#but there are 4-5 of us in this house and i feel so trapped and confined

[incognit0slut]

Right Kind of Wrong (15)

She ever thought she’d be involved in a murder investigation and encounter her one-night-stand again, the awkward guy who isn’t exactly that good in bed—Or is he? Offended by the sentiment, Spencer is determined to prove her wrong… But as he gets tangled with the beautiful stranger, he realizes there is more to her than what meets the eye.

Part Summary: Spencer is determined to find her whereabouts. wc: 3.5k

Series Warnings: 18+ explicit content, graphic details of murders, mentions of suicide, mentions of SA

A/n: I want to thank everyone for sticking to this series, don’t worry, I didn’t forget it, life has just been weird lately😔 Also I want to mention there’s like 5 parts left? I think

Other parts: 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14

"REID, NONE OF THIS IS YOUR FAULT."

Spencer wasn't sure how many times he heard those words. He knew they were told to bring him comfort, something his team members kept on reciting, yet a sense of skepticism gnawed at him. He couldn't shake the feeling that they were nothing more than lies. How could he not when the only thing he could do was blame himself for what happened?

His shoulders slumped, his eyes were filled with anguish, and his heart held a heavy burden of guilt.

He should've deduced the real Unsub.

He should've been the one keeping her safe.

You also should've never left her fucking house, you idiot.

He hated swearing, even if it was in his own mind—which, truthfully, was so much worse considering he despised being trapped in his own head. Possessing a psychology degree enabled him to understand the detrimental effects of being trapped within one's own thoughts, yet he couldn't escape the clutches of his own mind. The knowledge of this predicament weighed heavily on him, a cruel irony that he understood all too well.

"Pretty boy, are you even listening to me?"

He was, he just didn't want to respond. Morgan was the third person to say those words to him. The first came from JJ, who was the first one to assure him when he had a panic attack at the warehouse. Second was from Prentiss, who he met when he rushed to Y/n's house after collecting himself. And now Morgan was cornering him at the hospital as they waited for Sandy, laid in one of the rooms, to recover from her concussion.

"Reid."

"I heard you," he snapped. Then a thought occurred to him at Morgan's sudden knowledge of his involvement with their witness. "How did you know?"

"Know what?"

"The reason why I'm acting this way." He had to elaborate when Morgan merely raised his eyebrows. "Why I'm... blaming myself so much."

"Everyone knows you're involved with her. Heck, I knew it the first time we met her that night. Remember that? You pretended you didn't know her," Morgan recalled. "You weren't as subtle as you think."

God, that night seemed like it happened yesterday. He couldn't believe how much had happened, and to think she was just a stranger when he first met her, a stranger he would never see again... now all he could think about was her. Her smile. Her safety. His stomach churned. The guilt he felt was a relentless, gnawing ache that refused to let go.

Morgan suddenly pulled him. His sudden, determined grip propelled him toward the vending machine stationed at the far end of the hospital corridor. Irritated, he couldn't help but drag his feet along the floor. "What are you doing?"

"You need coffee," Morgan replied, "you function better with caffeine in your system."

"We need to wait for Sandy—"

"She's not going anywhere, Kid. There's no use hovering in front of her door now."

Reluctantly, Spencer gave in. He allowed his friend to pour a cup of coffee; the warmth and aroma offering a small comfort amidst the hospital's stark surroundings. Slowly, with a nod of gratitude, he accepted the cup from his outstretched hand.

"How are you holding up?" Morgan asked.

Spencer took a moment to collect his thoughts before responding to the question. "It's hard to process everything."

A heavy silence hung between them. Morgan's sigh broke the stillness, and he began, "Look, it's not—"

But Spencer cut him off, his voice tinged with guilt and self-blame. "Not my fault?" he said with a mix of frustration and anguish. "Morgan, I was there before it happened. I was at her house before I left to check the warehouse, just to step into his trap. The Unsub managed to pass through Officer Anderson and hurt her closest friend at the same time. If I was still there..."

"Reid, it's not about placing blame. You couldn't have known what would happen. The Unsub's actions were calculated and malicious, even if you had stayed, we can't predict how events would have unfolded." Morgan gave him a pointed look. "Blaming yourself won't help her, and it won't help you either."

Spencer's head shook with regret as he leaned against the cool hospital wall, his thoughts consumed by the painful memories of that night. "I hurt her," he confessed, his voice filled with remorse. "My words were hurtful, and so were my actions, and the thought of... the thought of her being in danger with the last thought of me—"

"We'll find her," Morgan assured him. "And when we do, you'll apologize to her for whatever happened."

Spencer gazed at him with a sense of desperation. In that instant, he unearthed a deep, previously unrecognized truth buried within his heart. It was a stark revelation, an understanding that struck him like a bolt of lightning amidst the storm of emotions he was weathering.

For the first time, he comprehended the true extent of his feelings. Until now, her presence in his life had been a catalyst, a spur-of-a-moment he never expected. He had taken her warmth for granted, never fully appreciating the depth of his attachment to her.

However, the threat to her safety had shattered his complacency. The fear of losing her, coupled with the regret of leaving their last interaction on such a bitter note, had awakened a realization within him. It hit him with a force that was as terrifying as it was enlightening. It was a moment of clarity, a realization that his feelings were far more significant than he had ever allowed himself to admit.

"You really like her, don't you?"

Spencer looked up, but before he could respond, his brief moment of vulnerability was abruptly interrupted by a sudden commotion. Without a second thought, he hastily left his coffee on a nearby chair and rushed toward the end of the hallway, Morgan following closely behind, as a doctor rushed into Sandy's room.

Between the flurry of medical staff, Spencer spotted a passing nurse and stepped into her line of vision. His voice was urgent, laced with concern as he asked, "What happened?"

The nurse delivered the news, "She's gaining consciousness," before swiftly disappearing into the room.

"We'll get some answers," Morgan reassured him from behind. "Don't worry, Reid, we'll find her."

Spencer nodded, his heart filled with a renewed sense of determination. The fact that Sandy had woken up was a glimmer of hope. It wasn't until a few minutes later the doctor emerged from the room, regarding the two men waiting in front of the door.

"She's awake and stable, but we'll need to monitor her for any potential complications." After a brief pause, the doctor continued, "It's apparent that she's still quite shaken. I would recommend that only one of you Agents speak with her."

They both nodded in agreement as the doctor left. Morgan turned toward Spencer. "You should talk to her."

He hesitated for a moment. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," Morgan confirmed. "I'll go check on Oliver in the meantime."

Spencer's thoughts swirled with unease at the mention of Oliver, their suspected Unsub who had turned out to be a pawn in a larger scheme, who was lying unconscious on another floor. He nodded, and as Morgan walked away, he slowly gathered himself and entered the room.

Stark, white walls greeted him as he stepped inside, followed by the beeping sound of the monitors rhythmically punctuating the silence. Sandy lay in the bed, a fragile figure amidst the pristine white sheets. Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling as he called out to her.

"Sandy?" Spencer carefully addressed her, observing the way she shifted on the bed before her gaze slowly met his. "I'm Dr. Spencer—"

"Reid," she finished for him, locking her gaze onto his with a surprising familiarity. "You're the FBI agent she's been talking about."

A moment of surprise shot through him, the realization that she had been talking about him caught him off guard. "She told you about me?"

"On a few occasions," she confessed, and then her gaze sharpened as she looked at him. "You hurt her."

Spencer's heart sank deeper, a heavy burden of guilt weighing him down. "What did she say?"

"She never really told us why she looked so sad that night, and considering you were mostly the topic of conversation when I was with her, I just assumed you had something to do with her mood swings."

His guilt deepened, yet he couldn't help but notice Sandy's choice of words. "Us? You both weren't alone?"

Sandy's gaze held a mixture of curiosity and concern. "What happened?" she pressed instead, her brows furrowing. "What happened after I passed out?"

Spencer took a hesitant step closer to the bed. "What do you remember?"

"I remember inhaling something disgusting."

He nodded gravely. "We suspect the Unsub used Chloroform on you."

Sandy's furrowed brow reflected both her confusion and unease. "What's an Unsub?"

"Unknown Subject, it's a term used when we haven't yet identified a suspect in a crime."

A heavy silence enveloped the room as Sandy absorbed the information. Her thoughts churned, and a growing sense of unease gnawed at her. A thought suddenly hit her. She glanced around the room, her anxiety mounting in the absence of her friend.

The question escaped her lips with an anxious edge to her voice. "Where's Y/n?"

Sandy didn't like the expression that crossed Spencer's face. It was a look that confirmed her worst suspicions, and a wave of dread washed over her as she braced herself for what he was about to say.

"We don't have that information," Spencer confessed, and the shock in her widened eyes was unmistakable. Her lips quivered as her thoughts raced, grappling with the gravity of the situation. She found herself haunted by guilt that this had somehow happened because of her.

"It's my fault," she whispered, her voice a mere breath, but the weight of her confession carried regret.

Spencer now understood what Morgan meant about avoiding self-blame. "It's not your fault," he reiterated. "Listen, there's no use in blaming yourself, what you can do is help us by recalling what you remembered that night."

Sandy's gaze remained troubled, but she eventually opened up about what had transpired, something he didn't see coming.

"I- It was Eric," she admitted, her voice trembling with the admission. "Eric came with me to her house."

Spencer was struck by shock and disbelief, his mind racing to process this revelation.

"Eric Adler?"

She nodded in confirmation, and his world collapsed.

Spencer wasn't perfect. He knew that, like anyone else, he could make mistakes. Typically, he accepted his humanity and the occasional errors that came with it. However, now was not the time for him to make any mistakes, not when her life hung on the line.

He felt like a complete idiot. He was renowned for his intellect and now it seemed as if his stupidity was mocking him. The realization of his own oversight infuriated him and a storm of anger surged through his veins. He was mad at himself, seething with frustration. He hastily fished out his phone and sent a message to Garcia.

Find everything you can on Eric Adler. Now.

Turning his gaze back to Sandy, his features shifted to a more grave demeanor. The urgency in his voice was palpable.

"Tell me everything you know."

Her head was spinning. Y/n groaned at the relentless ache throbbing inside her head. It felt as though a sledgehammer was pounding her skull, every throb sending ripples of pain through her. Her body felt heavy, each limb an effort to move, and her eyelids seemed to be fused.

She managed to shift, and it was at that moment, as her fingers brushed against the coarse bedcover, that she realized she was lying on what appeared to be a bed. The mattress beneath her was surprisingly comfortable, a stark contrast to the chaos inside her head. She shifted again, and after countless attempts, she finally managed to blink her eyes open.

"Took you long enough, Sleeping Beauty."

The voice sent a jolt of panic surging through her, eyes widening as she strained to focus on her surroundings. The room was shrouded in darkness, save for the faint, flickering glow of an old lamp perched on top of a crate. Occasional beams of moonlight pierced through the dusty window panes, casting eerie, uneven patterns on the wooden floor.

The unmistakable scent of hay filled her senses, reinforcing the realization that she was in an old, rustic barn, long past its days of use. The walls, rough and weathered, seemed to close in on her, the space surprisingly narrow with the mattress beneath her positioned by the floor.

But that wasn't what surprised her the most. It was Eric, seated on a wooden chair that had clearly seen better days, watching her intensely with a smile on his face.

"If you hadn't woke up earlier, I would have resorted to my own methods," his smile looked even more ominous. "And I can assure you, you wouldn't have liked it."

Her wide eyes remained fixed on him. What happened to her kind coworker? Or her good friend? This was an entirely different man that she knew of. The eerie smile, so out of place in their past interactions, was etched onto his face like a sinister mask.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he pondered, leaning forward, his voice carrying an unsettling calmness. In his hand, she now realized, was a glinting knife, pointed at her way. "It's just me, Y/n, I'm no stranger to you."

He wasn't a stranger then, but he certainly was now. She stared at him, a creeping realization dawning as she slowly sat up, her fingers brushing against something cold and unyielding, and her heart sank.

"I wouldn't move too much if I were you."

Her eyes moved to the chain holding her, the metal bolted securely into the wall. It was a thick, unforgiving shackle, the links rough against her skin, the very sight of it sent shivers down her spine. Fear took a firm hold of her, like a vice squeezing her chest, making it difficult to breathe. She trembled, her voice shaking as she finally managed to speak, "W-Why are you doing this?"

"You're seriously questioning me when you should be thanking me instead?"

Her voice wavered as she responded, her fear making way for a touch of anger. "Thanking you for what? Murdering people?"

"They weren't innocent,” he spat, his anger flaring as he glared at her. "You should know better than to act as if you didn't want them dead."

"I didn't," she assured him.

"You resented them."

She let out a shaky breath. "...maybe, but I would never wish any of them harm." Then she choked out, "Why are you doing this, Eric?"

His features softened, his gaze locked onto hers as he leaned closer. "You really want to know the reason?" He held her gaze with a disturbing tenderness as he whispered, "Because I love you, Sweetheart."

Her heart pounded as his words hung in the air. "No, you don't," she quickly responded, her voice laced with a mixture of fear and disbelief. "If you did, you wouldn't have—"

"I said," he pressed on, the knife still pointing toward her, his eyes locked onto hers with an eerie intensity. "Because I love you."

She knew it was best not to provoke someone holding a knife. Instead, she carefully asked, her voice trembling, "Since when?"

"Ever since you started working with us," he replied with a smile that felt more disconcerting than affectionate. "You've always been very special to me."

"Why... why didn't you tell me?"

He shrugged. "I don't know, I was scared of rejection, I guess. You never took any interest in me, and surprisingly I was fine with that, so the only way I could care for you was to be your friend." He grinned, his smile devoid of any warmth. "And kill people who hurt you, of course."

Tears welled up in her eyes, spilling over and streaming down her face. Her trembling lips caught them, the taste of her own despair lingering on her tongue, a bitter flavor that seemed to confine the darkness of the moment.

"Oh, stop crying. They were never good enough for you," he chided. He got up and started to pace in front of her, his words steeped in a delusional justification for his actions. "Your scumbag of an ex? He should've seen it coming. That pervert of a lawyer? Should've cut him into pieces. And Jamison? Well, I honestly think I was doing a favor for everyone who hated him."

He gazed at her with a mixture of pity and disdain as she continued to cry, his expression an eerie blend of false sympathy. "Don't worry, I didn't kill them all..." He let out a sigh. "I took pity on Oliver."

"W-What did you do to him?" She cried, her voice breaking with a mix of fear and desperation.

"Gave him a few stabs, but nothing too serious," he replied casually, waving the knife through the air as if discussing a minor inconvenience. "He'll be fine."

Her heart sank at his callous response. "I thought you grew up together."

"I lied about not being close with him the other day, you know? We were best friends, actually. But that's another story to tell," he admitted, his words revealing a chilling aspect of his twisted psyche. He then glared at her, a mix of frustration and hostility in his eyes. "You seriously need to stop looking at me like that. I spared him, it was only a few stabs."

Anger surged within her, ignited by his disturbingly casual demeanor, and she found herself unable to suppress her mounting fury any longer. "You're fucking sick," she spat.

He took a step forward, his eyes narrowing as he loomed closer. "You shouldn't talk to me like that," he emphasized, pointing the knife at her once more. "You're chained to the wall, I could do anything to you."

She took a deep breath, trying to calm the erratic beat of her heart, though the horror still gripped her like a vice. Her face was etched with a stark, unmistakable expression of fear and disbelief. He rolled his eyes.

"Don't act so scared now, I won't do anything—well, not now, at least," he stated with a laugh, taking a step back, as if he were granting her some temporary respite. "For now... I have yet to finish my vengeance for you."

"V- Vengeance? You think of them as vengeance?" She asked in disbelief. "Oliver didn't even hurt me."

"He kept pestering you when you clearly weren't interested in him, he needed a little lesson," he explained, a chilling justification in his tone. Then he narrowed his eyes at her. "But there is one person who has hurt you recently, and I think we both know who that is."

His words hung in the air like a dark cloud, filling her with a growing sense of dread. Her eyes widened, her voice heavy with desperation. "No! Eric, no, please, don't hurt him—"

"He's not good for you, Y/n. He never will be."

"Eric! Please!" She was beginning to wail, her pleas filled with anguish and despair, as she felt the walls of her world closing in on her. The chains rattled ominously when she moved. "Please..."

"I need to punish him, Sweetheart, he hurt you," he said with a chilling detachment. He gave her a pitiful look. "Do not be deceived: God cannot be mocked. A man reaps what he sows."

"Please—Please don't, Eric," She pleaded desperately, her voice shaking with an overwhelming fear. "No..." She shook her head and sobbed, "Don't h-hurt him... please..."

Her pleas fell on deaf ears, and the disturbing determination in his gaze made it clear that he had made up his mind. He turned around, leaving her in a state of helpless dread. "I'll see you later," he added with a sinister remark. "Don't cry too much while I visit your FBI boyfriend."

As he walked away, the barn's shadows seemed to close in around her. She did exactly the opposite—she relentlessly cried herself to sleep, seeking solace in the safety of her dreams, however fleeting, as she yearned for an end to this nightmare that had somehow become her reality.

>> NEXT PART

a/n: y'all can stop cursing poor Oliver now😭

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[writerslittlelibrary]

I'm your mother now, chapter 1

masterlist series masterlist

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4 part 5 part 6 part 7 part 8

summary: when you wake up in a strange room, you soon come to realize the amazing Black Widow, who appears to be the perfect role model for girls all around the world, is greatly deranged…

pairing: Dark!Natasha x teen reader

warnings: yelling, a lot of swearing, dark themes, kinda evil Natasha

genre: angst

words: 2972

a/n: I really wanted to write a dark Natasha fic but I didn't want to make it romantic or anything, so I went with the idea of Natasha kidnapping a child. Please don't read this if you are not comfortable with dark themes. Reader is kinda abused but that's because of Natasha's trauma.

Hope you enjoy, and please let me know what you think :)

(I decided to make this a series, as I have so many ideas but find them simply too long for one fic. I will probably make a separate masterlist for the series) 

You do not have my permission to repost, copy or translate my work 

 |——————————— ⴵ ———————————|

You dropped your bag on the floor, kicking your shoes off and walking through the house, allowing yourself to fall on the couch in exhaustion. You were in highschool, and no matter what teacher you'd ask, they all called you their best student.

You passed every test, got good grades for every project, but mentally you were slipping. You hated your life. You hated the stupid loop you were trapped in. Every day is the same. You were tired. 

Your foster parents were scheduled to come home after dinner, so you knew you'd be able to lie on the couch for a while without being yelled at.

So that's what you did. 

You took a nap on the couch, enjoying the quietness of the house, when a noise upstairs catches you off guard. 

You get up slowly, carefully walking up the stairs. You had seen horror movies, and you knew what a bad idea it was, yet you decided to do it anyway. You creeped up the stairs, through the hallway and made it to your bedroom. It was small and there weren't many places to hide, but you were cautious anyway. 

Your window was open. The curtain was moving slightly due to the breeze outside. A shiver ran down your back. You had that feeling again. The same feeling you've had for the past few weeks. The feeling of being watched. 

You walked to your window carefully, pushing it close and locking it. Didn't you lock it yesterday?

Before you could even turn around, an arm clasped around your waist and a hand holding a cloth covered your mouth and nose. You tried to scream and try to get out of the person's grip, but it was of little use. The person holding you was strong. Way stronger than you were. 

You flung around in their grasp, trying to hit the arms that were holding you, but it was of no use. You heard a woman's voice behind you, shushing you and telling you it's all gonna be okay. Your eyes started drooping, falling close. The last thing you heard was a simple sentence….

“Shh baby, mama's got you…” 

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

Natasha had been observing you for weeks. She saw you in the park one day, sitting on a bench. You appeared to be okay, but she could see the way you were holding back tears. It took everything in her not to walk up to you and comfort you. 

After that day, she decided to watch you more often. She watched you when you picked out your clothes. She watched you when you went to school. She watched you when you came home and got yelled at. She watched all of it. 

After watching you for about a week, she decided to do some more research. She had to know everything about you. You were absolutely perfect.

She found out about your parents, how they left you in front of the police station one night. They didn't want you, and Natasha's heart broke. The foster families you were placed with didn't care much for you either. You were often heavily neglected, and you never knew real love. 

From what Natasha had seen, you were barely capable of taking care of yourself. She wondered how often you showered, how often you ate and if you even brushed your teeth. 

No one seemed to have taught you how to live, and it broke Natasha's heart. She was determined to make you feel loved. She knew it was fate. She had to take care of you. It was simply meant to be. 

Natasha had been trying to have a child for so long. After her past in the Red Room, she knew she'd never be able to conceive herself, but she had tried everything there was. She had gone to adoption agencies and tried to adopt. She had applied to become a foster mom but nothing worked. She'd pass most criteria, but when the psychological tests came her test scores dropped. The authorities simply deemed her to mentally unstable to take care of a child.

Natasha was mad. Mad at the authorities and mad at herself. She just wanted a child. That's all she's ever wanted. How on earth did anyone dare deny her that.

After she was denied for foster care, she was upset, but she didn't dare give up. Natasha was determined that she would find someone for her to take care of, and she did. Anyone in their right mind could see it. You were destined to be with Natasha. 

After observing you for quite a while, Natasha decided it was time. You were crying almost every night, the stress of school and your grades were simply too much. Natasha couldn't bear to see you like this any longer, so she finally decided to make her move. She snuck in when you were at school. She didn't even have to sneak in through the window. The doors had an easy lock, and she could easily pick it open. 

When she made her way inside, she immediately went up to your room. She looked through it, smelling your clothes, touching your bed and everything you owned, which wasn't a lot. 

She clutched your only stuffed animal tightly to her chest, a tear rolling down her cheek. She was finally going to be a mom, and she couldn't wait. 

She collected some of your stuff, but only the stuff she couldn't replace, which included some notebooks, coloring books and your stuffed animal of course. She stuffed it in a bag and put all of it in her car. After she finished, she made her way back inside and waited. 

When she heard you come home, she was nearly jumping at the anticipation and excitement. 

She started making some noises, hoping you'd come upstairs soon. She had opened the window in your room, knowing you'd walk over to close it. You did that every day. If you forgot to close the window, you'd close it after coming home from school. 

Soon enough, she heard you walking upstairs, peeking through the door of the bathroom. She waited until you went into your bedroom, indeed closing the window as she expected.

The moment you weren't looking, she snuck into your room and quickly covered your face, making you inhale the Chloroform she'd put on the cloth. You were flailing around heavily, trying to get loose from her grasp, but she just held on tight. 

Natasha tried to comfort you, shushing you as you slowly lost consciousness. 

After you had passed out, she carefully lifted you up, walking down the stairs and, after grabbing your school bag, walking back to her car. She was careful as she placed you on the backseat, protecting your head as you slept peacefully. 

She placed your stuffed animal in your arms, smiling at the sight of you fast asleep. She got into the driver's seat and took off, driving you two far away from the big city.

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

You groaned as the light hit your eyes, covering them with your hand as you blinked a few times, trying to get used to it. You stretched your arms above your head, slowly waking up from your deep slumber. 

The bed you were laying on was soft, way softer and more comfortable than you were used to, but you didn't really notice. The drugs were still wearing off, your brain pleasantly fuzzy as you slowly regained control over all of your senses. 

When you yawned and brought your hand up to your face, you finally realized the clothes you were wearing were not yours. 

You sat up quickly, scanning the room and realizing it looked nothing like yours. It was way too big, but it did seem to be arranged to your style and interests. You took in the room, confused as to how you got there and why it seemed to be accommodated perfectly to your wants and needs. 

You slowly slid your legs off the bed, sitting on the edge and carefully standing up, afraid your weary state would make you fall over. The pajamas you were wearing were soft and seemed to be made out of an expensive silk. 

You slowly stood up, walking around the room slightly. You thought you were dreaming. When you looked out the window, there was nothing but trees. You appeared to be in some clearing in the woods. You checked out the room, noticing how the books on the shelf looked an awful lot like the books you owned, except the books in this room seemed to be new and neat. 

It confused you, and when you turned around, you noticed the bedding was the same bedding as you'd always had, just for a queen sized bed. 

There were three doors in the room, and you ran to the closest one. When you opened it you found a closet, probably as big as your room back home. When you opened the next, you found a bathroom. It looked almost impossibly clean and the shower looked like it came straight from a millionaire's home.

When you opened the third door, you finally stood in a hallway. When you looked right, you saw another door, which was probably where the hallway ended, so you decided to go left. You walked fast, wanting to get out of the house as fast as possible. 

You were very confused by the whole situation. You remembered someone kidnapping you, but these were not the circumstances you expected to wake up in.

When you stormed down the stairs, you could see a kitchen on your right. You spotted a door right in front of you. It looked like the front door, so you immediately ran towards it, trying to open it. It didn't budge. You'd need a code, a finger scan and voice recognition. You sighed as you leaned your forehead against it. 

After standing there for a solid 5 minutes, you decided to explore the rest of the house. 

You reckoned you were alone, as no one had approached you yet, even when you tried to leave the house. You slowly walked into the kitchen, from it spotting a living area with a few couches, and on top of it, you saw a redhead. 

You froze when you saw her, unable to move or talk as fear overtook your body. 

“Ah, good. I was wondering when you'd wake up. I was thinking of ordering take-out. Just come over here and we can pick something,” the woman spoke as if she'd known you for years.

You didn't move, so the woman turned around, putting her book aside and getting up. She walked towards you slowly, but she didn't seem worried she'd scare you away. “You don't want take-out?” she questioned, putting her phone on the kitchen island. You stood next to it as she now stood in front of it, crossing her arms. 

“Where am I?” you shakily asked, worried you'd upset her. You knew the woman, of course. Every person in the world knew her. She was Natasha Romanoff. The Black Widow and fearless Avengers, although she retired a few years back. 

“What do you mean, silly? You're home of course,” Natasha spoke, looking confused as to why'd you even ask such a question. 

You frowned. “This isn't my home?...” Natasha shook her head. “Of course it is.” “Why did you kidnap me?” Natasha shook her head at your question. “I just brought you home, sweetie.”

“What the fuck?! Take me home!” you yelled, and she looked a little surprised before her expression went back to normal.

“I know it's your first day here, but you do not speak to me like that. Do you understand?” she responded, but it only made you madder. “Who the fuck do you think I am? Let me go, you crazy bitch!” you yelled as you tried to push her, but Natasha easily caught your wrists. 

“Careful honey. I know you're confused but that is no way to speak to your mother.” “You're not my fucking mother-”

Slap.

Natasha had slapped you across the face. Your head turned from the impact, your cheek almost immediately reddening. tears stung in your eyes as you moved your hand up to cup your cheek, a silent sob wrecking through your body.

“I am a very lenient person, but don't you ever dare speak to me in such a tone again,” she said. “Now go sit on the couch and think about what you want to order for take-out dammit.” 

You moved slowly, keeping your head down as you sat on one of the couches, silently crying over the situation. After a few minutes, Natasha returned from the kitchen, holding an ice-pack. She grabbed your chin and tilted your face up without a word, pressing the ice-pack against your red cheek. She softly smiled down at you, using her free hand to pet the hair out of your face. 

You sniffled, and she leaned down to give you a kiss on your forehead. “Mama didn't want to hurt you like that sweetheart, but you took it too far,” she said, pulling back and smiling down at you again. “Mama loves you. I promise.” She pulled the ice-pack away and softly kissed your cheek.

She put the ice-pack on the coffee table and sat on the couch to your right. She pulled out her phone from her back pocket and seemed to scroll through something.

“So what are you feeling like?” she asked, looking at you with a smile. You sniffled quietly, looking down to avoid her gaze. “We could do burgers, or maybe sushi? I know those are your favorites,” she told you, and you instantly wondered how she'd know such a thing. 

“Come on. Tell me what you want,” she urged, nodding slightly to encourage you. 

“Fries…” you said quietly, and Natasha smiled. “Exactly what I was feeling. Would you like chicken nuggets on the side?” she asked you, and you nodded. “Perfect,” she said as she typed it into her phone, paying quickly and tossing it aside.

“The food will be here soon. Would you like to watch a movie while we wait, or would you rather explore the house a bit more?” she asked, patiently waiting for your answer.

You shrugged, not wanting to pick an option that might make her mad. “We can also just sit here for a while. I know you must be confused, but I promise you everything will fall right into place.”

You were mad. Mad at how Natasha acted like everything was fine. Mad at how she acted like she had any authority over you. Mad at how she'd slapped you. Mad at how she was acting like she was your mother. Mad at how she seemed unbothered and acted like your behavior was insane. But mostly, you were mad at yourself. Mad how you looked up to her. Looked up to the amazing Black Widow. She had always been your favorite Avengers. How could she not be?

After sitting on the couch for a few minutes, you looked up slowly, seeing Natasha staring at you with a smile on her face. 

“Would you like to watch something now?” She asked, holding up the remote. When the hell did she grab that? You nodded slightly, and Natasha smiled widely at you for it. She pressed a few buttons on the remote, and soon the tv lit up with your favorite show ready to play. Natasha pressed play, and the show started exactly where you stopped last night.

You sat quietly as you watched the show, scared to make any noises. 

After about an hour, there was a knock on the door, and Natasha got up to open it. “Just wait here,” she said as she walked away. You got up from the couch and peeked around the wall, seeing the door and catching a glimpse of a blonde woman. 

She didn't look like a delivery person, and you realized Natasha must've called someone she knew to make sure no one knew the location of the house.

The woman handed Natasha the take-out bag and they spoke for a moment, before she moved to give Natasha a hug. They hugged for a second and Natasha kissed the woman's cheek. You watched as they said their goodbye's, hearing Natasha say she'll visit the blonde woman soon. 

You quickly made your way back to the couches, sitting back down and waiting for Natasha to come back.

Once she did, she set the take-out on the kitchen counter. You watched silently as she moved around the kitchen, grabbing two plates and opening the bag. “Just so you know, I see and hear everything. Don't sneak up on me again. You're old enough to ask when you want something,” Natasha spoke, not looking up from her task of plating the food.

Your breath caught in your throat. You should've known. She used to be an assassin for goodness sake. Of course she could tell if you'd watch her. 

Natasha grabbed the two plates and brought them back to the couches. She handed one to you, but when you went to grab it she didn't let it go. You looked at her, and she raised an eyebrow to you. “Thank you…” you said silently, and she smiled as she let you take the plate, moving to sit down herself. 

You ate in silence, not missing the glances Natasha shot your way. You found it creepy. You had no idea why you were here and what Natasha wanted with you. She had referred to herself as your mother a few times now, and it confused you beyond words. 

For now, you decided to let the confusion go, focusing on eating your food and surviving the night. 

Who knows what tomorrow would bring…

chapter 2

#black widow #marvel #natasha x reader #mcu #avengers #natasha romanoff #natasha x daughter #natasha x reader platonic #natasha x teen reader #dark natasha romanoff #dark natasha x reader #dark!natasha x reader #dark!natasha romanoff #dark!natasha romanoff x teen reader #yelena #yelena belova #yelena x teen reader #yelena x reader platonic #yelena belova x reader #dark fic #dark avengers #I'm your mother now

[peachsayshi]

Hello can I request a part 5 for the inexperienced reader where they finally do the deed? Thank you and I really love all your writings. You’re amazing!

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄ playboy geto x inexperienced female reader (part 4) ⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

wc: 7,712

·˚ ༘₊· ͟͟͞͞꒰ previous parts: 1/2/3/4

minors / ageless blogs / blank blogs - do not interact.

notes: hi, nonnie! I haven't posted the official part 4 for playboy geto x reader, so here is an update! part 5 is the final part of this mini series and I am still figuring out the scenario for the big moment. I had this idea in my head and really wanted to write out. I hope you enjoy the update!

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ tags: other jjk characters are mentioned, virgin reader; lovesick geto & reader; hurt/comfort; the first fight; making up; smut; oral (f receiving); nipple play; overstimulation; fingering; practice makes perfect *wink wink*

There’s a downpour outside - a peaceful shower trapping you in a cocoon of stillness. Grey clouds collide, orchestrating a rumble of thunder to disperse across the horizon. You squeeze the glass of tea in your hand and breathe out a heavy sigh as you continue observing the waves crashing onto the shore in the distance.

Standing in pensive thought, you find yourself contemplating why the sky isn’t a saturated blue, and why you are not wiping away grains of sand between your toes while tasting the salt in the air and getting kissed by the sun in the red bikini that you are wearing.

This is your first weekend away with Suguru and it was supposed to be perfect…magical even, but…

You haven’t exchanged more than a few of sentences with him in two whole days.

The truth forms as a discomforting lump in your throat. At this point you’re convinced that the turbulent events of this week is what conjured up such a dreadful storm to hijack your mini vacation, and you’ve been a bundle of nerves ever since because you’ve never had a fight with him before.

Not a real one, anyway.

Whenever a situation got remotely tense, your boyfriend would be the first person to jump in to talk things out. Suguru hated having petty arguments and always relied on strong communication to put out any fires before they set everything ablaze. You know it’s entirely unfair to put that expectation on him but, the truth is, you’ve grown used to him mediating, and depended on him to squash potential disagreements without question.

What you weren’t expecting was for things to escalate between you two because it’s never happened before, and now you aren’t sure how to proceed.

What if he leaves me?

The nauseating thought of a potential break up twists your gut, but you brush off your anxiety as you lift the cup to your lips and take another sip of soothing chamomile.

Couples fight, you think, it’s normal to fight.

Your fingers pinch the ceramic so hard, you feel it might crack from the pressure. You’ve tried to reach out since then, but Suguru remained unresponsive to your little gestures of peace.

Why is he still ignoring me?

You lean your head against the window and exhale, eyes fixated on the storm’s dramatic performance. A bolt of lighting crackles across the sky, channeling you back to the night on Suguru’s sofa just two weeks prior.

His fingers were trailing the outline of your thigh, keeping your body tucked perfectly into his frame. You were twirling a strand of his onyx hair between your fingers, listening to him proposition the idea of the weekend trip away.

“Yuki is one of my oldest friends. She lives in a beach house, so that’s where we will all stay…” he casually stated. “We visit her a couple of times a year, and I know she would love to meet you.”

You said yes without hesitation.

At the time, there was no need for you to question who Yuki was or how Suguru knew her. There was no need for you to pry deeper into the memories of his past because you were just living in the bubble of present happiness.

“We used to spend every summer at her beach house while I was in university,” Suguru informed you a few days later, slipping in that tidbit of information right after describing all the places he was excited to take you to. “I love that her beach house is so far away from the city. Plus, they have the best soba in the village. You’ll love it, I just know you will…”

This deep infatuation you shared for Suguru had your heart swelling up more often around him. Your valves were arrows to a compass that always spun directly towards him, your shining North Star. Your eyes were glazed over in a rosy shine of deep romance, making it hard for you to blink away the hue of its affection, but you should have taken a breath to catch yourself.

Maybe then you wouldn’t have reacted so harshly later on.

The ”problem”, as Suguru dubs it, happened two days before the trip.

Shoko invited you to join her and Utahime on a shopping date to pick up some new swim suits for the occasion. However, you weren’t expecting to see Mei Mei upon arrival. Your friendship with Shoko made it easier for you to blend in with the rest of Suguru’s group, but Mei always kept you at an arm’s length. For the most part, you approached any interactions with her with caution. You made sure you were nice and didn’t try to pursue anything beyond cordial conversations. Despite your attempts at playing cool, Mei continued making snide remarks about you being “Suguru’s Girl” and enjoyed addressing you condescendingly.

Truthfully, she treated you as if you were simply a stranger with one foot out the door and not the person who was in a committed relationship with her friend.

Your eyes, powdered with pink infatuation, had you feeling indifferent about her sharp tongue on this particular outing, and it made you loosely speak up about how excited you were to go on this trip with your boyfriend.

Your walls were completely down when Mei went in with a new attack while you were all having dinner together.

“It’s adorable how excited you are. Besides, I think it’s about time that you met Kiki…” she giggled, earning a glare from both Shoko and Utahime.

“Kiki?” you replied like a naive child, all wide eyed with an innocent pinch between your brow.

“Suguru didn’t tell you?” Mei coos as she proceeds to take a sip of her milkshake. “That’s his special nickname for Yuki. The two of them used to spend their summers together getting high and fucking. She was his first, you know…”

Your cheeks were stinging with embarrassment. You glanced over to both Shoko and Utahime, praying that one of them would denounce Mei’s confession.

Instead, Shoko shook her head with disapproval and simply added, “we all know that it wasn’t serious…”

“Wasn’t serious?” Mei interjected, her cruel eyes fixed on you. “Suguru was in love with her…”

“He wasn’t in love with her,” Shoko sternly answered. “They were friends. Don’t make up stories in your head”

Mei swirled her straw around her vanilla milkshake. “We are his friends too but that didn’t stop him from hooking up with us either. The only difference is that Yuki is the one who broke his heart afterwards. Suguru didn’t speak to her for an entire year...”

“How about you don’t stir up problems for no reason, Mei.” Utahime bit back, and Mei responded by rolling her eyes with mild disinterest.

“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. Everyone at this table, except Shoko, hooked up with Suguru at one point,” she let out a pretty laugh, one laced with wicked intent. “Maybe this is something we can all bond over at the beach house. Compare notes and what not…”

“How about we dial back the bitchy attitude and put the subject to rest” Shoko interjected, and Mei merely huffed before sipping her milkshake with nonchalance.

Hot, heavy jealousy coiled around your skin, and you used every ounce of restraint not to pick up Mei’s drink and toss it right in her face. By the time your brain was able to connect the dots to formulate even a single sentence, the conversation swiftly moved onto another subject.

You reached for your soda, slurping the icy beverage in an attempt to cool yourself off.

This isn’t the first time that Suguru’s friends have made teasing comments about his past, but Mei took it too far.

The worst part about that god-awful interaction is that it was working out in her favor.

Why didn’t Suguru tell you?

The question sat in your head up until you returned home. You were in a bitter state, choosing to curb Suguru’s calls and ignore Shoko’s messages.

She still called you the next morning with a heartfelt apology.

“We’ve all known Mei for years so we put up with her attitude,” Shoko explained, “But you owe her no allegiance and what she did was uncalled for. I’m really sorry about that…”

“It’s fine, Shoko…” you insisted, but your tone was hard and defensive because it wasn’t fine and you barely got any sleep thinking about what she said.

“I had a long conversation with her last night, and she’ll be backing off from now on,” Shoko consoled.

“Great,” you answered through gritted teeth, trying your best not to hurl the phone at the wall.

“Look,” Shoko added on with a sigh, “I know Suguru doesn’t have the best track record and I know we all give him shit for it, but we also all know that we’ve been too hard on him. He really, really cares about you.”

Tears pricked your eyes. You wished those words were enough to sway you back but they felt just as empty as the space in your chest.

Why didn’t he tell me?

You couldn't stop wondering why.

The day before you left for the getaway, you were giving Suguru the coldest shoulder. He had come over to help you pack your things, but instead was left puzzled by your behavior.

You leaned away from his kisses, always tilting so he aimed for your cheek. You shrugged off his touch, pretending to busy yourself with searching through your closet and picking your outfits. You could feel his piercing stare from over your shoulder, those dark eyes dissecting the softest parts of you to get to the root of the problem. You tried to focus on the music from gently playing through the speakers, but as you walked over to your bag to pack another dress, Suguru quickly reached for your hips to drag you onto his lap.

“What’s wrong?” he asked seriously, his voice the tip of a sharp blade pressing into your heart.

You shook your head, caressing the fabric between your fingers. “Nothing, I have a headache,” you repeated firmly, sticking to the same excuse that you had given him earlier.

“Sweetheart,” he replied tenderly, your body stiffening when he brushed his lips over your shoulder to leave a contemplative kiss. “What’s actually wrong?”

You froze, your anger scalding your insides as it bubbled to the surface. You squeeze the dress between your hands, creasing the smooth surface. Suguru rests his chin on your shoulder, patiently waiting for you to at least acknowledge him.

“Is it true that you were involved with “your friend” Yuki?”

You hid your hurt with sarcasm, her name rolling off your tongue with a hint of disgust.

Suguru lifted his head from your chin, his fingers pinching against the fat of your hip while his other hand moved to reach for your jaw. He angled your face towards him, a pained expression masking over his breathtaking features.

“Who told you?”

“Mei,” you answered sharply, “apparently Shoko and Utahime know all about it too…”

“Look,” Suguru sighed, “it’s…it’s not what you think…”

“Did you to spend your summers getting high and fucking?” you interrupted harshly, mimicking the cruelty in Mei’s voice as you posed your question.

Suguru closed his eyes. “Yes.”

“Is it true that she was your first?” you asked, your voice wavering slightly this time.

“Yes, but…”

You rolled your tear soaked eyes as you stood up on your feet, tossing the dress into your bag as you folded your arms across your chest to give Suguru your back.

You weren’t sure what hurt more. The fact that Mei had all the ammunition in the world to hurt your feelings, or that she knew that your doting boyfriend would keep this from you.

Suguru stood up, carefully approaching you from behind as he extended his hand out to find your waist once more.

“Mei’s a gossip,” he contended, “I told you that when we first met…”

You spun on your heel to meet his anxious stare, drilling your fury right into him.

“That’s not the point,” you argued. “The point is that you lied to me! The point is that you spent weeks going on and on about “your friend” without even warning me that you were both intimately involved…”

“We put that shit behind us years ago. I didn’t want to bring it up, and I didn’t think I had to. Mei shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Didn’t think you had to?” you repeated with confusion.

“There was no reason to,” he replied with annoyance, his fingers digging into your waist. “Because you and I are supposed to trust each other, and considering how things have been going between us, I thought we did.”

Your heart raced at the fact that Suguru was still keeping his mouth tight lipped over what happened with Yuki, which did little to help your own dramatized theories on their relationship.

If he was being secretive about something as serious as this, then who knows what other tales he might have been spinning with that honeyed mouth of his.

The knot that’s wrung itself around your mind finally snapped.

“Easy for you to say, you don’t have an inventory of people I slept with to keep track of…”

Suguru winced, the involuntary grimace an unusual sign of hurt. Your apology shot to the tip of your tongue, and you were ready to jump right into his arms and plead for forgiveness. This brutish commentary was so unlike you, but you didn’t know how to keep a handle on your own insecurities this time around.

“Keep track, huh?” he answered softly, the faintest hint of distress coming through and making you nip at your bottom lip out of guilt. “Must be hard having a boyfriend who is so used up…”

“No...you're not. That's not what I mean, I’m…I’m just saying that it’s different,” you retracted, easing your delivery to try and explain yourself. “You just don’t have to worry-”

“Is there a reason for you to worry?” he rebuked, quirking his brow in genuine surprise.

You scoffed, “You told me about everyone else you’ve been involved with but with her you are suddenly keeping quiet-”

“Please, tell me you’re fucking joking right now-“

“You can’t-” you interjected, clearing the catch in your throat as your voice warbled uncomfortably. “You can’t just expect me to be okay with this, Suguru. I have to be able to trust you and that’s only going to work if you are honest with me. Keeping something like this from me doesn’t help…”

Suguru dropped his hand away from your waist, and folded them over his chest tightly. There was a twitch in his jaw, and the disappointment in his eyes spoke volumes. You both stood there in silence, studying the other in deep concentration.

“I thought you did trust me. You were practically naked in bed with me when you said it. So what is it then? Do you trust me or not?”

Your face grew increasingly hot recalling his birthday, the way you were soft, vulnerable and pliable sprawled out against his chest...

“I do…” you replied with very little confidence. “Sort of…”

You swallowed your regret to stare down at your feet shamefully, and allowing your pride to fight the battle for you. If you can waver his insecurity even a little then maybe you might find some equal footing with the discomfort.

“I can’t change my past. I can’t erase the people I’ve been involved with. Yes, we both had different opinions about how we viewed relationships, but we aren’t going last long as a couple if I’m the only one that has faith that this is going to work,” Suguru informed calmly, using his fingers to gesture between you both.

Hearing those words from your lover’s lips felt like surprise blow. You parted your mouth to exhale quietly, clenching your hands tightly by your side as you naively waited for him to attempt to turn things around.

“I’ve given you everything. I’m not going to force you to trust me,” Suguru adds on, his tone morphing into a cold, cruel note. “And if you fucking can’t, then I’m done.”

Your head shot up in surprise, the front of your brows upturning sorrowfully but Suguru had already turned on his heel to walk out of the room, slamming your bedroom door right behind him.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

The car ride to the beach house was terrible.

Neither you or Suguru said a single word to one another. He kept his focus on the road, while you kept replaying the words “I’m done” on repeat in your head.

It was disappointing to start off on such a sour note because Yuki’s beach house was the perfect getaway spot as Suguru described. The location was rural, and the building was quaint and cozy. The size is big enough to fit your entire group, but not to the point where it was gaudy. Suguru mentioned that the property belonged to Yuki’s mom, which she eventually inherited after she passed away.

Meeting Yuki took your breath away. From the moment you laid eyes on her you understood how a young Suguru would be infatuated. She was striking - tall, with long, golden hair that cascaded all the way down to her butt. Every part of her was perfect, from her toned tummy revealed by her short black cropped top, to her legs that seemed to go on forever which were covered in only a pair of loose denim shorts. She had a naturally cheeky grin, like there was something up her sleeve that no one could quite point out, and sharp brown eyes that were simply inviting.

She pulled Suguru in for a warm hug, and ruffled his hair like a sister would.

“Sug! Your hair’s getting long! I like it!” she chirped with a big smile, while Suguru held an effortlessly casual stance to play off that the two of you haven’t been ignoring each other this whole time. Yuki instantly turned to face you, “And you must be the girl that stole his heart! I’m so glad to meet you! This guy never shuts up about you…”

You felt small against her, and it wasn’t just due to her height. You could feel yourself shrinking into your own shame hearing her talk about your lover. Whatever doubts that sparked due to Mei’s burning statements were quickly turned to ash.

Yuki gave you a house tour and explained that Shoko was sharing a room with Mei and Utahime, while Satoru and Nanami bunked in another.

“If you’re comfortable you can stay in Suguru’s room. He kind of has his own bedroom from how often he’s stayed with me. If not, I’ve got a pull out sofa in my room,” Yuki informed, while you were trying your hardest to undo the tight knot in your belly.

Getting to know Yuki over the course of the two days only fed into your regret. You couldn’t help but watch her interactions with Suguru, only to conclude it was no different than how he behaved with Satoru and Shoko.

Even when he addressed her as “Kiki”, it came out with a level of comfort that felt a familial familiarity. If it wasn’t for Mei and her devious manipulation games, you would never have even have assumed that the pair were intimately involved with each other.

As your stubbornness started chipping away, you decided to at least try and make amends with your boyfriend.

On the first night, after getting ready for bed, you broke the long hours of silence by asking him where he was going after watching him get ready to leave the room that you both were supposed to be sharing.

“I’m staying with Satoru,” he curtly responded, and slammed the door behind him before you could get another word in.

Yesterday was painful to say the least. You attempted to sit down with him and Satoru for breakfast, but Suguru excused himself only a couple of minutes later. By mid-morning you texted to ask if he would like to join you and Shoko to walk around the village. You even brought up his favorite soba shop, but found yourself left on read.

His behavior was harsh and quite obvious. By lunchtime Shoko pulled you aside to ask if everything was okay.

“We’re fine,” you answered breathlessly, your worry sending tingles to the tips of your fingers and toes. “We got into a bit of an argument in the car, but we’ll talk things over”

Dinner last night was supposed to be a fun get together at one of the local omakase joints, but it turned into you and Suguru sitting on opposite sides of the table barely acknowledging each other.

You were trying to steal his glance, but he wouldn’t stop avoiding yours. Afterwards while all of you were standing outside, you found the courage to reach for Suguru’s hand to grab his attention.

“Hey,” you whispered low enough for only him to hear to avoid making it obvious to the others. Your heart fluttered when you noticed that Suguru didn’t let go of your hand, but instead pressed the pads of his fingers lightly against your palm to return the gesture.

Almost like he was saying hello.

“Do you maybe want to go for a walk?” you asked, eyes hopeful and desperate. “It’s nice outside tonight, don’t you think?”

You couldn’t gauge what he was thinking, but you paid close attention to his reactions. Like the way his eyes dipped to your fingers slightly interlaced with his own, and how his digits were merely tracing yours in the most featherlight touch.

Did he miss you too?

“I’m going out with Yuki tonight,” he announced, his tone sharp and daring.

Your heart winced.

You weren’t used to this side of Suguru at all.

You let go of his hand, and nodded your head to feign acceptance but your throat was tight and tears were glazing over your woeful irises.

“Oh, okay!” you answered with as much confidence as you could muster up. “I guess…I guess I’ll see what Shoko is up to. And-”

Your voice cracked when Suguru let go of your hand. The emptiness a cold touch against your palm.

“I-I hope you guys have fun catching up tonight-“

Suguru nodded his head, taking your breath away for only a second when he leans forward to leave a chaste kiss on your brow. Not giving you a chance to finish your statement.

The gesture shatters you, because you know that it wasn’t genuine.

He was simply putting on a show, keeping up appearances so that the others don't suspect that something is wrong.

You cry yourself to sleep all alone in bed, all the while holding onto the hope that he might just show up to remind you that everything is okay.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

You’re still staring out the window, watching the droplets trickle down the glass. Lost in the peaceful moment, you barely hear Suguru enter the bedroom, which is why you jump in shock when you suddenly notice a large hand press firmly against the glass by your side.

“It’s pouring, huh?”

His voice, smooth like velvet and soft like storm clouds sent a tremor of desire in your belly. You steadied the cup in your hand, sensing your body trapped between the window and your boyfriend who was now standing prominently right behind you.

“Yeah,” you whisper quietly, your chest rising and falling with anticipation.

You watch him tap his index finger against the glass, your gaze falling to the bracelet on his wrist. It was the other gift that you gave him on his birthday, and he hasn’t taken it off since. The rain patters outside, the white noise your safety barrier against the awkward tension, but you can feel it brewing behind your spine as you steady your breathing.

“Where did you stay last night?” you ask with a mousy voice, hoping that your tone wasn’t coming across as accusatory but simply concerned for wanting to check in on Suguru’s whereabouts.

“Yuki’s room, we were up late talking…” he responds gently, a hint of amusement in his voice but not one that was cruel. “She told me I could sleep on her pull out only after admitting that I’m acting like a little bitch…”

Your mouth naturally ticked into a smile at his playful tone, and you sink your teeth into your lower lip with relief from the casual delivery.

He huffs out a small laugh, "in case you're wondering, I just so happen to agree with her."

“It’s not just you,” you acknowledge, finding the courage to slowly spin on your heel so you can face him. “I started all of this…”

“Yeah, but you’ve been trying to fix it and I’ve been difficult about it…”

Your body crumples when your eyes met his, the power of his gaze forcing you to press your back against the window to stop yourself from buckling at the knees. His yearning matches yours, and the tension in your shoulders relaxes slightly when you note that he might have actually have been missing you too.

The ease in his expression is a white flag of surrender.

You place your tea cup on the table by your side. “I shouldn’t have let Mei get to me,” you admit, “I was caught off guard, and I took my anger out on you…”

“I shouldn’t have put you in that position,” Suguru adds on, shaking his head in disbelief over his own decision. “I should have been upfront with you about Yuki from the star, I just-” He drops his hand away from the window to find yours, and takes both of them between his fingers. His thumb smooths over your knuckles, his grip firm and protective.

“I just didn’t want to give another reason not to trust me”

Your brows furrow with confusion, and Suguru sighs.

“My family were in a bind financially. Even though I got a full scholarship to univerisity, there still wasn’t enough money to put both Mimi and Nana through school. I've known Yuki since I was sixteen. She told me to spend the summers with her and hooked me up with well paying jobs ,” he explains solemnly, almost like he is ashamed by the situation entirely. “So, that’s what I did. Her mom never stayed during the summer break. And yeah, shit happened between us. We’d get high, fuck around, drink, party…but it was just…a release.  It didn’t mean anything else. I swear…”

“Mei said that you loved her,” you fill in, piecing together parts of your own personal indignation. “I think that’s what really got me. Especially when you didn’t tell me yourself. I couldn’t wrap my mind around the secrecy…”

Suguru scoffs, “Mei says that only because I went back summer after summer. I didn’t let anyone else know the real reason why. They had no fucking clue what was going on with me and my last summer with Yuki is when we decided to stop but I-I fucked it up…”

You could see the strain on Suguru’s face, and you squeezed his hand reassuringly to let him know that he could share whatever he needed to say.

“There was this girl that Yuki liked. I mean, really liked. She wouldn’t shut up about her. She was the reason why we stopped sleeping together. One night while we all went out, I got…carried away. I drank too much, I smoked too much, I wasn’t fucking thinking. I don’t even really remember what happened, but when I woke up the next morning…the girl was in my bed. When Yuki found us, she was…heartbroken. She didn’t speak to me for a year, and…I was devastated because her friendship means everything to me. She was the only person who knew how bad things were, and I returned the favor by…well, being myself, I guess…”

“Suguru, don’t say that…” you blurt out, your hands letting go of his as you eagerly clasp his jaw with equal protection. “I see you with your friends. You’re so loyal, and would give them everything if they asked. For somebody whose always so put together, what you did…is so out of character…”

He winced, his eyes narrowing with humiliation but it only taps into your empathy.

You bring his face closer, press your forehead to his own and notice him flutter his eyes close.

“You rarely talk about how hard it was with your family,” you mumble so close to his lips, keeping the conversation as private as possible even though it’s only the two of you in the room together. “I can’t even imagine the kind of pressure you must have been feeling. If you and Yuki are as close as you say are you, I’m sure she came around because she must have seen it too…”

His hands find your your bare waist. “She was the only one who could see it. Satoru, Shoko…it went over their heads…”

The quiet loops in right then, a rumble of thunder echoing in the distance. The hurt in Suguru's voice was loud and clear. The fact that he's always been there, but is so easily forgotten in the long run.

“I need to know,” Suguru confesses, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “I need to know what else it’s going to take to get you to trust me because the odds are stacked up against me, sweetheart. And if I can’t make it happen, then I don’t have a single fucking shot at making us happen…”

The sting of regret burns your cheeks once more, and you extend your arms out to circle around your boyfriend’s neck. You want to kick yourself for making him doubt himself, especially after he working so incredibly hard to earn your favor.

“I swore I would never throw your past in your face. I’m so sorry that I did. You’re not the same guy that the people in your life paint you out to be, and I shouldn’t have let them try to convince me otherwise,”

You seal your apology with a small kiss to the corner of his lip, goosebumps pebbling your skin from Suguru’s thumbs tracing tiny streaks up and down your belly. “For whatever reason we don’t seem to make sense to anyone around us…”

When Suguru finds your eyes, you lose yourself into a dark abyss, sinking back into the depths of his soul.

“Is that how you feel too?” he questions seriously, “that we don’t make sense?”

You shake your head instantly to disregard the claim.

“Being with you is the only thing that I seem to understand, and I think that’s why I’m so scared to let you in,” you admit, the past forty eight hours of desperation formulating the next statement on the tip of your tongue. “I’m falling in love with you, Suguru. And-And I can’t seem to stop it from happening…”

Your breathless at the proclamation, your heart hammering so hard in your chest like it’s ready to burst out and bury itself into Suguru’s instead.

You watch your lover pull back slightly, his brows raise with astonishment.

“In love…” he breathes, like he can't believe the words himself, “with me?”

You nod your head, your hands roaming back to the front of his chest where you can feel his own stammering heart against your palm.

"Yeah, with you."

Suguru withers into your touch, his hand cradling your jaw as he dips in to press his mouth over yours. He parts his tongue to deepen the kiss, the weight of his body pushing yours into the surface, where behind you lightning bolts across the sky and grey clouds envelop you both in a shadowy cocoon.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

You freely unravel, your joy sparking from the tips of your toe as to the top of your head knowing that your lover has chosen not to abandon you, knowing that you both are desperately seeking forgiveness.

You swear to yourself that it’ll never get this far again.

Suguru baptizes you with his kiss; it was a long reminder of your submission, of fully surrendering your feelings towards him. In between he moves your body, away from the glass and across the room, until you're pinned underneath him on the bed. He uses one hand to undo the wrap skirt around your waist, leaving you clad in your bikini to bathe under the light of his love instead.

His index finger loops around the string of your bikini top. He pulls away from the wet kiss, the tip of his nose lightly brushing your own, with the heat pooling in those dark irises enough to singe your skin.

“I’m not done with you,” he confirms, going back to the statement that ate away at you like a parasite. “Truthfully, I don’t think I’ll ever be…”

A lock of his hair brushes his brow, and you move it aside to kiss the space.

“Even if you were, I’m not willing to let you go that easily,” you counter because you need him to hear it. You need him to understand that you see what he’s put into this relationship and that you are more than willing to return the effort.

He smiles, and it’s devastatingly perfect it makes you want to scream at the heavens for allowing someone to be this beautiful.

“Still think I’m worth the trouble?”

Your fingers trace down the bridge of his nose, your heart gooey and soft in more ways than you can understand.

“I’m the luckiest girl in the world to have you, Sugu.”

His head tilts with curiosity, eyes drooping in contemplation. He doesn’t say it but you can hear him asking “are you sure?”, but his doubt is enough for you to seal the truth with a kiss, and when Suguru returns it, you’re once again dissolving in his affection.

Your limbs tangle into one another, your bodies pressed so close that you can feel every hard muscle. The bed sheet rumples, is lifted away from the corners as it gathers messily. Suguru’s hand glides up your torso, over the swell of your breasts, and he hooks his fingers around your throat to tilt your neck to the side and allowing him the access to kiss the column.

You thoughtfully sigh, your eyes fluttering close at the sensation of him sucking on your delicate flesh. He leaves a trail in his wake, and you shiver when his hot breath fans your ear.

“Can I ask you something?” he questions in a hush tone, his voice dipping down an octave and sprinkled with desire.

You nod your head.

“Can I go down on you?”

Your body seizes, every single cell on fire. There’s a catch in your throat, and your thighs clench together nervously at the suggestion.

You tilt your head back to face him, your noses and lips bumping in the process. “I-I can do it for you-”

He interrupts you by shaking his head, his mouth carefully kissing your cupid’s bow. “You’ve gone down on me three times already…”

You can feel yourself soaking through your bottoms. A mixture of pleasure and shame heating your cheeks.

“But...what if-what if you don’t like it? I read somewhere that not all guys do...”

Suguru scoffs, baring his teeth as he gives you a full grin. He prods the tips of his nose onto yours, wiggling it teasingly from side to side.

“You’re so fucking cute,” he confesses before adding, “I promise you, I’ll like it”

Your heart is beating so fast you can’t think, but your body speaks another language as your thighs naturally spread a little wider to invite him in.

“Okay, yeah-” you consent, “yeah, you can…”

He smirks, his hands tracing to the strings of your bottoms. You lift your hips, watching him shimmy the fabric down your legs. He stuffs the material in his back pocket, his palms spreading your inner thighs apart.

You sit yourself up on your forearms to study your boyfriend with intrigue.

“God, you’re so fucking pretty…” he sighs, his attention focused on the triangle between your legs, and your belly flutters at the direct compliment.

He doesn’t move for a second, his hands adding the slightest bit of pressure on the meat of your thighs. He licks his lips and breathes out once more, taking just a second to compose himself.

“It’ll only feel good, no pain,” he informs, “but if it’s too much for you, just tell me and I’ll stop, okay?”

Your hips relax further into the mattress, his assurance easing some of your apprehension. Your boyfriend knows how sensitive you are at this point, but you nod your in head in acknowledgement while gratefully appreciating that he regards you with such consideration.

He kisses up the apex of your thigh, carefully avoiding your sex to find a path to you hips. His tongue is sof and warm, tasting every part of your skin as it travels across your lower belly and further down your pubis. You gasp at the sensation of his breath so close to your cunt, your calf twitching when he finally places a gentle kiss on your lips.

And another kiss.

And another kiss.

And a fourth until your toes curl and he finally flattens his tongue along the slit.

“Oh,” you coo, the sensation so delicate and delicious. Suguru drags his love between your folds, up and down, and side to decide, his mouth circling around each lip as he sucks on them in between returning to glide his tongue around.

Your legs clasp around his neck, your heels resting comfortably on his back. The sound of Suguru sucking and licking up your pussy reverberates along with the storm outside. He reaches one arm to find your hand, and you intertwine your fingers to hold him tightly. His other hand slithers up your torso, and slips underneath your bikini top. He pushes the fabric above your breast, his thumb and index finger finding your tender nipple which he massages steadily as his uses his mouth to pleasure you.

The sensation builds, filters throughout your body in waves that roll over and over again. You squeak when he sucks on your clit, your heels pressing into his back but the weight of his body holds you in place to keep you from wandering away.

Your brows furrow, little tremors shaking your collar bones and your belly. “Suguru,” you whine sweetly, a moan following after when he pinches your nipple and nibbles on your clit. He lets go of your hand, his touch traveling down to your legs. He spreads your pussy, giving himself more access to bury his soft tongue deeper, further, to taste more of your nectar as it dribbles down his chest like he’s biting into fruit.

He groans into your cunt.

He grazes his tongue over your weeping hole, and your body thrashes with anguish and rapture. Your eyes spark in white, glittering like the lightning as it bursts and recedes into the ceiling above you. The band in your core is a tight spring that finally unfurls quickly and quite suddenly, your orgasm unfolding throughout your stuttering body.

“Oh, god…” you cry out, your back arching as Suguru keeps his mouth over your cunt, his hand holding you down by your lower body.

You gasp, panting heavily trying to cope with the aftermath. You think that Suguru might stop, but instead you feel him paint kisses all over your sex, rolling your nipple between his finger and moving to suck on your throbbing clit.

“Sugu?” you call out, your spine shuddering.

��Hmm?” he answers, his tongue massaging across the bud.

“You’re still…” you whimper, “you’re still going?”

He releases you with a pop, blowing air over the swollen bud before smiling into another kiss.

“You have no idea how long I can keep going”

Suguru only manages to keep his word by delivering another orgasm with his mouth buried against your cunt. You had tears in your eyes when you came, panting out “no more” with desperation because you couldn’t handle the detachment you were feeling in your own skin.

It feels so fucking good, but all too much at the same time.

Suguru doesn’t push. He won’t test his boundaries right now. Not when you’re just a vulnerable kitten in his eyes. No, the stamina will require time and patience, and for you to get used to him in the bedroom as well.

His disappointments sits between his brows when he pulls away, his hand smoothing over the curve of your pelvis as he kisses your hip and lower belly. He crawls over you like a panther, his shoulder blades rising with each calculative moment. You can smell yourself against his lips, savor your own arousal when he dips in for a kiss.

“Taste like heaven, baby girl,” he mumbles, his balmy words running over your skin like hot oil. “I could eat you out all night…”

He traces the column of your neck with his lips, and grins into your skin. You’re too shy to say anything, and he knows it. He presses his mouth against your neck, pecking over the marks that he’s imprinted.

Your hands fumble to reach for his jeans, your body desperate to do something for him too but Suguru grabs your wrists and pins them to your side before standing upright and undoing his jeans himself.

“Relax,” he insists.

Your eyes fall to his large hands undoing the button, and then unzipping the front of his pants. His grey boxers have a noticeable wet spot, and your pupils dilate when he pulls his dick out for you to see.

You tuck your bottom lip between your teeth, waiting to see what he’ll do next. He pumps his cock a few times, sighing heavily as his thumb runs over the slit. To your surprise he shifts his position, and adjusts himself until he’s perfectly aligned with you.

He taps the fat, mushroom head over your clit. “You just open up for me, don’t you?” he whispers deviously, “Let’s practice…”

He slides his dick back and forth over your slit, supports his movements by holding both your knees as he grinds his length against your cunt.

“See how far I’ll stretch you out?” he mumbles, eyes hazy with hunger. “See how deep I’ll go?”

He slides his hands up and down your thighs, rocking back and forth and using you for friction. Soft grunts and moans escape him, and in between he halts for only a second when your quivering hand finds his length. His hips stutter when you start to lightly jack him off, your thumb teasing over the head.

Your eyes fall close, imagine the burn of him spreading you apart, of him making love to your body as you mold into his frame. To feel him in all his glory, for your bodies to become.

The image is raw, vulnerable, and so, so perfect.

There is nobody else you would rather give yourself too.

Suguru is the one.

“I can’t wait,” you beg dreamily, “Need you inside me, I can’t wait-”

His grip on you tightens out of surprise upon hearing your words, and he suddenly thrusts harshly as he curses out a broken “fuck”. Ribbons of white spurt out of him, painting your belly and tainting parts of your chest.

The both of you freeze as you look down, caught off guard by what just happened.

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

Suguru cleaned you up using a wet towel to wipe his cum off your belly and chest. You discarded your bikini top afterwards while he removed his jeans, with the two of you then choosing to snuggle up against one another under the sheet.

“That’s never happened to me before,” Suguru confesses, finally breaking the silence. There was a slight blush tinting his cheek bones, and you giggle as you cradle his face in your palm and trace the shade of red.

“You’re usually so in control,” you playfully remark, and Suguru simply rolls his eyes.

“Not with you, I’m not,” he admits, his arm clenching around your waist as he closes the gap of space to tuck you into his chest.

You breathe in his scent, nuzzling your nose into the fabric of his tee.

"I'm glad we're okay now."

"I am too"

You curl your fingers around his shirt. “On your birthday, and just now…we could’ve…just gone all the way. You could’ve just-”

“Not here,” Suguru states seriously, the intensity in his voice prompting you to tilt your chin up and meet his stare. He plays with your ear, traces the shell thoughtfully before gently tugging on your lobe.

The butterflies flutter once again, your irises tinting in pink. You lean forward to kiss the sharp angle of his jaw.

“What was it like for you? Your first time?”

Suguru sighs, and purses his lips as he contemplates the memory. “Yuki was good to me, and it was nice,” he admits, but you’re entranced with the way he holds your gaze. “I sure as hell wasn’t as nervous as I am now…”

“Is that why you keep holding back?” you question innocently, apropping yourself on your elbow to rest your head on your hand. The bed sheet falling and exposing your chest.

Suguru’s eyes fall, his touch tracing the slope to outline the curve of your breast. “Do you want your first time to happen after a petty argument?”

You pout your lips with amusement. “Does it matter?”

“You’re not the only one who might be in love, sweetheart,” he responds, his words greeting the shining sun peeking through the clouds. “Of course it matters.”

__________________ ׂׂૢ་༘࿐ ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ┊ ┊⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊ ⋆˚ ✧. ┊ ⋆ ★

tags: @sellenite @kiwibao @allofffmypeaches @sugurussbby @kunigamisbaby @pandoraium @brownskinnedgirll

my works are available on tumblr and ao3 - any fics reposted on other platforms or other Tumblr blogs have been plagiarized. do not share my works on social media (tiktok etc.) © peachsayshi 

#playboy geto x inexperienced reader #geto x reader #geto x y/n #geto x you #suguru geto x reader #suguru geto x you #suguru geto x y/n #geto smut #suguru geto smut #geto angst #suguru geto angst #hurt/comfort #jujutsu kaisen fan fictions

[sattlersquarry]

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

[bvtbxtch]

Angry Heart | Eddie Munson x fem!reader (Part 4: The Aftermath)

Summary: Your best friend Chrissy Cunningham always got everything she ever wanted, even you new friend and crush Eddie Munson. When Chrissy does the unthinkable, Eddie is left to pick up the pieces alone... or is he?

Pairings: Eddie Munson x Chrissy Cunningham, Eddie Munson x Reader (eventually), reader and Chrissy are friends but have a fallout. Minimal usage of Y/N

Series warnings: MDNI 18 +, Smut, fluff and angst (everything all rolled into one beautiful shit show), mentions of drugs and alcohol being consumed, overall adult language and theme. By clicking the read more, you agree that you are over 18! Ageless and minor blogs who interact will be blocked.

Word count: ~6.8k

A/N: It's TIIIIIIIIMMMMMMEEEE! Thank you all so so so much for the love on this little fic that could. This was going to contain more smutty smut smut, but I am going to do a part 5/conclusion to this fic and it will not take 4 months for it to come out LOL. I have been frantically writing for the past week, so I am v sorry I have missed y'all! Thank you for your patience!

Prologue

Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

The crunch of gravel underneath your half-laced converse was deafening. You finally felt free enough to let the small streams of tears waterfall down your face. Your ears were ringing with a choir of Eddie’s disappointed questions. You pressed your eyes shut to see Eddie’s warm eyes become dark pools of hatred. Eddie hated you, he must have; But how would you know? You burst through Eddie’s wobbly front door and bound down the steps before he could stop you - and lord, he wanted to stop you. 

His feet were planted, like vines of insecurity had seeped through the floor and trapped him where he stood. He reached for you in desperation, instantly regretting the poison that had spewed out of his mouth. He had just had you, finally, and he shoved you away.

“What do you mean, that wasn’t the first time you and Steve kissed?” Eddie’s hands began to shake, everything around him moved in slow motion. Why would you do that? Why would you do that to him? You had him in the palm of your hand and instead of embracing him, you tightened into a fist and crushed him. His mind played tricks, replacing your beautiful glowing eyes with Chrissy’s bored baby blues, your kisses that were stamped on his face and neck now burned, reminding him of how Chrissy’s glossed lips used to trail the veins of his neck. As much as he tried to burn her from his memory, the remnants of her wrath scorched him. 

You couldn’t meet the boy’s betrayed gaze. Your lips quivered in defeat. It didn’t mean anything. You didn’t want him to. You wanted to grab Eddie’s face and yell to him, that the time that Steve’s lips touched yours, you dreamt they were Eddie’s. That you pushed the quaff of Hair away from you and you ran through your front door, desperate to hear the rasp of your metalhead. But you didn’t. You retreated into your brain, like a black hole suctioned you through space. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t talk. The beautiful boy in front of you paced and pulled at his curled roots, his pasty face contorted in a pout. His glazed eyes made your own burn.

“What the fuck, Y/N? You- you try to fuck me in the bathroom at his house, you come home with me, you tell me you want me, when you’ve been kissing him all along? Do you like him? Did you fuck him?”  Eddie’s words sliced through you. You heard him, but could barely register what was going on. Your brain screamed one thing only at you:

Run

So you did the only thing that seemed logical. With a betrayed look in your glassy eyes, you turned on your heels and stampeded for the door. The trailer’s small hallway seemed to stretch on for miles, your hand getting further and further away from the door. Your heart screamed at your brain to allow you to stop and curl into Eddie’s broad chest. You wanted to scream into his ribs so his heart could feel how sorry you were. But you wanted to hit him. You wanted to pound your fists against the walls and yell at him - this wasn’t anyone’s fault. You weren’t - and still aren’t Eddie’s girlfriend. He doesn’t own you and you don’t owe him anything. But your stupid brain shut off and carried you down the drab carpet of the trailer. Eddie watched you in silent horror - watching you slip through his fingers yet again. 

The cool October air pushes your held breath out in a broken sob. You stand just outside of the Munson trailer door, hoping - pleading with the universe - that Eddie will cross the threshold of his safety inside and pull you back into him. But, he didn’t move when you went to leave. He let you go, just like he did before. You ruined what good thing you had coming for the two of you. With another crisp sigh, your shoulders shrank to your ears, you wrapped your arms around your torso, and you trudged along the gravel to walk yourself across town to get into your own bed and shut the world out.

The air, which was once cool enough to don only a light jacket, had become more punishing than when you picked your outfit this afternoon. Your breath fogged in front of you as you shivered your way down the side of the highway. You couldn’t help but let your thoughts grow cold with your body. Your sorrow turned to anger and resentment. How dare he? How dare he make you feel guilty when he did the exact same thing to Chrissy with you. How dare he get angry when he strung you along for so long. You hated to admit it, and maybe it’s why there was a ping of want in your chest when Steve kissed you, but you now understood part of Chrissy’s need to be desired. Steve wanted you when it felt like no one did. You had gotten a bit drunk on the power before the sobering idea of Eddie’s heartbroken face pulled you away from the moment. You just wanted Eddie to need you as much as you needed him. 

You were so entangled in your own thoughts, you barely noticed the incandescent beams that cast your shadow in front of you. Your eyes tore from the gravel when you heard a soft voice call your name. A beautiful brunette with big blue eyes peered at you from her tidy station wagon. 

“Oh, hi, Nancy.” you sniffled. You rubbed your nose and flashed the girl a tight smile. 

“Are you okay?” Her sweet soprano lulled you in. You broke. You missed having a girl to talk to.

“Umm… no” you waffled. 

“Get in.”

You only knew Nancy Wheeler through her reputation at school. Before she graduated, you knew her as the goodie two shoes who got straight A’s and was in every academic and writing club she could get her manicured hands on. She was nice to you, but intense. 

What you didn’t know about Nancy Wheeler is that now that she had graduated and was working for the Hawkins Post, she found time to experiment with her wild side. You had gently got into her car and even though she offered to drive you home, she also begged for you to go to the opening of a new nightclub downtown.

“I don’t know, Nance. I’m literally in my outfit from Steve’s party.” Nancy waved her hand like she was fanning your words away from her. 

“Not a problem at all. Most kids that were at Steve’s will probably show anyway! Besides, you have nice legs. Your skirt shows ‘em off.” She winked at you and with a small giggle, you conceded and buckled yourself in for an adventure with Hawkins’ sweetheart.

The ride there, Nancy probed about why you were crying on the side of the road. Your emotions spilled out of you like a bleeding wound, you couldn’t stop the hemorrhaging of feelings you threw at the girl who flashed her big eyes between the road and your face in utter awe of the twisted story you laid out for her. The only response she could let out was a small ‘holy shit’.

You let out a sad chuckle, and she grabbed your clammy hand resting in your lap. 

“Fuck Eddie Munson, Fuck Steve Harrington, and Fuck Chrissy Cunningham. Johnathan is coming to pick me up and he’s gonna drive you home too. Let’s drink this whole problem away. The rest of the night isn’t about you, or some stupid boys.” Nancy’s gaze was mischievous, but you could tell that her words were sincere. You were ready to let Eddie and Steve melt away from you like a layer of candle wax. You were ready to illuminate just for you. No boys. No Chrissy. Just you. 

The early morning of November 1 was full of weed smoke, fireball shots, and blaring music. The neon lights of the new dance club reflected off of your damp skin. Your body had been fastened next to Nancy’s in the middle of the dancefloor, while shot after shot flowed through your body. You thought you were tipsy at Steves? That seemed like nonsense. Your limbs felt fuzzy and limp, but the euphoric smile stayed plastered on your face. The only thing running through your brain was how loud the music was and how your throat burned from the shots. You grabbed onto Nancy’s bony hips and danced with her. You both laughed as you slotted your leg between hers and mimicked the desperate young couples on the dancefloor needy for some sort of action. The music ebbed while the DJ transitioned to the next dance track, so Nancy grabbed your wrist and led you back to the crowded bar. You both squeezed up to the bartop, bumping shoulders with a skinny blonde. It wasn’t until you turned your eyes to Nancy’s grim face that you knew something was wrong. You saw the girl mouth a small ‘fuck’ before you caught her eyes making contact with someone else’s right behind you. You mimicked Nancy’s fuck as you heard a shrill voice over the new thump of the next track.

“Fancy seeing you here, Y/N… Didn’t you leave to sleep with my boy like three hours ago?”

You felt your body go numb as you turned to face another pair of baby blues, but these were attached to a glossed scowl and a tall blonde ponytail. Your jaw tightened as she looked you up and down.

“Gee, for hanging out with total burnouts like the Hellfire club, you really don’t know how to hold your liquor.” You flinched at her cutting words. Your heartbeat quickened. Chrissy, the girl who used to support you through almost anything, the girl who used to support your friendships, the one who even pushed you to pursue Gareth so you could go on double dates with her and Eddie, now weaponizing everything you love against you. 

“Fuck off, Chrissy. I’m not doing this.” You tried to push your body off of the bar, but the monster in front of you grabbed your shoulder and leaned into your ear.

“Why? Did you hear about how Eddie called me after you left his? How he told me how much he missed me? Let’s go outside and talk about it.” Chrissy dared. Your eyes darted to Nancy, her face screwed into an angry and concerned scowl. You cupped your hand to Nancy’s ear and told her about your plan to go outside with Chrissy. You reassured her you were fine. You told her you were  finishing this once and for all. She questioned you with a glare, but you nodded in reassurance. 

“Fine, Cunningham. Let’s talk if you wanna talk.” You let the girl lead you out of the club through the front door, once again, you were met with the cool November air, a stark contrast from the heat from the club. 

You fully admit that hasty decisions made when drunk rarely end up being good decisions. In your brain, telling Chrissy to fuck herself was going to bring you closure. It was going to end your night on a win and you were going to dance the night away with Nancy until Johnathan dragged your tired bodies off the dancefloor. But that was an ideal world, not real life. You seemed to be ignorant to the fact that alcohol also amplifies the hold your feelings had on your heart. 

“What the fuck do you want, Chrissy? What the fuck did I do to you now?” You scoffed. You tried your best to harden your heart, but the waver in your voice let Chrissy know that she had gotten to you. In her game, she had won. A sinister smile spread across her flushed face.

“I just wanted to give you a warning. Since you think that you can finesse my boyfriend away from me.” The girl spat. 

“Ex-boyfriend Chrissy. Tell me why I was just with him and he said you were through and he wanted me?” Chrissy cackled at your rebuttal.

“Hah. I guess there is one thing I know about Eddie Munson that you don’t.” Chrissy stepped towards you. “Munson will do anything for a lay.” Chrissy spoke with such casualty in her voice it made your blood run cold. “I mean, you and I both know I definitely gave it up the first time he took me out, but I was desperate to see what the fuckhead was packing…”

“Shut the fuck up, Chrissy!” you wished your voice could be used as a forcefield to push her backwards. She did step back, however, impressed with the strength in your voice. But she laughed, she knew she had taken residence under your skin, it was time to play with all of your nerves. 

“Why? Are you jealous of me, Y/N?” Chrissy sneered. “Are you finally ready to admit that you’re just angry that I got everything you ever wanted? I was the top bitch. I was the one that could have anything she wanted. I was the one that won prom queen. I’m so much bigger and better than you could ever be… Was Eddie just the final nail in the coffin for you?”

Chrissy’s words began to fuzz together. You can’t help but close your eyes to block her barrage further. You finally understood. You got who Chrissy Cunningham really was. It started as a chuckle, but grew into an uncontrollable laugh. When you opened your eyes back up, you were greeted with Chrissy’s confused stare. 

“All this time… you thought I was jealous?” you couldn’t contain the amused giggle that kept escaping. Chrissy’s cheeks grew more flushed and her brows furrowed tighter with every passing second. “Chrissy, why would I ever be jealous of you? The only thing that ever mattered to you was you - a-and your fucking image! Look at the people you left in your wake! Who the fuck do you have left? Heather? Sarah? Where are they now?”

“O-oh please? Like you have fucking Nancy Wheeler? Big deal.” Chrissy’s voice wavered. She could feel her power and influence fading. 

“Yeah, I do. I have lots of people in my corner. But I have myself. I may not feel that fucking fantastic about myself right now, but I know I’m a good person, and I know I deserve love. Do you think that about yourself?”

For the first time tonight, Chrissy was silent. It was only a beat, but it signaled her small defeat - even though she would never admit it to you.

“But, we kissed at the party today. He wants me back, I know it.” She pouted at you. 

“You kissed him at the party. He then turned around and kissed me.” you spat. “I think you should take that hint-”

The words were stolen from your mouth as Chrissy’s hand made contact with your cheek. You felt instant heat on your face and your word felt like it was going to flip completely upside down as your balance was rocked. Shocked tears pricked your eyes as you stared in bewilderment at the girl who you once called your best friend stood there, knees shaking and chest heaving. She looked like she was going to throw up, her flush face now pale. You heard a sweet voice turned hardened highlighted by the dull bass of the club entrance. 

“Back the fuck up, Chrissy!” Nancy barked. Chrissy backed herself against the wall and started to laugh. 

“Get your bitch out of here, Wheeler. I’m fucking done with you both. You and Eddie deserve each other. You’re going to sit and rot here in this stupid town and I’ll be long gone.” Chrissy cried. She shouldered Nancy on the way out. Your chest heaved and you crumbled into the sidewalk, sliding your back down the cement wall of the club. The brunette’s small frame followed you. You sat in silence, only the faint womps of music interrupted the silence. 

“Do you want me to go back in there and kill her?” She peeped. You gave her a hearty laugh. She eyed you carefully before joining in. You leaned your head on Nancy’s bony shoulder and let your shoulders heave. Before long, your shakes of laughter turned into silent sobs. You were so tired, so drunk and so unbelievably confused. 

A blinding pair of headlights approached as the offending vehicle puttered to a stop. Before the lights were fully blinked off, a clump of footsteps could be heard on the concrete. Both you and Nancy and you both shielded your burning eyes, Nancy grabbed your wrist with her free hand and squeezed. A familiar, but not fully welcome tone calls your name. 

“Get up. Let’s go.” The voice was hard, but a sniffle and a sigh book ended his words. You stood slowly, in amazement of the pale face before you. Just a few hours ago, his cheeks were red and his eyes glowed down at you. Now, his skin was dull, his eyes sunken behind puffy bags and a red nose. Your heart broke looking at him. 

“E-Eddie? How did you know where to find me?”

As soon as Eddie had come to and realized you had left, he collapsed in on himself. He couldn’t help the tears that poured past his lash line. He pulled his hands into fists and threw a punch to his door as he burst through it. He flopped his body onto his bed and allowed his shoulders to heave as a sob wracked through him. Once again, he fucking froze. Once again, he let you walk away. Once again, he lost the one person he felt like he couldn’t live without. He felt like time had slowed, that he had simultaneously laid on his bed four hours, but mere moments ago you were in his arms. He cried and screamed until his lungs felt they would collapse and his throat was raw. 

His realization kicked in. You left. Alone. In the dark. With no vehicle and no way of getting home without him. He jolted out of his bed and ran to the door, ripping his keys from the hook on the wall. 

Eddie drove to your house and banged on the door, but there was no answer - all the lights were off and things were too silent for you to be home. He cursed under his breath and ran back to his van. He drove any walking routes he thought you might take: along the sleepy highway, down by Hawkins High or through the middle of town. He saw no signs of you anywhere. It was late. There were no stores open, bars calling last call, street lamps buzzing in a mocking whisper. He shouldn’t have let you go. He kept repeating it in his head and out loud. He shouldn’t have let you go. His silent drive prompted reflection. He had no right to say anything, especially after Chrissy kissed him at Steve’s party literally that night. He should have listened to you. He should have heard what happened. But his stupid insecurities got in the way. He wasn’t good enough for you, he knew that before tonight. But now this had really solidified it for him, you don’t deserve the shitstorm that he has brought to your life. You deserve to be happy, and have friends and have a boyfriend, and as much as he wanted that to be him, he knew that you very well could pick someone else, and he would understand. He mirrored your self-sabotage exactly, you both feeling less than.

Eddie began to grow desperate. If you got hurt - hell if something else happened, he would never forgive himself. He trailed around your favorite hang outs around town and gave up hope. He did have an idea of where else you might have gone. 

The knock on the neat wooden door was loud and frantic. Gareth stumbled to open the door with sleepy eyes and a yawn.

“Dude, what the fuck? It's like 2 am!” Gareth chided. 

“You were asleep?!?” Eddie grabbed at the collar of Gareth’s faded Metallica t-shirt. “You’ve been asleep this whole time?”

“Yeah, man! What the hell! I left Harrington’s shitty party early and fell the fuck asleep. What’s going on?”

With a whimper, Eddie let your name slip through his mouth before bursting into tears again. Gareth wrapped the tall boy into an embrace and shuffled him into his living room. The two boys sat on the couch recalling the events of the night, through sighs and shed tears from both of them.

“Dude, I need to ask you a serious question, and I know you know the answer… I think you just need to fully admit it to yourself.” Eddie looked at Gareth dazed, but sent him a small nod.

“How long have you been in love with her?” Even the thought of loving you sent heat straight to his cheeks. The thought of being able to touch you, to kiss you, like he had at Steve’s party without any reason made his stomach flop. 

“I-” Eddie chewed on his lip. He felt like he had been enamored by you since you first met. When he saw you on stage during his first rehearsal in the theatre, he knew that you were going to be a permanent fixture in his life. But love? That was scary. He didn’t love Chrissy. He hadn’t had a girlfriend before her. His family, other than Wayne, never showed him what love was. It felt like a foreign concept. But the fact that he was sitting on his friend’s couch crying over how worried he was, that was a pretty good sign right?

“I… think it was right before the play went up this year, when I got to spend so much time with her.” Eddie’s voice was quiet. He felt powerless, but not threatened. He was ready to fully give up everything for you now. He was ready to submit to his feelings. 

“Why didn’t you tell her then and break up with Chrissy?” Gareth probed. His questions weren’t pushy. He was truly asking to help Eddie untangle the mess of thoughts woven in his mind. 

“I-I tried to.. When I kissed her - that day in the theatre - I had this silent hope that she was going to just… know. She was just going to understand. She was going to feel all of the things I felt for her and she was going to ask me to leave Chrissy. And I would have, if she asked… but I was so scared of being burned by both of them, I tried to save both… and now look where that has gotten me.” Eddie;s head fell into his hands. Gareth put a reassuring hand on his broad shoulder.

“Eddie, she knew.” Eddie’s face flew from his hands to study the boy’s green eyes across from him. “She’s known all along, but both of you are assholes that are too scared to admit it. But think about it, Ed. She had so much to lose - too much to lose. You needed to make that move, so I am telling you, when we find her, you need to tell her. No more holding back. It’s going to kill the both of you.” 

Eddie now understood why you had gravitated to Gareth so easily. He cared so effortlessly for you, and Eddie now realized how much he had taken Gareth’s friendship for granted. He couldn’t help but wrap the dusty blond boy into a tight hug.

“Thank you, Gare.” Eddie whispered, too scared to speak louder and erupt in tears yet again.

“Yeah, just don’t cry again, dude. I can’t take any more of your crocodile tears.” With a sniffle and a chuckle, the boys broke their embrace. Both of their attentions were grabbed from the living room by a shrill ring of the kitchen telephone. Both boys jumped off the couch and crowded around the receiver. A squeaky voice rang through the phone.

“Gareth??”

“Wheeler? What the hell are you doing calling me at 2:30?” The smaller Wheeler sibling was babbling and gasping for air on the other end of the phone. Your name came up between pants and a mishmosh of words.

“Slow down, Mike. What happened?” Gareth’s eyes were glued to Eddie’s. Eddie was whispering small encouragements to Gareth, pleading to pry any information out of the freshman.

“Nancy just called me from this new club downtown? She-she said that she was with Y/N and that I needed to call you to come get them! I think something happened!” It took Eddie no time to leave Gareth’s side and lunge for his keys. Gareth quickly thanked Mike and hung up the phone.

“Do you think I should come with you, Ed?”

“Nah, Gareth. I gotta do this alone.” Eddie’s face turned cold, stoic, scared. He was worried sick and felt a pang of nausea that Nancy had found you in a club of all places. With a pat on the back, he wished Gareth good night and hopped back into his car, trailing way too fast down the winding roads leading him downtown and into your arms. 

Nancy’s voice snapped the tension between you and Eddie. You felt like a fist was squeezing your heart. You could barely breathe. 

“I-I called Mike to get Gareth to come help.” Nancy looked at the floor, apologetic. You twisted your head to look at her, and you gave her a thankful squeeze on the arm.

“I had gone over to Gareth’s to look for you. I drove to your house and downtown and to the board game cafe… I just couldn’t find you.” Eddie’s voice had softened slightly. You felt the fist on your heart tighten harder. Eddie reached for your limp wrist with a brawny grip. He wasn’t going to let you slip away again. 

“Let’s go please.” His eyes pleaded with you. “Wheeler, do you need me to drop you off?”

“Nah, I’ll be okay. Johnathan will be here soon, and I might have a bitch to fight,” Her smile was mischievous, but there were flashes of sorrow for you in her eyes. 

“What does she mean?” Eddie flashed you a perturbed stare. Your eyes couldn’t meet his as you whispered Chrissy’s name. That was all you could power out of your rapidly weakening chest. It's all it took for Eddie to roll his eyes and rake his hand over his face. He wished he had the strength to walk into the club, grab her and give her a piece of his mind, but the only thing he had any energy left was to get you home safely, and never leave your side. Eddie pulled you towards his van as you blew a kiss to Nancy and hollered a sweet goodbye.

“Take care of her, Munson. Or I’ll have to kill you.” Nancy dared, her hands crossed over her dainty chest. Eddie offered her a small thank you.

“No, really. I’m a wicked shot.” Both you and Eddie stopped and turned to her in surprise. A small giggle escaped your lips. Nancy waved you both off and sauntered back to the front door that engulfed her in neon dance lights when she opened it. 

Eddie silently opened your door and put your seatbelt on you. Neither of you could meet each other's gaze as Eddie’s strong arms reached across you. He closed the door and you let out a sigh of relief in the moment you had alone in the dark van. Eddie restarted his van and pulled away from the club. The radio was uncharacteristically low, and although Eddie had found you in one piece, he refused to turn it back up. You rode in silence down the streets of your neighborhood. Eddie’s stare would flicker from the dark road to your figure every few seconds. He needed to make sure you were real, that you were actually there with him. You fixed your weak body against the passenger window and glued your stare to the passing trees. The windows of your neighbor’s houses sneered back at you just like Chrissy did. 

“I was worried about you,” Eddie muttered. “You shouldn’t have run off like that.”

As relieved as you were that you were driving further and further away from the club and Chrissy Cunningham, the more confused and angry you grew at the boy who took you away from her. You couldn’t help but let a small chuckle leave your lips. Eddie scoffed back at you.

“You shouldn’t have let me leave in the first place” you hissed. No way. There was no way he was going to be mad at you. You folded your arms over your chest, willing yourself more metaphorical armor to protect your heart from all the conflicting emotions. 

“Yeah, well you shouldn’t have kissed Steve Harrington.” Eddie’s plan was slipping through his fingers. He was panicking, and the only thing he knew how to do when he was panicking, was be mean. 

“You should have never, ever kissed Chrissy Cunningham either, Eddie!” You shouted. Eddie opened his mouth to say something but screwed it shut into a scowl. The silence was deafening. For the first time since you got into his van that night, you looked over at him, your eyes absolutely absorbing him. He wanted to pull the van over and kiss some sense into you, show you that he definitely knew that he was never supposed to have been with her. It was always you. But you had shut down. You had given up on him, like he deserved. He couldn’t handle more heartbreak than he had now. 

The aching silence came to a head as Eddie pulled the old van into your driveway. Without hesitation you reached over for your seatbelt and opened the creaky door. Time slowed down for both of you, both desperate for the other to give in and just stay, to just collapse into the other. But, you were too hurt and Eddie too guarded. Eddie felt his body freeze when you looked at him (for what felt the last time) as you slammed the passenger door closed and trudged to your front door. Your face fell into a frown and tears flowed, for what you hoped would be the last time in a while.

You fumbled in your purse for your house keys. You finally found the small keychain that Eddie had gotten you from Corroded Coffin’s one day trip into Indianapolis to hang flyers, and you couldn’t help but let your shoulders slump more. Eddie’s headlights illuminated the door. You pushed your keys in, but saw a large shadow approaching your door before you could turn the knob. Your glassy eyes panned up to watch Eddie wildly bounding up your porch steps to your door. The vice grip around your heart loosened as Eddie’s face contorted into a frown. There was hope in his eyes, it was small, but you could tell that there was a glimmer. You dropped your hand.

“I have watched you run away too many times. I can’t let you slip away again.” Eddie wept. His hands flew to your cheeks and ran small circles over your skin. He looked expectantly at you, hanging on every move you made. His palms burned into your skin, you could feel his heartbeat like a bass note through an amp; your body absorbed his energy and you couldn’t force yourself to move away, like it would be disturbing all laws of nature if you did.

“Please don’t let me leave again” you breathed. Before you had time to react, Eddie’s mouth was on yours, the place where he truly felt it belonged. All tension you felt in your body melted away and you felt how truly weak you were. Eddie’s arms engulfed you in a wave of warmth - you were home. You willed your lips off of his and peered through your thick lashes. Thick tears trailed down Eddie’s cheekbones. You pushed your door open in a silent invitation. Too scared for his hands to leave your body, his hands slid to your hips and pushed you through the frame into darkness, peppering kisses against your lips. Eddie spun you and the weight of your bodies pressed the door closed.

As soon as you were fully enveloped in the dark quiet of your home, you pulled Eddie closer into you. What once felt so unsteady, like paper floating through the air, was solid. The impact was like an anchor sinking your heart to the bottom of your stomach. Your back pressed against the cool wood of your front door; Eddie stealing your breath made your head spin. The fuzzy feeling the alcohol had given you had long gone, and Eddie’s lips trailing from yours to your collarbone sobered you completely.  Your senses were deprived. The only thing that you could make sense of was the boy in front of you. The only thing your body was responding to was. Eddie. Eddie. Eddie.

Too close wasn’t close enough and the trails he left across your neck became desperate. Your breath hitched as your hands found purchase in his thick curls. You felt Eddie’s soft moan breathed against your goosebumped skin. His strong hands wrapped themselves around your sides under your sweater. His calloused fingers sent shockwaves through your abdomen. Eddie slotted his leg between yours and pushed himself in closer. As desperate as you were, Eddie was tenfold. He wished that it was possible for the two of you to devour each other and become one. Each blazing kiss he planted to your complexion, he sent a manifesto of how much he cared about you, and how he never dared leave you again. You received his advances openly, pushing your chest into his. Eddie’s mouth traced back up to yours, both of your desperate to tell each other just how much you needed one another without speaking. 

Eddie suddenly pulled his kiss chapped lips away from yours. His chocolate brown eyes bore into yours, he was studying every little detail of your face. His brows furrowed together in melancholy. 

“Eddie, what’s wrong?”

“I… I just… I want to remember everything about this moment, just in case I don’t get to do it ever again.”

“Eddie, why-” The boy cut you off with a small sigh and a quiver of his bottom lip. He pushed himself away from you, now feeling like your body was a black hole, ready to destroy him at whatever cost. You had been drinking. You had to have drinks to kiss him at Steve’s house. The waves of uncertainty washed over him like a tsunami. Your chest tightened at the whiplash, but the boy looked scared. His big eyes were glassy and his cheeks rosy. He chewed lightly at the lips that were just on you. 

“Because I don’t deserve you. And I’m scared you’re going to wake up and think that this was the worst decision of your life.” Eddie’s eyes could barely meet yours. With a quick flash of a self-deprecating smile, his face was trained to the floor. You couldn’t help but wrack out a heartbroken chuckle. 

“You don’t trust me? You don’t believe me when I say that I want you, Eddie? That I want to be with you and that has been the only thing that has occupied my fucking mind since I fucking met you!” you raised your voice. You felt conflicted. What did he need? You kisses weren’t enough, your words weren’t enough. Tears flowed freely again.

“I, just don’t want you to regret this, sweetheart. I wouldn’t fucking choose me if I were you…”

“God fucking damn it, Eddie! Why can’t you just listen to me!?” Eddie’s jaw clenched at your scolds. 

“Don’t fucking yell at me! Last time I checked, I should be the one that’s mad! You worried me sick! I ran around the whole city looking for you, and I didn’t care if you were falling back into someone else’s arms, I just needed to know that you were okay because I lo-”

“The only reason I god damn ran away is because I couldn’t stand you shoving me out! I couldn’t handle your rejection yet again because I fucking love you-” The words flew out of your mouth like the tears on your cheeks. All the noise of the two of you yelling ceased and it was your turn to stare holes into the floor. The room felt like it had shrunk 10 times smaller and the temperature rose. Your cheeks were on fire, and you couldn’t felt your fingertips. As long as you had felt this way for Eddie, you were always too afraid to admit it out loud. Even though Gareth had probed you about your feelings, you didn’t dare say it out loud to him - or to anyone. Feelings were too scary. Compartmentalizing your feelings felt easier. But now, everything had changed because you loved Eddie Munson and you told him and now he stood in front of you saying nothing. 

“Please don’t joke like that…” His voice was small. You flicked your eyes to see his figure taking cautious steps towards you. “I can’t take it if you don’t mean that.”

A simple whisper of his name let him know that you were serious. You began to shake as you felt the uncontrollable angst and relief of letting your feelings out. 

You loved Eddie Munson, and you always would love Eddie Munson. 

“Can you say it again, please?” For the first time, you heard the flamboyant, loud, exuberant person before you speak timidly. You looked to his pleading eyes and they gave you the courage you didn’t think you had.

“I…. I love you, Eddie. I think I have for quite a while.” You sobbed. 

Eddie said nothing, but took your hand and pulled you into him. The moonlight illuminated his pale face that twisted into a small smile. He pulled you in for a kiss so saccharine sweet, you felt that you were going to get a stomach ache. His hands cradled your face like you were made of porcelain. He pulled away from you and rested his forehead on yours. Your hands mirrored his, longing to feel the apples of his cheeks pressed up in a smile. Silently, he led you up the stairs to your room, and pulled your sweater off your shaking body. He followed with his own shirt and pants. You slid your skirt and tights down your body. The two of you stood silently, raking in each other’s bodies. Eddie sat himself down on the bed and pulled your hands so you stood between his legs. His hands rested on your hips and yours on his shoulders. You leaned yourself down to press your lips to his again, needing another reminder that you, in fact, weren’t dreaming and that Eddie was going to stay. The metal head guided your hips so you were straddled over his lap and leaned back with an oof, so you were both lying horizontally on your bed. You both let out a small, nervous giggle. Your lips worked their way back to his’, tongues lazily snaking in and out of mouths, hands tracing new skin that hadn’t been seen before. 

Eddie guided the two of you to your pillows, never allowing more than a moment of your lips being apart from his. His body had felt the most relaxed in a long time. Your touches sent fire through his nerves. You whimpered into Eddie’s mouth and he pulled away from you. 

“I don’t think we should tonight, sweetheart.” Eddie whispered into you. “We’ve both had a long day, maybe we need to take the night to think about things.” Your face twisted into concern at the beautiful boy under you. He noticed your worry and flipped you over so he was on his side leaning over you. 

“Y/N?”

“Yeah?”

“I love you. I always have”

Eddie spent the next hour with you breathing heavily against his chest, falling asleep almost immediately after he had invited you to lay on him.

Eddie, for the second time, would not get any sleep staying with you in your bed; but this time, the rogue tears that fell were full of adoration, and he whispered small ‘I love you’s at your dozing figure. 

Eddie was happy if he never slept again, as long as his nights all consisted of this.

Taglist: @eddies-acousticguitar @mmunson86 @sadbitchfangirl @hideoutside @anxiousobserver @ali-r3n @brinleighsstuff @filth-fiction-archive @vintagehellfire @kirstinjayjay @poofyloofy @sluggzillaa@aol19 @dark-angel-is-back @keikoraven @emxxblog @adrenalineeerevolver @crybabyddl @lovemegood @cherry-pop3547 @munsquinns @cozmiccass @leelei1980 @darknesseddiem If you would like to be added to my taglist, please fill out this form and consider following!

Also, Steve Harrington fic ideas in the works! Stay tuned!

#eddie munson #stranger things #carly writes #eddie munson ff #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson x reader #angry heart #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson hurt/comfort #eddie munson smut #eddie munson brainrot #eddie munson enemies to lovers #eddie munson x female reader #eddie stranger things #new fanfic #eddie munson comfort #eddie munson x chrissy cunningham #joseph quinn #eddie munson edit

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for trying to block evade?

This happened several years ago, so I'll put the ages that we were at the time.

I [17F at the time], had an extremely close friend [17F] of 3+ years, and I still haven't found any kind of friendship that came close to the level of trust / openness that was there. So some of this backstory ranges from 14yrs to 17yrs.

My home was abusive, and she and her mom helped me figure out what was rational vs irrational, normal vs not normal, and pointing out local resources to get help - which was absolutely amazing and I could not thank them enough.

She invited me to her house pretty regularly, a couple times a week. We'd have hours of skype calls. She got me roped into Undertale & the fandom. Well, not that we really interacted with the fandom at large. We only publically posted some of the art and barely got noticed haha. Between the two of us, we had something like 26 AUs and had a lot of rp with multiverse shenanigans - like over 1200+ pages of google docs rp, because that's where we did like 90% of it. After we hit like 100-200 pages, we'd make a new doc so it wouldn't take so long to load. And we had like, at least like 9 docs I think. I was mostly in it for her, because it was really fun to just make up stories together. I could've done it with any fandom she threw at me, undertale is just the one that was popular at the time.

At one point, I think when we were around 16, I asked her if she wanted to start dating. She said something along the lines of maybe in the future, but not right now - she wanted to focus on school. Even though she declined at the time, she did say she appreciated me asking and that it meant a lot to her. And there were 0 hard feelings about the answer, we just kept on going the way we were going.

She got hit with a really bad level of depression, and stopped coming to school. After 2-3 days, I started calling her every day around lunch time just to check in on her and see how she was doing. See if there was anything I could do to help - bring some snacks, catch her up on classwork for the couple classes we shared, stuff like that. This was for couple months. More than just a mental health day, and the only reason she gave was Depression.

After a week or two of the daily calls, there was probably an aspect of toxic positivity on my end. Like "You gotta Do Something to avoid being trapped in your misery, even if it's just baby steps like sitting outside on the porch or going on a walk down the block" Not maliciously, but more out of not knowing how to handle a situation like this & genuinely wanting to help her because of all the help she's offered me in the past & fueled a little bit by fear because Depresssion is the excuse that my abusive parents used to justify their shitty behavior & neglect. Not because I was afraid of what she'd do to me, but more what she'd do to herself. That's one of the only things I could think where I went wrong, which I completely acknowledge and understand now.

She was still inviting me to her house, and we were still doing our normal thing there. Drawing and writing stories together.

After 4-5 weeks [? estimate, time is an illusion] of her not showing up to school, I can't remember if I asked if it was helpful or if she suggested that I stop calling every day. Calling every day was making her feel worse.

I did end up calling the next day or two at lunch - crossing the boundary was not my intent. We had planned to hang out on the weekend again, lunch is just when I remembered & had time to call to ask if she still wanted to hang out or if she wanted some space. I think she said yes to hanging out, didn't mention anything about crossing the boundary. Same with the next day - there was something I needed to ask clarification on, it wasn't a check in, nothing was mentioned of the boundary. I can't remember what it was now. This is another one of the places where I think I went wrong, which I acknowledge & understand.

I did stop the check ins like requested though. After those two off days, I did stop calling her every day at lunch.

She finished out the school year having shown up to class maybe 3ish times, I think.

Again, we were still hanging out regularly. There was no indication that I was doing anything wrong, there was no indication that anything I was doing was wrong. She was still the one inviting me to hang out at least half the time.

There were some problems that I was noticing that I just wanted to have a casual chat about and figure out, but she kept pushing it off as a "I don't have the energy right now, we can talk about it later" and we'd go back to the fun things. I don't really remember what those problems were.

In the summer, I went to a different state to visit my older sister that I hadn't seen in years. I talked to her about it, I was excited for it. We were still chatting regularly during my trip over skype or discord.

And then, during my trip that I was so excited about, she drops this bombshell. She sends me several massive messages detailing out a bullet point list of everything I've done wrong, that she's explicitly breaking off the friendship, and blocks me. 95% of things on that list either flat weren't true, or gross misunderstandings of what happened.

It was genuinely horrible things too.

For example, one of the things on the list was "Suicide baiting" or "Suicide guilt tripping" or something along those lines, which had happened several months if not a year before this. -I've only ever communicated feeling acutely suicidal to her 1 time. -Long before that, she made me promise that if I ever felt suicidal that I was supposed to immediately talk to her about it, for her own peace of mind so she wouldn't worry about me. -I reached a point of feeling acutely suicidal due to abuse at home & general existential dread, that happened to be during a time we had an issue.

I purposefully waited until after the issue was resolved, like 2 weeks, before telling her. I did that specifically so it would not be taken as a guilt trip or a form of coercion while still holding as true as I could to my promise. She made me promise to tell her, it was something very important to her. I made very clear to say "this is something I experienced a couple weeks ago due to unrelated things, it is resolved now, I got help through xyz means and genuinely feel better. You made me promise to tell you so I am telling you, I didn't want to say anything while we were having a problem for xyz reason." I just wanted to talk, and clear up the misunderstandings. I wanted to have a good conversation about figuring out where the communication went wrong, try and figure out how she came to these conclusions, and how that differs from my point of view. Do something to work it out, and just talk about it, and try and salvage this 3+ year friendship.

After I realized I was blocked, I was going through so so many emotions all at once. The whiplash of going from 5 to 100, Upset that I wasn't given any sort of chance to explain, the 5 stages of grief, being thrown away like the gum off your shoe, worrying about her and if this was the stage of isolation for depression, holding out the hope that we could still just talk and work things out, angry that she kept pushing off and refusing to have any sort of serious talk before this, doubting if anything she had said on 'normal vs not normal' - particularly communication styles, thoughts that maybe she was abusive and manipulative all along, maybe I was continuing the cycle of abuse, trauma flashbacks, anxieties that I had since squashed as 'irrational', fear that this was a sign that she was about to fucking kill herself and maybe the whole list was a lie so I wouldn't try and reach out and stop her, doubting my own reality and maybe the entire list she sent me was true and she was justified in her actions.

Simultaneously trying to process intense feelings and realities if it was true and I'm really secretly a horrible monster, if it wasn't true and she was about to die, and old traumas getting dug out of the grave.

God I was such an emotional wreck and did not know how to process or understand anything that was happening.

This is where the AITA comes in -

I was pushing through back to back panic attacks trying to contact her and figure out what was going on. I didn't want her to die, if that's what was happening. I didn't want to be discarded and thrown away like a piece of trash, if that's what was happening. I didn't want to have 0 chance of learning & growing as a person even if this friendship wasn't salvageable due to my monstrous nature, if that's what was happening.

So I block evaded like fckn crazy. Gmail, pet game sites, discord, skype, deviantart, whatever online platform that we shared that had messaging enabled. I called her phone several times. On the 3-4th call, her mom picked up and told me that none of the above was true. That she wasn't about to die, that I wasn't being thrown away like trash, and that I wasn't a monster. She didn't agree with her daughters actions and thought it unfair to me, but ultimately it was my friend's choice. All simultaneously which just did not compute.

If the list she sent me was true, I was a shitty horrible person. If it wasn't, and she isn't about to die, then not be able to just have a calm sit-down conversation at some point about it and clear it up - if I wasn't worth even attempting to make that effort then I was being thrown away like trash. I kept trying for days afterwards to talk to her - just, anything at all. Nothing got through, she never responded to anything.

And... that was that.

I didn't have a chance to talk to her again. I didn't have a chance to clear up misunderstandings, or understand what I did actually wrong and where, or any sort of closure.

Sometimes if I'm remembering it and feeling paranoid, I'll check and see if she's alive by looking at her online profiles for any activity. Like, maybe once a year tops now. According to the petgame sites, she's still alive at least. I'm assuming she got new social media. Literally it's just a "is she alive, do I have to worry about causing her suicide" check, I don't stalk or look into anything further than that.

Anyway, AITA for how extensively & desperately I was block evading?

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole #suicide cw

[kiragecko]

One of the main reasons I love things like Reverse Robins AUs, is how they can help you figure out what's important to a character, and then look at those things through a fun house mirror to learn them better.

This is why my new favourite Reverse Robins concept is Tim, the second Robin, dying protecting a 4 year old Dick Grayson and his parents from the Court of Owls.

Part of why he dies is that Damian has made showing weakness so painful that he doesn't call for help. Dick leaves Gotham with his parents and gets another 5 years of happiness before they're killed by Tony Zucco. Tim becomes a Talon. He becomes active in Gotham when Jason is 16, and nobody knows who he is until Dick has become the newest Robin and the Court sentences Batman and Robin to death, a year and a half later.

Things that I find really satisfying about this idea:

It keeps the canon Dick+Tim 'Relationship Transformed by Kindness and Death' dynamic, but flips it. Instead of Dick being trapped in the place of his tragedy, surrounded by reminders, and Tim growing up silently watching him; we have Dick being whisked away from his tragedy, growing up surrounded by reminders of what's been saved.

It allows us to play with Jason's 'I Can't let Go of My Death and So I've Lost Myself and Everything I Loved' issues. Tim can't let go of his death, and it's his only link to himself and everything he's lost. He remembers saying 'The Flying Grayson's will fly again!' Keeping Dick alive is more important than avoiding being thrown back in the Labyrinth. Protecting Dick from the Court is his path back to his family.

It keeps the obsession and connection between Tim and Dick, instead of trying to convince the reader that Tim idealized Damian. I've struggled to translate Tim's motivation for becoming Robin in a reversed setting, and I can't make it work. This gives that motivation to Dick, instead, and allows us to explore how DICK would have been transformed by that one meeting. He didn't need love and affection in the same way Tim did. But I can see him holding on to the hope and heroism he saw, and instead of getting consumed by his rage when his parent's die, he's motivated to live up to Robin's legacy.

It gives a reason for my favourite reversed dynamic: instead of Bruce being broken by Jason's death, Bruce is convinced to step up by Tim's. In this universe, Bruce didn't choose either of his first 2 kids, and found it easier and safer to deny Tim even WAS his kid. (During Tim's tenure, Batman and Robin start patrol from the central Wayne Ent. Batcave, leaving the Manor to Damian, because it's easier than keeping Damian's vicious resentment and jealousy in line. Tim learns to mostly avoid the Waynes as civilians. Bruce deals with anything he sees, but doesn't confront the roots of the issues, and Tim loves being Robin but never feels particularly safe in the role.) Bruce 'got a kid killed' by holding him at arms length, and so, when Jason comes into his life and Bruce's attempts to find him a better place are stopped by corruption at every turn, Bruce chooses to truly become a parent.

One of the few things Tim remembers is his certainty that Robins aren't safe around Damian. This lets me keep Dick's canon struggles with Tim and Damian's conflicting needs. Both want to protect him, but Tim wants to protect him FROM Damian, and clingy baby Dick idolizes Tim, but NEEDS to hang off various parts of Damian for as much of the day as possible. Damian is drowning in guilt and wants to make Tim as comfortable as possible, but has committed to raising Dick. He can't let Tim stay between the 2 of them at all times.

It doesn't give as many hooks for Tim and Jason's relationship as I like. And I remain conflicted about whether Cass and Steph should come before Tim (to properly reverse canon) or after Tim (to make them contemporary with Jason, because he deserves to have contemporaries in AUs. Canon denied him). Duke is swapped with Babs, and I have fun thoughts about him, but that's a different post.

I don't think I can write this, but I want to see it!

#reverse robins #batfamily #court of owls #gecko's headcanons #talon!tim

[jgoddesstarot]

Pick-A-Pile: Moon & Stars | Aspects of Compatibility Between You & Your Future Spouse's Natal Charts

👑Check out my masterlist to see all of my pick-a-card readings😊

✨ Visit my shops at Ko-fi.com or J.Goddess Tarot✨

🔮Disclaimer: This reading is for entertainment purposes only. Tarot readings are based upon my intuitive interpretation of the cards and about possibilities based on your current energy. Energy is forever changing and nothing is set in stone. Always remember, you have your own free will to make whatever decision you feel is best.

🔮How I read: I use a mix of tarot cards, oracle cards, along with my intuitive abilities of claircognizance, clairaudience, and clairsentience.

🔮How this works: Close your eyes and take deep breaths, pick the pile you are most drawn to. If you aren’t drawn to any pile then that’s okay, these messages aren’t for you.

Pile 1

Tarot Cards: 4 of Swords, The World, 8 of Swords, Page of Wands (in reverse), and 5 of Wands.

Oracle Cards: 4th House: Home & Family, Libra: The Beautiful Mind, On Sunday.

Welcome, my Pile 1's. Let's dive deep and explore what the cards have to say about the compatibility between you and your future spouse's natal charts. Starting with the 4 of Swords, it suggests a need for rest and retreat. In regards to compatibility, it signifies that you both will find comfort and solace in each other's presence. A sense of peace will prevail when you two are together.

Moving onto The World, this card is all about completion and fulfillment. It suggests that you will find a sense of wholeness with your future spouse. You might have different backgrounds or perspectives, but together, you form a complete picture. You compliment each other and that's something truly special.

As for the 8 of Swords, this card often represents a feeling of being trapped or restricted. However, in the context of your future compatibility, it signifies that both of you will help each other overcome personal fears and limitations. You both will act as each other's catalyst, pushing one another towards growth and self-improvement.

The Page of Wands in reverse indicates a certain level of immaturity or impatience. This suggests that there might be occasional conflicts due to a lack of maturity or understanding. However, with the 5 of Wands in the spread, it indicates that these conflicts will be resolved through communication and mutual respect.

The Oracle cards further paint a picture of your compatibility. The 4th House: Home & Family card suggests that family will play a significant role in your relationship. Libra: The Beautiful Mind adds another layer, hinting at a strong intellectual connection between you two. Lastly, 'On Sunday' suggests that your bond will be characterized by a sense of peace, tranquility, and a slower pace of life.

In conclusion, my dear Pile 1's, your future spouse is someone who will complement you in every way. While there might be occasional conflicts, you both will find a way through them. Your relationship will be based on peace, intellectual connection, and family values. So, keep your heart open and let the magic of love weave its spell. After all, it's all about finding that perfect harmony in the dance of love.

Pile 2

Tarot Cards: 9 of Wands, Ace of Swords, The Tower (in reverse), Knight of Wands, and The Magician.

Oracle Cards: 12th House: Spirituality & Art, 7th House: Love & Partnership, 3rd House: Communication & Interaction.

My dear Pile 2's, let's delve into the mystical realm of your future spouse's compatibility with you. The 9 of Wands card is our first clue, suggesting a bond that can withstand the test of time. You both are resilient, standing strong in the face of adversity. Challenges may come, but together you can handle anything.

Next, the Ace of Swords presents itself, symbolizing a relationship rooted in truth and clear communication. Intellectual stimulation and honesty are key themes in your connection. Your future spouse will be someone who values communication as much as you do, leading to a bond that is transparent and filled with clarity.

The Tower card, in reverse, signals a turnaround from a rocky phase. This tells me that while there may be initial hiccups or misunderstandings, these will be resolved, leading to a stronger and more stable relationship. It's almost as if these trials come to strengthen your bond, not break it.

The Knight of Wands suggests an energetic, passionate connection. There's a lot of movement here, perhaps indicating travel or shared adventures. This energy, when combined with The Magician card, speaks of a relationship that's full of potential and creativity. You both will have the power to manifest your desires and create the life you dream of together.

The Oracle cards further add depth to this narrative. The 12th House: Spirituality & Art implies a shared interest in the esoteric or artistic avenues. You may find common ground in spirituality or creative expression, strengthening your bond further. The 7th House: Love & Partnership confirms a deep love-based relationship, while the 3rd House: Communication & Interaction reiterates the importance of open dialogue and mutual understanding.

In conclusion, my dear Pile 2's, your future spouse and you are set to create an energetic, passionate relationship. The cards speak of resilience, clear communication, and a bond that grows stronger with trials. A shared love of spirituality or art and an emphasis on partnership and communication will be your strengths. So, brace yourself for an exciting journey of love, growth, and shared adventures.

Pile 3

Tarot Cards: 10 of Swords, 8 of Wands, Knight of Pentacles, Queen of Pentacles, 3 of Pentacles, and Judgement.

Oracle Cards: Scorpio: The Mystic, 10th House: Career & Success, Sextile: Change & Opportunity

Greetings, my beloved Pile 3's! Let us embark on a mesmerizing journey into the mystical realm that your cards unveil. The 10 of Swords, the harbinger of transformation, reveals an enchanting path for your relationship. Embrace this card's message of endings and new beginnings. Fear not, for it signifies that you and your future spouse will evolve and flourish together, casting away old patterns and embarking on a wondrous voyage of mutual understanding and growth.

Now, behold the 8 of Wands, a card brimming with optimism and vibrant energy. It foretells rapid growth in your connection. Imagine the sparks igniting the moment you meet, a magnetic force drawing you closer. This immediate connection shall swiftly blossom into a profound and profound bond.

Let us not forget the Pentacle cards, the Knight, Queen, and 3 of Pentacles, which weave a captivating tale of stability and shared values. The Knight of Pentacles represents a steadfast and reliable partner, cherishing loyalty and hard work. This essence resonates with the Queen of Pentacles, a nurturing figure who values stability and security. The 3 of Pentacles further signifies a robust partnership built on common aspirations and mutual respect.

Ah, the final Tarot card, Judgement, a powerful symbol of realization and awakening. It signifies that your future spouse and you will deeply understand one another, unlocking a profound awakening that leads to personal and joint growth.

Now, let us delve into your Oracle cards. Behold Scorpio: The Mystic, a testament to the profound emotional bond and magnetic attraction between the two of you. The 10th House: Career & Success, a clear sign that your relationship will play a pivotal role in each other's professional achievements. And the Sextile: Change & Opportunity, perfectly aligned with the Tarot, promising a relationship adorned with opportunities for growth and transformation.

In conclusion, my cherished Pile 3's, your future spouse awaits in a realm of transformative passion. Together, you shall embark on a journey of mutual growth, understanding, and shared values. The cards whisper of a thrilling adventure, where rapid growth, abundant opportunities, and resounding success intertwine. Brace yourselves for an extraordinary voyage filled with love, magic, and boundless excitement!

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#j goddess tarot #jgoddess tarot #bipoc tarot reader #tarot reading #tarot community #pick a card #tarot pick a card #pick a pile #intuitive tarot reader #future spouse readings #pick a card reading #moon and stars #astrological compatibility

[biggerbetterbat]

WITH YOU | masterlist

Summary: When Glenn brings back a girl, Daryl Dixon doesn't know that she'll be the most important thing in his life. Story about finding soulmate when the world is ending

Daryl Dixon x reader!oc (season 1-?)

General Warnings: adult language/content, violence, descriptions of blood/injury, characters deaths, typical TWD themes. It will follow the plotline - maybe slightly different at some points. There will be plotlines and dialogue from the show. There will be descriptions of reader and her character, because it's more of fanfiction.

DAYLIGHT ON WATTPAD

"Cause when you're gone, I've lost myself away And I've never wanted to feel so wrong When I'm in love with you"

Marissa&EMO 365 Days

PART 1

ACT 1: ATLANTA

[1] SHATTERED DREAMS

[2] THE DAY THAT WORLD WENT TO SHIT

[3] HOPE CALLED GLENN RHEE

[4] THANK GOD DARYL DIXON IS NOT A WALKER

[5] THIS IS NOT A SUMMER CAMP

[6] HELICOPTER BOY

[7] OPERATION MERLE, OPERATION LAUNDRY

[8] DIFFERENT OPINION

[9] THE END OF THE SHANELEADERSHIP

[10] GOOD LUCK TO US THEN

[11] WERE YOU AN ADULT FILMS ACTRESS BEFORE?

CHARLIE’S DREAM

[12] TS-19

ACT 2: THE FARM

[13] JUST NEVER STOP

[14] POOR THING, YOU ARE

[15] WE HAVE CANDIES

[16] THE CHICK

[17] AND DARYL’S HERE

[18] GLENN’s DAY

[19] A WALKER IN THE ROOM

[20] LOST AND FOUND

[21] I LOVE YOU

[22] THAT’S RANDALL

LESSON

[23] DYING IS EASY

[24] SORRY, BROTHER

[25] TO PROTECT GLENN AND DARYL

[26] OLD MCDONALD HAD A FARM

ACT 3 PRISON

[27] HOME SWEET HOME

[28] DEAL

[29] I PROMISE

[30] THE KILLER I AM

[31] I’M SORRY

[32] THIS IS NOT A GOODBYE

[33] THE SOUR TASTE OF BETRAYAL

THE DIXON BROTHERS

[34] OLD AQUAIATANCE

[35] DECISIONS

[36] GREATER REASON

ACT 4: LIMBO

[37] BACK

[38] A GUT FEELING

[39] THE MELODY

[40] BLESS ME FATHER FOR I HAVE SINNED

A DREAM OR NOT

[41] I WILL FIND YOU

[42] TERMINUS

[43] HOUSE IN THE MIDDLE OF THE FOREST

HIS REDEMPTION

[44] TODAY I BURY YOU

[45] AT THE END OF THE TRACKS

PART 2

ACT 5: ALEXANDRIA

[1] LET THE JESUS TAKE THE WHEEL

[2] WHAT HAPPENED AT THE LORD’s HOUSE

APARTMENT IN ATLANTA

[3] A TRAP

[4] PAYING THE HIGH COST OF LIVING

[5] FROM A FRIEND

[6] KNOCKING ON HEAVEN’s DOORS

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl x reader #daryl fanfiction #daryl twd #daryl dixon twd #daryl the walking dead #daryl dixon series

[gavisuntiedboot]

Just Pretend (Gavi x reader)

Part 5

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Epilogue

Warnings: SMUT!! MDNI or if you're uncomfortable! Profanity!! Swearing!! Ferran and Martin (based on the reactions I think they deserve their own warning)!!

Word Count: 11.2K (fun fact! If you've read the whole story, you've read 46 pages!)

A/N: I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG, BUT THERE'S A LOT I WANTED TO INCLUDE IN THIS PART (AS YOU CAN TELL BY THE WORD COUNT)

[Incoming Facetime call from: Gavi]

"Gavi, you're going to have to learn to live without seeing my face 24/7. I don't want you experiencing withdrawal symptoms while I sleep."

"I just had a question about- is that a jar of pickles?"

"Yes. I felt like having a snack."

"You're disgusting."

"Listen, I brought several things back from university life in America, and a pickle addiction was one of them. Let me have little joys in life. What did you call me for? Besides to shame me for my midnight guilty pleasures?"

This was the 7th time in two weeks that Gavi had Facetimed you at odd hours. After your little heart-to-heart while drunk in the club, and him covering for you at work the next morning, he caved into the impulsive thoughts and called you, wanting to make sure you were okay.

"Gavi it's 10pm. If you want me to help you hide a body, call me during working hours."

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding at the sound of your voice. You were okay. Like actually okay. All of the distress in your voice, the shakiness, the panic - it had all disappeared. You were back to your cool self, and it filled him with a warm and gooey sense of relief. He kept you on the phone for about 10 minutes before his internal monologue told him it was enough, and he went to bed with a strange tightness in his chest.

For the first three weeks, it had been strictly texts and phone calls. Gavi was still sending you his daily little updates, some relevant, most not.

[Gavi]: Compression socks are really tight on my shins. Feels like they're cutting off my blood flow.

[Gavi]: pedri keeps telling me to eat bananas to help with my back cramps. Fact or cap?

[Gavi]: saw someone on tiktok make a Joao Felix thirst trap. Anything you want to confess?

This texting remained constant, and then he supplemented with phone calls. After the check-up call, he had to find new excuses to call you. He started scheduling his early-morning sessions over the phone instead of over text, asking about your life in the meantime. He started "forgetting" things in your office, calling to tell you he would be there before practice to pick them up. It hadn't annoyed you, per se, but confused you. Why was Gavi so comfortable calling you and just talking about random things on the phone? Initially, you had joked with him to stop calling you so frequently.

"Gavi, personal number. Personal. You should keep all work related stuff to emails only. I don't get paid to listen to you ramble about Game of Thrones."

"I know you well enough by now to know that if you didn't want to hear my voice, you would hang up."

He wasn't exactly wrong. You were not one to shy away from hanging up in someone's face if you were irritated (you had done it to Ferran the one time he called you from Gavi's phone). You also didn't really have anyone else to talk to. Angelika, despite acting unemployed, worked for a design house in the city, and her designs had been approved as part of the new line. She now spent every waking moment working on the spring/summer collection that needed to be shown in February. She had even stopped bugging you to go to the club. The only times you heard from her were when she sent "Hey I'm alive just busy" texts, or on the weekends when she begged you to drive her to the far fabric stores. There weren't many other people that you wanted to talk to. Your friends in the US were several hours behind. Your friends in Barcelona were kind of exhausting, and not who you wanted to hear from after a long day of work. And Martin?

Martin was ... interesting. You definitely liked being with him in person. Your dinners were romantic. Martin always picked you up and took you to the nicest restaurant, allowing you to order the expensive plates that would actually make you full. He always complimented your dress and your eyes and the way you looked despite having a long day at work. He was a theoretical great boyfriend. You liked going out with him every 3-4 days. You liked getting good morning and good night texts and the hot pre-game selfies whenever you checked your phone between shifts at work. But in those late nights when you were bored and lonely, and your TV shows were all boring you, Martin was not the first person you thought of calling.

While he was great over dinner, he wasn't the most entertaining or comforting presence. He had a habit of downplaying a lot of the things you were feeling or going through.

"Baby, people make sexual comments all the time. Just look at how people on Twitter talk about the players. You should be more flattered than anything that he complimented your ass."

That was the last time you ever called him after a long and tiring day of work. Your text messages were filled with only pleasant conversations. A good goal he scored in practice. Praise you received from the rest of the medical staff for your progress. Never your frustration with your job or your life or the sad boring things that regular, not famous not football players went through.

"It's like 7pm this is not a midnight snack."

The sound of Gavi's voice brought you back from your abstract thoughts. You looked at his face lit up on the screen. His hair was a little wild and still slightly damp from his shower. He was in a white t-shirt that hugged his shoulders. He placed his phone down so that he could show you his complaint.

"Remember how we were talking about my knee and thigh tightness? I've been trying to work out the muscle for a while but it's not helping."

He moved back from the camera, letting his black gym shorts and legs come in to the frame. He lifted his left short leg, showing off the pronounced muscles in his thigh. You brought the phone a little closer to your face, focusing on his leg. He flexed the muscle, and you swallowed hard. You had seen some of the best legs in football laying in front of you - so why was Gavi's slightly blurry form on FaceTime overwhelming you?

"Have you been doing the routine I gave you to improve blood flow? It looks like you haven't."

"It's hard to do! I tried multiple times and I'm just in pain every time. We just have a match tomorrow and like it's kind of uncomfortable. It's fine I can just play through it if you don't have any other recommendations."

This made you sit up. If there was one thing that would get both of you in deep shit, it was Gavi playing through a known and documented discomfort.

"You're not going to do that. If you get injured during the match then I-"

"Awe doctora, you're concerned about me getting injured?"

He got up close to the camera, smiling cheekily and feigning shyness. You rolled your eyes.

"If you get injured in the match I will get in trouble because your muscle tightness is in your file. So you have two options: do the blood flow massage I told you to, or I need to email Xavi now and tell him you should be playing a maximum of 60 minutes in tomorrow's match."

This statement made Gavi sober up, looking instantly more serious.

"We're not telling Mister Xavi anything. I actually don't know how to do the blood flow stuff without feeling like I'm peeling off my own skin."

"Would it kill you not to play all 90 minutes tomorrow?"

"Yes." There was not one indication, neither in his tone or on his face, that he was kidding. Gavi's love for football was evident, but it was deeper than most people saw. Barca wasn't just his club - it was the air he breathed, the blood in his veins. It was his family, his brotherhood since he was a child. It was the greatest love he had ever experienced, and he was honestly willing to lay his life down if it meant making Mister and the boys proud. He would die for this club.

"You know what doctora? You can just do it for me tomorrow morning before the match."

"You can't play right after we literally batter your muscles to increase blood flow. You have to do it within the next few hours to have enough time to rest. I wish you told me this morning, I could have..." Your sentence trailed as you looked at your front door. Your car keys were sitting in the dish. You had been thinking about going out to get some dinner, too tired to wait for chicken to defrost.

"Hello? Can you focus on the crisis at hand instead of daydreaming?"

"What if I came over and did it for you now?"

Gavi's eyes got wide and he stared at his screen. He was trying to process the information that had just slithered into his brain. You? At his house? At night? Alone???

"Wait." He said, and then hung up the call. You looked at your screen in confusion.

He stabilized his hands enough to find the contact.

*Calling: ~banana king pepi~ *

"Pick up pick up pick up pick up-"

"Hello?"

"Help. Me."

Pedri paused his game, much to the dismay of his brother, who was about to score a virtual goal.

"Pablo I know you didn't go to regular school, but you should know that in an emergency you should call the police."

"Y/n asked to come to my house."

Pedri bit back a laugh, removing the controller from his lap and putting the call on speaker so Fernando could be a part of the drama.

"You finally confessed that you're in love with her and want to kick her boyfriend's teeth in?"

"I'm not in love with her, we're just friends. That second part you might be right about." Gavi summarized your reasons for coming over quickly, asking Pedri for some sage advice while he and Fer raised their eyebrows at each other in amusement.

"As long as you have condoms, invite her over Hermano."

"I don't like her like that."

"Then why are you nervous about her coming to your place?" That was a good question. He didn't know why the idea of seeing you outside of work put all his internal systems on high alert, but it did. His hands were sweating at the prospect of opening the door and seeing you standing there in something other than scrubs.

"I'm not. I'm just going to tell her to come over. No need to make a big deal about it."

"Have fun Pablito." Fernando chimed in. Gavi scoffed and hung up. He called you once again.

"Where did you go?"

"Pedri called me to make sure we were going to the stadium together tomorrow. So, are you going to come here?"

"You never gave me an address. Or a yes for that matter." You laughed out. Your heart beat began to pick up. Did Gavi not want you at his place? Did he have another girl there? 'Why would he be calling you if another girl was there?' I don't know, brain, men are weird.

"Oh. Yeah. Yes. To coming over. I want you to. I'll text you the address right now." Something in your chest tightened at this statement. Your phone dinged, and you looked at the address Gavi had sent you.

"Cool. I'll be there in 20."

The drive to Gavi's place was calm. Old One Direction played over your car's aging speakers. The chilly night air came through the rolled down windows, winter finally making its first appearances in the middle of November. As you got closer to your destination, the surroundings started to look familiar.

Gavi was looking at the street from the window of his bedroom. In his La Masia shirt and black shorts, he had perched for all 18 minutes that it took you to drive over, right after he tidied the house. He didn't want you to think he was a teenage slob. If Gavi really thought about it, he would have admitted: all he wanted was for you to respect him - see him as a man. Someone put together and capable.

You parked at the bottom of his building, texting that you had arrived. He tried not to, but he ran down the whole staircase, swinging the door open before you had gotten out of the car.

"Hey. You know you live like walking distance from Martin?" You said, approaching the front door. Gavi's face soured at this news. He was never subtle about his distaste for Martin. After that night at the club, he had made it very obvious that he thought you should break up with Martin, or at least give him a stern talking to for leaving you to stumble around drunk and alone - especially since he was the one forcing drinks on you.

"Wonderful. I'll make sure to go and give him a nice neighborly gift."

"Like what? A black eye?"

"I was just thinking of pissing in his bushes but now that you mention it I really do think "bruised" is a good look on him..." He lifted his hand to his chin to look like he was thinking. You shoved him off balance, walking towards the door.

"Lets go, Gavi. I get cranky if I don't get all my beauty sleep."

He walked into the house first, holding the door open for you. You were honestly impressed: the place did not look like a teenager's house. The bottom floor was a spacious living room and dining room, with the kitchen connected by a low wall. The tan walls had vintage Barca and Spain National Team posters hung on them. There was a large TV mounted on the wall, a PS5 placed on the shelf beneath it, a pile of games stacked high. His couch was a long L shape. black leather wrapping around a black coffee table.

"You have a Barca coffee table book?" You asked, giggling slightly as you picked up the massive picture book.

"I've been with the club since I was like 11. Everything I own I have it in Barca colors."

You looked over at the stairs and the soft glow from the top of them. Something in you was dying to know what Gavi's bedroom looked like. How many hoodies he owned, what color his sheets were, how many pillows he slept on...

You shook yourself from this line of thinking. Despite the two of you getting closer and friendlier, Gavi was still technically just your coworker. You shouldn't want to know all these things about him.

"Ok where is the stone I gave you?" You put your hand out expectantly, and he dropped the black massage gua sha in it. Gavi moved to lay on the couch, mimicking what he would do in your office.

"Before you sit down, what have you been using as lubricant?"

He snapped his head at you, cheeks and the tips of his ears turning pink.

"I, I, um, lub- why do you need to know what kind of lubricant I use? That's a really personal question?"

You stared at him in confusion, wondering why he had gotten shy and stuttery at the question.

"So I can use that lubricant on you now?" He stood up, swallowing hard. He took several deep breaths before saying:

"y/n, I didn't invite you here to do anything sexual. If this is a joke that Pedri asked you to play it's-"

"Pablo you brainless bitch. I meant what have you been using as massage lubricant, because you're not supposed to scrape the stone across your dry skin."

You both stared at each other for a long moment. You had one brow raised, smirk playing on your lips. You were holding back a laugh at the thought: Gavi was thinking you wanted to know what he used to jerk off. Or sleep with someone. That second thought made you slightly nauseous. Gavi's eyes were wide, his mouth still open in shock. You had the courage to speak first.

"I see that the reason you have been feeling pain is because you have been giving yourself microabruises. Go get some oil or lotion so I can do this for you, and I expect my gas money in full tomorrow on my desk."

"Can you, uh, turn around?"

"Why?"

"I don't... I don't want you seeing where I got the lotion from."

"See now Pablo, if you had just gone upstairs, I would have thought it was from the cabinet or the bathroom. But since you've made it weird, you've confirmed that it's from your bedside table. Just go before you make this situation more sexually awkward."

“No but I-“

You held up one finger to your lips to silence him, then pointed in the direction of the stairs. He shuffled past you awkwardly and then took off, taking the stairs two at a time. You laughed to yourself. It was always funny seeing glimpses of innocence and youth in Gavi, especially since he was always pushing himself to act older and more mature.

Pablo was not having a good time. He ran to his bathroom to splash cold water on his now violently blushing face. He thought you would be able to see the mess of clothes in his bedroom if he opened the door. Now the conversation had shifted into an oddly sexual realm, and he didn’t know how to deal. The idea of sex didn’t usually embarrass him - it bothered him when the guys would talk about nothing else, but he thought he had finally reached a level of maturity where he could say “pussy” and not giggle. So why was he so damn shy right now? Why was he embarrassed to his core that you had mentioned him jerking off?

Pablo would describe his masturbatory habits as efficient. Once he and his teammates at La Masía turned 14, the medical staff had all sat them down for “the talk”. Obviously there was the parental stuff about safe sex and all that, but from a sports aspect he knew: sexual frustration is bad for performance. So a couple nights a week he would rub one out hoping to ensure optimal performance. Lately, however, he has lessened his “alone time” significantly. Since Ferran had shown him that picture of you, since he started daydreaming about holding your hand, the feel of your skin, he was borderline afraid to jerk off. He didn’t want to see your face. Coming to terms with the fact that he liked your company was already too overwhelming. Pablo was convinced this was a waiting game: you were just new and exciting. Eventually he would see another picture of another girl, and you would go back to “that one girl physio”, and he could jerk in peace.

He came back downstairs, sheepishly handing you a tube of lotion, and then quickly laying on the couch, hoping to avoid your line of sight.

“Lotion for Men? Gavi, you know that your skin won’t melt off it the product doesn’t say ‘for men’ right?”

“We had a media intern last year that saw a tube of strawberry chapstick in my bag, and she sent the picture to 3 or 4 gossip instagram pages, saying ‘look! Stuff for women! Gavi has a girlfriend!’ So now I only use stuff that can’t be mistaken as something for my nonexistent girlfriend.”

“What if they think you have a boyfriend instead?”

“That might be ideal actually. Then maybe I could go home without being mobbed.”

You smiled at Gavi, who was now more relaxed and far less red. His arms were crossed behind his head, legs stretched out and shorts rolled up slightly so you could access the upper parts of his thighs. You placed some lotion on his legs and began rubbing it in.

“Wow. Does the rest of the team know you offer private massage services?” He asked, resting his head and looking up at the ceiling.

“Obviously not. You think Ferran would ever leave me alone if he knew this was an option?”

Gavi laughed loudly at this. Watching you reject and diss Ferran on an almost daily basis was the highlight of training. Sometimes your responses were so creative that he would run to write them down before the end of the break. His personal favorite was when Ferran asked when you two were finally going to go on a date, and you replied with ‘After my lobotomy next week so my brain is immune to mind numbing conversation with you’.

But as he looked down at you, Pablo noticed that your face was twisted in distain. You began moving the stone around his thighs, working in sweeping downward motions. The frown lines etched hard into your skin, eyes narrowed in concentration and slight disgust.

“Does Ferran make you uncomfortable?”

“It’s nothing I can’t handle.”

“So the answer is yes he does.” Gavi’s voice was lowering with genuine concern. He and the team, the coaches, and even the rest of the physical staff only really laughed at or brushed off your daily interactions with the player. He hadn’t realized how deeply the comments were bothering you. But now it was evident as you swallowed and started working his thigh a little harder.

“I don’t want to speak ill of your friend.”

“If he’s bothering you, you should have told me. Or someone else on the team. We could have made him stop.”

“But why wasn’t me telling him I didn’t like it enough to make him stop?”

You pressed harder into Gavi now, stone running alone the muscles in his calf. You should have been using a lighter hand, but emotion you had been suppressing for months was all bubbling to the surface.

“You’re going kind of hard on my leg…”

“Why does it have to be you or Xavi or Dr. Gonzalez? Why do my words hold so little weight? So little value?”

“Okay this is painful now-“

“Why does it have to be one of you to say ‘hey, you shouldn’t make sexual remarks to someone on staff’? You think he tells anyone else their ass looks good in scrubs? Or that he’s glad their office has a door with a lock? No. It’s just me. Because I’m a girl he can talk about fucking me in broad daylight around the whole squad, and I have to shut up and keep him happy or I lose my job. It’s just so-“

“Ay fuck y/n!” Gavi yelled out, grabbing your wrist and tugging it forcefully to get you to stop your abuse on his leg. You grabbed his other thigh with your free hand, digging your fingers into the flesh. He looked you in the eyes, and finally noticed the tears starting to form.

“I know how you feel.”

"No you fucking don't, Pablo!" You yelled back, hand digging into his thigh, the other still in his grasp. This is when the first tear finally fell. I had been weighing on you for weeks - the slow realization that you were never going to respected in the way you deserved. A part of you knew that Martin was contributing to this burden as well. The arch of his brow when you talked about sports medicine terms, the mocking smile that played on his lips. The way he had adopted Ferran's disgusting little pet name of 'nurse'. You were disintegrating from the inside, and knowing that the others thought it was a joke, that Pablo thought it was a joke, was the final straw.

Gavi could do nothing but stare. His eyes softened, taking in your slumped form. It was like watching Hercules fall to his knees. Like watch the stars were falling from the sky and hitting the Earth in a fiery blaze. Watching you, who was normally so cool, so confident, so self assured, shake with silent tears was breaking something in Gavi. The way you said his name made his heart physically ache. You rarely diverted from his nickname to use his first name. 'When you did, it usually indicated a serious tone 'Pablo' meant there was something serious, something heavy. Now that heaviness was against your throat, suffocating you, and you were tired of carrying it.

Gavi stopped thinking. He acted on impulse only. He tugged the wrist that was in his hand, pulling you in. Your head met with his hard chest, and you felt one arm circle your shoulder. You remained like this for a long moment: up against Gavi, his arm pressing you into his chest, his shirt soaking up the wetness on your cheeks.

"'m sorry. I wont let him talk to you that way anymore."

You composed yourself, pushing yourself off Gavi and wiping your eyes. You looked away, embarrassed that you'd made him comfort you - that you'd broken down in front of him.

"It's okay. I can deal with Ferran."

"But you shouldn't have to."

"It's not your job to protect me, Pablo."

You finished the rest of your job in silence. Your fingers moved expertly around his skin, working out the muscle and pressing into his flesh, a soft gasp or hiss from Gavi being the only sound to fill the room. Your anger was irrational, but you couldn't quell it. You had gotten this far in life without the protection or defense of anyone, and you weren't prepared to be coddled now. You finished quickly, wiping your hands on your pant legs and moving to grab your bag.

"I'm going to go now. Get some sleep for tomorrow's match against Betis. Good night." You tried to walk past Gavi without looking up, but he blocked your path.

"You're in my way."

"You're not leaving while you're upset."

"You want me to stop being upset? Stop pretending you give a shit about my feelings. You want to look like a man? Telling off Ferran so people think you're a good person?" You shoved past Gavi once again, and once again he moved in front of you, blocking the door completely.

"Just because you're older than me doesn't mean I'll let you disrespect me in my own house. I'm not pretending to give a shit. I do give about your comfort and your feelings because last I check, we're friends. I've been waiting to break Ferran's shins for weeks, I've just been waiting for you to say so."

"You think it would make me feel better for you to hurt a teammate? Could you be any more juvenile?"

Gavi took a step towards you, arms crossed over his chest, breathing more heavy. He looked you straight in the eye, not allowing you to break from the gaze.

"You can yell at me all you want. You can be angry at the fact that I care about you. You can punch me," he hit on his chest, "right here if you want to. But I am not a child. Don't refer to me as one. So you can go an be upset and pretend that everything I do is selfish, but you know deep down that no matter how much you push me away, I'm looking out for your best interest." He opened the door and stepped aside.

"Drive safely, doctora."

You walked to your car, turning to gaze at Gavi, who leaned against the door frame, watching you intently. You were the most confusing person he had ever met. You were stubborn and easily irritated. You refused to accept help. You were fucking frustrating. But as he watched you walk to your car, something warm filled his body. He didn't want you to leave. He wanted to rush after you, pull you into his chest again, and take you upstairs. He wanted you to see the mess in his bedroom. He wanted you to lay on the couch. And the drive didn't feel like you were going home. It felt like you had left something important behind.

~

The next morning you were up before your alarm. You couldn't find sleep or peace. Your words to Gavi had eaten you alive all through the night. You knew you had been too harsh, projected too far onto him, but you hadn't been thinking straight. It hurt differently to think that he was laughing at your expense. The guilt followed you around all morning as you prepared yourself for the match. You slicked back your hair, pulling it away from your face, and dressed in the slacks and pullover that all the field medics were regulated to wear. But as you sipped your lukewarm coffee, the guilt still sat in your stomach, swirling and festering and making you nauseous. So you swallowed your pride with your last sip of coffee and pressed the call button.

"Uh, hello? Am I late?" Gavi's voice asked, raspy and dripping with the remnants of sleep. He sounded like a child who was woken up for school.

"Oh no, you're not late. I'm up early... couldn't sleep."

"Why not?" Gavi was now fully awake after processing that you had called him. His heartrate elevated slowly, the sound of your voice helping the tiredness slip away from his very being.

"I... I feel guilty about yesterday. I shouldn't have taken out all my anger on you and your thigh tissue. I really appreciate you looking out for me. I guess I just wanted to say I'm sorry."

Gavi was leaning against his sink, swaying back and forth and smiling stupidly. You were thinking about him. You appreciated him. It made him swell with pride. He listened intently to the rest of your apology, hypnotized by the sound of your voice.

"There's no need to apologize doctora. I understand that you were upset."

"But I still feel bad. I was.. pretty mean to you yesterday. I want to make sure that you're not still upset with me."

Gavi looked into the mirror, smiling and dancing at your response.

"If you really want to make it up to me, I would like to cash in my favor."

You were in the process of grabbing your keys when you paused, eyebrows pulled together in confusion.

"Favor? I don't remember owing you any favors."

"La doctora, you don't remember? Let me refresh your memory. You go home drunk and don't set an alarm. I come up with a wonderful and convincing excuse for Dr. G so that you don't get in trouble. You owe me, and I quote, anything I want. Ring any bells?"

You scrunched your face and groaned in distain. You remembered rather vividly now the promise you had made.

"Alright Gavi, hit me with it. I can take it. How am I repaying you saving my job?" You heard a low chuckle from the other side of the line.

"You'll be driving me home from the stadium starting today until we break for Christmas."

"What?!"

"You'll be driving me home. Pedri is working with Adidas for several campaigns over the next month, and it'll be a pain getting home after practice. Since you know the way now, you can get there easily. And hey, you can even visit Martin afterwards."

You started your car, thinking about the ask. It was on your way home anyways to drive by Gavi's neighborhood. And it would probably make you both even after your missteps.

"Fine. We will discuss further in the stadium when I see you. Go go, prep for the match. I want us to win today."

"We are going to win for sure. Give us a harder goal."

"Don't be arrogant Gavi. See you at noon."

~

Matchday at the camp was always extremely hectic, but especially for the medical staff. Meetings started at 9am despite the game not beginning until 3pm. All the equipment had to be approved by La Liga through inspection. Your wardrobe was inspected as well, and once again you were told off for not removing your rings. You pulled them off your fingers begrudgingly, hearing once again the lecture about rings tearing gloves. You were already over the match by the time the players started to arrive.

You made your way to the locker room to do some checks on players with pre-listed discomforts, making suggestions to prevent injury during the game. You were greeted warmly by the players as you pulled out your clipboard and pen. You made your way around, telling certain players to wear compression socks, and instructing others to stretch in certain ways. You made your way over to Pedri and Gavi, pulling out your notes.

"Pedri, how is that right thigh?"

"Amazing, y/n. I've been using resistance bands nightly like you instructed. I feel as flexible as playdoh."

"Always great to hear. Also congrats about the expanded Adidas contract." Pedri lifted his shirt over his head and looked at you somewhat confused.

"Ah thank you but... which contract specifically?"

Gavi's eyes were wide in panic. He had forgotten to fill in Pedri about his little white lie. It was true that Pedri had some filming with Adidas, but it would take about 3 days max. There was no reason that Gavi could pinpoint that would make him lie to get you to drive him home for 4 weeks. But he did it anyways, and now he needed to make sure it didn't collapse because of a lapse in communication.

"Gavi told me you'd be filming with Adidas, so I'll be driving him home until the Christmas break."

Pedri shot a look to the younger boy, one eyebrow arched, and found the expression of desperation on his face. The smile crept onto Pedri's face, proud of his friend for finally making some sort of move with you, even if he was yet to admit it was made because of the crush he was harboring.

"Oh that's right! They have us filming a lot of content at night to show off the color of these new boots, so it's really helpful that you'll be taking little Gavi home."

The sigh of relief was almost a little too loud. Gavi would fill Pedri in later, but for now, he was glad that he hadn't been caught in the lie.

"Anytime. Now onto little Gavi himself - how is the thigh tension?" You worked on Gavi, evaluating his physical form.

"I didn't know the nurse was making house visits today!"

Your jaw clenched and eye twitched at the sound of Ferran's voice. You took a deep breath, calming your nerves, and continued to check for signs of bruising and distress, crouched close to the ground to inspect Gavi's thighs.

"Wow Pablito, got her on her knees for you? You'll have to tell me the secret."

"Ferran, you couldn't get a dog to love you if you were covered in bacon. Be quiet and get changed so you can sit on the bench for 90 minutes."

You looked up at Gavi, shocked at his response. You squeezed his thigh, causing him to meet your concerned gaze.

"Gavi, tell me to shut up again and you'll be preparing for a prolonged hospital stay."

"I'd like to see you fucking try, Torres." Gavi moved from his place, approaching Ferran, before a hand from Pedri gripped his shoulder. One of the assistant coaches noticed the argument and rushed over, eager to prevent his players from killing each other.

"What the hell is going on?"

Ferran looked at Gavi with disgust, and then turned his eyes to rest on your chest.

"I think y/n is creating an uncomfortable environment in the locker room. I'd prefer if she wasn't here." He said, smirk playing on his lips. Your face paled, the colors draining and nausea bubbling. The last thing you needed was a complaint from a player.

"She wasn't doing anything except looking at my leg. She didn't even speak." Gavi responded, voice high and a touch too loud to be respectful.

"y/n, it may be better if you leave for field inspection. Send in Antonio to continue current problem rounds."

You nodded and walked out of the locker room, feeling utterly embarrassed. All you ever wanted was to make a good impression and be respected, and it seemed that no one paid your wellbeing any mind. You bit back your feelings and went to find Antonio. Gavi was not as merciful.

"What mental deficiencies do you suffer from that would make you say that? What if she loses her job?"

"She won't lose her job. She'll get a warning because of player complaints, and then she'll come to me and do whatever I ask to get the complaint removed. Just want to watch her bend over that desk just once before they realize she's incompetent."

"Say nasty shit about y/n in front of me again and I'll kick your fucking teeth in."

Ferran wanted to laugh, but the sound died in his throat when he saw the look in Gavi's eyes. His eyes were angry, cold-blooded, and murderous.

"You wouldn't dare." He retorted, trying to regain some confidence by calling the bluff.

"We play football for a living. I can make it look like a fucking accident." With that, Gavi left the locker room, ready to be away from Ferran and his punchable face.

~

Normally, you loved being on the sidelines for matches. You got to watch all the action as it occurred, and you got hands-on experience with the Barca players and the visiting teams (maybe it was bad, but you prayed Joao would need medical attention when Atletico was at Camp Nou). You got to enjoy every aspect of your job, and feel like you had come a significant way in your journey. Normally. Today, you wish you were at home or in your office or anywhere but the sidelines. Word had gotten back to both the coaching staff and the rest of the team about the little disagreement in the locker room, and now all eyes were on you. Xavi gave you the normal courtesy head nod, but gave you specific instructions to stay away from the bench and the players. It was a mortifying experience, and you prayed this game would end quickly and painlessly.

Your wish was granted in the first half. The team was playing cohesively and relatively safely, with a couple fouls here and there but no injuries requiring any attention. Lewandowsky scored a goal in the 34th minute, putting the team in the lead 1-0 at the half (during which, you were asked not to be in the locker room or the tunnel). This only made you feel worse. Player complaint were the kiss of death for any aspiring professionals in sports. You get into a disagreement with a player? You're gone. Why? Because there are thousands of physios and photographers and water boys, but only onw left forward worth 48 million Euros.

In the second half, however, you did not get your wish. Areal collisions came one after the other, requiring you to rapidly check players for any sort of head trauma. In the 67th minute, Gavi assisted Pedri with an amazing goal from deep in the box. You jumped when you saw the ball hit the back of the net. Pedri did his signature goal celebrations, and after he pulled away, your eyes locked with Gavi. He raised his eyebrows at you and you returned the gesture, and then he resumed the aggressive attacking. At minute 70, you were contemplating packing your things. The intensity of the match had died down significantly. Barca were passively looking for a third goal, and were not as prone to injury. This all changed in minute 72, when the midfielder decided he hated Gavi. Dribbling with the ball, Gavi was trying to turn to give him more options to pass or dribble, but he was surrounded by three people. As he tried to break free, the Betis player's knee collided with Gavi's groin. Hard.

The sound of the collision and then the fall to the ground sounded like it was heard in the entirety of the stadium. Your jaw went slack and eyes went wide. Gavi was on the floor, unmoving. You didn't even think, using enough brain power to grab the medical bag at your side, and then sprinted across the field to Gavi. There was a crowd of players surrounding him now, creating a tight ring of people. You approached the group, placing your hands on the nearest person, and then shoving.

"GET OUT OF THE WAY! MEDIC! MOVE!"

You finally go the bodies to disperse, and laying there was Gavi, tears in his eyes and whimpering from pain. He had one arm slung over his face, and the other gripped his shirt in immense pain. When he saw you approach, he looked at you with pleading eyes, begging for anything that would stop the throbbing pain he was experiencing.

"Gavi, where did you get kneed exactly? Where is the most intense pain?" You asked, kneeling to the ground and pulling on your gloved.

"My... my dick. I got kneed in the dick and it feels like hell." He replied. He was in too much pain to be shy. His dick fucking hurt, and he wanted anything to soothe the pain as quickly as possible.

"Gavi, I'm going to touch you now, okay?" You asked, hand hovering over the area. He nodded, not fully processing what you were saying or what was happening. You placed your hand over his dick and his eyes shot open. You began to massage the area slightly, moving your hand around, trying to prevent receptors of pain from activating and working to increase blood flow to the area.

And increase blood flow you did. Gavi felt the blood begin to pool in his shorts, and now that the pain was subsiding the embarrassment was returning, he took in what was actually happening. You had one hand on his cock and balls, moving them around slowly, and one on his hip, making sure the area wasn't sensitive. You looked up at Gavi, who was still in somewhat intense pain.

"Here, give me your hand." You placed your hand atop his, guiding it to his injury.

"Keep moving your hand around where you got kneed, and we'll get you on the bench. I would give you ice but I don't think that's idea here. Can you walk alone?" Gavi nodded, and you and the medical staff cleared the field. Gavi walked to the bench himself, earning cheers and love from all the fans in the stadium. He sat on the bench, continuing to massage his bruised genitals, and trying to make his blush subside by the end of the match.

~

After a stunning 3-0 win, you were ready to go to bed and never wake up again. Your whole body ached, and you had gotten dizzy from the sun exposure mixed with the biting chill of late November. You were barely able to drag your body to the players area - which you still could not enter. You received an email on your phone saying that Dr. Gonzalez would speak to you personally regarding the player complaint. Just as you were ready to burst into tears, Gavi emerged from the locker room, Pedri trailing close behind.

"Enjoy the game today?" Pedri asked, pulling you out of your trance.

"Loved it. I just wish Gavi could stop running into people so I could have a better viewing experience."

Gavi took this as an opportunity to enter the discussion, groaning on about how the other teams bullied him and were extra tough on him as the three of you walked to the garage.

"See you tomorrow, Pedri." You waved, unlocking your car and climbing into the driver's seat. He waived at you, and approached Gavi to hug him goodbye. As he pulled the younger boy in he whispered in his ear.

"I don't know how you thought of this little lie, but now you're going to be alone with her every day for four weeks. Ready to admit that you like her?" Gavi let out a fake laugh, playfully slapping Pedri on the shoulder.

"I don't like her like that. I just want to relieve some burden off of you, Hermano."

"Mhm yeah I'm sure. Just try not to get hard watching her drive on your first ride home. Wait until day 4 or 5." With that, Pedri walked to his own car, getting ready to call Fernando and update him about the circus that was Pablo's love life, and enjoying only being mobbed by 1/2 the normal amount of fans.

Gavi walked to your car quickly, climbing in and tossing his bag in the back. He tried not to think about Pedri's words. He was perfectly capable of sitting next to you, his friend, without being aroused just because you were a girl. At least he hoped he was. He was not hunched over and thinking deeply. Why did he decide that this was the best way for you to repay him? It's not like Pedri had ever complained about chauffeuring him around. And it's not like he didn't enjoy rides home with Pedri, listening to Quevedo and making idle conversation. But lately he just wanted to be around you - make sure you were okay.

The ring of your phone broke Gavi's train of thought. You answered on your car's speaker.

"Hola Martin. How are you doing?"

The sound of Martin's voice twisted Gavi's intestines, making him nauseous and fatigued. He hated the sound of his voice, the thought of his face, the words that he strung together and decided to say to you.

"Hola sexy. How are you doing this evening?"

You rolled your eyes. You knew exactly why Martin had chosen to call at this time. You had texted him earlier in the day, asking if he would be home that evening so you could drop by. This had led to a brief inquisition, with Martin wondering why you wanted to see him suddenly, and why you would be in his neighborhood. Once he found out it was because you would be in a car with Gavi alone, something in his behavior switched. He suddenly wanted to be a doting boyfriend who called and checked up on you.

"I'm doing well. You're on speaker in the car. I'm driving Gavi home right now."

"Are you still coming over afterwards? I've missed you so bad." Martin whined out that last part in such an animated way that it made you want to laugh. You knew what he was doing. He wanted to assert his dominance over Gavi, and make it think that you were going to swiftly go get railed by Martin right after you delivered Gavi at his doorstep. the truth was, despite dating Martin for several months now, you two had yet to go all the way. There had of course been kissing and some heavy petting, but no articles of clothing had never his the floor.

"I'll see how I'm feeling after Gavi leaves and call you then. Bye Martin." You said quickly, hanging up the call once you took a quick look at the disgusted look Gavi had plastered on.

"I'd mock you if I didn't think I would throw up." He said, trying to be lighthearted but failing. You didn't reply, feeling slightly embarrassed that he had to listen to your boyfriend's weak attempts to prove his manliness.

"No it's okay, go ahead and mock my boyfriend who moans on the phone when other people can hear." Your laugh was also stiff and forced. The call had made the air thicker and the mood more tense. You handed Gavi the phone, instructing him to play some music so that you weren't sat in the awkward silence that Martin seemed to always create between the two of you.

"This is a lot of pressure now on me. I'm never on AUX." He says, scrolling through his music. He pressed the song, and the sound poured from the speakers.

"Enrique Iglesias? Isn't he before your time?" You asked, smiling from ear to ear. You loved Cuando Me Enamoro, and the familiarity helped release the tension from your shoulders. As the song played, you started softly singing along. You opened the cover of the moon roof, allowing more of the street light to enter the car.

Gavi turned to look at you, examining your features. Your eyes were soft, focused on the road ahead of you. Your fingers drummed against the steering wheel to the beat. You had one leg up as you drove, leaning into the door slightly. Your lips moved along with the lyrics, singing contently. Gavi could not move his eyes from the sight. Your lips forming every letter were drawing in his focus, hypnotizing him. He never wanted to look away from the soft pink flesh. His thoughts began escaping his control. He wanted to hear you sing louder. He wanted to hear you speak, watching those lips talk about anything your heart held a passion for. He wondered what they would feel like against the pads of his fingers. He imagined what it would be like to kiss them - softly at first, just to feel their warmth and softness. Then harder, to interlock with his own, to bite them, pull them, have them stretched around him, make them cry out his name.

"Pablo?"

He snapped up, giving himself whiplash. Gavi had not noticed that he had rested himself on the center console, leaning against his palm and daydreaming so deeply it drowned out the sound of your voice calling his name.

"Sorry to disturb your deep pondering, but we're here." He looked up at you, vision still rose tinted from the deep dive he had conducted on your lips. His mouth hung open, wanting to say something, but the words would not form in his head. He wanted to touch you. He wanted you to be closer. But he couldn't say it. So instead he extended his hand for a fist bump, coupled with a quick mutter of 'goodnight'. He grabbed his bag, quickly closing the door and digging for his keys.

"Gavi?"

He looked back at you. Your eyes locked for a moment. His hazel eyes conveyed an emotion that you couldn't understand. You didn't want to look away from him.

"I'll see you tomorrow, right?" There was a plead in the question that didn't escape either of you. It was a request. You wanted to see him. His eyes softened, crinkling at the sides as a smile spread across his space.

"Of course, doctora. Drive safe, and let me know when you get home."

Your eyes remained locked until Gavi shut his front door. He leaned against it breathing deeply, as you leaned your head against your steering wheel. You both felt a deep longing for the other, the feeling of "I miss you" sinking in as soon as the door clicked. But he got off the door, and you turned your engine back on, and you both ignored the feeling that something was missing.

~

Gavi was proud of himself. He was only half hard after leaving the car, despite the most sinful and inappropriate thoughts about your lips festering in his mind. He tried to eat, but he had no appetite. All he wanted to do was call you, text you, read your old messages. He threw his phone on his bed. He didn't understand why you now took up so much of his headspace and thought. He went to shower for the third time that day, hoping to relieve the tension permanently etched into his limbs.

You knocked on Martin's door for a third time. You had called him from Gavi's to let him know you were coming. He answered the phone out of breath and rushed, telling you to just come over, and hanging up quickly. It was night and day from the concerned lover that had called earlier. On the drive over you rationalized his behavior. Did you really have time for a boyfriend that wanted to talk to you often and be with you and have sex and sleepovers? No. You were busy and focused on advancing your career. So maybe Martin and his distance and indifference was actually perfect.

He finally opened the door after three rounds of knocking and two phone calls.

"You're here sooner than I expected." He said, cheeks slightly pink and breathing fast.

"Yeah Gavi lives really close by. Can I come in?" You asked, raising an eyebrow at his form, which blocked the entryway entirely.

"Uh," he looked over his shoulder before responding, "yeah sure. Come in." You entered his house, removing your shoes at the door. Martin had called you "backwards" the first time you did this at his house. As a person in medicine, you couldn't comprehend tracking the entire bacteria ecosystem onto the floor of his house, but it was one of those things you just agreed to disagree on.

"Making sure the other girlfriend left before letting me in?" You laughed, and he spun around quickly, grabbing you by the shoulders and leaning down to look at you.

"I know you make a lot of jokes, but this can't be one of them," he said, his tone somber and serious. "Don't ever joke about me being a cheater. It's not who I am and I am a better person than that." You were shocked by his sudden change in mood, putting your hands up in surrender and apologizing.

Gavi laid awake in bed, legs tangled in the sheets, moving from one side to the other, unable to find a single moment of rest. He checked the phone on his nightstand every couple of minutes, waiting to see your name light up the screen. Why weren't you home? It had been over an hour since you had left his house. Martin was definitely not interesting enough to keep you at his place for so long, especially after a match day. The longer he thought about it, the more the sweat pooled on his brow and the dread seeped into him. Maybe you two were having sex. Maybe you would be spending the night at his house, and Gavi would never get the "I'm home" text. He tried to calm himself, but everything irritated him. Why did you have to leave him to go to your stupid boyfriend's house? Why did he want you to tell Martin to fuck off and lay on the couch with him? Why did he want to know so badly if you two were having sex?

As with most news he got about your relationship, he heard the tip from Ansu who obviously heard it from Ferran: after three months together, you and Martin had still not had sex. After the initial 'why the hell are you guys talking about this', Gavi started to listen to Ansu's gossip as he packed his things after practice. He heard about Martin's complaints.

"Apparently, he told Ferran that she will kiss him and touch him and make him hard, then she will pull away and go home. He said first it was like exciting - ya know, being teased, playing hard to get. But now he's kind of getting impatient ya know. Ferran told him to get another girl."

"To break up with y/n?" Gavi asked a little more enthusiastically than he intended. Pedri looked up from his phone and raised an eyebrow at Gavi, but refrained from making a comment. He wanted to go home, and he knew the longer this conversation continued, the longer it would be till he could sit in front of his TV and play FIFA.

"No not to break up with her. Ferran was like 'oh you know she's wife material like she is good in front of cameras and will look nice for your Wikipedia page. But if you want to have sex just go to a girl in a club and sleep with her and then do the couple shit with y/n when you feel like it. You already set her expectations low."

Pedri swears to this day he saw the smoke rise from Gavi's ears at the suggestion that Martin cheat on you. In football and in life, Gavi hated cheats. He wanted to tell you, but was advised against it.

"Unless we hear that he is actually cheating on her, there's no need to hurt her feelings or add stress to her life."

So now he sat in bed, frustrated in more than one way, as he thought about you and Martin having sex. He closed his eyes, hoping to conjure up a new mental image, but all he saw was you. You were in the same sweatshirt and leggings that you had come over in the other day. Martin was nowhere to be seen. You were in the living room, laying on the soft leather of the couch, beckoning Gavi over.

He felt the blood begin to pool and his cock start to harden. He threw one arm over his eyes, groaning loudly. It had become a common occurrence for him to get horny when thinking about you, but usually he could will the image away by reminding himself that you two were friends and would not be anything more. Usually. Today it wasn't working. The image of you on his couch, licking your lips and calling him over refused to disappear. The tighter he closed his eyes the stronger it got.

He moved his hand to palm his aching erection through the fabric of the boxers he had worn to sleep. The you in his head was standing now, playing with the hem of your sweatshirt. The sight of skin (imaginary as it was), encouraged him further, and set his very skin ablaze. He pushed down his boxers, stroking himself slowly now. In his head now, you had slowly stripped away your sweatshirt, leaving you in a bra and tight leggings that cupped your ass in the most sensual ways. He was panting now, breathing heavily, switching between stroking his cock and playing with the head. In his mind you stripped off your leggings, leaving you in just your bra and panties for him to stare at, taking in the sight of your body. Beads of precum formed at the head, which he spread around, teasing his most sensitive nerves. He knew once he came you would disappear, and he didn't want to be without you.

The real you was in a similar position: seductive and shirtless. You were currently under Martin, shirt having been discarded somewhere in the living room as he pressed you into the couch. He broke from you to pull off his shirt, then captured your lips once again. You move fervently to match his pace. He kneaded your breasts between his hands. Rough. Everything Martin did was fast and rough. And you tried to keep up, but the only sounds leaving you were heavy breaths from exertion, not arousal.

The scene in Gavi's head switched perspectives. He was now on the couch, legs spread open, inviting you in. You walked towards him slowly, and he drank in the sight of you. You crawled onto his lap, straddling him, and rested your forehead against his. Your eyes, your lips, your breasts - the image of all three sent shock waves through his body and straight to his cock. He gripped it now. He wanted to turn to his nightstand, grab something to lubricate with and stroke in earnest, but he was afraid he would lose the vision of you.

In Martin's house, the real you was searching for an escape. Martin was kissing your neck, grinding into you like a dog in heat. After a few minutes he noticed that you had gone silent, even your breathing relaxing now. He came up to look at you. What kind of girl didn't get turned on from activities like this? He decided to switch positions so that you were laying on top of him, and he dug his fingers into your hips and ass pressing your clothed core against him. He was unmistakably hard, but you felt nothing. There was no pool in your panties or heat in your loins. You were kissing him hard but felt, well, indifferent. Like you might rather be doing laundry.

In Gavi's head, you were a puddle. He had captured your lips between his own, kissing you deeply as you rocked against him, the kiss only breaking when he hit your sweet spot, causing you to moan out. He let his hands roam your bare skin, and he could almost feel the warmth. Fingers resting on your waist, he moved with you, rutting against each other and chasing your release. He looked down at the two of you, watching the wet spot on your panties grow as you ground your clit into his hard-on. He moved to your neck, kissing and suckling until little marks bloomed on the skin. You whimpered out, and now Gavi wanted to do everything in his power to make you moan in earnest. You were looking at him with those gorgeous eyes, begging, pleading, imploring Gavi to do more. And he wanted to do so much more.

The action ended for the real you rather quickly. Martin was pushing you against him, bruising your pelvic bone as he chased his own orgasm, almost forgetting that you weren't a sex doll. You decided to help finish him off quickly and go back to your place. Maybe you would still have time for that laundry. You placed your hands on either side of his head, his face basically buried in your breasts, and you started to grind into him earnestly, rocking your hips in a way that you knew drive men crazy. Within 45 seconds he was cumming in his pants, moaning loudly, and pressing into you so hard you were worried it would leave marks. You gave him a quick kiss and tugged your shirt back on. You both exchanged words about seeing each other soon, and you walked out of his house to your car alone and unsatisfied.

Gavi was almost in pain. His cock was angry and throbbing, begging for him to stroke himself in earnest. But he couldn't do it dry, and he would rather remove his cock entirely than lose this dream of you. You were now in front of him, on your knees, touching his upper thighs. He felt the ghostly sensation on his skin as he remembered every time you pressed your fingers into the muscular flesh in your office (or on his couch). You pulled down his boxers, and his cock sprung free. You leaned over and let your tongue hang from your mouth, your drool flowing on to his cock. Gavi brought his hand up and spit in his palm, pretending it was you. He brought it back down and began stroking, long fluid motions from base to tip. You were also stroking him, looking up at him with those big innocent "fuck me" eyes, and he couldn't stop himself from moaning out.

He wanted you. He wanted you to be on your knees for him, on his lap, under him in bed. He wanted you. He had never been harder in his life. And then he got to those lips. Those pink perfect lips that spoke to him so gently, teased him, called out his name - in his mind he watched them stretch over his cock. His self restraint snapped. He brought his hand up again, spitting into his palm multiple times, and beginning to stroke his cock rapidly. He wished it was you. He wished it was your smaller hand wrapped around him, so he could guide you to stroke it in just the way he liked. He was playing with the head of his cock now, imagining your lips sinking deeper and deeper over him, looking up at him with tears in your pretty eyes.

There was no more pretending and no more care. The sheets were thrown off, the room filled with heavy breaths, groans, and the squelching sound of Gavi pumping his cock. His dream you had pulled of and was now leaving gently kisses on his cock, licking the head shyly. Your lips were red and swollen, a product of his passionate kisses and his member. Gavi was almost there. He squeezed his eyes shut as hard as he could, trying to see you, imagine you more clearly. You were alternating licking at his slit and sucking on his head. He was gone. Moans of your name mixed with "please" filled his room. He wished you were there. He wanted to feel your skin, the smooth warmth under his finger tips. He wanted to hear your voice, soft and silky and telling him how good he was going. He was so, so close. He had never edged himself this much in his life, but he wanted to keep watching you.

The dream you pulled off of the head of Gavi's cock, placing a kiss on it, before crawling back up his body. He tried to capture your lips in yet another kiss, but he couldn't. He felt you drape yourself over his thigh, grinding into the muscle there as you pumped his cock for him. He fisted his own cock at a bruising pace. He would deal with the consequences afterwards. Now he was ready to cum to you, for you. You leaned into his ear, still riding his thigh, one hand wrapped around him, and you moaned out,

"Pablo."

His orgasm washed over him in a tidal wave, knocking the air out of him. He moaned your name out loudly, filling the whole house with his sounds of pleasure. Cum landed on his chest, and he continued to pump himself through the orgasm, thinking of you and riding out his high. When it was over, he calmed himself and worked to slow his breathing. His eyes were still screwed shut, but you weren't there anymore. He was alone and covered in his own load, and he was still thinking about you.

Once he had composed himself (and his legs were stable enough for him to walk, he went to the bathroom and cleaned himself, donning a new pair of boxers to actually sleep in. Once he returned to his bed, he saw his phone light up.

[Doctora]: I just got home. Have a good night Pablo

His chest got tight again as he laid in bed, staring at your words to him. You hadn't forgotten. He set his alarm and laid down, the exhaustion from his orgasm settling in now and making his eyelids heavy. When he closed his eyes, he saw you again. This time you were fully clothes - in one of his hoodies and a pair of his sweats. You were in bed next to him, arm stretched out, beckoning him to come closer to you. Gavi hugged one of his pillows close to his chest, imagining it was you sleeping in his arms, and drifted off.

[Gavi]: Have a good night, doctora. Dream of me

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: not proofread because I don't feel like it. I hope you al enjoy this part! I think this is the last part of 'exposition'/ setting up their dynamic, so relationship building will start in the next chapter, so I hope you all stick with me for the rest of the story! I love hearing all your reactions in the comments, so please don't be shy to comment! Or if you're a little shy, feel free to send me an anon ask!

Also please comment if you want to be added to the taglist ok bye

*~*Taglist*~*

@l0verl4ne @vibinwkay @anastasia-nova @mxgvmiii @mads-grace4 @bubblebeep69 @katluckybear @scuderiabarca @alwaysclassyeagle @simpingmyassoff @grlwithprblms @lqvesoph @pink-manz @graziemille @xxenia14 @nngkay @icedlattewithextracaramel @gyusrose @vip-access @julianalvarez9

#pablo martín páez gavira #pablo gavi slow burn #pablo gavi x reader #pablo gavi imagine #pablo gavi #gavi x reader #gavi #gavi x you #gavi fluff #fc barca #footballer imagine #footballer #pablo gavi fluff #gavi fic #pablo gavi fanfiction #gavi fanfic #gavisuntiedboot #gavi imagine

[deliciousangelfestival]

Every Time You Lie - Ch 3 || Lloyd Hansen

Character: dark!Lloyd Hansen x female!reader, dark!Husband Lloyd Hansen x Wife!reader.

Synopsis: Any woman is jealous of you, especially with the status of being the wife of Lloyd Hansen—the CEO of the biggest pharmacy company in the country. From the outside, everyone sees you as a perfect family, a successful husband, two kids, and living in a big house. 

But the truth is different. You are trapped in this marriage because of the mistake you made. You are willing to give everything you have to get your freedom. Free from him. Free from your vicious mother-in-law. Free from your snobby son.

Both of them shouldn’t be together.

Warning: Betrayal, suicidal thought, harsh language, tragedy. Minors do not read. 18+

Author Note: I do not consent to copying or translating my work. 

Any reblog, comment, and feedback are appreciated. I want to know what you guys think.

Series Masterlist || Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 ,Chapter 4 , Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 ,-

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

‘You’re not my type.’

Lloyd gritted his teeth; he held back the anger. You used to be obedient and never disrespect him like this. Now you turned into your old self. You said the same things the first time you met him. 

He brushed the back of your hair gently. His touch made you shiver and you uncomfortable. Lloyd lifted his finger to show you the ring.

“You married me, my love. You must be shocked. I understand it’s difficult for you to accept the fact. Don’t be afraid, I have hired the best doctor to treat you.”

Then he brings your hand to his lips and kisses your knuckles; his mustache tickled you. “So we could go back as we used to.”

You pulled back your hand after he said that: his gaze, actions, and everything he did scared you. You don’t understand why, but you feel helpless towards him. 

Lloyd, seeing you being silent made his heart ache more than ever. He’s afraid to kiss your lips and bring you into his arms. After being married, this is the longest time he is separated from you. He doesn't want you to see him as a creepy person. 

Both of you are husband and wife, for God's sake.

Everything he built has turned into a mess now. The empire he have, turned crumbled when there was no queen beside him. 

“I’ll leave and come back tomorrow.” Lloyd showed a sad smile and left you. 

You look at his back, he looks depressed. You want to feel sorry for him, but you can’t. Because right now, the one who needs to feel sorry for is you. 

Imagine you suddenly wake up and become a wife and mother. Your body is 42 years old, but your mind is still 21 years old. You don't know who your husband and your children are. To you, three of them are just strangers. 

The only people you want to see are Mia, Theo and Amelia.

Where are they? They’re not worried you got amnesia?

A lot of questions in your mind right now. You need to get out of the hospital. You hate it here.

“Urgh.” You growled with pain because when you moved your feet, it hurt so bad. You tried to press the button to call the nurse.

“Mother, what are you doing?” You turned your head and saw Emily and Lionel together. 

“Umm…” You feel awkward with them. It felt like a dream you have a grown up kids standing infront of you. 

“I want to walk, but it’s really painful.”

Emily immediately approached your bed, and she stopped you to make another move.

“You’re in a coma for four months. Because of the accident and lack of movement, it will hurt when you move any muscle. I will made appointment for physical therapist for your treatment.”

You looked at her and felt familiar. Her nose, her jawline, the way she speaks, and the little mole near her left eye. She looks just like you. 

“Thank you.”

Emily shook her head. “Don’t say that. You shouldn’t say that. It supposed to be me who…” She stops talking since tears from her eyes start dropping to the bed sheets. “I’m so glad you’re awake. I thought…. I lost you.”

After she said that, Lionel dropped to the floor, facing down, and cried.

Seeing both of them crying at the same time made you confused. You decided to open both of your arms and said, “Come here, both of you.” 

In just a second, two of them are in your arms. But it was Lionel who got all the space. He rested his head on your shoulder, and he wrapped his arms around you, “I’m sorry mother. I’m sorry. It’s all my fault.”

He keeps repeating these words. Since the accident, the guilt is eating him alive. He wished that it was him instead of you on that day. 

You want to cry when you hear his voice; you stroke his head. “It’s fine. I’m alright.” 

You sighed heavily, accepting the fact the moment you wake up you became a wife and a mother. 

"Shit, that fucking hurt." 

"I never heard her curse in my life." Lionel whispered to his sister. He and Emily are watching you exercising your leg with parallel bars. You tried to regain your strength and balance. 

Emily patted her brother's shoulder. "Anyone who just escaped death will have their personality to changed.”

Lionel saw you slipped away from the parallel bars. He moves fast to catch you. But you slapped his hand. You felt you hurt this boy's feelings. You apologize to him "Sorry, I'm still not used with this."

Lionel made a small nod and backed away. What you mean by 'with this' is you still can't accept the moment you wake up, and you become 40 years old without any memories.

He looked at Emily again, wanting to cry. All of this happened because of him. He decided to walk away and get some fresh air. 

Emily saw her brother leave the room. She felt bad seeing him depressed, but he needed to learn the consequences of his mistakes. It wasn’t his fault the car hit you. But if he didn’t insist to grab that damn shoes, none of this would’ve happened. 

It hurts her when she hears you have amnesia.

The way you look at her is also different. But Emily thinks it's a good thing. Because you became someone else. You seem confident and brave even though you still can't accept reality. She never sees this side of you. 

Before, you used to say yes to everything Lloyd said. You're an obedient wife. 

You're the best mother she ever knew, and she is grateful for that.

But how Lloyd, Krystal, and Lionel treated you is unfair. 

The life she had found out to be a lie. Emily used to see Lloyd as an awesome, strong, smart, and successful father. And he loves you so much. But after she grew older, she realized that what happened between both of you was not love.

It’s obsession and stubbornness. 

And her grandmother, Krystal. Emily never being close to her. She always heard her friends' stories about how their grandmother was so nice, always giving them allowance food and staying with them.

With Krystal, she doesn't have anything like that. There’s no such thing as a connection with her own grandmother. Even with all her high grades, trophies, and certificates, she never heard any compliment from Krystal. 

Lloyd and Krystal used you to get what they wanted, and they did. But they have to pay a price. That's the biggest secret in this family.

That's why she left. She felt ashamed of the horrible lie she had known for the rest of her life.

Lionel is almost the same as them, but Emily hopes he will change for good because of this accident.

‘Bzzt.’

Emily grabbed her phone and saw the name was Dr. Gabriel. He’s a senior doctor who is also in charge of you. “Good afternoon doctor.”

“Come to my office. There’s an annoying patient at my office right now. Could you check on him? I’m still giving class at the moment.”

Emily widened her eyes, she had never heard Dr.Gabriel sound annoyed and disrespectful towards any patients. He always being professional. She became curious about who the patient was. 

She turned off the phone and approached you. “Mom, I need to go. Don’t trained to hard.”

You nodded at her. “Yes. Don’t worry.” In your eyes, she’s a great kid. You’re grateful for having a smart and kind daughter. 

After Emily left, the therapist asked, “Do you want to rest?”

You shook your head and wiped the sweat from your head and hands. “Continue.” 

Even though it’s painful and you hold it in. It’s nothing compared with the feeling of knowing your father had died and you don’t have any memory of it. 

The doctor told you to have a bed rest for a few days before practicing to walk again. But you said no because you want to leave the hospital as soon as possible to see your father's grave tomb with your own eyes. 

You want answers.

Emily walks faster to Dr. Gabriel's office room. When she arrived, the nurse immediately gave the patient record to her. She opened the door, and a man was already sitting on Dr. Gabriel's chair, facing the window.

Since he’s a senior doctor, his space is bigger than anyone. Most of his patients are also rich and famous.

No wonder Dr.Gabriel sounded annoyed at the phone. This patient already makes this room like his own. She could feel the arrogance from afar. Seems like the patient noticed someone walking into the room. He turned his chair. “You’re late.”

The patient was taken aback for a moment because he had mistaken someone.

Emily cleared her throat. “Dr. Gabriel still giving a lecture righ now. He send me instead. I hope you don’t mind, Mr. Drysdale?”

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Series Masterlist || Chapter 1, Chapter 2 , Chapter 3 ,Chapter 4, Chapter 5 , Chapter 6 , -

Main Masterlist || buy me Ko-fi 🥹💓

#chris evans characters #lloyd hansen x reader #lloyd hansen x fem!reader #lloyd hansen x fic #dark!lloyd hansen x reader #dark!lloyd hansen #lloyd hansen imagine #lloyd hansen x you #lloyd hansen x y/n #lloyd hansen #the grey man au #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans fandom

[seoheesoo]

What if Sakumo was alive and managed to save Duy from death?

[Part 4]

"Kakashi!" - a loud scream deafened at least half the village.

"Him again?" - Obito rolled his eyes and folded his arms over his chest. - "Can he live at least one day without running after you?"

Kakashi didn't bother him with a response or a glance. He turned in the direction of the scream and immediately realized that something was wrong. A moment later he was next to the teenager.

"What's happened?"

"W-we were on a mission", - Guy said breathlessly, concern sparkling in his dark eyes. - "It was a trap. We were surrounded by Seven Swordsmen…"

"Seven Swordsmen?" - Obito shouted in shock from behind, followed by a quiet shush from Rin.

"Go on", - seeing how nervous Guy was, Kakashi involuntarily turned on his commanding tone.

"Then my dad came running", - Guy clenched his trembling hands into fists. - "He told us to run away.. He.."

"That’s not all", - Kakashi interrupted him sharply.

"On the way back we met Sakumo-san. He went there too."

Kakashi met Guy's eyes and nodded to him. Without saying a word, they headed towards the exit from the village. They had almost reached the gate when they suddenly heard a voice behind them.

"Guy, Kakashi", - a firm voice made them freeze in place.

A young guy appeared in front of them, blocking their path.

"Hokage-sama!"

"Minato sensei!"

Minato looked at both teenagers with a sympathetic look.

"I’ve already sent reinforcements to them", - Minato walked up to the boys and put his hands on their shoulders. - "They'll be fine. Now go home."

"Nii-san!" - Kakashi stubbornly took a step forward.

"No, I can’t let you go", - Fourth shook his head. - "Duy-san and Sakumo-san will never forgive me if something happens to you. Now please go home."

Kakashi knew that Minato would keep his word. They had no chance of sneaking out of the village unnoticed. Hatake took Guy by the elbow and led him towards the house. Guy was silent the whole way. This unusual silence was beginning to weigh on Kakashi's shoulders. He had no idea how to deal with Guy like that. To begin with, he brought him into the house and sat him down on the sofa. Then he went to the kitchen and made jasmine tea. As Guy took a few sips, he began to look less nervous. His favorite tea always calmed him down. They sat in silence until dusk fell over the village. Kakashi took the mug from Guy's hands and put it on the table, and then sat down next to him. Guy clung to him and laid his head on his shoulder.

"I’m scared", - Guy whispered barely audibly in a trembling voice.

Kakashi had a lot of thoughts in his head. He knew that in such situations other people try to calm the other person down. But Kakashi could not utter such words, they would only seem empty and groundless. So he let the truth fall from his lips.

"I'm scared too."

At some point, they dozed off, consumed by anxiety and excitement. Kakashi instinctively pulled Guy closer to him, trying to give him warmth and ghostly calm. After some time, Hatake emerged from his slumber, hearing the heavy, metallic smell of blood. He opened his eyes and saw his father's tired face in front of him. Kakashi exhaled heavily, his heart pounding wildly in his chest. Feeling this, Guy moved and opened his eyes.

"Sakumo-san!" - the boy immediately exclaimed. - "Papa.."

"He’s fine, he’s in the hospital now", - the man answered in a hoarse voice.

As soon as he heard these words, Guy threw himself on Sakumo’s neck, hiding his hot tears on his shoulder. The man gently hugged the boy, stroking his back soothingly.

"Thank you", - Guy whispered in a completely broken voice.

"No need, kid."

Sakumo smiled softly at Kakashi, reaching out to touch him. The boy squeezed his hand tightly in his hand and returned his father's smile.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 5 Part 6

#kakashi hatake #might guy #kakagai #sakumo hatake #might duy

[shwazzberryswriting]

Cramped Spaces 4

Pairing: Jisung x Femme Reader | [Y/N]

Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Idol NCT, One Shot, Smut, Sequel Fic, Tight Spaces, Stuck In The Closet Together

Summary: It doesn't matter how they got locked in Jaemin's coat closet. Jisung has to keep her warm because Jaemin's house is freezing! Cramped Spaces 1 | Cramped Spaces 2 | Cramped Spaces 3 | AO3 *Cramped Spaces 5*

Word count: 1.2k

Rating/Warnings: Not Beta Read, Mature Sexual Themes and Explicit Sexual Material: Heavy Petting, Grinding, Thigh Riding, Just the Tip, Unprotected Sex, Cum Play, Multiple Orgasms, **Spoiler Warning*: Getting Caught in the Act**

If any mature/sexual themes involving Jisung makes you uncomfortable please do not read or interact.

Minors DNI! 18+ ONLY

Author’s Note: This fic was written to get me through some cold days. 💚Stay warm CZennies in cold places! I can't recall if anyone made a request for a sequel to the Cramped Spaces series but this is dedicated to the Jisung readers💚

Apologies in advance for any mistakes and I hope I did justice to the fantasy to everyone who's checked this series out!

Please let me know of any technical errors or if you have feedback/questions

She was trapped inside Jaemin’s coat closet. Fingers grasping around the wall, hoping to find a light switch. Left elbow hitting something firm with a dull thunk. Pain shot up to her shoulder.

“Ow! That’s my back,” Jisung hissed. Low baritone grumbling right behind her as she rubbed her tender elbow. “Not my fault we’re locked in here.”

“Um yeah it is. You said it doesn’t lock from the inside so you left the key on the handle.”

“I don’t know how Jaemin’s labyrinth of a house works! He said to use the key to unlock it. Why did you want to come in here in the first place?”

“So it’s my fault we’re stuck in here?”

“Geez - what the fuck!” His long arm covered his eyes when she finally found the light switch. “He has a light in his closet?”

“Jaemin’s fancy.” She pulled down at the hem of her dress, covering her shivering knees. “Will Jaemin be home soon?”

Jaemin had to be old money. She pulled her white faux fur coat over her pastel pink knit sweater dress. His entire house was freezing cold. Even her thermal leggings could feel the chill seeping in. At least her triple layered socks kept her toes warm.

“He’s not replying to my texts.”

“Call him.”

Jisung sighed, resting his back against the door. What little space they had in the closet wasn’t much, but shoving the coats and jackets aside gave them some room to move. She readjusted to stand between his legs.

Bowing his head, pocketing his phone, he sighed.

“He’s not picking up. Guess we’ll have to wait in here until he comes home.” His eyes followed her, lifting his head, as she pulled her coat tight around her body, buttoning up.

“I’m shorter so I can stand against the back wall.” Her words sounded muffled, having been absorbed by Jaemin’s collection of wool jackets and cardigan sweaters. His forehead shone as he stood directly under the bright light bulb. “I’m in the shadows and you stand in the light.”

He guffawed, hands reaching out to grab her hips. Standing up straight, he pulled her up against him, hands slipping down her back. Cupping her ass under her dress.

“Let me warm you up,” he said, grin widening at the left side of his mouth. His long veiny fingers pinching her fleshy cheeks. Pushing her up against him. Right knee tucked between her thighs. “I’m sorry I got us stuck in here babe.”

“I’m still a little cold.” His hands roamed up to rest at the small of her back, and she muffled a moan as his thigh lifted up and flexed against her cunt. Back of her hand covering her mouth. “Jisung.”

“Trying to keep you warm,” he insisted, leaning down to kiss her neck. “Cold and shivering, let me take care of you.”

Hands cupping his face into her palms, she pulled him in for a kiss. Tongues pushing back and forth, her fingers raked through his hair as his hands roamed up and down her ass, under her dress.

Releasing his lips, she moaned as he bounced her up and down, heat growing between her legs. It was enough to encourage him to unbuckle his belt, unzip his jeans.

They kissed, his moans sucked up into her lips, as she wrapped her hand around his cock, under his boxers. He moaned again into her mouth as she stroked him. Hot cock writhing in her fist.

“Jisung!”

His fingers tugged her leggings down, past her thighs and down to her knees, forcing her back to the door. Pushing up against her folds, thumb flicking her growing clit.

“Fuck, you’re wet.”

“Just the tip, no condom.”

They moaned together as he rubbed his tip up against her clit. Her whole body shook - heat rushing deep into her core. Her vision turned red, eyes rolling to the back of her head as he flicked his tip against her clit. Wet hot cock sending pleasure coursing through her body.

“Ji-jisung!” Her hips thrust against his cock’s motions. Her juices pouring out, covering his cock, soaking up into his pants and her stockings. “I’m s-so sorry!”

“Fuck.” His lips warmed hers. Chuckle against the crook of her neck. His fingers unfastened her coat’s buttons, pulling her coat off her shoulders. “What are you sorry for?”

“Coming all over you. I made a mess.”

She mewled, fingers fisting the fabric of his hoodie as he stroked his cock’s tip against her clit again. Eyes shut as her neck and chest flared up like the sun beaming down on her on a hot summer day.

“Just the tip, babe.” His kisses on her cheeks warmed her. “You’re so hot.”

His breaths were shallow as his tip slipped into her wet hole. Giving her heat that tingled deep into her belly. But lacking the weight and stretch of his cock invading her insides. Pleasure and torture intertwined as a couple of whiny moans came out of him.

“Fuck-you’re so hard.” She moaned, hand slipping down to massage his balls. Wet and smooth, they warmed up in her hand. “I wanna help you too.”

He groaned, thumbs meeting at the hood of her clit. Soft pads massaging her swollen nub. Sending heat deep into her core. Her whole body shook as she fell against Jisung. Cunt squeezing down on his tip. Orgasm washing over her as her face flared up.

His lips were over hers. Tongue parting her lips with one hand on her neck. Humming a soft groan into her mouth.

His hot cum dribbled over her panties and stockings. Landing onto his bare skin and pants. Shy grin appearing as they pulled apart. Her whole body shook. Knees and ankles feeling ready to fall apart as she stood on her feet. Hands grasping onto the front of Jisung’s unzipped hoodie.

Cold air rushed into their hot box as the door swung open behind Jisung.

Jaemin’s eyes were wide open as he made eye contact with her before looking at Jisung - his head whipping around to see his hyung staring at the young couple caught up in their post-coital glow. His mouth was closed. Jaws clenched.

Wordlessly, Jaemin shut the door. She pulled her panties and stockings up, making sure her dress was down covering her ass and thighs. He fumbled to buckle his belt back on before zipping up his pants.

“I’ll book you a hotel room, Jisung.” Jaemin’s voice was muffled from the outside. “I’m sorry you got locked in the closet. Please throw anything you got dirty into the hamper before you pack up your luggage.”

They listened to Jaemin’s creaking footsteps against the hardwood floor dissipate before breaking out into guffaws. Her cheeks were hot as she threw her hands over her mouth. Meeting his eyes as he ran his fingers through his shiny black hair. His perfect teeth appearing as he laughed, chest shaking.

“Guess we’re not going to be invited back here anytime soon,” he said, finally pushing the door open. Her cheeks prickled as cold air hit her face.

“Thank you for keeping me warm, Jisung.”

Their mixed cum staining her clothes clung to her skin. As uncomfortable as it was between her legs, she was turned on all over again. Covered in their sex under her dress. Honored that Jisung was so enamored with her that he’d fuck her in Jaemin’s closet.

--- Thank you for reading! Let me know what you think! 📮 Go to Cramped Spaces 5

#nct smut #nct jisung smut #nct dream smut #nct fanfic #jisung x y/n #jisung x reader #nct jisung x reader #nct jisung imagines #nct dream jisung #nct dream imagines #nct jisung #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct dream

[figthefruitfaeth]

Robin’s First Date.

| 12:36pm | 

“Wow, okay, I’m not taking advice from Mr. Polo for everyday of the week.”

“Hey, those were a gag gift—”

“Right, a gag gift you spent twenty minutes looking for. I got written up cause you couldn’t wear a Saturday on Tuesday.”

“I’m sorry I have standards.”

“Mm-hm.”

“Whatever. Come on—when have I ever steered you wrong? I’m off at 5, plenty of time before your date—”

“No! No. Not that I don’t appreciate it, cause I do and your great and all but...well...our styles don’t exactly mesh.” 

“Right, well that’s cause one of us has eyes and one of us has clashing patterns, so—”

“Oh, and the stripes? They don’t ever—”

“Which is good for you! But I know what the ladies like, Bobbin. I also know what this lady likes. And I know what’s going to get you laid.”

“Gross—“

“So are you gonna let me help you or what?”

“I’m calling Eddie.”

“Eddie?! No—”

| 12:57pm |

“Munson Mansion. This is Eddie, trapped in the wine cellar, speaking.”

“Eddie, I need your help.”

“Oh, hey, hi, what’s up?”

“The date’s tonight and I don’t have anything to wear.”

“Okay...”

“Not anything, but what I wanted to wear was in the washer before it broke and now it’s not gonna be dry in time and everything else is too bright, or too boring, and I’m getting sweaty and maybe developing a rash which is just perfect, I’m going to show up red and gross and she’s never going to talk to me again. God, maybe I should just cancel—“

“Heeey there, settle down. Breathe, in—out, there you go.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll be over in 10.”

| 3:09pm |

“This is the Wheeler Residence. Looks like you’ve just missed us! Feel free to leave a message—“

| 3:33pm |

“Wheeler Residence, this is Karen speaking—“

| 4:17pm |

“This is Hop.”

“Oh. Um. HI Chief Hopper, or, Officer? Uh—“

“Who is this?”

“Robin. Buckley. Sir. Robin Buckley. I’m a friend of Steve’s?”

“Right.”

“Right. Right, uh yeah.”

“Well, he’s not here, so—“

“Right, right, no! I was, uh, calling for Jonathan? Is he—is he around?”

| 4:21pm |

“Robin?”

“Jonathan! Hey! Buddy...how’s it going?”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah, totally, why wouldn’t it be? Unless, everything’s not alright with you? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, everything’s fine. Just don’t get a lot of calls from you.”

“Right. Well, you know work. Busy, busy! Ha ha...”

“Okay...did you wanna talk? Or...”

“Yes! I did, I did...OW! Sorry, sorry, banged my knee against something annoying. So...I can’t do this, this was a terrible idea...well, you shouldn’t have encouraged me—”

“Hey, if you’re busy—“

“Sorry, that was..my dad! Yeah, he needs help with the car. Tire busted and he’s not strong enough to lift the wheels so he always asks me, cause you know. Guns of steel and all that. But we should talk more. Yeah! Okay.”

“Yeah. Definitely...”

| 4:55pm |

“Family Video. This is Steve.”

“Steve.”

“Robin.”

“...”

“You need me to—“

“I need you to come over.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. What’s Eddie got you in?”

“Well...it’s creative?”

“Robin doesn’t want to go metal, even though metal clearly wants to go Robin. Hi sweetheart.”

“Hi babe. Rob, this is why you shouldn’t’ve asked him. He has terrible taste—“

“Ugh! You love this!”

“I do. For you. And more specifically, taking if off of you—“

“O.K. gross! Disgusting! Stop! Can we focus on me? I’m in a crisis!”

“Alright, alright. Let me clock out. Don’t let him near your scissors.”

| 6:14pm |

“This is the Wheeler’s, it’s Mike.”

“Mike! Oh, Michael, thank God I thought I was gonna have to hangup on your mom again.”

“Robin? Why are you calling my house? Is someone in trouble?”

“No! Why does everyone keep assuming that? Don’t answer that. Listen, I need your help.”

“What? No, I have a campaign going.”

“It’ll take like two minutes—did he say a campaign?—then you can do whatever—no, don’t—What campaign?”

“Eddie?”

“What campaign? Unless I’m mistaken, and I rarely am—HA—we don’t have a Hellfire meeting scheduled till Friday. What is this? A mutiny?”

“No! No I promise! It’s just a one-shot, just to get Will back into things, I swear.”

“You swear, huh?”

“On my life! On The Knights of Mystic Fire!”

“Yeah, you better. I’ll let this slide if you help out Robin. No buts! Or Sir Miklan is getting disadvantage on every throw next session.”

“Fine. What do you want?”

“Can you go check and see what Nancy’s wearing?”

“What?!”

“Not like that! Just! We’re, uh, hanging out tonight and she didn’t tell me where we were going and I don’t know if I should bring a jacket, so just go and check, okay?”

“I’m not doing that.”

“What? Why?”

“It’s weird. Here, just talk to her yourself—“

“What—no, Mike—”

“Robin?”

| 6:19pm |

“Nancy. Hi.”

“Hi, Robin.”

“...”

“I didn’t mean to hang up. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay. I figured it was an accident or something.”

“Yeah. You know me, love slipping on things and hitting buttons I can’t..unclick..”

“Yeah, I do. It’s really cute.”

“Ah, well, I mean, if you say so. Most people find it annoying, but I mean, if you think—ah, well, thank you. I think your cute too, obviously. Um. I mean, not for that, also obviously, cause I don’t think you’ve tripped on anything in your life, uh, so—“

“Robin.”

“Yes!”

“Are you nervous?”

“Yeah! Could you tell?”

“Hm!”

“I don’t know what to wear. I had an idea, and then it vanished and nothing else in my closet felt right. Steve just kept trying to cinch my jeans cause he said that’s what girls like, and Eddie kept suggesting leather, but I sweat a lot in leather, you know? And then I called Jonathan—“

“You called Jonathan?”

“I know, Steve already chewed me out for that. I didn’t really talk to him anyway, I just didn’t know who else to call—I don’t have a lot of friends. But—I don’t know. The outfit needs to be perfect, cause the girl I’m going on the date with, is perfect. And...I really like her. A lot. Like, makes my head dizzy, a lot.”

“Oh, Robin.”

“That’s not a pitying ‘Robin’ is it?”

“No. It’s a ‘you’re very cute and I’m very excited for this date’ Robin. Look, don’t listen to Steve. I’m pretty sure the jeans are more about him getting to check out his own ass than anyone else, and Eddie’s into whatever everybody else isn’t. Just wear what you feel like. You could pull up in PJ’s and I’d be happy. I don’t want the date to be perfect, I want the date to be us.”

“Naaaancyyy! Oh my god that was so perfectly sweet.”

“Does that help?”

“Yeah, that makes me feel better. Still a little anxious, cause on a practical level I still don’t know what to wear, but I do feel better about the not-knowing.”

“Well...if it helps, I’m wearing purple. So you should wear something green, that way we match.”

“That’s smart. I love green.”

“I know.”

“You know?”

“Yeah, that’s why I wore purple.”

“You were trying to get us to match?! Nancy, do you have a crush on me or something?”

“Well I’m glad to see you’re feeling more confident. Even if it’s at my expense.”

“Ha-ha yeah. Okay, gotta run, I’ve got—oh my god, I’m gonna be late. Okay, I’ll see you at the diner—dressed! Bye, Nance!”

“Bye, Robin.”

#my writing #my work #ronance #ronance ficlet #robin buckley #nancy wheeler #stranger things fic #steddie ficlet #hi here's a two line idea that exploded #i loved JUST doing dialogue this was such a fun exercise #also purple/green combo FULLY crediting liv for her genius brain

[kakasaku-week-2023]

And the prompts for KakaSaku Week 2023: (AU)gust are live! Come explore our favorite couple in all the universes. Each day has two trope prompts to choose from, as well as a challenge quote to include, all submitted and voted upon my our lovely server members.

Feel free to fulfill one, two, or all three of each day's prompts. Fics, art, moodboards, songs, we want to see them all! (It's understood that some of these may require a little more explanation, so see below the cut for details.)

Have questions? Want to brainstorm with others? Need to gush about KakaSaku in general? Send us an ask.... or come join our Discord! We're open for ONE WEEK starting today, ending next Sunday (6/25), approximately 3:30pm PDT.

Click here to join the Scarecrows and Cherry Blossoms Discord Server!

(AU)GUST PROMPTS (August 6-12, 2023)

Day 1 - Historic AU (Think regency, medieval, Victorian eras. Ancient Egypt, Greece, Rome... The 80's? Take your pick!) 🌸Trapped in a Small Space 🌸Innocent 🐺"Never cruel or cowardly."

Day 2 - Someone Else's Show (What if Kakashi was a waterbender? What if Sakura was a Slytherin? Explore all of your TV/movie possibilities today!) 🌸Domesticity 🌸Wingman/Wingwoman 🐺"Should I stay or should I go?"

Day 3 - Modern AU (Probably the most self-explanatory... Have fun!) 🌸3 A.M. 🌸Missed Connections 🐺"You have my sword."

Day 4 - Fantasy AU (Give me your best Elvish courting rites, your witchy incantations, your dragons and mermaids and nymphs, oh my!) 🌸Hot Springs 🌸Seduction 🐺"I'm just a girl, standing in front of a boy, asking him to love her."

Day 5 - Swapped (Body swap, gender swap, age swap... Switch it all up on this day!) 🌸Booty call vs. Butt dial 🌸Beach 🐺"Oops."

Day 6 - Mythology (For all of your Hades/Persephone needs. Take your favorite folk tales and go nuts!) 🌸Soulmate 🌸Morning After 🐺"Not if your were the last person on Earth."

Day 7 - Canon Divergence (Canon but not. Where the butterfly effect is in full flight!) 🌸Pakkun Makes a Starling Discovery 🌸Arranged Marriage 🐺"Why are you in my house?"

#kakasaku week 2023 #kakasaku #(au)gust

[scary-grace]

Love Like Ghosts (Chapter 21) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

You knew the empty house in a quiet neighborhood was too good to be true, but you were so desperate to get out of your tiny apartment that you didn't care, and now you find yourself sharing space with something inhuman and immensely powerful. As you struggle to coexist with a ghost whose intentions you're unsure of, you find yourself drawn unwillingly into the upside-down world of spirits and conjurers, and becoming part of a neighborhood whose existence depends on your house staying exactly as it is, forever. But ghosts can change, just like people can. And as your feelings and your ghost's become more complex and intertwined, everything else begins to crumble. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20

Chapter 21

There’s something wrong with your house, but you knew that when you bought it. You were okay with that when you bought it, but right now the thing that’s wrong with your house is the fact that you’re not in it. Tomura is coming home today – is home right now, in fact – but you’re not there with him. Instead you’re out to breakfast, in the same diner where you and the others plotted to kill the conjurer, with every single human in the neighborhood. Plus Inko, because why not?

You said you’re in the diner. It would be more accurate to say that you’re trapped in the diner, because you’re stuck in the corner of the booth between Shinsou and Jin’s entire family, wedged in so tightly that going out over the table or under it would be impossible. You’ve determined that this is Aizawa’s fault, so you glare at him. “There had better be a good reason why you dragged me here.”

“It’s for your own good,” Aizawa says. “And for Tomura’s, so if you claim to care about him –”

“If I claim to?”

“You’ll allow us to speak. We have more experience with this than you do.”

“None of us had help,” Jin’s mom says. “We had to figure things out by trial and error, and given the situation, we didn’t think it would be fair to let you go through the same thing.”

“Helping a ghost get used to being a human is hard,” Shinsou says. “And getting used to being human is hard for a ghost. We’re helping you. The other ghosts are all at your house helping him.”

“Oh.”

“They have a lot of stuff to explain,” Keigo says. “Stuff you wouldn’t want to explain. Like body stuff.”

“And hygiene stuff,” Inko adds. “They’re used to dematerializing any time they get dirty. Having to clean up is an adjustment.”

“It’s all an adjustment,” Aizawa says. “Our purpose here is to make the adjustment as easy as possible. Let’s begin.”

“No, let’s order,” Keigo says. The server’s here. “Hi. We’ll need a lot more coffee than this.”

There are so many of you that ordering takes forever, and while you wait your turn, you think over the events of the last few days. You went back to work the day after you were discharged from the hospital, scared the hell out of your coworkers, and got booted out by Mr. Yagi, who insisted you go home and rest. You went to the hospital instead, hanging out in Tomura’s room with the ghosts who were on shift. You and Hizashi spent some time formulating a backstory for Tomura, one that lines up with the lies you already told your parents, and Mr. Yagi helped you sneak the fake birth certificate into the government records. That was your first day out. On your second day out, you got to go back to work.

Work sucked. You tore through your inbox like a crazy person, trying to get as much done as possible, knowing you’d be out the whole next week and probably longer. Your progress was impeded by your coworkers, who’d heard rumors about what happened – you and your boyfriend getting kidnapped by a serial killer – and wanted to know if they were true. Surprisingly, Nakayama came to your rescue, shooing the others off. She made it clear that the price was a tell-all happy hour later on, but you decided it was worth it to get everybody else off your back.

Tomura woke up officially last night. The ghosts went to pick him up this morning, right around when the humans dragged you out of your house. You haven’t even seen him, and you’re so crabby about it that when the server asks you what you’re having today, you order half the menu on Aizawa’s dime.

Keigo manages to hold in his snickers until after the server’s walked away. “Gotta fuel up for when you get back, huh?”

“Hey. Gross,” Spinner protests. “There’s kids here.”

“Nah, I’m kidding. I saw what he looks like now. Too much exertion would probably kill him.” Keigo tips a huge wink at you and you roll your eyes. “Anyway, I officially call this meeting of ghost friends anonymous to order. Who wants to start?”

“Probably one of you two,” Jin says, gesturing at Inko and Aizawa. “You all have the same kind of ghost.”

Inko and Aizawa trade a glance, and Inko speaks up first. “Be prepared for a lot of frustration on Tomura’s part,” she says. “Most ghosts permanently embody themselves into healthy forms, so it’s likely that he’ll perceive some unfairness, and possibly express some regret. It’s got much less to do with you than with the adjustment to living as a human, so try not to take it personally.”

“Yeah, don’t take anything personally,” Jin agrees. “Himiko bit us a lot at first. For, like, no reason.”

You try to imagine Tomura biting you for no reason, and can’t. “Remember,” Aizawa says, “Tomura wouldn’t have been capable of permanent embodiment unless it was what he truly wanted. That doesn’t mean adjusting to it will be easy.”

“Like Takami says, the physical stuff is hard to explain,” Shinsou says. He grimaces. “But even just the rules of being human are a lot for them to figure out. They’ve been watching us all follow the rules, but they’ve never had to do it themselves, and they’re still them. They still don’t get a lot of the stuff we do. He’s gonna ask a lot of questions. And he’s gonna complain.”

“Magne had this thing about crosswalks,” Spinner says. “Also about clothes. She still has a thing about clothes. She thinks she can wear whatever she wants, wherever she wants, whenever she wants, as long as the important bits are covered up. I don’t really know how to explain that you just can’t do some stuff.”

You sort of like Magne’s don’t-give-a-fuck attitude about it, but you can see how it would cause trouble. “The more power they had before they embodied themselves, the less attentive they are to social norms or boundaries,” Aizawa says. “Behavior in public is something to be watchful of. A public indecency charge is not something you want to incur.”

He’s scowling in a way that says this piece of advice is coming out of personal experience. You can’t decide if you want to hear the full story or if you never want to think about it again. “I mean, I think you’ve done sort of a good job training him on this stuff already,” Keigo says. “He’s got some social skills.”

You feel like he might be giving Tomura a little too much credit. “Like three social skills.”

“That’s three more than Dabi’s got,” Spinner points out, which shouldn’t really make you feel better but does anyway. “I hung out with him more than anybody except her, and he’s not that bad. It’ll probably get harder once you two start going out in public, but he’s not starting at zero. He’s at like – level three.”

“One level for every social skill,” Shinsou says, and snickers. “Nice.”

“I think the larger problem is overstimulation,” Jin’s mom says, and it takes all your self-control not to start in with some really inappropriate thoughts. “However they’ve been perceiving through their senses when they’re embodied, it’s much more intense when the embodiment’s permanent – at least from what we saw with Himiko.”

“In general, they struggle with one sense more than the others,” Aizawa says. “For Eri it was taste.”

“Himiko, too,” Jin’s mom confirms. “That might have been what the biting was about. She also struggled with smell, which makes sense, since taste and smell are fairly connected. What about Magne, Spinner?”

“Sight for sure,” Spinner says. “Light sensitivity, color sensitivity, everything. She sees colors the rest of us don’t even know exist. It’s cool. But it sucked at first.”

“For Hizashi it was hearing,” Aizawa adds. “Ghosts are able to hear in multiple dimensions, and his hearing was particularly sensitive as a ghost. It took him two years to be able to go without noise-canceling headphones outside.”

You have a feeling you already know what Tomura’s oversensitivity is going to be. Given the number of contact allergies he’s already displayed and what he was like as a ghost, physical touch is going to be a big problem. It’s so daunting to think of that it pushes you into asking your first real question of the day. “How did you help them cope with it?”

“Patience,” Inko says.

You thought that was a given. “Time,” Jin’s mom adds.

“Space,” Aizawa says, and everyone nods. “Now, for the first few weeks –”

You knew helping Tomura adapt to being human wasn’t going to be easy, but as the ghost friends outline all the things you hadn’t even considered, you begin to grasp just how hard it’s going to be. Every last ghost did damage to their relationship with their human, or humans, while they were trying to adjust. Every human had more than a few moments of thinking how much easier it would have been for their ghost to stay a ghost. Even Hizashi and Mr. Yagi, who were the most intentional about their embodiments, had days where they made living with them feel impossible. You’re glad everyone is being honest with you, thankful that they aren’t sugarcoating it, but your stomach is tying itself in a knot.

Tomura’s embodiment wasn’t just an adjustment, it was a last resort to avoid being sucked back into the world between. And it almost didn’t work. If even the ghosts who wanted this were nightmares to live with at first, what’s going to happen with him? Nobody can answer that for you, or tell you how to cope with however many times Tomura will probably tell you that he wishes the two of you had never met. All they can tell you is the same three things: Patience, time, and space.

To be fair to the ghost friends, they highlight the fun stuff, too. Spinner talks about taking Magne to a museum for the first time, and to a mall. Jin and his family turned themselves into foodies so they could try everything alongside Himiko. Even before Shinsou and Eri were adopted, Shinsou taught himself to make candy apples, because Eri had seen them on TV and wanted to try them. Aizawa, looking as calm and reflective as you’ve ever seen him, talks about taking Hizashi to movies, to concerts, to the opera, and watching him hear things as they were meant to be heard for the first time. Inko, smiling broadly, tells you about when she was pregnant, and Mr. Yagi’s reaction the first time he put his hand on her stomach and felt Izuku kick.

“He looked like he’d seen a ghost,” she says, laughing. “He didn’t know babies did that.”

Keigo is laughing, too. You picture Mr. Yagi’s startled expression, the one you’ve seen so many times right before he starts coughing blood, and find it in yourself to smile. “They’re still themselves underneath it all,” Inko says. “Even if it takes time to see.”

It’s quiet for a moment. Most of the plates are empty, including yours. You’ve been eating steadily just to have something to do with your hands. “There’s one more thing,” Keigo says. “Stronger ghosts keep some of their powers when they embody permanently. According to Touya, Tomura kept a lot of his. He can still read auras, like they all can, but he can project a pretty strong aura all on his own. And he can still drain stuff, even if he can’t do anything with the life-force. So far it’s looking like he needs to touch something with all five fingers for it to happen, and since it’s not anything close to a natural human ability, he has to really want to destroy it. Just keep an eye on him if he starts to get mad.”

“Okay,” you say. “What else?”

“We’re happy for you,” Shinsou says, and Inko nods, smiling still. Everybody’s smiling, now that you notice it. “It’s a big thing. And it’s a good thing. Now you’re really part of the neighborhood.”

You could be. You can be, now that you and Tomura can both leave if you want to. For a moment, hope begins to tug at you – but then you remember what Keigo said, and what everybody else said about patience, space, and time. It’ll be a long time before the two of you can be part of anything. And probably a long time before the two of you are a two of you again, too. Aizawa’s phone buzzes, and he looks at it. “They’re finishing up over there. We should head back, too.”

He heads to the cash register to pay the bill, and the rest of you work on extricating yourselves from the booth. You wince as you stand up, feeling your stitches pull. Keigo notices. “How are you holding up?”

“I’ll live.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard with this stuff,” Keigo says. He gestures awkwardly at his broken arm with the other. “It’s a lot to bounce back from. I’m here when you need to talk. Like I have been.”

“Same here,” you say, and Keigo smiles. “And, um – thanks for taking over with the kids, during the fight. I had to try.”

“It was a pretty good try,” Keigo says magnanimously. “You ran a fire poker right through that guy’s chest. Remind me not to piss you off.”

“You know, I think your house is still the scariest house in the neighborhood,” Jin muses. “I figured Dabi’s house or Aizawa’s was going to take over, but nope. Tomura still has a bunch of his powers and you almost killed two guys. You’re the scariest for sure.”

The scariest house in the neighborhood, and now you’re part of the reason why it’s scary. The list of things that make you feel better these days is short and weird, and Jin’s statement  gets added almost instantly. “Thanks.”

You all carpooled in the Bubaigawara van, and Jin’s mom parks it in front of her own house, allowing everybody else to spill out onto the sidewalk. You and Keigo and Aizawa are last out, and as you get your feet under you, you notice a lot of ghosts milling around in front of your house. In front of it, not inside the fence. You make your way over, stumbling a little bit. “Did he kick you out?”

“Nah, we left. Figured he needed some processing time,” Hizashi says. He’s looking past you, at Aizawa. “Hey, what are you doing walking around? You’re supposed to rest your leg.”

Himiko skips up to you, towing Eri and Izuku after her. “It’s all fine,” she tells you, smiling. “He understands everything and we gave him some of everybody’s clothes until he can buy his own.”

“He looks even more like me now!” Eri is bouncing from foot to foot. “He’s going to come over to our house.”

“Oh.” You wonder if Tomura actually meant it, or if he just said it so she’d leave him alone. “That’s – nice.”

“You’re invited, too,” Eri assures you. Then she, like Hizashi, looks over your shoulder. “Dad! Hitoshi!”

Himiko peels off to meet Jin, leaving you with Izuku, who’s watching the house. “Tomura’s still really powerful,” he says. “Even when he’s human the aura is still there. Dad says he could probably take on a strong conjurer, even like this.”

“What else did your dad say?”

“That’s for you to ask Tomura yourself,” Mr. Yagi says, drawing up alongside Izuku. He smiles at you. “I’ve cleared your schedule next week. Let me know if you need more time.”

“And call if you need anything,” Inko reiterates. She takes Mr. Yagi’s hand and wraps an arm around Izuku’s shoulders. “Come over for dinner when you’re ready.”

“Yes!” Izuku looks way too happy at the thought. “I have lots of questions for both of you!”

You decide you’ll wait a while to take them up on that invitation, but they’re not the only ones who stop to talk to you specifically. Each of the ghosts stops by briefly, all of them reassuring you that Tomura’s fine. You’re not going to believe them until you see it for yourself.

Finally, Aizawa and Hizashi are all that’s left. Aizawa hands you a book – another one of his. You read the cover out loud and snicker. “What To Expect When Your Ghost Embodies Itself? Great title.”

“It’s a little boring,” Hizashi says, and you realize he doesn’t get the joke. Aizawa is smirking slightly. “Good stuff in there, though.”

“It covers everything we discussed earlier, and a little more,” Aizawa says. “Good luck.”

“You probably won’t be up to it, but come over later if you want,” Hizashi says. “That conjurer ruined our Halloween, so we’re throwing a make-up party at our place. Costumes mandatory.”

There’s no way you’re making it to that party. You thank them for the invitation anyway, tuck the book under your arm, and step through the front gate into your yard. Up the front steps, through the unlocked door, into the front hall. Some part of you is expecting Tomura to materialize in front of you, but he can’t do that anymore. “I’m home,” you call out, and Phantom comes scrabbling across the floor towards you, wagging her tail. You greet her, then pick her up. “Tomura?”

“In here.”

He’s home. Your heart leaps so hard and fast it seems a little ridiculous, and you hurry into the living room to see him. He’s there, sitting on his usual couch cushion, wearing some bizarre mix of clothing from every guy in the neighborhood, plus a pair of socks that could only have come from Himiko. The urge to launch yourself at him, to climb all over him like he’s done to you so many times and prove to yourself that he’s alive and he’s safe, is overpowering. But you remember what the others said. Patience, time, space. You don’t want to overwhelm him. You set Phantom down on the couch next to him and take a few steps back, keeping a respectful distance.

It’s quiet for a while. You break the silence. “How do you feel?”

He has the hood of his hoodie up, throwing his face into shadow. “Like shit.”

That’s about what you were expecting. You need more detail if you’re going to help, but you don’t want to push him. “Did everything go okay at the hospital?”

His shoulders lift, then fall. You see him grimace. “It was weird. All that stuff they did. The stupid paperwork is over there if you want to look at it.”

“Okay.” Before, when he wasn’t human, you’d have helped yourself. Now – “Do you want me to look at it?”

Another shrug. If he didn’t want you to, he’d say no, right? You pick the folder up off the coffee table and open it to the discharge summary, which is a mistake. The list of injuries Tomura came in with is staggering. Seeing this, you’re amazed they only kept him in for five days. “Well?” Tomura asks.

You set the folder down. “You healed up really fast.”

“There are things wrong with me,” Tomura says. One hand rises to scratch his neck. “My skin is messed up. I’m – allergic.”

“I have allergy medicine for stuff like that. And itch cream.”

“They gave me some.” Tomura still hasn’t taken down his hood. “What did the humans want?”

“They wanted to tell me how to help you adjust,” you say, and Tomura makes a derisive sound. Phantom stirs, whines, and noses closer to him. “What did the ghosts want with you?”

“To explain.” The derision is obvious in Tomura’s voice. “Like I’m stupid or something.”

“You aren’t. They don’t think that,” you say, only to realize that Tomura still probably knows what the other ghosts are thinking better than you do. “They probably don’t want you to make the same mistakes as they did. From what the humans were saying, they all made a lot of mistakes.”

“They almost scared their humans off.” Tomura’s voice goes weirdly flat. “I already did that.”

“What?”

“I didn’t know what I look like. When I saw the picture on the ID, that was the first time.” Tomura seems to sink further into his hoodie, and suddenly you understand why he hasn’t taken down the hood. “No wonder you didn’t want me embodied. You’d have to look at me all the time.”

“Tomura –”

“I just wanted to stay. I didn’t want to go back. I thought it would be the same, but it’s not,” Tomura says. There’s a weird strain in his voice now, one you’ve never heard from him but know intimately yourself. “There are things wrong with me. I’m ugly. You wanted me when I was a ghost and I was powerful, not when I’m human and weak. You won’t even come near me.”

“No,” you say, and Tomura scoffs. “No! When I was talking to the others, they said it’s hard to get used to a human body – stuff might be harder to cope with now that it’s permanent – they said I should give you time and space –”

“I didn’t do this so I could have time and space!” Tomura’s still got enough power to rattle the walls without raising his voice. “I did it so I could – so we –”

His voice breaks. Phantom edges closer to him and he shies away, both hands coming up to cover his face at odd angles. You stand there for a moment, paralyzed by the decision between everything the other ghost friends told you and what Tomura’s saying now, what he’s doing now. But in the end it’s not a decision at all. You hurry around the coffee table, move Phantom to the cushion at the far end of the couch, and sit down right next to Tomura, getting in his space without asking the same way he always does to you. You pry his hands away from his face one at a time, and he fights you. He’s fighting you with a fraction of his strength and you both know it. “Let go. I don’t want you. I don’t want your pity –”

“It’s not pity,” you say. He lets you have one of his hands and you immediately try for the other. “I don’t know what this is like for you. I’m trying to do the right thing, but I should have just asked you what you needed. I can do better.”

“You don’t want to. You don’t want this!” He pulls his hand free of yours to gesture at himself. “I know what you wanted. You wanted –”

“You.” You don’t even have to think before you answer. “I wanted you. I want you.”

He stares at you from between his fingers. You give up on trying to free his hands and press in close against his side. He startles at your touch, but doesn’t shy away. He smells like the hospital. His voice is quiet, shaky, strained. “You liked when I was cold.”

“It was nice. But I’ve got AC. And now I can hold you for as long as I want without getting frostbite.”

“You liked that I got rid of the bugs.”

“I’m still making you get rid of the bugs,” you say, and Tomura makes a sound that’s too watery to be laughter. “But I can get rid of my own, too. I had a whole plan for that hornets’ nest.”

“Your plan sucked.” It did sort of suck, looking back. Tomura’s voice is quieter when he speaks again. “You liked when I was stronger than you.”

“You’re still stronger than me.” You can feel it when you touch him, a faint thread of power vibrating just beneath his skin. “That’s not the important stuff.”

“What is?”

“Everything else,” you say. “You’re still you, Tomura. It might feel different to be in the world like this, but you’re still who you are. That’s who I want. Who I love.”

It’s quiet for a long time. “You liked the way I looked before.”

It’s a weird enough thing to say to startle a laugh out of you. “The way you look now is how you’ve always looked, Tomura. Your hair’s a different color, that’s all.”

“I always looked like this.” Tomura sounds skeptical. “You said I was pretty.”

“You are pretty.” You reach for the edges of his hood and his hands come up, grasping your wrists, holding you still. He holds you there for a few seconds, then lets go, and lets you pull down the hood.

It’s him. Those same features you saw outlined in steam in the bathroom, on your back porch with the ashes of a hornets’ nest at his feet. The same red eyes that have watched you for almost two years, that have catalogued every inch of you, that looked up into yours after the gateway to the world between slammed shut for the last time. You’ve seen all his expressions before, except this one: The way he looks when he’s been crying. As you watch, his pupils open and shut, and more tears slip down his cheeks.

You scramble to wipe them away, cradling his face in your hands. He flinches when your palm gently meets his cheek, and you draw back, only for him to catch your wrist and press your hand hard against his skin. That feels normal enough to make you smile. Tomura’s never been shy about pulling you around. “You’re pretty,” you say again. “You’ve never looked any different than this. I like it. I don’t care if you do. I don’t care about anything except that you’re home.”

“But –”

“The next words out of your mouth had better not be ‘Dabi said’.”

An aggrieved silence falls, and you find yourself struggling not to laugh. It feels normal. It feels like any weird little argument you and Tomura have had, except that he can’t dematerialize to teach you a lesson and you can’t end the fight just by stepping outside. “You love me,” Tomura ventures after a while. “Like this?”

“Don’t be stupid,” you say. “Of course I do.”

Tomura knocks you over a second later.

Cuddling on the couch is more complicated than it used to be, mainly because Tomura’s a long way from being used to what touch feels like in a truly human form and he can’t get comfortable the way he usually would. If he can barely stand to stretch out on top of you, there’s no way he can handle kissing, and you can tell that the overload of sensation doesn’t turn him on so much as it fries his brain. Not that that stops him from trying to kiss you more. “Take it easy,” you say. “You just got home. I don’t want to take you back to the hospital because you tried to kiss me and had a heart attack.”

“That doesn’t happen,” Tomura says with confidence. Then, as you watch, you see him start to doubt himself. Some how he’s less sure about humans now that he is one. “Does it?”

“It could.” You remember something from a few days ago about how too much exertion on not enough calories could damage Tomura’s heart, and he still feels way too thin. “Can you reach your discharge papers? I want to read them.”

He reaches out to grab them from the coffee table, but it’s ever so slightly too far away. Before he’d dematerialize one hand, snatch them, and bring them back. Now he just glares at them and keeps glaring – and as you watch in some mix of surprise and horror, the folder lifts from the table and drops to the ground next to the couch.

Tomura realizes you’re staring at him and smirks. “I never said all my powers were gone.”

Now that he’s realized you still love him, he’s cocky, but you’re not annoyed about it. You’re not going to forget what it was like when you got home, what it was like to see him cry, and you’re not dumb enough to think today will be the last time it comes up. Tomura flops down again, his head against your chest, and you pick up his discharge papers and flip through them. Sure enough, there’s one specific instruction highlighted and in bold type. “No intense physical activity until you’re cleared by a doctor,” you say. Tomura scowls. You keep reading. “Your follow-up’s in two weeks. It’s not that long.”

“Maybe if we go slow –”

“No.” You set the papers down and trace over one tendon in his neck, wincing as he twitches and writhes and digs his knees and elbows into every soft body part you possess. He’s lying on top of all your stitches, and it’s starting to hurt. “You can barely handle being touched at all right now. I’m not going to send you back to the hospital and I’m not going to melt your brain.”

“It’s my brain. I get to decide –”

“You don’t get to leave me,” you say, and Tomura looks up, startled. “Two weeks.”

Tomura studies you for a moment. Then he flops down again. “Fine. Two weeks. But then I get to – what happened? Why did you make that noise?”

You tried not to. Really. But one of the too-prominent points of Tomura’s ribcage just dug directly into one of your largest wounds, and you think you might have popped a stitch. Tomura sits up, pulls you with him, starts yanking at your shirt. “I want to see. Let me see –”

Your shirt turns to dust in an instant. You didn’t realize Tomura could do that to things that weren’t alive, and you sit there, bemused. Tomura is staring at you, eyes blazing with fury. “My marks,” he says, and you nod. It occurs to you that this is the first time he’s seen the extent of your injuries. “How did he take them out?”

“One at a time. With a knife.” You try to make light of it, try to sound like it isn’t haunting you, like waking up in a hospital bed after it was all over didn’t scare you so badly that you had to be sedated. “Not my best Monday ever.”

“Don’t joke about it.” Tomura’s voice is hard. “He hurt you so much you wanted to die. I should have killed him slower. It should have taken exactly as long as this did.”

You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to cover up the worst of the wounds. The doctors who treated you had decent poker faces, but since you’ve gotten home, you’ve gone out of your way to avoid getting a good look at what happened. Tomura’s expression as he looks at you tells you everything you need to know about how bad it is. “I haven’t even had them for a week yet,” you say. Your voice sounds thin. “They won’t look like this forever.”

Tomura’s jaw clenches. “I don’t care what they look like. I care that they hurt.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You sit there numbly and Tomura watches you, clearly thinking something over but not doing it, whatever it is. “I can’t,” he starts frustrated. “I can’t do the thing I want to do anymore. When I wasn’t materialized I could –”

He makes a gesture, and suddenly you understand what he means. You crawl forward across the couch into his arms, and he wraps himself around you. It’s not like it was before. He can’t enfold you completely like he used to, fitting like a second skin. But now you’ve got something solid to lean against, someone who’s warm like you are, someone who maybe understands how you feel about this whole thing. Tomura’s hugs were always a little awkward, even when he was fully materialized. He didn’t understand what was comfortable and what wasn’t, why you’d be at ease in one position but not in another, and he’d complain when you tried to adjust. Tomura’s not complaining now. He adjusts with you, and once you’re settled, you try not to move too much. It’s weird. But it’s the kind of weird you can get used to.

“You smell nice,” Tomura says after a little while. He unwraps one arm from around you and sniffs his own armpit. Then he makes a face. “I smell weird.”

“You smell like the hospital,” you say. “We can fix that. Want to shower?”

Tomura gives you a suspicious look. “I’m not allowed in the bathroom while you’re in there.”

“That was before.” You think over the events of the last week. He’s already seen you naked. The two of you have had sex. He’s your boyfriend, and he’s human. Whatever objections you had, they aren’t valid anymore. “The rules still apply if either of us is using the toilet, but we can shower together. If you want. Do you want to?”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says, which means yes. “I thought you’d never let me.”

There are a lot of things you thought would never happen, and a lot of them happened in the last week. You pull yourself out of Tomura’s arms reluctantly and lead him up the stairs.

You check over your wound care instructions and Tomura’s as he gets undressed. Everything looks about the same for both of you. You also take the opportunity to go over the list of known allergens the doctors gave you yesterday. Almost all your soaps and shower products meet the criteria already – low to no scent, hypoallergenic, no harsh chemicals. You set out an extra towel and an extra sponge and lay down a bath mat, then turn on the water.

Since you met Tomura you’ve been taking hot showers, but they can be hard on skin, and you don’t want Tomura to faint. You opt for warm water instead, take off your own clothes, and inspect your stitches for a moment before stepping into the shower. The spot Tomura elbowed by accident looks unhappy, but the coarse black stitches haven’t come undone. Seeing them makes you feel sick. You look away and step into the shower, leaving the door cracked for Tomura to follow you in.

There’s room for both of you inside, but it’s a close fit. You have a feeling that you and Tomura will be having a discussion about the impracticality of shower sex at some point in the future, but that’s not for today. You switch positions carefully with Tomura so that he’s under the majority of the spray and watch him startle as it patters against his skin. You wonder what he’s thinking.

You’ve spent a lot of time wondering what Tomura’s thinking since you met him, but it occurs to you that you can ask. “What’s going on up there?”

“It’s – so much. Loud. But not loud. It feels like – a lot.” Tomura’s hair is plastered to his face from the water. He pushes it out of his eyes. “I’m fine. I don’t want to get out.”

“We won’t get out,” you promise. “Take the time you need.”

He twists this way and that under the spray, working on getting used to it. He’s got stitches, too, all of them taken with the same coarse thread as yours. “Now what?”

You pick up a bottle of shampoo. The mild kind. “Put this in your hair and sort of scrub it around, then rinse it out,” you explain. Tomura brushes his hair out of his eyes again, looking vaguely skeptical. “Or I can do it for you.”

“You.”

You should have known he’d answer like that. He’s got enough of a height advantage on you that you’re going to need him to sit down for this to work, and there are an awkward few minutes while the two of you get settled. You lean back against the wall, and Tomura leans back against your chest, head tipped forward. “Make sure you close your eyes,” you say. “This will sting if it gets in them.”

Tomura nods without looking up. You pour some shampoo into your hand and get to work.

His hair is tangled, like always. Worse than always, because he’s been materialized this entire time, and he hasn’t brushed it at all. You forget about washing his hair for a second in favor of detangling it, and Tomura slumps back against you. “You’re still doing that now that I’m here all the time? I thought you’d stop.”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” Tomura says quickly. You return your attention to the knot you’re working through. “I thought it was just because I was a ghost.”

Huh. “What other things do you think I was only doing because you were a ghost?”

The answer, it turns out, is a lot of things. If Tomura had asked any of the other ghosts about them, he wouldn’t have had to worry, but they probably would have told him not to be stupid, which is probably why he didn’t ask. No wonder he was upset when you got back, if he thought he was losing so many things – sleeping on top of you, sitting on your lap, having his hair played with, being held. He names gesture after gesture as you untangle his hair, and you reassure him about each one.

Once you’ve worked through all the knots, you move on to washing Tomura’s hair in earnest. You don’t think you’re doing a very good job, but when your fingers slow their progress, Tomura complains in a voice that sounds distinctly sleepy. “Don’t. It’s nice.”

You add conditioner, too. Tomura probably won’t bother with it in the future, but you might as well give him soft hair while you can get away with it. Then you shake him out of relaxation and help him to his feet to wash off. He’s sort of floppy when he’s tired, and although you can already tell that it’ll annoy you sometimes, right now it’s just cute. There’s no way you’re telling him he’s cute. You hand him a sponge and some soap and put him in charge of washing his front. You’ll take care of his back.

The fight left Tomura beaten up all over, but his back took a lot of damage while he was caught between the living world and the world between, and it’s where the majority of his stitches are. Even looking at them upsets you. You can’t help but think that if you’d been faster to get to him, if you’d been stronger, if you’d called the others to help you instead of waiting for them to come on their own, he wouldn’t have spent so long trapped between worlds. He wouldn’t have been hurt like this. But that’s only the last set of mistakes you made. If you’d killed his conjurer like you meant to, he’d still be a ghost, and there’d be no marks on him at all.

“Hey.” Tomura glances over his shoulder at you, and you realize that your hands have gone still. You duck closer, hiding your face, and go back to washing, but Tomura’s not fooled. You keep forgetting, somehow, that he knows you as well as you know him. “Don’t make that face. You’re just a human. What were you supposed to do?”

“Kill him.” Your voice wavers. “So you could be human because you wanted to. Not because you didn’t have a choice.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says. He turns to face you, and when you don’t look up, his hand rises to hold your jaw and tilt it upward. “If I was just doing it to avoid going back, it wouldn’t have worked. I wanted to be like this.”

You know that, but – “I wish I hadn’t let you get hurt.”

“Yeah, and I wish I hadn’t let my conjurer torture you.” Tomura gives you a few seconds of protesting that characterization of events before he springs his trap. “See how dumb it sounds when I say it? It sounds dumber from you, since you’re the human and it wasn’t even your job. You told me the stupid plan the others had. You were never supposed to do it.”

He pauses for a moment. “I guess it would have worked if I’d been materialized, though. Dabi saw you stab him. He said it was kind of hot.”

Your mind goes sort of blank at the sheer weirdness of that statement. “And he’s still alive because?”

“I can kill him whenever I want to,” Tomura says. He turns away again, and you go back to washing off the unstitched parts of his skin, shaking your head in bemusement. “I bet it was really hot.”

Tomura thinks the fact that you ran his conjurer through with a fire poker is hot. That’s probably a good thing, because you’re not sorry you did it. You rest your forehead against the back of his neck for a second, resisting the urge to kiss him, and note that his pale skin is turning pink and flushed from the water. The water’s not that warm. You should probably get him out of here sooner rather than later. Inko warned you that newly embodied ghosts aren’t aware of the physical sensations that proceed things like throwing up or passing out, and you’d really prefer for Tomura not to faint in here.

Tomura complains about having to get out, but you remind him that showering is something humans have to do regularly and shoo him out anyway. You stay in a little longer to wash up, then step out into a mildly steamy bathroom. For a moment you’re cast back into the memory of the first time you saw Tomura face to face – in this bathroom, outlined by the steam, looking you up and down with a smile you couldn’t identify as creepy or not. Thinking about it now, you know it wasn’t creepy. He was proud of himself for figuring out how to make himself visible, proud that you could see him at last. Standing here more than a year later, it’s hard to believe how much has changed.

There are puddles of water down the hall on the way to the bedroom, evidence that while Tomura’s figured out showering, he hasn’t figured out drying off. When you step into your room, you find more evidence in the form of a pile of wet clothes discarded on the ground. Jin’s mom said that the ghosts have to learn by experience sometimes. You glance towards the bed and find Tomura sitting on it, dressed in a pair of pink sweatpants of unknown provenance and – “Um, is that my shirt?”

“Yeah.” Tomura gives you that dumbest-person-ever look. You’re not thrilled to see that it’s survived his embodiment. “It was right there. It fits.”

You buy your pajama shirts almost comically oversized, and Tomura’s not all that much taller than you. Something that’s huge on you is still pretty big on him. It fits, but it’s the principle of the thing. “Didn’t the others give you clothes?”

“Yeah. They didn’t smell right.” Tomura pulls the collar of the shirt up over his nose and mouth and breathes in. “This one smells like you.”

You were never into stealing your boyfriend’s hoodies, back when you had human boyfriends. You don’t love wearing other people’s clothes. But apparently there has to be at least one clothing thief in every relationship, and Tomura’s taken over the role. Tomura yawns so widely that his jaw pops, then recoils. “What was that? Why did I do that?”

“That’s a yawn. You’re tired.” You were thinking about street clothes, but just like you did the last time you and Tomura were in this room together, you opt for pajamas instead. “I could go for a nap, too.”

You climb into bed on your usual side, leaving the door cracked open for Phantom in case she comes up, and Tomura gets awkwardly into bed on the other side. “How do I do it?”

“Do what?”

“Sleep.”

Right – he’s spent the last week either in an induced coma or heavily sedated. He hasn’t had the chance yet to fall asleep naturally. “Get comfortable,” you say, and Tomura, semi-predictably, abandons his side of the bed in favor of getting in your personal space. “Now close your eyes. You’re tired, so I bet your eyelids feel kind of heavy, right? Let them close. Think about stuff if you want to think about it, or don’t think about anything. It’ll happen on its own.”

“That sounds too easy,” Tomura mumbles, half-asleep already. “Sometimes it takes you forever.”

“Sometimes it’s harder than others,” you admit. “It’s pretty easy right now. Just relax.”

Tomura mumbles something else, but you can feel the tension leaving his body, until he’s relaxed save for the icy thread of ghostly power running through him. It’s faint, but you have the sense that that’s illusory, at least a little bit. Tomura might be permanently embodied now, but he’s the most powerful of the embodied ghosts, and probably still the least human. He can’t dematerialize anymore and he needs to eat and sleep, but it feels likely that the effect of his powers on your daily life won’t change too much.

But you can figure that out later. Right now he’s asleep next to you, his red eyes closed, his lips parted slightly, warm and breathing and undeniably alive. The same kind of alive as you are, finally. For good.

You shift a little closer to him, and his arm wraps around you tightly. That’s fine with you. You close your eyes and fall asleep almost as fast as he did.

When you wake up, it’s to the sound of your phone buzzing, startling you out of a nightmare. You have all kinds of material for nightmares now, and your subconscious has been mixing and matching it in increasingly horrible combinations for the last few nights – or afternoons, since you can tell by the light coming through the window that sunset is a ways off. You reach for your phone, desperate for a distraction, and Tomura’s arms tighten around you. He sounds like he’s mostly asleep when he speaks. “No.”

“I’m not leaving,” you say. You get ahold of your phone and flip it to silent before reading the texts. They’re from Shinsou.

Shinsou: are u guys coming or not

Shinsou: everybody else is

Shinsou: Eri says you have to or she’ll cry

Shinsou: she says Tomura promised

She mentioned something about that earlier. You shake Tomura’s shoulder. “Did you promise Eri you’d come to the party?”

“No.” There’s a pause. “She wouldn’t leave until I said yes.”

Great. “How much do you care about making her cry?”

“I don’t care,” Tomura mumbles. You wait. “She backed me up in the fight. I owe her.”

“So we have to go,” you realize. The idea is less upsetting to you now than it was when you first heard about it, namely because you just had a nightmare and you don’t want to go back to bed. You text Shinsou back. Your dad said it’s a costume party. Do we have to have costumes?

Yeah. Shinsou sends a shrugging emoji. Not serious ones. One of my dads is going all out and the other one just has cat ears on.

Aizawa can get away with just cat ears – he’s the one hosting the party. You and Tomura are going to have to come up with something a little better. Shinsou texts again. It starts in an hour. Be there. You really don’t want Eri to cry.

You’d feel really bad making Eri cry, especially now that you remember her helping Tomura during the fight – and saving your life just beforehand. You start to sit up, and Tomura drags you back down. “No. I like sleeping. I want to sleep.”

“Humans sleep every night,” you remind him. “You can go back to sleep later. Right now we have to go to a party.”

It takes a while to drag Tomura out of bed – twenty minutes at least, leaving you with forty minutes to come up with some kind of costume. You get in your own way a little bit when you realize how cute Tomura looks with bedhead, then order yourself to pull it together. Tomura can’t shadow you as closely as he did when he could dematerialize, but he still gives it his best shot, and you two end up colliding and tripping on each other – and on Phantom – way more than is actually necessary. After ransacking your house for costume ideas and coming up with nothing, you finally turn to Google for help.

Tomura reads over your shoulder. “These are dumb. I thought Halloween was supposed to be scary.”

“It is,” you say. You decide to get into the part of Halloween that’s supposed to be sexy later – later, as in next year. Or never. “This is the wrong neighborhood for scary, though. No matter what I dress up as, I won’t be scarier than everybody else who lives here.”

And that’s when it clicks for you, oddly enough – it clicks, and you can’t help but laugh. The perfect low-effort Halloween costume. How did you not think of it before? Tomura eyes you suspiciously. “Why are you laughing?”

“I have an idea. It might get us kicked out.”

“If we get kicked out, we can come back and go to sleep again,” Tomura says. Introducing Tomura to the concept of naptime may have been a mistake. “What is it?”

You head for the stairs, and the linen closet. “You’ll see.”

It takes you approximately two seconds to assemble the first costume, and once you do, you show Tomura. It occurs to you way too late that he might think it’s offensive. But once he realizes what you are, he cracks up laughing – then wincing, as the laughter strains the stitches on his back. “They’re going to hate it,” he says. “I bet they won’t even let us in.”

“If they don’t let us in, then we get to go home right away.” You gesture at the linen closet. “Pick your poison.”

It takes you a few more minutes to leave, mostly because Tomura insists on bringing Phantom, and Phantom needs a costume, too. She’s a lot less into her costume than you and Tomura are. She keeps wiggling out of it, and while Tomura tries to lure her back under the sheet, you peer out the front window. The street still looks like hell. Everybody’s houses are still at least partially wrecked. If you drove past this neighborhood, not knowing anything about who lives here and why this happened, you’d avoid it like the plague.

You watch as Keigo and Dabi and Natsu leave their house. Natsu looks like he’s wearing normal clothes, but Keigo has a fake halo and Dabi has a pair of devil horns on. It occurs to you that Dabi might be the only other person in the neighborhood who thinks your costume is funny.

“I got her to wear it,” Tomura says, and you turn to look. There’s Phantom, wearing a flower-patterned pillowcase with holes cut out for her ears, eyes, and nose – and there’s Tomura, wearing a grey sheet over her head with holes cut out so he can see. “I think she’s mad at me.”

“She’s not mad,” you say. You’re pretty sure she’ll forgive you both when she realizes you’re headed over to Aizawa’s house. Shinsou is probably her favorite person other than Tomura. “You look pretty.”

Tomura gives you a once-over. Your sheet is lavender, and you accessorized with a pair of reading glasses you accidentally stole from Mr. Yagi’s office and never gave back. “Cute,” he decides. “The sooner they kick us out, the sooner we can come back.”

He heads for the door, opens it, and steps outside. You gather up Phantom’s leash and follow him onto the porch. When you turn to lock the door, Tomura stops you. His eyes crinkle at the corners, the way they do when he’s smiling creepily on purpose. “Don’t bother,” he says. “This neighborhood is still mine.”

“I’ll take your word for it.” You tuck your keys back into your pocket and make your way down the front steps, to the front gate, and out onto the sidewalk. It’s not until you hear the gate’s hinges creak open again that you realize Tomura hasn’t followed you. You turn back. “Tomura?”

Tomura’s hesitating on the far side of the property line. You can’t figure out why. He’s left before. He was away from the house for five days – but not by choice. The ambulance took him away and the other ghosts brought him back, but in all the time since he was summoned, Tomura’s never left the property of his own free will. You hold out the hand that isn’t grasping Phantom’s leash, and he comes closer to take it. His hand is warm.

Warm, and a little sweaty. He’s nervous. “We don’t have to go to this thing,” you tell him. “You just got home today. It’s a lot. If you’d rather stay home, we can.”

“You want to go.”

“I think it might be fun.” Mostly you want to see what Hizashi does when you roll up to his party dressed like the world’s most stereotypical, low-budget ghost. “But I still like it’s best when it’s just us. If you don’t want to go, we won’t. I’m not leaving you.”

“Because you love me,” Tomura says, almost hesitantly. You nod. “I love you, too.”

It’s a good thing you’ve got the sheet on. You’re not sure you want Tomura to see the goofy smile you’re wearing. Tomura raises his free hand and touches your mouth through the sheet, feeling along the curve of it until you dare to kiss the tips of his fingers. He startles, and you remember the touch sensitivity. It’s fine when he’s the one initiating contact, since he’s the one who decides what he can handle, but you need to be careful. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Tomura says. He kisses you.

It’s not a great kiss, given that there are two layers of cotton between your mouth and his, but you’ll take it. You’ve always been willing to take what you can get from Tomura, and you’ve gotten more than you ever expected. It came at a price, sure. You’ll be paying that price in one way and another for the rest of your life, but it’s worth it. It would be worth it if Tomura never crossed the property line again.

But Tomura draws away from you without letting go of your hand and steps forward. You step back to give him space, and watch as he sets one foot over the line and onto the sidewalk, and then the other. And all at once, for the first time in a hundred and ten years, there’s nothing wrong with your house at all.

The End

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