⊹˖ ꒰ carmy ꒱ ୨🎧୧ #the bear #the bear x reader #the bear x you #carmy berzatto #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #jeremy allen white

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katz-chow · 8 months

Note

hiiii, i love your writing so much <33 can you do a cod ghost x afab reader where maybe ghost gets emotional while they’re being intimate with each other? (in a good way, he’s overwhelmed with how close they are and how gentle the reader is being.) reader stops and comforts him and he gets very verbally vulnerable which is rare for him. i guess this would be sort of a fluff hurt/comfort sort of thing? preferably a shortfic, but you can make it long if you want to (i just wanna give simon a hug :((( )

heaven's outreached hands

synopsis: after a long, long time, simon has decided that in the warm glow of your shared lamp in your shared bedroom, that he wants to feel you and truly take back what is his: his body aka: what the ask said!

warnings: smut, hurt/comfort, allusions to prior SA, gn!reader, mentions of attempted suicide/OD, mentions of depressive episodes

a/n: i, too, want to give this poor man a hug as i've said in my previous fic with him. maybe this is our hug to him...honestly, i needed this hurt/comfort more than i thought i did. thanks anon for this!! so sorry this took longer than i expected, i got sick :(

Dating Simon is a test of your patience and determination. And you took on that responsibility like the champ you are. He made it clear when you had first started seeing each other that he’s not…a typical partner, that he needs you to be patient with him, and be gentle with him.

And so you did, You did everything you could, letting him have a few days to himself after every time he came back from his mission. You cooked for him when he could only make cup noodles for himself every few days or so. You even made him take vitamin supplements and locked up his meds, coming over to his flat every day to give him his dose. He loves you for everything you’ve done for him, so he saved up and asked you to live with him.

It’s been months and he’s been acting weird around you, more shy than usual and almost hesitant. He lays next to you in bed, a hand caressing yours as you smile at him—nothing but the warm sheets and his fingers dancing around yours.

“Lovie…there’s something I’ve…wanted to ask you,” He started slowly, again with that hesitant tone filling his voice.

You smiled at him, holding onto his finger as a sign of comfort, urging him on. “What is it?”

He pulled you closer to him by your hand and you agreed, shuffling under the covers to get closer to him. He whispered, taking your hand and kissing it, “I want to try and…get intimate with you.”

You’ve both talked about this before, having sex that is. And the most he’s ever told you was that he doesn’t have a good relationship with sex or anything regarding that. You held his hand and sat across from him, listening and telling him. You both decided to wait a while longer until he was sure he was willing and okay with it; you assured him you could wait. And you did. And he was okay with it now.

“Are you sure, baby?” You asked him gently, your thumb rubbing his hand and then sliding up slowly, hovering near his cheek.

He looked at you, anticipating your touch against his cool skin. Your gentle fingers brushed against his skin softly, he let out a downturned smile. “Yeah…I am. Is that okay with you?”

You nod, letting your hand fall entirely onto his cheek, fingertips messing with his growing blonde hair. You told him you liked his hair, he grew it out for you.

He smiled and pulled you close with a strong arm, kissing your lips lightly. You leaned into him, allowing him to kiss you with more rigor. Simon’s arms snaked around your waist and hoisted you up and over him, teasing at the hem of your shirt. You pulled away from him and took it off, allowing him to take in full view of your bare chest.

Eyes gazed up at you, glossy, adoring, and lustful, a way you’ve never seen them before. “You’re so beautiful, Lovie.”

“I wish you could see yourself in the same way my eyes do.”

You’ve lost track of time with him, the way he carves you with his soft, but powerful grip on the flush of your skin. The warmth of his cock, slowly dragging against your slick, velvety walls. It was different; it was gentle. He whispers against your ear in between his groans and grunts when you squeeze around him. Simon chants “I love you”s like it’s a prayer against the newfound gloss of both your skins.

He had you straddling him, your chest in his face, as he gripped your hips, guiding you down unto him. Big arms wrap around your waist, his face burying into your stomach. Your hands raked through his hair, holding onto him while you bounced on his stiff cock. But soon, you felt him tremble underneath you, and a small “you okay?” made its way out of your mouth.

Simon looked up at you, tears prickling his eyes, “Lovie…”

You gasped as you lifted yourself off of him, his arms still loose, but against your skin nonetheless, allowing you to sit on his thighs. “Hey, hey, what’s wrong?”

“I don’t…I don’t know.” He gasped as small tears fell from his eyes. Like his hero, your thumbs wiped them off as you held his face. “It just…feels good with you.”

Your face falls and you give him a slight grin, “Aw baby, I know…I know.” You cooed at him, getting him to chuckle and hide his face into your neck.

“Feels different with you, ‘m not used to it,” he sighs, letting you pet his hair. You kept your promise with him, you weren’t fast and rough, using him like he’d fear. You treated him like porcelain, not just some toy for your own pleasure. “Not like…like before. Wanted it this time.”

It clicks in your head what he was saying and you can hear your heart breaking into a thousand tiny pieces. He feels warm underneath your touch like he burns for you. You provide, he hesitantly takes. “I’m so sorry, Si…I didn’t know.” “It’s alright, I like this.” He pulls you in close to him, breathing in your familiar scent. “Love you…and your smell.”

Simon is here with you, truly here with you. His mind and body and spirit and all that he has is displayed for you to consume as yours. No longer will he recoil at the slightest of touches, flinch at an outreached hand when he’s naked of his gear, no, he’ll accept you as you accepted him.

“I’m not scared of you, Lovie, never will be.”

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ay0nha · 1 year

Text

Lament of My Heart | Joel Miller

SUMMARY: “Tommy…” Joel let out a breath of frustrated laughter. He disappointingly shook his head, leaning over you, “That boy doesn’t know what he’s lost.”

Set pre-episode four & post-episode five w/ moments of pre-outbreak

PAIRING: Joel Miller x femme!reader

WORD COUNT: 5.1K

WARNINGS: SMUT (hand job), mentions of blood, mutual pining/slow burnish, skinny dipping (of sorts), canon-typical things, mentions of Tommy x reader, etc.

A/N: Need to post this before it sits in the drafts to collect dust. Joel is just on my mind all the time, so this is the product of that. Thank you as always @from-the-clouds for listening to my blabbering and entertaining all my ideas! Much love.

“No more questions, Ellie,” You reprimanded her lightly, trying to cover the warmth she was discovering you felt. “Get some rest.”

Ellie was a hard-headed person with the responsibility of society on her shoulders. She carried the weight well, but she was still human, still young. But her questions revealed her growing creativity and sharp wit.

“Not tired.” She hated Joel’s coffee, but the stolen sips still coursed through her veins. You knew it was partly due to the anxiety ahead of them. They all felt it, that tense air of the unknown. “You two don’t seem to get along, though.”

Your eyes flashed to the rear view mirror on instinct. Settled on the truck’s dirty cushions and the supplies being used as a pillow, Joel was asleep. But you weren’t sure how long it would last.

“Ellie-

“It wasn’t a question!” She defended quickly, toying with the edge of her sleeve. She’d been dying to know just exactly why you got under Joel’s skin the way you did. “Tell me about Tommy, at least.”

“Ask Joel.” Your eyes were everywhere. You checked the mirror as if there was traffic, but it was the only thing that kept you occupied. She was making you squirm.

“C’mon, you know he won’t-” Ellie’s own frustrations were building up. In her shoes, you’d be just as curious. “Please.”

Through a thoughtful sigh, you resigned, “Before-We just- We’ve known each other for a long time.” You’d been intertwined with the Miller brothers since before everything. You rarely said it aloud, and now, you struggled to put all the history into something coherent. “I met Tommy when he returned from deployment-

“In Texas?” Ellie hung onto every word, mind spinning tales faster than you could keep up with. “Were you in the military too?”

“I said no questions.”

The comment made her smile. Ellie always appreciated a good game. Loopholes were her specialty.

“Fine, then.” She settled in the passenger seat, knees to her chest as she faced you, “You were discharged with Tommy with more medals than you could count!” Her posture then changed with inventive excitement, “Or maybe a bad-ass sniper with too many confirmed kills to count.” You wished your life was as exciting as she made it sound. “You’re going to have to stop me before I start thinking you led an elite hit squad.”

“Close.” You quipped, “I worked on the military base in town.” It was the first job that hired you and offered some stability for someone your age. “I’d help get soldiers back on their feet once they returned…”

“Then you became friends with Tommy,” Ellie encouraged you to continue. She couldn’t stand the lulls.

Too many years passed for you to remember clearly how you became close to Tommy, but at the time, he considered you his soulmate. Not that either of you really knew what that meant.

“Then I became friends with Tommy.” You nodded. You kept your eyes steady ahead, adding, “Joel, too.” Glancing at Ellie, you finished, “Then we all just…stuck together.”

Separation wasn’t ever questioned, even on the eve of all the destruction. That memory was vivid; the way your bloodied body held onto Joel, dragging him away from it all, Tommy trailing behind, surveilling every move. It was how you moved together for years, protecting each other as much as possible.

“He doesn’t talk about it; before,” Ellie commented lowly. You knew she wished for more from Joel. But she couldn’t see what you saw in the way he softened for her.

“That hasn’t changed with time.” Your words felt too bitter. This time you indulged in a glance at Joel. Still settled. “I’m surprised he’s even talking to me now.”

You always described the Miller brothers as a whirlwind. They may not have necessarily meant it, but they had a knack for sweeping you up and consuming you. When Joel came to you with Ellie, there was no question of whether you would help or not, just when and where you were needed.

He’d never leave without you.

“Tell me something about them...” Ellie pleaded. She was a clever girl who picked up on the weight of his misery. But it wasn’t yours to share. “Before they…before this.”

Your shoulders relaxed while your hands moved to the bottom of the steering wheel as you allowed yourself to filter through only the fond memories.

“Alright, well…” You hesitated with your words. Only because you knew, Joel would tell the story differently. “He and Tommy were wasted…I mean…Absolutely hammered that night.”

Your words had their desired effect, and Ellie’s giggles encouraged you to continue. But it felt strange to make Joel’s drinking habits sound so lighthearted when you know how the habit haunted him now.

“Tommy called me.” The phone in Joel’s kitchen woke you up that night well past the witching hour. “The brothers always got into all kinds of mischief, usually Tommy's fault.” You were typically by his side, provoking him. “Always Tommy’s fault.”

“He sounds fun.” Ellie joined in. You knew in another world, the two would get up to all kinds of mischief if they had the chance.

“He can be, when he wants.” You glanced at the map on your lap. With the sun getting low, it meant you needed to find a safe place to stop soon. “That night, though, the two of them had the bright idea to pretend to be bouncers, only to get into a fight with the actual ones.”

“I knew Joel wasn’t a total hard-ass.”

As you continued to retell the story, you hadn’t realized how much nostalgia you carried with you. Nor were you able to see how you talked so warmly of Joel. Ellie knew exactly what to say to get the information she wanted. But you waited a long time to reminisce freely.

“...When I finally got them home,” You blew a raspberry at the unforgettable effort it took. The stench of alcohol and smoke still made your nose scrunch. “Thank god Tommy had enough sense left to make it to the couch.”

Ellie loved how you teased Joel’s hiccuping that he blamed it on being over-served tequila. It was hard even to imagine he had any of that humor left in him. You embellished the story just enough to entertain yourself. But the story's core provided fertile ground for understanding that nothing you added was too far-fetched.

“They remembered nothing the next morning,” You said. “Tommy found all these numbers written on his arm, said he’d close his eyes and pick which to call.”

“....And Joel, he must have been so hungover…”

“You’d think…” You reflected flatly. “He just got up and went to work.”

From your side, you knew Ellie could sense you holding back. She’d gotten more than she asked for, so she left it. She could see how the echo of that night still felt fresh, doubting you provided her with the detailed ending you lived.

----

“You alright?” The question was slowly processed by Joel, who was trying to steady his breathing before the contents of his stomach came up.

“Yeah, yeah…” Joel held onto you every step, arm slung over your shoulders, making you sway with him with each step to his room.

He was mumbling while you settled him on the edge of his bed. You got every few words while focusing on preparing him for the next day. The brothers had work, and doing this would save you the headache of hearing their complaints.

“B-been thinkin’...” His Texan drawl was heightened as he slurred.

“That so?” You half-heartedly replied, rummaging through his medicine cabinet. You looked for something for the morning.

“Mhmm…”

You could hear him shuffling around in his room. Assuming he’d been pulling his boots off and discarding his jacket, you were surprised to find him leaning on the bathroom’s door frame.

“Then you’ve been hanging around Tommy too much.”

“Tommy…” Joel let out a breath of frustrated laughter. He disappointingly shook his head, leaning over you, “That boy doesn’t know what he’s lost.”

You still held love for Tommy, but you had mistaken it for something that it wasn’t. The two of you functioned better as friends; you were his confidant and partner in crime. Neither of you would change that for the world.

“And you do?”

Your relationship with Joel had a natural ebb and flow that could be but never got to the point of being volatile. But that didn't stop you from stepping on each other's toes, constantly being on the brink of an argument that neither of you knew the point of.

“Darlin’...” You melted his resolve, helping him the way you were. Joel’s eyes flickered down. Nothing about your outfit was seductive, but the way his eyes loitered told you maybe it had been. Covering his tracks seamlessly, Joel continued, “...The things you deserve.”

Your laugh bounced off the bathroom walls, resonating deep within Joel’s chest.

"What?" Joel asked lightly, his smile starting to mirror yours, but not understanding why, "Why are you looking at me like that?"

“Shit, Joel,” Your laughter lingered, “You must be really drunk.”

“C’mon now.” He tried to stop you. He wasn’t sure he could handle any level of ridicule from you.

But you pushed passed him, drawing his sheets back for the night to be over, “Let’s just get you to bed.”

He stumbled to you willingly, but you could see his mind turning. There was something he wanted off his chest, but you knew you weren’t ready to hear it.

“Come on now, Miller,” You tried again. “We’ve both got work in the morning.”

“What is it you do again?” Joel’s words played with chords of tension. “Besides eat all my food and sleep on my couch.”

"Get by." You joked more for your sake than his.

Joel’s eyes shifted between your own, pupils entirely dilated. Blaming it on the alcohol helped settle your stomach.

“I know y-you don’t stick around for my benefit.”

"God forbid we enjoy each other's company, Joel." Your eyes burned into his. You enjoyed your ability to make him bashful in his stupor. Just a look, and he was crumbling.

You saw it coming. You could have stopped it, but it wasn’t even the length of a decent kiss. It was soft and fleeting because you pulled back to never speak of it again. You doubted Joel remembered, but you could never be sure what he’d admit to.

----

“Did you ever-

“Ellie…” You said her name slowly in warning.

She retracted fast, “Joel and you-

“No.”

Your answer came off harshly. You knew where she wanted to go; she’d circled the topic for hours.

“Can I ask one question?”

“That was a question.” You looked at her again pointedly, “Shoot.”

“Why’d you stay in Boston?”

Sitting with the statement, you focused on the road. Most around you was barren and destroyed but offered an unconventional peacefulness. Sometimes you imagined if you’d be better off in isolation than in a QZ. But you could never bring yourself to just disappear like that.

“As hard as you might try,” You started, pulling the car to the side, “You can’t be alone in this world. With a purpose or not, it just doesn’t work.”

The sudden sway of the car disturbed the sleeping figure in the back. Joel attempted to hide his jolt as he sat up but was already looking out the window for trouble.

“We stoppin’?” Joel’s voice filled the car while the engine cooled.

Joel looked to you for reassurance. Ellie pointed that out to you, the way he valued you despite his resentment.

“We’ve gotten far enough today.” You tossed the keys back to him. “We need food and rest.”

“Alright.”

Your exchanges were clipped.

Yet, you valued the journey with Ellie. Selfishly, the task provided a reason to see Joel again. It had become easier to spend time apart. It became a habit. But even with a quiet meal shared and conversations led by Ellie, it felt good to be with him again.

The pressure shifted. No longer were ration cards on your mind, nor were the curfews you struggled to follow. Something about the night felt freeing despite the heavy responsibility that it meant. Maybe it was the privilege of feeling safe with Joel since he created a protective bubble, sacrificing his rest for yours.

You heard Joel get up when he thought yours and Ellie’s breathing steadied. You were going to leave it, but sleep was hard to come by with your mind racing.

Joel saw your shadow first. But the hand that brushed between his shoulder blades still made him flinch. He spoke in hushed tones, looking to ensure that Ellie was still asleep, “I hope you didn’t come over here to tell me we’re safe.”

“Didn’t say that.” You frowned. He knew you well; you wore your concerns on your face. You just wished he didn’t hold such defiance for them. “But we’ll be alright for the night-

“Don’t.”

Joel wanted to be in control of everything down to the smallest detail.

You knew it was a way of coping, his way, but it never sat right with you. Especially now, as you watched Joel scrutinize the area you chose, you could feel the criticism he was holding back from the moment you parked the car.

Did you even survey the terrain?

Too much open space. No clear route out.

You know better than this.

“We’re the perfect targets.”

“Joel-

“We know how this works,” He voiced over you. Even with you there, his surveillance didn’t change as he remained on a swivel. “It was exactly what we did.”

Joel’s emotions were catching up, but he still held onto a forced restraint. He was expecting resistance, an argument from you. But you heard what he said, how Ellie needed to hear it, to believe him.

No one’s gonna find us.

It was a promise. Something Joel was determined to control.

The wind was picking up the later the night became, and any rustle was faced with a gun barrel. It caused chills to litter your arms out of apprehension. You tried to comfort yourself with your arms tucked to your chest, but it only shifted Joel’s attention.

If you tried hard enough, you could guess what he would say to you. We need to stay sharp. You could feel Joel’s hesitation, though. It happened every time he pushed you away.

There was merit to your diversion, but Joel only allowed it for so long.

“Get some rest.” He nodded toward his forgotten sleeping bag, “No good if both of us are tired.”

----

The car was gone. The brief companions too. Your heart felt permanently caught in your throat. Adrenaline replaced everything. But it was wearing you thin.

“Where are you going?” Respite clung to Joel’s question as his eyes followed your figure up from his crouched position.

Like a cat, you stretched until something deep within your spine popped. You moved towards the shore of the small body of water you all settled by.

Time was at the forefront of Joel’s mind. Time was no longer on your side, meaning the sooner, the better pressured every minute. Daylight became the most valuable thing. And by the looks of it, you were on your way to wasting it.

“We smell, Joel.” You state as you discard the knife strapped around your waist. You were meant to be cleaning them in the water, preparing them for the next fight the way he had.

But your body was sore. You could imagine the pain Joel felt was much worse, physical or not. He put his body first rather than having you or Ellie be the brunt of it all.

Mornings were sacred to you. It was when the birds sang at dawn because the crisp, moist air carried their songs and their meanings farther through the same air that filled your lungs in fluid refreshment.

You pulled your shirt over your head and looped your thumbs in the waistband of your pants as you wiggled them over your thighs and down your legs.

For the moment, Joel’s eyes lingered. He looked for bites. He knew he wouldn’t find anything, but he had to be sure. Instead, Joel found deep hues of bruises still healing from Kansas City.

Almost wholly above the horizon, the sun highlighted the mist rising off the body of water. It veiled your body the closer you were to where the water and the rocks met. Yet, Joel watched on until your arms maneuvered behind your back, searching for the clasp of your bra.

As if the sun was directly in his eyes, Joel looked up, avoiding seeing something that wasn’t meant for him. Except, it didn’t stop him from passing along a warning, “Don’t go out far.”

The dirt from the past days felt like a second layer of skin had embedded into your own, suffocating you. You finally waded into the freezing water to rid yourself of it.

But not before throwing a comment over your shoulder, “Join me, then.”

Your words were like an idle threat that was only met with silence. You knew he was contemplating the offer. Always thinking.

The water was cold, goosebumps littering your skin within minutes and creating peaks where Joel refused to look. He scolded himself for the way his cock twitched at just the idea.

You leaned back so you were nearly floating on your back. Above, a bird glided hypnotically in a wide circle. It seemed you weren’t the only one seeking to rid yourself of a sense of weariness. The cool water swallowed you whole, caressing your skin and relaxing your muscles.

“Someone’s gotta stay with Ellie.” Joel voiced his decision. It was an excuse, what he was supposed to say.

There was no point in fighting it. Instead, you submerged yourself completely; the water consumed you. The longer you stayed under, the closer Joel edged to the water, ensuring you’d come up for a breath.

When you finally reemerged, you held a wicked grin.

“Don’t do that.” Joel frowned at your teasing. His eyes remained downcast, avoiding your eye. The rocks seemed more fascinating than how you became more siren-like by the minute. “I’m gonna find Ellie.”

“She deserves some privacy.” Despite her continuous puns, you were receptive to the fact that she was still impacted.

You all were.

Hyper vigilance became the enemy that threatened to consume Joel whole. Sleep was no longer negotiable. Every movement dragged worry, invited agitation, and controlled his violence. Joel’s chest was tight, and breathing felt hard to come by. He was moments away from unraveling.

“...There won’t be another invitation, Joel.”

Joel’s loaded gaze burned right through you as he took off his clothes. While he was busy shrugging out of his shirt, you took the opportunity to tread out further. Your back was to him, but you heard the swishing of disturbed water.

You reveled in the way your skin burned for him. He’d seen you naked years ago. But not like this, never like this.

----

Joel’s eyes followed the curve of your body. Your chest swayed as you moved around freely. His pounding heart clocked how too much time had passed for him to sneak out. He was frozen.

“You’re not Tommy.” You let out a breath of relief despite your surprise.

The lace rode high on your hips, accentuating your natural curve. Your chest was perked at the sudden attention of being caught so bare. Regardless of the incessant ringing in your ears, you stayed stone still, giving him a chance to say something.

Yet, he shook his head, backing out the door he’d come through, mumbling expected apologies. Joel used the key under the fern and let himself in.

For days he’d been asking Tommy for his tools back. And now, they were forgotten with each hurried step.

You threw on the closest shirt, chasing after him. “Wait!”

“I didn’t mean to-

“Joel, let me explain-

“No, I shouldn’t have-I-I’ll just-”

You found a way to stand before him, blocking his escape route perfectly. “Let’s just slow down…” Your hands were up in defense, mirroring his own. “It’s not what you think.”

Of all people, you wanted Joel to hear you. But the silence was heavy and lacked a proper explanation. You could see the flush that took over his coloring. It was sweet in a way, but you were too mortified to know what to make of it. It wasn’t exactly taught how to handle these sorts of things in school, so you stalled.

“Can I make you some coffee?” An invitation to linger.

Joel looked at you and saw your bare feet moving toward him with hope. He hadn’t meant to, but his eyes scanned your bare legs; the picture of the intricate fabric underneath the oversized shirt made his skin prick. It took him a moment to realize the shirt was his, one Tommy most likely nicked under his nose.

Doubting you knew what that did to him, Joel shook his head, “I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“One cup.” You promised.

The air was tense when you made it to the kitchen. You insisted on a fresh pot, but the drops felt like they took ages to fill it enough for its purpose. The hem of the shirt skirted the boundary of indecency, but you thought nothing of it. Your focus was on the longing stare Joel was giving you.

“Tommy and I…” You started with a shaky breath. You were sure Joel knew all about the drifting relationship. “I thought maybe this would…” It felt strange explaining yourself the way you had. But you wanted it to be known that even to you, it felt out of character. “He doesn’t look at me the same anymore…”

Your words feigned a sense of yearning. But neither you nor Tommy could keep up the act. Your words seemed heavy, but it was so alleviating to say aloud. To be listened to.

But the smell of coffee pulled you back, reminding you to be a good host. Filling the mugs just below the brim, you broke the small barrier of the kitchen island. You held the mug close to your chest, the warmth working as emotional support while Joel toyed with the ceramic handle.

You lifted the mug to your lips, blowing lightly over the piping-hot coffee, “...But neither do I.”

“I can talk to Tommy if you…” No matter how much it made Joel regret the offer, Joel said the right thing. He couldn’t meddle where he didn’t belong. “I’m sure he’d understand.”

You laughed into your mug. “I’d rather this stay our thing.”

“You say that like this is going to happen again.”

“Joel Miller.” You said his name after a pause. He looked like a child in trouble. “Are you flirting with me?”

“No, no, I-

“Joking.” You cut in just as awkwardly as he flushed.

You wanted the mood to lighten, needed it to.

But there was clumsiness in every movement, between your ongoing jitteriness and Joel’s restless fidgeting. So, you moved to the window. On the sill held your half-empty carton of cigarettes, the ones you were trying hard not to touch these days.

With a soft glance back to Joel, you asked, “Mind if I?”

Joel could spot the influences of Tommy in you. Or maybe you had passed along your habits. Either way, it was your home of sorts. Who was he to tell you no?

You had such dexterity with the process. It was like a ritual how you rolled the cigarette over your lips before lighting it. Then after a deep exhale, you utilized the perpetually open window to tap the beginnings of ash.

“I don’t mean to drag you into all of this…” You trailed off through an exhale of smoke through your nose. Joel could see the appeal now. “I just don’t-…Tommy’s my friend, and if I…I don’t know what’ll happen if we’re not…”

The end of something always hurt everyone around you. You all were just playing your roles in delaying the inescapable. But the questions of the future haunted you. You weren’t sure if you were ready to let it all go.

“I’ll let you leave…” You toyed with the lit cigarette that was on its last limb as you spoke. Joel’s silence was becoming deafening. “Promise I won’t hold you up any longer.”

You were sure he had more pressing matters than to comfort you through an inevitable breakup.

“Tommy’ll get over it.” Joel sat back with more relaxation now that he spoke his mind. “It’s you I’m worried about.”

----

Joel kept his distance deliberately. He made the venture into the water seem like another task. In and out.

“I don’t bite, you know.”

He knew you wouldn’t be able to stay quiet for too long. He knew what it meant to join you, but he made an effort to seem detached.

“Just giving you some privacy.” Joel echoed your words.

“Right.” Your frustration was clear. You carried it with you for the handful of days that passed. Your frustrations didn’t lie with him like Joel chose to believe.

Instead, guilt filled Joel’s chest. It had been gnawing at him since he left Boston. He should have left you there if he were as reliable as everyone claimed he was. You’d be without bruises. You’d be without his burden. Leaving without you meant there would be no return.

But you knew Joel. You had to remind yourself. You knew what he was thinking, what he wanted. That’s how you knew moving towards him would benefit the both of you.

You moved gradually, leading the interaction by brushing his hair behind his ears. The greys of his hair darkened with the water you carried on your fingertips. He looked younger. He looked like your Joel.

You reached for him, pulling him through the cool water to you. Joel was stiff when your chest met his warmly. He thought of pulling away, but you felt so peaceful that it swallowed him. Your arms wrapped around him with comfort. Your body settled in front of his, gently pressing your hips against him, giving him only an ounce of pressure to entice him.

He noted every twitch. Shyness wasn’t questioned; that barrier was broken years ago. It enabled you to trace his face. Every detail was already committed to memory.

You imagined what he’d say to you all those years ago—anything to make a smile crack.

Careful, now.

All you’re gonna find is a whole lot of ugly.

The scar above his eyebrow marked when your feelings for Joel first latched on. You were blinded by anger then, but the blood scared you. He promised you it was a graze and that he still had his life. But that wasn’t enough proof for you.

When your thumb traced over the faint line, Joel finally found his voice again, “Your shooting’s still sloppy.”

The look Joel held was intimidating, scrutinizing, but you knew he was trying to be witty.

“See now, when you say things like that…” You whispered softly due to the proximity, “I don’t regret shooting you.”

He hummed, appreciating your touch that ventured to his shoulders. You could feel under your hands the tension he held. You wanted nothing more than to provide relief.

“Joel.”

Just his name made your desire clear. He wanted to touch you all those years ago, but he’d never betray his brother like that. But now you invited him to you without any barriers. There was hesitancy in the hold Joel found on your hips. His mind wandered; wavered between the need and the want.

Starting at the swirl of hair on his chest, you followed the trail down until Joel’s breath hitched. Joel felt like he was about to lose it when your hand wrapped around him.

“This feel okay?” You moved your hand against him, slow and soft.

Water dripped from his nose to your shoulder as he nodded eagerly. His groan rumbled deep in his chest, vibrating against your own. You tread in dangerous territory but recognized the privilege of his trust.

This was for Joel. You needed this just as much as he did. You didn’t worry if it functioned as a thank you for keeping you alive, an apology for the trouble you’d caused him, or a confession of your own.

It didn’t matter when you indulged in your own lust.

“Do you think of me when you’re on your own?” You asked, fingers wrapped around his shaft, squeezing him until you felt his pulse in your grip.

“Oh- Fuck-” He cut himself off before he let a pet name slip. Joel’s fingers dug into the soft flesh of your hips, imprinting his touch into your skin, burned to your very bone.

“Hmm?” You edged him further. Gently, you continued to pump him and move your thumb over his tip.

Joel’s ragged breath fell on your pulse point with each moan as you continued to pump him rhythmically. His hand came up to your throat in a tender hold. His lips hover over yours but refrained from connecting.

It would be too intimate if you had.

“Do you want me to?” The hold gave him dominance even as he shuddered under your touch. Always desiring control.

The water around you rippled with your continued movements. With his free hand, his thumb rubbed gently at the sensitive skin that was near the pebbles of your breast, but he made no effort to touch it just yet. His words and touch were a deadly combination, the kind that made you ache.

“Would that be so bad?” You spoke on his lips, feeling the tickle of his mustache. The more you worked on his release the more you felt his warm pants turn into deep moans. “Come on now, Miller,” You coaxed softly, moving up and down his length with a lively pattern, teasingly and tauntingly. “Tell me.”

Joel’s words were caught in his throat as ecstasy flowed through his veins as the pleasure crashed. His hips jerked against you as his breathing became ragged and his moans became filthy.

He sighed with relief, abandoning himself. He groaned into you, nuzzling his nose in your neck as the aftershocks made him tremble. He could feel your hand threading in his hair, keeping him in your tight embrace.

“Yes.”

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