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roosterforme · 1 year

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Batting Practice Part 7 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: Bradley feels like you and he are compatible, so he decides he is all in with you and Everett. When you get a few minutes alone with him during the team pool party, it's evident that you are physically compatible too.

Warnings: Fluff, angst and swearing (eventually 18+)

Length: 4100 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

Bradley had decided that complicated was good enough for him, as long as he could be around you. Nat was right; as far as adult problems went, he was being ridiculous to try to force himself away from a woman he wanted just because she had a kid. And not just any kid. Everett was great. Bradley honestly loved being around him, too.

So he kissed you. Sure, it was only on the cheek, but he didn't care who saw him. In fact, he hoped the other moms saw it. Maybe they'd leave him the hell alone.

"Ready, Coaches?" the referee asked, and Bradley and Bob both gave him a thumbs up.

This game was much more of a blowout than last Saturday. Bradley hated to admit it, but the Tiny Owls were pretty terrible. He was looking for a way to silently instate some sort of 'mercy rule' so the kids on the other team wouldn't feel too bad about losing by so much.

Everett was next up to bat, and Bradley pointed to first base. "Hey, kiddo. Let's practice hitting where I tell you to, okay? Hit the ball toward first base." And Everett managed to hit the ball exactly where Bradley told him.

"Cool!" Everett cheered, earning a high five. Bob gave Bradley a thumbs up, and he had Piper do the same thing.

Thankfully by the last inning, the Tiny Owls had come back a bit. But the Tiny Eagles still won by ten runs.

When Bradley glanced at the bench, he saw you on the phone with Bob's credit card in your hand. You looked up at him and waved your fingers.

You mouthed, "Hi, Coach," and Bradley's entire body lit up. He wanted to get you alone during the pool party, even just for a minute. He wanted to show you that he couldn't stop thinking about you.

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

You pulled your car around the enormous recreation grounds and parked next to the pool.

"Ev, I have to carry a bunch of stuff into the kitchen. Why don't you take your swim bag and work on getting changed?"

"Okay," he replied, and you watched him walk into the fenced in pool area and head for the boys' bathroom.

You walked around to your trunk and started to shimmy out the cooler and bags of ice, keeping Bob's credit card and the kitchen keys in your hand.

"I got it, Kitten!" Bradley was jogging up behind you, still all sweaty from the game. You felt his hand on your lower back at the same time his lips connected with your cheek again, and then he was reaching into your trunk as if this was the most natural thing in the world. "Where's Ev?" he asked, looking around, and your heart clenched.

"Getting changed," you told him, your voice sounding a little dreamy. "You kissed me again."

He leaned in and kissed your cheek a third time just as all of the other parents started pulling into the surrounding spots.

"Yep," he confirmed, lifting the cooler, bags of ice and juice boxes all out of your trunk in one shot. You grabbed the bags of chips and pretzels and scrambled after him with the keys.

He paused to let you unlock the clubhouse door, and there was a smirk on his face as you squeezed in front of him. You wanted to kiss him until he wasn't smirking anymore.

You jiggled the knob and threw your weight against the door, but nothing happened. "Turn the knob again," Bradley instructed, and he leaned against it, popping it open.

"Thanks," you murmured, leading the way inside, and he was hot on your heels, setting everything down on the long countertop in the dimly lit kitchen.

"Kitten," he muttered, stepping into your personal space and letting his hands settle on your waist. Your heart felt like it was bouncing around in your chest.

"Hello!" called a familiar voice, and you watched Bradley tip his head back in frustration as his hands abandoned your waist. Then Sandra strolled into the kitchen in a tiny bikini top and a pair of cutoff shorts. "There you are, Bradley! I didn't know if you wanted to taste my cupcakes before I let everyone else try them."

You had to refrain from rolling your eyes. Bradley cleared his throat and said, "Actually, I try to stay away from sweets."

You watched Sandra's face fall as she started to set up an elaborate cupcake display for the kids.

"I'm going to go check on Everett and get changed," you said, brushing Bradley's chest with your fingers as you headed for the door.

"Great idea. I'll get changed, too," he said, following you out.

You turned and looked at him over your shoulder. "You don't eat sweets?"

He chuckled. "Nah, I love sweets. I'd eat the shit out of your cupcakes, Kitten."

A giggle bubbled out of you. You were aching to feel his lips against yours. However, it felt wonderful to see him reject Sandra like that. You wouldn't mind watching him do that over and over again.

"Mommy!" Everett ran over and thrust his bag into your hands. "Are you getting changed and coming in the pool with me?"

"Yeah, sweetie. I'm going to get changed. I'll put my feet in the water."

Bradley scoffed. "Just your feet? That's no fun," he said, winking at Everett.

"Yeah, that's no fun! You should jump in with me!" Everett exclaimed.

"Us. You should jump in with us," Bradley corrected, swiping his hand over Everett's hair.

You smiled at both of them. "Fine! You win. I'll jump in, but not until after lunch. Coach Bob has entrusted me with the pizza and his credit card. And as Team Mom, I'm reminding both of you that you'll need to wait thirty minutes after you eat before you can swim."

You listened to Bradley and Ev both grumble as they walked away from you, but Bradley turned around and winked as you headed off to get changed.

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

Bradley could only take so much. He wanted to kiss you and run his hands all over you. But fucking Sandra and her goddamn cupcakes had to interrupt all his fun. Now he was sitting in the sun in his board shorts, Phillies cap still backwards and aviators perched on his nose. He was watching Bob and some of the parents swimming with the kids, but he was completely distracted by you as soon as you emerged from the ladies' room.

He dragged his sunglasses lower on his nose and really looked at you. Leopard print bathing suit? Was his Kitten trying to kill him? It was a one piece that tied in the front and showed a little gap of skin below your breasts, and Bradley was practically drooling now. You adjusted the black wrap you were wearing around your waist and went to sit at the edge of the pool.

When you had your legs in the water almost up to your knees, Bradley saw Bob swim over and lean on the edge of the pool to talk to you. He could hear your laughter and see your bright smile from where he was sitting. Bob had heard Bradley freaking out about you at the Hard Deck on Thursday night. He had been there for all of the second guessing and over complication and word vomit Bradley had been spouting about being interested in a mom. What if Bob took all of that to mean Bradley was no longer interested in you?

Because he was. Bradley went home from the Hard Deck, got a little drunk and then got really sad when he imagined no longer having you and Everett in his life after tee ball season ended.

Bradley got up and tossed his hat on the chair, and then headed toward the pool. Your eyes were on him immediately, and you did that cute little finger wave in his direction. God, he'd be so upset if Bob was flirting with you. He'd finally just figured out what he wanted and what he was willing to do to get it.

He jumped into the deep end and started swimming toward where you were sitting, picking up Piper and putting her on his shoulders along the way. Bradley tried to eavesdrop while Piper held onto his ears and asked to be dunked. So he told Piper to hold her breath and then dunked her one time.

"Wanna go see Uncle Bob, Piper?" he asked her.

"Yeah!" she squealed. "Uncle Bobby!"

"Excellent," Bradley muttered, carrying the child toward you and Bob.

You were smiling at Bob as he rambled on, but Bradley could tell your eyes were drifting toward him. "And I just never knew I could claim that when I file my income taxes, so thanks for explaining that to me. You're a lifesaver," Bob was saying.

"You can ask me accounting questions anytime, Bob."

You had told Bradley you were an accountant. Bob was talking to you about income taxes. That wasn't sexy at all. Although... Bradley still thought that might be considered flirting for Bob.

"Here's Uncle Bobby," Bradley said, thrusting Piper into Bob's arms while she demanded he dunk her.

"Hi, Coach," you said, reaching down and taking Bradley's wet aviators off and putting them on yourself.

"That looks cute, Kitten." He grabbed your foot and pretended to pull you into the water.

"Bradley!" you gasped, but he just smiled up at you. "I said I would swim later!"

He traced along your ankle under the water, and you let him. "Promise? I want to see Kitten get all wet."

You gaped at him, and he realized what he just said. But you pulled your foot slowly out of his grasp. "The pizzas just got here. I'm going to get them all set up in the kitchen," you told him, returning his sunglasses to his nose and standing up.

As you walked away from the pool, Bradley saw you turn around and look back at him a few times.

"I think she wants you to follow her," Bob commented, tossing Piper under the water again. "I'll give you a five minute head start, and then I'm going to announce the pizzas are here."

Bradley was pulling himself out of the pool immediately. He tossed his sunglasses back onto his chair and dried off a bit with his towel before following you into the clubhouse building again.

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

Your heart was pounding as you looked out the kitchen window and watched Bradley pull himself out of the pool. His biceps were crazy. He had abs. He looked so incredibly hot, you weren't sure what to do. You kept opening and closing the pizza boxes without really doing anything. Now he was toweling off, his biceps and shoulders rippling again.

He was coming inside.

You picked up a juice box to keep your hands busy but looked up as Bradley walked into the kitchen.

"Coach," you said a bit breathlessly as he made his way over to you without stopping.

"Kitten," Bradley whispered, backing you slowly, intentionally up until you bumped into the counter. You shivered as he gently stroked his fingers up your arm. "Just wanted to come in and check on you."

You looked up at him, but your eyes fluttered closed for a beat as his hand made its way up to your shoulder before teasing the soft skin above your collarbone. His brown eyes were focused on yours, and his hand was huge and warm as he caressed you. You bit your lip and shivered again as his wet swim trunks met the front of your bathing suit, making you wet and cold.

"You only came inside to check on me?" you asked softly, pressing yourself against him.

Bradley shook his head and groaned softly. "Came in to do this, too," he whispered, closing the distance between you, and brushing his lips against yours.

Oh, he felt good. So good. You leaned in, deepening the kiss and let the juice box fall to the floor.

Your hands went up to tangle in his messy, damp hair, and when he pressed you back against the counter, you were able to feel every inch of his body against yours. Bradley's hands glided down your sides to your waist, and next thing you knew, he was lifting you up and setting you down on the counter.

"Bradley!" you giggled as his lips met yours again with more heat. You spread your legs a little wider and let him stand between them as he stroked his fingers along your thighs.

He placed a soft kiss to the corner of your lips, and when he spoke, his voice was deep and raspy. "Did you end things with Frank?" His lips brushed against you, making it so hard to think.

"Yeah," you gasped as Bradley's lips connected with the side of your neck. "He's history," you promised, reveling in the feel of his mustache prickling your soft skin. "Ancient history."

Your fingers tugged through his hair, and Bradley brought his lips back up to yours. "That's a good Kitten. I'm not gonna share you."

Moaning, you pulled him closer so his abs were pressing against your core through the scrap of your bathing suit that was covering you. He worked his lips against yours as you held him close, your body fitting perfectly with his. You tasted his tongue, leaning closer to get more of him.

"Bradley," you moaned when he pulled you closer to the edge of the counter, your core rubbing against him deliciously. He kissed your nose and your cheeks as you started grinding against his abs.

He guided your bathing suit strap off your left shoulder and kissed along your newly exposed skin as you wrapped your legs around his waist.

"You taste good," he grunted, his tongue coming out to tease you. Your head tipped back as his hands wrapped tightly around your waist, and his lips worked across the swell of your breasts above your suit.

You were panting his name softly as his nose stroked your neck. Then his lips were on yours again, and you were devouring his mouth.

But you heard someone else coming inside the clubhouse, and you broke away from the kiss. But Bradley wasn't moving. He let his hands drift down your sides and to the tops of your thighs.

"Someone's coming," you said breathlessly. But you didn't push him away. You knew how you looked right now with your bathing suit strap hanging down your arm and Bradley standing between your legs.

He was just grinning at you and stroking your legs while you continued to grip his shoulders.

"Oh, hi," Bob said, taking one look at the two of you and blushing.

"Hey, Bob. What's up?" Bradley asked before turning back to you and placing one more soft kiss to your lips. You ducked away from Bob and adjusted your shoulder strap.

"Uh, just checking to see if the pizza is ready," he said, clearing his throat a few times.

"Yeah," you managed to say. "The pizza is all set. It's ready. And so are we, aren't we, Bradley? Ready to eat pizza?" You were practically stuttering.

"Sure, Kitten," he murmured, helping you down from the counter. You slid down the front of his body, bracing your hands against his hard chest.

"Oh-kay.... well, I'll send everyone else in then," Bob said, turning to head back outside.

You wrapped your hands around the back of Bradley's neck, and he smashed his lips against yours again, holding you in place with one hand on your ass.

"You're trouble," he groaned as your lips dropped down to his neck for a second before you heard all the kids heading inside and finally broke apart.

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

Bradley watched you pick up the juice box that you had dropped on the floor when he started kissing you. You held it absentmindedly, chewing on your lip with a dreamy look on your face. He stacked up three slices of pizza on a plate to keep himself from reaching for you again. Then he grabbed some plates and got a slice ready for Everett and one for Amber as well.

You were nibbling on a slice of pizza and occasionally looking at him while you talked to Amber's dad. Bradley could tell you were barely paying attention to what he was saying to you, and that made him smile.

Bradley avoided all the baked goods since he had already told Sandra he wasn't into hers. So he ate half a bag of chips while he tried to figure out how to get you alone again.

Everett hugged you after he finished his pizza, and you told him, "Wait a half hour before you swim!" Then you pointed at Bradley with a grin and said, "You too, Coach."

"Okay, Team Mom," he said with a wink. Then he led Everett and a few other kids outside to the grass and started up a game of tag. He ran away from the kids, dodging their little hands for a while.

"You're fast, Coach!" Everett said, finally making contact with Bradley's arm.

"Gotta be fast to be a good ball player," Bradley told him, immediately tagging Henry.

Bradley ran around with the swarm of screaming kids behind him. A lot of the parents were laughing, and he watched you take a picture of him.

"Is it safe to swim yet, Team Mom?" he asked, running past you.

You were cracking up as you said, "Yes! Everyone can go back in the pool!" Half of the kids stopped chasing Bradley and immediately got back in the water. But he watched you untie your wrap and set it on a chair along with your phone, so he made another loop through the grass before making his way over to you.

"Kitten," he growled, and your eyes snapped up to his as he scooped you up and tossed you over his shoulder.

"Bradley!" you squealed in surprise, digging your nails into his back and making him groan. "Don't drop me!"

With one hand on your ass to keep you from squirming, Bradley walked to the edge of the deep end and jumped in with you, your delighted scream echoing through the air before you both hit the water.

"Coach!" you gasped, scrambling against his body when you came up for air. "You're the worst."

Bradley grinned and ran his hands along your hips and waist beneath the water. "I just wanted to get you all wet."

You started laughing as your legs tangled with his under the water. This is what he wanted, just to hear you laughing all the time.

"Mission accomplished," you whispered, biting your lip and running your fingers along his abs before swimming away from him.

He wanted more than anything to follow you, but now he had Everett and a few other kids lined up at the deep end, waiting for Bradley to catch them when they jumped in. So he played with the kids while you swam around a bit, still thinking about how it felt to hold you.

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

You were still damp and trying to clean up the kitchen, because it was almost time for everyone to leave the pool area and turn in the keys. A lot of parents had already started packing up and heading out with their kids, but you didn't want Bradley and Bob to have to clean everything up alone.

As you were consolidating the pizzas into fewer boxes, you watched Bradley pushing Everett and Piper on the swings through the window. He was so good with the kids, and Everett was already very attached to him. You just hoped he would want to stick around.

You turned when the door opened and saw Sandra stroll in.

"Hey, Sandra," you murmured. "Do you want to take any of this pizza home?"

But she just rolled her eyes at you. "Don't you think the flirting is a little excessive?" she asked with a scowl.

"I'm sorry, what?" you asked, heart pounding in your throat.

"You and Coach Bradley. Around the kids? It's a bit much, and I don't think it's appropriate."

You couldn't believe she said that to you, as you looked at her tiny string bikini with wide eyes. You didn't think her swim attire was exactly appropriate for a family friendly pool day, but you just rolled your eyes and kept quiet. "I mean, I guess you're entitled to your opinion."

She just glared at you. "The two of you need to mess around on your own time."

"Okay, Sandra. And maybe you should flirt with your husband instead of the coaches."

Your blood was boiling. You didn't want to get into an argument with her, but you were single and you weren't doing anything inappropriate in front of anyone. Except maybe Bob...

But yeah, you should probably reel it in a little bit. But you weren't going to cave to Sandra's every whim.

You watched her pack up her uneaten baked goods and sweetly asked her, "So is that a no to the extra pizza then?"

She just shot you one last dirty look over her shoulder before leaving with her cupcakes and cookies.

You packed up the pizza, and you were about to check with Bob about what to do with it when he strolled into the kitchen.

"Hey, thanks for all your help today."

"No problem," you told him with a smile. "Do you want some of this extra pizza?"

"Take as much as you want, and I'll split the rest with Bradley."

You packed up a few slices for yourself and then packed up one box for each of the coaches. You were carrying the leftover food out to the parking lot when Everett and Bradley finally emerged from the pool.

"Sweetie, you need to get changed so we can head out," you told Everett, and he went to grab his swim bag.

"Meant to ask you," Bradley said, pushing his wet hair back from his forehead and standing in front of you in all his dripping wet glory. "What time did you and Ev want to go to the park tomorrow so I can show him some pitches?"

A warm, gooey sensation washed over you. He was really serious about this. "How about in the afternoon? Around 2? Myers Park?"

"Sounds good, Kitten," he whispered. You saw Sandra out of the corner of your eye, so you stepped away from him.

"I have leftover pizza for you, and some for Bob. I'm going to take it out to your car."

"Thanks," he said with a wink.

You made two trips to the parking lot, dropping one pizza box off on the hood of Bob's truck and one on the hood of Bradley's Bronco. You also tossed your bags and the empty cooler into your trunk. And then your heart clenched in your chest.

You watched Bradley carrying your son to your car on his shoulders, with Everett's swim bag dangling from Bradley's arm. They had changed out of their swimsuits, and both of them had huge smiles on their faces. And you had the uncontrollable urge to rub yourself against Bradley.

"Mom! Coach is going to take us to the park tomorrow after lunch! And we can pitch baseballs! For real!"

Bradley knelt down next to your car and Everett scrambled off of him and gave him a hug, knocking his aviators askew.

"I'll bring Gatorade and chewing gum, just like in the big leagues," Bradley promised as he stood.

Yep, you wanted to rub your entire body against him.

Bradley opened the car door for Everett, and then he took you by the hand and led you around the other side of his Bronco. "I wasn't sure how you felt about me doing this in front of Everett," he whispered, wrapping his long fingers around the back of your neck and leaning down to kiss you.

You pulled him closer by his belt loops and nibbled on his lips. "Not quite yet, okay?" you whispered against his chin. "He likes you so much. I don't want him to get his hopes up."

You looked up at him as you put a little distance between your body and his, and Bradley's brow scrunched up.

"I get what you're saying. But I think it would be more than okay for him to get his hopes up, Kitten."

You kissed him softly one more time and waved your fingers at him. "See you tomorrow, Coach."

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

Definitely physically compatible. Can't wait for them to get a little more physical. Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32!

PART 8

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writingquestionsanswered · 7 days

Note

I’ve been reading some craft books and online posts about the world building because my story is an urban fantasy set in present day US, in a fictional town, and theres not a secondary world where the fantasy happens, it’s all in the real world, except the magic is a secret that only certain people know about, but all of the resources I find about world building only talk about fantastical worlds that exist by themselves and not the kind of more subtle world building that I’d have to do. Do you have any tips?

Guide: Creating a Fictional Town in the Real World

Step 1 - Choose Your Location - There are two ways to go about choosing a location for your fictional town. One is to go the "Springfield U.S.A." route, ala The Simpsons, and be vague about the specific location (borough, parish, district, county, region, state, or province) and instead give a broader geographic region... "the East Coast," "the Pacific Northwest," "Central Canada," Northern Scotland," etc. The other option is to go ahead and put your fictional town in a specific location. Just figure out where (for example, somewhere outside of Des Moines, Iowa) and go to Google Maps, click on satellite view, then start zooming in on big empty areas. Choose a place big enough to fit a town. Yes, in reality it's probably farm fields, pasture, or someone's property, but that doesn't matter. You don't have to actually show it on a map. It's just a plausible spot to build your town. Now you can measure how far it is to other places, you know what highways to take to get to it. You can even do street view to get the lay of the land, see what the landscape looks like and try to envision the buildings there. You can also use what's there to create parks, popular recreational areas, and anything else your town needs.

Step 2 - Choose Your Inspiration - Even when you're creating a fictional town, it's still a good idea to use a real town (or two, or three) from that general area as inspiration for your town. For a fictional town in Des Moines, I would zoom in on the map to find a nearby town of similar size... like Elkhart, then I can take a look around to see what it's like. Just looking at the map, I can see they have a couple of churches, a couple baseball fields, a very small main street/downtown area with a couple shops and restaurants, a post office, a few different neighborhoods, and a cemetery. This would be a great model for a small fictional town outside of Des Moines. And, as I said, you could look at a couple other sand combine them. Once you have your inspiration town/s, you can walk around on Google Maps street view, go to the town's web site, watch a tour on YouTube (if one exists), or look up pictures in Google Image search.

Step 3 - Start Planning - This is the really fun part! First, you might want to draw a basic map of your fictional town using your inspiration town/s as a guide. This doesn't have to be a pretty map... just a basic line drawing to help you envision where everything is. Think about some of the basic things this town might have, like the ones I listed in step two, and any other things you might want your town to have, like maybe a library, a hospital, a city hall, school, and maybe a movie theater. It might even be helpful and fun to put together a collage of pictures to represent your town so you've got something in mind as you write about it. You can even choose representatives for specific locations in your story, like your MC's house, school, and their favorite hangout.

Step 4 - Naming Your Town - Start by looking at the kinds of town names that surround your town. Look for common naming conventions... suffixes like -ton, -ville, -dale, -burg, -wood, -field, etc. Words in a particular language, like a lot of French-inspired town names, or towns with geographical terms (lake, hill, valley, river, canyon, gap, etc.) My guide to Naming Locations has additional tips.

Step 5 - Populate Your Town and Give it a History - Last but not least, make up a little history for your town, again, using surrounding towns as inspiration. Who founded it? When was it founded? What's the town's main industry? What are the people like in this town? What jobs do they have? What do they do for fun?

Here are some other posts that might help:

Five Things to Help You Describe Fictional Locations Setting Your Story in an Unfamiliar Place WQA’s Guide to Internet Research Happy writing!

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sc0tters · 6 months

Text

Heartless | Sidney Crosby

summary: when you finally arrive back to the rink you once called home, the last thing you expect is that the now legend from PIT forgets who he was once to you.

dreamer: chapter one

warnings: swearing

word count: 1.38k

authors note: I know how long some of you’ve been waiting for this series so I want to thank you! This was a bit of a weird chapter but it was just so we could set the ground for the rest of the work to come in later. I truly cannot wait to show you all where this one is going to go!

Today was the start of something new.

Or at least that was what you told yourself as you stood in the cool breeze that whirled around the city of Pittsburgh. Everything had gone your way today and the universe was clearly on your side.

You had woken up early, gotten an A on a paper you just got back, your Amazon delivery had arrived early. And most importantly your favourite coffee shop was still open letting you get something to eat before you were meant to be at the rink “watch where you’re going jackass!” You yelled as a car drove you off the road.

It was a pretty black land rover who only responded with the hit of the horn causing your brows to furrow “what a dick.” You scoffed watching the car speed off.

Now your coffee was soaking into the tar of the road as your croissant was being eaten by pigeons that had found you. So much for it being a good day, I guess.

Everything in your Arsenal that you could try to do to calm down as you wanted to have a clear mind for your first day “not everything is going to go your way.” Marc-André reminded you as he stared at you.

Despite having three children under the age of ten, you were still his baby just like the rest of your siblings “yeah but dad-” you whined parking your car as you looked at the PPG Arena “you know I’m being honest kid.” He mumbled knowing that he should have been in Pittsburgh as you started the season.

It made you roll you eyes “where is mom when you need some moral support?” You complained shutting the car door behind you as you stared up at the sky.

The grey sky seemed comforting as you heard the rough clouds come together as thunder claps roared over the city “she is with your sister but she’d also want you to just breathe.” His voice was clear making you roll your eyes “I hate it when you’re right.” You grumbled as a small smile formed on your lips.

Even with your rough exterior your father knew how to break you down in an attempt to get you to the soft state that had him wrapped around your finger “no you don’t.” Marc-André laughed as he shook his head “now go make me proud and play nice.” His words made you grin as you raked your fingers through your hair.

Pictures of the younger version of your father were up on the walls as you saw some of your favourite people from when you were a child growing up “I should get going dad.” You looked at your watch fearing that you were going to be late.

With that he snapped his fingers before he sent you a salute as you did the same thing “love you kid.” You pressed your fingers to your lips as the line ended.

You took a moment to study the welcome area and all of the trophies that the Penguins had won “I didn’t know we let fans in here today.” A voice came from behind you that causing you to spin on your feet.

Kris held a friendly face as you turned to a panic “I’m so sorry!” You blurted out as your cheeks reddened “I am actually the new intern for the physios office and uh-” you trailed off going quiet when the slap of his hand to his mouth cut you off.

It wasn’t often that Kris was left shocked “sparky you’ve gotten so big!” His arms wrapped around you as he pulled you into a hug.

Sparky was the title you picked up as a kid due to the fact that once when nobody on the team could get you to stop crying. Until your Sidney shocked himself plugging his phone charger into the wall.

Your reaction had most of the guys laughing as Sidney had to recreate his response to it in order to make sure you stayed smiling. Then it stuck after your dad dressed you up as a lightbulb for Halloween that year.

You smiled as he dropped his hands to his sides trying to comprehend that you were old enough to be working “I’ve gotten an internship here with the physio team.” You explained ignoring his crazy you felt admitting to the fact that you were actually there and this was no longer a note on your vision board.

Kris felt like a proud parent “always thought you’d land up somewhere like that.” The physios from when your dad was at the team used to entertain you when you came with him to work when your mom was busy with college work.

His words made your heart throb “enough about me, how are you-” before you could even get your words out the sound of a door slamming cut you both off.

Spinning around a smile formed on your face as you locked eyes with Sidney Crosby. You were like ever other child who was practically in awe of him, you were one of the lucky few who got to grow up with him so that made him all that much cooler to you “surprised to see you got here before you got knocked by another car.” His words made your face drop as your eyes went wide “excuse me?” You sucked at your teeth to stop yourself from snapping at him.

Sidney hadn’t even acknowledged that Kris was around yet “you couldn’t even use your eyes to see that I was driving.” That comment made you gasp as pieces began to click in your mind “you’re jackass!” You gasped feeling your jaw go slack “sorry could like someone maybe catch me up?” Kris pleaded as he grew confused.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to turn your glares at him “someone is just an entitled-” he was cut off as doctor McLane walked into the area joining the three of you “I’m so happy to se you’ve made it!” She clasped her hands together as she saw you.

Melissa turned her attention to the two players “I’m glad to see you’ve met the new physio intern y/n F-” before she could finish introducing her you had to interrupt “just y/n will do.” You smiled sending her a nod.

Before you had the chance to continue the argument with Sidney you were knocked off of your feet as he pushed past you to get to the locker room “I promise the rest of the guys will be easier than that.” Kris sent you a smile as he helped you back up. If only he really knew how awful that day would get.

Sidney couldn’t believe that luck had been so against him today as you had to show up at work today, the one place he truly thought that he could get away from young people who thought they knew more than they did.

But not even how much you had pissed him off could have stopped him from smiling as he accepted that FaceTime call from Marc-André “you will not believe the day I’ve had.” Sidney sighed as he sunk into his seat “hope y/n didn’t have too much to do with that.” Your father teased as you used to run laps around Sidney when you went through the phases of having Sidney as your favourite penguin.

It made Sidney stop in his tracks though as the question weighed on his mind “how do you know about her?” The words left his lips quicker than he could have thought about it “did you forget the part where I fathered her?” The older boy laughed as he spoke in a duh tone.

If you had known about the way that the colour drained from Sidney’s face you honestly would have been upset that you hadn’t been there to see it in person “do you seriously not remember how I told you that y/n was going to be the new intern for the physios.” Marc-André couldn’t see Sidney’s response as he dropped his phone.

This meant that not only was Sidney going to have to put up with you, it also meant that he was going to have to act like he liked it too.

#dreamer series #Sidney Crosby imagines #Sidney Crosby oneshots #sidney crosby x reader #nhl oneshots #nhl imagines #imagines #oneshots #hockey imagines #hockey imagine #nhl oneshot

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proqhetic · 1 month

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laura lee w total opposite style f!reader? like reader trying to help her live a little more, taking her to dates, showing her new artists, skipping classes to get together ^^ and also laura lee teaching r things such as baking and stuff

AHH this is so cute i love laura lee she deserves sm more love and attention from every1

laura lee’s obviously quite conservative and a stickler for the rules, that is until she met you

loud, independent, known for defying the norm — perfectly complementary!!!

the first time you took her out on a date (you took the initiative to ask her out), she was really nervous and spent hours getting ready like in those movie montages <3

bringing her to a theme park and her being so anxious at first ,, but as the date continued she grew to let loose

at the end of it even did the raise your arms thing on the roller coaster with you!!

the literal definition of “most unlikely couple” and “opposites attract”, but you two manage to make it work 😚😚

she loves holding your hand. it’s a huge source of comfort for her

trying to convince her to skip class with you one day and rent was DUE

“no we shouldn’t—” “i meannn, it’s the start of the semester. we skip now, we can’t get away with doing this for the rest of the year…” [pleading with puppy dog eyes while taking her hand in yours] “it’s one day, the only really important lessons today are chemistry and literature. and we could just get all the notes from lottie or jackie-“ “lottie and jackie…” [in unison] “EXACTLY.”

you end up buying her a sweet treat as a thank you for joining, then taking her to your favourite spot at the back of the park, sharing the mixtape you made for her (spoiler alert: she loves it) while she braids your hair

becomes your guys’s spot & she loves going for picnics there with you 🧺🥪🧃!!!

in turn, you ask her about her faith and she loves sharing it with you, without any judgment from your end

also think she would start swearing slightly more after getting close you, just silently or under her breath

laura lee is definitely known as that one designated baker in your school. whenever she bakes something at home, she saves a portion for you and gifts it in a tupperware for you the next day 😋

on days when she bakes bigger batches she’ll go around and hand it out to friends too!! bake sale #1 contributor

you on the other hand have come close to burning down your house via oven several times

her lowk stressing out while you’re baking brownies because you somehow keep measuring everything slightly off and mixing the wrong ingredients together

“was it 200ml…? or was that 200g for something else??”

at the end of the day she finds it (you) extremely endearing, hovering around and watching you closely all afternoon.

giving u a kiss on the cheek after you two finally shut the oven door before u pull her in for a proper one :>

you end up turning ‘clean up time’ into ‘make an even bigger mess time’ by playing with the flour and tossing some at laura lee .. at first she >:( and then she got you back with an even bigger handful hehehe

decorates the brownies with you and on one of the squares writes “(r’s initial) + LL” in frosting, encasing it in a cute pink heart 💗

you try and recreate something similar but it just turns into squiggly illegible lines — she hits you with the “it’s the thought that counts!!” while giggling her ass off

#anomz #laura lee things 💭#laura lee #laura lee x reader #yellowjackets #yellowjackets x reader

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illdowhatiwantthanks · 1 month

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You're Safe Now

Casey Novak x autistic fem!reader Warnings: Hurt/comfort, discussions of past child sexual abuse and child pornography, PTSD, flashbacks, panic attacks, brief and mild self-harm Word Count: 1,799 NOTE: Child sexual abuse/assault is a deeply triggering subject for many people. If you're one of them, please proceed with caution. As a victim myself, I know that, oftentimes, I find great comfort in reading stories that include narratives like mine, especially when they make me feel seen and heard and cared for. At other times, they are terrible for my mental health. Please just be mindful of your mental state as you read, especially if you are a victim. And if you need help, please reach out to the National Sexual Assault Hotline (1-800-656-4673).

Casey looked over Stabler's shoulder as he scrolled through grainy photo after photo. Stills from hundreds of pornographic VHS tapes, all of abused children. "Any of them prosecutable?" Stabler shook his head. "Nah, not on abuse charges. These are all 25 years old. The Feds just want us to look and see if we can make any connections."

"All the same ring?" "Yep. A Baptist church, if you can believe it. Somewhere in Tennessee. Apparently the ringleader moved to the city about 10 years ago. They just nailed him last month." Casey looked disgusted. "I absolutely can believe it was a church. They're like breeding grounds for pedophiles. No offense." Stabler gritted his teeth. "Sunday school teachers. What an introduction to God." They watched the nameless faces scroll past in silence. So many kids, so much hurt. A child flashed past the screen–a little girl with glasses–and Casey blinked. "Stop," she said. Stabler stilled his scrolling and glanced back at the ADA, curious. "Go back." He dutifully scrolled back up the page until Casey stopped him again. She stared at the pixelated photo, sick to her stomach. A little white shirt, a Ramona Quimby-style bob, multicolored glasses. And the cutest nose–your nose. It wasn't you. Surely, it couldn't be you. You would have told her. But the child in the picture looked so much like you. And you had grown up in Tennessee. Going to a Baptist church. Casey cleared her throat, trying to disguise the shakiness in her voice. "Can you print that photo for me?" Stabler looked long and hard at Casey. "Yeah, why?" "Just print it. Please." Stabler handed Casey the printed photo, and she snatched it, folding it tightly and placing it in her pocket. "Thanks," she said, walking swiftly away with her fists clenched. Stabler watched her go, concerned. He made a mental note to mention it to Olivia. _____________________________________________________________ When Casey came through the door that night, you were curled up on the couch watching Parks & Recreation. "Bye, Bye, Little Sebastian" played in the background and you sang along absentmindedly, typing on your laptop. "Hey, love," you called. "I didn't feel like cooking. Want to order a pizza?" Casey set down her briefcase and walked slowly to you, heart pounding in her chest. She sat across from you and paused the show. You looked at her and frowned. She looked terrified. You had never seen her look so scared. You threw your laptop aside and took her hand. "Hey, what's wrong?" you asked. "You look like someone died." Your eyes grew wide. "Did someone die?" Casey took a shaky breath. "Sweetheart, I need to ask you something." Now, you were scared, too. What could Casey possibly need to ask you that made her this anxious? "Okay," you replied, your voice quiet. She took one of your hands in hers and traced circles on it. After an excruciating few minutes, she asked, "Did anything happen to you when you were a kid?" Your stomach dropped and you felt ice flood your veins. There was no way she could know. Nobody knew. "W-what do you mean?" "Were you..." Casey started, clearing her throat. "Were you... abused at all?" You felt panic rising in your chest, your throat constricting as it became harder and harder to take a breath. "Why are you asking me that?" you cried, your voice growing frantic. "Casey, why are you asking me that!?"

Tears threatened the corners of your eyes, and your body started rocking back and forth. You felt like you were suffocating. Casey held onto your hand even tighter, her own eyes glistening, as she pulled the folded paper from her pocket and handed it to you. Your hands shook as you opened it, and when you saw yourself on that page, everything inside you shattered all at once. "No, no, no, no, no!" you cried, grabbing your head in your hands and rocking more and more aggressively. All of a sudden you couldn't breathe. Just like you couldn't breathe in that Sunday school room. Just like you couldn't breathe with in front of that camera with the red blinking light. And the hands. So many hands touching you, all over you. You coughed and retched, wrapping your arms around yourself. Your pupils darted back and forth, overtaking the rest of your eyes. And somehow you were back there, back in that room. The black carpet with the rainbow flecks. The smell of stale hymnals and men's sweat. The taste of the wintergreen mints they shoved in your mouth when they sent you back to your unwitting parents, masking the scent of vomit. You clenched your fists over your ears and slammed them into your head, grabbing your hair and pulling so hard a tuft came out.

Casey jumped up and grabbed your hands, trying to keep them away from your head. "Honey, don't do that," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "Please don't do that. I'm right here." She tried to wrap her arms around you, but you shoved her away. "Don't touch me!" You heard yourself screaming, as if from far away, as if you were sitting in the rafters of the Sunday school room, but no one could hear you. "No! Please, it hurts!" Tears streamed down your flaming face as you rocked back and forth, hyperventilating, tucked into the corner of the couch. You were as far away from Casey as you could get. Casey had dealt with a lot of victims. She'd been emotionally invested in a lot of victims. She cared deeply for and fought for so many victims. But you. You were hers. She felt like her heart was being physically ripped apart as she looked at your tiny, terrified form. In that moment, you were a mirror image of the scared little girl in the VHS still. Casey wiped her own tears away, trying to stay strong because you needed someone strong right now. God, she wanted to hold you. She wanted to scoop you up and protect you and tell you that it was okay, that she loved you, that she would never let anyone touch you again. But you wouldn't even let her close. "I'll be right back, sweetheart," Casey said, biting her lip as she looked at you, then jogging to the kitchen. It seemed like you couldn't even hear her. She thought you were having a flashback, but she didn't know how to help you out of it. She dialed Olivia's number and prayed to whatever powers there were in the universe that Olivia would pick up. "Benson."

"Oh, thank god," Casey exhaled.

"Casey? What's going on?"

"Do you know how to get someone out of a flashback?"

Olivia's voice deepened in concern. "Is this about that photo you got from Elliot?"

Casey paced back and forth, rubbing her forehead. "Yes. I don't have time to talk about it now. Do you know how to help with a flashback? Please."

"Uh..." Olivia started, clearly trying to provide information and make sure that Casey was okay. "Usually they need to be reminded of what's real and what's not."

"How?" Casey asked, trying to hide the desperation in her voice.

"Try engaging their senses. Something to shock them out of it. Ice, maybe. Or something with a strong smell."

"Okay, I got it," Casey said, sprinting to the bathroom.

"Casey, are you sure you're okay?"

"I'll talk to you about it later, Olivia," Casey barked, more terse than she meant to be. "Gotta go."

Casey rummaged in the vanity, looking for a specific bottle of perfume. She gripped it tightly in her hand and ran back to the kitchen, grabbing a bag of frozen green beans out of the freezer.

Casey took a deep breath before returning to your corner of the couch, where you sat curled and shaking and sobbing. She reached out to hold your hand, then stopped herself, instead grabbing the bottle of perfume and spraying it around you.

"Hey," she said, tentatively. "Honey, I don't know if you can hear me, but I'm here."

Your body shook uncontrollably, your eyes clamped shut.

"I'm gonna put this ice on you," Casey said. She wasn't sure you could hear her, but she wanted even your subconscious to know that she was there and doing everything she could to help you. She dropped the bag of green beans in your lap and you gasped, your head shooting up. You looked around frantically, and Casey grabbed at the chance to pull you out of the flashback. "Hey," she called. "Y/N, can you hear me?" You seemed to look both at her and past her at the same time. "Do you feel the cold? Honey, that's real. Can you smell my perfume? It's the one you like so much, the one that smells like pine trees. It's real."

You were confused, disoriented, but your frantic breathing was slowing down, and Casey took that as a sign it was working. "I'm right here, sweetheart, okay?" Her voice broke. She was dying to hold you, but she still wasn't sure you'd let her, and she didn't want to make it worse. "I'm right here with you. I love you, and I'm real. We're in our apartment, and that's real. Those men who hurt you, they're not real anymore." You kneaded the bag of green beans in your hands, still rocking, but less aggressively. Your vision was coming back into focus, the overlap of past and present becoming less confusing and overwhelming. You were finally able to look at Casey and see her. You looked into her eyes and a rush of shame poured over you. She looked terrified. Her face was streaked with tears. You didn't know if she was scared of you or scared for you, but either way you felt sick to have scared her.

Your face screwed up in tears and you looked away, burying your head in your hands. "I'm sorry, Casey," you cried. "I'm so sorry."

She surged toward you, her hands stopping inches short of your skin. "It's okay, Y/N, it's okay. I'm right here. Can I touch you?"

You nodded, but you still couldn't bring yourself to look at her.

Casey scooped you into her lap like a child, wrapping her arms protectively around you and cradling your head next to hers.

"I'm sorry, Casey," you said again and again, anxiety and panic and exhaustion giving way to pure shame as you grasped her shirt and wept. "I'm sorry."

Casey had tried. She had tried to hold it together for you, but seeing you so broken, hearing you apologize to her for this horrific thing that had happened to you–it broke her, too. Her tears came all at once. "You don't need to be sorry, honey," she told you, pressing her forehead to yours, your tears mingling. "You didn't do anything wrong. I'm sorry. I'm sorry it happened. I'm sorry I wasn't there to protect you."

You let out a shaky laugh, wiping snot from your nose. "You're like three years older than me."

She kissed the side of your head over and over, smoothing your wrecked hair and holding you as tight as she could. "You're safe now, Y/N," she said, for both of you, like a mantra. "I will always keep you safe. I won't let anyone hurt you ever again."

You buried your head under Casey's, making yourself small.

She rubbed your back, breathing slowly and rhythmically. You didn't notice, but yours followed.

Neither of you knew how long you sat like that, but after a while Casey asked, "Am I holding you too tight?"

You shook your head, snaking your arms around her waist. "No. Please don't let go."

"Never," she whispered, her breath hot on your cheek.

#casey novak #casey novak x autistic reader #casey novak one shot #casey novak drabble #hurt/comfort #law and order svu #svu #autistic #neurodivergent #casey novak fanfic #x autistic reader

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mirage-aera · 4 months

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•°. *࿐ Expensive strawberries

ᴺᴼᵂ ᴾᴸᴬᵞᴵᴺᴳ : She keeps me up - Nickelback

König x Reader

Synopsis: After going grocery shopping you decide to pump more air in the tires of König’s car. He appreciates it until you give him some shocking news.

Word count: 1.278

Masterlist

You open your fridge, frowning at the almost empty strawberries. You need to go grocery shopping anyway so this is a good excuse as any. You’re craving sweet strawberries and you’ll get them, no matter what. You quickly make a list of produce that you might need for this week. Thinking, if you go now, you might as well get all of the stuff that you might need, and perhaps some snacks for König as well. You check the clock hanging on the wall. It’s around 1 o’clock. You call out to König, who’s currently in the living room watching tv. “Hey Lieber? I’m going to the store. Do you need anything in particular?” You hear him get out, the cracking bones of his knees giving it away. You smile as his large frame enters the kitchen. He smiles at you, “maybe orange juice? We ran out yesterday.” He says sheepishly. You chuckle, you ought to buy a larger bottle of orange juice for your gentle giant. He drinks through them way too quickly. You nod, “sure thing, Lieber.” He wraps his large arms around you. Having to bend down to give your forehead a small smooch. “Danke, meine Taube.” You grin up at him, loving the small moment of serenity you have together.

Eventually, he lets you go so can go to the store. He heads back to the living room before he abruptly spins around to face you. “Do you want me to come with you?” He asks. You shake your head and gently push him back to the living room, “you go and relax. I’ll give you a call if I need anything.” He hesitates before nodding. You make a small list of all the things that you need to buy. You grab the car keys for his car. You love to drive his car whenever he’s home. It has that earthy scent of his that he carries around everywhere. It reminds you of home. “I’ll be back in a minute, Kö!” You let him know you're leaving. His reply melted you from the inside, “drive safely, Taube!” You chuckle before gently closing the door behind you.

You walk up to your car and get in, shoving the key into the ignition, starting the engine, and putting it out of park. You move the gear stick and drive off. While you’re driving you suddenly have an idea pop up into your head once you see that his car is low on fuel. You saw a couple of days ago a video of a harmless prank. You smirk. You’re going to recreate it but with König. Slowly you arrive at the store and pull up into a parking space. You shut everything off and head into the store. You look at your list, ‘strawberries, orange juice, eggs, chips for König, coffee, and canned soup.’ Should be easy enough, it’s only a few things. You head to the fresh aisle first. Grabbing a box of strawberries, the very thing you were craving all day. You grab some bananas for König, knowing he’d appreciate that. You head to the fridges to grab a bottle of orange juice. You grab it off of the shelf and put it in your basket. Next, you head to the eggs section. You grab a simple 10-pack. König likes to eat quite a bit of eggs so 10 should be enough for him. Next, you head to the snacks and coffee aisles. You grab the chips and coffee and put those in the basket as well. Now finally onto the last item on your list, the canned soup. You head to the canned products aisle and grab a can of chicken soup. It’ll be perfect if one of you gets sick. Easy on the stomach and easy to make. You head to the checkout after grabbing everything. You scan every item and pay for your groceries. You stuff them into a plastic bag and walk out, heading back to the car.

Now your plan can begin. You drive to the nearest gas station to fuel up. You see the gas station coming into sight. You slow down the car as you pull up. You stop the car at a pump. You walk out of the car and fill it with gas. Once it clicks, you stop and pay for the gas. Now, the car had a tire pressure alert on the dash a while ago. König simply didn’t deal with it yet. So while you’re here you’ll do it for him. You enter the car again and slowly roll it over the air pressure stations. You get out and pay a small amount for the machine to start. You fill up the tires with air. Once all tires are filled to their maximum capacity you head back into the car to go home. As you drive home you can’t help but smirk at the plan you’ve concocted up in your mind.

You pull up into your driveway and open the front door, groceries in hand. Once König hears the front door open, he hurries over to you and grabs the plastic bag from you. He puts it down on the kitchen counter as you follow him. You both put the groceries away together. Once that’s done you wash some strawberries as König pours himself a glass of orange juice. “Hey Lieber?” You call out his name. He hums in acknowledgment. “I refilled your tires for you today.” You bite back a laugh. He looks at you and puts his glass down, “oh, danke!” He smiles at you. You put a fake frown on your face, “they charged me 100 for it.” He nearly spits out his orange juice, “bitte?! You paid 100 for the tires?!” He asks in distress. You nod, “they said they originally charged 50 per tire but they gave me a discount.” You can see his eyes bulging. “Was?! They wanted you to pay 200?!” You nod again in mock confusion. He slams his palm to his forehead, “oh mein Gott. Taube, where did you refill the tires?” You think for a moment, “a repair shop, why?” He looks at you in disbelief “Taube, bitte. Are you really asking me why?” You nod again. He sighs, “they scammed you. You pay a few euros at most. 25 per tire is absurd and the fact they wanted to charge you 50 per tire is crazy. We’re going back, this is unacceptable. I’m having a word with those workers.” He says as he heads out to grab his jacket. You let out a small chuckle.

“Wait König!” You call out to him while trying to catch up to him. He whips around to face you, already pulling his jacket on. “Ja? Was ist los?” You let out a laugh. He looks at you with a confused expression. “Whatever could be so funny, Taube?” Your laughter dies down as he waits for your answer, “I was joking König. We do not need to go back. I refilled them at the gas station while I was fueling up your car.” He lets out a relieved sigh, “oh thank god. I felt like I was having a heart attack .” You chuckle, “I’m not that dumb, Lieber.” He laughs himself, “those would’ve been really expensive strawberries if you did pay 25 per tire.” He says as he snatches a strawberry from your hand and tosses it into his mouth. You frown at the missing strawberry, “hey! That was mine, go wash your own!” He chuckles as he walks back to the living room, “that was payback, meine Taube.” You groan in fake annoyance as his laughter rings through the house.

#cod #cod mw2 #cod mwii #cod x reader #cod modern warfare #könig #könig x reader #könig cod #konig x reader #konig #konig cod

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justmeinadaze · 7 months

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I Have Nothing (If I Don't Have You) Part 6 (Steddie X You)

Warnings: Security Dom Steddie X Sub (slightly bratty) Singer Fem Reader, SMUT, spanking, dirty talk, slight rough play (they show her a bit more of what they are into), FLUFF, they go on a date through Paris and she shows them around, they do discuss being more exclusive (as if she or they would want anyone else🙄 ), ANGST, slightly so with her talking briefly about being sober and her fears of being in a relationship again.

Word Count: 4812

“Obviously, you’re taking us to the Eiffel Tower, right?”, Steve grinned in your direction as you three walked the streets of Paris.

“Yes but tonight when it’s all lit up.”

The day couldn’t be any more perfect for you and you were the happiest you had been in a long time. You took them around to each place you could think of that didn’t have a long line, stopping at bakeries and little shops to have them taste everything while looking for little trinkets to bring back home.

They seemed to really be enjoying themselves which made you smile. Eddie had befriended a street musician who handed him an acoustic guitar and he sat beside him as they played a couple of songs. You took them to a vintage store where they had a blast looking at the clothes. Steve keeping trying on different hats asking you how he looked. One had a brim that three sizes too big causing you to spit out your water as you laughed at him.

After grabbing lunch, you took them to a park nearby and had a picnic.

“Seriously, I’m going to gain like thirty pounds off of this bread but so worth it.”, Steve chuckles as he takes another bite of his sandwich.

“Oh, yeah. The food is phenomenal but you have to watch out for the butter and the sauces. Don’t even get me started on the chocolate.” Eddie smiles when your eyes playfully roll back.

“Did you parents show you all these places or did you find them yourself?”, he asked.

“A bit of both. The first few years I came here I basically recreated that vacation but as I wondered the streets I found more places and things to enjoy.”

“Excusez-moi.” A little girl shyly comes up to your blanket holding out a pen and paper. “May I have your…”

“Autographe?”, you smile up at her comfortingly as she grins. “Of course. Um… Quel est… ton nom?”

“Chloe.” She beams in your direction.

“I’m sorry, Chloe. My French isn’t great.”

“It’s…okay.” Her grin grows as you give the paper back to her and lean up on your knees to give her a hug.

“Merci, Miss Y/L/N!”

“Merci, Chloe.”

The three of you watch her as she runs back to her parents.

“That was adorable.”, Steve smirks.

“It was. I didn’t know you had fans that were so small.”, Eddie adds.

“Yeah, that’s another reason I want to be better. I’m supposed to be a role model for them you know?”

“And you are, honey. You’re already doing so much better and we are extremely proud of you.”

***

“Why do I have to wear a suit?!”, Eddie shouts from the bedroom as he adjusts his tie.

“Because we’re taking her to dinner, you idiot.”

“I’m just asking!”

“Plus, this will technically be our first date with her so we should look nice.”

Both men turn when they hear you exit the bathroom and their mouths fall open in shock as their eyes drink you in. Your hair was pulled up into a neat bun displaying a pair of earrings that shimmered when you moved your head. The thin spaghetti straps held up a gorgeous, black, V-neck style dress that just barely touched your ankles. When you nervously shifted your weight, the slit in the fabric exposed your leg up to your mid-thigh showing off some fancy, matching black high heeled shoes.

“What, um, what do you think?”

“You…you…Jesus, I may be underdressed.”, Steve breathily chuckled.

“Eddie?”

“You look beautiful, princess.”

Blushing, you loop your arms into theirs as they escort you out of the hotel. When you three arrive at the restaurant, they watch you in amazement as you talk to the people in charge and an antsy gentleman leads you to a table. Steve pulls out your chair and you thank him as you take a seat.

Both boys straighten up when a man comes out from the kitchen and heads towards you but immediately calm when you smile, assuring them that this is someone you know.

“Miss Y/L/N! It’s been so long, my love! How are things?”

“Things have been rough but they are getting better. Julien, these are my friends AND security, Eddie Munson and Steve Harrington.”

They grin as they shake his hand and he returns their smiles with a bright one of his own.

“Who better to watch your back than a friend that loves you, ah? Now, mon amour, should we start with the usual champagne?”

“Oh, no. Um, do you have something without alcohol?”

“Hmm? Oh! How about citron pressé?”

“Sure, I trust you.”, you giggle as you shrug, watching him disappear without asking the guys if that was ok with them. “I have no idea what that is but—what? Why are you looking at me like that?”

Both men had been starring at you with a cute, goofy smile plastered on their face.

“Nothing. You’re just adorable.”

“It’s nice seeing this side of you to. You really needed a break, sweetheart.”

The rest of the meal couldn’t be described in any other way beside perfect. They talked to you more about some positive things in their lives trying to keep the mood uplifted. Eddie told you about his love for fantasy related things like D&D which made you laugh when the other man rolled his eyes. Steve surprised you by telling you of some movies he actually really liked.

“Ok you can’t sigh aggressively when I talk about sci-fi fantasy shit but then tell her that one of your favorite movies is Star Wars!”

“It’s completely different, Munson.”

“How!?”

“It’s actually not that different.”

“Thank you, princess!”

“But to be fair, George Lucas said he made Star Wars kind of like a western so Steve may drift more towards that then regular sci-fi.”

“Ok, you’re not on my side anymore. Hush.”, Eddie responds playfully.

You did your best to tell them more happy memories with you and your family but you struggled because it hurt. Every time you stuttered through a story, though, one or both of them would reach for your hand and urge you to continue.

After you were done eating, you kept your word and took them to the Eiffel Tower as it was all lit up. The people in charge cut off a section so you three wouldn’t be noticed or bothered which you greatly appreciated.

“Wow, check out that view.” Steve exhaled as he took a few pictures pausing when he noticed your face as you leaned against the railing. “You alright, honey?”

“Yeah. I just wish I could stay here in this moment. I’m having a lot of fun with you two and I think this is the first time in a long time I’ve actually been…happy.”

Eddie’s palm gently reaches out to run down your back before bringing you to his chest to wrap you up in his embrace.

“I know what you mean. Stop me if I’m wrong Harrington but we’ve never felt like this about anyone before. We really like you, Y/N.”

“We’re all in if you are.”

“You barely know me. What if I fuck up again? What if I hurt you? What if…I’m not what you thought I am?”

“She’s doing that thing again.”, Eddie murmurs to Steve as he releases you and leans against the railing. “It’s like her own brand of self-harm…or maybe self-protection?” He raises his eyebrows inquisitively and you quickly shift your gaze. “Ah yes. There it is. She keeps says ‘What if I’ but what she really means if ‘What if you’.”

“Baby, we’re not asking you to marry us or anything. What we’re asking for is MORE nights like tonight. To be able to take you out more and get to know you better and vice versa. We know you’ve been through a lot and still are. We would never push you like they do.”

“And quite frankly, sweetheart, I don’t think there could be any more surprises because you’ve already showed us you’re not who we thought you were originally.”

“Spoiled, washed up singer.”, Steve explains when you look at them in confusion.

“When it comes to the I’s, babe, we got you covered. You slip again and want to run all over Vegas, we’ll come get you. You have one of those moments where you try to verbally hurt us, don’t worry, we got you. We have ropes and handcuffs for situations like that.” You can’t help but giggle when he winks.

“When it comes to the you’s, you can ask us anything and we’ll answer. If there’s something you need or need to know just let us know and we can talk about it.”

Glancing out towards the city, you feel everything run through your brain at once. You knew from the moment you met them that they were different. You trust them with your life so why were you so scared to trust them with your heart?

Because everyone who’s supposed to love you, hurts you…

Do they even love you? They can’t possibly…like you said they barely even know you. I guess it couldn’t hurt to jump in with both feet.

“Ok. Can we…we keep it between us?”

“We honestly assumed you would because of the press and everything.”, Eddie answers with a small smile.

“I think that’s another reason Simon was with me. He liked the attention from the press.”

“Hm. Well, coming from a small town where everyone was in everyone’s business, trust me, we don’t want that kind of attention.”, Steve retorts as he leans over the railing like you had.

Looping your arm through his, you lean your head against his shoulder as Eddie holds your hand and looks out into the city.

##############

“I have a request.”

“Oh lord.”, the metalhead playfully sighs making you smile.

“Calm down, Mr. Munson.”, you giggle. “The other night I asked you two to show me how much you care about me…” They nod when you pause, urging you silently to continue. “Can you show me how to take care of you?”

Both men, who were now sitting on the couch in the hotel room looked up at you now with slight confusion.

“When we first got together, you said you liked it rough. The other night you implied there was more to what you both were into. I want to give you what you want.”

“You do, honey.”

“You really do.”, Eddie follows almost too eagerly.

“I still don’t think your ready.”, Steve sighs as he takes off his jacket and starts rolling up his sleeves.

“Isn’t this all about trust? Not only do I trust you two but you should trust me to know my limits. Well…in this regard.”

The other man takes off his jacket as well, removing his button up shirt underneath along with it now donning a white tank that displayed his muscles and tattoos in a way that had you salivating.

“Oh, come on, Stevie. We can start slow. Maybe we can show her what a punishment would look like. Something small for running away and having us worried.”

Steve sighs playfully as he motions with his fingers for you come closer. As you sit beside him on the sofa, he gently pets the back of your head while they both continue to look at you with nothing but care.

“If you feel uncomfortable at any point, just say the safe word, ok?”

“Ok, Steve. I promise.”

He grins as his hand slides down to your back and guides your body till you’re laying across his lap on your tummy. While he flips up the underside of your dress Eddie runs his fingers through your hair, moving any lingering strands away from your face.

“How many you think, Ed? 10?”

“10 sounds good. I think she can handle that.”

As your stomach tightens into knots with nerves, Steve’s palm soothes you as it runs down your spine and over the meat of your ass. Abruptly, it lifted and came down spanking your behind eliciting a shocked gasp from your lips. He didn’t hit you hard as it was meant to test.

“How did that feel, babe?”

“Um, odd but g-good.”

“Has anyone ever spanked you before?”, Eddie asked.

“No. Not like this.”

“Honey, I want you to count for me, ok?”

“O-O-Okay. One.”

His hand come down much harder and this time you let out a little moan especially after Steve soothes you by running his fingers along the reddening skin.

“Two.”

“Good girl, sweetheart.”

He spanks you twice in quick secession and they both let out a groan of their own as you breathily count them off. Steve tugs down your panties, his hand coming back to travel a bit between your legs as your mouth falls open when his thumb slides between your sex.

“Oh, Eddie. Little baby is so wet right now. I think the spanking doesn’t feel so odd anymore, huh?”

When you didn’t answer, ringed fingers gripped your hair tightly and tugged you back.

“He asked you something, your highness.”

“Feels…good…AH! Five!”, you moaned as Steve spanked you again.

Eddie held a tight grip on you as the other boy began steadily rubbing your clit while occasionally delivering a harsh smack to your ass.

“What number are we on, baby? Wouldn’t want Stevie to lose count and have to start all over again.”

“Mmm—Nine—Please, Steve. I’m gonna…”

You didn’t see it but they smirked at each other as he slide two fingers into your core and rapidly pumped them inside of you. Your eyes rolled as the coil snapped and as you moaned his name his hand came down one final time while you panted out that final number.

“Good girl, honey.”, he cooed as he delicately lifted your dress over your head. “Let’s get this off here.” You keened into his neck as he sat you up and placed you in his lap while Eddie ran his palm along your legs. “Did you like it, baby?”, Steve whispered.

“Yeah, I liked it a lot. Did you like it? Spanking me?”

He chuckles under his breath, trying to stifle the moan that wants to come out at the sound of your little voice. Reaching for your hand, he places it directly on the bulge in his slacks.

“I loved it.” Your eyes flutter closed as his lips tenderly trail up your cheek to your ear. “You like that, pretty girl? You like making us feel good?”

“M-More. Please. I can handle more. I swear.”

They glanced at each other mischievously knowing you were all riled up.

“No.”

“Please! I can handle it!” As you begin to whine they smile and you can’t help but laugh. “You’re messing with me?”

“A little. We’re kind of curious in this headspace how far your brat can go.” Eddie’s grin grows as you climb on to his lap and wrap your arms around his neck.

“Do you want me to be more bratty?”

“I think you’re capable of it. I work with you remember?”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Hey. In here, honey, you answer us, not the other way around.”, Steve scolded.

The metalhead tries to keep the upper hand as you grind your hips against his own. His eyes remain heavily on yours as he licks his lips to keep any other sounds from escaping.

“In here, sweetheart, we have control.”

“You do out there to!”, you whine as you point absently outside. “Where do I have control?”

“Stop moving.”, he says sternly.

“Make me.”

His eyes grow dark as the smile he was adorning falls from his face.

“Stop. Moving.”

You falter for a second as his voice and demeanor throw you off guard but you remain steadfast as you continue. Steve laughs from your side before Eddie lifts you up with one arm and carries you to the bedroom.

Throwing you on to the mattress, he holds your down with his palm on your chest as he uses his other to unbuckle his belt and free his cock from its confinement.

“If you want to stop, just tap twice, ok?” When you nod, his fingers grip your hair as he hovers his face above yours. “Ok?!”

“Ok! Yes, sir! Tap twice!”

Steve nonchalantly throws himself beside you as he watches Eddie slide his cock into your mouth.

“She’s so fucking stubborn sometimes. I swear.”

While the metalhead takes over thrusting his length down your throat, Steve is always alert, watching you to make sure you really were ok. They genuinely did trust you would say the safe word if you needed but neither boy wanted to push you that far.

“Fuck, princess your mouth feels so fucking good. With all that fucking sass, I’m not sure she deserves our dicks in her pussy tonight, Harrington.”

Eddie tried to control his eyes from rolling back when he felt you groan around him.

“Did you have something you wanted to say?”

“Please. I’m sorry, Eddie. I’ll do whatever you want. I promise I’ll behave.”, you beg as you shift up to your knees and continue stroking him with your hand. “Please. I need you inside me. I need to feel you.”

Pinching your cheeks between his fingers, he brings your lips to his before firmly pushing you backwards onto the bed.

“Go show Steve how much you’ll behave.”

As you crawl over to the now naked man, you tenderly kiss his stomach making him smile as he strokes your hair. Delicately running your tongue along his slit, he moans as he pulls your hair into a ponytail with his hands and watches you fully take him into your awaiting mouth.

Eddie jostled you around a bit till your ass was fully on display for him and you both whimpered as he guided his cock into your entrance. The warmth of his chest encases you as he leans against your back and kisses your shoulder.

“Come on, sweetheart. I know you can take him better than that especially with the way you run that sassy mouth.” Taking over Steve’s hold of your hair, he guides your movements making you gag and drool as the man mewls with pleasure. “Atta girl. There you go.”

Eddie rolls his hips hard, roughly nudging against that tender spot inside of you that has your eyes rolling back.

“Is that the spot, pretty girl?” Pulling your head, he forces you to look at him. “Is it? Right there?” You struggle to form words as he continues to grind against you. “Answer me, Y/N.”

“Ah! Y-Yes, there. D-don’t stop. Please…”

The metalhead grins as he pushes you back down on Steve’s cock before releasing his hold on your hair to grip your waist as he leans back on his knees and pounds his hips into yours.

“G-Good girl, honey. Fuck. You take us both so well.”, Steve coos as he pets your head.

Eddie’s fingers slide underneath you, rubbing fast circles into your little bundle of nerves, driving you crazy in the best way as you throw you head back in pleasure.

“FUCK! Eddie please!”

Ringed fingers wrap around your throat and pull you up to your knees as you lean against his shoulder.

“That’s right, baby. Say my name again. Who’s making you feel this good?”, he murmurs into your ear as he slams into you harder.

“Eddie! I’m…Eddie, please…”

Your hand takes hold of his wrist as your other clings his hair while your arm wraps around his neck. His fingers move faster to match his pace while you continue chanting his name until the ball drops and your body trembles against him as you cum.

“Fuck me.”, Eddie groans, shoving you back down against the mattress and holding your wrists behind your back as he chases his high.

Grunting above you, his rhythm becomes sloppier and you mewl as you feel him release his seed inside of you.

“Good girl, princess.”, he praised as he gradually pulled out of you and kissed any part of your skin his lips could reach. “It’s Steve’s turn, sweet girl. Whenever you’re ready.”

Your head shot up in search for him and as your eyes met his soft ones, his fingers reached out to caress your sweaty face. When you nod, he motions for you to come closer, taking hold of you under your arms and scooting you both up closer towards the pillows.

“Come here, honey. No, the other way.”, he instructs as you started straddling his waist. After turning away from him, he guides you down till your back his against his chest. One of his strong palms holds on to your chest as his other holds the base of his cock and runs to along your dripping lips between your legs. “Jesus. Eddie made you feel real good, didn’t he, baby?”

Nodding, you turn your head to kiss his cheek and he moans as he breaches your entrance, sheathing himself inside of you with minimal resistance. As he thrusts his hips up against you, his fingers move around to massage your nub as the hand on your chest takes hold of tit making you growl in ecstasy.

“Steve! So…so deep…oh god.”

“Yeah? Does that feel good, Y/N?” Picking up his pace, the bed begins to move underneath you as he clings to your sweaty, messy frame. “Fuck, that’s it. That’s our girl. Your pussy is just fucking clinging to me, pretty girl, God damn.”

Pushing up, you balance on your hands as your hips push down to meet his.

“Can you see it? My cock disappearing inside of you?”

“Steve, please. Please!”

Tugging on your hair, he pulls you back against him, hugging your tightly as he thrusts into you harder. The sound of skin hitting skin fills the room and your eyes roll back as you drag your nails against his flesh.

“I’m…I’m…”

Without warning, he shoves against your back pushing you up and pulling himself out of you, yanking your hips backwards till your pussy was hovering over his face. Roughly, his hands pushed you back down, urging your lips over his cock as he wrapped his arms around your waist, holding you still as he his tongue devoured you.

Your hips grinded against him as his head moved quickly from side to side causing you to lift your head and scream as you came. As he continued to lick your clean, you bobbed your head around his length wanting him to feel as good as he had just made you feel.

His grunts reverberated in your cunt as he pumped his hips upwards till you felt rope after rope of his spend hit the back of your throat.

Falling to the side, you both panted till Eddie’s voice broke the silence.

“Yeah, that’s cool. Just put your feet by my face.” You giggled as you lifted your leg and touched his nose with your big toe. “Ew, gross. With these beautiful pedicured, toes. Still purple, I see.”

“I like purple and no one is looking at my feet that closely in an arena style concert.”

“Do you want to take a bath, Y/N, or a shower?”, Steve asks.

“I want to curl up into a cocoon and sleep for 100 years.”

“Ok, bath it is.”, he grinned as he rolled over the side and lifted you into his arms.

While he got everything ready, Eddie’s hands lightly gripped your shoulders and tilted you forward. When your eyes shifted to the mirror, you realized he was looking at your behind.

“It doesn’t hurt. I mean, it’s sore but…”

“I figured. I just need to take a look and make sure you don’t need any ice or anything. I’m sure you’ve noticed but Steve Harrington has big hands so sometimes he unintentionally leaves marks that last for a couple of days.”

“Part of the reason I ask questions.”, he winks as he guides you into the water.

“No one has ever asked me questions before or even done any kind of aftercare. I like it. It makes me feel cared for.

“We do care… a lot.”, Eddie smiles as he holds up your hair while Steve continues to clean you.

“Is this normal for you two? The shared partner thing?”

“I wouldn’t say ‘normal’ but we’ve done it before. Never with a client, however.”, Steve sighs.

“So…this could look bad for everyone if people found out?”

Both men stopped moving as they gave you their full attention.

“Yes. And not just because of the press.”

“People may not hire us anymore if they thought our judgment could be altered when it came to protecting them.”, Eddie followed in a serious tone.

“Are you implying Mr. Munson, that your judgment in keeping me safe has now changed?”

“I’m saying, Y/N, I would take a bullet for you but, for example, us keeping you sober isn’t a part of the security job description. If…If you wanted to get drunk right now we shouldn’t have any say in that…”

“Unless it leads to you roaming Paris in your underwear or makes someone want to hurt you.” Steve glances over your serious face. “What are you thinking, honey?”

“I just…I see what you mean. I wouldn’t want either of you to take a bullet or get hurt because of me. I’d rather it be me…”

It had been a while since you saw their eyes shift into this particular authoritative glow. Steve almost too roughly cupped your cheeks in his hands as he forced you to look at him.

“Don’t ever think or let us hear you say that again. It’s our job to keep you safe not the other way around. Do I make myself clear?”

“Yes, I understand.”, you whisper as your hands takes hold of his wrists.

“Y/N, like I said, we care about you but if your safety is on the line BECAUSE of us then we would end this right here right now.”

You pushed down the urge to cry at the thought of them leaving you. They had done so much for you in the short time they had been a part of your team.

“I promise I won’t interfere. I trust you both to take care of me.”

Steve’s eyes flick to Eddie’s for a moment before he kisses your forehead and lets you go.

##########

The following Monday, the three of you were sitting in your manager’s office waiting for him as he burst through with Sarah in tow.

“Well, look who decided to finally grace us with her presence. How was the vacation, Y/N?”, Jack sassed. “I don’t know why you two are even here. You’re fired.”, he gestures towards the boys.

“No they aren’t.”

“Excuse me?!”

“I said no they aren’t and you lower your voice when you speak to me!” Sarah smiled from her seat as the men on either side of you contained their excitement for you. “Jack, I’m tired. You were one of the ones that kept pushing me to get sober and now that I’m trying…I shouldn’t be on tour right now especially not with people like Mark shouting at me every 10 seconds. I need time to really have go at this.”

“Y/N…”, he sighed. “We’ve had this tour set up for months. Now I’ve put up with a lot from you but—”

“But nothing. I’m telling you no. I need a break. I can do interviews and keep working on the album. I can do little shows here but I can’t do a country wide tour right now.”

“Y/N, listen to me. Hear me. If you do this, if you cancel this tour, I will be forced to drop you as a client.”

You straighten up as you exhale, tapping into that sassy girl that resides within you.

“So be it. Sarah? Have you thought about being an agent?”

“Me? Oh, um, I mean…”

“You’re honestly the only person I trust who has always had my well-being in mind. I’ll pay you what I pay Jack and then some.”

She smiles as she glances towards your now former agent.

“I guess I just got a promotion.” You both stand, giving her a big hug before she pulls back to cup your face. “I’m really proud of you. I’ll come by later today and we can talk about a statement for the tour.”

“Y/N, please! Don’t do this! Look, why don’t you sit down and we can talk about this rationally.”, Jack begs. As he reaches for your arm to stop you from leaving, Eddie swats it away.

“I’m sorry, sir. You aren’t allowed to touch Miss Y/L/N.”

“But if you would like to speak with her, feel free to call her agent Sarah to set up an appointment.”, Steve grins as they both follow you out of the office.

#############

@rckstrbee @melodymishahiddlestan @strangerfreak

@siriuslysmoking @micheledawn1975 @cositaslua

@munsonmoonshine86 @unfocused81 @paleidiot

@dad-steddie @aol19 @strngrlytn @mrsjellymunson

@needylilgal022

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castieltrash1 · 9 months

Note

Not sure if you’re still taking Gosling sleepover requests but if so...

How Noah would comfort you, and/or how Driver would fantasise about you 👀

i combined your first req with another ask and wrote how noah calhoun would comfort you here!

driver x gn!reader; smut, masturbation, kind of stalker vibes, voyeurism, marking/hickeys/bites/etc, mentions of oral

He fights past the haze of your presence long enough to make it to his apartment, letting out a sigh of relief once the door locks behind him with a distinct click. His hands have an uncharacteristic twitch to them as he rips his right glove off, calloused fingertips tugging desperately at the zipper on his jeans. Six seconds. That’s how long it took to go from the lobby to the second floor, where you lived. One word. All you’d said was “two,” pointing at the respective button in the elevator, unaware that he was already reaching for it; that the lines between what he’d learned about you and the information you knowingly offered had begun to blur.

As he steadies himself, padding over to the couch, he thinks of the first time he saw you up close. Not just in passing, holding a door open, or shifting past you to get his mail. He’d been scoping out the man who lived beneath him, Mr. 305, whose unruly attitude made his already odd hours even more restless. But, instead of finding whoever made his floor shake in the early hours of the morning, he’d found you already pounding on the man’s door, muttering under your breath about the pounding on your ceiling.

All that kept you apart was one floor, one annoying tenant he couldn’t risk being the reason you moved out. The noise stopped eventually when the man broke his lease without explanation, and the sleepless nights he caused became a distant memory.

Now, you were the thing keeping him up. His insomniac tendencies of restless legs and periodic nightmares devolved into something greater, an unshakeable arousal that turned to vivid wet dreams the second he let rest overtake him. He was waking up drenched in sweat more times than not, plagued with the thought of your smile, the way your lips curled, and what they’d look like wrapped around his cock instead.

The sight is something he can imagine if he tries hard enough, but the sensation is harder to create. He frees his cock with his bare hand but wraps his gloved palm around it to start. The leather creates a delicious friction that’s almost too uncomfortable to bear, but the foreign feeling bolsters the dissonance between his mind and body, allowing him to believe it’s your touch instead. Still, you’d be gentler, he thinks, coaxing out his orgasm with timid patience.

Normally, he’s great at waiting -- five minutes, at least -- but not in times like these. When he’s alone, all he knows is hard and fast. Without a partner to focus on or enjoy it with, his arousal becomes more of a hassle, something he needs to get past quickly. You’ve taught him restraint, whether you know it or not. Instead of rough strokes, he gently squeezes up the length of his cock, leather warming against his blood-rushed skin.

A low gasp leaves his lips, your name tumbling out right after. The image of you that flashes in front of his eyes makes him dizzy. You’ve been pushed to your limit, bare and flushed with the exertion of his passion. Its evidence covers you; hickeys, bites, spit, and cum creating a mismatched pattern across your body. The best part is the lustful gaze you give him, lids heavy but still hungry for more.

There’s greater definition in his fantasies now, in the last few days, then before. Your body was something he could never recreate perfectly, no matter his attempts. He needed a visual, just once. A single glimpse would last a lifetime.

It took a few nights, but you finally gave him one.

Parked covertly under your second-floor window, he watched in awe as you undressed after a long day. If it hadn’t been for his own selfish desires, he would’ve told you to get better blinds - or to at least remember to close them before you changed. But, he hadn’t, sitting silently and mentally recording every sliver of exposed skin he could catch. He didn’t touch himself either, not allowing a single distraction to pull his attention from you.

And, even though you retreated to the bathroom before your underwear came off, it was enough. It’s enough now, pulling him over the edge in one fell swoop.

As his release drips down kidskin knuckles, he wonders if you wanted him to watch, and if, next time, you’d let him touch you instead.

gosling sleepover sunday (no longer taking requests!)

#driver x reader #driver smut #drive #drive smut #ryan gosling #driver #answered #frillions #t: writing

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wynnyfryd · 3 months

Text

Trailer park Steve AU pt 44

part 1 | part 43 | ao3

cw: recreational drinking

“You’re just…” Robin looks at him sideways, her face doing something quivery and weird that he’s pretty sure is supposed to be sympathetic concern but mostly looks like she stubbed her toe right after smelling microwaved fish. “You’re sure it’s not too soon?”

It is.

It definitely is too soon.

Steve’s pleasantly buzzed at a New Year’s Eve party — some random rich kid’s house, loitering in the space between the living room and kitchen so he and Robin can properly people watch (see also: be hugely judgmental bitches about the fashion sense of the girls on the dance floor and the sloppy form of the guys doing keg stands on the back deck) — and Steve just opened his fat, drunk mouth and casually admitted to being in love with Eddie.

Eddie, the guy who hated him for years. The guy who tried to knife him the first time they interacted as neighbors.

The guy whose silhouette has started to fill the passenger seat in Steve's Winnebago dreams.

Eddie’s here, but he’s not here; probably posted up somewhere in the basement so he can deal to the stoners and the horny kids playing Spin the Bottle, and Steve—

Steve knows he falls too fast. Always has, but especially now. Steve fell for Eddie like a gunshot going off: a deafening bang, gurgling fish sounds, blood all over the floor. He kinda thinks he couldn’t help it. Kinda thinks he’d do it again.

And how could he not, when Eddie smiles at him like that? When he takes him apart so sweetly with his words, his lips, his tongue? When he dragged Steve by the hand into the back pew of a midnight mass on Christmas Eve, giggling about how he was shocked his satanic worship hadn’t set the bench aflame?

Yeah.

Steve totally understood why Jesus got up on that cross.

“Oh, my god,” Robin rolls her eyes with a strangled huff. “Are you seriously just—? You’re fucking hopeless.”

Yeah, he is, and yes, he is. “No,” he insists, crossing his arms over his chest and trying not to feel like a defiant kid who got caught lying to his mother, because yeah, he totally is spacing out into lovesick La La Land while being actively accused of spending too much time there lately. “I’m not fucking hopeless, and it’s not too soon.”

Robin gapes at him like 'are you kidding me right now?' “Steve!”

“Robin!” he answers, mimicking her tone. Wow. Vodka makes him petulant.

It makes Robin stubborn as hell. She juts her chin out and hollers over the music, gesturing so aggressively she almost spills her drink, “Admit that it’s too soon!”

“It isn’t!” Steve shouts back; digs his heels in and refuses to budge, never mind the fact that it’s only been, like, three weeks since Eddie fingered him for the first time oh, god, don’t think about Eddie’s fingers right now.

They stare at each other for a second, Robin’s nostrils flaring with the words she so clearly wants to yell at him, her breaths coming hot and harsh, and then, with a long sigh, her shoulders deflate. Her chin comes down. She bites her lip again, teeth turning the skin white as her eyes go big and sad. Worried. She's worried for him because she loved him first.

Steve smiles at her, a quick, closed-lip thing that feels more like shrugging with his mouth, and he leans into her space; pats her cheek and thumbs her chin until she stomps chomping on her lip.

“You’re gonna get it all chapped,” he says in a hush, hoping her Steve translator is still intact after a couple drinks. Hopes she knows that he’s really saying ‘I hear you’ and ‘I love you, too; I love that you care’ because they're at a party and god does he not feel like saying sappy friendship shit out loud.

Robin’s eyes get misty. Just for a second — message received; copy that — and she clears her throat and shakes it off. Points at something over Steve’s shoulder and drags him to the other side of the room.

—

part 45

tag list in separate reblogs under '#trailer park steve au taglist' if you'd like to filter that content. if you want to be added please comment and let me know (must be over 21; please either verify in the comment or have your age visible on your blog)

#trailer park steve au #steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #platonic stobin #my writing #my fic

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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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cherienymphe · 1 year

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The Less I Know The Better III (JJ Maybank x Reader x Rafe Cameron)

Warnings: eventual NON-CON, eventual DUB-CON, violence, public sex, jealousy, underage drinking, drug use, manipulation, eventual loss of virginity, mild unhealthy relationship, one sided kiara x jj, non canon ages, pogue!reader

➥ banner by @vase-of-lilies | divider by @firefly-graphics

➥ series masterlist

summary: When you start dating Rafe Cameron, no one is more surprised than you when your best friend JJ takes it really well. However, no one is more surprised than JJ when he’s forced to see his once frumpy BFF in an entirely new light, suddenly terrified of losing what he never knew he had to the person he hates most.

“Rafe…”

“It’ll be fine, just watch the road,” he said, waving you off.

You threw him a look, brows drawn together at how casual he was being. You could barely drive your mom’s tiny Honda, let alone this monster of a vehicle he called a truck. As you pulled onto the road, Rafe scooted closer, a hand on the wheel next to yours.

“It’s really not that much different from driving any other car.”

“Do you know how wide I have to swing just to turn in somewhere? Don’t give me that.”

Rafe chuckled, and you wondered what gave him the brilliant idea of making you drive to The Wreck today…in his truck. His arm rested behind you, fingers brushing over your shoulder, and you kept your gaze on the road.

“You think your friends will be there?”

“Um…I don’t know,” you honestly answered. “Probably.”

The rest of the drive was quiet outside of a comment from Rafe on how slow you were driving. He spoke again as you pulled into the parking lot.

“What if I’m really drunk or high one night, and you need to drive us back?”

He knew exactly how you felt about his recreational activities, and you rolled your eyes at the card he was playing.

“Maybe you should take that as a sign to cut down on that, no?”

The mocking smile he sent you as you parked told you that he had no plans to do that. He got out before you, coming around to open the driver’s door and help you out. He leaned you against the door as he closed it, trapping you between his arms.

“See, that wasn’t so bad,” he teased, leaning in to brush his lips against yours.

“You say that, now, but it’ll be a whole other story if I crash your precious truck.”

Rafe had a genuine frown on his face when he pulled back, upset by the mere thought before a slow smile spread over his pink lips. His fingers grazed your skin underneath your shirt, pinning you against the truck in question.

“I’ll make you make it up to me,” he teased, but the glint in his eye told you that he was completely serious.

Rafe was so touchy…and you liked it.

You didn’t know if you were just inexperienced and naïve, but it made you feel like he couldn’t get enough of you…and that reassured you. Sometimes you still found it hard to believe that Rafe Cameron wanted you, that Rafe Cameron chose you, and there were moments where you convinced yourself it was all part of some elaborate prank.

But Rafe had never been the type to do anything he didn’t want to do. He was always a no bullshit kind of guy, never one to fake anything, and if anything, he was too in your face about his true intentions sometimes. It was still overwhelming, but you were getting used to it.

His fingers were threaded through yours as he led you into the restaurant, and you were actually a little disappointed that it was empty of your friends. You reminded yourself that you couldn’t take every chance to force them together. The party was good enough and probably should be for a while. Rafe was your boyfriend, but he wasn’t their friend, and it should only matter that they weren’t at each other’s throats.

“You know,” he started after ordering your food. “I was really surprised that JJ was the one to throw that party.”

You looked up at Rafe with a slight frown, something about his tone.

“Not really. He’s my best friend, and he promised to try.”

Rafe didn’t reply right away, simply nodding as he sipped on his water.

“Just seems more like a Pope thing to me. Extending an olive branch like that…”

You had been playing with your straw, pausing at his words. Rafe wasn’t wrong, you supposed. It did seem more like a Pope idea rather than JJ, and you found yourself deep in thought. You remembered the slight shock on JJ’s face that night even though he’d been trying to hide it, and the fact that it was Pope who told you. You swallowed down slight disappointment, telling yourself that it didn’t matter whose idea the party was.

“Are your parents working tonight?” Rafe asked long after your food had come.

“Yeah. My mom said she’d be getting back late though,” you distractedly answered.

Rafe spoke up before you could continue.

“You should come over tonight,” he suggested, making you look up. “Rose and my dad are going to some stupid dinner party, and Sarah’s probably going to be with John B.”

He shrugged, and you looked down towards the table, biting your lip.

“…and Wheezie?”

“Who knows. She likes to lock herself up in her room…”

You’d been alone with Rafe plenty of times before, so it wasn’t a big deal. Hell, the night of the party he’d stayed the night at your house. However, then, you’d both been too drunk to barely even stand, and sex was the last thing on your mind that night.

But you and Rafe had been together for two months, now. You knew his reputation, knew what he was like, and his lack of pressure regarding that aspect of your relationship only made you think about it more. Sure, he teased you sometimes and made jokes about it, but he was respectful every time things got too heated for you. His hands never strayed too far, and he never got too pushy.

It was a green flag, and yet…you wondered if there was something wrong with you.

You knew that your insecurities were just getting the best of you. After all, that’s how a boyfriend was supposed to behave. There wasn’t supposed to be pressure and discomfort and aggressiveness. His behavior made you want him more, and that was how you looked at him with a smile and a shrug.

“Okay.”

Rafe seemed happy with your answer, taking your hand as you finished your food. You took the time to look at him, studying his face and his features. Rafe was pretty, really pretty, and there were so many times where you had to stop yourself from just staring at him. It always made you feel the strangest combination of proud and insecure.

You looked away, forcing those thoughts away as you rubbed your forehead.

All of this was still so new to you. A boyfriend, a relationship, and everything that came with romance. You had to remind yourself that you weren’t the girl you used to be. You weren’t that same girl who only served to be the butt of some asshole’s joke. You no longer isolated yourself at parties, watching JJ and Pope and John B. hitting on every pretty girl, watching Kie get approached by guy after guy asking to dance or just hoping for five minutes of her time.

At some point, you had accepted that that would just never be you, but it didn’t make it sting any less. That stuff wasn’t everything, you knew that better than anyone that so many things were way more important, but after so long, it was impossible not to think that it was you. It was impossible not to think that you weren’t pretty enough or skinny enough or fun enough.

You knew that your mom would tell you that you shouldn’t rely on some guy to feel better about yourself, but what else were you supposed to rely on? Rafe didn’t just make you feel pretty, but like you were the prettiest girl in the world. He looked at you like he never wanted to stop, and before where you just wanted to shrink and hide, now you felt encouraged to open that makeup you’d never touched, hiding it away the moment your mom bought it for you.

You wanted to put on jewelry you had hidden away for years. You wanted t wear things that you hadn’t had the courage to before, constantly telling yourself that you’d look silly. It sounded shallow, you knew that, but Rafe made you feel like you were good enough.

Once Rafe had paid, you both made your way outside, a smile making it’s way onto your face as your eyes landed on Kie, Pope…and JJ. Rafe pressed a kiss to the corner of your mouth, telling you he’d be waiting in the car as you slowed to a stop. Your eyes met JJ’s as Rafe pulled away, unable to read his gaze, but you brushed it off, turning to Kie.

“Kie, I’m going to come by your house later,” you told her. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“Cutting date night short?” JJ dryly commented, and you hit his arm.

Kie rolled her eyes at him, smiling back at you with a hint of questioning in her gaze.

“Uh, yeah. Sure.”

You didn’t miss the way her gaze pointedly went between you and Rafe, and you awkwardly waved them goodbye. As you made your way to your boyfriend’s truck, watching as he hopped out to open your door, you glanced over your shoulder. Your eyes met familiar blue ones, and you waved him goodbye again, a slight frown on your face when he took forever to wave you back.

“I want to have sex with Rafe, tonight.”

You hadn’t meant for it to come out so suddenly, and Kiara blinked in shock. You hadn’t even thought to make sure that her parents weren’t home, but you were relieved to find out they weren’t. You stood at her door, looking at her with wide eyes before she finally gathered herself and pulled you inside.

“Um…okay,” she eventually said, clearly not expecting that. “Why?”

You scoffed.

“Why? What do you mean? He’s my boyfriend-.”

“Is this his idea?” she interrupted, sounding angry at the thought.

“No,” you hurried to reassure her. “It’s mine.”

Kie blew out a breath, sitting down on her couch. She looked more nervous than you felt, and you waited for her to say something.

“I knew…I knew that you really liked him, but…”

She trailed off, looking away.

“You’ve been dating for what? Two months? Don’t you think you should wait…?”

You sank down next to her, pulling your feet onto the couch.

“Probably. Maybe…but I don’t want to.”

Kie was quiet for a moment.

“…and you’re sure he’s not pressuring you or…?”

“God, no,” you groaned, jumping back to your feet. “He’s not.”

Kie’s hands were raised when you turned back to her.

“Hey, you can’t blame me for being concerned, alright? It’s Rafe,” she defended herself. “…and he is literally your first boyfriend, and you want to have sex for the first time ever after two months.”

You knew how it sounded.

“It just sounds like it has Rafe written all over it.”

You sighed to yourself, folding your arms over your chest.

“You don’t get it…”

“No, I get it,” Kie assured you. “It’s Rafe and he’s treating you great and making you feel special, but-.”

“Boys have always liked you.”

Kie closed her mouth, swallowing down the rest of her words as you faced her. There was a slight frown between her brows, blinking at your words.

“Guys used to ask me out as a joke.”

“I…I know that,” she quietly replied.

“You know I thought Rafe was playing a joke on me too? I thought it was another sick prank, but it’s not. He likes me,” you shrugged. “My first boyfriend is Rafe Cameron, and…I want it to stay that way.”

You wouldn’t come out and say it, wouldn’t voice your insecurities about your relationship, but Kie read into it anyway. She stood now, brows drawn together as her lips parted.

“Y/N…if you want to have sex with Rafe because you’re afraid he’ll leave you… That’s not for the right reasons.”

You looked away.

“Rafe likes you for you, and if he’ll leave you because you won’t have sex with him, then that’s not some huge loss,” she continued.

“It’s not like he’s ever brought it up or anything,” you mumbled. “…and that just makes me crazier.”

Your gaze found your feet.

“I mean, it’s Rafe, and he hasn’t tried to have sex with me once. Like…like there’s something wrong with me.”

Kie moved towards you, taking your hands in hers. Your gazes met, and hers was sympathetic.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” she told you. “It sounds like Rafe is being a good boyfriend. It’s good that he isn’t bringing it up, but I know that I can’t stop you from doing what you want.”

You swallowed.

“It’s up to you, but I’m telling you that if you want this just to keep him, that’s not good.”

You swallowed a sigh, looking away.

“If Rafe isn’t pressuring you then why are you pressuring yourself? Don’t you want to wait and make sure you don’t regret it?”

You mulled over her words.

“What if you have sex with him and he dumps you?”

“He wouldn’t,” you hurried to say.

“So, you can be sure of that, but you’re not sure that he won’t if you don’t?”

You pressed your lips together, nodding at her words. You were the one driving your own self crazy, pressuring yourself, and you were reluctant to admit that Kie was making sense. Part of you regretted coming to her because you’d been so sure and determined before, and now…not so much.

“Look…”

You looked at her.

“If you decide to do this, just…relax. Make sure you’re comfortable and he doesn’t do anything you don’t want. You trust him, right?”

You nodded, and she sent you a comforting smile.

“Okay, well that’s what matters.”

She walked you towards her door just as the sound of a bike could be heard outside. Neither of you were surprised at the sight of JJ getting off of his bike, seemingly shocked at the sight of you.

“What’s up?” Kie asked him, both of you walking down her steps.

“Y/N,” he said, smiling at you. “I didn’t know you’d be here. I just came by to bring Kie’s hat.”

He held up the familiar black beanie.

“You left it at John B.’s.”

“I thought you heard me tell Kie I was coming by,” you said with a frown.

JJ blinked.

“Oh. Right.”

“…and you could’ve left that at John B.’s,” Kie told him, taking it. “You didn’t have to come all the way over here just to bring it.”

The smile on Kie’s face didn’t exactly match her words, and JJ shoved his hands in his pockets, looking at you.

“You leaving?”

“Just going to Rafe’s,” you answered, moving to walk past him.

“You wanna come inside? It’s getting kind of late and-.”

“Uh…you know what? I think I’ll drop Y/N off,” he interrupted Kie, and you looked at him with a slight frown.

“You don’t have to. Rafe’s house isn’t that far,” you argued.

“No, it’s fine,” JJ told you, walking back to his bike. “I just came by to drop that off.”

You glanced at Kie, not missing the way her face fell a bit. Her smile was forced as she told you both to be careful. With JJ already on his bike, it seemed silly to try and turn him down again, so you took him up on his offer. You were still so conflicted abut tonight, and you felt weird having JJ drive you to what could potentially be a dick appointment.

Just as Rafe said, the only vehicle in the yard was his. JJ noticed as he stopped his bike, and you climbed off.

“It’s just Rafe here?”

“Probably,” you said with a shrug. “I think Wheezie’s here though.”

JJ looked like he wanted to say something else, but you continued.

“Thanks for the ride,” you told him with a brief hug. “I’ll see you later!”

JJ started to reach for you as you pulled away, but he seemed to think better of it. It seemed like he had something on his mind, glancing at and taking in the Cameron house with an expression you couldn’t name. With a quick smile, he returned the sentiment.

Rafe was by the door, opening it for you as soon as you were close enough. He greeted you with a kiss, lips pressed to yours while one hand rested on the back of your neck. In the back of your mind, you registered that you hadn’t heard JJ start his bike again, and when Rafe finally pulled away, you confirmed that.

You awkwardly waved your best friend goodbye, Rafe pulling you inside before you could see if he’d done the same.

”…and then,” you chuckled. “JJ’s ankles literally hit the back of his head as he flies straight off of the boat.”

Your stomach hurt from laughing so much, struggling to recount the story to Rafe.

“I think he was coughing up water for a good ten minutes.”

You were showered and laying on Rafe’s bed in one of his shirts. He was half next to you half hovering over you, and you practically had the house to yourselves. Kie’s words were still on your mind, had been throughout your whole shower, and even now, laying next to him, you still didn’t know what you wanted.

“Can I ask you something?” you wondered after your laughter had died down, minutes of Rafe just…staring at you.

“Anything,” he murmured, brushing his index finger along your lip.

“Do you…?”

You took a deep breath, swallowing and glancing away.

“I know that we’re literally together, so obviously you think of me that way, but… You want to have sex with me, right?”

Rafe reared back a little at that.

“Not in this exact moment, but in general…”

Rafe chuckled to himself, and now it was your turn to frown.

“Don’t laugh at me!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he laughed to himself, his hair brushing your neck as he shook his head. “I’m sorry.”

He leaned in, brushing his lips over your skin, making you shudder.

“I think about what it would feel like to stretch you out every time we’re together,” he whispered.

“Rafe!”

“What?” he laughed, pulling back. “You’re the one who’s convinced I don’t want to have sex with my girlfriend when I think about fucking the shit out of you every time I see you.”

You felt your face heating up at that, and you moved to sit up, Rafe allowing you to.

“You just…you’ve never brought it up. Not seriously, anyway,” you elaborated.

Rafe’s fingers danced along your thighs, his shirt riding up.

“I don’t want to scare you off,” he told you, dirty blond strands kissing his forehead. “You’re too sweet.”

He rested his chin on your thigh.

“Too…perfect to just let slip through my fingers.”

His words shocked you, and you watched him trace patterns into your skin. You didn’t know what to say to that, stumped by his words, torn between flattered and overwhelmed. Rafe wasn’t just intense with his actions…but also his words.

“So…you really don’t mind waiting?”

Rafe pressed his face into your thigh, laughing to himself again. He nipped at your skin, making you yelp, and the grin he gave you was wolfish. His hair hung into his face, and his teeth winked at you, hands on your legs and holding you in place.

“Considering that I don’t ever plan on letting you go,” he drawled, making you chuckle. “I’ll wait forever if I have to.”

He suddenly yanked you down until you were laying back down, and you yelped as he pushed your thighs apart. The air hit you, your clothes and underwear included in the washing machine, and you shuddered. Your heart was pounding in your chest, and you gasped when he breathed on you, clenching down on nothing.

“…but now we have a problem,” he hummed, reaching with one hand to brush his fingers over your folds. “My girlfriend thinks I don’t want to fuck her stupid.”

His eyes met yours, and the blue of them glinted in the low lighting.

“…and we can’t have that.”

You gasped again when he leaned in to swipe his tongue over you with one slow lick. Your stomach clenched, and you parted your legs more.

“Relax,” Rafe hummed. “Just lie back.”

You did as he instructed, eyes landing on the ceiling just as he tasted you again. One of his hands was pressed against your thigh, fingers digging into your skin, and the other slid through your cunt, parting you and admiring you with a low moan in the back of his throat. When he covered you with his entire mouth, your chest arched towards the ceiling.

Rafe’s tongue slid into you, swirling and moving inside of you, making your head spin. His thumb was gently pressed to your clit, brushing and circling over the bundle of nerves. He ate at you like a man starved, and your chest heaved, body overheating and fingers twisting into his sheets.

“You’re so pretty, baby,” you heard him groan, and a short moan escaped. “So pretty and soft…and wet.”

He dived in again, and you squeezed your eyes shut.

“Rafe,” you whispered.

He sucked on your clit, and you whimpered when you felt the tip of his thumb dip into you. Your toes curled, hips bucking and trying to feel more, but he held back. He trailed his tongue down, the pink muscle meeting his own thumb as they worked together to bring you closer to the edge. When one of your hands met his hair, he pulled away, leaving a parting kiss on your wet mound.

You frowned, and Rafe chuckled at the anger in your eyes, your own lips parted when you paused.

You watched as Rafe reached into his pants, pulling them down just enough for his cock to spring free. You couldn’t take your eyes off of it, gaze glued to the color and how hard he was. You couldn’t even think straight, mind short circuiting when cupped you. You lifted your hips with a whine, eyes rolling when he pressed the head of him to you.

“Uh uh,” he softly scolded, pressing a hand to your stomach when you tried to move again.

He gently brushed the head of his cock over your skin, hissing, and you watched as the tip of him disappeared between your lips. That was all though. He didn’t push any further, moving the head of him up and down your folds and making you groan. You clenched his sheets again, squirming, but Rafe was strong, holding you down.

The tip of him dipped into you again, and you both moaned. He continued to slide his cock over you and between you, wetting it and hitting your clit with every other thrust. He slid his hand up and down himself as he did, and you could feel a tightening deep in your gut. Your mouth parted, and your lashes fluttered.

“There she is,” you heard him whisper.

With what little movement you were allowed, you rolled your hips, eyes rolling at the feel of him sliding against you and just barely inside of you. When you came, you stopped breathing, breath hitching and chest tightening. It lasted a long time, toes curling and thighs tensing. When you finally breathed again, you whimpered, still shaking as you made a mess all over his hand and his cock and his sheets.

Rafe was still sliding his cock between you, letting you go and using his free hand to push you open with two fingers. He groaned when he came all over you, coating you and watching it drip down between your core. He cursed, lazily dragging the head of his cock against you and smearing his spend over your skin.

“Better?” he panted, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth.

You could only nod, still fighting to catch your breath.

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