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loveshotzz · 2 months

Text

I guess it’s never really over

mechanic!steve harrington x fem!reader exes to lovers

chapter three -

This has got to be the longest crush ever

Robin’s bad date, and a late night that changes everything.

warnings: 18+ A little bit of queer and mid twenties crisis angst for Robin, with comfort obvi. Tension, but are we surprised at this point?, and a secret third thing, wonder what it could be? 😚

wc: 6.3k

authors note: Hi babies! I am taking just a week off from my posting schedule for this week long work trip I’m taking on Monday. There’s lots of conferences and I won’t have much down time. We will resume our normal posting schedule for chapter four starting 3/20 🌻🧡

series masterlist | series playlist

June -

Would you believe me if I said I’m in love?

Baby, I want you to want me.

You can’t believe you landed yourself in detention.

All your late night study sessions for the SAT’s that led to oversleeping and missed alarms finally catching up to you just like Robin warned you it would. Miss O’Donnell is the one who makes your best friend's predictions come true, handing you that notorious pink slip for walking into her class ten minutes late for the third time this week.

When you arrive at exactly 3:15, the classroom is mostly empty. Your eyes scan the bored faces of the few students joining you, hoping to at least see Eddie’s familiar head of curls. But of course, today of all days, he’s managed to be on his best behavior or just didn’t get caught.

Sighing defeated, you give Mr. Clark a tight lipped smile, ignoring the shocked look on his face seeing you in here. Picking an empty desk in the middle away from anyone, you decide to busy yourself with the Algebra homework you’ve been avoiding for the better half of a week. It’s when you lean over to unzip your backpack that you catch the sounds of sneakers squeaking against the ceramic floors.

”Ahh, Mr. Harrington. Even fashionably late to detention, I see. Your hair looks good enough to sit in silence for an hour and a half to me.” Mr. Clark announces the king of Hawkins's grand entrance with the kind of sarcasm that makes you smirk as you start arranging your things on your desk.

“That’s good to know 'cause I was doing it for you Mr. C.”

Steve Harrington always thinks he’s so charming

Snorting as you click your pen, you dare to look up only to catch ‘the hair’ looking right back at you with that golden smile that you’ve seen take even the strongest soldiers out.

Oh no.

Eyes going big, you quickly bring your attention back down to your homework, silently hoping he doesn’t take the seat next to you and land you in here next week too.

“So thoughtful of you. Now why don’t you take a seat and do some studying for that test on Monday. And maybe this semester you won’t have to worry about relying on extra credit to keep playing basketball.” Mr. Clark dismisses him, earning a low whistle from the boy who holds his hands up in surrender, Nike covered feet coming down your row.

No, no, no, NO.

You still don’t look up, rereading the same question over and over again because no matter how many times you try, you’re too distracted by the cedar and clove that invades your senses kicking them into overdrive. The whites of his sneakers catch in your peripherals when he does the unimaginable and sits next to you.

Staring at the equation with the kind of concentration that’ll be sure to give you a migraine later, it takes him a good thirty seconds before he temporarily gives up trying to get your attention to grab something that gives the illusion of studying out of his backpack.

Trying to play it cool, your stomach twists in nervous knots worse than the ones you get when Robin forces you on the janky rides at the summer fair every year. Sure, you’ve been hit on by a guy here and there, but no one can prepare you for what it’s like to catch Steve Harrington’s attention—especially for someone in your Hawkins hierarchy who would never be on the receiving end of it.

He flips through the pages of his textbook loudly, earning his first warning glare from Mr. Clark, and you decide to write your name on the top of the page so at least it looks like you’re doing something. After a couple bounces of your knee, you can feel the heat of his gaze back on you.

”Psst, hey.”

The last letter of your name comes out illegible, and you jump at the hushed sound of his voice. Taking a deep breath, you work up the courage to meet his flirtatious smirk and golden brown eyes. The sun leaking through the windows gives you a glimpse of the green that hides inside them from this close. You hate to admit that he’s just as pretty as everyone says he is.

”Hi,” you smile a little shy, offering a small wave of your pen and it lights up his whole face, making your body buzz.

”You have a highlighter I can use or something?” He keeps up his ruse, the whites of his teeth showing in a grin.

You arch an eyebrow at him, something sarcastic reminiscent of Mr. Clark flashing behind your eyes.

“What? You don’t think I’m actually going to study?” He acts shocked, slapping his giant hand across his chest and it earns the kind of giggle from you that pushes him full steam ahead.

”It’s blue, is that okay?” Giving into the bait, you try and hide the way your face warms, ducking down to dig in the bottom of your backpack.

”Are you kidding? I love blue. Favorite color actually.” Laying it on thick, you can see the way he scoots to the edge of his seat, the spice of his cologne making you bite at your bottom lip as your fingers wrap around what you’re looking for.

Sitting up in your seat, you aren’t expecting him to be so close and it threatens to steal the air right out of your lungs.

”H-here,” you manage, holding the blue writing utensil in the small space that's left between you.

Steve's eyes roam your face freely, pink tongue coming out to wet his full bottom lip before they settle back on your gaze, lids a little heavy, voice low and somehow sticky sweet.

”Thanks, honey.” He leans forward more, purposely brushing his fingers with yours when he takes it out of your grasp, “but now, I’m afraid the only way you’re gonna get it back is to let me drive you home after this.”

“I’ve got plenty, you can keep that one,” you try to stay strong, but when that second giggle slips out, you seal your fate.

”I can’t do that, this is your favorite one.” He tisks like it’s the craziest thing he’s ever heard, with a crooked grin that makes you bite the inside of your cheek.

”Is it?”

”Absolutely.”

“Are you two done? Or should we schedule a second date for next week?” Mr. Clark interrupts.

”That would actually be date number three. We’re going on two after this is over.” Steve smirks, throwing you a wink ignoring the harsh way you whisper of his name.

Yeah… you were fucked.

“I’ve got a date tonight!”

Robin sings excitedly, bursting through the front door in a wild ball of energy, successfully waking you up from your nap on the couch. Blinking slowly, as you start to recognize your surroundings, rubbing the sleep from your eyes, you force yourself to sit up, wincing at your stiff neck and the fact that you dreamed about Steve Harrington again.

“A date with who?” You grumble, still a little grouchy, yawning with a stretch that pops in your back.

”This girl that I met at the record store this morning, we talked about Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos for what felt like hours. She’s just, wow, she’s so cool. Almost too cool for me, you know? She’s a senior in college-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold up.” Cutting her off before she can ramble any longer, you wave your hands for her to stop: “First of all, no one is too cool for you, okay? If anything, it’s always going to be the other way around.”

“Yeah, okay, Steve.”

It takes a minute for her words to sink in about the man you haven’t seen in almost a week and a half, but when they do, the glare that settles on your face makes her laugh.

“Ha ha, very funny.” You deadpan with a tight-lipped smirk, before clearing your throat, “Well where are you guys going? Do you want me to go undercover in case you need saving? I’m fully prepared for a stakeout.”

Robin rolls her eyes, but her smile, which spreads wide enough to see all her teeth, gives away her love for your dramatics.

“No, I don’t need you to go undercover or anything. I mean, it is going to be nice knowing you’ll be here waiting for me to tell you all about it instead of having to call you and hope the city girl answers.” She teases, earning the scoff from you that she was looking for.

“I’m choosing to ignore that, and if at any point you change your mind, you know your own number.”

Earning a genuine laugh from Robin always makes your soul feel lighter, so when your joke lands and you get one, the heaviness of Steve that’s been weighing down on your shoulders eases up just a little bit.

”I’ve just never been approached in public before like that, you know? It’s not just the other girl you know is gay on campus. I don’t know, it feels good.” Your best friend’s confession makes you want to wrap her up in a hug, keeping the urge to remind her of your offer to move to the city with you to yourself for right now, letting her bask in the moment.

”Well, you're hot. Can you blame her? If you weren’t basically like a sister to me, I’d be all over it.” Wiggling your eyebrows, she flips you off, but you still catch the tinge of pink that paints her cheeks rosy.

”Please, Steve would have my head on a stake.” She snorts, purposely trying to get under your skin now.

”Robin.”

”What? I thought he was going to pop a blood vessel in his eye when I mentioned your little ‘adventure’ last week” She giggles, heading towards her bedroom.

If only she knew just how much those words were true. Your thighs meet like in the memory you can’t stop playing on a loop, palms turning sweaty, remembering the velvet of his lips so close to your neck.

”Wait! Did you ask that on purpose?!” You gasp, jumping to your feet to follow her.

”Maybe.”

”Maybe?!”

”You know what I do need help with?” She ignores you, spinning on her heel to meet your narrowed eyes.

”What?”

”Help me pick any outfit?” Pushing out her bottom lip, she gives you the kind of puppy dog eyes that no one in their right mind could say no to.

Sighing heavily, your feet drag on the carpet before flopping yourself onto her bed huffing out a “Fine” as the box springs squeak.

The rest of the day is spent going through what feels like every outfit in Robin’s possession, even getting desperate enough to try on some of your clothes despite your clashing styles. Settling on a pair of boot cut jeans, a black half crop top with a flannel shirt that you’re pretty sure she stole from Steve and the Dr. Martin’s you got her for her birthday last year, she was ready to break hearts. Blue eyes roll in the back of her head when you make her say ‘I’m the prize’ until you feel like she halfway believes it before handing over her I.D. that you’d found stuffed between the cushions of the couch in a frenzied panic to search for it only ten minutes prior.

The sun starts to set on Robin’s small apartment after she finally heads out the door, and the shadows that bounce off the white walls bring back the thoughts of Steve you’d successfully gotten rid of for a few fleeting hours.

Huffing to yourself with crossed arms, you watch the flat bag of popcorn spin around in the microwave. You can still hear the beginning Moonstruck playing on the TV in the living room, over the loud hum of the machine. Comfortable in an oversized shirt that lands just at the bottoms of your cotton sleep shorts, goosebump dot across your legs from the cool of the A/C. Your skin still tingles everywhere he touched and the week of radio silence feels worse the second time around.

The shrill sound of Robin’s phone and the first kernel of popcorn exploding in the bag overpower your ears all at once, making you jump. Mumbling cuss words under the now constant sound of popping, you try to calm your heart rate down, wandering to the living room. Your hand hovers over the phone, the realization about who might be on the other line making your stomach drop. He hadn’t called Robin yet. There’s a moment of hesitation, but you take a deep breath, letting the air expand in your lungs, silently counting to three before you grab the phone off its hook.

”Buckley residen-“

”I need you to come get me, I- I’ve made a huge mistake and I’m just so fuck - “ Robin cuts you off, the rasp in her voice cracking like she’s trying not to cry, “I’m just really embarrassed, please come get me.”

“What happened? Where are you? I’m coming, just - just tell me where you are.” Running to her bedroom to grab your sneakers with the phone pressed to your ear, you can hear her sniffle.

”Benningans, it’s the next town over. I’ll be outside -“

”Are you safe?” You panic, slipping your foot into your shoe as quickly as you can.

”I’m safe, I’m just, I’m embar- I don’t want to talk about it right now. I’m safe, I’ll be outside.” She mutters.

”I’ll get there as fast as I can, okay?” Feeling a little helpless, you try to ease the hurt that’s evident in her tone with soft reassurance.

”I’m just, I’m really glad you're here. I’ll see you soon.” She manages to get out before the line clicks dead.

Slipping your second shoe on, the realization that you don’t actually have a car to save her with, hits you like a ton of bricks.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Stomping back to the living room, your eyes find the mustard yellow address book next to the phone’s dock. Your fingers fumble through its pages, eyes squinting as you try to read Robin’s messy writing, searching for a familiar name. You find two:

Eddie and Steve.

You stare at the page, your moral compass going haywire. Despite the way he’s rented a space in your mind, the thought of seeing him alone again makes your stomach twist. Eddie would be simple. Eddie would be easy. Your thumb hovers over the first number in the one she has scribbled down for him, but no matter how hard you try, you can’t bring yourself to press it. She needs Steve.

You groan loudly, stomping your foot for good measure, before letting out a long breath through your nose, dialing his number that you knew you should have all along.

It only rings twice.

“Whatever it is, the answer is no,” Steve deadpans.

”Is that really how you answer your phone?” You scoff, doing your best to ignore the butterflies you’ve managed to stifle as they start to come alive at the sound of his voice.

“I thought this was - shit, I thought this was Henderson - erm I mean Dustin, you remember Dustin?” He stammers and you know that hand of his is running through his hair right now.

“Yeah, the middle schooler.”

“Well, he’s like nineteen now -“

“I didn’t call you to talk about Dustin, Steve,” You sigh heavily, rubbing the bridge of your nose, “Robin called me really upset from Bennigans, and I don’t have a car or any way to go get her-”

“I’m on my way.” He cuts you off without any hesitation,“Be outside in five minutes for me?”

”My shoes are already on.”

After a click, you’re left with the sound of the dial tone in your ear. You hang up the phone as warmth floods your body, easing some of your temporary worries.

Steve Harrington is making it hard to hate him.

The short walk to Steve’s BMW from Robin’s front door feels like stepping through a time machine.

One that takes you back to late nights sneaking out your bedroom window, always being extra careful not to wake your parents up so you could go make out with your secret kind of boyfriend under the stars. Those were always your favorite nights with him. The nights he’d put away the king Steve armor, those nights he’d just be Steve. A boy who just wanted to make his father proud, thinking maybe he’d stay home more if he was.

You can feel the way his eyes roam your body, the heat of his stare lingering on your exposed legs, setting your skin on fire. Suddenly more than aware of your lack of pants, only part of you regrets not changing into some leggings, but you try not to think about that too hard right now.

He clears his throat when you open the passenger door, the smell of leather and the dark woody sweet scent of oil surrounding you as you slide into your seat. The spice of his cologne tickles your nose when you close yourself in, clicking your seatbelt in place before daring to meet his eyes. The golden brown inside them shimmers with something you’d missed in the orange glow of the street light and the nerves still feel the same way they did five years ago. The only thing that hasn’t changed.

”Thanks for doing this,” you offer with a weak smile.

When he realizes you’ve put your weapons down for the night, his face softens with a crooked grin, subtle pink dusting the apples of his cheeks.

”I meant it when I said I can’t say no to you,” he starts, selfishly letting his eyes roam the smooth lines of your face that are finally not twisted up into a glare before realizing his slip up, “and Robin, my best friend obviously.”

”Our best friend, Steve.” You tease trying to ignore the tension that crackles in the empty space between you even worse than before.

”Whatever you have to tell yourself,” he winks, forearm flexing as he puts the car in drive.

Scoffing a ‘whatever’ with a playful roll of your eyes, you let your muscles relax into the familiar seat. The Police’s Every Breath You Take spills through the speakers just loud enough to be heard over the low rumble of the engine, and you become hyper aware of his hand resting on the stick shift, the tips of his fingers just close enough to brush against your thigh every time you hit a bump.

There’s a silence that falls between you once the street lights run out and his full focus shifts to the pitch black road ahead. The quiet is filled with what almost happened in his room, unspoken words that don’t dare to roll off of sober tongues. You wait until he’s too distracted looking for surprises that might run out from the woods on either side of you to let your eyes wander over and really take him in.

A white drawstring hangs low on his heather gray sweatpants that fit tight over his thighs spread wide. Your throat goes dry at the white tank top that hugs his broad chest, the gold chain that wraps around his neck getting lost in the thick patch of curls on display. You’re finally able to really make out more of his tattoo for the first time, thin, precise lines that look like feathers attached to a set of sparrow wings.

”Did she tell you what happened? I mean, is she safe?” He interrupts your greedy stare, eyes lighting up when he catches you, tucking it away for another time.

”Uhh, yeah,” you answer with a shake of your head, teeth biting down on your bottom lip with hot cheeks, “she’s safe, she kept saying she’s embarrassed but wouldn’t tell me why, just kept begging me to come get her.”

He just hums, lost deep in thought of all the things it could be, and his grip on the steering wheel tightens with worry.

“We’re only ten minutes away, so it won’t be too much longer now.”

He reassures you, but it feels like he needs it too, especially when his hand leaves the stick shift to run through his hair that looks more tousled than usual, making you wonder if he was lying in bed before this. A worried breath exhales through his nose, with a tight jaw, and you hate the way your stomach drops when both his hands find the steering wheel after he tugs on his roots a little bit.

Nervous fingers play with the bottoms of your sleep shorts, trying your best not to stare while you keep your gaze out the passenger window. Stolen glances are followed by tight lipped smiles when you’d always find him staring back. Honey and chestnut make your stomach flutter, and you think maybe some things never change.

It takes less than the ten minutes that Steve promised for the back roads to turn busy, and bright with the kind of lights a small town on a Saturday night has. A slouched frame sitting on the side of the road catches in his headlights, getting closer you see that Robin’s waves have lost all the bounce she left the house with, along with the rosy tint in her cheeks. The flashing Bennigans sign spins a block behind her, and the orange bulbs match the burning ember on the end of her cigarette that dangles from her full lips.

“Shit, it’s bad if she’s smoking,” Steve mutters, turning on his hazards as he pulls up next to her, the wheels of his car coming to a stop.

She hollows her cheeks out, taking one last drag, waving at you to stop unbuckling your seat belt as she gets to her feet. Blowing the smoke from her lungs into the wind, she flicks the half smoked butt into the street before opening the back door, sliding into the leather seats with an exasperated huff.

“Just, don’t – I’m okay,” she starts, closing the door and shutting out the whir of the traffic outside. “Turns out her boyfriend’s best friend really likes Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos too. She really thought me and him might hit it off after our talk at the record store today. I don’t want to talk about it, I just want to go home with my two favorite people and feel sorry for myself.”

“Well, you’re in luck,” Steve doesn’t miss a beat. Turning around in his seat, he flashes her his million-dollar Harrington smile. “I’m the king of feeling sorry for myself.”

Her lips twitch, but when she sees the natural roll of your eyes at the boy next to you, it turns into a full blown smile. A little shimmer came through in the dulled-out color of her eyes.

Got me up all night

all I’m singing is love songs.

“Honestly, now that I’m thinking about it, this girl sounds like a scammer, Rob. I mean, come on.” Steve snorts, rifling through her cupboards in the kitchen. Tracy Chapman and Tori Amos, what kind of game was she playing at anyway?”

Robin giggles from her place next to you on the couch, her head resting on your shoulder, the green apple of her shampoo still lingering on her curls that tickle your cheek.

“Plenty of people like those artists, Steve.” She sighs, but you can still hear her smile, “It’s fine, I’ll just stay the lonely Hawkins lesbian for the rest of my life, no big deal.”

”Shut up!”

”Will you stop?!”

You and Steve chide her at the same time, hard eyes meeting from across the living room and softening. He doesn’t even try to stop the lopsided grin that pushes up your favorite cheek and you hope Robin doesn’t feel the way it makes your skin warm.

“Whatever, I already warned you I’m going to be miserable. Gimmie a break, and you’re actually taking forever in there, by the way.” Whining, she sits up, sending a rush of fruit and leftover tobacco to your nose.

“Yeah, well, I can’t find your peanut butter,” he mutters, opening up the cabinet above the sink, the bottom of his tank top rising enough to see a sliver of sun kissed skin and a few more freckles. Why does it feel like there's always more?

”What are you even making anyway?” you ask, ignoring the way Robin’s head whips around. A smirk spreads wide across her face because you’re actually trying to make conversation with Steve.

“Just a little something that’s going to cure my best friend’s heartbreak,” he winks, the jar of JIF extra crunchy looking extra small in his grasp, twisting the cap off. “We came up with it together, actually.o biggie.”

Your gaze narrows, but he doesn’t miss the way the corners of your mouth twitch, something sparkling inside the dark gold in his eyes.

”Interesting, considering I ran to the store earlier to grab my best friend’s favorite ice cream, just in case.” You counter, something mischievous twisting up your lips. “You didn’t even think to stop and get it on our way home. Some friend.”

Robin’s smile lights up the room, very obviously enjoying the show, maybe even a little too much. Clapping her hands together, she lets out a content sigh before leaning back into the couch cushions.

”I really could get used to this,” she beams, “maybe we should have a contest, see which one of you can do the nicest things for me.”

You can’t stop the snort or the roll of your eyes that has Steve throwing his head back in a fully-bellied laugh, giving you the perfect view of his neck, and only Robin clocks the way your giggles are cut short and the secret way your eyes glaze over.

”I’m not gonna lie as much as I love crunchy peanut butter banana s’mores, I have to say Steve, the fact that she actually called you makes her the winner for the night.” She smirks, chuckling harder when you shove her with a hushed ‘Robin!’

His smile doesn’t fade as he starts to cut banana slices. Big eyes meet yours with the kind of look that threatens to melt you into the couch.

”That’s alright, I’ll be a gracious loser tonight, but just know, honey, I’m very competitive.” He warns, long fingers spreading the fruit evenly throughout the peanut butter that messily coats graham crackers.

“I don’t like to lose, so it’s fine.” Your quick reply deepens the smile lines in his cheeks, putting the finishing touches on your snacks.

“Yeah, this is definitely the life I was meant to live,” Robin gloats, nudging you, “I’m the prize, right?”

It’s your turn to throw your head back in the kind of laugh that rattles in your rib cage, too distracted to see the lovesick way Steve bites his bottom lip watching you from across the room.

But Robin does.

With a heart so full it might burst, tears threaten to spill from the ocean in her eyes, daydreaming about moments like this, only ever thinking they would be something that stayed trapped in the confines of her mind. The warming feeling of happiness wraps around Robin like a blanket when she gets to sit between you both on the couch. A distant friend she hasn’t seen in a long time, a secret she’s kept mostly to herself.

With a messy plate of half eaten treats and sticky fingers, she’s content watching Cher and Nicholas Cage fight over how much they love each other. Fully knowing that Steve is sneaking looks at you from over her head, smiling to herself at the nervous way you fiddle with your hands in your lap because of it.

Robin doesn’t fight the exhaustion that starts to make her eyelids heavy just a little halfway through the movie. It’s easy to give in when your body weight relaxes deeper into her side, and how Steve drapes his arm over the back of the couch, tucking you both into his chest with evening breaths.

You’re warm, cozier than normal, and it surrounds every part of you.

Cheek pressed against something that’s not firm enough to be the couch, you nuzzle yourself deeper, chasing the heat and the sleep that’s threatening to evade you. Your cushion starts to move, making eyes shift behind lids that aren’t ready to open yet. Lashes flutter, feeling the way your leg is slotted between someone else’s, and the warmth of a palm finds the small of your back, pulling you closer.

A deep sigh rumbles in your ear before fingertips lazily trace up and down the dip of your spine. Stubble tickles your forehead, and as coherency starts to come back to you, a softer patch of hair rubs against your cheek. The kind of spice and lingering sunshine that could only come from one person hits your senses, and the white cotton of Steve’s tank top finally becomes visible.

The shift in your breathing brings his soft touches to a halt, the muscles you’re pressed on your side against stiffening. Realizing your hands are sprawled across his chest, just under your chin, you can feel the way his heart races under your palm. He’s everywhere, and despite the way you’ve told yourself you hate him, your fingers curl into the cotton of his shirt because it feels like home. Toes pressing into his calf, you wind your leg around his tighter, and it turns timid fingertips sure of themselves, tracing patterns between your shoulder blades. You don’t dare look up at him yet, or it would make the way your own hand starts to explore his abs that twitch under your red nails real.

He feels different than you remember, there's more of him now, harder in spots that used to be soft. Your fingers get greedy, the blunt ends of your nails scratching along the outline of his happy trail, earning a low groan from him that vibrates deep in your core. Those butterflies that have made a permanent home out of you start to stretch their wings, and when they feel the soft velvet of his lips against your forehead, they tickle at your ribcage and kick up your heart rate. You wonder if he can feel it.

It’s the faintest kiss, one that you’re not sure you would’ve even felt if you were asleep, but it makes you lean in closer. Inhaling deeply, tears sting at the corner of your eyes when the familiar scent only makes you crave him more. After years spent denying the existence of his touch from your memory, it’s almost overwhelming to feel it again.

The muscles in his arm underneath your neck twitch, and the fingers that have been drawing lazy circles on your back move slowly up your shoulder. The backs of them run down your arm before they finally connect with your skin, goosebumps exploding underneath his touch in a ball of electricity that you can feel on the pads of them that start a new path up the loose sleeve of your shirt.

You fiddle with the bottom hem of his tank top, the heat of his body radiating against already flushed skin. Brave fingers dare to dip underneath only to get stopped by a large palm wrapping around your wrist

“Baby,” there's a hint of a smile and a little bit of grogginess in his voice that gives away that he hasn’t been awake that much longer than you, “I think you should at least look at me before I let you get under my shirt.”

Biting at your bottom lip, you push yourself deeper into his chest, embarrassed, feeling the gentle shake of his body when he laughs.

“Come on pretty, let me see your face.”

His affection makes your heart swell, and you know what it means if you look him in the eyes. Your nails dig into the cotton, tugging at the fabric a little while you pull yourself together, lashes fluttering against your cheeks, shaking the rest of the sleep. Lifting your head up from its hiding place, you cross the line you promised yourself you wouldn’t, but when you meet the green that shimmers in the darkness of his eyes, and the crooked grin that twists up his full pink lips, it feels good to give in.

Releasing the hold on your wrist, he’s gentle, almost hesitant, when his warm palm cups your cheek. The rough pad of his thumb traces the line of your cheekbone feather light, and you can’t help but lean into his touch. No more armor, fleeting glances, or stolen looks, not when he’s this close and even more handsome in the glow of the moonlight.

“Beautiful.” He murmurs just loud enough for you to hear, and your legs somehow wrap around his tighter.

”Yeah?” you whisper, your fingers coming up to the play with the gold chain dangling from his neck. “Why didn’t you kiss me then?”

”What?”

”Last week,”

”That wasn’t the right time,” he sighs, eyes tracing every line of your face like he’s committing it to memory, “It would have ruined it.”

“Ruined what?” You press, twisting the metal between your fingertips, heartbeat ringing in your ears.

“My chance at trying to do this the right way, the way you deserve.” He doesn’t hesitate to say it, like it’s something he’s thought about for years, and it makes your head spin.

“What about now?”

“That depends,” he hums, the pad of his thumb dragging across the slight pout of your bottom lip, threatening to steal the air from your lungs.

”On?” Your voice comes out just above a whisper. Tilting your chin up, you can still smell the peanut butter on his breath.

”If you want me to.” He breathes, the tip of his nose running along the length of yours.

Your hold on his gold chain tightens, pulling him even closer. His eyebrows pinch together when he feels the slightest brush of your lips against his, and he can still taste the sweetness of the banana.

”Please tell me you want me to.”

The desperation in his voice is enough for you to tug him down, closing what’s left of the small gap, your top lip catching against his full bottom one. Just enough to feel the familiar silk that could leave a wildfire in their wake before you finally speak.

“Kiss me, Steve.”

A groan rattles deep in his chest, and he doesn’t hesitate to do what he’s wanted to since he saw you. Applying just enough pressure to wake up every last butterfly, the tip of his nose pushes into your cheek when he slots his lips with yours. It’s soft at first like he’s testing the waters, taking it slow so he can savor it, just in case you never let him do it again.

He pulls away enough to look at you, chestnut eyes blown out wide, and you hate that you already miss his kiss. Giving into everything you’ve fought for so long, it’s your turn to capture his lips. It stuns him at first, but when you open your mouth, his body melts easily into yours, and that big hand of his moves from your cheek to hold the back of your neck. Tongue swiping boldly across your lower lip, he begs you to let him in.

Moans get hidden, muffled inside each other's mouths after you grant him access, your fingers tangle themselves inside the thick forest of his hair that’s still just as soft as you remember. Nipping at his bottom lip, the grip on the back of your neck tightens and you can feel the way he kicks up in his sweats because of it. Your own thighs threatening close when you’re reminded of what’s between his legs.

“Baby,” he warns in between kisses, feeling the roll of your hips, but you don’t miss the subtle way he tries to meet them with his own.

It’s too easy to get lost in him, and the years it took to move past him make even more sense when your tongue finds his again. Fighting for dominance, you try not to think about the irreversible damage tonight might do to you as you tug at his roots, teeth scraping together, the kiss turns more heated by the second. Years of anger and longing come out in desperate touches. His hand finds its way to your hip, the pads of his fingers brushing against the skin under your shirt, sending a shiver up your spine, letting you roll them one, two, three times before tightening his hold.

He pulls you closer, letting you win before his nose nudges against your cheek, his lips finding the corner of your mouth. Catching his breath, he trails them along your jaw before making his way down your neck. Your chest heaves, fingers turning soft and slowly running through his hair. He hums against your skin, his hand staying under your shirt, the warmth of his palm covering the small of your back, leaving wet kisses on the sensitive spot behind your ear.

”Let me take you on a date,” he whispers, leaving one more under his jaw before pulling back to look at you.

”Steve -“

”Just one,” he begs, bumping his nose with yours, smirking when it makes you smile.

”Let me sleep on it,” you sigh, ducking your head under his chin to hide. Too many thoughts trying to occupy space in your mind with a head still dizzy from his lips.

”I’ll take what I can get,” he laughs, the tips of his fingers starting up the familiar patterns that started all of this, quickly make your eyelids heavy, nuzzling deeper into his chest. You weren’t ready to think about tomorrow yet.

🌻 chapter four

#my writing #steve harrington #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington x fem!reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington x y/n

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luveline · 6 months

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I love the KBD universe 🩵🩵. It’s so soft and comforting. Idk how you always write such gentle slice of life moments that stay soft even when there’s moments of conflict.

I was rereading the series, and in one scene Steve asks reader if they wanna make out, but Avery comes in before they can. Can I request a scene where they do get to make out (nothing super spicy) and spend that time with each other? I know it’s got to be difficult with four kids.

kisses before dinner —you and Steve languish in some rare alone time. mom!reader, 1k

"Hello," you whisper.

He looks up in surprise, eyebrows lifted. That surprise quickly melds to a soft-boned happiness as you sit in his lap —he's splayed sideways on the armchair, and you have to sit sort of sideways on him to meet his eyes.

"Everybody's sleeping," you say, brushing a stray strand of hair from his eyes as the TV light paints him a blur of multicolour. "Even Wren."

He looks up. "How'd you do that?"

You told him to relax for a bit before bath time. He must've gotten distracted by the TV, which he doesn't often get to watch lately, and so you hadn't really minded. Full time childcare is exhausting. It comes to something when you're nearly happy to go to work, though coming home every night is still what you wait for, and it's thanks to him that you can drive home in excitement.

"I'm multi-talented." You nestle your way under his chin, his arms curling around you as though they have a job to do. Firm. Immediate. "Wren went down like a miracle. I only had to rub her back."

"Avery?" Steve asks.

Avery's under the weather, so you let her skip bath time and tucked her in, sending her to sleep with little more than a forehead kiss. Beth was similarly eager for bed, knocking out after half of a story, her hand insistently in yours. Dove, in contrast, took three times as long to settle, but was convinced by the pad of your pinky finger as it traced up and down the bridge of her nose.

"Tactile creatures, your girls," you murmur.

"Where do they get it from?" he asks as he begins to stroke a quarter circle into your back. "Tokyo Olympics called again. Team USA needs you on their roster."

He's declaring you impressive for such a feat as tonight's solo bed time. "The answer's still no. I don't think anyone wants to see me in a leotard."

"I do," he says, kissing the top of your head. His lips soft, his voice the same, he hugs you closer still. "I so do. You look nice in everything."

You could fall asleep like this, in his arms, his lap, your face drifting down his chest as you curl into his warmth. There's nowhere else you'd rather be (besides possibly bed, but even then you'd need it to be with him). "Thanks, Steve."

"You're welcome."

The room is quiet. The house stirs and rain lashes the darkened windows every now and then with the indecisive winds, whistling through tree branches far away. You shiver at the sound and Steve sets your goosebumps right with bigger strokes of his hand, a familiar up and down pressed into your back. Pressure to distract the senses.

"Thanks for doing bed time."

You wave it away. It's nice to be appreciated, but in the face of everything he does you don't want any thank yous tonight. "I just wanted to spend some time with you."

"Yeah?" he asks, sinking lower into the armchair, the majority of your weight following down onto his abdomen rather than his legs.

"I really…" missed isn't the right word. You missed him while you were at work, and time spent with him and the girls is just as worthy and sweet as time alone, but that doesn't mean you can't want both. "I've been thinking about you."

Steve doesn't flinch at your odd wording, the opposite. He knuckles trail loosely to the small of your back, a smugness to the curve of his lips as he smiles, and says, "I've been thinking about you."

Steve usually looks handsome. You've seen him bedraggled, dishevelled, and exhausted, of course, but he puts a majesty into nearly everything he does. He can take a plate down from one of the kitchen cabinets or hike one of your sweethearts onto his hip and you'll remark to yourself about how pretty he looks. This isn't taking into consideration how attractive you find his heart (that list is endless —compassion, dedication, loyalty, etc). The stuff you love about Steve goes on and on and on.

You curl a hand behind his head and card through his hair, not sure what to say. His eyes meet yours. "They don't have a word for how much I love you, H."

His voice rasps with a low pleasure, "I could think of a bunch for you. Only if you want. I'm smart like that."

Your lips twitch. "Please," you say, giving his scalp a playful scratch.

"Endlessly," he begins. "Eternally. Overflowingly." He leans forward to touch your noses together. "Fuck," —he laughs as he searches for another— "started so strong. Uh… infinitely. A whole fucking lot?"

"Loads."

You both laugh, the heat of the others breath like a phantom of a kiss between you.

"Loads," he agrees. "Wickedly."

"Deviously?"

"Ambitiously. A shit ton."

You kiss him gingerly, not worried he won't kiss back but wanting to stay in this moment for as long as you can. "Love you loads," you say against his lips.

With your eyes closed you can't see his expression, but you can guess at what he's doing. Steve likely has his brows sewn together, a grimace on his lips that might suggest the opposite of what he's feeling.

He acts like kissing you is the only thing that he could ever need, that this intermission is painful but absolutely necessary. "I love you," he says. He whispers your name, raising his hand to cup your cheek. His marriage finger rubs a mindless little shape into the soft skin under your eye. "I love you."

You wrap your arms around his neck and hook him closer, smiling into a second and much less ginger kiss.

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calware · 1 month

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dear calware, I'm not sure how much you know on the topic of Doc Scratch, but I was wondering, why is the common consensus around him that he's like a creepy pedophile? after rereading his messages with Rose, he seems more tone deaf and weird than a fully on creep. is there something I'm missing?

scratch isn't "literally" a pedophile (or a hebephile, which is the accurate term for this situation) which we know because of this

but at the same time, that is still the Way he's written

(i'm sorry if this following explanation is confusing.... i really do not have the right wording to describe it) it's almost like a metaphorical representation. he's a child predator in every way but the actual sexual attraction. the way he's written references the behavior of actual child predators and is meant to signal to the audience that this is the Kind Of Character he is. it's a literary tool(?)to tell the audience that he is literally taking advantage of characters in various ways (as well as straight up abusing damara) while at the time comparing it to child sexual abuse

but if you do want literal actions on his part, he does Literally groom young girls and they are his targets for manipulation

also, directly from the author commentary (which. is not 100% serious at times. but i do think it sometimes offers some actual insight):

I know I just said a bunch of stuff about [DD] maybe being a creep. But look, this is just my OPINION here. I don't think he's actually being creepy about this. I think he has a genuinely parental attitude toward Aradia and wants to see her succeed in her violent and underhanded schemes. See how he wants them to conduct their business with efficiency? He's way too professional to go Full Doc on these girls.

Another peek at Rose suggests she's still at it with her creepy uncle, Doc Scratch.

Then you have a few beats of conversation which bring Equius to mind, such as the creep-factor

[Dirk and Equius] have this creepy-guy streak running through them, with strange or offputting interests, and seem to get a quiet kick out of making others uncomfortable through demonstrations of these fascinations. [...] I'd say these self-examined qualities are just drawn out, isolated, and inflated both for dramatic effect, and also as critical write-up of those qualities existing within many human beings in general, which I would like to think is grounded in a creative process involving a certain degree of humility about some of this bullshit. I like all these characters here, but that doesn't mean I think their unpleasant qualities are good. It just means I am harnessing and heightening those qualities for creating strong villainous portraits.

We start getting the sense that the entire purpose of this conversation, from Doc's vantage point, is just to passive-aggressively manipulate Rose into peering directly into one of his cursed testicles. Wait, my youth pastor is literally barking like a dog right now for some reason. Probably because I put him on a leash and tied him to a post in the backyard. I guess I fucked up again? I mean one of Doc's seeds.

Maybe it's fair to say I have a higher than average tolerance troubling content. But even I have to admit to shuddering a little when I read Doc's creepy lines toward Rose. I think Doc's creep factor toward girls is most likely channeling part of Caliborn's personality, which almost seems to revolve around his horrid attitude toward women. For Caliborn, this weird combination of wrathful misogyny, yet fixation and obsession with certain girls, is obviously central to the type of real-world profile he's meant to portray. But when his personality is more muted among the collective in Doc's head, those qualities come across as more "restrained," "polite," and "flattering," which arguably just makes it all creepier. The result is a creepy dude profile that also exists in the real world, sort of adjacent to the Full Caliborns out there. There seem to be many stripes of this kind of unfortunate male behavior, which all exists in a broader family of sub-Caliborns. The Docs, the Eridans, the Cronuses… They're all sketchy in different ways.

Doc sitting back just to "watch" is another creepy Equiusism. Remember that was a thing with him.

I wonder what Jade would think if she knew she had in her possession since childhood one of Doc's testicORACLES!!! Oracles. The word I meant to say was oracles, not anything else. Anyway, like I was saying, how would Jade react if she realized every time she played with one of her beloved toys, she was actually fondling this weirdo's plump, juicy oracle. I know you think my youth pastor may have something to do with this peculiar outburst, but you're wrong. I "dismissed" him recently, because he told me with great pride that I learned everything he had to teach me. I don't need anyone to keep me from shoving my foot in my mouth anymore, I'm sure you'll be pleased to know. Now let's watch this grieving teen receive a demonic message from an evil puppet's big fat nut.

bonus commentary from book 6 that has nothing to do with the post:

We're reaching a specific kind of story partition. Not the end of an act, but the end of a year. Also an end of "disc," which is a kind of meta-partitioning I just made up for the purpose of closing the book on two years of content, as well as being a good meta-device for introducing the Doc sequence we're about to get into in the next book.

"next book"...... sad

#ask #jestinggenesis #feel the need to mention that. so much of this makes me cringe while reading it

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hearts4hughes · 6 months

Text

BEJEWELED | QUINN HUGHES

nora’s birthday celly | quinn hughes x fem!reader

summary: in which quinn is pushing you away, so you make him regret it.

notes: this barely follows the song, but this has been in my drafts forever, just waiting to be finished. sorry for how rushed this is, but hopefully you can still enjoy it :) apologies for any mistakes or parts that don’t make sense, i do not feel like rereading this 😭

don’t put me in the basement

when i want the penthouse of your heart

"are you even listening?" your tone was harsh. quinn’s gaze averted away from his phone and locked with yours. with a huff, he placed his phone down. "mhm," he hummed, running a hand through his messy locks.

your eyes narrowed, "then what did i just say?" you crossed your arms defensively over your chest. his eyes dropped to your cleavage momentarily. "you were talking about," he paused, inhaling a thick breath. he knew he was dead. "going on that vacation with your friends?"

"are you fucking serious?" you huffed out a laugh. he replied with a tight-lipped smile. "of course you aren’t." you muttered, more to yourself than to him.

"why does it matter, y/n?!" he whined, throwing his head back and covering his eyes with his hands. "you’re always just bitching about something that doesn’t matter." the second the words rolled off his tongue, he knew he fucked up.

your eyes got wide and you swore steam poured out of your ears. "bitching?!" your voice was thunderous. "quinn, we used to do everything together! we used to be involved in each other's lives. now you’re the one who’s been distant and pushing me away. i'm tired of feeling like i have to wait for you to want to be a part of my life."

his features eyes widened, "baby, wait, no," he couldn’t even stammer out a proper apology. you stifled out a sarcastic laugh, rising to your feet and storming out of your living room. "fuck," he muttered under his breath, jumping up to chase you. he followed your angry footsteps into the shared room, where you were rummaging through your closet. his brows furrowed when you walked out of the closet with a black dress in hand.

you tugged off your tank top and pajama shorts, leaving you clad in a pink bralette and a matching thong. you had worn it for quinn, hoping to surprise him after his game, but that idea went to shit. his breath hitched as you stood there practically naked. the pink set you wore left little to the imagination.

"and where are you planning on going?" the brunette asked. "out," you simply stated. he huffed, "out where? and for how long?"

"i don’t know," you shrugged, shimmying into the tight dress and grabbing a pair of heels. "why does it matter, quinn?" you mocked with a whine. you smiled triumphantly as his face fell into a deep scowl. heels in hand, you stormed past him, brushing your shoulder against his purposely.

like a lost puppy, he turned on his heels, following you into the master bathroom. "why does it matter?" he spoke frustratedly. "it matters because i have a game in a few hours."

you grabbed your red lipstick, swiping the deep color onto your lips. catching his gaze in the vanity mirror, you stared blankly. "ok?" your tone made him feel small and pathetic. "you always go to my games." you took pleasure in the way his voice grew smaller.

and with the click of your lipstick, you turned around. your devilish smirk sent chills up his spine. his eyes scanned your face. you looked hot. "it’s annoying when people say things and then don’t do them, right?" sarcasm dripped off your voice. he opened his mouth to respond, but his words got caught in his throat. "yeah," you replied for him. "and doesn’t it upset you when you can’t get a clear and direct answer out of people?" his face dropped to his chest in defeat. "that’s what i thought."

this time when you stormed out of the room, quinn didn’t follow you— he didn’t even look in your direction. he just sat there, thinking about how he has been acting recently. he never meant to push you away. he’s just been frustrated about hockey. "shit," he tugged at his roots, running out to chase you, but with the slam of the front door, you left Quinn standing alone in the dimly lit apartment. his heart sank as he realized the importance of the situation. he had messed up big time.

desperation filled him as he cursed under his breath. he didn't want to lose you, especially not over a trivial argument like this. quinn quickly changed into a fresh set of clothes and grabbed his phone, dialing your number repeatedly, but it went straight to voicemail.

he decided to take action and drove to the place he thought you might be. he knew you better than anyone, and despite the frustration between you, he couldn't stand the thought of you being upset and alone. quinn was determined to make things right.

as he approached the location, he saw you standing under a lamppost, waiting for a taxi. your dress, your confidence, and the red lipstick painted a picture of defiance, and yet, vulnerability. quinn's heart ached for you, realizing how wrong he had been.

pulling up beside you, he rolled down the window and called out your name. you glanced over, eyes widening in surprise as he leaned across to open the passenger door. "get in," he said softly, his voice filled with a mixture of regret and sincerity, with a pleading look in his eyes.

you hesitated for a moment before sliding into the car. quinn's gaze never left you, his expression pained and apologetic. he cleared his throat and began, his words laced with genuine remorse.

"y/n, i can't find the right words to express how deeply sorry i am. i messed up, and i shouldn't have spoken to you that way. i was wrong, and i let my frustrations get the better of me. it's not an excuse, and i want you to know that i take full responsibility for my actions."

as you looked at him, you could see the sincerity in his eyes, and it tugged at your heartstrings. he continued, "you're right; i've been distant, and i shouldn't have let that happen. you mean the world to me, and i've been failing you. i promise i'll make it up to you, starting today. i'll be there, with you, every step of the way, and i won’t push you away this time."

tears welled up in your eyes, and you sniffled, feeling the weight of his words sinking in. "you promise?"

he nodded, his gaze never leaving yours. "i promise, y/n. i don't want to lose you. you're my everything, and i will do whatever it takes to make things right and prove that i'm fully committed to us and our relationship."

you forgave him, not because he was perfect, but because you could see the effort and sincerity in his apology. and, well, because you couldn't resist his puppy-dog eyes. without wasting another second, your hands flew to his neck, pulling his lips against yours.

with a sly grin, you leaned back, playfully wagging your finger at him. "you know, i don't usually accept kisses when i’m mad, but i'll make an exception."

he chuckled, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "ah, rule-breaking with you always seems like the best idea."

#hearts4hughes #nora’s writings 💐#quinn hughes #quinn hughes fic #quinn hughes blurb #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes imagines #vancouver canucks #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine #hockey blurb #nora’s birthday celly!

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upon-a-starry-night · 3 months

Text

Number Neighbors Pt.19

Natasha Romanoff x Fem! Reader

Natasha Masterlist Series Masterlist

Word Count: 1.7k

Summary: When you catch sight of the newest trend going around you know you’re all but bound to at least try it, it was harmless anyway. What could possibly stem from something so little?

----

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was that you couldn’t move your shoulder. The second was the intense throbbing that made your shoulder seem like it was trying to be the drummer of a teenage boy band.

Your attempt to get up is futile as the action causes a burning pain to shoot through your arm and you end up flinging your head back onto the pillow in frustration. Sighing, you throw an arm over your eyes to block out the bright fluorescent lights. Fluorescent lighting is Satan’s worst creation and your eyes already burned from all of your uncontrollable sobbing last night so it only made things worse.

What time even was it? How long have you been out?

You spot your phone plugged in on the nightstand and are surprised when it turns on when you grab it. There’s a sizable crack across the screen but other than that it seems fine. You had been so sure last night that you’d have to get a new one but I guess the Gods felt bad for giving you more trauma.

The first thing you notice on your lock screen is Nat’s contact photo next to a notification that reads ‘2 missed calls’. That message has you slamming the phone down on your lap as you recount the sound of her ringtone blaring amidst the commotion.

As if sensing you were awake your phone chimes with a message and you slowly turn it over to see Nat’s contact once again. You slide open the text and reread her worried frantic texts from last night before reading her most recent one.

Nat🔪:

How are you holding up Y/n?

It’s the most serious a conversation has felt with Nat in a long time and your immediate instinct is to make a joke and ease the tension in your chest but Nat is genuinely worried and you want her to know you’re okay.

Y/n🍦:

I’m okay.

I’m stronger than I sound Nat, I promise

Nat🔪:

I don’t doubt it Y/n.

The immediate response has you huffing out a laugh and the tension in your chest eases as you remember that this is Nat you’re talking to. Nat who you never feel on edge when talking to. Nat who would never judge you. Nat who worried about you so much that she called you despite it being the last thing you thought she’d ever do. Your Nat.

Y/n🍦:

Yeah you should see the other guy

The eye roll emoji is the only response you get and you can almost picture the way she’s shaking her head at your antics, fighting off a smile that slips through anyway. It gives you a warm tingling sensation in your body- aside from the painkillers- and the lull in your conversation allows you enough time to think about last night.

More specifically the sound of her ringtone in your ears for the first time. As much as you enjoy the playful banter you two always fall into, you find that you can’t bring yourself to ignore addressing what happened this time.

You have a feeling Nat knows that too.

You struggle to find the right words, not wanting to come off too strong, and eventually settle on a simple straightforward confrontation

Nat🔪:

Y/n🍦:

You called.

You figured the response would take a little bit like it usually does when the two of you talk about more serious topics-usually regarding the two of you meeting- so you set your phone down on the bed and close your eyes. Exhaling a long slow breath as you allow yourself to really process what happened last night. Nat doesn’t give you a chance however, as her response is immediate and you find yourself picking your phone back up seconds after you’d put it down.

Nat🔪:

Of course.

It’s about the kind of answer you expected from Nat, vague as always, but you’re determined to at least hear from her what you already know.

Y/n🍦:

Why?

The two of you both know you’re not just asking why she called. You're asking why now? Of all the times you begged her to let you hear her voice, of all the times you’ve been more than miserable and having an anxiety attack and she never called you once until now.

You almost want to be a little bit angry but your curiosity overrides your anger.

Would she call you again now that she’d already done it twice? You almost voice the question when she responds again

Nat🔪:

I suppose…I care about you more than

I care about keeping my identity a secret

It feels like something you’d read in a superhero novel and yet still, your heart flutters at the confession. And for a second you let yourself think of the possibility that Nat might like you back.

You almost laugh at the absurdity of the situation. Two people who have never met or even seen each others faces slowly falling for each other.

What were the chances that someone like Nat was only one number away from yours? There’s something almost…poetic about it. You didn’t know if you believed in destiny but this sure as hell was one wild situation.

Y/n🍦:

I…care about you too.

More than I probably should hahaha.

The admission is terrifying but you need her to know. You’ve spent too long yearning for her thinking that what you felt was one-sided and now you had to tell her.

Y/n🍦:

I wish I could’ve heard your voice last night.

We were so close…

Inhaling shakily, you type out your next message, mentally crossing your fingers. Your wound throbs and your heart pounds and you wonder briefly if this is what it feels like to fall in love.

Y/n🍦:

Any chance you would call again?

Your message stays seen as the seconds tick by slowly, the clock on the wall in your hospital room slowly moves its hands as if to taunt you. The room is silent and it feels as though all the oxygen has been pulled from your lungs. You finally inhale a sharp breath when a sound ricochets off of the pale blue and white walls.

Her ringtone.

You almost don’t believe it, staring at the screen again the same way you had last night -but your senses quickly catch up to you and you screenshot the screen before clicking the accept button. You were not about to pass up this opportunity again.

Both sides of the call are silent for a good while before you finally speak up, your voice more breathless than you’d expected “Nat.”

“Y/n.” The world stills for a moment. Her voice is soft and distant, albeit a little strained like she’s trying to hold something back. It’s got a little bit of a rasp to it and immediately you find yourself blushing. Her voice was so… “I got you something”

Before you can question what she means there’s a knock on the door and the phone hangs up. You’re more than a little disappointed at how brief the call was but as her words process in your brain, you look up to see a nurse entering with a bright smile and a large bouquet of your favorite flowers.

“Glad to see that you’re up sweetheart. How ya feelin’?”

You and the nurse converse about your condition, how your wound feels, how to treat it, and when you can be discharged, throughout the conversation your eyes keep drifting back over to the flowers the nurse placed on your side table. They brighten the whole room just by being there and you unconsciously feel yourself smiling when you look at them. The nurse notices that when she places your painkillers on the table next to you with a glass of water, a knowing smile crosses her face.

“Well someone sure wants to show off,” Your gaze snaps back to the woman and you tilt your head in curiosity, the nurse inclines hers toward the flowers “Sending you such a large bouquet like that, I got so many looks bringing it up here”

The two of you chuckle and you think it’s just like Nat to show off. Although this gesture just seems more sweet than anything.

“You’re a lucky girl, seems like your girlfriend really loves you a lot” You blush, covering your face with your hands to hide the silly smile that formed at her assumption. You really should deny the claim but… is it so bad if someone believes it’s true?

Instead, you let yourself divulge in the fantasy, peaking through your fingers, you make eye contact with the nurse and shyly nod

“Yeah, she- she does” It doesn’t feel like a lie when you say it and the thought of getting sent bouquets from her more often because she’s your girlfriend makes your stomach warm.

The nurse checks your vitals while you’re stuck in your daydream and gives you one last wink as she exits the room. The feeling in your chest confirms your feelings and you find yourself opening up another message, Leon’s contact photo popping up.

You send him a message saying he was sweet and you appreciate everything he’s done for you but he’s not someone you can see yourself falling for. You feel kind of bad but you’d feel worse stringing him along while you have feelings for someone else.

He replies immediately, saying he’s a little disappointed but understands and that he hopes you find someone who treats you right. A tension eases in you that you didn’t even know you were holding. He was a good guy. Maybe you two can stay friends.

As you put your phone down again you lean your head back against the wall. When staring at the bright fluorescent lights becomes too much you close your eyes, picturing Nat like you’d done so many times before. You take the gray pajama pants she told you she wears and add the red T-shirt she sent you a picture of, picturing the hair the waiter described as you add in the sound of her voice. Her face still feels fuzzy in your head but you don’t mind as you replay her voice over and over in your mind.

Turning your head, you stare at the flowers with a soft, wistful smile.

You can’t stop thinking about Nat, she sounded…. Stunning.

Pt.20

A/n: That phone call was actually not in the original storyline but it felt right to add when I was writing this chapter~ Starry

---Taglist--

@marvelwomen-simp @cd-4848 @wandanatlov3r @rebeltombraider @ctrlamira @fxckmiup @aliherreraaa @natsxwife @la-douler-ne-finite-jamais @romanoffsgal @moistblobfish @natashaswife4125 @elenimoris @how-to-disappearrr @screechcat @toouncreativeforausername @ordelixx @autorasexy @blacklightsposts @vmpnano @jono723 @sylencr @saraaahsstuff @autorasexy

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altraviolet · 5 months

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How do you find a character's 'voice'? I have no problem writing OCs, but when it comes to existing characters I get so anxious that I'm mischaracterizing them!

This is a great question! This is definitely something I struggle with sometimes. Here are some of the things I've done to try to keep characterization consistent:

watched a bunch of videos about characterization and the craft of writing

gone back to the canon and reread parts that featured the character you're trying to write

reduced the character to like, ONE descriptor, ONE "essence," if you will. JRO did a great job making very identifiable characters for us. although many of the initial characterizations are modified by the end of the comic, you can still use that "essence". I'll give an ex in a minute but after you identify that "essence," keep it in mind for your character when you write them

when writing from their POV, or from a close third narration (or heck second person talking to them), remember what the character knows. how did they get to the place they are now? what kinds of details in a room would they notice?

This is not all I've done but it would take me SO LONG to put together more points so we'll move on~!

Okay so for more details on the above:

The Essence Thing

I think Ultra Magnus is a really good example of this. We're introduced to him having a very specific outlook on life (we literally see through his eyes in one early panel, it's great). We understand him to be a VERY strict mech who adheres to the Autobot Law to the letter (semi-colon, actually, lol). We see him meticulously arrange and rearrange objects, we see him point out screws that are misaligned by 0.001% (paraphrase, I don't remember the exact wordage). All in all, it's really easy to understand in just a couple of words who he is. Meticulous to a fault. Rodimus distracts him by using bad grammar on purpose.

By the end of the comics, he's loosened up a little. And (SPOILERS for the end of the comics), Megatron telling him to abandon his armor and be true to himself is something he's receptive to. Whereas in the beginning he wore it as somewhat literal armor. And refused to smile.

So what have I done with my fic? Well, it's important to keep in mind that UM isn't going to change all his ways. He won't be as much of a stickler as before, because he's learned to have friends in some capacity, and that's loosened him up a little tiny bit. But he's going to retain that core trait of being really into keeping things neat and tidy. And, the UM that Megatron told to abandon his armor isn't the one that made the jump. So I assumed they had that convo later in their friendship. The TEG UM still has those organized traits (cuz it's funny), but he's not as bad as he used to be.

So hopefully that makes sense. Boil your character down to a trait or two and keep it in mind for everything.

Oh boy the asks are piling up so I'm gonna try to go a bit faster now.

What The Character Knows

Let's do a little thought experiment. Tailgate and Drift walk into a random Autobot bar. What does each mech notice?

If I said one of them quickly identifies friendly mechs and the other one identifies unfriendly mechs, can you tell which did which? Who notices the energon specials and who takes note of the weapons behind the bar? Which one will remember a time he went with his conjunx to a bar and didn't get in a fight? haha

Okay so you can probably guess the answers that I intended for the above! Drift had a hard past, then became a violent Decepticon. Tailgate was asleep for 6 million years and then woke up and befriended a ton of people and had Movie Nights and also some trauma but he never had to fight for his life like Drift did.

So, as you can see, what the character knows (which is informed by their past, their education, their belief systems, the friends they have, the enemies they have, etc) really impacts how they see the world. And you can use that to your advantage by trying to look through their eyes keeping in mind what they know.

Sorry I'm gonna have to end this here, but this is a great topic. I'll try to write more about character voice and POV in the future. If you want to poke me later about it here or on twitter, please do. I will get my thoughts together and also find the links to the videos I've watched :)

#ask #anonymous #character voice #characterization #writing advice #long post

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traumxrei-archive · 2 years

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【 one good honest kiss 】

summary: 'i just need someone to kiss, give me one good honest kiss and i'll be alright...' (ft. azul ashengrotto)

word count: 1.7k

author's note: the title speaks for itself ^^ i wrote this in one sitting on the bus today in a moment of insanity and reread it just now so it might have mistakes, but yeah i hope you enjoy :D

"Prefect."

"Hmm?"

"Could I...have a kiss?"

Yuu blinked at the bold yet sudden request.

It was hard to say exactly where it came from, considering that the person asking went by the name of Azul Ashengrotto. The very Azul Ashengrotto was all polite smiles and business dealings. There was always a little wickedness in the glint of his glasses, honeyed words simply a lure to ensnare others into his carefully crafted machinations.

So what exactly did someone like that want when he asked a question of such caliber?

Yuu looked up from what they were doing. It wasn't that important of a task in comparison to the perplexing ultimatum that they were now faced with.

"I did hear you correctly, right?" They started, taking a moment to simply look at him. Azul was always easy on the eyes, from the way those lenses framed overcast eyes to the slight tap-tap-tap of his expensive leather shoes as he walked.

Yet for once he seemed...nervous. Yuu could sense the slightest bit of tension in his brow, and his hands seemed to fidget more the longer they stared.

"You...did indeed," Azul made a show of clearing his throat, trying to fill up the now-silent room. "I was being genuine–"

Yuu couldn't help but stifle a snort at that, and they smiled as they saw Azul's frown turn into more of a pout, "I-I really was. Asking, that is."

"You're asking me," The Prefect pointed at themselves, "To kiss you," They pointed at Azul. "On the lips." The octomer looked two seconds away from absolutely bursting into flames as he nodded, and Yuu couldn't help but think that baby pink suited him.

"For what reason, senpai?" Yuu angled their body towards Azul and suddenly it dawned on them how close they were. The two-seater that Azul kept lovingly in his VIP room felt small; they really could reach out and feel the candescent warmth on his face if they wanted to.

"Does there have to be a reason?" Azul asked, taking a cautionary shuffle toward them. The way he inched forward was almost endearing; like someone forced to do something exhiliratingly frightening.

"There does," Yuu held up a finger for every reason they spoke. "If it's for a contract, I decline. If it's for blackmail, I decline. If it has to do with a business proposal, I decli–"

"I get it!" Azul's voice raised before quieting down to a quiver. "I get it. But...what if it was an experiment?"

"An experiment? You're using me as the test subject?"

"I would never fathom such a thing," Azul rubbed at the bridge of his nose. It was fun to toy with Azul every once in a while. His reactions were surprisingly honest for someone who dealt with so much deceit.

"There's a...hypothesis about myself that ive been wanting to prove," The words were carefully laid out as if rehearsed. "And this is the only method I have to prove it."

Suddenly it felt like all the puzzle pieces had jostled into place.

Oh. So that was it.

They tried to keep their face straight when they lean just a little closer, "Is it something that can be measured by heart rate?"

Confusion seeped into Azul's face ever so slightly, "Heart rate?"

"What if..." Yuu let their hand drift, settling over Azul's own gloved one. "I do this? Does it make your heart race?"

"P-Prefect, that is highly–"

"Or maybe this is better?" Their tone feigned innocence, even as they slipped their fingers into his glove. Azul flinched, though he kept his hand still as Yuu's fingers slid up his palm in a slow caress.

Azul's glove now lay abandoned in his lap, his fingers trembling where they entwined with their own, "How about now, senpai?"

The silver haired's mouth drifted open and shut like a fish out of water. It was so endearing to see Azul Ashengrotto so terribly askew. There was a blush on his face that seemed almost insistent on staying, and his breaths were coming out in small stutters that Yuu could hear in the silence of the room.

"I think we should do one more test," Yuu declared and Azul finally snapped back to attention.

He tried to tug his hand back, "N-no, isn't this enough testing?"

"Is it?" Yuu tilted their head in contemplation. "You haven't told me your findings yet. And besides," Yuu's voice dropped into a croon. "We haven't tried your method yet."

It must've been some grand feat for them to have the opportunity to see Azul so throughly speechless not once, but twice.

"Senpai," Yuu smiled lightly. "Don't you want to kiss me?"

"That's...unfair," There was a slight pout to Azul's lips even as they drifted closer.

They left a touch to his jaw, sliding a finger up and behind his ear. Their other hand tugged at Azul's bowtie, leaving him looking handsomely disheveled. Yuu felt their heart flutter at the sight. He was absolutely stunning.

Their foreheads touch, "How's your heart rate now?"

"Sevens you're killing me," A shaky laugh escaped Azul's lips, "It's beating so hard that I feel like I'm going to die."

They grinned at him, "Don't die on me now."

The first press of lips was soft. Azul's lips felt plush and almost cool against theirs as they leaned in further. Azul's body tremored as Yuu guided him backward onto the couch. There was a gasp as they tilted their head ever so slightly, letting a sigh escape their lips.

They pulled back, only to feel a hand too strong holding onto their shirt, the other clumsily finding its way to Yuu's shoulder and tugging them closer.

Yuu indulged in him, leaning in once more in a more unhurried kiss. They could feel the thud-thud-thud of Azul's heart against their own chest and they couldn't help but nip at his lip just a little. Azul let out a small surprised noise, and Yuu felt a warm buzz fill them at causing such a reaction.

When they were finally allowed to pull away, Yuu couldn't help but let their eyes wander to the part of Azul's mouth as his breaths came and went. They reached forward, tucking a strand of his hair behind his ear. Azul didn't look all there yet, staring into them in a quiet daze.

"So, have you figured it out yet?" They asked, feeling equally as breathless as Azul looked. "Do you like me?"

Azul's eyes snapped to theirs, "Wait, how did y–" He gasped, slapping a hand over his mouth. And they cheered internally at his slip up. It was nice of Azul to put an end to his own mindgames for once.

"So you do like me," Yuu exclaimed, watching as the red reapplied itself to Azul's cheeks and ears once more. "And for the record, senpai, I do like you back." Azul looked like he had a little too much to say before the door cracked open.

Floyd's head popped in, "Are you and Shrimpy done kissing yet~? Jade left the papers we needed for work." Azul backpedalled– or at least, tried to. Not that there was much room to move when they had him caged in like this.

"Ah, apologies for the interruption," Jade entered the room, not batting an eye at how Yuu took the opportunity to lie down on his boss' chest. "I told Floyd we should return later, but–"

"But me 'n Jade were curious," Floyd grinned lazily. "Hey, Azul, didja end up using the advice I gave you?"

Yuu's turned their head at that, "Advice? What advice?"

"The advice that–"

"Floyd Leech," And there it was. Azul's feared warning tone. Though its effectiveness almost fell by half from how red and blushy he looked as he used it. "One more word out of either you or Jade and I will make you do the boring stuff."

"My, to think I am also included in that," Jade said in mock sadness. "It is sad how we have helped so much but were given so little."

"'S true~ Me 'n Jade helped you a lot."

"...You both get a bonus this month," Azul mumbled defeatedly. "Now leave already. Please."

"Well since you said please," Floyd shrugged, giving Yuu a wave. "See ya, Shrimpy."

As the door clicked shut, their eyes slid over to Azul's own. Looking at them this close, they looked bluer than ever, like clear skies instead of stormy ones.

"So....which part was their plan?"

"Please don't," Azul pressed his hands against his face. "I don't think I'll be able to recover from everything if you knew."

"Hmm," Yuu turned their ear toward Azul's chest. "Then why don't we take a nap?"

"E-excuse me? But I still have work to d–"

"Today's our first day, right?" There was another sly grin on their face. "Of dating?"

Azul's heartbeat picked up in speed at their words, "Y-yes."

"So let's make this our first date as a couple," They mumbled, yawning lightly. "Let's take a nap."

"I...okay," Azul's voice sounded resigned and they felt him shift underneath them. His arms came to cradle them— an attempt at cuddling so very Azul that they couldn't help but laugh. They helped him out, nestling into his side and using their blazer as a blanket for the both of them.

Yuu secretly smiled, reminding themselves to thank the tweels for their, mm, hint prior to entering the room.

"Azul's going to make a request from me? And I should accept no matter what?"

"Yup, yup! Just be a good Shrimpy and do it~"

"It is a beneficial request for both you and Azul, so please consider it."

So you could say that Yuu knew that something would be happening this whole time. Well...what Azul doesn't know wouldn't kill him right? For now they enjoyed the feeling of Azul's hand tracing patterns into their back as they lied there together. It certainly was a first kiss to remember.

ty for reading this very randomly written azul kisser fic jsdkfjsfk if you'd like to see more, check out my masterlist <3

#/trau writes #azul ashengrotto #azul ashengrotto x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst #twisted wonderland

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bellewintersroe · 7 months

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Max Verstappen X HornerDaughter!

Part 6- here’s the LINK to part 5. Thank you for all your support! Only a small chapter, but 100% more coming, just you wait… When Red Bull fail to establish their dominance in Singapore, it seems nobody can get off of Max’s back, despite the fact he’s happy for Carlos and the McLaren boys on the podium. All the doubting gets to his head and in the end there’s only one person he turns to for support. Leni secretly freaks when she realises her and Max keep getting closer… Taglist: @ironmaiden1313 @callsignwidow @fangirl125reader @norassimpingzone @roseseraj @eugene-emt-roe @copper-boom @its-elias-world @cassiopeiia24

“But is Max Verstappen really happy for Carlos Sainz, or is that just a cover up?”

“Max- Max how do you feel? Should it have been you up on the podium today?”

“Max how does it feel that the Red Bull dominance has been broken?!”

“We’re sensing some tension lingering around Max Verstappen today in Singapore after he takes 5th place. It was an astonishing race for Carlos, we can’t quite say the same about the man who has been dominating the 2023 season!”

Poor Max. It was no wonder the poor guy just wanted to get out of the media’s eye. He was so happy for his friends on the podium, he was still confident and self-assured, but the media kept portraying him to be some kind of villain that was spiteful for his own close friends. Even Checo, the media harassed to shit, but Max seemed to take the brunt of it.

No matter how happy he was, it wasn’t enough for the press who constantly accused him of being a brat, or pissed off about the race. I was positive there was nothing Max could do to please them, so when he headed back to his hotel in peace, I was disappointed, but not so surprised.

Me on the other hand, after four drinks in I’d twisted my ankle and ended up limping back to my room, the kind receptionist from downstairs offering me an icepack. It was pretty boring sitting alone in my room when everybody else was out, even my whole family was somewhere but I’d drunken too much too quickly and paid for it soon after.

That’s when I thought of Max. He too was in his room, probably asleep after such an exhausting day. In my tipsy mind I lifted my phone up, glancing through our previous texts. I’d not responded to his last message which was just a simple not explanation of why the RB’s didn’t work so well on specific types of circuits. I’d seen him in person and felt too awkward to text when we were in the same proximity.

Snapping a picture of the ice pack over my ankle I sent him a bunch of pissed off emojis, feeling playful.

Leni: don’t drink Prosecco it fucks you over It wasn’t so long later when Max actually responded. I was surprised it was so quick, but god- I wanted him so bad. I felt like having him, especially now, so soon after a break up would be a little sour for everybody around us, never mind that my own dad was his team principle.

Max: wtf Leni how did you manage that, are you ok?

Leni: hahahaha don’t even ask I’m good, are you?

Max: yeah just pissed off with all the media today. I don’t want to see a single person else. I cringed at his words. Yikes. That was my invite gone. Rereading my messaged to make sure they made sense, I sent a simple message of; Leni: I don’t blame you

Max took a while to respond after that. I was actually falling asleep, my eyes feeling heavy until the buzzing of my phone aroused me quicker than I could process.

Max: unless you wanna come chill with for a while “Oh, Max. I don’t know how you deal with them. They make it out like you’re gonna start a war with Carlos just because you didn’t get a podium, once.” I sat on the edge of his bed, continuing to hold the ice pack to my ankle.

“Exactly, and I don’t know why!” He paced from one end of the room to the other. “They like drama.” I pointed out.

“True, but…” Max plopped himself on the hotel bed. “I feel fine for Japan, I’m confident, but when you’ve got millions of people doubting you it gets kinda irritating.” I winced slightly at his words. Max usually didn’t be so open about his feelings with this side of the media, I knew truthfully he never really give two shits what they thought, but when people were constantly at him I was positive he must’ve found it jarring.

“You’ve also got millions supporting you again.” I responded as he smiled gently. “Yeah. I know that.” His voice was gentle, grateful, he sounded humble. It was a side to hum media didn’t like to show, especially in drive to survive.

“I know I will be.” I shrugged, glancing over to see him smiling down to his sweats. It was a miracle to see him something other than jeans. “Thanks, Leni.”

“Or maybe I’ll switch teams completely and start going to the Ferrari garage.” Max threw a pillow at me in response.

“Dick.” I snickered, scooting further up onto the bed to rest against the headboard, besides Max. There was still possibly the largest gap between us that I’d ever witnessed.

“Could you imagine what my dad would say?”

“I don’t think he’d be too happy.” Max smirked. “Neither would I.”

“Really?” I gazed over his expression. He was still smiling, indicating he couldn’t have been too serious. “Yeah, I mean, you’re part of our team. If you’re not there it would be weird.”

Hours passed and soon we’d both retired under the covers, watching the TV in a comfortable silence. The alcohol that once streamed through my body had fallen stagnant and I was feeling more nervous than when I initially arrived into Max’s room. I stole a glance at him, his eyelids were heavy as he watched the movie, something I hadn’t paid attention to in a good hour.

The gap between us had closed slightly, and I felt myself overthinking more and more about how soon it was to be in this position with him. Friends do this, right? As long as there was no physical contact, as bad as I wanted it, it would be fine.

So the minute I felt Max’s hand brush against the bare skin of my elbow I felt myself completely freak, fidgeting my legs and accidentally kicking my bad ankle. “Ow, fuck. I kicked myself.” I pushed myself up, pretending to be completely and utterly blind to how close we were laid previously.

“Are you ok?” Max too, pushed himself up. I pushed the covers off me and glanced at my slightly swollen ankle. “I’m fine, just… hurt.” I winced, lowering it off the side of the bed.

“Oh- you can stay… if you want.” Max muttered, sounding a little nervous. My stomach grew butterflies, my heart felt like it exploded and as badly as I wanted to say yes and jump on him- something was stopping me.

“It’s okay. I better go to bed, thank you though.”

“Want me to walk you back?”

“30 seconds down the hall?” I giggled as he shrugged like it was obvious. I realised how rude that sounded, to turn down his offer. “It’s okay, thank you though, Max. I would stay but Blue is there- and if I don’t come back, you know, it looks a little…”

“I get it. Then they all start asking questions.” Max agreed as I offered him another smile. “Yeah. Exactly.” I turned my head a way, hesitating to actually turn around and leave. Max stood besides me at the door and to avoid any other form of intimate interaction I avoided eye contact at all cost.

By the time I’d got back to my bedroom I’d well and truly wanted to top myself. Well done Leni, well fucking done. That could have been one of the most finest moments of my life, not!

#max verstappen x you #max verstappen x reader #Max Verstappen x OC #Max Verstappen x HornerDaughter #max verstappen #F1 x reader #f1 x oc

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galaxythreads · 1 year

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unhinged, unconnected thoughts about the Hunger Games 1-3:

Katniss is one of The best female characters I have ever read in my life

Peeta is the definition of sad, wet paper man

I AM SO GRATEFUL THERE WERE CONSQUENCES From the games!! Like Katniss has permanent hearing damage. PEETA lost his LEG

Katniss' severe PTSD was so harsh and brutal and so so so good

Haymitch was such a little guy and I adored him for that. What I really liked about his character was that like -- he survived the Hunger Games. This was not a good thing. He was devastated by the fact that his family was killed and the only way he coped with that was by drinking. There was no getting better. There was no magic fix. It didn't just go away. Then he had to train and prepare 20 kids to go fight in the Games just like he did, knowing that he was sending them all out to die or survive like he did, and I have to imagine that toward the end, Haymitch probably hoped they died. It was easier than living

The Capitol was absolutely horrifying

The PTSD from the Games was vivid and it was so nice to see that this horrible bad thing that happened to the characters didn't just go away because they were in another book. Like it impacted their choices forever

Katniss and Peeta about to take the berries reminded me of Romeo and Juliet and I think that was probably on purpose. Neither can live without the other.

KATNISS IS FREAKING SIXTEEN AND ACTS LIKE SHE'S SIXTEEN

Katniss runs off and screams and cries and breaks down and fails and makes selfish decisions and selfless decisions and like she is SUCH A GOOD CHARACTER. Like I Honestly didn't think there would be a female character that competed with Joan Watson for #1 female for me, but Katniss is like. She's up there.

Gale was overall meh to me. He was There, but the emotional impact he had on Katniss was overall... yeah. just dots.

I'm really glad that Katniss was able to heal enough after 15 years from the Games to have kids. She wanted kids, and the mothering instinct is there, but she didn't want to bring them into a world where they wouldn't be safe. But Katniss having kids means that she does feel safe.

"you love me. Fake or real?" "real"

"sweetheart"

I literally did not realize the Hunger Games was science fiction until I got like halfway through the second one and was like oh yeah, yeah this is science fiction.

I CANNOT BELIEVE THAT THEY SENT THEM BACK TO THE GAMES IN BOOK 2!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHH

like all I'd heard about the Hunger Games was book 1, so everything after that to me was just ?????? and I was SO MAD but it made so much sense from the Capitol's perspective and I so wanted to strangle Snow.

District 13 overall annoyed me tbh, but I did get where they were coming from.

Everything in this series is so heavy. Like you feel the weight of the entire world just seeping down on you and it's actually kind of nice. I feel like the Hunger Games decided yeah, this is a dark, gloomy kinda world and then kept that tone. Books that keep the tone are SO RARE and i adore them.

PEETA PEETA PEETA

BREAD BOY

AMNEISA

PRIM DYING LIKE ???????????????????????? so good. So good. Like the whole reason Katniss went into the Games was to save her and like. She died anyway. Tragedy my beloved.

Katniss being so bad at speeches was absolutely hilarious. She is very much a speak from the heart kinda person and I'm glad that was never "fixed"

I love how a running theme in the series was that they have to document everything. There are video cameras everywhere, recording, always recording, and if they aren't it didn't happen. But Katniss is screaming IT HAPPENED IT HAPPENED anyway. Like with Rue's death.

I love that Peeta is so protective of Katniss, but would wholey hold her bow while she punched someone in the face. Like he's protective of her while respecting her strengths.

this series is dark, but I am going to reread this 4000000 times.

#the hunger games #hunger games #katniss everdeen #peeta mellark #haymitch abernathy #hunger games spoilers #catching fire #mokingjay #suzanne collins

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jounosparticles · 5 months

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jouno’s eyelashes - a quick analysis

yes im analyzing jouno’s eyelashes. im obsessed with him what can i say.

one thing i’ve noticed throughout my many rereads of jouno’s segments of the manga is that he is actually given eyelashes in a lot of the panels he is present in! often times they’re just thin white lines but they’re definitely there. here are some examples.

now, if we recall back to what harukawa said about eyes a long time ago:

the darker ones eyes are, the more tainted or corrupted a person is. someone who is doing good and/or feeling good may have whiter eyes. to rephrase, one who’s eyes are dark are typically doing something corrupt and/or are in an emotionally bad state. we see this numerous times throughout the manga with many characters, the shade of their eyes changes with their emotion at the time usually.

now what does this have to do with jouno? well, i believe his eyelashes are used to display his intentions since he keeps his eyes closed constantly.

now, there are definitely some exceptions to this. panels where his eyelashes are small could be hard to colour this way, so im looking past a few instances for that purpose.

anyways, i believe looking at his eyelashes in this perspective also hints towards his betrayal of fukuchi, since you can see he has good intent. more on this later.

i'd also like to preface this by reminding you that jouno believed he was in the right with most things he did. he was sure the agency was in the wrong for a long time, times where his lashes were white while dealing with the agency was likely because he believed himself to be doing what is good.

now, starting with his debut in chapter 57, his eyelids are almost completely black as he arrests dazai

his eyelashes appear a bit darker as he torments people i find.

such as shortly after he slices kunikida's notebook and asks tetchou to kill yosano.

one scene i actually want to put a lot of emphasis on here is chapter 78's interaction between jouno and kunikida.

here is his face when he first walks in, he's simply making small talk over how a terrorist attack is awful

we can see his lashes pretty well.

we can also see it well when he's talking about his asian pear. maybe he just really likes them.

however, as the conversation progresses onto tormenting kunikida, his eyelids casually grow darker.

they're not completely black yet, but you can tell he is enjoying bothering kunikida despite his claim of innocence.

after this, you can see his lashes are a little brighter as he announces that yosano is going to be executed.

this makes sense remembering that he is under the belief that yosano is guilty of terrorism and is getting the punishment he believes she deserves.

after this, jouno walks away as kunikida cries out in anger.

his eyelashes are almost completely black here, likely because he is getting nothing but personal enjoyment out of kunikida's grief. he isn't doing good by this and this could definitely be seen as corrupt behaviour.

a huge contrast to what i've been saying falls in chapters 71 and 72, the cafe scenes.

you can see the white of his eyelashes in nearly every panel he's in.

what makes this different than when he was bothering kunikida is that bothering the cafe owner was moving his case forward. he believed he was pursuing justice and doing what is right by extracting important information here; as opposed to doing nothing but mentally torturing someone who isn't improving his case. from his perspective, his actions weren't tainted in anyway except possibly approach, but since he was doing what was right his eyelids were painted white.

another example of this is in chapters 60 and 61, when he is fighting the agency for the first time.

and when the agency escapes and he's surprised to find out the pursued terrorist group would have allies in chapter 62.

i found that these three chapters had a lot of small panels where you couldn't really see the detail of his eyes, but generally they were white as he caught the criminals. they were also white as they escaped, since he was likely confused that people were easily supporting the group he perceived as evil.

my last example of this is his eyes being very white as he tortures the bank robbers in the flashback scenes in chapter 92.5.

he believes that he is seeking justice here. the robber gets what they deserve, and his intentions are what he believes in just which explains his eyes being white.

anyways, to summarize this all: jouno's eyelashes colour often displays his morality. his lashes seem to be coloured more white when he is doing what is morally right from his perspective. even if what he is doing is considered brutal by most, his eyes glow white if it is in pursing of justice or good. in contrast, if what he is doing has no overall benefit and he is just distressing someone for purely his own enjoyment, his eyelids often are coloured much darker.

however, as i said above i believe this subtly hinted at jouno's betrayal of fukuchi.

in chapter 92, we can still see by his eyelashes that he has the right intentions when hunting for the agency.

and towards the end of the chapter we see his eyes still have a small white streak, implying his bluff on actually being willing to switch to the other side. at the same time, the thinness of the lash could be so small because he is lying to his superior as well, which i suppose could also be seen as tainted behaviour.

however, after fukuchi's plan is unraveled we see the brightness shine again.

as i stated above, when he isn't doing what he believes is right or is tormenting people for no reason but his own enjoyment, his eyes look black. but if you look at the image below you can see his eyes are partially coloured white, hinting that he was going to do what was right. it is subtle colouring, i assume that is partially due to the fact that his face was rather small on the page. but regardless it is still noticeable.

and what do we know? he did switch up and betray fukuchi shortly after saying this.

with that in mind, there's one scene i deliberately avoided bringing up until now; the scene i believe heavily tries to avoid hinting at jouno's betrayal of fukuchi. im referring to the scene where jouno confronts aya.

as i said, if jouno is acting corrupt towards someone for his own fun, his eyelids are dark, but if he's doing something that he believes is just his lashes remain partially white. i believe that out of context his eyes would likely be black as he torments aya, however since he secretly had good intention they would have actually been white.

however, the readers had yet to know the context of his approach until the end of chapter 93, so they needed to hide the fact that he may have had good intent here.

so harukawa kept his eyes covered (or coloured his face differently) throughout the scene.

the most we see of his face in this whole scene is his side profile, which is small enough to not need to colour his eyelashes in.

i believe this was an intentional choice to keep the readers from guessing that he was doing something he believes is right here.

anyways, to sum up this segment i believe that jouno's eyelashes in chapter 92-92.5 subtly hinted at the fact that he was indeed siding with aya and was preparing to betray fukuchi.

in conclusion, i believe jouno's eyelashes hint at his true intent a lot. they show that he is a good person hiding behind a facade. the shading of his eyelids is a lot more subtle than how most character's eyes look in the manga, which i believe helps add more to jouno's somewhat moral ambiguity. he is an incredibly well-written character and i can't wait to see more of him!

#i actually had more examples on how his lashes show his morality but i maxxed out on images sigh #not even kidding i had to leave out so many parts due to lack of images that i may need to make jouno's eyelashes part 2.#i actually have a tiny suegiku analysis based off jouno's eyelashes cooking in my head right now. if u want me to post it i will!!#i hope this makes sense though. ive never seen anyone talk about it!#and who if not me will write a nearly 1.4k word mini essay on jouno's eyelashes(i love jouno so much)#how i believe his eyelashes show that he cares about the hunting dogs despite what he says because theyre usually white around them.#<- things that only make sense to bsd fans #this was fun to write as well! i got to just look at pictures of jouno and write my thoughts down yahoo #bsd #bungou stray dogs #bsd jouno #saigiku jouno #jouno saigiku #jouno bsd #jouno #bsd analysis #bsd thoughts #untagged images #axls rambling

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sprout-fics · 1 year

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i absolutely love your könig drabbles, i can’t help but keep rereading them over and over- hes just so mysterious 🤤

if you’re feeling in the mood to write for him some more- i’ve got a cute little trope. though i LOVE könig saving the reader every chance he gets, id like to get the chance to see her save his ass for once. maybe while he’s distracted with something/someone else, someone comes up from behind and the reader shoots their ass or sum. idrk how missions in cod work- never played it, but i wouldn’t want the person to be from either of their teams (don’t want to kill her own team + doesn’t make sense for his ally to hurt him)

If you don’t like that idea, any scenario of her saving him and he be like “SO U DO LIKE ME!!!” would make my year honestly

+ no pressure to write it ofc !

Wolverine

König x 'Maus' Reader

(Part 5 of "Little Mouse" Series)

Word Count: 1.5k Rating: Teen and up Tags: Enemies to lovers, Slow burn, Dark König, Reluctant allies, Lying to your team on behalf of your enemy boyfriend, Sniper! Reader, Female Reader Warnings: Mentions of human trafficking A/N: Just a small chapter/scene to tide everyone over before a longer next chapter!

You see the AQ fighter before he does.

Price has you on the backburner this mission- relegated to suppressive fire only as the rest of the team infiltrates the AQ warehouse where the cell is supposedly hiding human trafficking victims. It’s a clean house job. Get in, get out, lead the hostages to safety. Out of all the missions the 141 has done together, this is fairly tame.

So you perch from your spot atop a building 2 blocks away that overlooks the warehouse, exposed arms being baked by the Crimean sun, sweat beading along your neck. Here, high in the sky, you can see every move, every flutter, every step. Your finger taps along your weapon, and with every heartbeat you feel your blood thrum like a familiar staccato in your chest.

Yet the second you set up your sniper nest you had felt it, a prickle of awareness at the back of your senses. Like eyes watching you from the dark, it had bored along your back, creeping up your spine and setting goosebumps trilling across your flesh. Like a fox in a twilight grove, the wind ripples across your nape, and it carries the scent of something all too familiar, something forbidden, dangerous. You know the sensation well enough by now, know exactly what it means.

You aren’t alone.

You tell Price as much. You don’t have any evidence to go off of, but you trust your instincts. They’ve yet to fail you, and neither has he. You trust your captain wholeheartedly, his years of leadership and experience weighing down across his scarred shoulders and burdening him with the gravity that comes with duty.

So you listen when his voice echoes softly in the comms, concealed from the hostiles that lurk just beyond in the courtyard.

“Eyes open.” He tells you sternly, voice muted into his mic. “The second you see anything off you RV with us, clear?”

Clear.

You’re instructed to stay where you are, to not betray your position and be the perfectly little still mouse you are, not moving a single muscle. So you do, tracing the group as they make their way through the back gate of the warehouse single file, weapons ready.

Under his instruction you down the three fighters standing near the entryway, their bodies slumping limply to the ground but caught and dragged off before their comrades are any the wiser.

You watch as Price and the others rally behind a door leading inside, faces grim and eyes sparking with determination.

Then, movement.

About a hundred feet away where they can’t see. A flash of gray and green in the dying afternoon sun, his massive form carefully concealed behind a corner. Watching, observing, but not interfering.

It’s him.

König.

By the time you switch your comms back on though the group has breached the warehouse, and your radio is filled with barked orders and rapid gunfire that drowns out your voice when you attempt to speak.

“Price? Price, how copy?”

The captain doesn’t respond.

All the while König creeps closer, staying in the slanted shadows of the building. Form coiled, he seems for all the world like a wolverine, muscles rippling and claws outstretched. The metal of his bracers flicker like fangs in the sun, bared and dripping threats. The static of your radio feels for all the world like a grinding growl that echoes deep into your own chest, a warning that’s come far too late.

They don’t know he’s there.

Your voice shakes now as you try to contact the boys, but the radio crackles with echoing gunfire and the static aftershock of a frag grenade. You can hear the screams of the hostages now, rising and pitching high to the wind. Gaz barks rapidly in Arabic, and his voice overlaps your wavering tone that they don’t seem to hear.

So instead you level your scope at him, at this man who is your enemy despite the fact he’s saved your life more times than you care to remember. There, in the crosshairs, you see the details of him, of his hood streaked with bleach tears, the whites of his eyes behind the coal dark stain, the planes of his shoulders as he turns away from you. He’s armed, just with a knife that glints in the dying light.

You’ve seen it before, seen it drip red onto the cracked, dry earth as one of his comrades gurgled wetly at his feet, dead by his hand. He had tried to hurt you, but it had not been you that had killed him. Even now you can remember that hood, the fabric shifting as he had turned for you- reached out to where your hand hovered over your radio.

Don’t.

He hadn’t hurt you, and yet-

It would only take a single shot.

All this time you’ve been chasing each other. He’s tried to kill the others, nearly succeeded in killing Gaz. He’s pursued you, only to let you go. It’s a dangerous, imbalanced game of cat and mouse where he stalks your nighttime dreams, only to appear in daylight with stunning clarity. He’s taken you, has rescued you, has watched you from the shadows, has touched you, let his hand feel your racing heartbeat. He’s your enemy. He’s your fascination. He could kill you. He’s saved you.

He could be dead by your hand if you just…

You blink, and there’s movement behind him.

An AQ fighter who limps from a side door, escaping the chaos inside. Smoke trails after him, evidence of one of Soap’s thrown grenades. He turns as he coughs and splutters, clutching a wound on his thigh. Then he spots König, and in his hand you see the flash of a muzzle.

König stops, begins to turn.

The man takes aim with trembling hands.

You fire.

The round forces the air from your lungs, shot as you sucked in a gasp and hissing as it escapes. Like a crack of thunder it rings out against the sky, deafening the world and leaving an unsettled stillness in its wake. Almost instantly the head of the AQ fighter erupts in a grotesque spume of red, and his body tilts backwards, off balance, before he slumps at König’s feet.

He stills.

It takes König a moment to register what just happened. You can see his head tilt down to the fighter’s corpse, entire body drawn taut like a bow as he watches scarlet pool at his boots. Yet faster than you anticipated his eyes flash, turn to seek you like a homing missile, eyes wide and searching. They settle on you, perched one hundred meters away at the top of an empty building, stomach flat against the rooftop where rubble digs into your skin.

You look past your scope to where he stands, hands clenched at his sides, eyes bright, shoulder stiff and coiled. He doesn’t move from where he stands, doesn’t even flinch.

You could kill him.

He’s wide open.

Yet then König tilts his head at you, blinking slowly like a lazy cat in the sun. It’s as if he realizes exactly where he is, how a single pull of the trigger could end him where he stands. A sensible soldier would dive for cover, would raise his own weapon and fire back to buy time for an escape.

König does neither.

Instead he raises the hand not holding his blade to his face, lets his fingers graze his chin before lowering his open palm in front of him. It feels like a gesture, an entreaty, one offered to you with something akin to reverence. You recognize the hand signal instantly.

Thank you.

You blink, lips parting in wonder, and all at once the air in your chest feels too warm, too light, unfurling like a delicate, pale thing with soft downy wings.

“Rookie.” Price barks in your ear, and you flinch at his sudden voice. “How are we looking? ready for ex-fil?”

You pause, hand hovering over your comms. König sees the gesture from where he stands, all the way below. Even though he pauses for a moment, he eventually locks eyes with you, nods once-

And vanishes back into the shadows.

“Rookie, how copy?”

“Clear.” You tell your captain, even if you don’t believe your own voice, shaking as it is. “One straggler on the south side of the building, eliminated. Your route is clear.”

“Copy that.”

Yet then Price pauses, the comms crackling with wordless chatter beyond him as Gaz and the others sort the hostages, until at last his voice resumes.

“Did you see him?”

The warm air in your chest feels caught, stifled. Yet when you look all you see is shadows, and even the aftereffect seems to have evaporated, as if he was never there at all.

“No.” You reply softly, and the lie tastes sour on your lips.

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#könig x reader #König #könig imagine #könig x you #cod mw22 #my writing #my fic #fic: little mouse #drabble #This can be read after the most recent chapter if you're looking for a chronological timeline!#Most recent chapter is 'the witching hour' for reference :)

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