#but I still think he should get to be a little mean sometimes

[chimerafeathers]

you know what i think Mirabelle deserves to get a little fucked up freaky in how she processes learning about Siffrin’s loops post-canon. for fun. as a treat

thinking about this line in particular and stretching out the implications like taffy

this is a more romanticized, cutesy facet of her interests but she’s still framing Siffrin’s situation through storytelling. so like. What If.

i mean. this woman loves horror and gore and monsters and horrible things happening to innocent people. IN FICTION. in fiction!!! obviously!!!! and it’s beyond terrible that something even remotely close to any of that happened to her real friend in real life!!

BUT.

maybe. maybe sometimes, if the conditions are right, she gets a little too wrapped up in her imagination about the bloody, awful poetry of it all. maybe Siffrin tells a joke that's a little too dark and gory for anyone else, borderline or full-on Concerning, but she latches onto it without thinking about the Implications and plays along with increasing gruesomeness because FINALLYYYYY someone will play with her in the Horror Space (like Isabeau does in the romance space!!) and then. OOPS. the implications!!!! and she has to recalibrate out of Fun With Fiction mode into Oh No, My Friend Underwent A Horrifying Ordeal mode.

but being able to joke about things, even the awful things, is...kind of comforting, to Siffrin. makes them feel less like they're being babied and pitied and more like what happened was something...normal, almost? something that doesn't have to feel like the end of the world all over again every time it's mentioned, at least. so he tries to reassure her, and Odile and Isabeau have to go “actually can you PLEASE not joke about dying horribly it’s freaking us out and also might not be the Best for you? mentally???”

maybe Mirabelle will get a little Too Into trying to weave meaning and symbolism into the scant details that Siffrin gradually reveals, like she’s trying to finish the orange poem all over again, or eagerly meddling with the romantic reunion of the two actual people in the House with undelivered bonding earrings, writing their story for them without their input.

it’s easier to justify the tragedy of it all when it has a purpose, isn’t it? finding the beauty in the darkness, the love powerful enough to end the world. romanticizing the horrors until her friend can talk about them without shutting down.

and she feels guilty about hearing something and immediately thinking “ohhhhhhh this is JUST like Blorbo From My Novels,” because she should treat Siffrin’s situation with the gravity and care he deserves!! they’re a real person, not a character who exists for entertainment, to represent the ~themes~ of some story.

but if she admits as much…maybe Siffrin is safe to admit that he had started seeing the rest of them as actors, endlessly reciting their lines. maybe that’s just how people process things sometimes, grasping for metaphors when unfiltered reality gets to be too much. maybe it’s okay to talk about that part of it all, too.

[luv-lock]

ㅤֹㅤ⊹ㅤ #ㅤSTRAP ONㅤ.ᐟ ֹ ₊ ꒱

☆⁠ PAIRING : Batboys x Fem Reader

☆⁠ HEADCANON : What if you ask if you can peg them?

☆⁠ CHARACTERS : Bruce Wayne, Dick Grayson, Jason Todd, Damian Wayne, Terry McGinnis, Male Barbara Gordon, Male Cassandra Cain, Male Stephanie Brown.

☆⁠ NOTES : English is not my first language. Hope you enjoy!

— BRUCE WAYNE ⋆

You ask him in bed one night, very nonchalant.

“Hey, can I peg you?”

He freezes. Like full reboot. The Bat-OS is updating. Bruce.exe has stopped responding.

“...Excuse me?”

“You heard me. I think I deserve it.”

He stares. Silently. A slow blink. His jaw clenches, like he's negotiating peace with an international terrorist. You see the flicker in his eyes—he’s considering it, and that terrifies him more than anything.

Eventually?

“Once. You get one.”

But then he comes back for more. Doesn’t say it out loud. Just lies face-down on the bed like a Greek tragedy and says:

“Don’t talk. Just… do it.”

And you never let him forget it. You slap his ass and he growls like a wild animal. Gotham’s protector? Pegged by his princess.

— DICK GRAYSON ⋆

You bring it up during foreplay, and his eyes sparkle.

“You wanna what??? …Wait, really? Is that like—hot for you?”

He’s immediately into it. Like too into it. He starts googling positions, stretches, prep routines.

“Do we need a safe word? What’s the etiquette here? Should I make a playlist?”

When the moment comes? He’s spread out like a centerfold, full trust, full glutes.

“I feel so vulnerable. Is this how girls feel all the time??? God, it’s kinda hot—”

He moans so loud. Like theater-level drama. Neighbors can hear. Batfam knows. And Dick? He’s glowing for a week.

“So when’s round two, babe?”

— JASON TODD ⋆

You say it casually while he's cleaning guns.

“Let me peg you sometime.”

He chokes. Gun clatters. You hit a nerve.

“You wanna what???”

He’s mad. Flustered. Pacing. But also blushing. And you notice the way he starts testing the waters—

“If I said yes… hypothetically… would that make me less of a man?”

You just pat his cheek like, “No, baby. It makes you a brave man.”

He glares. And then, eventually, agrees. But he makes it a war zone. He's gripping the headboard, growling like you’re in a gladiator fight.

“You better own it, then. I want bruises, I want pain—do it like you mean it!”

Afterward, he lies there like he got hit by a truck. Whispers:

“...Don’t tell anyone.”

You immediately text the group chat: “Guess who just got wrecked by me.”

— DAMIAN WAYNE ⋆

You hit him with it after a sparring match, while he’s sweaty and happy.

“Can I peg you sometime?”

He short-circuits.

“You wish.”

But he’s curious. You see the gears turning. He starts reading medical journals. Watches porn on mute. The ego battles the intrigue.

One night, he corners you like:

“If you must dominate me… you’ll have to earn it.”

Treats it like a duel. He makes you work for it. Grapples. Resistance. Eye contact like a wolf. But when it finally happens?

He groans. Face buried in the pillow. Tries to act composed, but he’s trembling.

“This… is merely… a power experiment.”

Lies. He loves it. But he’ll never admit it. Until he randomly buys you new gear and says:

“This model is superior. More efficient. Less friction. I did… research.”

— TERRY MCGINNIS ⋆

You ask Terry during post-sex pillow talk. He’s already panting, sweaty, pupils dilated.

“Babe… what if next time I hit it?”

He blinks.

“You mean like… role reversal?”

“No, Terry. I mean I peg you.”

Visibly panics. Short circuits. But his toxic trait? He’s a curious little freak.

He’ll act all alpha, but that man grew up on internet forums and old Batman archives. He’s been exposed. He’s thought about it.

“Okay. Okay. I mean… I’m not against it. But like, do I—do I have to do the… arch thing?”

By the time you’ve got him moaning into the mattress, he's lost all higher brain function. Tries to talk tough:

“T-This doesn’t c-change... the fact I’m still B-Batman…”

“Mmhm. Say that again while I hit that spot.”

After everything, cuddly. A little emotionally destroyed. Always asks shyly afterward:

“So... wanna do it again next week?”

— BARRY GORDON ⋆

So Barry's in the chair, coding. You lean over and whisper it in his ear like it's nothing:

“Wanna let me peg you?”

He doesn’t even look up. Just slowly removes his glasses.

“I was wondering when you’d ask.”

“...Wait. That’s a yes?”

“Baby, I can’t walk, but I can take it. Now help me out of these pants.”

This man is confident and freaky. He guides you through. You’re the one sweating and stammering while he talks dirty.

“Mmm, harder. You call that topping? C’mon, use that core strength.”

Afterward he lays there smug mocking you.

“Good job. You get a gold star. Wanna go again or do I have to manspread harder?”

— CASSIAN CAIN ⋆

You say it during your usual makeout, biting his ear:

“Wanna be my pretty little baby?”

Cassian doesn’t speak much. But his eyes go wide. And the blush? It climbs his ears.

At first, he shakes his head—too shy. But a week later, you find him laid out on the bed. On his stomach. Ass up.

Doesn’t say a word. Just… offers himself.

And he’s so sensitive. Bites his knuckle, whimpers through every motion. Has his whole face buried in a pillow, fists clenched, body twitching.

“You’re doing so well, baby…”

Nods frantically. Tries not to cry from how good it feels.

After? Curled into your arms, completely limp, like you just possessed his soul.

— STEPHEN BROWN ⋆

You barely finish the sentence:

“Hey, what if I pegged—”

And he’s ALREADY stripping.

“YES. PLEASE. I WANNA TRY IT. DO I LOOK GOOD LIKE THIS? DO YOU WANT ME TO SHAVE?? I HAVE CANDLES???”

He’s bouncing. Wagging his tail. Sends you like 10 Etsy links for strap-ons. Makes a mood playlist. Packs snacks.

In the bedroom? Drama. Theatrics. Noise.

He’s moaning like a porn star. Gripping the sheets. Begging.

“I’m your good boy! I’m your little toy! Use me, mommy, pleaaaase!”

You have to put a pillow over his mouth because he’s SCREAMING. And afterward, he wants cuddles and tells all his friends:

“I’m in love.”

— MASTERLIST ☆

— © luv-lock. Don't copy, use or translate any of my works here or any other websites ☆

[cassiemaebarnes]

Grumpy & the New Girl: Part 16

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 14 | Part 15 | Masterlist

Bucky x reader

Summary: She wasn’t supposed to meet him like that. He wasn’t supposed to let her in. But sometimes, things don’t go according to plan.

Word Count: 6977

@ohdrey89 read my mind...

sorry if it feels a little rushed but I needed to get to this part, it's too good...

A little while later, when the pizza was mostly gone and the team had settled into casual conversation, you caught Nat’s eye from across the table. You gave a faint nod towards the door, and she leaned over and whispered something to Wanda as you started to scoot your chair back.

You leaned over to Bucky, whispering “I’ll be right back,” then stood and made your way to the door, Nat and Wanda hot on your tail.

You walked down the hall a little ways, then turned around to face them. They had a mix of confusion and excitement on their faces when they finally spoke.

“What’s going on?” Nat said, narrowing her eyes playfully.

“Oh, I think we know exactly what’s going on,” Wanda said with a smirk.

You just sighed, shaking your head, but you couldn’t stop the smile from spreading across your face.

“So, I was telling Bucky what we talked about today–”

“Of course,” Nat said, cutting you off with a smirk. “But go on.”

“And we talked about the ‘label’ conversation…”

“I knew it!” Wanda said, pumping a fist in the air.

“And…” Nat said expectantly, wanting you to finish.

“He officially asked me to be his girlfriend.”

The three of you looked at each other with smiles, before shrieking with excitement. Wanda was jumping up and down, Nat just shook her head like finally, and you just stood there, stupid smile covering your face that you couldn’t wipe off even if you wanted to.

“About time,” Nat said, followed by an exaggerated nod from Wanda.

“Seriously,” Wanda added, “we’ve been waiting for this since day one.”

You just rolled your eyes and opened your mouth to say something, but Nat cut you off.

“I mean, come on. Literally hours after you met you were crouching under his arm at the fridge and he offered to make you breakfast. That’s called destiny.”

You just laughed. “I mean…yeah, honestly I should have known.”

“It’s one of those classic ‘everyone can see it but you’ stories,” Wanda said with a dreamy smile on her face.

“Yeah,” you said, still smiling. “Looking back it’s like – how could I not have seen it,” you added with a laugh.

“No for real,” Nat said, all of you laughing now.

“So,” Wanda said, linking her arm through yours, “when’s the wedding?”

“Yeah,” Nat said, looping her arm through your other one. “We need to start looking for bridesmaid dresses,” she added, smirking at you.

“Oh, calm down,” you said, slowly walking back toward the conference room. “I’m sure we still have…” you paused, playfully tapping your lips with your finger like you were thinking, “…about a week before he finally breaks down and asks me to marry him.”

The three of you started giggling, still walking arm-in-arm down the hallway, and you knew that no matter what happened next, it was going to be fun having them to talk about it with.

--

The next morning, you woke up tangled up with Bucky in his bed, wearing nothing but his t-shirt, the rest of your clothes discarded on the floor.

Bucky reached over and turned his alarm off, arms immediately coming back to wrap around you.

You let out a small, content sigh and burrowed a little closer, your cheek pressed against his bare chest. His heartbeat was steady and warm beneath your skin, and his metal hand moved slowly up and down your back in a lazy rhythm.

“Morning,” he murmured, voice still heavy with sleep.

“Mmm. No talking yet,” you mumbled, eyes still closed.

He chuckled softly, brushing his lips against your forehead. “Fair enough.”

You lay there a while longer, caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness, wrapped up in warmth and quiet and him. At some point, his hand found yours, fingers lacing together naturally. It was peaceful and unhurried, and you didn’t want to move. But eventually, the light filtering through the blinds and the very faint sound of the compound starting to wake up made you sigh.

“I should get up,” you muttered reluctantly.

Bucky gave a dramatic groan, tightening his grip around your waist. “Don’t. Just stay here. I’ll say you’ve been kidnapped.”

You laughed lightly, then tilted your head to glance up at him. “I probably should just leave a brush and a toothbrush in here at this point. I’m in here more than my own room.”

He laughed at that, eyes crinkling with amusement. “You should. Actually…I can do that.”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Wait – you’re serious?”

He shrugged, smiling. “Yeah. Why not? I’ll clear out a drawer. Make it official.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “I was joking, but honestly…that might not be a bad idea.”

Grinning, you finally sat up, stretching your arms above your head before swinging your legs over the side of the bed. “Okay, I’m gonna go get ready. Try not to miss me too much.”

“I make no promises,” he said, leaning over to kiss your shoulder before you slipped out from under the covers, pulled on your shorts, and padded out of the room.

--

By the time you finished getting ready and made your way down to the kitchen, the smell of coffee pulled you in like a magnet. The room was already softly buzzing with the sounds of the team talking and eating breakfast.

Bucky was already there, sitting at the kitchen island with a mug in front of him. He looked up as you walked in and gave you that slow, familiar smile.

Without a word, he nudged a second mug toward the empty seat next to him – your usual spot. You glanced down and saw it was already fixed just how you liked it. Perfect.

You slid into the seat with a smile, wrapping your hands around the warm cup. “You’re really trying to lock this down, huh?”

Bucky smirked. “Just being a good boyfriend.”

No one in the room said anything. No whooping from Sam, no eyebrow raises from Nat. Just the soft clink of a spoon in a mug and the gentle hum of the coffee maker.

You sipped your drink, glancing sideways at him. “This feels weird. We’re not getting bombarded.”

“Shh, you’ll jinx it,” he said, smirking at you.

“I guess everyone’s finally accepted it,” you whispered.

“About time,” he said, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Okay,” Sam cut in, like usual, “well if he’s gonna do that, then we have to make fun of him.”

You just looked up at Bucky and gave him a mock glare. “Way to go, Sergeant Softie.”

He just smiled and shook his head, then leaned back and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

“Well, get used to it everyone,” he said proudly.

The room burst into laughter and fake groans, but you could tell by the smiles that they all loved it.

As the laughter died down and everyone settled into their mugs and conversation again, Steve cleared his throat from where he stood by the fridge.

“Alright, listen up,” he said, voice cutting through the room just enough to get everyone’s attention. “Before we head down to the gym, I’ve got something to share.”

You looked over at him curiously, Bucky’s arm still warm around your shoulders.

Steve glanced at you with a small smile. “Starting today, y/n is officially training with the team.”

A little cheer went up around the room – Sam gave a dramatic fist pump, Nat clapped once like she’d been waiting for this moment, and even Tony offered a sarcastic little golf clap from where he leaned against the counter.

“Welcome to the team,” Bucky said dramatically, giving your shoulder a gentle squeeze. “You survived the emotional initiation. Now it’s time for the physical one.”

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “Great. Can’t wait to get punched in the face by super soldiers.”

“Oh, I’m gentle,” Nat said with a wink. “Mostly.”

Steve chuckled, then started talking about the plan for training.

But you just leaned over to Bucky, smirking. “I think I liked your welcome package better,” you said, nudging his side with your elbow.

He looked at you, eyes sparkling, and gave a quiet laugh. “Yeah, me too.”

You clinked your coffee mug gently against his in silent agreement.

“Alright, lovebirds,” Sam said, standing up and stretching. “Let’s move. We’ve got a gym to sweat in and a new recruit to haze.”

“Oh good,” you said dryly, pushing your chair back. “Exactly how I wanted to spend my morning.”

Bucky stood and offered his hand to help you up. “You’re gonna kill it,” he murmured.

“Better not kill me,” you said under your breath, but the grin on your face gave you away.

--

The team filtered into the training room in a casual group, everyone stretching out, chatting, and pulling on gloves or slipping on gear. The walls echoed faintly with the sound of sneakers on mats and the low hum of the overhead lights. You stood near Bucky, following his lead as you stretched out your arms and legs.

“Don’t worry,” he said under his breath, leaning over just slightly. “First rule of training – look confident even if you’re not.”

You smirked. “Well good news – I am confident.”

That earned a chuckle from him and a raised brow from Sam nearby. “Ooooh, she’s talking spicy already.”

After a few minutes of stretches, Steve clapped his hands. “Alright, warm-up time. Ladders, shuttle runs, and core circuits. Let’s go.”

The group moved like a well-oiled machine, and you jumped in with them, heart pumping quickly as you kept pace. You could feel them watching you – small glances here and there, like they were gauging what you could do. But you held your own through the warm-up, breath steady, footing solid.

By the time the real drills started, sweat had begun to bead on your forehead. Steve called out movement patterns and agility sequences while Sam tossed in cardio bursts. You didn’t miss a step.

“Damn,” Sam muttered as you cut sharp around a cone and vaulted over a low barrier. “Alright, Speedy.”

“Not bad,” Nat added, tossing you a nod of approval as you passed.

You smiled but didn’t break focus. The movements were fast, but you were faster. Crisp, efficient, and entirely in control.

After another thirty minutes of drills, Steve called the team to the mat. “Alright, last piece for today – sparring. Light contact. Controlled. Let’s pair off.”

He looked around, then pointed between you and Nat. “You two.”

The whole room went a little quiet.

“Let’s see what she’s got,” Clint muttered, nudging Sam.

Nat cracked her knuckles and gave you a look that was half-challenge, half-welcome. “You ready?”

You just shrugged. “Are you?”

Everyone else took a step back, forming a loose circle around the mat. You squared up, eyes locked on Nat, waiting for her to make the first move.

She lunged – fast, precise – but you deflected smoothly, pivoted, and used her momentum to spin her off-balance. She adjusted quickly, but you were already ducking low and sweeping a leg. A second later, Nat was flat on her back, blinking up at the ceiling.

The room went silent.

“Yo – did she just pin Nat like it was nothing?” Sam asked, wide-eyed.

Nat laughed, shaking her head as you offered her a hand. “Okay,” she said, getting to her feet. “I’m done taking it easy on you.”

You just smirked. “Bring it on.”

The second round was different – faster, more intense. Nat moved with sharper precision, testing you, but you adjusted to her flow. You didn’t overpower her, but you kept up, holding your ground, ducking, weaving, using technique instead of brute strength. The crowd around you had fallen totally quiet, too focused to even joke.

And then – just as Nat tried to flip you – you shifted your weight, locked her arm, and twisted cleanly to take her down again. This time you landed on top, pinning her shoulders. Firm. Clean.

The whole room erupted.

“Okay!” Clint shouted. “I’m not sparring her.”

“Bucky, man,” Sam said, laughing, “you better behave. She’ll fold you like laundry.”

Bucky just stood there with the biggest grin on his face. He shook his head and crossed his arms. “That’s my girl.”

You pushed off Nat, helping her up again as she gave you an impressed look.

“Where the hell were you hiding all that?” she asked, brushing off her shoulders.

You just shrugged, trying to hide your grin.

Bucky met your gaze across the mat, pride written all over his face. You gave him a wink, heart pounding – not from the fight, but from how good it felt to surprise everyone and hold your own.

Yeah. You were officially part of the team now.

You and Nat were still catching your breath when the group circled up again, stretching out tired muscles and wiping away sweat. You dropped into a seated stretch beside Bucky, who passed you a water bottle without a word – just a soft smile and a subtle nudge of his knee against yours.

“Well damn,” Sam said, flopping onto the mat nearby. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

“You were scary fast,” Clint added, rotating his shoulder. “Like, I blinked and Nat was already on the floor.”

“I don’t know if I should be impressed or worried,” Wanda said with a grin.

“Oh, you should definitely be worried,” Nat said, reaching over to nudge you. “She’s officially dangerous now.”

Bucky just chuckled beside you, pride practically radiating off him. “Told you all she was tough.”

“She’s more than tough, Barnes,” Tony said, pointing at you like he was mentally calculating your stats. “We might need to run some diagnostics and make sure she’s not secretly enhanced.”

“Oh please,” you said with a laugh, shaking your head.

Steve clapped his hands once more, bringing everyone’s attention back. “Alright, before we all scatter – quick heads-up. We’ve got a mission coming up in a couple of days. Everyone’s going. First planning meeting is at two this afternoon.”

A few groans went up, but most everyone nodded.

Steve gave a short nod. “See you all later.”

The group began breaking off into pairs, stretching and chatting as they headed for their rooms or grabbed their things. Bucky fell into step beside you, glancing sideways as you both walked.

“You were incredible back there,” he said quietly, nudging your elbow. “I’m seriously proud of you.”

You turned your head toward him, beaming. “Thanks. I think that’s the most fun I’ve ever had in training.”

“I believe it,” he said with a grin. “You made Nat look like she needed a rematch.”

“She does need a rematch.”

He laughed. “That’s my girl.”

--

After a quick trip to your room for a shower and fresh clothes, you wandered down the hallway barefoot, hair still damp, and made your way to Bucky’s room without a second thought. You didn’t even knock – just opened the door and strolled right in.

He was shirtless, facing his closet, pulling a gray t-shirt from a hanger. He turned his head slightly at the sound of the door and raised an eyebrow at you with a smirk.

“Ever heard of knocking?”

You shrugged as you walked past him and flopped down onto his bed, face first into the pillow. “Nope. You’re lucky I didn’t bring snacks.”

“Lucky, huh?” he said, amused as he tugged the shirt on. “This is what we’re doing now? Just waltzing in like you own the place?”

“Might as well,” you said, voice muffled against his blanket. “I’m in here more than I’m in my own room.”

He snorted, stepping around the bed and picking up his boots from the floor. “Not wrong.”

You peeked one eye open as he started tidying up, gathering a couple of his shirts and tossing them into the hamper. Then, without comment, he bent down, picked up your clothes from last night off the floor, and dropped them into his laundry basket too.

“Wow,” you said, watching him with a smirk. “We’re laundry-official now?”

“Oh, absolutely,” he said casually. “This is fully domestic. Should probably start charging rent.”

You chuckled and rolled onto your back, one arm flopped over your head. “Better give me a drawer first.”

“Deal.”

You stayed there, lazily chatting while he tidied up – straightening pillows, stacking a few books, putting some clothes away. Every now and then he’d glance over at you like he still couldn’t quite believe you were there.

Eventually your stomach grumbled loud enough to interrupt the calm, and Bucky laughed. “C’mon. Let’s get food before you pass out.”

--

The two of you wandered down to the kitchen, warming up some food and slipping into your usual spots. No one said anything – just the clink of forks and the quiet buzz of conversation.

Until about five minutes in.

“So…” Sam said, not even looking up from his plate. “Did Bucky ask you to use those moves on him after training?”

You choked on your drink as the table erupted into laughter.

Bucky didn’t even flinch. He just kept chewing, swallowed, and casually replied, “Please. I’ve already seen those moves. And more.”

Your jaw dropped. “Bucky!” you yelled, smacking his arm.

Everyone else howled around you. Even Steve looked like he was trying not to laugh, head in his hand.

Bucky just grinned and took another bite. “What? He started it.”

You glared at him, but the grin tugging at your lips betrayed you.

You just shook your head as the group settled down, falling into casual conversation. As 2:00 rolled around, everyone started getting up and heading to the conference room.

Everyone filtered into the room, falling into their usual seats. The big screen at the front lit up with a map and a set of mission files, and Steve stepped up in front of it with a remote in one hand and that familiar "mission face" on.

“Alright, listen up,” he started. “We’ve got intel on a Hydra splinter group operating out of an abandoned compound just outside of Prague. Intel says they’ve been moving a lot of material in and out of the area over the last few weeks – equipment, supplies, and some kind of high-tech disruptor we haven’t identified yet.”

You sat up a little straighter, the playful vibe from earlier quickly shifting to focus. Everyone else leaned in too – Nat and Sam already scanning the screen, Clint scribbling something on a notepad, Wanda narrowing her eyes as she listened.

Steve clicked the remote and another screen popped up, this one showing an aerial image of the compound.

“We’re wheels up at 0600 two days from now. Plan is to land outside the perimeter, infiltrate quietly, and disable the disruptor before backup arrives to secure the area. It’s a full-team op. Everyone has a role.”

He turned to look directly at you, giving you a small nod. “You’re officially in the field roster. You’ll be with me, Wanda, and Bucky on the east flank.”

You blinked in surprise and nodded slowly. Your first real mission. And they were trusting you with a frontline role?

You glanced at Bucky, who gave you a small grin. Pride and confidence radiated off him like sunlight.

Steve kept going. “Nat, Sam, Clint, you’ll take the west side. Minimal contact until we give the signal. If things go sideways, fall back to the point marked here–” he clicked again, highlighting a spot on the map, “and regroup.”

He ran through more specifics – gear loadouts, comm channels, support teams on standby. You jotted notes where needed, but your mind was racing a little. This was real. And they were trusting you like you’d been doing this all along.

As Steve wrapped up, he looked around the table. “Questions?”

Clint raised his hand lazily. “Is there a post-mission pizza plan, or are we on our own?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “Debrief first, pizza later.”

Everyone chuckled and began gathering their things, the buzz of excitement mixed with tension filling the air.

Bucky waited until you stood, then quietly fell into step beside you again as you headed back out into the hallway.

“You alright?” he asked, voice low. “You went kind of quiet.”

“I think I’m still waiting for someone to say I’m not actually going,” you admitted with a small laugh. “Feels a little surreal.”

Bucky bumped your shoulder. “You earned it. You crushed training today, and Steve wouldn’t put you on a team unless he was sure you could handle it.”

You gave him a grateful smile. “Thanks.”

“Besides,” he added, flashing you a grin, “you’ll be with me. I’ve got your six.”

You rolled your eyes. “Obviously.”

--

The next few days passed in a blur of training drills, briefing updates, and strategy sessions. There wasn’t much time for anything else – early mornings turned into long afternoons in the gym or meetings, with evenings spent poring over floor plans and contingency protocols. Meals were quick, conversations even quicker. Everyone was locked in, focused.

You did your best to keep up with the pace – memorizing every exit route, running sparring matches until you were sore in muscles you didn’t even know you had. But underneath the adrenaline and determination, a quiet knot of nerves had started to settle in your chest.

And it only got worse the night before departure.

You were in your room, packing for the fifth time, pulling things out of your bag and putting them back in like that might somehow calm the anxiety in your head. Clothes, gear, weapons, backup comm – what were you forgetting?

You sighed and rubbed your hands over your face.

Then your door creaked open.

You turned around, startled, just as Bucky stepped inside. His face shifted the second he saw you – smile dropping instantly, replaced by quiet concern.

“Hey,” he said, shutting the door behind him and walking over to you. “What’s wrong?”

You opened your mouth, but no words came out. You just looked at him helplessly for a second before letting out a heavy sigh and stepping forward.

He didn’t hesitate. His arms were around you in an instant, holding you tight as you pressed your face into his chest and let your body melt against his.

“I’m just…nervous,” you admitted, your voice muffled. “I keep packing and unpacking and checking things like I’m gonna forget something. I don’t know. My brain’s just spinning.”

Bucky’s hand moved slowly up and down your back. “You’re not gonna forget anything.”

You didn’t answer, and he leaned back just enough to look at you, his hands still firm on your arms.

“You’re ready for this,” he said softly. “You’ve trained hard, you’ve done the work. You’re smarter than half of us and quicker than most. I’ve seen it.”

You gave a half-laugh, eyes still wide with uncertainty.

“And I’ll be with you the whole time, alright?” he added.

You nodded slowly, eyes locking with his. “Okay.”

He smiled and leaned down to press a kiss to your forehead. “Come here,” he said gently, tugging you toward the bed. “You’re done packing. You’ve checked it a hundred times. Just sit with me for a bit.”

And for the first time all day, your shoulders dropped just a little.

You both sat down on the edge of the bed, and for a while, neither of you said anything. The tension in your chest was still there, but it had loosened its grip – dulled a little by his presence.

“I keep replaying every possible scenario in my head,” you said quietly after a moment, fingers twisting in your lap. “What if something goes wrong and I freeze up?”

Bucky gave a small hum. “Then one of us will have your back until you unfreeze. It happens. It’s part of it.”

You glanced over at him. “You make it sound so normal.”

He shrugged. “Because it is. Doesn’t mean it’s not hard. Or scary. But freezing up doesn’t mean failing. It means you’re human.”

You let out a slow breath. “I think I needed to hear that.”

He reached over, lacing his fingers through yours. “You’re gonna do great. You’ve already proven that you belong out there.”

You gave a small smile, then stood, brushing your hands down your thighs. “Okay. I need to stop spiraling.”

You crossed the room, zipped up your bag with finality, and set it gently off to the side near the door. Then you pulled out your clothes for the morning – your tactical gear, boots, undershirt – and laid them neatly across the back of your desk chair, ready to go.

Behind you, Bucky stood and grabbed your bag without saying a word, slinging it easily over one shoulder. You gave him a grateful look, and the two of you headed down the hallway side by side.

The kitchen was quiet when you got there – just the soft tick of the wall clock and the low hum of the fridge. A small pile of duffel bags and tactical packs had already started to gather near the door, everyone else just as ready for the early departure.

Bucky set your bag down beside his with a soft thunk, adjusting the strap so it wouldn’t fall over. Then, without speaking, he reached out and laced his fingers through yours again, giving your hand a light squeeze.

You didn’t need to say anything.

The walk back to his room was slow and quiet. Not tense – just heavy with that last bit of calm before everything kicked into motion.

When you got there, you both wordlessly moved through your usual routine. He turned down the lights while you crawled into bed, pulling the covers up around you. A moment later, he joined you, shifting close until your legs tangled and his hand found yours again under the blanket.

The last thing you felt before drifting off was his lips brushing your temple, his voice soft in your ear.

“Goodnight, doll. You’ve got this.”

And for once, you actually believed it.

--

The morning light filtered softly through the curtains, warm and golden, but not nearly strong enough to break through the haze of nerves beginning to creep back into your chest.

You woke tangled up with Bucky again – his arm draped across your waist, your head tucked beneath his chin, legs twisted together beneath the blanket. For a moment, neither of you moved. The world was still quiet. Heavy.

Then Bucky reached over to turn off the alarm, and you shifted.

This time, you sat up a little faster, already running over a mental checklist in your head.

Bucky blinked awake beside you, his voice still thick with sleep. “Morning.”

“Morning,” you murmured, rubbing your eyes. “Today’s the day.”

“Yeah,” he said, stretching a little before sitting up. “You sleep okay?”

You nodded, then let out a breath. “Better than I expected.”

He smiled faintly, then gestured to the bathroom. “You can get ready here if you want.”

You turned to look at him. “Seriously?”

He was already heading into the bathroom. “C’mere,” he called.

You padded across the room, still barefoot and a little dazed, and stepped into the bathroom behind him.

He pulled open the drawer beneath the sink – and your eyes widened.

Inside was everything. Your exact hairbrush. The brand of deodorant you used. Your favorite perfume. Even your skincare stuff. And not just one or two things – like, a whole backup lineup, ready to go.

Your heart caught in your throat. You stared for a beat too long before finally looking up at him.

“You – you got all this?”

He shrugged, eyes soft. “Course I did.”

You blinked, the gratitude bubbling up so fast it made your chest ache. You wrapped your arms around him, hugging him tight without a word.

He didn’t say anything either – just hugged you back, his arms warm and steady.

A few seconds later, the two of you started getting ready, not saying much. You were still a little anxious, but the sight of that drawer, the thought that he’d done all that without a second thought – just to make your mornings easier – stuck with you.

You weren’t doing this alone.

When you were finished, you gave his hand one last squeeze and stepped back out into the hallway. “I’m gonna change real quick,” you said.

“Alright. I’ll meet you in a sec.”

You made your way back to your room and got dressed, slipping into your tactical gear, checking every strap and buckle like muscle memory. You tied your boots, pulled your hair back, and gave yourself one last look in the mirror.

Just as you opened your door to head out, you saw Bucky coming down the hallway toward you, already suited up.

He gave you a little nod. “Ready?”

You let out a breath and nodded back. “Yeah. Ready.”

You fell into step beside him, the two of you heading down to the kitchen in silence. The others were already there, milling about with quiet focus – checking packs, sipping coffee, scanning tablets. No one said anything when you walked in. There was no teasing, no sarcasm. Just the quiet hum of the team, fully in mission mode.

You stood close to Bucky, just listening to the low conversations until Steve finally stepped in, a duffel bag in one hand and a tablet in the other.

“Alright,” he said, voice cutting clean through the room. “Let’s move out.”

Everyone straightened, the sound of zippers and boots and clinking gear echoing around the room before everyone headed to the quinjet.

A few minutes later, the low hum of the quinjet filled the cabin as the team flew in quiet formation. Everyone was dialed in – eyes scanning files, weapons checked and rechecked, tension running under the surface like a current.

You sat between Bucky and Wanda, your knee bouncing the smallest bit.

You didn’t realize you were holding your breath until Bucky’s hand slid over your thigh. He didn’t say a word. Just rested it there, his thumb gently brushing in slow, grounding circles.

You looked over at him. He was staring straight ahead, jaw set, completely calm. But that simple, quiet touch? It worked better than any pep talk ever could. You took a breath, nodded once to yourself, and kept your focus forward.

The jet landed with a soft hiss, the rear ramp lowering as the team began to move.

“Alright, let’s split up,” Steve said, voice firm through the comms.

You nodded, heart thudding in your ears as you followed behind Steve, Bucky, and Wanda through the trees toward the abandoned compound. The building loomed ahead, half-collapsed and covered in vines, the remnants of something long-forgotten.

But something wasn’t right.

You slowed, eyes narrowing.

“Do you guys feel that?” you asked, glancing around.

Wanda frowned slightly, scanning the area with her abilities. “It’s…quiet.”

“Too quiet,” Bucky added, lowly.

You stopped in your tracks, turning toward the left corridor. “I’m gonna check something.”

“Stick together,” Steve said sharply, but you were already walking toward a hallway partially obscured by rubble.

“I’ll be quick,” you said into the comm, keeping low and moving with purpose. You slipped through a crumbling archway and into a side wing of the building, the air colder here.

Then you saw it.

A hidden stairwell – half-covered by an overturned crate and nearly invisible unless you were looking for it. You stepped closer, heart jumping.

Your hand went to your comm. “I found a secondary entry point. Could be storage or lower-level operations – they definitely didn’t want this seen.”

Static crackled, followed by Steve’s voice. “Hold position. We’ll come to you.”

But before you could respond, the stairwell erupted in movement – four figures burst up from below, all armed, one already firing.

You yelped and dove behind a pillar, debris exploding around you.

Adrenaline surged, and you moved fast – firing back in short bursts, staying low, repositioning quickly.

One down. Then two.

You rolled, ducked behind a support beam, then took out the third with a well-aimed shot.

The last came at you hand-to-hand, but you reacted without thinking – grabbing his wrist, flipping him with his own momentum, and landing a solid strike to knock him out cold.

It was over in seconds.

You exhaled hard, heart racing.

Then you heard boots – fast, frantic – and looked up just as Bucky stormed in, weapon raised, eyes wide and frantic.

He saw you standing, chest heaving, surrounded by unconscious bodies.

His shoulders dropped, but only for a moment.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he barked, voice sharp and panicked.

You opened your mouth, but the words caught in your throat. He was already crossing the space to you, eyes blazing.

“We told you to hold position!”

“I – I saw something, I had to check it out–”

“You could’ve been killed!” he snapped, jaw clenched.

There was something in his voice – not just anger. Fear. Real fear.

You stepped back, breath catching, the weight of it all suddenly heavier.

“I handled it,” you said quietly, but your voice shook anyway.

And Bucky just looked at you – like he didn’t know whether to shake you or hug you.

Before you could respond to Bucky’s outburst, footsteps echoed through the hallway again.

Steve rounded the corner with Wanda close behind, both of them slowing at the sight of the scene in front of them – bodies on the ground, your breathing still heavy, and Bucky standing between you and the chaos like a shield.

“You good?” Steve asked, eyes scanning you quickly.

You gave a short nod. “Yeah. Four hostiles, all neutralized. They came from that stairwell – it was hidden.”

Steve crouched near one of the downed agents, frowning. “This wasn’t just a recon post. They were guarding something.”

Wanda closed her eyes, scanning the space. “There’s something below. I can feel it – some kind of power source.”

“Alright,” Steve said, standing. “Let’s move. Whatever it is, we shut it down.”

Bucky hadn’t said a word since snapping at you, and he didn’t meet your eyes as he turned and followed Steve.

You fell in step behind them, jaw tight, trying to push the sting from your chest.

The mission didn’t take long after that. Wanda disabled the energy core while you, Bucky, and Steve secured the perimeter. It was smooth, efficient – but you barely felt it. The adrenaline had worn off, and the pit in your stomach was growing heavier by the second.

Once the building was cleared and the rest of the team rejoined, Steve called it in, and you all made your way back to the quinjet.

The flight home was silent.

You sat next to Bucky, just like always, but he never turned toward you. Never looked at you. His jaw was tight, arms crossed, staring ahead with a cold sort of stillness you’d never seen from him before.

You didn’t know what to say. The mission had gone well. You’d seen a threat, reacted fast, handled yourself. But none of that seemed to matter. Not to him.

You glanced over at him, hoping for a flicker of softness, even just a glance – but he gave you nothing.

You sat back slowly, trying to stay still even as your heart pounded again for a whole different reason.

You were proud of how you’d handled the fight. But the silence from Bucky settled in your chest like a weight.

Was he mad you didn’t listen? That you took a risk?

Or was it worse than that?

Was he disappointed in you?

You stared down at your hands and tried to keep your breathing steady. The rest of the team was scattered across the jet – quiet, tired, and probably chalking the silence up to post-mission fatigue.

But for you, the worst part wasn’t what had happened out there.

It was what wasn’t happening now.

--

The jet touched down on the compound’s landing pad with a low hum, the bay doors opening to the muted light of early evening.

Everyone stood slowly, unbuckling and gathering their things with the quiet exhaustion that always came after a mission. Bucky didn’t say a word – just grabbed his gear, slung his bag over his shoulder, and headed down the ramp without even glancing your way.

You watched him go, lips parted like maybe you were about to call after him…but nothing came out.

Your fingers curled around the strap of your own bag, and you stood, following behind the others. You spotted him near the elevator across the hangar, but just as you were about to pick up your pace, Steve’s voice called out behind you.

“Hey,” he said, walking toward you. His expression was calm, but firm. “Good work today.”

You nodded, trying to look like that meant something – trying not to let your disappointment show. “Thanks.”

“But,” he added, crossing his arms lightly, “next time you get that gut feeling, call it in first. I don’t doubt your instincts – they were right – but you’ve got backup for a reason.”

Your throat felt tight, but you nodded again. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“I’m not mad,” Steve said, offering a faint smile. “You handled yourself better than most rookies would’ve. Just don’t take that kind of risk alone again, alright?”

“Alright,” you murmured, managing a small, grateful smile. “Thank you.”

He gave you a final nod, then turned to head toward the control room.

You stood there for another second, feeling the weight of the conversation settle right next to the ache that was already blooming in your chest.

You made your way to the elevator alone, stepping inside and staring at the panel in front of you, heart pounding as if it didn’t quite know what to feel.

Once the doors opened, you walked straight to your room, dropped your bag beside your dresser, and headed to the shower. The warm water helped ease the tension in your shoulders, but it didn’t do much for the rest of you.

When you finally stepped out, you dried off and pulled on a pair of soft shorts and one of Bucky’s hoodies. It smelled like him – faint cologne and something familiar – and it made your chest squeeze all over again.

You padded quietly across the room, hair damp and skin still flushed from the shower, and sat on the edge of your bed.

The silence was deafening.

And you still had no idea if Bucky was going to come find you…or not at all.

You sat on the edge of your bed for what felt like forever, chewing at your lip, debating. Finally, with a frustrated sigh, you pushed yourself up and made your way to Bucky’s room.

You paused outside his door, swallowing hard. Then you lifted your hand and knocked.

It was a few seconds before the door opened, revealing Bucky. He looked at you with an unreadable expression, his face guarded, his eyes tired.

“Hey,” he said flatly, voice low and neutral.

Then he turned around without waiting for you to respond, heading back toward his duffel bag on the bed. He started unpacking his gear like you weren’t even there.

You stepped inside hesitantly, closing the door behind you. The click echoed in the quiet room.

You stood there, awkward and unsure, watching him move stiffly. The silence stretched on until you couldn’t take it anymore.

“What’s wrong, Buck?” you finally asked, voice softer than you intended.

He didn’t look at you as he shoved his boots back in the closet. “You know what’s wrong.”

Your jaw clenched. “No, actually, I don’t.”

He finally turned to face you, eyes sharp now, frustration breaking through. “You split off from the group. You ignored the plan. You could’ve been killed.”

You blinked, taken aback by the harshness in his tone. “I had a feeling something was off, Bucky. I trusted my gut, and I was right. I handled it.”

“That’s not the point!” His voice rose, cutting through the air between you. “You weren’t supposed to handle it alone! You’re not on your own out there anymore – you have a team. You had me.”

You crossed your arms defensively, heart pounding now for a different reason. “I know I have a team, but I didn’t have time to wait around for everyone to agree. I did what I had to do.”

His jaw clenched, his hands curling into fists at his sides. “And what if you hadn’t handled it? What if you got hurt before we even knew where you were?”

“But I didn’t,” you shot back, the tension snapping between you both like a rubber band pulled too tight. “I took them out, I called it in. You don’t trust me to handle myself?”

“It’s not about trust,” he growled, running a hand through his hair, frustrated. “It’s about being part of a team, and yeah – it’s about me not wanting to watch you get yourself killed because you couldn’t wait five damn seconds for backup.”

Your chest rose and fell, your breath shaky as anger and something more vulnerable tangled inside you. “I’m not some fragile rookie, Bucky. I know what I’m doing. You don’t get to treat me like–”

“Like I care about you?” he snapped. “Sorry, that’s not something I can turn off.”

“That doesn’t mean I have to just stand behind you and let you do everything!”

“Yeah, well, you can’t just split off every time you think you feel something either!”

The words hung there, heavy, bitter.

You stared at him, heart aching, hands shaking at your sides. “But I was right,” you said, anger and hurt mixing in your voice. “I can’t stand there and ignore it just because you’re scared something might happen to me. That’s not how this works.”

Without waiting for a response, you spun on your heel, yanking open the door and storming out.

You didn’t look back.

--

Masterlist

Tag list: @ordelixx @read-just-cant-stop @erinallene @crazycleo @magnoliamermaid @thewriters64 @nelachu2423 @kjah97 @awesompawsum @winchestert101 @buckyb-stan @crazyunsexycool @buckysmetalgoddamnarm @buckybarnesfic @ozwriterchick @multiversefanfics @blavikennbutcher @mysoggywaffle @nameless-ken @starfly-nicole @440mxs-wife @vicmc624 @lostinspace33 @prettylittlepluviophile @softpia @maryevm @glossy01 @ye-olde-trash-panda @bonnyclydecat @iyskgd @ohdrey89 @death-in-love @herejustforbuckybarnes @whitewolfluvr @violetpassionfruit @biaswreckedbybuckybarnes @silas-aeiou @avengemepercy @starstruckfirecat @yehfitoormera

[alwayslurkinginthebackground]

Rules - A Joel Miller Drabble

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader Rating: E. Smut is backkkkk baby. Fingering, unprotected p in v, the usual. Word Count: 2829 a/n: Someone destroy the USB before episode 6 premieres or I fear I actually won't make it past next Sunday. Anyway, here's some smut!

“So what’s he like?” you ask, trying your best to sound nonchalant. “You know, when he isn’t being an asshole?” 

Maria follows your line of sight, right to where your gaze is fixed on the two men across the street, chopping up the tree they’d spent the afternoon taking down. “Joel?” she asks, and you know she’s looking at you now, but you don’t acknowledge it, keeping your focus on the flowers you’ve been planting in your front yard. 

You only hum in confirmation. 

“He’s pretty closed off,” she sighs, “but I can’t say that I’d expect anything else. He’s been through it according to Tommy.” 

“We’ve all been through it,” you fire back, perhaps with a bit more venom in your voice than you want. You let out a breath to calm yourself, “I mean, it’s just…he’s…not a bad neighbor so I was just wondering.” 

The woman at your side smiles, letting out a soft laugh as she plants another bulb in the soil. “You should go talk to him,” Maria comments, a suggestion that finally has you staring at her like a deer in the headlights. 

“Why the fuck would I…” 

She raises her eyebrows in question, effectively stopping you. “You know as well as I do how…” she trails off, contemplating her words, “...unwelcoming people in this town can be sometimes.” 

“I know, but…” 

“But what?” she cuts you off again, “you can’t talk to him because of your dumb rule?” 

“It’s not a dumb rule,” you counter, shoving a plant into the ground with a bit more force than necessary. “I think it’s rather smart, actually.” 

Maria laughs again, loud enough this time that it causes Tommy to pause and look in his wife’s direction. There’s love there, in the way he looks at her, the same kind of love that you swore off a long time ago. The kind of love that was scary enough to think about without the outbreak and the constant threat of loss. It’s why you made an oath to yourself to avoid men years ago, a rule that had been easy to follow since a relationship of any kind hadn’t really even crossed your mind until you found a relatively normal life in Jackson.

Or until Joel Miller moved in across the street. 

You’re prepared to argue, conscious of the way your friend stops what she’s doing to turn in your direction, but her voice is soft when she continues. “Do you want my honest opinion?” 

You let out another sigh, already well aware of what she’s going to say, but you nod anyway. 

“You, my friend, need to get laid.” 

As if he can hear your conversation, Joel chooses that moment to slice through a piece of wood with near perfect accuracy, a loud crack sounding from across the street. It’s enough to make you jump, eyes darting back to him, and this time they meet his, both of you freezing. 

Maria chuckles from beside you, already turned back to her work. “I’m just saying you should think about it. He's a good guy, you know,” she continues, as though she needs to add more fuel to the fire. “Tommy wouldn’t have let him in if he wasn’t, blood relation or not.” 

Your eyes are still locked on the man in question, who seemingly forced himself to move on to another thick cut of wood, ax swinging through the air. There’s little you can do to argue with her, though, on either point. Joel’s given you no reason to believe that he isn’t someone you can trust, no matter how quiet or unsocial he might seem, and you can’t deny the dull ache that lingers when you watch the way his muscles move beneath his black t-shirt. 

“Just think about it, okay?” Maria comments again, right before the two of you fall quiet with only the occasional echo of splitting wood filling the silence. 

You know he’s home. 

The light is on in the kitchen, with the soft glow leaking into the living room. Ellie is out somewhere, you know that too, because you saw her leave earlier. 

Not that you’ve been watching or thinking in the slightest about what Maria had said. 

After all, you have a rule, and that rule has a purpose. There’s enough of an opportunity to be hurt in your world without adding a relationship, or even just sex, to the mix, and after all, you’ve been fine this long without someone in your bed, much less him. 

But you also can’t help the way your mind wanders back to that afternoon. To the way you could see the faint sheen of sweat on his brow from across the street. To the sound of his grunt with each swing of the ax. To the way each move he made somehow seemed to make you more desperate for something you've denied yourself for far too long.

Maybe Maria was right. Maybe you do just need to get laid, and maybe this is the perfect opportunity. Joel hasn’t seemed like someone on the hunt for a relationship either, even as women flock to him at The Tipsy Bison. Not that you’ve noticed. 

As you try to pry your eyes away from where they’re locked on his living room window, you see him. He’s changed into a different t-shirt, this one white, and his hair is slicked back from the shower he must’ve taken once he’d finished outside. For a brief moment you wonder if he’s going to go to bed, but then he sits on the couch.

And in the next second, you’ve left yours. 

The walk across the street and up the steps of his porch has your heart beating like you’ve just run a marathon, and you will its pace to slow as you stand in front of his door. You tell yourself you should turn back, follow your rule, go home, and you’ve just about convinced yourself when the door swings open. 

Joel looks understandably surprised to find you in front of him, a guitar in his hand as he stares at you the same way you’re staring back.

“Hi, Joel,” you manage to get out, wringing your hands at your sides. “I was just…Maria said that I should…”

“Maria?” he asks, cutting you off with a gruff voice. 

“Yeah,” you continue, “Maria said that I should come and just, I don’t know, say hello? Welcome you to Jackson?” 

“I’ve been here five months and…” Joel trails off before letting out a huff, one hand running through his curls, which you can now confirm are still damp. He sets down the guitar before continuing, “Tommy told me that I should come over to your house and introduce myself. Get to know people.” 

It takes you aback, and suddenly everything seems to click into place. Maria’s insistence that you plant flowers today, the same day that Tommy happened to insist on taking down the tree in Joel’s front yard. The way she’d been so quick to suggest that you check in on Joel, and the way she met Tommy’s gaze from across the street. An interaction you’d initially read as a simple exchange between two lovers suddenly more clear. 

They’d set you up. 

“I can’t believe them,” you laugh, hands slapping against your thighs as you pace back and forth slightly. “See, this, this is why I don’t do this. Why I have a rule.” 

Joel’s quiet, but the look on his face reads as confused when you finally stop rambling. “What rule?”

You let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand down across your face. “I don’t date. I don’t…get involved with people. I don’t do this,” you explain, your hand swinging back and forth between the two of you as though that will somehow make it all clear. 

It doesn’t. 

“And just what is it that you think this is?” he asks, his hand mirroring your own, "because last I checked I wasn’t necessarily interested either.” 

“Who said I was interested?” 

“You’re here, aren’t you?” he challenges, accompanying his words with a step toward you. “Why?” 

Your breath hitches. “Maria said…” 

Joel shakes his head. “Yeah, and Tommy said the same thing to me. Said that you’ve always been a bit of a loner, that you don’t date, but maybe if I just walked across the street and knocked on your door I’d find something I haven’t thought was possible in the last…” 

He stops, then, cutting himself off as he looks down at you, something shifting, and then he’s turned away, stepping into the living room and leaving you with your thoughts. 

It’s enough to keep you quiet for a moment, your attention focused on his footsteps as they trail back and forth in front of the couch. “I’ve seen you,” you continue eventually, stepping into his house, your voice soft, “with the women.” When he doesn’t respond, you continue as though you need to elaborate further, “at the Bison.” 

“I know damn well where you’ve seen me,” he retorts, swinging around to face you. “And I know you’ve also seen me turn every one of them down.” 

“Why is that?” you can’t help yourself from asking, the words out of your mouth before you can stop them.

Joel crosses the room again to stand right in front of you, closer than before. 

“Because I have rules, too.” 

You don’t stop to consider your next move. In fact, you’re barely conscious of what it is you’re even doing until after your lips are already on his, hands woven into his hair as he cups the back of your head, holding you firmly against him. It’s only when his tongue trails along your lower lip, seeking entrance, that you pull back forcefully. 

“Fuck, wait,” you breathe out, desperately trying to put some space between you in a half-assed attempt at reminding yourself that this is the absolute last thing you should be doing right now. 

He doesn’t push you. He just stands there, staring, breathing just as heavily as you are as you both try to figure out what you’re supposed to do next. What you’ll allow yourself to do next. 

But your body chooses for you. 

The next thing you know, you’re on the couch, trapped between his body and the back of the sofa. His lips never leave yours, devouring you like a man dying of thirst as his hand trails lower. You don’t stop him when his fingers tease the edge of your jeans, and you definitely don’t stop him when they slip beneath the waistline, hot against your skin. 

“How long?” he asks when he lets you come up for air, his lips still marking a path along your jaw. 

“What?” you ask, too focused on the way you’re already arching against him when his fingers find your core to fully comprehend what he’s asking. 

It’s with a breath hot against your neck that he explains, “since someone touched you like this. How long?” 

At first you can’t tell if your lack of response is because of the way he’s moved onto circling your clit or the sudden realization that you’re about to tell Joel Miller that you haven’t been properly fucked in twenty years, but every thought leaves your mind when he pulls back. 

“What the fuck, Joel?” 

“Tell me,” he insists, teeth grazing your collarbone and nipping at the skin there as his fingers trace against your stomach. “How long has it been?” 

“Outbreak Day,” you murmur, hopeful that your response will have him resuming the motion between your legs. Instead, he stops entirely. 

“Outbreak Day? God, baby, no wonder you’re so fucking wet.” 

A groan leaves your lips a moment later when he resumes his mission to make you come on his couch, fingers swirling around your clit as he returns his lips to yours. You battle against one another, your hands roaming across any part of him that you can reach, until you’re left motionless by his fingers teasing your entrance. 

He slips two in easily, your body going rigid as he holds you steady. “Easy now, not yet, baby," he murmurs, letting you adjust. When he starts to move, it’s slow, a steady pace that allows him to learn what each sound that falls from your lips means. The way you whimper when he curls his fingers just right, the catch in your breath when you’re close, and the groan that escapes when he stops, leaving you teetering on the edge of bliss. 

“I fucking swear,” you breath out as he laughs against your neck. “This is why I don’t do this. Easier to just take care of…” you trail off, words lost as he adds a third finger to the mix, pace suddenly faster than before. His lips are hot against your ear as his thumb finds its home against your clit.  “You sure about that?” he whispers just as he finally lets you tip over the edge, your hand tightening against his bicep as he guides you through it, only pulling back when you’re pushing him away, overstimulated.

The world is still a bit black around the edges when you hear the clink of his belt and the pull of fabric, and you’re barely aware of the way you tear at your shirt and push at your own jeans, frantic to rid yourself of them. The haze lingers when he settles between your legs, looking down at you, and the world only clears when you realize he’s staring.

“What?” you ask, voice soft and a bit rough from the strain he’s already put on you tonight. You look down to where his cock hangs heavy and hard between you, and you know now that he does want this just as much as you do. 

“You sure? Because we don’t have to…this doesn’t…” he fumbles over his words, “this doesn’t have to mean anything.” 

You’d had your fair share of one-night stands before the outbreak, and maybe it was the fact that the world you lived in now was very different from the one you lived in then, but you wonder if he can feel it too. The sense that that isn’t what this is. 

That somewhere between his front porch and his couch, both of your rules had been broken, and that neither of you are really sure what to do about it.

Instead, you guide him closer, your hand reaching for his length so you can guide it to your entrance, letting your actions answer his question instead. When he slips inside, it’s in a singular motion, his hands coming to rest on either side of your head. His eyes are shut tightly, enough to make you wonder how long it’s been for him, but then he continues with a precise snap of his hips. 

You thought you remembered how it felt, how this would feel, even after all this time. But as he fucks you into the cushions you start to wonder if you do, because this feels like something else entirely, something you can’t quite explain. 

Joel is grunting against your neck, lips buried into the skin he finds there as each shift of his hips hike yours further up the couch. Your shoulders, and then your back, catch on the arm of the sofa, and you hold on, one arm wrapped around to claw against his back and the other desperately holding to the fabric. You can tell he’s barely hanging on by the way his thrusts grow more erratic. 

“Joel, it’s okay, you can…” 

“You first,” he insists, reaching between you to thumb at your clit again. It’s enough, pleasure sparking in your veins until it settles and you’re clenching around him, just for a moment before he pulls out. You whine at the loss, but he’s quick to replace his cock with his fingers, working you through your orgasm as he wraps his other hand around his length. 

He spills against your stomach seconds later. 

The room is left with just the sound of your heavy breath when you both come down from the high, his fingers slipping once more from your heat as he stands, retrieving his t-shirt from where he’d thrown it to the floor. With a gentle touch, he wipes it across your stomach, cleaning his spend from your skin. 

When he's finished, you start to move. “I should…”

“Stay,” Joel surprises you by saying, and you swear you catch a hint of a smile on his face as he runs his thumb over your lower lip. "You should stay."

Something in the back of your mind triggers an old alarm bell that sounds the warning that this isn't what you do. You don't get involved. You don't do this.

But as he offers his hand to help you stand, gathering your discarded clothes before he leads you to his bed, you wonder if, perhaps, rules are made to be broken.

[lunacelia]

luigi helps you feel pleasure while your sex drive is low. NSFW + TW for references to depression

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

The room is silent. You’re lying on your side, tucked beneath a blanket, the faint glow of the bedside lamp painting soft shadows across the walls. Everything feels quiet now; not empty, but still, in the way that sometimes happens after a long day of holding too much inside.

Luigi is behind you, steady and warm, one arm draped loosely around your waist. His presence is familiar and grounding, the kind of closeness that doesn’t ask anything of you but offers everything.

He already knows about your depression. Your recent episode; how the days have felt heavy and flat, how your spark has dimmed. He hasn’t pressed for explanations or solutions. Just stayed near, patient and steady, carrying you around on those days you struggled to leave your bed, making sure you ate even when you didn’t want to, walking with you quietly when talking felt like too much.

But tonight, there’s something else you need to say. Something you’ve been carrying in silence.

You shift slightly under the covers. Luigi’s hand moves with you, his thumb rubbing soft, slow circles over your side. “Everything okay, baby? You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to,” he asks gently, his voice low in your ear.

You hesitate, heart beating just a little faster. You’ve tried to explain it to yourself, to reason it away. But it’s still there — that quiet ache of guilt every time you turn away from him at night, the silent shame that settles in your chest when you pretend you're just tired.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you something,” you murmur. “But I didn’t know how to put it into words. I also didn’t want to… to have to say it out loud.”

He doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt. Just waits.

“I know you’ve noticed we haven’t been… intimate recently. We haven’t had sex properly in almost two weeks. And I know you haven’t pushed me. But I want to be honest with you.”

You feel his hand pause on your waist.

“I haven’t felt like myself — physically, not just mentally. My sex drive has been pretty much non-existent. And when we tried the other night, I didn’t say anything, but it hurt. I’ve felt so dry and disconnected. And I was embarrassed. I didn’t want to say it out loud.”

You blink, your throat tightening. “I didn’t want you to think I didn’t want you.”

He exhales softly, and resumes the slow circles by his thumb on your hip. “Hey, baby, look at me.”

His other hand comes to your chin, guiding you to turn your head to face him. Then, you turn your body completely so you’re both face to face, and Luigi begins to stroke your cheek as he speaks. “I’m sorry you didn’t feel comfortable telling me earlier. You should never put yourself through pain just for my pleasure, or feel guilty refusing anything. Talk to me, baby.”

You sigh, trying to avoid eye contact, but he gently guides your face again to look at his. “I just kept thinking it would pass. And when it didn’t, I started blaming myself. Like something’s wrong with me. Well, I mean, of course something’s wrong with me, I have depression.”

“Don’t talk about yourself like that,” Luigi says, firmly but tenderly. “You’re right, there is something wrong, you’re going through a tough time right now. But you can get better, beautiful — I promise. How you feel isn’t your fault. Your body’s doing its best to cope with everything. And I don’t want you to ever feel ashamed for needing time.”

He presses a kiss to your forehead. “I miss having sex with you, yeah, of course I do. But we can be close in other ways. I love cuddling with you just like this, I love when I know you’re feeling safe in this space with me. That’s what matters most. I need you to feel safe, baby, so don’t hide anything from me.”

A tear slips down your cheek. “I didn’t want to feel broken in front of you.”

“You’re not broken,” he whispers. “You’re brave. You’ve been showing up every day, even when it’s hard. That’s strength.”

You look at him completely; his eyes are soft, expression open and calm.

“I’m here for you. Always,” he says. “Whether it’s days when you’re ready for sex or days when you just need to rest. If your body craves anything, I’ll listen. If it doesn’t, I’ll still stay right here. I love all of you — not just the parts that feel easy.”

And in that moment, something loosens inside you, not a fix, but a soft shift. True comfort.

You reach for his hand and thread your fingers together, nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck to inhale his scent. “Thank you, Lu. I love you so much.”

“Of course,” Luigi says, kissing your knuckles. “You’re the most important thing in the world to me. And we’ll take this one step at a time, okay? As long as you promise to speak to me about everything, the good parts and the bad. I need to know how you’re feeling so I know how to take care of you in the ways you need.”

You sigh in content against him; the silence for the next few minutes is soft, understanding. After a while, you shift away from his neck slowly, looking up into his eyes. His orbs meet yours immediately, warm and hazel and beautiful.

You hesitate. Then, quietly, “I think… I wanna try something. But gentle. Just to see if I might be able to feel something again, even if it’s hardly anything. I was thinking about asking you earlier, but I kept feeling so weird about it.”

Luigi nods slowly, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Okay, baby. We’ll go slow, just something small. You want me to rub your clit?” He kisses your forehead, then your cheek, then the tip of your nose.

“Yeah, I think that would be a good place to start. I’m too dry for, um… penetration. But it’s nothing to do with you, I promise, Lu.”

“Hey, shh,” he coos, with another kiss to your forehead. “I know. Stop it, sweetheart. You don’t have to explain yourself — I understand. All I want you to do is tell me everything you need, yeah?”

“Thank you,” you whisper. “Uh, there’s lube in the drawer.”

Luigi wordlessly reaches over to the bedside table and takes the small bottle. He uncaps it, before rubbing a little amount of the liquid between his fingers. He gently trails his hand down your stomach, giving you time, his other arm cradling your waist.

“It’s okay, baby,” he whispers, as his hand slips into your panties. He doesn’t do anything for a moment, just rests his hand there, a reminder that he’s with you, not trying to fix you instantly.

Slowly, his slick fingers begin to stroke your clit; small, patient circles that are more about comfort than arousal. You let out a slow breath, your eyes fluttering shut. It doesn’t feel electric or overwhelming like it used to so easily, but it feels tender, reassuring.

His voice, the motion of his fingers, the warmth of his body as you’re curled into him — it all begins to stitch something back together. Just slightly, like sunlight warming something frozen.

You shift slightly, feeling your body open just a little, the soreness and discomfort still there, but not sharp. Just part of the landscape. Luigi keeps his rhythm gentle, eyes between you and your sensitivity, asking without words if everything is okay. You nod, reaching to take his hand, holding it while he touches you so tenderly.

“If we start slowly with touches like this… no matter how little or how much it makes you feel, it’s the start of something, at least. We don’t have to rush anything, baby.”

You nod again, and a tear falls. Not from pain or pleasure, but from being seen. From being loved right in the middle of where it hurts.

After a few moments, Luigi pauses the movement of his fingers momentarily, to shift behind you. He settles against the headboard and gently pulls you to sit between his legs. His arms remain around you, keeping you tucked against his chest like you belong nowhere else. The sheets are loose around your waists, the room quiet beside the rhythm of your breathing.

“I thought this position would be better for you. Just rest your back against my chest, I’ve got you,” he whispers, pressing so many soft kisses to your neck as he continues his soft strokes over your clit. “I can feel you tensing a little. How is this feeling, baby? Tell me.”

“It’s nice,” you sigh contentedly, holding onto his bicep. “It doesn’t feel as good as it should, but it’s better than when I’ve tried by myself recently.”

Luigi smiles against your neck; you feel another quick peck on your skin. “That’s good, but don’t use words like should. This feels like it needs to right now, don’t pit yourself against a standard.”

You nod. “You always know what to say. Thank you for helping me, for talking me through it… You’re so patient.”

“Shh, of course. I just wanna love on you, beautiful girl.” His chin rests against your shoulder, fingers never stopping their soft pattern. “I love you. I’m gonna help you through everything, one step at a time.”

You lean back into him further, eyes half-lidded. “It’s been so weird… not wanting anything. Not feeling anything. You should, I don’t know, jerk off or something, but I know you don’t watch porn…”

Luigi laughs softly against you. “Don’t worry about me. Send me some pretty pictures and maybe I’ll use those.”

You exhale a quiet giggle.

“Seriously, don’t feel guilty. I’m fine.” His arm wraps tighter around your waist. “Just want you to heal.”

You rest, content in the moment, feeling his chest rise and fall. The strokes between your legs continue, steady, light, as if reminding your body it’s still capable of softness, of pleasure. You’re not soaked naturally — that part of you is still adjusting — but the lube helps. So does his touch.

And after a few quiet minutes, something shifts. Nothing dramatic, just a subtle stirring in your lower belly. You press your thighs together slightly, not out of real need, just curiosity.

You tilt your head a little, whispering without turning around. “Lu?”

“Yeah, baby?” His voice is close, lips brushing your ear.

You take a breath, heart a little unsure but hopeful. “Can you try pressing inside? Just one finger. Slow. I don’t know, I’m thinking I could be ready for it.”

He pauses for only a moment, and you feel him smile softly against your shoulder. “Of course. I’ve got you.”

He shifts gently behind you, pulling the blanket down just enough to give himself room to move. His fingers slip away from your clit as he reaches for the lube.

He warms the liquid between his palms before sliding his hand back into your panties, spreading the lube carefully, easing it over your sensitive skin. “Still tender,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “You promise you’re okay, baby?”

“Mhm, yeah, I don’t feel too bad right now.” Your eyes flutter closed as he strokes just along your entrance, not pushing, just testing. His other hand keeps rubbing slow circles over your hip, lips pressing lazy kisses to your shoulder.

“You’re doing so well,” he says softly. “Just let me love you, baby girl.”

When he finally begins to ease his middle finger inside, it’s like he’s moving through silk — slow, careful, never past your comfort. The lube helps of course, but more than that, his presence helps. He listens with his whole body, feeling for every flinch, every breath.

“There we go…” he coos, lips brushing the edge of your ear. “Just one finger, yeah? You’re doing amazing. So warm around me already.”

It doesn’t hurt, not with how slow he moves, how he pauses with every millimeter, waiting for your breath to guide him. You grip his thigh where your hand rests, grounding yourself.

Inside, his finger moves slowly, searching for that familiar place — the spot he knows by heart. He doesn’t go straight there. He explores, patiently, waiting for your breath to hitch, your body to lean toward him.

Then, he curls upward.

And there — a gentle pressure. Only gentle, but it’s there. A glimmer of sensation you’d forgotten. You close your eyes, feeling a warmth you hadn’t expected, more emotional than physical at first, the sheer relief of being reminded that pleasure is still possible.

“That’s it,” Luigi murmurs behind you, his voice melting against your ear. “You feel that, baby?”

You nod, your lips parting slightly. “Yeah… I think I do.”

He keeps his finger curled gently, moving in soft pulses, and after a few strokes, returns his thumb to your clit — resuming those gentle, patient circles. The combination is delicate, like a whisper to your nerves.

“There she is,” he says, barely above a breath. “That sweet spot. Your body remembers.”

Silent tears slip down your cheeks again, quiet and freeing. Luigi doesn’t stop holding you. Doesn’t stop murmuring your name like a promise.

“You’re still yours, you know that?” he whispers. “This part of you — all of you. Depression might try to take it, but it can’t have it. I see you. And I’ve got you forever, my girl.”

Your breath hitches a little as the feeling builds — not like before, when arousal hit fast and easy, but a slow climb out of a fog. The dullness you’ve been living in for weeks has lifted just slightly.

Your body involuntarily shifts to meet his hand. Your thighs part a little more. You’re wetter now — still not soaking, but more than before — and you listen to the soft slide of lube mixing with your natural wetness as he moves.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Mhm…” Your voice is a whisper, surprised and relieved. “I’m feeling better.”

There’s a pause. Then you add, almost shyly: “can we try two?”

Luigi stills for a moment, his breath catching — not from lust, but from love. From how much trust you’re offering him right now. He kisses the back of your shoulder. “Yeah. Of course. Let me go slow.”

He eases his finger out, taking a moment to reach for the lube again. The cold of it makes you jump slightly, and he laughs quietly, rubbing your hip. “Sorry, baby. Let me warm it up.”

He slicks his fingers, warming them between his palms, then trails one hand back down your thigh as the other guides his fingers again.

He presses his middle finger in first — smooth, familiar now. Then the second comes gently beside it: his ring finger. He waits; you breathe. He pushes only the tiniest bit at first, and you tense just for a second.

“Hey,” he murmurs near your ear, stilling completely. “You’re okay, shh. Gonna take this so slow for you.”

You exhale, your body relaxing into the slow stretch. It’s not easy — the soreness is still there, alongside that depressive tension that lingers in your muscles, in your skin. But with him behind you, holding you so gently, it’s bearable. More than that, you start to feel real pleasure.

The second finger slides deeper. There’s pressure now, more than before, and a pinch that makes your breath catch. You make a small sound, somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

Luigi’s voice comes right after. “Yeah, I know, baby. It’s a stretch. You’re so tight. So sensitive. But you’re taking me so well. So slow, that’s it…”

You nod, breathing deep. He curls both fingers gently, and this time you feel it deep — the press against your g-spot, more distinct, more layered now. Pain and pleasure tangle together, and for the first time in a long time, it feels like your body is waking up.

You whimper, not from discomfort but from the sheer intensity of sensation after so long without it.

“There you go,” Luigi coos. “That’s it, I can feel you, angel. Feel how your body wants this, even if your mind’s not caught up yet. I’ve got you.”

His thumb returns to your clit, barely brushing now, but every movement adds to the growing fullness inside. The way he rubs over you isn’t fast — it’s rhythmic, grounding, like a pulse. Like a whisper from your own body saying, this is what you need.

Then he pauses — not stopping, but slowing even further — and he kisses your temple. “I’d love to make you come,” he murmurs. “I’d love to feel that from you again. But you don’t owe me that, okay?”

You turn your face just enough to look at him. “I know. I just… I wish I could.”

Luigi shakes his head, brushing your hair back. “Shh. You’re giving me so much already. Letting me in like this, feeling something again. I don’t need anything else, baby, listen to me.”

His fingers are still moving, coaxing now — more confident as your body begins to open. The soreness is still there, but now it lives beside a soothing pleasure. Not heavy, but comforting and warm.

He curls again, more firmly, and your hips shift. You feel pressure that might turn into something, and for the first time in a long time, you want it. Even if your body doesn’t let it come today.

Luigi senses it too. “There she is,” he says softly. “That’s my girl.”

You breathe through it, letting the feelings come in waves. Some are pleasurable, some are emotional. But all of them are yours.

And through it all, Luigi holds you. Kisses you. Keeps rubbing you and curling his fingers like the movements are an act of devotion, not seduction.

Eventually, your body begins to settle again. The tension softens. You don’t come, not today, but you feel good. You feel open, present, alive.

When he finally eases his fingers out, he does it like he’s handling something sacred. He grabs a soft cloth nearby and wordlessly wipes you clean before curling you into his arms again.

You turn toward his chest, pressing your face into him. “Thank you.”

He kisses your forehead. “Always. You’re my baby. Get some sleep, I’ll be here when you wake up.”

✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦ . 　⁺ 　 . ✦

tags: @luiluvr @velvet-kissesss @multi-culti-girl @annanotherthingg @palmersluvr @lilbadblueeee @fligniuz @briarloves @daydreamingwithluigi @alleviatcd @mangionesdoll @dracula-reborn @bambimangione @contrarianshitstan-blog @iinfinitelimits @straw8berry @amoungusbartholo @loveauriana

[sturnsblogs]

Sunflowers Mean Loyalty

Boyfriend!Nick x Florist!Julian

Word Count- 930

Warnings- none.

Summary: A flirty customer starts paying a little too much attention to Nick while he’s hanging out at Julian’s flower shop. Julian acts like it doesn’t bother him—except it totally does. Nick picks up on it and decides to remind Julian that there’s only one person he wants to be soft for.

The bell above the flower shop door chimed for the fourth time in ten minutes.

Julian didn’t look up from where he was trimming the stems of a fresh bouquet, but his eye twitched. He knew that jingle. Her jingle.

The same girl had walked in every day this week around the same time. Blonde, glittery phone case, always smelling like vanilla and lavender. She never bought anything — maybe a single tulip on Monday, a mini succulent on Wednesday — but she always lingered.

And she always talked to Nick.

Nick, who was currently leaning against the counter with his arms crossed and a casual grin on his face, chatting with her like they were old friends. He didn’t mean anything by it — Julian knew that — but God, he was oblivious sometimes.

Julian clipped a rose stem a little too hard and winced when the thorn pricked his thumb.

Great.

Across the shop, Nick’s laugh echoed — bright and warm, the one he only used when he was really comfortable. The girl giggled in return, reaching out to touch his sleeve like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Julian’s eyes snapped up.

“Do you need help with anything,” he asked, sharp and sudden, “or are you just here to loiter again?”

Nick blinked. So did she.

Julian didn’t wait for an answer. He went back to his bouquet, muttering under his breath.

“I’m just saying,” the girl said after an awkward pause, “you should come by the café sometime. My cousin owns it — I could totally get you a free drink.”

Julian scoffed.

Nick turned toward him. “Something wrong, Jules?”

“Not at all,” Julian said tightly, tucking a ribbon around the bouquet with unnecessary force. “Thrilled to watch you flirt on my work counter. Should I get a tip jar labeled Nick’s Fan Club next?”

Nick’s brows lifted. “Whoa. Okay.”

The girl shifted, clearly picking up on the tension. “Uh… I’ll come back later. Maybe when you’re less—” she gestured vaguely, “—busy.”

The bell jingled as she left.

Nick turned fully toward Julian, amusement flickering in his eyes. “Are you… jealous?”

Julian didn’t even look up. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Nick came around the counter and leaned against the table. “You sure about that?”

Julian finally looked at him, arms crossed, eyebrow arched. “Maybe I just don’t like watching some girl play with my boyfriend like he’s a display bouquet.”

Nick grinned. “You are jealous.”

“I’m irritated. There’s a difference.”

Nick tilted his head, still smiling like this was the best part of his day. “You don’t have to be jealous. I wasn’t flirting back.”

“You were smiling at her.”

“I smile at the barista. You gonna fight him next?”

Julian narrowed his eyes. “Maybe.”

Nick laughed — that same careless, sunshine-laced sound — and reached out to tug Julian closer by the apron strings.

“Jules. Come on.” His voice dropped to something softer. “You know I only have eyes for you.”

Julian didn’t budge at first. He was still stiff, jaw tight, cheeks faintly pink with irritation. But he didn’t pull away either.

Nick’s fingers moved gently, brushing over the fabric just above Julian’s hip. “You’re cute when you get possessive. All bossy and pouty.”

Julian glared. “I’m not pouty.”

“You kind of are.”

“Nick—”

Nick cut him off by pressing a kiss to his lips — slow and sure and completely unrushed, as if that girl had never existed and the whole world was standing still inside the scent of roses and eucalyptus.

Julian sighed into it before he could stop himself. His hands found Nick’s hoodie, gripping the fabric without thinking.

When they parted, Nick didn’t go far. His nose brushed Julian’s, eyes still soft. “See?” he murmured. “I don’t want a free latte. I want you.”

Julian rolled his eyes, but it didn’t have the usual bite. “You’re exhausting.”

“You love me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Nick smirked. “That sounds like confirmation.”

Julian shook his head, stepping back to hide the faint smile tugging at his lips. “Go sit down before I throw a daisy at your head.”

—

About an hour later, Julian called out from the back room.

“Nick.”

“Yeah?”

“Come here.”

Nick wandered into the back, still munching on a granola bar he’d found on the counter. “What’s up?”

Julian didn’t answer right away. He was holding something behind his back — a small bouquet wrapped in brown paper and tied with yellow ribbon.

“Hold out your hands.”

Nick did, confused but intrigued. Julian placed the bouquet gently in his palms.

Sunflowers. Bluebells. A few sprigs of rosemary and a single, tiny daisy.

Nick blinked. “What is this?”

“Sunflowers mean loyalty,” Julian said, suddenly avoiding his eyes. “Bluebells are for trust. Rosemary’s for remembrance. And daisies are… well, innocence, I guess. But I just thought it was cute.”

Nick stared at the bouquet, then at Julian, then back again.

“Jules.”

Julian rubbed the back of his neck. “You didn’t flirt. I overreacted. I just… I wanted you to know I see you. I know who you are. And you’re mine. Even when I get annoyed.”

Nick stepped forward and kissed him again — deeper this time, more deliberate.

“God,” Nick whispered against his lips, “you’re so dramatic. And I love it.”

Julian rolled his eyes. “Pot, meet kettle.”

Nick grinned. “You made me a bouquet to apologize for being jealous.”

Julian sniffed. “Technically it’s a bouquet to reinforce emotional intimacy and reaffirm commitment. But sure. Apology works too.”

Nick laughed and buried his face in Julian’s shoulder. “You’re such a nerd. My nerd.”

Julian held him a little tighter than necessary. “whatever.”

A/N- Yes yes yes! (ik i js started them but they are lowkey my favs

My beautiful babies- @blushsturns @starrii-sturns @izzylovesmatt @chrisslut04 @oopsiedaisydeer @csturnioloswifey @just-a-girl-1 @sturdyyolo @sturnslvtt @sturnbows @sturniolosrtewsexy @chriss-slutt @franticroads @thecrawlys @ribbonlovergirl @freshlyinlovewchris @whore4chris @matts-girlfriend @ariana3lovesu @sturnl0ve @cass-sturn @sturns-mermaid @sunrisemill @fadedstvrn @ikyoudreamofme @mattsdemi @kitkatbar1275 @skelet0nsinmyycloset @lezleeferguson-120 @bells-sturn @sturniolosymphony @kenziesturniolo54 @kikirasweatsweathoho @emely9274 @cherryystemm @realuvrrr @zenithsturniolo @kier-with-a-k @eeyoresturnz @elizasturn @ribread03 @sturnslux3 @costalgirlyr @pizzapocketpocketpizza @arianna1342 @mattsplaything @ed1tssturnn @ivysturnss @ilovemenwithlonghairr @whore4-chrissturniolo

[hitlikehammers]

Rockstar!Eddie Comes Back to the Love He Left Behind in Hawkins 🎸to Hold SO TIGHT to His Dream (✨Steve✨, of course) Forever and For Always This Time ❤️‍🩹💕

“My sunshine,” Eddie whispers, pressing a thumb at the notch between those sharp-stunning clavicles, into the pulse, the heavy swallow, the life right there: exceptional. “You have my heart, so anything I put my heart into, anywhere at all, is filled with you. It’s you, Stevie,” Eddie’s voice breaks, eyes stinging again as he leans down, replaces his thumb with his lips—breathes into the beat: “Always you.”

rating: m♥️ back in steve’s bed still in steve’s bed after eddie declares his undying love and stuff 🛌 pure and unadulterated fluff✨ potentially harmful amounts of softness. like basking-in-the-afterglow levels of schmoop here 💕 eddie’s maybe astounded that it’s all turned somehow out this good and this right after convincing himself he’d never have it; eddie also might slightly underestimate just how in this beat-for-beat 💞 (he didn’t think he’d get ANY OF THIS, he is forgiven for misreading that part in his overarching blindness)❤️‍🩹 steve is alongside him 💓 sometimes it’s nice to be surprised that way ♥️ making plans for a future that include them both as it always should have and honestly basically did all along. they’re just each other’s dream inside every dream after all✨

sequel to dreams within our dreams (tumblr // ao3) for @steddielovemonth Day Six: "Just in case you ever foolishly forget, I'm never not thinking of you." —Virginia Woolf

this is a standalone in its universe, but also very much a sequel to it ♥️

It’s kind of strange, in the marveling sort of way.

It’s not make-up sex, because they never properly ‘broke-up’. They never yelled, or fought—and that was likely the core of the real problem.

They should have fought.

Eddie knew what they had was once-in-lifetime. Eddie knew he’d never not just recover from losing it, but he’d never even bother looking for a passable substitute when nothing could ever compare. He should have fought, back then, for the better part of his heart.

So it’s not make-up sex, per se, in the strictest sense. And to call it a reunion would probably not be the most accurate either, given how Eddie’s a frequent flyer on every available airline for how he’s spent more than half of the not-as-impressive-as-he’d-daydreamed paycheck he gets on tickets back to here. Back to Steve. As often as he can.

Back to his home.

He was never naive about what he more than wanted; what he needed to breathe. He was just…he was so convinced, you know? Even as they inched toward the shallow end of fame, Eddie knew being worthy of Steve Harrington was never about that; and was something forever out of his reach, so—when they cut an album and sent it into the world? There was pride, and he felt happy for moments in it all, and still Eddie knew the entire time: it would never, could never, fill the hole in him.

It would never mean he could go back to Steve the next time and be enough to change how it’d shaken out—and because he’s selfish, he was always going to go back, and hope Steve kept being fond enough in the nostalgia, at least, or else that he kept building up sufficient pity, to take Eddie in and top him up for a little longer with the elixir he lived from, lived for, that he found in Steve’s skin against his—but no amount of success on the outside would mean that anything Eddie had to offer, or that he was, to beoffered, would mean he deserved to have Steve with him always—foralways.

It was never going to be that; and knowing as much was the only reason he’d been able to pull away and drive off in the first place, to keep a foot on the gas despite the way he was dying by half-breaths with every mile. The way the biggest part of him never really stopped that withering. Not wholly.

And that’s it, he thinks. Like: Eddie guesses all he can really say is that, for as perfectly fucking transcendent as coming back to Steve always is—as they’ve learned each other more and more across these barely-a-handful of years that stretched lifetimes in Eddie’s chest, cracked his ribs with every breath he took at all—as much as coming back to Steve was always a revelation, the only thing that kept him sane at all: that part of him that never stopped dying, bit by bit? It sat and watched and waited while the sweat dried and the lungs calmed and it maybe held itself in stasis while Eddie relished the heat, the flawless fit of Steve inside of him, but after?

It always just kept dying.

And that’s where the moment, the now is wholly, gorgeously, impossibly, miraculously different.

Because Eddie may just be staring at this man beside him, watching him breathe, watching him exist like the gift it fucking is while Steve gently traces Eddie’s scars without having to look, like he knows them. Like he bothered to remember down to that detail, like a sunrise under Eddie’s ribs as they both luxuriate a little in the warm musk settling after making the thing they’ve been doing forever, somehow still for the first time:

Love. They made love, and Eddie’s heart still hasn’t calmed from the high.

In honesty, like, strike-him-dead honesty: fuck, but Eddie can barely breathe with it; ending up here after everything. Through…everything.

Because it wasn’t just Steve who kept dreams inside his dreams—or maybe, more that he found the real dream he knew lived side-by-side with the other, where only one was actually even potentially attainable. And the other was heartbreakingly beyond even…even hoping for, let alone trying for.

So maybe it’s more…there was that possible-dream he placed just so, front and center and angled just right, to hide his deepest, truest dream.

The one next to him in bed, with a curve to his lips that Eddie’s never seen before: so weightless. So free.

It trips in Eddie’s pulse, just to witness.

The dream within his dream, held safe and secret and aching behind other lesser wants, eating away at him, death by a million heartbeats wasted too far from this body, this single soul in the whole goddamn world. The need inside the bloody mess of Eddie’s heart, the thing lives there, that keeps the shape of it to work at all. The whole of this center-cannot-hold reality that was always his truth, always what made and built who he’d become, that filled all his lines in and gave him all his color; always this.

Always Steve.

For all the times Eddie told himself no, told himself to walk, to swallow, to find a way to breathe, to leave no matter how his own legs fought him because he wasn’t enough, not for a man who deserved all things; a man who Eddie couldn’t even give some things to, in the sphere of what he desired most—the house, the kids, the kind of peace and calm Steve goddamn Harrington had more than earned, and had always deserved beyond question: that was so far from everything Eddie could work to be half of at best, even if he tried with every breath up to his last.

And he would, he would have tried with everything in him if he believed he could have so much as scraped the surface of the things that made up Steve’s dreams, that filled Steve’s heart—and Eddie had never believed he’d change himself for someone else that way. Never even processed the possibility that he could know a love so deep that he’d want to.

That he’d not only ache, but damn well collapse inward on himself for facing the sheer fact that he couldn’t. He couldn’t be that, he’d never be that.

He was so sure.

But then: here he is.

Here he is: and Steve’s heartbeat is a sure-steady thing, a perfect entity in a world almost too flawed for it to be real—save that it is.

This is real.

Eddie’s own heart pounds a little heavier, headier, just for thinking those words.

And Steve’s fingers are running through Eddie’s hair, never catching, never fighting with the strands, just following the twirl of each curl like a maze, or a map—but one he knows.

One only he has always known.

Eddie’s been a goddamn fool. Eddie’s the luckiest motherfucker who’s ever lived.

“You’re the whole thing,” Eddie breathes out now, the marvel of those truths settling deep in his blood, coursing heavy and wild through him head to toe, singing out his whole fucking life as he reaches, cups Steve’s face in his hands; “you’re all of it, you know that?”

Steve leans into Eddie’s palm when he tips his head, furrows his brows a little, all-askance.

Eddie’s heart trips—this man is so precious; so exquisite.

“My dream. Everything I dream of, have dreamt of or wished for since I met you, since I really met you,” Eddie whispers, his voice low because like he said: this man is precious. This moment feels sacred. He’s going to tread reverently, while his heart’s flayed bare, here. Not even for the sake of protection—more so that Steve can look, and reach and test whatever he might need to, to be sure. Eddie means this more than he’s ever meant anything, and he’s laid bare now before the man he loves not to prove it, as much as to offer it—clear where he’d always thought he had to hide—and fucking…hope.

Then again: with Steve?

He’s always laid bare, offered whole, heart and soul and self entire: with Steve. That’s…that’s kind of the point.

And they missed it. All this time, they missed it.

No more.

“You’re at the heart of it, everything I thought was fully-formed before you, it all fits so much better, like it’s meant to, it’s all so much brighter with you at the center,” and if Eddie keeps Steve’s cheek cradled in one palm, he traces Steve’s collarbone with the other, slow enough that he can feel the heartbeat nearby as it raps against his unspeakably grateful, still unworthy hands:

“My sunshine,” Eddie whispers, pressing a thumb at the notch between those sharp-stunning clavicles, into the pulse, the heavy swallow, the life right there: exceptional.

“You have my heart, so anything I put my heart into, anywhere at all, is filled with you. It’s you, Stevie,” Eddie’s voice breaks, eyes stinging again as he leans down, replaces his thumb with his lips—breathes into the beat:

“Always you.”

Because every step he made himself take was—when he looked at it all clearly, now—somehow puzzle-pieced together in his head as being one step he could bring back to Steve, the fool’s-errand that he could ever truly make it back to Steve and be enough—because he was always headed back to Steve, they could tour the world and there’d still be a countdown to when he could see Steve and was allowed to breathe again; but it drove him. The strings under his fingertips were always held against the texture of Steve’s skin. The notes could ring symphonies but they had nothing on Steve; never could. Not Steve’s voice, not Steve’s breaths, or the sounds he made when Eddie fucked him just right, or his soft affections in Eddie’s ear when he sank in and drew noises from Eddie that were for Steve alone.

Only Steve. Always Steve.

And Steve shivers the slightest bit, but Eddie feels how strong that blood moves, beauty in itself, this core manifestation of what Eddie doesn’t just want most.

But what he needs most.

“I play for you,” he breathes there, smiles when the rhythm kicks a little harder, like the words can fill Steve’s heart the way they don’t just fill Eddie’s, but make Eddie’s, down past the cells. “You’re in every track,” he whispers, and fuck is it true: “you make the chords sing.”

As if it ever could have been a coincidence that they found anything like success only after there was Steve, only after Eddie’s heart was spoken for and filled full, broken open under his own fumbling hands, and if there’s any possible way to find any worthy thing inside any of these half-lived years, lived half-apart—because fuck the success, it’s been hollow every moment he couldn’t walk back through the door and know Steve wouldn’t be far away—but if there’s anything worth salvaging in it?

Maybe he can grasp onto loving that strong anyway, through all of it, never once faltering in it and more, never wishing he could, because yes he tried to bury the hurt, run from it—but never did he even consider a world where he wasn’t built up from his DNA, constructed out of a love for Steve, of Steve, with or without Steve but always Steve; his own stupidity, or maybe it was just cowardice: but even that pain wasn’t a match for the unshakable thing he doesn’t just feel, but breathes inside as a rule, for Steve. Made of Steve.

Offered heart-in-hand, to Steve—

Eddie kisses a little trail down into the hair on Steve’s chest, following that flow of life: needs it in this minute. Needs to squeeze his eyes closed and hold there just a second. Let his body soak in how this is real.

This is real.

How is this real—

“I come home to you, always been coming home to you,” he breathes where he can feel Steve’s heart move, and when he blinks a tear falls there and it feels kind of fitting; kind of wholly right in a space inside him where nothing’s been right in years, and he swallows hard around that flash of clear truth as he exhales shaky:

“You are my home.”

And Steve’s inhale is sharp at that, and Eddie goes to kiss his chest again because he can, good god, he fucking can and Steve—

Steve reaches to cradle Eddie for himself, now, palms curved against Eddie’s head, his devotion pressed tight to Steve’s chest, the riotous waves bounding below his mouth and lifting like a kiss in its own right against Eddie’s parted lips.

“I never thought I’d get this, though,” Eddie breathes, barely; thinks maybe the words aren’t even loud enough to hear, and the way Steve presses him closer for it is just because his heart against Eddie’s mouth heard the heart in Eddie’s mouth loud and clear.

“Never, Stevie, I,” and his voice cracks, and Steve’s fingers thread through his hair: comfort; protection. A claim Eddie never thought he’d earn, hasn’t earnedhere but had known in his bones, before, that he had to have lost any chance—to walk from the biggest parts of your heart and soul, and to do it because you knew your better halves couldn’t ever hope to match even a fraction of his lesser halves? No nuggets, no Winnebago, no picket fence, no garden or dinner on the table, even if he’d try, he’d have tried so fucking hard but he’s not made for the kitchen and all that is just the baseline, the simplest minimums of what Steve deserved, and Eddie, all Eddie was, all Eddie had to offer, it’s, he…

But then he’s reminded again, with the massage of that heartbeat on his lips: he is here. They are here.

And…and maybe not even in spite of what Eddie can’t give, or be, like he always thought. Maybe��somehow…

Maybe something else. Maybe even the exact opposite. But no matter the how, or even the why?

He’d been so wrong, and he doesn’t deserve the spoils of it, but god he has never been more grateful to have been a blind fucking fool, to have broke his own heart and maybe the one underneath him too but maybe also not beyond repair, and as far as he can tell, not beyond offering—and more unfathomable still, but also not beyond reclaiming as deep as it’d ever been, the love still there, despite all the bruising, and if it’s there then it’s not even a question of whether it can be nursed back in full, Eddie will do anything—but if everything he thinks he sees, and feels, and knows in these moments now is true?

Holy fuck, Eddie has never been so goddamn grateful to have gotten every part of it this fucking wrong.

Until now. Now, when his own heartbeat is back to pounding again: less steady than Steve’s but not because he’s anything but sure. Overwhelmed—that’s probably more accurate. Overfull. Vibrating and shaking as a single thing, filled with joy and terror in equal counts but a terror that is primarily a joy of its own.

The kind of terror that you feel in the face of something so profound, it freezes you in awe for it.

That dazzling spark that makes a heart anything more than a hunk of meat.

Dreams inside fucking dreams.

Eddie whimpers, pulse tripping as Steve keeps his hands around Eddie’s face, frames it sure but soft, dear.

“Always,” he leans to kiss Eddie’s lips, long and languid and like they have all the time in the world, and could they, this time, do they really, finally?

“You always had it,” and Steve keeps one palm cradled to Eddie’s cheek and Eddie moans a little as he leans into it heavy, needy when Steve draws Eddie’s other hand firm, decisive to the center of his own chest as he whispers, closest thing to a vow Eddie’s ever heard:

“It’s never not been yours.”

And the closest thing to heaven Eddie’s ever felt is Steve’s wholly-offered heartbeat under his hand as Steve breathes those words into his parted lips before kissing him again, more like a claim crossed with a benediction, a marveling sort of gratitude:

“Always you.”

And Eddie basks in that feeling for only a moment before he gives as good as he gets and then some, because Steve will always deserve above, and then beyond—but it feels a little more like they’re less battling with their tongues and more teasing each other open to breathe in one another’s soul—and if that’s what it is, if that’s even possible: Eddie fucking wants it.

“Do you know what it does to me?” he pants against Steve’s equally-swollen mouth when air’s no longer willing to be ignored. “What you do to me?”

“Tell me,” Steve mouths against Eddie’s lips like a secret, like a dare, like a promise. Like intimacy incarnate.

Eddie’s pulse surges high in his throat, desperate to touch.

“I want to regret the time we spent where we didn’t, where I didn’t,” Eddie licks his lips and sucks in Steve’s exhale, they’re so close—so close; “I cannot regret any time I’ve lived loving you, though, it’s,” Eddie confesses, and sacrifices the wonder of Steve’s heartbeat in his hand to flip their hold and press Steve tight to his: what Steve does to him.

“It feels wrong on this, like, elemental level, to even think it,” Eddie gasps through trying to shape words to it all, something that is so much more than the words.

“Maybe it could have looked different, earlier,” and even the possibility lands sour in him, and yet it’s not…it’s not as bad as he’d have expected, and maybe that’s because—

“But the fact that you’re my whole heart? That doesn’t change, that never changed, that never got more or less true,” and Eddie says it with his whole chest, his whole heart like it fucking deserves; “it’s an absolute, y’know? Law of the universe,” and he knows that. He knows that more than he knows anything.

And when he mouths his feeling into Steve and watches it sink in deep, then deeper, and feels Steve’s heart jump under his hand, it hits with a rightness, a cosmic sort of ‘message received’ like quicksilver in his veins.

“Still feels like a dream,” Eddie whispers, and is finally close enough and at the right angle to bow his head into Steve’s, to breathe him in when Eddie breathes out, to hold steady, brow to brow, needing one another so fucking hard; “to be this lucky, y’know?”

“I know,” Steve whispers, and it’s sweet, it’s so fucking sweet; “I know.”

And then he’s pulling back a little, just enough to meet Eddie’s eyes again, his as bright and wet as Eddie’s knows his own are, at the least.

“But maybe that’s it. Maybe because you were my dream the whole time,” Steve breathes out, the joy in him a more quiet marvelling thing, just as stunned and overcome but…Eddie thinks they’ll find in time—all the time, in all the time they have to learn the things they missed, all the time in the world—Eddie thinks they’ll find they both resigned themselves differently, and the the way Steve managed was a quiet hurting, a folded up devastation deep in his chest.

But…somehow he’s telling Eddie that that very chest, and the heart he hid that devastation behind, was Eddie’s the whole fucking time. Somehow. Impossibly.

In his arms, pressed against him here and now.

Eddie swears to fuck that he will take that devastation and cast it into the fucking fire. Never let it touch his Stevie ever again.

“However I could have you, however we could be,” and the simple…well-worn drudgery of those words, the acceptance in them—it nearly knives Eddie’s heart mid-beating.

But Steve: Steve, being all the light and wonder and worth in the world, he has to see something. He has to see it, and so he reaches to cup Eddie’s face somehow more delicate and dear still, leans to kiss Eddie soft and sure, before he’s drawing them near nose-to-nose, only the barest distance necessary to keep each other in their sights.

“When I gave you my everything I wasn’t looking for a refund,” Steve’s eyes flicker over Eddie’s face, drinking in his expression, seeing him in a way Eddie’s only known with Steve, only even given to Steve, only found hands willing to hold all he offered in Steve’s steady palms.

Goddamn, he should have fought, they should have always been here, but he wasn’t lying for his own sanity, to make the ache land softer. He meant it; being with Steve at all is a gift he never thought to hope for; always has been.

The thing he was dreaming of, inside the heart of every other dream, it was never a dream of more, just of different. Because Steve, was Steve, is Steve.

Anything with him is a motherfucking privilege.

And if this is real, and it sticks for keeps: he wasn’t asking for more.

But this thing he’s already feeling is going to stretch and break him wide open in the most impeccable way, glorious as it shines and bleeds sacraments between them, and there will be more because loving, like this, the two of them in tandem, in sync, will make it so. To reshape what they can hold in the first place.

“I wanted you to keep as much of it as you wanted, however you wanted, forever,” Steve whispers, nuzzles a little at the stubble on Eddie’s cheek, unquestionably adoring and Eddie, he…

This was only ever Steve’s.

It could only ever have been Steve’s.

“That,” Eddie breathes, half-like a whimper. “I always wanted you,” and he frames Steve’s face and runs both thumbs over his cheekbones as he pledges his whole goddamn soul:

“Forever.”

“That’s what you have,” Steve’s eyes finally loose a tear where Eddie’s already soaked Steve’s hands for the way he’s sobbing through the pieces of him finding how they’ve always been meant to fit. “S’what you’ll always have.”

“I love you so goddamn much,” Eddie’s voice shakes for all the fullness in his chest, all the feeling in his heart, Steve’s heart—his heart had always belonged to Steve: “I always have. I never stopped,” he swears, he needs Steve to know even if there’s been nothing but proof shown between them this night—and Eddie’s watched Steve believe him but he still needs him to know in the marrow of his bones.

“I never will.”

And the way Steve kisses him before he can even breathe, can even swallow once those words come out—Eddie thinks he’s made his point.

Confessed this single truth of his whole fucking soul.

“I have,” Steve draws back eventually, bows his head into Eddie’s forehead; “I have never even bothered trying to love when it wasn’t you,” Steve nuzzles the side of his nose a little, like the leftovers of a shrug but…it makes Eddie’s chest so warm, even before Steve tacks on:

“Always you.”

And that’s it. That’s…that’s the core of it all. That is the dream. The only dream.

Always. Always this; them.

“How do you want this to be?”

And it’s always gonna be. It’s fucking always gonna be.

“Hmm?” Steve hums, a little boneless, mostly curious, gratifyingly at ease as Eddie’s arms have snaked around him and pulled Steve close, chest to chest so they rise into each other as it should always have been. As Eddie didn’t realize he’d been missing like a fucking limb this badly until now. He’d suspected, but—

No more. Never again.

Not. Ever. Again.

“I can move back here,” Eddie thinks that’s probably the logical choice, unless Steve’s looking to relocate as Erica’s graduation gets closer; “or—”

“What?” Steve pulls back a little to catch him in a baffled stare, jaw a little dropped, totally uncomprehending.

Which…okay yeah, wait: what?

“You,” Eddie takes a deep breath; this isn’t hard, or some unknown quantity to take a risk on anymore. But it’s too important not to handle with care, nonetheless. “You want to be together, yeah?”

Steve’s confusion morphs immediately into the kind of look he’d perfected when the kids where younger, and had never lost, for when someone asked an absolutely asinine sort of question.

“Of course,” Steve tells him, emphatic in the unyielding hold of his embrace; “always,” and even if he can’t move too much for how tight Eddie holds him, he can still lean his neck back and kiss him full of intent, making a point.

“But Eddie,” his voice softens, alongside the abiding sort of love unmistakable in his eyes:

“You always come back to me.”

Like that’s a perfectly reasonable answer. A perfectly acceptable status quo. Like what’s been this long is…is enough.

Eddie was never going to go back to what it’s always been, now that he knows that he can have it all. Now that he’s been given everything; now that they can be everything.

Even considering risking that bliss, that blessing is un-fucking-fathomable.

“I don’t want to come back to you,” Eddie clings to Steve a little tighter, buries a little closer into his neck, maybe a little desperate, but he thinks after everything he’s allowed it. Entitled maybe, even.

“Always, yeah? I want us to be always.”

And he’s equally entitled to sounding needy, to being goddamn desperate when he says that, too.

“Eds,” Steve kisses him slow this time, like he wants to press the feeling into him thorough, to last: “I am. We are,”

“We can be,” he says with a sureness that stumbles bright in Eddie’s swollen heartbeat, clatters buoyant through his whole chest; “we know now, and so we can be,” he sighs, shakes his head a little and smiles soft, means his words:

“It doesn’t have to change.”

And Eddie sees that what he means is that they…they can play this game, and simply change the rules. Or keep the rules, but shift the game. That knowing how they belong to one another, now, will be enough. Will be liveable. Will be a balm on all the ways they’ve torn themselves in two for so very long, and a promise that when they part now there won’t be tearing, just missing.

But that’s…Eddie’s fucking exhausted, living without a whole heart. He…he knows Steve means well, and knows just as much that Steve could believe to the molecules inside him that he’s loved far beyond measure, but he’s still built to bend. To give, and concede. To bear the load, to carry the brunt. Things he never deserved to accept, let alone expect.

That’s not going to be what they are, anymore.

“I,” Eddie licks his lips. Swallows hard before he meets Steve’s eyes and says, so clear and somehow with at least equal sureness to Steve’s own, maybe more, harder earned because Eddie’s not built for it like Steve, his beautiful paladin, but he can be selfish, in defense of them both:

“I need more.”

And Steve knows all of what runs through Eddie’s head before he speaks, knows what it holds and what it costs to have said it. To have confessed and begged for it.

He looks like he might start crying a little again. Eddie certainly feels his eyes stinging already.

“I’d never ask you to follow me into the kind of life I have now,” Eddie tries to rush the words out, before he gets lost in the waves of feeling that are building upon themselves, close-on to towering and that’s only right and good, they should never be less but Eddie needs his wits to finish what he means to make known, first: “to be dragged into something you don’t want, that isn’t your dream,” because even if Eddie is? The fame, to nomadic ping-ponging, the insanity of it all: that’s the opposite of the picket fence he said he didn’t want anymore but it’s also…it’s not glamorous, it’s not comfortable, it’s entirely separate from what Steve deserves.

“So I’ll change it, I’ll do it different,” because it’s not a question. It’s not a…it’s not a fucking question, Eddie doesn’t care what it takes. He reaches for Steve, thinks he may frame his face but decides to wrap around him instead, presses so tight and close, doesn’t stop until he swears he can feel Steve’s heartbeat against his own and his eyes slip closed as he breathes in deep to feel just that little bit more: this is what he wants. All he wants.

All he has ever truly dreamed of.

“I built so much of myself around you without being able to have all of you,” Eddie breathes into the shell of his ear, kisses below the lobe and stays there, stays.

“There’s nothing I won’t do to keep you, Stevie. Nothing.”

That’s all there is. All he knows. It’s all he’s been doing the best he could, the most he thought he was able or allowed, was welcome to, this whole time that’s all he has lived to do at the end of every day, every breath; but now? Knowing they could have more, that they can be everything?

That is all that there is.

“Sweetheart,” Steve murmurs where he’s lined up close to Eddie’s ear to match on the other side, and Eddie shivers for the sensation, but also the endearment: it’s Eddie’s for Steve—when Steve chooses it, it’s special:

“You’re not listening,” Steve breathes so warm, so fond and it’s that paired with the ‘sweetheart’ and the strong-steady feel of his heart against Eddie’s chest that holds Eddie’s pulse from shooting off wild in fear, in foolish doubt.

Steve’s wrapped too tight around him, though. Steve’s with him, whatever he means with those words—whatever it is, it’s no more than a misstep. A single trample of toes in the dance of their lives.

“What did you think I meant, when I said there was a dream inside my dream,” Steve exhales against his hair, kisses at the line of where his sideburn would grow if he let it; “when I told you what my dream wasn’t?”

Eddie wants to look into his eyes and ask with his gaze what he means, but…he doesn’t think he can physically do anything but lean into the damp heat of Steve’s mouth, chase that comfort as he tilts into Steve’s attention, gets more kisses along his hairline for the subtle ask, for being known so well and loved so deep that Steve was already ready and waiting to give.

Eddie thought this is what Steve meant by a dream inside his dream. It’s what Eddie meant. They’d seemed to be on the same page. It feels, like this, in this moment, like they’re definitely on the same page.

Undeniably.

So what does Steve mean—

“I still have the goddamn luggage, Eddie,” Steve mouths along his skin, and fuck, he doesn’t know what else to do but to lean in; to want for it. For always.

So it’s probably kind of predictable, at the very least instinctual and beyond his conscious control, how he lets out a fucking whine when Steve replaces his mouth with his palm and moves to look Eddie square-on.

The love in his eyes makes Eddie’s heart flip reckless inside his ribs.

“You’re it,” Steve tells him, leans in a little extra with the feeling; “you have to know,” he shakes his head, in the marveling kind of way;“you have to know that.”

And then he’s holding Eddie’s face and he kisses every inch of it: the lines of his eyebrows and the soft dips of his temples; the splay of his lashes and the bow of his lips. The tip of his nose.

Eddie’s eyes ease open a little lazy, a little fucking dazed for how intimate it was, to feel that treasured; to be reverenced so well under that mouth before it opens once more to squeeze around Eddie’s heart, to break Eddie’s world in two:

“You wouldn’t be asking me anything I haven’t been dreaming of being asked, for years.”

And the words themselves don’t spell a promise out in letters but that’s exactly what it is. It’s a vow as much as any that comes with a ring and a license—but Eddie will damn well do that part as best he’s able, too.

But what Steve is fucking saying, and everything it holds inside? It cracks the world in halves. Everything before this moment, and everything that waits for them to come—the future ahead.

And Eddie only knows how many days it’s been—3 years, 7 months, and 14 days; 15, now, as the sun pokes just the slightest bit on the horizon, like a dare through the window—but Eddie only knows because his heart counted the beats the whole fucking time. Because he learned how long he could push each absence of the very reason it kept pumping at all before the threads that held Eddie in one piece—all of them tied to Steve, all of them, always—frayed too to snapping, and then he came back, he always had to come back.

This was his heart.

And now his heart was telling him that he’d always been waiting to follow with everything, not merely to be rushed toward every time Eddie had to beg for what scraps he could pretend to deserve, fool himself were enough, before he unraveled, died of a starvation in his fucking soul.

And Eddie isn’t going to do things like he’s always done. He’s not going to live the same life, if Steve’s coming with him: because his Steve is not going to follow him. His Steve is going to walk side by side, where both of them will learn what it can feel like to live when your heart’s always whole.

Eddie doesn’t know what else to do, in that moment, in that clarity of that realization: he doesn’t know anything but to near-tackle Steve to the bed and kiss him breathless, until Eddie’s lungs hurt but his heart dances too much, to overjoyed to fucking care.

Because this is the start of what comes next. This is the future broken wide open for them to grasp with both hands and pull to their chest and hold tight between them. For always.

For both of them.

With both fucking hands.

Finally.

🖤🎸❤️‍🩹

✨also on ao3

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @ajeff855 @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @dreamy-jeans137 @estrellami-1 @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @gunsknivesandplaid @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @kimsnooks @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @ollyxar @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here

divider credit here

[chrystal-ink]

That harem one shot was so cute 🥰. I don’t know why, but it’s Tower, Lancelot, and Dual’s interactions with the reader that I’m most excited to be seeing in the future. It did remind me of the kissing headcanons you did for each of them and it got an idea going in my head that I find just adorable.

You know how it’s been going around about how hedgehogs will circle the ones they like as a sort of mating ritual? I’m imagining it with the Shadow Harem and I just can’t 😂.

I imagine each of them doing it, but have their own unique ways of doing it. Idk if Shadow would do so since he and reader are already in a relationship, but maybe he does do it because he loves reader so much.

I can just picture Tower circling reader like a predator about to pounce 🤣. Is that what he intends to do? Who knows. He does things on his own terms, after all.

For some reason, I can imagine Lancelot and Dual just maybe admiring the reader and start circling without realizing it. They don’t know why they’re doing it, but it just feels right. They’re just gazing at the reader with such lovestruck glances while doing whatever around the house.

I love this! I’ve tried doing circling one shots before but I haven’t been able to make it work before but I could definitely head cannon it 😊

(lol imagine all of them them circling you at once that would be so chaotic 😂)

(Also thank you so much Lancelot, Tower, and Dual are my favorites to write for right now so I’m glad you’re looking forward to it 😊”

I think they would all do it to maybe to signal to the others that it’s their turn or they just want a private moment with you but each one has a different flavor✨

🦔

OG shadow probably would do it very lovingly having done it for a few years at this point, he might tease you a bit just just because of the familiarity of it

“Why are you blushing Y/N? All these years and you still get nervous, how cute”

💥

Tower needs to learn some rizz for sure. He doesn’t break eye contact not even once when he does it his eyes burrowing into yours. You know he means well but yah it gets a little too intense sometimes.

“I need you for a moment, don’t say no”

❌

Edge claims he’s just checking your posture or fighting stance, a facade you see through immediately, once the others leave however he’s just as mushy as the rest of them.

“Your stance is looking better these days, still better isn’t perfect, no matter how close to the definition all your other attributes are”

🎬

Dual doesn’t really know why he’s doing it. he gets embarrassed when the others tell him still he keeps doing it. Once he has context he makes sure to take you in and takes notice of your features.

“ I like the way you’ve done your hair today, you should do it like that more often.”

⚔️

Lancelot is very steadfast when he does it admiring you like a piece of art. Nothing else matters not even his knight duties.

“I find you look most immaculate when the sun hits you in this room”

6️⃣

Six is very protective when he circles you making sure no danger is around, once he’s positive you’re safe he cautiously asks for affection which you happily accept.

“Now that I have you alone would you mind if I laid on your lap for a moment?”

[zosanniz]

Hi Dee! I just saw that you accept request and if you could I would love to read abouts the male strawhats with a soft dom male reader, it doesn't need to be nsfw, but the reader being confident and sweet to them, it would be so cute. Thank you hon!!!

Heya first request! That’s no problem for me;P enjoy (no chopper). Not even nsfw but some mentions of sex, pegging, sniffing a girls panties because brook, etc. this is not proofread but I think everything’s fine in this post tbh

Luffy loves it, firstly. Being the future king of the pirates can be tough, so he loves a relationship where he can be his carefree self, (not that he isn’t gonna be regardless) and know he’ll always have you to fall back on. And even comfort him when he needs it. Though that’s a side you’ll almost never see to Luffy because he usually wants to be a person others rely on. But sometimes.. some nights.. he’ll think about Ace as you hold him tightly to your chest in a comforting hug, and he’ll just curl up on you like the little monkey boy he once was (and still is). Luffy has a strong relationship with his masculinity but he doesn’t have a huge complex with being a man. Being the more submissive one in the relationship doesn’t make him any less of the future king. If kid ever makes fun of him though he’ll probably get into a fight with him over it. That being said, you definitely wear the pants. You come up with the dates (because otherwise Luffy wouldn’t even bother cause man.. he seriously doesn’t know how to do all that stuff!), you’re the one typically paying for dinner (he never has money), and all that classic traditional stuff a more “dominant” role would do. Of course, Luffy will give back just in a more … Luffy fashion. Like gifting you a bug he thinks is cool or sharing his food with you. Also, Luffy definitely hangs on you like you’re his personal jungle gym.

Zoro is the one with a bit more of a complex over it. Definitely has some toxic masculinity towards himself, and would be adverse to it. Would reject the idea of you taking care of him at first, he’s not really used to people caring for him beyond looking after his injuries, which to him is sorta different because it was usually Nami, who acts like an annoying sister to him, and chopper, who’s a doctor (and his little man!) Zoro will eventually learn to accept this but it’s kinda hard for him and even behind closed doors has a complex about it. You have to constantly remind him it’s just you two, no judgment and no peering eyes. As he grows more comfortable well… still.. you’ll have to remind him. There’s been a couple times he’s had to yell at you for whatever “spell” you put on him, that makes him so damn needy and clingy during your make-out sessions. During these moments, he lets go for a moment and goes koala mode on you, legs wrapped around your waist and arms around your neck. He gets very embarrassed about it afterward. Other times, your big muscular boyfriend likes to straddle your lap and just sit there in your arms, it’s adorable the more comfortable he becomes, even if he never truly settles into the idea. He’s just scared of the idea of being any less strong or manly.

As for Sanji, he’s more welcoming. Sanji realizing he even likes you, a man, is a whole other trouble on its own. But once he’s in, he’s in. And that means pretty much anything. Sanji is pretty flexible (wink), so he truly will just become whatever you need him to be. But naturally, Sanji is a more submissive man in a relationship, which should be kinda obvious. He loves to fawn over you when you treat him so gently, like you could break him if you treat him too roughly! Sanji needs a soft guy like you in his life, after the rough childhood he’s had. Sanji loves to cook for you and then just sit in your lap while you eat, (and maybe tease you a little..) as always Sanji is a total flirt with you. He loves taking care of others because nobody really took care of him growing up (save for the Zeff, Reiju, and his mama) so he really loved you looking after him and hell even spoiling him (don’t worry he does it back for you too!) Sanji will listen to any demands you have and is off quickly to fetch anything you need! We all know how Sanji is, he’d be your slave if you asked him. But let’s be nice to this sweetie. He’ll try to act cute and sometimes garner sympathy from you when he fights with Zoro to get your attention, just because he knows you’ll treat him to a nice bath.

Usopp loves it and needs it in his life. Usopp loves being taken care of and being treated like the sweet angel he undoubtedly is. He’s the type of guy to clasp his hands together and bat his eyelashes at you, whispering “you’ll protect me, right?” before heading out on some adventure Luffy forced the crew to go on with him. Usopp seeks your kindness, protection, and comfort. It reminds him of home, and the days with his mother. Even when she was dying, she provided him a sense of comfort nobody else has been able to replace. And maybe you can’t replace it, but you certainly remind him of it. He constantly seeks it out. He will constantly cry and scream (though, that’s on par for him anyway) even if he’s not actually afraid, just so you’ll hug and comfort him. He loves squeezing your upper arms with a grin, and go “oooh-! So manly!” Usopp is such a flirt, even though he can get flustered by you pretty easily. He loves just nuzzling his face into your chest before falling asleep in your protective, comforting embrace. Just beware, if you’re dating Usopp, Nami unfortunately gets all the gossip on your habits and also how good you are in bed, sorry. Thankfully, Usopp only has good things to say.

Given how big of a dude Franky is, many assume he’s the more dominant one. However, Franky doesn’t really care for things like that and you’ll be surprised to find he’s probably more submissive in a relationship to begin with (but he could go either way). He’s very open to the idea, and despite his size you’ll carry him like he’s your little princess. Franky likes sitting in your lap while he tinkers away! Or even laying his head in your lap before taking a fat nap. He’s the type of man to blush and fangirl over you if you do something he finds attractive or even cute, like flipping your hair a certain way, or sticking out your tongue when you’re focused. He loves being carried by you, since he’s used to carrying other people. He has no qualms with being open and vulnerable, (obviously) and not thinking any less of himself as a man. Franky can be irresponsible at times, it’s a good thing you’re the one that plans your dates with him. Franky can be oddly romantic at times too-! Sometimes he may try to pull the same card as Usopp, bat his eyelashes at you and all. It’s a bit harder for him to be taken seriously given he’s in his late 30s but hey, you think it’s still cute. Franky likes resting his head on your chest, just talking with you about life, sometimes his past if he’s feeling wistful. Would probably fangirl at you defending him and his honor, he’s a dork. Also, is very open to bottoming since he has probably gotten pegged in past relationships to be totally honest so he’s already got that more submissive thing going for him, it’s just very unexpected given his appearance.

Brook is very open minded about it. If you honestly think Brook cares he’s the more submissive one… well… that would just be silly. He’s lived many years in his head in complete solitude, he’s just happy to have finally found a relationship and intimacy with somebody after years of thinking it’s something he would never get to experience beyond sniffing a girls panties. And honestly after being alone for so long he was happy to have friends and .. well somebody to comfort him when he really needs it. He loves laying down tucked into your chest and enjoying your company. He’s not the most comfortable to cuddle with, being only bones.. but you’re fine with that, right? You wonder how you’re supposed to have sex with him, but if there’s a will, there’s a way… regardless Brook lets you take care of him just fine and he loves when you protect him. He loves your confidence, and he always lets you have it your way. Whatever that means…Brook may tease and make perverted comments towards you but that’s all what Brooks about. Hes a tall guy, but he tends to wrap his arms around your neck and look down at you with that toothy smile on his face, a pink blush somehow dusting his boney, hallow cheeks. He can’t really kiss you… he doesn’t have lips.. so he tends to nuzzle you instead. He’d love it if you kissed his teeth though!

Jinbe certainly doesn’t mind. Hes a mature enough man to fight the demons of toxic masculinity and he is more than comfortable with being the more submissive one but this isn’t a trait he shows publicly or really in front of the strawhats (but he still trusts them, mans just isn’t a fan of PDA in general and since he considers them family, this is even moreso the case). Jinbe loves laying on top of you (if it won’t crush you) and absolutely loves when you look after him, brush his hair, treat him like a little angel. He never gets that reprieve, that time to relax. He can get so stressed out. You’ve helped him so much with all of that. Sometimes he just likes to bathe in the sun with you, or even swim with you. He loves when you treat him like some delicate flower, when he’s far from it. There’s something so sweet and intimate about it. However, he has spent a long time being the more dominant one so the first time you guys had sex it was kinda overwhelming for him and he definitely cried (happy tears!) cause he was the one being taken care of for once. He feels very loved by you and it shows. Also kinda just lets you do whatever, if you want something or wanna do something, he always says “whatever you want honey” “no problem” he’s willing to do anything you want!

[linda-bates]

“You know… You do have your own house now, Evan.” Maddie’s standing in the kitchen, and Buck can smell the eggs that she’s making for Jee-Yun as they sizzle. He brought over banana muffins when he showed up last night, slightly as a bribe and slightly because he knows the kid loves bananas and it’s his right as an uncle to do anything and everything he can to make that kid happy. But Maddie looks up, muffin half-eaten beside her, and there’s this odd feeling she knows everything. “I thought you were sleeping fine over there.”

He’s toying with the wrapper of a muffin himself, half-debating indulging himself in it. There’s plenty for Jee, she’ll never know there’s one missing, but his appetite seems to dissipate all too easily right now. “Yeah! Yeah, I know, I just…” He takes a breath. “Eddie flew Chris in from Texas, so I let the kid have my bed.”

“And? Don’t you still have the blow-up mattress Albert used to sleep on?” She’s smiling, so maybe she doesn’t know everything, and she turns to continue scrambling eggs. “I just thought you’d want to stay under your own roof."

He twists his mouth to the side a little. “I guess…” He shrugs. “I dunno. Eddie and I got in a fight.”

“Ah.” Maddie interrupts nodding. There it is. “Everything okay over there? Or is this some kind of ‘giving him space’ thing?”

Buck pulls the paper wrapper off of the muffin. Fuck it, he should get something in his stomach now and he’s not going to ask his pregnant sister for something when he can just grab something on his way back home. “He’s just… He’s upset about not being there for Bobby.”

Maddie looks up for about half a second, her smile gone now. She holds up a finger, turning to plate Jee’s eggs so that they can cool a little, and steps away to face him now. “Evan, he knows that everyone did everything they could, right?”

“I…” He wants to say yes. That Eddie does know that, because all of them know it even if it hurts to consider. There should have been a third way, but there wasn’t, and now they’re all stuck here, swallowed up by ugly grief that threatens to drown Buck if he doesn’t keep moving. “Yeah. Yeah, ‘course he knows that. I guess…” He takes a breath. “I know he blames himself.”

“We all do.” Maddie’s gaze softens a little as she rests a hand over Buck’s. “Sometimes… I sit and I think about the fact that maybe there was something I could do on my end. Or that Josh could have handled the call differently, and Bobby would have made it out. We both know how Howie’s dealing with this, too—and Karen told me that Hen’s been struggling with it in her own way, considering the captaincy….” She drags her thumb along the back of Buck’s hand. She pauses for just a moment, gaze falling before she meets his eyes again. “How are you?”

“What?”

“I…” She takes a breath. “I’m sorry, Evan. Between this one keeping me up,” she rests her other hand atop her bump, “and worrying about Chimney, and work… I guess I thought you were handling everything okay. But I should have asked, and—”

“Hey! Hey, no, that’s—Maddie, you’ve got a lot on your plate right now, and—and I get that.” Buck squeezes her hand. “I’m not gonna hold it against anyone that, y’know, they’ve been struggling with this. But I’m…” Fine doesn’t fit right in his mouth now, and neither does okay. Getting through it is what he’s said before, but that implies he’s actually going forward in some way other than pushing through each day. “I’m here,” is what he settles on instead. It’s the truth: he’s there. As much as it hurts to know that he’s there and Bobby isn’t, he’s there and maybe sometime the whole ‘they need you’ will start feeling real rather than just something Bobby said to him to comfort him. “I mean… It’s hard. I, uh, I saw my old therapist last week, just to talk to someone. Eddie brought Pepa by when he brought Chris there, and we had a good talk.”

Maddie blinks a little in confusion, brows drawing together. “You… didn’t talk to Eddie?”

“I mean… We did fight. And I started thinkin’ that maybe he had a point that I was making all of this about myself, and maybe I kinda deserved to get shoved—”

The confusion disappears within seconds, and Maddie’s holding his hand tight. “He shoved you?”

“It didn’t mean anything,” Buck says. “He was grieving, Maddie. He blames himself for not being there, and I get it—I’d feel the same way.”

“Did he apologize?”

Well. Yes but no. Buck’s not sure how many times he’s heard Eddie say the words “I’m sorry,” out loud, but they always make up after fights. If he had to think about it a little more, usually things just resolve themselves. He brings Chris by, and the kid practically lives and breathes sunshine, and being a cool uncle to him tends to make him forget about whatever they’d been fighting about anyway. He usually gets apologies from Eddie in the form of a tongue-in-cheek comment about some dick messing with him again. That’s just how guys apologize, right? Well, except for Chimney that one time he punched him: Buck had finally got through to him to tell him where he was sure Maddie was, and Chimney had thanked him before stopping to apologize.

(“I’m…” He’d sighed, and Buck could hear Jee cooing in the background as Chimney moved to tend to her. “I’m sorry, Buckaroo. I hadn’t slept in days, and finding out you knew anything—”

“Hey, don’t,” was what Buck had said. The apology was enough: he understood the why behind it already… and it helped that Taylor talked him through it while she was helping him ice the side of his face.“I mean… I’d probably punch you, too. I forgive you, Chim. Tell Maddie I love her when you see her.”)

Hell, he’s pretty sure Bobby’s apologized to him a couple times. Both for the serious stuff and for bumping into him sometimes when Buck’s not thinking straight and accidentally veers a little too close to Bobby before Bobby can course correct to avoid him. It’s a mutual little apology, sure, but Bobby still made a point of doing it. Even Ravi apologized to him when he smacked him in the back of the head by accident a week after Eddie left, not realizing Buck had been right behind him. So why does it feel like Eddie’s… what, allergic to that “s” word?

Maddie squeezes his hand again, just to get his attention. “Evan… I think you have your answer.”

“This isn’t like Doug,” Buck says all too quickly. “Maddie—”

“I know,” she says, but she’s already moving to gather her things into her purse. “Hey, Howie’s probably going to come out in a few minutes since he was giving Jee her bath—just let him know I had to go grab a few things.”

Buck turns to watch her, “Are you sure you should be going—”

“I’ll be fine.” Maddie turns, and she’s plastered on this clearly forced smile. “Just need to run a few errands I almost forgot about, Evan.”

“I could do those if you wanted to rest—”

She shakes her head. He knows exactly where she’s going… and he knows he’s powerless to stop her right now. Buck knows a couple things now that he didn’t fully grasp when he was younger: Maddie was powerless against Doug until the end. Facing your own abuse is harder than standing up for someone else. But when it comes to him, to Chimney, to Jee… Maddie’s willing to do anything for the people she loves.

And if that means she’s probably about to go tear Eddie a new one, well… Buck can only call after her to take it easy and that he’ll be there with Chimney and Jee when she gets back.

kinda wanna write some buckleys sticking together sometime (buck offhandedly mentioning the shove/argument and maddie immediately snapping into big sister mode)

[neverendingford]

.

[gothicheroinedaniellarusso]

[I really want to watch the 3hrs one complete] (づ ᵔ ᴗ ᵔ)づ.☘︎ ́good luck! I hope you can find it!

[I don't know much about wolf except he's serving face in every gif] yeah XD while I think Mike works as Benedetto, IDK why but I feel like Wolf and Terry’s dynamic is more similar to Benedetto and the Count and I’m more inclined to think that Daniel and Wolf would be jealous of each other than Daniel and Mike XD

[art blog] @cat-amongst-the-crows I did think about just dming it to you but y’know what, if tumblr happens to disappear and people want to find me, my linktree to my other socials is in my bio there. ^•ﻌ•^ as I said, I haven’t posted since August last year (jesus it’s been that long????) I am close to being out of my hiatus tho, I have 4 things decently close to being ready to post (one of which is a Gankutsuou related ^𓂁𓂄ﻌ𓂁𓂄^). I’m mostly a plushie artist, but I sometimes do illustrations and 3d modelling (I’m planning to do more of both)

[second-guessing myself, particularly online] oh big mood! That’s one of the reasons I’m so slow at replying (╥Д╥) (the other is I have a tendency to fall asleep in the middle of writing it  (ᵕ—ᗜ—)) but I am trying to get better at it (  •̀ ^ •́ )૭✧ but yeah online’s more nerve-wracking (especially text based) (ᵕ  ´ ∇  ˋ ˶)

[if I should… comment in someone blog] I’m really glad you did comment on my post cause you’re really sweet and I’ve been enjoying chatting to you (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

[today’s climate of the consumerism within the fandoms] I totally agree. I mean I do think only staying while there’s hype and entitlement over creators’ time is a dick move. But I think more passive fans who share creations (whether that be fics, fanart, gifsets, edits or meta) are still a valuable part of the fandom ecosystem (or even going to cons and buy merch and stuff even if they don’t really participate online).

[spn sideblog] @a-cat-in-super-hell

[I’m missing the ‘Who’… heavens forbid… available in my streaming services] for basically my whole life it use air (including old Classic Who reruns when I was a little kid) on free to air TV here until Disney bought sole streaming rights outside of the UK & Ireland and I am still so salty about it! Anyway I just VPN into the UK using a BBC iPlayer account now because I refuse to get Disney+ XD

[idk how fast I can read it] fair enough! ദ്ദി（ˉ ꒳ ˉ マ.ᐟ take your time!

[About Spoilers] okay cool ദ്ദി´ ˘ `)✧ I was mostly thinking about like major character deaths and mysteries revealed

To distract myself from the cyclone I'm gonna work on a fanfic but before the power goes out I would like to ask an opinion:

Context: This is just going to be a fairly short fic (5 chapters max), and is not my primary silverusso Count of Monte Cristo au that I've mentioned before (ie Karate Kid era, Daniel is Albert). This AU is an omegaverse, and Daniel is Mercedes and Terry is Edmond. Also whomever is Fernand doesn't have to have been friends with Terry prior, I'm using the book's vaguely hostile acquaintance dynamic there. (also Kreese can't be Fernand because Kreese is Danglars)

[qulizalfos]

thoughts many thoughts

[avirael]

The Frozen Lake

It was the third day since he had stopped feeling like dying.

About a week ago he had woken up from his far too lifelike fever dream and a few days later the last spikes of the fever itself had been gone too just like the hallucinations it had brought in his sleep.

He still had been sick though and welcomed Rael telling him to stay in bed until he was perfectly healthy again all too eagerly.

While he still sneezed every now and then, it was at least tolerable now, still annoying but he didn’t feel incredibly uncomfortable anymore.

That day, just like the last and also the ones before that, he had awoken late. Against Rael’s order to stay in bed he had found the courage to get up and take a look out of the window. It was a sunny day, which in Coerthas still meant that it was bitterly cold though. But the sun was shining brightly and already high in the sky too which meant it had to be almost midday. He had slept way too long again, way to many hours for a surprisingly dreamless sleep. Or maybe it was exactly the lack of dreams that allowed him to finally rest, after all in the past there rarely had been good ones…

For a moment he considered to go downstairs and ask for a late breakfast if that wasn’t too insolent given the late hour but then a knock sounded from the door.

Quickly he hurried back to bed, just in case it was Rael, but the person who carefully peeked into the room a few seconds later wasn’t a viera.

“Ah, you are awake! That’s good!”, Haurchefant exclaimed happily and brought a small tray with hot soup and also something warm to drink. “It is so late already, you must be horribly hungry. Alphinaud checked in on you earlier but you were still fast asleep and he didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

A little uncertain on how to answer to that, A’viloh just nodded. Haurchefant grinned, put down a mug on the bedside table and handed A‘viloh a comfortingly warm bowl filled with some rather delicious smelling stew.

Instead of fetching the chair from the small desk by the window, Haurchefant sat down at the lower end of the bed balancing the tray with his own lunch on his knees. Rael once told him that ishgardian society had an absurd amount of strict and antiquated rules and so A’viloh couldn’t help but wonder, that although it seemed like a very appropriate distance to him, in Haurchefant’s hometown the fact alone that he dared to sit on someone else’s bed was probably scandalous.

“I hope you don’t mind me having lunch with you.”, the Elezen asked as he noticed A‘viloh staring.

Quickly the Miqo’te lowered his gaze to his bowl of soup. “Not at all.”, he muttered and tried a spoonful of the food just to change the topic. “Mhh, this is very good!”, he mumbled, still chewing, surprised by how good this really was compared to the bland food and bitter teas Rael had usually brought him these last few days. It must have been the Viera’s way of punishing him for running away.

Haurchefant laughed and then for a while they ate in silence.

“You look a lot healthier already.”, the Elezen stated after a while with an amiable smile on his face before taking a sip from his mug.

A‘viloh shrugged a little embarrassed, since it had been his own fault that he hadn’t been well in the first place. “Only because all of you took so good care of me.”

Haurchefant nodded. “You know, you had us all horribly worried right?”

“Sorry about that.”, he said and guitily looked into his mug.

Curiously Haurchefant eyed him for a moment. “Why did you do that anyway? Run out into the storm.”

A bit surprised A’viloh looked up. Had they all thought he had done this on purpose? “There wasn’t a storm when I left! What do I know about weather? I didn’t expect it to start snowing, let alone that much!”

That made the Elezen chuckle again but he still looked at him expecting an answer.

“Still… why did you leave?”

“I assumed Rael told you…”, A’viloh replied not sure what Haurchefant wanted to hear exactly. He nodded. “Rael did. But maybe I want to hear it from you…”

A’viloh sighed. His plan hadn’t been very smart and he felt a little uncomfortable having to explain his reasons to someone else, when in retrospect it didn’t make much sense even to his own ears.

“You know the… circumstances under which we fled Ul’dah… I couldn’t… um… the fact that we didn’t even know what happened to our friends… I wanted to find out, because it doesn’t seem fair to me that we escaped while all of them didn’t…”

“Mhh…”, Haurchefant nodded thoughtfully but let go off the topic for now. Instead he asked, „And how are you feeling today?”

Somehow that question confused A’viloh even more.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s a simple question, isn’t it?”, he said still smiling politely.

Of course it was a simple question. Just the answer felt unreasonable complicated to him. To make things even more difficult people who asked such a question usually wanted to hear “I‘m fine, and you?” or “Very good, thank you.” for an answer and rarely the truth. They certainly didn’t want to hear “A few days ago I was convinced I was going to die and honestly it wasn’t that bad, so now I‘m still not sure wether I am happy to still be alive or not”.

“Alright… I guess.”, he mumbled instead. He had never been a good liar and could only hope that this fact wasn’t too obvious for the Elezen.

“You know what?”, Haurchefant proclaimed after watching him thoughtfully for a second. “Today is a wonderful day. We should go for a walk.”

“A walk?!”, A’viloh exclaimed wide-eyed, as if he had just asked something unreasonable of him.

“Why not?”

A’viloh couldn’t think of a good reason why not, other than that he was supposed to stay in bed, so he shrugged.

“Where’s Rael?”, he asked instead.

Haurchefant smirked. “Do you need Rael’s permission to go outside?”

“Of course not.”, the Miqo’te protested. “But Rael will be mad if I run off again, especially against their orders to stay in bed.”

“Rael and Alphinaud went to the observatory earlier.”, Haurchefant explained. “We’ll be back before they are, I promise.”

What was A’viloh supposed to say against that and also against the expectant look on the Elezen’s face. He took another glimpse towards the window and decided that it looked nice enough to go outside.

“Fine.”

“Good!”, Haurchefant exclaimed happily and collected their empty bowls and mugs. “There should be warm clothes for you in the wardrobe. If you need anything else just ask someone. I’ll wait for you by the northern gate.”

After Haurchefant had left, A’viloh remained sitting in his bed for a moment longer contemplating on the Elezen’s question. Yes, he felt better again. But better in what comparison? Better than a few days ago when he had felt and also been half-dead? Though he didn’t feel sick anymore now, there still was a weigh on his heart. From his plan that had failed so spectacularly and even more so from the dreams he wouldn’t have minded to keep on dreaming forever.

Vehemently he shook his head and decided not to think about that now or he would just crawl back under the blanket of his comfortably warm bed again. Instead he got up and took a look into the wardrobe. Almost none of these were his own clothes of course since all he possessed were the ones he had worn on his body that day they fled Ul’dah. Very unsuitable for this climate. But neither did he see the borrowed clothes he had worn that night when he had tried to run away. Everything in here looked even softer and warmer like someone had wanted to make sure he was feeling comfortable. To his surprise the things didn’t look that much too big for him either, unlike his last set of clothes. Besides a few Hyur most people here at Camp Dragonhead were grown up Elezen but these clothes looked like they belonged to neither. Maybe it were clothes for Elezen children, he wondered and also thought that in that case someone must have brought them here just for him.

Grateful for so much effort he picked a few pieces and got dressed. Lazily he ran his fingers through his hair to get rid of the worst knots but the look into the small mirror at the washbasin, where his tired face stared back at him reproachfully, just made him sigh. Once he was ready he took the warm coat out of the wardrobe too and went out to look for Haurchefant. Just as he had said, the Elezen was standing by the gate that led to the north-east, towards the ruins of the Steel Vigil.

From afar Haurchefant already recognised the Miqo’te, his bright red hair a singularity among all the people living here. Pleasantly smiling as always he waved at him and A’viloh couldn’t help but smile a little too and wave back as he hurriedly walked towards him.

“There you are! I see the clothes fit you nicely.”

A’viloh nodded.

“They do. Thank you very much for these.”

Haurchefant dismissively waved with one hand. “It’s the least I could do…”

But he had done a lot more than that, A’viloh thought. “I think there’s more I need to thank you for. Rael told me it was you who saved my life.”

“Mhhh…”, Haurchefant tilted his head as if he wasn’t sure if this statement was entirely the truth. “Rael is too humble. They played a bit of a role in that too. After all it was Rael who noticed you were gone. And it was also Rael who didn’t leave your bedside and tried their best to heal you.”

A’viloh remembered waking up and finding the usually quite touch-averse viera cuddled up to him with a look on their face so horribly sad like he had never seen on them before. Rael had pretended it was nothing but it had been a very unconvincing performance. Asked about it Alphinaud had only offered a few sentences about how worried Rael had looked and how they had used all kinds of spells he himself had never seen or heard of before, all of it to try and save him. It had made him feel even more guilty for his stupidity.

So maybe Haurchefant was right. But still it had been him who had risked going out into the storm to find him.

“Anyway. I still want to thank you! Honestly.”, he insisted. But how honestly was it really?

Sure, he was glad to still be alive. After all his plan hadn’t been to run out into a blizzard and freeze to death, although some of them seemed to think that was the case. But once he found himself in this situation he had to admit that he had welcomed his fate rather willingly. A fact that shocked even himself a little looking back at it now.

“You’re welcome. After all you wouldn’t be any help to your friends frozen to death out there.”, Haurchefant joked with a wry smile on his lips.

“I guess not...”, A’viloh muttered, the topic of his friends making his mood visibly sink again.

Of course the Elezen noticed and his smile turned into a playful grin. “But I acted a little selfish too, you know? I think Camp Dragonhead is a lot friendlier with your company and I would like to have you and your pretty smile around a little longer.”

For a moment A’viloh’s eyes shot up to look at the others face before he quickly pretended that something somewhere a little bit to his left was a lot more interesting. Sometimes Haurchefant randomly said things, A’viloh hadn’t had the slightest idea how to react to. Not because he was that oblivious but simply because it puzzled him. Nonetheless the air suddenly didn’t feel that cold anymore on his face.

Haurchefant was always very kind to him. Well, he mostly was kind to everybody but sometimes he seemed to admire him especially. Him of all people, although there was nothing special about him. Haurchefant sometimes spoke of him like he was one of the greatest heroes of all time and it felt so ridiculous to him. He was just silly, cowardly A‘viloh! What had he ever achieved in his miserable life to justify such admiration? The people called him a Warrior of Light but wasn’t that some grand overstatement? Some days he thought all of this had been a horrible mistake. A great misunderstanding! Then he wondered how he had ever gotten entangled in this madness in the first place and also if he ever would get out of it again. But what else should he do with his life anyway...

While A’viloh’s brain still screeched in desperate search for a proper response, Haurchefant seemed to realise he had flustered him and glossed it over by gesturing to the gate.

“How about we walk a few yalms? There’s something you need to see!”

Still too dumbstruck to speak or to even wonder what the Elezen was talking about, A’viloh nodded and then proceeded to follow him out into the snowy landscape.

After a few minutes Haurchefant paused and took a deep breath. “Isn’t the air wonderful today?”

A’viloh followed his example, breathed deeply and let his gaze wander over the snow covered landscape with a few pines here and there and the mountains and ruins of the Steel Vigil in the distance. The air was cool and fresh, still cold enough that the warm sun couldn’t melt the snow. Instead the rays of sunshine made the scenery shine and sparkle as if everything was covered not in ice but in millions over millions of tiny diamonds.

“It is.”, he answered and smiled, surprised how beautiful this inhospitable landscape could be, before with a sudden spark of curiosity he finally asked. “Where are we going?”

“It’s not far anymore.”, Haurchefant said with a grin on his face and pointed into another direction. Shortly after and only a bit further ahead they reached a small lake.

As they got closer A‘viloh noticed that it not only was covered in a layer of snow and ice but also that quite a few off-duty soldiers, given the proximity to the camp he assumed they had to be, were standing right on top of the frozen lake. No, they were not quite standing. It looked more like they were dancing or flying maybe. More or less gracefully they moved over the lake‘s surface in fluid swift strides, some just moving in wide circles and other swirling around this way or that. A’viloh had never seen something like this and it looked strange and impossible but at the same time very beautiful to him.

The two of them had almost reached the lake by then, A’viloh a few steps ahead to get a better look at the wondrous people on the ice and he already wanted to ask how they did that, when his attention was drawn elsewhere by a curious squawking sound.

“Oh! Look at them!”, the Miqo’te exclaimed, his fascinated smile still turning a little brighter, as he gestured to a small flock of wild geese resting at the shore of the lake. With ruffled feathers they sat closely huddled together at the edge of the ice and suddenly A‘viloh couldn’t help but worry about them. They looked so unbothered by his presence, sleeping through the day and all the hubbub around them, looking all exhausted and frozen with their puffed up feathers. Like anything could happen to them and they wouldn’t even mind.

Strangely he wondered what he himself had looked like when Haurchefant had found him unconscious in the snow. He must have been a pitiful sight. Had the Elezen thought him beyond saving too, just like he himself had. What if he had found him a little later or not at all? Maybe that would have been better, a voice murmured to him just like it had so many times before and for a moment, tempted by the grief heavy on his heart once again, he almost believed it.

But no, he would be dead then and while he would have liked to imagine that this would mean he could be with his loved ones again, it was not exactly what either of the tribes he had lived with believed.

Vaguely he remembered his father working for hours, digging a grave at what used to be Wellwick Wood. An elderly woman too exhausted by their long journey, his grandmother if he remembered correctly, had died shortly after they had arrived there. With a sad smile on his face his father had explained to his children, who had stared down into the hole in the ground with confusion in their eyes, how by returning her body to the earth there could still grow new life from this death.

Or the drake tribe of the Sagolii Desert, who always burned their dead and left the ashes to be carried away by the desert wind, believing that it would make it easier for the deceased‘s aether to return to the Aetheric Sea and create something new elsewhere.

With a sudden sharp pain in his heart A’viloh realised that neither of the people he loved had gotten the burial they would have wanted for themselves. And neither had A‘viloh himself wanted to die in the coldness of Coerthas and be forever forgotten under a thick layer of snow and ice. He had thought about dying before but never had he been this close to it. For a second he wondered if this was something worth speaking to Rael about, but he wasn’t sure they wouldn’t misunderstand and get mad at him again.

“Why do you make such a sad face now?”, Haurchefant asked having noticed the smile slip from the Miqo’te’s face. But A’viloh just vehemently shook his head and focused on the geese again.

“They must be horribly cold.”, he wondered in a voice that suggested he already planned to take all of them to the safety of his comfortably warm room.

Haurchefant chuckled. “Don’t worry, they survived the storm out here after all. They keep each other warm, that’s why you‘ll rarely see one of them alone. A bit like you and your friends.”

“Maybe…”, A’viloh answered thinking about this comparison for a moment. “I just wish it wouldn’t always be me who needs to be taken care of. But as proven in Ul’dah and now once again I am simply too weak and useless to keep myself alive, not to mention anyone else.”

The Elezen’s face got a little stern as he folded his arms in front of his chest. “Don’t say that, I am sure it’s not true! This was just bad luck! You are neither weak nor useless!”

A’viloh shrugged. “But that’s how I feel right now...”

Slowly Haurchefant nodded before speaking again with a silent but determined voice. “Listen. I‘ll never forget how bravely you fought for Francel although you barely knew him. You could have gotten yourself in trouble with that and you helped him anyway.”

“It’s not like I did that on my own -”, A’viloh tried to protest but was immediately interrupted. “But you still helped! And I’m sure even without Rael you would have done so!”

Another shrug was all Haurchefant got in response, so the Elezen thought for a second before making an offer. “You want to make yourself useful, right? Get stronger? I could teach you how to fight like a real ishgardian knight, with sword and shield. Or we have some dragoons at Camp Dragonhead too! I’m sure there’s a lot you could learn from them.”

A‘viloh‘s face turned to disbelief. “I really don’t think I could fight with armor and weapons this heavy…”

“You can’t say so if you don’t try! And I have you know that dragoon armors are surprisingly light. How do you think they could still be this agile otherwise? Promise me to at least try training with them a little!”

He didn’t really want to agree to that. He knew he would make a fool of himself. But how could he say no with Haurchefant trying everything in his power to cheer him up. Weakly he shook his head and muttered: “Fine…”

“Perfect!”, Haurchefant exclaimed with a bright smile on his face. “I think an early reward for your efforts is appropriate then!”

Confused A’viloh watched him take a small bag off of his shoulders, which he hadn’t even noticed until now. For a moment the Elezen was busy undoing a knot before he opened the bag and presented to A‘viloh a set of two weirdly shaped blades attached to pieces of wood with leather straps. He had no idea what these constructs were meant to do and that was plainly visible on his face. “What’s that?”

“Ice skates of course!”, Haurchefant said as if that would explain it all but the Miqo’te‘s face remained clueless, so Haurchefant gestured to the lake behind them. “You attach them to your boots so you can walk on the ice like this!”

“Oh!”, A’viloh exclaimed as he understood what Haurchefant was planning. “I don’t think-… I mean I‘ve never-… You don’t really want me to step on that lake do you?” The idea somehow scared him.

“Why not?”, Haurchefant asked for the second time today with this smile that made the question sound like a challenge.

“It’s just a bit of ice!”, A‘vi objected. “What if it breaks?”

The Elezen shook his head and proceeded to fasten the metal blades beneath his boots. “Ah, don’t worry. The ice is thick enough, it will take at least a few more days to melt.”

“I don’t know…”, was all A’viloh replied as Haurchefant pressed another pair of skates into his hands. But the Elezen remained determined and took a few wobbly steps through the snow and onto the ice. “See! I can stand on it and it doesn’t break! You are a lot lighter than me, so why wouldn’t you be able to?”

Oh, you don’t know my bad luck!, A‘viloh thought but Haurchefant didn’t look like he would take that for an excuse. Instead he stretched out a hand towards the Miqo’te. “Come one! Believe me, this is going to be funny!”

For a second A‘viloh pondered his options. The idea of nothing but a little bit of ice between him and the water still terrified him but Haurchefant seemed so excited about this and the other people actually seemed to have fun too. Maybe he should at least pretend to try... Reluctantly he sat down on a rock and tried to put on the skates just like Haurchefant had done a moment ago.

“The clasp on the back too. Make sure none of them are loose… Yes, that looks fine!”, Haurchefant helpfully explained. As A’viloh got up, he almost flopped right back down into the snow. It was a weird feeling to balance his whole weight on only two thin pieces of metal. As he carefully took the first few steps towards the lake Haurchefant reached out for him once more. “Here! Take my hand! I don’t want you to fall…”

Hesitantly A‘vi stepped onto the ice and immediately felt like the ground was being pulled away beneath his feet. He struggled for balance, feeling himself falling backwards, so Haurchefants arm was a very welcome thing to hold on to.

With a chuckle the Elezen tried to loosen A‘vi‘s desperate grip on his arm and instead took each of his hand in one of his own before carefully making slow steps backwards pulling A‘viloh over the ice, which A’vi could swear was making suspicious crackling sounds below them. There was no way to tell the blades beneath his feet not to move, so all A’viloh could do was try not to fall and plead to Haurchefant with ears flat on his head and panic in his eyes, as he slowly was pulled further onto the lake. “No, no, no. Take me back, that’s a horrible idea!”

“Calm down. There’s nothing to be afraid of. I promise.”, Haurchefant said soothingly and continued to explain to him how to move on the ice skates. And in fact the Elezen’s calm voice slowly made A’viloh feel less anxious. His hands, frantically clasping at Haurchefant’s, relaxed along with his legs. It was still a weird feeling to be standing on the ice but now it felt a lot easier to remain balanced. He glanced at the people around them while remaining as still as possible, studied their movements for a moment and then tentatively tried to mimic the way they slowly pushed their feet above the slippery surface. To his surprise he really moved forward without much effort and also without feeling the sensation of falling again, closer to Haurchefant who had steadied him with his outstretched arms so far.

“See! It’s not that difficult.”, he said while making another step backwards so A’viloh had to follow with another step forward. The Miqo’te, strangely excited about the fact that he was actually moving on these weird ice-blades, laughed happily. “You are even going backwards!”

Haurchefants laughed. “One step after the other. Let’s teach you how to go forward first, hm? I‘ll let go off one of your hands but don’t worry, I still got you. One feet after the other just like you did before…”

In fact it almost felt easier now that he could use one of his arms to balance himself. Very slowly at first they floated above the icy surface of the lake but soon A‘viloh got braver. Once he almost lost his balance but for a comparably tall and strong person like Haurchefant it seemed like a very easy task to keep a small Miqo’te on his feet. Almost falling had felt like a shock for a second but only moments later they were laughing about it and in the end A’viloh was surprised and also a little proud how quickly he had learned and how much fun this was.

He wasn’t sure how much time they spent there on the frozen lake but at some point a bell sounded from the nearby Camp. Startled A’viloh looked up (and almost lost his balance again). “How late is it? I’m sure you have more important things to do than this! I’m sorry if I’m keeping you from doing your work.”

But Haurchefant just laughed and teased, “What could be more important than prove to you that not all of Coerthas is a deadly wasteland trying to kill you? But I think we really should return soon. I don’t want you to get cold again and after all we also don’t want Rael to find out about this little excursion, do we?”

For a second A’viloh wished the viera could see him now and wondered what their reaction would be like. The thought made him chuckle.

And as they floated, one last circle around the lake, A’viloh couldn’t help but wonder that maybe it was happy moments like this. The reason he was still here. Moments that made his life worth living.

---

inspired by the poem The Reversal by Leila Chatti

[jubileebloom]

I aspire to be a lover not a hater. but

[starpros-sunshine]

I think the reason I'm so uncomfortable in conversation with cis men is because in my life the image I've grown up with is that from the American movies and while there's so much to be said about how women in those are basically objects or exclusively love interests or just Really Really forgettable I feel like there's also something to be mentioned about how most of these men are all the same pseudo-tough-guy character that's cool and suave and sexy and the only emotion he's capable of is nonchalant banter (it feels worth mentioning that the American movies I'm referring to are all from the last century I have no idea if that's changed in these last years but a gut feeling tells me no) and I also barely talk to the guys from my grade so the result of kind of growing up with that is that I just genuinely can not imagine real cis men with a complex inner emotional landscape. Maybe this is also an empathy thing but I genuinely can not imagine most cishet guys doing normal people things in their free time that aren't gaming or going to the gym or...idk. making music too I suppose. It's quite comical really but I just can not imagine cishet men with interests or doing stuff like having crushes and it's so strange because I know for a fact I am generally speaking not a sexist person but this little tidbit of apparently just not being able to view cishet men as normal people? Can't get that to go away even if I logically know it's silly. There's a point in this post about how toxic masculinity is a huge issue and affects even those not affected by it and runs really really deep or whatever but I'm too tired to coherently put it together. On the positive side now I get really happy when I see men online talk about how much they love their wives and all that because it's like "wow! Crazy you really are just a normal dude and not some James Bond knock-off like I thought every cishet man was supposed to be! Thank god!"