#i put so much work into this stuff and i feel like it goes nowhere.

[artoutforblood]

I sometimes feel the urge to fall from grace and become Shang Qinghua when I see everyone gobbling up the gratuitous “feeding the fandom” fics that take me not long to write and when I put my whole pussy into some fuckton long multichapter fic that has my heart put into it and get little to nothing in return. It’s, frankly, discouraging.

#does this make me a terrible person? #that I want some sort of response??? #Like. I made FUCKING MUSIC. #I MADE TWO SONGS. AND LINKED THAT SHIT. IN THE FIC. #and I have one very lovely comment to show for it and a few kudos and not many listens #a handful for the first one then. three. for the second one. #maybe im just that fucking bad at what i do idk #excuse me ranting this is my blog and i feel frustrated #and a little violent. #bonesspeaks #and pictures. whole ass illustrations. #i put so much work into this stuff and i feel like it goes nowhere. #that im bad at what i do no matter how hard i do it

[the-casbah-way]

very impossible to find the balance between "i want my friends to be able to talk to me about their problems and tell me when they're struggling" and "i am extremely emotionally fragile at the moment because i'm doing very badly and talking about very heavy topics especially with no warning is not something i feel capable of dealing with right now because i'm on the verge of a violent mental breakdown"

#i guess i need to find a way of telling people that i'm in that headspace in the first place #because i probably seem completely fine #but i can't tell people those things unless they explicitly invite me to do so first #so i'm assuming everyone just looks at me and goes yeah you seem fine so i can unload all this heavy stuff on you and you'll be able to cop #but unfortunately. i cannot and i feel guilty about it #but i already have way more bad days than good and when i have to hear people talking about like #very intense personal trauma and suicide and shit #it throws me off for the rest of the day and i go nonverbal until i can go straight home and sob until i fall asleep #and that is not an exaggeration it keeps happening to me with multiple different people #i don't want anyone to feel like they have to pretend around me in any way #but i also don't know how to cope with hearing intense things like this when i'm on a knife's edge mentally all the time #and i cannot afford to keep cutting my days so much shorter when i should be working #and also like when people DO talk to me about these things it's like #it's good they can get it off their chest #but now i'm holding onto all of the stuff they've just told me as well as the stuff i was already secretly holding onto about my own life #and now i have to go home alone with nowhere to put any of it because i don't have anyone to talk to #i've had people tell me this is therapeutic to talk about this stuff #but it's not for me because i'm not talking i'm just listening and then being overwhelmed and triggered and upset about it all #and most of it probably boils down to the fact that i cannot express my own feelings or tell people my boundaries #in situations this sensitive because it's so like. precarious and awkward #but i'm like i can't deal with it all the time it's too much

[riseatlantisss]

The end we start from

Pairing : Astarion x female!reader/Tav Around 1,8 words Takes place after the events in Cazador's palace in act 3 (non-ascended Astarion, established relationship) Angst with a happy ending (and loooots of sex) <3

Astarion doesn’t feel good enough. you show him he’s everything.

TW : 18+ MDNI, unprotected sex, very angry/angsty/rough sex, fingering, mature language, mentions of death and depression, mentions of blood

A/N : when i don’t work, i do two things: i take care of my dog and i play BG3. i don’t eat. i don’t sleep. i don’t socialize. i just play BG3. and I write stuff about *him*.

Astarion is many things. Quiet is not one of them. But lately, that’s all he’s been, and you’ve been worrying about him night and day. Tonight is no exception. You wake up in the middle of the night and realize two things : not only is Astarion’s side of the bed empty but the sheets and pillows are untouched, uncrumpled. His side hasn’t been slept in. This isn’t right. Of course, he doesn’t really need to sleep but he always, always lays next to you at night, spooning you, playing with your hair and whispering sweet I love yous in your ear until you fall asleep. His absence means something’s off. Unable to shake off the anxiety, you get up in one swift motion, determined to find him. No chance you’re falling back asleep now anyway.

Your bare feet hit the cold marble floor and you shiver as you make your way accros the bedroom in a hurry. You think of searching outside in case he went for a hunt, but it turns out you don’t have to look too far. There he is, silently leaning against the wall by the window, gazing into the pitch-black night of the Underdark. The light in the room is so dim that you couldn’t even spot him from your bed. You approach him and your heart breaks a little when you notice the lingering sadness in his crimson eyes, enhanced by the faint light of the burning candles next to him.

You want to ask him if he’s ok but it’s obvious he’s not so instead, you remain silent and close the space between the two of you, wrapping your arms around him and gently resting your head on his shoulder.

“What are you thinking about?” You ask softly after a while, your voice barely above a whisper.

Astarion averts his gaze and gives you a faint smile, nothing but a twist of lips.

“Nothing,” he replies. “I’m just being selfish, as usual. Forgive me, y/n.”

You frown and stare at him incredulously. “You’re not selfish,” you say, surprised at how intensely he means it. “Why would you even say that?”

“I –” He pauses, rethinks his words. This does nothing to make you less worried. “I caused you great pain,” he finally says. “I put you in danger. Repeatedly, ever since we met. You could have died a hundred times and it would have been my own, entire fault.”

You look up to him and feel a lump form in your throat. You have never seen him look like this – grief in his eyes and etched into the lines of his face.

“I’m not dead, Astarion. I’m right here with you.” You say as you wrap your arms around his neck. He makes a sound somewhere near a sob and your arms tighten.

“But I did put you in danger and now you’re stuck with me for eternity, in the middle of nowhere, and you—" Again, he stops. He’s bad at this, at talking about emotions. But he fights through it because it’s you. And nothing can be left unsaid between the two of you. Not after everything that’s happened. “You deserve so much better. You deserve the world, and I can’t give it to you.” You’re not sure where this conversation is going but you don't want to find out. His lower lip quiver but he goes on, words spilling out of him like blood from a wound. “I can’t give it to you, and I’ll never be able to forgive myself for it. It’s killing me all over again.” You crumble under each one of his words. His lips are trembling now and you can’t stand it. You can’t but you can’t do him the dishonor of looking away either.

“Astarion, I chose this life.” Your hands flutter to his face, each one cupping a cold cheek, forcing him to look at you. Your heart is pounding, and you know he can feel it. “I had a choice; I could stay, or I could run, and I chose you. I’m not stuck here. I’m home.”

Astarion heaves a faltering breath in an attempt at composure. “Sometimes I think you would be happier without me. Better off.” He barely mouths the words, but you hear them all distinctively, nonetheless. “You should go and leave me here. Walk in the sun. Be happy and live your life.” You draw your hands away from his face and he steps back, speaking louder now.

“It won’t get any better in here,” he continues, gesturing urgently around the room. “It’ll always be cold and dark, I’ll always be a blood-thirsty monster. I belong to the shadows, and I’ll never be able to make you happy, so you might as well just leave.”

His words knock the air out of your lungs and, for a moment, you cannot breathe. You feel your pulse pounding in your veins and blood thrumming under your skin as your heartbreak turns into anger. That fucking idiot, you think, looking up at him through eyes blurred with tears.

“You don’t know what makes me happy. You don’t,” you shout, surprised by the vehemence in your voice. "And you certainly don't get to speak for me." Astarion looks at you in such confusion that you almost feel bad for a moment, but you continue.

“You – you make me happy, Astarion, gods you do. I would rather live an eternity in the Underdark with you than one more day in the fucking sun.” Your heart is clenching in your chest, and you can feel the heat pooling in your cheeks. “By no means would I be better off, let alone happier, without you. I can’t believe that you could even think –” You trail off and sigh in frustration. You can’t bring yourself to scream at him any longer because that’s all he’s ever known before you, screams and shouts and abuse, and you can’t do this to him. But that doesn’t leave you with many options to get through to him. Astarion opens his mouth to say something, but you don’t let him.

Without warning you grab his shirt to pull him close and your lips crash into his, knocking the breath out of both of you with the force that you collide with. It only fuels your rage because the moment his lips are on yours, you can’t help thinking that you almost lost this once and you can’t actually lose it. You won’t let that happen. So you kiss him harder. It’s rough and desperate and sloppy. It's harsh breath and biting teeth.

He turns you around and backs you against the wall. You take it rather hard, but you welcome the sting. Anything to shut him up about not being good enough for you. He crowds in closer, presses you even harder against the wall, shoving his knee between your thighs. His cold lips connect to your throat, making you eagerly tilt your head to give him access to your thrumming pulse dancing at your neck. You have absolutely no qualms about it. If he wants it, it’s his.

But he doesn’t take it. Instead, his mouth sucks and licks, making you squirm and rock your hips against him. You cling to him, grabbing his shoulders and sliding your hands down his shirt and to his back. He hoists you up like you weighed nothing and you wrap both legs around his waist. You tangle your hands in his curly silver hair and pull him forward to feel that mouth on yours again. His tongue running over your lip makes you grind faster, searching for more, more, more. You moan when his hand reaches beneath your gown and through your damp underwear.

Firm, icy fingers are stroking you into madness. You make a sound that’s close to a whimper, but more like a groan, because damn it, you are so impatient now. You are clenching – aching to have him inside.

He is gasping at the feeling of your fluttering around him, and you must be gasping too, but you’re not sure; your head falls back and it feels like you’re breathing, but you could just as well be drowning.

You dig your nails hard into his back - you need to channel the anger into something. Maybe you’ll be the one drawing blood this time. You lean forward to rest your dizzy head on his shoulder and groan in anticipation. Not wasting anymore time, he pushes his hard, large cock into you, going steadily until he’s all the way in.

“Harder. Fuck me harder.” You plead and he obeys.

He sets a pace that graces all the right spots, spurred on the increasingly desperate noises escaping your mouth. This is no effort at all for him, holding you up easily and fucking you hard with determination. But you can see it when you rest your forehead against his – the sheer weakness you feel is reflected right back at you and you know he needs this just as much as you do.

You are so close. You need to concentrate on breathing, just so you simply don’t die. Your lower back thuds against the wardrobe with your oh gods and fucks singing in tandem. The vampire trails open-mouthed kisses and little bites down your neck while maintaining the almost vicious pace in and out of you. Every stroke curls and loves and breaks you into submission. You forget to be angry because your release is in his hands and your body is desperately handing itself over to him.

Your thighs start to quiver around him, the sounds of wetness and the feeling of his own explosion of pleasure deep inside you taking you so high that eventually, you shatter into him. You’re so grateful for the strength holding you up, so you can fall apart.

Your repeatedly moan his name on your way back to consciousness, lips brushing softly against his pale skin.

Before you know what is happening, you break into a sob.

“Please…. Please don’t ever tell me to leave, ever again.” You try to articulate, your voice shaking uncontrollably.

He sinks down onto his knees, holding you in his lap and whispering, “Shh,” into your ear.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, his voice is low and full of gravel. He never sounded so sweet. “I love you, always have and always will. And you’re not going anywhere.”

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion baldurs gate #astarion bg3 #astarion x tav #astarion x reader #astarion x oc #astarion fanfic #astarion imagine #astarion x female reader #astarion fluff #astarion smut #bg3 fanfiction #baldur's gate 3 fanfiction #bg3 smut #baldur's gate iii #astarion x you #larian studios #neil newbon #baldur's gate #bg3 fluff #astarion ancunin #astarion angst #bg3 tav #bg3 spoilers #astarion x y/n #astarion fic

[jade-jini]

yunjin is the only thing i can honestly think off 😭 also i’d love to see how y/n and loser g!p yunjin got together 🤭

(Look at this cute thing, I’m weak for her)

WELL OFC DEAR ANON lol. So continuing with how our loser g!p Yunjin and reader became all lovey dovey (sorry if it’s too long and if it took too long 😭) THIS IS ALL FLUFF.

As I mentioned, you guys are in the same program so you see her during class and often around campus, mostly just exchanging a few hi’s and comments about class stuff but it never became more than those short conversations. Yunjin can be a very outgoing loser, with her silly jokes and cute pickup lines and constant compliments. She was a sweet girl! Just didn’t feel brave enough to make a more bold move just yet:(. Sakura would always be like “NEVER BACK DOWN NEVER WHAT?!” And she’d be like “NEVER GIVE UP!” But then when she has the chance to turn her flirt into something else she panics and goes🧍🏻‍♀️

She was getting brave tho, she really was! Until that stupid jock mf had to ruin all the confidence she (and Sakura) has been working so hard to build. This guy was into you. At first he really thought Yunjin didn’t have a chance because how could a loser have one? but then he noticed how you’d giggle like an idiot with Yunjin and his brain went “danger 😐” so like a fvckin asshole the only thing he thought was to make Yunjin afraid to make any move at all, hurting her self esteem.

It was during a morning that she hadn’t see you around yet. She always looks forward to the classes you shared, and when she didn’t see you in your seat as always, she was so confused ‘cause you tended to be on time. She still had hopes that you’d eventually show up. However, her confusion turned into disappointment and sadness when half the class passed and you were nowhere to be found. Yunjin knew she was being dramatic but c’mon! Seeing you is her favorite part of the day :( she spent the rest of the class resting her chin on her books with a pout. Eunchae saw her friend and thought she looked like a sad puppy, she thought it was cute and funny but also had sympathy for her friend. During the little break they had before their next class that was in the same room, she tapped Sakura’s shoulder to get her attention.

“Yunjin unnie looks like a lost puppy when y/n is not around I swear” she told her while trying not to laugh. The eldest turned her head to her red hair friend and sighed with a smile as she shook her head.

“She kinda is if you think about it, I guess” she told the youngest, who couldn’t contain a laugh from escaping her lips. This caused Yunjin to look up to her friends with a frown.

“It’s not fair, why isn’t she here?!” Yunjin started, fixing her posture “Y/n doesn’t tend to miss class, and if she didn’t come to this one she might as well just miss the rest of the day and the classes we have together… ” she complained with a cute pout, but unfortunately somebody heard their conversation.

“Like you would know, wouldn’t you creep?” The guy said, while looking at the girl with a sarcastic smile (Idk bro picture a kpop boi here if you want ig-). “God you spy on her so much you know her schedule? AND you wanna talk like you’re close with her and know what she would do. You’re such a weirdo, that’s exactly why she wouldn’t look at you, you know?” He said with that disgusting mean tone, like he himself knew you any better.

Yunjin was surprised, she knew this guy and knew he wasn’t friendly specially with well, people who didn’t share his exact interest (aka if you’re a nerd), but she wasn’t expecting him to talk to her at all let alone insult her like that, I mean she has gotten kinda bullied before when she was younger but she has done her best to either ignore these people or to defend herself, to which her friends helped a lot.

“And who the fuck are you to talk to her like that?-” Eunchae started but Sakura stopped her grabbing her arm, making sure the girl didn’t start any trouble. The man just put his hands up and laughed.

“I’m just saying, y/n is way out of your league bro, you’re embarrassing yourself and most likely making her feel uncomfortable. Do you enjoy doing that?”

“I would never do that!” Yunjin was offended, she didn’t have any bad intentions with you. Did she cross any boundary? You would tell her though right? You looked like somebody who knew how to speak for yourself well enough, she’s seen it. “I’d never do that intentionally, and I’m sure she would tell me. So far she hasn’t shown any discomfort in any moment we’ve talked.” she said trying to sound a little more confident, mostly to also convince herself you actually didn’t dislike her.

“she’s just too nice to let you know!” He answered as if it was the most obvious fact in the world. “And who knows, maybe she laughs behind your back at your behavior and that’s why she keeps you close.” He finished before walking out of the room, not letting any of the girls talk back (Lord and Sakura know Eunchae was ready to curse Tf outta him) and leaving a mess in Yunjin’s head, filling it with a lot of insecurities and doubts. Girlie was gonna be overthinking about you all day and not in the sweet cheesy way she always does :(

“What. An. Asshole!” Eunchae exclaimed, getting a scold from kkura for the language “no I’m serious what’s wrong with him?? Who does he think he is?! Asshole…”

“Hong Eunchae!” Sakura said in a serious tone, making the girl simply huff and sit down with crossed arms and a pout (Manchae my kid). “Yunjini? Are you ok?” She asked in a softer tone while sitting in her chair next to her friend, who had such a sad and pensive expression “don’t pay no mind to that guy, he doesn’t know you and I seriously doubt he knows y/n.”

“Yeah exactly!” The youngest said “he’s probably just jealous that you always make y/n laugh.”

“Yeah but is it a ‘you’re so funny I’m enjoying this’ laugh or a ‘you’re pathetic and embarrassing’ laugh? Now I don’t know…”

“She’s not a bad person, unnie. You wouldn’t like her if she was, right? But if you’re feeling insecure, let’s see her behavior carefully and maybe we’ll be able to tell.”

the tall girl sighed, resting her head on her books again. Eunchae and Sakura just looked at each other (the oldest patting her friend’s head), not sure how else to comfort their friend, but hoping next time she sees you something good happens and you somehow get those thoughts out of her head.

——

Meanwhile, you decided to miss a class and went to this store you found online where they sell different types of merch about video games, animes, stuff like that, to buy some cool genshin impact photocards you saw online. You knew two things; 1. Yunjin liked that game a lot, and 2. She was probably not gonna make a move to get closer any time soon lol so you decided to give the game a try, and liked it a lot! And now you’re gonna buy some photocards for her as well as a way of making more conversation and getting closer.

Once you got them, you quickly put a Genshin Yunjin one on your phone case (some selfies for social media Ofc) and decided to finally go to class, excited to show this girl that you were basically crushing on the gift you got for her.

Your second class of the day was luckily one with Yunjin, so you were hoping to make it on time to talk with her a little bit before it started, and so you did! But weirdly, you caught the girl on her seat, very quiet while the friends of her who also shared this class seemed a little worried and empathetic with whatever was going on with the red hair girl. You took your seat close to them and waved hi to her friend, whose name if you remember well was Sakura. With a sign you asked her if Jen was ok, to which she replied with a “so-so” sign and a little smile. You nodded sympathetically and decided to maybe wait until later on the day to talk with her, now feeling slightly nervous yourself to make any move. However, while you were considering this option, kkura thought seeing you might cheer her friend up, so she elbowed Yunjin and let her know that you were in the room.

Once the girl looked at your direction, there was a sparkle in her eyes, the one that always appeared whenever she saw you or thought of you. However, once she remembered the mean words the idiot from earlier told her, her smile turned into a more shy, sad small one, and her eyes went to the floor.

“Yunjin? You’re not gonna say hi to her like always?” The Japanese girl asked her in a low voice, trying to motivate her dear friend.

“I don’t know, Kkura..” the sad girl said “What if I just make her feel uncomfortable? What if that’s what I’ve been doing? That’s not only embarrassing, but also not fair for her to feel like that, and not fair for me to keep my hopes high if I’m clearly out of her league. I don’t wanna get even more hurt and also I—”but your voice interrupted her sad rambling.

“Hey Yunjin, Look what I got!” You called, smiling that pretty smile of yours and showing her the back of your phone, hoping this somehow will help cheering her up. And it did! Yunjin’s expression went from sad, to surprised that you called, to excited.

“Oh. My. God. Is that a Genshin Impact special edition Yun Jin photocard ?!” She said in her peculiar loud voice and with a smile showing her perfect teeth. There. There it was. The excited and loud loser who caught your attention. “Omg, y/n! How did you get this? I didn’t even know you liked Genshin!”

“Well, constantly hearing you screaming about it made me curious!” You teased her while laughing, to which she blushed but didn’t stop smiling while listening to you “it was just a few days ago so I’m very new, I actually enjoyed it a lot so I decided to search info about the characters online, and went this morning to this cool store I found to buy some of these.”

“So that’s why you weren’t here earlier” Sakura commented, making you look at her a little surprised.

“Oh you noticed?”

“Yunjin did.” Eunchae answered while looking at her friend with a mischievous smile, to which Yunjin responded with a blush, a threat in her eyes and a promise for vendetta later. “She missed you and everything.”

“Eunchae!” She simply groaned, pouting at the embarrassment her friend made her go through. But to you it was actually really cute the fact that she noticed your absence.

“Well, please accept these as an apology then.” You said while getting the little bag that contained the other photocards and giving it to her. She was so surprised because a gift. For her? From you?! “I didn’t know who your favorite character was so I made sure to get as many as possible. Please take as many as you want, I mainly got them for you to be honest.” You admitted, feeling brave to confess your intentions, even with her friends around.

“Oh my~ this is so cute!” Eunchae squeaked while shaking Yunjin’s shoulder (visual representation), while the girl was just speechless holding the bag you gave her and switching from looking at it to looking at you, who couldn’t stop smiling, satisfied at her reaction while your hands were politely behind your back in a cute shy way. Of course, Sakura had to push her to get out of her shocked state. Yunjin shook her head to bring herself back before speaking.

“Omg y/n, I don’t know what to say, thank you so much!” She said, feeling touched by the detail. Yunjin was looking at you with such sweet eyes, you were making her fall deeper for you, and she didn’t know that’s exactly your plan.

“It’s ok. Just please make sure to leave some Yun Jin for me, she’s my favorite character you know?” You told her in a clearly flirty way and a wink, making sure the message was clear. This made the red hair girl’s eyes open wide as her face had no idea what to do, besides blushing and smiling like an idiot.

“Hehe, Yunjin unnie’s face is trying to match her hair.” Eunchae teased, making you and Sakura laugh at the taller girl.

“Hong Eunchae I swear to God.”

——

After that conversation, the professor entered the classroom, so you quickly agreed on hanging out after class to continue talking about your interest in common. Sakura had a class, and Eunchae went with her after mentioning she was grateful to be able to go ‘cause she didn’t want to third wheel you guys anymore, earning another groan and blush from her best friend. Talking with Yunjin was really nice, and she was really hyped and happy about sharing this topic, so much she decided to invite you to her place so you could continue there, watch some content and even play a little bit! She was excited of being able to teach none other than her crush how to play her favorite game.

Of course she didn’t realize the weight of her actions until you were actually in her room.

Oh god. Her crush was in her room. Alone with her.

Girlie went from excited to nervous once she saw you making yourself comfortable in her bed. Her bed was really soft and warm, and her room was cozy. It reflected her personality well. A nice combination of beige walls and white. Most of the room had warm colors, and the decoration was based on some posters, little shelves with albums and books, pictures and figures of video-games characters the girl was a fan of. She was very organized and clean, her desk having her computer and just a couple notebooks at the moment. You hoped you could spend more time there with her in the future (and no not only for the nasty 🤨).

“This is a really nice place Yun” you told her.

“Thanks, that’s one of the reasons I like spending so much time at home.” She said with a giggle doing her best to contain the blush in her cheeks because did you just call her by a nickname?😳 bro do it again.

“I get it, if my room was this nice and comfy I too would prefer to just stay and play all day.” You said as she lied down next to you.

“Well, you can always come and play with me!” She offered smiling innocently (aw my pookie wookie 🥺), but c’mon you had to tease her after saying that-

“You want me to come play with you, huh?” You said with an obvious teasing tone and a smirk moving your eyebrows up and down, now making it impossible for the red hair girl to not match her cheeks color with her hair.

“I mean! It’s always fun to play genshin with friends…” she said, trying to save herself from the embarrassment, but she felt it was too late so her hands went to her face as she groaned in a low voice. You laughed. She was so endearing, so cute. You couldn’t resist her and she wasn’t even trying to do anything at all. This is the girl you wanted. It just felt too right. It felt like home in your heart even before it did in your head.

“You remember I told you Yunjin is my favorite genshin impact character?” You asked her, taking her hands off her face but not letting go of them, to which she hummed in response. “And do you know why she is my favorite character?”

“Well, her playability in my opinion is really good. Her design and character description is also captivating, and since you mentioned you’re new to the game maybe that’s the reason you liked her. Although I must say I pr—” god this girl could talk. So what’s better than shutting up your crush with a kiss? Nothing bro. Nothing so that’s what you did. With a sweet kiss that she was doing her very best to correspond once the initial shock passed, as she’s been dreaming of doing since the moment her eyes fell on you. Your hand moved slowly from her own hands to her face, caressing it softly as her trembling hand went to your waist. As the seconds passed, her hands felt more comfortable, so she hugged you closer to her, to which you responded hugging her as well. Once you stopped kissing ( barely leaving any space in between your faces), you whispered in her lips “so again, do you know why Yunjin is my favorite character?”

And with her vision blurry and her mind clearly malfunctioning because of everything that was happening (but can you blame her tho?) she said:

“Who’s Yunjin?”

Bro are you serious.

#huh yunjin #Yunjin #huh yunjin x reader #yunjin x reader #le sserafim yunjin #kpop gg #kpop scenarios #kpop imagines #le sserafim #le sserafim x reader #le sserafim imagines #le sserafim scenarios #le sserafim x y/n #g!p yunjin x reader #g!p yunjin #loser yunjin x reader #loser yunjin

[carmyboobear]

ALEXITHYMIA CH 1: onions, weed, and pizza

Roommate AU: Carmy Berzatto x Reader (R18)

ao3 link ch 2 ch 3 ch 4

Summary: Carmy can’t put into words how he feels about his roommate. It’s only been a couple months, but here he is looking forward to going home and sharing a smoke with them. That’s all it is, though. There are no underlying feelings, none at all, even if everyone around him has something to say about it. 

Or: Carmy is repressed as ever, but through the combined power of vulnerability, weed, and the horny, Carmy too can find love. 

Tags: hurt/comfort, friends to lovers, mutual pining, slow burn, cursing, yearning, repression, SO MUCH REPRESSION, angst, mental illness, canon-typical imagery, unresolved tension, for now, virgin carmy, use of weed, alcohol, all that good stuff, carmy character study, eventual smut, gender neutral reader, nonbinary reader, up to you

A/N: HI I've never posted fic on tumblr before but i deeply love Carmy...please enjoy!!!

CHAPTER 1: onions, weed, and pizza

It always stays the same. 

This is the thought that Carmy has when he wakes up, gasping for a chance to just catch his breath and keep it. It’s a kitchen knife twisting like a lock and key in his chest. It fits just right, as all awful and familiar things seem to do.

No matter how many times he wakes up, he’s never anywhere different. That drowning feeling suffocates him in his sleep and follows dutifully into his waking hours. He can’t remember when that haunting started, only that it’s always been with him.

He hates feeling like a drifter, like he’s lost (even though he is both of those things), so he picks a goal and runs after it like a monster. He’s an animal, hunting and working and bleeding until he fucking makes it work , because that’s who he is, and that’s who he’s always been. He can’t not make it work. Because if he can’t do it, then…then what was it all for? 

What is he even for?

These are the thrilling thoughts that serve as the background music to the swirl of his cheap morning coffee, oils rotating in a slow circle. He thinks about getting a nicer brand next time he goes grocery shopping. But that would mean change. That would mean less money on the restaurant, too.

Yeah, so it tastes like shit, but it doesn’t matter. Even if it mattered once. Less and less matters to him these days.

Mornings in Chicago are not technically quiet by definition, but when compared to other times of day, they are. Especially when most of his day is spent in the kitchen wringing out his throat. It isn’t bad to have a quiet morning by normal means, but for him…

The quiet is dangerous.

It’s not silent, but it’s not enough. There’s distant beeping of impatient cars. The whirring sound of the old AC unit. He tries to listen to them, but his rampant thoughts nonetheless rise above them all, buzzing everywhere with nowhere to land. 

A brief analysis of his thoughts reads as such:

Beef sandwiches eggs flour shipment Michael cigarettes smoking sore throat late shipment so tired not sleeping Michael Sugar Mom coffee tastes bad it’s too early my stomach hurts Michael fucking hates you Michael Michael Michael Michael Michael you piece of shit you fucking ki—

“Mornin’, Carmy.”

Until his roommate wakes up, that is. 

When he moved back to Chicago, there was a fact, plain, simple, and unchanging. He wasn’t gonna make rent on his own, not with the restaurant. Not with everything. So maybe he didn’t need to deal with a new roommate, but it’s not like there was a choice. It seemed bearable, survivable enough.

He keeps waiting for the thing that’ll make him grit his teeth, make him regret not getting a place on his own, but it never comes. They’re easy to live with. It’s so easy, as a matter of fact, that it feels strange. The difficulty that he was so certainly expecting just isn’t there. 

If anything, he looks forward to being at home. For someone who lives at work, that feeling is completely foreign.  

They don’t steal his food (not that there’s much). Instead, they cook him food, leaving heated leftovers on the stove on late nights. In Carmy’s case, that’s most nights. They don’t bring over obnoxious company and keep him up with the noise. Rather, he basks in their company, and they make a ruckus between their laughter. Their presence doesn’t stifle him, it soothes him, just like the candle they leave lit in the kitchen for him when he comes home.  They’re not just easy to live with, they’re good to live with, and that’s…

That’s been a hard adjustment, Carmy would say. It’s too much of a good thing that he’s not sure what to do with himself.

On those late nights, they’re usually fast asleep by the time he’s home. But as he sits and eats the leftovers they’ve kept for him, he wants to say something. Something about how a long time ago, there was once a Carmy who cooked for himself, who looked after himself, but that he’s not that Carmy anymore. That it doesn’t matter that he’s a five star chef and they’re just some guy in the kitchen, as they would put it, because he’s…

He’s grateful. Incredibly so.

And yet, the words will never come out. He feels the words tingling on his lips, but it feels scary. He can thank them as many times as he likes (which he does) but it will never capture what he’s really trying to say when he says thank you . There’s too many words, and it just can’t…it just can’t—

It always stays the same. 

“You’re up early,” he says to them when they enter the room. It’s a rare sight to see them up at the early hours he frequents. He sees the morning drowsiness in their mussed hair and big t-shirt stained with hair dye. They yawn back at him, nose scrunching.

Cute , he thinks, and he stamps it down as soon as it flashes through his mind. 

“Randomly woke up.” They fall into the empty seat next to him on the couch, and they rub at the crust around their eyes. “About to head off to work?”

“Unfortunately, yeah,” he replies. There’s a certain sentiment that lies on the tip of his tongue, something about how he wishes he could have a slow morning with them instead. Of course, he can’t voice it. He can’t even come close.

“The plague of the working man,” they sigh. “Well, I got an idea that might cheer you up.”

“...And that would be?”

“Let me paint you a beautiful picture,” they start. They clear their throat and gesture widely with their hands. He notices their chipped nail polish, the writing callus on their middle finger. “Imagine this—you come home from work, tired. You need to relax —something you need to do more often,” they add with a pointed look.  No comment. “And I have dinner ready. Some sort of soup, pasta maybe. I need to check the fridge.” They pause with a yawn. “And before we eat, we smoke a big, fat joint.”

He snorts as they finish, unable to hold back a laugh. 

“That’s a nice picture,” he admits. He doesn’t remember when he started smiling. “Y’know, I was wondering when the joint was gonna pop in.” 

“You fucking know me, man,” they reply, blooming with his interest, his smile. Not that he can perceive that. “So? Thoughts? Haven’t done that in a while, right?”

“Right, right,” he echoes faintly. His mind is already sorting through the pile of tasks on the schedule. “Well, I gotta go over this new recipe with Marcus, today,” he mutters, partially under his breath. “But before that, ingredient orders. And those invoices before the end of the day—and that, that toilet guy was supposed to come today…I think?”

“Dude, I do like, one task, and the day’s over for me,” they say sympathetically, and the look on their face is so serious that Carmy struggles to hide his smile. “You’re crazy.”

“I, I’ve seen you do tasks,” he argues. 

“Name one,” they argue back.

“You did two loads of laundry and did the dishes all before lunch time once,” he says, the memory clear and instant. “And when I woke up, you were vacuuming the whole place.” The immediacy surprises him, and it seems to surprise them, too. 

“Damn, I said name one , but I guess I’m just that good!” They laugh, a breathy, exasperated sort of thing. “Well, point taken. Anyway, it sounds like you’re not gonna be home early tonight.” 

“It is a Friday,” he says, “but…”

“But.”

“Can’t make promises I can’t keep,” he sighs, and shame melts over him like butter on a stainless steel pain. This isn’t anything new. 

“I know, I know,” they say, gracious as ever. “It’s okay. Such is the life of a business owner, yeah?” He searches for some thinly veiled shred of disappointment, frustration in their expression, but he doesn’t. No matter how many times he lets them down, the explosion he’s waiting for never comes. They remain patient, collected through it all. 

Says more about him than them, he supposes. 

“Yeah,” he mutters, “such is the life.” 

“C’est la fucking vie,” they say, and he laughs with a shake of his head. 

It can feel strange to laugh. He worries that the lightness in his chest will expand like a balloon, and he’ll float away. It’s uncontrollable, foreign. It should be scary, how his emotions lead him when he’s around them, not the other way around, but it’s not. 

It’s not scary to loosen up around them, and that’s the scary part. There are no words to describe why. All he can see is that the fear exists, stubborn and persistent. That fear is what makes him snap out of it, makes him look at the clock. He holds back a sigh. 

“Time to go,” he mutters, and they nod.

“And time for me to go back to bed.” They salute him. “Best of luck with your day, brave soldier. And just shoot me a text if you do end up coming back early, ok?”

“Yeah, sure. I’ll try. And, thanks. You, you too,” he gets out. He stands up, readjusting the waistband of his pants. “I’ll, uh, see you later.”

“See you,” they say through a yawn, waving at him from where they’re lying down. They’ve taken his spot, sprawled across the couch, tangled hair flayed out on the pillows. 

Cute , he thinks again, and hearing the thought in his brain makes him wanna panic. 

He doesn’t wanna panic, doesn’t wanna think about it at all, so he nods, shuts the door, and heads out to work with a cigarette hastily lit in his mouth. 

By the time it’s Carmy’s lunch break, he swears his vocal cords must have snapped by how tight he was wringing them. 

The soreness has never stopped him from lighting a cig, though. As he stands outside in the back, finally forced to go on his 30, he smokes rather than eating. There’s a sandwich in his pocket, one that was bearing the brunt of test ingredients. He can feel the aluminum wrapping at his fingertips. 

Eventually, he does eat, though, because he sees the way his hands are shaking when he flicks his lighter. He doesn’t wanna shake when he uses a knife, so he eats. He tastes it, but he doesn’t really taste it.

In truth, he wasn’t even planning on taking his lunch break at all. Most days, he forgets about it. The kitchen’s always busy, there’s always something missing, there’s always something that hasn’t been prepped that’s ruining everything, the lights in the hallways keep flickering because they need to fixed, Fak’s supposed to fix them, but he can’t, because Richie’s still out getting the replacement bulbs, the pile of papers on his desk are bigger than he remembers, he doesn’t have enough fucking time—

But then he’s in the middle of chopping an onion, and the cutting board slips. The half-chopped onion and its sliced offspring scatter on the floor with the cutting board. The sound of its fall draws Sydney in like a whip. 

“You okay? Need a bandaid?” Sydney’s already kneeling by him, helping him pick the onions off the floor. 

“I, I’m fine, didn’t drop the knife,” he explains, and it feels like an ocean current is rushing by his ears. “Fucking, I just—such a stupid fucking—” He sucks in a breath and goes silent. 

His entire body feels tight, wound like a spring. He can barely fucking breathe. 

“Hey.” Carmy turns his intense stare from the onions to Sydney, and when he sees her searching expression, he remembers himself. “Maybe you should go take your lunch break.”

“No, I’m fine, really,” he repeats, and he feels like he’s heard this before. From someone else. He can’t remember. Who was it? “The onions—we’re behind on onions—”

“I can handle onions for 30 minutes,” she interrupts, decisive and firm. “Seriously.”

Carmy’s about to say something, but then he’s looking at the onion half in his hand. His hand is shaking. 

“Okay,” he sighs after a beat. “Okay, yeah. Sorry. For fucking up.”

“It happens. We all have our moments.” She shrugs. When he keeps standing there, she makes this shoo-ing motion with her hand. “Go on. Take your 30!”

So here he is, taking his lunch break a whole hour later than he’s supposed to. Although it’s better than most days where he doesn’t take it at all.

She wouldn’t have had to tell you to take a break if you didn’t fuck it all up, he thinks to himself, eyebrows knitted together. When the last time I’ve fucked up something so fucking easy?

He thinks about his dream from last night. A familiar sight of red fire and flames up to the ceiling, crackling so loud it sounded like screaming. The only good part is that when he woke up, he wasn’t at the stove burning his place down. It hasn’t happened at this apartment yet. Carmy hopes it never happens. 

Just get it together, he thinks. He aggressively taps the ash out onto the decrepit ash tray they have in the back. It’s full. You’re supposed to be at this shit. So just be good.

“Cousin.” Carmy snaps his head up, and Richie’s at the door, stepping out. His presence yanks him out of his inner whirlpool, a quickly descending spiral. “Gimme one.”

Wordlessly, Carmy hands him a cigarette. Richie plucks it out of his hand like a flower.

“You had a lighter, but no cigarette?” Carmy comments, squinting at Richie pulling a busted up red lighter from his jean pocket. 

“Shut up,” Richie mutters, but there’s no heat behind it. “Got the wrong damn light bulbs,” he explains unprompted. 

“Alright,” Carmy sighs. He has so little energy that the frustration bypasses him completely, diving instantly into deflated acceptance. “Just return ‘em.”

“Can’t,” Richie says, and when Carmy gives him a look, he elaborates, “no receipt.” 

“ Dude .” Carmy opens his mouth, but then he shuts it again. It’s just not worth it. “Thanks anyway, cousin. We’ll get it done.”

“Don’t fuckin’ thank me, you asshole. I didn’t do shit.” Richie nudges him, but like before, it’s not an angry thing. “Also, toilet guy’s not comin’ today.”

“The fuck? Why ?”

“Canceled,” he replies simply. 

“Fucking hell,” Carmy mutters under his breath. “Did he say when he could reschedule?”

“Not yet.”

“Great.”

“Yep.” Richie tilts his head up, blowing out a slow stream of gray cigarette smoke. “Might as well wait for Fak to get his ass back in town at this rate.”

“I guess.” Carmy sighs. He thinks about all the things he still needs to do. “I dropped this onion I was chopping, earlier,” he mentions out of nowhere. 

“Okay.” Richie gives him a look. “And? You bitches chop those things up faster than I could cut one in half.” 

“I dropped it on the floor,” Carmy tries again, but Richie’s expression remains unchanged. “I never do shit like that.”

“Well, cousin, you did.” Carmy feels something in him deflate. “What’s the big deal?”

“Nevermind,” he replies, because he’s a coward. “Just—just forget it.”

Silence. The spark of a lighter. 

“I’m gonna leave early,” Richie says, like he can just do that. Which…he can, Carmy supposes. “If no one’s gonna show up, what’s the point?” He slaps Carmy’s back, and Carmy doesn’t watch him as he heads back inside. 

Guess all I need to do later is get rid of those papers on the desk , Carmy thinks to himself, idly moving the shortening cigarette between his lips. Then that’ll be it, I guess.

He doesn’t remember the last time he’s gone home early. It’s hard to even imagine what he does on days like those. Sleeping, probably.  There’s nothing much else for him to do, not with how tired he is—

Shoot me a text, okay?  

He hears them in the back of his head all of a sudden, and he remembers. 

Oh, he remembers, hands moving to take out his phone. Almost forgot.

“Sorry to bother you, chef.” Carmy’s not sure how he didn’t hear the door opening. Marcus’ head pops out, nose covered in flour. “Just wanted to let you know that we’re gonna need more flour for tomorrow.”

“Order’s not gonna come for a couple days. I thought we had an extra bag left,” Carmy tries, but the guilty look on Marcus’ face explains it all. 

“Dropped it,” Marcus grimaces, and Carmy’s already fucking over it. 

“We’re all fucking up today, chef,” Carmy replies, and the day goes on. 

. . . . .

It’s a strange, delightful miracle, but he manages to get out of the restaurant before the sun sets.

Considering their collective track record, the fact everyone was able to leave early was cosmic intervention. It helps that the toilet guy didn’t come, in an unfortunate way, but still. Standing outside of the restaurant in the evening like this feels…weird. 

It’s not that Carmy’s complaining about a nice thing, it’s just that he wasn’t prepared to have anything good today.

Shower, dinner, and weed, he thinks absentmindedly on the way home. He juggles the three around in his brain. Just the thought of it feels like relaxing. A little.

With company , his brain helpfully adds, and his stomach squirms. 

Self control, he thinks. He needs more self-control. He can’t just keep thinking of them so indulgently. He’s not allowed to think of them that way, because it’s not fair to them. Even if no matter how many times he chastises himself, it never works. Even if they remain in his brain like sun-spots in his vision. Even if it’s not his fault that he just can’t help it.

The thing is, though, it always is. Even when it’s not his fault, it actually is. Always.

You dropped that fucking onion , his brain helpfully adds for no particular reason. Fucking loser.

Fuck off , he thinks back as he approaches his front door. Predictably, it does not stop.

Just as his fingers search for his keys in all of his pockets, he hears something that makes him pause, hands stopped on his waist. It’s music, distant and muffled. They’re probably listening to music in the kitchen. He stands, trying to place the song, but he doesn’t recognize it. 

He does recognize the voice that’s singing over the music, though.

Oh, he realizes. That’s them.

The way their voice clumsily layers over the music shouldn’t make him pause like this. He shouldn’t be doing this, standing in the doorway and listening rather than opening the door. The keys are in his hand. This, this is a breach of privacy, he tells himself, feeling a little dizzy with distress, he just needs to just—

There’s an abrupt, loud clang, and he shoves the door open.

Concern is on the tip of his tongue, but it dies there. The source of the noise lays face-down on the floor—a pan sitting in what seems to be tomato sauce. The matter next to it is what makes the words evaporate from his lips, like they were never there at all. 

They’re kneeled down next to the pan, paper towels in hand, but all they’re wearing is an apron. 

His mind blanks. He thinks he stops breathing. He’s never seen so much of their skin at once. He needs to look away, he thinks, but his eyes keep traveling, traveling, and traveling. It just happens so quickly. He doesn’t mean to look, he doesn’t, but they’re right there and he can see right down their—

“No, I—I’m sorry! I didn’t know you were coming back early!” They exclaim, quickly crossing their arms over their chest, and that’s what makes him tear his eyes away. 

“I—I thought I texted you,” he says quickly, hot face turned to the side, “on my lunch—...“ He stops there, the memory reconstructing itself. 

He forgot.

“It’s fine, I just feel bad about dinner, and, uh—okay, I’m just gonna change real quick, and then I’ll clean this up,” they reply, words rushing out. In the corner of his vision, he sees their bare legs dart to their room.

It seems wrong to just stand here staring at the tomato sauce slowly expand outwards on the floor, so he cleans it up. A couple paper towels later, he’s gotten most of it, and they’ve returned with a change of clothes.

“Sorry,” Carmy starts right as they also go “I’m sorry”. He pauses, meeting their eyes. It’s a lot easier now that they’re wearing leggings and a t-shirt as opposed to, well, nothing. Not to say he doesn’t appreciate the leggings. 

“Sorry you had to see me like that,” they sigh. “I don’t—I don’t usually walk around the place naked, I just—I didn’t think you’d be back—“

“I should’ve texted,” he interrupts. He struggles to not think about them walking around the living room naked. “I forgot. But it, it’s fine. You’re fine. Really. Sorry for not texting.”

“Okay. Cool.” They exhale, a tired noise. “And it’s okay. It happens.” They look at the floor and make a sound of surprise. “Did you clean this up?” The look they give him has far too much gratitude, and it feels like a searing hot iron.

“Yeah, uh.” His hands are moving like he’s trying to explain something, but no words crop up. “Felt weird not to.”

“Well.” They smile, grateful. “Thank you. That was gonna be dinner, but…” They trail off, looking at the floor with a sour expression. “I fucked up.”

“It’s just that sort of day today,” Carmy mutters.

“Shitty day for you, too?” 

“Yeah. Lots of shit went wrong.” Especially me, he thinks, but he doesn’t say it. “You?”

“Gotcha.” They shrug. “As for me—yeah. Really not my best day. It was just, uh, some family shit. You know how it is.”

Carmy makes a sound of acknowledgement. “That sucks.” He doesn’t know much about their family other than that they’re fairly shitty. It’s the same the other way around, too. 

“It’s whatever,” they say, even though it really isn’t, and he knows it. They look at the floor one more time before looking up at him. “Do you just wanna order pizza or something?”

“Yeah, I do,” Carmy replies, his words coming out much more despondent than expected. 

They settle on some pepperoni pizza from a place down the street. It’s a tried and true method—they deliver, it’s cheap, it’s oily, it’s cheesy, it’s good. Just talking about it makes Carmy taste it on the tip of his tongue. 

“You can go and shower if you want. I’ll get the door when pizza comes,” they offer. They’re standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up. 

“Okay, thanks.” Carmy pauses then, gears turning. He’s vaguely worried his memory is going to shit. “Did—did I just say I was gonna shower?” 

“Oh, no, you didn’t, you just always shower when you get home from work, right?” They say it like it’s the weather, like it’s familiar, and that’s when Carmy realizes because it is. After several months of living together, of course they’ve picked up on his habits. It doesn’t need to be a thing. There’s no reason for it to be a thing.

“I do,” Carmy replies faintly, and for some reason, that’s all he can say. 

“Thought so.” They look at him for just a moment, but it makes him feel like his body’s gone transparent. “I notice these things, you know.”

“Yeah.” Carmy looks at them when they turn back to the dishes, back facing him. “You do.” 

He tells himself he’s not gonna think any harder about any of it. He’s not gonna think about the singing, the apron, the way they just notice these things, but then he does. 

He’s in the shower, and he thinks about everything.

The water pressure is pathetic, but the warmth still feels nice. Between that and the sound of the running shower, it’s usually enough to quiet his thoughts. This time, though, it doesn’t. To his credit, he does try to think about anything else. 

He thinks about work, because he always does. He thinks about flour, about onions, about knives. He thinks about the shampoo lathered in his hair. He thinks about those lightbulbs they still need to get. He thinks about food. He thinks about them. He thinks about pizza. He thinks about the way they sing when no one’s around. He thinks about the way they know him. 

He thinks about them, knees on the floor only in a—

He thinks of bashing his head into the tile wall until he explodes.

“Shut the fuck up,” he whispers to himself, rivulets of hot water trailing down his forehead and dripping off his lips. “Shut the fuck up.”

The soreness is still present in his body, but that never quite goes away. He does feel a bit better now that he doesn’t have sweaty, sticky skin, though. It gets even better when he puts on a clean white t-shirt and his favorite sweatpants. It’s a nice surprise from his past self who did his laundry for him. 

This amount of niceness is okay. This is what he’s used to—a shower and comfortable clothes when he’s home from work. That’s enough.

He steps out into the kitchen with a damp towel on his head. He finds them sitting by their one shitty window that opens, pizza box in front of them and joint lit. It casts an orange glow to mix with the golden light from the window. 

“Hey, pizza’s here!” They slap their hand on the greasy cardboard box. “Just got this joint started for us, too.”

“So you weren’t gonna smoke it all on your own?” He doesn’t mean to tease, but he does. He slips into the seat across them, arms resting on the table they placed by the window. 

“I couldn’t smoke this whole thing even if I wanted to,” they protest. “Besides, joints are made for sharing. Here—now you get to take it. Isn’t that nice?” With their elbow propped up on the pizza box, they hold up the joint to him. The lit end of it sizzles a bright orange, emitting a thin trail of smoke up to the ceiling. 

“That is very, very nice,” Carmy agrees, taking it carefully from their fingers. Their face spreads into that contagious grin of theirs, and he’s far from immune. Sometimes he smiles so much around them that his face hurts, rusty and unused. 

Sure, he can blame that on the weed, but if he’s being honest with himself (a rare occasion), that’s a complete lie. Obviously the weed lessens the tension, the stress that winds him up tight. It’s not just the weed that gets him to relax, though. 

It’s them. There’s something disarming about their presence, something that makes him loose-lipped around them. Even when he’s sober, he finds himself feeling comfortable. He’s not quite sure how that happened, or if that’s ever happened. He supposes that isn’t a bad thing. Just something he’s noticed. 

He wonders if they’ve noticed. 

“You like the new rolling papers?” They tuck their knees under their chin, propping their feet up on the chair. 

“Hm.” Carmy lowers the joint from his mouth to give it a good look. He rotates it around in his fingers. “Strawberry?”

“Yeah, it’s strawberry,” they confirm, poorly hiding the excitement in their demeanor. Not that they were trying to. “Can you taste it?” 

He pulls from the joint, the edges of the paper sizzling red with the weed. It’s an even burn this time. He rolls his tongue around in his mouth after he exhales a cloud of smoke. 

“Still no,” he decides after a beat, and they sigh. 

“I don’t know why I ever get my hopes up.”

“I do taste something else in this, though.” He takes another hit, stews on it. “Lavender?”

“Shoulda known you would’ve gotten it on your first tray. Yeah, it’s lavender. I found some lying around.”

“You made this one pretty nice,” he observes, eyes tracing the shape of the joint. “Between the lavender and the new papers, I mean.”

“Well, y’know.” The smile on their face is small and shy. “I don’t smoke joints often, so I wanted to make it nice, and I, uh…”

They’re paused for so long that Carmy interjects. 

“And?”

“And I—want that joint,” they finally say, outstretching their hand. Carmy has a strong feeling that they weren’t originally going to say that, but he hands over the joint nonetheless.

“Strain?” He asks curiously. He can feel the body high creeping up his shoulders, fluid and light.

“The strain that gets you high,” they reply with a grin.

“Oh, thank god,” Carmy sighs in relief, and the way that makes them laugh… It makes his chest tight. 

“To actually answer your question, though—I dunno.” He likes watching the smoke drift from the tip of the joint as they talk, thin gray wisps in the air. “I think it’s a hybrid? Not sure if it’s more one way or not, though…”

“As long as it’s not the weed that puts you to bed.”

“Um…well, if you smoke enough of it, it can.”

They sit together like this for a while, just sitting and taking turns with the joint. It’s an easy, fluid exchange, flowing between them like smoke. No matter how much they both try to blow it out the window, it always comes back in. The smell of weed is strong in the air, earthy and pungent.  

Although he would never describe himself as a talkative person, sitting stoned across from them makes the words come out. Sometimes, he thinks he likes himself better when he’s high—his mind isn’t running circles around itself, and the soreness of his body just floats away. He feels more like a human than a poor imitation of one like he usually does. 

This weed smells kinda good, he thinks, and when they laugh, nose scrunched up, he realizes he said that out loud. 

“That’s literally what I’ve been saying,” they agree, a bright grin lingering on their face. “That’s how you know you’re a fuckin’ stoner!” 

“Feels weird to call myself a stoner,” he muses. He plucks the joint from their outstretched hand. It definitely looks shorter from when they started a moment ago. “But I guess…”

“If you like the smell of weed, you’re too far gone,” they say with a grave expression. “It’s so fucking over for you.”

“Fuck,” he whispers, equally as serious, and then they’re both bursting out into laughter. He likes the sound of their laugh—it’s unabashed, fills up the space. 

“Dude, I’m high,” they whisper after they both calm down, like it’s some sort of secret, and Carmy can’t stop himself from laughing all over again. “Oh my god. Are you high?”

“I—I think I might fucking be,” he gets out between laughs, and that sparks them straight into another cackle of laughter. He’s not supposed to be able to make others laugh, he doesn’t even make himself laugh—but then he’ll say something, and they’re lit up with laughter. 

“We need to eat this pizza now, ” they yell, projecting over their combined noise. They flip the pizza box open, and it smacks Carmy right in the face. 

“Oh,” he reacts mildly.

“Shit, I’m so sorry—”

“It’s fine, it’s not like you punched me in the face,” he reasons, but their guilty expression persists. “It didn’t hurt, it’s just cardboard.”

“I’m sorry, I’m high,” they sigh apologetically. 

“I know,” he replies with a little smile. His eyes drift down to the pepperoni pizza sitting before them, glorious in its perverse amount of oil. “So, we’re gonna eat this, right?”

“Oh my god, yes we are,” they gasp, and the moment is forgotten. 

When he tears off a pizza slice, the cheese stretches in thin, gooey strings. They grab the slice adjacent to it to snap the strings in half, but they’re both leaned back in their chairs, pizzas in hand, and the cheese is still connected. 

“This doesn’t seem right,” Carmy mutters, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “We should’ve just cut it.”

“How could we have predicted this?” They pull their pizza further back, and the string still doesn’t break. “Wow. I’m honestly impressed. I don’t think it’s ever been this insane before.”

“I think we’d remember.” He’s not sure why he’s still talking and not just running his finger across the string to break it. 

“I think we would, too.” They snort, shaking their head. “This—this is some spaghetti type shit.”

“What? Spaghetti?” He’s genuinely perplexed.

“I—I mean like—that fucking disney movie. With the dogs.” They pause for a moment, mouth silently moving. “Fucking—lady and the, the truck—”

“Uh.” He has to hold back a laugh. “...The lady and the tramp?”

“ Holyshittheladyandthetramp ,” they blurt out in a rush, and the cheese string finally snaps in half. “…Well, I guess it’s not exactly like the lady and the tramp, then.” They take a large bite of their pizza, and it reminds Carmy exactly how hungry he is. 

“You mean lady and the truck,” he corrects, and he can’t stop himself from smiling. Especially not with how good this hot pizza is, delightfully salty and greasy in his mouth. 

“Shut up, I was trying,” they grunt through a mouthful of food. 

“How exactly is this like the lady and the tramp, again? Or, uh, not like it?” 

“Well, it was just like it, but then the string broke.” Somehow, they’re already halfway through their slice. “Could’ve been a beautiful spaghetti moment.”

“Spaghetti moment,” he echoes under his breath, holding back a laugh. “Remind me how that scene goes?”

They go quiet for a moment. It’s like he can see the gears turning in his head. If he’s being honest, he already remembers how that scene goes, but…he wants to hear them say it. He needs to hear them say it. 

“Uh, well, they’re…eating spaghetti. The titular lady and tramp.”  Their eyes are fidgety, flickering back and forth between their pizza and the window. “And they’re sharing the plate, the two of them. They’re eating together, and, um…” 

“...And?” 

They meet his eyes, mouth hanging open, and then they close it. 

“Um, I don’t remember, actually,” they say, shaking their head and blinking. He sees it for the blatant lie that it is, and yet. “Do, do you remember?”

As he stares back at them, unable to look away, he wonders. He wonders about what this really means. About if this really means anything at all, about if he’s going to find out if it does. 

“I don’t remember,” he answers quietly, cowardly, and neither of them say anything else.

Out of the two of them, they’ve always been better with recovering from awkward moments, so they do. They start talking about something else, and the world keeps turning. But in the back of his head, Carmy remains in that moment, unwilling to let it go. 

Why did you say that you didn’t remember? He wants to say. Why didn’t I say that I remembered how it went? Because I remember. They kiss—they fucking kiss. Is that what you wanted to hear? Is that what I wanted to hear?

But because he’s Carmy, he doesn’t say anything. He just eats.

He’s so hungry that the pizza disappears in minutes. It’s delicious, but he’s so high he’s not completely sure he can taste it. Somehow, it remains the best thing he’s ever eaten. 

The rest of the night is a blur. He remembers getting onto the couch at some point. They both decide on a random movie he doesn’t catch the name of. They finish off the joint on the couch together, sinking into its cushions. It burns hot in his throat as it reaches the end. 

And as it turns out, the weed he smoked is the one that puts him to bed. 

“...Ca…Car…” Someone’s calling him. “...Carmy, c’mon. You’re gonna complain about your neck tomorrow if you keep sleeping here.”

“Mhm,” he replies helpfully. He turns his head into the cushion. His body feels like an abstract blob, perfectly molded into the couch cushions.

“Okay, you made a good point. But. ” They laugh quietly, under their breath. “Movie’s been over for like 20 minutes now.”

“Mhm,” he repeats, nearly inaudible. He doesn’t wanna get up. Whenever he falls asleep, it always feels like he’s never gotten an hour of sleep in his life. There’s nothing he needs to think about, worry about. He’s warm and comfortable, and he doesn’t feel like letting that go just yet.

Everything goes silent again for a moment, save for the cars on the road. He begins to drift away again, slipping back into his dreamless sleep. 

But then there’s a hand on his shoulder, and it’s like a smoking brand on his skin. His eyes fly open and he jolts awake, jerking upright. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” they apologize, fretful. Between the dark of night and haze of sleep, they look pretty different. The blue light from the television is streaked across the blurry planes of their face.

“It’s fine,” he replies, drowsy. Speaking feels…heavy. Begrudgingly, he adjusts to sit up. “Didn’t mean to fall asleep.”

“Weed,” they say with a shrug. 

“How, how long was I—?” He cuts himself off with a yawn, wide with condensation in the corners of his eyes. 

“Only like, 30 minutes.” They yawn back. Typical infectious yawning. “End of the movie sucked anyway.”

“Oh.” Pause. “What was the ending?”

“Love interest died,” they state plainly. “He told her about how he felt, got rejected, and then she died in a car accident. Pretty tragic.”

“Huh.” Carmy makes a face. “That does suck.”

“Yeah, a bit.” They’re idly fiddling with the remote, scrolling through Netflix without reading anything. “I feel like the movie was trying to say something profound about the unpredictability of life or something, but the writing was shit.”

“I guess it’d be too perfect if they got together,” he muses.

“I guess,” they echo. They turn off the tv, and the room goes dark. The only light is from the yellow street lamp right outside their window, wonderful in its inconvenient placement. It illuminates the shape of the back and leaves their face in shadow. “I think I remember how that scene went,” they say suddenly. 

“Oh.” Carmy’s heart feels stuck in his throat. “And how does it go?”

“Well, they’re—both eating spaghetti. Like I said.” They’re not facing him, leaving their face shrouded in shadow. He’s not sure if he’s imagining the shake in their voice or not. It’s beyond him why there would be any shakiness at all. “They somehow get the same noodle, so they, uh, kiss.”

“They kiss,” he repeats for some unknown reason.

“Yeah.” They let out a quick laugh, but it doesn’t sound like they actually find this funny. He wishes he could see the look on their face. 

“I don’t think pasta works like that,” he hears himself murmur faintly. For some reason, he can’t help but think that was the wrong thing to say. But he’s already said it. Maybe it’s the same reason as to why his heart is beating so urgently. 

“No, I, I don’t think so either,” they mumble. He refuses to place the way they’re feeling. 

I can’t fucking do this.

The thought resounds like a gong, hit with a mallet right next to his ear. 

“It’s late, I gotta head to bed.” It feels like someone else is speaking for him, moving his body for him. He can’t stop them. When he stands up, he avoids their face.

What the fuck are you doing?

Another thought resounds. He doesn’t respond.

“Right, I—didn’t even notice the time.” He pretends he doesn’t hear the strain in their voice. No, he didn’t word that right—there is no strain in their voice. “G’night.”

"Night,” he murmurs back.

This is enough, he tells himself as he falls into bed. His sheets are tangled. This is enough , he repeats, and it’s not because he’s scared, afraid, anxious, or any other stupid synonym. It’s because he believes it, needs to believe it. 

He tells himself, this is enough , even though he wonders, what is supposed to be enough? He doesn’t listen. He stamps down the protests, the thoughts that are out of line. The high usually helps with that, but it’s worn off, now just leaving him in a weary, sleepy state of things. 

This is enough, he thinks, and he falls asleep looking at their shrouded face behind his eyelids.

#carmy berzatto #the bear #carmen berzatto #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #the bear fx #jeremy allen white #lip gallagher #the bear fanfiction #hahaha i've been stewing on this fic since sept 2023 and now its here... i have like 2 more chapters written right now #they're around the same length #AH!!!! CARMEN BERZATTO!!!! #my writing #my fics #carmy #reader #alexithymia fic

[hana-no-seiiki]

But like the ship trope where PERSON A looks like a childish brat on the outside but is actually the stable, mature one in the relationship

while PERSON B is the opposite wherein they’re super stoic, cool-headed but is actually super petty and aggressive at times.

tw/cw: soft yandere themes, seggs but not explicit

😤🫸🏽🫷🏽

That but with Villain and/or Vigilante! Reader and Yandere! Damian.

I’ve seen this a lot in Damian Wayne works so credits go to those amazing writers that inspired me to have my own take on this!! A lot of this is just a rehash/amalgamation of what people have already written but with some of my input and thoughts…lots and lots of thoughts.

Anyways, you seem like the type of person to ruin another’s life for the sake of it. Just your wicked whims. You’re notorious for stealing massive amounts of properties or (in case of Vigilante) beat if not kill people who you deem unredeemable.

MINORS/AGELESS BLOGS DONT GO BEYOND THIS POINT

VER I : I’m thinking second gen Catwoman/Batman + CatNoir/Ladybug (both the OG anime concept and the series) dynamic, just gn reader.

You’re always clinging unto to Robin/New Batman. Saying sweet nothings and flirting with him, if not full on making out/having sex with the vigilante. You like the dude, really. But your heart remains with Damian Wayne. Robin/Batman just really reminded you of him sometimes.

Hatefucking. Hatefucking happens a lot. Robin/Batman loves pinning you to the walls/floors of alleyways before you two get down and dirty.

Whereas, people (namely his fellow vigilantes) think he’s done with you, but he’s probably the biggest [Villain Name] fanboy out there.

He knows basically everything about you except your true identity. Which is somehow completely inaccessible to him.

Little does he know that it was actually his own doing, locking your civilian self’s private information as a favor between friends.

But because of this he misunderstands and thinks you’re even more of a genius or something because you managed to outwit him!! You!! Are!! So!! Damn!! Amazing!!

Damian acts cold with everybody. He’s a brooding guy. He doesn’t express much. Only about 1% of what he’s feeling actually gets put into action and/or words.

So the fact that he insists on taking on missions where he has to face you, assists you if you aren’t harming anyone, or actually indulges in your flirtation is a big thing.

So it’s safe to say when he found out you liked someone else other than him, that you were just using him to get yourself to feel better about not having said dude he gets petty.

You two used to have this pact, to never interfere with each other’s civilian lives and to respect your secret identities (of which he’s tried to breach remotely several times). But all that goes up in flames as he stalks you after a heist. Following you home.

He finds out about your secret identity, your ‘unrequited’ love for him, and you two begin dating. But you’re still oblivious about his other identity.

Damian kinda has a kink for it ngl. Like he’ll charm you as Robin/Batman even as you tell him you’re already dating someone else.

Like it’s so adorable how you keep resisting him, telling him how much you love his civilian counterpart.

But then he still proceeds to fuck your brains out as a Vigilante.

Man didn’t know he was into roleplaying until this moment. Like he’ll murmur stuff like “You say you love him, but nothing beats this. I’ve already carved a place inside you, Beloved. A place shaped in my image.”

Or “Where did your ‘undying love’ go, hm? Nowhere. You’re right back with me. Complete undone within moments of my touch.”

Things go a little awry though when you, ever the mature/communicative one in the relationship attempt to break up because Robin/Batman is leaving you confused as to how you truly feel. In addition to you not want to cuck your beautiful (soon to be ex) boyfriend any longer.

VER II: Is more on Vigilante x Vigilante. Similar to the one above except your relationship is a lot more professional and less hate-fuckey. You know of each other’s civilian/vigilante selves.

You’ve always admired Damian. Despite being quite close in age, you always saw him as a younger brother if not like a son almost. Witnessing him grow up and mature alongside you.

But your doting nature always came off a tad bit romantic. Flirtatious even. You tended to be a playful person after all. Hell you even call him Babe or Baby like that’s totally normal for you to call friends that.

A lot of your friends and colleagues always laugh at Damian’s expense whenever you arrive to come nag and/or flirt with him. It’s honestly hilarious. Judging from his murderous aura, people always thought that he wanted you 6 feet under.

The truth of the matter was that his glares and thoughts of murder were all directed to everyone else but you.

Damian never felt so at home and at peace with anyone or anything but his pets in life.

He’d be damned if anything happens to you.

Still, it frustrates him. He knows that you only see him as sibling almost. That you’d die for him but never date him. That despite your honeyed words he’s probably neck deep in the friendzone.

And so to the absolute surprise of everybody, he starts flirting back.

e.g. murdering those who slighted you and/or gazed upon your visage for too long, delivering their remains to your doorstep, amongst a bouquet flowers of course, and the occasional chocolates

You eventually fall in love back, though you ask him to tone it down on the violence.

- might edit more soon, but for now adios!!!

#yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere x you #yandere fic #yandere core #yandere robin #robin #robin x reader #yandere robin x reader #robin x you #damian #damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #yandere damian #yandere damian wayne #yandere damian wayne x reader

[steddieas-shegoes]

all the prompts are so good buuut i’d like to request “36. you were put on this earth to give me a headache” please and honestly any rating is good (i can’t make decisions so u get to do that sorry)

i hope you’re having a good day and that all the writing goes well <3

Thank you so much, love 💖 So far, the writing has been going a lot better than most of the last few weeks!!!

Rated M (suggestive language, allusions to sex) | make me write!

"I thought practice was canceled."

Steve looked at Eddie and Gareth, who were, for some reason, playing the loudest possible music in his garage.

Which was fine, and totally normal. But not tonight.

Eddie called him at work to let him know the guys had to cancel, something about their parents making them do some graduation dinner that Gareth's parents must not have heard about or cared about.

Because Gareth was here. In Steve's garage. With Eddie. Playing his drums while Eddie played his guitar.

"Stevie! I thought you were asleep!" Eddie exclaimed, beaming at him as if he couldn't read Steve's extremely annoyed face.

"I was. Until you decided to open for Metallica in my garage."

To give Steve some credit, he'd been nursing a minor headache for most of the day, and the sudden loud noise had only made it worse. He probably wouldn't have been so annoyed if he'd been given a heads up.

"Gareth wanted to work on some stuff. That's okay, right?" Eddie seemed to be catching on to the attitude, and maybe even to the fact that the last thing he told Steve about practice was that it wasn't happening.

"You were put on this earth to give me a headache. I'm going back to bed," Steve sighed.

He was tired, and his head was pounding behind his eyes in a way that made him nervous for what he would end up with if he didn't go back to sleep now.

Just when he made it back through the door into the hallway leading into the house, Eddie's arm wrapped around his middle.

"I was put on this earth to make them better, too," he said against his shoulder.

Steve couldn't help relaxing against him, his annoyance mostly gone and replaced with sheer exhaustion.

His head rested against Eddie's shoulder, eyes closing as he let out a long breath.

"Sorry, Eds. Just been a long day."

"Don't be sorry. I shoulda told you we were still gonna practice for a bit," Eddie kissed his shoulder, then his neck. "I'll send him home and come give you a massage?"

Steve snorted.

"A massage? My head up here hurts, not the one down there."

Eddie bit his shoulder, not hard, just the way he did whenever his mouth was close to Steve's skin, playfully.

"If one feels good, the other will too," he insisted.

"Finish practice and if I'm still awake, then...maybe."

Eddie smacked a kiss on his cheek before running back towards the garage.

"Gimme five minutes!" he yelled over his shoulder.

Steve laughed, shaking his head before walking back up to their his bedroom.

He slipped his pants off before getting under the covers, already knowing that Eddie would be doing whatever it took to make his headache feel better.

Eddie liked "natural remedies" for headaches, usually involving his mouth, usually nowhere near where the pain actually was.

Steve was loathe to admit it, but it did usually help, even if the reason was because it made him fall asleep faster.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #make me write

[abiiors]

so you're tired 🥀 // ross macdonald x reader

in which he doesn't exactly cheat but it hurts just the same a/n: this is loosely based on so you're tired by sufjan stevens, one of my fav songs atm!!! (can't wait for javelin) cw: very brief mentions of smut, arguments and yelling because well, this is just angst :( wc: 2k

the first time you fight—seriously fight—you don’t talk to him for three days. 

it’s the longest either of you have gone without talking to each other. he’s barely home for two more weeks before tour starts again and yet here you are, waking up to a cold bed every single day and roaming around like ghosts in a cold house. three days where you don’t come home to him humming softly in your kitchen while cooking you your favourite meals. three days of utter silence before one of you cracks. 

towards the end of it, none of you remember what the fight was about, only that you feel a hollow ache in your chest every night you don’t go to sleep cuddled up in his arms. you don’t remember who cracks first—all you remember are whispered apologies on each other’s skin and kisses that taste of tears. 

“i am wasting precious time with you,” he says, his face buried deep in the crook of your neck, holding you so close as if you might slip away from right between his fingers. 

“let’s forget about it, love,” you stroke his head, “let’s just move on. we have time…”

and it’s true isn’t it? you have all the time in the world. so what if he’s going away again? he will come home to you eventually…

so you smile and melt into his kiss. the next few days pass in a flurry of half-hearted joy and trepidation but ross is there, hugging you unexpectedly and playing with your hair till you fall asleep. ross is there to waltz you around the kitchen and make you your favourite meals. and the fight seems long forgotten, all the feelings of anxiety and lonliness burried deep down…

until they bubble up the night before he has to leave. 

“you always promise,” his voice rises with each word, “it’s always the same. and i always believe you like a fucking idiot.” he’s back on the same topic again, yelling about the same things you were two weeks ago but this conversation is going nowhere. 

“jesus christ, ross! i have a job you know!” you yell back, watching his face grow angrier. “can’t just drop everything and come travel the world with you.”

“you’re acting like i am asking you to run away with me!”

“that’s exactly—”

“no it’s not! stop putting words in my mouth,” he finally snaps, breathing heavily while standing in the midst of clothes strewn on the ground. a half-full suitcase sits by his feet with its maw wide open. “i told you, no. i asked you months ago if you would take some time off to come with me. fuck i was even fine if you brought work with you—”

“and it’s just not possible—”

“it’s never fucking possible!” he yells. “you never know how much i fucking miss you when i am gone.”

you defensively cross your arms in front of your chest, shivering slightly against the chill in the room. it’s been so rainy and gloomy all day, ironically the perfect ambiance for your fight that just seems so final. 

“ross, you’re acting like i don’t miss you at all!” “no…” he speaks quietly. you stand there like a statue, watching him gather his things and stuff them in the suitcase. when he zips it shut, it might as well be the loudest sound in the world. “you’re the one acting like that.”

and with that ross is gone, sidestepping you so easily that you might as well have not existed at all. just a ghost in your room, staring at the floor where his things were just moments ago, now all that remains is the echo of the door slamming shut behind him. 

you don’t know where ross goes that night. maybe over to matty’s or directly at the airport to spend the night sleeping on the bench. 

maybe he thinks it’s better to spend the night cold and uncomfortable and alone than to share the warm bed with you. 

maybe he thinks he’s better off alone entirely. 

you don’t try to call him. you just curl up on the bed, on his side of it, and let your sobs put you to sleep. 

blink and three more days go by. another three days of not talking, of radio silence. in that time, all the updates you get about him are concert photos and fan edits. he looks sad in them, quiet and reserved, yet they don’t know him as well as you do. they just think he’s tired from the  jetlag. a good night’s sleep will fix everything for him. 

they don’t know that a good night’s sleep comes only when he’s with you. 

this time it’s you who cracks first, calling him practically in the middle of the night with a thudding heart. on the brink of a panic attack. 

his voice is sleep-filled and his eyes bleary. you feel bad for calling him like this but he asks you to stay, asks you if you can talk. 

“i overreacted,” he sighs, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes. “i shouldn’t have…”

“no, ross. i should apologise, you weren’t… you weren’t wrong.”

his face perks up at those words. and your heart sinks deeper into your stomach. so, like a heartless bitch, you give him momentary hope and soothe him with sweet words until he asks the inevitable question. 

“so… are you coming?”

things can only go downhill from there and all you can do is scrunch your eyes shut let a few tears of regret roll down your cheeks. 

you’re certain this fight is worse than the last one. at least, the last time he was physically here. a tangible presence. now it’s just you, alone in your room with your sharp voice echoing all around you. drowning you in shame. 

this time when he argues, he’s eerily calm, not a single emotion in his voice or in his eyes and that’s how you know it’s really the end. 

that’s how you know his goodbye is final. 

when the “we are done” text pings on your phone at 2:15 am, you sob so hard you almost get sick on your bedroom carpet, only managing to run to the toilet at the last minute. 

you sob so hard that the warmth zaps right out of you and into the bathroom floor which remains just as ice cold the entire night you spend shivering on it. 

by the time morning comes, there are no more tears left. no more sobs or wails. 

all that’s left is a feeling of unending emptiness. 

everyone seems to have an opinion about the break up. some tell you he’s childish, a man child to not accept the fact that this is how adult relationships work. that people are busy. some go as far as to declare him the latest perpetrator of toxic masculinity—these people you ignore entirely. but there are some who sow a small seed of doubt in you—you fucked up. ultimately it’s george who knocks some sense into you with one simple text. 

he’s miserable. 

and before you know it, you’re texting your clients and letting them know you’ll be out of office for the foreseeable future. like a possessed person you’re on your laptop hunting for the quickest flights to paris. 

it’s the city of love and light. it should fix what’s broken. and you’re more than willing to grovel. to beg him for just one more chance. 

“will you please pick me up?” you text george as a last desperate attempt, practically jumping with joy when he says yes and asks you for your flight details. 

he tells you he’ll take care of the hotel room, of anything else you might need. all you need to worry about it being there and fixing what’s broken. he tells you there’s still hope. and like a fool you believe him wholeheartedly. 

it’s almost a day later that you stand in front of his hotel room on shaky legs, staring at the non-descript door with blurred eyes. you’re thankful for george’s hand lightly resting on your shoulder—there’s at least some moral support there. 

he doesn’t urge you to knock, he just stands there with you, staring at the brown door for as long as you might need to build up courage. 

you close your eyes and dream of the after. 

sure it will a confrontation at first. he’s going to be angry and hurt but you can change that. more importantly you can make him believe that you can change. so you let yourself dream of what comes after. of how you might spend days after cooped up in the room, tasting each other’s skin and reeking of sex. 

it won’t matter though. you would spend hours with your limbs tangled up, laughing at silly stories you’ve told each other a million times before and eating ridiculously expensive macaroons. 

the thought makes you laugh sharply, just once before you cover it up with a slight cough and look at george.

“right… right i think i’m ready…”

he nods and steps back, keeping a respectful distance, still there to be with you just in case. 

so you knock, toeing the carpet and trying not to strain your ears to hear any signs of life inside. maybe you’ve come at the wrong time… maybe he’s in the shower or asleep and you’re just doing one more thing wrong. maybe he’s not even in his room, preferring to be somewhere instead. it is paris after all… 

but the lock clicks and with it your heart stops beating. george takes another step back, rooting for a happy, cuddly reunion you hope. 

and then the door swings open and your heart is in your throat as soon as you see him. ross… your ross, he’s there. sure, he looks a bit tired and disheveled and sure he’s just answered the door shirtless but you couldn’t care less. 

“ros—”

“ross?” it’s another voice. it’s not yours and yet it’s a female voice, lilting and high-pitched and snagging on the r, saying his name. a voice that comes from inside his room. 

and then there she is, peeking out from behind him. it’s unmistakable that she only has a bedsheet clutched around her, hair escaping her bun and falling onto her bare shoulders. 

you stand there like a fucking statue once again, looking from her to him and back at her confused face. she’s everything you’re not—perfect and waiflike and god so stunning it hurts to look at her. 

or perhaps the hurt comes from the feeling of someone squeezing your heart so tight that you stumble back, practically knocking into george whose existence you’d forgotten in those last thirty seconds. 

“love—”

“no,” you whisper, already half turned around, bags in tow.

ross reaches forward, his face crumpling into one of guilt, pain and worry. his throat bobs, eyes quickly tinging with red. 

he tries to speak but nothing comes out. 

or maybe he does speak and you hear nothing at all because you’re so busy sprinting out of there and out of the hotel entirely and onto the unknown streets of paris. 

the eiffel tower stands proud—a romantic backdrop to all the cuddly couples taking photos in front of it, kissing each other and laughing their hearts out. you run away, back to wherever that will take you farthest away from here. 

wherever that will take you so so far away from his version of after that you would never even remember it again—remember him again, rather. the crinkles around his eyes and his dimples. the feel of his beautiful hair between your fingers. his voice and his laugh and his humming. 

all you can do is seethe with laughter so hard that a sob lodges itself in your throat, chokes and suffocates you thoroughly. 

there’s no after that you so desperately dreamed of. this is the only one you get. 

lemme know what you think <33

taglist: @scooby-doodoo, @partoftheairforce, @justgoatsbreakinghearts0855 @beachesgetpeaches, @you-muppet, @mcabister, @alexmarie29, @at-her-very-foreign, @hfkait, @squishysoupy @sierraeslaprincesa @harrie-fic-center @alien-girl-violet @thereisaplaceintheheart @kennedy-brooke @lolidontknowanymore @theoriginalwhatsername @celestcies @sugarkane1001 @ari-turner @thewaywewereinsaigon

add yourself to the taglist

#the 1975 #ross macdonald #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald x you #ross x reader #ross x you #ross macdonald angst #the 1975 angst #matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #angst writing #minors do not interact

[gooeyslime]

I will die on this hill but William Afton being a good dad would have worked so much better at making him feel realistic instead of becoming a cartoonishly evil man and honestly the juxtaposition of like, witnessing him kill a kid, dropping his cheerful Springbonnie act as he locks them in a room, just a cold glare as he kills them, making the player go "what a heartless monster... I feel so bad for his kids, having to deal with such a piece of shit" as we see him get out of the suit, cleaning up the blood and head home, as he opens the door once again we see his attitude change as he tells his kids "Dad's back home!" And we see them run up to him, Michael playing it cool bc he's an angsty teen but you see him smile as he points out he's late, you can tell they all care for him and got worried, after all there's a murderer on the loose and while they seem to target kids who knows? They could kill adults too... William smiles at them, genuinely, not like the smile he gave his victim whith his Springbonnie act, they all eat dinner together and if you hadn't just seen him kill a kid in cold blood you'd think this was a normal family, just a single dad eating and chatting with his kids... As he makes sure they are all sound asleep you see him walk into his bedroom, looking at a picture, it's a picture of all of them, smiling together, next to William is a woman and it dawns on you that she's nowhere to be seen and that she might be dead and he's trying to figure out how to bring her back by killing a bunch of random kids bc nothing can stand between William Afton and the only people he cares about, not even death itself... that stuff would make me way more scared of him than any "oh I am so smart I planned for you to try and set me on fire again so now if anyone scans my parts into a computer I can brainwash a random person and get them to rebuild myself ooooh I always come back!"

Like even showing him before he completely loses it would be terrifying, how he's just a normal guy who has his own troubles sure, but still isn't going around killing kids to study weird ghost stuff... Not yet anyway... And the the last straw happens and he falls to the deep end and you wonder, if you were in his shoes... If you lost the love of your life... And everyone just tells you life goes on and you just gotta get over it... What would you do? Would you also break? Would you go as far as killing someone in the hopes to bring her back? To put your family back together? And as you do that how would you handle your family breaking apart even further? Your daughter killed by YOUR machine, the machine you built to kill kids, the machine you desperately tried to keep her away from? Your older son acting out, angry because he couldn't handle his own sorrow at losing his sister shortly after his mom, he's falling apart just like you and in a moment of anger he ends up killing his younger brother, your other son killed because you couldn't see that your older son couldn't handle his own grief too? What would do then?

Stuff like that is utterly terrifying to think about... At least for me... Shame they made him so evil he's basically a Saturday morning cartoon villain now, he could have been so terrifying in so many ways but instead they made him an annoyance... Like even him coming back post Pizza Sim could have been terrifying if he wasn't such a joke by then, like we thought we finally defeated him but he's back, because he still hasn't done what he set out to do, put his family back together, and absolutely nothing can stop him from doing just that... Instead we get him showing up in 1 (one) ending and he's just... Walking around... Then he stares at a monitor and eventually he hacks Freddy by... Holding out his hand like he's using the force?? He doesn't even have a jumpscare either... I really hope the DLC at least gives him that bc him being threatening again is almost impossible after all the peepaw jokes people made...

Anyway I'm sure you can tell I have very strong feelings about this and so many thoughts for plot points that could be added to the lore if this was canon but I'll shut up for now before I write a whole essay lol

#ramblings #fnaf #william afton #elizabeth afton #michael afton #fnaf 4 cc #mrs. afton #burntrap #glamrock freddy #fnaf sb

[sensei-venus]

Can't stop thinking about bimbo housewife reader just wanting to make her hubby and wife feel better after their long days at work by letting them use her fat wet pussy that she's been edging all day to their hearts content

- gemini sensei

( @gemini-sensei )

She probably just has a feeling that they are going to need some extra pampering when they get home from work.

Maybe it's something small that triggers the feelings she gets.

Maybe it's nothing like missing their favorite shoes, they are nowhere to be found. They swear  they left them at the door but now they're magically gone. Maybe the water pressure in the shower is messed up, no hot water, and now they have to call to get someone to come out and look at it. They can't find their keys and now they are late to work by like ten minutes. All in all their morning is basically ruined.

Reader kisses them good bye and wishes them a good day. The door closes and Reader is already thinking of a plan.

And so what, maybe she can have her own little fun while she's at it. She's giggling to herself the whole morning while getting everything prepared and ready. Her eyes sparkle as she goes to their shared closet and pulls out their little box of toys. Looking through all their little goodies she gets to find some of the more teasing ones. She finally comes across the perfect ones.

She pulls out a wireless clit vibrator and one of her favorite plugs. For a split second, she feels like this shouldn't be as fun as it seems, but it most definitely is. She smiles while getting herself ready.

With some extra lube she slides the plug right in to her tight hole. She tries to relax a little before fully sliding it in, it had been a while since she had done this herself. Usually her husband/wife would do it with her. Warmth bubbles up inside her at the mere thought of them holding her while helping to slide the toy inside her. She shivers a little as it sinks into place inside her warm channel.

With a bit of work and some skin-safe tape, she places the clit vibe on. She flips her dress back down and slowly cleans up the small mess of toys. Throwing them back in the box and sliding them back into their closet. She keeps the remote in her dress pocket for safe keeping.

The rest of the day is spent going around the house cleaning. Sweeping and vacuuming the floors, cleaning the furniture with a duster.

The big plug presses inside her as she moves around the house. Her pussy clenched every other moment at the heavyweight. It started to grind against her velvety sung walls, threatening to push against her soft spot.

She loves the fact that she in her own home all day so she can moan and whimper all she wants. Taking full advantage of that and whimpering all over the house.

Midday she decides to take it up a notch and turn on the vibrator. She bucks and has to hold onto the washing machine. The vibrations made her mind go fuzzy for a moment. She sighs while lowering the setting just a little. Needing to keep working on the pile of laundry that still needs to be folded and put away. She promises to keep on her panties though out the whole day no matter what. It doesn't matter if they end up completely ruined and soaked though.

She wants her husband/wife to know how much work she put into edging herself all day for them.

At the very end of the day she just sends them a simple text of “I have a surprise when you get home. Find me in the kitchen~” with a whole bunch of heart emotions.

When they come home they throw off their stuff at the door and don't even look back.

They walk into the kitchen to find Reader up on the kitchen counter, legs spread with her fancy little house dress pulled up around her waist. Soaking wet panties on full display. She had the sweetest little smile on her face with a look of lust in her eyes. They also sparkle as she shakes her turned-up dress.

“I thought you could use a little pick me up after work. I know you work so hard for us, for me, you deserve a little reward don't you think~?” she giggles a little as they walk over to her. Her husband/wife is quick to run a hand over her naked thigh. Fingers digging into the fat making her whimper.

Soon enough their thick fingers are digging into her panties, they grin at the feeling of warm wet pussy juice-covered underwear. Moments later their fingers find the base of the plug that's still stuffed in her hungry pussy. Lingering over the warm material. She squeezes at it ever so slightly, making it move against their fingertips.

“You brought the plug out just for me? How-”

“All day, since you left. I put the vibrator on my clit too. Iv been edging myself for hours now.” she smiles as they get face to face. Their eyes met, just looking at one another with love. The loving feelings start to bubble up the longer they look at each other.

Ruined panties are ripped off and thrown to the kitchen floor. Forgotten for more important things. The pretty plug is pulled from her cunt and placed somewhere, her winking hole twitches as it's pulled out. Moaning at the empty feeling and wanting more.

Her eyes snap wide open as she feels the vibrations on her clit pick up. Her eyes start to water as suddenly the vibrator is put on one of the highest settings. She can't help but kick her legs just a little.

Her eyes roll up and her fat tongue hangs out when suddenly a fat long dick is pushing right into her. No real prep is needed as it slides right into her stretched-out hole. Face pushes into the hard countertop. Pounding into her for a good long hour.

Fuck she would let them do this to her every time they had a hard day at work.

It was fucking worth it to let them destroy her fucking pussy and use it like their own personal flashlight.

She drools all over herself and the counter as she lets them fuck the ever-loving shit out of her. Poor cunt stretched out and fucked wide open.

(I'm so horny for Housewife!Reader, don't question it.)

#sensei venus speaks #cobra kai #cobra kai blog #cobra kai ask blog #cobra kai headcanons #cobra kai imagine #bimbo!reader #housewife!reader #smut thoughts #cobra kai smut thought #cobra kai smut

[greatwyrmgold]

Caramelldansen, the Disney Channel theme, & obfuscated authorship

Kevin Perjurer's Disney Channel's Theme: A History Mystery and jan Misali's who wrote Caramelldansen? feel like complimentary opposites.

Both are videos about the authorship of music that lots of people have heard but few people think about. But the similarities end there. (Aside from some fairly petty stuff like "both have iconic associated choreography, if the wand thing counts as choreography".)

Perjurer expresses frustration that, for all the artistry he puts into this and his other documentaries, he will be remembered as a YouTuber or a content creator, not a documentarian or a filmmaker. For all the work jan Misali puts into his craft, he embraces the fact that he makes YouTube videos. It's not easy to remix "Die Young" and "Hare Hare Yukai," but Misali did it...and what kind of documentary would have a 13-second title card in the middle with a mashup of a J-pop song and an A-pop song playing over it?

(Are American pop songs called A-pop? They should be.)

On a related note: Perjurer's documentary seems to have that tension as its primary theme. The tension between the effort and artistry that goes into something like the Disney Channel theme, and the disrespect it receives for not even qualifying as "low art". The primary theme of Misali's video seems to be more along the line of "It's worth remembering random facts about the world," expressed through his frustration at Remix Records, his frustration at how much Caramelldansen ("I would absolutely love to play the garbage Caramelldansen rhythm game!"), and the random facts he dug up while researching and chose to share for no other reason.

(There's a decent argument that who wrote Caramelldansen?'s primary theme is more along the lines of "'Caramelldansen''s original authorship is irrelevant, because the meme is what makes it 'Caramelldansen'," but that theme doesn't really appear outside the video's conclusion.)

Another stream-of-thought association: Perjurer has nothing but respect for the work of Alex Lasarenko, both his contributions to the Disney Channel theme and his broader work. Misali has nothing but shade to throw on the work of Giovanni Sconfienza, both his "contributions" to Caramelldansen and his broader work, and especially his attempts to take the Caramell out of Caramelldansen. I feel both of these are 100% justified, given context, but it's another interesting contrast!

Perjurer assumes that the audience will accept that the Disney Channel theme's importance is obvious to the viewer, and understand what made it so prominent. It was played on one of the biggest kid's TV networks of the 21st century! Misali focuses most of the video on why and how Caramelldansen rose to prominence, because for a lot of people it's just "that song that plays for ANIME LOL".

The obfuscation of the Disney Channel theme's authorship comes down to Disney being Disney and not saying anything about non-Disney people who make Disney Disney. (And, to be fair, broader industry trends.) The obfuscation of "Caramelldansen"'s authorship comes down to some rebranding done years after the fact. Misali is (I feel, rightfully) critical of [name]. Perjurer is (I feel, rightfully) respectful towards Alex Lasarenko and the music he directed/composed.

Most obviously: It takes months of research, correspondence, interviews, and so forth before Perjurer can figure out who wrote the Disney Channel Theme. Misali identifies Caramell as the creators of "Caramelldansen" in the opening seconds of the video. (Also, it's in the song's title.)

Now, you might reasonably wonder why I wrote this post, comparing two random YouTube video essays on similar topics. I'd like to provide some grand thesis statement that ties my conclusions and process into some statement about the nature of art. However, at the end of the day, this is more of a jan Misali post than a Kevin Perjurer one. But I think both would agree that this kind of little thing has merit. (Nowhere near enough to ask for their opinion or assume they'd have one, of course.)

#jan misali #defunctland #youtube #caramelldansen #disney channel theme #random thoughts #unusually random this time #video essays

[myloveismineallmine]

Part 3!

Going back to sydcarmy for this one!

This might be the first instance of a romantic song being used with sydcarmy?

Song: In Too Deep- Genesis

Technically, it's only Sydney in this scene. However, contextually, it applies to a situation with Carmy, which is why I'm counting it. (There's a few that are like this I will go over later)

So, plot recap: Carmy is busy dealing with his grief, and he tells Syd to basically reorganize the whole work environment all by herself.

We see this shot of Syd trying to pull herself together in the walk-in, and as she exits, the song begins.

Lyrics over the shots of her with Tina and Ebraheim:

All that time I was searching with nowhere to run to It started me thinking Wondering what I have could make of my life And who'd be waiting

Sydney walks past Marcus, cuts herself on the box cutter, Tina & co ask her if she's okay:

Asking all kinds of questions to myself But never finding the answers Crying at the top of my voice and no one listening

"Crying at the top of my voice and no one listening" is audible as Sydney yells at the staff and tells them she's fine, which is super on the nose.

On Tina:

All this time, I still remember everything you said, ah-ha There's so much you promised, how could I ever forget

The volume grows for this line, so you can really hear the lyrics.

On pot over heating:

Listen, you know I love you, but I just can't take this

Shots of a pigeon and other stuff in the city to establish that we are no longer in the kitchen:

You know I love you, but I'm playing for keeps

The song is abruptly cut off as we see a shot of Carmy, the audio drowned out by the sounds of a train going over tracks.

Kind of a weird cut for the song, since it cuts in the middle of chorus and not in between verses. Like, you're not gonna even play the "But I'm in too deep" part? Damn.

Contextually though, the main chorus "You know I love you, but I just can't take this." was obviously chosen because it fits this scene perfectly. Sydney is having a breakdown because Carmy put her in a really shitty spot. It is technically a love song though? Like, let's not forget that.

I wonder if the choice to cut off the song in the middle of the chorus, especially by being drowned out by a louder sound, was meant to showcase that Carmy was not paying attention to how stressed he was making Sydney. The scene of him they cut to is actually him seeing Nico, who was the person who called him on the phone earlier, reminded him of his dead brother, leaving Carmy to disassociate and leave Sydney on the struggle bus for the subsequent 5 or how ever many minutes of runtime while he goes to al-anon. I didn't really get why they included that sequence before, but it actually makes way more sense after doing this whole breakdown of it.

Bonus song analysis:

Song: Heat Not Hot - Serengeti

Carmy is yelling at Syd about the stock boiling and the onions not being cut and we all feel bad for her.

Don't have the exact lyrics for this song, so I can't break down what the lyrics are in this shot, but the volume does increase as Sydney steps away and starts chopping onions.

How many times I gotta tell you your heat shouldn't've got hot?

How many times you given up, telling me that’s all you got?

It’s not all you got

All you need’s direction

How many times you want the answers for the same questions?

(Tried to write what I heard, may not be 100% accurate.)

How do they find these songs, lol. Such a fitting verse for this scene. Not a love song or anything, but one of many examples of how on the nose a lot of these lyrics are to the story.

#the bear #the bear meta #sydcarmy #the bear music

[sugawarassoulmate]

Here me out, I'm gonna be horny on main for just a second. Loser!kuroo where a he hears someone talking shit when bully!reader ain't around and he do a lil something something about it. And then after the fact he come storming up into your place wanting to eat you out to feel better. You feel me?

BTW I love you so much.

me: *doesn't write about kuroo for like 3 days* y'all: feel like pure shit 🥲 just want him back sksksksk

words: 591 cw: fem!reader, misogynistic language, oral (f receiving), angry loser!kuroo, tetsuro kuroo: defender of women sksksk, minors dni or i’ll bite ur kneecaps

sometimes kuroo is amazed at how easy it is for him to slip under people’s radar despite being “obnoxiously tall” as you put it. like right now, he’s getting food in the dining hall after his class ended and going over his notes when he overhears his name in conversation. that wouldn’t have been so bad if your name hadn’t come up as well.

“if she lets that loser hit, she’d definitely fuck anyone,” he heard someone say, voice thick with a smugness that seemed undeserved. “i’ve been trying to get her attention but she’s playing hard to get.”

someone else snorts. “yeah, she’s stuck up as fuck, but i heard her head game is crazy. wouldn’t mind a try either.”

it goes on like that—mindless and disgusting. it’s already bad enough that they’re talking about a woman, or anyone, like that. but they’re talking about you. kuroo knows you don’t care about stupid boys saying stupid shit about someone they wish they could have, but he won’t stand for it.

getting up, kuroo dumps his half-eaten food—he lost his appetite after hearing what they said—and goes up to the table, standing tall in front of the two guys. he recognizes them from one of your classes and they’re shocked to see the six-foot volleyball captain staring directly at them, gritted teeth and heavy breathing.

“got anything else you wanna say, man?” kuroo keeps himself in check, he learned a long time ago how to not let his emotions get the best of him. no matter how much his fist is twitching.

one of the guys holds his hand up in defense. “hey, bro. we were just talking shit. we didn’t mean none of it.” his voice cracks, the self-confidence he had just moments ago is nowhere to be seen. he gestures to his friend to back him up, but gets nothing. the other boy is too nervous to say a word.

kuroo rolls his eyes. “be fucking careful with your words next time. i won’t be as nice.” they nod and quickly grab their stuff to get the hell out of dodge. kuroo likes knowing he scared them, but he wonders what else they might have said about you that he wasn’t around to hear. the tightness in his chest doesn’t leave and kuroo feels like he needs to punch something.

no, he needs to calm down. he needs you.

he blindly heads to your dorm, doing anything he can from resisting that anger festering inside him. it’s only when he sees your face that kuroo can finally calm down. you didn’t have class today and were still in your pajamas, rubbing the sleep from your eyes after waking up from your midday nap.

“did you run here? why are you breathing so hard?” you ask, scowl on your face as you take in the sight of the man before you.

“i just…” kuroo can’t form words and instead just pulls you into a kiss, pushing you into the room and shutting the door. you let out a sound of surprise, but don’t push him away, fingers tangling in his hair as you let him drop you to the bed. “i’m sorry, i’m sorry i just need you right now…”

kuroo pulls your shorts down and you think he’s going to fuck you, but he dives straight for your pussy, lapping at your slit and groaning at the taste. it’s confusing how he so quickly threw himself upon you, but you’re not one to ask questions when you’re being spoiled.

©sugawarassoulmate 2022 all rights reserved - please do not repost/translate my work on other platforms!

#haikyuu smut #haikyu smut #kuroo smut #kuroo tetsuro x reader #kuroo x reader #kuroo testuro #kuroo tetsuro smut #tetsurou kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou smut #haikyuu x reader #haikyu x reader #🍑 #🍑kuroo #loser!kuroo

[ridreamir]

Short Drayton Imagines (Set 1)

Warning! These are Post-DLC Imagines! I won't really be spoiling much plot-wise but in case I say anything spoiler-y I'm going to include a page break-- read with your own caution! There's a hint of Kieran Jealousy in here haha

You aren't really close friends, per se, it's just that he's taken to inserting himself into your life at random. If you ever find yourself in his neck of the woods, it's more than likely that he'll pop out from nowhere and try to distract you from getting your work done. You are colleagues at the very least, being the champ of his little organization and all.

"Hey sport!" or some variation is the only warning you'll get that you're about to be dragged into some whirlwind and might as well either run as fast as you can or resign yourself to being at the mercy of Drayton's whims for the day.

Yes, he is always scheming. People might look down on him for being laid back, but he's still got the energy to plot things it seems.

...It's not that he's philosophically against bad grades or anything, but you're a little too high-strung about being perfect and performing all the time. At least, that's what he thinks. You've been the best at everything for so long that he's not sure if it's just your nature or an obligation that everyone else has set upon you. You need to learn to relax! Who better to teach you than the Drayster himself? It's not like he takes anything seriously anymore. (lol) (Maybe he's projecting, a little. He knows a thing or two about expectations and pressure being put on a person to achieve excellence, even if that's not what they really want.)

Plenty of his lackeys have obviously figured out that he's got some sort of thing going on, what with how easily he drops what he's doing just to go pester you. Even if that means abandoning his snacks and actually cleaning himself off to look somewhat presentable. The fact that he cares to wipe a couple crumbs off his chest is enough to turn heads. Drayton isn't the type to mind what anyone thinks.

You're lucky the dorms require a digital key to get in, and that he can't be bothered to break in (though he probably could pull some strings if he really wanted). He's followed you back to the dorms after a long day and ignored the hall monitors barking at him to get back to his own just to play around and snoop through your stuff. It's... kind of like finding a really lazy Beartic rummaging through your garbage.

He doesn't really need a comfortable bed, to be honest. He's happy to drag you into a foot of snow and burrow there. He can settle anywhere secluded, as fun as it is to watch people from afar. He needs peace and quiet to sleep.

Artificial glaciers or not, the cold is still biting, but he's impervious to it somehow. He'll have his skin exposed for hours and have nothing more than a slight flush to his pale skin. You, on the other hand, have little choice in the matter. He knows you've dealt with worse, being a seasoned adventurer and all, so he doesn't really feel all too bad about hogging all your warmth to himself. ...If you were actually cold, he wouldn't be so cruel. You're dressed appropriately, and you have your Pokemon if you absolutely need. You can handle a few moments out in the snow. Your little friend is a teeny bit upset with him. So's his sister, so there's nothing new there. But he has to admit that he's a little smug about how 'close' he can get to you and loves watching the pipsqueak try to stomp down his temper. It goes something like "Hey there buddy~." And an arm slung lazily slung around your shoulder. Not that you have any idea that Kieran is both behind you and seething at Drayton. It's just too easy to get to him, but think of it as payback. He's forgiven of course, but he still put you all through some rough stuff. You especially. Drayton still loves to mess with Carmine, sure, but she's also been on his case about how he's been latching onto you recently. Maybe it's because she knows how jealous her brother gets, but he thinks she just wants you all to herself. Too bad for her, he got to you first. Well, not exactly, she met you before him, but she had her chance! Now you're the bestest of buds and she can't do nothin about it. You've got lots of friends back at 'home'. He knows he can't always capitalize on your time, and he backs off when he sees you actually needing space, but they're not here to stop him. You're his bud, all his.

#x reader #pokemon #reader insert #pokemon x reader #imagines #fanfiction #dlc #drayton pokemon #Drayton x Reader #pokemon scarlet and violet #pokemon scarlet dlc #blueberry academy #school life #hello tumblr #i'm back #post dlc #possesiveness #Youtube

[familyvideostevie]

𝕟𝕠 𝕘𝕠𝕠𝕕 𝕒𝕥 𝕨𝕒𝕚𝕥𝕚𝕟𝕘: 𝕠𝕔𝕥𝕠𝕓𝕖𝕣 , 𝕤𝕥𝕚𝕝𝕝

a farmer's market steve harrington x reader au

part 1 [7.2k] | part 2 [8.3k] | part 3 [13.3k] 18+ | part 4 [4.7k] | au masterlist

Steve doesn't show up at the farmer's market the next day. Every time you close your eyes you can feel his lips on yours, warm and soft and it makes you feel flushed in the morning chill. The same chill that creeps into your bones with every hour that Steve doesn't show up. You keep peeking over at the Sara's tent but the market is so busy you can't go over and see for yourself. And you can't help it -- you wonder if he's embarrassed about your kiss. You wonder if he regrets it, if he's avoiding you because of it.

But you want to give Steve the benefit of the doubt. So you do. Something must be wrong.

It's not until you're packed up and ready to go that you see Robin and jog over to her, calling her name. She beams at you and you can't help but return it, even though your chest is tight with worry.

"Don't I look great for being extremely hungover right now?" she says, pulling you in for a quick hug. She's bundled in a scarf and a Sara's sweatshirt and her cheeks are pink.

"You always look great, Robin," you tell her honestly. "And you only had like, two beers!"

"We were drunk when you got there," she grimaces. "Jonathan had a flask." You bounce on your heels a little and look around the stand just in case you missed Steve somehow. "But I know you didn't come over here to say hi to me," she says smugly.

You scoff. "Robin, don't be silly, I --"

"Want to know where Steve is? Yeah, me too!" she says. "But I asked El and she said that Hop said that Steve is sick today."

"Sick?" you frown. "But he was fine last night." Robin's eyebrows shoot up and she purses her lips at you.

"Oh, it sure seemed like he was fine to me. But you'd know better." You roll your eyes fight the urge to put your face in your hands. "I was going to go check on him after work," she continues, "but maybe you want to go instead? I'm sure he'd be happy to see you." The tease hasn't totally left her voice but you can tell she's being honest.

"Oh," you say. "Yeah. Yeah, I can do that." You give her a quick hug and thank her before you head back to your truck and drive to the store. What do you buy a sick boy who you kissed last night? You don't even know what Steve likes, if he's a cough drop or syrup guy, if he prefers lemon to chamomile tea, if he even likes tea. The vast landscape of things you want to learn about him stretches out in front of you and it makes you equal parts nervous and excited.

You buy a few of everything.

The truck Robin was driving is already parked and empty when you get to the farm, but she's nowhere to be seen. Your paper bag of purchases crinkles in your hand as you head into the farm store before you can change your mind.

"You," Hopper says from his place behind the counter. He's reading a different paperback than when you last saw him but the expression on his face is the same. "Got more candles for me?" He nods at your paper bag.

You fight the urge to look at your feet. "Uh, no. Sir." His eyebrows rise and he sucks on his teeth, waiting for you to continue. "Is uh, Steve here?"

"You only ever come around lookin for that boy?" he mutters then sighs. "He's sick today." Hopper appraises you and you think maybe you see some fondness.

"I heard," you tell him. "I brought him some stuff."

"Sure he'll love that," he says. "He lives in a loft above the blue barn, if you wanna see him." He goes back to his paperback and you feel dismissed.

"Uh, thanks?" He grunts at you and you wander out onto the property. Will Steve actually be glad to see you? Kissing you is one thing, but having you show up where he lives when he's sick is something totally different. Something much more intense. Something that will surely tell him how much you like him.

The blue barn is a quick walk from the farm store and it's nothing like any barn you've seen before. The main doors are open into a large and tidy open area of equipment. The a-frame of the interior is exposed up to where there's a clear second floor and an iron spiral staircase leading to it. It creaks as you carefully take it up to the door to what seems to be the loft.

"Steve?" You knock. "Steve, it's--"

The door opens and you startle backwards but Steve's hand darts out to grab your arm. "It's you," he says. "Hey, honey." Well, that's what it sounds like, anyway. His voice is gravely and his nose is clearly stopped up, muddling his words. His hair is a riot and he's wearing...glasses?

"Can I come in?" you ask. "I brought you some stuff." He blinks owlishly behind his wire frames.

"I'm sick," he says, a little pathetically. You roll your eyes and slide past him into his loft, his hand releasing you as you go.

You put the paper bag down on his kitchen counter and glance around the space. It's the other side of the a-frame, though it looks to be properly insulated and has a few large windows on the other side of the barn. It's all one room -- his bed hidden on the other side of some bookshelves and a couch. It's a little messy and there's a pot simmering on the stove. There's a round breakfast table taking up most of the small kitchen. It looks much more lived in than your room at Bob's does.

"Are you feeling okay?" he asks. "I woke up sick and only just got up and moving and I was gonna call to see if you --" He pauses and runs a hand through his hair. He's blushing. "If you felt sick, too. Since we kissed last night." Tension you didn't know you were holding bleeds from the set of your shoulders at his mention of it.

"No need to worry about me," you mutter, unloading your bag. His socked feet appear next to your sneakers and you look up. Your stomach clenches at his closeness. His eyes are a little puffy and his nose is red. He takes the cough drops you're holding from you and places them on the table before lacing your fingers together.

"Don't get me wrong," he says softly. "I enjoyed swapping spit last night." You huff a laugh. "I just would hate for our first kiss to actually make you sick. Though it would probably make sense for us, wouldn't it?" That sends you into real laughter which Steve echoes until he breaks off into a coughing fit.

"Oh, Steve," you sigh. "I got you some stuff that should help."

"Yeah, I can see that," he says, voice rough. "I'm taking notes for if I have to take care of you. Which I totally would, this being my fault and all." Fondness clogs your throat and you move to the stove.

"Soup?" He nods. "Sit down, Steve. Where are your bowls?" You rummage around his small kitchen and find one for him, stirring what looks like chicken noodle as he obeys.

"You don't need to take care of me --"

"I want to take care of you, Steve," you interrupt. "You look after everyone else all the time, even people you don't really know. And I think it's alright for you to just chill out for a second, okay?" You glance at him and he looks properly chastised and even a little shocked. "Though if I do get sick because we kissed, I'd say it was worth it," you add, quieter. He smiles big, his eyes creasing at the corners behind his glasses, and you find that you can't look away.

You've always wondered how people do this -- kiss someone and continue to look at them the same. Because you've never been able to. How can you now that you know what his lips taste like, how the heat of his breath feels on your skin? It makes you feel warm all over to remember it. You have to stop yourself from leaning in right there in his kitchen.

You spoon the soup into a bowl and bring it to him, sitting across from him at the small table.

"Worth it, huh?" he says, blowing on it. "Good to know. Cause I want to do it again." You dig your fingers into your thighs to keep from touching him as he voices your own thoughts but it's a battle you lose, instead lifting your hand to gently feel his forehead, a half-hearted gesture to suggest he's got a fever. He bats you away, grabbing your hand in his own. "No, don't go trying to convince me this is a fever dream. I like you." He sighs, lips curling into a shy smile, something you didn't think he was capable of. "I really like you. I have this whole time."

"Steve--" you try to interrupt him but he brings your palm to his face and plants a gentle kiss there, stealing your words and your breath and maybe your heart.

"I know you're figuring your stuff out in Hawkins and so am I, but I just can't stop thinking about you. If you didn't know that already."

You blink owlishly at his tenderness. You've known him for less than two months but he's already figured out how to soothe the ache in your chest and you don't know how you're going to handle it. Can you handle someone wanting you? Someone with expectations and needs and desires? Someone so wonderful, so complicated and real and solid like Steve?

"I like you, too," you say. He squeezes your hand. "I think about you all the time." He laughs then, a bright, joyful sound before he lets you go to cover the ensuing coughing fit.

"Sorry," he says into his fist. "I'm not fun right now." He eats some more of the soup once he settles and you decide that he needs rest more than anything.

You get up from the table and he makes a noise that sounds like a whine. "Once you feel better, let me know," you say, aiming for casual. "Maybe we can...hang out some more."

"Yeah," he says quickly. "Yes, I'll call you. And thanks for the stuff," he adds. Before you can change your mind, you move into his space and bend down to kiss his forehead. It's somehow more intimate than his tongue in your mouth, softer than his hands on you. It's a kiss that betrays the depth of your tenderness, how much you care for him. It hints at the possibility of what this thing between you could become. Which he hasn't brought up again, still seemingly content to let you call the shots. But how long will that be enough?

"Bye, Steve," you say softly, leaving him a little shell-shocked at the table, glasses askew and cheeks flaming.

_____

The image of Steve soft and awed at your departure sticks in your mind for the next few days. You wonder over and over if you should pick up the phone and call the farm to see how he is, if you should just drive over and bring him more soup. But a small voice reminds you that this is new and probably not permanent. There's no way this could last, right? It's just some fun, a chance for you to relax a little, to forget that you're meant to be figuring out what's next. To forget that the market ends in a month and you have no idea where you'll end up.

He calls you on Tuesday morning. Bob is out with the hives and the landline rings as you're munching on some toast.

"New-Bee farm," you say, customer service voice bright and cheery. "This is --"

"Hey, honey," Steve says over the line. He sounds much better and you tell him so, the nickname warming you down to your toes. "I'm a new man!"

"And how can I help this new man?" you ask, twirling the chord around your finger.

You can hear the deep breath he takes, almost feel it warm on the shell of your ear. "I seem to recall someone saying she wanted to hang out. And Hop gave me an extra day off. But I know you're probably busy so if you can't it's totally fine --"

"Steve," you interrupt. "I'm not busy. What do you want to do?"

"I have some ideas," he says. "I'll pick you up in 20." And true to his word, the Sara's truck pulls up right on time. It's properly cold, your breath fogging in font of you as you descend the farmhouse steps in your layers, hat and gloves tucked into the pocket of your overcoat. Steve is similarly bundled, a vest tossed over a thick sweatshirt, his own hat and gloves on the dash of the truck when you get in. His nose is a little red but otherwise he looks healthy and very pleased to see you.

"Hi," you say, rubbing your hands together. Steve angles the vents towards you -- a gesture that reminds you of the rainstorm you were caught in -- and smiles.

"You ready for a tour of Hawkins, Harrington style?" He doesn't wait for you to answer, instead hooking his arm around your headrest to back out onto the road. You know it's impossible, but you swear you can feel the heat of him on the back of your neck, his fingers resting gently on the collar of your coat for just a moment.

"I've lived here for like, two months. I think it's a little late for a tour." He pulls his arm back and you suck on your teeth to keep from doing something embarrassing like whining.

"Never too late," he scoffs. "Plus, I don't think you go out much, bee girl. Robin says she sees you at the library and in town sometimes, but I think you're missing all the good stuff." You scoff in mock offense, even though you know he's right. You haven't really explored Hawkins beyond your normal routine, beyond the places Steve has led you. He switches on the tape deck, volume low, and you think you recognize The Eagles as he whistles along.

Hawkins really is beautiful this time of year. You haven't really taken the time to notice the way the leaves have changed from the greens you saw at the end of September to rich oranges and reds, yellows and browns. Driving down these roads feels like being in a colorful tunnel, the air crisp and clean and cleansing, somehow. As the world around you decays in such a magnificent way, you feel yourself come alive under the gaze of the boy next to you.

"Eyes on the road," you mutter. He laughs, but a glance at him betrays his blush at being caught. He doesn't apologize, and you take the opportunity to stare at him. "What's the first stop?" you ask. He chews on his answer and it makes his jaw move in a way that forces you to swallow a lump in your throat. God, he really is so pretty.

"Gonna take you through some neighborhoods before we head into town. Show you the streets that raised all the punks you've met." Winding roads lined with trees turn to residential sidewalks, houses of all kinds appearing out of nowhere. Hardly anyone is out on a fall Tuesday morning, most residents at school or work already. It's a town that feels lived in, feels homey. Steve points out various family homes as you go, from the Wheeler’s to the Byers' and the other kids you've met. All relatively close, close enough that you can tell they've all been friends for years.

"And that one was mine," he says, pointing to a large home set back from the street, a little further from everyone else. "But my parents moved out a few years ago. Looks nicer now. The family must take care of it." His voice isn't cold so much as void of emotion. This is part of Steve's story, you realize. And he's showing it to you.

"Do you miss it?" You don't ask if he misses them. That feels like a misstep. He taps his fingers on the steering wheel, chews his bottom lip. You want to smooth away the crease between his brows.

"Not really," he tells you. "They weren't around much, and I tried to be with other people as I got older. With friends, or those punk kids. And at the farm. So moving there felt natural." It doesn't sound like he's lost in what he tells you, more like he's reciting a rap sheet. This part of his life is over and behind him, and he doesn't concern himself with it. But it makes your heart hurt for the boy he was, the boy who seems to have been alone so much. You want to touch him, and you think about doing it, but then he takes you out of the neighborhood and smiles ruefully.

"My lame backstory of childhood neglect isn't a part of the tour," he says. "I swear it's going to get exciting."

"I want to know everything about you," you blurt out, the words hanging in the air between you before you can shove them back down. Steve doesn't say anything, but he does reach over and grab your hand where it rests on your thigh, threading your fingers together on top of your jeans.

"You just bought yourself a trip to Hawkins High." He winks at you and you feel something in your chest loosen.

That's how the next few hours go -- lots of driving around, Steve slowing or pulling into parking spaces to tell you about whatever you're looking at. The Arcade where he spent many night playing babysitter to the kids. Family Video, where he and Robin worked the last few years of high school. The General Store Bob used to run, the empty storefront next to it now home to Byers Flowers. He takes you past the carcass of the mall that never fully went up, a monstrosity of a building that gives you the shivers. He points out restaurants you should try, little shops that might have things you like. He peppers in his story throughout and you feel you heart growing too big for your chest.

Steve's hand never leaves yours. And then you pull up to Hawkins High. The parking lot is full -- it's a school day, after all. He idles at the curb.

"And here's where I was an asshole for a long time," he says. "Which you know about already." He his fingers twitch against yours but you don't pull them away. "I rode the high of teenage popularity until I uh, had a bad breakup and did something stupid and got community service at Sara's."

"Bad breakup?" you ask, eyebrows high.

"With Nancy, if you can believe it." You hardly can, thinking about how cozy she was with Jonathan. "We're all friends now, obviously. But my friends back then were shitheads and tried to go after her for it.  But in a weird way it's one of the best things that ever happened to me. I met Robin at Sara's that summer, and she's my best friend. Eddie, too, through the farmer's market. And those kids wormed their way in somehow."

"And look at you now," you say.

"Look at me now! Living in a barn loft and holding hands with a pretty girl." Your face feels warm and you want to kiss him so badly but you don't make a move. He pulls away from the high school and heads back towards the farm part of town.

"I know this wasn't super thrilling or anything, but you really do have to try Enzo's. And we should go for pizza at that other place I showed you --"

"Thank you for telling me all of this, Steve," you interrupt him. "I like seeing the town but I like learning about you, too." He flushes and his thumb taps on the steering wheel.

"No problem," he says. "I mean, it's whatever. Wait, no, I mean, it's not whatever. I just--" he sighs. "Thank you for listening, I guess?" You want to offer parts of yourself to him in return, to show him that you trust him like he seems to trust you. But you worry that you have nothing to offer, that you're just a mess of aimless wants and dreams and they only seem to take shape when Steve is around. And that might scare him away.

The truck pulls into New-Bee's and you don't want to let go of his hand. "Is this a date?" you ask. It sees to be a day of blurting out your thoughts.

He inhales loudly, quickly. "Oh god," he says, and your stomach swoops. "I can do so much better than this for our first date."

You feel emboldened by the suggestion that he does want to date you and he wants to do so properly. "So if this isn't a first date, does that mean you're not going to kiss me?" you ask.

He shuts off the truck and turns in his seat to you, finally letting go of your fingers to bring his palm to your jaw slowly, as if you would want to back away. "I seem to remember telling you that I wanted to. That I've been thinking about it for days." You lean into his touch and it pulls a sigh from you. He's so warm.

"C'mere, then," you murmur. The cab of his truck feels hot even though the heat is off, the engine silent. Steve wastes no time leaning in, his thumb stroking your cheek and his other hand rests on your thigh. You reach for him, grabbing the edges of his vest as he moves into your space.

If your first kiss was gentle, this one is a collision. It's not quite bruising, but he's kissing you hard enough to know that it could be. That Steve wants you just as much as you want him. He licks into your mouth and you sigh into him, leaning in as you chase his warmth, feel his hand gripping your leg. His nose rubs against yours and he tastes like spearmint.

It's definetly not a first date kiss -- it's a promise of something more, if you want it.

You pull away for a breath and his lips settle on your jaw as if he's going to suck a bruise there, but then he changes his mind, instead pecking you once on the corner of your mouth and releasing you. His cheeks are red, pupils blown and lips slick. Just one kiss and you've got him looking ruined. You can't be fairing much better.

"Come by the farm tomorrow?" he asks, sounding a little desperate but not caring one bit. "Just for a few hours. I don't want to wait until Saturday to see you."

You're beginning to think that you can't refuse Steve Harrington anything.

Which is why you head over to Sara's after you finish making a new batch of candles the next day. Bob didn't even blink when you said you'd go over there. For the first time, Steve is the one to greet you in the small farm store. He's in his overalls again today, that green sweater underneath and a sherpa-lined jacket over. You're in your hat and gloves today, since he told you he'd be taking you around his chores.

The fondness in your chest is starting to permanently edge away the ache you're used to. It's like Steve is a balm, slowly healing wounds you didn't even know you had from being lonely.

"You look ready to feed some chickens," he says by way of greeting. "How long have you got?"

"An hour, maybe a bit longer." The candles you worked on need to set, but you need to make some soaps tonight so they can dry before this weekend's market. "Lead the way."

Steve reaches up to tug on the hat you're wearing before lacing his gloved hands through yours. "Cute," he says, before tugging you outside and towards the chicken coop. You've never been on this part of the farm, and it finally hits you just how big the property is.

"How did Hopper start this?" you ask. There's a small shed next to the coop that Steve lets go of you to open.

"Scoop that into here," he says, pointing to a huge barrel of feed and a plastic bucket. He busies himself with filling another bucket with fresh water from a hose. "Well, he used to be the police chief. Married with a kid. This is a sad story, just a warning." You frown but keep scooping the feed. "Sara was the kid's name. He didn't actually live here, he lived a few towns over, so no one really knew when she got sick. I think it went pretty quickly after that."

You pause your task to look at him, eyes wide. "She died?" He steps close to cup your elbow, to squeeze it gently as if to comfort you. As if this tragedy is yours.

"Yeah," he mutters. "It changed everything. He and his wife split and next thing anyone knew he bought up this piece of land and started to restore the abandoned farm that was here."

"And he named it after her," you whisper. "Wow." Steve picks up the water bucket and reaches for the feed but you refuse him, lifting it yourself. It's heavy. No wonder Steve's arms look like they do.

"So that's the story," he says, opening the small gate that surrounds the coop. "Start tossing that. I'm gonna replace the water." He ducks into the sloping structure and you survey the small crowd of birds in front of you. They seem to sense that you've got something they want, as they start to bop in your direction. You quickly toss the feed and they all start to chirp and peck the ground. You see the rooster that apparantly doesn't like Dustin, but he doesn't pay you any mind.

"Nice work," Steve says from behind you, his palm light on the small of your back through all of your layers. "Give it a few more tosses and then we can meet another farm resident."

You start to do as he says, the cold air making your nose burn a little. "And now Sara's is just a part of Hawkins. I know I'd have no way of knowing but I can't imagine the town without it."

"You and me both," Steve says. "Okay, come with me." He grabs the bucket before you can stop him and grabs your hand again. He tugs you out of the chicken area and back to the little shed, trading your bucket for a new one full of something else, and then to another pasture nearby. The silence between you isn't heavy or awkward, it's nice. It makes you wonder how you ever didn't like him. "You're gonna love this," he says.

When you see what he means you gasp. It's the biggest cow you've ever seen, spotted like every cow you’ve seen in milk commercials. Her ears twitch as you both approach.

"This is Daisy," he says. "She's gentle." Steve told you how there are a few animals at Sara's that Hop just acquired without knowing what to do with them, this cow included. He sets down the bucket of feed and she slowly ambles over to stick her head in it.

"I love you," you say to the cow. "I love you. You are perfect." Steve laughs beside you, a full and bright sound. You turn to glare at him.

"Hey, I get it!" he cries, hands up. "She's great. Aren't you, Daisy?" She ignores him.

You tug his hat over an exposed ear without thinking about it. His eyes are warm on you as you scramble for another question. "How did the rest of the farmer's market stands get started?"

"Well, you know how New-Bee's started, yeah?" You nod, placing your hand on her wide neck just to see what she feels like. She's soft. Bob told you all about the family farm and his choice to take it over and the legacy in Hawkins when you first came to town. It's a sweet story, one you're grateful to be a part of now.

"Well, I can't speak for Rick's, but Joyce started Byers flowers after a tough year for her family. You can ask any of them about it, and they'll tell you. Everyone in town knows it well."

"It has to do with Will, right?" Something about the poor kid having a tough time, about it changing everything.

Steve nods. Daisy moos and ambles away from him, nudging you with her giant head as she goes. "Will was having a hard time at school and with his friends and his dad -- real asshole, let me tell you -- and he ran away into the woods. Went missing for an entire week."

"Oh, god," you say, picking up the bucket and following him back to one of the barns. "He was okay though, right?"

"Somehow. People started to think he had disappeared off of the face of the earth but he was just lost. Joyce didn't let anyone give up. Hop basically came out of retirement to help. But after, I think she and Jonathan were shaken and she wanted to do something to make them feel secure, to make Will feel grounded. So she started the flower shop for him, basically." You wonder what it feels like. To change your whole life to make it better for the people you love -- to turn things on their head to make space for happiness, safety, and security. The idea feels slippery in your mind, almost dangerous. To know that you could love someone so much to do anything for them, and that they could love you in return.

"So, Hawkins is a nice small town but we've got our share of baggage, I guess," Steve continues. "I gotta go pick apples for the store now, but I think you should get home, right?" He checks his wristwatch.

You sigh, hands twitching at your side. He puts down the bucket and reaches for you. You wish you weren't wearing gloves so you could feel his warm skin, his worn palms. "I should go back, yeah."

"Thanks for helping me do my chores," he says softly.

"Still not a date?" you ask him, smirking.

"Still not a date," he nods, but he moves closer. "I'm working on it. But I would like a kiss. If I'm allowed." You pretend to think about it but can't bring yourself to wait too long as one arm snakes around your waist.

"You're allowed," you say, breath hot on his mouth as he closes the gap. This time his lips are almost familiar. You know what to expect, know that he likes to go for your top lip then your bottom. He's gentler with his tongue this time, letting you gently lick into his mouth first, almost like he's feeling shy. Your hands are fisted in his jacket and his are hovering on your hips. You pull away before it gets too heated and he chases you, eyes still closed. It's so endearing that you turn away to hide your smile and his lips find your cheek for a brief moment.

___

It's almost funny how the Hawkins Farmer's Market has become the least interesting part of your life in this small town. Now your thoughts are taken over by a tall boy who smells like pine trees and soap and apples. It's easy to pretend that it could always be like this -- days making candles and trying to work up the courage to handle the hives and nights wondering if Steve is thinking about you, too. No worries about the future or about what you'll do when the market season ends and you outstay Bob's hospitality.

You feel like a part of Hawkins now. You've got regulars at the market who compliment you on your work and ask how things are going. You've got friends. And you've got Steve.

Steve, who you haven't seen since Wednesday. Steve, who slides into your stall like he's meant to be there.

"Hey," he says, bumping his shoulder with yours. You tuck one hand into the pocket of the vest he's wearing.

"Good morning," you say softly. He glances around the market like he's seeing if anyone is watching before he sticks a hand in after yours and twines your fingers together. Does he care that people might see? You draw your eyebrows together.

"I realize we didn't talk about how we want to play this," he tells you. "I know our first kiss had an, uh, audience, but..." He trails off. You glance at his watch and see that it's 8:55.

"You want to talk about this now?" you ask. It hadn't occurred to you to define what's going on, but maybe that's because thus far it's felt like you two are in your own bubble.

"That's up to you." His thumb strokes your hand in his pocket. His nose is pink and his cheeks pinker and you can't tell if it's because of the cold or this conversation.

You sigh. "Well, I'm pretty sure everyone knows that something is going on." The corner of his mouth raises.

"Something, huh?" He swoops in and kisses your cheek quick, but it's enough to make you feel warm all the way to your toes. "I'll take something." You worry that you're disappointing him by not having a better answer but he's grinning at you. "You free tonight? To do 'something'?"

"A first date? Finally?" You try to sound casual, but your stomach flutters. You don't have words for this thing between you but he still wants to take you out. He squeezes your hand.

"Yep," he says, popping the p. "Drive in movie. I'll pick you up. Just bring a blanket ." He kisses you on the cheek again and detaches himself from your side, making to head back to the Sara's stand before the market opens.

"Steve!" you call after him. "I didn't say yes!"

He turns but keeps walking backwards. His crooked smirk and bright eyes make it easy to imagine hoards of girls falling for him in high school. "Are you going to say no?" You roll your eyes and wave him off, unable to fight your own smile. You half expect Eddie or someone else to tease you about it, to call you out on the giddy energy you can't tamp down, but no one does.

It stays in your chest all day, making you feel light and silly. You sing to yourself as you put on brown tights and the only skirt you brought with you -- grey denim to go with the chunky knit of your dark blue sweater. It's the nicest outfit you've worn since arriving in Hawkins but a first date with a boy you really like feels like the right occasion to ditch the jeans and New-Bee's t-shirt. And while it's almost too cold to wear anything but pants, you figure that Steve will keep you warm.

Getting into the Sara's truck feels familiar at this point, blanket in hand as Steve rushes to open the door for you. He's in nicer jeans than you've seen before and a smart-looking sweater and you can smell his shampoo when he leans into the passenger side to kiss your cheek again.

"You look pretty," he says, then shuts the door before you can reply, jogging back to the driver's side.

"You look pretty, too," you tell him once he's in the truck. He flushes and you wonder if you should have said handsome or nice, but in truth, those wouldn't cover it. Steve is so pretty it makes you itch to touch him.

"Gotta show you I can clean up when necessary," he teases, turning the radio up and lacing his fingers through yours on your thigh. You can feel the heat of his hand much better through your tights.

He sings along to a song you only kind of know as he drives, and you could watch him forever. Even in the dim light of the evening, he takes your breath away. You don't even notice when he pulls into the drive-in lot until he parks the car.

"I'm gonna go pay and get some food. Popcorn?" he asks. You nod, looking around the open field in front of the screen as he goes. He's parked you in the back row but not quite in the most secluded spot. As if he's giving you the opportunity to spend your first date like teenagers and make out the whole time, or simply watch the movie with him.

When he comes back, popcorn in hand, you wonder if you should call him on it just to see that pretty blush again, but before you can the projector powers up and the movie starts.

"Are you going to laugh if I tell you I didn't even check to see what the movie was?" he says to you. You pull open the blanket and scoot over to him on the truck bench, thigh to thigh as you drape it over both of you. You reward his honesty with a peck on the cheek.

"Probably a horror movie." He balances the popcorn carton on top of your legs and pops some in his mouth.

"You scared?" he asks.

"Well, you parked us far enough away that it'll be hard to be scared from here." He has the decency to look caught but you tuck yourself into his side so he knows you're not actually mad. His arm wraps around you and the screen says "An American Werewolf in London."

"I think I saw this when it came out," you say softly. The car speaker is loud enough that you don't think anyone will yell at you to be quiet, but you like how Steve keeps his face close to hear you. "Snuck into the theater with some friends." He hums and you feel it everywhere you're pressed together. It's nice to just watch the movie with him, though every minute that goes by makes you want to touch him more. It must have been only a half hour or so when you shiver a little and Steve notices.

"C'mere," he says, setting the empty popcorn carton on the dash and lifting the blanket to pull both of your legs over his so that you're basically half in his lap. He tucks the fabric back over both of you and runs his hand over your thighs. "Better?" he asks, and maybe you're imagining it, but he sounds a bit ragged.

"Yeah," you breathe. Any hope you had for paying attention to the movie is lost.

You look over at him from where you're nestled into his side and you know that he's being sweet but he did park you in the back and you want to kiss him. You want to kiss him and not stop. Something violent happens on the screen and people in cars near you scream but you can't tear your eyes away.

"Steve," you whisper. His eyes dart to yours and he totally looks at your lips for a second too long. "Steve, I know you're being a gentleman all since this is our first date, but if you want to make out for the rest of the movie, I'm game." You try to keep your expression neutral but then he swallows and your eyes track the bob of his adam's apple and you inhale sharply, betraying just how bad you want him.

"Honey," he says, the hand on your shoulder sliding into your hair. "You have the best ideas." Spurred on by his teasing, you surge forward to kiss him. He wastes no time parting your lips and licking into your mouth, tongues battling and his hand gripping your thigh firmly. Someone in a nearby car screams again and you can feel him smile. He sucks on your bottom lip and you can't decide where to put your hands because you want to touch all of him. You settle one on his chest and the other at the collar of his sweater. He gasps when you dip a few cold fingers under the fabric to feel the tops of his collarbones, the heat of his bare skin.

"You have cold hands," he mutters, lips trailing to the corner of your mouth and down your jawline. Your neck is starting to hurt turned like this, so you decide to go all in and pull your legs back from where they're hooked over his before quickly readjusting to swing a knee fully over him and settle into his lap properly. Your skirt hitches up and you suck in a ragged breath when you feel him hard through his jeans. Coherent thought is a thing of the past because god, how you want him. You have half a mind to ask him to fuck you in the back of the truck right now if you weren't in public. And if this wasn't your first date. But the look in his eyes makes you think that he'd say yes.

"Hi," you say, feeling a little shy under his gaze. His hands rest on your hips, thumbs finding the sliver of skin exposed where your sweater has rucked up. You settled yours on either side of his jaw.

"Hi," he echoes. His pupils are blown in the dark of the truck cab and his lips are already a little swollen. "I--," he starts, then clears his throat. "Fuck," he settles on. "You look so pretty right now." You make a pleased sound and tilt his jaw up to your elevated angle to kiss him again. The heat is still there but you take your time, kissing slowly, lazily as the movie plays behind you. You can still feel Steve's cock between your legs and you grind on him reflexively, pulling noises out of him that you store in your memory for later. You kiss and kiss and kiss, hands wandering, breaths mingling. He trails his lips down your jaw, sucking gently on your pulse point as you rub your thumbs over the moles on his neck. It's been forever since you've been touched like this, with such tenderness and desire. All of your new favorite touches seem to come from this boy underneath you, from his hand on your skin to his mouth on your neck.

You think you could make out with Steve Harrington forever.

But, as it is, forever is hard to come by at a drive-in movie. A movie that seems to be almost over, from the sound of it. A peal of laughter pulls you out of the lustful haze in the cab because it sounds so familiar.

"That's totally his truck," someone says. Someone who sounds like --

"Mike, you owe me five bucks," says...Max. It has to be her. "I told you they were together."

You look down at Steve and he groans, an annoyed sound more than a sexy one, and taps your thighs. You get off of him and move back to your side of the front seat as he pulls the blanket up to cover his own lap. Wow, you think. I did that.

"Leave them alone, guys! We don't need a ride that badly." Now that you're looking, you can see the group of kids approach the truck, Will in the middle of scolding them. You try to fix your hair and pull your clothes back to where they belong.

"It's too dark to walk," Dustin says. The screen is fully showing the credits now. "They can stop sucking face long enough to bring us home."

"You know we can hear you, right?" Steve yells as he rolls down the window. "Shitheads," he says to you. Both of you are still breathing a little heavily but you can't stop smiling. The teenagers crowd around the driver's side door but they all wave at you.

"Hi guys," you call to them. "Did you like the movie?"

"Are you even old enough to see this?" Steve sneers. "You're all like, 12 still."

"You wish," Dustin chirps. "I bet you guys really enjoyed the movie." Lucas laughs and Max swats him on the arm but she's grinning too.

El shoves in front of them. "Can you take us to Mike's please?" she asks. She's got her arm looped through the taller boy's. Steve sighs like he's the most inconvenienced guy in the world.

"Do you mind?" he asks you. "Playing driver to a bunch of punks isn't exactly date material." You take one of his hands.

"Course I don't." He grins at you before gesturing at the group.

"Alright, get in the back. But you keep your asses in that truck bed when we get moving, you understand? Arms and legs inside the vehicle at all times. I'm looking at you, Mayfield!" Steve starts the truck with his free hand and the radio mingles with the laughter behind you and as he drives you out of the lot and onto the streets of Hawkins you think that maybe this is the best first date you've ever been on.

___

October is a long month by calendar standards but you feel like it's moving too fast. Even still, you feel like things are good. Your parents are thrilled to hear that you're enjoying the town and that you have friends. You wake up each day and feel excited to go into town and see them, or to go out back and help Bob get the hives ready for winter. You feel settled.

The week after your date is full of late-night phone calls to Steve, a few dinners with Robin when she's home, and visits from Eddie or the kids at New-Bee's. Everyone is so kind to you, hugging you each time they see you and asking how you are. You feel like you belong.

And those phone calls with Steve explore a part of you that you've not bared to anyone else. He tells you how he has always wanted to see the world outside of Hawkins but that he doesn't know who he would be if he left. You tell him you're searching for a place that feels like home, a place that can support you and make you feel cared for. He explains how years under his parent's absent thumb made him a little bitter, a little convinced that maybe he needs to leave to appreciate what he's got. You encourage him, tell him you understand, but you also wonder if that means that he's just going to leave right when you figure out you want to stay.

It hits you as you're tucked beside him into a booth across from Eddie and Robin at the pizza place in town that you might be falling in love with him. It's only been a few months since you met and even less than that since you decided that you liked him but you know it to be true. The lonely ache in your chest has all but disappeared and you feel like the story you've started here has him at the center. And now that he's there you can't imagine anything else.

"Are you listening?" Robin asks, waving her hand in front of your face. "This is important shit. This is the Sara's Farm Halloween Festival!" Eddie drums his hands on the table and Steve groans.

"You haven't told her about it yet, Harrington?" Eddie tuts. "It's only...the best thing about fall in Hawkins."

"He has told me a little," you say, coming to his defense. His hand squeezes your knee under the table as he takes a bite of pizza. "But not a ton. Only that it's...wild?"

"Wild is an understatement," Robin says. "Something crazy happens every year. That's when Steve and Nancy broke up, and when Hopper and Joyce were found making out in the orchard, and when Max punched her dipshit over brother before he moved out of town." You've heard short versions of these stories from Steve, but didn't realize they all happened at this festival.

"Alright, she gets it," Steve says.

Robin continues like she doesn't hear him. "And there's a haunted hayride -- me and Eddie always volunteer to be actors -- and bobbing for apples and pumpkin carving and like, a ton of good food from all the local places and lots of candy. Oh, and a costume contest!" She grins at Eddie and kicks you under the table. "Which reminds me..."

"I have the prefect idea for a group costume," Eddie says. Steve groans.

"Munson, we are not going as the aliens from Alien, how many times do I have to tell you?"

Eddie glares at him. "That was last year's idea, Steve. This year we're going to go as Star Wars characters." You grin. You love that movie.

"Okay," you say. "I'm game." Robin and Eddie cheer and Steve laughs. "But who is who?"

"That's easy," Steve says. "You're Leia, I'm Han, and Robin is Luke."

"And Eddie here is Chewbacca," Robin adds. You laugh through your mouthful of pizza at the image.

"You don't actually have to come," Steve says later when you get into his truck after dinner. "Don't let them pressure you."

"Well, you'll be there, right? Since it's at Sara's?" He nods. "And you have to work it?"

"Only a little," he says. "Maybe make sure no one gets stabbed carving a pumpkin. But only for a few hours."

"Then I'll be there. For moral support." You frown. "But I'm not wearing that bikini from Return of the Jedi."

____

You end up wearing all white -- well, fairly dirty white work pants and a white sweater. You do your best with the space buns but Steve laughs at you when you walk up to where he's standing at the pumpkin carving table.

"You're a dead ringer for Carrie Fisher," he says. You roll your eyes. He has put minimal effort into his Han look but it's recognizable -- dark pants tucked into his work boots and a white henley under a blue vest.

"Where are uh...Luke and Chewbacca?" Once you're on the same side of the table he pulls you into his side and kisses you soft and quick. It's a cold night and his nose is icy against yours.

"Haunted hay ride," he says. "I think they made their costumes...undead versions? Something stupid like that." You snicker and survey the farm. The whole town seems to have turned up for the festival and almost everyone is in costume. Kids run around as small ghosts and skeletons and witches as their adults chase them. Everyone is smiling, laughing -- except for the occasional screams you can hear from the hay ride. Joyce is running the pumpkin pie contest by the farm store and Hopper is glaring at Mike and El where they bob for apples. Lucas, Max, Dustin, and Will intently carve pumpkins at one of the picnic tables and Jonathan is taking a picture of them.

"Lemme go make sure they know what they're doing," Steve sighs. He taps your cheek with his gloved knuckle and heads over there. He's only gone a few seconds when Nancy, home for the festival, comes to say hi.

"You look great," you tell her, and mean it. She and Jonathan are Sandy and Danny from Grease, though it seems that she's gotten more into it than he has. She's layered a black leather jacket over her tight shirt and pants, her perm brushed out and her lips coated in red.

"So you do!" She joins your side of the table and you huddle together. "Are you enjoying this chaos?"

"It's certainly interesting."

"Time goes so quickly from here," she sighs. "Only a few farmer's markets left, then it'll be the holidays before you know it." Her reminder of the dwindling weeks of your job makes you shiver. Your friend looks at you with curious eyes. "Do you know what you're doing once the market is over?" she asks, not unkindly. Nancy strikes you as a person who knows how to ask the right questions. She's going to be a journalist, after all.

"No," you tell her. "Not really." Two months in Hawkins and you still don't know what you want from your life. Your twenties stretch out in front of you like a perilous sheet of ice, unexplored and volatile. It feels like one misstep will shatter everything.

"Well," she urges, "do you like Hawkins enough to stay? I'm sure Bob would let you." Your eyes are on Steve as you toy with the idea. It's one you've had before, of course, though you've not asked Bob about it. You really could stay here. It's a lovely town full of lovely people and maybe you just need more time to figure out what kind of life you want, whether you should get a 9-5 job or move to the city or try school again.

But then you remember how Steve said that he might want to leave. That he wants to see the world, to try something else. He's tired of being settled. And maybe you staying here wouldn't be enough to keep him. Or, worse still, you'd prevent him from doing what he really wants.

"I could," you say, finally. "I'd like to, maybe." But even as you say it your chest feels tight. How can you reconcile your new love of Hawkins with your growing love for Steve? Especially if he doesn't want to stay here?

Nancy squeezes your arm. "I know you'll figure it out. You've got lots of people willing to help you!" She smiles at you so kindly you could cry.

"Nancy!" Dustin calls. "Can you tell your stupid brother he can't make his pumpkin a gaping hole?" You both look up and see that Mike and El have wandered over to the pumpkin carving table and the former is doing some serious damage to an innocent gourd.

"Mike!" Nancy yells, detaching herself from you with a smile. "You're giving the Wheelers a bad name. Give me that knife!" The table erupts into laughter and Steve makes his way back to you after he ruffles Dustin's hair.

"Come with me," he says, holding out a hand.

"Don't you have to keep working?" There are other adults around but you don't want to make Steve look after you.

"Won't even notice I'm gone," he says. He tucks your joined hands into the pocket of his vest and heads towards the apple orchards. There are a few people here and there, the paths lit by lanterns and lights, but for the most part he's taking you away from the crowd.

"Is this where you murder me?" you joke. "Actually, are you taking me to the hayride? I'm gonna hide in your jacket the whole time if you are."

"Fuck no," he says. "The hayride is way too scary for me. But it does go through here. You'll hear the screams coming." He grins at you and you realize you know his face well enough by now to recognize his expressions in the dark. Your heart jumps a little and you shove down your conversation with Nancy. Tonight is about having fun.

"So what are we doing in the orchard, Steve?" He weaves you between apple trees with careful steps, tugging you away from exposed roots and fallen fruit.

He doesn't say anything until he pulls you to a stop under a particularly big, bare tree, backing you up against the trunk. He releases your hand and hooks his fingers through your belt loops. You can see his breath in the air between you.

"Wellllllllll," he drags out. "I could pretend I've got something really romantic planned." He trails his lips over the apple of your cheek and you loop your arms around his neck, hands in his hair. "But really I just want to make out."

His words send a thrill through you. All you want these days is to be close to him and if he's going to offer it up on a silver platter. You're going to take it. "That's romantic," you say right before he kisses you lightly, barely any pressure.

"Glad you think so," he says against your lips. You're sick of his teasing so you tug on his hair a little and he gets the message. One hand moves from your belt loops to your lower back, pulling you into him even as he pushes you up against the tree. His mouth works you open and you make a needy sound when he shoves a thigh between yours. You cant your hips and feel him hard through his dark pants. He hisses, cupping your jaw to angle you and kiss you even deeper.

His thumb presses into your cheek and the gloved hand on your back pushes your sweater up just a little. You gasp into his mouth at the cold.

"Hold on," he mutters, pulling away from you to tear off the glove with his teeth and shove it in his pocket before he's diving in again, suckling your bottom lip and shoving his wide palm back under your sweater. The warmth of his skin pulls another noise from you and you feel hot all over. You never want to leave this place -- the cold night of the orchard, Steve's arms, the heat of him swallowing you whole. You have no thoughts except him and his tongue and his lips and his hands and SteveSteveSteveSteve.

A chorus of screams echo through the orchard and bring you back to reality. He isn't phased.

"Steve," you pant. "Steve." He grunts against your neck, lips busy sucking a bruise on the exposed skin. "Should we go back to your place?" He pulls away from you, eyes dancing and swollen lips pulled into a smirk.

"Woah there, bee girl," he says. "You trying to get lucky tonight?" He sounds like he's swallowing his own excitement.

You tuck a loose lock of his hair behind his ear. It's a tender motion at odds with what you say next. "What if I am?"

All the air rushes out of him at once. The hand on your back presses into you a little harder. "Oh," he breathes. "I-- okay." He blinks a few times, then smiles brilliantly. "I can make that happen."

He kisses you one more time then tugs you into a jog towards the barn that houses his loft. You don't run into anyone on the way, but the laughter travels over the property and you feel giddy. You're going to have sex with Steve. You're going to have sex with Steve.

He fumbles with his keys when you reach the top of the iron staircase and you spill into his loft once he's unlocked the door. You kick it shut behind you and you both just stand in his dark kitchen for a second.

"We can stop anytime," he says. His hand finds yours. "We can do whatever you want and nothing more."

"I want you, Steve," you say. Your voice doesn't waver even though you're so worked up you're fit to burst. "If you want that, I mean."

"I do, honey," he groans, voice ragged. "I do." He tugs you to the other side of the room, behind the bookshelves where his bed waits, sheets a little rumpled. He lets you go to draw the curtains and flick on his lamp and you take the opportunity to shuck off your sweater and the shirt you've got on under it. By the time he turns around you're down to a bra.

"Holy shit," he says. "Holy shit, you're so--" He shakes his head. "Bed, please." You toe off your shoes and socks as he does the same and meet him in the middle, both of you on your knees. You feel the hardness of his cock through his pants again and gasp when his bare hands traverse the exposed skin of your torso. He swallows the sound, kissing you with a renewed fervor as his fingers tease and squeeze. You tug at the bottom of his top and he obeys, pulling away and whipping it off lightning fast in that way that boys do before kissing you again.

Steve gently guides you down so that you're on your back and he settles between your legs, holding himself up with one arm while he traces the line of your body with the other hand. He grinds into you and you moan. You ache for him, your cunt all but throbbing underneath your pants and you push up into him, hands roaming over every inch of exposed skin you can find.

"Christ," he says. "Gonna make me come in my pants." You laugh, bright and happy, and he trails his lips down your neck, nibbling on your collarbone. His fingers play with the strap of your bra. "Can I take this off?" he asks you. You know that if you said no he wouldn't mind, but you want to feel him everywhere. So you nod.

"Words, baby," he says and you feel the endearment like a shock to your system. He doesn't even seem to know he's said it.

"Yes," you breathe. "Let me --" you sit up just a little, enough for him to reach under you and unhook the bra before he tosses it on the floor somewhere. The chilly air of his loft hits your skin and you shiver, hands automatically covering your bare breasts as you lay back on the bed.

"Oh, now she's shy, huh?" he teases. "C'mon, lemme see you." You pull your hands away and he sucks on his teeth. "Perfect," he says, cupping each breast in one hand, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples. For just a second, you believe him. He just looks and looks and looks, before leaning down to kiss you again as his hands work. His chest hair is wiry against your skin, his bicep firm under your arm where you squeeze to get his attention.

"Steve," you scold, canting your hips again. "Get a move on." He's taking it slow in case you change your mind, you know that, but you aren't going to. And if you don't have his hands where you really need them soon, you might explode.

"Where do you want me, huh?" he says, trying to be cocky. But the way his pupils are blown and his breathing stutters betray how riled up he is. That he wants you just as much as you want him. "Here?" he asks, lips traveling down the valley between your breasts, tongue dipping into your navel. "Or here?" He unbuttons your pants and you lift your hips so he can drag them off.

"I think you know where I want you," you grit out. He plants kisses onto the soft flesh of your thighs, hands grabbing at you and squeezing. You hope he leaves bruises.

He noses at your cunt through your panties, inhaling like he's smelling one of your candles. Your hips jerk up and he laughs, one palm spreading over your soft belly to keep you still. "I can feel it," he says. "I can feel how wet you are already." He sounds awed. "Can I take these off?" You're nodding frantically and he doesn't make you say it out loud before he's peeling them off and tossing them to the side. Before you can close your legs he gently catches your knees and holds them open, eyes wide as he looks and looks and looks.

"Christ," he says. "Just look at you." You swear you see his cock twitch in his pants.

The way he's gazing at you makes you feel beautiful, makes you feel wanted and cherished. It also makes you wetter and you clench around nothing. His lips part and he exhales heavily.

"Please say you're going to let me eat you out," Steve begs. In truth, you'd let him do anything to you, which might be why you can hardly control the sound that rips from you.

"God, yes," you tell him, shyness totally gone. He gets on his stomach and brackets his head with your thighs, nosing at your clit right away. You cover your face with your hands and try to breathe.

"So pretty," he says into your cunt. "So pretty, so wet for me, huh?" The filthy lilt to his voice makes you clench again and he drags the flat of his tongue through your folds, swirling around your clit before licking back down. His hands press back into your abdomen, fingers kneading as he keeps your hips down. He taps your hip and you look down the slope of your body to find him grinning at you.

"Now that," Steve says, chin shiny and mouth smug, "tastes like honey." You groan and thread your fingers through his hair as he dives back in. HIs tongue is everywhere and he's making no effort to hide his enthusiasm. You can hear the slick slurping as he sucks on your clit and laps at you like a man starved. He traces your entrance and you tug on him a little.

"Steve," you moan. "Steve, oh my god." He hums against you and your hips fight his hand as he presses down. "That's so good, Steve," you cry. "God, you're so good." His eyes fly up to you and you see that his pupils are totally blown.

He keeps his eyes on you to watch your reaction as he gently sticks one finger into your opening. It rips a guttural groan from you and you buck against his hand. "More," you say. "More, Steve, please." He slowly fucks you with one digit, adding a second and scissoring them as he continues to use his tongue. His pace is slower than you'd like but you can feel your orgasm approaching, feel your breath starting to get out of control.

"Steve," you moan. "Steve, I--" He pocks up the pace and you keen. "I'm close, I--"

"Lemme hear you," he says. "Lemme hear those pretty noises as you come, yeah?" The hook in your navel releases and you crash over the edge, your cunt spasming around his fingers as he continues to fuck you through it, tongue swirling around your clit.

"Holy shit," you say once you've come down. "Steve, c'mere." He crawls up your body and you tug his face down to yours, swallowing his noise of surprise with your lips. You can taste yourself in his mouth.

"You are so good at that," you tell him. "I think I saw stars." He looks appropriately smug as he runs his hands down your sides.

"Do you want to keep going?" he asks. "It's okay if you don't --" You cut him off and reach down to palm him through his pants, feeling him unbelievably hard and big through the fabric.

"I do," you say, dragging your tongue up the column of this throat.

He slides off the bed and starts to unbuckle his belt. "I have to ask --" The flush on his cheeks runs all the way down his chest. You want to lick every inch of him. "Have you had sex before? Just so I know?"

"Yeah," you say, watching him in the dim light. "I have. But it's been a while. And it's not been like this." You blame the post-orgasm haze for your honesty.

Steve pauses, pants around his ankles. "What do you mean?"

You make yourself keep looking at him. "Well. Sex with someone I like this much. It's...different." He shoves his boxers down and joins you on the bed, kneeling between your legs again. God, he's big. Your mouth waters.

"Me too," he says. The emotion rises in your throat and you sit up and gently wrap your hand around his cock instead of saying something revealing. He sucks in a breath.

"I think I would like you inside me now, Steve." The sound he makes is deep, raw, and he lunges for the bedside table where he pulls out a condom, making quick work of the foil as you stroke him lazily.

"Hey," he grabs your wrist." I--you can't keep doing that, baby." Baby. Your heart squeezes and your eyes flutter. "I'll lose it before we get anywhere." You laugh and he slides on the condom, hissing at his own touch.

He positions himself and you settle your legs around his hips as he leans down to kiss you. You can feel the heat of his cock slide through your folds as he coats himself in your own slick. "Ready?" he whispers, forehead pressing against yours.

"Yeah," you breathe. He reaches down and you feel the tip of him slide in. You're worked open from his fingers and plenty wet enough but it's still a stretch. He laces your fingers together as he keeps pushing, slow and careful so you can adjust to being so full.

"God," he groans. "You're tight."

"And you're huge," you reply. He chuckles breathily, nose rubbing against yours.

"You sure know what to say to a guy when he's inside you." He bottoms out and you gasp, the pain of the stretch pulsing through your entire body as it fades to something else. A fullness, a pressure that you need to build. "You okay?" he asks.

"Gimme a second," you say, eyes shut tight so he won't see the few tears gathering. He kisses your lids, your nose, your cheeks, releases one hand to palm your hip. "Okay," you say. "Okay, move. Please."

He slowly, slowly drags his cock out of you and you make a filthy noise when he pushes back in. "Fuck," he hisses.

"That's the idea," you grit out and he laughs in surprise before narrowing his eyes at the challenge in your words and picking up the pace without warning, fucking you in earnest now.

"You're doing so well," he babbles. "Taking me so well. Feels so good." He keeps talking, telling you how tight you are and how pretty you look under him.

"Steve," you say. "Fuck me, Steve. Keep fucking me. God, just like that. Your cock -- it's so good." The filthy words surprise you even as you say them but you can't stop, you don't even know what you're saying and where it's coming from. Because all you can think about is Steve and how he's everywhere, how good it feels to have him inside you, how maybe you two were always going to end up here.

"I-- are you close?" he asks. "I'm not gonna last much longer, baby." Babybabybabybaby.

"Me too." You wrap one arm around his neck, drawing him even closer. You want to crack open your ribcage and pull him inside you. You want to give him your heart. "Just -- faster. A little harder." He obeys, the smacking of your skin and the squelching of your cunt filling the room as you get closer to your second orgasm, as Steve really starts to lose his mind. One hand rubs clumsily at your clit as he starts to chant your name, your real name, the one he hardly ever says, and it's the sound of it from his mouth that sends you over the edge.

You clamp around him, knees so tight on his hips you're sure he'll bruise, and he fucks you through it, chasing his own release.

"So good for me," he babbles. "So good, so perfect --" and then his thrusts stutter and he spends himself into the condom before flopping down on top of you, arms barely holding him up.

"Don't wanna crush you," he slurs, but you wrap your legs and arms fully around him, pulling him down onto you with his full weight. It's comforting, his damn chest against yours, his cock softening inside you. You feel tenderness that you don't have words for so this will have to do. He noses at your neck, his breaths calming down in sync with yours.

He kisses you gently before he taps your hip and you let him go. Both of you hiss as he pulls out, the soreness already starting to set in for you. "Gimme one sec," he says, rolling off the condom and heading for the bathroom. It feels intimate to watch him walk around his own home naked. He returns and flops down on the bed next to you, fumbling for your hand. You give it to him and rest your head on his proffered bicep.

"You okay?" he asks. If you had more brain power you'd tease him, but as it stands you can't find the energy.

"That was...so good, Steve," you say. He flushes even deeper. His eyes dance.

"You're gonna be the death of me, honey," he whispers. "And I'm gonna love every second."

Your heart swells. What can you say to that? How can you tell him what he's become to you? How do you put that into words?

Your stomach rumbles before you can try. Steve laughs and swings his legs out of bed, tugging his boxers back on before searching for the rest of his clothes. "I'm gonna go nab us some sweet stuff." He checks his watch. "9:30. Should still be some food. Maybe apple cider donuts, a pie. Sound good?" You hum, stretching out in the mess of his bed.

"Yum," you murmur. He smiles down at you. God, he really is so pretty.

"I'll be 10 minutes. 15 tops, okay?" He sloppily kisses your cheek and heads out. As soon as the door closes it's like he takes the mood with him. You shiver and pull on your sweater and panties and head to the bathroom. You look at yourself in the mirror as you wash your hands, barely glancing at the products he's got in the counter. You look like a girl who just got fucked well: hair a mess, bruises forming on your throat and the flesh of your hips, lips swollen. You look satisfied.

"I think I'm in love with him," you say out loud to the empty room when you step back into it. The words feel strange in your mouth, almost like they're going to turn around and bite you. You're in love with him. Or something close to it. It feels cliche to admit this after he's been inside you, after you've had maybe the most tender sexual experience of your life. But it's like your heart is beating with him in mind, like your skin is new, different now that he's touched it. You feel loved.

So why do you also feel so scared?

"Breathe," you whisper. "Breathe." You suck in huge gulps of air. You don't want Steve to come back and see you like this. After you just had such a wonderful time. But something inside you is screaming to run. The ache that you thought you'd chased off, the one that reminds you that nothing is permanent and this won't last and you don't belong here, returns. All of a sudden it's all you can feel, and maybe if Steve was here to hold you you'd be able to overcome it but as it is you realize you're up and shimmying into your pants and your shoes.

You should go, you think. It doesn't make any sense but you have to get out of here.

So you run.

You sneak out of his loft and around the barn and run to the parking lot, your thighs protesting with soreness and your heart breaking with every step, sure you're messing up the best thing that's happened to you.

It's not too late, a part of you says. You can still go back. You can love him.

You ignore it.

The drive back to New-Bee's flies by. Before you know it you're up the stairs and into the farmhouse, blinking away tears as you plop down at the kitchen table in the dark. You think maybe you're in shock. Footsteps sound above you and you realize that Bob is home already. He said he was going to the festival for a bit but always turns in before too late.

You try to reign in your emotions but every movement reminds you of the way Steve had touched you, held you, kissed you. And they're such good memories that the realization that you might never make more of them because of your own fear makes the tears flow as Bob thuds down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Oh, hey!" Bob says, flicking on the light. He looks ready for bed. "Did you just get back from the festiv-- woah, are you okay?" He puts the mug down on the table and hurries to your side. "Did something happen?"

You put your face in your hands. "No," you say. "Just me being stupid." Bob's hand is hesitant on your shoulder but when you don't push him away he rubs your back gently.

"Do you want to talk about it?" You shake your head. He hums and keeps rubbing. "Let me make you some tea." He fills the kettle and puts it on the stove, readying a mug for you.

"I messed up really bad," you whisper, so soft you don't know if he hears you. "And I don't know why I did it."

"We all mess up, kiddo," he tells you. "I'm sure whatever it is can be fixed." If you weren't such a fucking mess the sheer insanity of the situation would make you laugh: you telling your employer that you messed up because you had sex with the guy you might be in love with but you ran out on him because you're scared of him loving you back for no apparent reason.

The phone rings and you jerk your head up to stare at it. You don't move so Bob picks it up. You know in your gut who it is.

"Yeah, hi, Steve." Bob looks at you and you shake your head. His face does something funny and then it softens, as does his tone. "No, she's here. She got home safe." He nods a few times, eyes on you again. "Yeah, I'll tell her. Thanks for calling to check. Goodnight." The receiver clicks.

"So," Bob says carefully." That was Steve. He wanted to make sure you were safe." You take a deep breath. "He also said he wants you to call him when you get a chance." You swallow a sob. He called to check on you after you left him. And you owe him an explanation, you know you do. But what can you even say? Sorry, I realized I was in love with you and psyched myself out? Who does that?

"Go to bed, kiddo," Bob says, setting your tea down. "Sleep on whatever it is and take stock in the morning, okay?" He pats your head gently and heads for the stairs before turning to look at you one more time. "We all hurt the people we love, sometimes. But they forgive us because they love us, too."

You sit in the dim light of the kitchen for a long time.

tags: @cheerupbarry @srrybutno @97soroka @sunlitide @gloryofroses19 @carpediem1219 @themarvelousbee @sunshinehollandd @katsukis1wife @imherefortea @spideyboipete @lonelywidow @actual-mom-steve-harrington @steveharringtonscarkeys @pennyllanne @ducky-is-dead-inside @ih3artcry1ng @escape-in-time-x @sea040561 @manyfandomsfanvergent @blandyton @liberhoe @annaisweird @mrs-dr-reid @toomanyacorns @darlingoctober @selfdeprecatingnerd @dullsocietyy @keep-drivng @shireentapestry @mintfrostflower @freezaz123

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#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington smut #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x fem!reader #no good at waiting

[temmtamm]

⚡︎ROTTMNT GROUP ROMANTIC HCS⚡︎

(Requests open and welcomed)

~ᥫ᭡MIKEYᥫ᭡~

Definitely the most affectionate

Loves involving his S/O into his daily life in any way possible

Like, if the boys are playing video games or going somewhere he's quick to invite you

Can get suffocating at times but if you remind him that you need space, he'll give it to you- albeit for a short period of time

He loves spontaneous acts of affection such as sudden showing up to your home or the reverse as well as surprises, gifts, and even just surprise cuddles.

His favorite thing to do with you is sleepovers where you two can watch can stacking videos together and eat snacks.

I like to think he'd try and recreate some of chef "Meat Sweats" meals for you as gifts.

He also might like to draw for you since he is a bit of an artist.

He really loves you with his whole heart and tries his best to show it with his actions.

~✰DONNIE✰~

The least likely to show his love through affection.

Not that he hates it, he just sometimes forgets it or isn't in the mood.

Has a bit of an ego and tries to make over the top inventions to have you feed into it and praise him.

Speaking of praise, He absolutely goes crazy when you give him some.

He thinks he's the smartest alive so to have someone agree with him on that makes him feel on top of the world.

He can also be a bit selfish and can often forget to treat you like a lover instead of a friend so he might need a bit of talking to.

He is extremely jealous though, so when you start hanging out with his brothers or someone else while he's busy, He'll most likely put his work on pause to finally give you attention.

When you two actually do romantic stuff together such as dates he likes to go all out for it. Hes a bit of a perfectionist so he likes it when his plans go amazingly. This usually means he'll take you to a fancy restaurant or for a stroll to the finest parts of town.

He can freak out at the slightest thing going wrong though so sometimes it's better if you end up being the one to plan the dates.

Will make tiny little bots like S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N. for you and your everyday life to make it just a bit easier on you.

Even though you have to take the initiative a lot, he loves you dearly and is trying to be better about showing it.

~𖤓RALPH𖤓~

PDA all the way, baby!!

Loves to spar with you if/when you are willing too, though he tends to go a bit softer on you than he does with his brothers

If you have stuffed animals they have to be turned away from you two before you guys cuddle.

He thinks that you are the coolest person alive and are practically invincible.

Very protective over you if you join him when they battle mutants.

Can be a bit clingy, but for the most part he is very chill.

Yknow that golden retriever boyfriend meme? He's pretty much that to a T.

The kindest person you will ever meet, even if he can be a bit of an airhead

he's very lively and can't stay in one spot for long so he absolutely loves to take you on dates 24-7

~❀LEO❀~

Loves bragging about you to the others

He throws "I love you" out constantly, not because it lacks meaning to him but because he likes to remind you in case you forgot

Like Donnie, He likes to show off his portals or tricks in exchange for your praise and support.

Will always try and teleport you to your guys's dates which mostly ends up in y'all ending up in the middle of nowhere or stuck in a different city.

Very flirty and loves to use his words to express his feelings.

Whenever he sees you out in public he likes to act like he's never seen you before and that this is his first time flirting with you.

Stuff like, "Hey, beautiful! You got a boyfriend?" Is often his go to but he sometimes likes to get creative with it.

Loves to be covered in kisses and held when y'all cuddle. He is the small spoon and I will stand by this.

Thanks for reading~

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