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s-4pphics · 24 days

Text

mourn. intro. (e.w.)

INTRO.

WORD COUNT: 4.1k

WARNINGS: streetracer!ellie, dealer!oc, backstory lemme cook, parental death, mentions of overdoses, funeral, baby ellie :), oc intro… cackles evilly

A/N: last post til eid lol

pay zakat. feed a family this ramadan. k!ll zios.

SEPTEMBER, 2009

ANGUISH floods Ellie’s chest as she witnesses decorative rosewood being lowered into the sopping dirt. It’s cinematic; watching herself from a bird’s eye view, floating above her own body. Her brain cranks at an alarming rate. Churning in attempts to convince her that she’s not actually here, staring dead at her mother’s casket. The grass sludges beneath her shoes with every unsteady shuffle of her feet.

There aren't many people around. Three of her mother’s former work friends, a service dog, and the officiant. They’re hardly acknowledging Ellie; no one would be able to stop her from leaping head-first into the ground due to the lowering clouds. Buried and suffocated by grass and mud, a feast for the maggots, but loved eternally. Every cell in Ellie’s body thrums with anxiety. Just when she trusted that her mother’s health was improving, she woke up, shrouded in ice next to a limp body and an empty pill bottle on the nightstand. The same ones her mother took to sleep throughout the night.

That was three weeks ago. She doesn’t remember calling 911.

Her best friend — her only friend is gone. And it’s permanent. This isn’t like how her mother used to scavenge the streets until dawn searching for another job before Ellie woke up. She’s not coming back to crawl into their shared, warm bed, sleep for half an hour, then help her get ready for school. No more oatmeal in the mornings. No laughter. No joy. No symmetry. Ellie’s life is forever scattered. Beaten to death until she’s leaking venomous, black blood.

There’s a man that keeps staring at her with pity: familiarity crushes her every time they lock eyes. She kind of remembers him. Somewhat. She almost forgot her shoes before coming here. He seems more upset than her. At least externally; Ellie’s rotting from the inside.

Her mother’s chamber is completely submerged underneath dirt within the next few hours. The man from earlier is much closer now.

She jumps when he whispers,

I owed your mom a favor.

OCTOBER, 2009

Ellie hates Joel. Hates her mother for leaving her with him. Hates herself for not being able to save her from the claws of addiction.

Joel’s home is always silent during the day. He gave Ellie the grace of letting her stay home until the Spring, but it’s too quiet. Music never plays and they never talk, and it’s driving her to madness. The silence makes her itch.

Until the sun sets.

She already has trouble sleeping. Her insomnia combined with the thunderous clanking that blares from the garage every night is enough to get her sobbing into her pillow until the sun rises the next morning. One night, the noise had gotten so uncontrollably loud that Ellie barged into the garage to shout every curse she recalled her mom screaming into the phone before bedtime.

She didn't expect, however, to see Joel’s legs extended out from underneath her mom’s wrecked ‘57 Chevrolet. Ellie could hear him grunting as cranking and banging of metal took over the space.

… What are you doing?

Joel rolls out from beneath the car on a creeper, face confused and smeared with dark sludge.

Why’re you up?

It’s loud. She snaps. Why is her car here.

Joel sighs. Just trying to fix it up.

For what. Ellie eyes the cracked windshield. She somehow remembers how a rock hit it on the freeway when she was six. Her mom was livid. She can’t drive it anymore.

Joel’s face twists uncomfortably. It’s almost comical; the seemingly boiling child stands at a whopping four-foot-three with her fists clenched, burning holes through her bright yellow Spongebob pjs. Her glare sharpens when he mumbles,

Kid…

So you stole her freaking car? Her eyes swelter, brows hauled downward and hands in fists. He sits up straight, palms up in surrender, wrench in hand. How’d he even get back into their old house?

No, I — He rushes, She asked me to try n’ get it started again. That’s all. I… I shoulda asked you —

Ellie’s not sure why she’s so enraged, but she’s hollering with a pointed index in his direction, berating him, degrading him with sobbed vulgarities. Pushes him hard when he rises to comfort her. Eyes him with so much disdain that he flinches.

She hates him. She misses her mom.

The guest room door slammed shut with the click of a lock. She screamed for her mother for hours. Voice shrieking so loud that the neighbors came knocking after the first fifteen minutes. Cops pounded on Joel’s door and proceeded to conduct a wellness check on the household after an hour.

Their presence made Ellie swallow her scorn. Ellie’s already received a small taste of what it’s like to be in the system. She vowed to never reenter as if her life depended on it.

NOVEMBER, 2009

Joel made Ellie chocolate chip pancakes for her birthday.

Breakfast is silent, per usual. Light clinks of utensils on silverware and breathing are the only proof of life in the room. Ellie refuses to touch the squared slices of pineapple. It was her mother’s favorite, despite her complaints of an itchy mouth after every juicy piece.

Your mom and I…

Ellie pauses, skeptic eyes connecting with Joel’s. He’s treading light, she can tell. The nerves in his fingers are evident; The sorrow in his eyes suffocates her. Joel’s gaze drops onto his plate at the scrutiny he receives from across the table.

She’s a good friend of mine, He mutters before his lips turn downward. Was.

Ellie snorts humorlessly, Way to rub it in.

Joel’s eyes flutter shut as he sighs, I’m… Sorr—

Were you the one she told? Her tone is sharp. Unforgiving. I heard her on the phone a few days before she did it.

A storm flurries in the man’s gaze. A familiar one; It’s identical to when she would catch her mother in the middle of night talking to herself with a bottle in her hand. The winds in his pupils take her back to one of the darkest times of Ellie’s life. Maybe they were closer than she assumed. They look identical when they’re guilty.

I didn’t—

But he did. He’ll never forget being on the other line with Ellie’s mother as she attempted to keep her cries to a minimum. Her croaked wails terrified him. Left wounds in his chest as his heart raced. I can’t do this to her, She’d said, I can’t, I can’t, I can’t! … Please… You owe me…

Joel did what he could over the phone. Made promises to her that he couldn’t keep, reaffirmed how much Ellie loved her. How badly she needed her mother, and eventually eased her sobs into pained whimpers. He believed the calmness she exuded prior to ending the call was a sign of understanding of her importance, but it wasn’t. Her mind and body merely accepted her fate. She was dead two mornings after.

And Ellie was a witness to it all.

Ellie’s eyes roll and sickness floods her, so she stands, You’re a liar. When you’re ready to tell the truth… You know where I am. She doesn’t bother to push her chair in, clean her dishes, pause at his calls of her name. Her feet stomp through the hallway, marrow searing beneath her skin. The guest room door slams shut and she breaks, guarded by the plainness of the beige walls while tears flow.

She knows he knew. Why else would her mother leave her with him?

When Ellie got up to use the restroom hours later, she nearly tripped over a teddy bear holding a birthday cake. With candles. She’s never received a gift before.

She doesn’t tell him that she slept for an hour with it hugged to her chest.

The noises in the garage halt for a week. Ellie still can’t fall asleep. Joel has the same problem, she’s discovered. She finds him sprawled out on the couch one night, burning holes through the roof with a picture frame in his arms. She watches him silently for some time, perched behind the main wall of the hallway.

Hey.

Joel’s acknowledgement earns a gasp followed by scuffling, and he snorts. He sits up and sets the dusty frame on the cushion in front of him, noting how awful Ellie is at hiding; It makes him smile. Barely, but he’s endeared; Her entire arm was exposed. He can even see her duck-shaped slippers from where she’s tucked behind the wall.

Ellie.

She doesn’t come out, and he sighs. His heart twists painfully when he hears a wet sniffle. He’s up and moving when a guttural sob echoes from the hallway, crouching down in front of Ellie with her knees squeezed into her heaving chest. Joel’s heart cracks at her flushed cheeks drenched in salt. Talking won’t calm her, he knows it, but he’s unsure of what else to do. Ellie… isn’t an emotional kid, but he hushes her, attempts to cradle, apologizes softly.

But when her wet eyes pinch open, she unravels and falls into him completely. Her arms squeeze around his neck in a deadly grip and she cries and coughs and whines for her mother. Joel holds her just as tightly as she hangs off him.

We're gonna be fine, sweetheart. He mumbles, and he feels her head shake in denial, tucked in the crook of his neck. His knees wobble, and a soothing hand rises to caress the back of her head; He's never seen a kid this hopeless. It makes him wonder.

What the hell did she witness in that house?

Ellie’s always struggled to fall asleep alone.

Her need to be coddled to dreamland was always a mystery to her mother. Skin-to-skin was a normal trait for infants, toddlers, maybe even a little over, but at age ten? Eleven, and unable to fall asleep without the feeling or knowledge of a loved one present? There was only one time where she recalled her mother carrying her to her own room to rest, but the second the door clicked shut, she was up. Awake. Alert and exposed to harm. Or, at least that’s what she convinced herself.

She crawled into her mother’s bed minutes later and snoozed throughout the entire night. She didn’t hear the end of it when the sun rose.

Joel doesn’t berate her, though.

I can’t sleep by myself, she’d said to him after she calmed from her breakdown in the living room. They’d sat on the couch as he rubbed a comforting palm down her back, her small ones coming up to wipe her wet cheeks.

How come?

She scoffed, Scared of the dark, I guess? I dunno. I just can’t.

Joel hummed in understanding.

I’m like that, too. Sometimes.

Ellie snickered wetly, You’re old, though. It’s not the same.

Joel scoffed and snatched his hand away in mocked hurt. I’m not old!

The gray hairs say otherwise!

That night was the first time they ever laughed together. The first time Ellie laughed since her mother’s death, and it carried on until she knocked out beside him on the couch.

For Joel, though, he couldn’t rest. Not when Ellie favored his daughter that much. Whenever he feels as though he’s progressing, letting go of grief, something life changing — disastrous — forces him right back to square one. Meeting Ellie was one of those moments. He tried to keep his weeping to a minimum as he held her sleeping form, eyes glued to the picture of him hugging his baby after her first soccer win.

DECEMBER, 2009

It’s New Year’s Eve, and Ellie’s trapped inside the garage with Joel.

Watching him tweak her mother’s vehicle has aided her raging boredom… To a certain degree. When he starts getting nerdy and raving about car parts, she tunes him out, despite the slight interest she’s taken with underneath the hood.

The connecting wires, the bolts, the valves and cranks and this manual makes absolutely zero sense—

Can you stop dillydallyin’ around n’ hand me that?

Ellie’s gobsmacked reading is paused when she passes Joel the manual, dark sludge-covered hands staining the fading paper. She cringes.

Ellie watches silently as Joel inspects the contents, nodding to himself as his eyes flicker from the vehicle to the booklet, mapping out his next moves of attack. His eyes sparkle and curiosity sparks in her.

Did you fix it?

Joel only murmurs to himself, and Ellie’s eyes roll. She inches closer to him and waves a hand in front of his eyes. Hellooo? Is it gonna start?

… I think so, kid. His head shakes in disbelief, If I can get that transmission replaced, it might be alright.

Ellie’s brows furrow… What on earth is a transmission?

I’ve been workin’ on cars for a while. I can tell you now that finding such an essential part for a model this old is gonna be tough. Might cost me an arm n’ leg.

Ellie shrugs, You’ll figure it out, old man.

He stares down at her blankly, Gee, thanks. Hand me that wrench, assistant.

Ellie mocks glee on her skip to the rolling cart, Gosh golly dang, does this mean I’m hired?

He jokingly snatches the tool from her extended hand. Little bugger. And just like that, you’re not gettin’ paid. How’s it feel to be outta funds?

WAAAAAAA—

Ellie’s fake wails earn her a deep holler.

Ellie oversees Joel until the clock strikes twelve, following his line of vision on every rusted compartment of the vehicle. Stood attentively at his side as he pointed out the carefully crafted machinery, listing their parts despite Ellie’s protest of forgetfulness. There are so many names for everything; Building cars seems so complicated, but curiosity sparks in her. She starts to think: maybe cars aren’t so boring.

Another sleepless night for the both of them; Might as well commit to movie night. Fireworks are still going off in the small neighborhood hours later. The booming colors in the sky makes Joel's teeth grind. Reminds him of the time he took Sarah to Santa Monica Pier.

Joel?

Mhm?

… What favor did you owe my mom?

Thickness builds in his throat the second Ellie mentions her. He sets the large bowl of chocolate-doused popcorn onto the coffee table, reaching for the remote to turn the movie down. Not off, down. Ellie hates feeling like she’s being scolded.

Joel doesn’t look at her, but her eyes are glued on the side of his face.

Umm… He scratches his face, Did your mom ever mention me to you? Ellie denies with a hum.

Joel’s mind whirs back to the first time he met Anna: sophomore year. He was exhausted, drained, barely making it, but despite being miserable, he still cared deeply for his education. He studied until his eyes burned, jotted down notes until his hand cramped and the librarian was gently urging him to head home.

She… We were friends in college. He fonds, We met at an ice cream truck.

Weird. Ellie notes causally, She hates dairy.

… Yeah. She does. Joel coughs to mask the brokenness in his voice.

Anna was… a genius, to put it lightly. Academically gifted to an intimidating degree. Her mind was a camera; She’d scan one excerpt from the thickest novel once and still manage to repeat it word for word years later. They had comms together; Her voice sounded like tweeting birds whenever she recited her prepared speech like it was nothing. She was an emotional speaker, entranced everyone in the room, and always ended with a question that forced students and professors to self-reflect. Joel wouldn’t call it a crush… Merely admiration. Envy. He was motivated whenever he left comms.

He’ll never forget the image of her, sweating and worn, carrying what seemed like a twenty-pound backpack — all stuffed with calculus books — while ordering a can of Sprite from the humming, beaten down truck. Anna didn’t leave after the vendor handed her the soft drink. She simply turned to Joel, inspected him from head to toe, and turned back to the vendor.

I’ll cover whatever he gets, too. With a thumb aimed at him. He nearly choked.

A free snow cone couldn’t halt the racing in his chest.

I know what you are.

What, He questioned without a stutter.

You fix cars? Anna quirked a brow at him. Joel’s brows pull downward. How did she know that? He’s fixed one car since he’s been enrolled. His buddy pulled up in front of his dorm asking for a windshield repair. But he shrugs, feigning nonchalance. I dunno.

The green-eyed girl scoffs and sips from her nearly emptied can.

You down to replace a tire? Some jackass thought it would be funny to leave a rusty nail in our parking lot.

Our. She must have roommates… or lives where he does, he thinks. For how much? Not a beat missed.

Her shoulders lift, I dunno. How much does a tire cost?

Depends on the model. What d’you drive?

A chevy. Don’t ask the year, I’m not sure. It was a hand-me-down.

A slight pause between them before Anna suggests with a sigh,

Come see ‘er.

Thar she blows.

Joel can’t help but snicker at the woman in front of him, posing right next to her teetered vehicle. It’s quite charismatic; the bright pink bumper stickers, the crisp turquoise paint job, the slight scratch on the trunk. It’s nice. Classically vintage; it suits her.

A beauty, he notes with his eyes locked onto Anna’s. She gives a hum in agreement.

Revive her, if ya don’t mind. I’m desperate and can’t sue, so. Joel nods and inspects the damage on her tire. The air is nearly fully gone, and it’s making her drive slump.

Tire shouldn’t be more than thirty-five… Gonna have to head home for some stuff. Willing to wait an hour? When he turns to her, they’re shoulder to shoulder.

Anna smirks, Whatever you need, mechanic.

My dad, Joel corrects, He taught me the basics when I was like… twelve.

Her voice lowers, Good on him… Earned me a discount, eh? A hand claps down on his shoulder and gives it an encouraging squeeze, and he revs to life.

He swears the tips of his ears are red hot, Sure… minus that deposit. I needa twenty for emotional damages.

Fuck off. Her eyes are soft, Might never go to the shop again. You’re officially my car fixer-upper. Fuck these grease-balls n’ their price spikes.

Joel snorts, You get into that many goddamn accidents?

She leans in closer, and his throat closes. Slams shut. Turns to dust.

You’ll find out, mechanic.

That’s why you’re spending so much time on it, Ellie notes at Joel’s retelling before a harsh gasp escapes her. Dude, were you in love with my mom or somethin’?

The man stutters and coughs, No — what? I told you she was a frien—

Ellie snickers with a judgmental point, Yeaaah, yeaaah, I know how these things go. You sucker!

What the hell — I’m not a sucker… And what things—

Anna and Joeeel sitting in a tree! —

A pillow smacks Ellie dead in the face, and she topples over in cackles. Joel rubs deep in his temples. Ellie would’ve loved Sarah. Two little bullies who feast on his suffering.

No more storytelling. I’m going to bed.

You can’t! Remember? Ellie hollers as tears fall from her eyes. She coos at Joel when he lifts himself off the couch and down the hall, trying to mask his small smile.

Aww! C’mon, old man, it was a joke!

I can’t wait for you to go back to school, ya vermin!

An exhausted Ellie creeps into Joel’s room half an hour later. She sighs in relief when she doesn’t hear snoring. Her mom was the worst when she was tired. She tiptoes across the carpeted floors until she’s in front of the unoccupied side of the mattress, stealthily adjusting the blankets and pulling back the sheets.

She slowly manages to tuck herself in, fixing the pillows so her head rests on the cold side of the case, exhaling happily at the warmth defrosting her limbs.

The second she dozed off, she yanked to consciousness by raspy sarcasm. Her eyes roll underneath her lids.

You can’t, either. Joel croaks, Remember?

JANUARY, 2010

Five days until school. Five days until misery. Five days until… strangers. Ellie’s skin crawls whenever she thinks about being an enclosed space with snot-nosed boys and soggy lunches.

And math… Gross.

Joel has been more than willing to postpone Ellie’s enrollment whenever she becomes anxious, but she always denies his requests. She’s grown to like Joel, but… he’s not the best teacher, especially social studies. Reviewing one of her old packets nearly gave him an aneurysm. She can’t afford to be homeschooled by him.

What's been the best distraction from her impending doom?

Binge watching Cars for the billionth time… And helping Joel patch up that blue Chevy.

They celebrated their first victory last night for repairs, at least: Joel stuck and twisted the key to start up the engine, and it managed to stutter to life. For less than five seconds. The headlights barely came on and an old Foreigner record broke through the crackly speaker. They rejoiced with the brightest smiles as their hands slapped the dashboard before the vehicle crashed out once more.

A glimmer of hope. A chance for reconnection. Anna’s sending them messages. The joy in that car shifted to grievance; Joel had to cradle Ellie in his lap as she wept into his shoulder.

But there’s hope. Ellie wanted nothing more than to get this car working after that. Duty calls, though, and the alarm’s coming from a backpack.

You got this, kid. Stop stressin’.

Ellie, without a doubt in her mind, does not got this.

Screaming children, muddy slides, bloody band aids; they’re all on the other side of that office door. Her worst nightmare has come to life, and she desires nothing more than to hide out in her mom’s car forever. The bag strapped around her shoulders matches the weight of a body. She refuses to let go of Joel’s hand as he speaks with the giggly receptionist who’s too happy to see him (what the hell), but it's okay; he’s holding hers just as tightly. Just as paranoid, apparently.

She’ll be with Mrs. Lawson for the remainder of the year. Ellie hears the receptionist say over her pounding heart, She’s incredible! I’m sure they'll develop an amazing bond.

Ellie’s palms are sweltering. Joel must feel it because his thumb nuzzles into her wrist. She’s not built for this. Maybe returning so soon wasn’t a great idea. She can’t do this without her mom.

Cool backpack, Spidey, is said from behind her, and she stiffens instantly.

She has a Spider-man backpack.

Hush. An older man’s voice replies. Sounds strained. Stressed, but he only receives a light snicker from her in return.

Ellie watches with squinted eyes as a young girl gets escorted towards the front of the office by… the principal, she assumes? He seems fancy in his suit slacks.

You stay right here until I get your uncle on the phone, The suited man is stern towards the girl, who plops down on one of the waiting chairs. Backpack and all, You can explain to him how you swore at a teacher. I’m not dealing with this from you today.

M’kay, Mr. Harris.

Ellie observes the entire scene indiscreetly. Her stares are obvious, glued to the clearly agitated dean who stomps into his office.

Where’d you get your backpack?

Ellie’s stunned at your sudden whisper. She shocks herself when she quietly stutters,

Um… Walmart?

You smile, I like it. I want one.

Ellie simply nods, but gets paused before she can redirect her attention to Joel.

Are you new? Your voice grows quieter when you look over your shoulder. Right at the principal’s door. I am, too. I just moved schools.

This shocks the brunette. The new year just started, and you're already locked in the office with evidently angry staff.

Yeah… I’m new.

Something in your grin shifts. Ellie’s nails lock into Joel’s hand. … Interesting—

Young lady! Did Mr. Harris give you permission to speak?

You audibly ponder like the attendance clerk asked you to solve a riddle.

No, ma’am. I apologize.

Then hush. Not another word.

Ellie watches you fold your hands politely, twiddling your thumbs. Your eyes don’t leave her backpack.

Ready, kiddo?

Her eyes finally reconnect with Joel’s, encouraging and chocolate, and she nods. He guides her to the office exit where her new life resides. Before their departure, she can’t help but take one last respectful glance over her shoulder. She finds you staring with a quirked lip and your wrist outstretched like your shooting spider webs at her. Ellie jerks her head forward and releases the breath she’s been holding.

What a weirdo.

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#ellie williams smut #ellie williams au #ellie williams #ellie williams angst #ellie williams x reader #ellie williams x you #ellie williams tlou #lesbian #streetracer!ellie #works 𖧧࣪#ellie williams x f!reader

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piggyinthesea · 4 months

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The Night After Monaco

part 2 of this fic

pairing: charles leclerc x reader, max verstappen x reader

word count: idk prolly more than 2k

warnings: shouting, smut, messy charles, stress, anxiety, fluff, kind of sugar daddy charles, max being desperate, gaslighting

summary: charles teaches you things you didn’t know about yourself he shows you what it means to truly be taken care of. but, does this mean things are really done with max?

Son las cinco 'e la mañana y yo no he dormido nada

It’s 5 in the morning and I haven’t slept at all

Pensando en tu belleza, en loco voy a parar

Thinking of your beauty, going to end up crazy

El insomnio es mi castigo, tu amor será mi alivio

Insomnia is my punishment, your love is my relief

Y hasta que no seas mía no viviré en paz

And until your mine, I won’t live in peace

There’s always someone watching. Every time you do something there’s always someone or something watching. You realized that when you found a post on Instagram about the other night.

f1exlusiveupdates

f1exlusiveupdates: Charles Leclerc, ferrari driver, spotted leaving an exclusive club with company shortly after his Monaco Gp win. No images including the female’s face.

↳ user233 just a hook up, not a big deal.

↳ charlesismybf it’s me guys, I’m the female☺️

↳ formula1luver baby come home the kids miss you

327 comments 15,000 likes

Charles had sent the article to you that had been posted that same evening with a message asking to talk. It shouldn’t have bothered you the way it did but, you became extremely anxious to hear what he had to say.

The moment Charles’s had woken up he was met with a text from his brother, Arthur. Arthur had sent the article with an abundance of questions of who, what, when, why. After Arthur persisted, Charles had told him everything.

He explained your situation, the ‘break’, and he even threw in the hickey on Max’s neck to ease it all. Arthur had nothing to say. His moral compass was being challenged and he didn’t know whether the whole thing was right or wrong.

1. It was Max’s idea to take the break.

2. The relationship was already running its course (Due to mainly Max’s fault).

3. Max cheated on you too.

He explained to Charles that it wasn’t right to take his chance with you right after taking a break knowing you were vulnerable and just needed a friend, however, technically speaking he did nothing wrong. Charles definitely needed to talk to you and figure out what exactly was going on and what the both of you intended to do. He had an entire speech prepared. He wanted to ask you if you’d consider pursing a relationship with him. He understood that it’ll definitely cause a scandal and he planned to assure you he could take it as slow as you wanted to. He wanted to tell you he didn’t see you as just ‘a hook up’. He wanted a deep and meaningful relationship with you, if you’d let him attain one.

However, his speech was forgotten and completely eradicated from his brain when he saw you. You wore a simple outfit. A graphic t-shirt with jeans. Yet, you still knocked the breath out of him.

For a moment he didn’t know what to say. “Hey.”

You awkwardly smile. Your anxiety was booming and him looking so gorgeous did not help you. You had already mentally prepared yourself for rejection.

“Hi.”

You let him in and the both of you begin walking towards the couch in the living room. Awkward silent moments pass. Still, no one had said anything and the both of you stayed staring at each other.

“H-“

“Y-”

You cut each other off.

“You go first.”

“No, sorry you go first.” He says with his cheeks burning up.

“I understand if the other night was just something casual to you. And I’m sorry about the article.” You ramble. You didn’t mean to cause a scandal and make things messy for him. You hoped he didn’t hold anything against you.

“It wasn’t casual! Sorry. Sharing that night with you was so amazing. I want more of that. I know it’ll be extremely hard for you but, if you’d have me, I’d enjoy a serious relationship with you.” He quickly states, mentally cussing himself out for acting a fool.

His words take a few moments to process. You hadn’t considered the possibility that he’d want a relationship with you. Maybe it was because you had low-self worth but being in a public relationship with Charles scared you. His fan base was crazy.

The internet would have a field day if they had ever found out you have a relationship with Charles. They’d call you out kinds of names. Slut, whore, homie-hopper. You could see it clearly. “I don’t know if having a relationship would be the best idea. I don’t even know if I still have one. And besides the internet-”

“Forget about the internet. Do you want me?”

You answered within a flash, “Yes.”

“We shouldn’t let it the internet rule our lives. They won’t understand, but at least we’ll have each other.” He reaches towards your hands and holds them together, “Ma belle, I promise we can take it as slow as you need to.”

His eyes silently pleaded at you. He looked at you with his big brown eyes and long eyelashes. He was irresistible and oh-so-pretty. He acted as if he expected you to say no. How could you though? When he looked at you with longing and passion the way he was doing right now…it’d be hard to ever say no.

“Okay. But first I need to talk to Max. We never officially broke up.”

“Of course.” Before leaving, he pulls you in and leans forward. His lips feel soft against yours. A simple act of affection is so tempting and before the kiss is deepened, he pulls away and leaves your flat.

You knew what you had to do now. You dreaded every second of it but you texted Max.

vroom vroom

come over, we need to talk.

I’ll be there in a couple minutes

read 2:03 pm

It didn’t take long for the door to your pad ring. Each step you took as you walked closer and closer made you feel extremely uneasy. The door knob felt sticky against your sweaty hands.

Max stood in front of you with a bouquet of flowers. Without asking, he let himself in (a perfect reminder that he’s been here plenty of times before and this might as well been his second home).

“These are for you. I decided to forgive you and move on. Look, we can just forget this ever happened.” He handed the bouquet of flowers to you. You stood confused, yet you quickly became agitated the moment his words process.

“You forgive me?” You questioned, daring him to elaborate.

“Are you serious right now- look, I didn’t come here to fight. Baby, I don’t want our relationship to end. Don’t end this because of one mistake you did.” He says in a condescending tone.

The nerve of him. There’s no possible way he believes he’s still in the right. For fucks sake, he still has a hickey from another woman on his neck yet he’s coming to you as if you were the one in the wrong.

“My mistake? Max you have a fucking hickey from another woman on your neck. You don’t think this has anything to do with you?”

At this point, you were seriously debating throwing his shit-bouquet at him. He remained speechless, standing like a dumb ass waiting for another word to come out of your mouth. “You know what just leave. We’re done .” You angrily push him out and (gladly) shut the door.

You let out a huge sigh and ran both hands through your hair, frustrated as ever.

y/ninstagramuser has unfollowed maxverstappen1

y/ninstagramuser has followed charles_leclerc

charles_leclerc has followed y/ninstagramuser

It was only half an hour you’ve unfollowed Max until you heard a notification from Charles. It was a link…to yet again another gossip article. You physically groaned and mentally prepared yourself to get bashed.

formulaonebestgossip

formulaonebestgossip: Has the beloved grid couple broke up? Evidence to back this claim up consists of the fact that Y/n had just recently unfollowed Max. No posts from either party has been released confirmed this.

↳ user288 highly doubt this lol

↳ redbulll24 prolly was an accident since he still follows her🤷‍♀️

↳ user444 wait, does anybody know if Y/n followed Charles before this? I just checked and they’re both following each other 🌚

replying to user444 I think so? I’m not sure tbh but it doesn’t make sense why she would follow him after all this time

replying to user444 she definitely didn’t, I remember cause I used to stalk her followers all the time

8,600 comments 20.6k likes

3 familiar bubble dots popped up on your chat with Charles. After what seemed like a minute or so, they disappeared. Then, they came back.

charles🫠

did you break up with him?

yeah, he says he still wants to work things out though.

…do you want to?

Nope.

Good.

I want to take you out.

what if someone sees us?

If that’s something you’re worried about, I can work around that. I told you, the other night wasn’t just causal.

Okay then. I’d love to go out with you☺️

I’ll send you the details ❤️

seen 12:04 pm

Suddenly, you were in high school all over again having a schoolgirl crush. It didn’t take long for Charles to let you know the time he would pick you up tomorrow. You were excited and weirdly intrigued. What type of date could either of you go on where the public wouldn’t see you?

max v.

why’d you unfollow me?

because we’re not dating anymore ??

we’re not done. I’ll have you again, for sure. 😴

what the hell weirdo. don’t make me block you.

seen 12:26 pm

Without thinking of how Charles would feel, you took a screenshot and sent it to him. Within seconds, Charles replied.

Charles🫠

I’ll make you forget him tomorrow, don’t worry sweetheart.

oh yeah? how so?

First, I’d fuck you dumb on my private jet we’re taking tomorrow. No one else would be around, so it’d be just the two of us. Then, we’ll look through online lingerie shops together while you’re sitting on my lap as I picture you wearing them. I’ll make sure you always have something pretty. Maybe I’ll even get you some nice Versace heels for funsies. By the end of the day, you’ll probably memorize my bank digits. Not that I mind, as long as I get to see you wear the stuff you’ve bought.

are you alone?

why, are you touching yourself?

can you answer my question first?

Yes, im alone. Now you answer mine.

Of course I am. I feel like you say the right words to get me going on purpose.

No, it wasn’t on purpose. How was I supposed to know you were that needy?

I’m sorry

Don’t be sorry, I love when your needy for me baby. Tell me how your touching yourself.

I have my fingers in my shorts. They don’t feel as good as you though. My body misses you.

I bet it does. Don’t worry though, I’ll see you tomorrow princess. Can you insert a finger into yourself?

I did it. I wish it was you instead :(

Don’t be sad, ma belle. Just keep touching yourself.

I’m close Charles. I wish you were here.

keep touching yourself sweetie.

I didn’t come. Max texted me.

Can you block him for me, cheríe? With the cherry on top.

Of course, anything for you.

Thank you 💗. I have to go but I’ll talk to you soon.

liked message

You felt as if you’d been robbed from you high. The pleasure you’ve felt until the moment Max texted you was something you’ve never experienced by just merely looking at words on a screen.

Max was still ‘asking’ to start over. Yet, it was something about the way he said it that proved he still truly didn’t think he did nothing wrong. He pointed the faults at you and hasn’t realized his own mistakes in the process. This had got you second guessing. What if you really were the one in the wrong? You quickly shook the thought away and scrolled through Instagram.

Nothing interesting had happened today and so you took a small walk around your neighborhood before returning back, sweaty and tired. When you arrived to your door, a large bouquet of flowers sat in the door step. It didn’t take much to figure out they were from Max. You like being gifted things. Receiving gifts was your gift language, something you’ve told Max plenty of times, yet only now he’s doing the gifting. You ponder for a moment. Maybe it was because of how pretty the flowers were that you began to second guess yourself. You looked at the pink wrapping and the white roses decorated with golden butterflies and fairy lights. You wondered if you’d been to hard on Max.

You tossed the flowers onto your couch, not caring about the fragility of them. The rest of the day had been spent with updates from Charles, who had been attending formula 1 meetings all day long. Once night came, you texted your good nights to each other and went to bed.

It didn’t take long for the sun to rise and finches to start singing. The color of the sky had been a beautiful light blue color with cotton candy shaped clouds. You got up and splashed water on your face and rubbed your inner eye boogers away. The time read 11:49 am as you checked your phone. No new notifications other than Charles good morning text had been sent to you, sadly. It’s your own fault for having no social life.

Since Charles was meant to pick you up at 1:30, you had a decent amount of time to get ready. You picked a white summer dress with spaghetti straps and floral prints. It reached towards your mid thigh, enough to be slightly scandalous yet still long enough to remain a proper dress for any occasion. For jewelry, you opted to a small pearl necklace and shiny small earrings. The shoes you were white platform 3 inch heels with a cute lace ankle buckle strap. After putting on light make up, it was 10 minutes until 1:30 and someone knocked on your door.

You fully expected it to be Charles, until it wasn’t. Max was standing in front of your door once again with a plain light blue button up and navy jeans.

“Where are you going looking so pretty?” Max stares at your body with intent as leaned against the door frame. A voice behind him spoke to him,

“She’s going with me.” Charles held a luxurious looking box and he pushed himself in front of Max and passed it to you.

Inside, there was about 50 small cut roses mixed in with a couple pink roses to make a heart effect. The black box had a bow around it. The brand was in another language you couldn’t pronounced in a gold and Italian style.

“These are beautiful, Charles.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek as Max had burned holes through his back.

“Those are okay. Where are mines though?” Max desperately looked through doorframe into the apartment.

“Somewhere on the couch. Probably dead by now.” You said, locking the door behind you and holding Charles hand. “We have somewhere to be, don’t we?”

He nods in agreement as you guys begin to walk away from Max who still stood in front of your apartment.

Click📸

The ride to the airport was talks about each others childhood and teenage years. His hand rested upon your thigh as he drove with his other arm. You’d found out Charles had 2 siblings. One older and another younger. He asked questions about, where you grew up, where your family’s from, and asked questions about your job. Your mother was a well-known model in the 80’s, so with the amount of traveling, you technically grew up everywhere. Naturally, you pursued a career in modeling. People loved you. Not because of your ‘beauty’ but many say it was the way you carried yourself and how you manipulated the energy around you to feel comforting and safe. Some called you a nepo baby, but really, that’s just what they want to believe. You believed modeling was made for you. You loved the sponsered gifts from extravagant brands, the free beauty products, the party invitations, traveling, but overall it was the way you felt on the runway that won your heart. Some may argue you were a little too materialistic, but if there’s no harm in it, what’s the problem? Max was sweet, most of the time, during your relationship. Though there was this one time, he ‘jokingly’ called you a gold digger. It was one of those phrases that just stuck with you for some reason. You didn’t believe it. You rarely asked for him to buy you stuff and so you were just confused, not offended. Besides, you had your own money. If there wasn’t a man to spoil yourself, you’d do it yourself. As you arrived to the port, Charles took a different entrance than the regular one. He pulled into a large lot with big green hangars in a row, each holding a different jet. There was only one jet outside the hangar. It was standard size yet smaller than the average public jet and by the looks of it ready to go on any command. Boarding the jet and taking off didn’t take long however the cocktails that you’ve both ordered did.

The attendee had finally returned with the cocktails and before drinking, you and Charles clinked your glasses. His hand rested on your thigh and you asked, “Where are we going?”

“Las Vegas. I was hoping you’d attend attend the gp there.” He said. He lightly traced circles around your thigh. You felt small shockwaves of electricity shooting towards your core. Even though he sat right next to you, you felt as if you were so far from each other.

“Don’t you think it’s too soon? The internet thinks Max and I only broke up barely a week ago.” You said, looking into his eyes while scanning his reaction.

“But…” his hand inches closer to your inner thighs, “I want to see you.” He quietly pleads into your ears as his hands travel further and further. There was an urge in your core begging him to go further, like it was thriving off his touch. His hands caress your inner thigh, squeezing them and teasingly brushing over your panties. One of his hands reach your head and pulls you in a breath taking kiss. It was deep and slow yet it was enough to get your heart beating like crazy. His other hand reached towards the inside of your dress, snapping the band of your panties against you in a teasing manner. He pulled away, grabbing your hand and lifting you from your seat towards his lap.

You sat on his lap, facing towards him while your legs were in an M position sticking out. Your heads clashed as your mouths merged together, intensifying the feeling in your crotch. His hands felt like fire as they traveled from your thighs to your waist. He ran them slowly up your waist during your kiss and then slightly pushes you further down his lap, letting you feel his hard-on. You feel your core soaking up and you find yourself wishing you were doing more than tongue kissing. Not breaking from the kiss, you grind down on him and as a result a soft groan left his mouth. “You drive me so crazy.” He whimpers, eyes never leaving you.

“I sure hope so.” You tell him, hands trailing down his chest down towards his crotch. He looks at you daringly, gasping when you cup his clothed crotch and slowly pull down the zipper to his pants. You take his member out, admiring the beauty that laid in front of you. His pink almost red tip with pre-cum sliding down looked so perfect in your hands. You slowly massage him up and down. He tilts his hand back and lets out a pornagraphic moan.

You suddenly let go of his shaft to turn around. With your back facing his face, you pulled down your panties and raised your pretty summer dress, flashing your ass for just a moment before aligning yourself to him. You sit down on him and instinctively the both of you let out noises of pleasure. You feel him slowly filling you up more and more until you finally sink down all the way. You begin to grind forward before you sharply get pushed back down.

“Stay still.” Charles warns you. “Let’s get you a new wardrobe.” You confusedly wait for Charles to pull out his laptop and place it in the movable table in front of you guys. He types in his passcode and searches up, ‘Victoria Secret’.

“Each set you get, you’re allowed to move once.” He whispers to your ear then pulled the computer closer towards you.

“But I want to move already.” You begged and whined.

“Then start shopping, baby.”

You scrolled down the page, quickly browsing to add the first thing you see into your cart. The first set was a light red pretty coquette set. The bra had beautiful lace designs with a tiny bow in the middle of your breasts.

“Wouldn’t you look so pretty in that?” He says, trapping your hips and grinding on his dick, finally creating some sort of friction for you. You were craving more movement by the second and so you glued your eyes to the screen.

The next set was a navy blue set that had a strap design around your hips. As you were about to add it to your cart Charles stops you, “You’d look absolutely beautiful in this but, I don’t like the color blue.”

You whined but continued scrolling until you found a maroon 3-piece lingerie set. It had heart shaped garters around the thighs and another connecting to your stomach with the ring of the garter stopping in the middle of your stomach, where your belly button was at. Charles had hummed in approval and moved your hips up and down with his hands stuck on your waist.

This had gone for what you thought was eternity. At the end there were 17 sets of lingerie in Charles cart which he had pay for (happily). The sets ranged from dark to light shades of red with the occasional pastel purple sets. It got to a point where you got so desperate that you outsmarted his game. You filtered the results the block all blue sets and after you started spam pressing ‘add to cart’.

After your post-orgasm bliss wore off, you had excused yourself to the restroom and roughly cleaned yourself up. You returned from the restroom and sat in your original seat next to Charles. He took your hand and entwined it with his. He rubbed circles around your hand before pressing a kiss to the top of your head. It didn’t take very much for the two of your to fall asleep, hands still entwined lovingly.

Charles had woken up groggily and let go of your hand to rub his eyes. He looked out his window seat into the dark sky and reached into his pocket for his phone. He grabbed it, only to find out it was yours. Yet something had caught his eyes. You had a message from a random number.

1+400-765-3479

Unblock me, Y/n.

He wasn’t sure who this was at first, then something in his brain clicked. He needed to be sure, though.

who’s this?

Max.

Charles had physically laughed. A little part of him wanted to show his claim on you yet there was still a rational part in him begging him not to be messy. Except, Charles is a messy person. Without a blink, he grabbed your hand and entwined it with his. He took your phone, took a picture, and sent the photo to Max. Max left him on read for the remainder of the flight.

A firm hand on your shoulder shook you awake. You learned outwards to the window and saw a bright blue sky then you looked to the right and saw Charles smiling at you.

“Morning, cheríe. We’ve landed, let’s go.” He said, gathering his carry on bag. You gathered all strength to get up and walk down the hoarding stairs. You felt a pit of hunger dwelling in your stomach and you suddenly wished you had ate before the flight.

“I have a special day for us. We’re going to this beautiful private beach and I’ve had someone set up a small picnic for us. You’ll like the beach, it’s beautiful.” He says, holding your hand down the stairs. His infamous ferrari was only a couple meters away.

“How come we didn’t come in that car on the way here?” You asked, curiously.

“Well, I had to ship it out here so I sent it out earlier than when we left. That’s why.”

You let out an ‘oh’ as he opened the door to the passenger side for you. He gets in his seat, turning on the roaring engine and drives out of the port. As always, his hand rests on your thigh rubbing circles into your skin. A sudden realization hits you.

“I didn’t pack any clothes.” You say, looking at him in disbelief.

“I didn’t either. We’ll hit the mall after we get to the beach.” He says, unworried.

The drive towards the beach was fairly quick. You figured it was because the port was close to the ocean. He pulled into what looked like a cliff only to surprise you by stepping off the cliff into well hidden stairs. The stairs were narrow and so he reached backwards to guide your hand down and ensure your safety. The stairs were long and risky yet you made it down with no issues. At the bottom, there was a small booth with a worker in it, giving a small nod towards Charles. Charles continues guiding you into the sand and he leads you to a gorgeous picnic set up. There was a white blanket across the sand with pillows placed elegantly in front of a white small table.

The table was placed under the shade of a white with hints of beige umbrella. China plates were set on the table with napkins on top of them shaped in elaborate designs. There was 2 fairly large wooden basket and a glass of wine next to it.

“How did you set this up?” You asked, walking around the beautiful set up. He sat down and you mimicked his actions.

“My brother’s in the country. I paid him to do it. I thought he would’ve just did something simple but he impressed me.” He reached towards the wooden basket. “Let’s see what he chose for our lunch.”

Inside the first basket, there were endless fruits such as watermelon, grapes, cherries, dragon fruit, and pineapple. Two silver sporks were set in the side of the basket along with extra sets of napkins. In the other basket there was plenty ingredients for a do-your-own sub. Two butter knives were also included. One to spread the mayo and another to cut the 2 medium sized baguettes.

The two of you began making your own, adding the right ingredients to satisfy your taste buds. You munched on your subway sandwiches until they finished, then the two of you fixed yourselves a plate of fruits. A comfortable silence was shared between the two of you as you took in the view in front of you.

Charles had pulled out 2 wine glasses and opened the wine bottle letting out a loud ‘pop’. The red liquid poured beautifully into the glass cups. Within moments, the two of you clinked your glasses and drank the liquid. You ached to be closer to Charles and so you moved yourself to his side. He wrapped of his arms around you and continued sipping the wine with the other.

“This is beautiful, Charles.” You murmur softly. He holds you tighter in response.

“You know I really like you?” He says, while staring off into the ocean. His eyes move to you only to find you already staring at him.

“I really like you too.”

He places a kiss on your head. “I hope one day we can walk through the entrance of the paddock holding hands in front of everyone.”

Your heart warms up. You’ve never felt happier than you do right now and you find yourself hoping that maybe, just maybe, you’ll be able to maintain this happiness forever.

#charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #f1 #formula one #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x female reader #girljournal #smut #sugarbaby

352 notes · View notes

dr3c0mix · 5 months

Note

DRE DRE OMG DRE!:O

I JUST HAB THE GREATEST IDEA OF ALL TIME DRE!

So, so I was thinking at like 1:33 am cuz ye, and I thought,

WHAT IF THE READER, HAD LIKE, A DISABILITY , AND IT CAUSED THEM TO LIKE NOT BE ABLE TO MOVE AROUND MUCH, AND AND THEY FEEL USELESS, SO THEYRE LOVER COMES IN, AND IS LIKE” u know ily right?” OUT OF NO WHERE, AND IT MAKES THEIR DAY???

I mean you dnt have 2, but it would still be like so cool:3

*me running at Usain Bolt speed in order to get away from sleep cuz insomnia helps brain go brr*

But have to sleep so go night night>:(

Yanderes x Disabled!Reader w/ a Mobility Disability

My OCs x Disabled!GN Reader

yall have no idea how long I've wanted to write this *sobbing*

CW: Adrian is stupid and ignorant a little, mentioned kidnapping themes, stalking, theyre a little bit too caring for you..

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Adrian doesn't use your disability to make fun of you, he's an asshole not a monster. But he is painfully ignorant of things when it comes to people with disabilities. Prepare to be asked a lot of shallow and sort of weird questions, not because he's judging you, but because he wants to learn more about you and maybe learn how to take care of you once you two get married and live together. He'd ask in random times "So why do you use a wheelchair?" "Can you piss correctly?" and a plethora of other things. If you use a wheelchair, he'd insist, no, demand that he'd push for you, he doesn't give a real reason for it other than "Your arms will get tired." If you're an amputee, he'd secretly save and steal money in order to buy you prosthetics if you ever showed your desire for one to him. He honestly doesn't care if you feel useless, you're his and he loves you and no matter what you think, he will always be there for you. "Are you fucking kidding me? You went to the library all by yourself yesterday! You played with those kids in the playground, and you carried that group presentation in math class! You're not useless, you dumbass, you're amazing!"

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Brandon, despite how ditsy he is, researches a lot about your disability, how to take care of a person with your disability and stuff that could improve your mobility. It's his duty as your boyfriend to give you the best care possible! As much as he loves to take care of you, he knows for sure you're able to do things yourself, he helps you with physical therapy if you ever need it. Being the star player of the lead team has its financial benefits too, so if there's something you found online that could help with your mobility, he's definitely buying it for you immediately!! There are times when you feel insecure about your disability but he's always there to give you lots and lots of reassurance and love! But to be honest, his way of cheering you up sounds more like a pep talk more than comfort, but it's his way of cheering you up :) "Who cares if you're not like other people? You're awesome and never forget that, with or without a disability!"

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Valeth, I shit you not, is taking away your wheelchair, your crutches, your prosthetic limbs, anything you need to move around on your own. He doesn't want you being able to escape his house and tell the authorities about him. Besides, why need those when you have him to carry you around and spoil you rotten with gifts and affection? If you let, him, he'll kiss the parts of your body that are affected by your disability, your legs, your arms, your amputated limbs, he wants to remind you how much he loves you despite your immobility. He'll whisper how much he loves you every night or when you feel sad. "You're perfect my little duckling, so so beautiful..."

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The Horde is keeping you in your bunker 24/7 unless you tell them you want to get out, but even then, they're right by your side the entire time. Bo is in charge with making sure you're never in pain or discomfort, physically and emotionally. "You're so beautiful darlin'..I wouldn't change a thing about your pretty little self~.." Screw rummages around the mall to find anything to help you move around like items from the medical areas. "I found this..uhm..do you like it?" Soda and Ribs don't really understand but they love you either way, regardless of your body. Ribs might steal your prosthetics or crutches though; you have to pry them out of his mouth like a dog that doesn't want to give up a stick.

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Wolfie thinks you're hurt and whines whenever he sees you struggling of sad, he licks the places of your body that are 'hurting'. Even when you reassure him that you're ok, he won't let go, he needs to make sure his little mate is ok! Forget wheelchairs, or crutches or prosthetics, he'll let you ride on his back, anywhere you want! Just give him lots and lots of pets and scratchies, good boy deserves it!

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Dorik is your loyal servant and will help you whenever you need anything. Oh, your wheelchair is folded up and you need help setting it up? Nonsense! He can carry you anywhere you want! Prosthetic limb nowhere to be found? Just stay in bed, he'll take care of it! Found out he's been hiding all your stuff so you depend on him and only him?...nuh uh.. and if you ever feel down, he'll be right there cuddling you and whispering sweet kinda creepy things to you. "You're my little angel, master~ A fragile mortal like you should be cared for with a gentleness of a thousand silks~!"

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Kalva forges high and low for anything that can help you. while he does enjoy keeping you nice and safe in the nest, you need some sunlight! He gives you branches, sticks, rope, anything you need to help you move around even just a little bit. With his nest building abilities, he would make you a prosthetic limb or cane for you. If you're a wheelchair user, he can just lift you up and prop you outside with him while he preens you. He might not know what's wrong but he tries his best to make you feel better. "My mate is so lovely, my lovely lovely mate! So pretty and cute!"

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Jasper can't help but be much more protective of you. He knows you can do stuff on your own, but he thinks as your best friend and future lover he needs to take care of you. He'd gladly be your caretaker if you ever need one, but he beats himself up for not accepting that you know how to handle yourself. Please let him draw and paint on your prosthetics or wheelchair! If you don't want anyone to touch your stuff, that's ok with him, but that won't stop him from making little artworks for you, like tiny paper stars with cute doodles drawn over it. If ever you feel sad, he has a nice cozy room, a weighted blanket, hot chocolate and his cat to comfort you. He's not the type to give pep talks, but he's a good cuddler.. "It's ok to feel sad, baby~..let's just lie down together alright?"

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Silas, Viktor and Garrick pester you every day to just let them turn you. You could be in unbearable pain, and you still refuse to be a vampire??? You could just have a minor limp or amputated leg and they're blowing your disability out of proportion, comparing you to a fragile porcelain doll. Imagine how much better you'll feel when you can no longer feel pain! Or when you have the ability to walk properly! It bugs you, it even makes you feel worse. If they go too far, they quiet down and sulk like sad puppies, whining and begging you to forgive them. They're sorry they took it too far..they just wanted you to be happier and healthier... "We're sorry darling, we just want you safe is all.." "Indeed my dove~ but we love you either way~!" "So cute and so fragile~! I don't know what's up with those two, but I wouldn't change a thing baby~!"

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Baron is always there for you, you dont even need your wheelchair or crutches anymore with how much he takes care of your needs. He says it's all part of his job but you don't really think making adorable little snacks for you is part of it.. looking at the little orange slices shaped like snails and cookies decorated to look like cats on your tray, you wonder if his doting is really his duty or if he just really wanted to take care of you.. Apart from that, he often watches as you look in the mirror and just frown. He gets up and checks how you're feeling as if a switch activated in his brain when he saw your sweet sad eyes. He can't bear seeing you so insecure when you're the most amazing person he's ever met.. "Boss, I don't care what you or others think, you are wonderful and worth regardless of your disability. In fact, it makes you even more admirable.."

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Caspian can relate to immobility. Out of water, he's more or less paralyzed from the waist down because of the weight of his tail, so you two hang out and joke about it together. He helps you cope by giving you someone to see yourself in. He daydreams about one day using some kind of magic to give you a fish tail so you can live in the ocean together like a happy couple. Sometimes he brings you to the shore of the cave you live in so you can soak your feet in the water while he sings for you. "My beautiful treasure~ your body does not define you. I see your soul, your heart, and it is beautiful~.."

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Hallow just sees it as an excuse to keep you locked up. He baby-proofs everything so you don't accidentally bump into something and get hurt. Yes, he takes away your wheelchair or prosthetics when you disobey him. He's a menace but he makes up for it by caring so much for you, you don't even have to lift a finger. If you're good, he gives your stuff back, all of them decorated with stickers and doodles all over it, mostly hearts and flowers. If ever you feel insecure, he coils around you in a warm hug and kisses you all over, you're not getting out until he hears a giggle come out of you. "My doll~ my darling~ my love~ my pretty little toy~ so cute~ so small~ your body is perfect~ just the way it is~!"

⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☽ ◯ ☾₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆

Ashvan is on high alert 24/7, what if you get hurt? Or someone knocks you over and you can't get up? What if you can't move in a dangerous situation??? Stairs?!?!? He's absolutely panicking over you, but you being a cleric, you can simply use magic to get around. He knows full well that you can look after yourself but he can't help but linger around wherever you are to make sure you're ok, especially in fights. He's never far from you, acting like your defense as you heal the other members of the clan. He may or may not watch you sleep. Just being there for you! On days when you're not so confident in your abilities, he comes up to you with flowers he picked so he could hopefully make you smile again. "H-hi there! u-uhm..I-I picked these for you! heheh..uhm..g-good job during that battle! You were uhm..amazing..~"

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faefictions · 8 months

Text

Eddie Munson x Reader

Fluff, dealer!Eddie (kinda), self medication, reader is not in a good headspace my guys, completely unedited

2k words

Summary: You turn to weed in hopes it will help you finally get a break from your brain, but when all else fails, your so-called dealer knows how to help.

Tired.

It wasn't only what you were, it was the only word that had been repeating in your head for the past several days. Your constant state of autopilot only interrupted occasionally to remind you of how fatigued your limbs still were.

Sleep wasn't coming easy. It never had, but your insomnia only grew worse with every day you spent trying to pretend that life was currently business as usual.

It had been three months of this. This constant state of exhaustion. This inability to make it through a day without wishing your life had turned out any other way. This yearning for anything to take your pain away.

That was how you met Eddie. Your coworker told you about a friend of a friend. Some dude who used to deal back in high school. And although his new employment circumstances were legal, she said he could still get you something.

"Maybe it'll get that stick out of your ass," she had commented while writing down the number of this "dealer". Said "stick" was none other than depression brought on by the trauma you were still refusing to talk to anyone about. It didn't feel important anymore.

What was important was figuring out a way to just sleep. You were willing to try anything to make your brain shut up for a full 8 hours, and it would be an added bonus if it could shut up for the other 16 hours of the day.

Eddie got the call from your coworker, not you, a few days later. Although you were desperate for anything to make you feel better, you weren't able to build up the energy to pick up the phone and have a conversation with a man you'd never met. Especially not a conversation in which you plead with this stranger to sell you drugs.

He wasn't eager about the idea of selling again. He still got his shit from Rick, but that was his stash only. After being accused (and exonerated) for the murder of the most popular girl in town, he did his best to keep his activities legal. He didn't need to add any more fuel to the fire of the town hating him.

That didn't include partaking in the product himself though, the thought of quitting that barely crossed his mind.

He honestly tried telling your coworker no, that he didn't do that shit anymore, but he didn't know how to tell a begging girl no.

That was how you found yourself at his trailer at 9 pm on the coldest night of October. You felt guilty even showing up, you had heard the other end of his conversation with your coworker, and you knew he was just about as excited for this interaction as you were. But you needed to try something, and he couldn't lie, he could use the spare cash. Even if it was just a few bucks.

The man who answered the door was exactly what you were expecting. She hadn't told you what Eddie had looked like, but you figured anyone with a reputation like his wasn't going to look like your average Joe.

He was wearing a faded Van Halen t-shirt that had been poorly cut into a muscle tee, long curly frizzy and falling into his face. The chains attached to his belt loops were what really sold it though. He definitely looked the part of the high school drug dealer, the kid people only pretended to like for a discount on weed. The kind of kids you had been best friends with in high school.

"You y/n?" He asked the second he opened the door. You answered with a quick nod, and he welcomed your shivering body into his home.

He never would have done any deals in his trailer in High School. Not only did he not want Wayne caught up in all of his shit, but he never wanted to let anyone know where he lived. He knew better.

But now that he lived on his own, across the lot in the same trailer park he spent a majority of his childhood in, he was less worried. Especially knowing that the person he was selling to was friends with one of the few people from his past who didn't still think he was a murderer. He just hoped you were safe to have around.

He figured you were when he opened the door and took one look at you. Nothing about you screamed trouble, not to him at least. You dressed in the same way as him, and the most concerning thing about you was the dark circles under your eyes.

For a moment he thought you had been in a fight, but as you entered and came closer to the light coming from the kitchen, he realized that they were just the bags under your eyes.

Neither of you spoke much before you left with your goods. He told you to call him when you needed more, and smiled at you as he led you out the door. That hadn't been the plan.

He was going to tell you to buy from Rick next time, or one of his other dealers in town. He didn't plan on getting caught up as the middleman, but something about you made him want to make sure he was there next time.

Sure enough, a week later, you called to ask if you could stop by that night to pick up some more weed, and you were back on his doorstep by 10pm.

He did a sly once over of you when he opened the door, making note that you still looked like you hadn't slept since he saw you last. He tried making a bit more small talk this time, hoping to get you to crack a smile, but you left just as quickly as last week.

On the third week, you had been tempted to ask Eddie to double up on what he had been giving you. You were grateful to have a couple hours a day where your brain didn't feel on fire, but you still weren't sleeping. You weren't sure more weed could help with that though.

"Probably a dumb question, but you don't happen to have anything stronger, do you?" You asked as he handed you the same amount as last time.

Your question seemed to strike a nerve with him. Not one that angered him, but one that definitely upset him. You couldn't make out his emotions, but you thought he almost seemed concerned. Little did you know, that question had brought him right back to a conversation in the woods with a particular cheerleader. Nothing good happened after she had asked him that.

"What are you looking for?" He asked, though it sounded like it pained him.

"No idea, just something to make my brain stop for a while."

He deliberated for a moment, then tried to play nonchalant when he asked, "Not sleeping, huh?"

"Is it that obvious?" You laughed bitterly.

"You look like you got hit by a bus… to put it lightly," he replied earnestly, and got a chuckle out of you.

"It's been a long year," you gave him a half hearted smile. This was still a business transaction to you, and the last thing you wanted to do was trauma dump on your dealer.

But that was exactly what he wanted.

"Can I be honest with you?" He asked, unable to fully hide his concern.

"Shoot."

"I know you're paying me, but I dont think drugs are your answer."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I mean I don't know what's going on in there," he gestured vaguely towards your head, "but there's other ways to feel better."

"Well I think I've exhausted all my other options," you sighed, dragging a hand down your face.

"When's the last time you got a good night's sleep?"

"What's today?"

"Thursday."

"OK, well that would make it…. June?"

Eddie chuckled, but went right back to being worried.

"That's almost half a year."

"So you see why something stronger would do me wonders."

"I have a better idea. Do you trust me?"

You looked at him for a moment, deciding on how to answer. You barely knew him. This was your third time seeing him in person, and this was the most words you had heard come out of his mouth. Yet, the answer was yes. You trusted him wholeheartedly for some reason, but he didn't need to know that.

"Sure," you sighed, and allowed him to lead you to his couch.

He guided you to sit down, and left you with a blanket to cozy up with while he grabbed a joint from his bedroom, and an armful of snacks so you could stay put for the next few hours.

Now, taking your 4th puff from the lit joint before passing it back to him, you laid back and let him continue asking you questions.

"So you're friends with Cindy then?"

It took you a second to process who he meant. Cindy was the coworker who had recommended Eddie for weed.

"No, not really."

"Really? Because she seemed to have nothing but kind words about you."

"We're more of workplace acquaintances, I guess."

"OK. So do you live with any roommates?"

"No, just me."

"So no friends, no roommates, and no family within state lines?"

"Yeah, but it sounds more depressing when you put it like that."

"That's because it is depressing," he insisted, taking another drag from the joint. The room was just beginning to grow hazy from the smoke, and your brain was starting to feel the same.

"I think I know what's really wrong," he shot you a small smile from the other end of the couch.

"Oh yeah? Please tell me your diagnosis, Doctor Ed."

"You're lonely."

You froze for a second. Sure, it was obvious that was a big part of the problem. But how he said it, like it was almost a question. Like he knew that was the right answer, but there was still a blank he wanted you to fill in. It made you pause, unable to look him in the eye as you grabbed the joint from his hand and nearly inhaled the whole thing.

"Maybe you've got a knack for this therapy shit," you joked, hoping he wouldn't still be looking at you the same way when you returned his gaze. But he was. He was still looking at you with pity, though you could tell he was trying to hide it.

"How much do you trust me?"

"Less and less each time you ask."

"If I promise to stop asking, how would you feel about spending the night? We can watch a movie or something. And I'll drive you home in the morning."

"I dont know…"

"No strings attached, no ulterior motives. Just a guy trying to make a friend with someone just as lonely as him."

You considered for a moment. You hadn't meant what you said. No matter how many times he asked, you still trusted him. So you said yes.

You had to fight him on putting on a horror movie. It was the Halloween season after all, but you told him that watching people getting killed would make you rethink your decision to stay over.

"Feels too much like foreshadowing," you said, and he finally relented.

Instead, he found the old western he had inherited from Wayne when he moved out. You were much happier with that decision.

You fell asleep 30 minutes in, and Eddie would have complained in the morning that you had missed his favorite part, but he had fallen asleep right next to you. Your head rested on his shoulder, his head atop yours. The awkward untangling from each other was future you's problem.

For now, you were getting the full 8 hours you deserved.

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shankss-magnificent-ass · 2 years

Text

OP crews watching you adjust to piracy: Isekai edition

Whitebeard Pirates

"I'm bored," you grumble, lying spread out on the deck of the Moby Dick, as you stare out at the clear blue skies above you.

Whitebeard mumbled, "then go read a book," from his chair, as he read the newspaper

You sighed, "I've already finished everything in the library, twice."

Marco sat up, his leg dangling off the yard he glared down at you and exclaimed, "There's gotta be like a hundred books in there, and you've only been here for a month and a half."

"Yeah, but most of them are shorter than a hundred pages with a relatively low reading level."

Ace, who was lounging on the stairs and eating a bowl of cherries as he said, "oh rub it in, why don't you?"

You flopped over on your stomach, so you could shoot the black hair man a dirty look. "Rub what in? I'm simply stating a fact."

Izou snapped, "he's teasing, ignore him. And if you are bored then go do your chores or something."

You sigh, "I can't, all the chores are done, and there is nothing I haven't already cleaned this week."

Marco squinted at you, clearly using his big brain to try and figure out why you can't just sit still. He slid off the yard, and glided over, landing softly next to you. The blonde started to poke and prod at you, taking your pulse and just examining you in general "I think you're addicted to stress."

"That sounds pretty on point for me." You grumble, "but that might be a result of the way people in my world both live and work."

When Marco squinted at you in confusion, you explained how your usual work week went. Izou huffed, "that explains a lot, you aren't used to having free time. So you don't know what to do with it."

"... but if I'm not being productive what am I supposed to do? Doing nothing stresses me out."

Ace rolled over onto his stomach and groaned, "There's nothing to do because you've done everything already. You even volunteered to clean the bathrooms, who even fucking does that?

Marco took off his glasses, and rubbed the bridge of his nose as he sighed, "People addicted to stress, it explains your elevated blood pressure of late, and your insomnia, and lack of appetite."

Pops huffed, "you are my child, you don't have to 'earn your keep' by working yourself to death. Also, I order you to go through rehabilitation, and that you get a hobby that makes you happy." With that he scooped you up and rest you on his knee, and held you there while you squirmed, ignoring all your complaints about boredom.

Red Haired pirates

Shanks waked out on deck to see the entire crew lounging around. The red head walked over to Lucky Roo and gently kicked his side. "What the fuck is going on, why is no one working?"

The large man merely pointed over at your form zipping from one side of the deck to the other as you swabbed the deck.

The captain cocked his head and asked, "didn't they already swab they swab the deck after breakfast?"

Lucky Roo scratched his stomach as get grumbled, "yeah, they also swabbed it before and after lunch as well."

Benn, who was leaning against one of the banisters, takes his cigarette out of his mouth and says, "you wanna take it easy there kid?"

You stopped and looked at him, sweat soaking the bandana tied around your forehead to keep your hair back, you shake your head, "but I'm almost finished, plus I have to earn my keep." You used this brief respite to ring out the mop in the bucket.

Hongou clicked his tongue in disapproval, and a growled rumbled out of his chest, "You've worked nonstop over the last three days, only taking breaks to eat, sleep, and bathe. Working so much isn't good for you."

"But~"

Shanks waved his hand dismissively and flatly stated, "you've done plenty of work for today, go rest. We can't have you working yourself to the bone, all the time, it'll make us look bad if our land lubber rookie is more active in ship upkeep than us. No matter how cute they are to watch having the cleaning zoomies."

Yassop who appeared to be napping, cracked an eye open to glower at you, as he grumbles, "yeah, all the chores you've done in the last three days, is all the usual housekeeping that we do as a crew over a course of two weeks, actually."

The realization you might be over doing it crashed into you like a wave. You pulled off your bandana and rung it between your hands, "okay, sorry, it's just I need to be doing something, or I'll go nuts."

Shanks ogles you and purrs, "well, how about you do me instead?"

Benn karate chops the top of Shanks' head and grouses, "if anyone on this ship needs to get laid it's me, since I have to deal with all of you dumbasses."

Beast Pirates

You looked around, it was a quiet afternoon, one of many on Onigshima. Most of the core crew had gathered in one of the large banquet halls, to lounge and enjoy the breezy autumn afternoon. Kaido was sprawled out on the floor, drinking sake and snacks. Maria was snuggled up to Kaido, resting her head gently on his chest. Yamato, Ulti and Page one were reading comic books on the floor, and sharing a bag of chips. Sasaki and Who's Who were sitting on the floor playing shogi and drinking. Queen was tinkering with his prosthetic arm, his tools softly clicking against one another. Jack sat in the corner whittling. While King lounged on his back up in the rafters as he napped, the crackling fire on his back that usually filled the silence to a comfortable level for you, was out, so he didn't burn the wood

Despite the peace and tranquility of the room you felt like time was moving painfully slow, and the unfamiliar silence made your ears ring.

As the silence dragged on, you grew more uncomfortable and restless. After a few minutes of constantly shifting around, King sat up and snapped, "would you sit still!"

You whined, "I'm sorry," flopping unceremoniously onto your back. After a few minutes you rolled into your side and asked, "is there any news or~"

Kaido rumbled, "News comes with the paper, which comes in the morning, like it does every day."

Queen took a long drag of his cigar and mused, "I wonder what has got you so antsy, perhaps it's a crush?"

Everyone in the room turned their attention to you, interested to seed if you did indeed have a crush. You shook your head and explained you were just adjusting from our fast past-paced information stream and constant stimuli bombardment to one newspaper a week with important news on it sometimes, and life on a sleepy pirate island. By the end you sighed, "I am just not used to living in boring times, I'm used to knowing world changing events within five minutes of them happening."

King stretched his wings and sighed, "well, that explains why you keep asking about the news, and for stuff to do. But that doesn't explain why you seem afraid of silence."

You hummed thoughtfully, "It's like I'm experiencing silence and tranquility for the first time, because there's always noise, be it from machines, or nature. And it's unfamiliar enough my brain is just like" and you mimic the noises and body language of an angry monkey. Before continuing, "that, and it makes my tinnitus like three times worst, so it's just a constant high-pitched ringing in my ears, which hurts."

Most pirates have tinnitus from the constant gun fire and howling wind. So some of them nodded in empathy. King muttered, "Sometimes I forget you're from a different world, until to do weird shit like that, but I hate that I’m used to it enough that I understand your prattling nonsense."

You puffed out your cheeks, "Well if you'd light your fire again, there'd be enough noise for me to be comfortable."

Queen shrieked, "I asked you a question, will you please answer it!"

Ignoring him, you and King carried on your conversation. King asked, "oh so this is my fault?"

You shook your head and admitted, "no, it's just it helps fill the void, and it's rather calming." Which made King flustered enough he didn't respond, and he looked away from you.

Queen looked between the two of you, realizing what King's body language was saying what he refused to say. Before the round man cackled, "oh my god, you two have a crush on one another."

King swiftly turned on the man, and tackled him to the ground while adamantly denying that he had feelings for you. The tussle resulted in the shogi board being launched against the room, the bag of chips crushed, a bottle of alcohol to spill onto Maria's lap, and an all out brawl.

Kidd Pirates

Kidd rubbed his stomach, drowsy from the large break just ate, and looked at the clock and groaned, "balls, it's time for morning roulette." It was practically tradition that the crew took a thirty-minute break after a meal before starting their chores. There were tasks people volunteered to do routinely, but there were certain tasks that no one wanted to do. So what the crew decided a roulette wheel with everyone's names on it, was the least problematic way to pick who has to do the undesirable tasks. There was even a semi-elaborate ritual they did in order to make sure the wheel wasn't tampered with that involved everyone gathering and taking turns doing a series of checks of the moving pieces.

Killer, who was nominated by the crew to keep the keys two the closet where the wheel was stored, nodded his head and went to go get the wheel. As the wheel was being set up, Eustass noticed you were watching with particular rapt attention. From what you'd told him of the diversity of your old life back in your world, he only assumed your interested was because this was new to you. Kidd slapped his brawny hand on your shoulder and boomed, "you look like you've never seen a roulette wheel," and shook you playfully.

Kidd was shocked when you turned your attention to him and admitted, "no, we used them at school festivals for games like the cakewalk. I just have never seen it done so thoroughly. I figure it's to make sure it's not tampered with?" Kidd nodded, and you hummed, thoughtfully, "I admittedly was trying ways to figure out how to rig it in a way that gets around the inspections."

The crew stopped their examination, to glare over at you. You held up your hands and promised, "Not to cheat, but to come up with more inspections."

Wire sauntered over and engulfed your skull in his hand, and warned, "do not futz with the wheel."

As you nodded in his grasp, Killer chuffed, "you better not, also saying that out loud is a good way to get framed by someone trying to rig it?" His blond hair dancing along his back as he shook his head in disbelief.

That night, as you headed to join the crew for dinner, you noticed everyone was inside the galley already, and that their precious wheel was left attended out on deck. You grinned as the most wonderful and irresistible idea took root in your head.

Kidd took the plate of pasta that Killer made for dinner, and turned to go sit down. As he looked for a spot a very sharp and familiar rapid clicking from out on deck pierced the quiet hum in the room. While The red haired man thought nothing of it, Killer asked, "where's (y/n)?"

When everyone connected the dots, many of them raced to the door, and threw it open, expecting to catch you red-handed. Only to be met with your figure fully illuminated in the moon light, standing an arm's length away from the wheel, gently spinning the wheel with an outstretched finger. As they stared at you, trying to figure out what they were looking at, you let out a dark chuckled, "hehehe, If I cannot find problems, I will make them..." making them realize you were fucking with them.

Killer snapped, "why are you like this!"

"I dunno, I'm bored."

Killer momentarily took a few deep breaths to calm himself, before he gritted out, "if you're bored, there's plenty of work to be done."

You shrugged, "I don't wanna, besides tormenting you is so much more fun," and walked over towards them.

Kidd's eye twitched as stopped you, threw you over his shoulder, carried you into the galley, and roughly dropped you into a chair. "Sit," he ordered, pointing down at you, before he wandered over and handed you a plate of food. "Eat, and stop causing problems."

As the captain walked over to his second in command, you exclaim, "how about we play a different kind of roulette!" And you pull out an unloaded revolver from the back of your trousers. Killer quickly brings his fist down on your head, and pulls the revolver out of your hand and replaces it with a dart gun.

Kidd pointed a finger at you and bellowed, "that's it, you're sorting the scrap in my workroom, so I can keep an eye on you."

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curiositydooropened · 1 year

Text

Group Therapy

Steve’s friends encouraged him to attend group therapy, to push past the nightmares and insomnia. In such a small community of sufferers, he didn’t expect to meet you.

Pairing: Steve Harrington x female!Reader

Wordcount: 15,461

Warnings: group therapy, trauma, PTSD, nudity, recreational drug use, minor character death (not canon characters). It's therapy, guys. There's a lot of angst, guilt, speaking of dead loved ones, etc.

This fic is incomplete. This is just part one, but I was dying to get it out, so here it is. There's a bit of a cliffhanger/questions unanswered, but those will be answered in the next part! xo

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Joyce suggested group therapy. She knew of a group that met weekly in the old DMV building. Steve wasn’t one to sit in chairs and talk about his feelings (although he pressured the kids to do as much every time he saw them), but he wasn’t one to deny the advice of a woman that cared for him like he hoped a mother would.

Joyce Byers often surprised him with those sentiments, dragging him from his car by the scruff of his neck to partake in family dinners with the kids or asking about the various dates with various girls she’d seen him on and with around town. She worried over his headaches, offering tried-and-true remedies, and all-but drove him to the optometrist to get his eyes checked.

Much to his chagrin, he had needed glasses, and much to Robin’s chagrin, he only wore them around Mrs. Byers or the kids, who would tattle on him if he didn’t.

So, when Joyce cornered him on Labor Day, after watching the skittered reactions of each sound effect the kids made during their weekly DnD game, Steve couldn’t argue with her logic.

“I found this flyer. I’ve gone a few times, but it’s on Thursdays and Thursdays are difficult with work,” she explained, placing the leaflet into his hand. “But it’s a good group of people, and I’ve seen a few young people go. I do really think it’d be nice to be able to talk to kids your own age, you know?”

He shrugged and offered a weak smile, and if anyone else had recommended it, he probably would have shrugged it off, crumpled the paper and tossed it into the bin at the end of the McDonald’s drive through. But it was Joyce, and she wouldn’t have mentioned it if she wasn’t genuinely concerned.

So on Thursday night, when the sad streets of Hawkins cleared of construction workers and the few loyal townsfolk driving home from their 9-to-5s, Steve gripped 10-and-2 and inched his way to the old DMV parking lot. He pulled into the same spot he did when he got his license three years ago, and he was surprised to see the lot littered with vehicles from all sorts of residents from Hawkins and the surrounding county. It took him a shaky breath or two to muster the courage to go inside, but he figured this couldn’t be worse than killing a few inter dimension monsters.

Before he exited his car, he pulled his glasses from their case in the center console and slipped them up the bridge of his nose, hooking them over his ears, and as the dimly lit concrete building got a little sharper, and his headache began to alleviate, he left the car and walked toward the front doors.

The collection of chairs made a perfect circle in the center of the room, but only two people sat, the rest mingling near a coffee carafe and a giant box of doughnuts. Steve found himself jittery enough, and jelly doughnuts still reminded him too much of the gaping hole in Eddie’s ceiling, so he opted to skip refreshments and find himself a seat in the circle.

His hand shook against the cool metal of the chair, from nerves or excessive damage to his nervous system, he was never quite sure anymore. He clenched his fist to squeeze past the tremor and seat himself, glancing down at the watch on his wrist to avoid the gaze of the others around the circle. He had to check the time three more times before his brain registered what time it actually was, and by then, the others had started to find seats around the circle.

He shifted uncomfortably in his seat and offered a shy smile to the woman who sat beside him. She seemed wary of his presence, but smiled politely in return. And because that exchange felt safe enough, he ventured a glance around the circle. He was surprised to see about twenty people, in various stages of life and dress, mostly cheerful, swapping mumbled greetings and shuffling into their seats to get comfortable.

The slam of door closing startled everyone to silence though, mood shifting to static as a woman in a tight-fitting skirt suit clacked across the linoleum toward the circle, waving the legal pad in her hand. “Sorry, sorry! Just me.” She explained, finding her seat directly at Steve’s eleven. She glanced up from wire-rimmed glasses, similar to Steve’s and flashed him the brightest smile he’d seen in a long time.

“I see we have a few new faces this evening,” she glanced around to avoid Steve the embarrassment, but he felt heat fan at his face as attention drew his direction.

“That’s great. Let’s all be sure to welcome them warmly.” She continued. “For those of you who don’t know, this is a group therapy session. We talk about our feelings here. This is a judgement-free zone, and we would really appreciate it if the things shared didn’t leave this room. What happens in group therapy stays in group therapy, right?”

The group around him let out a chorus of tired agreement, as though they’d heard the spiel week after week.

“Great. Now I do feel the need to preface that we talk a lot about loss during these sessions. Loss of loved ones, loss of homes, loss of control. If it gets to be too much for anyone, I encourage you bow out. You know your own boundaries better than the rest of us, but we also want you to know that some of us have found a real community here, and we’re here to welcome you with open arms.” This time, she spoke directly to Steve.

He offered a tight-lipped smile, but suddenly found his hands interesting to look at, the crags of scarring across his knuckles, the callouses that littered his palm over the last few months.

“Let’s start with an ice-breaker, shall we? We’ll go around the circle and share our name and say a hobby we’ve picked up recently! We haven’t done hobbies in a few weeks, right?” A chorus of no’s filtered through the circle. She clapped her hands together. “Perfect. I’ll start. Hi, I’m Cheryl, and a few weeks ago, my friends got me hooked on couponing. Have you heard of that? Where you cut coupons out of the Sunday morning paper? I got my groceries for half the price!”

“Half the price?” The woman beside Steve startled him. She seemed genuinely intrigued.

Cheryl grinned, winked. “I’ll tell you all about it after this. Go ahead, dear.”

And then beside Cheryl, voice raspy yet calm, you spoke your name and Steve’s attention was drawn to you like gravity. Joyce had mentioned people his age, but at first glance around the circle, no one here was younger than their 30s, no one but you. Your hair was shoved under a knit cap, and buttons of your denim jacket clacked against one another as you adjusted in your seat, tucking one sneakered foot up on the chair with you. Steve leaned a little closer on his knees to hear what you had to say.

“I’ve picked up cooking, mostly out of necessity,” you tucked your chin to your knee and finally ventured a glance Steve’s direction. “Learned how to put out a grease fire on Friday.” Your eyes flared a challenge, a rebellious streak that sent something through Steve as he watched your eyes observe his frame. He sat up a little straighter under your scrutiny, and you turned to hear the comments being made in regards to your answer to the prompt. “I might be able to manage a casserole. Give me a month.”

And it went that way down the line, various people with boring, small-town names talking about crochet and mountain biking. Steve watched them politely, anxiety curdling his stomach the closer around the circle it got to him. Occasionally, he’d glance your direction, as though you’d offer a lifeline, an out. Cheryl smiled encouragingly and every hobby he’d had flew from his memory.

“And what’s your name?”

“Uh…” His throat was dry. “Steve. I’m Steve.”

“Hi, Steve,” the room echoed, led by your conducting arms. The call startled him, and the room was reduced to chuckles at the apparent inside joke. Steve noticed the way you hid your laughs behind a hand, cuff of your sleeve pulled up over your knuckles.

“Ignore them,” Cheryl reprimanded, rolling her eyes. “Tell us one of your hobbies.”

Hobbies, hobbies. He swallowed, glanced around the room, trying to recall the pastimes of the others’. He definitely didn’t cook or coupon. He scratch a particular grading itch at the back of his neck and shrugged. “I swam in high school.”

“Okay, swimming’s cool,” Cheryl encouraged, smile too bright, blinding. “What about now? Do you still swim?”

He winced. Swimming and him hadn’t gotten along in recent years, what with Barb and Water Gate. “Yeah, not really.”

“Well what do you like to do for fun?”

Joyce hadn’t prepared him for the questions he’d be asked. Once again, head-empty, he wracked for something he did in his free time. Chauffeur little shits to the arcade and back? Watch them play their nerd game? None of those really constituted as fun, and he couldn’t exactly let a group of total strangers know that his most relaxed moments were spent at Hopper’s old cabin sharing a joint between co-trauma-victims.

He licked his lips and considered dates he’d been on recently. Out of habit, his eyes flickered to you. Your head was tilted to one side, expression expectant, and he realized he’d taken too long.

He blinked and shifted uncomfortably in his chair. “Um, driving? I really enjoy just going for long drives. Does that count?”

“Of course it does. Driving is a great way to let off steam.” Cheryl expressed with too bouncy of a nod.

“Kind of car you got, kid?” A grumpy old man asked off to the right.

Steve turned to face him. “BMW 733i. It’s an ’83.”

The man whistled, nodded. “German-mades are good cars.”

“Got a good sound system?” A man asked from the opposite side of the circle.

Steve shrugged, nodded, ran a hand through his hair, nearly knocking his glasses off. He still wasn’t used to them. “It’s pretty good. Bass doesn’t blow me out.”

When that man offered a hum of approval, he felt himself warm a little, like that little hum was the acceptance of the group. He relaxed a bit further into his chair and the woman beside him, Mina, took over, discussing her doll collection at length.

It continued this way around the circle, people discussing their interests like this wasn’t a group therapy session, like you weren’t all here to discuss what had happened to you or who Vecna had removed from your lives. You were just a circle of humans getting to know one another and talking about your passions, and Steve felt a bit soft about it. He even pitched in the conversation at one point when Carl, the sound system specialist, spoke about building his record collection. Steve offered a signed copy of a Kenny Rogers album he knew his dad wouldn’t miss. Carl seemed elated. Steve felt proud to be useful.

When he looked away, your gaze caught him, eyes narrowed in suspicion at his gesture, and he felt his face heat and he looked away. He didn’t recognize you, didn’t think he’d seen you before, but that insecurity lingered, the fear that you’d gone to school with him and King Steve had been a total dick to you.

“Alright,” Cheryl clapped her hands together. “That was fun. Shall we talk about the tough stuff now? Who wants to go first?”

—

No one made him talk, and for that he was grateful. He sat in silence, just soaking up the stories and the heartache, driving that ceaseless guilt a little further. He caught emotion in his throat at one point, during a particularly heartfelt story about Mina missing her niece and nephew for Labor Day, and he had to force himself to think about something else, anything else while he wiped the sting from his nostrils.

When you all stood, at the end of the session, he had half a mind to bolt, to leave and never return, to never mention it to Joyce. He prayed the rest of you would forget his existence, although he’d never forget all of you, your stories, the waver in voices as stories were passed around. He wanted to run, but Carl stopped him with a sturdy hand clapped to his shoulder, and then Elmer approached and the two men asked him questions about his car, eased him back from the anxiety tightening the collar of his shirt.

The older men argued about BMW versus Saab, and Steve found his attention straying from the conversation, as it often did when his dad and his uncle got into similar arguments over holiday dinners. He found you, pinching the edge of a glazed doughnut. You seemed unimpressed and unengaged in the conversations starting to pitter out as one-by-one, people started to leave.

Elmer shook Steve’s hand, excuse himself, and Carl did the same. Steve pulled his keys from his jacket pocket and followed them out, a crisp chill falling over the lot. He breathed fog and glanced upward at a cloudless sky.

“Stars look weird, huh? After all that smoke.” A voice from below startled him, and he looked to find you sidled up next to him, hands shoved into your jacket pockets.

“Really weird,” he agreed, but he couldn’t turn back to the twinkling night sky, not when you were standing beside him, staring up at the cosmos in wonderment, moonlight painting your skin a pale blue. “I’m sorry, but do I know you from somewhere?” He didn’t feel the sting of familiarity, but he figured the question was good to cover his bases.

You tilted your head to face his and a smile tugged at the corners of your lips. “Don’t think so.” You pulled a hand from your pocket to offer it his direction, reintroducing yourself.

He took your hand, small and warm from the insulation of your jacket. “Steve.”

“Steve who swam in high school and drives now.” You affirmed with a nod, placing your hand back in your pocket.

He chuckled and nodded. “That’s me.” He gestured to the car.

You offered a whistle to mimic Elmer’s, as though his car was something to marvel at, and that made a laugh bubble from his lips again. He liked the way you smiled at his laugh, as though you were proud you pulled it from him. He thought of Joyce always trying to cheer him up, of her placing the flyer in his hands.

“Can I ask you a question?”

You quirked an eyebrow, but shrugged. “Shoot.”

“Is this…” He glanced backward at the building, now void of light, doors locked, quiet. “Is this group therapy thing helping you at all?”

“Honestly?” You brought a thumb to your lips to chew at the corner of your nail, and you waited for him to nod before you shrugged. “Kind of. It’s nice to have people to talk to. Better than letting it stew.”

He knew what you meant, the guilt that bubbled there, just under the surface. He nodded. Then felt a little braver. “Do you come every week?”

You shrugged again, nodded. “Nothing better to do.”

“Except putting out grease fires,” he pointed out, tested the water with a tease, let you know he was listening. He didn’t know why he felt so desperate for your validation now, felt pride when his joked pulled a smile from your lips, your eyes rolling.

“Uh huh.” You took a few steps away from him. “Have a good night, Steve. See you next week.”

“See you.” He waited until you were in your car with the ignition on before he pulled out of the lot.

—

The following Thursday took twice the courage. Steve considered dragging Robin along, or even Eddie, but Robin had to work and Eddie still wasn’t widely accepted in the greater Roane County area. So, with a few steady breaths, he entered the little concrete building with a Kenny Rogers album under his arm. Carl stood from the circle to greet him, taking the vinyl to admire it, and Elmer met them near the snacks table to discuss a model BMW he found in his catalog, wanted to know if Steve would like him to buy it with his next order.

The men were much older than Steve, and gruff with their greetings, stiff upper-lip and all that, and Steve felt himself shy under their attention, shifting uncomfortably on the balls of his feet, searching the room for a familiar face. Well, if he was being honest, he was searching for you.

“Or not, saves me a few bucks that I could use on a Thunderbird I was looking at,” Elmer grumbled under his breath when Steve hadn’t responded, and the younger boy shook his hair from his eyes.

“No, no. It’d be really cool if you ordered the model for me,” he offered a smile. “I have a friend that paints models.”

It took ages to be allowed into Erica’s room, only permitted to babysit her from the doorway with crossed arms and a frown, but one day she finally asked for his opinion on a paint job she’d done on a model dragon. Eddie had commissioned her, paid her extra to keep the Big Bad a secret from the boys, but she wasn’t sure about the gold. So when she called him in with an “okay, shithead, you can come in”, Steve made sure to really admire her handiwork. He’d never forget the proud smile etched into her sweet little face.

“It’s a fine art,” he continued. “I’d love to try.”

Elmer puffed his chest the way Erica did, grumbled in agreement.

This time, Steve felt brave enough to pour himself a Styrofoam cup of coffee. It thawed his cold fingers and scalded the roof of his mouth. The doughnuts had been swapped for deli sandwiches, but all of the non-veggie ones had been taken by the time he got there. He stuck with the coffee and found his way to his seat, the same as last week, semi-in hopes that you’d find your same seat across from him.

He’d dressed to impress, after all. A newly purchased green sweater warmed him, hugged his biceps how he liked, and his favorite pair of Levis. Well, not his favorites, those still held a few blood stains, but these were similar and new. He didn’t wear his glasses either, still self-conscious that they made his nose too square and his eyes too round. At least, that’s what Mom said when he showed her. She reprimanded him for not taking her to pick them out.

He looked around the circle at mostly blurred faces, a few familiar, like Mina beside him, Carl and Elmer. Cheryl clacked her way to her seat at his eleven once more, repeated the spiel from last week. Your chair, along with about five others, remained empty.

Steve couldn’t stop himself from glancing at the door every few minutes, between ice-breaker introductions. He sputtered “uh… tiger?” for his favorite animal because again, caught in the moment, he couldn’t think of a single other animal save a Demodog or Demobat, and in this crowd, a joke like that wouldn’t go over so well.

A woman named Dolores, who he recalled from last week, spoke about her struggles at the grocery store this week, staring at her husband’s favorite box of cereal. A man named Jeffrey started to speak about hearing his daughter’s voice everywhere he went, when the door slammed open, startling them all.

Steve spun in his chair to see you enter, bleary eyed and sniffle nosed. You didn’t flinch to find all eyes on you, just turned your attention to the coffee table and picked up a sandwich to take a bite from.

“Keep going, Jeffrey,” Cheryl encouraged, and the group turned back around to face the man speaking his tragic tale.

Steve had lost all focus. He side-eyed you, watch your hand tremble around the carafe handle, ached to stand up and assist you. He glanced to Cheryl to confirm her eyes were on him. She sent him a pointed look and pointed a well-manicured fingernail Jeffrey’s direction, like a school teacher during a guest lecturer.

“And just this morning,” Jeffrey continued, voice wavering, “as I opened up the garage door, I heard her say - “

“Fuck!” Your voice rang out, followed by the ruckus of the carafe and your cup and sandwich crashing to the ground. Coffee and vegetables littered the linoleum, painting the yellowed tiles a deep brown.

The entire circle flinched. Steve leapt from his seat to help you, but Mina pulled him down by the cuff of his sleeve, which she used to help herself from her seated position. “You sit, honey. I’ll help her.”

Steve ventured another glance your direction. You were nursing the edge of your hand with your lips, skin likely scalded, and tears were now cascading over your florescent-kissed cheekbones. You sucked in a sob and pulled a fistful of napkins off the table to start to soak up the mess when Mina met you and placed a hand on your shoulder to stop you. She mumbled something, and you nodded, turning to leave. Just before you did, you glanced up at the circle and met Steve’s gaze, and when he found the sorrow there, he realized he’d do anything to will it away, to bring back that half-cocked smile from the week before.

“Keep going, Jeffrey. What did you hear her say when you opened the garage door?” Cheryl pressed on, as though your interruption hadn’t occurred, as though Steve would be able to focus on anything else.

—

The tangy sweet scent of marijuana wafted from the patchwork furniture set all the way through boarded-up rafters. The chill of autumn set in, and Steve’s teeth chattered between each hit of the joint, and he huddled tighter into Robin’s tiny frame under the crochet quilt they pulled from the back of Eddie’s van. He felt tired and cold and hungry, and a mystery substance on the quilt was far too close to his face, but he was too cold to move it. With a groan, he settled further into the poorly stuffed cushions and the warm vanilla of Robin’s perfume.

“No groaning, man. You’re harshing my mellow,” Eddie swatted at him from the other side of Robin. He was farther gone, one joint in when they got there. Steve was sure the ceiling danced for him, and his leather jacket was probably a whole hell of a lot warmer than Steve’s puffer vest.

“Steve’s in love,” Robin explained the bad attitude. Ever the linguist, she often translated Steve’s wordless tantrums. She was never right.

He groaned again. “I’m not in love.” He plucked the joint from her ice cold fingers and took another hit, grateful for the deep burn in his chest until it sputtered out of him in a big cloud that rose with the heat through the hole in the roof.

“Dude, fourteen hot, hot women came into work over the last two days, and you didn’t even say hi. To any of them.”

He didn’t recall fourteen, maybe one or two. Beside, he was busy stacking shelves and searching the database for all of the Hawkins residents with your name.

“Jesus,” Eddie giggled. “You are in love. So who’s the broad? Is she hot?”

Steve groaned and warmed the tip of his nose on Robin’s shoulder, lest it freeze and fall off. Robin squeaked when it brushed her skin, and she sent a punch to his ribs. “Ow, fuck,” he whined, rubbing at the growing bruise, but something about the grin on Robin’s face made him chuckle.

This made Robin sputter a laugh, and Eddie chimed in with his voracious little giggle, and soon they were a mess of laughter, clutching at their sides to catch their breaths, tears in their eyes, the chill of autumn almost forgotten.

“I’m hungry,” Eddie sighed, pushing himself up off the couch with minor difficulty. He drug his feet to the cupboards. The cabin hadn’t been properly stocked in months, maybe a year. They ate the last bag of popcorn last time, and Steve forgot to pick up supplies on his way in from work. “Either of you know how to cook?”

“Steve’s girlfriend’s a chef.” Robin snickered, eyes squeezed tight to avoid the spin of the stars.

“She’s not my girlfriend,” Steve huffed. That’s not even what he wanted, not even the point of asking Robin if she knew anyone with your name, anyone that looked like you. He wasn’t interested in dating you. He wanted to make sure you were okay.

“You met her at a restaurant?” Eddie tried to piece together the story. “Do they deliver?”

“I met her at group therapy,” Steve ran a tired hand down his face, completely knocking his glasses free. When had he put those on?

“So she’s a nutter like you then,” Eddie grinned, and Robin burst back into that raspy laugh that would normally send Steve into his own giggle fit if he wasn’t so irritated by the accusation.

“She’s not a nutter. She’s been through some hard shit. We all fucking have,” he snapped, stirring his attention to a loose strand of red polyester near his sightline on the cushion.

His smoking buddies quieted their laughs. Robin sunk into him, curling her head into the crook of his neck. She was cuddly high and flirty drunk, and Steve hated the melt of his heart when she did this. She was like a cat, obnoxiously free-willed and too smart for her own damn good. And she knew when to turn on the charm to avoid a confrontation.

“Hey, Steve,” Eddie called from the kitchen.

Steve hummed a response, annoyance temporarily tampered.

“Mellow harshed.” Eddie flipped him the bird.

Robin’s head bobbed under his chin, setting him off, and the three of them started to chuckle again.

—

Week three, Steve arrived early, snatched a maple bar and found his seat, sneaker tapping linoleum subconsciously while he stared at the entrance. Everyone else mingled, and Carl and Elmer offered friendly waves from their place in line for coffee, but Steve was waiting for you. An entire week he spent searching for you. Henderson even made a few fake sales calls from the phone directory, but all searches had come up void. You were like a ghost. And after day six, he thought maybe he had imagined you.

It would be the next logical step. Head trauma could lead to migraines, tremors, poor eye-sight, bad hearing, why not add hallucinations to the list? If he made you up, his brain did a really good job with the fine details. He could still see the frayed edges at the cuffs of your denim jacket, could still hear the click of metal buttons against one another as you repositioned yourself in your chair.

You cleared your throat, and he realized you’d come and sat across from him, and he was staring.

He swallowed, nearly choked when he realized he had a bite of doughnut in his mouth. It went down too large, unchewed. He felt it roll down his esophagus into an empty stomach and he winced, coughed. “Hi,” he managed finally, throat dry.

“Y’okay?” You bit back a laugh, smiling forming at the corners of your lips, wrinkling your eyes, and Steve thought he could fly. It was an excellent improvement from last week.

He nodded. “Are you?”

You caught the subtext in his question and he watched your expression pinch as you found the frayed edge of your jacket with your fingers. He wanted to stand, to sit beside you, to make you smile again, to laugh.

But the doors slammed shut and everyone not seated had moseyed to their seats. The room was emptier than last week, and Steve felt a twinge of panic that people were leaving, that they felt healed and no longer needed to come, and he wondered if you felt that way too. Cheryl sat in royal blue and spoke her spiel like she hadn’t rehearsed it, and once again, to her left, you started the ice-breaker round with your name and your favorite book, Peter Pan.

Steve’s heart thumped in his chest at the odd bit of information. A boy who collected kids, who was too pressured by the adults in his life to grow up, a boy at odds with his own shadow, intrigued by a girl from a far-off land. He realized he was staring again when you offered him wide-eyes, mockingly telling him off, but the smile edged on your pink lips again, and he settled into his chair, satisfied once more.

Once the ice-breaker round had finished (Steve muttered something about Sherlock Holmes, running a hand through is hair. He knew the gist, and he thought you seemed impressed, maybe intrigued? You cocked an eyebrow at his answer.), he felt a little less comfortable in his chair. If was being totally honest, he’d hoped you’d open up about last week, about what made you so sad, so helpless. It had been eating him up inside. So, he focused his gaze on you when Cheryl asked who wanted to start, and you kept your eyes on the squeak of your sneakers against the floor.

“Steve, how about you?”

Steve blinked at the sound of his name, sat at attention.

“You’re our newest member of the group. How are you feeling about it? Would you like to share maybe what brought you to us?” Cheryl’s voice was the softest he’d heard it, a sweet lull that reminded him achingly of Joyce, like a soft hand brushing hair from his forehead.

He swallowed, felt all eyes on him, all except yours. He took a deep breath and looked at Cheryl. She offered the most understanding of smiles. He licked his lips.

“I don’t um… I don’t really know how to start.” His hands were trembling, and he shoved them under his ass, but that caused the chain reaction of his knee bobbing wildly, heel lifted from the ground.

“How did you find out about the group?” Cheryl asked.

“Oh, a friend’s mom gave me the flyer. Told me I should check it out.”

Cheryl nodded. “She was worried about you?”

It hurt to hear someone else say it. “I guess so.”

“It was sweet of her to think of you,” she smiled. “What do you think worries her?”

He thought about it too often, harbored too much guilt for being a burden on Mrs. Byers, on them all. He swallowed back the lump in his throat, probably the doughnut still lodged there somewhere. “I don’t sleep much, and um… I guess I startle too easily.”

Proving his point, a chorus of agreements from the circle scared him back to reality, and he realized there was a room full of people listening intently, a room full of people that encountered the same problems.

“What’s keeping you from sleeping?”

He shifted in his seat again, hands red and creased, pulsing as the blood returned to the tips of his fingers. “Nightmares, mostly. I have this horrible recurring dream.” He shuddered to think of it.

“Tell us about it.”

He swallowed, ventured a glance your direction. You had your thumbnail to your lips again, but you offered a nod of encouragement. He ran a hand through his hair. “Okay, um…” He’d have to censor it. These people knew about the monsters, the horror, but not the specifics. They didn’t know the metallic tang of Demobat blood. They didn’t know the din of a Grandfather clock chiming Max’s death, the downfall of their town. He squeezed his eyes shut to quell the echoing, ground himself in a room that wasn’t shaking from seismic activity.

“I have dreams about my grandma,” you chimed in, and Steve’s eyes slammed open to watch you pull the attention away. You sat up straight in your seat. “They’re always the same. We’re in her kitchen, and she’s making a beef stew. So I’m cutting the celery for her. And she tells me I’m doing a great job.” Your voice wavers on the last weird, and Steve watches the sorrow slip over your features again. You went somewhere else, far off, somewhere painful, for a split second.

“But you feel like you’re disappointing her?” Steve braved his question, and to his surprise, and yours, you nodded, wiping a tear from your cheek before it could slip down your soft skin. He nodded. “Mine too. All of my dreams are about my friends, and in all of them, I just…” He shrugged. “Let them down.”

“I have this dream that I’m dancing with my wife,” Carl pitched in. “We’re swaying to Miles Davis, and she’s laughing. It’s so real, I can smell her perfume. That one’s almost worse than the dreams about monsters.”

The group mutters in agreement. “I have a dream about my niece playing in the back yard,” Mina agrees.

Steve doesn’t pull his gaze from you as people continue to share their dream stories. You offer a sad smile, and bring your knee up to your chest before turning your attention to the next speaker. He continued to watch you, the soft cough of a laugh, the upturn of your lips. Maybe Robin was right.

—

Week Four brought on scarves and gloves, the squeak of wet shoes against linoleum. Elmer brought a large box with a model and paints and brushes, which he shoved under Steve’s chair with furrowed brows and gruff instructions. Carl was humming The Gambler. Steve felt warm, and when he shrugged out of his puffy vest, draping it on the back of his chair, the warmth didn’t cease. It was the same warmth he felt on DnD nights, when he sat on the sofa and read the latest issue of Sport’s Illustrated and Dustin shot spitballs at him from across the table. It was the same warmth he felt when Robin got high and tucked herself into the crook of his neck and gushed about Vickie’s perfect face.

He pushed the sleeves of his sweater up to the crooks of his elbows and waited for the rest of the group to file in when a voice from Mina’s chair startled him.

“Hey.” It was you.

He blinked your direction, picking out the lines of your face from this close, a soft twinkle in your eye. You looked flushed, a bit out of breath, and that set a screw loose inside of him somewhere. He could feel it tinkering around, bouncing off his gears. “Hey,” he breathed.

The door slammed closed, eliciting a communal gasp like it did every week, and you straightened yourself beside him, shrugging out of your denim jacket to expose an oversized sweatshirt, forest green with torn cuffs and a screen printed watercolor of a national park, Yellowstone, maybe? He couldn’t make out the scrawl that had been eaten away by the washing machine. Cheryl clacked her way across from you both.

“Listen,” you hissed, catching his attention again. “I need to talk to Cheryl for a second after this is over, but I want to give you something. Will you wait for me?” You spoke under your breath, out of the side of your mouth, like a secret, and Steve couldn’t help the laugh that caught on his tongue.

“Yeah, I can probably do that.”

“Good,” again, you didn’t look at him, facing the group, but he watched your front teeth catch on your bottom lip, fighting back a smile. He liked that he could appreciate the details of you from this close, the wisps of hair on your temples, poking out from beneath that same, grey knit cap, the soft blue gems of your earrings, barely noticeable if it weren’t for this angle, the soft gold chain that lay on your neck, its pendant falling somewhere beyond the collar of your shirt.

“Shall we break some ice?” Cheryl clapped her hands together, yanking him out of the daze that was all you. The woman leading the group sent him a knowing look, eyebrow cocked over her glasses, and Steve cursed under his breath. This was going to be a long night.

This session had been the worst of them so far. Carl kicked it off by voicing his frustrations about the aches he felt in his shoulder when the weather got cold. It’d always been bad. He blew his shoulder out when he was much younger, playing baseball. The injury reinstated after his third row of buckshot in the direction of one of those things.

Mina felt it too. She called it a shift in seismic pressure. Her arthritis had never been worse. Along with the nightmares, she suffered severe migraines, not to mention the hospital bills.

Don’t get Jeffrey started on hospital bills. His daughter was kept on life support for just over a month before she passed. He’d been paying for the rest of his life, which was about four times the life amount of time she got.

Elmer broke his arm in three places. Colleen busted her ankle tripping over a leyline or rubble, something of the sort. With each talk, Steve felt himself growing more and more anxious. He was hot, too hot, and the guilt he felt for his friends just compacted, knowing his mistakes affected so many more people. So many more than Joyce liked to remind him he saved.

He felt sick, the coffee twisting in a mostly empty stomach. His temple throbbed, eyes winced under the buzz of the florescents. His own body ached, where ribs healed and shoulders popped back into place. His teeth hurt, feeling all of those punches all over again, and he was just a fucking kid. He couldn’t imagine what everyone else felt, was feeling.

When the meeting ended, he shuffled upright in silence, sliding his vest back on and stuffing the box of paint under one arm to scurry out of there with the rest of the group. He’d tossed the box in the trunk, with the bat, hands itching to round the handle, to poke holes in something meaty and fleshy and horrifying. He slammed the trunk and hopped into the driver’s side to start the ignition and warm himself up. He needed a stiff drink and a hot shower, or maybe he just needed a drive.

He cranked the heater until the windshield fogged and massaged the leather of his steering wheel into the pads of his palms. He popped the clutch in and shifted into reverse, throwing his hand over the headrest of the passenger’s seat until he noticed your car behind him. The lights were off and it sat cold. Shit. He almost forgot.

He took the car out of gear and tried to relax his shoulders, tried to excite himself about what you could possibly have to talk to him about. He couldn’t imagine past the pain, the guilt. You were probably going to condemn him for the shit he put you through, complain about some stab to the back that would never, could never fully heal.

He screamed and gripped the steering wheel, shaking it as much as he could in its locked position along the column. Mostly, he shook himself. Just when he thought he was getting better. Fuck.

His lungs felt tight when you exited, Cheryl in tow, locking up behind you. The two of you muttered, making eyes his direction, and Cheryl offered him a wave before walking to her car, and you separated to walk to the passenger side of his car. He leaned over to unlock the door for you, moving his scarf from the seat so you could sit down.

You sunk into the seat with a sigh, breath fogged, and closed the door behind you. “It’s nice and warm in here,” you shivered, holding small hands to the vents of his heater.

He didn’t know what to say, so he said nothing, waiting on you.

You glanced at him from under your lashes and shoved your hands into the pockets of your denim jacket. “I thought you ditched me.”

“I uh…” He swallowed. He couldn’t lie to you, but he didn’t want you to know he forgot. “Nope.” Smooth.

He could just make you out in the reflection of his headlights against the wall, a splash of warm yellow across your features, and you seemed to be watching him the same way he watched you, a bit timid, unsure.

“So,” you spoke simultaneously, followed by nervous laughter.

“You go,” Steve gestured, chewing the inside of his cheek.

You breathed, relaxed into the seat beside him. “Okay, I feel stupid. This is maybe kind of stupid.”

“What?” He smiled. He could never find you stupid.

“I just don’t have many friends here that are my age.” You sputtered around the words, taking time with them, but your face scrunched up as though you weren’t pleased with the way the sentence played out.

“You want to be my friend?” He could have flown.

“God, no,” you rolled your eyes, but your smile gave away the sarcasm. “I just figured you might be a bigger loser than me and would want to be my friend.” You explained, releasing a dry laugh in case he couldn’t pick up the joking tone.

“Oooh, I don’t know. Two losers being friends? Isn’t that against the rules?” He teased back.

You scrunched up your nose. “You’re probably right.”

“Hey, so,” he ran a hand through his hair before stretching it to your headrest. Your knit cap brushed against his thumb as you turned to look at him. “Do you want to hang out sometime?”

You rolled your eyes and pulled a rolled piece of paper from your pocket. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. I wanted to give you this, and now it feels like forty times more lame.”

You handed it to him, and he looked from the paper to you and back before starting to unfurl it from one end. You slapped your hands to his to stop him, yours slender and freezing.

“Don’t look at it now! For Christ’s sake, wait until I’m in my car!”

Steve laughed at the frantic tone of your voice. You were genuinely embarrassed about whatever this was, and that was beyond endearing. You bit back a smile of your own, and Steve rolled it back into the fist of one hand.

“Whatever I’m leaving.” You pulled the handle and your door popped open, a gust of cold air fanned Steve’s face. “Oh, and I’m not going to be here next week.”

“What? Why?” He frowned.

You shrugged, turned away from him and exited the car. “Personal stuff. I’ll talk to you soon though maybe?”

He leaned over to see your waggled fingers, watched you pull your keys from your jacket pocket. “Okay, sure.”

“Bye, Steve,” you smiled, and he waved before you closed the door.

—

“I thought I was having a stroke,” Steve sighed, passing the note you’d given him to Robin. She unfurled it, eyebrows furrowed as she looked at the scattered page of numbers and letters you’d scrawled between the blue rule of notebook paper.

“Looks like a pretty standard cypher to me,” Erica pointed out, connecting the dots with her finger to the page. “Letters are numbers, numbers are letters.”

“Nerd,” Dustin took glee in the nickname, and Erica flipped him the bird.

“She’s right, Steve. This is low level shit.” Robin pulled the phone along the counter, the ringer dinging over the split in sections. “C’mere.” She tugged at the crook of Steve’s elbow until he stood over her and the note, pointing out exactly how you’d created the cypher. “It’s like the numbers on a phone, see? So B would be 2, K is 5, O is 6, get it?”

Dustin handed her a pen from the cup near the register, and Robin began to translate all of the letters until she had a seven digit number. “Holy shit, dude. She gave you her number.” Dustin held his hand up for a high-five, and Steve resisted. Though his heart did an odd rhythm against his ribs.

“Okay, okay, what does the rest of it say?” He chewed on the inside of his cheek, knee bouncing as he leaned on the counter.

“This part says ‘Call Me.’” Erica tilted her head, pointing to a series of numbers in the middle of the page. 2255 63.

“How the hell did you get that?” Steve felt a headache pulling between his eyes. He pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Context clues, dumbass.”

“‘The game’s afoot.’” Dustin read in that British accent he was annoyingly good at.

“What?” Steve sighed, watching Robin scribble in the rest of the code.

“It’s Sherlock Holmes.”

Steve was starting to get really irritated with their tone. He sighed, so confused, and waited for Robin to finish her scribbling before she stepped out of his way and handed him the receiver to the phone. He frowned, but took it from her and leaned over the counter to read the translated version of your note.

The game’s afoot. Call me, Sherlock. Followed by your name and number. He blinked down at it a few times before Robin slammed her fingers down on the phone to spark the dial tone loud and clear. Steve felt his mouth go dry, but he held the phone to his ear and started slamming in numbers.

It rang once, twice, three times. He glanced up at the clock on the wall. It was nearly 5pm. Maybe you were on your way home from work. Should he leave a message? Did they get the numbers right?

“Hello?”

He breathed your name. “Hi, it’s Steve.”

“Steve, oh my God, hey. You solved it that fast, huh? That’s so embarrassing.” The sound of your laughter from the other end made his stomach knot.

Erica made kissy faces from the other side of the counter, and he shooed her away. Dustin and Robin followed up the kissy faces, and he flipped the three of them off. They backed away with snickers. He turned his back to them and picked up the phone, walking across the check out station for a more private corner.

“So… now that you’ve called,” you pressed on. He heard bangs from your end, like maybe you were putting away your dishes or groceries, the creak of cupboard hinges. “Are you busy tonight?”

“Tonight?” He stood up straight, glancing sideways at his friends eavesdropping in a nearby aisle. Robin flashed him a knowing smirk. “I think I’m free tonight.”

“Great,” he could hear the smile in your voice. “Would you maybe like to go for a drive?”

“A drive sounds… great.”

“I’ll give you my address. Got a pen?”

—

Steve promised Robin a quarter of a week’s pay and that he would ‘get laid’ (which made him incredibly sweaty) to get her to entertain the hooligans for the evening without him. He promised Erica a day’s pay, plus tax, to allow him to bail, and she begrudgingly agreed to paint his model for him. Her eyes lit up when he unveiled the expensive paint and brushes. Dustin didn’t care so much, as long as Steve promised to take care of himself, which always made Steve a little itchy, but he did.

So, with his friends on the back burner for one more evening, he raced in the direction of your house. He recognized the area as you spoke it. You lived off Cherry, very close to where Max lived before her and her mom moved to the trailer park. He always dreaded dropping her home if he saw that blue Camaro looming in the driveway. Billy had left him alone after that night at the Byers, but the sight of him still made Steve a little gun-shy.

Cherry was dimly lit this time of night, this time of year, a cascade of warmth across a desolate neighborhood. To be fair, most neighborhoods in Hawkins were void of cars or residents anymore, a ghost town. He slipped past Max’s old place, for sale sign still swinging in the yard, and pulled up three doors down at your house.

It was small, cozy, blue with white trim and the glow of life from inside sheer curtained windows. Steve pulled into a little divot in carved in front of your yard and turned off the ignition. His mom taught him at a young age that it was always polite to pick a girl up at the door. All of the girls he dated seemed impressed so far.

But for you, when he pitched open the door, you startled him with a “Hello!”, already halfway down the drive.

“Hey,” Steve smiled over the roof. You hadn’t dressed up for him, which he appreciated, but you no longer wore your knit cap, hair neat and tucked behind your ears. He faltered for a moment, wondering if he should open your door for you, but you were already there and climbing in, so he followed you back into the warmth of his little car.

“You look nice,” he said. Always good to start with a compliment.

You flashed a smile and turned to look him over as you buckled your seatbelt. “Thanks, you too. I do like those glasses on you.”

He felt his smile widen, turning the ignition. “You do?”

“Yeah, they make you look smart.”

Thank God for that. Steve flipped the headlights back on and pulled himself out of the rut and back onto the road. The pavement was a bit rocky out here, the Earthquake having mixed everything up. Hawkins had prioritized the roadwork through the center of town and less so in the lower income areas. Not that you were lower income. He swallowed. “So, where to?”

“The Lake?” You asked like he didn’t have a choice, and he felt itchy under the collar.

“Why the Lake?” He was afraid of your answer.

You shrugged beside him, face illuminated by each passing streetlamp. “I’ve never been.”

He smiled at that. “It’s a lot nicer in the daytime.”

“I’m sure it is,” you agreed. “But if we go in the daytime, we’re more likely to get caught.”

“Get caught?” His adrenaline prickled then. He couldn’t decide if he was more intrigued or terrified, but either way, he stepped on the gas a little harder.

You ignored his question. “So, Steve who enjoys Sherlock Holmes and driving and Family Ties, tell me about yourself.” You sunk into your chair, lifting your hands to warm on the heater vents like you had the night before. Despite his warmth, Steve leaned to turn up the flow for you.

“Sounds like you pretty much know it all.”

You laughed. “Come on, there’s gotta be some dirt in there, right? Everyone has to have at least one fatal flaw.”

“Sure,” he nodded. “Everyone does. I just don’t. That’s my curse.”

You threw your head back in a barked laugh this time. He enjoyed the raw sound of it, the curve of your throat under lamplight.

He shrugged, turned onto the main road, shifting into third. “No, I don’t know. What do you want to know?”

“What do you really like to do for fun?” You challenged.

He risked a glance your direction again, and you were turned on the console to watch him, eyes careful, scrutinizing. “Answer for answer?”

You rolled your eyes and faced front again. “Fine.”

He slowed down, turned south onto Curly. “I like spending time with my friends. We watch too many movies. Smoke a lot of weed.”

“Steve, I’m a cop!” You blurted, incredulous, and he might have been alarmed if he didn’t have insider knowledge. You took a moment to gage his reaction before following up with a, “Not intimidated by the 5-0. A bad boy.”

He snorted. “My friend’s Dad is the Chief of Police.” And the shit he’s seen is way scarier.

“Shit,” you laughed. “You don’t strike me as a stoner, but I’ll accept it as your answer.”

“Good,” he tutted. “Your turn.”

“No, no, no. Ask me something new. I don’t want to be the only one coming up with questions here.”

Steve chuckled at your point and thought for a moment. There were so many things he wanted to ask you. He hoped he’d have all night. He glanced sideways at you, watched you stare out at the trees and fields as they rolled by, truly like you were seeing everything for the first time. Maybe he’d softball you your first one. “What brought you to Hawkins?”

“Needed a fresh start.” Your tone was a bit clipped, a bit far-off.

Steve felt the tension twang between you, and tried to alleviate it. “Jesus. Where were you coming from, super max prison?”

You snorted, quiet for a moment longer before you turned back to face him. “One question at a time. Do you have any pets?”

You two carried on like this for a while. He learned you preferred savory to sweet foods. You didn’t go to college. You had a myriad of pets growing up: dogs, rabbits, lizards. You didn’t play any instruments. You were more of a night owl these days. You didn’t sleep much.

That, you had in common. Steve slipped into a parking spot a few feet from the boat ramp. This area of the lake was used for campsites in the summer months, boat parties, barbecues. This year had been void of any sort of celebration. No campers pitched tents or parked RVs. And now, nearing November, the shores were sticky with disuse, water bobbing buoys a hundred yards or so in.

“Here she is,” Steve sighed, gripping the steering wheel with clammy palms. His headlights illuminated the dull waves in front of them, cast a warmth on a clear evening. He was thankful not to see past the surface, to the gate below, the tear in dimensions, the gaping maw that swallowed him whole and spat him back out the other side, bruised and bloodied. “Lovers Lake.”

“Why is it called Lovers Lake?” You asked, your voice more playful than the horrors tickling his spine. He wished he could focus on you, wished he could match your energy. Maybe this was a mistake.

“It’s uh…” He scratched at the base of his neck. “It’s shaped like a heart. From an aerial view.” He made a heart in the air with two pointer fingers, a demonstration in shadows and silhouette. Freddie Mercury crooned softly on the radio.

“You like to swim, right?” You unclipped your seat belt to get comfortable.

He shrugged. “I used to. Swim team captain, head lifeguard.” Accolades he used to brag about, still helped him get girls. Now it felt like ash in his mouth.

“Ever been skinny dipping?” You reached down and were slipping out of your sneakers, your socks.

“I… wh-what?” He swallowed, suddenly zoned in on your fingers undoing the buttons to your denim jacket.

“You know… naked, swimming, usually late at night as to not get caught…” You slipped your jacket off your shoulders and made to shuck off your jeans.

“It’s freezing,” he argued, mouth dry from the curve of your thighs against his car seat.

“You don’t have to join me,” you teased, pulling your sweater over your head. Your hair caught on the wool, creating a static charge. Flyaways stuck up to touch the felted ceiling.

“You, uh…” He blinked again, tried not to stare at the cups of your bra or the swell of your breasts spilling from it. “You’re going to catch a cold.”

You shrugged. “I’ve had worse.” You reached behind you to pull at the tab holding your bra together, but as you did so, you leaned fully into his space, warm body against his. He could smell the floral scent of your shampoo. He opened his mouth to ask what you were doing, when you reached past the steering wheel to flick off the headlights, flooding the car and area surround in darkness.

“No peeking.” You whispered and opened the car door. The dome light turned on, and Steve watched your bra fall to your discarded seat before the door closed and the silhouette of your frame went springing down the ramp toward the water.

Cursing under his breath, Steve made sure the car was in park and wouldn’t roll, before he got out and followed you. He kept his clothes on, sneakers slipping a little on the ramp, but made his way down a dilapidated wood dock near where he saw the curve of your back disappear into the dark waves. He peered into the water, eyes adjusting to the moonlight cresting too far off, and called your name.

You shushed him from the edge of the dock, fingers holding you afloat, hair slicked back to your head, cheesy smile lighting your features. “This water’s freezing,” your teeth chattered through a laugh.

“I bet,” he winced, remembering the prickle of needles that was ice cold water. “Ever heard of pneumonia?”

“Ever heard of a rush?” You countered, kicking off from the dock to dunk back under the water and swim a few feet off. He watched the swells of your body as you did so, lumps that rose and fell like waves, soft, unbothered. He wished he had that freedom, wished he didn’t have the knowledge he did, the trauma.

You popped up a few feet away, gasping for a breath, and Steve felt himself tense. He looked around, wondering how deep it was. If you needed rescuing, he could springboard off the edge of this dock and reach you in seconds. He kicked off the heel of one sneaker.

“Steve!” You called, taking a few breast strokes his direction. “Can I borrow your jacket?”

He had a blanket tucked into the backseat, which you teased him about. You made him turn around so you could get out of the water, and you let him look again when you’d wrapped yourself in it. You let him swing an arm around you to walk you back to the car, and he cranked the heat. The volume of the vents rivaled the chattering of your teeth, but you laughed louder and went on and on about how great the water felt, how Steve was missing out.

Per your request, Steve drove out of city limits to find a fast food restaurant, somewhere with greasy French fries and a drive-up window, and you pulled a wad of bills from your jacket pocket to buy him a hamburger that he enjoyed on his drive home. You discussed music taste and your lack of involvement in high school clubs or sports, and things remained fairly surface level until you were back on the looping hills of Curly.

“You seemed really upset yesterday,” you started, the softest he’d heard your voice all night.

Steve clenched his jaw around the straw of his Coke, slurped the last syrupy goodness from the icy base. He glanced your direction, your expression of concern cast yellow in lamplight. With a sigh, he placed his cup back into the cupholder. “You could tell, huh?”

You smiled at that, nodded, hair still damp around your ears. “I’ve got a knack for reading people.”

“That so?” He felt a smirk tugging as he rounded a particular sharp corner, the one that curved down into Merrill’s. He downshifted a gear. “What am I thinking about now?”

You didn’t waste a beat. “You’re being flirtatious. Our night’s coming to a close. You saw a boob.”

He felt warmth lick at his earlobes from the collar of his sweater. He swallowed. “I did not.” He didn’t really. He saw the swell, a curve, under-boob at best, and he knew he’d be thinking about it for days.

“And,” you interrupted, slender finger prodding at his bicep, “you’re deflecting.”

He deflated a little, mind dragged back to the guilt he’d felt in that room.

“Hey, I’m not going to make you talk about it, or whatever.” You sounded so casual, like it all rolled off of you, shoving your feet back into socks and shoes. “I just wanted to let you know I picked up on it, and I’m here if you do want to talk.”

Steve licked his lips and waited for a straight-away to watch you, knee to your chest to tie your laces, two bunny ears into a double knot. The pavement sloped downward, into suburbia, and he could already feel you slipping out of his grasp.

He cleared his throat, turned down Cherry, the long way. “I just feel bad, you know? Guilty. I don’t like seeing all of those nice people hurting.” The honesty felt raw in his throat, like it did every session, like this gas leaking out of him.

You glanced at him then, brows knit in contemplation, and you shrugged. “Everyone hurts sometimes. It’s not your fault.”

“Why are you there?” He asked, tried to sound as casual as you had, but he wanted more, needed more sweet morsels of you to savor for the week ahead.

You wrapped your fingers tightly around the seatbelt at the center of your chest, thumb playing with a bit of fray there, but your gaze remained on the horizon, on the houses and lights that illuminated your cheekbones in flashes. “I mean, you went because your friend’s mom asked you too, right?”

Steve shrugged, slowed to a crawl as your little house came into view.

“Right. And Dolores is there for her husband, and Jeffrey goes for his daughter, and I think maybe we all started going for someone else and ended up showing up for each other.” The way you said it was so resolute, and Steve couldn’t shake off the implication that you were showing up for him. Was he reading too much into that?

The click of your seatbelt alerted him that he’d stopped, somehow managed to halt just in front of the walkway that led up to your stoop. He scrambled with the buckle of his own belt, ready to walk you up, but paused when he felt a cold hand against his wrist. He looked up to meet your gaze.

“I can walk myself inside.” Again, with the confidence of a different woman, someone he’d only caught glimpses of, out of the conference room and away from metal chairs scraped against linoleum floors.

“When can I see you again?” He was desperate for it, far from calm and collected, missed the grip of your slender fingers when you released him to open the passenger door. The dome light flicked on, bathing you in warmth. He could see a smudge of mascara beneath your eye, the collar of your jacket dipped dark and damp. The corners of your lips turned up into a smile. “Thursday?”

With one word, your smile was washed away, confidence replaced by timid shoulders, licked lips. You shook your head. “No, I’ll be out Thursday, remember?”

He vaguely remembered, hoped it was a nightmare, some passing fear that you were slipping away from him. “Can I call you?”

Again, you shook your head, eyebrows folded. “I’ll be out. I’ll call you.”

He swallowed, that familiar panic crawling up his chest, though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he couldn’t wait that long, didn’t want to wait that long. He let out a shaky breath, offered a smile. “Cool.” Smooth.

You chuckled at that, released a breath of a laugh that he wanted to catch and shove into his pocket for safe keeping. You must have noticed his joy at the sound, because your eyes lit with something mischievous, and you rolled them. “God, one look at my tits and you’re like a lost puppy.”

His face heated, jaw fell open at the mention of them again, and he ran a hand over his face and through his hair, stammering some sort of defense. “I didn’t see them!” He fucking squeaked.

Your laugh was louder now, back to that groove of comfort and warmth, head thrown back, white teeth sparkling in lamplight. “Goodnight, Steve.” He liked the way his name sounded on your tongue, liked the way your eyes sparkled, the stretch and pout of your lips.

Then you were leaning in, too close, all encompassing. You smelled Earthy, like lake water, and sticky sweet like Coca-Cola, and before Steve had a second to register what was happening, your lips pressed to the corner of his mouth, and you were pulling away. He chased you across the center console, hoping for the sweet taste again, the plush of your lips against his, the warmth of the crook of your elbow, a fingertip, but you were quicker.

A gust of winter air fanned his face, and he dipped low to see you grinning back from outside the car, fingers waggled his direction. “Thanks for the drive.”

“I’ll call you,” he promised.

You shook your head, but the smile didn’t falter. “I’ll call you.” You closed the door with a click, dome lamp turning off, and he watched the length of your legs carry you up the walkway to the front porch, light on your feet and bathed in moonlight.

—

Steve called you the next day, from work, hunched over the counter to hide himself behind a stack of tapes while Robin scrambled to help everyone in the store. You hadn’t answered, voicemail flat and unfriendly. He panicked and hung up before the beep.

Sunday, Robin convinced him to quit being a stalker, explained that breathing into the receiver was something a serial killer did, and that he didn’t need to come off so clingy, and she was right. So he didn’t try you again.

By Thursday, you still hadn’t called him, and he felt uneasy, like he’d done something entirely wrong. Some stupid Steve Harrington bullshit that had upset you, something he wouldn’t understand until you were in a bathroom, drunk, calling him bullshit. He winced, rolling into the DMV parking lot, headlights sparkling on the thin layer of frost that spread across the grass this week.

The little conference room echoed with chatter, weekly catch-ups, as the smell of burnt coffee coated the air. Steve accepted an M&M cookie from Mina with warmth tickling under his collar. The woman had crumbs on the corner of her lips, but something about her presence reminded him of Joyce and of Claudia, and of all the surrogate mothers that had taken him in when his own was too busy to nurse his wounds and feed him something not cooked in a microwave.

He considered not showing up, holing himself in his big, empty house, with nothing but the whirring of the microwave. He’d been that way all week, eyes unfocused on the fireplace while his mind grasped to remember the image of your shape in the water, the feel of your lips against his, the sound of your laughter. Your voice echoed around his skull though, the only clarity his mind offered him over the last week. “We all started going for someone else and ended up showing up for each other.”

So, with Carl and Elmer, and even sweet Mina, on the brain, he wrestled into his puffer jacket and grit his teeth past the chill of winter while he scraped the windshield of his car. If he tried, he could imagine them as his friends, adult versions of the little shits that tormented (and enriched) his life, but he wasn’t sure if that would make things easier or harder, especially after the heartache he felt the week before. He slumped into his seat and split his cookie in half, soft and gooey. He’d just have to wait and see how today’s session went.

Cheryl clacked in with a bright smile, clipboard on her hip like a well-loved toddler, gazing around the group over the rim of her glasses. She poured herself a cup of coffee as the group calmed, though with the look on her face, Steve wasn’t sure she needed more caffeine. “Hello, everyone!” She greeted in a sing-song.

“What’s got you so chipper today, missy?” Dolores asked, her own eyes sparkling behind bejeweled spectacles.

Cheryl sucked in her smile and took a sip of her coffee before she settled into her seat across from Steve. His heart ached at the blank space beside her.

“She’s chipper because of that rock on her finger,” Elmer commented. “Jesus Christ, Cheryl, that thing must weigh a ton.”

Steve’s eyes went to the engagement ring on her finger, hand holding her cup aloft for all to see. The room erupted in a buzz of excitement and congratulations and questions, and even Steve himself felt the corners of his lips tug into a proud smile.

She just looked so happy, skin flushing, hair bouncing in agreement as she hid smiles behind waved hands, trying to calm the crowd. “Thank you, thank you. I know, very exciting.” She scolded, but the smile could not be swept from her face. “Shush!”

Showing up for each other. Steve glanced once more to your empty seat and wondered how you’d react to the news. A shiver wracked through him at the thought of your own elation, of the smile playing at pink lips while your eyes flashed to his with mischief.

“Yes, yes, the rumors are true. Thomas finally proposed. And I refuse to waste any more time on the details, so if you’re really interested, ask me after group.” She flashed a timid wink Mina’s direction before setting her coffee on your empty chair and adjusting her knees in her pencil skirt. She wrapped fingernails to her clipboard, pausing to watch the sparkle of her diamond before she clapped her dainty hands together. “I’m glad to see all of you in good spirits today. I know this time of year can be especially difficult, with the holidays coming up.”

Steve shuffled in his own seat, ventured a bite of cookie. It was soft and sweet, and he nearly choked when he noticed Mina was watching him. He gave her a thumbs up and a smile, and she seemed delighted at the praise.

“Since we won’t be here next week, let’s practice gratitude. Our ice breaker will be something we’re thankful for.”

The concept of an ice breaker always sent a bit of anxiety through him, that stutter of a heartbeat that he’d say the wrong thing, something stupid or embarrassing. He couldn’t decide if your absence made it easier or more difficult. On one hand, he couldn’t say anything to deter you, on the other, he couldn’t tell you he was thankful for your presence in this group, for the smiles of encouragement. He couldn’t tell you he was thankful for the night you’d had on Friday. He couldn’t tell you he’d been thinking about you all week.

His hands clammed up as the answers formed from around the circle, a wide range of gratitude from time spent with Jeffrey’s daughter while she was still alive to the Colts latest season. His brain wracked for an answer of his own, and his mouth felt a little dry.

“Steve, what are you thankful for?” Cheryl offered an encouraging smile.

He floundered a bit, licking his lips, staring at your open seat. He swallowed, and opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off from a stern voice to his left.

“May I?” Carl was leaned forward, elbows on his knees.

Steve nodded, thankful for the distraction. Mina also seemed unbothered by the skip, a knowing smile playing across her lips.

“I’m thankful for this young man, right here.” Carl pointed, long arms and gnarled finger almost reaching Steve’s chest.

Steve felt himself blinking, felt his mouth bob open again.

“Because his bravery showing up to this group every week, with all of us old folks, gave me the courage to talk to my grandson about his feelings with all of this.” He twisted his finger in the air to demonstrate the world around them. “He’s a tough kid, my Joel, but I knew he was taking this really hard. He’s only fourteen, and he lost a few friends. He just started high school, made the basketball team, and I could tell he’s nervous. So I chatted with him, and we had a real good talk.”

Steve could feel the emotion swell in his chest, that familiar bubble of pride that tightened his ribcage.

The older man’s jaw was tight, hands clamped into fists, as though he was uncertain of Steve’s response, maybe slightly uncomfortable with all of the attention on him.

“What position does he play?”

Carl’s eyes lit at that, his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Post.”

Steve nodded. “Cool. I’m friends with Lucas Sinclair. He’s on the team too. Maybe we could get together and do a pick-up.”

The old man nodded, released the tension in his shoulders. His chair squeaked as he sat back into it. “I think we’d really like that.” Showing up for each other.

—

Decorative plates clattered on their displays a few feet above Steve’s head. He was elbow deep in sudsy water, and breathless grunting and the whoosh of air had him rutted up against the countertop, soaking the front of his sweater in sink water. He grit his teeth and glanced over his shoulder to see Eddie take a swipe at Dustin, easily dodged, curled hair and red faces everywhere.

“Will you two quit horsing around?” He snapped, glasses falling down the bridge of his nose and right eyebrow itching only because his hands were coated in bubbles and grease.

“Yeah, Dustin, quit picking on me. Daddy Steve’s going to ground you,” Eddie grinned, opening the refrigerator to pull a bright red can of Redi Whip from beside a milk carton. He tilted his head backwards, aerosol making a choked sound before Steve watched a dollop of whipped cream spill upwards from between Eddie’s lips.

“Gross, dude,” Steve grumbled, grabbing around for another dish to clean. “This isn’t even your house.”

“Joyce?” Eddie yelled, mouth full, all of the gumption of a school kid calling for his Mom. Dustin snickered and took the canister from the older boy’s hands. “Is it okay if Dustin and I have some whipped cream?”

Joyce appeared around the corner with her hands full of serving platters. “Of course, sweetheart.” She offered Steve a knowing smile, blowing dark hair from her eyes before setting the plates near a stack of Tupperware containers ready to be filled. “But when you’re done contaminating my Redi whip, think you guys can head outside and quit horsing around in my kitchen?”

Dustin coughed on his whipped cream, earning a rough slap on the back before the two boys chuckled their way out of the room to harass Will and El and Max into a game of touch football.

“Sorry about them,” Steve sighed, scrubbing dried gravy and trying not to think about how the sink reminded him of the Upside Down.

“Boys will be boys,” Joyce chuckled, and not a consonant was mean. He’d seen Joyce mean, hackles up, defending her cubs, defending him. It was terrifying.

“Joyce,” the name always felt weird on his tongue. He’d been raised to be respectful.

She looked up with that same twinkle in her eye, slopping stuffing into separate containers.

“I just uh…” The back of his neck itched. He pushed his glasses up his nose with his forearm, splattering soapy water across a lens. He wiped it off to procure a smudge. He sighed. “I just wanted to thank you for suggesting that group therapy thing.”

“Yeah?” She grinned.

He shrugged, avoided her gaze by picking cranberry sauce off a plate with his nail. “Yeah, it’s a really nice group of people. I’m actually going to play basketball with one guy and his grandkid.”

“Oh, Steve, that’s so great!” Joyce cheered, soft-spoken and kind. “I had a feeling you’d get something from it. And what about that girl?”

His heart stuttered at the mention of you, stomach sinking. It had been two weeks since he heard from you, two weeks since the drive, two weeks since your dip in the lake. You still hadn’t called, and he hadn’t wanted to clog your voicemail. He’d been hung out to dry, clinging to the line in some hopes you didn’t totally hate him. “What about her?” He swallowed.

Joyce shrugged, preoccupied with the mashed potatoes. “She seemed really sweet, and your age. I wondered if you two were friends. She seemed so lonely after losing her husband, and I just really hoped she could find some friends here in Hawkins.”

The plate slid out of Steve’s fingers, crashing against the bottom of the tin sink, and he cursed under his breath, chasing it to pull from the water and check for cracks. It seemed fine. Rinsing it in hot water, he chewed over Joyce’s words. When the plate was safely deposited on the drying rack and the sink stop had been pulled to drain the suds, he turned back to the woman spooning mashed potatoes as though she hadn’t said anything Earth-shattering.

He said your name to get her attention, asked it, really. “The girl with the denim jacket?”

Joyce smiled, eyes sparkling with the same mischief he found in your own eyes, and she described you to a T. “Very pretty girl, isn’t she?”

He swallowed, dried his knuckles with a damp hand towel.

—

Carl and Elmer were bickering about the NBA, voices gruff, arms crossed. Steve felt warm, despite the couple of inches of snow Hawkins got in the last few days, coffee in hand, fluorescents flickering a steady beat in the corner. Just over Elmer’s thin shoulder, one of the heavy steel doors popped open, and you slipped inside, shaking snow off your knit cap, and pulling gloves from your fingers, one fingertip at a time.

Steve’s breath caught in his chest, released only in a wheeze when you met his gaze and he watched every beautiful feature light up, cheeks plump and teeth white. If he wasn’t warm before, he was flooded with it now, collar hot and itchy around his neck. He raked his fingers through his hair, unsure where to put his hands, sneakers squeaked against linoleum as he shifted his stance.

You waggled your fingers in a greeting and shuffled your shoes against the damp floor mat.

Steve’s mind raced with conflict. On the one hand, you hadn’t called. For three weeks, radio silence on your end. The only comfort he’d gained was from driving past your house late Monday night to find your lights on. You hadn’t answered any of his calls. On the other hand, you were real and alive, and your warm smile drew him like a magnet. He excused himself from the present argument and met you at the snack table.

“Hi,” he managed. Smooth.

“Hey,” you didn’t look up at him, eyelashes long against your cheeks. You tucked a napkin into one hand and pulled the pen from the sign-up sheet on a clipboard. “Can you do me a favor and please give me your number?”

Steve felt his entire body heat from embarrassment. Of course you hadn’t called. You didn’t have his fucking number. “I’m such an idiot.” He sputtered, pulling the utensil from your hand to scribble his digits on the soft ply of a napkin.

“No, I’m an idiot,” you assured, squeezing his bicep with slender fingers. “I’m the one who promised to call without even asking for your number. You probably thought I hated you.”

Steve smiled, shrugged. “I was overthinking everything I said.” The confession spilled out before he could stop it, and he hoped it sounded a lot more suave, sarcastic, flirtatious. But then he froze, immediately question whether or not you wanted him to flirt. You had said you wanted more friends, and if Joyce was right, and you’d recently lost your husband, maybe Steve was in over his head. “I mean…” He stammered, carding his hand through his hair again.

But you smiled, eyes still cast downward as you poured coffee from the carafe into a styrofoam cup. He thought back to the time you’d spilled, the time you’d come in entirely too distraught. He wondered if it was somehow related to your Husband’s death. He swallowed.

“On second thought, maybe it was your fault.” You glanced up then, eyes sparkling. He bristled. “You never told me your parents’ names. Are you related to every Harrington in the phone book?” You took a sip, glancing around the room. Your energy was a bit frenetic, flitting back and forth over the faces of your group, an unease tensing your shoulders.

Whereas he relaxed, endeared that you’d thumbed through the white pages to find him. “John and Linda,” he offered, tipping the rim of his cup to yours to bring your attention back to him.

You took another sip, but held his gaze, holding the coffee in the pockets of your cheeks for a moment, chewing a thought before the corners of your lips turned up into that world-ending smile. “Steven John Harrington?”

He felt his nose wrinkle in disgust. Though maybe, if he had been named after his dad, the old man might have taken him more seriously. He shook his head. “Francis. After my mom’s dad.”

You ignited at that, that spark he yearned to spill out of you. He wanted to bathe in it. He could feel the rumble of your chuckle in your throat, the tease he’d been used to since childhood, but felt sticky sweet from you, if only he could push you over-the-edge, procure a full-out laugh.

The closing of heavy double doors broke the spell. You looked away first, to Cheryl, and Steve watched the smile and cheer wipe from your features and replace with creased concern. He followed your gaze to the slender woman, hair perfectly coifed and eyes red beneath her spectacles.

“Can I have everyone sit please?” She croaked, almost a whisper, the softest Steve had ever witnessed. A chill settled at the base of his skull.

Chatter turned to grumbled concern as everyone made their way to their seats. Steve felt your hand grip his tightly, just for a moment, before you left him to sit at his twelve, your frame curved at attention toward Cheryl. You pulled a leg up, rested your head on your knee, a defense mechanism, he supposed, body-armor. He glanced sideways to offer Mina a reassuring smile, and she returned it, tight-lipped.

“Hello, everyone. I come bearing grave news.” Cheryl wrung her fingers against the top of her clipboard, diamond sparkling beneath the fluorescents. She glanced upward, making eye contact with each person in the circle. Almost a full group, Steve noted. “I just learned that Jeffrey passed away over Thanksgiving.”

A flutter of gasps circulated, and everyone’s eyes settled on that empty chair, a little cock-eyed, cast in shadow at an awkward post between two banks of lights. Steve’s heart sank. He wracked his brain for every fact he knew about the man with red hair and mousy eyes, who spoke so highly of the daughter he missed so dearly.

He felt his hand start to tremble, knee bouncing with anxiety. Glancing across the circle, he noticed you’d pulled your other leg up, barricaded, eyes glazed over, chin trembling just beyond your fingertips.

“I just want to reiterate to you all how important this group is, and how much you all mean to me, and to each other,” Cheryl spoke, slow and self-assured, almost stern. “I understand how this might be too much for some of you, and if you wish to go, by all means, do what you think is best for you, but I do encourage you to push through, to stay, for your fellow group members. Some of us have no one to lean on but each other.”

Steve watched your shoulders slump, and you stared directly at the ground, arms coming to link around your knees.

—

Steve’s throat burned, raw, and his eyes stung, and his God damn hand wouldn’t stop trembling. He wanted to pulverize something, to build up the callouses in his palms and wind up to swing his bat through something fleshy and disgusting. He said polite goodbyes with gritted teeth and a clenched fists, held in his emotion to give Carl and Elmer manly smiles and nods. He tossed battered styrofoam into a bin and tore out of there to suck in fresh, frigid air.

Ice cold hit his face like a ton of bricks, stinging at his nostrils and catching the air in his lungs, but it felt so refreshing. It was so much better than the muggy, stale air of a conference room filled with so much grief, so much loss, so much pain.

“Steve!” Your voice called, reeling him back to reality, and he turned to see you. You were bleary eyed, red-nosed, pulling your gloves from your pockets.

He took a calming breath, nodded for you to follow him around the corner and out of earshot. When he got you close enough to feel the warmth of your knit hat, he mumbled. “How are you holding up?” As though it weren’t obvious, as though everyone wasn’t a wreck.

You looked up from your gloves, face half-shadowed in exterior lamplight. Your breath fogged at the bottom of his lenses, and your bottom lip trembled with a swallow. “I just…” You glanced around the parking lot before tucking your hand into his own. Your gloves were scratchy, but warm. “I just don’t want to be alone.”

He gave a curt nod and tugged you toward his car. When you got in, closed the door, he threw his arm over the back of your seat and got the Hell out of there, away from the sadness, away from the memories.

You didn’t ask, didn’t say a thing, just buckled and sat with your hands in your lap, tears staining your cheeks as the lights from Suburbia rolled by.

Instinct carried him to the junkyard, a lead foot on the accelerator and this itching under his skin to hit something. You didn’t question it when he pulled in between the bodies and engines. He pulled right up beside Hargrove’s Camaro, blue-paint charred and covered in snow. “Wait here?” It wasn’t a question. He set his glasses on the dash.

He left the car running to keep you warm, and bitter wind nipped at his ears and his cheeks. He rounded to the trunk to pull out his bat. The handle was warm and chipped in places. The nails were rusted and stained with the blood of monsters, the blood of civilians. He slammed the trunk closed and steadied his grip.

His shoulders were hunched, but he rolled them. Hargrove’s car still held a side-mirror, mirror long shattered, remnants of glass frozen over, but the appendage remained attached to the body, and with a guttural growl and a swing, it was gone.

That’s all it took, one hit and Steve was no longer in the junkyard, but on the battle field. He was surrounded by bats and demo-creatures and Vecna himself, and he was swinging and screaming, metal dragging against metal, throat raw, until his palms tore and he stumbled to his knees.

Eyes slammed shut, shallow breaths dragging from between his lips, he tried to wane the dizziness, tried to pull himself back to reality, back to a place where he was forgiven for his sins, for unleashing those creatures on his Home, his People.

“Steve?”

Everything flooded back with pounding in his ears at the sound of your voice, the soft warmth of your hand to his cheek. Your face was blurred from tears he wasn’t aware he’d shed, and he ducked himself into your lithe touch. “I’m so sorry,” he croaked.

“Come on,” you tugged at his shoulder. “Come on, let’s get you warmed up.”

His teeth were chattering. His shoulders wracked with a shiver. He let you pull him upright, let you set him into the backseat, let you pulled the spare blanket up and over his shoulders. The heater whooshed in his ears, and he heard the slam of the trunk before you were crawling in the other side, sidling up beside him, all warm hands and body tucked into his side.

“What day is it?”

Steve blinked at the headrest in front of him, tried to process your words. “Wh-what?”

“Tell me the day of the week, Steve.” Your voice was so calm, so self-assured, wise beyond your years.

He swallowed. “Thursday.”

“Good. And what’s my name?”

He tried to take a few deep breaths, noticed the pressure of your palm against his sternum, focused on it.

“Say my name, baby,” you cooed, and when Steve’s eyes slammed open, you were over him, all encompassing, hand to his chest, nose brushing his nose.

He released your name in a breath, like a prayer, and at once, you were swallowing it, warm lips pressed to his own, cupping his cheek, climbing onto his lap. Steve groaned at the weight of you, perfect, grounding, and gripped both of your hips, worshiped your thighs, dragged you into him until no part of his middle had room for the breeze.

“Say it again,” you rasped, head turned skyward. He murmured it into the heat of your throat, vowels meeting your pulse like pressed-palms, but the sound it pulled from your lips was sinful.

He thought of your curves, cast in moonlight, and now he felt them, desperately digging beneath denim and jersey until frigid fingers met scorching skin.

You yelped at the touch, but it pulled that throaty laugh from you and Steve realized nothing could ever be wrong again.

He spoke your name into the junction of you shoulder, where your clavicle dipped, and back to steal your breath from your plump lips. Kissing you was a balm, slow and sweet and soothing, chamomile and honey, a lullaby.

Your body was a weapon, the steady roll of your hips had him seeing stars. Nimble fingers worked the knots in his shoulders. Your back arched beneath his hand. You seethed his name, nipped at his lips, spread saliva down his throat with expert bites.

And then your hands found the hem of his shirt, crawled upward to trace puckered flesh, and he felt himself seize up, all at once slammed back into reality. Leather squeaked beneath him. He removed you to favor the seat behind you, squirmed under you, suffocated.

“It’s okay,” you placated against his earlobe, removed your hands from his shirt to place on his chest once more.

“No,” he struggled, throat aching, and he gripped your biceps until you released him, pulling back to look at him, pupils blown, brows knit in confusion. He ran a hand through his hair, winced at the sweat that had gathered on his neck. He shook his head. “I can’t. I’m sorry.”

“Oh,” you swallowed, slid off his lap, the space between you was stale and hot, windows fogged.

“No, I just mean - fuck,” he gasped for air, cranked the window down an inch to alleviate some of the warmth, pressed his skull to the glass. He took a moment to catch his breath before turning back to face you.

You were adjusting your shirt, your jacket, staring out the windshield, glazed over.

“Hey,” he trailed his fingers across the bench seat to find your own. Yours were too warm, clammy. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, really,” the corners of your lips turned up, but you weren’t there, weren’t facing him. “I shouldn’t have assumed…”

“No, God, no,” Steve jumped to remedy the miscommunication. “No, I want this. I want you. Really. I’m like… it scares me how much I’m into you.” He ducked into your line of vision.

Still, you shied. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” he chuckled. “That’s why I want to take this slow.” He hoped you heard the subtext. Not here, not tonight, not after today. “Okay?”

You looked up at him then, that far-off look in your eye, but you managed a shy smile, tucked your bottom lip between your teeth, and you nodded.

---

A/N: End of part one! Like I said, I've been working on this for absolute ages, and I just wanted to get it out, so I'm splitting it into several parts! It's an angsty one, but I hope you've enjoyed part one. Thanks so much for reading xo xo xo -Amanda

#steve harrington fic #steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington angst #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #stranger things fic #stranger things

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call-sign-shark · 3 months

Text

Loose Cannon|| Arthur Shelby x Reader

Summary: The heatwave continues and you have an excellent --and illegal -- idea to refresh yourself... To Arthur's greatest despair. But let's be honest, your antics only make him fall harder for you || . Modern!Peaky AU Loose Cannon

Words: 4.2k

TW: language, mutual pinning, unresolved sexual tension, idiots in love, physical description of the MC, quick allusion to child abuse, no proofreading we die like John.

Notes: Each part is individual and can be read as one-shots in no particular order.

“I FUCKING HATE YOU!” A painful moan escaped from your quivering lips, your voice rendered croaky by all the effort. If your heart could break free from your ribcage it would have done it already but yet he was, drumming and agonizing in a prison of bones.

“Shut up and take it.” A low growl underlined by a light tremor of fatigue replied to you, its owner wiping the sweat from his eyes with the back of his hand as he kept on moving increasingly faster. The cacophony of his pulse hammering in his temples almost covered your complaints but, unfortunately for him, it wasn’t enough, and still heard you scream at him. Arthur should have known that you wouldn’t be docile.

“You’re torturing me!! I’ll sue you, Arthur Shelby!” Forced to pause between each word, you tried your best not to faint well aware that the soldier had no pity for you. He would continue what he was doing whether minding your consciousness. Why would he while you were the one who asked for it? All you wanted was for him to stop and yet he remained criminally deaf to all your supplications, “I can’t… I can’t anymore.” Your voice cracked.

“You wanted to do this with me so now yer going to assume your choice. Faster ey.” He ordered through gritted teeth, and the gravel in his voice made you crumble from inside.

“ It— It hurts. My legs are fucking shaking! Please stop! St—” You were about to keep whining when all came to a quite brutal halt. Indeed, this confusing chaos ended up with your face suddenly bumping against the soldier's chest. “Aouch!” You exclaimed, pushing yourself from him and ready to excoriate the fucker. “Couldn't you fucking warn me, bastard” You brought your hand to your nose and rubbed the pain away, your furious eyes shooting him a murderous look.

“And can’t ye stop fookin’ complaining? I told you that each afternoon I go for a run with Hannibal. You’ve spent all the morning begging to come with me and now that you’re here, ye do nothing but whine like a fookin' kid.” As Arthur lashed out his frustration on you, his chest rose and fell quickly for his lungs had troubled to understand he wasn’t running anymore. And despite his erratic breathing he still found enough air to scold you. Usually, you wouldn’t have minded his explosive anger but a particularly harsh night of nightmares and insomnia had turned you a bit overemotional today. While holding a bit of truth, his words still vexed you which resulted in you fleeing his eyes and crossing your arms on your tight chest.

“You don’t understand.” You mumbled, nervously chewing the inside of your cheek as your brain processed with forming a kind of explanation to offer him.

“And now she's sulking!” Arthur roared and rolled his eyes, losing the remnant of patience he had left. “Yer a fookin’ pain in the ass, that’s what you are ay. Go home if ye too tired to keep running, but I ain’t gonna change me habits for you.” An arrow through the heart would have been less painful. Your lips parted, willing to speak, but not a single coherent thing came out. You stuttered a very brief while before definitely giving up and the only thing you knew: being insolent.

“That’s not what I asked for!” You exclaimed, fists closed tights and blood boiling in your veins. Obviously, the corrosive effects of anger didn’t help. “You’re a bloody idiot, that’s all you are ay!” If there was one thing positive about this whole scene it was your perfect imitation of him.

“So what the fook d’ya want?!” His hoarse voice resounded so loud in the park that a few passersby couldn’t help but glance at you with curiosity. Lacking proper words, you ended up stomping your feet and screaming with frustration, hands pulling your own hair. The noises, the images, the smells in your head… They were all too much. Caught in a whirlwind of panic and anger, you would have given everything to be able to calmly explain that all you wanted was to be with him and not alone with your twisted thoughts, bad memories, and the faint voices in your head. Then, you would have proceeded to tell him that the only moment your mind was quiet was when he was by your side, as hard as it was to admit it. If it had been the case, everything would have been easier but no, and you hated yourself even more for all of this. Come on Rat, say it, you thought.

I just want to be with you, Arthur. Because it feels good when I'm with you. I might want to murder you sometimes but your presence is comforting to me. Please, let me stay by your side and protect me from myself.

But words remained stuck in your throat and all of it was because of a deep-rooted and still open wound you carried with you every day of your life. From the day Uncle Jack entered and destroyed it the only way you could express yourself was with violent emotional outbursts and tantrums, your body and mind still not recovering from the pain he had inflicted on you. And here was the reason why you were in the middle of the park sulking at Arthur Shelby after he had scolded you like an unruly kid.

Woof. Between the two of you sat the soldier's huge malinois, wondering why his master had stopped running and why everyone looked so angry. Curious, Hannibal stared at him with his dark beady eyes reflecting the sunlight. Then, his focus shifted to you before letting out a louder bark. In the end, what caught his attention the most was the girl's utter sadness he could sense. That was why he walked to her and gently bumped her legs with his head.

“What?!” The soldier barked back, his steel-blue eyes diving into the dog’s chocolate-brown irises, quite not believing that his own K9 had turned against him. Hannibal finally sat by your side and barked at Arthur again, and his antics brought a pause in all this senseless chaos.

“Listen...” You started, your free hand nervously spinning one of your long blue braids, “I’m sorry,” You finally mumbled, losing your slim fingers — which were wrapped with multicolor bandaids — in the beast's fur. The softness of his hair under your flesh sends you a wave of comfort. “Fucker." You added, for you couldn't address him without at least calling him names.

“Yeah.” Arthur sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose as if he wanted to stop his dawning headache — which was the case. At least you apologized and that was already a win. "Alright." He finally said with his thick Brummie accent, his muscles finally relaxing and the handsome features of his face softening, “Alright.” He repeated, running a hand in his scruffy beard as he looked for an idea to maybe make amend for how he had yelled at you in public. "I wasn’t feeling it today anyway. It's too bloody hot out 'here. Wanna get an ice cream instead?" He suggested, one brow raised. For once, you didn't need words to be understood for the way your eyes enlightened at the mention of the frozen treat had been more than enough for him to understand. Just like the sun coming after the storm, your lips curled in a faint smile.. A smile that made Arthur's anger vanish and his heart melt more than he was willing to admit.

Did you, two independent and tough adults, fight over ice cream's flavors? Absolutely yes.

"Pistachio and chocolate is THE banger."

"Suck my dick you unoriginal dumbass, lemon and raspberry is the best combo."

"No one fookin' likes lemon sorbet, dumb bitch. You're just being a weirdo."

"If I were you I would shut the fuck up right now because I'm about to smash my ice cream on your ugly face!"

"Oh yeah? Go ahead and I'll beat your fucking ass -- don't care if people see me, you bloody brat!"

It was the kind of heated conversation you had during the whole way home, to Hannibal's greatest despair. At one point, you even swore you had heard the dog sigh loudly, probably bored of your stupid fights. The beast had found hope when you almost tripped on your own feet and Arthur, with his sharp reflexes, had managed to grab you by the hand right before you hit the ground. With that little unfortunate event, he assessed that you were far too clumsy for your own good and that keeping your hands in his was the best way to avoid injury. The more minutes flew by, the more your fingers intertwined together. You finally reached home, reluctantly letting the soldier's large and calloused hand go. As he searched for his key, you simply stretched your body with your hands high and your body weight momentarily resting on your tiptoes, the intense temperatures of the heat waves had exhausted both of you.

"Arthur." You called him, something catching your attention nearby.

The soldier replied with an uninterested "hm" as he opened the door to let Hannibal rush inside before he finally looked at you from above a freckled shoulder. For a split second, he completely forgot that you were talking to him, far too hypnotized by the way sweat made your silky skin glow and how your bright blue braids danced in your back at each of your movements. Arthur couldn't lie to himself -- You were an otherworldly and unusual combination of beauty and chaos.

"Did you know that your neighbor owned such a big-ass pool?!" You exclaimed, your little fists on your hips and your broken-doll face adorned with an outraged pout.

"Hm, yes I did." He absentmindedly replied, too busy carefully observing your lean frame, which exuded a sense of boundless energy that perfectly matched with your vibrant and expressive powder-blue eyes, filled with a mischievous spark. From your grunge makeup and your colorful hair to your attractive body and the blue clouds tattooed along a whole arm, everything of you enticed him.

"Fucking cunt. It's a shame to have such a big swimming pool and not use it." You shook your head and pout, shifting your body weight on one leg more than on the other, hence making your seductive hips tilt. Arthur forced himself to look away -- it wouldn't be that hard if you weren't wearing the shortest shorts he had ever seen.

"Well, he's on vacation." He shrugged, "C'm'here Rat. I ain't your bloody door holder."

"Do you ever stop being grumpy?" You kicked a pebble with your combat boot in his direction.

"Do you ever stop being an annoying little shit?" His lips stretched in a carnivorous and teasing smile at your childish antics.

"Fuck you, Arthur." You retorted, laying a kiss on his jaw before disappearing inside the house.

Please do, he thought.

Just one night.

There was the exact wording he had used when you forced your presence in his bed two weeks ago, arguing that the only fan in the whole house was in this room. While your excuse could be believable, it didn’t explain why you ended up in his arms. So when you came back the night after and slipped under the thin sheet to snuggle up with him without uttering a single thing, Arthur told himself “Just another one”. But the heart was a strange creature and when it fell, it fell hard. Your surprising demonstration of affection was all it took for Arthur's mind to quickly forget about chasing you away, the idea gradually becoming unthinkable until he genuinely wondered how he managed to sleep without your presence next to him. From then an odd game of pretend settled between you and him: During the day you were fighting about the most ridiculous details, never missing a moment to get under the other’s skin, and yet, when the night came and the world turned silent, you found yourselves melting against each other, your lips brushing his neck to make him shiver and his nose buried in your vibrant hair to lured the demons of war away.

As Arthur woke up, his eyelids still heavy and his mind still foggy, he growled in dissatisfaction at the realization that you weren’t in his arms anymore. Maybe the heat had finally won, and his body temperature really kept you from sleeping? It was with this in mind that he stretched one arm, his hand patting the mattress. Not only he want to make sure you were still next to him, but he also already missed your touch. His fingers were met with empty sheets as they collided with the soft fabric. Blood immediately rushed through his entire body, adrenaline rattling against his every nerve just like it used to when his squad had to wake up to gunshots and bombs. For one second, Arthur couldn’t tell if he was in Birmingham or back to Iraq and somehow, he didn’t mind. Jumping from the bed and trying not to drown in his PTSD-induced paranoia, the soldier looked around him with haste, “Love?!” He called, rummaging through the room until the sight of the wide-open bedroom window made him freeze. After a few microseconds of complete panic, Arthur leaned over the window sill in a desperate attempt to see you and fortunately did. You were here, safe and sound in Small Heath. Far from death, maimed bodies, and agonizing soldiers. His shoulders dropped as he relaxed, watching you swimming in the neighbor’s pool. The information soon reached his brain: the neighbor’s pool? “Fuck me.” Arthur sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes at the thought of you trespassing the garden to take a midnight bath in his pool.

Unbelievable.

Wasting no more time, the soldier left the house without minding the fact he was wearing nothing more than his sweatpants. It wasn’t difficult for him to climb the fence and jump on the other side of it, right into the neighbor’s garden, considering how he had learned much more during his military training with the SAS. With both hands on his head, he roared “Are you fookin’ crazy?!” His steel blue eyes, whose color shone brighter under the glow of the pool’s lights, also noticed a familiar bottle in your hand, “Is it me or you’ve stolen me whisky? Jesus Christ, I’m going to drown you, you fucking disaster of a girl!” He looked so dramatic that you couldn’t help but giggle, his screams not impeding your little bathe. “LAUGHING AT ME FACE SHE IS!” This time Arthur, breathless with rage, was yelling so loud that the pale skin of his face had turned bright red.

"Sheeesh, calm down, you gonna pop an artery.” You swam closer to the edge of the pool, slightly lifting your body to cross your arms on the warm tiles. The way your two long blue braids danced behind you, waving like two water snakes, captivated his attention for a very short while. The soldier was about to retort something murderous when you cut him for a second time, “Why don’t you join me instead of making a fool of yourself eh? The house’s empty anyway.”

“You wish,” He exhaled slowly through the nose, his nostrils flaring as he tried to contain his boiling anger and not wake all the neighborhood up, “This ain’t fun, Rat. Get the fuck out of the pool right now.”

“Come and get me then.” You challenged him with a finger gun gesture.

“I don’t think you understand you stupid brat. Do you realize that what you’re doing is illegal?”

“Yeah.” You giggled.

“And that you could be in fookin’ trouble for it?”

“Yeaaaah!” You exclaimed, pale eyes shimmering with excitement and recklessness so childish it baffled the poor soldier. Taken aback by your behavior, Arthur blinked several time as he looked at you — Somehow he should have known that you weren’t going to obey him. After all, he could tell from your chapped lips and always bloody knees that you were everything but a nice little girl. No, you were an unhinged little shit and he liked it despite everything, “so? Do you really wanna catch me ‘cause I’m getting bored.”

“Okay, I’m done.” The soldier quickly took off his sweatpants to be in underwear and, with a nimbleness you didn’t suspect, dived into the pool. Engulfed by the water, Arthur had disappeared amidst the bluish light and the rippling tiles at the bottom of the pools. All you could see was a quick silhouette coming at you with what seemed to be the speed of a torpedo.

“Oh no, no, no!” Before you could do something, two large and calloused hands grabbed you by the hips and pulled you under the water, leaving you just the time time to take a deep inhale before getting swallowed by a chlorine tide. All your vision turned into a blur for a brief but intense second, chaos taking the form of confusing bubbles and foam until everything stopped. Reopening your eyes under the water, you found yourself transported in a parallel world in which a tranquil hush enveloped your senses. With each graceful stroke, you embraced the weightless sanctuary, finding solace in the quiet depths of the pool, where worries dissolved, and the rhythmic pulse of water echoed a soothing lullaby powerful enough to shut the insufferable screeching of both sickening memories and psychotic thoughts. Surprisingly enough, Arthur wasn’t there — or at least he wasn’t in sight. All you could see was an odd combination of bluish tiles and underwater spotlights that created a surprisingly serene and liminal landscape. It seemed like the cool water had the same calming effects upon the soldier, for when you turned around at the feeling of fingers gently brushing your ribs you were met with a playful smirk. Raising an eyebrow, you gently shove him before trying to escape several times but he inevitably caught you. A small bubble escaped from your lips as you tried not to laugh, amused by how Arthur made both of you slowly spin under the water, as a jolly sailor waltzing with her mermaid lover. With your bodies moving elegantly together, halfway between dancing and gently fighting, your fingers cupped his face. Despite the underwater hush, Arthur’s interrogation is visible through the way one of his eyebrows arched when he saw your face getting dangerously closer to his. Closer. Closer. Until your mouth finally crashed against his. Arthur’s eyes widened in shock, pupils suddenly dilating under the effect of adrenaline when the warmth of your mouth found his. The peck was brief, so brief he wondered if he hadn’t hallucinated it but it was enough for him to lose control of everything. His body softened, letting you a short moment to break free from his playful embrace. Offering a last wink, you trashed your legs to come back to the surface and took a deep inhale. As the warm air of the night filled your lungs, a strange state of calmness possessed you a with it followed a genuinely amused giggle at the remembering of Arthur’s surprised expression. The man broke from underwater a few seconds after you, quickly sliding his hair back with his hands before swimming to you, eyebrows knitted together and lips sewn tight in a thin line.

“What did ya do?” He rasped, his steady breathing rendered irregular for his heart raced in his chest. The taste of your sweet yet damaged lips was still tingling on his skin.

“What are you talking about?” You pouted even though you didn’t make a peculiar effort to hide your amusement. “Hey!” The complaint fell from your mouth when his strong arms wrapped around your waist to press your body against his. A wave of fire spread through your being.

“Do it again.” Arthur could barely believe he just said that and yet he did and now that it was too late, he decided to go for it and see what would happen. Taking advantage of your surprise, he nuzzled his face in the crook of your neck, his lips grazing the soft skin sprinkled with tiny droplets of water similar to translucent pearls engraved in your flesh. A delightful thrill crossed through your body as his beard scratched your skin -- A thrill that soon turned into a wave of heat that made you feel feverish.

“Do what?” Your fierce and loud voice was merely a whisper as your cheeks flushed red, as red as the blood simmering in your veins. You might have been slightly confused by the situation but your bandaged fingers seemed to know what to do when they lost themselves in his wet hair to slick it back with a tenderness you never knew you possessed.

“Kiss me.” The low rumble made your own soul quake. Punctuating his sentence with actions, the soldier's face left your neck to lean his forehead against yours. In this whirlwind of emotions and arousal, you batted your eyelashes while drowning in the dark blue of his eyes and wondered if they had always been this charming. What happened next none of you could tell for any thoughts left disappeared. Mouths grazed each other, the two of them timidly discovering the shape and details without daring to break the few inches remaining. Soft lips against chapped ones, and against all expectations the rougher pair was yours. How could such an unsufferable and brutal little minx like you feel so fragile in his scarred hands? A frail moan escaped from your mouth at the blissful sensation of the soldier's hips moving with yours at the water’s discretion and, for once, you weren't ashamed of it. With your underwear fabric sticking to your skin and bodies closely interlocked, you could both feel every intimate detail and shape, gently and sensually grinding against each other due to the flow... Or maybe the flow wasn't the cause and you were both actively asking for more, who knew? Arthur growled again, for even in the cold water of the pool the warmth between your legs made him weak and far too aware that you yearned for him.

"No, you kiss me first you coward." You tried to sound mean but your voice could produce nothing but an enamored tone.

"Ah, shut up Rat." Arthur softly bit your lower lip, trapping the juicy flesh between his teeth and pulling it a little bit. The taste of anticipation lingered in the air, mingling with the heady scent of perfume, chlorine, and the warmth of intertwined breaths.

"Go on then, shut me up..." And your wish became his command. His warm tongue gave a faint lick on your lower lips just to taste the water, almost too shyly for the man he was. Then a second one and a third, and as he did he kept his hands busy by slipping them under your panties. His large palms conquered your buttcheeks and then pressed on your flesh to bring your core closer to his until you could clearly feel how enthusiastic he was to have you so close. In reply, your fingers hung at the hem of his boxer, slightly pulling them down to disclose his V-line. In the secluded haven of the dimly lit swimming pool, the water's gentle caress enveloped both of you as you shared this moment suspended in time. Arthur's patience finally reached its limits and pressed his lips against yours for another chlorine kiss you were both eager to deepen. A kiss that felt like a car crash and still sounded like water lapping and the rhythmic beat of hearts. It could have been perfect if Arthur hadn't back up suddenly, eyes wide open at the sight of a car's headlight in the house's alley.

“Out of the pool, now!” He exclaimed, hauling himself from the water quickly to grab the bottle of whisky, then his pants before seizing your wrist to lift you from the pool.

"HOLY SHIT!" Adrenaline rushed through your body, momentarily shutting down everything except your flight instinct. That was how you both ended up dashing across the garden half-naked and completely soaked up. Fortunately enough, you both managed to climb the fence and lock yourselves into the house, banging the door so close that poor Hannibal jumped from the sofa and barked. Time stopped for a while, the two of you with your back leaning against the door and trying to catch your erratic breath, bodies dripping with water. A heavy silence floated in the corridor, only broken by the sound of your own heart drumming in your ears. And then, you heard it... It started with a little nervous giggle and then it became a loud and gravelly laughter. Despite the whole panic, you were soon infected by a fit of hilarity too, your aching heart drowning in a feeling you hadn't experienced in a long time: joy in its purest and most innocent form.

♠️ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language.

♠️ Tag list: @cljordan-imperium @1nterstellarcha0s @raincoffeeandfandoms @babaohhhriley @zablife

#arthur shelby #arthur shelby x reader #peaky blinders #Peaky blinders imagine #Arthur Shelby imagine #Arthur Shelby x you #arthur shelby x y/n #Paul Anderson #peaky blinders x reader #Peaky blinders fluff #peaky blinders fanfic #arthur shelby x oc

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