#sequel to fight or flight

[ofthepyre]

meanwhile asoiaf jon snow's corpse is still in the fridge under the wall where GRRM left him 11 years ago.

[dinlukewarrior]

empire strikes back is the best star wars movie. incidentally, it is also the sexiest star wars movie

[bunji-enthusiast]

Run, Run Far Angel

Note || I am obligated as a fanfic author to write this, sue me. I got attached to DogDay, and he deserved better in Chapter 3.

WC || 2,070

<(You are here)><(sequel part)>

Sypnosis || An unlikely shortcoming of a friendly entity, or, You get a new friend in spite of this hellish factory.

The noise that had buzzed in the far reaches in the depths of your ears had annoyed you to no end, insistent to remain with you. So many times over had your guilt marred your sense of peace, your sense of futility. Whatever control you felt you had in your life was completely gone the moment you had come back to the accursed place known as Playtime Co. Toy Factory. So many unruly things had gone here, things done and said that left you chuckling–few that had left you with regrets.

Regrets that had stayed with you for well over ten years, since your co-workers had disappeared. You always had a sinking feeling you knew well what had happened to the last of them, your friends and those that you had come to consider family. 

Then you fell into Playcare, a place once filled with laughter and joy, something of which was indescribable. To know the children here and being able to hear such joyful playing and sometimes the odd cry, it was fulfilling, now the whole Factory–every floor there was to know–was devoid of the very same life you’ve come to know and love all those years ago.

Now the only thing that had tormented your mind, as it always had been since you first arrived, was your fight or flight. Instinctive you were, but you hated every minute of having to run and hide away from the monster that had presided reign over their domain, on of which the very one you had to be stuck with was-

“Catnap?” You muttered, thumbing the scarred fur that was blotched with ashy spots, as if it were burned by fire. 

The small recreational stuffed animal looked so adorable for the most part, yet it disturbed you greatly, guilt was predominant in mind and body. In all of your years you had remembered working at the Factory you don't ever recall the name of Catnap, the creepy elongated mouth had stood out to you the most.

He was hunting you, toying with you for sport. You couldn’t really understand why he hadn’t just gunned you for killing you at a moment's notice, though you felt a breath of relief that you could buy yourself time.

Supposedly some of this relief is partial to the fact that this Ollie kid was guiding you on where to go, with how dark this place was is absurd to you–so the guidance was appreciated. A voice had finally snapped you out of your ever consuming thoughts, it was terribly the truth.

“Hey are you alright? Just press that button and you’ll be through in no time! The small critters cant seem to get you from up there so you should be alright.” Ollie, yes Ollie that is the kids name. Who is this strange person anyway?

Unfortunately you weren’t in a position to worry about that right now, you simply pressed the button with the help of your grabpack. Trying to remember all the hands you had now with you was troublesome, but you manage.

‘I suppose.’ You wonder if there is anyone in this place that won’t actively be out for your head, truth be told.

Maybe that was a miracle in mind, as you walked through the desolate rubble the air seemed to desaturate, a mist once permeated with dread and the iron taste of blood seemed to float away as you came across a surprising display. Gruesome but something nobody should have to see or experience. 

It seemed to be DogDay, you could've sworn coming across a cardboard cutout of the very same character earlier. 

He seemed to be so.. Sad.

“You…you’re Poppy’s angel. Come to save us. Nothing left to save, not here…You’re in CatNap’s home, angel. Their home.” His voice was broken, forlorn, vocal cords riddled with experience he never wanted to relive again. You felt saddened on his behalf, no doubt the pain he is feeling right now is tremendous. For a moment, silence had filled the comfortable atmosphere rendering you with a small pit of anxiety balling within your gut.

Still you feel as if you had to speak, but you allow Dogday to have his part, that much you could try to do for him.

DogDay’s head lolled about as if he were a ragdoll, the effort to make movement was extraneous. “A million pairs of eyes are on you now. Watching, waiting, hungry. They want nothing more than to crawl beneath your skin and eat away at you bit by little bit - fill what feels empty inside themselves.” Those words sparked an ire of curiosity inside your trodden heart, you wanted to help him now.

You needed help, especially answers too. He was in pain, and you wanted to help him, so to ease your guilty conscience a little; hopefully in the process of gaining a friend at the same time. “Catnap.. Just, I don’t understand him.” DogDay raised his head, looking at you wistfully as if he had expected the aforementioned cat to be brought up. 

DogDay winced as he moved, each little rattle sending painful vibrations throughout his body–the phantom legs hadn’t brought any peace to him whatsoever.

“That thing…CatNap. The Prototype is his God, and this is what he does to heretics.” His words carried an aura of ominous spiels, as if you were to heed this warning. “These little toys follow CatNap to avoid that very fate- and in return, they are fed.” 

In their place, you would take measures to avoid such a fate too if you would. To a point, you could sympathize with the small toys, not being able to do anything and the teetering possibility of being killed always hanging over your head. Knowing that alone is unfathomably terrifying.

“Would explain why they were hunting me previously..” You murmur, now tucking that thought to the depths of your mind. Still you wanted to hear out DogDay, for he knew better of what had gone on here then you did. His head had shagged, fur ruffled and dangling about as he had squirmed slightly.

“We tried to fight it, the Prototype’s control. I’m…the last of the Smiling Critters.” His tune was mournful, his friends really had been killed right before his very eyes. Catnap’s gas, you remember it well enough. 

You had to take a moment – articulate your words. You were completely filled to the brim with anxiety and alert, you remind yourself to not let down your guard in spite of being with someone who has no intention of wanting to kill you. “You had tried to escape, and he… knocked you out with his gas?”

DogDay’s brows creased, confirming your answer. You felt so terrible for him, causing you to be firmly set on a decision. 

You were helping him get out of here, in no way shape or form did you feel he should be left behind in shambles like this. “This is probably going to sound, insane. But I’m gonna help you get outta here.” Dogday perked up at this, nodding his head no.

He certainly didn’t want you to die, especially not on his account.

“Angel that is not wise! I will slow you down.” He persists, “Listen to me, you need to get out of this place. You need to live. You and Poppy can fix this, end this madness, the torment–” You didn’t want him to change your mind, so as immediate as you were, You desperately grabbed at his arms.

Quickly and surely enough the small critter toys had began crawling toward DogDay, you certainly would not put up with that. You fired a flare gun at the small critters, as much as you could so you could buy time to get DogDay out of his chains.

It seemed Dogday had sensed your determination to want to help him in spite of his warings, even with how much he had tried to convince you to leave. “You are doing well Angel, keep them away from me.. I will do my best to free myself of these.” His voice felt strained, cut off with a cough as he wriggled free–even if every brittle bone in his body had begged him to just lay there and rest.

You thanked him silently, continuing to work away at the critters who were highly determined in their goal to possess DogDay and resume their chase to kill you. “I am free! Quickly now Angel, quickly.” He ushered you forward to run right away, you picked him up as soon as he had done so and heaved him over your shoulders with a heavy breath as a display of your efforts. To say he was surprised at your willful strength was an understatement, he silently applauded you for your strength to keep moving.

Though, it hadn’t removed any of his worry for you as you continued to run forward, your muscles straining to keep up with your mind. From what he can understand of humans anyway, you were exhausted, though he felt it wasn’t right to speak out on it anyway–safety first before talking. 

“Almost there, Angel.. You just need to get to that elevator over there!” He jabbed his finger in the direction you needed to go, and you went on instinct with his direction. Your muscles ached and burned, but you could rest as soon as you reached the elevator, you couldn’t risk DogDay being left behind helpless with the small critters.

Speaking of which, they were still chasing you and your new companion. You wished they stopped, but you had considered an aforementioned thought, they only do this to ensure their fate wasn’t like his. Since then this has wildly changed.

You were close to the edge.

Then, you leaped, everything seemed to slow down. DogDay held on tightly, hands wrapped around your neck secured tight, to you it seemed comforting in the depths of your sudden despair.

You dropped right onto the metal plate, which luckily had railing. The door shut right behind you as DogDay had quickly made action to press the button to start up the elevator nor long after you had succeeded in jumping to the elevator. He slumped with a sigh, something you could very much agree with, sitting down with a thump following in your wake. 

Truth be told, you weren’t sure of how much more you could take much more of this nightmare. You may just as well be in a very long dream, and you were just actually sleeping at home, but no way however as the exhaustion had finally settled into your bones. 

Weary bones creaked about as DogDay made an effort to check over your slumped body, wanting to ensure you were not injured anywhere before he spoke, “Whatever questions you have..” He paused for a moment as if he were considering his words, something of which seemed to happen to a lot of people and toys alike in this Factory. “I will answer, rest for now first.”

DogDay was being his typical self, always so worried over someone else before considering his own health. His own legs being severed must be a great deal of pain, you wanted to ask him to rest too. Yet, you were too tired to respond, only nodding curtly as sleep had stolen you away from your awakened consciousness. 

A genuine smile seems to relax DogDay’s expression, you sorely needed rest. He would help you get that rest, things to talk about and things to face would come later. “You have done impossible things, you have run far. Thank you.” He quietly spoke, curling up to cuddle you. 

His head laid to rest on the crown of your head, hands and arms elongating ever so slightly to surround you in his warmth. DogDay was a leader, a friend, but he was also a good napping buddy. That much was certainly no lie to be told. 

Silence seemed to fill his ears now, sleep was creeping up to DogDay as well. Ah, he cannot sleep right now. You were in his care and vulnerable, especially considering you had gone through the trouble of freeing him. 

To those tormented, the madness had enraged man and toy, you were their saving graces. Someone they could get behind, without the utmost support where would you be now?

“Night has fallen, but for you I will do my absolute best to help you, Angel.”

[sattlersquarry]

the great divide (steve harrington x fem!reader)

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

Word Count: ~12k

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

THE GREAT DIVIDE

SOMETIME IN 1987

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

AUGUST 1987

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

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

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

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

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

You think she might have died.

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

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

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

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

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

It only gets worse from there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You muster up a smile of your own and nod.

Your mother can’t tell its fake and beams.

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

OCTOBER 1987

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

“You have everything you need?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“Toothbrush? Extra socks? Lambchop?”

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

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

“But you packed her, right?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve waves away your apology.

“Don’t even worry about it,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You clear your throat.

“What?” Steve asks.

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

“Go to your room?” you say.

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

You laugh lightly.

“No, I mean. You know.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N? You okay?”

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

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

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

But it was self-defense!

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

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

“Hey, can you hear me? Y/N?”

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

You nod, eyes still shut.

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

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

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

“Sorry,” you mumble.

“You don’t have to apologize.”

You don’t respond, just take a sip.

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

Steve nods and gives your knee a gentle squeeze.

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

“But—”

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

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

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

You nod.

“Yeah, I know.”

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

🫀🫀🫀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hey, where’s the fire?”

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

“Whoa, what happened?”  

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

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

“No one.”

“Liar.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you still think about her?”

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

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

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

You rub your forehead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Excuse me?” Steve asks.

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

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

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

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

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

You shake your head vehemently.

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

“You’re still the same girl!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Y/N, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

You sniffle again and shrug.

“Sorry.”

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

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

Steve closes his eyes, sighs softly, and nods.

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

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

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

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

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

“Hello, Y/L/N residence.”

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

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

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

“Did you and Steve have a fight?”

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

“Oh, don’t you listen to that.”

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

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

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

You shrug and look down at your feet.

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

“You’re not, Steve.”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t need to go to the game.”

“Steve—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You conveniently “forget” to do that.

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

You don’t.

🫀🫀🫀

NOVEMBER 1987

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

-

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

-

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

-

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

🫀🫀🫀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fine. Just tired.”

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

You suck in a breath.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you too, Y/N, so I—”

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

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

You don’t want to do this—

—but he deserves better.

“I’m sorry, but no.”

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

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

“Okay, good.” He sniffles.

“Sorry.”

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

“Sorry. Ah, I mean—”

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

FEBRUARY 1988

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shrug. “I’ve seen worse.”

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

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“I’m fine.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“But that’s exactly what they did!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yes. You’re a bad person.

🫀🫀🫀

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

Her eyes widen and she plasters on a smile.

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

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

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

You exchange a few more pleasantries and shuffle off.

🫀🫀🫀

MARCH 1988

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“None at all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, I have to get home—”

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

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

“Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’d like that,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“GRRRRRROWWWLLLL!!!!!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

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

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

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

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

Steve rings your doorbell, shaking out his umbrella.

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

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

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

Your father curses and puts his head in his hands.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

🫀🫀🫀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“One of these hellhounds?”

You nod.

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

You swallow hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

-Steve

🫀🫀🫀

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You made a huge mistake letting him go.

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

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

Max smirks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Took you long enough!” she says.

He just smiles.

🫀🫀🫀

JUNE 1988

It’s the first day of summer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

If only you knew if he really felt the same…

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

THE END

🫀🫀🫀

a/n please lmk what you thought 🩵

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

@sunshinesteviee @curiositydooropened @crappymixtape

[roosterforme]

Right Girl, Wrong Time Part 8 | Bradley Bradshaw x Reader

Summary: You fulfill your promise to visit both schools. You can't deny that Miami is beautiful and offers a lot of things you want. But San Diego has Bradley, and it's time for you to figure out where your priorities lie. During your trip to California, you reach out to a new friend to discuss your decision. 

Warnings: Fluff, swears, and angst

Length: 4500 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader (former fuckboy college student Bradley)

This is a sequel to accompany my story Old Habits Die Hard (you'll want to read that one first)!

Check my profile for my masterlist

Your flight touched down in Miami on a Monday morning in late July, and you couldn't get over how disgusting the weather was. Once you had your luggage, you made your way outside to get in line for a taxi, and you thought you were going to melt. Your lungs felt uncomfortable from the humidity, and it was blazing hot for so early in the day. 

You were completely stuck to the seat, and your taxi driver was weaving in and out of traffic. "How much further?" you asked him cautiously, but he was already making a turn toward an absolutely beautiful campus. You peeled yourself off of the seat and braced yourself as you opened the door to the wall of humidity once again. 

When you made your way to meet the dean of students with your suitcase and sweaty clothing, you wished you had decided to visit during the winter. And now you had to sit through several meetings thinking about the fact that you hated this weather, perhaps even more than the Chicago winters. 

If you were too cold, you could always snuggle up to Bradley. 

And then there he was. Again. Right at the front of your mind. You promised him you'd take him out of the equation of which job was the right one for you, but you just didn't know if you could do it. 

"Is that correct?" The dean of students was talking to you, and you had no idea what she was saying. She would literally be your supervisor's boss if you took the job here, and you were busy daydreaming about Bradley.

You pushed some of your sweaty hair out of your face. "Uh, could you repeat that, please?"

When you finally got the conversation back on track, you left with a schedule for the next three days. You'd be meeting dozens of people, sitting in on a calculus lecture, looking at curriculum, and taking tours.

You learned pretty quickly that the best time to go out was late at night. You also learned that the Cuban food trucks made some of the most delicious things you had ever tasted. You went out to dinner with some of the deans, and you toured what could become your future office. 

It was all very nice, and luckily heavily air conditioned. There was nothing wrong with any of it. But you weren't convinced it was actually right. Until you took yourself on a tour of the library and found the study rooms. They were sterile, with harsh fluorescent lighting. And the doors had windows and didn't lock. You laughed and took a few pictures, including a selfie of you frowning. You'd send them to Bradley when he got back. 

On your last day in Miami, you stopped at a coffee shop before doing some sightseeing. You opted for an iced coffee to try to fight away some of the heat, but even in a sundress, it felt horrible outside. You were just pulling the fabric away from your tattoos when you bumped into the person behind you.

"I'm so sorry," you told him, holding your hands up in surrender. "I'm not used to the heat."

He smiled at you. "You're not from Miami."

You shook your head. "No. And I actually think my blood got too thick after living in Chicago? Is that a thing?  Are you from Miami?" You eyed him up and down. He was handsome, and his clothes looked pristine, like he was somehow magically avoiding sweating to death. 

"Born and raised. And never left," he confirmed. Even his smile was charming. "You're up," he nodded with his chin, letting you know it was your turn to order. 

"Oh, thanks," you mumbled, reaching for your wallet as you ordered an iced coffee. But he insisted on paying for your drink along with his, leaning slightly against your shoulder as he handed his credit card to the barista.

You turned to thank him once again, and his face was close to yours. As you opened your mouth, his eyes darted down to your lips. 

"Do you want to get dinner with me tonight?" he asked, leaving you just staring at him for a beat. 

"Wow," you laughed, startled that he was already asking you out. "Thank you, but no," you said, shaking your head, thoughts of Bradley filling you up and making you warm.

He just nodded once. "You're not wearing a ring. Are you seeing someone?"

You took your iced coffee from the barista and said, "Something like that."

"Well, you don't sound so sure," he replied, grabbing his drink and following you to the door. "We could just go out as friends."

"Friends?" you asked with a laugh. "You don't even know my name."

"You could tell me," he said, his tone hopeful now. 

But you just shook your head and told him, "I have an early flight tomorrow. But thanks anyway." You made your way outside as he called after you, but you didn't look back.

The next morning you flew back to Virginia for a few days, before continuing on to San Diego. 

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

Bradley could only spend so many hours per day working out. And when he wasn't flying a mission or eating a meal, he was usually looking at pictures of you on his phone. 

He had texted you almost nonstop when he first boarded the aircraft carrier in the port in San Diego, finally calling you to hear your voice one more time before he was out of range of phone service. He kept replaying the way you said 'I love you, Beer Boy. Be safe.' before you ended the call. 

You had texted him a few newer photos of yourself. Nothing crazy, but he still felt his entire body stir every time he looked at them. Which was frequently. 

And when he had to take matters into his own hands, he thought about that UVA study room, and how fucking happy you made him feel. He thought about your tiny office and your bedroom. He thought about how it felt to have you wash his hair. 

He could not stop thinking about you. He tried, but it didn't work. The fact that he hadn't imagined that perfect weekend with you was almost too much to bear. Now that he'd had you in his life again, he couldn't go without.

Bradley assumed you had visited both schools by now, and he was almost hoping he didn't get another chance to have a facetime call. Because he would try to use it on you. And he was terrified you were going to break his heart again, something he could better brace himself to handle from the comfort of his own home. He would call you then.

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

San Diego had a lot of things going for it, primarily the weather. You seemed to be able to go outside in the middle of the day in August without nearly passing out here. Miami definitely lost points for that one. 

You also liked the beaches better. They were a little more rustic and not as crowded. Everything moved at a bit of a slower pace, and you thought you could get used to that. 

But your office space would be smaller, and the labs were not as updated. The salary was also a bit lower. You had called Veronica a few times, trying to sort through all of your feelings and expectations. 

And you honestly tried your best to remove Bradley from the equation, just like he had asked you to. But when you did that, it was almost an even split. Neither school seemed to be able to pull through and clench the top spot. 

As you paced up and down the windswept San Diego beach at sunset, you just felt like crying. You were afraid of disappointing yourself, but you were even more afraid of making the wrong decision where Bradley was concerned. 

You knew what you wanted to do, but you didn't know how well he was going to take the news when he was back on land again. But you swiped away your tears and checked the time on your phone. You needed to go meet up with someone very important. 

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

Bradley was up and pacing in his khaki uniform, and it wasn't even light outside yet. He thought he could barely see land in the distance from the observation lounge, but maybe that was just his mind playing tricks on him. He wanted to get back, needed to be able to talk to you.

It had been six weeks. And it had felt almost as painful to him as the previous ten years without you. Because all of his memories were fresher now, a little more crisp around the edges. Your voice had faded in his mind, but was never quite forgotten. But now he could hear everything so clearly. 

He wondered if you were still in Virginia. Maybe you would let him come see you again for a weekend, prolong the pain and suffering if necessary. It would be worth it to be with you again, even if you left him after that to go to Miami.

"Come on," he muttered, checking his phone to see if he had service yet. He needed to make sure Nat remembered to pick him up, but then he would plan the rest of his day around whenever you were available to talk to him.

There was no way his eyes were playing tricks now. He shielded the sun from his face with his hand and squinted, and he could definitely see land. He'd be on the dock in an hour tops, and now he was starting to feel very anxious. So he jogged out onto the walkway to get some fresh air, but even that barely helped. 

Suddenly his phone started vibrating with dozens of messages and alerts, letting him know he finally had phone reception. So he called Nat with a pounding heart. 

"Rooster!" she greeted when she answered after one ring. "Are you docked already? I haven't left my house yet."

"No," he said, his voice a little shaky. "Getting there, but not quite yet. Less than an hour."

"Okay, I'll leave soon. And before you ask, yes I started your dumb Bronco for you once a week."

That got him to laugh. "Thanks."

But he could always count on Nat to know exactly what was going on with him. "Are you going to call her soon and see what she's doing?"

He cleared his throat a few times. "You know, I thought I could wait until I got home and got settled. But I think I need to call her now, Nat. I'm a mess."

"I know," she replied softly. "I understand that you need to know what's going on. Just give her the benefit of the doubt, okay? Hear her out and don't judge her decision?"

Bradley raked his fingers through his hair. "I could never judge her, Nat. I just can't stop thinking about her."

"You thought about her the whole time?"

He sighed and turned away from the early morning sunlight. "The whole time."

"Oh, Bradley. Those ten years did nothing, did they?"

"No. Nothing."

Nat hummed through the phone before saying, "I'll see you soon."

Bradley paced the length of the carrier, grasping his phone in his hand. It would be late morning in Virgina. He could call you now. But if you crushed him on the spot, he would definitely prefer to be at home while he cried and drank himself into a state of forgetfulness. 

If you told him you were going to Miami, but you still wanted him, he would somehow make it work. But if you told him you were going to Miami and that he wasn't going to fit in your life, he was going to have to do all of the things he really didn't want to do. Delete all the photos of you. Delete your phone number. Try to move on for good.

Because it felt like a blessing that he ran into you again last month, but he knew there would never be a third chance for him. 

"Fuck," he grunted, unable to wait another minute. He pulled up your contact in his phone and looked at the recent picture of you before tapping the screen

One ring. Two. Three. Four.

"Bradley?"

"Sugar," he gasped, feeling lightheaded and dizzy. 

"Hi! Are you back in San Diego now?" you asked, your voice impossibly soothing even though he knew it could break him.

"Almost," he replied, wishing he didn't have to talk over the sound of your soft breaths instead of just listening. "I can see the dock now."

"You're still on the aircraft carrier?" you asked.

"Yeah, Sugar. I couldn't wait another minute to call you." He took a deep breath. "Did you visit both schools?"

You paused for a beat. "Of course I did. I promised you I would."

He squeezed his eyes shut and asked, "How did you like Miami?"

"It was great," you told him, and his heart sank. "The offer is incredible. They have the most state of the art lab facilities I have seen since Chicago. And the offices are huge."

Bradley was cradling his forehead in his hand, thinking about getting dumped by you in his fraternity house. Thinking about how that didn't hurt as much as this potentially could.

He forced out the words. "And if you pick Miami, where does that leave us, Sugar?"

"Bradley? I'm actually meeting up with someone shortly here. Can I call you back later?"

His heart was pounding, and he let out a little laugh, because he knew he'd let you get away with this kind of shit forever. Which was why he would have to stop himself. "Yeah."

"Great, I'll talk to you soon. And Bradley?"

"Yeah, Sugar?"

"I love you."

You ended the call before he could respond. He didn't know what to think as he slowly made his way back to his bunk to gather his things together. He waited in line to deboard the carrier, and once he was on the dock, he heard Nat yelling his name.

"God, you're loud," Bradley told her, scooping her up into a tight hug. "I could hear you a mile away." He felt a little bit better now as she rubbed his back and let him hug her. 

"In spite of all of your flaws, I missed you," she told Bradley with a smile, leading the way toward her car. Bradley grumbled a bit, shifting around trash and food wrappers before he could even climb in.

"This is disgusting," he said, nearly gagging as something sticky met his arm. But the terror that was the interior of his best friend's car took his mind off of you for a moment. 

"That's just because you're a neat freak."

"I always have been," he agreed, "but this is next level, Nat. So gross."

As she pulled out into traffic, Bradley turned the radio on and listened to Nat tell him about work. 

"What else did you get up to while I was gone?" he asked, rubbing his hands along his face. 

"Oh, well I met up with a new friend I made on Instagram."

"Instagram?" he asked. "Really?"

"Yeah, she's new to the area," Nat said, giving him side eye. "I actually really think you guys would get along. I could introduce you?"

He turned to face her as she waited at a traffic light. "Nat. Come on. You know I'm waiting on Sugar." Saying the words out loud brought back his bout of nerves, and he kicked some trash out of the way so he could stretch his legs out.

"I know. It was just an idea," she said, zipping down the street once again. 

"I called her," he admitted. "But we didn't talk much. She said she'd call me back."

"Really?" Nat asked, looking alarmed. "Do you know where she was?"

"Not sure. Probably Virginia, unless she already moved to Miami."

"Maybe she's out looking at apartments?" Nat asked, turning onto Bradley's street.

He didn't even want to fucking think about that. He pictured some soulless highrise in Miami, and he couldn't even imagine you there. Not after your cute little cottage with the crumbling front step. "Maybe," he mumbled, suddenly anxious to get inside his house and be alone. 

Nat pulled her car in his driveway behind the Bronco; he loved that thing, and it couldn't even bring a smile to his face right now. "Thanks for the ride, Nat. I'd invite you in for some coffee, but I'm just not feeling up to it."

"No problem," she said, rubbing his shoulder with her small hand. "Why don't you call me later when you feel like it? Maybe we can get dinner or go to the Hard Deck?"

He sighed, popping the passenger door open. "Maybe." 

When he started to climb out, Nat said, "Oh, Bradley. Almost forgot. I left something sweet inside for you. I hope you don't mind."

He just gave her a thumbs up, because if she went grocery shopping for him or left him something to eat, that was more than okay with him. He closed the door and waved to her, digging his house key out of the side pocket of his duffle as he walked up to his porch.

But then he froze. There was a bright yellow post-it note stuck to the middle of his pristine, white front door. He had even painted his door white for a reason, and he never wanted anything marring it. Except maybe for this. 

He climbed the steps, tossing his duffle aside, and reached for the note.

BEER BOY

I love you

With shaky fingers, Bradley shoved his key into the lock and wrenched the door open.

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

You had been immensely enjoying your dinner with Natasha. Once the two of you had connected on Instagram while Bradley was away, you made plans to meet her in person while you were looking at San Diego State. And now you fully understood why she was Bradley's best friend.

"I feel like I already knew you!" Nat said with a bright smile over drinks and dessert. "Is that weird? That this doesn't feel like I'm meeting a stranger?"

"No, it's not weird," you agreed with a laugh. 

"Bradley has told me so much about you over the last decade. I know more about you than I do any of his other more recent girlfriends, and I'd actually met them in person," she indulged over a glass of wine and some cheesecake. "Maybe I shouldn't be telling you that." She winced at you.

You took a deep breath. "Here, I'll make us even. I got a tattoo in honor of Bradley after I moved to Chicago."

Nat just rolled her eyes. "I already knew that. He told me over facetime like three weeks ago."

You buried your face in your hands as she chuckled. Then you groaned. "I know which school I want to pick. But I think Bradley is going to have a hard time coming to terms with it."

Nat's eyes went wide. "What does that mean?"

"Well...." you began, pausing to collect your thoughts. "If I tell him I picked the University of Miami, I'm afraid I'll break his heart, and mine. Again. But, if I tell him I picked San Diego State, he's going to act all high and mighty, and tell me I shouldn't be making this decision for him."

Nat set her empty wine glass down a little hard. "You know, you're absolutely right! But he's just going to have to get the fuck over it! I know he loves you, and he would be so happy to be with you. So if you want to move to San Diego, don't let him try to stop you."

You both looked at each other before bursting into laughter. "He's making this a lot more complicated than it needs to be!" you groaned.

"He's the worst," she said, nodding in agreement. "But also the best."

"Yeah, he really is," you agreed with a small smile, really missing him right now. "Well, this was so much fun, but it's getting late." You noticed it looked like your waiter was hoping you'd vacate the table soon so he could leave.

"I hope you do pick San Diego. We could hang out," Nat said, setting down some cash on the table. 

"Oh, didn't I make it clear? I'm definitely picking San Diego."

Nat actually squealed and ran around the small table to hug you. You let yourself relax into her embrace. "I'm so happy for Bradley," she muttered, releasing you with a huge smile.

"When he's being a noble pain in my ass about it, I'm calling you for help. But for now, I'm going to head back to my hotel room."

Nat grinned at that. "Why don't you just stay at his house? I have a spare key."

Your eyes went a little wide. "Without him there? You don't think he would mind?"

"No. I think he would love that." 

And so you ended up staying at Bradley's house for three nights. It was just as surreal as running into him at the bar had been! His house was spotless, just like you expected it to be. But when Nat gave you a little tour, you were shocked to see so many familiar things. The spare bedroom had a framed Grateful Dead concert poster that you remember from his bedroom at the Beta house. And his office was complete with a solid wood desk and his dad's Navy desk lamp.

But after Nat left you on your own, it became increasingly difficult not to be nosy. On the morning he was due to arrive back home, you were running your fingers along his bookshelves, and you came in contact with something familiar. You pulled down your old, purple notebook from your differential equations class. 

"Oh my goodness," you gasped, flipping through the pages. Because along with your old math notes, you saw little doodles and messages in the margins that matched Bradley's handwriting. You closed your eyes, and you could perfectly picture the way you used to sit on his lap in the study room while he messed around with your notes. He had written your name surrounded by a bunch of little hearts. You saw where he had written Beer Boy and Sugar with some cute little stick figures, and you laughed. 

He had been moving around all over the world, and bringing this notebook with him everywhere. Your eyes filled with tears, and the desire to be with him was so strong. 

And then he was calling you. You were so nervous to see him, and you didn't want to get into your decision over the phone, so you tried to throw him off. 

"Bradley? I'm actually meeting up with someone shortly here. Can I call you back later?"

He sounded so dejected, so you made sure you told him you loved him before ending the call. Then you made his bed and quickly tried to tidy up his house. You fixed your hair and makeup, but he still wasn't back yet. Nat had sent you a quick text as soon as she saw him on the dock, but that had been quite a while ago. 

You were pacing the length of his living room now, terrified that he would be annoyed that you'd spent a few days here. Then you heard a car in the driveway and peeked out through the window to see Nat's dirty car. 

"Oh god," you whispered, finally getting to see Bradley after six weeks. He looked so handsome, and you had missed him so much. You scrambled back to the middle of the room when you saw him walk up the porch steps, a look of shock on his face.

The sound of the key in the lock and the way he swung the white door open wide had you chewing on your lip. 

"Sugar?" he asked, standing in his entryway and gaping at you. 

"Hi, Beer Boy," was all you could manage to say as your heart pounded in your ears. But he looked so stunned, you felt yourself start to smile. 

He took a few steps closer to you. "What are you doing here, baby?"

You felt like you could melt inside. Just the sight of him in his uniform had you aching. He was gorgeous, and you loved him so much. You took a step closer as well. 

"I was actually wondering if it was okay if I had my boxes shipped here? I don't have an office for another week or so, and I'm still looking at apartments."

He was running one hand through his hair, making it stand on end, and his mouth was open, but no words were coming out. 

"Unless...you don't want me to?" you whispered, watching him slowly close the distance between the two of you until he was standing barely a foot away.

"Please, Sugar. Please tell me what that means."

You swallowed hard, looking up at him. You gently ran your hands up to rest on his chest. "I'm picking San Diego. I'm picking you. I'm picking us. If that's still what you want, too?"

A strangled sound escaped his lips, and then his mouth was on yours and you were in his arms. He kissed you deeply as your arms gripped his shoulders, and he held you tight. 

"You mean that?" he asked between kisses, nibbling at your lips, barely giving you a chance to answer as he deepened the kiss. Just as you were relaxing into his embrace, he pulled his lips from yours. "You really mean it, Sugar?"

"I really mean it, Beer Boy."

He closed his eyes and ran one hand over his face, sighing deeply. But he still held you snug against him. Then he opened his eyes and gazed down at you. 

"I've been dreaming about this for ten years," he whispered, brown eyes soft. "I love you."

"I love you, too," you replied with a smile.

He nodded, and you ran your fingers along his mustache, making him smile. "You can send all your stuff here, Sugar." He kissed your fingers. "You should move in with me. Don't leave or look at more apartments. Stay here."

It felt right. You knew it did. Just like San Diego State felt like the place for you. "Okay. I'll stay."

He licked his lips and kissed your forehead twice, pulling you impossibly closer to him. "And be my girlfriend again?" he whispered against your hair.

You smiled and buried your face against the collar of his uniform shirt. "You were the best boyfriend I ever had. You can have the title again."

"I love you," he whispered, over and over until his lips found yours again. 

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

It feels soooo good! But, only two more parts to this story! Thanks to @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 9

@hotch-meeeeeuppppp

@swthxrry

@chassy21

@yaboid19

@solacestyles

@avoirlecoupdefoudre

@daisyhollyxox

@callsigndiamond

@harper1666

@throwinsauce

@beebslebobs

@awesomebooklover17

@wintercap89

@whosyourgnomie4

@rosesinmars

@blog-name6996

@bcon24

@wishfulwithwine

@backinwonderl4nd

@monte-carlando

@tetragonia

@gingerbreadandpaper

@emptyloverofmine

@apparently-sunshine

@chaoticassidy

@missmirandafe

@topgunbb

@changlingkhat

@sugarcoated-lame

@callsign-jupiter

@avada-kedavra-bitch-187

@katiebby04

@marantha

@averyhotchner

@abaker74

@andycanbeemotional

@heli991113

@k-k0129

@noz4a2

@tallyovie

@shanimallina87

@starlightstories

@teddyluvs2sing

@little-wiseone

@ccbb2222

@lilyevanswhore

@o-the-o-grim-o-reaper-o

@hecate-steps-on-me

@xoxabs88xox

[mistydeyes]

pain killer fueled thoughts

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

summary: Finally leaving the comfort of your base pharmacy, you're thrown into a makeshift medical tent. With the change of scenery, you went to work to make yourself useful to both the medics and the soldiers. This isn't your first deployment but it is the first time that someone under the effects of morphine and ketamine confesses their love to you. A sequel to "a panacea"

pairing: Price x pharmacist!Reader

warnings: medical/pharmacy terminology, medical inaccuracies, swearing, depiction of wounds, fluff, and flirting

a/n: it's finally here! to all my price fans who carried 49% of the votes, i hope you enjoy :)

🏷️ @fan-of-encouragement

┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

Assignments overseas were both exciting and painful for you. While you liked the different atmosphere, you spent most of your time making sure your makeshift pharmacy was stocked and ran around providing aid when needed. Every day was spent looking at the shelves and counting every bottle, vial, and box. When you weren’t occupied with that, you were prepping IV bags and debating with doctors regarding their treatment plans. You by no means had to face the horrors of fighting but it was frustrating, monotonous work.

However, besides the paperwork and bureaucracy, you hated seeing the friendly faces of your patients twisted in agony as the doctor reset their bones or stitched their wounds. You would spend your lunches at their bedside trying to ease their mind away from the pain and entertaining them with stories and your never-ending facts.

As you entered the temporary infirmary, you recognized the resting face of Captain Price. He was the only man there as the others had either recovered or been set home. You had heard he had become injured earlier this morning. A bullet through his neck/upper chest you would later learn. Miraculously, the bullet exited in one piece and missed his vital arteries and clavicle bone. You knew he’d heal well but you couldn’t imagine the pain he was in. He would be sent on the next flight home and was only here for the remainder of the afternoon. You worried about his condition.

As you entered, the field medic whispered that the Captain had just been wheeled onto the cot. They described his unit's quick actions in applying a Hemcon dressing to the entrance and exit wound. Once back at the base, they provided him with IV Lactated Ringer to provide him with some necessary electrolytes and nutrients. His case was a priority so within the next two hours he would be transferred to a proper hospital.

As you nodded at the standard procedure, the medic added, "The nurse and I hooked him up to an IV drip so hopefully it kicks it in soon." With that, the medic was off to either take a nap or get something to eat. If it were you, you’d be stealing some melatonin and passing out. You appreciated the medic’s information and started to walk towards Price’s cot.

“Y/N, what a surprise to see you here,” Price said, eyes still closed.

“I can see why you rose through the ranks. You have a scary sense of observation,” you joked and grabbed a stool to sit next to him.

“You’re just predictable. Plus how could I miss your recognizable perfume and soap? You have to tell me how they let you out of that mandated shit they call bar soap.” He replied, now turning to face you. He tried agonizingly to lay on his side as you rose from your seat trying to calm him.

“If you stop moving and rest, I’d let you have some,” you said adjusting his pillow and placing a hand on his stomach to lay him back down.

“Now doctor, is that a way to touch your patient?” he flirted. You knew the IV was beginning to kick in. You examined the label and noted the Captain was being infused with a cocktail of ketamine and morphine. You knew this was one of the strongest agents there was, learning it was first-line in extensive battlefield injuries.

His blabbering did come as a shock though as Price was always professional with you. Yes, the loving pet names left you wondering if there was more to him and you but you never received full confirmation.

Following Gaz’s visit to you, Price had become a close friend and you both were able to vent about your frustrations of the day. Although you both had confidential information you couldn’t share, he entertained you with requests to give Soap something that would shut him up and calm the Scot.

He was laughing on the verge of tears when you told him once that he should ask the veterinarian department for a muzzle and dog whistle.

“Oh, they really gave you the good stuff. There’s no way this is the strong, commanding officer I know,” you wanted to add ‘and love’ to the end of that statement but weren’t going to compromise yourself like that.

“I am much more than a commanding officer, Y/N.” he drowsily replied. “I can be anything, a lover, a boyfriend, even a husband”

God, they must have given him a hefty dose by the way he was speaking. You blushed profusely and soon felt too hot to be around him.

“Well, I’m sure some lucky person would cherish all of those. Although I’m no fisherman, I would say you are a catch, John” you responded with a giggle following.

“Not just any lucky person, I’m talking about the pharmacist Y/N,” he began and you couldn’t believe what you were hearing. Besides the fact he hadn’t remembered that you were sitting next to him, he was confessing his desire to marry you. What kind of £1 romance novel was this? “They’re beyond smart and I swear, their touch feels like silk. Oh, and I love the fact that florists have the red and blue striped pole in the front because of historic bloodletting practices.”

“Barbers,” you corrected, “barbershops have that.” You had told him that story on a late evening at the pharmacy. He had graciously shown up with a cup of his famous coffee as he knew you were preparing your medication list for tomorrow’s long meeting with the heads of the medical department. This was your 7th assignment overseas and you knew they wanted a comprehensive list regarding what was necessary for deployment. Worse yet, this three-month timeframe meant you needed to supply for six months, in case anything happened. Somehow, as you sipped you both sipped your coffee into the early hours of the morning, you had landed on the history of medicine and barbers.

“Anyways, Y/N would make the perfect partner. I want to wake up to them in the morning and know they're safe in my arms,” he continued, “No one would pass up on the opportunity to have someone to come home to and share moments with.”

“I’m sure Captain L/N is an amazing person. Maybe you should consider taking them out of their pharmacy and have something more than just your coffee” you replied. After that night with Price, you would constantly look for his signature hat and dashing smile everywhere you went. You always happened to visit his office when you knew he was working long nights and always were coincidentally getting some fresh air as he took an afternoon smoke.

You wondered how his calloused hands would feel intertwined in yours and if you could taste the smoke on his lips from his bad habit.

“As soon as I get overseas, I’ll be sure to march into the pharmacy and sweep them off their feet, soldier. Just wait and see,” he said followed by a large yawn.

“John, I think it’s time to rest,” you said and slowly got up off the stool.

Reacting to your movement, he lazily grabbed your arm and asked, “Do you think they’d drop that stop-smoking crap if we were married?”

This man was full of jokes and painkillers. You wished you’d be able to take a video of him in this state. “Might just have to ask them yourselves when you’re better. You should get some sleep Captain, you have a long flight ahead of you,” you whispered as his eyes fluttered closed.

When Price woke up the next day in a proper hospital, he noticed his prized hat on the table next to him along with some other belongings. Leaning over, he reached for it and saw a small note written on a doctor’s prescription pad in its inner lining.

In precise handwriting, he read “To my coffee hero, I was touched by what you said even in your drug-fueled state. If you mean what you said, then I have a proposition for you. Once we’re both on leave and you’re recovered, fancy a date with me? Maybe we can roam the streets of London and I’ll be sure to keep you entertained with my facts.

With love, Y/N”

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It wasn’t years later that you provided Price with the exact words he had said to you. He would have loved it, only if you hadn’t revealed it to him in front of friends and family during your vows. ┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊ ⋆ ┊ . ┊ ┊┊

a/n I’m breaking the stereotype that pharmacists and doctors have bad handwriting

[live-tweeting-hotg]

closer to gods [a.t. x reader]

summary: when Aemond decides to bring you back to King’s landing as his captive, you learn just what it means to be closer to gods than to men.

pairing(s): Aemond Targaryen x Rhaenyra’s daughter!reader

content & warnings: 18+ content (minors dni), porn with little plot, pure pure filth, light bondage, sub/dom dynamic, incest, dub-con, fingering (fem receiving), p in v, creampie, loss of virginity, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), cockwarming, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, size kink, light breeding kink, light corruption kink, mentions of blood, unsavoury and unrealistic activities on a dragon, i was gonna tag dark!aemond but this is probably just him being himself

wc: 1k

a/n: this is a loose sequel to another fic, my prince, but can be read as a standalone.

Aemond’s arms wrapped lazily around you as Vhagar bounded into flight. Ignoring your protests, he had taken the liberty to bind your arms behind your back with his belt, deeming it a “necessary precaution”. You are the daughter of the Rogue Prince, he had said, smirking as he tied you up. Who knows what you’re capable of? You were powerless to do little else except to huff and lean back into his arms.

Vhagar surged up, clearing the heavy thunderclouds and you emerged into the blue, cloudless realm of the high skies. You breathed a sigh of relief, letting yourself relax a little. Aemond drops his chin onto your shoulder, breathing into your ear softly. “Does the ride please my princess?”

You huff and his smirk grows. “Don’t sulk, my love. I’m sure you’ll make an… exquisite… wife.” His palm sweeps up lightly over your breasts, and your eyes shoot open.

“Aemond,” you warn him sharply.

“Yes, princess?” His tone is laced with false innocence. The pressure builds as he kneads into you slowly, making you bite back a moan. “You were saying?”

“This is… unbecoming.” you try again, your words trailing off into a gasp as you feel his lips dance against your neck.

“Perhaps so.” His voice teems with a darker intent that sends a jolt of fear through you. “But who’s here to stop me?”

You see the dagger too late. With a flick of his wrist, Aemond cuts through the leather protecting your front, his hand ripping off the remainder of your smallclothes. You gasp, head reeling, before his fingers are rolling your exposed bud in a way that has blood rushing to your cheeks. “Stop,” you gasp out, hands straining weakly against your bonds.

“No.” His other hand dips to the front of your waist, cutting through your breeches to ghost a finger along your folds, letting your slickness coat him. He exhales in a soft laugh as you gasp again, shakily. His lips drop to your ear and his voice pierces you icily. “I only intend to take what is mine.”

His fingers enter you, fucking into you languidly, forcing a strangled moan out of you. “This is improper.” You have to choke the words out.

He hums thoughtfully against your neck. “Improper, princess?” His fingers curl cruelly inside you, and your hips grind against his hand before you could stop yourself. Dropping your head back, you bite on your lip to suppress another moan, feeling a dull edge of pain as blood began to trickle thinly down your jaw. Aemond tuts unapprovingly against your ear, twisting your nipple sharply and making you cry out. “My wife means to keep her little whines from me. Do you not find this improper?” His fingers roll deeper into you, stroking slowly along a particularly sensitive spot. Another finger enters you, stretching you out, and you almost choke on the fullness.

“You’re so fucking tight, princess,” Aemond groans. His thumb finds your clit and rips out the first real moan from you. You fight against your bonds again, futilely, and you wonder if he had planned this when he tied you up so tightly. “I wonder how your cunt would feel around my cock.” You hazily register his stiffness twitch behind you. A few more strokes along your clit and he feels you squeezing tightly around his fingers. “Aemond,” you moan out weakly. His name is a prayer on your lips.

With his hand buried in your cunt, Aemond Targaryen groans out against your ear. “Go on, princess. Cum for me.”

As if on command, your eyes roll back and you buck against his hand. Distantly, you feel yourself gush onto Aemond’s fingers as you convulse weakly around him. You moan brokenly, tears streaming down your cheeks, letting the fine, thin air rush across your cheeks and into your open mouth. His fingers freeze and pull out suddenly to grip your hips with a bruising strength that he had previously tried to suppress. Vhagar dives down, sensing her rider’s agitation, jolting you weightlessly upwards. You feel Aemond fumble with something behind you as he lets out a string of obscenities. “Fuck, princess, I’m sorry, I intended to wait, truly, but you’re so fucking— I can’t— I’m so sorry—”

The sounds barely reach you, and you briefly wonder what his words mean, before Vhagar sweeps upwards again, forcing you to land heavily downwards— down onto Aemond’s unsheathed cock. You cry out in surprise, wordless, as he tears past your maidenhead, cunt still dripping in spasms from your last orgasm, pain mingling with an ungodly fullness, and Aemond pulls you closer to his chest. He fills you to the brim, the head of his cock kissing your cervix. You feel him twitching within you, and you realise he is too big, stretching you too wide, he would split you in two if he took you—

“Princess…” He moans against you, eyes closed in pure relief, groaning as he felt your walls spasm around him. “You are truly fucking perfect.” You whine out loudly this time, back arched against his chest, your tits bouncing freely as Aemond lifts your hips to rut into you, setting an unrelenting pace. You cry out helplessly, your heightened sensitivity almost painful, but Aemond only tightens his grip on your hips. You flail again against your bonds, and he moves one hand upwards to pin your arms against his chest. “Behave,” he chides coldly, and his mouth finds its way back to your neck. “What would my dear uncle say if he saw me take you like this, hmm?” His voice drips with arrogance, but you can’t quite bring yourself to care.

Your throw your head back to look at Aemond, with the dark of his eye blown wide, mouth hanging lightly open, ruining you, fucking you senseless, and you lean against him to whine into his mouth. “Aemond… please…” You weren’t sure whether you were begging him to stop or to fuck you harder.

“Begging already, my love?” Aemond laughs mirthlessly. “Wait until I get you in a bed.” He drops his hand to rub your clit roughly, until you’re pulsing around him, lips parted silently as another orgasm is ripped from you. Aemond pumps into you roughly, chasing his own high, until you feel his seed, white-hot, spill into you. Your eyes prickle with tears, unused to the overstimulation, and Aemond kisses your head softly, his cock still twitching inside you. His cum is spilling out of you, trickling down your legs, and you know he has ruined you irrevocably. “I’ll wed you like this, my love,” he sighs contentedly against you. “with my seed dripping from your thighs and your belly swollen with my heirs.” He grips your hair and forces you to meet his eye. “I’ll drag you to the sept myself.”

Your vision clouds hazily and you mumble incoherently against his chest. Aemond hums against you, his hands propping you up, and you realise a moment too late that his cock is still hard inside you. Panic makes your skin tingle. “Aemond, please, I can’t—”

Your words are suffocated when he rolls lazily into you again. “Don’t pass out on me, princess.” His words are cool and soft. A promise. “I will fuck you back into consciousness.”

[tizniz]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday 💫

Tagged by @actuallyitsellie 🩵

I have officially started on the sequel to Fight or Flight but I'm gonna keep that hidden for now. So instead, here's a tease from my 'sleepy' fic that Ellie helped inspire me to write so I don't keep diving into angsty stuff. Thanks love :)

“Tired, baby?” “Mm, no.” “You’re falling asleep on me.” “No, m’not.” Buck mumbles, telling his body to stand up, but it doesn’t listen. He sighs, leaning heavier against Eddie. “Long shift.” “Bad or just long?” Buck’s tired mind lags at the question, trying to process it to form an answer, but a yawn has his mouth stretching wide open, a bit of drool dripping into Eddie’s shoulder. “Sorry, babe.” “How about we get you inside?” “Don’t wanna move.” “You’ll be in bed soon enough.” Eddie replies, his hands gliding down Buck’s back until his fingers grip Buck’s hips, and then he’s walking backwards, tugging Buck along with him.

NP tagging: @hippolotamus, @disasterbuckdiaz, @spotsandsocks, @fortheloveofbuddie, @bucksbackwardcap, @actualalligator, @alliaskisthepossibilityoflove, @theotherbuckley, @daffi-990, @jesuisici33, @cal-daisies-and-briars, @exhuastedpigeon, @theplaceyoustillrememberdreaming, @monsterrae1, @epicbuddieficrecs, @elvensorceress, @eddiebabygirldiaz, @spagheddiediaz, @wildlife4life, @evanbegins, @devirnis, @buckaroosheart, @perfectlysunny02, @nmcggg, @smilingbuckley, @watchyourbuck, @loserdiaz, @excuseme-greentea, @wikiangela, & @sunshinediaz 🩵

[her-power]

Fixation on the Darkness (Part One: Dark Romance! e.m. x fem! reader)

‼️❌🛑18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT 🛑❌‼️

Trigger/Content Warning: Dark! Somewhat Souless! Eddie! Strong sexual content, blood play, unprotected p+v, choking, hair pulling, rough intercourse, fingering (f receiving), masturbation, oral (f receiving *for now*), fight or flight responses, grief, thoughts of unaliving self & others, manipulation, violence, smut, some fluff, angst.

Summary: This takes place in 1987, a year after the events of S4. Hawkins is in complete disrepair. The reader is grieving the death of her old love Eddie Munson. She is convinced he’s still alive because there was no body, but she knows she is just fooling herself. Until the dreams. Is he is the same? Has he changed? She finds out sooner than she thinks, and realizes that someone she once loved is lurking in the shadows, covered in darkness, and not the same man she remembers. Is she the only one that can make him remember who he truly is? Reader learns about the Upside Down later on in the story.

Word Count: 4.4k

Author’s Warning: This is going to be a multiple parts series, followed by another series that will be the sequel. This is completely different from my last two series. It’s dark, it’s eerie, it’s heart wrenching, it’s not going to be your typical Eddie. This is a dark romance, but do not, for the love of everything, do not follow in the footsteps of the reader. Manipulative relationships and emotional abuse is not okay. This is fiction/fantasy but it talks about REAL life issues.

The rush of cold air bites your skin as it startles you awake. You had kicked your blanket off in the middle of the night; your bare legs are covered in gooseflesh. The cold air was coming from your open window, but you don’t remember opening it. Why would you? It was the middle of winter after all. You throw your legs over the side of the bed, stumbling through the pitch blackness of your bedroom to close the window. You let out a grunt as you slam it shut, it creaks against the pane, and you lock it. A slight chill is still in the air, and what feels like icy hands glides up your spine and cups the back of your neck. A sharp breath escapes you, yet you remain frozen. Someone was here. 

“That’s it…”

You gasp at the sound of the voice, the voice you have spent a year making sure you remembered over and over, but something was different. He was different. 

“Eddie?” You’re breathless, cool lips touch your neck. 

A low growl is heard, rumbling deep from his chest. A pleasant ache happens between your legs at the sound. “Mmm…I can smell you.” His voice, but not his voice…deeper, breathier…beautiful. 

You feel his teeth graze your ear lobe, moving towards your neck and you hiss. A stinging pain: he bit you. You shudder when you feel his tongue move over the same spot, followed by his lips. 

You moan. 

Cold hands move under your shirt, your nipples hardening instantly once you feel the other cooling sensation from the metal of his rings. “Eddie.” You whisper again; his hands squeeze your breasts, causing a wetness to pool between your legs. 

You feel his lips against your ear, even his his breath is cold. “Time to wake up, doll.”

“I don’t want to.” You whimper, your head falls back against his shoulder as he tugs your nipple, his other hand slides down your stomach, into your underwear. His fingers were cold, but you welcomed it as he palms your clit, moving the lips with his fingers. 

You feel him smile against your throat, his teeth grazes that same spot again, you moan again. You so desperately wanted to turn to look at him, to see him, to convince yourself that this wasn’t just a dream, and he was alive, but he kept a strong hold on you, keeping your back to his chest.

“Tsk tsk, my love. Still stubborn.” A low rumble in his chest again and you cry out, he slips two fingers inside you, but he doesn’t move them. “You will wake up. I need you thinking of me when the hot water from the shower hits your skin, when you’re driving into town, I need you thinking—” he growls, shoving his fingers deeper and you sob. “I need you thinking about what I’m going to do to you next, about where I want to kiss you, taste you. I need you thinking of me when you’re alone in your bed, touching yourself, moaning my name.” He licks your throat, and you stifle a louder moan. “That’s a good girl...” He slides his fingers out of you, and you want to cry, you don’t feel him behind you anymore. “Don’t be sad, my love. I’ve only just begun.” 

Your eyes snap open and the sunlight immediately blinds you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying so desperately to wish yourself back into the dream. This is the one of many dreams you’ve been being tortured with these last few weeks, but in the ones before this, you can only feel his presence, nothing else. 

But this felt so real. There was still a dull ache between your legs, your nipples were peaking through your shirt. You swore the ghost of his fingers still lingered inside you as you laid there. You close your eyes, moving your hand gently down over your underwear, you were soaking. A soft sigh escapes your lips as you slide your fingers into your underwear, gently dancing over your clit. You thought about him; the last time you were with him. Before everything. Before the murders, before the earthquake, before you knew he wasn’t ever coming back. He took his time with you, he savored every moment, every taste of you. His tongue was like magic, every lick, every suck, it felt as if you’re body was being lifted into the cosmos, and you didn’t want to come back down. He would whisper how much he loved you, how he couldn’t wait to be out of this shitty town, and to take on the world together. When he kissed your lips, it took your breath away, he was so sweet, so kind…

Your body jerks as you orgasm, your thighs clench around your hand as you whimper, continuing to rub yourself until you couldn’t take it anymore. You sigh loudly, the euphoric feeling still lingers, and then it’s gone. 

You lay there, your eyes still closed and you silently cry. The love of your life was gone forever, but for some reason…you felt in the depths of your soul that he wasn’t. That tether was still there, and it held on. 

Even with the wool from your socks and your thick black boots, the cold still bit at your toes as you walk through the cemetery. You bury your face in your scarf, the breeze was making it worse. The snow made the cemetery seem more silent than normal, no sounds of life or a skitter of a rodent. You had been coming here every week for the last six months since they finally put headstone in. Most of the cemetery was destroyed in the earthquake, the yellow tape still visible around the cracks in the Earth from where you stood. You approach the row of headstones where his laid and see a capped head bobbing as it knelt in front of the stone. You walk closer, seeing that it was Wayne, scrubbing vigorously at the stone. You jog towards him. 

“Again?” You say, your anger seething in your veins as you see the words murderer spray painted over his name. It had happened a lot during the summer; even though his name was cleared at the end of ‘86 because of Jason’s disappearance and lack of evidence, the town still hated him. 

Wayne looks up you, the same anger in his eyes. “Damn kids, they ran off when I saw them. Couldn’t have been younger than seventeen.” 

“Assholes.” You mutter, kneeling in the snow next to him. You take the sponge from him with gloved hands. “I’ll do this, you’re gonna get frost bite.” 

He doesn’t fight you, just sighs and watches silently as you remove the rest of the paint. You knew Wayne came here at least everyday; even though they couldn’t find his body, you think it gave him comfort knowing he could visit him. It broke your heart; he fought so hard to clear his name and when he finally did, no one associated with him. Except you and Dustin. Sometimes, Steve Harrington, but that was rare; there was always something haunting him in his eyes, and you didn’t know what he saw when the earthquake happened, what he felt. 

The headstone was cleaned up, and you stand up, dusting the snow off your knees. 

“Thank you.” Wayne mutters, lighting up a cigarette. He stares at Eddie’s name and looks over at you. “How are you doing? Haven’t seen you in awhile.”

That made you feel guilty, something about the winter was turning you into a hermit. It had been over a year since Eddie’s death and for some reason, the grief hurt more in the cold, like bones full of arthritis. 

You shrug. “Would you believe me if I said I’ve been good?” 

He smirks. “Not in the slightest.” 

“I’m still hanging on.” You sigh. “That’s all I can do; all anyone can do.” A cold chill creeps up your spine, but it wasn’t from the wind. It felt foreign, but familiar. And you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was watching you, you shake the feeling. “What about you?” 

He grumbles. “I don’t do shit besides work, so, nothings changed.” You give him a sweet smile and he sigh, gently patting your back. “It was good seeing you kid, don’t be a stranger. My doors always open.”  

You watch him walk away, feeling the sadness overwhelm you as you turn back to the headstone. You knew Wayne meant it, knew that you felt the safest when you were there. Not that your house wasn’t safe, but when you graduated last year, your mother left the house to you when she retired and moved down to Florida. Completely paid off, but you hated being alone. You considered getting a cat, but you could barely take care of yourself let alone an animal. All you did was go to work at the record store, come home, make yourself dinner and go to sleep. Weekends was when you “decompressed” and that consisted of smoking an entire joint to your face while watching all the Star Wars on repeat. Eddie would always make you laugh by reenacting the final battle between Vader and Luke, doing the voices, using your broom as a lightsaber. It was moments like that that made you miss him the most, when he made you laugh until you couldn’t breathe, when he would just hold you on the couch, gently curling his fingers through your hair. His favorite thing to do was to play air guitar on your leg whenever his favorite song came on, and it drove you crazy because he would tickle you at the same time. 

You silently walk back to your car, and shiver as you turn the ignition on. It would take at least five minutes for your car to heat up, it was as old as dirt. You still felt eyes on you as the sun set overhead, you jump back, seeing a dark shadow skitter behind a tree. 

A dark human shadow.

No, it was just an animal. That’s all. 

Just an animal. 

The drive home was silent; you had kept the music low. You couldn’t stop thinking about your dream. You couldn’t stop thinking about him, and how he felt. He was so cold, but he caused a fire to erupt inside you. You pull in your driveway; the first thing you notice was the soft light coming from the living room. You don’t remember turning it on before you left; you don’t remember a lot of things as of lately. You step out of the car and walk up your steps to the front door. You push the door shut with your hip, locking the deadbolt and the chain. You hang up your coat and kick the snow off your boots, slipping them off. Quickly changing into black sweatpants and an oversized flannel, you take your weed stash out of your drawer and roll yourself a few joints. You kept your wool socks on and had ignited the fire in the fireplace. 

The couch you had was old, but it was comfortable. You also couldn’t afford to buy a new one, and as much as you hated the thing, it was sentimental to you. The music from A New Hope comes over the television speakers, you light up the joint, feeling the burn as you pull the smoke into your lungs. You lean back, pulling your hair into a messy braid, the joint dangling from your lips. The overhead light flickers violently, startling you; followed by the sound of footsteps coming from upstairs. 

Nope. 

You know how this goes; you’ve watched every slasher film since the early 80s, you learned a thing or two about going after an unexplained sound. 

You were just high; everything was fine. The house was old; it was bound to have weird electrical issues and settling foundation. Living alone sucked, every sound you heard made you feel like you were signing off on an unavoidable death. Your leg bobs and you groan, pushing yourself off the couch, and going to the front door to make sure everything is locked. 

Double checking the windows, the doors, the basement door, you realized you were just psyching yourself out. You needed to lay off the weed for awhile, or actually get a cat. As you walk back to the couch, the lights flicker again and then they burn out.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” You mutter, trying to blindly move your way back to the kitchen to grab a flashlight. You grip the handle of the drawer, but you pause. The hair on the back of your neck rises; a cold breeze blows through your hair, and you shudder. Physically, you couldn’t move, but your brain was telling you, you needed to run. Something wasn’t right, something was in the kitchen with you. 

It was so cold. 

“Mmm…you smell so sweet.” 

You scream, loud, and you let go of the drawer. You’re running. Something cold breezes by you and suddenly you’re lifted in the air, being forcefully slammed against the wall of your living room. Cold hands were on your throat, but it wasn’t tight, just a strong hold…

You were terrified, you start punching at whatever has a hold of you, and then you hear a low rumbling growl as your pushed harder into the wall. You go still, your eyes are still squeezed shut, your heart was racing. 

“I can hear your heart beating.” 

You gasp, and you open your eyes.

That voice. From your dream.

You could only see darkness in front of you, but whoever had a hold on you, the moonlight hit his face just right. You couldn’t breathe, you couldn’t peel your eyes away, you couldn’t believe what you were seeing…except…

His eyes.

Wide, hints of that chocolate brown, with a weird color…almost blue, but not…like a tiger’s eyes. His hair…curly, matted, beautiful. His eyes scared you, terrified you. It looked like he was wearing eyeliner, but as you look closely, it’s just very dark circles; the corners of his eyes crinkled, he was grinning at you through the darkness. 

“Eddie?” You finally find your voice.

Another low growl: you gasp, feeling as his hand curls around your throat, moving up your chin, and curls his hands painfully in your hair. You could feel his breath on your neck as he pushes himself against you. He was freezing, his hands were even colder. What was happening? Were you dreaming again? No, you’re awake.

You’re awake!

“Eddie.” You say again, louder this time. His hand goes to your mouth hard, pushing your head against the wall, you groan out in pain against his hand. He was so strong. You see his full face now, he was still grinning, it was so sinister and tears spring to your eyes. Whoever this was, it wasn’t your Eddie. 

But it was.

His face, his eyes, his hair.

He puts his pale finger to his lips.

“Shhhhh…” He giggles, deep, guttural. His other hand moves down your arms, towards your waist, he tightens his hand there, moving it slowly towards your breasts. Your nipples peak at the coldness of his hand, and a soft grunt escapes you. He lifts his eyes to you, gently pulling his hand away from your mouth. Your breathing picks up as you stare at him, his hand moving closer and closer to your nipple. “Mmm. You’re so beautiful covered in darkness.” His breath hits your lips, and you shudder when he licks you from the base of your throat, all the way up to your lips. He’s kissing you, his tongue dancing with yours, you go to touch his face, but he pins both arms above your head, and you moan, a pleasant tingle settles in your gut. His fingers pinch your nipple now, and you moan against his mouth. He lets out a low growl, licking and sucking his way to where your neck meets your shoulder. Your eyes flutter closed, feeling his teeth graze the sensitive spot on your skin. 

You need to see his face again. 

You needed to be sure. 

“Eddie look at me.” You say breathlessly.  

He bites you; you swore he drew blood, and he kept going, his mouth now causing you pain as he bit into your flesh. “Eddie, Eddie! Stop! Stop! You’re hurting me! Stop!” You yell at him, breaking out of his grasp with all your strength and you instinctually push him away.

You see his discolored eyes widen for a split second in the darkness, like he realized he had forgotten something and just remembered that he did. And in that exact moment, the lights turn back on. 

He was gone. 

Where the fuck did he go?

No, this really happened, he was here. He was standing right here.

Your hand goes to your throat, you feel warmth, a stickiness, a smell. Your heart pounds in your chest when you pull your hand away and see blood. You rush to the bathroom, the light too bright. You squint at yourself in the mirror, your eyes widening as you see a smear of blood right where he had bit you, and his teeth marks. You grab a washcloth, placing it to your throat and wincing. You felt violated, but you also felt…somewhat whole again. 

You also felt crazy.

After cleaning yourself up, you spent a half an hour walking through every inch of your house, trying to find some sort of proof that he was there. The doors and windows were still locked, nothing looked amiss. There was no way you imagined it; you could feel him, see him, you had the fucking bite mark to prove it. Why did he bite you? Why did he seem to enjoy hurting you? 

Maybe you were imagining things. 

Because Eddie wouldn’t be that sinister. 

No, the Eddie you knew wouldn’t do that. 

He just wouldn’t. 

“You look like hell.” 

You meet Dustin’s eyes from across the table of the diner, you were pushing your pancakes around your plate with your fork. 

You smirk, “Nice to see you too, Dusty.” 

He wasn’t wrong; you had barely slept. It had been over a week since the encounter in your living room. The morning after, when you had taken off the bandage from your throat, you almost threw up when you see there was no healing wound, no sign of the blood that was there, no bite mark. That moment of just staring at yourself in the mirror gave you validation that maybe you were a little bit crazy. You haven’t had any dreams that you remember, and everything felt normal at your house. 

He gives you a sweet smile. “I’m sorry. I know it’s been a rough year. I hope you’re taking care of yourself.” 

“Are you?” 

He blinks, something flashes over his gaze, a memory, and his face pales for a moment before he’s smiling at you again. “Why yes, I am. Me and the guys started a new campaign with Erica Sinclair. We left off where…we didn’t finish it…we thought we shouldn’t.” 

You nod, feeling your lips tug it onto a frown. He was with Eddie when he died, but he never told you the full story. Part of you wanted to know, the other part didn’t. He spent months trying to convince everyone in Hawkins that Eddie was innocent, even going as far as telling parts of his story how Eddie died protecting a town that hated him. A lot of the townspeople believed him, but the others were too stubborn to believe it. 

“Are you okay?” He asks you gently. 

You give him a smile, shrugging. “No, but I’ll be fine.” 

He stares at you, biting his lip, he looked like he was trying to tell you something, but he doesn’t. Instead, he says, “Nightmares again?” 

You stare at him. Not really sure if you want to tell him what you’ve been dreaming about; how part of you is still convinced that he’s alive. You nod anyway. “Not nightmares, just…he’s in them more. And they feel real, like I can feel him touching me, and I can see him. Before it was just…darkness. Sounds crazy but, I feel like he’s alive when I have them.” You shake your head. “I know it’s crazy but, it’s comforting I guess.” 

Dustin nods, staring down at his plate of food. “Doesn’t sound crazy. I’ve seen him a few times too…in my dreams. Except he’s…he’s different.”

“What do you mean?” 

“I don’t know, he’s just…” he stops and awkwardly laughs. “It’s just dreams, our brains like to play tricks on us.” 

He doesn’t say anything more, and you don’t ask him any further. You change the subject, and the two of you chatted about the future, where you wanted to go if the opportunity arose. You weren’t sure if he noticed, but you couldn’t shake the feeling again that someone was watching you, you felt blood as you dug your nails into your palm. 

It had started to snow later that night, you sat at your bay window, watching as the snow made everything quiet. You pull gently on the end of the joint, inhaling deeply, letting the smoke billow from your nostrils. 

A brush of cold air tickles your skin and you shudder, quickly closing the window. 

“Mommy finally left you the house?” A deep chuckle from a familiar voice. 

You gasp, a scream stuck in your throat as you stumble to the floor. You gaze into the kitchen, and your heart falls to your stomach. 

No. It couldn’t be. 

He stood there leaning against the doorframe, smiling at you, his arms crossed over his chest. His jeans had holes at the knees; you notice his hellfire shirt…torn at the sides, dried blood everywhere, healed teeth marks on his pale flesh. His army green jacket was covered in dark spots, and his boots, they were surprisingly clean. His hair was still beautiful, but again…

His eyes. 

You couldn’t move from where you sat, your eyes were wide as you fixed on his gaze. He moves closer to you, and you whimper. “What happened to you?” You whisper, your voice shaking. 

“Oh, you know, this and that. It was pretty fucking gnarly.” He grins at you. He lifts up his shirt and you flinch; all around his stomach and sides were healed scars. You close your eyes and shake your head. 

“No, I need to wake up now, I need to wake up.” You say to yourself and feel tears burn your eyes. You feel a rush of a cold breeze and your eyes snap open. He’s so close to your face. 

“No. No. No. No. It’s okay, it’s me.” He grins at you, his cold finger gently caressing your cheek as you turn your face away from him. “You don’t need to be scared. I’m not gonna hurt you…I just want to taste you a little bit.” 

You shake your head, meeting his gaze. “You’re not Eddie.” 

He laughs, a mocking laugh, his head titling to the side. “I’m not? Your body is telling you differently.” 

He wasn’t wrong: there was so much excitement coursing through your veins, you felt the familiar love you felt for him as you stared at him. You missed him so much. The man kneeling in front of you has the face of Eddie but not his mind. Something was wrong. Something was definitely wrong with him. “Please…”

“Please what? You can get up and move anytime you want to, sweetheart. Just don’t run, it gets me all…” he shudders and rolls his shoulders, grinning again. “It gets me all riled up inside.” 

What? Like he’s a fucking predator? 

“Eddie…” You whisper and his eyes dart to yours. “How are you alive?” 

He sits back on his heels, studying your face. His grin touches his eyes, and it scares you. “Who says I’m alive?” He giggles at your widening eyes; you almost flinch away from him when he grabs your face. Holding your cheeks, his thumb gently moves over your lips. A growl rumbles in his chest. “So beautiful…your lips. I missed you.” 

Tears well in your eyes, and you squeeze them shut. “I missed you too…”

You hear what sounds like him crying, and then you realize he’s laughing. High pitched, cackle and you look at him, your heart shattering. “My boyfriend died and left me. My heart is in a million pieces, I can’t get up at night because I miss the love of my life, I wish he was here, I know he’s alive, waaaaah, waaaah. Seriously, sweetheart, you sound so pathetic.” 

“Fuck you!” You yell at him, or whatever the fuck he was. He laughs even harder and stands up and moves away from you. 

“Well, baby, you got your wish.” He extends his arms out to his sides and does a spin. “Here I am, and I’m better than ever.” 

You scramble to your feet towards the front door, you hear him groan in annoyance as he jumps in front of you, using his body to block your way to the door and he pulls you towards him by your hair. He pulls your back to his chest, his nose buried in your hair as his arm drapes over your shoulder and chest. “What did I say about running? Now you got me feeling things.” His voice is deep, guttural, menacing. 

You close your eyes, feeling the coldness from his lips as they touch your throat. “Did you think of me when you touched yourself? Did you scream my name?” 

You tremble, but a smirk toys at your lips and you feel a pleasant ache between your legs as he tightens his hold. That wasn’t a dream, she realizes. That was real. He was real. 

“Eddie…” You whimper, your fingers digging into his jacket, you try to turn your face to his mouth, but he moves his face away.

“Mmmm…I love when you say my name. Say it again.” His hand travels down your tummy, swims over your navel, teasing the snap of your jeans. 

Your eyes flutter closed. “Eddie.” 

His growl vibrates in his chest, his cold hands go into your underwear, and you arch your back against him as he palms your clit. “Again.” His lips kiss your throat gently.

“Eddie…” You moan, your breath coming out in short gasps as you feel his cold fingers slip inside you. 

“Again…” He bites your throat, but it didn’t hurt you, instead, it lit something up inside of you, something that had been building and building. 

And boy, did it feel fucking good. 

[tashacee]

Hello! Asking the question here because you told me to LOL

I was wondering, if a stranger than normal portal took one set of Links to the world of another set of Links, and maybe mixed them up, how long do you think it would take to figure out something was up? What do you think the different reactions of Apect AU seeing Mask AU? Especially since we know that Aspect Links now have experience with thinking someone was an evil double but turned out to not be?

SO I love this so much and i am SO happy you sent it here THANK YOU Okay so this was going to be a standalone but now I've decided it's a sequel to Aspects of a Mask

Aspects of a Mask 2 - Twilight Boogaloo

The two chains, unbeknownst to each other, come through their portals into the same woods. And unbeknownst to each other, they set up camp only a few hundred feet from one another.

It's the middle of the night when, unbeknownst to each other, the Twilight's of both Chains realise they really need to pee. So they both wave to their respective Warriors', who are on watch, and tootle off to take a whiz. And unbeknownst to each other, they both get a little turned around in the darkness, the result of which is that they both end up returning to the wrong campsite.

Neither notices and they both settle back into their bedrolls, wriggling a little and each thinking vaguely that it feels slightly... different.

Whatever. Probably just tired.

The next morning, neither notices immediately. The Mask!Chain think that Twi must still be tired and that's why he's not speaking as he shaves. The Aspects!Chain also notice nothing at first, because the Twilight they've ended up with may be able to speak, but he actually is really tired and is very slow getting up.

Predicatably, the thing that gives them each away is Wild. Wild is the outlier in each Chain, the thing that makes them really different at first glance.

For the Mask Chain, Bean creeps up to where Twi is tiredly pulling a comb through his hair. He needs a favour, and he trusts Twilight more than he trusts anyone.

"Twi?" he says quietly. "Can you help with my ba-"

That's as far as he got. Because Twilight jumped a mile in the air and turned around in shock, eyes wide as he took in the mask. Because he knows this Wild, he met him during that weird week where he joined his chain. But... as far as he knows there hasn't been any weird portals recently.

Well. Weirder than usual.

Mask!Wild also stares at Twi, eyes flicking to his neck in recognition.

"...you." he breathes. "But- how-"

Twi shook his head, looking around in shock. As he looked, he realised more was different than he had realised. Nearby, Hyrule was chatting quietly with Legend and across the camp, Sky was reading a book.

He wasn't in Ordon anymore.

In the Aspects camp, something similar happened to Mask!Twi but.... perhaps less.... calmly.

Because Aspects Wild also had a request for his good good buddy Twi, but was less nervous about asking for it. Instead he saw how Twi was still lazing in his bedroll and decided that the best course of action was to jump in beside him. Because of course.

From Twi's point of view, he was relaxing and having a lazy morning, when all of a sudden something very large and very fluffy was pouncing on top of him.

Twilight shrieked. And of course, not expecting any kind of sound from the rancher, Wild also shrieked.

"ORDONA'S YELLOW POLKA DOT BIKINI WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCKING FUCK?!" Twilight screeched

Wild stared at him. And then he yowled. Around him, all of his Chain drew their swords and leapt to their feet, ready to fight this bizarre imposter.

"Aw, Faron's tits, I'm out!" Twi hissed and did the only sensible thing he could think of - he got up and fled.

He didn't get far. Because over in the MUCH calmer Mask!Camp, Bean and Aspects!Twi had explained what was going on (as well as they could understand it) and were coming through the woods in search of their counterparts.

And so in his desperate flight, chased by Aspects!Wild and the rest of the Chain, Twilight ran straight into... himself. And immediately stumbled and fell onto the ground. He looked up. Saw the him-but-not-him.

"Balls." he whispered, staring up at him.

Thankfully, the misunderstanding didn't take too long to clear up after that. When the Bean and Aspects!Wild saw each other they immediately ran into a hug, and the Aspects Chain were all delighted to see Mask!Wild again.

Bean was more than a little flustered introducing his Chain to them all, and they were all more than a little astounded to meet their counterparts, the two Twilights especially. They weren't sure why they had been brought together, not at first.

That only became evident when they all joined together in one camp, both Wilds cooking, both Skys strumming their harps, all of them happily relaxing and getting to know one another.

Because they hadn't been brought together for a battle or for training. They'd been brought together, purely and simply, because they had all been through a lot. And they all deserved a break. And awkward meeting aside, a break was what they were going to get.

[thefallennightmare]

Ménage à Trois-nine

*credit to me(thefallennightmare) for creating the gif. feel free to use, simply give credit*

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: SMUT!! 18+ only please, swearing, angst, fluff, kidnapping, torture, violence. M/F/M relations.

Summary: Bucky has a proposition for Reader, something involving Steve. This trio, however, never expected for their lives to change after that night the way it had.

A/N: I believe there will be either four or five chapters left. But I do plan on having a sequel because I've decided to follow the Captain America universe timeline! Tags are open!

Tags(open): @matisse030502 @buckystevelove @floral-recs @inlovewithametalarm @buckies-dolle @cjand10 @matchat3a @kamaria-sweet-writes @pono-pura-vida @miikayywhocares @kunaikunari @mousee555 @akmenia @pono-pura-vida @ezraa-the @kandis-mom

The rain pelted hard against the car as I sat in the backseat, staring at the raindrops that slid down the window. A muted yawn slipped through my lips and I leaned farther back into the leather of the seat, knowing that I still had a while before I reached my destination. Even though I was exhausted, thanks to the long flight, my knee still bounced with the excitement of seeing him. It had been almost two months since I last laid eyes on and kissed him, and my body buzzed with the need to feel him again.

After Steve became the super soldier, the government needed him for something other than fighting the war. I was apprehensive at first when Steve told me about it but he assured me it would only be a few times then maybe by then, they would send him off to fight in the war.

But that was two months ago, and the Senator had Steve singing and dancing on stage to sell bullets or bonds; whatever it was, it was working. So much so, Steve received his new nickname.

Captain America.

I laughed out loud when I first read the flyer I saw hanging in a store window shortly after Steve left.

But what was supposed to be a few shows in New York turned out to be 20 shows all over the country before it went overseas. Steve called me a few days ago to check in and tell me he was heading to Italy to visit some troops there to raise morale. I couldn’t hide the disappointment in my voice when he told me it would be even longer before we saw each other again.

“I’m sorry, doll if I could change it you know I would.”

The phone call ended in a fight; me accusing him of wanting to do this more than spending time with me and Steve saying that he needs to do this, for Dr. Erskine.

“I don’t think this is what he had in mind when he made you this super soldier, Steve,” I spat into the phone before hanging up.

As soon as we hung up, I instantly regretted fighting with him because I did not know when the next time I could talk to him. I was already in a terrible mood because the letter I sent to Bucky last month got returned to me. After all, he wasn’t at that base anymore. It had been almost three months since I heard from him and my heart was hurting with the thought of if he was alright.

“Miss?”

I broke my gaze away from the window and smiled at the driver. “Yes?”

“We’re here. Would you like me to walk you over to him? The rain is quite heavy.”

Immediately I waved him off. “Unnecessary. A little rain never bothered me. Thank you for driving me.”

Before I got out of the car, I looked around the base camp the car stopped in front of. Even if it was dreary because of the rain, I don’t think the sun shinned much here. Which made my heart ache even more for Bucky. He was stuck in something like this, away from the two people he loved the most.

With a small smile, I quickly darted out of the car and took the direction the driver gave me where I could find him. This trip was a surprise, thrown together by the Senator for Steve's great job.

Ducking away from the rain, I stepped in front of a tent that was assigned to him. He was sitting outside, hidden from the rain with his back to me and I saw him leaning over, sketching something in his book.

“Steve,” my voice came out soft like butter.

He peered over his shoulder, doing a double take when his eyes landed on me.

“Hi,” he said.

I raised my shoulders. “Surprise!”

He tossed the sketchbook inside his tent before standing to his feet, quickly taking me into his arms. The familiar warmth spread over every inch of me as I took in his scent, my hands gripping his back.

“What are you doing here?” Steve asked into my hairline.

Still in his embrace, I looked up at him. “The senator was pretty happy with how your little tour is going so he flew me out here to visit you.”

Underneath his smile, I noticed how tired Steve was. The lines at the ends of his eyes were deep and the darkness under his eyes mirrored the stormy skies. The tips of my fingers grazed over his cheek, a frown pulling at my lips.

“When was the last time you slept?” I asked.

Steve brushed his lips across my forehead. “Not since the night we fought on the phone.”

“Oh,” my heart dropped into my stomach and I wrapped my arms tighter around him. “I’m sorry.”

“So am I,” he said before dropping his lips to mine, capturing it in a long overdue kiss.

This was the longest I had been away from Steve since I first met him and now that we were dating, it made being away from miserable. I missed the way the heat from his body would radiate off of him when he held me at night or the way his lips would brush against mine as his cock slammed into me.

My cheeks blushed at that thought and my core ached with the need to feel him again especially when Steve’s kiss picked up to a ravenous pace, his tongue darting into my mouth with such force it made my head spin.

When we finally pulled away, I motioned to the tent him. “You’re not bunking with anyone are you?”

Darkness filled Steve’s pupils as he shook his head then laced our fingers together and all but dragged me inside. It wasn’t much, only a cot with a blanket and one pillow. His bag lay unopened at the end, his clothes scattered throughout. A table next to the cot had some of his sketchbook and a picture of him, Bucky, and me.

I grasped it tightly in my hand, and a lone tear dropped onto Bucky’s face. It was taken about a year ago and it blew my mind how much hand changed since then. Steve stood behind me, staring down at the picture over my shoulder.

“Do you think he’s doing alright?” I asked.

His lips left a kiss on the top of my head. “It’s Bucky. He’s doing just fine, doll.”

Setting the picture back onto the table, I turned to face Steve.

“Can I be honest with you?”

When he nodded, I continued. “Sometimes when we’re together, I feel guilty. I know Bucky said we can do things like this but a part of me scolds myself for falling into bed with you while he’s somewhere fighting this war.”

“Y/N,” my name came out hushed on his lips. “It was Bucky’s idea for all of us to be together. What we’re doing isn’t wrong.”

I nodded. “I know that and I’m not saying it’s wrong. It’s just-.”

My voice trailed off unable to find the right words for what I’m feeling.

Steve lifted my chin with his finger, bringing our gazes together.

“You wish he was here,” he observed.

“I miss him so fucking much,” I admitted with a shaky breath.

Strong arms wrapped around my hips and I allowed Steve to bring me into his embrace once again, pressing my cheek into his chest.

“I’m sorry for getting so upset. We only have one night together and I don’t want to ruin it,” I said.

I could only stay for less than 12 hours, the Senators ordered.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Steve admitted with a quiet breath.

Instead of answering, I lifted my face to his and pressed our lips together. It was slow at first almost as a way of remembering how we tasted but soon, Steve’s tongue brushed passed my lips devouring my own. I moaned into it, my hands sliding underneath his shirt to graze over the skin of his stomach. His muscles tensed under my touch before shivers plowed through Steve. My name fell from his lips in a desperate moan. It had been a while since we were together like this which made me pull away from our heated kiss. Steve’s lips were swollen red from our kiss and I was sure mine matched.

“Can we-?” My words trailed off as I looked from the opening of his tent back to him.

Steve’s usual bright blue eyes were darker because of the lust and he nodded slowly. “You’ll have to be quiet, though.”

I snickered. “We both know that’s impossible.”

Our lips touched once more and Steve began to slowly lead me towards the small cot, the back of my knees hitting the side of it before falling onto it with him cowering over me.

My nails scratched at the skin of Steve’s chest, tracing white lines in shapes that made no sense to me but that didn’t seem to bother him. His chin rested on top of my head while his hand rested on my lower back and his breathing slowly evened out.

“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to your new stamina,” I joked.

Steve chuckled while squeezing me. “I hope I didn’t hurt you.”

Something burned low in my stomach as I thought back to not even an hour ago when Steve had me bent over his cot, cock slamming into me hard and fast while one of his hands was over my mouth to keep me quiet while the other strummed lightly over my clit. The words he groaned into my ear replayed in my mind.

“I bet the thought of getting caught is making your pussy wet. Knowing that any moment someone could walk in and see you bent over taking my cock so well, it’s making you weak.”

When I said nothing, Steve’s hand left my clit for a few seconds to land a hard smack to my ass. My answer then came out in a dragged-out yes.

“Not at all,” I hummed while placing a kiss on his chest.

Ever since he became this super soldier, Steve’s stamina during sex had increased and he could go faster, harder, and longer. It wasn’t something I was used to, even though I had been with Bucky for so long before Steve.

The last hour did exactly what I needed it to; forget about Bucky being away from us. But now that our high had dissolved, I let out a shaky sigh.

“What are the chances Captain America will perform for Bucky’s unit?” I asked.

Steve tensed underneath me only for a moment. “I’m not sure. They don’t tell me who I’m performing for. Only where to go.”

The sadness behind his words made me look up into his eyes. “Come back home with me.”

“I can’t do that, doll,” he sighed.

Knowing that this would only end in another fight, I bit away the words from my lips before resting my cheek against his chest once more. Steve knew I wasn’t happy with his answer but did nothing to reassure me, also knowing the same thing I did.

“I have another show tonight,” his voice broke through the quiet after some time.

I looked up at him again with a raised brow. “Are you saying that I finally get to see Captain America in action?”

Steve chuckled. “It’s nothing special.”

“I beg to differ. I’ve been dying to see how you look in those tights.”

Now Steve’s brow raised. “Oh, yeah?”

I nodded while rolling on top of him, his large hands sprawling over my back. It was already a tight fit for the both of us on his small cot because of the size of him but Steve was fast to make our new position comfortable.

“Do I have to beg you to wear it one night in bed?” I questioned.

Steve’s cock twitched underneath me, the head of it brushing against my folds. I let out a breathy moan while my eyes fluttered shut.

“Doll, you never have to beg me for anything,” he groaned into the crook of my neck.

A quiet cough from the other side of the tent caused Steve to roll me off of him, hiding my bare form behind him. I peered over his shoulder at the redhead who stared straight ahead at Steve’s chest and then down to the blanket that hung loosely on his hips. Thankfully, it covered his bottom half.

“Fuck,” he cursed.

Peggy’s lips pulled in a tight line. “Clearly.”

My eyes sliced into her not liking her tone.

“Haven’t you heard of knocking?” I asked.

She motioned to the tent. “How can I?”

Steve knew I was a few seconds away from launching myself over him to give Peggy a piece of my mind so he placed a hand on my hip.

“What do you need?” He asked her.

“I wanted to see how you were doing but seems as if Y/N beat me to it,” Peggy said.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I muttered into Steve’s bare back.

“I’m fine, we both are. Is there anything else?” He asked while clutching the blanket closer to his hips.

Peggy nodded but made no effort to leave.

“I heard that the last show was rough.”

Steve shrugged. “They would rather have seen the girls.”

“Well, it’s been a tough time for the men. They’ve lost half of their unit in the last attack. Who you saw earlier was the rest of the 107th.”

At her words, my spine straightened as I sat up in bed holding the blanket against my naked body.

“Did you say the 107th?”

The question came out shaky and broken.

Steve was also sitting up in bed, his shoulders rigid.

Peggy looked between us unsure why we were so upset with her words before nodding. My ears filled with what felt like blood as the noises from the rain outside faded away, my thoughts tangling together.

The 107th? This was Bucky’s unit. This entire time, we were on the same base as Bucky and didn’t know.

“Did you know?” I quietly asked Steve.

He was quick to shake his head. “No. I didn’t see him in the crowd either.”

My heart fell into my stomach when I slowly realized what that meant.

“I need to talk to Colonel Philips,” Steve said while slipping his briefs back on underneath the blanket.

I sat frozen on the bed with fear filling my veins, as I thought the absolute worse. If we were on Bucky’s base camp and he wasn’t in the crowd earlier during Steve’s show that must have meant they captured him.

It was when Steve, who was fully dressed now, placed my clothes from earlier into my lap and then grasped my chin between his fingers.

“We won’t know until we talk to Colonel Philips. Get dressed.”

I blinked, coming back to reality, and nodded. Bucky was heavily on my mind now more than ever before and I needed to know if he was alive.

[luxudus]

    Took me long enough but heres the sequel to the september cutting room floor. Ending this series for good. Staring in order by their number Starting with the entries made for 2022

    1. A mammaloid alien native to a dangerously cold planet iconic for it’s red and blue plantlife. They are skittish herbivores. Grazing along its planet’s “grass” by grabbing handfuls of plants with its oral tentacles and brought it to a mouth located in a hollow space in between its oral tentacles and head. And would sport vibrant patterns to blend in with it’s equally colorful forests

    2. Originally a suggestion by my friend Lemuel. They were a descendent of pill bugs/roly polies that evolved powered flight. They soared through forest understories with three sets of flattened legs and held onto branches with their hind pairs of limbs. In spite of the radical change to their movement, they would still act and eat like any other Armadillidiid Isopod. Only now they could get to their food much faster

Now onto the entries made for 2023.

    3. An alien predator that has all of our senses, but none of the familiar organs. They see the world with an organic sonar dish so powerful it could see colors as good as any eye. They smell and feel heat through heat pits on the sides of their body. They hear sound through sensitive whiskers on the feet of their hydraulic legs. And they eat and taste with a liquivorous proboscis.     And on top of their unique sensory organs and a testament to their overwhelming success, they are also freakishly intelligent. Not fully sophont, but still able to run circles around earth’s smartest life aside from humans.

    4. An orbital view of a carbon planet. A hypothetical world where it and the rest of it’s star system formed with much more carbon in its composition than standard oxygen. In place of water would be oceans and clouds of hydrocarbons. And nestled right in between the crust and mantle would be a hundred-kilometer-thick layer of pure diamond.     Sadly how life would evolve and take advantage of such a world was never conceptualized before spectember ended. Maybe someday this idea can be covered again and be brought to justice.

    5. A descendant of azhdarchid pterosaurs from the same world (or at least set of timelines) as the aforementioned Dinosauroids. They live in hierarchical herds where the strongest males have ownership over the herd’s female members.     They are also extremely violent, capable of killing their own predators if a hunt goes slightly wrong, And changes in power often escalate into bloody fights that could end in death. Some members are even willing to kill their herd mates' children if it means they get a chance to continue their bloodline.

6. A descendant of the golden snub-nosed monkey that has evolved to mimic the violet deathhead from my last official september post. Their fur is a speckled brown to blend in with the trees it lives on. The structure mimicking the deathhead sail is derived from nasal flaps once used to attract mates. The primate’s blue skin paired with clusters of veins within the nasal flaps create the iconic purple hue.     High concentrations of melanin along the tip of the nasal flaps mimic the black stripes. And even the orange spots are recreated by rows of unusually thin skin refract sunlight the same way the webbing between our fingers turns orange as a close light source passes through it

    7. A dinosauroid microbiologist who lived in a time when their people colonized the solar system. A Chia’J-di ecologist who lived in a time when their species’ industrial revolution provoked an equally powerful environmentalist counterculture, the globe they are holding is earth 500 million years in the future and long after pangea ultima split, the version of earth their species hails from. And a masculine female human sophontologist who lived in the aztec empire during it’s height. All pose for a picture.     Despite their different walks of life and origins of separate timelines. They are all heads of research within the earth division of the Inter-Timeline Evolutionist Union, better known as the ITEU

The ITEU is a non-profit, nongovernmental secret organization spanning the entire multiverse. With the goal of documenting and archiving the evolution of every species and civilization that has ever lived and will ever live across every possible timeline.     Their employee count ranges in the quantifiable infinity, and the division of a single planet is still big enough to utterly dwarf the largest and most technologically advanced civilizations ever documented. And their membership program accepts anyone from individual sophonts like you and I, galaxy spanning gestalt super-intelligence, to even celestial deities that create their own worlds and galaxies and seed them with life.  

    The symbol above the heads of the earth division is the logo of the ITEU as a whole. Surprisingly very little is known about the meaning behind it. Theories range anywhere from it representing the multiverse as a stream of timelines. The evolutionary tree of life, the infinite fractal-like scale of life and the multiverse. To possibly even the form of the ITEU’s founding species.     There’s a very good reason why the logo is a mystery to all. The ITEU has some pretty big flaws in spite of their noble goal. The organization is very secretive, even to it’s own members. Nobody outside the ITEU knows it even exists. The organization’s founders and early history remain a complete mystery. And despite its multiversal span being common knowledge. no one truly knows the full scale of this organization or the multiverse. 

    They are also very non-interventionist, and will stop at nothing to not leave a mark on the natural world and make any irreversible changes to the course of time. Even if it means never sharing their knowledge with the multiverse’s most advanced civilizations. Allowing interdimensional atrocities to keep going despite having the power to stop it. Or even keeping their own members from ever returning home.     This whole entry was meant to be a bigger grand finale to 2023’s spectember instead of the Batesian mimicry ring or the neurodivergent posthumans. And was meant to be a meta look at 2023’s entries and the genre of speculative evolution as a whole before spiraling out into its own thing entirely.

(i apologize if the aztec woman appears culturally and/or racially insensitive, if anyone who's an expert on aztec culture wants to give feedback I'd appreciate it a lot i want to improve more on illustrating other cultures)

[mamaestapa]

exposing my drafts!

some of these fics are just ideas right now and other have been started. some of these are also “outdated” like they been in my drafts for so long the plot isn’t even relevant anymore…BUT i’ll still finish them ;)

NFL

Joe Burrow:

Leather and Lace (Smut)

You surprise Joe with some special lingerie after the Bengals win their first Super Bowl

Call It What You Want (Angst & fluff)

Fans love to speculate about your relationship with Joe, but only the two of you know what you truly are. The fans can continue to call it what they want

NHL

Jack Hughes:

False God (Smut)

Based off of False God by Taylor Swift

Trevor Zegras:

Electric Touch (Smut)

Remote controlled vibrator, team dinner party, sex in a bathroom

Want You All Over Me (Smut)

Lazy, sweet, morning sex with Trevor after you sneak into his bedroom (Set in Devils Advocate universe)

Is It Over Now? (Angst)

Based on Is It Over Now? by Taylor Swift

Trevor Zegras & Jack Hughes:

Surround Sound (Smut)

During a party at the lake house in Michigan Jack and Trevor discover that you never had a prom night experience like theirs, and they make it their mission to make sure you finally get to experience what they did…

Jamie Drysdale:

Ducklings First Holliday (Fluff)

Celebrating your first holliday with your newborn baby girl (set BEFORE Jamie got traded)

You Were There (Angst & Fluff)

Takes place during Jamie’s trade to Philly, based on the bridge in evermore by Taylor Swift

Adam Fantilli:

Mile High Club (Smut)

On a flight to Cabo for your birthday, your boyfriend suggests you become members of a certain club…

When in Rome (Smut & a little Fluff)

Italy trip with the Fantilli’s, Adam goes crazy over you in your bikini, rough sex in the hotel shower & bed

UMICH

Ethan Edwards:

A little Death (Smut/Angst/Fluff)

Based off of the song A Little Death by The Neighbourhood

Good Kisser (Smut)

You give Ethan the best blowjob (and more) of his life after the team goes to the Frozen Four

Rutger McGroarty:

Oh Mama Don’t You Cry (Smut & Fluff)

Celebrating Team USA winning gold at World Juniors with Rutger

Hey Jealousy (Angst/Smut/Fluff)

Puck bunny hits on Rutger and you get jealous. Rutger shows you that you’re the only one for him…

Butterfly Kisses (Fluff)

Some cute date night fluff with Rutger

Ethan Edwards & Rutger McGroarty (Digital Animal):

Freaky Folks (Smut)

Ethan still has a thing or two to teach Rutger about how to make his girlfriend feel good (Sequel to Digital Animal)

Cruel Summer (Smut)

Rutger fingers you in the back of an Uber while you’re sitting on Ethan’s lap (Literally the scene from Icebreaker just with Ethan and Rutger)

Look After You (Angst & Fluff)

After an argument with Ethan and Rutger, you go to a party out of spite. When things go south, the boys are there to rescue you despite your fight from earlier

The Hills (Smut)

Loosely based off of The Hills by The Weeknd, lots of sneaking around with Rutger behind teammates backs

Luca Fantilli:

Lucky Charm (Fluff)

Celebrating Luca’s first goal with him since you started dating

Mark Estapa:

Cherry Flavoured (Smut)

Based on Cherry Flavoured by The Neighbourhood

if you have questions or thoughts about any of these, feel free to send some asks!🤍

[silentglassbreak]

Anonymous

Noah Sebastian x OFC

Here we are, folks. This is the final part to this piece of Noah & Leena’s story. I’ll write an epilogue, once I’ve made a final decision on if I want there to be a sequel or not. If you want one, let me know. Thank you for coming on this journey with me. This story brewed in my head one night, and I had to get it out. This one is fluffy, some smut, and how I wanted this story to end…for now?🖤

Warnings: Alcohol abuse, overall abuse, mild violence (ie. bar fights), smut, swearing, and altogether just a lot of fuckery. **TW: light kink content (spanking & hair pulling, dirty talk, S&M to a degree)

+It goes without saying. This is a work of fiction. My words are mine. Plagiarism is a crime.

Taglist: @flowery-mess @lma1986 @myownthoughts12

Part 11 - Just Pretend

The rain made the loveliest soft thumping sound on the ground all around the porch. My legs crossed under me, the heavy quilt covering me to keep warm against the fifty-five degree air. I held my steaming mug, the smell of the coffee’s comfortable aroma satisfying my senses. The world was so quiet here, and I couldn’t believe I had been missing this for so long.

“Leena?” I turned to glance at the front door, my dad hanging his head out. “Breakfast is ready.”

I swung my legs off of the swing, pulling the quilt off, and walked into the house. The smell of bacon and pancakes filled the air. My stomach grumbled in response. I sat down opposite my Dad at the table, grabbing the syrup bottle and pouring a healthy amount over my pancakes before tearing into them, ignoring the eggs and bacon on the side of my plate.

Dad munched his own breakfast, carving the slices from his grapefruit carefully with his spoon. "So what time is your guy supposed to get here?"

"Mm," I swallowed the bite in my mouth. "His flight gets in at 12:15. He'll probably be here about an hour later? He's got to get his rental."

"Still don't get why we don't just pick him up." Dad mumbled under his breath.

I shrugged. "Daddy, you're going to be nice to him, right?" I lowered my fork and pressed my hands together in a praying position. "Pleeeease!"

He huffed. "As long as he's nice to you."

I smiled, then. "He is."

"Better be." I narrowed my eyes at my Dad, opening my mouth to speak when my phone went off on the table next to me.

I swiped it and stood from the table.

"Hey!"

"Hey, beautiful." Noah's voice was smooth. "I just got through TSA and to my gate. I've got about an hour until my flight leaves."

"Okay! I can't wait for you to get here."

I could hear the smile in his voice. "Me either. Hey, uh, I meant to ask you," He paused. "Your Dad, is he going to like...kill me in my sleep?"

"Uhm," I glanced over my shoulder, watching Dad slip Angel a strip of bacon under the table, and rolled my eyes. "no, no, of course not."

"You hesitated."

I sighed. "Baby," I walked out of the doorway, the screen snapping shut behind me. "he's just protective, but he's harmless." I chewed my lip. "Mostly."

"Mostly?" His voice was clearly apprehensive.

"Just don't ask him to show you the gun room."

"He has a gun room?!"

"It's going to be fine, Noah." I snickered. "Besides, he leaves tomorrow for three days. He's going on a fishing trip. So we'll be alone."

"Who fishes in February?"

I laughed loudly. "That's what you were thinking about?"

"Well, thinking of screwing you in your father's house scares me, so..."

I lowered my voice, "Oh yeah? That's wild, cause all I can think about is you bending me over the balcony railing and fucking me in the pouring rain, but, I mean, if you have questions about fishing..."

"Jesus fucking Christ, Leena!" His voice was hushed, and I cracked a wicked grin. "Not a good place to get an erection! It's hard to hide here!"

I busted out in laughter. "Sorry, babe. It's too easy."

"You just wait until I get you alone, girl."

"Yeah? I don't know, I'm not too worried." I was playing a dangerous game.

"No?" I heard him snicker. "You fucking should be."

A chill ran up my spine, and I heard the door behind me open. Angel ran past me, headed for the lawn to use the bathroom. It startled me.

"Well, we'll just see how it goes when you get here." I brought my voice back up to it's normal decibel.

"Mhm, we sure will."

"I've got to go, babe. I'm having breakfast with Dad."

"Okay, love. I'll see you soon."

"Not soon enough."

I was twirling around the kitchen, getting Dad's lunch cooking. The soup boiled in the pot while I poured in the cream, stirring in parsley and thyme. The smell of the potatoes and cheddar cheese filled my nostrils, creating an absolutely heavenly aroma.

"You didn't have to make lunch, baby. I am capable of feeding myself." Dad stood on the other side of the kitchen counter.

"I know that, but I’m nervous, and need something to do. So you're getting soup."

He nodded. "Smells good."

I smiled, "It'll be ready soon. I'm just waiting for the potatoes to soften up a little more."

He turned his head, something catching his eye. "Hey Lee?"

"Hmm?" I hummed, looking into the pot.

"I think he's here."

My head snapped up, eyes darting out the dining room window, a dark blue sedan pulling up next to my Dad's Ford F150. I broke out in a thousand-watt smile, setting the spoon in my hand down on the counter.

"Angel, come!" He had already nearly beat me to the door. I opened the latch and stepped onto the porch as the driver's door opened.

He stood out of the car, being greeted by Angel, who had already ran down the wooden steps and across the lawn. Noah crouched down, letting him put his front paws on his chest, scratching up and down his sides.

"Hey buddy!" He let Angel lick his face, smiling widely. "How you been? Good? Taking care of your mom?"

He looked up then, eyes catching me. I couldn't hide the excitement on my face. I broke out in a full sprint, nearly tripping off of the porch.

He stood, arms open, and I launched myself upon him. He wrapped me up, picking my feet off the ground. He squeezed me, his fingers digging into my sides.

"Ugh, I missed you so much." My words were muffled in his neck.

He finally set me down, and I reached my lips up to press a quick, solid kiss to his lips.

I heard a throat clearing, and turned my head to see my Dad standing on the steps, looking absolutely unamused. I felt my cheeks tinge pink, but I grabbed Noah by the hand, noticing he was now looking a little green. He really was nervous.

"Daddy?" He hopped down onto the grass to meet me halfway. Noah trailed a step behind me. "This is Noah."

I moved to the side, and my Dad brought his hand forward, Noah slipping his own in easily. "Lorne Richards. Nice to meet you." His voice was stern, testing the waters.

Noah nodded, giving his hand a firm shake. "Noah Sebastian, sir." He gave one of his absolutely mouthwatering smiles. "Thank you so much for having me."

My Dad let his hand go, and put his own in his jeans pockets.

"Leena was just making lunch. Come on in." Turning around, he trotted up the steps, Angel following him.

I could see a visible relief in Noah's posture.

"See?" He glanced down at me. "No biggie."

He smirked. "Did he say you were making lunch?"

I nodded. "Cheddar potato soup."

He raised an eyebrow. "You can cook?"

I swatted at him, laughing. "Oh shut up."

-

I sat on the couch, side pressed against Noah’s, the movie playing on the screen ahead of us. I heard the footsteps sliding down the hallway, and I glanced up to see Dad looking at me and pointing a finger at Noah.

“Someone’s tired.”

I raised an eyebrow and turned my attention to my now sleeping, slightly drooling boyfriend. His head was leaned against the back of the couch, his eyes closed gently, mouth very slightly ajar. I smirked.

“Yeah, he sure is.” I stood off the couch gently, following Dad into the kitchen.

He pulled a bottle of water out of the fridge and took a long pull. He peeked at his watch, and snorted.

“It’s only eight-o’clock. Kinda early isn’t it?”

I leaned against the countertop, arms folded over my chest. “Yeah, he just got back from Europe a few days ago, so I would bet he’s still jet lagged.”

Dad nodded. “He was quiet at dinner.”

I snorted. “He’s terrified of you, Daddy.”

Dad raised his brows in surprise. “He is? I wonder why.”

I hung my mouth open, amused. “Are you kidding? You’re my Dad and my sponsor. He knows how important you are to me, and how much your opinion matters.”

Dad waved me off. “I’m just a guy, Lee. No different than him.”

“Psh, yeah, okay.” Our voices were hushed. “He wants you to like him.”

Dad raised one brow now. “Is there a reason for that?”

I deadpanned. “Because he loves me? And that gets complicated when the most important person in my life doesn’t like him?”

Dad seemed to accept that, but still looked up at me through his lashes. “You ain’t gonna run off and get married or somethin’ are you?”

“Married?!” My voice came out louder than I intended, and I slapped a hand over my mouth when I realized. My eyes shot back to the living room, seeing Noah still snoozing.

Once I gathered myself, I cleared my throat. “No. No, absolutely not.”

He looked at me incredulously. “Yeah? Seem a little defensive there.” He cracked a grin, making me shake my head laughing.

“Dad, Noah and I have only been together for a few months, not including earlier in the year.”

He padded over to me, placing his hands on the tops of my shoulders. “I get that, baby.” He then lowered his head to catch my eye line. “I also know you love that boy.”

My expression was surprised. “You do?”

“Well, of course. Watching you two together, it’s like teenagers in high school.” This made me blush. “I also don’t doubt that he loves you too.”

This made me grin, like a little girl hearing her first crush actually liked her. “Really?”

“Mhm. Can tell by the way he looks at you.” He then turned his attention back to Noah, snoozing. “And also that he could be at home sleeping off that tour he just did, but instead he’s here for two weeks, facing your very scary Dad.”

He had puffed his chest, which cracked me up. “Seriously? You’re not so scary.”

He huffed out a gruff laugh. “Wait till he sees my gun room!”

Dad had said goodnight to Angel and I, reminding me he’d be gone by 4AM to meet with his fishing buddies. He was leaving food in the fridge, a whole pack of bacon specifically for Angel.

I walked over to the couch, leaning down, touching Noah’s arm and giving it a light squeeze.

“Baby?”

He roused quickly, startled, his eyes popping open. They softened quickly, back to the sleepy squint.

“Oh, hey.” He rubbed his eyes and a hard yawn came out. “When did I pass out?”

“A little bit ago. Let’s get you to bed.”

He stood off the couch, stretching his arms. “What time is it?”

“About 8:45.”

He nodded, yawning again. “I’m sorry, I know it’s early for you.”

I took his hand, leading him toward the staircase. “It’s no biggie. You’re exhausted.”

He scoffed. “Well, it’s almost 6AM in Paris, and I haven’t slept since last night. So, maybe a little?”

We walked up the stairs and straight into my room. I had brought his duffle up earlier, and it was perched on the bed.

He grimaced. “You’re sure your Dad is okay with me sleeping in your room? I don’t want to make him uncomfortable.”

I rolled my eyes. “Oh hush. He’s fine. He’s old, not stupid.”

This made him shake his head, unzipping his bag and pulling out sweatpants and a t-shirt.

He looked at me. “Bathroom?”

I pointed him in the direction, and he left quickly. I took the moment to grab my own pajama pants and shirt out of my closet, and slipped my shirt over my head. Back turned to the doorway, I slid my jeans over my hips, standing in my bra and underwear.

I shivered in the cool air of the house, slowly pulling my hair out of the ponytail I had kept it in all day. I took a moment to scratch at my scalp, enjoying the sensation of my hair finally being free and falling loose.

I reached back and unclasped my bra, letting it fall to the floor. Reaching my hands over my head, I stretched my arms and spine, shaking the day off of me.

“Mmph.”

I whipped around, nearly jumping out of my skin. Noah stood in the doorway, hip leaning against the frame, a dark grin plastered on his face, his eyes locked on me. Instinctively, my hands reached up to cover my exposed breasts, making him intentionally frown.

“Would you knock it off!” I said playfully, chucking my shirt at him.

He caught it mid-air and just shook his head. “Sorry. If you’re going to look like that, then I’m going to ogle. My right as the boyfriend.”

I quirked a brow, letting my hands fall to my sides. His smugness faded while I walked over to him.

“Oh yeah?” I stood only inches in front of him now, my hardened nipples brushing the front of the fabric of his shirt. “Go ahead, then.”

He stared at me, cool expression on his face. He stepped forward and pulled the door closed behind him. He was pressed against me now, fingers of his right hand trailing up my side, grazing the side of my chest. Fresh goosebumps raised on my arms, and I inhaled a hard breath.

“So fucking pretty.” His dark eyes, nearly completely blackened, searched my face. “I can’t believe I went without this for so long.”

I snorted. “Hasn’t been that long.”

His voice was deadly, baritone. “Long enough.”

His lips attacked me then, catching my mouth and pulling me toward him. I stood on my tip-toes, so he caught me off-kilter and pushed me down onto the bed, leaning over me to catch my left nipple in his mouth, his hand coming up to pinch the other.

I gasped, wrapping my fingers in his hair. My hips bucked against his stomach, searching for friction. I felt him lean down onto me, his erection pressing into my leg. A deep, guttural growl escaped him, and he stood up.

I hastily grabbed at him, but he took a step back from the bed, rubbing a hand over his face and through his hair.

I laid back on the bed, eyes blown wide. “What?” My breathing was labored. “Why’d you stop?”

“I just…can’t.”

My mouth hung open in disbelief. “What?! Why?”

“It’s disrespectful!”

I threw myself back on the bed and snarled. “No fucking way!”

He shook his head, hands out in front of him. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Just…not with your Dad in the next room.”

I sat up on my knees, grabbing the front of his shirt.

“Noah, he isn’t going to know!”

“Dads always know.”

“Oh, come on!”

He threw his head side to side. “Nope. I can’t. Not until he’s not here, at least.”

I almost teared up, rejection stabbing my chest. I crossed my arms and stood off the bed.

“Fine.” I grabbed my pajama pants, pulling them on angrily.

“Babe…”

I ignored him, pulling my shirt over my head and stomping over to the bed.

He chuckled. “Tantrum, much?”

I sniffled, turning my head so he wouldn’t see the lonely tear running down my cheek. “Let’s just go to bed.”

My voice betrayed me, cracking at the end. He scrambled over to sit in front of me on the bed.

“Hey, hey,” He lifted his fingers to grab my face. “you don’t think that I don’t want it, do you?”

I didn’t respond, just averted my eyes.

“Oh babe.” He smiled at me, cracking my hardened exterior. “You can’t possibly believe that.”

I, again, didn’t answer.

“Look.” He grabbed my hand then, leading it to the middle of his pants, pressing my palm to his stiffened cock underneath.

My eyes widened, and I gasped.

“I want it. Badly.” He shrugged and squeezed his eyes shut, freeing my wrist. “I just don’t want to disrespect your Dad like that. Him liking me is a big deal.”

I smirked. “That big of a deal, that you’re willing to let that go down on its own?” I pointed to his crotch.

He groaned. “Unfortunately.”

I shook my head, leaning my face into his chest. “Fine.”

He circled his arms around me, rubbing a hand up and down my spine.

“But once he’s gone, your ass is mine.”

-

I was woken by a paw to the face, causing me to startle. I cracked my eyes open to see Angel’s honey brown eyes staring directly at me. A low whine came out of him, and my brain clicked together. He had to pee.

Noah was laying heavy next to me, facing away, a quiet snore coming with the rise and fall of his chest. I slipped myself out of bed silently, Angel making a mad dash for the staircase.

I trotted down the stairs barefoot, unlocking and popping the door open to let Angel out. I closed the door behind him and turned to the kitchen. The coffee pot was on,the carafe full with a fresh brew. I noticed the time, 6:00AM. Dad had left me fresh coffee, and I breathed a sigh of relief.

As early as I fell asleep last night, I was sure that I wasn’t getting back to sleep anytime soon. I grabbed a mug from the cupboard, glancing out of the kitchen window. I noticed Dad’s truck was gone, leaving Noah’s rental alone on the lawn.

A scratching at the door came as I began sipping my coffee, so I let Angel in. He looked at me, and I smiled.

“Go on, go keep Noah warm.” He darted up the stairs in the direction of my pointed finger.

I needed to brush my teeth, and shower. No need to wake Noah, as he still needed to sleep off the jet-lag. There was very little light in the kitchen, as the sun had yet to rise completely over the mountains.

I decided to use the downstairs shower, so I wouldn’t wake Noah. I let the warm water wake my muscles and brain, slipping my pajama pants and shirt back on, minus the underwear from the day before.

Carefully toeing up the stairs, I slipped into the room and pushed Angel to the edge of the bed. He had curled up on my side, pressed against Noah’s back. I slipped back into bed and pulled my phone off of the side table. After checking that my volume was down all the way, I opened TikTok.

Something about the algorithm was strange, since I never looked up Bad Omens content, yet it still managed to cross my For You Page whenever I was with Noah, or thinking about him, or singing one of his songs to myself.

I sat, scrolling through clip after clip of shows from the recent European tour, Noah jumping around stage. He head banged viciously, he screamed until his throat gave out, and he even threw random items at the crowd. The video of him tossing an entire bag of marshmallows played, and I laughed quietly.

After about half an hour, I felt the bed shift, and an arm curl around my midsection. I smirked, and set my phone down on the table. I felt him press his body against my back, his face burying in my neck.

“Well, good morning.” I closed my eyes at the sensation of his breath on my neck.

He inhaled, squeezing me tighter. “Did you shower?”

My hair was still damp. “Yeah, I’ve been up for about an hour.”

He mumbled into my hair. “Should’ve woken me up.”

“Nah. You needed rest.”

I felt him pressing into me harder, his dick stiff and pushing against my lower back.

“Are we alone?”

I smirked. “Mhm.”

His lips started leaving soft kisses across the back of my neck, his fingers now playing with my belly button ring over my shirt.

I tried to center my thoughts. “You want breakfast?”

His hand then gripped my hip, flipping me onto my back. I didn’t realize what had happened before he was kneeling next to me, his eyes half-open and smoldering. He was smiling, a terrifying grin.

“As a matter of fact,” His hands ripped my pants down without mercy, leaving me completely bare in front of him. “I would love some.”

He pulled my thighs open, leaned down onto his stomach, and buried his face between my legs with absolutely no warning.

My eyes burst open, my hips jumping off of the mattress. “Oh my god!”

I was so stunned, I barely registered that his hands had my legs in a death grip, fingers digging into the tops of my thighs. His tongue worked, laying flat, long strokes over my lips, lingering with very specific pressure to my clit.

My knees bent instinctively, pressing my pussy against his tongue, my hand in his hair pushing him closer to me. He obliged so graciously, latching onto my clit and sucking wildly. I squealed a harsh, raspy moan.

“Oh fuck, Noah. Oh fuck. That’s so fucking good, Jesus Christ.”

I wanted to watch him work, his dark eyes flashing up under those sinfully long lashes, but the sheer vibrations from my core made me throw my head back and squeeze my eyes shut.

Just before I thought I would die of stimulation, his hand released my legs, and pressed them upwards, bending my knees toward my chest. This pressed my pussy forward, and I felt his tongue dive inside, his head moving back and forth ever so slightly. My vision went white, and the sounds leaving my mouth were a mix of whimpering and crying.

“Noah, please, I’m going to come. Please don’t stop.” His tongue came back to my clit, attacking me so deliciously while I felt one finger penetrate me. He curled the digit, pressing into the sweet spot. I exploded, a loud scream ripping from my throat. My fingers nearly ripped the hair clean out of his head.

He didn’t let up for at least a minute, making me attempt to thrash around, held down by his too strong hands.

Once he had tormented me enough, he sat up. My legs fell back down to the mattress while my lungs fought for oxygen. I wasn’t given long to recover, as I was quickly flipped back onto my stomach.

His hands hooked under my hip bones, lifting my ass in the air, and I swore I heard the sound of a condom being ripped open. My brain was still swimming from such an intense orgasm, that I wasn’t entirely sure what was happening until he spoke to me.

His voice was deep, full of lust. “Best fucking meal I’ve ever had.”

I felt the head of his cock nudge the entrance of my pussy, and I adjusted my knees wider, lifting myself up on my hands.

He continued to press against me, not quite sliding in. I felt a hand reach up my back, fingers wrapping in the hair on the nape of my neck. I leaned back against him, wanting to feel him inside me so badly I could cry.

At that moment, his fingers tightened in my hair and pulled my head up so I was nearly standing on my knees. His voice was against my ear now.

“Don’t be so impatient, princess. I’ve been waiting for this for months. We’re doing it my way.” His voice was so deadly, my only response was a soft moan.

He didn’t let go of my hair, but did slowly begin pressing into me, and I could hear a harsh breath being sucked in.

“Fucking Christ, baby.” He slid all the way in, pressing hard against my cervix. “Missed this pussy so fucking much.”

He let go of my hair now, letting me fall forward, my face burying in the pillow.

“Hold still for me baby, want to feel you.”

I did my best, I promise I did. But he was sliding in and out so painfully slow, and my body ached for him to just go a little faster. Involuntarily, my hips pushed back against him. I closed my eyes, but opened them when I felt a hard slap come to land on my ass. I sucked in a hard breath at the sting, but felt my walls twitch. I liked that. I liked that a lot.

“I told you to be patient.” His fingers were digging into the spot that he had slapped, but in all fairness, I’m not the best listener. I rocked my hips back again, and then braced myself. The slap that came down was harder, making a bolt of lighting shoot up my spine. I shivered, enjoying the sensation of his palm on my hot skin.

“Having a hard time hearing me, baby?” His hand rubbed over my flesh, and I carefully shook my head. “No?” His hand stopped abruptly, another hard smack landing on my ass.

“Ahh, I see. You like that, don’t you?”

I didn’t respond, only pushed back into him again, mouth watering at the feeling of his cock filling me, when his hand came down again.

He chuckled, a dark, wicked laugh. “I see what you’re doing.” He let go of my ass, but instead of another slap, he pulled out entirely, leaving me whimpering in distaste.

I felt his palm rubbing over my skin, my legs spread wide, hips rocking for him. There was nothing to push back on, and I sighed.

“You poor, eager girl. Must’ve been missing me just as much.” He nudged me with his cock, then, and I held still, not wanting him to move away.

I waited there, patiently, and felt him finally press back inside me. I moaned loudly, gripping the sheets with white knuckles.

“That’s it.” His voice was oddly comforting, although he sounded so evil. “See what happens when you’re patient?”

He was now thrusting at a steady pace, and my eyes began to roll back from the coil tightening in my belly.

“God damn, look at you.” He ran a hand up my back. “So fucking needy. So fucking beautiful.”

My body shook, another hard orgasm building. “Noah, God, Noah, please.”

“What do you need baby?” His hand came down to spank me again, a sickening sound filling the room. My eyes rolled back and I hissed at the sting.

“Yes, fuck!” I screamed.

“Love being spanked, don’t you?” He slapped me again, harder.

“Mmm,” Forming words was getting harder.

Another slap. My legs started to shake.

“So good for me, baby. So fucking good.”

Slap.

“Could fuck you all God damn day.”

Slap.

“So fucking tight. So fucking wet.”

Slap.

His breathing was becoming more erratic, his rhythm slipping. He was close.

“Fuck, Noah, I’m going to come.”

He fucked me harder, his hips barreling against me at an alarming pace. He gripped my hips for support.

“Fuck, baby. Come on my cock. Come for me, Leena.”

Slap.

That was it, I was gone. My brain was bursting, my screaming wild. My fingers were digging into the mattress now, chanting his name over and over.

I felt him stiffen, his hands gripping me hard enough to bruise.

He slowed his thrusts, his body half-collapsing on my back. My knees gave out, making him fall on top of me completely. I rolled on my side, my eyes half-masked and staring at him. He was breathing heavy with his mouth open, face showing me how spent he was.

“H-Holy fuck.” Was all he could say. I waited a moment for my heart to calm down. He stared at me, an expression I couldn’t place on his face. “Are you…” He trailed off. “Are you okay?”

I smiled, then. He was worried. It was cute.

I answered him with a soft kiss on his lips.

-

The day had passed so easily. Noah and I had made breakfast, playing 80’s music, him singing very dramatically to all of the Bowie songs. We had taken Angel on a long walk around Dad’s property, and came back in once the rain really started coming down. Needless to say, we spent a fair amount of time on the balcony in the downpour.

We fell asleep watching The Walking Dead, starting from the first season, as Noah had never watched it.

The following morning, I awoke feeling funny. I couldn’t place the feeling, but it was almost dizzy. The sensation made me salivate, similar to when I used to drink too much, and fell asleep before emptying my stomach.

After a tall glass of water, I unfortunately did the same, everything I had eaten the night before being left in the bowl. I cursed under my breath. Being sick was not on the agenda for mine and Noah’s days alone together.

During my mad dash to the bathroom, I had to have woken Noah, as he was now knocking on the door. I had already flushed my vomit, and was brushing my teeth.

“Babe?”

I opened the door to see him looking at me, sleep still heavy in his eyes. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.”

He shook his head, dismissing me. “Are you alright?”

I nodded, my lips still clammy and my color too pale. “Yeah, just not feeling great this morning.”

He walked over to me, wrapping his arms around my stomach while I scrubbed my tongue.

“Dinner, maybe? The pork might’ve been under?”

I nodded. “Probably.” I spit out the toothpaste and rinsed my mouth out. “I’ll be fine. I’ll just take it easy today.”

He gently turned me around and placed his lips to my forehead, furrowing his brow. “You’re not warm.”

I leaned into him. “Nah, it was the pork.”

-

The following days, I spent laying on the couch or in bed, my stomach fighting against me at the most inopportune moments. I would feel great, back to normal entirely, and then would be hit with a wave of nausea that I couldn’t escape. Once I had vomited, I would be slapped with an overwhelming fatigue that had me napping for at least an hour each time.

I could see Noah getting increasingly worried, but I continued to remind him that I was fine, it was just a stomach bug (the possibility of it being food poisoning less and less as the days went on), and that if I went a week with no improvement, then I would go to Urgent Care.

He seemed satisfied with that, but then Dad came home.

“You’ve been sick for how many days now?”

“This is the third day.” Noah spoke up from behind me where he leaned against the back of the couch. I shot a death glare in his direction, to which he just shrugged.

“Mileena, you need to go get checked out.”

I groaned. He used my full name, which meant he was being my father right now.

“I’m fine, Daddy. I feel good!”

“You’ll be throwing up soon. You always do about an hour after you eat.”

I rolled my eyes and hissed at Noah. “Not helping.”

He threw his hands up in his defense.

“He’s right, I’m driving you to town.”

I scoffed. “Hello?! I am not a child. You can’t just force me to get checked out.”

“You’re my child. I can do anything I want.”

I crossed my arms and stomped a foot, narrowing my eyes at my Dad.

“Daddy, I am nearly thirty years old. You cannot make me see a doctor if I don’t want to.”

“Oh no?” Dad grinned at me.

He then turned his attention to the man behind me.

“Hey Noah, you ever hear the story of when Leena was little and went roller skating for the first time?”

My eyes bugged out. I looked at Noah, whose brows were raised, an amused smile on his face.

“I haven’t, actually.”

My head whipped back around. “Dad! You can’t blackmail me with embarrassing stories!”

Dad laughed. “The hell I can’t! Now you get in the truck, or I will tell him about when you sat on an ant hill.”

I heard an amused giggle behind me, and I growled in frustration.

“Ugh, I hate you both!” I turned and stomped up the stairs. “Let me get my shoes on!”

It had taken ten whole minutes of arguing with Noah to get him to stay back at the house with Angel. I didn’t need him hearing that I had E. Coli, or Salmonella, or just a really bad case of the stomach flu. Him and my Dad ganging up on me had me fuming the entire thirty-minute drive down the mountain and into town, soft country music the only sound in the cab of the truck.

When we pulled up to Urgent Care, I took note of the one other car in the parking lot. With any luck, we’d be in and out quickly.

“I’ll wait here for ya.” Dad settled into his seat and turned the music up a few notches.

I rolled my eyes and hopped out of the truck, walking up to the entrance begrudgingly.

“Hi! What brings you in today?” The redheaded girl behind the counter looked no older than eighteen, and I internally sighed in annoyance.

“I’ve got some kind of stomach thing, a virus or something.” My tone made it clear I was not happy to be there.

She nodded. “Okay, sure, we can help with that. Let’s get you checked in.”

I went through the tedious process of giving her my information before sitting down in the small, plastic chairs of the waiting room. I pulled out my phone, opening my texts.

Me: You may not know this about me, but I fucking hate doctors.

Noah started typing almost immediately.

Noah: Same, but you need to get checked out.

I slumped down into the chair.

Me: Teaming up against me with my Dad is fucked. Gonna kick your ass for it when I get back.

Noah: As terrifying as that sounds, I’m sure it’s worth it.

He started typing again immediately,

Noah: I’m getting those stories out of him still.

Me: Over my dead body.

“Mileena Richards?” A female voice called to me. A short, skinny woman in scrubs called me from the door leading to the exam rooms.

I stood up and walked toward her. She smiled warmly at me, and I tried to return the gesture.

She led me to a room where she took my weight, blood pressure, and pulse ox. She then sat back and asked me to describe my symptoms.

“Well, I’ve been throwing up a lot. It seems pretty random.”

“Okay, and have you noticed it happens after anything specific? Like eating or exercise?”

I shook my head. “Maybe about an hour or so after eating? But not every time.”

She nodded. “Any cramping? Gas? Diarrhea?”

I just shook my head. “No, but right before I vomit, I get pretty lightheaded.”

She was typing into her computer. She turned her attention back to me.

“Okay, honey, and when was the first date of your last menstrual cycle?”

She pushed a small calendar toward me, and I wracked my brain. I was so bad at remembering this stuff. I flipped back a month, looking at January. What day in January?

I remembered buying tampons at Target. Where was that? Laura was with me. It was about five days before I moved. We had gone to Target for packing tape, microwave popcorn, bubble wrap, and tampons. I wasn’t due for my period for another week, but I didn’t want to be on a flight to Seattle, and it show up early while I was unprepared.

But…I never used them. My period wasn’t exact, but it came at about the end of each month. We went to the store on January 22nd. 23rd? That means my last period was just before Christmas, which I remember, because I was extra cranky when I woke up Christmas morning at Laura’s, spending the holiday with her and Will. It started on Christmas Eve…

“I, uh…” I stared at the calendar, small and tinted green with little peonies on the corner. “I think it was Christmas Eve.”

The nurse raised a brow at me over the rim of her glasses. “Any chance you could be pregnant?”

I shook my head, staring at the floor, bewildered.

“No.” She didn’t seem satisfied with that answer, her face not moving an inch. “I wasn’t sexually active much at that time.”

She pursed her lips, and pushed herself away from her desk.

“Okay, honey, follow me.”

I stood up, my brain scattered. Noah and I were always careful, so it’s just not possible.

“Alright dear,” She held a plastic cup in front of me. “I need a urine sample from you, in case we need X-rays on your abdomen, we just need to be sure.”

I nodded, accepting the cup and heading toward the bathroom she directed me to.

“Doctor will meet you back in the exam room. Just leave the cup on the tray that’s next to the sink.”

I locked the bathroom door behind me, and stared at the cup. The unnerving instinct to run out of the office and into my Dad’s truck, lying and telling him it was the stomach flu, flooded through me, making my face go numb.

My logical sense took over, and I meticulously peed in the cup, replacing the lid and scrubbing my hands in the sink.

Once I was sat back in the room, opting for the chair, rather than the paper-lined bed, I sat in silence. My phone buzzed in my sweatshirt pocket, and I lifted it with a shaking hand.

Noah: Any news?

My fingers trembled so hard that I screwed up my words and had to keep deleting and retyping.

Me: Not yet.

I didn’t lie, because there wasn’t any. I was just going absolutely insane, and the power of suggestion was making my mind play tricks on me.

I replaced my phone in my pocket and forced myself to take a deep breath. I was fine. Just sick. Nothing serious. Nothing life-changing about it.

A short rap on the door made me startle before it cracked open.

“Mileena?” A tall, older man entered the room. He wore dark green scrubs, a white coat, and a stethoscope around his neck. Very stereotypically doctor-looking.

I nodded in response.

He stepped in with a small stack of papers in his hands. “I’m Dr. Allen.” He was looking down at his documents. “I hear you haven’t been feeling well?”

I coughed to clear my throat. “Yeah, for the last few days.”

He nodded, clicking his tongue while he flipped through the forms.

“Okay, well, I’m going to do an exam, but I’m pretty sure I know why you’re feeling crappy.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

He looked up at me, a smile on his face. “Yep. Your hCG levels are pretty elevated, and you’re also very dehydrated.”

What the hell is hCG?

I shook my head. “Uhm, okay. What does that mean exactly?”

He moved to sit at the desk, handing the stack of papers to me.

“It means that you’re expecting.” His eyes were sincere, likely seeing that mine looked like they were going to pop right out of my skull.

The air rushed out of my lungs. My response came out nearly inaudible. “What?”

He sat back in his chair. “You’re pregnant.” He glanced at the computer, clicking something with his mouse. “Judging by how late your cycle is? I’d say about six weeks? Maybe a little less?”

I could feel my head spinning on my shoulders, unable to tear my eyes away from the doctor. When I didn’t speak, he continued.

“I would guess that what you’ve been experiencing is morning sickness. It is a little early, however. I still want to do a quick exam to make sure we don’t have any other issues.”

I didn’t speak. I couldn’t. The world had fallen out from under me.

-

The drive home was utterly silent. I had only spoken to Dad to tell him that I was fine, and we could head home. He didn’t press, but I could feel he was growing increasingly uncomfortable.

“Leena?”

My eyes darted to him. We had pulled onto the lawn and parked already.

I didn’t answer him.

“Is it what I think it is?”

My eyes started tearing up, my lower lip trembling.

“I don’t know how this happened.” My voice was so small, I couldn’t be sure he even heard me.

“Well,” Dad huffed, adjusting in his seat. “I thought you knew this already, but, honey, when a man and a woman love each other-“

My head snapped over to my Dad, tears now rolling down my face. “Are you kidding me?!”

He sat back in his chair. “I’m sorry, just trying to lighten the mood.”

“Lighten the mood?” I scoffed. “This isn’t fucking funny!” My voice was reaching the level of a scream.

“Alright, now honey calm down.”

“Calm down?! What do you mean, ‘calm down’?!”

He lowered his eyebrows then. “Mileena Jane, I understand you’re upset, but you will not scream at me like that.”

His even, stern tone brought me back down, but my chest still heaved with sobs.

“Daddy…” I was lost for words. I was lost for thought. “What am I going to do?”

His eyes adjusted out the windshield, and I followed his gaze.

Noah stepped out of the front door, Angel heeling his left, a small smile on his face. He waved a hand at us.

“I’m not sure, baby, but you better figure it out fast.” Was all he said before opening his door to leave the truck. My hand flew over to him, grabbing his arm.

“Daddy?” He looked at me. “Please, for the love of God, don’t kill him.”

He snorted, swinging a leg out of the truck. “No promises.”

He left me alone, and I watched as he approached Noah, and clapped a hand on his shoulder politely. I couldn’t hear what he said, but he pointed at the truck, and went inside, calling Angel to him.

Noah then made his way down the porch, and across the grass. I opened my door and, slowly and shaking, hopped out.

His face fell when he saw my tears. “Hey, what’s going on?”

I wiped my face, and tried to put a calm smile on my face. “Nothing. I’m fine.”

He reached out and grabbed my hand. “Something’s up.” He glanced back at the house. “You fight with your Dad or something?”

I shook my head. “No, no. Nothing like that.”

“Okay, so what’s up? What did the doctor say?”

My stomach bottomed out, that familiar dizzy feeling hitting me.

“He said, uhm,” I swallowed hard, trying to push down the nausea. “that my exam was normal.”

He raised an eyebrow. “So they don’t know what’s wrong with you?”

I stared at him, eyes wide and wet. “They do.”

He furrowed his brow. “And?”

I shrugged, not knowing what the fuck to say.

“Noah, do you…” I closed my eyes, building the nerve. “do you remember the night of the concert? The last one I went to? The night we got back together?”

I had worked it through in my head. The night he sang to me on stage, and kissed me in the green room.

We had gone back to his house, and it’s obvious what happened there. We didn’t have a condom, and I told him I’d go to the drug store the next day for the magic pill. The problem is, when I woke up the next morning, in his bed, Laura had called frantic. Angel had thrown up four times the night before and wouldn’t eat or drink anything. Noah and I rushed him to the vet, learning he had eaten some plants in Laura’s backyard. He needed to be kept overnight, and we almost had to reschedule our flight to Seattle. I got distracted. I forgot.

I watched the gears in his head turn, his face growing increasingly bewildered.

“I remember we…” He trailed off before he raised an eyebrow. “You took the pill…”

I shook my head. “I forgot. Angel was sick.”

He raised his eyebrows, his eyes growing wide as saucers.

“Oh my God, you’re right.” For as surprised as he was, his voice was so even.

“Noah, I’m so sorry. I forgot.” I swallowed again, my stomach threatening to spill all over the both of us. “I’m pregnant.”

-

Noah had been sitting on the porch since I told him, swaying slowly back and forth while the rain fell around the house. Dad suggested I give him space, give him time to wrap his head around it.

I was trembling, sitting at the dining room table and obsessively munching on pistachios. Dad had already gone to bed, exhausted from his trip and still chewing on the news himself.

It had been five hours. Five hours since I told him the news, and there he sat, unmoving. I was crawling out of my skin, the fear and anxiety slowly turning into anger. He needed time to wrap his head around it?! I was the one growing a fucking fetus inside me! I was nauseas, dizzy, fatigued, and so fucking scared. But he got to take space?

Fuck that.

I stomped away from the table, bursting through the screen door. I walked over to the swing, standing directly in his line of vision.

“Hey!” He looked up at me, face void of emotion. “Look, I get this is a lot, alright? So if you want to bail, that’s fine. I don’t expect you to want to deal with this.”

His face was now twisted, confused.

“If you’re going to leave, however, leave now. I can’t sit in there and wait for you to get up the nerve to tell me you’re not sticking around!”

I was crying again, hot angry tears.

His voice was quiet. “What?”

I crossed my arms. “What do you mean, ‘what’? You can’t ruin your career over this, Noah. The band is just starting to get huge.”

He shook his head at me, standing to his feet. “You think I’m thinking about the band? About my career?” His words were angry, making me shrink slightly.

“I mean, yeah! How could you not? You’ve been out here for hours!”

He blinked rapidly, completely in disbelief.

“You’re fucking joking, right?” It was a half-yell, but it was enough to make me take a step back.

“I’m not out here worried about my fucking band, Leena. I’m thinking about what kind of father I’m going to be!” He gestured between us. “What kind of parents we can be to that baby!” He pointed at my stomach.

I was confused now. “What?”

He rolled his eyes, turning and pinching the bridge of his nose. “We’re alcoholics, Leena! I’m less than six months sober!” He coughed then, a choked sound. “I don’t know if I’d be any good as a father.”

He sat back down, and my entire mood shifted. He was concerned about being a good Dad? Did that mean he wanted this? He wasn’t worried about his job? His music? His reputation?

“Noah,” I sat next to him, but still at least a foot away. “you don’t have to worry about that.”

He looked at me then, a look of concern on his face. I gave him the wrong idea.

“I just mean that,” I shrugged, frustrated. “you’re an amazing person, Noah. Your addiction doesn’t change that.”

He leaned back on the swing, leaning his face up to look at the ceiling. “That’s your opinion, Leena. I’ve done horrible things.”

I nodded. “We all have.”

I grabbed his hand then, his face turning to look at me. I gave him a small smile.

“Do you want to do this?”

He sighed, waiting a few moments to answer. My heart pounded in my ears.

“I really do. I’m so fucking scared, but,” He squeezed my hand in his. “I can’t help feeling really fucking excited.”

He cracked a grin, and I returned it. “Me too.”

“Leena, I know this isn’t how this was supposed to happen. And I’m so sorry that I put you in this position.”

My tears came back, then. “No, I’m sorry. I was supposed to get the Plan B. I forgot.”

I hung my head, ashamed.

“Uhm, excuse me?” I looked back up at him. “I was the one who didn’t insist we use protection. And I also forgot to get you the pill.” He lifted my face with his chin. “We both did this.”

I nodded, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“So.” He sighed out, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.

I leaned into him. “Yeah.”

“Well, we’ve got to move in together.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but the thought of going through a pregnancy, and all the fun that was sure to entail crossed my mind. Doing that alone felt miserable. I also thought about the morning sex I got from Noah the other day, and smiled.

“Well, I did rent my house out…”

He huffed triumphantly. “Then that’s settled.”

I smirked. “You still going to want me when I’m all fat and moody?”

He chuckled, pulling me in closer. “You won’t be fat, you’ll be pregnant.” I could hear the smile in his voice. “With my baby.”

I groaned. “Oh no, you don’t have like, a breed kink, do you?”

This made him laugh loudly. “No, not really. It’s just my masculine instinct to be more attracted to you while you’re carrying my child.”

I rolled my eyes. “Okay, Mr. Neanderthal.”

We both laughed, but quickly became quiet again. The sound of the woods and rain around us filling the space.

“I love you, Mileena.”

I tucked my face into his side, nuzzling against him.

“I love you too, Noah.”

“You promise?”

“Always.”

-

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! This story was a journey, and I can say I’ve honestly come to really love these characters. Cant decide if I want to continue their story or not, so let me know if you do. If you’ve followed it, I appreciate you! Till next time, my loves. 🖤

xo

[lynxnothinks2]

FR Fanart Stats

Have you ever wondered which FR dragons are the most popular to draw? No? Well clearly you're not a university student with looming deadlines, a severe procrastination problem and unlimited access to research grade statistics software let's dive in

Originally I was doing this to see which dragons I'd drawn the most for commissions over the years, but then I got curious generally about if the popularity of dragon breeds correlated with the amount of fanart produced. We artists are always fighting algorithms and trends, so this info may be useful to those of us looking to utilise them!

A brief intro/some disclaimers to the data:

I've only included modern breeds as they are more numerous than ancients on-site, have been around for less time (excl. Obelisks) and Excel was already protesting with what I had so I saved myself the headache. Look forward to the ancient breed sequel ahahahah :P that's a joke i'm not doing this again

For my 'tumblr popularity' data, I counted the breed of dragon of the first 100 featured in the '#flight rising art' tag. I excluded ancients and any unidentifiable breeds. Each individual dragon was counted in multi-image posts, unless if the dragon(s) in question were in a comic, series etc. in which case each unique dragon was counted once.

Assuming my personal commission stats are the least interesting to most people, but I'll give some background. I started doing comms in mid-2018, producing art at a relatively impressive volume (rip my time and motivation.) I do a lot less FR art now, but if we assume breed popularity has stayed consistent since then the only breed this should really effect are Obelisks as the newbies.

And then finally, on-site breed popularity. I used the dragon search feature on FR to identify the number of named, active dragons for each breed. Total dragons as of 27/01/24, if you were curious: 12,924,070! That's a lot of guys!!

I threw everything into percentages, then made a graph. it's got issues probably but my degree isn't in niche pixel dragon info and i was getting bored at this point

I ran some stuff through statistical tests but they don't show anything remarkable that you can't see in the graph. Rstudio claimed a few more years from my lifespan for naught

Conclusions:

Skydancers and Imperials are crazy popular in all categories, but SDs are Tumblr's favourite

Obelisks and Ridgebacks do disproportionately well on Tumblr compared to their site popularity

Snappers and Bogsneaks are pretty unpopular across the board. I've never drawn either! But at least snaps are getting a bit of love on here

The popularity of Faes and Guardians on-site is not significantly reflected in fanart (excl. Guardian comms for me which is? an odd outlier??)

Mirrors and Nocturnes are not popular on Tumblr - found the latter interesting as I thought there may be lingering bias from NotN, but apparently not

Coatls, Pearlcatchers, Spirals and Tundras are pretty consistent between categories. Nothing really of note for these guys except for less people wanting me to draw spirals (good they're complicated)

I could draw a Wildclaw with my eyes closed and although that will not make me popular, it can make me money

Well that was a good use of 4 hours I'm going to write my essay now

and if you'd like to show your support for this cool art stats guy check out my main @lynxnothinks commissions are open thank you byeee

[mlm-writer]

A Shag Will Do (John Constantine x M!Reader)

Pairing: Fake!Professor!John Constantine (LoT ver.) x Student!Cis!Male!Reader Rating: Mature Words: 461 POV: Second Summary: The Big Tober Day 17 - Love at first sight Note: Oops it is a drabble. Sequel to this work. Tags: reader is a college/uni student and it shows, flashback & nsfw mentions

Whatever was happening out there, you had already decided that it was not your problem. You should be worried about the midterms like every other student, but instead here you were, past midnight, hiding underneath a desk. A drop of your cum on the floor next to you glistened in the green light that slipped through the blinds of the room you were stashed away in. Outside of it was your not-real professor fighting with a demon or whatever it was he said the thing you witnessed was. Demon checked out. What still perplexed you was that Constantine could apparently use your cum to defeat it. Ridiculous. 

“That’s good stuff you got there, lad. If I don’t die, you should put a load of that inside me, ey?”

The wink that accompanied that sentence turned your face crimson thinking about it. You thought back about the first day you saw John Constantine. First lecture of the year and there he was standing in front of the lecture hall, rattling on in his dirty trenchcoat about something you were not sure how it was related to your major. 

Your keyboard made that satisfying sound as you still took your notes diligently. After yet another sentence, you looked over the top of your laptop, eyes directly meeting and maybe that was when it really hit you how hot he was. The rest of the lecture was just imagining running your hands through that messy hair and feeling that beard rub against your cheek. Back then you had reprimanded yourself for even thinking such a thing about an educator. Now, however, you had free reign with those emotions you had repressed before and they all hit you like a train. 

The door opened and your whole body jump started into fight or flight mode. Fortunately, there was no demon, just a fake professor covered in green goop. You crawled out of your hiding spot and strode over to him with a confidence that must have been fuelled by those seven energy drinks you had earlier. You grabbed the dirty lapels of the trenchcoat and pulled John into a kiss, immediately regretting it as you found out that the green gunk was horrid. You gagged and coughed while you turned your head away from him, eventually doubling over as you tried to breathe through the experience of getting demon goo in your mouth. 

“Didn’t even give me time to warn you. Want to shag me that bad, huh?” John chuckled as he hit you on your back. He was wrong; it was not about getting your dick wet, but you had a feeling John Constantine was allergic to feelings. For now, a ‘shag’ would have to do and perhaps one day… you could be honest. 

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