#title from i know the end by Phoebe Bridgers | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

blckbrdlove · 10 months

Text

someone else lights up the room

paring: eren jeager x reader

summary: it’s mid-september and eren’s falling in love for the first time in his whole life. too bad for mikasa, it isn’t with her, but with you.

genre: fluff, smut, slight angst (just in case)

notes: well pals! here she is!! my long, long awaited re-write for this series. a lot of this will seem familiar to those who read this part when i first posted this series, but there is some new stuff we haven’t read yet as well! after this part, almost everything we see will be new to all of us. i am very happy to get this out and to hear everyone’s thoughts on the re-write. reblogs and comments are much, much appreciated. please give me any and all feedback you may have. i know i put it off, and missed lots of deadlines i promised you guys, but i have put my whole heart into her. i am very excited to get this whole series out and completed to you guys, which will all be posted (hopefully) before the end of august. title credits; nothing new; taylor swift ft. phoebe bridgers

warnings: MINORS DNI, angst, fluff, meet cute, eren is a hopeless romantic, eren is a gentleman, eren is a sweet boy, eren falls in love with reader basically at first sight and has been smitten with her ever since, reader recently got out of a toxic relationship and is still healing- but is also very smitten with eren, unrequited love (mikasa), mentions of creampie, jealousy, smut, oral (f receiving), fingering (f receiving)

word count: 8k

series masterlist next

Eren spots you from across the courtyard walking with your little blonde friend after his final class for the day. It makes him stop and completely tune out whatever Mikasa is trying to talk to him about regarding their upcoming applications for medical school that are due in a few weeks.

You’ve got on a little light blue floral dress that shows off your legs and collar bones beautifully, and paired with some strappy white sandals that show off the pretty polish on your toenails.

It makes him wonder if your skin is as soft as it looks from this distance. He bets it is, and he bets you smell really good, too.

Your friend says something that makes you laugh, the sound bringing a half grin on Eren’s own face as his heart stutters in his chest.

Mikasa looks up to see if he’s paying attention, quickly taking notice of the gleam in his eyes and half smile beginning to take up his face. It almost makes her smile before she realizes he isn’t even paying attention to her.

Her gaze follows the direction of his, quickly noticing you walking in their direction with your friend’s arm linked through yours.

She quickly frowns, being unfortunately reminded of the deep infatuation that Eren has with you that began during last spring’s semester. Honestly, the first time he talked about you, she thought you were an idiot, being the only junior in a freshman level chemistry class and barely passing. She often wondered if Eren tweaked your grades on the papers and exams he graded as Professor Hange’s TA, not that she would ever admit that to him.

Annie had been the one to inform him that you had a boyfriend, and had been with said boyfriend since high school, her knowing from not only going to high school with you and your friends but having been in the same friend group before she broke up with Bertholdt. Apparently her friendship wasn’t as valued to you guys as his was and she made her quick exit and found herself in their little friend group now, thanks to her and Armin’s relationship, if you could even call it that currently.

Discovering your relationship didn’t quell Eren’s interest a bit, and he asked Annie to tell him everything she knew about you, which was actually quite a bit despite not being very close to you.

Annie met you through your, now ex, boyfriend Porco Galliard. You were a cheerleader and top of your class at Marley Prep and you have stupid rich parents who fund your whole lifestyle and want you to be the happiest you can be.

In Mikasa’s mind, you just really aren’t the type of person she think Eren would be happy with. Sure, his family is well off, but your parents, from what she knows, are on a whole different level, and you seem shallow.

She ends up so lost in thought she doesn’t even hear Armin walk up and start a conversation with them, going off about some party that Annie said she was going to tonight and hinted that she’d like to see him there if he was available.

“Armin, not that I mind going with you, but I’m not sure why you need me to go with you?” Eren spoke with slight confusion.

Armin looks between Eren and Mikasa, “I’ll just feel better if the two of you are there with me,”

Eren’s gaze turns soft when he notices how tense Armin is, how nervous he actually is at the thought of joining Annie at this party. Mikasa speaks up before Eren can respond, “We have a really, really important lab tomorrow, but as long as we aren’t out too late we can come.”

It almost upsets Eren at how definitive her answer is, how she’s decided for them that they need to be home at a certain time, that he needs to be home at a certain time. He isn’t a child, and he’s getting tired of all the coddling he gets between Mikasa and his mother.

“Lab isn’t until 9 anyway, so we don’t have to be home that early anyway.”

Armin throws his arms around his two best friends, mumbling quick thank you’s and you guys are the best.

εїз

Eren doesn’t exactly hate parties, but he didn’t particularly want to be here tonight. He’s under a lot of stress with his applications for early acceptance to his top medical school choices being due soon and his mom has been on his ass about coming to visit, which he typically doesn’t mind doing but before returning to campus for this last year at university, he and his dad got into a huge fight over where he’d be going to school and residencies and all the bullshit he didn’t want to deal with, especially since he still hasn’t told his dad that he doesn’t know if he plans on going to medical school.

But there isn’t a thing in the world he wouldn’t do for Armin, and if Armin needs him here for moral support, then he’s here.

Grabbing a cup and putting who knows what is in it, he turns around to make his way back to the living room to find his friends when he stumbles into another body. Reaching for your wrist, nearly dropping his cup in the process, he helps steady your body as his eyes widen slightly realizing just who it is he just ran into.

You’re slightly more intoxicated than you’d typically like to be, but after spending the afternoon watching your phone blow up with text after text from Porco before you finally had to buckle down and block him, again, over some of the hateful things he had sent you, all you wanted to do was drink and forget about the stupid break up, which paired perfectly with the fact that Hitch had wanted to come to this party and stalk Marlo.

Eren’s eyes trail up your figure, taking in all of you. Tonight you’re wearing dark wash jeans that compliment you in all the right places, light rips line the area of your thighs. The denim comes up and rests perfectly on your hips, while the light pink top you have on hugs your chest in a way that Eren knows if he looks for too long, his own jeans will start to get tight, with the amount of cleavage your showing on top of the way it clings to you.

Your own eyes look over him, taking in his pairing of dark wash jeans and a plain black shirt that clings to his muscles just right. He’s got nice hair too, you note to yourself, and it’s thrown into a sexy messy bun. You can’t help but wonder if it’s as soft as it looks.

The two of you make eye contact and it feels like his eyes are trying to find your soul with how deeply he’s looking at you.

Your staring is interrupted by Hitch, who stumbles in and grabs your free wrist with a giddy look in her eyes, “You won’t believe who just got here,” And just like that, you’re pulled away from him and into the crowd of people.

Hitch drags you over to your other two friends. Historia is sitting on Ymir’s lap as the latter is whispering, what you can only assume, dirty words in her ear. The way Historia is fidgeting in her girlfriend’s lap with her lip between her teeth makes you fairly sure that the two won’t be here for much longer.

You look at Hitch with a raised eyebrow and tilt your head back to the two of them in question. “Reiner is here.” Distaste fills your features at the mention of the blond brute as you hum before taking Historia’s cup from her and drinking the bitter, clean liquid.

“Vodka? Yuck.” Your face is scrunched up as you close your eyes and drink the remainder of the drink. You look back at Hitch, “No Pieck?”

Hitch frowns at the mention of the dark haired girl and shakes her head, not knowing why you would even bother to ask.

Pieck wasn’t initially your friend, she was his friend, but she quickly embedded herself into your friend group after you had started dating him. Hitch never really liked her, to be fair Hitch doesn’t really like anyone, in fact she always thought Pieck had tried a little too hard to be your friend, always looked at you a little too long. There had been multiple occasions where the shorter girl would lace her fingers with yours when she thought no one was paying attention, or Hitch would find her sending a heated glare in Proco’s direction when he would cling to you in front of her.

And it’s not like she’s even been around since the monumental breakup that occurred in June. Sending all of your calls to voicemail and neglecting the group chat before Ymir had enough and finally just kicked her out completely.

Needless to say, Hitch thought Pieck was fucking weird. But what she thought was weirder was that after you and Porco broke up, she completely ghosted not only the group- which Hitch could’ve excused- but you as well. Hitch couldn’t care less about Pieck not wanting to stay friends with her, but what bothered her was how hurt you were over it.

Sure, you have herself, Historia, and Ymir. Hitch has been your best friend since first grade and has never been anything less than your rock. Always there when you need her and never letting you down. And Historia joined the two of you, turning your duo into a trio in sixth grade when you and Hitch decided to join the cheer squad for middle school, and you met Historia at tryouts. The three of you made the squad and the rest was history.

When Ymir started dating Historia freshman year of college, she quickly learned how much you and Hitch meant to her, and in turn, as long as it was in her means, if you needed anything she was there.

But Pieck’s different, she’s no Historia, and she’s definitely no Hitch, but she’s Pieck and you hold a lot of love for her. And you were absolutely heartbroken that when you called her after the huge final blowout between you and Porco and she didn’t answer.

Sure, Hitch and Historia know how bad your relationship was, they know everything, but Pieck was the only one who saw how bad it was. It killed you to know she didn’t care enough to even just answer or send you a stupid text despite everything.

As if she can sense your mood dampening, Hitch grabs your hands, smiling wide and giddy again as she remembers why she drug you out of the kitchen in the first place, “You will not believe who is here!”

You roll your eyes playfully as you turn to give her your full attention so she can talk all about Marlo, not even noticing the eyes that can’t stop looking in your direction.

Across the room Eren stands with Mikasa and Armin, the blonde nearly sweating through his light blue button up shirt. Despite trying to calm him down, Mikasa can tell Eren’s mind is elsewhere. He keeps glancing across the room.

Following his eyes, Mikasa’s land on you with your friends and she has to fight an eyeroll, already irritated with being here.

Despite thinking his crush was stupid, hollow even, she couldn’t deny that she’ll never forget how upset she had been when she overheard Eren talk about you with Armin, the former had told him that you were probably the prettiest girl he had ever seen.

When she looked up your instagram later that same night, her stomach knotted as she noticed just how pretty you looked in all your photos, how put together you always seemed. Mikasa’s never really been insecure over girls Eren had brought in and out over the years, but you were just a different story.

Armin seems to finally catch on to the fact that Eren isn’t paying attention to his nervous ranting.

“Eren! Hello?” Armin finally snaps him out of trance, Eren looking at him briefly before looking back over at you, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” He tells him off handedly, gaze still on you. You have a bright smile on your face as Hitch says something, he assumes, is funny.

“You should just go talk to her,” Armin finally tells him with an exasperated sigh, which causes both Eren and Mikasa’s heads to snap towards him.

“Why would I do that?” “Why would he do that?” Eren’s eyes meet Mikasa’s as she blushes harshly under his gaze that holds deep offense.

Armin looks between the two before he clears his throat awkwardly, “I mean it’s not like she has a boyfriend anymore or anything. Worst case scenario she ignores you,”

Eren nods before frowning slightly, “Yeah, but I almost knocked her down in the kitchen and didn’t even apologize,”

Armin looks at him with wide eyes, almost gasping, “You mean to tell me you finally had a chance to talk to her? And you didn’t?”

Another offended look is on Eren’s face in an instant, “How do you know I didn’t talk to her?”

Armin scoffs as he rolls his eyes at Eren’s question, “Well, actually, I know you. And I know for a fact that you didn’t talk to her because you wouldn’t be over here with us talking about her, you’d be over there with her. And I also know that even if talking to her didn’t work out, you still would’ve said something about it.”

Mikasa frowns again, “But aren’t we supposed to be here to support you, Armin? I mean you’re a nervous wreck.” Armin gives her a weird side eye, and frowns lightly at her behavior.

“I mean I have you here, and Jean and Connie are here if all else fails?” Though he says it as if it’s a question, Mikasa knows the question is why she’s being so defensive about Eren talking to you.

“I think it’ll be fine,” Armin turns back to Eren, giving him a nervous grin, “Just go talk to her1 Annie’s here already anyway.”

Eren nods to himself, and then looks between Armin and Mikasa with a half grin that makes Mikasa want to melt into a puddle. “Wish me luck.”

As Eren makes his way across the room towards you, Mikasa can’t help but frown as she starts to compare herself to you. The outfit you’ve got on compliments your body so nicely, while her ripped black jeans and black tank top do nearly nothing for her own figure. You’re also pretty outgoing, while Mikasa can barely hold a conversation with anyone who she hasn’t known since high school without cringing at herself.

The glitter that frames your eyes is also a deep contrast from the black liner that is smudged around her own, your hair is nicely styled with a pretty silver butterfly clip holding some of it back while Mikasa’s hair is at an awkward stage of nearly outgrown because she hasn’t had a chance to go get it trimmed since coming back to school.

She also has bags starting to form under her eyes, the long nights of studying getting to her. Choosing pre-med as her major in an attempt to stay close to Eren starting to bite her in the ass since it comes a lot easier for him, so he doesn’t have to study as much.

Jean and Connie join Armin and Mikasa once they notice Annie in the kitchen. Connie walks up behind Armin and wraps his arm around him, getting close to his ear so he can give him a pep talk on how to woo Annie. Armin grumbles back that he doesn’t need his help, but when Sasha bounces over, she gets on Armin’s other side and tells him that Connie means well, just take his advice!

Jean stands awkwardly next to Mikasa, who has yet to take her eyes off of Eren. Her eyes finally avert to Jean when he starts talking.

“You look really nice tonight, Mikasa,” She has a slight frown on her face, but she mumbles back a small thanks as she bites her lip. She looks like she does every day, and she wants to tell him that, but instead she gives him a fake smile that she knows he can see right though and asks him if he wants to go find something to drink. He has an idea of what she’s trying to do but smiles softly and tells her to lead the way.

As the two of them make their way to the kitchen, Mikasa takes another glance towards your direction, stomach dropping even more when she takes note that Eren’s standing in front of you with his hands in his pockets.

Hitch had been going on about Marlo and how handsome she think he is for the past twenty minutes; Ymir is about five minutes away from taking Historia up to a bathroom, and you’ve had probably one too many solo cups full of vodka when Eren made his way to you, hands in his pockets and a boyish half smile on his face.

Hitch cuts herself off mid-sentence when she takes note of the six foot two man towering over the couch you occupy, eyebrows raised as she looks between the two of you with a sparkle in her eye once she realizes his eyes are strictly on you.

Your own eyes are wide with drunken curiosity as you look at him. “I know you!” Your voice makes Eren smile slightly as you continue, “You bumped into me in the kitchen, right?”

Eren winces and lets out an awkward laugh, “Uh, yeah. I just wanted to come over and apologize, I had meant to earlier but was a little distracted.”

His heart sputters when you let out a soft giggle, “Oh, don’t worry about it! Parties can get distracting. Though, I’d hate to think you’ve spent this whole party thinking about apologizing instead of actually enjoying yourself,”

Though there’s a teasing glint in the smile on your face and in your tone, your eyes tell him you’re genuinely worried he spent the whole party worrying about the fact that he ran into you.

“Oh, uh no. Well I mean I was distracted by you, but” His eyes widen once he realizes what he said, while Hitch has to hold back laughter at the man in front of her turning red.

“You were distracted by me?” Your tone is slightly disbelieving, and your eyes have a certain shine in them that he doesn’t quite recognize but the look on your face has his own flushing even more.

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Ymir and Historia have pulled away from each other and make eye contact with Hitch, whose eyes are gleefully wide as she looks between them over your head. Historia is a little confused due to the amount of liquor she’s drank in such little, but Ymir catches on pretty quickly to what Hitch is getting at and reaches across Historia to tell you that they’re gonna head out and they’ll see you later. Historia looks confused and goes to protest but a quick look from Ymir has her quiet despite her confusion.

Waving bye to your friends, Hitch looks across the room and her eyes land on Marlo, she looks back at Eren with a coy smirk, “Keep an eye on her for me, yeah?” and before he can answer she’s up and gone.

You and Eren sit in a semi-awkward silence for a few moments before he speaks up, “Do you want another drink?” He cringes at his question and silently prays that you don’t think the worst, that he’s just trying to get you drunk.

“Actually, I think I’ve had enough to drink, but maybe we can go sit outside or something?” He nods, an excited look in his eyes that makes you smile brightly. He reaches his hand out to you, and you take it, smiling wider as he helps you up and puts an arm around your back to take you outside. Neither of you notice the heated glare in Mikasa’s eyes as she watches from the kitchen.

It’s a lot more comfortable outside, you’re able to breathe and hear a lot better. He sits next to you on the ground up against the rough brick of the house as the two of you spend nearly the next hour talking about whatever comes to mind.

Eren asks a lot about you, what you like, what your favorite food is, why your favorite song is your favorite song, asks about your major. He tells you that he thinks you look like an art major, which in turn you tell him you didn’t expect him to be in pre-med, which he laughs lightly as he nods in agreement, telling you it definitely wasn’t his first choice. You don’t ask him to elaborate, which he’s thankful for.

Mikasa frowns from her spot next to Sasha as Eren makes his way back over to the group, you shyly behind him with your fingers laced through his. Armin smiles and has to refrain from sending a thumbs up towards Eren once he notices you’re with him. Annie smiles, what Mikasa would consider her most genuine smile, and waves at you. Mikasa nearly forgot that the two of you used to be good friends at one point.

Mikasa tunes out the rest of the group as Eren explains that he’s gonna head out, you’re getting tired, and he wants to make sure you get home safe. He’s got that boyish smile on his face, and Mikasa watches how you’ve got a blinding grin on your own face, eyes not leaving him as he speaks to his friends.

Jean watches Mikasa’s eyes water slightly as Eren sticks his hand in your back pocket as the two of you walk away. Her watery eyes meeting his as she silently begs for him to make the pain go away.

εїз

Eren has you pinned up against the front door to his apartment before it can even slam shut behind you. Your chest pushed up against the door as his hands work their way up and down your sides under your shirt, teasing the underside of your breast as he grinds his erection into your ass as your back arches.

His left hand moves your hair to the side so he can suck on your neck while his right hand reaches for the button of your jeans, making quick work of getting them undone and slipping his hand into your panties. His middle finger makes quick work in circles on your clit, making you gasp in surprise and reach up with you right hand and grab at the back of his head, tangling your fingers his soft brown hair.

The light pull of your fingers causes him to groan and bite down on your neck, causing you to gasp in surprise.

He pulls his hand out of your pants and moves both hands to the hem of your jeans and begins to pull them down. His husky voice in your ear makes you moan out loud when he tells you how badly he wants to taste you.

His body follows his hands as he pulls your jeans down to your ankles, slapping your ass lightly before he spreads your cheeks so he can get a nice view of your cunt, and he groans when he sees how fucking wet you are.

His thumb finds your clit and he puts just the slightest bit of pressure, but somehow it’s enough to make you let out a soft moan of pleasure, causing him to smirk.

“Yeah, you like that, baby?” You nod and moan louder as he puts more pressure, rubbing harsh circles as he leans forward and dips his tongue into you. He groans at your taste, and he takes his thumb away from your clit so he can use both hands to pull your body closer to his face.

“God you taste so fucking good,” His words make you blush, but he gives you no time to respond, his tongue finding its way back to your clenching hole.

“Ohmygod,” You can’t contain the gasp of pleasure that leaves you as your right hand reaches around to hold his head in place as he continues fucking his tongue in and out of you, hands gripping your hips tightly to keep you as close to his face as he possibly can, breathing be damned.

His tongue alternates between fucking your hole and licking at your clit. His left hand moves from your hip to your cunt, and he sticks two fingers inside you as he continues licking at your clit. He groans at your tightness around his fingers, that with the addition of the taste of you driving him insane.

“Er-eren!” You yelp out his name as his fingers make quick work of finding your g-spot, you feel him smirk against you once he feels the spongey spot. Fingering you faster, his mouth moves back to your clit, and he puckers his lips around it and begins to harshly suck on it.

The feeling is too much, you feel like you can’t breathe. His fingers repeatedly hitting your g-spot, and his mouth harshly sucking on your clit has you cumming before you even realize it.

“Eren, ah! Fuck, I-I’m cumming,” You moan out, trying to warn him so he can pull away if he wants. But he somehow manages to keep surprising you.

“That’s right baby, you fucking cum for me.” Curling his fingers slightly harder against your g-spot, his free hand grips your hip harder to hold you in place as your body starts to tremble as your orgasm washes over you. He doesn’t pull his fingers away until you’re nearly sobbing from the stimulation against your g-spot, and he slowly pulls his fingers out of your clenching hole.

He smirks as you gasp, one hand still clinging to his head while the other hold the trim by the door for dear life. Slightly leaning forward, he licks your cunt one last time in a harsh strip from your clit up, momentarily sneaking his tongue back in you one last time for good measure.

Pulling away from you, he stands back up, slowly pulling your underwear back up. Giving your ass a light tap, he bends back down and lifts your legs up one at a time at your knees to help you pull your jeans off of your ankles. Eren folds and lays them on the end table by the front door before he makes his way back over to you, who’s now turned around, face flushed and facing him with legs still slightly shaking.

He smiles at you once his hands find their place back on your hips, mouth meeting yours in a kiss that makes you gasp in surprise, but your arms quickly make their way around his neck. Licking your bottom lip, he lifts you enough to where you can wrap your legs around his waist so he can walk you to his room. His tongue works its way into your mouth, causing you to moan slightly around it as he continues kissing you until he reaches his room and sits you on the edge of the bed.

You look at him confused when he makes his way over to his closet, pulling out an old black band t-shirt. It’s faded, but well taken care of. Your eyebrows furrow when he hands it to you and makes his way to his dresser, pulling out a pair of grey sweatpants and changing into them, leaving the t-shirt he was wearing off.

“Did you not want to…” Your voice trails off as you look at him with furrowed brows as he makes his way back over to you, fighting hard to keep your eyes off of his naked chest. He crouches down so your eye level, and he frowns when he sees the slight insecurity swimming in your eyes.

Reaching a hand up, he caresses your face and rubs his thumb just under your eye before he lightly pulls your face to his, kissing you again. This kiss is much lighter than the previous one, softer, he’s being much gentler. When he pulls away you frown slightly, leaning forward for more but he stops you.

“It’s not that I don’t want to, trust me when I say I do want to. Like, very badly.” He huffs out a laugh through his nose, the furrow in your brow slightly deepening in a silent question, “But I also happen to enjoy you very much, and I’d like to take you out properly, ya know?” He blushes deeply as he says it, but the smile on your face brings a huge grin to his own.

Reaching forward, you wrap your arms back around him, pushing your face into his neck as a small sigh leaves your mouth, “I think you might be very good for me,” Eren hears you whisper as you nuzzle your face into his neck. Eren lets out a soft but genuine laugh as he pulls your body closer to his, hoping you’re right. Hoping he might just be good enough for you.

εїз

Mikasa looks around Jeans room, trying to stay as far away from him as possible in his full size bed, and she can’t help but wonder what you and Eren are doing right now.

Regret starts building deep in her gut as she realizes what she’s done with Jean will not only change the dynamic between the two of them, but also the fact that Armin is going to be so fucking disappointed in her once he realizes she only slept with Jean because she was upset Eren left with you.

Carefully crawling out of his bed, she quickly finds her phone and clothes before getting dressed and quietly leaving Jeans room.

Guilt is swirling in her stomach as she walks as quickly and quietly as she can out of his apartment and makes her way up a few flights of stairs to the one she shares with Armin and Eren.

She prays to herself that Armin and Annie decided to go back to Annie’s place, so they don’t have to see the disgusted look she has on her face. Disgust with herself, disgust with the fact that Jean let her use him, disgust with the fact that that the more she walks, the more she can feel Jean’s cum leaking out of her. Her disgust is quickly overcome by even more guilt as she unlocks the front door to the apartment.

Guilt is a terrible feeling, it’s nothing compared to the heartbreak she feels as she’s walking towards her room. Because the last thing she expected when she walked past the bathroom was to see Eren holding you up on the counter by the sink as he attempts to wipe the glitter off of your eyes.

He’s got that stupid smile on his face as he whispers for you to keep your eyes shut, he’s almost done. He holds your head at the nape of your neck gently with one hand while the other makes work of carefully rubbing your eye.

You’re mumbling incoherently, sleep lacing your voice as you hold your arms around his neck, head following wherever his hand guides it.

Out of the corner of his eye, Eren notices Mikasa’s disheveled appearance, while he doesn’t make a comment one it, she notices the way he raises his eyebrow in surprise.

She wishes she could say something to defend herself, but her gaze is too caught on you. The way he holds you tenderly makes her stomach turn, he’s so careful and gentle as he caresses your face, it makes her frown in envy.

“We’re almost done, you can have the bathroom in a minute,” Eren tells her softly, and she hates that she knows his soft words aren’t for her benefit but your own. She watches as he does a quick glance over your face one last time before he throws away the makeup wipes from a brand she didn’t recognize, watches as he gently lifts you at your hips to wrap your legs around his waist and how your face instantly makes its way to his neck in an almost natural way.

“Night, Mikasa,” Eren whispers and smiles when he hears you mumble a soft night of your own. “Good night, Eren,” Her voice isn’t above a whisper either, so he doesn’t hear her voice crack as he shuts his bedroom door, leaving her in the soft yellow glow of the bathroom light, alone.

Despite all the negative and harsh thoughts running through her mind, all she can focus on is the fact that Eren had let you wear his favorite shirt.

εїз

Eren’s been awake for nearly fifteen minute, he knows he should probably wake you up too. He has a class in a little over an hour, and if he waits too much longer to get up, Mikasa will come to get him like she always does when he sleeps in.

But he can’t bring himself to care, not when you’re lying next to him making that old ass ‘the cure’ t-shirt look as good as you currently are.

He can’t help but admire you. You just look so perfect.

“You’re staring.” Eren flinches in surprise at your words, not realizing that you’ve already woken up.

“I’m gazing,” You peek an eye open at his words, a half-smile making its way onto your face at his cheesiness.

“It’s creepy.” He scoffs at you, leaning his face so close to your own that your noses are touching. “I think it’s pretty romantic.”

A hum leaves you as your raise your eyebrows at him, eyes closing slightly as you lean closer to him, lips nearly touching his, “Romantic you say?”

He sighs, nodding as his eyes refuse to leave yours, “Definitely romantic.”

Just as he’s about to lean in to seal the deal, a loud knock at his door causes the two of you to pull away from each other, “Eren, get up. We have class in a little more than an hour. I will not be late again to one of Hange’s classes because of you.”

He groans, head falling right next to your shoulder, “Yeah. Thanks, Mikasa,”

A laugh leaves your mouth, causing Eren to grin, “What time is it anyway?”

Eren reaches for his phone, clicking it on, “9:15,”

You groan loudly in despair. “I have class at 10:30,” The pout on your face almost has Eren asking if you want to skip and go get breakfast. Almost. But when you reach for your phone and sit up he decides against it.

He watches you scroll through your phone for a minute, not peeking at whatever you’re doing so he doesn’t seem like a creep. You’ve still got a little bit of glitter on your face from last night, and Eren inwardly cringes at the fact that he couldn’t get all of it off.

He likes the way you look in his bed, not to get ahead of himself but he definitely thinks that waking up with you a few days a week is something he could get used to.

Hopefully, next time you guys will have time to go get breakfast though, or maybe if it’s a weekend, you could get brunch.

Eren’s thoughts leave his mind when you look back over at him, a soft smile on your face, “Any chance I can get you to give me a ride home on your way to campus?”

“Yeah, yeah of course.” He tries not to sound too excited at the thought of you sitting in his passenger seat. You mumble out a soft thank you as you watch him get out of bed and make his way towards his closet, leaning your head in the palm of your hand as you admire the way his back muscles move and flex when he pulls a black t-shirt over his head.

“What class do you have this morning?” He asks, with genuine curiosity, you look away to give him some sort of privacy as he takes off his sweatpants and underwear so he can put on a pair of dark wash jeans and new briefs.

“Oh, um, it’s an advanced sketching class. Nothing special.” Running your fingers through your hair, you stand up and look around his room for your jeans.

Eren turns back around as he’s buttoning his pants up, smiling when he finds you standing awkwardly without pants on. “Your pants are in the living room,”

A half-grin is on your lips when you make eye contact with him and nod. “Right, I forgot.”

“Forgot I ate you up against my front door last night?” He’s cheeky, and it makes your body heat up as you bite your lip to stop a smile from showing you enjoy his teasing. Reaching over, you lightly slap his arm and mumble for him to get his head out of the gutter, to which he gives you a cheeky smile and a peck on the cheek in relation.

Mikasa is sitting on the couch in the living room when the two of you walk out, and she has to fight looking at you too long once she notices you still aren’t wearing pants. Just that stupid t-shirt that Eren’s been attached to ever since he found it at some local thrift store when they were fourteen.

You smile and send her a small wave, getting a blank look in return that makes you frown slightly. Eren appears in front of you, holding your jeans with that same boyish grin on his face. “I think your shoes are still in my car,” A small okay leave your mouth as your slide your jeans on, not really caring for modesty at the moment since everyone in the room has already seen you without pants on.

Eren holds your phone and keys out to you, “I, uh, couldn’t find your shirt or the clip you had in your hair last night.” As he scratches the back of his neck, you have to refrain from ogling his biceps as they flex. “Oh, uh, that’s okay,”

Before either of you can say anything else, Mikasa clears her throat, “I hate to interrupt, but we have a class to get to.”

Eren gives her a weird look at the tone she uses and the look she’s giving you. “Actually, we’re taking a detour. We’re going to drop her off at her place first.”

She frowns and looks over you under her nose now that she’s standing, before giving him another look, “Eren, we seriously can’t be late again.”

You finally decide to speak up, “I can always get an uber-“

“I think that would be for the best.” “Absolutely not!”

You look awkwardly between the two of them as they glare at each other, feeling extremely out of place. You give Eren an uncomfortable look, “Really, I can find my own way home,”

Eren lets out a scoff, his eyes softening as he looks at you again, “It’s really not a big deal. And if she has such a problem with it, she can take a bus.”

Mikasa lets out a noise of disbelief grumbling a whatever, sending you a sharp glare as she storms to her room to grab her bag.

She can’t fucking believe him, how dare he? She’s been nothing but good to him for twenty-two years and this is what she gets in return? Over some random girl who didn’t even know his fucking name twenty-four hours ago?

The car ride to your apartment from theirs consists of an extremely awkward fourteen minutes, not that you were counting. Mikasa had sent you another intense glare when you went to sit in the front, practically forcing you to sit in the back and ignored you the whole time, talking over you anytime you tried to respond when Eren spoke to you.

You have to refrain from letting a huge sigh of relief leave you once the car stops in front of your building. Eagerly getting out of the car, you don’t even notice Eren quickly stumbling out of the driver’s seat as he tries to catch up with you.

“Hey! Hey, wait up!” His voice makes you halt your steps, turning around to look at him. “I’m really sorry about you, I don’t think she had a great night last night and-”

“You don’t owe me an explanation, Eren,” You don’t mean to interrupt, but he really doesn’t owe you any sort of explanation.

Slightly frowning he responds, “Well, I know. I, I just had a really, really good time last night, and I didn’t want to end things on a bad note or before I can ask for your number.”

“You could’ve just asked,” A light laugh leaves you at his more detailed than explanation, “I just meant you don’t have to apologize for your friend. Everyone has bad nights sometimes, and having someone throw of your routine can make stuff like that even worse.”

“Oh,” He laughs awkwardly as you hold out your hand for him to give you his phone. He watches with enthusiasm as you punch in your number before calling yourself, so you have his number.

“Text me later! I’d stay and talk more, but I need to go change for class and I think if you stay any longer, Mikasa may just glare a hole in my skull.” You press your lips against his cheek softly before you turn around to enter your building, “See ya later, Eren.”

His whole face is burning up by the time he gets in the car, too engrossed in what just happened to even notice that Mikasa has a deep scowl painting her features.

His phone buzzes, pulling it out he sees it’s a text from you. A fond smile is on his face when he sees it’s a mirror selfie of you in his t-shirt with a half grin on what shows of your face. For my contact photo <3

“Are we going to class or what?” Mikasa grits out with a hateful tone, snapping him out of his trance.

“Oh, right.” He awkwardly coughs out as he starts the twenty minute drive to campus. Very, uncomfortably, awkward twenty minutes.

εїз

Walking out of your sketching class, you’re pleasantly surprised to find Eren standing there waiting for you with, what you assume is, an iced coffee in his hand. Once he notices you, a huge smile appears on his face.

“Hey!” Your face heats as he hands you the drink enthusiastically, “Uh, Hi!” You look between him and the drink with curious eyes, causing him to blush as you take it.

“Oh, right. It’s an iced chai, with oat milk. I had Armin make it, he said you seemed like the type to like chai, but if you don’t like it then I can take you and get you something else.”

Your eyes don’t leave his face as he goes on about how Armin said oat milk was definitely a safe choice, because in case you have a dairy allergy, he firmly believes it superior non-dairy milk. Eren continues rambling for a few minutes about how he has no idea about the differences between almond and oat milk before he finds himself lost in your eyes that seem lost in his.

Smiling, you reach your free hand and grab his own, “I love oat milk. And, I have to agree with Armin, it is the superior non-dairy milk.”

Relief washes over his features as he smiles brightly at you, eyes traveling over you as he takes in your outfit change from this morning. You’ve chosen pink again today, and he can’t deny that it looks great on you, though he wishes you had kept on his shirt instead of going with the pink jeans with the pink corduroy jacket over a cropped white tank top you’ve chosen today.

You clutch your black tote bag closer to you as you sip the drink happily, grinning at Eren as you bite on the straw.

He smiles softly and clears his throat, “Anyway, I had a question for you.”

You quirk a brow, nodding for him to continue, “There’s this old theatre in town, they play lots of older films. They’re playing Rear Window on Friday at 7:30. Last night you mentioned you like older movies, so,” he sticks his hands in his pockets, biting his lip and glancing up at you, green eyes shining.

Your face heats up even more if possible, “Are you asking me out?” You pray his answer is yes.

“I mean, yeah! But, like, only if you want, though,” He’s met with a lip bite as you fight back yet another grin.

Despite wanting to say yes, you feel the slight need to be cautious. “I would love to go see Rear Window with you, but-”

Eren has to fight the frown that begs to take over his features at your words as you continue. “I just got out of a relationship. The only relationship I have ever been in, actually. And, well it wasn’t exactly a great relationship,”

Looking up at him you give him a small smile, “I would love to go out with you Eren, on a date. But do you think we could maybe, I don’t know, just hang out for a little bit? Take things slow?”

Eren tries not to look disappointed, because he does understand and he’s not disappointed, more bummed than anything honestly. But, he’s spent a whole semester pining over you, what’s a little longer?

“Absolutely!” The relief in your eyes makes whatever disappointment that was trying to creep in disappear completely.

Yeah, he absolutely can take things slow. No problem at all, right?

Can you take things slow, though? Probably not.

A comfortable silence develops between the two of you as you leave the fine arts building and head towards the parking lot to the south of it, “Do you want to get lunch with me and my friends tomorrow? I can pick you up around 1?”

Looking at him, you smile and nod, “Yeah, but are you sure no one will mind?”

Neither of you need to say anything to know you’re referring to Mikasa and her behavior towards you this morning. His face falls slightly at the thought of you not wanting to meet or hang out with his friends just because she was acting out of character this morning.

“Of course not!” It rushes out before he can control it. “If you’re worried about Mikasa, she had just had a bad night last night, like I was telling you earlier. It had absolutely nothing to do with you!”

You bite your lip, still unsure as you two come to a stop next to your car. Looking up at him, you sigh internally when you see his green eyes are already staring deeply at you, as if he’s begging you to say yes.

Despite a nagging feeling deep in your stomach, one telling you not to give in, especially so soon, a small voice in your head tells you that this, that he, could be good for you.

A soft smile creeps onto your glossy lips as you nod, telling him you’d be happy to go with him to lunch with his friends.

The smile the breaks out on his face makes all your negative thoughts disappear.

This will be a good thing, worst case, you just don’t click with his friends. He seems to like you plenty well already, and you like to think you’re likeable, surely his friends will, at the very least, get along with you.

#fic: ioblwbbrbig #eren yaeger x reader #eren x reader #attack on titan x reader #eren jeager x reader #eren jeager smut #eren yaeger smut #aot x reader #aot smut #eren jeager x you #eren jaeger fluff #eren yaeger fluff #aot fluff #she's here #*finally lol*#i hope you guys enjoy her!

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stormsplurge · 7 days

Text

if they woke you up, somebody better be dying

warnings: none!

pairing(s): seth jarvis x fem! reader

inspired by the interview he just did for spittin chiclets where he talks about how he usually wont fall asleep until 3am (and the title is from one of my favorite phoebe bridgers songs, halloween)

760 words

the clock on the bedside table blinks “1:00” as you slowly open your eyes. the only light in the room is coming from the moon shining between the blinds, casting a cool glow on the noticeably empty bed next to where you were lying.

seth wasnt in bed; same as last night, and almost every night before.

you can hear the faint sounds of a seinfeld episode coming from the living room, letting you know immediately where your boyfriend was. sitting on the couch in front of the tv instead of in bed next to you. so you begrudgingly pulled on the first sweatshirt you could find, trying to beat the cold winter chill that had invaded the apartment, and tiptoed out of your bedroom.

“seth” you grumbled. “its one in the morning”

“i know, i just” he replied, pressing pause on the tv and turning to face you. “i couldnt sleep and i didnt want to bother you.”

“you should also know that if you cant fall asleep i want to help. you arent being a bother, im your girlfriend. this is the shit im supposed to be able to help you with” you said as you sat down at the far end of the couch. pulling one of the spare blankets you had all over the apartment over your lap.

“im sorry” seth returned, scooting closer to you and interlacing your hands with his. “can i get a do-over?”

“i guess” you giggled, amused by the sight of seth doing his sad puppy eyes in front of you.

“i cant sleep, can you help me?”

“of course i can, give me five minutes.” you said as you rose from the couch, gliding over to the kitchen and pulling out two coffee mugs. running your fingers over the design adorning the box holding the tea bags, you turned your attention back towards seth. “the sleepytime bear reminds me of petya.”

“the what?”

“you know, the bear on the boxes for all those non-caffinated teas. with the red hat and the nightgown.”

seth slipped into the kitchen behind you, pulling out his phone and snapping a quick picture of the bear before sending it off to the group chat and spinning you around so your back was pushing against the counter.

“thank you” he said before pressing a long kiss to the top of your head.

“you dont need to thank me.” you replied, snaking your hands under his shirt and hugging his waist.

“i know, i just wanted too.”

“youre so sappy.” you mumbled into his shirt, letting the sweet, woody, smell engulf you.

“yeah but you love it.” he mumbled back before pulling the kettle off the stove and pouring its contents into the mugs you set out.

you released each other from the hug and grabbed your respective mugs before hobbling back into your bedroom. you pulled up the episode of seinfeld seth had paused before sliding in bed.

making tea might have been a waste of time, seeing as seth was more interested in holding you than holding the mug. as soon as you got under the covers he’d wrapped his arms around you.

“youre wearing my hoodie.” he whispered as he traced circles along your thighs, letting the callouses on his palms graze the goosebumps on your skin.

“am i?” you murmured. “i just picked it up off the floor, it was the first one i found”

“my old blue bombers one.” he replied. “it looks good on you”

“you say that about everything i wear.”

“i wouldnt say it if it wasnt true.” he says before turning your chin towards him and pulling you into a kiss.

the stubble growing in as a result of his budding playoff beard scratched at your face as you pulled him in deeper, and as you turned your attention back towards the sitcom on the tv you felt your eyes grow heavier.

you fell asleep with the moonlight glazing over you and seth, and seinfeld playing on the tv. on a cool carolina night, with no care in the world.

seth wasn’t far behind, wrapping his body around you before finally succumbing to his fatigue.

maybe it was having his girlfriend care for him that slowed his brain down enough to let him finally catch a semi-decent night of rest, maybe it was the reminder of unconditional love that put him at ease. regardless of the cause, you woke up to sunlight streaming through the windows, and a clingy, but well rested, boyfriend attached to your hip.

#seth jarvis #carolina hurricanes #seth jarvis x reader #nhl x reader #seth jarvis imagine #nhl imagine #nhl fic #nhl fanfiction #carolina hurricanes imagine

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ghostbeam · 1 year

Text

swore i could feel you through the walls | Dabi/Touya Todoroki

Dabi knows that he can’t leave you now. You belong to him, and he belongs to you, and the stars knew before either of you did. And Dabi can’t argue with fate, or destiny, or pure dumb luck, not that he wants to. He pulls your comforter up over his body. He’ll be here when you come home to him. In a place made for staying, Dabi thinks he will.

Notes: hiiiiii so this is an idea that has been bouncing around my head for like. Literal years ajsjsjsjs It’s always kind of been more of a horror idea and then I fanficified it and now it’s this! This was kind of a process and I rewrote and replanned and went over this over and over again but I think it is at a place that I am mildly happy with. It’s a completely ridiculous idea and I’m honestly a little insecure about it but fuck it!! Thanks for reading hope u enjoy<3 (title from Chinese satellite by Phoebe bridgers) listen to the playlist here!

Warnings: 18+, minors dni, f!reader, explicit content, yandere!dabi, stalking, Dabi hides in readers house without her knowledge, some paranoia, psychological abuse, slight yandere!reader, mentions of somnophillia but no actual instances of it, violence, non-consensual voyeurism (Dabi watches reader masturbate), unprotected sex, oral f!receiving, marking, biting (shoulder, neck), painplay, one mention of carving names into skin with no instance of it, mentions of blood (reader bites dabi’s neck and draws blood), use of good girl, mutual obsession

Words: 9.3k

He can’t breathe.

Dabi runs from the low-ranked hero, surprisingly fast on his tail as the distance between the two becomes smaller and smaller. With his lungs burning, his skin irritated from quirk use, and the lack of help from his peers, Dabi realizes that he needs to find a way to lose the ice quirk user that is quickly gaining on him.

Turning down a narrow alleyway, he’s disappointed to find that it’s a dead end. He pauses to catch his breath, keeping himself tucked tightly against the shadowy wall. Dabi surveys his surroundings, finding nothing but garbage before he looks up. He’s against an apartment building, he realizes, looking at the lights in the windows above him.

All windows are lit except one.

Dabi doesn’t have the time to wonder about the owner, shaking his head and forcing himself up the fire escape, preparing himself to use his quirk if it comes down to it. He breaks the lock on the darkened window and shuffles inside. He falls over a stack of books that sits underneath the window, freezing on the floor as he listens for any movement throughout the walls. When he hears nothing, he stands from the floor and closes the window, creeping down the hall in search of the other rooms. There’s one bathroom and a bedroom with no one inside, and relief rushes over Dabi as he feels his shoulders relax.

Assuming you won’t be home for a while, Dabi makes his way back to the main room, turns the light on, and heads for the kitchen. He looks through your fridge for something to eat, pulling out a Tupperware of leftovers that he heats in the microwave. As he waits for the seconds to pass, he looks around the apartment.

It sets in, then, how lived in the place is, shelves full of books, records and DVDs, art and photos against the walls, leaving almost no space for the blankness underneath. The kitchen is pink, he realizes, looking around and eyeing the various knickknacks shaped like mushrooms or kittens, unique magnets hang a mess of papers on the fridge beside post-it notes of reminders.

He wants to hate it. It’s a complete mess, chaotic even, but he can’t bring himself to. He’s intrigued now. He ignores the beeping of the microwave and steps away from the kitchen, observing the various pictures on the walls. It’s not difficult to find the owner of the apartment, the face showing up in a multitude of snapshots. Your face.

As he looks at the walls, he finds himself stuck on you, the curve of your jaw, your lips, your eyes. You make his heart beat in his chest, excitement bubbling at the realization that he is standing in your home, in your space, right in the middle of your entire life.

You’re beautiful. He feels his stomach drop.

The more he explores, the more he seems to like you. The Sargent print on your wall, the Rilke in your bookshelf, the numerous albums in your collection that he knows nothing about. He flips through the pages of your books, smiling at your annotations, the ink between the pages, and the tiny star you draw next to your favorite passages. He runs his fingers across the words over and over again, committing them to memory, the need to love the things you love burning in his chest.

It’s not enough, he realizes, looking through just this room. He stalks down the hallway and turns the light to your bedroom on. And oh, how content he feels in here, a room clearly much more personal than the one out there. It’s a bit of a mess, with clothes on the floor and the bed like you’d changed out of many different outfits before leaving. The full-length mirror against your wall is peppered with postcards and pictures from magazines and those same post-it notes: call mom, pay the phone bill, need more cotton pads. So, you’re forgetful. Dabi smiles at the knowledge.

There are string lights of stars hanging on your ceiling and lamps in the shape of flowers on your bedside table. Your bed is unmade and you have sheets with scatters of constellations on them. Your affinity for stars makes him smile, one more thing he’s found in common with you.

It shocks him how interested he is in you, in all of the things that make up your little life. But the more he explores, the more he’s sure you’re made for him.

He looks through your closet, through your dresser, stuck rummaging through your underwear drawer. Every set of lingerie you have is some variation of blue, and Dabi can’t help but feel as though it’s for him. It’s all for him, your things, you. Fate, or the universe, or luck itself is on his side. He pockets a pair of panties that closely resembles his eyes before turning to your desk. More post-it notes are stuck to the surface, and there’s a notebook that he reaches for before your wall catches his eye. There are more photos, haphazardly taped up and not at all as organized as your living room, but he can tell they’re important to you: family photos, people he recognizes from films, rock singers, and—him.

Dabi is on your wall.

The photo is one that went viral a couple of months back when he got into an altercation with one of the top ten heroes. He remembers the fight well because of how large his flames grew, and the damage that he did to the surrounding area, to the people, to the hero he was up against. He’s stood with his arms out in front of him, neon flames emanating from his palms as the moment in battle is frozen in time forever on your wall. You printed it out on photo paper and everything. He plucks it from its spot and turns it over. Your handwriting with his name and a heart is scrawled on the blank space. He runs a thumb over the heart, feeling his face warm up.

This isn't a mistake. You know who he is, and you’re a fan, not just of the photo itself, but of him. He wonders if you’re one of those weirdos he’s seen online with accounts dedicated to him, one of the anonymous boxes that engage in discussions about his quirk and identity, losers grasping at any detail they can that might bring them closer to the truth, or just to him in general.

But the more he thinks about it, the more excited he gets, thinking about you saving blurry pictures of his fights to your phone, watching youtube videos of him with shitty quality, and tweeting about him with stupid little emojis. He wonders if you dream of him, if you think of him while touching yourself, or if you fantasize about silly things like being a villain’s girlfriend. He likes thinking of you like this, just as obsessed with him as he’s becoming with you.

Dabi doesn’t care what it’s called: divine intervention, cosmic love, soulmates. All are true; none capture how this feels.

Your laptop is password protected and his name doesn’t work when he tries, so he moves on from your bedroom. Entering your bathroom, he looks through your medicine cabinet, analyzing your meds and products as he searches for every bit of information he can. He looks at the lipstick that sits on the counter and debates putting it on in the form of an indirect kiss but decides to pocket it instead. He sprays each and every one of your perfumes, deciding which is his favorite, and throwing the one he dislikes out the window he came through, watching it shatter against the cement.

He pulls back the shower curtain and begins to strip, turning the water on and letting the heat hit his worn-out body. He hasn’t felt water pressure this good in years. He uses your shampoo, your conditioner, your rose-scented soap, even though it’s sure to irritate his scars. He uses everything he can to be close to you, to smell like you, to have any piece of you even though you’re not here.

When he’s done, he lays in your bed, against the sheets that you occupy every night except tonight, and stares up at the string lights above him. He picks up the stuffed bear with angel wings that sits against one of your pillows, caressing the ears between two fingers. He thinks about you, about the things he doesn’t know, details you don’t have plastered to your walls or hidden between pages of poetry books. He wants to know what makes you laugh, what makes you cry, how you’d look undone beneath him.

He can finally breathe.

…

The keys to your apartment chime against your door as you move to unlock it, hoards of keychains rattling against each other as you push the heavy door open. It slams shut behind you and you toss your keys onto the kitchen counter, hauling your suitcase behind you. The familiar pang of loneliness hits you immediately as you look out over your crowded apartment.

“I’m home.” You mutter softly, running your fingers over the plush fabric of your couch.

No matter how much you try to distract yourself with books and posters and comfortable shag carpets, you still feel the same each time you come home to emptiness.

You roll your suitcase to your bedroom, deciding that unpacking is a job for the you of the future while the you of the present deserves to sink into the couch and watch tv. Your unmade bed catches your eye and you wonder if you’d forgotten to tidy up before you left to visit your mother. You don’t dwell on it, dragging your tired body to your couch and turning on your television. You flip through multiple channels before a name on the news catches your attention: Dabi.

Your obsession with the cremation villain seemingly happened overnight. The League of Villains had intrigued you due to their mission to dismantle hero society, a cause that resonated with you as a quirkless citizen. When Dabi joined the group, you were immediately interested in the aloof and mysterious fire quirk-user. You never stood a chance. You spent hours on message boards, gathering any and all information on the group as you could in order to feel closer to him. Your adoration never made much sense to those you talked to online with the lack of information available about the man. But as the League grew in popularity, details about Dabi became far more accessible to the general public. His true identity remained a mystery but two things you were certain of: his quirk came with a drawback in the form of his own body and fire got him excited.

And now, the news anchor on your television was relaying the news that he had been seen around your neighborhood and still hadn’t been found. You feel your heart beat rapidly in your chest, excitement bubbling up as you think about the prospect of catching a glimpse of him in real life. Realistically, you know there’s no way that Dabi stuck around here, understanding the risks of staying in one place for too long as a wanted criminal, but the thought makes your stomach flip. You lean back against your couch, clutching the remote in one hand and letting out an excited giggle. For a moment, you’re grateful for the emptiness of your apartment, your embarrassing display of excitement only witnessed by you and you alone.

You spend a few hours on LOV fan accounts and forums, hoping to find out any more details about the news, but most people online say it’s not worth looking into. Much like you thought, Dabi was most likely far away from your place by now.

Finding nothing, you stand up from your couch, stretching your arms above your head as you make your way to your bathroom. You turn on the shower and allow it to heat up as you find something to sleep in. When you return, you strip and step into the shower. Your mind wanders toward thoughts of Dabi as you stand underneath the water. You’re disappointed. The one weekend you leave town, the love of your life visits your building. The endless push and pull is frustrating.

It’s something that’s happened to you time and time again, coming across the aftermath of an attack, or arriving somewhere that Dabi was rumored to have been seen. You keep missing him by mere seconds, and this is no different, though you aren’t exactly sure what you would do if you ever got a chance.

After finishing up, you step out of the shower, take a towel from the hook on the wall and dry yourself off. You change into your clothes and reach towards your medicine cabinet before pausing. Drawn in the steam on the mirror is a heart. You stare at it, examining it closely. Had you drawn on the mirror the last time you showered? When was the last time you cleaned the mirror? You’re pulled from your thoughts by the sound of a loud bang coming from your living room.

Without thinking, you rush towards the sound, spotting the door to your hallway closet slamming shut. You freeze where you stand at the end of the hallway, weighing your options before deciding you don’t have much time to think about it. Bolting to your kitchen, you pick up a large knife from its block, before carefully making your way back to your closet. With the knife in one hand, you turn the knob to the door, pulling it open in a hurry and holding the blade in front of you. You’re met with nothing but your own things, coats, and dresses that you never wear, a closet full of items left unused. Even when you push through the racks of clothes, you find nothing.

Relief washes over you at the knowledge that you are in fact here alone. You lower the knife, allowing yourself to breathe as you calm down. You stare down at the weapon in your hand, scoffing.

“What was I going to do with this?” You speak out loud. Even if somebody was in your home, could you really defend yourself? You’re quirkless, you aren’t trained in any sort of self-defense, and you’re not even sure you’d have the guts to actually stab someone. You shake your head, walking to your kitchen to put it back.

You retreat to your bedroom, pulling back the covers of your unmade bed, clutching your bear in one arm, and staring up at the ceiling.

Inside of your hallway closet, up against the wall, Dabi’s shoulders relax. He imagines you with your knife outside of the door, the scared expression on your face, one he could only see from in between your coat and the wall. Your eyebrows pinched up and your eyes wide, your bottom lip quivering ever so slightly. He takes pride in being the reason for that look. He pulls away from the wall, carefully sliding out of the closet and shutting the door behind him. He looks down the hallway, toward the door that you’ve left ajar. He wants to sneak in, watch your chest rise and fall, caress your cheek, and feel you lean into his touch, but he knows you're more than likely awake, still shaken up from his antics.

He’ll be back tomorrow, anyway.

…

The encounters continue into the rest of the week. Doors creak open and things fall from shelves. You hear noises late into the night and find more hearts left on reflective surfaces, your mirrors, your television, your windows.

With no sign of another living thing inside of your home with you, the only explanation you have left to give yourself is something paranormal, even if you aren’t sure of it yourself.

And besides, you kind of like the idea of living with a ghost. This one seems to be in love with you.

On top of all of the hearts, your ghost has knocked off books of love poems from your bookshelves, blasted Linger by The Cranberries from your speakers, and flipped through television channels to land on one playing In the Mood for Love. And when you fall asleep at night, just as you can feel yourself crossing the boundary between sleep and awake, you swear you can feel your bed dip beside you.

You don’t hate it, and you aren’t scared, and sometimes it is comforting to know that you aren’t as alone as you always believed you would be.

Dabi watches you most days. He watches you nap on your couch and laugh at your cell phone. He watches you parade around your home in nothing but your underwear and a t-shirt. He watches you concentrate on the novels you like to read, where a crease forms between your eyebrows as your eyes fly across the page. He watches you talk to yourself about anything and everything, about work, about television shows you enjoy, about him.

He likes that you’re a complete mess in the morning, that you can barely keep yourself upright, let alone keep your eyes open while you brush your teeth. He likes that you spray the perfume he decided was his favorite all that time ago before you leave for the day. He likes that you sometimes switch between multiple different albums before settling on the one you like. He likes to watch you dance to them. He likes that he’s never heard of them before. He likes you.

You’re a natural result of loneliness, much like he is. But where you filled your void with material things, stuff, Dabi left his empty and allowed it to grow. He would have thought it was foolish, the idea of filling that hole in him with anything other than anger and hurt, thoughts of revenge. Had he not fallen for you, maybe he would have hated you. The two had always felt so similar.

You’re happy with him here, he notices, much happier than you had been that first night. You talk to him, your ghost. You ask him about the shows you watch, his opinion on your favorite albums, what shoes to wear to work. He’s a part of your life through knocks on the walls and highlighted lines in between the pages of your books and soft touches in the middle of the night.

Dabi holds it all close to his Molotov heart and hopes that the ruin is worth it.

…

You fall asleep almost immediately, exhausted from your busy day, one spent without your ghost. Dabi sneaks in late, caught up with league business for the past couple of days, and he misses you.

He stares at your sleeping form against the night sky that is your sheets. He feels himself relax at the sight of you, realizing just how much it affects him to be away from you for too long. He takes his boots off at your bedroom door and walks in long strides toward you. He cups your cheek in one hand, running his thumb along your cheekbone, smiling at how you subconsciously lean into his touch.

Dabi moves to the other side of your bed, sliding in beside you. He does nothing but stare at the back of your head for a few minutes, gathering the courage to reach out and touch. He wants to hold you. He wants to do more than just lay beside you and listen to you breathe.

He runs a hand up your arm, dragging his fingers against your skin. He wraps an arm around your midsection and pulls flush against his chest, feeling your body relax in his hold. He sneaks a hand up your sleep shirt and thumbs over the soft flesh of your stomach. Your hair smells like lavender shampoo, and it makes him nostalgic for that first night.

A sudden sinking feeling settles in his stomach as he breathes you in, the guilt of barging into your life and bothering you to the point of delusion makes Dabi feel ill. You’re important to him now in a much deeper way than you were at the beginning. He doesn’t want to hurt you, at least not like this.

“Dabi…” Your voice is soft, starry with sleep. He freezes against you. Your voice comes again, “Dabi.”

“It’s me, baby.” He whispers against your ear, unsure of just how awake you are.

“You’re so warm…Dabi…” You trail off, dragging the last syllable of his name. Your voice is so soft, breathy as you talk through sleep. He can feel his pants tighten at the sound from your lips. Fuck. He can’t stay here, not when you sound so sweet.

He could fuck you. He wants to. He’s not even sure you’d wake up. He’d pull pretty little moans from your throat, slotting himself between your thighs and sliding into you. You’d already be wet for him, and he’d watch your hands ball into little fists in your sleep. You’d chant his name like a prayer. He’d come deep inside of you and leave you to wake up the next morning with the evidence between your legs.

But he does not fuck you. He places a kiss to the side of your neck and pulls away from you despite the whine you let out as he detaches his body from yours. He leaves with every intention of never coming back. His ruin might be worth it, but yours isn’t.

…

The lack of paranormal activity in your home is alarming, which is something you never thought you’d ever think about. Your ghost has been gone for weeks, and you’re afraid that you may have made it all up in your head.

This possibility is one you dread, mainly because it has everything to do with your own sanity. If you had been imagining each event, drawing hearts in your mirrors, underlining passages in your books, and forgetting about it, you know that something has gone completely wrong. And you can’t blame it on anything outside of yourself.

The idea that you’ve been pushed this far, that your own loneliness has you creating imaginary instances of a haunting, terrifies you. What terrifies you more is that you miss him and that you’re alone again.

But you can’t think about it, or you know you’ll go insane, more so than you possibly already are. So you bury yourself in fuzzy blankets, and you play sad albums on your speaker, and you scroll through the same forums that comfort you in times like these.

You know it’s pathetic, pining for someone who doesn’t know you exist, someone completely and wholly evil for all you know. A man you aren’t even sure has a heart.

You think yours may be enough for the both of you, though.

Darkness falls over your living room in what feels like a matter of minutes, though you know it’s been hours since you first picked up your phone. Your record player has been playing the same scratchy hum that signifies the end of one side of an album. You lift your eyes from your phone screen to one of your living room windows, the one with the drawn heart in the bottom corner that you can’t bring yourself to clean off. You let your phone fall to your chest as you stare up at your ceiling and sigh.

Your heart is a greedy, hungry thing and your mind is a tool to feed it. Through daydreams and delusion, through want, want, want. You can hide from the isolation for a while, but the pain always catches up. And tonight it hurts.

You fall onto your bed with a thud, and your phone drops beside you. There’s a dull ache underneath your skin, one all too familiar and unwanted by you. Why had he left you? His absence haunts you more than his presence ever did.

Your phone buzzes against your sheets, a notification from one of the discussion sites you frequent lights up the screen, the subject being Dabi and the recent sightings in the city. The ache subsides.

It’s a video of him, maybe the clearest one you’ve ever seen. He’s alone, and he’s talking to someone, or a bunch of someones, other villains. You can’t make out the words, but you can tell they’re not pretty by the way the men start to close in on him. The smile that crosses Dabi’s face is razor sharp, deadly, reaching up to his crazed eyes. You gasp when he knocks his head against one of the men’s noses. Another one punches him square in the jaw for it, and he stumbles back, touching a finger to the seam in his face. Dabi isn’t a fighter, not with his fists at least, and you’re wondering why he’s letting them get away with this. He goes to punch one of them but misses, and while he’s distracted by his own move, one of the men sends a kick to his stomach. You hear him groan before laughing, his head hanging low as he clutches the place he was hit.

You feel hot suddenly, touching your face with your palm. You watch Dabi raise his head slowly, his laugh low and maniacal and unbelievably sexy. He licks the corner of his mouth before his hands spark with blue flames. He hurls his fire toward the men without a second thought, and that’s when the video ends. You let out a shaky breath, your heart pounding against your chest. You squeeze your thighs together as you restart the video.

It’s embarrassing how much it turns you on, watching him grin at these men, holding their life in his hands. You like watching him do more than just wield his quirk, watching his head crack against the man’s nose, watching his fist fly through the air. Something has to be wrong with you, you’re sure of it, but you can’t focus on anything but Dabi and his hands. The way that they’d feel against your skin, how they’d feel in your mouth, how they’d feel pressing your hips into your mattress. You slide your hand down your body and underneath the band of your sleep shorts. You’re already wet.

Dabi climbs through your window, the one branded with his fingerprinted heart, the window that allowed him into your life all those weeks ago. Your lights are off, and he can’t see your figure asleep on the couch in the darkness, so you must be asleep.

He promised himself he wouldn’t come back, promised you he wouldn’t. But it hurts without you, and the ache grows, the wanting. The fucking wanting.

He tried to bury it like he does everything else, tried to burn it to ash, drink it to death, beat it out of him. He’d let those guys get in a couple of good punches tonight just to feel something. Nothing works.

But you do.

He takes careful steps down the hallway when he hears your voice. He freezes. You’re moaning. He feels his breath catch in his chest. Of all of the days spent watching you, Dabi has never seen you like this. Desperate, aching, calling his name.

He watches you through your cracked door, spread out on your bed with your phone clutched tightly in one hand. You’re no longer watching whatever was on your screen, but you’ve left it playing as you arch against your bed.

“Dabi…” You mewl. He has to grab the door frame to keep himself steady at the sound. “W-want it.”

Fuck. How could he possibly leave you now? He palms himself through his jeans, watching you bring yourself closer and closer to the edge. He’s so hard that he might pass out. The puffs of air that fall from your lips as your legs shake have him holding back a groan. It isn’t until your noises become quiet that he realizes just what you’re watching.

The sound of his own laugh echoes through the speaker on your phone, and he’s surprised by the pained moan that falls from your lips at the sound.

It’s him. You’re watching him. Dabi holds back a groan. He’s careful to free himself from his pants without a sound, not that you would notice. You’re far too gone to acknowledge him right now. He could probably let out the noises that beg to be free of his throat, but he doesn’t risk it. He can’t do anything that could stop him from watching you come for him.

Your hand is obstructed by your sleep shorts, and the same can be said for the hand that has now discarded your phone onto the pillow beside your head and reached underneath your shirt to pinch one of your pert nipples. You’re close now, and so is he, barely able to keep his breathing steady as he strokes his hand against his cock.

He’d give anything to barge in now, pull you toward the edge of the bed, and sink into you without a care in the world. He wants to feel you tight around him, wants to kiss your neck and bite your skin and leave traces of himself everywhere. He wants to show you that you’re his, confirm what you’ve always known.

But instead he watches you writhe against your bed with his name falling from your lips. “Dabi–fuck! Gonna–”

You come with a loud cry, hips twitching a way that has Dabi cursing under his breath. He spills into his hand immediately after, reaching for your wall to hold himself up as he tries to keep quiet. But when his hand meets the hard surface of the wall, it collapses out from underneath, realization dawning on him that he’s pushed your bedroom door shut with a harsh slam.

At the sound of your door, you jolt up from your bed, the ecstasy of your orgasm quickly wearing off as you freeze. You listen for any other noises, and when you hear nothing, you slowly creep from your bed. Looking around your bedroom for some kind of weapon to protect yourself, you feel yourself growing panicked when you realize you have nothing. You tiptoe to your bedroom door, pushing your ear against the surface to listen to any sign of life on the other side. You hear nothing.

With your heart beating out of your chest, you slowly pull the door open, sticking your head out and looking down your dark hallway. There’s nobody there, and you wonder if this was yet another paranormal encounter after weeks of nothing.

A sinking feeling in your gut tells you that there’s nothing paranormal at all about your experiences.

You walk back to your bed in a daze, tucking yourself back under the covers and staring out your bedroom window. The video of Dabi continues to play on your phone, and you make no move to shut it off. You fall asleep to the sound, his crazed laughter somehow comforting to you in this moment.

The sinking feeling doesn’t leave you the next morning, and there’s no sign of another human in your apartment as you check all of your windows and doors. It all makes you feel uneasy, the creeping suspicion that it’s all in your head. You’re completely alone. You have no one to confide in, and even if you did, you’re sure they’d think you're insane or an idiot for allowing any of it to go on for so long without question.

You have no clue what to do or where to start, but you want whatever it is, ghost or not, gone.

…

The idea is ridiculous. You know that.

You know, standing in your living room with the ouija board you’ve just purchased sitting on your coffee table, that you are being completely ridiculous.

“If this works, then great. Then ghosts are real.” You speak aloud to nothing. “Then I’m not crazy. I’m not crazy.”

Your eyes flitter to the bottle of raspberry wine you bought on your way home, something you know is sweet and easy to drink quickly. You’ll finish the bottle in no time. You reach for it, pouring a good amount into your glass and taking a large gulp. You hold the glass to your chest, breathing in and shivering at the cool sensation against your skin. The board sits on the table, and you let out a chuckle of disbelief.

Dabi stares at you from the darkness of your hallway. He’s been in your home since before you arrived with your children’s game and your sugary wine. You’ve been on edge for days, and Dabi knows he has everything to do with it. Still, he watches you quietly, taking in the last moments of invisibility before he has to tell you.

You’re still staring at the board. You take another gulp of your wine and look out of the window that he climbed through. The strap of your spaghetti strap tank top is falling down. He thinks of the painting that hangs on your wall. You’re Sargent’s Madame X. He’s going to ruin your life.

“They sell those things in toy stores, you know.” He finally speaks. It all happens in slow motion: the quick jolt of your shoulders in surprise at the sound, your glass falling to the floor and shattering against your carpet, the scream that falls from your lips.

Then suddenly, you’re looking at him, and he is looking at you, and your hand is frozen in mid-air like the glass is still in your hand. He looks down at the mess, “Shame. That ugly carpet was kind of growing on me.”

“Dabi…” Realization dawns on your face as you say his name. He looks up at you again, before turning his attention back to the mess on your carpet. He holds an arm out and beckons you toward him.

“C’mere. You’ll cut yourself.” He tells you. You don’t move. He watches your chest rise and fall, frozen where you stand, unable to think about anything other than getting away. He watches your eyes flicker to your front door.

It happens quickly, nothing like before, climbing over your couch and rushing as fast as you can toward your escape. He almost loses you, tripping over his feet as he reaches for you. You barely touch the handle before his arm wraps around your waist in a tight grip. You’re both panting, his breath hot against your ear.

“What? You aren’t excited to see me?” He questions. It’s not like he expected you to accept him with open arms, but he didn’t think you’d run from him.

“It was you?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper. How are you meant to feel about any of this? It’s what you wanted, right? All the times you missed each other, all those days spent disappointed that you weren’t just a little earlier or a little later. And here he is, in your home, with you, with his arms wrapped around you, no less. And you want to run? What bothers you the most is that you aren’t as scared as you should be.

“Your ghost?” He questions with humor in his words. You feel his grip tighten around you before he speaks again. “Are you disappointed?”

His voice is much softer than he intended it to be, nervousness finding its way through the mask of carelessness he so carefully hides behind. It calms your nerves, the idea that he’s just as unsure of this as you are.

“I’m scared.” You admit.

“Of me?”

“I don’t know yet.” You say. He loosens his grip, arms falling to his sides as he lets you go. You step away quickly, turning to look at him while keeping a good amount of distance between the two of you.

“I’m not–I won’t hurt you. I don’t want to hurt you.” He speaks, holding his hands up. “I would never–”

“Why?” Looking at him, standing in your kitchen, his hands up in surrender, his eyes pleading, Dabi is just a man. You know this, you’ve always known this. It’s why your obsession with him is as strong as it is because, underneath all of the flames, he’s alone just like you are.

“Because you’re mine.” He sighs because he knows he must sound insane, and his answer doesn’t seem to soothe the worried look on your face. “And you know it. You do, because I’m on your fucking walls, and you stalk me like a little weirdo on your phone. You–you’re made for me.”

“Made for you?” You ask incredulously as if this isn’t the exact moment you’ve been fantasizing about since the first time you ever laid eyes on the flame user.

“Look, I didn’t think any of it was real, none of that soulmate shit people make up so that they have something to hold onto. But, fuck, I had never felt the way I did when I climbed through your window that night.” He speaks frantically like he’s trying to convince you, prove to you that what he’s saying is the truth. “You saved me, and you don’t even know it.”

You soften, “I saved you?”

“None of this would've happened if things had gone a little differently that night. I wouldn’t know you, and you could go back to your normal life with your pictures and your books and your forums, but it didn’t so I’m here. And isn’t that something?”

“I’m just…confused.” You explain. “You’re you, and I’m sure you’ve gathered by now how embarrassingly obsessed with you I am–”

“I think it’s cute.”

“Please don’t say that.”

“Why?” He questions, leaning forward. “Does it get you all hot and bothered like that night with the video of me getting my ass kicked? That was cause of you, by the way.”

“You have to understand how fucked this is. You get that, right?” You aren’t afraid anymore. You’re angry, a little hurt, but most of all excited. Made for him. He’s probably right.

“Yeah?” He questions, taking another step. You do back away, but he continues to follow you. “I think you like it. I think your life was so goddamn boring before me, so lonely. My little tricks made you so happy, baby.”

“Fuck you.” You spit, because he’s right, and you hate it. His hand comes up to hold your jaw with one hand, his fingers pressing into your skin ever so slightly.

“C’mon…” He tuts, leaning down to your height, “You used to be so sweet for me, snuggling up to me while you slept. You can’t hide from me. I know everything about you. And those feelings that you have for me don’t change in a matter of minutes just because I did something fucked up. I’m a villain, sweetheart, and you know it.”

“So what?” You ask. “You’re in love with me or something?”

You want to hear him say it. You want him to tell you it’s more than obsession, more than the excitement of scaring you.

“It’s not obvious?” He asks, releasing your jaw from his tight grip and running his thumb against your cheek to soothe you. “You ruin me.”

You shake your head, “Say it.”

“I love you.” He grins. “Kiss me.”

You do.

It shouldn’t feel as romantic as it does. With him pushing your hips into your kitchen counter, his lips so soft against yours, you forget all of it. None of it matters to you, anyways. Maybe it’s the worst way for any of this to happen. Maybe it’s the only way.

He pulls away, watching your eyes flutter open, your lips swollen from his kiss. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen, and you’re touching his face without a hint of disgust. You’ve always been his. He surges forward, catching you off guard and pulling you into another kiss, this one much more hurried and desperate. You gasp when he presses into you, the growing bulge in his jeans hard against your thigh. He takes the opportunity to lick into your mouth, earning a choked whine from your lips. You struggle to keep up with him, with his hands everywhere. You’re overwhelmed.

“Dabi, wait.” You speak for the split second that he pulls away. He shakes his head, kissing down your jaw as you try to catch your breath.

“Can’t.” He speaks in between kisses. “You’re–I need you. Please, please, I’m–”

You bring your hands to the sides of his face, pulling him away from your neck to look at you. “Dabi. Hey.”

“Hi.” He speaks, unable to resist the urge to press his lips to yours in a quick peck before pulling away again. It makes you smile, though, so he does it one more time. “This is what you wanted, right? You wanted me?”

“I think there is something very, very wrong with me.” You say because you have to acknowledge it, at the very least. You want him so bad it burns.

“Yeah, me too.” He kisses you again. “Made for me, remember?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, “maybe I am.”

“You are.” He says against your lips. “You are, you are, you are.”

You’re in your bedroom before you have any time to think about it, your back against your sheets as Dabi hovers over you. He pauses, his frantic movements from moments ago now at a standstill as he stares down at you. “Tell me you’re mine.”

“I’m yours.” You speak without hesitance.

“Yeah?” He slots his hips in between yours, running a hand up the side of one of your thighs as you make room for him. “All mine, huh? Gonna let me keep you?”

“Uh huh.” You nod. “You can keep me.”

“Good.” He drags his lips down the column of your neck. “My girl’s so good for me, yeah?”

You’re unable to answer, though you don’t know if you’re supposed to. His hands move from your hips to your backside, grinding you against his length. You gasp, grasping his shoulders for stability as he sucks on your neck.

“Gotta mark you up, baby.” He speaks against your skin. He sucks your skin harshly, biting and nipping different areas of your neck. It’s a sensation you’ve never experienced, all your senses heightened at the knowledge that it’s him who’s touching you. “Show them who you belong to, show them you’re mine.”

“Please!” You whine, arching your back into him as he bites down, hard, on the juncture of your neck. You feel him smile against your skin, kissing over the bite. He begins to lower himself down your body, kissing down the valley of your breasts over your top. He pushes your shirt up as he presses open-mouthed kisses to your stomach.

“Maybe I’ll carve my name right here, yeah?” He questions, lips against your hip. “You can do the same to me.”

When his eyes flicker up to yours, you feel your breath catch in your throat. It’s all you’ve ever wanted, every silly little fantasy you’ve ever had come true. “You’d want that? My name?”

“Fuck, of course, I would.” He groans, pushing himself back up to eye level with you. His hands rest on the mattress on each side of your head, his eyes searching your face. “Want you all over me. I want you forever.”

You wrap your hands around the back of his neck and pull him down to you in a bruising kiss. Pushing at his chest, you hook your leg around his waist to switch positions, straddling his lap as your tongue swirls in his mouth. You pull away to look at him, his eyes blown wide with need. He’s so fucking beautiful. You want him forever, too.

You rise to a sitting position, Dabi’s hands kneading the flesh of your thighs as you stare down at him. You push his shirt up and he pulls it over his head in seconds. You run your hands over his chest and abdomen, feeling his scars and the staples that hold him together under your fingertips.

“I think I wanna mark you too.” You speak, leaning down to kiss him again. “Want you to be mine.”

“I am yours.” He speaks without hesitation. He sucks in a harsh breath when your lips meet the unscarred skin of the left side of his chest. You place soft kisses there before biting down. He cries out, bucking his hips up into yours. “I’ll give you–fuck–everything.”

You continue to leave marks over his skin, satisfied with the noises you're pulling from Dabi. You run your fingers over his hips lightly. You think you would like your name there. Dabi takes the hem of your shirt between his fingers, urging you to pull the fabric from your body. He rises from his position on the bed, running a hand up the length of your spine as he pulls you close. He kisses you once more, moving his hands to your hips to help you grind down on him.

Pulling away, he trails his lips down your neck, burying his face in your chest. He wraps his lips around your nipple, tweaking the other between his fingers as he looks up at you. You cry out, rapidly grinding against him. He continues to play with your chest, kissing you with fervor and groaning into your mouth.

“C’mere.” He speaks against your lips, wrapping an arm around your waist and moving to lay you down on the bed. He hovers over you, slowly pushing his hips against yours in a way that makes you cry out. “Gonna take care of you, okay?”

He slowly makes his way down your body, slipping his fingers underneath the band of your pants and pulling them down along with your underwear. You push your knees together, staring up at him as shakes his head.

“Don’t hide.” He commands softly, pulling your thighs apart. His tongue peaks through his lips for a moment before he speaks again. “Been thinking about this since that night. M’sorry I scared you. I didn’t mean to slam the door.”

He runs his hands up your thighs, eyeing your sex as he lowers himself back down. You let out a breathy laugh, “you didn’t?”

“No.” He chuckles against the inside of your thigh, kissing your skin. “It was an accident.”

“Oh, my god.” You giggle, cut off by the feeling of his teeth sinking into your thigh. You gasp, trying to pull away, but his grip on you is tight. He kisses over the mark, eyes finding yours with a warning.

He licks a strip from your entrance to your clit, and you throw your head back, resting your hand on top of his head before he pulls back.

“Look at me.” He speaks, bringing one hand up to run a finger through your folds. You’re already a complete mess, and he feels pride in knowing he’s the reason. He’s always the reason. “Keep your eyes on me, or I’ll stop.”

You nod, wiggling your hips to urge him to continue. He chuckles softly at your desperation before burying his face between your legs again. His tongue runs along your folds in long slow strokes, your hips jolting at the stimulation. No research, or video, or fantasy you had about the man between your legs could have ever prepared you for what this feels like.

Your moans spur him on as he tastes you, the knowledge that he’s the reason for your pleasure more rewarding than anything else. He wraps his lips around your clit and you cry his name. You feel your orgasm building as he continues to lap up your juices, his grip on your thighs tight as he holds you open for him.

“Dabi! Dabi! I’m–” you let out a strangled moan as you grind your hips against his tongue, “fuck–coming! I’m coming.”

Your hips jolt at the pleasure, the feeling of his mouth still on your sex guiding you through your orgasm. He slows his strokes, running the flat of his tongue against you as you calm yourself. The movement of your hips slow as you watch Dabi still buried between your legs. You catch your breath as he tongues your cunt, cerulean eyes staring up at you as you twitch from the overstimulation. He pulls away from your sex with a wet smack, rising to capture your lips with his.

He pulls away, “call me Touya.”

“Huh?” You ask, chasing his lips again. He kisses you slow and deep, his tongue swirling against yours as he pushes his hips against yours. You groan against his mouth.

“Touya. It’s my name.” He says, placing soft kisses against your jaw. “My real name.”

Touya. His name is Touya. You know Dabi’s real name. You get to say his real name, keep that knowledge locked inside of your heart, a secret between the two of you. The reveal makes you feel closer to him, an equal exchange for all of the time he spent inside of your home without your knowledge, though you know it’s really not. You’ll take it, anyways.

“Where’d you go, baby?” He whispers against your lips. “Did the obsessed little freak inside you get excited?”

“Says you.” You scoff.

“Made for each other, right?” He speaks before kissing you again. The kiss is hungry, frantic as his lips consume yours. He fumbles with the studded belt around his waist, pulling away from you only to rid himself of his jeans.

His cock is hard against your entrance, the warmth of him overwhelming as he shifts his hips over yours. He runs his hands up the outside of your thighs, rough hands smoothing over your flesh while he kisses you again. You whimper against his lips, a silent plea for him to do more than grind against you.

“Shhh, let me–wanna remember this.” He wraps a hand around the base of his cock, running the head through your folds as you try to keep your breathing steady. “Gonna take my time with you.”

Touya leans down to kiss your neck, sucking over the already tender marks he left before, hoping to keep them there for longer, the evidence of him on your skin in the ache he leaves behind. You pant as he continues to grind his hips against yours, arching your back and pushing yourself closer to him as he continues his assault on your neck. Pulling away, he lines himself up with your entrance, staring down at you just inches away from your face.

“Kiss me.” He speaks. “Kiss me, please.”

When you kiss him, he sinks into you, swallowing your moans with his lips and slipping his tongue into your mouth as he stretches you. You catch your breath as he pulls away, adjusting to the size of him as he slowly pumps in and out of you.

“Touya.” You breathe, your hands running through his hair as he pushes into you deeper. A contented smile falls across his face as he feels you move your hips against his. “Feels–mm–good.”

“Yeah? Good. S’all I want. Just want you to feel good.” He says as his hips slowly begin to change pace. Maybe it’s the fact he spent weeks scaring you into delusion, or the fact that he can’t get the way you look when you come out of his head, but your pleasure has become his ultimate goal. He wants to watch you come undone again and again on his cock, disregarding his own needs as you're pushed over the edge over and over. He thinks he’d like you to use him, but for now, Touya wants to take care of you.

He speeds his pace up, gripping your hips in his rough hands as he pounds into you. He’s getting carried away, you realize, as his hold becomes bruising, his kiss, starved. It all feels so good with his hands all over you and his lips so desperate. He needs you and he doesn’t hide it, and with every action, Touya shows you just how much.

“It’s so much! Too much!” Not enough, you think. You cry out as he presses into you deep, pushing in and out of you with long slow strokes, his cock hitting just the spot that has you seeing stars. He groans, feeling you clench around him as he moves.

“Take it.” He commands, thrusting into you. “I know you can. You’re so–fuck–good for me.”

You whine, arching into him and pulling him down for another sloppy kiss. He can’t get enough of you, and you’re completely his. He’ll keep you. He’ll take you with him, make a little villain out of you, keep you nice and fucked out on his cock forever. All of his plans, his goals, the one thing he’s worked toward since becoming Dabi, now include you. You have a real role in his life, one that’s meant to stay, one that means forever.

You’re close. He can tell, and he feels himself being brought to the edge just as quickly as you are. His pace quickens as he thrusts in and out of you, bringing one hand to your lips, feeling you suck two fingers into your mouth before he reaches down between your bodies to play with your clit. You gasp, burying your face in his neck and biting down. You’ve drawn blood, Touya thinks, feeling the pain spread from the wound. He groans, thrusting harder and faster.

“Fuck, s-sorry!” You cry, though your words are hurried and jumbled.

“Don’t apologize, baby.” He tells you, panting above you. He runs his thumb against your bottom lip, a faint trace of blood smeared across the inside. He smiles, kissing you and reveling in the faint taste of copper. “You wanted to mark me.”

“Touya, I’m–hah–gonna come!” You cry, moving your hips against his frantically.

“I know, I know.” He coos, swiping his fingers over your puffy clit. “Come for me. Wanna see it.”

Your voice comes out loud and chokes, the end of his name dying on your lips as your hips jolt from the pleasure and your back arches against your sheets. Touya doesn’t stop thrusting, chasing his own orgasm as he watches your face contort in the same way it had before.

“Need to fill you up. Need to make you mine.” He groans, thrusting quickly.

“I’m yours, I’m yours. Please! I wanna feel it!” You whine. You feel him spill inside of you, warmth flooding your insides as he slows his pace. You wrap your arms around his shoulders and pull him against you. He kisses you again, tongues swirling against each other as he stills on top of you.

“Stay.” You breathe, pulling away from his lips and feeling his head fall against you.

“You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.” He whispers through labored breath. “So don’t try.”

“Never. You said you’d keep me.” You remind him, feeling him smile against your skin. He rises from where he lays, staring down at you with nothing but adoration. You really are made for him. Cosmic love, divine intervention, soulmates. Touya should have known.

“Always.” He kisses your lips, your nose, both of your cheeks.

“Say it.” You command softly.

“I love you.” He grins. “Kiss me.”

You do.

#dabi x reader #dabi x female reader #touya todoroki x reader #touya todoroki x female reader #bnha x reader #bnha smut #tw yandere #tw abuse

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joshlmbrt · 2 months

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˚ ✦.·˖✶ ⋆.✧̣̇˚ SOMEONE WHO LOVES YOU WOULDN’T DO THIS | e. munson x reader

w; part of ‘truck driver!dad!eddie universe’ - but can be read as a standalone, parent death, grieving, mentions of pregnancy, eddie has a sister, usage of pet names, mentions of past alcoholic father

playlist; even if we try - night beds, infinity street - richard walters, let down - radiohead, a quick one before the eternal worm devours connecticut - have a nice life, family line - conan gray, waiting room - phoebe bridgers, motion sickness - phoebe bridgers, happier than ever - billie eilish, mum - luke hemmings, i’m tired - labrinth, zendaya, solas - gibran alcocer, think of me once in a while, take care - take care

an; this one is a bit deeper, i apologize. but i hope you all enjoy :)

NOVEMBER 15TH, 1989

Eddie didn’t know why he was here in a hospital waiting room, waiting for any news for the man who caused him torment for most of his life until had kicked him out of the trailer.

His knuckles rests against his chin as his eyes stare at the shiny floor. He’d left work without a word. He still smelled of grease and had tied the arms of his work uniform around his waist. He still hadn’t called you or Wayne. He knew you’d be getting worried, especially if Warren, his boss, had called and asked if everything was okay at your end.

He glances up at the time, standing from the uncomfortable chair that had made his lower half numb from sitting. He walked towards an exit - he needed a smoke and to call you.

He’s reaching into his pocket, pulling a cigarette from the pack and lights the stick with shaky hands. He hadn’t had one in almost three months, trying to stop since you were pregnant.

He broke his streak all because of his father - if he could even call him that.

His eyes land on a pay phone when he blows out some smoke, walking towards it. He lifts the phone from the receiver, pulling his wallet from the pocket on his shirt, fishing out some quarters.

He slots two into the machine, deciding to call Wayne first. He still needed to collect his thoughts on what to say to you. He knew as soon as he heard your caring and tender voice, he’d break down.

It picks up after the third ring. “Hello?”

Maybe he shouldn’t have called anyone. He can feel the burning of tears.

“Hello?” Wayne repeats.

“Uh,” Eddie clears his throat. “Alan’s in the hospital.” Eddie used to call him Dad, of course. But now that he’s older, he feels like he never earned that title.

It’s silent on the other end and Eddie glances towards the door where he can see a nurse in green scrubs leave a room. He brings the cigarette to his lips and inhales deeply.

Eddie clears his throat again, looking towards the silver keypad. “If you… wanna come to the hospital, I’m here too.”

Wayne asks if you’re there with him.

“No, she’s… she’s still at home. Would you mind-”

“No. I don’t mind pickin’ her up. We’ll be there soon.” The line goes dead before he could even say anything. He looks at the last two quarters he had laid out before slotting them into the machine again.

You pick up on the second ring.

“Hello? Eds?”

His heart clenches a bit and brows pinch together. “Hi, sweetheart.” He hears a sigh on the other end.

“Baby, jesus. Are you okay? Where did you go when you left work? Why didn’t you call me? I was worried sick when Warren called me and told me you left in a hurry.”

He scratches at his throat with his ring and pinky - he’s trying to sooth the knot forming in his throat. He shakes his head to himself - don’t cry. Do not cry. He doesn’t deserve the tears. “I’m okay, sweetheart, don’t worry your head,” The cigarette seemed to have burned faster and he hisses quietly when the heat tingles at his fingers. He drops it to the ground, stomping it out with the toe of his boot before picking it up from the ground.

“Wayne is coming to pick you up.” He says.

“What? Why? Eddie, honey, what’s going on?”

His fingers scratch at his temple and he shifts on his weight. “I… I’m at the hospital. And before you freak out, I’m okay. At least, I think I am. It’s kind of hard to know what I’m feeling right now. Or understand it.”

And he wasn’t lying - there were a bunch of emotions swirling around his mind and he didn't know which one stood out more.

Bitterness because his life was actually turning around - he’d gotten into school to study for truck driving and he was doing excellent. He was about to have his own little family with you. And now, somehow, Alan had wiggled his way back into his life even if he didn’t know it just yet.

Anger because there was nothing he could do besides sit there and feel as if he’s losing someone - something - who was never in his life and doesn’t deserve an ounce of sympathy.

Shame because he's feeling that anger bubble up in his chest when he knows Alan never really knew how to be a father so he can’t blame him fully for his actions.

“Baby, I'm so sorry,” Your voice is soft and it sounds like it cracks at the end of your apology that you shouldn’t even be giving him. Because he doesn’t care.

Right?

“Wayne and I will be there soon. He just pulled in,” There’s a small weight lifted off his shoulders knowing that he won’t be alone in his thoughts much longer. “Have you tried to call Jess?”

The weight is added back on. Jessica, his oldest sister who he hasn’t spoken to since she had left, doesn’t know anything. He doesn’t even know if she would answer the phone.

“No.” He finally says.

You let out a small sigh, deciding to drop the subject since you know how tender it is. “Okay. That’s okay, honey. We’ll be there soon, okay? I love you.”

There’s a small catch in his throat and he blinks away the tears that had dried up once, and decided to come back. “I love you.”

The line goes dead on the other in and he’s placing the telephone back onto the receiver, sniffing when his nose starts to tingle. He stuffs his hands into his pockets, walking towards the doors he exited out of.

His fingers graze over two quarters and he stops in his tracks.

He turns back towards the phone and pulls the telephone from the receiver once again, slotting the coins in and punches in Jessica’s number. He’s hoping it’s the same number or he would just be embarrassed by punching in the number of a ghost sister.

The phone picks up and he holds his breath.

“Hello?”

It’s Jessica. And the only way he knows is because he sounds like their mother - soft-spoken with a hint of raspiness around the edges of the spoken words.

“Uh, Jessica?” He asks, even though he knows for sure it’s her.

“Eddie? What’s going on? You okay?”

“I don’t exactly know,” He says truthfully. “Dad’s in the hospital. The doctor said he doesn’t have long.”

It’s silent on the other end. He wonders if she is feeling the way he feels at the moment. Confused and conflicted about the way he feels.

For a moment, he thinks she’s hung up the phone and walked away like she did before.

He doesn’t blame her.

But then again, he hates that this is the only time that they’ll talk until something else happens. Eddie and Jessica are the same - whether they like to admit it or not.

There’s a small sniffle over the other end. “I don’t know why you’re calling me about it. I could care less. Let him die.”

That makes Eddie’s heart clench a little, eyes closing slowly as his brows pinch together. “You… You can’t even try to come down. To see me at least?”

“A car works both ways, Eddie.”

The line goes dead then.

He stares at the telephone when he pulls it from the curtain of curls and blinks, a tear rolling down his flushed cheek. It’s bitter outside and Eddie can’t help but think why didn’t I bring a coat?

Why did this have to happen?

What’s next?

It only takes thirty more minutes after the call with Jessica to see you walk in.

You pause in front of his seat, fingers brushing back the fringe that rests against his forehead. “Hi, sugar. I’m here.” It’s soft spoken and the world seems to shatter then.

His shoulders shakes as he sobs, fingers pressing into his eye sockets before his arms wrap around your waist, face pressing into the small bump that was hiding under the sweatshirt you wore.

Your eyes tear up from his sobs, a gut wrenching, soul crushing sob that comes deep from burying it inside a metaphorical glass bottle - it shatters and leaks over.

Because you thought you could handle one more thing going inside that bottle.

His head rests on your shoulder and Wayne had gone back first to see Alan.

‘It’ll give you a bit of time.’

Your thumb traces over his knuckles and you lift your shoulder slightly to catch his attention. “You okay, baby?”

He nods, lifting his head as he sniffles, nose red. He lifts his hand, wiping at his wet cheeks. He opens his mouth but you’re quick to cut him off.

“It’s okay,” He turns to look at you, brown eyes swimming in tears. His chin wobbles. Your hand lifts and you give him a small smile. “You don’t have to say anything right now. I know it’s confusing how you feel. But when you’re ready to talk, I’ll listen for however long you need me too.”

He nods, cheek sliding against your palm. There’s a clearing of a throat that catches his attention. He sees Wayne, a man who he’s only seen cry twice.

When Mary passed away - Eddie’s aunt who made the best homemade cobblers and had a singing voice you could never forget.

And when his own mother passed. A woman who smelled of cinnamon and hints of vanilla honey. A woman who truly was an angel and would do anything for anyone.

This makes Eddie’s third time seeing Wayne’s swollen eyes.

He’s crying for his brother now.

“You can, uh-” He pauses, clearing his throat as he shifts on his tired feet, blinking a couple of times as he sniffs. “You can go back and see him.”

Eddie looks over at you and you smile at him softly, leaning in to press a kiss to his temple. “I’m right here.” You whisper softly.

His eyes close momentarily and he nods against your lips before standing slowly.

His steps are slow, his mind's racing, and his hands are fuzzy. He makes a fist a couple of times before shaking them out.

The last time he’s seen Alan was when his face was plastered on the news for a break and entering he was running from - now he’s in a bed with tubes poked into his arm.

His breath hitches and he flinches when the heavy door closes.

He glances over his shoulder before walking towards the right side of bed, staring down at his hand. His own hand twitches at his side.

He lifts it, fingers tracing over the course and rough skin of his fathers hand. He watches as Alan’s fingers twitch and his eyes dart up towards his face.

His eyes are heavy, but they're open.

“Why did you hate me?” It’s coming out of his mouth before he can stop himself. He didn’t know what he wanted to say, or what he was going to say - but that wasn’t in his mind.

“Why did you hate us?”

There’s a slow blink and a small quirk at the corner of his lips. Eddie’s brows pinches and he feels the all too familiar sting in his eyes as he notices it.

Even near death, he’s a man dulled by any sort of emotion.

Eddie leans down slowly. “I’m so glad I’ll never be like you,” There’s a certain fire to his voice - raw emotion that makes the words crack. “Mom deserved better than you. Jess deserved a better father than you. I deserved better,”

His hands clench at the bedsheets. “Why? Why did you do what you did?”

He sees a small quirk in Alan’s lips again, anger burning in his chest when he hears the flatline. His head whips around before his hands grip at the hospital gown covering his chest.

“No! No! Why?! I want an answer! I deserve an answer!” The doors are opening and he feels a tugging at his arm. “No! Get off of me!” His arms slip from the grip and his arms are gripping at the tattooed arms of Alan Munson’s dead body.

“Wake up, you coward!”

“Eddie!”

“I hate you! I’m glad you’re dead! I wished you would’ve died sooner!”

He’s sobbing and hitting Alan's chest, but he’s still babbling, ‘why? Why did you make me feel this way?’.

Your hands pull at his arms, pulling him away from the lifeless body who left in silence again like he always did.

Eddie’s head drops onto your shoulder, knees buckling as he grabs at your shirt. Your hands smooth back his hair as your eyes watch them roll Alan away.

Wayne’s hand meets the back of his neck, gripping softly. Eddie chokes out another sob and turns to lean into Wayne. Your forehead leans against Eddie’s back.

Wayne’s eyes close, a hand cupping the back of Eddie’s head. “It’s okay… It’s okay, son.”

Wayne has to keep Eddie’s legs from buckling, his arm wrapping around his back and keeping him up straight as he sags into him.

NOVEMBER 20TH, 1989

There’s a certain distinct smell to old photos.

Eddie couldn’t describe it if he could, but he still pulls the photo up to his nose, eyes closing as he inhales, hoping to catch a whiff of the day that was frozen in time permanently.

His hand pulls away from his nose dejectedly, finger tracing over the small version of him standing in front of his mom, her hand placed on top of the sunflower floppy hat that she always loved to wear on sunny picnic days.

He always remembers those days. She would try her best - make finger sandwiches, little lemon bars, and pack some fruit and chips on the side - and Alan would sip a cheap beer on the open field, eyes filled with a certain emotion Eddie could never place when he was younger.

Now he thinks he could place it - Anger. Resentment.

“I hope he looks like you.” Eddie flinches when he hears your voice. He has no energy to turn and look at you - he feels angry at himself that he can’t, but you’d never hold it against him.

He feels you sit down on the rough carpet, the feeling of sandpaper scraping against the palm of your hands when you make a small noise. You lean into his side, pushing an unruly curl away from his cheek.

“You okay?” You whisper softly.

His thumb traces over the picture, blinking slowly. “I remember this day,” He says instead. Your eyes cut away from him and look at the photo. There’s a small smile that plays on his lips. “It was Wayne, Jess, Mom, and I only… That was one of our happier picnics.”

You smile and reach out to turn his hand a bit so you can take a better look at the photo. “She's beautiful. Now I know where you get your looks from.”

He smiles a bit and places it in the keep pile. There weren't many photos he was keeping.

The throw away pile was a bit more.

The next photo he pulls from the shoe box that had chewed holes from rats and a tear in the side was one that made him stop a bit.

Alan sits on the ratty flannel recliner that he always refused to get rid of, a beer bottle in his hand while Eddie sits on his lap.

Blind by child joy, he’s grinning - two missing teeth - as he waves at the camera, baby hairs stuck to his forehead.

Alan sits back, mouth pulled into a frown as he stares at the camera.

Your hand rubs at his back.

“He couldn’t even hold me right.”

You know what’s coming when your ears pick up on the catch in his voice.

He turns to look at you, lip wobbling as he shakes his head. “Why did he hate me so much?”

Your head tilts and you pull him closer to your chest, holding his head when you feel his shoulders start to shake.

You couldn’t answer that even if you wished you could.

There’s a knock at the door. Eddie glances over at you, shifting in the bed as he pulls the covers up more over your shoulder.

He places a kiss against your forehead, smiling softly when he notices your nose scrunches softly.

He turns and walks towards the living room, flipping on a light. He unlocks the door and swings it open.

“Hey.”

He’s a bit sleep disoriented from the little sleep he had. He blinks. “Jessica?”

She smiles softly. “I, uh… I couldn’t come to the funeral.” It’s too final. I don’t want to see him again.

He nods. “It’s okay.” I understand. You don’t have to apologize.

She scratches at her neck and clears her throat, a tell. He steps closer, staring at her for a moment, nodding slightly.

It’s choked but a sound leaves her throat and she tries blinking away the tears. His arms wrap around her neck, her own arms immediately wrapping around his side.

“I’m sorry,” She breathes out shakily. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve… I should’ve been there with you.”

He shakes his head. “Don’t apologize. You did what I wished I could.” He pulls away, giving her a small smile - it’s shaky.

“It’s… I should’ve called you more. I should’ve come to visit you more. Now… now you’re gonna be a dad.”

He smiles softly, nodding. “And you’re gonna be an aunt.”

The laugh she lets out is watery and she wraps her arms around his neck again. “You’re gonna be the best dad.”

His eyes squeeze shut at that because he’s been afraid. Afraid that he’ll become his dad even when he doesn’t want to.

“I’m so proud of you, Eds.” It’s whispered.

He lets out a little sigh, eyes peeking up at the stars. He watches as one shoots across.

Hi, Mom. I miss you.

“I’m proud of you too, Jess.”

ᡣ𐭩 thanks for reading. reblogs, comments, likes, & feedback is welcomed, encouraged, & deeply appreciated.

— @stveharringtn 2024

[ special tag; @corrodedcherry ]

#cherry writes ✿#eddie munson x fem!reader #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson angst #joseph quinn x reader

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sattlersquarry · 1 year

Text

the end is here (steve harrington x gn!reader)

Summary: (Season 4 adjacent) Your boyfriend Steve Harrington is keeping secrets from you, and you aren't sure how much longer you can take it. (Title comes from "I Know The End" by Phoebe Bridgers.)

This is a direct continuation of the video store frame-up of '86. You don't have to read that one to get it but I recommend it!

Word Count: ~5.3k

Warnings: angst up the wazoo w/ a happy ending, language, mentions of sex, some violence and mentions of medical emergencies/broken legs/painkillers.

A/N: Tonally, this is quite different from the video store frame up of '86 but I wanted to explore what it'd be like to be an outsider in Hawkins during Season 4 when all the shit is going down.

gif is from the Netflix giphy account

March, 1986

Working with Steve is fun, and your relationship blossoms the more time you spend together. However, there’s still a nagging thought in the back of your mind—the thought that he’s keeping something from you. Something big. You ignore it as best you can, but you have a feeling that your curiosity is going to catch up to you.

And it does the day you clock into your shift and see Steve, Robin, and two of their friends searching the Family Video database for an unfamiliar name.

“Uh, who’s Rick Lipton,” you say, “and why are you four stalking his rental history?”

The group whirls around, startled by your sudden appearance.

“Y/N! Hey!” Steve says. He angles his body so you can’t read the computer. “What are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my shift, same as you,” you say. You crane your neck to get a better look at the screen. “So, does he have mega late fees or something?”

“Who?” Robin asks innocently.

“Who else? Rick Lipton, the guy you’re looking up.”

“It’s nothing like that,” the curly-haired boy with them says. He’s Dustin, one of Steve’s closest friends.

The name of the girl, with plaited red hair and sharp blue eyes, escapes you. Margie…Melanie…Meg…it starts with an M. You’re certain of that much.

“Max and Dustin were just leaving,” Steve says, giving them a look.

Max! That was it.

“But we need you to drive us,” Max says to Steve.

“Drive to Rick’s?” you guess. “Why?”

Steve looks different than you’ve ever seen him. He’s agitated. Not the kind of agitated you’re used to: frustrated with Keith’s many demands or annoyed with his role as resident carpool king. No, he seems…scared.

“Rick and Dustin have a mutual friend,” Steve says coolly, attempting to assuage your curiosity (and failing). “We just need to check up on him, that’s all.”

“And it’s a time-sensitive matter,” Dustin says. “So we need to go now.”

He starts dragging Steve and Robin toward the front doors, Max on their heels.

“Can’t it wait?” you say. “I can’t run the store myself!”

“Sorry!” Robin says with an apologetic grin. “We’ll make it up to you! I’ll cover any shift, promise!”

Steve wrenches free from Dustin’s grasp. He returns to the counter, and you think he’s going to say he won’t leave you alone.

Instead, he reaches under the counter to grab his jacket and car keys.

“I’m so sorry to ditch,” he says quietly. “Seriously, I know this is a dick move.”

“Mm-hm,” you say, eyes narrowed.

“But it’s important. Dustin’s friend might be in danger.”

“What kind of danger?”

“I can’t tell you.”

You scowl.

“Please don’t be pissed,” Steve begs. “It’s a slow day, and Keith will be around later. You’ve got this!”

You’re mad. But you’re also a bit worried. Steve’s very responsible and wouldn’t leave unless it was important. And he still looks so scared…

“Steve…what’s really going on?” You step closer and lower your voice. “Is everything okay with you? I mean, I know you’re worried about Dustin’s friend, but—“

“I’m fine,” Steve says. He kisses your temple. “I’ll call you tonight. Okay?”

You nod and force a smile, watching him race out of the store and unlock his car for his friends. They pile into the BMW and zip away.

Someone clears their throat. You snap your head to the right, where a punk kid with spiky hair stands by the cassettes.

“Do you have the newest Madonna tape?” he asks, shocking you with his music taste, considering his whole vibe.

“Uh, yeah,” you say, thankful for the distraction. “I’ll help you find it.”

***

Steve doesn’t call you that night. Or the next morning.

And when you arrive for your next shift, you’re greeted by Keith at the counter, not Steve or Robin.

“Where’s Steve?” you ask.

“Your loverboy called in sick,” Keith says, before taking a huge bite of a breakfast burrito. You wince as he continues talking with his mouth full: “Buckley is sick too, so it’s just you and me today.”

“Great,” you say flatly. Both Steve and Robin being sick the same day isn’t inherently suspicious—they are best friends and hang out all the time. But after what transpired yesterday, their absence is fishy.

That, plus the fact that Steve had the time to call Keith and not you, sours your mood.

“And since they’re out, I’ll need you to work a double.”

“Fantastic,” you snap. “That's exactly how I wanted to spend my Sunday.”

“Hey!” Keith says. “No sass. Family Video employees must remain upbeat and positive at all times. We want our establishment to be a welcoming place. Not a dark hole of pessimism…like Blockbuster.”

You plaster on a big, fake grin.

“Much better,” Keith says smugly, before disappearing to the back room to file some paperwork.

The day drags on. There isn’t much traffic to the store, due to the announcement that not one but two Hawkins High students were killed. People seem too scared to go anywhere or do much of anything.

On your lunch break, you call the Harrington house. No answer. Either Steve is too sick to reach for the phone on his nightstand, which frightens you, or he’s off with his friends.

You wonder if Dustin’s friend, the one they went to find, is one of the victims. The thought makes your stomach twist. Maybe that’s why you hadn’t heard from Steve or why he wasn’t home—he needed to comfort the younger boy through his grief.

When it’s finally closing time, you decide to drive by the Harrington house to check in. No BMW in the driveway confirms that he’s definitely not home sick.

You feel a bit sick yourself wondering where he is and what’s going on.

***

The next day is your day off. You call Steve first thing when you wake up. You also drive by his house again after breakfast. It’s like he disappeared off the face of the earth…

…until you take a shortcut down Maple Street and see his BMW parked at the Wheeler’s house.

You haven’t heard from him in two days, and his car is at his ex-girlfriend Nancy’s house. You feel numb.

Steve didn’t seem like the type of person to stoop to infidelity, but you haven’t known him for that long. And he (and his friends) are definitely keeping something from you. Maybe all that “Rick Lipton” stuff was a cover-up so Steve could hang out with his friends and cozy up with his ex.

You hate how jealous you feel. You hate how it makes you want to cry, scream, and throw a brick through the BMW’s windshield.

Against your better judgment, you park by the curb and stomp toward the front door. You aren’t usually a confrontational person, but you feel a spark of anger that won’t be tamped down unless you get some answers.

You ring the doorbell and knock, for good measure. A tired-looking, middle-aged man opens the door.

“Can I help you?” Mr. Wheeler drawls.

“Is Steve here?” you ask, trying to keep your voice from shaking.

“The troublemakers are in the basement,” he says. He sarcastically adds, “We already have enough guests to legally be considered a hotel. What’s one more?”

Mr. Wheeler opens the door a bit wider and allows you in, pointing you in the direction of the basement door. You thank him before charging down the steps.

Dustin and Max are down there, along with their other friend Lucas. Max scribbles furiously at the desk while the boys sit on the sofa, heads bent low while they discuss something with hushed voices.

“Where’s Steve?” you demand, scanning the room as if you expect him to pop out from behind a corner.

“Whoa!” Lucas says. “How’d you get in here Y/N?”

“Mr. Wheeler let me in. He’s a real peach. So. Steve?”

“He’s upstairs in Nancy’s room,” Dustin says.

Your eyes widen.

“Not like that!” Dustin says quickly, sensing the miscommunication. “They’re just talking!”

“Talking alone in her room?”

“To be fair,” Lucas says, “Robin’s there too, so it’s not like it’s romantic.”

“And it wouldn’t be!” Dustin says. “Steve only has eyes for you. He told me so.”

“You, and Phoebe Cates,” Lucas corrects.

“Right. You, Phoebe Cates, and maybe Cindy Crawford.”

“Definitely Cindy Crawford,” Lucas says. “Have you seen her?”

Max turns in her seat and glares at Lucas. He gulps.

“I mean, Cindy’s not my type. But Steve loves her.”

Your turn to glare.

“Not as much as he loves you!” Lucas says. He turns to Dustin. “We’re making things worse, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” you say. “I’m gonna go talk to him.”

“You can’t,” Dustin says. “They’re a bit preoccupied. And I know that sounds suspicious, but I promise. Steve isn’t cheating on you.”

“Then what is he doing?” you say. “And why hasn’t he called me?”

“All good questions,” Dustin says. “But I can’t answer them.” He gestures to an armchair nearby. “You can wait for Steve if you want. I’m sure he’d love to see you.”

You consider it, but this whole situation is weirding you out. What are Steve, Robin, and Nancy so preoccupied with anyway? Does it have to do with the murders? And why won’t anyone just tell you what’s going on?!

“I have to go,” you say, voice clipped. “Just tell him to call me.”

You storm up the stairs and out of the house. A sense of dread overwhelms you—dread that threatens to swallow you whole.

***

At around 11 o’clock that night, someone knocks at your apartment door.

In a half-asleep stupor, you stumble to it, gripping your baseball bat. No one should be visiting this late, unless—

“Y/N? It’s Steve! Can we talk?”

You huff and put the bat down, opening the door for your (sheepish-looking) boyfriend.

Your facial expression remains stony as you study him.

“Hey,” he says. He clears his throat. “Can I come in?”

In lieu of a response, you turn on your heel and stomp to your couch. Steve locks the door behind him and follows.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, sitting next to you. He reaches to put an arm around you, and you pull away. He deflates. “Babe—”

“Is this the part where you say you can’t tell me what’s going on?” you snap. “And you promise to call me tomorrow, but then you don’t, and the only reason I’ll know you aren’t dead is because I’ll see your car at your fucking ex-girlfriend’s house?”

Steve closes his eyes and sighs.

“I deserve that. But it’s not what you think. Whatever you think is going on, I promise, it’s not that.”

“So, what is going on?” you say.

He turns away and rubs his face.

“I—”

“You’re sorry,” you deadpan. “Why don’t you throw in one more? Best things come in threes, you know.”

You’re being unfair. You know this. Steve’s obviously very upset about something, and you’re being too harsh. But the way he’s acting, and the way he’s not giving you a real answer why, is driving you insane.

He hesitates and reaches for your hand. You allow him to take it.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispers. His eyes are wide and mournful and desperate. “But I just can’t talk about it. Not right now. I’ll make it up to you. Anything you want me to do, I’ll do it.”

You take a deep breath and feel your anger evaporate at his sincereness.

“You could start by kissing me?” you say.

Steve’s face splits into a grin and he leans in, kissing you softly.

Well, it starts soft. The heat picks up a bit too fast for your liking, and you push him away.

“Whoa buddy,” you say. “I’m so not in the mood for make-up sex right now.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says, blushing. “I didn’t mean to push.”

“I actually need to get some sleep,” you say. “Care to join me?”

“I really should be getting back,” Steve says, glancing at his watch. “Max is going through a really hard time right now. She needs as much support as she can get.”

You want to know more details, so you try not to be too specific and ask, “Do you think she’ll be okay?”

Steve nods.

“She’s strong,” he says. “She’ll be fine. She has to be.”

He kisses you goodnight and leaves.

This time, he doesn’t promise to call. You aren’t sure if that makes you feel better or worse.

***

The next night, Steve shows up again much too late, looking as if he’s seen a ghost.

He’s wearing the same navy polo and jeans from yesterday. You don’t know how you feel about that, as the reminder that Max and the group are staying at Nancy Wheeler’s house rattles around in your head.

“How’s Max?” you ask, pouring Steve a cup of tea.

“She’s a bit better,” he says. He rubs his eyes. “It’s sort of…touch and go.”

You sit across from him at the table with your own mug and ask, “I hope I’m not being insanely nosy, but is she…sick?”

“Not really sick, exactly. At least, not physically.” Steve hesitates before adding, “She’s grieving. She lost her brother Billy at Starcourt. She hasn’t been the same since then.”

The Starcourt Fire of 1985. It was a big stain on Hawkins history, along with the myriad of disappearances, deaths, and government conspiracies that marred the town’s legacy.

You aren’t sure how to respond. You settle for drinking your tea in a slightly uncomfortable silence.

“You know,” you say after a beat, “I have a bunch of old board games and movies. I could bring them over to the Wheeler’s place tomorrow if Max wants to check them out. It might lift her spirits.”

“No,” Steve says quickly. Off your hurt look, he says, “No, sorry. I mean, we won’t be at the Wheeler’s tomorrow. We’re going for a drive.”

“A drive?”

“Yeah, a drive in the…in the countryside. So Max can clear her head.”

He’s lying to you. He’s lying to you and he’s bad at it and it makes you sad and mad all at once.

“Please, for the love of god, cut the bullshit,” you say. You slam your tea down harder than intended and it sloshes across the tabletop. “What are you guys actually doing?”

Frustration flashes across his features.

“I told you, I really can’t tell you.”

“Bullshit.”

“Don’t say that! It’s not!” Steve says, voice raising. He stands from the table. “I can’t tell you! Why can’t you just accept that?”

You stand as well, crossing your arms.

“You’ve got to at least get your story straight if you’re going to lie, deceive, and leave me out!” you yell. “What is this really about? Because first it was all about Dustin’s friend, and now it’s Max. Or does it have something to do with the murders?”

Steve goes ghostly pale at the mention of the recent killings.

“I won’t tell you,” Steve says firmly, a fraction more calm than he was moments before. “It’s too dangerous.”

“So it does have to do with the—”

“I have to go,” Steve says, storming toward the front door.

“Steve Harrington, you get back here!” you call, following him.

Too late. He’s out the door, slamming it behind him.

As soon as he’s gone, your resolve just crumbles. You cry. You cry, because your sweet, sensitive boyfriend is acting like a different person. You cry because he’s obviously hurting and in some kind of trouble but won’t talk about it, making it impossible to help him. You cry because you don’t want to lose him, because you’ve only been dating for a short time but you might love him. Because you aren’t sure how much longer you can do this.

***

You’re back at the Family Video the next day, working alongside Keith and Randy, a former employee home from college on spring break. Randy’s a pretentious film student who won’t shut up about movies you’ve never seen. It makes you wish you were working with Steve today, despite last night’s argument. You aren’t even sure if Steve wants to be your boyfriend anymore, and that thought tortures you all day.

“The Godfather is a perfect film,” Randy drones as the two of you log returns in the computer. “Have you seen it?”

“No, I prefer comedies.”

Randy scoffs.

“Oh, that drivel?”

“Comedy is not drivel!” you protest. “People need to laugh sometimes.”

You spend the rest of your shift defending your favorite movies, and you seriously consider whacking Randy upside the head when he insults The Muppets Take Manhattan.

Again, you drive past Steve’s house, and are surprised to see his car parked in its usual spot.

“Steve?” you call, banging on the door. “It’s Y/N. Are you home? Can we talk?”

You continue knocking and shouting for him to answer, to no avail. Eventually, his next-door neighbor yells for you to shut it, so you leave.

At 2:30 in the morning, your phone rings. You mumble a “Hello?” into the receiver, wondering if you’re dreaming.

“Hey, Y/N.”

It’s Steve. You figured as much. Who else would call so late?

“Hey,” you say, feeling more awake than you did before.

Part of you wonders if this is evidence of some kind of shift in your relationship. Maybe Steve doesn’t want to actually date you anymore. Maybe he just wants to sleep with you, and that’s why he’s only been visiting and calling late at night, and not talking about what’s going on. You don’t like that thought.

“I’m so glad to hear your voice,” Steve says with a deep sigh.

He sounds weary, and almost hoarse. This panics you. Under normal circumstances, you’d think he was just sick. But now, you aren’t sure what to think.

“Steve, where are you?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“I think it does! Are you okay? You sound weak.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“I don’t mean it as an insult! Seriously. Do you need me to come get you? Or call an ambulance, or something?”

“I’m fine, Y/N. Just tired. Tired, and missing you.”

“Well, then, why don’t you come over?” you say. You tamp down your worry and try a different tactic: “Maybe we can finally give that make-up sex a try.”

You hear a chorus of “Ew, gross!” and “Gag me with a spoon.”

“Sorry, I should’ve told you,” Steve mumbles, “I’m not alone.”

“Yeah, I got that now. Is Max doing okay?”

“Yeah, she’s fine. We're at her place now. I just wanted to…no, I needed to call you and say sorry. These past few days, I’ve been really shitty to you.”

“You kind of have been,” you say. “But I haven’t been very supportive. I’m sorry too. Whatever’s going on, I hope it, um…gets better.”

“Thanks,” Steve says. “Oh, and about the make-up sex—can we get a rain check?”

“I’ll see if I can pencil you in my busy social schedule,” you tease. “Call me tomorrow night?”

“I will,” Steve says. His voice wavers and he adds, “I promise.”

***

The next night, he does call. Still wearing his gear from the Vecna battle, he calls your house from the hospital payphone minutes after Max is wheeled into surgery.

“Pick up, pick up!” he grumbles. “Why aren’t they answering?!”

“Have you tried calling Family Video?” Robin says. “It’s inventory night. Keith always makes us stay late for inventory.”

“Oh, fuck,” Steve says. He looks at Robin with panicked eyes. “We were supposed to be there for inventory. Did you remember to call out for us?”

“I thought you did!”

“Here’s some more quarters,” Nancy says, appearing from around the corner with a handful of coins. “After you call Y/N, I need to call Max’s mom and the Sinclairs. Robin, have you called your family yet?”

Steve dials the Family Video number and waits with bated breath. He groans when the call doesn’t connect. He needs to hear your voice, to know you’re okay after the earthquake.

Unfortunately, you are far from okay.

You’re at the store doing inventory with Randy, listening to more of his dry takes, when the earthquake hits.

Randy immediately begins to panic.

“There’s no tub!” he screams over the sound of the rattling earth.

“Huh?!” you yell back, holding onto the counter for dear life.

“In an earthquake, you’re supposed to hide in a tub!” He scans the room and gasps. “Or a doorframe!”

He darts toward the doorframe that leads to the back room.

“Randy, stop running!” you scream. “You’ll hurt yourself!”

You notice a tall shelf of tapes tip forward and you surge ahead, pushing Randy out of the way as the shelf hits the ground. In the scuffle, one of your legs gets pinned underneath it.

A bloodcurdling scream echoes through the store. It takes you a minute to realize the sound is coming from you and not from some banshee.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck!” Randy yells. “Y/N, are you okay?”

The earthquake slows, the violent shaking making way for a quiet rumble. He runs back to you and tries to lift the shelf off of you, with no luck.

“It’s too heavy,” he says, face pinched with fear and a bit of guilt. “Can you move your leg at all?”

You wince and shake your head, tears running down your face.

“I can’t move it,” you say. You sniffle. “It hurts really really bad.”

“I’ll call for help!” Randy says. He grabs the phone off the counter and curses. He tries the second phone, and then races to Keith’s office to try the third. “No signal. I guess the quake took out the telephone lines. I’ll go get someone!”

“Don’t leave me!” you cry out. “Please!”

“I’ll be right back,” Randy says. “I promise! And I’ll reevaluate my stance on comedies, just for you.”

“I appreciate that,” you say through sobs.

Randy rushes out into the night, and you hear him shouting, “Hey, hey! We need an ambulance!”

As you lay alone in the video store in unimaginable pain, you worry. You worry about Steve and his friends, hoping they fared better than you in the natural disaster. You worry about your leg, wondering if you’ll ever be able to use it the same again. You worry that you wasted your time being upset with Steve, and—in a particularly dark moment—you worry that you may never see him again.

After what feels like an eternity, Randy returns with a group of paramedics.

“Hey there,” one of them says. “Are you Y/N?”

“The one and only,” you say through gritted teeth. “I can’t feel my leg anymore. Are you going to have to amputate it? Please say no.”

“Amputations are rare,” another paramedic reassures you. You breathe a sigh of relief. “Let’s get this thing off you and get you to the hospital, yeah?”

***

The rest of the night is a blur for you. The paramedics free your leg and pump you full of so many painkillers, it’s hard to focus on much of anything.

You don’t feel fully like yourself again until the next morning, when you wake up in a hospital bed with a bright blue cast on your leg.

A soft snore to your left indicates company. You are so relieved to see it’s—

“Steve!” you shout, startling him awake. “What happened to your neck?!”

“Y/N, oh my god,” Steve says, jumping from the armchair he was uncomfortably squished into. “How are you feeling? Do you need anything?”

“Did someone choke you?” you say, sitting up against your pillows. “Who do I need to fight?”

“You aren’t fighting anyone until that’s gone,” Steve says, pointing to your cast. He gingerly sits on the edge of the bed, careful of your leg. “Geez, I was so worried about you. I called and called, both the store and your house, and then I saw some paramedics bring you in on a stretcher, and I just panicked. I was so afraid I was going to lose you.”

You reach over and hold both of his hands with yours. He smiles at you, but his eyes are sad.

“I’m here,” you say. You wince. “My leg hurts like hell, and I’ll probably never walk, run, or swim as fast as I used to, but I’m here.”

“I’m so glad you are,” he says quietly. He sucks in a breath. “Max got really badly hurt in…in the quake. She’s unconscious and they don’t know when…if…she’ll wake up.”

“Oh, Steve, I’m so sorry.”

You pull him into a hug, and he holds you tightly.

You know you should keep your mouth shut and just be in this moment with him, but a nagging thought in your mind won’t leave you alone.

“Steve,” you say quietly, pulling away. “I don’t usually believe in ultimatums, because things aren’t usually so black-and-white. But I’m about to give you one. Please don’t hate me.”

Worry flashes in his eyes. He shakes his head.

“I could never hate you,” he says, voice cracking.

You squeeze his hands and say: “If you can’t be honest with me about what’s going on, I think we have to break up.”

Steve’s eyes widen.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, before he can say anything. “I know that’s so unfair. But what’s a relationship without honesty and communication, and we just…don’t have that at the moment. I have the sneaking suspicion that this earthquake and the killings are connected, and I think you know more than you’re letting on. The earthquake did this—” You gesture to your leg. “And I feel like I have a right to know the truth. To know what’s hurting you. Please, Steve. Just tell me.”

You watch his facial expression. Unreadable emotions flick across his features, and you can tell he’s brainstorming. Thinking hard, trying to determine the right thing to say next.

“Y/N,” he says, voice low. “It’s dangerous. Really dangerous. I don’t want to involve you if I can help it.”

“Steve—”

“I don’t want you to get hurt—”

“I already got hurt!”

“I won’t put you in any more danger,” Steve says. He looks about two seconds from sobbing, but he says, “Ignorance is bliss, right?”

It guts you to do so, but you gingerly drop his hands.

“Okay.”

“Y/N, can we just—”

“I think you should leave.” You can’t even look at him as you say it, instead staring at some wilting daisies on the windowsill.

Steve opens his mouth as if he’s going to protest, but closes it and nods.

“If that’s what you really want, I’ll go,” he whispers.

You nod, despite the part of you deep down screaming for him to stay.

He hesitates before walking out.

***

A day and a half later, you’ve been discharged from the hospital. From your perch on your couch, you watch ash swirling outside your window. The sight is terrifying, and the news is full of weathermen trying to make sense of the strange weather pattern.

Knock, knock, knock, knock!

You hobble to your feet, clumsy as a baby deer due to your crutches, and open the door.

“Steve!” you say, a bit shocked (yet relieved). He’s got flakes of ash on his head and shoulders, looking like a dusting of snow. “Hey, I was going to call you. I think I made a big mistake—”

“I want to tell you everything,” he blurts out.

You stumble a bit and he grabs your shoulders to steady you.

“Really?” you say. “Because I thought about it, and you don’t have to.”

“I want to,” Steve says. “You’re right. I need to be fully honest. And, frankly, I can’t do this without you.”

So you let him in, and you sit on the couch with your injured leg propped on pillows while he tells you everything. About Will Byers going missing, and how he wasn’t just lost in the woods like everyone thought. About how he came back from another dimension but he brought something dark and twisted with him, an evil sort of presence. How that evil presence latched onto Max’s brother Billy last summer and used him as a general of sorts, collecting more soldiers to create a terrifying monster. How the mastermind behind the plan, Vecna/Henry Creel/One, is the real murderer.

“Everyone thinks it was Eddie,” Steve says, looking down at his feet. “But Eddie sacrificed himself so the bats wouldn’t swarm our version of Hawkins. If he hadn’t done that, the casualties would’ve been a lot worse.”

“And Vecna tried to kill Max too?” you say. The first thing you’ve said since he started his tale.

“He did kill Max. But she came back, somehow. It’s a miracle.”

You aren’t sure what to say. Monsters and alternate dimensions and evil doctors. It’s all the stuff of science fiction…right?

Steve huffs out a laugh at the twisted frown on your face.

“You don’t believe me,” he says.

“No! I do. I’m just…processing.”

“It’s all true,” Steve says. “Every word. And as much as it sucks, I have to help my friends stop Vecna and destroy the Upside Down once and for all. Once we do that, maybe things can get back to normal.”

“Sounds like a plan. When do we start?”

Steve’s brows pull together.

“Uh, did you just say ‘we’?”

“I did. I want to help.”

“No way!” Steve scoffs. “I told you because I didn’t want to keep it from you anymore. Not because I want you to get involved in this fight.”

“Steve—”

“Y/N! Seriously!” Steve says. He laces your hands together. “You’re, like, the best thing that’s ever happened to me. I’m not going to let the person I love throw themselves into this mess. I need you to be safe.”

He looks up and is a bit surprised to see goofy grin on your face.

“You said you love me,” you whisper.

Steve blushes.

“Oh, right. I hope that’s okay?”

“You hope it’s okay that you love me?”

“Uh, yeah. And I hope you’ll take me back, but if you feel like you can’t after everything I told you I understand and—”

You grab him by the collar and pull him in for a kiss. He melts into it, wrapping his arms around you.

“I love you too,” you say, once you finally pull away. “And I am taking you back, and I’ll respect your wishes not to get involved in your monster hunting mission, but you have to promise me that you won’t get killed or something, because that would massively suck.”

“You got it,” he says. He checks his watch.

“You heading out?” you ask, a bit disappointed.

Steve shakes his head.

“Nope. I have three hours until I’m meeting the others to discuss our next move.”

“Three hours,” you say, eyes sparkling a bit hungrily. “Huh. There’s so much we could do to fill that time…one activity I can’t get out of my head rhymes with ‘take-up schmex.’”

“Y/N. Your leg is broken.”

“The medical term is actually ‘smushed,’ so I’m cleared for sexual activity.”

“Is that so?” Steve says. “Well, if your doctor says it’s okay…”

In one fluid motion, he scoops you up in his arms. You squeal in surprise as he carries you to your bedroom.

Hawkins had changed overnight. Everything Steve told you makes it seem like a much scarier, darker place.

But you have Steve, and he has you, and you know that no matter what happens next, nothing is going to change that.

***

tagging some people who asked about it and/or expressed interest in this fic! Y'ALL ROCK @crappymixtape @starry-eyed-steve @mrskeery-mclaughlin @sailor-steve

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington x gn! reader #steve harrington #stranger things fanfic #stranger things 4 #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x you #steve harrington angst #st fic: r&j

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rotisseries · 9 months

Note

WHAT WAS THAT THING YOU EXPLAINED TO ME AGES AGO FOR WAITING ROOM ABOUT HOW TO LISTEN TO SONGS THAT ARENT ON SPOTIFY ??? I NEED RED FLANNEL GEORGIA AND I NEED IT NOW

AKAJDFJSKFKS OK THIS IS MY FAVORITE SPOTIFY FEATURE YAY!! relying on people to have uploaded things as a podcast sucks so bad because they get taken down a lot and also it breaks up the vibe because the title and artist are always something random and the little picture is just a sunset or whatever idk IT BREAKS UP THE VIBE

so you can do this from any device, (i prefer to do it from my computer though for reasons that'll be explained later) and if you have spotify premium you'll also be able to listen to it on all devices, but first thing you're going to do is go into your account settings and turn on the local files option

once you do that, it'll access any downloaded audio files you have, and you can listen to them on that device. they'll be stored in a spotify playlist named local files, similar to the liked songs one. (i would also recommend making a separate folder for the songs you want downloaded on spotify, at least on the computer, i know you can change which folder it takes from there. otherwise you might end up with random audio you downloaded for something specific in your spotify library.)

if you have premium, you can also turn on spotify on other devices, and add the song you downloaded to an actual playlist

and it'll sync up on all your devices and you can download the playlist on every device. if you don't have premium though you'll either have to download it on every device or you can only listen to it on the first one you downloaded it on.

now for actually getting the song. this is really simple I tend to go straight to youtube and it's usually pretty easy to find the song I want, and then I just put the link into a youtube to mp3 converter (dodging the hot moms in my area. maybe next time ladies) and then I download it. make sure it's in the right folder and boom! I now have mitski's cover of let's get married to cry to on demand! soundcloud also works though obviously because any audio file will do, and a lot of unreleased songs get uploaded to soundcloud, and there’s a handy little download button right there and you don't need an account! great if you run into a song that isn't on youtube. totally unrelated but I have phoebe bridger's cover of iris downloaded

now. reasons I tend to do it from my computer specifically.

1. most shady websites are just easier to navigate lol. it's twice as hard to deal with pop ups when things are also rotating your phone screen around. so yeah i'd prefer to hit up the mp3 converter from my laptop

2. if you have any songs where the only video for it has an annoying intro or outro, it can be easier to edit it out. like lil nas x's cover of jolene was from the youtube channel for some fucking radio station or whatever so I had to edit that out. and my laptop's native audio file player has a trimming option, so I didn't have to download extra software like I would on my phone

3. and most importantly to me, you can make it aesthetically pleasing. when you just download the audio file it won't have an album picture and it won't have an artist name it'll only have whatever the file name is as a title, which you can change obviously but it doesn't fix the rest of it. on the computer it is so easy to download a metadata editor, and you can edit the file's metadata however you want and it'll have the little artist line and the album if you want and you can put whatever picture goes with the song but this is of course not required it just matters a lot to me personally

anyway have fun!

#sorry this took too long to answer maybe but here you go lmao #ask #hella1975 #hi hella!🔪

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andruwminyrd · 2 years

Text

spotify playlists just because ✨

2022. vibe for 2022

steve harrington - ahoy ladies! (mix of 80s songs & more modern ones. also a mix of songs that reminds me of him & that i think he'd like tbh)

robin buckley - i wanted her to look at me (mix of 80s songs but also sapphic songs <33 same as steve it's a mix of songs that i think she'd like but also that just reminds me of her)

stranger things - friends don't lie. (songs from the series & songs that fits)

NACE - just 'cuse i'm mad at you doesn't mean i want to lose you. a playlist for nancy drew and ace from nancy drew.

the marauders. i solemnly swear i'm up to no good. (songs that reminds me of the gang & that i think they'd listen to)

the foxhole court. he was their family. they were his. they were worth every cut and bruise and scream. a playlist for all for the game by nora sakavic cus my tfc phase came back and i'd deleted my old playlist so i needed a new and updated one <3

that funny feeling. inspired by bo burnhams song by the same title. mainly sad songs from phoebe bridgers, taylor swift and mitski. (others too but those 3 r the main ones)

it was never a phase. a messy playlist with mostly emo & pop punk music (think mcr, fall out boy, paramore and avril lavigne.. tho there r some bratz song in there as well)

you have bewitched me. movie score & classical music.

coming of age soundtrack. typical songs that are in a coming of age movie like lady bird, booksmart and the edge of seventeen.

90s romcom soundtrack. typical songs that are in romcoms from the 90s like 10 things i hate about you, she's all that and clueless.

horror movie soundtrack. mainly inspired by fear street

final girl. she’s the one at the end with a knife in her hand. her friends are dead. she’s on a mission to kill. she’s not so innocent anymore. a playlist for my girls sidney prescott, laurie strode, ellen ripley, alice hardy, grace le domas and so many more.

cottagecore. songs that fits the cottagecore aesthetic.

fine! make me your villain. songs that fits ur favorite villain.

slowburn enemies to friends to lovers. when you don't know if they're gonna kiss or kill each other.

the seven husbands of evelyn hugo. they are just husbands. i am evelyn hugo. and anyways, i think once people know the truth, they will be mure more interested in my wife.

daisy jones and the six. for the book with same title by taylor jenkins reid. will be updated with the songs from the tvshow when it's out (and if i like them ahha)

star crossed lovers. two young lovers, whose love is destined for destruction.

dark academia. think the secret history, dead poets society, kill your darlings, if we were villains.

wasting my young years. it's 2015 and you're on tumblr. (tho some songs are prob from 2016 and up but the vibe is there)

pov its summer. a playlist for the summer

percy jackson. don't feel bad, i'm usually about to die. for the percy jackson series by rick riordan, and getting hyped for the disney+ series.

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d-romanov · 5 months

Text

float around and ghost my friends

[title- phoebe bridgers. natasha romanoff x teen!reader, minimal platonic peter x reader]

2.5k words

You didn’t have a normal childhood, but you mama encourages you to have a normal highschool experience and lets you go to a party. It doesn’t quite go how she wanted, or how you expected.

trigger warnings: underage drinking + drinking to cope, suicidal ideation?, depression, it’s sad ngl but it’s got a hopeful ending (probably)

Living your life after a childhood of pain and misery is hard, it is so, so hard. You wonder if the man across the street is just a stranger or someone there to take you back, if the light flickering meant someone had found you, if the loud noise down the hall was a body against a wall. God, if you started thinking too hard about it you wouldn’t stop.

Thank god high school would only make it worse!

Growing up as a Hydra lab rat they still had to keep you occupied, lest you go catatonic and ruin their tests. You saw plenty of shows and movies about high school, about how important the dance next saturday was, when everyone’s classes were, the like. You understood, to an extent, that parties were a big deal. Parents went out of town, kids got shitfaced, snuck back into bed past “curfew.” fun times.

It’s been a little over a year since you were found by the Avangers, and just a few months since Natasha Romanoff finalized the adoption paperwork for you. Even if you couldn’t call her mom as much as you wanted to you were happy, truly content for the first time in your life. You had friends, family, and a mother who wanted nothing more than for you to enjoy your new life.

Which is why, when peter had invited you to a party being put on by someone in his class, your mom urged you to go.

—

You haven’t been sleeping much in the last few weeks. Insomnia and trauma-induced nightmares were taking their toll on you, but you could handle a bit of sleep deprivation. Besides, you weren’t about to concern Natasha more, she’s had enough on her plate lately.

No, no matter how long you stayed awake shaking, shivering, not breathing waiting for a sound in the hallway, you wouldn’t bother Natasha. Though, that didn’t stop you from being a bit more clingy during the day before calling it a night.

“It’s an opportunity for you to have fun outside the tower, детка, you should go.” You sat cross-legged on Natasha’s bed, watching as she put away laundry. It was calming. “I’m only a call away if you and Peter wanna ditch, but I want you to enjoy yourself.”

Her encouragement throws you off. “You know what happens at those parties though, don’t you?” You shift so you’re laying down against the pillows, “Shouldn’t you be making me stay home?”

Natasha laughs. “Hon, highschool parties aren’t nearly as crazy as movies make them out to be, and i know you. It’s not like you’re going to get wasted or make out with any boys.” You pull a face and Natasha laughs again, and you laugh with her.

“You don’t have to go if you don’t want to,” She presses a kiss to your forehead and you smile up at her.

“I’ll go.”

—

You’re already regretting it, and you’ve only been in the house for 20 minutes. Peter don’t ditch you per se, but you haven’t seen him since you settled on the couch. The music pulses through the floor and you can feel the bass in your teeth. You’re pressed in at the far end of the couch hugging the armrest, clutching a soda can in one hand and hovering over Natasha’s contact in you phone with the other. A bark of laughter from the kitchen throws you out of your thoughts and you notice someone pouring out shots. somewhere in the back of your mind you wonder when the last time you had a drink was, to which your brain unhelpfully answers “too long.”

Aside from anesthesia, the best pain relief you had in your old life was alcohol. You understood that it wasn’t healthy, even back then you knew that, but it kept your thoughts from racing and helped you sleep at night.

A small crowd was formed around the kitchen counter, and you watch as two boys get locked into a fierce competition of Cup Pong.

You watch one of them, a lean, blonde boy from the soccer team, fading fast. only two of his cups have been emptied, he’s clearly a lightweight and already wobbling by his third shot. The other boy is one you recognize from your history class. he’s loud, obnoxious, and goading on the other boy who’s finally thrown the ping pong ball properly and landed it in a cup.

The loud one sinks in another two balls, and you see the blond visibly swallow. you don’t know what comes over you because in the next moment, you down his two shots in one go.

“Woah-hoh-hoh! looks like someone’s up to the challenge!” His face breaks into a shit eating grin, “Too bad you picked a battle with the undefeated champ here.” you hear a few whistles in the growing crowd and smirk, You can feel the buzz hitting your head and it feels good, you feel good for the first time in days.

“Undefeated, huh? Well, this is gonna be really embarrassing for you then.” You’re cocky, but you don’t care, you just wanna get drunk.

He quickly bounces another ball, landing in your forward cup, the second misses. Your two land and it’s a battle keeping your face straight. Your opponent is intimidated, but he hides it behind a grin and his height, but he’s too obvious. You know he’ll hit his limit far sooner than you’ll hit yours, so you tease him a bit.

To throw him off, you miss your next two throws, and his second lands. as soon as the cup is empty you begin to sway. you’re in no drunken state, there’s barely a buzz at this point, but he doesn’t know that. As far as he knows, you’re just as much of a lightweight as the blond before you.

He’s hiding his own swaying body by leaning forward on the counter, but you can see in his eyes he’s getting drunk, and thanks to the alcohol of choice being vodka, it won’t be much longer before he’s out. You were hoping for a bit more fun, but his head start in the is game threw that off a bit. You strike fast. Two balls, two cups, one throw, it’s impressive to the crowd but for you it’s child’s play. He down the cups, slower than before, and you can see sweat forming on his forehead.

He misses his next throw and you can’t stop yourself from being a bit disappointed. then again, you only have one cup left versus his, you huff a laugh.

“I mean, it’s a little unfair of me to be beating you. You had a head start in the game, why don’t we level it out?”

The crowd is rowdy and you see his face twist into a grimace. He’s getting agitated while you’re loosening up, happily putting on a show for everyone around you.

You pour yourself two more shots and take the one after the other. You revel in the burn, you feel lighter, higher, ready to put this stupid kid in his place.

—

You win that game, you win two more games, and everything becomes a blur. You think your phone buzzes a few times through the night but you ignore it in favor of pouring yourself another drink and laughing your ass off. It’s the first time you’ve ever felt normal, and even if you don’t know anyone’s names they’re funny enough, and you can forget about the past for the night.

You’re not noticeable in school, you hide yourself in the back of the class and only talk to peter and his friends. You’re allowed to leave class whenever you need to thanks to a plan you’re mom had set up with the school, so it’s not like you usually stick around enough to talk to anyone. You’re just some new kid lost in the crowd there, but now, here, people are talking to your face instead of whispering behind your back and avoiding eye contact. you finally feel free.

You get up and unsteadily return to the kitchen for another shitty bear. You look over your shoulder and throw your hands out. “Peter!!” you shout, ending in a giggle when you see his face, he’s looking at you funny. “hiiiii!!”

“Are you drunk??” Oh never mind, he sounds mad.

“Nooo?” You giggle again, he doesn’t believe you but you don’t really care.

Peter rubs his hand down his face and starts to guide you to the door.

“Where’re we going i was having funnnn,” You whine, pushing against his insistence you leave.

“(Y/n) i already called natasha, now drink this and sit tight.” He’s frustrated and hands you a water bottle, you pout and plop onto the grass, lazily sipping at the bottle.

You’re not sure how much later it happens, but Natasha’s car pulls up on the curb. She steps out and she looks pissed, if you had any energy left you’d probably be scared. “Hi мама,” even drunk and half asleep you still know you sound like a pathetic mess, and right now you really just want to catch up on all the sleep you’ve missed.

She kneels down next to you on the grass and moves your sweaty hair from your forehead, you notice her face soften. “Hi малышка, let’s get you home.”

“Are you mad at me?” You blurt out. Your voice is small, and you don’t mean to sound so weak but the alcohol in your system makes you feel vulnerable. “I don’ want you to be mad at me i was jus’ so tired.”

“No hun, i’m not mad. We’ll talk in the morning when you’ve sobered up, now up you get.”

If you weren’t so out of it you would’ve seen the heartbreak cross her face.

She hoists you up with your arm over her shoulder, and you’re grateful for it because without her you’d have fallen face first into the dirt.

You hear her ask Peter to open the door, and as soon as you’re in the car you’re out like a light.

—

Anyone could tell from a mile away that Natasha loved you. Since the day you were found she’d always cared and wanted the best for you. You were the child she’d always wanted, and she’d do anything for you. And anyone could tell that seeing her kid so small, so sad, was breaking her heart.

Peter’s phone call had been confusing, something about you getting too competitive to think straight and then too drunk to stand. She’d shown up expecting a slightly drunk teenager, not you. Not you sitting in the grass, on the curb, nursing a water bottle and looking so utterly defeated. She didn’t know what to do, she just wanted to take all your pain away.

Getting you home was the easy part. Apparently, getting you out of the party had also sucked all of your energy, and you were cooperative getting in the car, hell you were asleep as soon as the door shut. Natasha dropped Peter off at home before returning to the tower, after getting some context to the situation of course. Now it was time to get you to bed, and figure out her next steps.

—

“Mmmn?” You can barely open your eyes, everything just feels so heavy and faraway. Behind squinted eyes you recognize that it’s Natasha pulling you from the car.

“Come on sweetheart, let’s get you to bed.”

Your short nap didn’t help you much. “‘M tired,” You croak out, cringing at the taste of your dry mouth.

“I know you are bub,” She pull one of your arms over her shoulders and leads you through the tower’s garage to the elevator. “That’s why we’re gonna get you cleaned up in into bed.”

Your response isn’t more than an affirmative grunt, but you can get the words past your throat.

Eventually, after a blur of motion and lights and almost getting sick on the way up, you’re in your room. You don’t want to be in here.

Natasha guides you to your bed, keeping you steady as you sit down. Before she can pull away your hands grip her shoulders like a vice.

You don’t even realize you’re crying. “Don’- Мама don’t leave. Please don’t leave.” You don’t want to be alone. You just want to sleep but you can’t sleep because when you sleep your mind attacks and attacks and attacks and you can’t keep dealing with this forever you’re so tired.

“Hey hey, no i’m not going anywhere детка. Im not leaving, but i need you to breathe, please.” You can’t stop yourself from closing your eyes. You hate the way she’s looking at you, she looks so sad and you’re the one doing this. God look at you, look how pathetic you’ve become.

“I ju- I just wanted everything to stop. i wanted to be normal in sorry. i’m sorry мама i’m sorry i’m just tired i’m sorry.” The words get caught in your throat and choked out in a sob. You try to pull back, hide in you pillows and shut out everything, but natasha’s returned grip is solid and fierce, yet gentle, and kind, and she pulls you into her chest as you fight every cry that bubbles up.

“Let it out малышка, don’t fight it. It’s okay, i’ve got you. I’ve got you, love.” Her hold on you grows tighter and you can almost feel your chest open just from her words. No matter how much you were taught and built against it from birth, Natasha was your lifeline.

Minutes or hours later, you’re cries turn to whimper and the bone-deep exhaustion makes itself known again. Your arms feel so heavy, you can barely keep your puffy eyes open and you just want to sleep for the next month.

“Hey,” Natasha says it so softly she’s worried you’ll miss it, but she doesn’t want to startle you. “Let’s get you changed. I’m just gonna grab you some pajamas, okay?”

You must’ve nodded, because natasha moves and you faintly hear your dresser draws move. You’re half asleep as natasha helps you change into comfier clothes, you’re eyes aren’t even open once she’s tucked you and herself into bed and holds your head to her chest.

“I love you so, so much малышка. Got to sleep, okay? I’ve got you. I’ve got you.”

Your answer is a whisper “I love you, мама.”

You’re out like a light, you limbs heavy and mind blissfully quiet. Natasha hardly sleeps, thinking only about you and the conversation you need to have.

——

part 2!!!

#mama nat #natasha romanoff x daughter!reader #natasha romanoff x teen!reader #natasha romanoff #natasha x reader #natasha romanov x reader #natasha x daughter!reader #natasha x teen reader #peter parker x platonic reader #my writing

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lowkeyrobin · 6 days

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Hello !

could I request a pheobe Spengler x reader ?

(romantic)

I don’t see anybody here that writes for her .

You can like do anything , like a oneshot or hc, idm ! c:

ty! xoxo.

oo yeah sure!! ; I did a little soulmate au on this one cause I love writing them haha ; thanks for requesting and I hope you enjoy!

PHOEBE SPENGLER ; spotify

summary/prompt ; soulmates can share songs telepathically

warnings ; language

word count ; 1.1k

masterlist

Phoebe bites back a laugh, a smile tugging at her lips as she sits at her desk. She clasps a hand over her mouth, staring down at the Geometry test in front of her.

"Is something funny, Ms. Spengler?" The teacher asks, having noticed her very obvious reaction.

"No, no, sorry" She quickly replies, composing herself as music plays in her head.

"There is something wrong with you, soulmate. I'm taking a test! I can't focus to Sabrina Carpenter" She thinks, wishing you could hear her. She telepathically sends a song she knows back just for moments like this, subtly rolling her eyes.

Why she even knew Fuck You by Lily Allen was a conversation for another time, but now it blares in your brain, distracting you from your work. You roll your eyes, as you'd deserved this, assuming your soulmate was probably trying to focus on their work.

"Fine, you don't like Nonsense? Take Espresso on repeat" You think, switching up the track halfway through.

Phoebe quietly exhales, switching your song to Better by Khalid, wanting to communicate that this was much better and she could actually focus now. She looks back down at her test, quickly jotting down the pythagorean theorem on her paper.

You take this as your well-deserved apology and smile, kind of wishing she picked a better song. You're able to turn the volume down, and she luckily turns it off so you can focus on whatever you were doing. You didn't ask her to do it, but it was probably the best idea to do so.

You tune into her brain again near the end of the period, where Espresso is still being played on loop. You chuckle.

"She must like it"

You decide to play a song, wanting to be a little detective and figure out who you've been playing around with for six years now. You had a will and a way, who was to say you were cheating love?

What's Your Name by Lynyrd Skynyrd caught Phoebe off guard by a long shot. She realizes that maybe you're asking her a question or are maybe trying to taunt her.

She plays you What's My Name? by Rihanna, trying to show that she caught onto the title but was a bit confused.

You play Yeah! in reply, happy she even answered in the first place. She nods, playing Waiting Room by Phoebe Bridgers.

It takes you a moment but you're able to piece together what her name was, definitely not Waiting Room, but Phoebe. Maybe Bridgers, probably not however.

You play My Name Is... then after about a minute, switch to a song with the same name as you, Y/n.

She plays Get It Sexyy, trying to joke around with you after the big reveal of your name. You smile and giggle as you lean against the bus window. Tyler The Creator's See You Again plays for her as the busses take you home.

You leave her with an accomplished smile to match yours. She'd honestly been too shy to try and ask your name all these years, so now she felt a little proud of you for asking for hers.

"My soulmates name is Y/n. I don't even know a Y/n"

"You don't know anyone"

Podcast and Phoebe sit in Ray's Occult Books, lounging on one of the couches as they talk. Ray is polishing jewelry under the counter, half way listening to their conversation.

"Who do you know that's named Y/n?"

"Y/n Riggs?"

"A funny Y/n," Phoebe clarifies, not wanting to imagine that her soulmate was some asshole. She knew it was just someone with the same name as you. "They're a walking Spotify playlist, Y/n Riggs doesn't have shit for a music taste"

"Y/n L/n?" Podcast asks, "That's the only other Y/n I know of"

"I don't know them" Phoebe sighs

Podcast shrugs, "I can introduce you to them? I have like, three classes with them"

Phoebe nods with a little smile, picking up a book and opening it to hide her excited grin.

"Remind me on Monday"

While you sit in class, Phoebe plays you Fainted Love by Conan Gray, almost like she knew you were just working on an essay in silence. Podcast, who sits next to you in that class, waves to Phoebe as she awkwardly walks into the class.

He'd asked the teacher if she could come down, seeing as she had a study hall at this time, and the class was gifted a free period / study hall for the day.

You didn't know Phoebe at all, well, kind of. She was a Ghostbuster which you'd seen on TV here and there, but you didn't really know her that well. She sits behind Podcast in the empty desk, where he turns around to talk to her for the next half hour.

You hear the two whispering but pay no mind, enjoying the Conan Gray playing in your head. You doodle on the side of your paper the title of the song, giving it a cool little font to fit the vibe of the song, which the curly haired girl sees.

You see in your head, or invision, that Phoebe didn't have any music playing at the moment, and decided to play her a song that you liked. Pink Floyd's Breathe plays in her mind on a low volume, and she can't help but direct her gaze towards you as Podcast speaks to her.

Luckily, just about everyone else in the class was talking loud enough that his soft-spoken voice couldn't be heard, but he made sure to be careful next to you.

Clairo's Hello? plays in your head, catching your attention. You sit up straight in contrast to your half-slumped position before and furrow your eyebrows.

You look over at Podcast and Phoebe, already looking at you. You quickly change Phoebe's song to Is It Really You? by Loathe, and she lightly smiles, the corners of her lips slowly turning upwards.

You awkwardly smile and wave at her as she returns the wave while Podcast next to her smiles widely, wanting to cheer loudly, but obviously doesn't in the small classroom. You can see the look of adoration in her eyes as she looks at you, her eyes glimmering like she fell in love at first sight.

A song plays in both of your heads, not instructed by either of you, Something New by Tokio Hotel.

Podcast giggles, tapping Phoebe's desk twice. "I'm gonna run to the cafeteria and get a drink, have fun, lovebirds"

As he walks away, Phoebe speaks. "I'm Phoebe, I think I'm your soulmate"

"I'm Y/n, nice to meet you, soulmate"

#lowkeyrobin #ghostbusters oneshot #ghostbusters preferences #phoebe spengler x reader #phoebe spengler #ghostbusters x reader #gender neutral reader #gn reader #they/them reader #gn! reader

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bsaka7 · 1 month

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tagged to post my 9 favourite album with commentary by @mathewbaldzal !!!! we r two peas in a pod i think with having a lot to say about some tunes...

in no particular order...

different class (1995) - pulp. this is not my no1 album of all time because i don't have a favorite album of all time, but this album is in part representative of "getting into music" to me. i love 90s britpop, whatever that means for a random american and this is my fav of em all (though i do actually quite rate this is hardcore in pulp's discography). "common people" is one of the songs of ALL TIME. god jarvis's little sing-song sleazyness gets me. really, really, really great classic performance of it at glasto 1995...for some reason "pencil skirt" also always really hits.

home video (2021) - lucy dacus. the newest album on this list by a long shot, but it's had songs in my top5 year end lists since it came out. i've also seen lucy live <3. this album rises above some of the others in similar company (punisher - phoebe bridgers, the boygenius ep, etc) because i never get tired of it. "first time" "hot & heavy" "brando" and "triple dog dare" are nearly always standbys in my listening history. probably gonna be an album-i-listened-to-in-college classic forever...

songs of love and hate (1971) - leonard cohen. maybe none of my favorite leonard cohen songs are on this album, but as a single work, this album stuns me. possibly the most transfixing 44:21 i've ever heard. his lyricism in particular is -- i can't even describe it. the mix with his voice, the sparseness of the instrumentation at time, the harmonies. i'm not a big stories guy but in this, yeah, the songwriting, the stories. i don't think there's another album like this one out there, really.

if you're feeling sinister (1998) - belle & sebastian. the first time i heard this album, i thought i had never heard an album so perfect. i love songs off of it but i nearly always listen to it whole. i love, love, love b&s's early sound (twee, if you will), and stuart murdoch's lyrics really, really shine. this is one of my favorite albums to listen to when i have a headache because it's lovely to just, focus on but not grating at all. i really love "judy and the dream of horses" and "get me away from here i'm dying". really, a beautiful work

rumours (1977) - fleetwood mac. i was sort of scrolling through some of my playlists trying to decide what to put on this list (it's a bit weighted towards stuff that's in rotation now) and i couldn't leave off fleetwood mac (in part to represent the huge part of my music taste that is like. classics 1965-1980). stevie nicks was one of my earlier music obsessions (the OG was the beatles). so many wonderful songs and riffs. i know this was left off the original 12-inch but "silver springs" is one of my favorite songs forever and ever and ever...

nebraska (1982) - bruce springsteen. when it comes down to it, this is my favorite springsteen album. i do think his 1975-1987 run of albums is pretty much perfect but nebraska is a masterpiece in a way that i find hard to express in words. there's a sense of sparseness and distance in this work (in part bc of how it was recorded) that i find so utterly compelling i can't even describe. "nebraska" - especially this 1984 live version - is a perfect song to me. perfect. i also like a lot of the stuff that went into inspiring this album (notably flannery o'connor) and well. where it fits into springsteen's narritivization of his own life (dude was in the dumps).

all killer, no filler (2001) - sum41. this pick is a little bit representative of the era of my life where i basically exclusively listened to pop punk but if songs of love and hate is an album that's perfectly drawn out, this is an album that's perfectly compressed. like, the title is correct. this album is fucking TIGHT. i used to listen to it at a job i hated to make the 30-min intervals go by. and it's got such classics...."fat lip"..."motivation..." of course, "in too deep." SO good.

what did you expect from the vaccines? (2011) - the vaccines. maybe this pick is a tiny bit cheesy but it is a perfect encapsulation of the era of alt rock it came from. which i love. i really like the vaccines, i think they're super fun and i did see them in concert finally and they totally lived up to that. "wetsuit" is again...one of my favorite songs of all time. "if you wanna" is a perpetual banger.

age of consent (1983) - new order. again, an album that deserves to be listened to whole, despite how good "age of consent" hits alone ever single time. sometimes i think i like another new order album more than this, but i don't. sumner's voice just out-of-tune ringing out over that sound, that new order sound, the bass, that post-punk club vibe. they're a band that don't sound like anyone else, and this is the album most indicative of that. wow, every time.

a few narrow misses

boxer (2007) - the national. i didn't get the national until one day i did. "slow show." my god. hello.

very (1993) - pet shop boys. it's too simple to say this is an album about gay love because it's so embedded in it's context but. this is an album with so much love. psb are brilliant.

the execution of all things (2002) - rilo kiley. jenny lewis CALL ME. also like. you know "a better son/daughter". there's more.

a thousand suns (2010) - linkin park. i used to listen to this at 6th grade cross-country practice. first band i ever got into on my own. idk.

this is not only my favorite albums but a pretty decent summation of the broad strokes my overall taste. thank you again for the tag!! i enjoyed doing this a lot :). idk who has done this/on what blogs so if u have PLEASEEEEE send it to me i want to see!! i tag @lfcrobbo @upthebrackets @girlfriendline @odegoob @amandaleveille @thelittlebirdthatkeptsomanywarm @kritischetheologie @bright-and-burning @a-corn-field if any of u want to but no presh!!!

#i HAVE been listening to albums off some of these that i've seen ppl do (sez i've only listened to wisecrack but more of urs r on my list)#and there have been notable instances of me falling in LOVE with albums off things like these others have done (c mentioning the midnight #organ fight and passive me aggressive you which have become mainstays for me lol)#SO like always if u wanna chat about music or rec me things i'm so here lololol #shshshsh why did i think i had to tag 9 ppl i'm sitting there like oh gotta get 9 and then realized it's just however many u want.#well i want to know everything about all music taste ever so 9 it is...#tag game #yahooo!!!! <33333333333

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boba-at-323 · 7 months

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Punisher

Note: So uh... kyuzu x therapy when? I literally wrote this after crying for nearly 2 hours|| No this is not smut || Yes I cannot come up with titles <3 || Please ignore any mistakes!

The autumn leaves turned brown and wilted to nothingness because summer had already bid its farewell. The sky painted itself grey when September wrapped up its role in the year. The air blew silent as well, as if too afraid to speak.

The small stone bridge you leaned against displayed in front of itself a small clear lake, covered by the fog which came with the seasons changing. The ducks and their ducklings, which usually inhabited the lake, had probably migrated to somewhere warm too. It seemed like the universe was mimicking the emotions you felt and hoped to escape.

You could hear Phoebe Bridgers singing Punisher through your earphones but her voice had faded into the background because you weren’t really listening to the song. The earphones were just an escape from reality, an attempt to loosen the knot you felt in your chest.

The tears brimming in your eyes went unnoticed by you and were soon rolling down your face ever-so-gently. A defeated sigh escaped your lips when you figured that your “try” to sort out your thoughts all by yourself had ended up being an even more tangled mess than before.

Why couldn’t everything just be fine for once?

In the middle of your numb thoughts, you felt someone’s sudden presence beside you. A hand shot up to quickly wipe away the stains the tears had left when they made their way down your face without your consent. You felt embarrassed as you thought of the awkwardness you might have planted between you and whoever the person was beside you. However, once you lifted your head to catch a glimpse of what the poor person looked like, a rush of heavy guilt ran down your whole body.

“Hi”, the boy's voice came out silent.

“H-hi…” your voice followed even quieter. Once you paused the song which was playing, you felt that the silence which followed was loud enough to deafen anyone and the atmosphere heavy enough to crush a rock.

Renjun decided it wasn’t the best time to speak, you on the other hand felt too guilty to speak. He didn’t want to trigger you any further, and you felt stupid for letting him see you this way.

“I didn’t want to worry you…” you broke the silence with a quiet mutter, head hung and eyes never leaving the lake under the bridge, too afraid to meet his gaze.

He wasn’t looking at you though, he instead chose to look directly ahead at the same oblivion you were staring into before. Another period of silence took over.

“Are you mad at me?” you questioned unknowingly, chewing your lip as you awaited any reaction from him hoping your speculation was everything but right.

“You know I can never be mad at you, right?” He said nonchalantly as if he hadn’t just walked on you amidst a mental breakdown.

“I’m sorry…” the whisper broke off before you could say anything further.

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything, my love.” Renjun’s hand reached out for yours which rested on the cold metal of the bridge’s railing, “If you want to talk, I’m listening…and if you don’t want to talk, we won’t. I’m right here with you.”

Something about how calm and reassuring his words sounded in the moment made you want to burst into tears right at the spot. Your feelings were rootless, and you hated how these random, unpleasant emotions took over the best of you even on the days when everything seemed to be going fine. The victims of your annoyed state were usually your family, who would in return snap at you, leaving you even more miserable. It seemed like this cycle of never-ending negative emotions was never going to meet its end, pushing you further into self-hatred.

But the only ray of light in all this darkness had been Renjun; an angel sent from heaven to save you from the misery you were in, or at least make it more bearable. Since the day he entered your life, he showed you the colours of the world and ever since you started dating, he proved to be the most wonderful boyfriend anyone could have ever dreamed of. His presence played a great role in your life, helping you stay sane and making you look forward to all the days you got to spend with him.

Without a thought, you threw your arms around him, burying yourself in his comforting embrace. Renjun’s hug felt like a warm beverage on a night when the grounds were covered with heavy snow. He smelt like lavenders which had just showered in the rain and now danced in the warm sunlight. He always calmed your senses, giving you hope that everything would be all right as long as he was there for you, by your side, holding you just like this.

He held you tight, secretly wishing he was helping you feel better even by the slightest of his actions. Seeing you in pain was the worst of feelings he had ever felt, oh how he would do anything just to see that beautiful smile on your face again and know that he was the reason behind it. But for now, a hug would do.

“Feel any better?” his calm voice blessed your ears again, and you nodded against his chest in reply.

“Good.” His hand tangled itself into your hair, gently combing through it.

It was a nice feeling. Your eyes fluttered close as your mind tried to focus on everything he was doing at the moment. From his touch to his voice, you wanted to capture everything just as it was, so that on days when he wasn’t there with you, these memories would help you find peace.

“Thank you…” you whispered against his chest, still not moving a single muscle.

“No need, I’m glad I could help.” Renjun smiled to himself.

September might have been a cruel month, but having Renjun by your side made even the unkindest of times the best ones.

Title : Punisher || Word count: 1k || Genre: Angst, Comfort, somewhat fluff || Pairing: bf! Renjun x implied Fem!Reader

Tagging : @armysantiny @mosviqu @jaehunnyy @riikiblr

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ender1821 · 7 months

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assorted ramblings and details about my latest shiny duo fic (a post-Double Life hurt/comfort one shot which you can read here!), because I actually had a lot of fun writing it

1. *shakes violently* tHE COLOURS. THE FREAKIN’ COLOURS.

A purple hyacinth means sorrow and a desire for forgiveness, regret over how something went down. It’s in the crater Scott leaves, kind of a small acknowledgment to how in the canon ending Pearl ‘forgives’ Scott after dying, the purple hyacinth can be interpreted as both Scott or Pearl’s regrets.

I kept on describing things in reds and blues (because apparently I only know how to describe things this way/j), especially when Gem goes up the tower and finds Pearl. Blue is an ode to how things were before, the good old days, as Gem sees it, because Pearl has always been some variation of blue in her eyes, her dark blue hoodie, her blue eyes, etc. But the way she sees blue now is tainted by frostbite and scattered diamond armour and Scott, blue is tainted and can never be looked at the same way again after the game, because Pearl has been changed drastically as a result of it.

Red is what Pearl is now, red is the blood both her and her enemies draw from each other, red is the burns left from explosions, red is in her eyes now, it’s all red, red, red and deep down, a part of Gem hates it, she can’t bear having to see Pearl so utterly ruined and covered by a colour so different, she doesn’t like this change one bit, but now blue isn’t any better either.

So exactly a purple hyacinth having the meaning for regret, sorrow and desire for forgiveness can also be seen as a culmination of the two colours no longer clashing against each other, a conflict in both Pearl and Gem’s head, as red mixes with blue to become purple, it’s not much better, but it’s a start.

Then there is green, because green is the life that finds its way back to the ruins and imbues it with its moss and vines and nature, green is the forest that remains in your solitude, green is Gem. At the end, the greenery they find remaining is a welcome sight, a fresh escape. Gem is all of that for Pearl. (Also, pretty sure I only used “rooted to the ground” to describe 1) Gem and Pearl during the hug 2) the forest they come across, so that’s a lil parallel for you too)

In a way, Gem giving Pearl the hoodie is her futile attempt at trying to make things feel like how they were before, but it’s said that it only feels more wrong to cover all that red with a blue that doesn’t match, it’s only when they find a purple hyacinth that Gem can let go of her own regrets and yearning for this to have never happened, it did, it changed Pearl irreparably, but one day it will fade away together, the red and blue don’t have to stay clashing.

2. listen to Graceland Too by Phoebe Bridgers. please./j

The title of the fic comes from Graceland Too, which is a song that I think fits perfectly for post-DL hurt/comfort! The song itself centres around caring for someone who hates themselves and how hard that can be, which, in my opinion: *shiny duo post-DL intensifies*

The person the title refers to is Pearl, who is now ‘no longer a danger to herself or others’, because there is nobody else left. Even Scott is gone. During Double Life, Pearl has been labelled a warning, an omen, she is danger in the eyes of the other players, and eventually she actually becomes it. In the process of harming others, be it with the swing of an axe or the touch of powdered snow, she harms herself as well. She is a danger to others, as well as a danger to herself.

(Thank you Phoebe Bridgers for giving me so much shiny duo brainrot material, you have no idea how many of her songs are in my shiny duo/c!Pearl playlist lmao)

3. What’s the exact difference from canon?

So like, I don’t know from which pov and episode I heard this from, but I remember them addressing how the winner would be decided for Double Life, and it’s been claimed that the winner would be whoever’s death message shows up last in chat, which means it was expected of the winner to not be a pair of soulmates, but one singular player, as it has always been.

Grian wanted to win with Scar during Third Life, he even tells Scar that no matter what happens he considered it a double victory before their final cactus ring fist fight, but in the end, the victor will always be alone. He kills Scar and that’s it, Scar doesn’t win, nobody considers Scar a winner, the only winner of third life is Grian.

The final four of last life decided amongst themselves that they would end it with a battle royale, no alliances, just a final battle between them, but there always was some feelings of attachment left over for both Scott + Pearl and Ren + Martyn, Scott was obviously hunting Ren down in the finale so that he would win, but another reason, as he shouted out while chasing him, was because Ren had killed Pearl, and he wanted revenge, so it’s kind of safe to say that if it had been only Scott and Pearl left at the end, they would’ve wanted to claim that they won together too.

It’s from the previous games that it’s been decided that there will always be only one winner, even if the final players were close friends, it always ends with a single player, so no matter what the whole core of double life stood for, the ending would’ve still ended up similar to what actually happened, if not worse.

(Imagine that it wasn’t Pearl + Scott or Cleo + Martyn who were the final pair, it was a pair who genuinely liked their soulmate and have come with their partner to the end, only to be hit with the realisation that it will never end until one of them dies, would they sacrifice themselves? Backstab their partner? Or would it have ended with the same cactus ring duel that ended the first game, with two friends beating each other to death unwillingly for the status of being a victor, but this time, every land they hit, they also get back, and the act of it is the same as sending themselves to their grave, but they won’t even get the time to realise that until it’s done?)

Anyway, I feel like to really hammer in the fact that there can only be one winner, the Watchers would’ve severed the soulbond between the last pair, so that they would have greater incentive to kill the other. That’s what happens in this version of events, but it’s not exactly what the Watchers expected. They were waiting for a pair of friends coming to terms of having to kill each other, they wanted to feed off all the negative emotions that would arise from that, yet the final pair is Pearl and Scott.

By the time they were the only two left, the string between them has been cut. That doesn’t matter, though. Not when Scott blows himself up in front of Pearl before she could even have time to process it. There is something to be said, about how Scott lights two pieces of TNT, and as one kills him, it propels the other towards the exact spot Pearl is standing in. They’re still soulmates, through and through.

In this version of events, Pearl doesn’t die from the soulmate bond or the TNT that flies her way, because she shields herself from the blast while wearing armour. That’s fine for the Watchers though, the feelings of loneliness and anger that festers in Their victor is delicious.

…that is, until Gem forces her way into the world and ruins Their feast.

(The exact way Gem, and in extension Pearl, hops through worlds is still a headcanon I’m hoping to polish off with a fic, but it does revolve around concepts I’ve come up with alongside my friend @spark-of-teal, for a taste of that I really recommend reading this, because I still think it’s really cool :D)

Those are the big ones I’ve had on my mind for a while, but of course I couldn’t put every little detail I have for the fic here, so those are for you to discover :)

#ender writes #pearlescentmoon #geminitay #mcyt #trafficblr #hermitblr #double life smp #mcyt fanfiction #shiny duo #shinyduo #listen. I needed to get all of this out of my head. I thought they were pretty cool when I was writing it

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darkodomain · 1 month

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i'm not whole || danny phantom

DVD Menu // Pheobe Bridgers Kids Will Be Skeletons // Mogwai Crystalised // The xx Philosophy of Time Travel ?? Michael Andrews of the Donnie Darko OST Loud(y) // Lewis Del Mar Nightcrawler // James Newton Howard of the Nightcrawler OST Gossip // Tame Impala Daydreaming // Radiohead 2AM // Bear Hands Yes I'm Changing // Tame Impala Clouds // BØRNS Where Is My Mind? // Pixies Hometown // Twenty One Pilots A Lack of Understanding // The Vaccines Mourning Sound // Grizzly Bear Under the Milky Way // The Church Trouble // Cage the Elephant THE QUIET // Troye Sivan Time After Time // Gunship Running Up That Hill // Coldbones Silk // Wolf Alice I Know The End // Phoebe Bridgers Truce // Twenty One Pilots If It Bleeds It Leads // James Newton Howard of the Nightcrawler OST

oh man. oh man oh man. would you guys believe this playlist started almost ten years ago? on fuckin 8tracks? on my second rewatch ever? jesus what was I... 16? christ.

anyways. wowza I started this when I was writing my angsty little one-shot on quotev back when i was like, a junior in high school. and here I am starting my third year of post-grad in a med program, a grownass adult, and i'm rewatching again after so so long and i actually felt inclined to reopen this mix and update it. of course of COURSE the (ecto)core is still there, just a few additions from more recent years to round it out and goddamn, do they fit perfectly or what?

from one antique Phan to the rest of you. thank you for keeping this show alive. it's time i shared this.

*spotify linked in the title*

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foreverrogers · 2 years

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Hey!! May I request a one night stand between two exes (reader and Peter/Andrew) who still love each other, but the reader gets out of his grip to leave early in the morning whilst he's still sleeping because she feels awkward and embarrassed?

Andrew calls her multiple times when he wakes up but there's no answer.

The reader left a necklace or something at Andrews which is really important to her so it is inevitable that they'd have to meet again, and Andrew would do anything to get her back

a bird in your teeth

Pairing: tasm!peter parker x f!reader

Summary: ^^

Warnings: 18+!!! brief smut, one night stand, talk of break ups, angsty with a happy ending

Words: 1.9k

A/N: thank you so much for this request!!! i love love love the idea and it was so much fun to write - i did change it up a tiny bit, so i hope that's okay!!

this did absolutely get away from me a little, so i present 1.9k of mostly angsty, a little smutty, and a little fluffy goodness. title courtesy of miss phoebe bridgers 😎

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It wasn't your fault.

It had just been bright and loud and dizzying, and you couldn't find your friends, and you had maybe had a little too much to drink, and seeing peter there across the room had been like seeing a lighthouse through the fog, had pulled you towards something familiar you could anchor to, if only for the night, even if you would drift away again in the morning.

He hadn't meant to kiss you. But it had felt so right in the moment. You had gravitated towards each other, searched for each other's faces in the bustle of the room like you used to, even if it was an unconscious scanning of your eyes. It had felt like it had before you left, like a resuscitation, a blooming warmth that spread between you as your hearts started to beat again.

The kiss was just as much your fault as it was his. You hadn't looked away, even when he gave you those eyes you remembered all too well, the ones just as tender as they were hungry. It had only been 3 months. You could still read him clear as day, could still search the faded notes you had left in his margins.

You hadn't pulled away, either. When he had brought his hand to your check and parted your lips with his thumb. You had let him open you up, and you had given in to the easy movement of his lips against yours. It was the ease of it, more than anything, that lulled you away, folded you into him with the all-consuming comfort of a warm embrace. It was easy to say yes when he suggested going back to his place, easy to say yes when he invited you into bed, easy to say yes when he was finally filling you up.

"This doesn't mean that we're-" a sharp jerk of his hips cuts you off, pushes the air out of your lungs with the jolt of pleasure that spreads throughout your body.

He knows what you're going to say, knows that he doesn't want to hear you say it regardless, thinks you speaking it into the world might actually cement it into reality. He shushes you, kisses you hard as his hand slips between your bodies. Thumb making quick circles around your clit, Peter pulls away to watch you, head tilted back against the pillow, traces the contortion of your features like this might be the last time. He knows it will be, more likely than not, that he's lucky to even get this fleeting night alone with you again.

"Don't have to talk about that right now." His own hips are stuttering, matches the fluttering of your walls that tell him you're close. "That's for the morning. Right now if about making you cum. That's what you want, right? Want me to make you cum?"

"Yes," you breathe, nails digging into his back, chase any outlet for the tension growing in the pit of your stomach. "jesus, fuck, yes."

Peter dips his head then, nips at the soft skin at the curve of your jaw before soothing the spot with a sloppy kiss. "you've forgotten your manners, sweetheart."

"Please, Peter," you whine, and it's that, the way you say his name, the way that you beg for him that his memory has never been able to do justice when it's just him at night. After months of remembering you in black and white, experiencing it now paints everything in violent technicolour, and if it wasn't enough to push him over the edge alone the sudden pulse of you around his cock certainly is, the moan of his name as you cum pressed right against his ear.

You're gone in the morning. He knows you well enough to expect it, to tell himself he shouldn't be so disappointed when he wakes up to a cold bed. What he doesn't expect is the ring that sits on his bedside table, the silver coil of spider legs curling into a band.

it had been a silly gift when he bought it, cheap and a little bit tacky but a reminder of the secret only the two of you shared nonetheless. he never told you how much it meant to him that you wore it every day, can't believe that he hadn't noticed you wearing it the night before.

The ring sits there across from him, in his empty apartment, miles away from where you've crept away to, and in a split second it melts into the final nail in the coffin. You had left it there, left behind this last symbol of the brief life you had shared, cut the tether and let him fall without looking back. It's worse this time, for some reason. After last night it feels like being buried alive.

Peter doesn't text, or call, or try to track you down on campus with the class timetable he still has memorized. He knows you well enough not to try.

The sun has just started to set when there's a knock at his door, orange light filtering in through his windows. It juxtaposes the state that he's in, freshly awake and still groggy with sleep as he pulls himself out of his room.

His hair is a mess when he opens the door, and the light of the hallway is so bright he has to squint through it. It's almost endearing. "You look like shit."

You're standing there, like an angel emerging out of the blear of his adjusting eyes. It takes him a moment to realise he's not dreaming. "y/n?"

Your eyebrows are pinched together, concern laced in your features as you look at him. "Did you just wake up? Have you been sleeping okay? Are those melatonin pills still working?"

"I, um-" Peter swallows, voice thick and throat tight. he still hasn't really registered that you're standing in front of him, can't even begin to question why you're here. "I ran out, couldn't find the same brand you bought last time."

"The drug store down the road from the science building," you say simply, almost like this had been your intention for showing up, a house call to check up on his sleeping patterns a week after having his heart re-broken. "they do discounts with student IDs."

Peter can't find a way to respond, lets his confusion fuel the silence that stretches between you. "Do you… need something?"

"Oh, I, um." Peter watches you swallow, watches you consciously straighten your posture and try to compose yourself. "I left my ring here. The other night. I was hoping to, uh… get it back."

Peter widens his eyes, surprised, finds himself jolted into complete lucidity. "you want it back?"

"I mean, yeah. unless you've thrown it away already which i-"

"No! No, of course, I haven't I just…" Peter sighs. If he knew you were coming he would have rehearsed this. And maybe cleaned up a little. And definitely changed out of his pyjamas. "Yeah, come in, I'll go get it."

Your falter a little, when he turns towards his bedroom and disappears, hesitate stepping over the boundary back into the small apartment. You look around when you finally do, take in the surroundings that had dissolved around you in the heat of that night, that you had been hasty to ignore when you left under the same shrouded darkness. It looks empty, incomplete, like he had yet to fill the gaps you left on the shelves. Bits of you still linger, though, in the dying house plants hanging by the window and the books on the coffee table and the smell of your perfume that had seemingly seeped into the walls.

Peter reappears in no time, small piece of gleaming silver in hand. You hold out your hand for it, give him a small smile when he makes eye contact, a polite smile, not one that conveys the years of shared history behind you.

He places it in your hand, but once he makes contact he can't seem to pull away again, can't seem to let you go so easily.

The ring is trapped there, between fingers that neither of you move to separate. Peter looks at the joining of your suspended hands, finds you staring at him when he raises his eyes again. "Just tell me what I need to do."

You frown at him, ask the question even though you know the answer. "For what, Pete?"

"For you to give me another chance."

You pull away, hold the ring between your fingers like something delicate as you look down at it. You're silent for a long moment, fidgeting with the small band. "Can I tell you a secret?"

You must be able to hear him swallow, because it's his only answer, and you go on anyway.

"I left it here on purpose, when I woke up that morning. I told myself that if I could just leave it here then I could let myself move on, and if I came back for it it meant..." You trail off, lift your head to meet his eyes again. "I know I should. But I can't seem to let it go."

I can't seem to let you go.

It's what you mean, you both know it, both know you don't need to say it for it to hang in the air between you. "Me leaving. Me staying away. It's what's best for the both of us, Pete. You don't need a second chance because you never blew the first one."

"You can't just say that it's the best for both of us, y/n. It's been tearing me apart, eating me from the inside out trying to figure out how I could have lost you without even realising you were slipping away. I thought you- I thought you loved me."

"I do," You start, almost breathless as you step forward and take his face in your hands. Bleary eyes meet bleary eyes, downturned and stinging with the threat of impending tears. "God, I love you so much. I love you too much. Can't you see that's the whole problem? You don't need someone who loves you so selfishly, who never wants to let you go, who's only ever going to hold you back from-"

Peter cuts you off, breaks free from your hold on his face to kiss you. It's salty, stained with tears neither of you realised had begun spilling. It's messy, more than anything, filled with messy movements and messy touches and messy, messy love. "All I need is you, y/n. I need you to hold me back, to ground me, to be the person I always have to come home for. I don't care how selfish you think you are. We can be selfish together."

You're quiet for a long time, looking at him, studying his eyes like you can see right through them, right into the rawness of his soul. "Okay."

"You'll stay?" He asks, eyes wide, all pretty and hopeful. "Forever? And never leave me all alone in this sad apartment ever again?"

You laugh, the warmth of that smile he had missed spreading an ache throughout his chest, the feeling of the pieces of his heart being sewn back together with pure gold. His thumb is on your cheek, brushing away the dampness there, and you lean into the touch. "Yeah. Yes. For as long as you'll have me."

"Forever, then."

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