#and taking it without fighting back and constantly reminding yourself and them that you know it’s not Them but the Illness is exhausting | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

Visit Blog

Explore Tumblr blogs with no restrictions, modern design and the best experience.

Fun Fact

In 2020, Tumblr had 29.4 million users in the US.

#and taking it without fighting back and constantly reminding yourself and them that you know it’s not Them but the Illness is exhausting

ma1dita · 3 months

Note

its 2am and im delirious im so sorry but

jealous! (and maybe clingy!)luke x apollo!reader when he sees the same couple of campers constantly coming to you for medical attention over small scratches or feigned illnesses just to get your attention..and reader is just so kind to everyone they’d never refuse to treat anybody no matter how minor the injury, but it drives luke a little mad teehee 🤭

🐥 also happy (late) birthday jo!!

🐥🐥🐥🐥🐥

luke castellan x gn!apollo!reader

a/n: i will never get tired of bf!luke.

wc: 947

“Be with you in a second, sweet boy!”

Your hands were fiddling with gauze as you brush past Luke sitting on the only empty bed left in the infirmary. And you weren’t even talking to him! Your words were directed to his half-sibling and with all the others waiting for you, it was obvious that you weren’t leaving your shift anytime soon despite his plans for your date night.

“Doc, what about me? I feel sick too,” he mutters into your neck, big hands pulling at your waist and playing with the smock tied around your frame.

“What’s the matter, my love?” You coo, brushing back his mop of hair and looking into his honey sweet eyes. He grins and it’s a bit boyish and quite sinister, all Luke with a definite trick up his sleeve.

“My heart hurts…. because I pulled a few strings to have dinner with you at the lake and we’re not there right now,” he sighs, hot breath tickling your earlobe, “And I need you to fix me up too.” Cheeky asshole.

You bite your lip and slowly pull yourself away from his embrace, not without kissing the corner of his mouth before the fluttery feeling is weighed down by the reminder of your responsibilities at the sound of a scream from across the infirmary.

The room was filled with campers of all ages vying for your attention and waiting for your gentle hands to tend to everything from a scraped knee to a rising fever (though if you ask Luke, he’s so sure he saw Bradley from cabin 9 standing over the forge in the armory trying to break a sweat earlier).

It was sickening. Someone ought to tell these campers to get in line. Connor Stoll almost skips–excuse me, limps, (now that you’re watching him again) towards Luke with a shit-eating grin at his moody disposition at the fact that he has to fight for your attention.

“Beat it, loser.”

“Baby! Don’t be mean or I’ll ask you to leave. Get up, Connie needs to get his knee wrapped,” you say with a furrow in your brow. Your eyes dart around the room wondering where the rest of your siblings have gone to help you heal these campers, but unlike you, they’ve already clocked out for the day. It’s a wonder how many kids at Camp Half-Blood get brutalized, maimed, or both on the daily, but it’s all in a day’s work of being a child of Apollo.

“Yeah, move it bighead!”

Luke grumbles, rising to his feet and shoving Connor a bit harder than what’s brotherly, so much so that the preteen falls face first into the cot. (Luke thought it was dumb that the kid was acting like a baby since the idiot scraped his knee jumping off the roof of the dining pavilion because Travis and Chris dared him to.)

“OWWW!” he groans, and before you can react, Bradley’s asking for another cold towel and little Lila from cabin 4 starts crying about her sun poisoning from being out in the strawberry field—your shaking hands and wide eyes let Luke know you’re at your limit so he ushers you behind a curtain for examinations.

“Honestly, you’re overworked babe. Take a break,” he says sternly, but softens as you look up at him with a pout and a whole lot of love. He smooths your hair down and hands you a glass of water.

“Just need to see the rest of the patients for the day and send them on their way. I don’t want anyone to be hurt,” you mumble through sips, leaning against the wall and shutting your eyes. To Luke, it sounded like the quicker you get through this the more time he spends with you— and so he moves so quickly that you barely process what he’s doing until you hear various complaints from campers (who are annoyed that their new nurse isn’t as pretty as you and dons a fierce glare and curls that hang over his forehead like a dark cloud).

Nurse Luke models after what he’s seen you do here countless times, but in a way that’s very much his own. He gives out ambrosia and nectar, cleans up booboos where needed, tells Bradley to fuck off and take a cold shower, tapes Connor’s mouth shut, and awkwardly jokes to a kid from cabin 6 that he probably shouldn’t be the one doing stitches or he’ll get a scar that looks like the one running down his cheek. They agree to wait until later, holding bloody gauze to their chin.

By the time you’ve calmed yourself down, you pull back the curtain to see an eerily quiet infirmary (and you’re not sure if they’ve been threatened into silence) but everyone is bandaged, fed and watered—to the best of Luke’s ability. It brings up a sunny smile on your face that reminds him of the first rays of morning light which is a view he never gets tired of, and you finally throw in the towel when Leo and little Will come in for the evening shift.

A resounding sigh is heard from the infirmary’s patients as you leave with your boyfriend, to which you don’t think much of as you look at Luke like he’s the answer to all of your problems. He kisses you in the doorway like its a cure, whispering sweet nothings and promises of a nice dinner at the lake even if it’s pitch black outside now.

It also serves to those damn kids as a reminder that he’s the one who gets to fuss over you and though he doesn’t like starting fights, boy, does he love ending them, in his own little way.

#jo's 23rd birthday bash ⋆｡°✩#luke castellan x reader #luke castellan fluff #percy jackon and the olympians #made by ma1dita ♥︎#for my gn babies (づ ◕‿◕ )づ

544 notes · View notes

l0v3tast3 · 11 months

Note

Pervy!Krueger? He just, looks like a man who would steal your panties and purposely grind against you when you and him are training.

god sebastian krueger is so hot. i love him his skins in cod ? his voice ?? his regular voice sounds so calm and even u just KNOW he's hiding some freaky shit behind that !!! thank u anon for opening up this beautiful new path of a new character to write <3

✎ tags: mdni! nsft, female reader, age gap (r is 20's, krueger is 35), dirty talk, abuse of pet names, possessive!krueger, edging, public s3x, he buys u slutty outfits, innocence/corruption kink

✎ word count: 1.3k words (not proofread)

translations: spatzi - little sparrow (pls someone confirm i'm not 100% sure?) mein engel - my angel / schatzi - little treasure jammere nicht - don't whine / das gör - brat

masterlist

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!sebastian who teaches you self-defense mostly for the opportunity to feel you up that much more. he uses the excuse that you're small (you aren't that much shorter than him) and it makes you an "easy target". but you always hear the satisfied little laugh he huffs out whenever he effortlessly pins you down, you always feel his hips pressing into your back or stomach when he straddles you and holds you by your wrists.

✧ ˖ ° it's very obviously a power play for him, another way for him to make a point of how he has you now, how he won't let you get away. sebastian reminds you of it constantly. he spells his name on your clit, leaves you covered with the imprints of his teeth and stains of his cum and spit. when he's covering your body with his, his thick cock stretching you enough for him to be licking away the beginnings of tears under your eyes, he'll remind you of it. "spatzi, you feel so good. you were made for me, don't you know? just as i was made for you. no other man will ever make you feel like this- right, mein engel?" sebastian makes damn sure you know who you belong to, and proving how easily he can overpower you (and therefore protect you) while "training" you is just another way to do that.

✧ ˖ ° obviously, sebastian would rather die than ever actually hurt you. that doesn't mean he'll let you go without a (figurative) fight- so when he has you under him on the mat for the fourth time in a row, he'll grin while he leans down to graze his lips against yours. "what will you do when you have nowhere left to run?" before you even take enough of a breath to respond, he knows what you'll say: that you won't run. it's the loveliest sound sebastian has ever heard.

✧ ˖ ° despite his love of seeing you under him, when you finally manage to get him under you, he's has nothing but praise for you. he easily breaks out of your hold on his wrists to sit up with you on his lap, his hands cupping your face to bring you in for a kiss. "well done, schatzi. i am very impressed." sebastian rewards you immensely after that.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!sebastian who genuinely gets annoyed when you wear anything but only his shirts when you're at his house. if you dare to try to wear pants or even underwear, he'll take them off of you, pocket your panties, and edge you for as long as he deems fit. "jammere nicht- you brought this on yourself, das gör," he'll mutter with a slap to your thigh or ass whenever you start begging to cum. "how many times will i have to tell you? you don't need those when you are with me."

✧ ˖ ° eventually (and unsurprisingly) he'll start escalating to outside the house. sebastian will make sure to buy you endless amounts of little sundresses and skirts that never go past your knees while you're together. he won't say anything about it until you start catching on and ask him why, and even then, he'll play dumb. the approach to getting you to like the idea of his fingers stuffed into your cunt around others is slow at first; a hand that creeps further up your thigh with every dinner, movie, coffee date you go on. when his fingertips finally meet the edge of your underwear, he'll have the most salacious grin you've ever seen.

✧ ˖ ° sitting together on a bench overlooking the river you had walked along, your hand grips his wrist and you dart anxious eyes in several directions. "don't worry, schatzi," he'll whisper, turning towards you to press kisses against your neck. "there is no one else here. do you think i would really let anyone besides me see you like this?" his insinuation is a lie, of course- he wants them to see you. sebastian wants everyone to see his claim on you, to see how only he can make you feel good. as soon as you relax your hold he's pulling your panties to the side and drawing circles on your clit.

✧ ˖ ° it nearly becomes a habit, something you expect and anticipate whenever you go out together. sebastian will get you to the point where you're squirming in your seat before his hand even moves from your knee, casting impatient looks at him if he's taking too long. it's the one time he doesn't mind you being a brat- it is his own fault, after all. you both love the game of trying not to get caught, you trying to hide your hitched breath and rocking hips and him trying not to make it obvious how deep his fingers are reaching into you.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!sebastian who likes dressing you up in slutty little outfits and costumes. after he shows you his latest purchase and sweet talks you into putting it on just for him, he'll happily sit on the couch and wait for you to shuffle out of his bedroom. he'll have the biggest smile when he beckons you over, lathering your legs and stomach with kisses while you stand between his legs. "so ein schönes mädchen, such a good girl for me." (such a beautiful girl)

✧ ˖ ° it's not uncommon for him to pull out a matching collar for the outfit. he just thinks it's the perfect finishing touch, always a color that compliments your skin well, always fitting perfectly as a sign of his claim. sebastian will be so gentle while he wraps it around your neck, always asking if it's too tight- as soon as it's secured, though, he's tugging on it to pull your back to his chest. his hands will run all over your body as he admires it from over your shoulder, biting into your soft skin as his hands sneak under the tiny pieces of fabric.

✧ ˖ ° pervy older boyfriend!sebastian who, if you couldn't tell already, is very possessive of you. you're his sweet little angel, untainted by the horrors that have reached into him. you need someone to protect you. to keep you safe, to keep the wool over your eyes against the people who want to corrupt you (in less-good ways than he does). sebastian is more than happy to take on that role. you're just so innocent when you first meet, so soft and naïvely curious to learn why his cock aches whenever he's around you.

✧ ˖ ° taking your virginity was one thing, but the first time he sees your childhood bedroom when you're not living in your university dorm, sebastian ends up ravaging you. stuffed animals, pink fairy lights casting an intoxicating glow over your skin, the entire cutesy aesthetic all makes him jump on you the second he's climbed through your window. he gags you with your frilly white panties and folds you in half on your floor- there's no time wasted in burying his tongue in your little cunt. "stop squirming, schatzi. you don't want your parents to hear us, do you? lass mich mein mahl genießen." (let me enjoy my meal).

✧ ˖ ° sebastian's possessiveness over you knows no bounds- there's always a hand on the back of your neck or a bit too low on your waist in public. there's always some piece of jewelry with his initials on you. he's always by your side. he'll come with to meet your friends and when they try to pull you to the side and say something about how he never lets you stray far, he'll fuck you in the bathroom and grin when you come out all dumb. sebastian wants everyone to know that he makes you happy, keeps you safe, makes you feel better than anyone else ever could. sebastian wants you to know all that, most of all.

(´꒳`)♡ likes, reblogs, n comments are always appreciated!

#— ask!#— lilly writes! ♡#call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty #cod mw2 #sebastian krueger #krueger cod #sebastian krueger x reader #krueger x reader #krueger x you #sebastian krueger x you

2K notes · View notes

lily-radiance · 4 months

Text

Hazbin Hotel idea

- Fallen-Angel reader(Fem) x Alastor

The reader is doubting Heaven's actions and decides to take a trip to Hell to see for herself.

- Disagrees with the idea of senseless carnage but understands life is not so simple and split in two.

- Charlie, of course, takes her in, although she does not know the reader is an angel. The reader at first doubts the redemption idea but begins to see the vision.

- Reader is not a fan of Lucifer for many reasons, but mainly because he "betrayed" Heaven, and his relationship with Lilith/Charlie is strained.

- Imagine Hell's greatest Dad, but instead of y'know the whole dad part, Lucifer and Alastor are trying to make you pick a side.

- Alastor, chaotic as usual, tries to get the reader to accept being fallen and doesn't want her to go back. She tells him about her 'predicament' before anyone else, and you better believe he wants to fight the angels for you. He tells Charlie and the others about everything because he knows you won't do it yourself. You obviously get mad. Like big mad.

- In your spiral, he sees your wings at their total capacity, and your shaken demeanor has them changing from white to black at a high rate.

- Vox and Valentino get the terrible idea to hold you for ransom against Alastor and Angel Dust, and they do not go unpunished. Vox makes several derogatory comments about your "holier than thou image," Alastor won't let him get away with it. When it comes to you, he has no problem with your lineage, and honestly, he finds it charming that an angel of all creatures would fall for him.

One of your wings gets injured, and unsurprisingly, it happens to be one of the only angelic wings left. (Say the top and bottom wings on each side are black while the middle two are white?) You used to dye your wings to hide your angelic nature, but with an injury present, it is the least of your concerns. Alastor refuses to let you fly while in recovery, and he has to deal with your pouting. When you do heal, he's still weary, always accompanying you in case you need a helping hand.

"Al, I can fly on my own! Look, my wing is healed!"

"No."

"C'mon, just one lap around the hotel!"

"No."

- Husk thinks you're pretty chill company and likes to vent when you have nothing to do. Sure, he can't say much about Alastor without fearing for his soul, but when he can, the conversations are never dull. If you make him laugh, you'll never let him forget it.

- Angel and Nifty constantly tease you about your infatuation with a particular radio demon. Don't expect any worthwhile advice, even if it means no harm. Charlie really wants to see you and Al together, but she might need to be reminded about boundaries.

- Angel Dust once tried to hit on you to see what would happen and nearly got thrown into next week.

- When he says "Good Girl" to Charlie, you can't help but blush and be a little jealous. He isn't afraid to use the phrase to fluster you on purpose, although you would prefer he not.

- If you wear makeup/do your nails, he will be fascinated. He doesn't say anything because once, he spooked you and made you jump, ruining it. The next hour was spent with him memorizing every detail of your designs in case of another mistake. If he scares you again, it's his job to redo everything. Except for mascara. Never mascara.

- Chess and poker games when the staff has downtime. He will use his shadows to help you cheat, but only if he's not playing with you. Husk knows but says nothing.

- If you're listening to music with earbuds, he will occasionally slow the signal so he can bother you. At first, you were annoyed, but realized it was his odd way of communication. Plus, he still hates technology. (You will purposely play "Video Killed The Radio Star" to get him back.)

"Would you kindly stop playing that infernal song, my dear?"

"Not until you stop interrupting my music."

- The Egg Bois love you, that's no surprise. They always ask about you when being watched by Alastor. The radio demon has come to accept the many questions by now, but the first time, he wanted to spit out his coffee. You think fondly of the memory, occasionally bringing it up to lighten the mood.

"Are you and Mom fighting?"

- When you get into disagreements, expect a few dozen bouquets of white roses in your room. He's terrible at expressing emotions other than murderous intent, and Charlie does what she can to help. You're both stubborn, but it gets too exhausting to keep up the act, and eventually, someone has to cave. (Charlie isn't afraid to wear her horns when confronting him, and if he tries to avoid apologizing, Lucifer will make a daily phone call to annoy him.)

"Hey asshole, talk to your girlfriend, it's upsetting my daughter. Also, you suck."

- Regarding the Extermination day, you try your best to fight the Angelic invasion but struggle. Alastor is stuck between keeping you and the Hotel safe. When Adam nearly beats him, you don't know he's alive, but his reappearance at the new and improved hotel is a welcome sight. He's a little rattled that he almost died, but seeing you safe is enough to keep him going. He might be a tad crazier, but you love him to pieces anyway as you run up and hug him. Typically, he despises physical contact, but coming from you, he doesn't mind, even going so far as to hug you back.

"I assure you that I'm alright, mon cher."

"Are you sure, Al, because that was a difficult fight. Wait—your voice!"

The radio demon takes a moment to realize that without his staff, his voice is clearer than before.

"Oh, you must mean the radio feedback is gone. Yes, I suppose you've never heard my regular voice. I had forgotten what it sounded like. How is it?

"It sounds lovely. I couldn't imagine a better fit."

"I should return the compliment; that is what a proper gentleman does. Your wings look lovely as ever, (Y/N)."

You look over your shoulder to see the feathers no longer entirely black, but back to their ivory shade. A few straggled feathers remain, but you don't mind, overjoyed.

In the middle of your undeniably cute interaction, the rest of the staff is watching. It isn't until Husk interrupts with "get a room" that you two get the hint.

Bonus:

Ruffle this tall disaster's hair. He might complain, but he loves it.

Are you feeling extra crazy? Boop him. Just boop the nose. He will do the same to you.

#hazbin hotel #fanfiction #hazbin alastor #hazbin spoilers #alastor x reader

453 notes · View notes

sattlersquarry · 2 months

Text

the great divide (steve harrington x fem!reader)

Summary: (Post Season 4 AU, the sequel to orange juice) After your miraculous return to the land of the living, you aren't doing well.

Word Count: ~12k

Warnings: 18+ PLEASE!!!! for language, anxiety, depression, and suicidal ideation. The reader has panic attacks and intrusive thoughts about Not Wanting To Be Alive. If that will be triggering for you please don't read this (read my happier bloom series instead). there's also an allusion to a relapse, slut-shaming, and allusions to sex (although there's no smut, it just gets slightly steamy). this fic is angst + hurt/comfort with an optimistic ending. inspired by noah kahan's music (including this amazing demo on instagram).

a/n: please let me know if i missed any warnings. please don't read this if you think it will be too triggering. the last thing i want is to make someone upset! but writing this was cathartic and helped me work through some things, i think. writing is magical!

🫀🫀🫀

THE GREAT DIVIDE

SOMETIME IN 1987

You aren’t sure how long it’s been since you last saw your friends. It feels like a fucking long time.

You woke up on the ground of the Upside Down, covered in dried blood and terrified at the sight of Vecna towering above you.

He brought you back to life. He wanted to send you back home and use you as a soldier and spy, the same thing he did to Will, Billy, Heather, and countless others.

“If you do this,” Vecna had growled, “You can once again see your family. Your friends. Your beloved Steven. Otherwise…you will die here.”

You refused, not interested in being his lackey. He tried to flay you anyway, but he was weak from the hell Nancy, Steve, and Robin rained down on him, allowing you to escape his clutches.

He stalked you for days, finally catching up to you—but you got the upper hand, using Eddie’s spear to stab him. Repeatedly.

Killing Vecna caused the gates he opened to sew themselves back shut before you could get through. You were glad that your friends no longer had to worry about Vecna and his army of monsters pouring through the four gates, but it meant you were trapped on the wrong side of the universe.

Vecna gone meant the Upside Down could revert back to what it was before he arrived. Now, the sky of the Upside Down was a buttery yellow, and it was much warmer. You saw patches of green grass and flowers starting to grow in various spots around town. But it still felt like a nightmare.

You wander the Upside Down each day with a routine: avoid monsters, forage for food and clean water, and visit the gates to see if any of them reopened. Food and water aren’t as hard to find as you feared, since the world isn’t so much of a poison, desolate nightmare anymore. But the gates stay staunchly shut, much to your chagrin.

You miss your life. You miss Steve. You miss his laugh, his smile, his kisses, his touch. You would do ungodly things to see him again.

You hope he’s okay. Any time you want to give up, you remind yourself that if roles were reversed, Steve would keep fighting to come back to you no matter what.

And, to your pleasant surprise, he does just that.

🫀🫀🫀

AUGUST 1987

It’s been three months since you returned to the land of the living. You’re not taking it well.

Surviving the Upside Down meant constantly being in fight-or-flight, scrambling to find food and clean water while avoiding demo-creature attacks. Without Vecna’s evil influence, the animals weren’t so bloodthirsty—but they still needed to eat.

You were able to avoid them, surviving yourself off disgusting canned food from the Upside Down’s version of the Big Buy and whatever houses you ransacked. It wasn’t very appetizing. It made the meal you were serving up today seem like a 5-star, 5-course delight.

It was neither of those things. It was for a church potluck that your mother had a hand in throwing. Lots of casseroles and carbs. She dragged you along to volunteer in hopes to get you out of the house.

Ever since you left the hospital in May, you’d only ever left the house to go to doctor’s appointments, therapy appointments, and Steve’s place. Your parents wanted to encourage more of a well-rounded life and schedule, and although they’d never admit it, you figured they hoped you’d turn back to your normal self. To the person you were before it all happened.

You think she might have died.

As you plate some macaroni and cornbread for your next patron, you sense eyes on you. You glance over and see two women at a table a few feet away. To your chagrin, they’re gossiping about you.

“I mean, it’s appalling,” an old bat named Shirley hisses. “She claims to have lost her memory after the earthquake and gotten lost, but it’s obvious that she just ran away.”

“Probably thought she was grown up, that she knew better than her parents,” Mildred says with a sniff, adjusting her too-big glasses.

“I can’t believe she left poor Steve Harrington high and dry,” Shirley adds.

Your heart clenches at the fact that these women see you as a villain, as an irresponsible idiot who up and left everyone who loved her out of spite. If they knew the truth…if they knew the nightmare you’d survived…

It only gets worse from there.

“You know what Cynthia told me?” Mildred says. “That her cousin’s roommate’s friend’s brother saw Y/N working a street corner in Manassas. It's just shameful.”

Anger burns through you, hot like hellfire. So, what? You’re not just a flake—you’re a slut to this people now, too? What happened to ‘loving thy neighbor’ and ‘forgiveness’ and all that shit?

“Can I get some more of that?” an elderly man says.

It snaps you back to your task at hand: dishing out food to hungry churchgoers.

“Ah, yeah,” you say. You dump macaroni on his Styrofoam plate. “Sorry. Here you go.”

The man smiles and ambles off. You take a deep breath and try your best to tune out the whispers of the chattering hens.

Your mother must notice the scowl on your face. She makes her way to you, practically floating, as graceful as ever. She’s totally in her element. She deserves a daughter who doesn’t clomp and stumble her way through life. Who doesn’t jump at every loud noise and sleep with a hunting knife under her pillow.

“Doing all right?” your mother asks you, giving you that sympathetic look that you think you might despise by now.

You muster up a smile of your own and nod.

Your mother can’t tell its fake and beams.

“See?” she says. “I knew getting you out of the house would turn that frown upside-down!”

She doesn’t know about the Upside Down. She thinks you got injured in the earthquake, stumbled through the Indiana woodlands, and got found by cops two states over. That you couldn’t remember where you came from due to amnesia, that since they pronounced you dead no one assumed you were the missing girl from Hawkins until your memories came back.

You let her comment slide and fake a smile, figuring it’s better to pretend you’re fine than feel it all.

🫀🫀🫀

That night, you chat with Steve on the phone. He’s gone back to college for the fall semester and you miss him terribly.

He promised he’d come back to Hawkins every other weekend. He knows how hard it’s been for you coming back. Or, he says he knows. Sometimes, you get the idea that he doesn’t really understand.

How could he? Every time he tries to get you to open up about what happened and what you went through, you shut down.

However, when he asks how your day was, you decide to be honest.

“It sucked,” you say. You blow out a huff of air. “These old crones were being total bitches at the church potluck. Apparently, the new conspiracy theory is that I was turning tricks in Virginia.”

“Ugh, I’m so sorry Y/N,” Steve says. For some reason, the sympathy in his voice makes you wince.

“But it’s fine,” you say quickly. “I don’t care what they say about me.”

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

“It’s okay if you do, you know,” Steve says, speaking slowly and carefully as if he’s worried about setting you off. (For good reason; you’ve been prone to outbursts of anger lately.)

“I know!” you say, defensiveness seeping into your tone. “But I don’t give a shit. Really.”

“Good,” Steve says. But he sounds unconvinced. “You shouldn’t.”

Another pause. It lasts a little too long for your liking. You clear your throat.

“I should probably shower and head to bed,” you say. “It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, totally,” Steve says. You don’t understand why he sounds almost intrigued by the prospect of your boring nighttime routine until he says, “A shower with you sounds like heaven right now…”

Shit. You’re really not in the mood for phone sex. Even if that’s not what Steve is angling for, just slightly flirty banter doesn’t sound fun to you either.

Steve has been a total gentleman ever since you got back. You’ve kissed a little, but anytime he tries to take it further, you stop him. As much as you longed for him in every sense while in the Upside Down, you don’t feel ready to re-engage in those kinds of activities—like you’ve been shot back to the insecure, unconfident person you were before you started dating Steve.

He respects those boundaries and never, ever presses for more. But you worry he’s getting bored and wants to get back into old habits, possibly evidenced by his shower comment.

You’re a coward. You don’t tell him outright that you’re not in the mood, afraid he’ll have an out-of-character reaction and chew you out for being a prude or a tease.

“Huh?” you say. Steve starts to repeat his salacious comment, but you interrupt with: “Bad…connection…can’t…better…”

You hang up the phone and let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

🫀🫀🫀

OCTOBER 1987

It’s a Thursday in October, and you’re taking a trip for the first time in a long time.

“You have everything you need?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Toothbrush? Extra socks? Lambchop?”

You huff and roll your eyes, crossing your arms like a petulant teenager.

“Mom! I’m an adult. I do not need a stuffed animal.”

“But you packed her, right?”

You mumble out a “Yes” as she pulls up to the parking lot near Steve’s apartment building.

You applied for spring admission at the University of Indiana. Your lovely boyfriend invited you to stay with him for a few days so he could show you around campus for homecoming weekend.

Tonight is the unofficial campus tour with “Tour Guide Steve.” Tomorrow, you’ll help him and his friends put the finishing touches on a homecoming parade float, and Saturday is the big football game.

Before your disappearance and assumed death, your parents were insanely strict about you staying the night with Steve and wouldn’t have allowed it. Now, they’ve mellowed out—but you hate thinking it’s because of some kind of twisted pity.

Steve must have seen your mom’s minivan pull up from his apartment window, because he jogs over to you before you’ve even grabbed your bag from the trunk.

“Hey, babe!” he says with a beaming grin; the picture of exuberance. You can feel his excitement roll off him in waves. You feel like an asshole for matching his energy. Even though you’re excited for time with Steve, you have a pit in your stomach at the thought of being away from home for so many days.

Of course, if you get accepted to U of I, you’ll be away from home for weeks at a time. You try not to think about that.

Steve hugs you tightly, and you hope he can’t sense your apprehension.

He seems not too, still smiling as he gives your mom a quick hug and then offers to carry your duffel bag for you.

You give your mom a hug goodbye, promising to call if you want to get picked up early.

You and Steve wave as your mom drives away. After dropping your bag off at his apartment, Steve takes you on an abridged campus tour that ends at the dining hall. He wants to introduce you to his friends.

He has friends here. Of course he does, you’re glad he does. No one should feel like they don’t have friends, or like their girlfriend is their only friend. But what does it mean that your boyfriend is your only friend lately?

Nancy’s off at Emerson. As for the Hawkins crew, Jonathan’s busy with family stuff, helping Joyce and Hopper renovate their new house. Eddie’s preoccupied with his band, trying to get Corroded Coffin off the ground after a he-was-accused-of-murder hiatus. And Robin’s a student at Roane County Community College, spending her days with marching band and classes and clubs and work.

They’ve started inviting you to things, and sometimes you go. You usually don’t have much fun, distracted with your own anxieties and unable to think of anything interesting to say.

So, the fact that Steve seems to have moved on from everything so easily and has a pack of friends at college makes you feel pathetic, even though it shouldn’t.

At the dining hall, Steve introduces you to his buddies. When Steve lived on-campus last semester, Gus was his roommate. Now Steve’s moved into his own apartment off-campus, but the boys still hang out often and play together on a club basketball team.

Jessica is Gus’ girlfriend. She has a kind smile and compliments your sweater.

The last friend in their clique is Rochelle. She’s tall and slender, like a supermodel. Apparently, she and Jessica grew up together and are good friends.

Everyone greets you happily when Steve introduces you—except Rochelle, who looks you up and down like she’s inspecting you. It makes you uneasy.

You immediately start to dislike her more when she laughs loudly at Steve’s jokes and squeezes his shoulder flirtatiously.

“You are tew much, Harrington,” Rochelle says, flipping her shiny hair over her shoulder.

It makes you feel tense and jealous and angry and sick all at once.

You’re completely content to listen in silence while the others chat, but then Jessica asks where you go to school.

“Oh, um, here, in the spring,” you say. “Uh, hopefully.”

“That’s awesome!” Gus says. “You get the full Hoosiers homecoming experience a whole semester before having to pay tuition.”

You chuckle and smile. Any good feelings you have about this interaction come crashing down when Rochelle asks, “So, like, if you aren’t a student right now, what do you do?”

“She’s working at Sonic,” Steve says. “Saving up money. Right babe?”

You turn to him, face falling. You’re not working. You tried to apply for a job at Sonic and had a panic attack when you saw the gap in your resume from your 15 months in the Upside Down, so you roller-skated your way home to unemployment.

Did you not tell Steve that? You suppose you “forgot” to tell him about that panic episode.

“Uh, actually no,” you say, furrowing your brow. “Not anymore. I’m just taking a semester off.”

Surprise flashes behind Steve’s eyes, but he recovers quickly. He throws an arm around your shoulders and says, “Right, of course.”

The rest of the conversation is mostly you smiling and nodding along to the funny stories and inside jokes the group shares. When you and Steve get back to his place later that evening, you apologize for not updating him on the Sonic situation sooner.

Steve waves away your apology.

“Don’t even worry about it,” he says.

“But I feel bad,” you say, fidgeting with your fingers while you sit next to him on the couch. “I can’t believe I forgot to tell you.”

(You didn’t truly forget. You were embarrassed and didn’t want him to know.)

“These things happen,” Steve says. “I totally get it. For a few months after Vecna and…you, my brain was like scrambled eggs. I’d drink myself to a coma every other night. I definitely didn’t have the sharpest mind.”

You appreciate him for understanding. Except you feel shitty because you’re lying to him about forgetting. It’s a vicious cycle.

The two of you put on a movie, and while you’re lying on the couch with him, you start thinking of something you haven’t done in a long, long time.

You lightly trace your hand up and down the arm that’s wrapped around your middle.

“Hey,” you say quietly. “Would you want to…”

You clear your throat.

“What?” Steve asks.

You aren’t sure how to ask for what you want without sounding wholly desperate and/or pathetic and/or like the horniest bastard alive.

“Go to your room?” you say.

“Sure, if you want, we can go to sleep. We have a long day tomorrow.”

You laugh lightly.

“No, I mean. You know.”

You wiggle your eyebrows and Steve’s jaw drops. Mouth agape, like a goldfish, his brains seems to short circuit.

The air is charged with something you haven’t felt in a long time.

“Are you sure?” Steve says, a barely audibly whisper. His hand cups your cheek so delicately, and you feel cherished. Love. Seen.

“I am,” you whisper back, before pulling him closer to you for a kiss.

It’s the kind of kiss you dreamed about while you were trapped in another universe.

It makes you feel electric, the same way your first kiss had. That iconic kiss happened because Steve found out you’d never played spin the bottle. In his kitchen late, late at night, he took an empty soda bottle and spun it on the countertop.

He had maneuvered it just right and stopped it with his hand when the bottle neck pointed right at you, like a compass needle finding truth north.

“Well, what do you know,” Steve had said at the time, with a dopey grin on his face. “It’s you.”

“If you wanted to kiss me so bad,” you had quipped, “you could’ve just asked.”

And then you two kissed like crazy, amongst other things.

Back in the present, all your hesitancies and qualms about re-engaging in intimacy and sex with Steve are thrown out the window when you feel his lips on yours.

Giddy as if it’s the first time (because, in a way, it kind of is), the two of you break apart and practically race down the hall to his bedroom. Thank goodness for no roommates, because when you’re in there, Steve slams the door and presses you against it to kiss some more, closing the gap between the metaphorical great divide that you’ve placed between you both.

You tug at his shirt, and he pulls it off before the two of you stumble into his bed.

Things heat up, and they’re going great. Steve is kissing and biting your neck, probably leaving a hickey or two, but you don’t mind. His hands are gripping your waist, practically leaving scorch marks in their wake.

You’re loving this. You’re having a great time.

Until you’re not. The trains of thought in your brain all rush from the station at the same time, colliding at a junction on the tracks.

What if you give Steve an infection? Not an STD, but like, an Upside Down sickness. You could be a carrier and not even realize it. Is that a possibility? What did Dr. Owens say last time you saw him?

He advised you not to get pregnant. He said there’s a possibility your future children could have birth defects after your time in the Upside Down. Birth defects! You’re only 21 years old and your body is poisoned. Not enough to harm you in the short term, but the long term effects on you (and your progeny) could be terrible to deal with.

But Steve really wants kids. What if he finds out you can’t give him children and he leaves you? You really, really don’t want him to leave you.

You don’t realize it, but you start breathing a little harder. To Steve, it seems like you’re insanely turned on. Mentally, your brain is on a different plane of existence.

He’s going to leave you because he’s better off without you. He doesn’t realize it yet but one day, one day. He will.

Vecna was right. Vecna said Steve would get tired and bored of you. That’s why the monster tried to recruit you, to flay you. That’s why he pursued you across the Upside Down for days, hunting you like a dog until he cornered you at the quarry.

Steve finally takes notice of your erratic breathing pattern. You’re not reacting how you usually do to his kissing. He ceases the lovefest and leans up on his elbows.

“Y/N? You okay?”

You don’t hear him. You continue to hyperventilate, your eyes screwed tightly shut.

And when you stabbed the beast through the chest with the spear Eddie left behind, you didn’t even feel sorry.

Is that the kind of person you are? A sick, violent freak?

But it was self-defense!

But if you hadn’t tried to draw the demobats away, you wouldn’t have been in that situation. You went against the plan. You caused all the bad things that happened to you.

You’re a bad person. A bad omen. A bad girlfriend. A bad daughter. A—

“Hey, can you hear me? Y/N?”

Steve’s soft, slightly panicked, voice brings you back down to reality.

You nod, eyes still shut.

“Sorry,” you say. “I don’t—I don’t know what happened.”

“It’s okay,” Steve says, still speaking quietly as if he’s afraid to scare you. You don’t feel his hands on you anymore, but you sense he’s still close. “It’s okay. Can you sit up? I think you should drink something.”

You sit up slowly and open your eyes. Steve looks frazzled, but he musters up a smile when he hands you a glass of cold water.

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

You don’t respond, just take a sip.

“Can we just go to bed?” you say after a moment, voice cracking.

Steve nods and gives your knee a gentle squeeze.

“Of course. And, hey, listen, we don’t have to have sex anytime soon, okay?”

“But—”

“No, seriously,” Steve says, shaking his head vehemently. “I mean, of course I like having sex with you. Probably too much.”

You snort and shake your head, a small smile pulling at the corners of your mouth.

“But you know I don’t mind waiting. Right?”

You nod.

“Yeah, I know.”

But as you lie awake, tossing and turning, your brain continues feeding you lie after lie, and you find yourself believing the opposite. Prude, tease. Bad girlfriend. Bad person.

🫀🫀🫀

The next morning, you, Steve, Gus, Jessica, and Rochelle work on a homecoming float for the club basketball team the boys are on.

It’s fun at first. The parking lot is filled with floats for all different student organizations. Someone is playing music a bit too loud, but the energy is electric.

It takes a turn when Steve rushes off with Gus to get more supplies.

While you’re kneeling by the float trying to staple tinsel trim around the edge, you hear Rochelle and Jessica whispering conspiratorially on the other side. They can’t see you due to a large papier mâché basketball blocking you from view.

You're awash with embarrassment, feeling warm head to toe, when you realize they’re talking about you.

“You know what Mollie told me?” Rochelle said. “When she and Steve were hooking up last year, he called her Y/N, like, three times.”

Your heart shrinks. You didn’t know Steve had been involved with anyone while you were gone. In fact, he said the opposite.

“That’s kind of sweet though, when you think about it,” Jessica muses. “But I wonder what caused Steve and Y/N to break up and then get back together. I’ve never dreamed of breaking up with Gus.”

“I heard some other super freaky stuff about her,” Rochelle says. “My sorority sister, Tina, is from Hawkins too. Apparently, Y/N had, like, amnesia or some shit after that earthquake thing. And she was like missing.”

“Damn,” Jessica says. “That’s crazy. How’d she remember stuff and get back home?”

“Who gives a shit?” Rochelle scoffs. “That’s obviously a cover story. Tina said the real story is probably something much simpler. Like she ran away to become a stripper but couldn’t hack it because she doesn’t have a good body. And, well, we’ve seen that firsthand.”

Anger and shame courses through your veins, and you tug on the hem of your sweatshirt. You’re comforted only a miniscule amount when you hear Jessica come to your defense.

“Don’t be such a jerk. And we have no idea what really happened so stop making shit up, mkay?”

“I’m just repeating what I heard. But Tina’s right, her whole deal is so weird. I can’t believe she’s Steve’s girlfriend. He deserves better.”

Those words echo in your head. He deserves better. He deserves better. You’ve been thinking that a lot yourself lately.

You don’t care if Jessica and Rochelle see you when you toss your stapler onto the ground and stomp off.

“Oh, shit,” you hear Jessica say. “Nice going, Roche.”

“It’s not my fault! I didn’t know she was creeping around!”

As you beeline through the throngs of float-makers, you bump into Steve, holding a box of glittery something. He grins at you.

“Hey, where’s the fire?”

When he notices the grim look on your face, he sobers up.

“Whoa, what happened?”

“Who’s Mollie?” you ask before you can stop yourself.

Steve pales. He swallows hard, grip on the box loosening. He gingerly sets it on the ground next to him and shrugs.

“No one.”

“Liar.”

Steve glances around before leading you away from the crowd to a secluded spot on the outskirts of the parking lot.

“She really was no one,” Steve repeats. “Just some girl I had a class with. I was lonely and she liked me, so we went out twice.”

“I heard Rochelle say you hooked up with her,” you say. You cross your arms and try to keep angry tears at bay. “You told me you didn’t find anybody else.”

“I didn’t!” Steve says, a little louder. He clears his throat. “I meant that. We almost hooked up, but I couldn’t stop thinking of you.”

You sigh and shake your head. You want to believe him so badly. But the voice in your head that’s been so cruel to you lately isn’t convinced.

“Do you still think about her?”

Steve scrunches up his face, wholly confused at your line of questioning.

“What? No, of course not. Like I said, we hung out twice, had one near-miss, and then never spoke again. Babe, is everything okay?”

He reaches a hand to your arm and you flinch away. Your action makes him frown deeper.

You rub your forehead.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” you say. “Just tired.”

A beat. You think Steve’s going to accept your answer, until: “Why are you lying to me?”

“I’m not lying!” you say, irritation creeping into your tone. “I’m just tired. Okay, Steve?”

Steve fidgets from foot to foot. He’s starting to look as agitated as you feel. With an annoyingly calm, even voice, he says, “I think you’re not being honest.”

“And I think you should shut up,” you fire back, before you can stop yourself.

Steve’s face contorts into a frown, the line between his brows deepening.

“Whoa, what the hell?” he says. “Why are you being like this?”

“Because I just found out you lied about not being involved with someone while I was gone!”

Steve rubs his face with his hands, as if he’s trying to scrub away whatever he’s feeling. He takes a deep breath, another one, and then finally speaks.

“Y/N, I thought you were dead,” he says, voice strained. “You can’t seriously be jealous of me spending time with someone else because to my knowledge, I was never going to see you again.”

You know you should apologize for your outburst. Tell him about your insecurities, now dialed up to 1000 thanks to Rochelle’s comments. Rejoin his friends at the float like the normal girlfriend he probably wishes you were.

But instead, you find yourself voicing one of the fears that’s been swirling in your brain since June.

“It would be so much easier for you if that was still the case, right?” you ask, softly.

“Excuse me?” Steve asks.

“Do you ever regret it?” you ask. “Bringing me back?” He doesn’t react, doesn’t move, doesn’t blink. You clear your throat and, louder, add, “Because it would be so much simpler for you to date a girl like Mollie or Rochelle.”

“Jesus, Y/N,” Steve groans. “Don’t bring Rochelle into this.”

“Why not? She’s obviously obsessed with you!”

“Yeah?” Steve scoffs. “Well, I don’t like her. I like you.” He shakes his head, as if he’s short-circuiting, and corrects, “I love you!”

Too late. You already heard the Freudian slip of your worst nightmare. He doesn’t regard you in the same way he did before your so-called death. You’ve changed too much.

You shake your head vehemently.

“No,” you say. “No. You loved the girl I was before it all happened.”

“You’re still the same girl!”

“I’m not!” you shout. You’re so angry, so upset, so emotional, you can’t stop. You’re floating above your body and watching yourself speak when you say, “I’m not. She’s gone, and sometimes I wish you’d never brought me back so I wouldn’t feel like this.”

Steve goes still once more. When he finally replies, his voice is dangerously quiet: “How dare you say that.”

You hadn’t expected that. You’d expected him to swoop in with comforting platitudes. To hug you and promise it would all be okay. To truly hear the words you’re saying—the thoughts you’ve been too afraid to voice in therapy, thoughts you’ve sugarcoated in your mind to lessen that bitter feeling on your tongue when you finally speak them aloud.

“What?” you whisper. Your eyes sting, unshed tears collecting on your lash line.

“How dare you say that,” Steve says, shaking his head. He’s angrier than you’ve ever seen him. He runs a hand through his hair and barks out a laugh so hollow, you can practically hear the echo in his ribcage. “That’s so fucking selfish that you wish you were still down there. I was miserable without you. I didn’t want to go on. I didn’t think I could!”

He's not getting what you’re trying to say. You open your mouth to reply, to apologize, to try and fix things, but Steve continues.

“So for you to be so callous, to think so little of me, to think I’d rather date some vapid airhead just because it would be ‘simpler’? To think I somehow can’t love you anymore because of what you went through? That’s just…bullshit!”

You heave out a sob as tears roll down your cheeks. Steve’s expression morphs into one of guilt. He swallows hard.

“Y/N, I—”

“You don’t get to tell me my feelings are bullshit!” you snap. You sniffle and roughly wipe your tears away, before jabbing a finger into his chest and pressing in. “Ever since I’ve been back, it’s all about how everyone else feels about it. You and my parents are so much happier, and you seem to think I can snap back to how I was before and forget it all happened and be grateful that I survived. Well, I can’t!”

Despite your distance from the parade planning festivities, you see a few curious students glance in your direction. You can’t be bothered to care.

“I don’t know how to go on with life like normal after 15 months in that hell, and no one understands what I’m going through!” you yell. “No one has been through that! And I’m miserable and scared and anxious and I’m lying to my therapist week after week because I can’t even verbalize what I’m thinking without feeling like I’m losing my goddamn mind. So sorry if sometimes I wish all this would go away.”

Steve’s facial expression cracks your heart in seventeen pieces. He looks devastated and confused.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, somewhat cautiously. “You’re right. I’m not handling this well, not seeing it from your point of view. But this is the most you’ve expressed how you’re feeling about it all. For the past few months, I—I don’t know. I thought you were feeling okay.”

You sniffle again and shrug.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay, Y/N,” Steve says. He clears his throat. “This is good, I think. Well, no, it’s not good that we’re screaming at each other in the quad. But getting our feelings out is—”

“I want to go home,” you say, cutting him off.

Steve closes his eyes, sighs softly, and nods.

“Yeah, okay. I’ll drive you back to Hawkins tonight.”

“No, I want to go now,” you say, voice cracking as you try not to cry harder. “I want my mom to come get me.”

Hurt flashes on Steve’s features. “Babe, are you sure? I really don’t mind. I want to, actually. The drive will give us more of a chance to talk.”

But you’re too tired and overwhelmed to talk anymore. Steve understands, though his shoulders are slumped as the two of you walk back to his apartment.

He offers to pack your bag while you call your house. Your mom picks up on the second ring.

“Hello, Y/L/N residence.”

“Mom?” you sniff. “Can you come get me?”

“Oh, of course sweetie!” You hear the jingle of car keys. “Wait, are you crying? What’s wrong? Was it another nightmare?”

“I just don’t want to be here anymore.”

“Did you and Steve have a fight?”

“His friends were really mean,” you say quietly, deciding not to disclose that you indeed got in an argument with Steve. “This girl, Rochelle, said one of her friends from Hawkins is telling everyone I was a stripper.”

“Oh, don’t you listen to that.”

You can’t hold back tears as you begin to cry harder.

“How come everyone makes up those dumb rumors?” you say through sobs. “And if people on campus already know them, how much worse will it be if I’m a student here?!”

Your mom soothes you over the phone before promising to get there as quickly as possible. As you hang up the phone, Steve comes in from down the hall, frowning and carrying your now-packed duffel. He doesn’t even try to be subtle about his eavesdropping when he asks, “Why didn’t you tell me Rochelle said that to you?”

You shrug and look down at your feet.

Steve closes his eyes and shakes his head. “I keep replaying our conversation in my head,” he says, “and I feel like an ass.”

“You’re not, Steve.”

“No! I am. I absolutely am. You were honest and vulnerable, and I immediately got mad. I’m so, so sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you say flatly. Admittedly, you’re not sure if you forgive him yet. But you know you didn’t treat him well either, so you say, “I’m sorry too. I was insensitive. I know you had a hard time while I was gone—”

“But it’s nothing compared to what you were dealing with,” Steve says. He steps closer to you and intertwines your hands together. “Are you sure you don’t want me to drive you?”

“My mom’s already on her way,” you say. “And you should rest up. Tomorrow’s the parade, and the homecoming game.”

“I don’t need to go to the game.”

“Steve—”

“I’d rather come back to Hawkins this weekend,” he continues. “Spend more time with you. Talk things through, you know? Maybe I can just ride with you and your mom, and Munson can bring me back Sunday.”

He’s sweet. But you aren’t sure how to tell him that you really, really don’t want to be around him right now. You don’t want to be around anyone, really.

You take a deep breath, gently drop his hands, and say, “I think I need some space.”

You can’t look Steve in the eye, but you hear the pain in his voice when he says, “Oh. Um, okay. Yeah. Of course. Space.”

You two sit in awkward silence while you wait for your mom to arrive. When she gets there, Steve continues to be a gentleman, carrying your bag for you and politely making small talk with your mom. He gives you a hug goodbye, but it doesn’t linger the way his hugs usually do.

As your mom drives away, you watch your boyfriend get smaller and smaller in the side mirror.

Before leaving, you promised him you’d call him that night.

You conveniently “forget” to do that.

He leaves a message at 9:37 p.m., asking you to call him back.

You don’t.

🫀🫀🫀

NOVEMBER 1987

“Hey, babe. It’s Steve. Again. I know we agreed on ‘space’ but I haven’t heard from you in three weeks…I don’t want to rush or smother you, but I’d really like to talk, even if it’s for, like, five minutes. So please call me back. I love you, Y/N.”

“Hey Y/N. Are you doing okay? Robin says she saw you and your mom at the store the other day and you just seemed kind of…out of it. To be honest, I’m worried about you. Listen, even if you don’t…even if we…even if you’ve decided you don’t want to be with me anymore, or something, I still care about you. And I’ll always be here for you, no matter what. Please call me. Bye. Love you.”

“Hi Y/N, I’m coming back to Hawkins for Thanksgiving. Can I come by after you and your parents have dinner? I want to check in. On how you’re doing, and on how you’re feeling about ‘us.’ Let me know, okay? Bye, Y/N.”

“Hey. I’m going to swing by your place after I’ve finished Thanksgiving dinner with the Buckleys. Robin told me you’ve been avoiding her too. And Eddie, and Jonathan. I know you’re going through a tough time, but don’t try to do it alone. That’s a lesson I learned the hard way last year. I’ll see you tonight, all right?”

🫀🫀🫀

You’ve spent the past month and a half wallowing. All you really do is sleep, eat, shower, and take short walks around your neighborhood for exercise. Any time Steve calls the house phone, you tell your parents to let it ring and let it go to voicemail.

It’s shitty of you, but you aren’t sure how to dig yourself out of this hole that you’ve found yourself in. You’re still feeling rather undeserving of Steve.

So when he shows up on your doorstep on Thanksgiving, wearing that maroon sweater that you’ve always just adored, the first thing you do is apologize for your radio silence. Then, you offer him pumpkin pie.

“I won’t say no,” he says. “As long as you split it with me.”

While your parents cuddle on the couch and watch It’s A Wonderful Life, you and Steve sit on the kitchen counter and eat slices of pie with whipped cream.

For a few minutes, you exchange small talk and pleasantries. Then, Steve gets down to business.

“How have you been doing, really?” Steve asks.

“Fine. Just tired.”

“Y/N,” Steve says with a sigh. “Please just be honest with me.”

You suck in a breath.

“Okay. You want honesty? I’m having a really hard time.”

“I know,” Steve says gently. “And I want to help. Can you talk to me about what’s going on?”

You consider it. You consider wrenching your heart open for him and admitting all your fears and insecurities. But last time you broached this subject with Steve and tried to be wholly honest about what you were feeling, you didn’t explain it right and he took it the wrong way.

And you also hear what sounds like Rochelle’s voice in your mind: He deserves better. He deserves better.

You save yourself the trouble and say, “I need to get my shit together. And I’m not being a very good girlfriend while I do, so I think we need to break up.”

Despite your best efforts to stay strong, you feel tears coming on. Everything only worsens when you hear Steve whisper, “What?”

He deserves better. He deserves better. He deserves better than you.

“I have to focus on myself right now,” you continue as the tears roll down your cheeks. You stab your pie with your fork and say, “I’m sorry. I love you so much—”

“I love you too, Y/N, so I—”

“—but I need to deal with this on my own. It’s not fair of me to treat you like this.” You clear your throat and add, “You deserve someone who can give you everything you want.”

“You’re what I want,” Steve says. You can’t look at him, but you get the impression that he’s tearing up too. “I mean, if this is really what you want, I’ll respect your decision completely, but I just have to know—is there anything I can do to change your mind?”

You don’t want to do this—

—but he deserves better.

“I’m sorry, but no.”

“You don’t have to do this alone,” Steve says after a beat. “Even if we aren’t together anymore, I’m still here for you. You know that, right?”

You nod, still decimating your pie slice with your fork.

“Okay, good.” He sniffles.

“Sorry.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to keep apologizing.”

“Sorry. Ah, I mean—”

Steve chuckles, despite everything. You two share an awkward hug goodbye before he leaves.

You stay in the kitchen and hear him wish your parents “Happy holidays.” As you hear the front door open and shut, as you hear his car turn on and drive away, you try to convince yourself this was the correct choice. That shutting him out means he’ll live a happier life without you.

The pit of emptiness like a chasm in your soul will go away eventually, right?

🫀🫀🫀

FEBRUARY 1988

It’s been 3 months since you broke up with Steve.

You decided to defer your U of I enrollment. Steve, being a good friend, calls a few days before the semester starts asking if you’d like help moving into your dorm, and you break the news to him. He understands but sounds disappointed. It makes you feel terrible.

But this is the right choice. You aren’t ready to be away from home, away from your parents, even if it’s just a couple hours away.

You start taking community college classes to fill your time and get some credits, along with working at Bradley’s Big Buy as a stocker. It’s mindless, monotonous work. It’s kind of perfect.

What isn’t so perfect is your therapist, Elaine. She’s nice enough. But she doesn’t seem to get it. You aren’t able to fully tell her what you went through, considering she knows nothing about the Upside Down, so she can’t really help you.

When you start opening up about the dark thoughts worming their way through your mind, Elaine advocates strongly and staunchly for putting yourself out there and making new friends to fill the void. You’re starting to wonder if you’re wasting your time shelling out $50 a week.

You do think a better social life would be good for you, so you invite Robin, Eddie, and Jonathan to come over to your place for a horror movie marathon. (Nancy would be invited too, if she wasn’t away at school.) You’ve rented a D-level slasher trilogy about a man in a hockey mask attacking pageant queens. It’s small potatoes compared to what you’ve actually been through.

Jonathan agrees, but both Robin and Eddie tell you they can’t make it. Robin because she’s got the flu. Eddie because he has band practice all afternoon and into the night.

It stings like a barb ripping you open when you swing by Melvald’s for cheap movie candy and spot the two of them across the street, laughing as they head into the Hawk with…Steve, who must be home from school for the weekend.

So they do want to have a movie night. Just with Steve and not you. Message received.

You wonder if Steve said something to sour you in their eyes. You thought the breakup was amicable. You know he was upset by it, but he respected your decision. And he doesn’t seem like the type to badmouth an ex, especially after all you’ve been through together.

But anxiety rolls through your nervous system the rest of the day. As you and Jonathan watch the crappy movies, you just feel numb.

“Jee-sus!” Jonathan yelps as the killer’s chainsaw hacks through someone’s limb.

He glances your way, eyebrows raising. “What? That didn’t scare you?”

You shrug. “I’ve seen worse.”

Jonathan’s brow furrows. He leans over and pauses the movie.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? We can watch something else. Or, if you’d rather be alone, I can head out.”

You pick at a loose thread on the pillow in your lap.

“Are Robin and Eddie mad at me?” you whisper.

“What?” Jonathan says with a laugh. “You’re, like, the nicest person in a fifty-mile radius. Why would they be mad at you?”

The old you was nice. The current you is moody. But Jonathan is also pretty moody, so maybe your moodiness is baseline in his eyes.

“They both said they couldn’t come tonight,” you continue, “but then I saw them just an hour ago in downtown Hawkins heading into the Hawk with Steve. Why else would they make up excuses not to come unless they were mad?”

Jonathan takes a long, slow sip of his grape soda and shrugs.

“It’s probably because they don’t want you to think they chose Steve over you in the breakup.”

“But that’s exactly what they did!”

“Maybe not,” Jonathan says. “Maybe they just made the plans with Steve before you invited us over and it’s easier to turn down your invitation than cancel on him.”

That’s a very logical way of looking at it, but it still stings feeling like you’ve lost two friends since you and Steve aren’t together anymore.

You and Jonathan continue watching, but his mom calls halfway through the second movie, forcing him to leave early—something about El using telekinesis to turn her bed into a bunk bed and it backfiring horribly.

You try to push your worries out of your mind, but paranoia takes a hold. As you toss and turn in your bed that night, clutching Lambchop for a semblance of comfort, your brain bullies you.

Robin and Eddie are pissed at you. Probably because you haven’t gone to any Corroded Coffin shows since you’ve been back. You’ve been a little preoccupied.

A little selfish, more like. It doesn’t matter what you’re going through. You should still support your friends.

But why? You don’t like drinking alcohol anymore because you don’t like feeling out of control. And the Hideout is the only place Corroded Coffin plays, and that place reeks of booze and cigarettes and bad decisions.

Maybe that’s why Eddie’s mad. Is Robin mad by proxy? Did Steve shit-talk you to her? How did he describe the events of the breakup?

Were you a bad girlfriend? Are you a bad friend? Bad person?

Yes. You’re a bad person.

🫀🫀🫀

You happen to run into Robin on the community college’s campus the following Monday. You can’t help but ask if she’s feeling better.

Her eyes widen and she plasters on a smile.

“O-oh, yeah!” she says. “I’m feeling loads better. Tons! Tons better.”

“Your sinus infection is gone?” you prompt, knowing full well she told you it was the flu.

“Yep! All gone. My sinuses are as healthy as can be. I feel like I could live to be 100!”

You exchange a few more pleasantries and shuffle off.

🫀🫀🫀

MARCH 1988

There’s a dark cloud hovering over your mind. Most days, you’re lethargic. You go to classes and go to work, and you do start going to the Hideout on Tuesday nights with Jonathan and Robin to watch Eddie play with his band.

But that’s the extent of your social life. You’re feeling lonely and drained.

Things take a turn for the worse in March. It was a cold, cold winter in Hawkins, and spring is shaping up to be warmer but just as gloomy. Really bad thunderstorms shake the windowpanes of your house most days, and the streaks of lightning remind you so much of the grayish-yellow Upside Down sky, it makes you sick.

You can’t help but find yourself thinking you want to disappear to escape it all. Not die, exactly. But fall into a deep, dreamless sleep. Maybe when you woke up, things would be better.

You try to explain what you’re feeling to Elaine the Therapist, and she doesn’t understand what you meant in the slightest.

“Have you gotten checked for narcolepsy?” she asks.

You give her a tight smile and say you’ll ask your doctor about it at your next checkup.

A bright spot is when Robin invites you to a party at her apartment. You forgot her and Eddie’s little white lie from a few weeks ago and RSVP yes.

The party is going well. You’re having a nice conversation with Jonathan and Eddie when Steve walks in, and he’s not alone.

Your heart sinks to your feet, through the floor, and all the way to the core of the earth when you see Steve is joined by Rochelle.

You don’t even hear any of the conversations happening around you. You quickly excuse yourself to the kitchen for a glass of water—and because you need to be alone.

You get about 15 seconds of a reprieve before Steve enters.

“Listen, it’s not what you think,” he says quickly.

“Hello to you too, Steve,” you say. You can’t even look him in the eye, choosing instead to study the ice cubes in your glass.

“I’m not here with Rochelle,” Steve continues. He runs a hand through his hair. “I mean, yes, she’s here. And I’m here. And we’re here together. But not together together! God, I’m not making any sense, am I?”

“None at all.”

“She needed a ride to her parents’ house for the weekend,” Steve explains. “She lives just forty-five minutes from here. But I guess they were out of town, and she didn’t have a key, so she’s staying with me. And she didn’t want to spend all day in my house alone, so—”

“She’s here,” you finish for him. You finally look him in the eye and force a smile. “That’s fine, Steve. You can hang out with whoever you want.”

“Trust me,” Steve snorts. “I’d rather not be hanging out with her. I’m just doing her a favor because she’s friends with Jessica and Gus.”

Before you can respond, Rochelle saunters into the kitchen. She smiles like a shark—all gums and teeth.

“Oh, it’s you!” she says. “Y/N! How have you been?”

“Fine,” you say politely. “How about you?”

“Oh, just great. Really great. Sad to not see you around campus, though. I thought you enrolled?”

She has the impressive capability of making everything single sentence sound like an insult.

“I’m going to community college instead,” you explain. “But I really should get back out there.”

You give Steve and Rochelle a wide berth before stepping back into the living room.

The rest of the party goes by fine. Except you can’t quite contain your rage watching Rochelle throw herself at Steve all afternoon.

She sits too close to him. She constantly whispers in his ear and giggles, like they’re sharing inside jokes and secrets. While Robin’s putting on a movie for everyone to watch, you swear you even see Rochelle put her hand on Steve’s thigh.

The only thing that makes you feel better is that Steve blocks every one of these advances. While Eddie regales you all with a Corroded Coffin storytime, you even notice Steve's slotted himself in between Robin and the wall, forcing Rochelle to stand off to the side near a potted plant.

When the party’s over, you wish Robin well and try to slip out unnoticed. Unfortunately, Steve has a terrible habit of noticing everything about you, and he follows you out.

“Hey, wait up!” he calls, jogging behind you as you speed walk to your car to avoid the sprinkling rain.

“Sorry, I have to go,” you say, struggling to unlock your car door.

Before you can get it unlocked and make your escape, Steve places a hand over the driver’s side door handle.

“Hold on,” he says. “Can we go somewhere and talk?”

“Well, I have to get home—”

“This’ll take five minutes,” Steve promises. He traces an X over his heart. “Cross my heart, hope to cry.”

You scrunch your nose in confusion. “It’s ‘die.’”

“Huh?”

“It’s ‘Cross my heart, hope to die. Stick a needle in my eye.’”

Steve’s eyes widen and jaw drops, affronted. “Jesus Christ,” he grumbles. “Why would anyone ever want to do that?”

“That’s the point!” you say, and you can’t help but laugh at the appalled look on his face. “You don’t want to do that, so you keep the promise.”

“Ah. Okay, well, I’ll be fast. I just want to see how you’ve been doing these past few months. I—I miss you, you know?”

You swallow hard. The rain’s starting to pick up now. You don’t want to wait too much longer to drive home, or else it’ll be too hard to see. And if you see lightning, you’ll probably have a panic attack behind the wheel, making you a danger to yourself and others.

“I miss you too,” you say. “But I really, really need to get home now.”

You think of leaving it at that, but your heart feels as sad as the look on his face, so you add, “But you can come by my house later tonight and we can talk? Uh, how’s 8 sound?”

Steve’s face brightens. He gives you that smile that always makes your stomach do a backflip.

“I’d like that,” he says.

You smile back and open your car door. Before stepping in, you turn to him and say, “Do not bring Rochelle.”

“Cross my whatever and hope to who-gives-a-shit!” Steve says as he walks backward away from your car. You give him a small wave, which he returns, before getting in the car and driving off.

As you suspected, the drive home is much, much too anxiety-inducing. Thunder seems to shake the whole frame of the car as you drive across town. Rain falls in pails, as if angels are taking buckets and throwing them on your car specifically. Your windshield wipers can barely keep up, and cars are honking and passing you since your fear is causing you to drive about ten under the speed limit.

You try not to let that bother you as your hands grip the wheel for dear life, the muscles from your fingers up to your shoulders impossibly tense. There’s a reason your mom drove you everywhere last summer and fall. Getting back into the habit of operating a motor vehicle isn’t easy, and everything seems to scare you now.

Despite everything, the drive is going fine—until one of the cars passing you cuts a little too close as they swerve back into the right lane. They almost clip your front bumper, which causes you to panic and swerve off the road near the now defunct trailer park.

Your tires squeak on the wet grass and you slam on your breaks, heart pounding. Shuddery breaths draw in, out. In, out. You try and collect yourself and turn your left turn signal on to merge back onto the main road. However, something gray out of the corner of your eye causes you to whip your head in the direction of the trailer park.

This is where you died and were resurrected—well, the version of this in the Upside Down. In Hawkins, the area is cordoned off. No one can live there anymore, thanks to the big cracks in the earth. Once gates, they were now sealed, but they upended some trailers and tore others in two.

You see a flash of movement between two broken trailers. The gates are supposed to be closed, and there aren’t supposed to be Upside Down creatures in Hawkins anymore, but you can’t help but wonder alternatives. You feel compelled to check it out.

You turn off your car’s ignition, grab the flashlight from your glove box, and clamor out, ducking under the “CAUTION” tape and jogging into the park. You squint in the rain, the beam of your flashlight scanning the surrounding area. You step over uneven earth, wondering if you’re wasting your time and should just—

“GRRRRRROWWWLLLL!!!!!”

You whip around and gasp. The gray creature you saw wasn’t a demo-creature, but a mangy, stray dog with muddy fur. It snaps its jaws and you see three little puppies cowering under a bush behind it.

An overprotective mama dog wouldn’t have scared you two years ago. You would’ve known exactly how to handle the situation without freaking out. But now, your fear spikes and you remember the few run-ins with hungry demodogs you had in the Upside Down. The dog is blocking your way back to your car, so you turn on your heel and run in the opposite direction, toward the imposing forest.

You can’t think clearly. Your mind is on fire. All you can think is Danger! Danger! Danger! And it’s keeping you from making any rational decisions.

You swear you hear the dog chasing behind you, snarling and ready to attack. You zig-zag between trees and glance behind to see if you really are being chased.

You lose your footing on slick mud, left ankle twisting painfully as you fall to the ground. Your flashlight skitters out of your grasp and rolls away, blinking out.

Now, you’re stuck in the rain, in the dark, with an injured ankle and no flashlight. Thankfully, the dog wasn’t following. But you feel powerless, hoping you can muster any survival instincts from your time in the Upside Down to make your way back to safety.

🫀🫀🫀

At 7:58 p.m., Steve parks outside your house.

He’s more nervous than he needs to be. He tries to remember that this isn’t a visit to win you back, as much as he wishes it was. No, he’s respecting your decision. But he’s glad he has the chance to just talk to you.

After you dumped him, he spent way too much time overanalyzing that fight you two had in October. It solidified the fact that he was an ass, completely misunderstanding you and getting mad for no good fucking reason.

Admittedly, he was tempted to throw away all his progress and drink away his misery. But he didn’t, channeling that energy toward more productive things. His mind is clearer than it was, and he’s going to make it right this time. Steve wants to check on you, the way his friends checked on him while he was having a tough time. Their support was invaluable.

Steve rings your doorbell, shaking out his umbrella.

The front door swings open. Your father looks expectant, before he frowns.

“Steve, hello,” your father says. “Is Y/N with you?”

Steve’s brow furrows. “Uh, no,” he says. “I’m supposed to meet her here.”

Your father curses and puts his head in his hands.

“Is it her?” your mother says, rushing around the corner with the cordless phone tucked under her shoulder. When she sees Steve, her shoulders slump. She speaks into the phone, “Hopper, she’s still not back.”

“What’s going on?” Steve asks, heart sinking. “Y/N’s missing?”

“She never came back from Robin’s party,” your father says, stepping aside to let Steve in. “You saw her leave, right?”

“Yeah,” Steve says with a nod. His mouth feels very, very dry.

Your mother continues murmuring on the phone with Hopper, and your father continues grilling Steve: “How was she? Did she seem upset?”

“A little nervous, maybe,” Steve says. He swallows hard. “I, uh, I think she was freaked out by the storm.”

You should’ve driven her home, Steve thinks. You idiot. If something happens to her, it’ll be your fault.

“She’s been so quiet lately,” your father says, voice strained. He clears his throat. “And so jumpy. But she said she wanted to start driving again. We thought she was getting better…”

Your father looks like he’s beside himself. Steve is unsure what to say to make things right.

Your mother hangs up the phone and sighs. “Hopper’s going to go look for her,” she says. She chokes out a sob. “Oh, Roger…she’s been so down lately. What if she…”

“Let’s not speculate,” your father says firmly, though he looks anxious about the possibilities.

Your parents decide to drive around looking for you, and Steve joins the search in his own car as well. He can’t sit idly by knowing you’re out there, possibly in distress, possibly in danger.

🫀🫀🫀

While you’re sitting against a tree trunk trying to shield yourself from the rain, there’s a morbid part of you that’s okay with this.

You wanted something bad to happen. You wanted to be in some kind of distress, because you being hurt means people have to care about you. Right? They have to really, truly see that you’ve been struggling but haven’t been able to ask for proper help.

You snap yourself out of that thought process, trying to remind yourself that people do care about you. But it’s hard to feel that way when you’ve put so much distance between yourself and the people you love.

You aren’t sure how long you sit in the rain having a pity party, watching your swollen ankle get bigger and bigger. You need to ice it and elevate it. And anytime longer in this rain, you’ll catch a cold.

So, you crawl on your hands and knees and find as sturdy a branch as you can on the forest floor. You use it as a pseudo walking stick to help you hobble back toward the trailer park. You know the way, thanks to your time traversing the forest daily in the Upside Down.

As you get closer to the break in the trees, you hear people calling for you. You shuffle there faster.

“I’m here!” you yell, stumbling through the tree line. “I’m here!”

It’s Chief Powell and Hopper, and they look relieved to see you. Officer Callahan and an animal control worker are trying to coax the mama dog and her three pups into crates.

“What happened, kid?” Hopper asks, sitting with you in the backseat of Powell’s truck while the other man radios for an ambulance and a tow truck for your car. The usual gruff timbre to Hopper's voice has a softened edge to it today, like he can sense your emotional fragility.

“Some jerk pushed me off the road. And I thought I saw…I—listen, the mud made the dog’s fur look gray, and I thought it was—”

“One of these hellhounds?”

You nod.

“I’m not sure if you realize this,” Hopper says. “But it’s been two years to the day since you…you know.”

You swallow hard.

“I didn’t remember,” you admit. “I mean, I knew the anniversary was coming up soon, I just…”

“We were all worried you…did something,” Hopper continues cautiously.

“I wouldn’t,” you say, much too quickly. “I mean, I feel like shit a lot of the time, but…no. I wouldn’t.”

Hopper nods, eyeing you. He doesn’t quite look convinced.

When the ambulance arrives, he rides with you to the hospital. Then, your parents meet you at the ER, while a doctor looks over your ankle.

It’s sprained, but not broken, thankfully. They send you home with a brace, some crutches, painkillers, and instructions to elevate and ice.

The whole drive home, your parents give you a speech about how much they love you and how they want to know how you’re doing, and that if you ever feel low, to talk to them because they can help. Normally, that kind of thing would annoy you, but after today—the fear of seeing what you thought was a demodog, of being back in the wilderness by yourself, even just for a few hours—you appreciate the gesture.

It's after midnight when you get home, and the rain has finally let up. Your dad helps you up the porch stairs, leaning the side with your bad leg against him the whole way. You almost don’t notice the note tacked to the front door until your mom points it out.

It has your name on it. You open it. Parts of it have been scratched out, but you can still read it all.

Hey, Y/N. I was driving around looking for you when Hopper found me. I’m so glad to hear that you’re going to be okay.

I’ll swing by tomorrow to chat, if you’re still up for it. If not, no worries. I know it’s a tough time. I just want you to know that I miss you I care about you more than you know I’m here.

-Steve

🫀🫀🫀

When Steve comes by the next day, he’s not alone.

You’re surprised to see him and Max Mayfield standing on your porch.

“Uh, hello!” you say. “How are you, Max?”

“Pretty good,” she says, “now that Steve is taking us for ice cream.”

You raise your eyebrows and adjust your stance on your crutches.

“Oh!” you say. You look to Steve. He’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Everything about his posture is tense, nervous. You wonder if this is an intervention or something—if you’ll arrive at the ice cream shop and be bombarded by the rest of your friends and a licensed professional promising a “safe space.”

You tell your parents where you’re going, promising a million times that you’ll be careful, and hobble down the porch steps to Steve’s waiting car. He’s a gentleman, one hand hovering behind your back and ready to catch you if you fall.

Max lets you have the passenger seat, likely due to your injury. On the ride over, you consider (politely) asking what she’s doing there, as you expected this conversation would be about the nature of your and Steve’s relationship.

A part of you deep, deep down had hoped he would beg you to take him back. A part of you deeper down felt selfish for that, but it was what you wanted.

You made a huge mistake letting him go.

Steve ends up taking you both to Sonic, pulling into one of the parking spots and pressing the “Order” button. Max leans up from the backseat, sticking her head between the two front seats, and rattles off a complicated order of hot dogs, fries, slushies, and ice cream into the speaker.

“I thought this was just ice cream,” you say with an eyebrow raised.

Max smirks.

“Moneybags Harrington is paying,” she says, patting him on the shoulder.

“I resent that,” Steve grouses. But there’s a sparkle in his eye.

When the food comes, Steve divvies it up amongst the three of you. However, he quickly comes up with a shoddy excuse to step out of the car—something about the fries being a medium instead of a large.

Max climbs over the center console to settle in the driver’s seat.

You aren’t sure what to expect when you’re alone with Max, but it’s definitely not, “Dying and coming back really sucks, doesn’t it?”

Your burger immediately tastes like sandpaper. “Oh, let’s not talk about that,” you say. “Let’s talk about fun things. Have you learned any new skate tricks recently?”

“Don’t deflect,” Max says, waving a french fry at you for emphasis. “Steve said you were having a hard time because no one could relate to you, and I’m probably the only person in the world who can.”

She’s not wrong. After your return to the right side of the universe, you learned that Max woke up from her coma, completely healed, after you killed Vecna and the gates closed. You hadn’t thought about how the two of you had similar, paralleled experiences.

“It does suck,” you say quietly, swirling your spoon around in your ice cream cup. “And I kind of feel like I’m losing my mind.”

“For me, it was a lot of anger,” Max says. She fidgets with her own food as she continues. “I couldn’t understand people’s priorities anymore. Like, what do you mean you’re worried about a chem test, Dustin? A few months ago, the world almost ended!”

“I totally get that,” you say, and your heart already feels lighter. “And my parents don’t understand what really happened, so they just don’t get me at all. Why I get so scared, so angry. So jumpy. It makes me feel like I’m a freak in their eyes.”

“I feel like my mom doesn’t even see me anymore,” Max says. She clears her throat and you catch a glimpse of tears gathering on her lash line before she roughly wipes them away. “Like to her, I’m a ghost.”

“I’m sure that’s not true,” you say. She scoffs.

“And there’s another annoying thing,” Max says. “The empty platitudes to make us feel better. That shit doesn’t fix anything!”

You’re not offended by her outburst, because you honestly agree. The two of you lament a bit longer, and by the end of the conversation, you’re feeling on top of the world. Sure, nothing is really fixed. But you finally realize that you have a kindred spirit in all this.

You and Max make a plan to do things together more often. You’re seeing her as a de facto little sister already, and you’re hopeful that your planned meetings will be just as beneficial for her as they are for you.

Steve comes back after what seems like a millennium, shooing Max back to the backseat.

“Took you long enough!” she says.

He just smiles.

🫀🫀🫀

JUNE 1988

It’s the first day of summer.

And it’s been a year to the day since you returned.

You expect to feel more anxious than you do. Instead, you feel peaceful.

You’re doing a lot better, genuinely. You found a new therapist (sorry, Elaine) and since it’s someone who worked with Dr. Owens, you’re able to spill all the gory details of your past and your trauma. Healing isn’t easy, but you feel yourself slowly sewing yourself back together again.

You and Max stick to your word and take weekly trips to Sonic. You talk about the heavy stuff, but also the normal life stuff. You sometimes have guests. This past week, Lucas and Mike tagged along, arguing the whole time about what should happen in the Ghostbusters sequel that’s supposed to release next year.

You and Steve…ah, what’s there to say. You want him back, but you imploded the relationship and it feels selfish to waltz up to him and say, “Hey, hot stuff. Wanna get back together?”

However, you’ve officially enrolled for the fall semester at U of I. While he’s home from Hawkins for summer break, under the guise of asking for tips about campus life, you spend a lot of time with him.

You also spend time in the library, doing some studying to catch up before you start your classes in the fall. Your high school graduation was a lifetime ago. Literally.

Steve, Robin, and Jonathan join you for those summertime study sessions, although Jonathan and Robin usually bicker over the music theory books and Steve doesn’t get much done except for doodling in his notebook. But sometimes you catch him staring at you, and then his cheeks flush pink in that adorable way that makes you want to do something stupid, like beg him to take you back.

If only you knew if he really felt the same…

…which you find out he does, during the summer solstice.

You’re at the county fair with your friends, but they’ve all run off to watch the fireworks, so it’s just you and Steve at a picnic table downing sodas and cotton candy.

Your fingers wrap around the cool glass of a now-empty Coke bottle, and you place it on the tabletop. You attempt to look nonchalant as you spin it slowly.

Once it’s picked up momentum, you let it go, watching it spin a few more times before stopping it with your hand when the bottle neck points at Steve.

“It’s you,” you whisper, attempting to recreate that magical first kiss moment from years and years ago. You clear your throat at Steve’s dumbfounded expression. “Ah, sorry. You don’t have to kiss me. I was just…”

To your pleasant surprise, Steve’s face splits into a grin. “Well, gee, Y/N,” he says. “If you wanted to kiss me that bad, you could’ve just said so.”

A million canaries titter a love song in your heart as he leans forward.

The two of you kiss, for the first time in a long time.

The great divide in your soul is starting to seal. And everything feels right.

THE END

🫀🫀🫀

a/n please lmk what you thought 🩵

tags; @aloneinthehellfire @starry-eyed-steve @hollandweather @wisdomssdaughterr @huffledor-able541 @springautumn

@sunshinesteviee @curiositydooropened @crappymixtape

#st fic: oj #st fic: tgd #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington fic #stranger things fanfic

201 notes · View notes

icanseethefuture333 · 6 months

Text

Celestial alignment: Pick a pattern in the sky

Messages to realign you with your soul path

Pile 1:

Shufflemancy -

Replay by Lady Gaga

JMK by Sango ft. Xavier Omar

Dog Days Are Over by Florence + The Machine

Ten of Wands, Eight of Cups, The Magician, The World, & Three of Cups

There is a call for you to let go of thoughts that are holding you back. There is something about repetition here that is preventing you from progressing into the next chapter of your life. You could be taking on the burdens of other people as a way to help them. Your guides are urging you to please stop. You are constantly making sacrifices for others when they aren't doing this for you. Your lesson right now is to focus on making yourself the top priority. You are always putting yourself on the back burner. Some people here take care of their family members or work in the medical field. It's understandable to be worried and to care for your loved ones or other people, but who's be concerned about you? Who is making sure that you are alright or have what you need? If nobody is there for you, then you have to be there for yourself. Start making goals or a list of things you wish to accomplish. You need to realize you are worthy and deserving of what you desire, start dreaming again, pile 1. The universe is waiting and ready for your call and demand. Once you have faith in yourself, the universe will be ready to make your dreams come true. A journey of peace, abundance, and celebrations will be coming your way soon.

Summary:

Change your thoughts & way of thinking.

Practice mindfulness & work on releasing limiting beliefs.

Learn how to include self care in your daily routine

Set boundaries

Think about what your goals or dream are

Make a list or a vision board

Research information on manifestation or spirituality that aligns with your beliefs

Pile 2:

Shufflemancy -

Bruises by Kelela

Brain by Mariah the Scientist

Omega by SAAY

Seven of Wands, King of Wands, Wheel of Fortune, The Aeon (Judgement), & Nine of Pentacles

This pile gave me goosebumps when shuffling - You have a very intense aura and strong presence, pile 2! Something about having to "fight" or the "brain" being significant. I'm reminded of this wounded emoji: 🤕. You could suffer from past trauma or have a mental disorder. I had to rewrite for this pile because it didn't save and I felt so frustrated having to write for this pile again, but it made me realize that this is possibly how you feel in life. You are constantly having to work with difficult circumstances without seeing any progress of the outcome. There were a lot of struggles that you had overcome and I am reminded of movie The Truman Show. His entire life was just programmed for him and he was forced to live a life he didn't want for the entertainment of others just so they could have a TV Show to watch. So I feel like people found joy in your misfortune and suffering, which I am terribly sorry for. The thing is though that was in the past and you don't have to deal with these people anymore. You don't have to pretend to be this character that obviously doesn't resonate with you. You can create an entirely new life, new self concept, new everything for yourself. Think of who you want to be as an individual, not what other people have labeled you as or want you to be. You have to start realizing that you are free to do as you please. Life can be like a simulation and we could all be considered avatars, but we don't realize is that we are able to customize our reality in anyway we wish. You have the inner strength and passion but you are just stuck in this survival mode that is not serving you anymore. It is time for you to move on and your spirit guides are being stern with me right now but they're saying "take this shit seriously". If you have a dream or goal you know you wanna do, take action and stop complaining. Stop with the excuses, the self pity, and the martyr complex. Once you start asking the universe for help is when you can start to achieve your dreams. "It's like clockwork". I am seeing that you feel that you're running out of time in life to accomplish your goals but I am reminded of Maddy from Euphoria when she said "Don't worry, this is only just the beginning". Your "shift" or soul purpose has only just begun and time is ticking for real now. I am getting a vision of someone holding a bright lantern in a dark cave and they are like making a come hither motion with their hands. So I believe this is the universe and your guides saying if you need guidance and you are unsure what to do or where to go or how to even begin the project you wish to work on - Ask them. Once you start asking the universe for help shit is going to change in your life dramatically because your purpose is very significant and it is going to be for the better of society but you have to stop being in your ego and acting stubborn because it is not helping you or anyone else for that matter. I'm not saying you have to be some sort of holy messiah or the rebirth of Jesus Christ himself, but you are going to be someone who will make a difference in this world. As you embark on this journey, it is crucial that you pay attention to the signs the universe or spirit gives you. It is okay if you make mistakes but you have to be careful and aware of people or vices that will sabotage you in the end. So listen to your intuition and notice those gut feelings. I feel like people will be giving you your flowers in the future, that could mean you will be someone who has a certain level of status, or this means people will show appreciation or gratitude for your benevolence and charity. You have this gift or tool that the universe has blessed you with and you have to utilize it for the good will of others.

This is a powerful message I channeled from spirit: "Others who have begun early are merely the matches that were chosen out of indulgence, for candles & waxes, the faster they burn, the quicker their ashes will fall. The last one to be picked, is the match that is the resource for those in need of hope and warmth when faced with the darkness."

Summary:

Use your intuition

Release the version of yourself that is no longer serving you

Embrace change & endings

The end of a chapter means a new beginning

Rely on your inner strength & wisdom

Ask for guidance

Focus on what it is meant for you

"All that glitters isn't gold"

Pile 3:

Shufflemancy -

Lemon by N.E.R.D ft. Rihanna

Starface* by Jean Dawson

Screen Time by Epik High ft. HOSHI

The Tower, Four of Pentacles (reversed), Three of Wands, The Sun, & Four of Wands

The pile's energy instantly chirped me up and made so happy! Its interesting how the piles are always so unique in their own way. You could have been or are currently in denial with your circumstances. It reminds me of Hey Ya! by Outkast. Go take a look at that music video or listen to the song if you're unfamiliar with it. It's a fun happy song, but the meaning of the lyrics are actually quite depressing. You could have this mindset of: "Y'all don't wanna hear me you just wanna dance!". You could be someone who is pessimistic and a downer, always wanting to look at things from a more "realistic" perspective. Although, your spirit guides are asking you to actually change this way of thinking. I actually see that you have a really bright and energizing aura! You could be really funny, pile 3! Your purpose could align with having a good sense of humor or being a source of hope and optimism for others. You could be interested in working in the entertainment field. Once you get past this, you will realize how much fun life can actually be! Your past challenges could also be viewed from a more positive standpoint. For example, the situation might have been unfortunate, but did you learn anything valuable? Or was there any positive outcomes because of that said situation. Reflect on your life experiences and lessons to see where the universe actually might have helped you dodge a bullet or blessed you with protection or love. You could also attract new people into your life who will make you feel a sense of joy and gratitude. This pile just reminds me of a fun summer day, where people eat watermelon or have fun at the pool. Another song I'm channeling is Summertime by DJ Jazzy Jeff & Will Smith. You will be celebrating and having a good time with your loved ones in the future soon. I believe honestly your path for now is to focus on happiness and sharing love and light with others!

Summary:

Have fun!

Make jokes that uplift people's energy

Focus on the good vs dwelling in negativity

Try to make someone laugh or smile!

Make plans for the summer

Hang out with your friends or spend time with family

Your past struggles are why you're still here. You overcame a great deal and should be proud of yourself!

#pac #pick a card #pick a pile #astrology #astro observations #astrology observations #spirituality #tarot #tarot cards #tarot deck #tarot reading #oracle #oracle cards

390 notes · View notes

maybe-its-5sos · 30 days

Text

Dad (All Might Headcanon)

Requested: No Idea: What Toshinori would be like as your dad!

He's the softest sweetest dad!

He just wants to keep you happy and safe

He also wants to make you super proud!

He's absolutely wound around your little finger....what ever his baby wants, his baby gets! "Daddy, I wanna go to the zoo!" Toshinori having just sat down after an exhausting day of fighting crime "Of course dear, get dressed and lets go!" "I want that big bear plushy!" "okay!" he smiles reaching for his wallet.

He'll let you style his hair all you want. The mountain of a man will sit in front of the couch while you climb his back like a jungle gym, putting in cute hair clips and braiding it! "Daddy what do you think?" you cheerfully ask giving him a little hand held mirror. "I look fantastic, you should be my stylist, pumpkin!" He grins proudly, flipping his loose hair.

He'll absolutely play pretend and take part in tea parties, tiara and all... tho he had to have the chairs be made sturdier so he didn't flatten them with the power of them cheeks.

Lets you use his capes as blankets.

He always makes you walk towards the inside of the sidewalk. Tho when you're really young, he wont even let you walk at all and carries you around.

He would hold your hand at every doctors appointment! Knowing that you hate the hospital issued bandages because their industrial strength-, skin removing-, soul ripping-glue, he brings his own to make for a less fussy appointment.

He also does a full monster check in the house before putting you to bed. "Yep, no monsters there!" he says getting up from the floor after looking under you bed. "What about in there?" you ask pointing at the slightly open closet, hiding under your blanket. "Nothing in here either!" he smiles, after shuffling some clothes and looking around. He closes the door.

He'll read you bedtime stories and tucks you in. And yes, he gives all the characters voices.

Absolutely will let you sleep in his bed if you have a nightmare ("don't fear, why? Because I am here!" he says groggily with a smile), or even if you're just super fussy about going to bed.

He'll spoil you without making you a brat. He explains to you that not everyone can afford everything you two have. It absolutely warms his heart when you want to donate a bunch of toys to the less fortunate!

He doesn't expect you to ever become a hero, he just wants you to do whatever you love doing. Plus he doesn't want you to put yourself in unnecessary danger.

Kinda gives him a heart attack when you come home from school telling him that you want to be a hero like him. He won't try to change your mind (too hard) tho. He might try to sway you a bit, but gives up when he realizes that you're just as stubborn as him.

If you get hurt, that man is there with a first aid kit before you even realize you got hurt in the first place. "dad it's just a scratch." your roll your eyes as the large man cleans and puts an obnoxious bandage on your wound.

When you get older (teenager and so on) ya'll will absolutely have dinner/movie nights. Toshi loves spending any time with you that he can, especially when he can no longer be in his larger form

He thinks he isn't the cool dad anymore, but you constantly have to remind him that he's the best dad you could've ever ask for, plus now he doesn't take up 90% of the couch, so honestly you prefer it.

You're the light of his life and you'll never know how much your good ol' dad truly loves you.

Masterlist

Ask

With love,

-K

#all might #all might x reader #dad might #toshinori yagi x reader #yagi toshinori #bnha headcanons #all might x daughter!reader #all might x platonic reader

100 notes · View notes

starlitmark · 10 months

Text

Summary: Making your boyfriend just a little jealous seemed like fun. Wooyoung was game. You just we're prepared for the consequences of your actions. Pairing: Yeosang x fem!reader Genre: smut Tropes: established relationship Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language Smut Warning: jealous sex, strength kink, dirty talk Word Count: 725 Note: for the Tarot Card Drabble Event Requested by: @smallfrye

The Hermit ➾ jealous sex, sex after a fight

He knew you were doing this to get a rise out of him. It was working. You had absolutely no other reason to be this touchy with Wooyoung. Your hands constantly touching his best friend in one way or another gets under his skin just enough that his jaw is clenched as his eyes stay trained on you from across the room.

You lean in when you notice Wooyoung trying to tell you something. You make eye contact with your boyfriend as you let your hand snake up and wrap around Wooyoung’s shoulder, your fingertips playing with the hair on the back of his head.

“You’re playing a dangerous game.” Wooyoung lilts, “What’s got you playing this game?”

“Just thought it could make for a fun night. Won’t you play along?”

Wooyoung snakes a hand around your waist, “You’re worse than me,” he teases, “I am not taking any responsibility for the repercussions you’re about to experience.”

You chuckle slightly and lean in closer so your lips are barely brushing against the shell of his ear. Yeosang’s eyes are on the pair of you. You know they are without even looking over at him. You pull away a moment later and start dragging your friend toward where everyone uses the living room as a makeshift dance floor. You don’t get very far, though, Yeosang stops dead in front of you. You hear Wooyoung try to stifle a laugh behind you before letting go of your hand.

“Told you I wouldn’t take responsibility for the repercussions of your actions.” he sing-songs, “Please make sure she’s able to walk by noon tomorrow. We have a scheduled lunch together.”

With that, Wooyoung disappears into the house party crowd, and you’re left there standing with your clearly annoyed boyfriend. You don’t say anything at first. You knew you were getting under his skin but didn’t realize how badly it got to him. Yeosang places a hand gently under your jaw, forcing you to make eye contact with him.

“You’re really trying to be on your worse behavior today, huh?” he says, almost too calmly.

“Yeo-”

“You’re lucky Wooyoung convinced me to have the party here, not at Yunho’s place. Poor Yunho would’ve had soiled sheets on his bed. It would’ve been all your fault too.”

You don’t dare respond now.

“Cat’s got your tongue, angel?” he asks condescendingly, “Let’s head to our room, shall we?”

You simply nod, turning to walk through the sea of bodies toward the stairs that lead to the bedrooms. Yeosang is right behind you with a hand on the small of your back, a small but firm reminder that you are about to get your ass handed to you. The moment Yeosang gets you in his bedroom, you’re pressed flat against the closed door. Yeosang is not but three inches from your face. His dark hair falls in his eyes as his gaze searches for any true discomfort in you. When he finds none, he captures your lips in a searing kiss. There are very vague undertones of gentleness, but it’s very well masked by the need to remind you whose girlfriend you are.

Clothes disappear in a flurry of motion and kisses. Before you know it, you find yourself pinned face-down ass-up on your boyfriend’s bed. Your eyes brimmed with tears as he pounds into you relentlessly.

“Yeosang, please,” you beg; for what, you have no idea.

A deep chuckle resonates from his chest, giving a sharp thrust, “Please, what?”

Before you can respond, he pulls you out of you and manhandles you onto your back. You see the lustful rage in his eyes. You reach up toward him, hoping to lace your fingers through his dark locks. Instead, he takes one of his hands and grips both your wrists in it, effectively pinning them above your head. He pushes back into you a moment later, making you let out a strangled moan.

“You think Wooyoung could fuck you like I can? Hmm?”

“No,” you all but shout, “only you, you’re the only one who can fuck me like this. Fuck, Yeosang! Let me cum, please!” you beg again.

Again he pulls out, making you whine at the recession of your orgasm again.

“You think I’m gonna let you cum that easily?” he teases, “You have a long fucking night ahead of you.”

Networks: @cultofdionysusnet @kwritersworld @k-vanity

Tag List: @sanjoongie @jaehunnyy @ericssmile @anyamaris @almondmilkeu @shinestarhwaa

#yeosang smut #cultofdionysusnet #kwritersworldnet #kvanity #ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez smut #yeosang fanfic #yeosang x reader

290 notes · View notes

ghostboneswrites2 · 1 month

Text

A Mess - Volume 2

Part 3

Summary: How the Savior war and the loss of Rick affected your relationship with Daryl.

Warnings: profanity, loss, spoilers, character deaths, smut

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

Chapter List

Note: man, one of the teasers I pulled from this chapter sparked some interest 😅

Well, @thesadcatt0, prepare for ANSWERS.

Anyways, I’ll shut up now. Enjoy ❤️

all banners credited on the masterlist!

The lineup may have well been the worst day of your life. Two of your friends gone, and your lover taken against his will right in front of you.

The days without him we’re almost as bad as the day he was taken. You barely ate, never slept. You constantly found yourself crying in your shared bed, sniffing his pillow in place of him. It seemed so cruel to lose two loves in one lifetime.

You had agreed to go to Hilltop with Rick and some others. You didn’t really know why you were going or what the plan was. You were just desperate to get out of Alexandria for a while. And, you wanted to see Maggie. You hadn’t seen her since the lineup, and she was pretty sick back then.

You gave Maggie a big hug when you saw her, but before you could really catch up, the gates opened again and a loud engine echoed within the walls. Through the dust you could just barely make out Daryl and Jesus riding in on a motorcycle.

Daryl had barely stood up off the bike before you tackled him to the ground.

“You’re okay.” You cried into the nape of his neck. He stiffened at the sudden human contact after days in isolation, but he relaxed as his arms snaked around you and held you tight against him.

“Yeah. I am.” He whispered into your hair, reminding not only you that he was okay but also himself. It had been a long few days at the Sanctuary, but now he knew things about them, and he had to report to Rick. They had to fight back. “C’mon.” He said softly as he tried to sit himself up off the ground. You rolled off him and stood up with him, gripping his hand tightly as he walked over to Rick to hug him.

That reunion was probably the highlight of the war with the Saviors. After that, there was nothing but more violence and death. You had begun to believe you were cursed. It seemed like you managed to end up with some kind of injury every time you had to fight.

When the final battle with the Saviors was over, you were left with a broken arm and a concussion. While your arm would take quite a while to heal, your head was fine the next day. The people that really needed healing were Maggie and Daryl. They both wanted Negan dead, and neither of them could let it go. But, Rick was unmoving on his decision to keep Negan alive as an example of what the communities all could have been. He was loyal to Carl’s vision, even at the detriment of those who had a score to settle with Negan.

The inability to cope with Negan’s life being spared caused a bit of a rift between you and Daryl. You’d followed him to the Sanctuary for the short time he was in charge there. He hated being there, and he didn’t even really want you there in the first place. A lot of the Saviors were just people getting by, but a lot of them were also animals. He hated the way some of the men would check you out and lick their crusty lips when you walked past. It made him sick to his stomach to think what they’d do to you if they had a chance.

The only time either of you felt any semblance of happiness at the Sanctuary was when you were both in bed.

The frustrations of the work would often leave Daryl tense, and he’d take those pent up frustrations out on you in bed. The sex got a lot rougher in those days.

He’d turn you over so you were facing away from him. He felt too ashamed of himself to look at you, or let you see him. He was ashamed of the way he had failed people over time. He failed to get Beth out of that hospital, he failed Glenn when he threw that lunch that got him killed, he failed Maggie when he couldn’t avenge Glenn, he failed Rick every day he woke up to lead the people he hated, and he failed you every time you reached for his hand and he flinched away.

He’d grip the back of your neck with his thick hand. His cock would slam into you with so much force it knocked guttural sounds from within you. Your fingers would dig into the sheets when the bruising force of his thrusts got a little out of hand.

His mind would always be elsewhere. You’d rarely reach your climax, either of you. You’d both go to bed unsatisfied and you’d be sore the next day. Still, you were close to each other, intimate in privacy, and that was as good as it was going to get for the time being, so you both tried to enjoy it as much as you could.

When Daryl stepped down at the Sanctuary and Carol took over, you left with him to help work on the bridge. With the Saviors not always working well with others, things could get pretty hectic. Fights would break out, and often Daryl would be an aggressor. It was hot and sticky and bugs were everywhere all the time. The tent you shared was cramped and the nights were restless and uncomfortable. You couldn’t even have violent therapy sex without others listening in. There seemed to be no end to the suffering. Still, you remained by his side, no matter what.

You stayed with him even when Rick blew up the bridge, when Daryl retired to the forest for six years. You’d often visit Hilltop or Alexandria to see old friends, but you stayed out there in that tent with him. Things were okay. He had become a bit softer, even in bed, but still he was withdrawn. You ate most of your meals in silence.

Days dragged a lot of the time. When you got so bored you couldn’t stand it, you’d just take another trip to visit Maggie or Michonne and spend a few days away. He didn’t seem to mind, nor did he seem to worry about you taking care of yourself without him, so no harm done, you figured.

One day you came home to see he had a dog. A dog, named Dog, apparently.

“Where’d you find him?” You asked as you patted and loved on the furry thing.

“Just out here.” He shrugged. He was holding something back, but you didn’t pry. You’d find out what it was soon enough, when you put the few tracking tips he taught you to good use, and tracked him on one of his hunts to find him at an old cabin. Another woman sat on the porch with him, long blonde hair cascaded over her shoulder.

She noticed you as soon as you noticed her. She stood quickly, shotgun cocked and ready, barrel pointed right at you. You disregarded her completely, eyes trained on Daryl, who you didn’t think had any business at another woman’s house.

Dog stood pointedly at her side, growling and snarling at you. You realized he was her dog.

Without a word, you just nodded, and stormed back to your camp.

By the time Daryl caught up, you were haphazardly throwing anything that belonged to you in your bag and rummaging around the campsite.

“(Y/N)—“

“Don’t.” You cut him off.

“It wasn’t—“

“Wasn’t what?” You snapped, turning to face him, eyes blazing. “Wasn’t what it looked like? Yeah, right. Heard that one before.”

Your body was trembling with rage. Considering the events that led to your relationship with him in the first place, you were infuriated that he’d be doing the same thing to you as your sleaze bag ex. We’re you eternally cursed to choose unfaithful men?

“No. It wasn’t.” He pleaded. You glanced down at Dog who sat idly by his side, tail wagging.

“Really? Cause I’ve never known a woman to loan anyone her dog without a good reason.” You glared.

“She didn’t. Dog found me. I followed him. That’s how I met her.”

“Oh, cute. It’ll be a real nice story for your grandkids.” You rolled your eyes as you zipped up your bag and threw it over your shoulder.

“(Y/N) will ya just stop?!”

“No!” You shouted, throwing your hands up with frustration. “No, I won’t stop! If there’s anything you should know by now, it’s that I’m nobody’s fucking side piece.”

“It ain’t like that! If ya’d just stop and listen!”

He pleaded with you as he stalked behind you, slapping stray limbs out of his face as he dodged through trees to keep up your pace. He found that he, too, was shaking. He felt so much anxiety in that moment — the possibility of losing you, especially over something so stupid — it was tearing him apart. He found himself blinking away tears as you tried to speed away from him. But, as he blinked them back, the pressure in his throat and chest just seemed to push more out. He was terrified. He couldn’t let you walk away.

When he caught up, he reached out and gripped your arm, pulling you back. You spun around and looked right through him, eyes wide and full of your own tears.

“(Y/N), please. Just stop and listen.” He breathed.

“You have thirty seconds.”

“It wasn’t nothin’ like that, okay? I swear. Her dog follows me around. I bring ‘im home to her sometimes. We talk a little. That’s it.” He explained.

“Why don’t you just talk to me?” You asked quietly. You had a point. You two spent the majority of your time in silence, to the point where you’d leave him for days just to go have a real conversation with someone. You always came home, though, because you’d rather suffer in silence then be away for too long.

“I just—“ He took a breath to collect his thoughts. “She don’t know about none of it, ya know? I just.. I don’t look at her and see somebody else I let down.”

“Is that what you see when you look at me?”

“No.” He shook his head. His gums were raw from how hard he’d been chewing at them. “I see somebody I’m afraid o’ lettin’ down.”

“You never let anyone down, Daryl.” You said harshly. “And you’d know that if you’d fucking come talk to our family once in a while. I’m tired of telling them you’re doing fine, even if you won’t crawl out of your fucking hole and go see anyone.”

“I just..” His lip quivered a little as he looked down at you. He hated that feeling. His fists bunched up at his sides, legs stiff, boots glued in place. He felt so awkward and vulnerable when he tried to be open with anyone. Especially you. All he wanted was to be someone you relied on, someone you felt safe with. Every time he opened up, he felt like anything but that. “I’m sorry.”

His voice cracked as he uttered the apology. You faltered a little at the sight of him, but you stood firm.

“Well, sorry ain’t gonna cut it this time. I need you to prove it. With actions.”

“Like what?” He asked eagerly.

“Like talking to me, for starters. Have a fucking conversation with me. Talk to me while we eat dinner. Touch me. Act like you want anything to do with me.” You spat. While his voice had softened the moment you gave him a chance to explain himself, your tongue was still sharp and jagged. All these things you had thought and felt and bottled up for six years were finally out on the table.

“Okay.” He nodded. “I will.”

You glared at him. In all your experience with men, it had never been so easy to get the changes you’d asked for.

“And…” You thought hard. “Sex. Like, good sex. I haven’t busted a nut in like six years.”

His lips curled a little. He’d almost forgotten how blunt you could be, given the chance to speak your mind. You crossed your arms.

“Okay.” He nodded again. “So what first?”

You cocked an eyebrow at that. It was actually a good question.

➴➵➶➴➵➶➴➵➶

The bark of the tree scraped at your back as you gripped onto his shoulders. Lewd sounds filled the forest around you has he pumped his length in and out of you. You moaned and gasped, enjoying the familiarity of such intimate sex. It had been a long time since it felt that way.

Still, you weren’t reacting the way you used to, and he took notice. He wasn’t building you up the way he should have been by now.

He slowed his pace down and broke the ongoing kiss to ask you; “What’s wrong?”

“What? Nothing.” You panted impatiently, not understanding his sudden hesitance.

“Somethin’s up.” He pressed.

“I was starting to get close.” You insisted.

“Nah ya weren’t.” He pointed out. “Hang on.”

He hooked his hands under your thighs and dripped down to his knees, holding your legs up above his shoulders as his mouth found your mound.

You sucked in a breath of air at the sensation of his tongue tracing delicate circles around your clit. “Oh.” You breathed. “Shit.”

He hummed against you, the gentle vibration making you twitch.

Your nails dug into the tree behind you as you rocked against his mouth, relaxing your weight into the trunk as he held you up against it.

“Fuck.” You whined as your clit became more sensitive to his gentle laps. He sucked at your clit and fucked you with his tongue for a while, before he brought his attention back to your clit again and focused intensely on that sweet spot.

Soon your legs started to shake and your body began to buzz. The feeling washed over you quickly. A loud moan pushed past your lips as you came, writhing in his grip against the tree until you were twitching and jerking away from him.

With your orgasm finally out of the way, he was back on his feet, slapping into you, until his own high reached a climax and he was pumping you full of his cum.

When you recovered enough to pull your clothes back on and think a full, coherent thought, you realized something.

“Hey Daryl?” You asked as he buttoned up his jeans and adjusted his poncho.

“Yeah?”

“You didn’t pull out.”

tags: @kissmeunicornbaobei @thesadcatt0 @clairealeehelsing @duckybird101 @tmntfixationxreader @ryoujoking @blackvelveteen1339 @yondus-girl @ladylincoln @sunshinebug9 @saylum559 @yoowhatthefuck @duffmckagansbandana @celtic-crossbow @virginsexgod69 @dazzling-roaring-20s @l0kilaufeys0n7 @uhnanix

#daryl dixon #daryl x reader #twd daryl #the walking dead daryl #daryl x female reader #daryl twd #daryl fanfiction #daryl dixon fanfic #daryl x you #daryl x y/n #a mess

75 notes · View notes

gay-dorito-dust · 1 year

Note

Can i request headcandons of the spiderverse Boys with a shy nurse reader who is constantly tired? Being nurse and spider person is a physically and mentally demanding job and i think that would be nice see more spiderverse content, but if u don't want to make this request i understand

A/n: I’m sorry Most of these are either short cuz I didn’t know what to put for them or come across as a carbon copy of the other in due to me not knowing what to put there instead🤣

Miles sympathises with you wholeheartedly.

Trying to find a healthy balance between being a nurse -an intensive and highly demanding profession- and being a hero was definitely a challenge that had detrimental affects upon one’s mental and physical health.

Miles would affirm you with his words of praises and encouragement all the while holding you tightly, wilfully being your personal pillow/recharging station that often times he’d catch you fall asleep against him because his presence was that warm and comforting to you that it lulled you into a peaceful sleep.

Miles deeply admires your dedication to saving people not only as hero but also within the medical field. But he often does worry that you work yourself to the bone trying to find a way to perform both tasks without having them overlap one another.

There do come days where it all becomes a bit too much as your body grows sick and tired of your constant negligence and choose it’s way of rebelling by refusing you any sort of mobility of your limbs. Your mental state also tanks which only made your want to move even harder as you didn’t even have to willpower to make it so.

Miles would be a major source of comfort during these moments as he would remind you of all the achievements and accomplishments you’ve made during your tenure as both hero and Nurse. He’d probably have his music on as background noise whilst he’s taking the time and effort in making sure you’re as comfortable as possible.

Things he most often says are;

‘You have done so many amazing things and your only just getting started! How cool is that?!’

‘You’re an inspiration to not only the people you save on a daily basis but your also an inspiration to me as well that I even made art about you. Here, take a look!’

‘Don’t beat yourself up over this, you always get back up and hit them twice as hard because that’s what my y/n does, for my y/n ain’t no quitter, they’re a fighter.’

‘Bad days come to pass because the better ones always remain.’

‘Rest, I’ll take over from here.’

‘You’re not alone in this because I’m not going anywhere, I’ll be right here to catch you when you need me to.’

Pavitr would, If you let him, smother you in affection and cuddles but to the right amount so it doesn’t cross the border where it could potentially get annoying.

Which with Pav, it never does because his hugs and cuddles were the best and yet to be topped by anything or anyone because they are superior.

Plus they brought you warmth and comfort that you can’t help but bury yourself into his neck after a shit day in hopes of forgetting all about it as his hand rubs your back soothingly whilst also fighting the urge to just fall asleep then and there.

Also this lad would just spoil you with small gifts as to show his appreciation for you even though he does so quite eloquently enough with his words and his actions that this was merely the cherry on top.

Due to Pavitr being more able to read people then most, he’d notice the indicators within you that told him you weren’t feeling your best and he would make sure to take you to his favourite places within Mumbattan in hopes that it’ll help you by even just a little bit. After all he’s aware of the concept that fresh air and a change of pace were beneficial to a better mental health, and all he wants was for you to feel better, even if it was by a little that would mean a whole lot to him.

Hobie would want you to have a change of scenery from the hustle and bustle you subjugate yourself to on an daily basis to somewhere less noisy and loud within any aspect.

Sure it’s not his kind of scene but for you and how much work you put on yourself just to come home, looking as though any minute you were going to collapse? It was worth seeing you gradually become more relaxed and at peace to the point you fall asleep against his shoulder and he has to carry you back home.

again Hobie didn’t care since he knew how much sleep you missed out on and would not hesitate to get you a few days off if he feels as though you workplace was taking the piss out of you by thinking you were expendable.

He ain’t having none of that shit when it came to you.

Hobie wasn’t about to let you work yourself to the bone and not get a single thanks nor your flowers for busting your ass.

You tell him that it doesn’t bother you as you were doing what your job entails but Hobie more or less your backbone within these sorts of situations because he didn’t want you being taken advantage of just because you were ‘hard working.’ Not to say you aren’t but Hobie was more then well aware that this was often the excuse given when some shit stain wanted to offload their work onto someone else for personal gain.

It was always the ones who worked the least or didn’t work at all that got the appraisal and the promotions.

So Hobie would always and I mean ALWAYS praise you for everything you’ve done for he doesn’t believe you hear it enough for his liking.

Also he’s great with advice so when the days were particularly rough, he’d probably drop a bit of sage advice in regards to any aspect that you were finding hard to cope with like; ‘while the aspiration to save everyone is admirable; it’s unrealistic. For you’re setting yourself up to traverse down a road where instead of pointing out the problem, you are made to believe that you are the problem. Instead of trying to save everyone, focus on saving one person at a time for that one person could be someone else’s everything.’

Being the absolute secret sweetheart that he is, Miguel would try and help take the weight off of your shoulders and make your life a whole lot more easier by performing small acts of service that he knows you’ll greatly appreciate.

Even if it was the minuscule things such as; making you your favourite beverage, setting up a relaxing bath/ shower. fluffing up the pillows, smoothing the creases out of the duvet, cooking your favourite food since you always tell him that one of the things you always loved coming home to was the smell of his cooking. Hell do it all if it made you happy.

Miguel defiantly pampers you on the days where you felt more fatigued from your dual jobs. He doesn’t want you to do anything for you’ve already done enough to warrant yourself some much needed rest.

He lives to serve his beloved and would reject your requests to help him by planting kisses to your lips until you ultimately accept his pampering with little to no complaint.

If you were in the spider society, he’d give you time off because he’s the boss and all and if you were to go against his request for you to take time for yourself, he’d threaten to double it even though he was seriously considering it with how obvious tightroping two jobs was negatively effecting you.

Miguel doesn’t want you to overwork yourself but will overwork himself…what a hypocrite.

Soft Miguel is only soft with you.

347 notes · View notes

positivelyruined · 30 days

Text

In line with @sonics-atelier’s post.

Why did Tamlin lock Feyre in the house?

Well,

A) There’s a violently dark high lord in their midst who can appear and disappear at will. Warding off his home was much easier than doing it to his country. Because Prythian is the world, Spring is the district. Which, by the way, that makes Tamlin’s place as a high lord equivalent to a king.

B) She fights the mating bond so hard that she continually puts herself in danger. Reckless, impulsive, and used to running on the road not taken — that sounds like Feyre to me. Feyre as she should be refuses to be defined by anything or anyone but herself. This, also, is why she balks at marrying Tamlin. Even without Rhysand’s interference — her character should struggle with the idea of marriage.

Is it of a lesser force than a mating bond? Yes.

Can it still be used to control someone? Yes.

C) It still comes down to a bottom line — no one should be imprisoned for someone else’s crime. Yet, is a lock on a door true imprisonment? To lock your door is to be intelligent, aware, and realistic. It is an acknowledgement of the danger, without deprivation of the freedom to open it.

When you love someone, what do you do when they are in danger? You stand in front of them. You fight for them. You give them a safe place. No, this is not done perfectly, but it is from a genuine care for another person’s well being. One of my favorite TV relationships that executes this trope perfectly is Liv and Major, from iZombie.

They are both constantly sacrificing and compelling the other to be safe. They fight for what is right, even when they disagree about how it should be done. Their relationship hangs in the balance until the end of the story. When their world goes to war, they find their unique roles in it. Sometimes, they fight on what appears to be opposing sides. Yet, they are made for one another. In the end, they sit down and realize that they would have never made it through the experience without the influence of their partner. In deep respect, friendship, and genuine care — they continually strive (together and apart) to improve society, fight for justice and fight for a world where they can be together.

I never used names in that paragraph. Doesn’t it scream Feylin?

Can’t you say that Tamlin is constantly sacrificing to keep Feyre safe? Including separating himself from her when his magic becomes too strong to control.

Couldn’t you say that Feyre compels him? She refuses to go out a quitter. She runs into danger, facing unknown consequences, because he is in danger.

He respects her desire to be wild.

Yet, he knows her deep, inner need to be safe.

She respects his ability to put others above himself, but she knows that secretly all he needs is to be given care, affection, and kindness.

Together, they were meant to have built up a Spring Court that is a home to the wild people, the refugees, and the abandoned.

Because in knowing what it is like to be completely alone — they continually return to one another. When she has pushed herself too far, she runs back to him for safety. When he has given too much, she takes the burdens off his shoulders and reminds him that if you cannot care for yourself…you cannot care for anyone else.

Together — they are two of the most dangerous fairies that you could cross — because they balance one another. Tamlin and Feyre were designed (by accident) to compliment one another as a team — a badass, “I would let the world burn if the fire didn’t touch you,” team.

In public, they are iron and steel. In private, they melt for one another until every locked door and broken fence in their hearts can mend.

That is what SJM destroyed in ACOMAF. That was the sheer potential that this couple had. That is what makes ACOTAR a stand alone book.

Instead,

The dear and dead to us author decided to replace her characters with shallow imitations of what they could have been.

So, let’s be real. Feylin was destroyed by the simple fact that ACOTAR has a sense of right and wrong. ACOMAF obliterates that narrative.

#this is why I will forever cry over the potential of ACOTAR #anti SJM #Separating my half about feyre / tamlin / and rhysands dynamic for a later post #acotar analysis #as a writer #as a reader #literary analysis on modern fiction #pro feylin #feylin #pro tamlin #pro feyre #pro feyre archeron #ACOTAR #anti ACOMAF #anti feysand

56 notes · View notes

mysadcorner · 1 year

Text

Percy Jackson Dating Headcanons

- Credit to the gifs owner - Please be specific about characters wanted in requests -

Masterlist Navigation

• Percy tries his best to be smooth when you’ve first started dating each other, but he’s really not always great at being in control of it. He tries his best to impress you, but what he fails to forget is that he doesn’t need to go out of his way to do so.

• When you first start dating Percy he’s not exactly sure what to do. He doesn’t have a lot of experience in relationships, and the relationships he’s seen and heard of around him certainly weren’t always normal. Because of this he prefers to take things slow until you’ve both established boundaries well.

• Percy would need to be with someone for a long time, mainly because short and unrequited love completely breaks him inside. He needs to fully trust you emotionally (especially after all he’s been through) and will hope that you can trust him completely too.

• He’d be fully committed to you and would never intentionally go behind your back and do something that could upset you to cause you harm. He loves you completely, and once your relationship is fully established he’ll be more than willing to take extra steps in life such as living together or even more.

• Percy would develop a deep attachment to you and wouldn’t be able to cope if you were too far away from him. He gets worried and thinks about you constantly, to the point where he thinks bad things might happen if he does things without you or he can’t look after himself as well as he used to without you around.

• Percy wouldn’t be that much of a jealous person because he completely trusts that you’ll be loyal to him, but if you were intentionally breaking loyalty to make him jealous things wouldn’t end well. Making him jealous on purpose would relish in Percy holding a grudge against you for a long time, and he probably wouldn’t be able to bring himself to interact with you like he did beforehand.

• He is highly protective of you, especially since he lives a dangerous life. Even if you aren’t apart of the lifestyle he lives he’ll still worry about you. Perhaps a person being mean to you, or tripping and hurting yourself. No matter how small or who/what it’s caused by he’s constantly thinking of ways to protect you.

• Percy never gets insecure about his relationship with you or who you’re spending time with. He knows that he treats you better than anyone else ever could, and if you can’t see that then you’re really missing out. Plus, if anyone tries to take a chance with you while you’re taken he’s well aware that he could win a fight with anyone or anything to stop them from making you uncomfortable again.

• Percy is a big fan of physics touch and will constantly be attempting to touch you, at least in a harmless and non intimate way. Being able to hold your hand or having his arm around you reminds him that you aren’t going anywhere and he’s able to keep you all to himself. Which is something he finds hard to believe sometimes.

• He’s well aware that he’s strong and could easily do damage, so if you’re smaller than him he’s going to try to be gentle around you as much as possible. He might be a bit rougher around you and less careful if you tell him it’s alright to do so, but generally he would prefer to refrain from potentially hurting you by accident.

#percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson headcanons

571 notes · View notes

inhuman-obey-me · 5 months

Note

🌑 + Simeon + MC = ?

"Embrace the shadow following behind." - Simeon/MC

An angel’s fall is often painted as one of disgrace, of shame. Once a beloved creature, now a despicable monster. A being of light now immersed in the shadows.

The story of the Great Celestial War can always be found in the whispers of the Celestial Palace, in the teachings of the angels, in the way that several large portraits in the halls had been removed but how nothing ever replaced them – a constant reminder of them. Those who dared to oppose their Father, those who dared doubt him.

Simeon is beginning to wonder if he, too, might soon become a warning tale.

It had already been set into motion long ago, with his demotion to archangel after he refused to fight, after he covered for Lucifer. As the years passed, he often found himself wondering – Why didn’t you join them? Why didn’t you fight?

Had he been a coward? Or did he want to so desperately believe that, at the end of it all, Father did everything for a reason? His guiding light is all he had ever known, all he had ever worshipped.

He does not have anything else.

That’s a lie.

He struggles to silence the voice in the back of his mind, but it has become more and more difficult as time passes, a shadow constantly clinging to him. You have them, it reminds. His long lost friends in the Devildom, new friends as well – and one particular human who has ensnared him, enamored him.

You have them.

“Simeon? Got something on your mind?”

Snapped out of his thoughts, he turns to be greeted by the most recent subject of his musings.

“Oh, nothing important.” He flashes that warm smile of his, trying to ease your worry – though his gaze can’t help but fall on the Ring of Light adorning your hand. The ring that now has further embroiled him in Michael’s ire, in Father’s.

“You know, I’m always here to listen.” You aren’t convinced, and take a few slow steps towards him. Placing a hand on his arm, you look into those cerulean-sun eyes as you try to read him. He has always made that difficult. “You’ve been out on the balcony for a while.”

“I know.” Simeon’s smile softens, as does his gaze. With a sigh, he looks back out to the quiet Devildom forest. “Just…thinking about the future.”

“That sounds important.” You tilt your head to the side, lips curved in a teasing smirk. “What future are you thinking of?”

“...Of the Three Realms. Of mine.” He runs his fingers through his hair, trying to choose his words carefully. “Trying to figure out what it is that I want.”

“What you want, hm? Well, I was told some great advice once. Maybe it’ll help?” You bring your hands up to cup his face, earning a look of surprise. “When in doubt, have a little talk with yourself. Close your eyes, and have a heart-to-heart.”

Simeon can’t help but laugh, shaking his head slightly in your grasp. “Using my own words against me. Very clever, dear.”

“Hey, I know you’re the type who won’t listen to his own advice.” With a grin, you lean forward and place a gentle kiss on the tip of his nose, then his lips. “So, I’m going to make sure you do, okay?”

“Okay.” He chuckles, feeling a warmth in his chest. As you move to cover his ears, he lets his eyes close and confronts that voice he tries to keep away. The voice that has followed him from eons ago, from that first inkling of what if? What if he had joined? What if he had done something else? What if he could be with those he held so dearly without fear or repercussion?

He thought all he had was the Celestial Realm. That all he had was what Father called love.

You know that’s not true. You have everything you need, right here.

As your hands eventually leave his ears, he hears the distant shouts of Lucifer and his brothers, the raucous laughter of Diavolo and Solomon, the yelping of Luke, and he’s sure he can hear Barbatos too. He then slowly opens his eyes, and in that moment all the affection he felt for you threatens to overflow.

Perhaps it's time for him to finally embrace the shadow following behind.

#yes I know I'm using stuff from nightbringer but I feel like SImeon would have given the same advice to OG timeline MC too #obey me #obey me!#obey me swd #obey me shall we date #omswd #obey me nightbringer #omnb #obey me simeon #obey me simeon x mc #obey me simeon x reader #obey me fic #obey me drabble #writings #obey me angst #4000 follower celebration #the all encompassing [mod] cosmos

140 notes · View notes

soleilnomoon · 1 year

Note

May I get a oatmeal raisin cookie, dulce de leche roll, nougat, with caramel on top with Law from One Piece, with a f!reader, please?

hiii angel 😊💕 ty for your patience, i had fun writing this one, something short & sweet as law is the worst and i h8 him (i'm lying ofc).

1.8k words, fem reader, nsfw, 18+ mdni, a lil bit of angst (i can never help myself ok) mixed w. smut; feat. cute thangs like law being the worst ever, delusion on both law and reader's part, rough (consensual) sex, reader as always lacks self-preservation, but that's how i like her; law likes to think he's above intimacy but lbr he ain't. (if u see spelling/grammatical errors, no u didn't <3)

if he’s honest with himself — and he often isn’t — you brought this on yourself. he’s grown beyond tired of repeating himself throughout the day; he tells you as much after he instructs you to hold onto the backs of your thighs to expose your pussy to him in a way you’ve never done before. there’s something almost clinical about the way his amber eyes take in your body. his gaze is hawkish, a little cold, but also very familiar — leaving behind a blazing path with every passing second.

you knew you shouldn’t have pushed him, but you were having so much fun earlier, and things are always exciting whenever he gets angry. what you didn’t count on, was law reacting so quickly. normally he lets you have your way and then deals with you the next day, preferring to drag out his punishments — but today, you really toed the line. you’d be proud if you weren’t currently in a bind.

one ironclad rule that everyone on board the polar tang follows, is to never disturb the captain while he’s working. on the rare occasions where there’s an absolute need for his assistance, he’ll make an exception — but you’ve never cared about that, often provoking him in front of the others, flirting as you taunt him by not wearing the appropriate attire in the submarine.

trafalgar law thrives on order, on ensuring his crew follows his plans exactly the way he wants them to, and without question, too. you’ve always thought the others archaic and ridiculous for following him blindly like that, and, besides, law makes it easy to tease him. constantly finding reasons to touch him, always making sure to sit right next to him during meals, your hand drifting to touch his thigh under the table, nails dragging down he inseam of his denim.

whenever you act like that, whenever you brush up against him with the intent of rattling his nerves, he has to remind himself that it’s not feasible for him to fuck you on the table for everyone to see exactly how he likes to deal with you. it’s because you know he won’t do it, that you keep poking.

he stopped fighting you ages ago, but he doesn’t let you get away with much in front of the others.

except for today. you actually managed to fluster him in an irreparable way, so he’s teaching you a lesson.

there are books, papers, and pens scattered on the floor near the desk — law shoved them off to drop you on the surface without restriction. you’re on your back, hot tears pooling around your eyes, threatening to roll down your round cheeks without mercy.

when he originally called you into his office, you figured he’d give you a lecture then send you on your way; but the moment you entered, he had you backed against the door, long fingers wrapped around your throat, squeezing tightly. you’re normally not so careless to let yourself be caught off guard like that, but he has height and strength to his advantage always.

you expected him to kiss you then, to make you fall apart without even doing much — but he didn’t, as usual, he always refuses to kiss you. the sting of that rejection somehow always leaves you with a bitter feeling that you swallow with great difficulty each time. you don’t know why you get your hopes up like that; law isn’t intimate, nor does he crave any sort of romantic companionship. you know that, and yet you still can’t help yourself; hope is a dangerous thing, so you unfortunately have to learn that lesson repeatedly.

“don’t move,” is all he says when he slides the tip of his cock inside your tight hole before snapping his hips forward, the motion making your hips twitch and has your pussy clench around him. it’s pure desperation that has you whimpering and pleading with him to hurry up.

he doesn’t listen — and why would he? he’s the one in charge here, not you. still, he doesn’t make you wait for long, as he thrusts his cock in and out, enjoying the way your slick clings to his length, your thighs warm and soft each time his hips meet yours. you bite down hard on your bottom lip, hoping to keep quiet — knowing it’ll piss him off even more, but law isn’t having it. he plucks your lip away from your teeth, cock pounding into you harder, making you choke on his name.

“behave,” he clicks his tongue afterward, but gives you a dark smile. “you’ll take what i give you and like it.” more than like it, really; your mind is a jumbled mess, thoughts bouncing around erratically, heart beating too fast, as if you’re running an eternal marathon. he leans down, licks along your collarbone, nipping at the skin there, hips rolling against yours at a devastating pace. it makes you rethink all the times you acted out, makes you want to repent somehow — and this does serve as some sort of penance, even if you’re getting pleasure out of it.

and he is too; out of your submission, out of his domination of you. it’s always exhilarating when he has the upper hand in any given situation, but with you he’s amplified tenfold, and he doesn’t know why. or he pretends he doesn’t, anyway.

when you plead for him to slow down, he sucks his teeth and speeds up, reminding that he’s the one in charge — and always has been. your pussy swallows most of his length, a feat that he continues to remain in awe of. no matter how rough he is with you, you always manage to survive and he supposes he likes that about you.

your tenacity is dangerous, though, and if he’s not careful he might end up liking you more than necessary. even though he already does. he watches the expressions on your face, the ecstasy despite all your complaints — you just like running your mouth, is all; he knows that now.

law pulls out of you without warning, leaving a aching, vacant feeling in your pussy. you open your mouth to protest, but he motions for you to get on your hands and knees. he hisses in annoyance when you rub your ass against his hardened length; his patience is practically nonexistent, and you feel it when he grabs your ass and thrusts inside you again.

the change in position has you arching your back, a bit of drool gliding down your bottom lip and spilling onto your chin as you reach back and grab his hip. you bounce your ass against him, matching the timing of his thrusts; a warmth crawls around his chest as he watches the way his cock moves in and out of your pussy. he doesn’t know what to do with that feeling, so he swallows back a groan and grabs a fistful of your hair to pull you closer.

your whining grips him around the throat, makes him think about going easier on you — but then he remembers your insolence and drags his lips along the curve of your ear.

“stop running.”

an impossible request, you know that he knows that; but you take it anyway, grateful that he’s fucking you hard enough to make you forget you have feelings for him. you know later on you’ll mull over what you should or shouldn’t have said, but for now you’ll enjoy the way his cock kisses a spot so deep that it has your eyes rolling back. your words are barely coherent when he kisses the side of your neck, and he almost moans your name out loud when you clench around him in retaliation. and, because he refuses to let you push things in your favor, he rubs your clit with his fingers, your wetness dripping down your thighs so prettily, pussy squelching loudly with each thrust of his cock.

you know that this will only end with your heart in torn carelessly into pieces, but you don’t care; the rush that overwhelms you with each orgasm he gives you is worth it. it’s a powerful delusion, one that you’ll keep for as long as you can. law pinches your clit impulsively, and the way you tremble beneath him, the way you cry out for more more more nearly incapacitates him.

but he stands strong, thankfully.

it’s only when his strokes get sloppy and frenetic, that an orgasm seizes control of your body.

“you’re squeezing so tight,” he says lightly, breathing uneven against your skin, pressing kisses on your shoulder, “must be feeling good, hm?” he knows why you can’t answer him, which is why he pushes you back down onto the desk and slaps your ass. you’re not sure if it’s the aggression or the fact that you’re nearly spent, but it’s like your orgasm is never ending. arousal pools around your abdomen as sweat clings to your skin; he won’t last much longer, but he wants to delude himself into thinking he can handle more.

“too much,” you manage to say, pussy overstimulated, sensitive, and puffy; but you still arch against him, still buck your hips backwards, enjoying the way law seems every bit as obsessed with you as you are with him. you know you’ll be sore in the morning, but it’ll be worth it; and you know that no matter what he says, you affect him more than he’s ever willing to admit publicly.

your pussy has him in a literal chokehold, which is always the case whenever he fucks you, but tonight it feels different. he’s not sure what it is, but something compels him to pull you flush against his chest. when you turn your face towards him, he kisses you, the impulse surprising both of you. he cums the moment your lips part and his tongue glides inside your mouth, artful and graceful as it caresses your tongue with familiarity. a flush takes hold of your body, making your skin hot to the touch, but he doesn’t stop kissing you; his thrusts are slower, almost sensual but he refuses to read too much into it. when he pulls away, he tries to catch his breath, heart suddenly much too big for his chest when he realizes what he just did. you don’t bother teasing him about it, as your body is currently out of commission, your thoughts obliterated of anything that isn’t related to him.

he glances down and sees the way your cum spills onto his desk, the sight burned into his mind. you don’t even remember if you locked the door when you came in — and anyone could’ve heard the way law had you screaming, the pleasure much to great to keep quiet no matter how hard you tried. he isn’t worried about that, though; he’s concerned with how he’s supposed to move forward now that he’s allowed you a bit of intimacy and vulnerability. he supposes he can think about that later, so for now he runs a hand down his face before giving your ass a playful slap and commending you for a job well done.

#another fic down 349034 more to go #fic request #500+ followers event #milestone event #🍭✨🍨sticky & sweet event 🧁✨🍭#one piece imagine #one piece smut #one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #trafalgar law smut #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar law x y/n #law x reader #law x y/n #law smut #*washes hands* i am done

296 notes · View notes

davnittbraes · 6 months

Text

Affirmations - Part One

Part of the I’m Here universe.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x F!Reader

Rating: Explicit (not this part but the next one 😉)

Word Count: 2750

Warnings etc: anxiety, lots of negative self-talk, a lil bit of dissociation, LOVE YOURSELVES BABES, Marcus being a danger to my ovaries, brief reference to previous sexytimes

Reader-insert physical descriptors: none here but in Part Two hair long enough to comb fingers through

Notes: takes place a week after I’m Here but you don’t necessarily have to read it before this. Marcus and reader are in a newish relationship, their last time being intimate they pushed some boundaries, and reader confirmed she’s got a thing for letting her partner take control. Wink wink nudge nudge. Aka this relationship is heading in the BDSM direction.

I wrote this for @shirks-all-responsibilities, who rants about I’m Here Marcus so much I thought it damn well time he show her some love in return. I mean I also very much wrote it for me, too, like what is fanfic if not absolute self-indulgence 😂

Oh my god, it’s so late.

You pull into Marcus’ driveway, immediately cutting the engine, paranoid that the sound is too loud in the thick quiet of night covering the suburb.

It’s too late, really.

But he had said he wanted to see you, no matter how late you finished work. That a week was too long without seeing your beautiful smile.

So incredibly sweet - and so very Marcus.

Your gaze flicks to the illuminated clock on the car dash.

Still…

Okay, well, he had replied to your text not long ago, when you told him you were leaving work, reassuring you that he still wanted you to come over, stay for the weekend.

That had been the plan all week, you’d been looking forward to two whole days with him - the man who had rewritten your definition of romance.

No, not just romance - relationships in general. What it means to be with somebody.

To trust someone else implicitly.

To put your soul in their hands and know they’ll treat it like the greatest treasure.

And how that trust could lead to not only a depth of intimacy you’d never known possible, but also incredible, mind-blowing sex.

Last weekend, he’d shown you that. Took control, pulled you out of your own head, stripped away every worry and concern and anxiety and made you come so hard you’d fallen apart in his arms after.

Then, true to Marcus form, he didn’t push it. Didn’t force you to talk about it, just took care of you with his usual sweet gentleness.

But once the pleasure haze had faded and your thoughts came back together, anxiety had immediately started to gnaw at your throat.

What exactly had happened? How had he made you give up control like that, become so immersed in the desire to feel good and make him feel good that everything else fell away?

That was so unlike you, always present, always aware.

Though, it had felt incredible - it had been good for you.

A release that went deeper than an orgasm.

It wasn’t that you didn’t like it. Just that… it was…

Well, you never could stop analyzing every single thing that was brought to your attention. It’s not surprising that this was making you go around in circles trying to figure it out.

Your heavy sigh breaks the silence.

Some instinct tells you Marcus knows.

There had been moments, during that night, when you’d seen it in his warm brown gaze.

An understanding. A knowledge of what you were thinking, feeling, that surpassed even your own.

You need to talk to him.

So you’d been looking forward to this all week, to seeing him again. Struggling to fight back the anxiety that keeps trying to pull you into a spiral about that night, reminding yourself constantly that it’s okay, you can talk to Marcus about it, he’s safe.

You can trust him.

But all that was before you knew that your Friday was going to blow up in your face.

Before problem after problem was dumped on you and despite your every effort you couldn’t fix them all before they inevitably got worse.

And now you’re sitting here, long after you were supposed to be at his place.

The anxiety is gone, now, you’d caved to it hours ago, unable to keep it at bay. It had been replaced by something you can’t identify buzzing with an uncomfortable weight in the pit of your stomach.

You peer at his house through the windshield, chewing your thumbnail thoughtfully, teeth biting into the quick with a tiny jab of pain that distracts you enough to think through the situation.

The porch light is on, and so is the living room light, glowing through the curtains in the big picture window.

Okay, so he’s still up.

And his texts throughout the night were his usual, sweet and caring and light -

But what if you were misreading them?

What if he’s actually upset with you for being so late?

What if he’s playing it off like it’s fine but he’s actually pissed, frustrated that you strung him along all day, that you prioritized work over him, that you had the audacity to show up at this hour and expect him to drop everything to entertain you.

Your stomach turns, rolls, slow and sickly, emotion hot in the back of your throat.

I should just go home, there’s no point in bothering him at this -

A sudden burst of light startles you out of your spiral.

Your phone, in the cupholder, screen bright with a new text notification.

Marcus

Can’t wait to see you, beautiful

Tension bleeds from your shoulders, stomach righting itself with a little flip of anticipation.

Trust.

You trust Marcus. He’s never given you any reason to do otherwise.

And if he says he wants you to come over, despite it being so late, then he means it.

But -

No, this is too much, you can’t just sit here and think anymore -

The need to move shoves you into action, and you throw open the door and get out of the car, grabbing your bag from the backseat.

You’re only three steps to the front door when it swings open, light bathing the walkway.

Marcus meets you before you even reach the door, dimpled smile glowing in the dim light. “Hey. Heard the car pull in.”

Your own smile is an inherent reaction, heartbeat skipping just a bit as he leans in to press a soft kiss to your lips, one hand slipping around your waist to smooth over the small of your back.

The exhaustion in your muscles leaches out, body swaying toward his, and he pulls back enough to look at you, concern in his warm brown gaze. “Let’s get you inside, okay?”

He’s already taking your bag, long fingers slipping through yours, hand on your back gently guiding you to the door and that unknown weight in the pit of your stomach shifts, edges sharp, bringing tears to your eyes.

What is it? Why does it hurt so much?

It’s a little unsettling, not knowing what you’re feeling, especially when it’s something so strong.

What’s wrong with you that you can’t even identify this emotion that feels like it’s boring a hole straight through you?

You’re moving automatically, only vaguely aware of the door shutting behind you, the pleasant smile pasted on your face. Going through the motions, taking off your shoes, jacket, straightening your clothes.

Suddenly, large hands cup your face and a jolt runs through you, so startling it pushes a gasp from your lungs.

Brown eyes fill your vision, blurred by the threat of tears.

Soft words seep through the buzzing in your head - when had that started?

“Are you okay?”

Shit -

You haven’t said anything, haven’t spoken to him since you pulled in. Frustration skips along your pulse. Get it together.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired.” The practiced phrase comes out as usual, light and dismissive.

Marcus steps closer, thumbs tracing your cheekbones. “Look at me.”

Oh -

It’s just a hint, a whisper of the command his voice can carry - that command that guided you to heights of pleasure you’d never experienced before him. It’s enough to snap through the buzz in your head.

Your vision clears and finally you can really see him. Really look at him.

He’s watching you, intent, frown forming between his brows. There’s only a pause, his expression unreadable - is he angry - no stop it shut up - then he’s sliding an arm around your shoulders and turning you toward the living room.

“Come on, come sit down.”

Relief washes cool down your back.

Yes, good, let him guide you.

A quiet reassurance coats your thoughts, muffling the noise.

Trust him.

He sits you down on the plush sofa, tucked into the corner, and settles in closely next to you. His hands never leave you, drifting down your arms to clasp yours gently, hold them in your lap. Your joined hands rest on your thighs, a counterweight to the one in your stomach.

Grounding. Centring.

Marcus.

He squeezes lightly, draws your gaze to his. “Are you comfortable talking to me right now?”

Embarrassment flushes hot on your skin - it’s so unnerving, how he can see everything about you - but you force yourself not to look away, to keep your gaze on his. Trust. “A lot happened today. Just. A lot.”

Fuck, that’s not very helpful, he asked you a question and you give him this vague -

“That’s okay.”

The buzz flickers, the soft tone of his words scattering.

“What?” You can hear the confusion in your own voice.

A dozen emotions flash across his expression, but the warmth in his eyes doesn’t change, persistent. “It’s okay that today was a lot. You can talk about it, all of it or parts of it, if you want. Or if you’d rather not, that’s fine, too.”

You glance away, unable to look at him, his ceaseless compassion too much to handle right now.

He lifts your clasped hands to his lips, brushes a kiss over your knuckles, that intent gaze still locked on yours. “I can reheat supper, if you’re hungry. Draw you a bath if you want to unwind. Take you to bed and hold you if you’re too tired for any of that. And during, after or in-between any of that, I’ll listen to whatever you want to tell me about today.”

The weight in your stomach shifts again, presses up against your ribcage and it hurts to breathe but you manage to nod in acknowledgment.

His gaze tracks the shakiness of the movement, crease between his brows deepening, voice firm. “And if you don’t want to talk tonight, that’s fine. But it’s not healthy to keep things bottled up. Whatever happened, it seems like it’s really affecting you. So you will have to talk about it at some point, either with me or someone else. When you’re ready.”

You nod again - try to, but the movement is too awkward, it feels strange. As if it’s not you making it, it’s not your body, not your hands in his and not your lungs straining for air and not -

Suddenly you can’t see, everything is blurry, everything is gone nothing is real why -

Strong arms pull you against a broad chest and you crumple, limbs folding into yourself, weight in your stomach dragging you down down down -

Desperate, you grasp at the warmth that breaks your fall, hands clutching at fabric over solid strength, thoughts latching onto murmured words against your hair.

Your subconscious instinctively threading into the profound presence that surrounds you, holding fast.

It’s a lifeline. A linchpin that centres your focus, pulls you back into awareness.

Marcus is tucking you firmer into the crook of his arm, shifting your legs across his lap until you’re fully seated there. One large hand cups your head, holds your temple to his lips, while the other passes gentle strokes to your arm, your back, your thigh.

He’s talking, soft and muffled words but clear enough, a steady stream that brushes over your skin.

“Breathe for me, baby, it’s okay, you’re okay, let it out. I’m here.”

I’m here.

Marcus is always here. For you.

Trust.

The weight in your stomach bursts and everything pours out of you in tear-soaked words.

“I’m so sorry I’m so late, I’m sorry I disappointed you and I didn’t want to ever do that because you’re so amazing Marcus and it’s not fair for me to treat you like this - “ your voice hiccups and you have to push through it - “I should have cancelled tonight, I knew I was going to be late, but I was selfish and still wanted to see you and I made you wait around for me and that was wrong and I’m so so sorry -“

“Stop.”

His voice is quiet but firm, enough to silence the mess of thoughts pouring from your lips.

You wait, heart pounding, lungs tight, muscles tensed and ready for his judgement.

No, not judgement - this is Marcus, he cares about you, he’s here for you.

But it’s all still there, the buzzing in your head and the weight pulling you down and it’s too much, too confusing and conflicting and you can’t handle everything.

A whimper squeezes past your throat before you can stop it. Your eyes are closed so tight against it all that you see stars.

He gently eases you away, his arm supporting your back where it bands across your shoulders. “Open your eyes, baby. Please.”

Trust.

It takes everything you have to do so, blinking as his face comes into focus.

The concern that worried his brow is gone. Those warm, brown eyes are steady, but more serious than you’ve ever seen them.

He takes a deep breath, chest shifting where you’re pressed to him. “I’m sorry for interrupting, but you were hurting yourself and I couldn’t let that continue.”

“H-hurting myself?” Your voice catches on the well of confusion squeezing your throat.

A barely-there nod as his thumb swipes through the tear tracks on your cheek. “Listening to those negative thoughts. Letting them speak for you.”

You stare at him. Mind blank. Buzzing thoughts silent.

He cups your cheek, his broad palm soothing on your too-hot skin. “You have your own voice. No one, not even yourself, can take that away. It will always be there.”

There’s no epiphany or flash of understanding. Just a gentle swell, rising and pulling you in, the understanding of his words. They just seep into the fibre of your being and you know.

You know they’re true.

You understand what he’s saying. Those buzzing thoughts, sharp and intrusive, weaselling their way to the forefront until you couldn’t hear anything else.

That heavy weight in the pit of your stomach. A blend of guilt and shame and frustration.

At yourself.

For being weak, for being unable to stop the anxious turmoil from bleeding into this part of your life, your relationship with Marcus, the part that you wanted so badly to be clean of it.

Then there’s disappointment at your inability to control it.

No. Not just disappointment.

Anger.

Because despite trying, so hard, telling yourself that Marcus was good and right and you can trust him - it did nothing.

Those negative thoughts still won out and tainted your perception.

Then there’s despair. Cold and creeping into your bones.

You’re failing yourself.

So many times, you’ve been silent when you wanted to speak, or to shout or laugh or scream or sing.

You’d let others keep you quiet for so long, that even when they were no longer in your life, the habit apparently remained.

A habit you thought you’d already broken after countless therapy sessions, only for it to overtake and control you once again.

Well. At least now you know it’s not right, not fair to you.

Now you know you deserve to be happy.

It had taken a long time, but you’d come to acknowledge and accept that as a fact.

But that didn’t stop you from trying to self-sabotage, apparently.

No, stop. That’s the negative voice again.

Telling you you’re not enough.

That you’ll always fail.

Trust trust trust

Those words beat steadily within your own pulse.

Closing your eyes - not to shut things out, this time, but to let yourself look inward - you lean into the weight of his palm, breathe deep, and trust.

“I think that…” Your words are soft, cracked with hesitation as they come to you slowly. “I know that I do, have my own voice. I know those thoughts will only hurt me, and I have the ability to ignore them. But sometimes it…”

You look at Marcus then, some part of you needing to see him. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that, to hear the difference between the good thoughts and the bad ones. Especially on days when everything else is so loud.”

He’s watching you, expression so soft it pricks tears in the corners of your eyes. There’s no pity, or uncertainty, or doubt, in his face. Just an overwhelming tender emotion, a comprehension that can only come from hearing that same buzzing noise blurring the good and bad.

One of your hands untangles from where your fingers are curled into his shirt, rises to rest over his on your cheek.

Of course he understands. A toxic marriage, a broken engagement, so many other wounds that cut deep and left scars.

Marcus has fought to break habits, too.

He leans in, kisses you softly, your lips then your forehead. “Will you…” he pulls back to look at you, tongue dipping against his lower lip. “Will you let me help you? With the noise?”

Your heart beats steadily.

You know what he means.

The memory of sinking deep into that haze of pleasure, letting go of your ceaseless thoughts. Allowing him to take control of the noise and silence it.

Giving yourself over to him, wholly and completely.

Trust trust trust

There’s no hesitation in your thoughts, in your voice.

“Yes.”

*****

Next: Part Two

Previous: I’m Here

#the mentalist fanfiction #marcus pike fanfiction #marcus pike x reader #marcus pike x female reader #marcus pike x f!reader #marcus pike x you #reader insert #no y/n

85 notes · View notes

Last Seen Blogs