#every so often I think about it and then I get a gaping hole in my chest and then I stop thinking about it

[purecommemasolitude]

Linguicide is like kinda fucked up when you think about it

[xerith-42]

Some things we may have forgotten

I've been rewatching MCD and taking extensive notes on it in hopes that I'll never have to watch it again and this is just a list of things that I don't see mentioned or brought up very often/ever that we should talk about and think about more

In the first episode Garroth tries to attack Vylad (angst potential) and Vylad literally just combat locks him by logging out of the game. This is objectively funny and should not be rewritten in any capacity. This should be canon as it is in every universe.

Aphmau's cat Meowki gets randomly killed in Episode 12 by a skeleton while Kiki is right upstairs. Just saying, there's some angst potential there.

In episode 11 Garroth reveals that he knows some medicine. Pretty sure this is never brought up again, but we could always bring it up.

Logan is apparently good with a bow while Zenix is trash at it despite being a self proclaimed "expert archer" which I think is very funny (I know this is part of Zenix's cover but what if we took it seriously it would be so funny)

Zoey is originally from the river village, as is Donna. Pretty sure they retcon that for Zoey, but I like to think the two of them could have been friends before Phoenix Drop.

Garroth actually almost dies in episode 15. Like Dr. Doctor says he will probably die soon at the start of the episode. And he doesn't get healed until episode 20. He literally spends 5 episodes laid up in bed dying.

Brendan's at his side probably angsting the entire time I'm just saying if you want sad gay fanfics, it's sitting right there!

Azura and Garroth were friends as kids??? Hello???? I think this is just a massive plot hole considering what Garroth's actual backstory ends up being asjfgshjdfgjk

Okay but if we twist it a little bit, they were friends as kids as in like at the guard academy??? Bc they're like vaguely teenage/young adult so maybe that's what she means? In which case I wanna think about that more because childhood friends to lovers is one of my favorite romance arcs ever. But is it really childhood friends if you met when you were like... 18?? And you're in your like mid to late twenties probably, I wouldn't really classify that as childhood friends.

WAIT IT GETS WORSE!

I don't... I don't even have a joke here, this is just a massive plot hole. Like all of this is just not true to Garroth's backstory as we know it. Grew up in the same village? You mean O'Khasis?? Where Garroth also FAKED HIS DEATH????

I literally don't know what to say to this I was just trying to find silly little facts to try and incorporate into my rewrite and instead I found a massive gaping plot hole

Moving on, in episode 19 when Aphmau confronts Zenix and they fight, he actually apologizes to her. As if he regrets having to hurt her for the sake of his/the Shadow King's goals.

The Lord of Brightport says the Shadow King "used to be a lord". Which like... Okay, I can bend backwards a few ways to say that he could be referring to how Shad started Falcon Claw, but how the fuck does this dude know that??? I feel like Laurance constantly just stumbling into plot holes by complete accident

Dale is apparently a Garmau shipper, going as far as to ask Aphmau if she plans on hooking up with Garroth. I like to think that he and Molly have a bet going for how long it takes for one of the two of them to finally fess up.

Raven's mom tried to eat him??

Okay then.

[yuanology]

thinking about 'hate' sex with geto suguru after he defects as his past lover before everything happened except it doesn't go the way you think it would.

the way you fuck him is practically the same as how you would take him before. he still takes your cock so well, and you always fuck him slow and hard instead of fast and sloppy just as he likes it. you still check in after entering him and you always give him time to readjust before you start fucking into him with intent. you still make sure that he comes before he does, that he's satisfied by the end of each session.

except, it's now missing the familiarity it once held. you don't hold his hands anymore, fingers interlacing and pressed against the mattress as he takes you so well, choosing instead to press your palm over the expanse of his hips instead. you never fuck him on his back anymore, keeping his face pressed against the pillows so that you don't look at his face. you always wear a condom so that he can't feel you — or, on the days when he can convince you to bypass that (because he's not a whore. he's only yours, always has been. he's clean for you, okay?), you always pull out before you can fill him up to the brim.

and, look, he can cope with that, okay? he knows he messed up. it's good enough that you even want to see him at all.

but he's also so terribly selfish. and if there's anything he can't live with in this current arrangement, it's two things: one, the fact that you never kiss him anymore when you used to pepper so much of that all over his skin, his face, his lips until he suffocated on your taste, and; two, the fact that you never call him suguru anymore.

"shit." your voice is a low grunt, hovering over the shell of his ear. your breath is ragged, and he can tell that you're already getting close. he's already come earlier and now, he's just lying on his front, taking your attempts to chase after your own high like the good boy that he is.

he whines past the overstimulation, clawing at the sheets. he's glad that you made him fold his knees underneath his chest so now, he doesn't have to hold himself upright. he just has to let himself be pulled in by you, used by you, held up and fucked thoroughly by you. his entire world comes down to just you; the feeling of you inside him, around him, suffocating him.

(but never with him.)

"i'm close," you warn him. as if it matters. as if you'll let him take it the way he used to. you're not wearing a condom, which means that he can feel your pre-cum dripping inside him. he whines once again at the feeling, his hips moving to meet your every thrust.

he takes it as an opportunity to beg anyway. "inside," he gasps out. "i want you inside, please."

you don't listen to him. "fuck, geto." and there it is again, his name but not his given name. never his given anymore. he has given you everything—his heart, his future, his name—but you never want it. no, you don't want it anymore.

you don't want him anymore.

as if you want to rub more salt into the wound, you pull out right as he finishes that line of thought. his hole gapes at the sudden emptiness, twitching as it begs to be filled once again — to be filled by you.

however, you ignore his wants. he hears you wrap your hand around your cock, tugging once, twice, before you're spilling all over his hole, dripping into it, but never inside him.

a choked sound escapes his throat, a sob and a moan all at once. he claws at the sheets one more time, his face burying in the pillow to hide the ugly want and hurt painted all over his face. it shouldn't hurt anymore. this is something that's already been established. you don't want him, you won't even use him to find your own pleasure, won't even stain him and fill him up with your cum despite how often you used to tell him that you loved coming inside of him.

his body shakes and he feels your hand coming to rest on his shoulders, running a smooth line down the length of his spine. you're talking, but he can't hear you with the way that the entire world feels as if it's underwater. he understands what you're telling him all the same. stay here. i'll be back. he's still shaking when you leave, the hotel room he's rented for this very purpose tonight feeling emptier than ever.

he still doesn't move.

stay here.

you didn't kiss him before you went.

but he's not your suguru anymore, and he has long lost the right to being yours.

i'll be back.

[joonberriess]

𓆩♡𓆪 “he a eater, he ate it for lunch” — jock!jk

·˚ ༘ 💌 TAGS — munch!jk, lots of pussy eating, rimming, cum-eating(?), brief fucking, unprotected sex, jk’s obsession with pussy eating, little to no dirty talk, reader being her cute bimbo self, talks about sex (jk’s made fun of), man’s a ass eater too btw

Jungkook didn’t care that people were staring at him for having a handful of your ass sitting in his hand. He used his hold to gently guide you around the store, steering you away from places you tended to wander off to. He didn’t want you leaving his side, especially since you were in those pretty pink velvet shorts.

You looked adorably slutty today.. With your little white hairclaw, a matching pink sweater with a white tank top that made your tits pop out beautifully and those damned shorts that hugged your ass tightly. To top it all off you were drinking your little pink drink because Jungkook couldn’t say no when you asked for Starbucks before the store.

So here you were, happily sipping on your drink and walking about the store with him. He held the basket with ease in his other hand as he listened to you ramble on and on about your classes and stuff that had happened prior. Jungkook only hummed in response with the occasional “Yeah baby?” while he picked out stuff he needed for his apartment.

“I got a perfect score on my essay today, the teacher even says that I would make a heck of a lawyer with my arguments!” You giggle, bouncing in excitement as you twirl to face him with puppy eyes, “But I wouldn’t wear those ugly colors they all wear, I would make my suit a different color like baby pink..maybe even pastel purple.”

Jungkook quirks a brow at this, “A lawyer? Are you gonna help me out in case I ever get into trouble?” He teases. You shake your head no with a ‘mm-mm’. “Oh? Why not baby?”

“Because if you’re my client I won’t be able to give you a good luck kiss for the trial..” You pout.

Jungkook laughs, “You’re so fucking cute.” He ruffles your hair and then pats your bum, “Alright, to the seasoning aisle, we’re going to make some spicy ass chicken curry tonight.” He nods his head in the direction of the exit, “And you can’t back out this time y/n, you promised you’d eat with me.”

You pout at him, “But-but, it’s too hot for me! It makes my tongue burn and my tummy upset.” You try reasoning with him but he isn’t having it either. He asks you to get something he needs from the lower shelf and without thinking much of it you bend over to get it.

Jungkook’s mouth gapes open, not only is your beautiful ass on show for him, but the shorts dip low to expose the hem of your thong. Not just any… the fucking g-string he got you with those gold letters on the back. “JK” stares back at him almost tauntingly, shimmering in the light as the two letters dangle from the pretty chain on your g-string.

“You’re wearing them?” He says in shock, “I didn’t think you’d actually use them..” He trails off given your reaction to the panties last time.

You stand up straight and tilt your head, “The panties you got me? Oh yes! They looked cute with my outfit so I put them on. Everyone thought it looked so pretty on me! Jihyo even asked me to ask you where you got them from because she wants her own too.”

He looks back down at your ass and curses because he can’t think of anything other than the g-string sitting underneath. “I think I got everything I need.” He rushes out.

That’s how you find yourself in the backseat of Jungkook’s car, legs tossed over his shoulders and hands tangled in his hair. Your shorts are long gone and the thong is hanging around your ankle, dangling around as your leg jerks every so often from the pleasure. There’s loud slurping noises that emit from between your thighs.

Jungkook works his tongue over your clit slowly, trailing down below to your slicked up hole. He flicks his tongue over and over, swiping it from side to side and up/down. The radio does nothing to obscure the slick and gushing noises from your pussy.

“Mmm,” you hike your thighs higher and press them against your chest, “stop teasing me,” you huff quietly, “you’re no fair.” You say, hooking your hands under the back of your knees and holding your legs up for him.

Jungkook doesn’t reply, instead he takes your ass in his hands and spreads you wide on his tongue. He nibbles on your clit teasingly knowing that you like the overstimulating feeling it gives you. His finger teasingly rubs against your puckered rim, he finds it cute that you tense up and whine at him to leave the backdoor alone.

“Jungkook,” you whimper out, toes curling as his tongue swipes over your swollen clit repeatedly.

Jungkook softly pants and pulls away, letting spit dribble down your cunt as it slides down between your ass cheeks. “Best fuckin’ meal.” He licks a stripe across your cunt to prove his point.

You wiggle around underneath him and gyrate your hips towards his mouth invitingly. You desperately want his tongue back on you, and you’re fucked stupid at this point and can’t collect your thoughts properly. “J-Jungkook,” you softly whine, drool slipping past your lips.

Jungkook coos softly, “I know baby, lay back, don’t need to worry that pretty little head about anything.” He dives back down to lick over your pussy over and over again.

More moans poured from your lips as you closed your eyes in bliss. He worked his tongue over and over again against your sensitive clit. You catch a glimpse of his expression and find him with his eyes closed, he moves from your clit to your gushing hole as he basically makes out with your pussy. His nose occasionally bumps into your clit and that alone is enough to send you into an orgasm.

“Mmm..!” Your back arches and you hold on to his hair to keep him in his place.

Jungkook slows down to let you ride out your orgasm in peace, his grip on your cheeks loosen and he greedily slurps up your cum. Your legs feel like jello as they drop down from his shoulders and you lay there trying to recover from the intensity.

“Thanks for the lunch.” Jungkook grins, patting your sensitive pussy gently.

+

The apartment was filled with loud laughter and the sounds of beer bottles clinking together. Jungkook was surprisingly alone tonight, so that called for a guys night with him, Jimin, Yugyeom, and his roommate Seokjin. Beer and fried chicken were given of course.

“Feels like I haven’t seen you in forever!” Yugyeom slaps Jungkook on his shoulder, “Your little girlfriend be occupying all your time, she doesn’t leave any for us man.” He whines.

The others agree with nods, Jungkook simply shrugs, “I rather hang with her than with you guys, Jin I see you everyday so you don’t count.” He nonchalantly says.

“Brat.” Jimin sticks his tongue out, “Name some fun shit you and y/n do, and sex doesn’t count.” Laughter erupts around the living room.

Jungkook takes a swig from his beer, “We’re always out and about buying shit from different places, it’s fun to shop for home stuff and shit. I run errands with her, we watch anime here or at her place. We play street fighter, go out to eat,” he shrugs, “we do a bunch of shit together. Productive shit.”

The boys collectively nod and Yugyeom clears his throat to speak, “That’s cool, I see why you hang out with her now. I mean I believe Kook on this one, my girl’s friends with y/n, she says y/n’s really fun to hang out with.”

“Who? Jisoo?” Jimin asks.

“Yeah, she always tells me what they talk about and shit. I didn’t know they talked about our sex life so often, Kook she talks about you too. Jisoo called you a munch.” Yugyeom laughs, elbowing Jungkook.

Jungkook snorts, “I don’t care I eat pussy, is that a crime?” He smirks with his hands raised, “I meannnn.. If you aren’t eating her for lunch and dinner something’s wrong with you. It’s a fucking crime even,” Jungkook slaps Yugyeom on the back.

The guys laugh loudly and Seokjin manages to speak in-between his laughter, “It’s true, I probably walked in on them like three times by now. All three he’s down there gettin’ to business with her. Don’t think he’s exaggerating, not even for a damn minute.”

“Danggg I can’t get that image outta my head.” Jimin shakes his head with laughter. “What else don’t we know about you?”

“I’d eat her ass if she let me.” Jungkook shrugs. The guys laugh even louder but Jungkook doesn’t care, “She’s got a fat ass what can I say?”

+

Jungkook was hitting it from behind and all his eyes could focus on was the way your cheeks bounced and slapped against his hips. Your tight puckered hole sat so sinisterly, winking back at him as if asking him to touch, inviting even. Your moans spilled from your lips and filled the once quiet room up.

He grunted with effort and pushed the hair out of his face so he could watch your soft globes bounce in tandem with his thrusts. The sounds your pussy made were obscene, it made his gut coil in hot white pleasure. He could see a ring of white form around the base of his cock every time he pulled out.

The intrusive thoughts were winning, Jungkook found it harder to contain himself with every thrust. He bites his lip and fucks into your creamy pussy harder to distract himself, he braces his hands on either side of you as he snaps his hips upward. You let out a surprised whimper and arch your back, “Jungkook..!” Then you do the most sinful thing ever, the nail to the coffin..you reach behind you to hold your ass apart for him, whimpering about how good it felt etc.

He fucking loses it.

He swiftly pulls out of you and gets on his knees, immediately diving in with an insatiable hunger. Jungkook eats you out like a man starved, his tongue is swiping through your creamy folds, trying to get every nook and cranny. His hands replace your own and hold your cheeks apart for him.

You let out a garbled moan, head falling into the pillows as your knees shift helplessly on the bed. You shakily poke your hand down there to rub quick circles on to your throbbing clit. Jungkook doesn’t seem to mind and focuses on lapping up the mess your hole made.

Your words are slurred, drool dribbles down on to the pillow you have your head laid on. Your hips stutter in their movements as you rock back to meet his tongue. “S-So good, mmm, g-gonna c-cum.” You whine.

Jungkook pulls back, spitting onto your untainted hole as he watches it dribble down. You whine louder but it’s cut short when he puts his whole fucking mouth over your rim, licking at puckered hole. It’s definitely new for you, and in the heat of the moment you let it happen as you decide to rub your clit faster.

Jungkook’s eyes are closed as he happily sucks and licks at your sensitive rim, he dips his tongue in teasingly. Your body jolts in surprise, a loud cry leaving you as your thighs begin to shake. He doesn’t even dip his tongue in any further when he suddenly feels you shudder, indicating your orgasm.

“Fuck baby. I could do this shit all day, with an ass like this you deserve it.” He slaps your cheek, not minding that he didn’t cum at all.

You pant softly, turning on your side to face him with a blotchy face, “You’re so mean..” You pout softly and make grabby hands, “Cuddles?”

He licks his lips with a teasing little grin, “Least I know baby likes getting her ass ate.” It earns him a smack on the chest but he simply curls up with you in arms, totally worth it.

HE’S BACk!

TAGLIST: @fragmentof-indifference @jungkooksseuphoria @kooliv @angelarin @jjeonjjk7 @lilliankoo @pb-n-juju @ellesalazar @saweetspoiled @laylasbunbunny @prettyprincejk @cherrysainttt @hyunjinswifeee @joongraduatewithonor @hellbornsworld @leire-mia @m1sss1mp @lissful @winkii @lifeless-firefly @exactlygreatcoffee @taestoess

[therealdisneyfan2319]

Heaven Itself Part 2 | Wanda Maximoff

Summary: The direct sequel AND filthier Stripper MILF Wanda fic y’all wanted, too.  Enjoy!

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Male Reader

Warnings: Smut (Minors DNI), language

Word Count: 1.9K

Masterlist

You had no idea what sort of ideas Wanda had in mind when she left for work with that little teaser, but you definitely weren’t expecting her to pull a harness out of her dresser.  Wanda wasn’t the dominating type at all.  She’d never expressed any interest in doing anything besides being fucked by you.  Sure, you helped her come out of her sexual shell a bit and she’d help you experiment with a couple different plugs, but neither of you had a conversation about her actually pegging you.  So with a quick conversation about safe words and an absurd amount of lube, Wanda eagerly inserted the length of the bright red dildo inside you.

“Oh fuck, Wanda,” you moaned.

“Yeah you like that, sweetheart?”  She smirked as you let out a groan in reply.  It was the only sort of response you could muster as she slammed her hips into your ass.

Your moans reverberated off the bedroom walls as Wanda continued to stretch your tight hole with every thrust.  While she was a little tentative, there was no way you’d be able to tell through the cocky demeanor she quickly adopted.  It was like she’d flipped a switch on her personality completely: the soft, loving woman who loved nothing more than being fucked by you was now topping you with ease.  She salivated at the sight of the red cock disappearing inside you with every thrust of her hips.  While she couldn’t feel it herself, she bit her lip to stifle her own groans as wetness pooled between her legs.

“Look at how well you take my cock, baby.  Who would’ve thought that such a big, bad man like you is really nothing more than my own little cock whore?” Wanda mocked.  Her grip on your hips tightened as she quickened her pace.

“Oh god, fuck, right there mommy,” you babbled as the tip of the dildo rubbed against your prostate.  Your head hit the pillow as your arms collapsed down, ecstasy overtaking your body.  

Wanda’s breath hitched as you begged for her.  “Mommy?  I think I could get used to that.”  She gave your ass a sharp smack, causing you to yelp at the sudden sting.  Her nails dug into your hips as her hips continued to slam into your body.  The bed shook with every hard thrust, slamming into the wall as your moans and Wanda’s grunts filled the room.  

“You feel so good inside me,” you gasped.  Sweat beaded on your forehead from the exertion.  Without any warning, Wanda quickly pulled out, your asshole gaping at the sudden removal of the girthy toy.

“Get on your back.  I want to see the look on your face when I breed you like the bitch you are,” Wanda snapped.  You willingly obliged, not wanting to disobey her. 

As you laid on your back, legs spread and feet on the bed, Wanda positioned herself between them.  There was a devilish gleam in her eyes as she grabbed the faux cock with one hand and teased it around your puckered hole.  You instinctively rocked your hips against it, desperately craving the sensation of being so full again.

“Aww, does somebody miss mommy’s cock?” Wanda teased.  You had no idea where she was coming up with such dirty talk, but it made your own cock throb desperately.

“Please just fuck me,” you begged.  She smirked as she abruptly shoved her entire length inside you, your back arching in response as you cried out.

“Careful what you wish for, baby,” she chided as she positioned herself on top of you.  “Look at you.  You’re a mess.  I think you need to be fucked more often, hmm?  Is that what my little whore wants?” All you could do was nod as she plowed into you.  “Use your words, sweetheart: do you want me to fuck you like the cock-addicted whore you are?”

“God yes,” you moaned as you wrapped your arms and legs around Wanda, pulling her close so you could reach up and capture her lips in yours.  “Fuck, I love you so much, baby.”  Your clammy foreheads were pressed together, hot breath clouding each other’s faces.  Wanda smiled into your lips at your words.

“Now be a good boy and cum for mommy,” she asked sweetly.

“Faster,” you whined.  You threw your head back against the pillow, veins straining against the confines of your flesh as Wanda bucked her hips even faster.  As you felt the coil in your belly tighten, you dug your nails into Wanda’s back.  She let out a hiss at the sharp pain.  

“You gonna let me cum in that ass of yours, huh?  You gonna let me fill you wit-”

“Fuck!” you yelled as Wanda’s words brought you over the edge.  You exploded on your stomach, hot white trails painting your torso as a deep pleasure you’d never felt before coursed through your veins.  Your vision went white momentarily as your body ascended to a different dimension.

As you laid on your back unable to move from the sheer intensity of your orgasm, Wanda leaned back on her heels and pulled out enough to squeeze the fake cum out of the dildo and into your ass.  You’d never been filled like that before.  The sensation nearly brought you to orgasm again as your eyes rolled back in your head, hips rolling against Wanda’s cock for more stimulation.

“Goddamn, you are a sight to see right now,” Wanda giggled as she continued to fill your ass.  “Now you know how I feel when you fuck your cum into me.”

“Oh lord, Wanda, I think you broke me.”  Your feeble attempts at sitting up were marred by Wanda’s hand on your chest.

“You got yours, baby.  Now it’s time for me to get mine.”  She pulled out of you, cum dribbling down your hole, and eagerly removed the harness.  “You know this is all I could think about while I was at work, fucking you with my cock and then riding your face until I cum all over your mouth.  I was soaked all night, and it wasn’t just from your cum dripping down me.  I had to take a break to go fuck myself.  Twice.”  Her body slunk up towards yours as your mouth went completely dry.  Every word made your brain misfire and all you could think about was shoving your tongue as far up Wanda’s cunt as possible.

When she reached your head, Wanda turned around and lowered herself onto your mouth.  You wrapped your arms around her thighs to keep her steady while she wrapped her hands around your throat.  With her glistening cunt nestled right above your mouth, you immediately began lapping at her clit as she humped your mouth.

“Oh that’s it, right there baby,” she moaned as you sucked on her swollen clit.  Your tongue circled and lapped at the sensitive bud, drawing louder and louder moans from the woman sitting atop your face.  Her hips moved faster as she searched for more contact.  You pulled on her thighs to drop her down closer to your mouth, shoving your tongue deep within her folds once you were able to.  A loud cry erupted from her as she fucked herself on your tongue.  “Fuck I’m close already.”

Wanda’s impending orgasm made you work harder, swirling your tongue around her walls and sucking as she humped your face desperately in search of release.  A loud groan and a sudden gush of hot liquid over your chin made you feel a little cocky.  As she rode through her orgasm, you clamped down on her thighs and began playing with her clit again.

“Oh god no, please baby, it’s too much.”  Wanda wasn’t used to such overstimulation before.  Her entire body quivered and shook as you ignored her pleas and brought her closer to another orgasm.  You dug your nails into her thighs as she tried to lift herself up.  Smiling as you greedily lapped at her cunt, Wanda’s hips moved more erratically as her second orgasm began to bubble up inside her.  “Oh fuck it’s coming, it’s coming, I’m cumming, I’m gonna cum, I’m gonna cum I’m-oh fuck!” Wanda chanted as the orgasm tore through her body.  She groaned loudly as ecstasy surged throughout her.

As Wanda’s orgasm passed, you let go of her thighs and she promptly toppled over, unable to move.  

“Are you okay?” you chuckled as you sat up.

“I think that’s the best orgasm I’ve ever had,” she gasped, pushing a sweaty strand of blonde hair out of her face.  “How about you?  Are you okay?” She reached out to grab your hand that was sitting closest to her.

“Yeah.  That was…I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Me neither,” she giggled.  “I didn’t know I liked being called mommy so much.”

“I have no idea where that came from,” you admitted.

“Probably the same place where the time I called you daddy came from.”  She squeezed your hand as she gazed at you lovingly.  The quiet intimacy you two shared in that moment was unlike any moment you’d ever shared before.  “Now come on, mister, we’re gonna cuddle in the bath because-” “Aftercare after sex is very important,” you droned along with her.  It was an inside joke the two of you had.  She’d read it on a website early on in your relationship and while you found it a bit on the nose, Wanda had never experienced anything of that nature before.  She found it to be restorative, and she was so eager to be the big spoon after your intense lovemaking session.  

“Yes it is.”  She grabbed your hands and pulled you up.  Your knees wavered as your feet hit the floor.  She held your hands tighter as she walked you to the bathroom.

“Y’know, I’m really glad the boys are at their father’s house this weekend,” you told Wanda as she started drawing the bath.  “I like when we can have loud, raucous sex instead of worrying about being too loud or the bed shaking or them accidentally walking in.”

“Oh absolutely,” she responded as she poured her favorite bubble bath into the tub.  “But on the other hand, I like how creative we get when they are around.  I think my favorite was the time you shoved my panties into my mouth,” she said, blushing at the thought of the filthy act.  You smiled as you remembered the night in question.  “Come on, you get in now,” she said as she got in the tub and leaned up against the back of it.  You carefully got in and sat down, nestling yourself down between her legs and leaning your back fully against her chest.  

The water gushed from the spout as the two of you sat in the warm, bubbly water.  Wanda hugged you close to her as you rested the back of your head on her shoulder.  You sighed, relishing in the feeling of being held tight by your lover.  

“Did you really mean all those things you said earlier?” Wanda asked.

“About you?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Every word, darling.”

Wanda leaned forward, resting her head on your back as she wrapped her arms even tighter around you.  “I love you so much, Y/N.”

You smiled as you clasped your arms on top of hers.  “I love you too.”

[curiositydooropened]

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

Navigation • Masterlist

---

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

[tomatoswup]

sweet spot -`♡´-

summary: curiosity killed the cat they say at first, but it definitely brought it back. At the heat of the moment, you find a pretty hidden sweet spot of Vash's that you'll remember forever! Such a delicious face!

warnings/tags: Minors DNI, nsfw,,sprinkles of praise,, afab,, marking,, what if vash had an erogenous spot on the roof of his mouth,,and yeah fingers are going into mouths bestie,,, lil bully vash moment,, i dont know whether or not to put top!vash or submissive!vash because its kinda giving a mix of both,,,fuck it, its a tag now,, short drabble,,,plant dynamics

there might be mistakes bc i wrote this at bumfuck 2 AM and i can't read straight, i really almost wrote fetty instead of pretty like???

A/N: You know whats funny, I wrote this at first with a focus on Vash's sharp canine teeth (title was originally gonna be show me your teeth)but the most brilliant idea popped up in my head i needed to write it. still kept the teeth and marking part in bc :P i hope i didn't write this like a dentist visit LMFAOO,,im sorry if this didn't make sense i need to sleep lmfaooo ENJOYYY~

p.s: theres an small extra at the bottom :D

Vash was certainly somewhat of a wacky guy.

NOT in a bad way, definitely not! You loved him with all your heart but there were a few things he left you so curious about, especially after confessing his plant origin to you that while back.

So you often observed him, how he interacted with others, whenever he was proud, shy, nervous or angry. And every time he grinned or gave people a big smile, you always peeped at those sharp canines of his. Were they normally that pointy? Or what it because he was a plant?

"Hey Vash..." You called out to him one day as the group walked into an inn for the night.

"Eh?" He turned to look down at you, an innocent smile on his face "What's up?"

There perhaps may have been a mistake asking him that question, especially when the both of you had been a bit worked up over the month. The roads have been tough, and the two of you haven't had a moment alone together in so long.

As night arrived, the moans and groans of the bedroom grew louder and thank god everyone had gone to the local pub for the night, leaving the both of you to ravish each other in peace, even if it were just for a few hours.

You wouldn't have been able to face everyone if they heard.

Each buck of his hips into you had you gasping for air as the dull pain of his grip on the side of your thigh had you wanting to run laps around the room. Well.. if you could.

With legs keeping a tight wrap around Vash's hips, your grip on the sheets around you had the whites of your knuckles showing. It felt a bit embarassing as Vash towered over you but did you really care? nope

"You look so beautiful.." He moaned out, delivering another hard thrust into your gaping hole as the dirty squelching noises of cum mixed in with both of yalls' heavy breathing and panting.

Vash did think you looked quite heavenly though. The hickeys, the bite marks on your shoulders and around your breasts, he really wished he could see you like this everyday if he could.

"Won't you.." You whimpered "..look at your self p-prettybo- Oh~" Did you finish your sentence? You couldn't really tell by the way Vash's cock hit that delicious spot in you, making you tighten your legs around him to get closer, to leave no space.

To leave nothing.

"C-Can't even tell me what you wanna say?"

God he made you dizzy, the stickiness of both your bodies together and him dragging his tongue around your nipples made you less lucid than you thought you had been. You tried to catch your breath, you really did, but it had gotten hard to as the coiling feeling at the core of your stomach made you just want a bit more.

just a bit...

Opening your eyes, you hazily looked at Vash’s flushed face, sweat starting to show on his forehead and the blond strands of hair starting to stick to it as he gave you a cheeky grin that made you laugh amidst the pleasure. Letting one hand go from the bundled up sheet above your head, you shakily lifted it up to his face and caressed his cheek.

"V-Vash.." You hitched out, the pad of your thumb brushing over his swollen pink lips before they entered his mouth in the heat of the moment.

And Vash accepted, giving you a small groan as you felt the his saliva coat it, and his teeth graze it. But suddenly, when your thumb accidentally hit the roof of his mouth, specifically his palate, you watched in awe.

In pure awe actually, as Vash's eyes fluttered shut, letting out a choked and long moan you've never heard before.

Desperation.

Need.

Holy shit.

You felt his cock start to twitch in you as you let out a breathy chuckle "A plant thing I missed?"

You moved your thumb to caress his palate one more time as you felt his thrusts lose rhythm, the pure look of pleasure washing over his face as the tips of his brows furrowed and the grip on your thigh tightened. He had lost his composure, turning into jelly just because of that touch.

You found a sweet spot of his that you didn't know about..

And oh fuck he looked pretty just like that.

You shuttered at the sight of Vash's blissed face as the edges of his ears turned red, his eyes only opening just enough for you to see the tad bit of watering. "Mpfh..."He whined out in need muffled by your finger before suddenly, the strong, deep thrust of his cock into your cervix had you arch your back and gasp, making you quickly take your finger out of his mouth to desperately grab his shoulder.

"I'm sorry.." He panted, a line of saliva running down the corner of his mouth as you felt him get bigger inside you, causing you to mewl at the sudden change. Feeling large calloused hands finding themselves at your waists, you looked back at Vash as the patterns of blue scattered over his face and scarred chest "Hold on..." Your eyes widened at the realization of his words.

"W-WAIT- AH!~”

Oh isn't Vash just so cute!

extra:

-homeboy just railed you to oblivion and thinks you can walk normal the next morning? PFTTTT

-You made sure to give Vash a playful punch on the shoulder when the both of you awoke in the morning.

-"and you didn't tell me that you had a spot on the top of your mouth?"

-"ya know, i had completely forgot about that hahaha -queue vash shyly scratching the side of his cheek.

-and you wonder how he could be shy after the way he fucked you sideways,, QUITE LITERALLY

-you make sure to try and touch it with your tongue when the both of yall make out though🫶

-plant tingz💕

-have fun! :D

[deathbystero]

'cause we're just kids who grew up way too fast

in which Ponyboy struggles to come to terms with everything. a/n - here's the full chapter y'all. lemme know if it's worth carrying on with and if you have any ideas on what I can do to extend the plot, feel free to request or give me some ideas

It’s only been a few weeks since that night—coming on three, to be exact. I don’t think things will ever go back to how they were; how could they? With Johnny and Dallas gone, everything feels off-kilter in some way. Like a loose thread just waiting to be pulled, ready to fall away and leave nothing but a gaping hole in its place. 

Home doesn’t feel like home anymore. Not really—not in the same way it was before. Things are a lot quieter. A lot emptier. I don’t think Darry minds all that much; an empty house is a peaceful house, even under all the unsettling tension. 

The gang feels a lot closer now, too. I suppose that’s one good thing about all of this, but nobody is quite themselves anymore. There isn’t as much energy in the air; there aren’t many laughs around anymore, and nobody smiles as often as they used to. It's like everyone is carrying around a weighty cloud on their shoulders, or maybe they’re just trying to keep their minds busy with something else. But we never talk about those days anymore; no one does. The topic makes us uncomfortable, like a wound that can never be healed. 

Maybe it’s just me who can’t get used to living without them. 

The nightmares still come every once in a while, more now than they used to. Sometimes they’re pretty bad—Johnny and Dallas making frequent appearances, their faces blurred, their voices distorted. Sometimes, I realise that I’m starting to forget the little things about them: the way Johnny would tilt his head a little to the left (or maybe it was to the right) when he was talking; the way Dallas would bite his lip when concentrating hard on something, even if he didn't seem to notice himself doing it. Everything seems to be slipping through my fingers faster than I can grasp, trying desperately to hold onto the memories, begging them not to fade away into the background. 

Maybe that’s why they haunt me so often: because I'm afraid—afraid that someday I won't remember them at all. 

Darry slept on the floor in my bedroom for a little while after that night, too scared to leave me alone after everything. He’s been doing that a lot lately, constantly checking up on me, even when I'm only in the next room over. Sodapop says it's because he's scared I’ll disappear again, which is ridiculous; I’ve got nowhere to run to, and even if I did, I doubt I’d want to anyway. Without Johnny to keep me company, I might as well be right here in Tulsa forever. 

There was never anything in the papers about Johnny and Dallas—at least not anything good. They don’t write editorials for “murderers” and hoodlums. Nobody would read them anyway. It would be a waste of ink, a waste of print, and a waste of paper. It’d just be another story about another couple of kids from the east side who wound up dead. No one would care. No one would even know what happened to them, not until somebody started asking questions, and even then, the truth would be twisted. Nobody knows what happened. Nobody but me. They can try to understand, just like Sodapop, Two-Bit,  Steve, and Darry have tried, but they won’t ever see it the same. Not like I do. 

For a long time after the incident, I tried convincing myself that Johnny wasn’t dead. He couldn’t be; you don’t just lose your closest buddy in one night. That doesn’t just happen. And yet, it had happened to me. 

To be truthful, I still don’t really believe that Johnny is dead. It’s stupid, irrational, and childish, but I can’t help but cling to that notion like my life depends on it. Maybe I'm losing it a bit, growing a little delusional. Darry seems to think so. Not a day goes by where he isn't telling me to “get my damn head out of the clouds” or to “get my act together."

I’m trying, really, I am, but sometimes it gets hard. The truth hurts too much. So I decided it was better to just pretend that it hadn’t happened. Pretend the entire mess never went down. That’s easier than confronting reality, even though I know there are some aspects of Johnny and Dallas’ deaths that are very, very real. Too real to be ignored. And it’s not like I can ignore it, can I? It’s part of me—a piece of me—a piece of my memory that I can never fully forget. I’ll just have to live with it.

That’s easier said than done, though.

[thedelusionreaderbitch]

Kaz Brekker x gn! Reader - You're human, so be it

A/n: I got this idea while sick, and ooc Kaz, sorry not sorry. Also the reader is kinda a vibe in this fic not gonna lie

Summary: After you screw up a previous job your past comes to taunt to with memories and you can't help but overwork yourself

Warnings: mentions of past abuse, normal canon violence, injury, sickness, overworking oneself, swearing, panic attack (not extremely descriptive), I think that's it? You have been warned!

The three P's:

[Pronouns used: You/your] [Pov: 2nd person] [Pairings: (romantic) kaz x reader, (platonic) the crows x reader]

Your last job you had fucked up on, you had disappointed the crows and Kaz. You could still feel their looks burning holes through your clothes until it seethed your skin. As Kaz's words echoed in your mind;

"We're all good at our jobs here Y/n, but if you can't reach the expectations then I can't have you on this team."

His words hurt, the cold shoulder the rest of the crows gave you hurt, it all reminded you of what your mother had been like to you;

"This family is good Y/n, but if you can't reach the expectations then you'll simply have to leave."

Your mother had always been one to fantasize about a perfect family, so that's what she tried to build. To everyone else on the outside it looked like your family really was perfect, but in reality there was so much controlling, and manipulation that a toxic environment quickly turned into abuse.

Your mother may have never hit you, but she was so controlling and manipulative, it was her way or the highway. If it wasn't done exactly to her instructions she would scream and howl at you, giving you terrible punishments set personally for every different child to make it as horrible as possible. Slowly you started to always try to met her impossible expectations, it got so bad that her classic phrase was nearly ingrained into your brain;

"Reasonable expectations, always meet them."

It was your household motto, unlike the other kids in your household you were always the closest to perfection that you could get for your mother. So the looks of disappointment she used to give you would always run a shiver down your spin and make you panic drastically.

Eventually you snapped and ended up on the streets with a weird talent for having an amazing memory. Photographic to be precise, although you were pretty sure it stemmed from what your mother had taught you. You always liked to over look that fact.

That was why Kaz had picked you off the streets and taught you how to fight, most of the crows already knew how to fight or had some semblance of something they could use for a weapon but not you. So you learned the why of the barrel through the six of crows having an arsenal of different skills in your pocket, by the end of the year you were already a crow and going on jobs with them.

After you had left your mother's place you had vowed to yourself that you would never let anyone put you in the state that she did again.

And as you became friends with the crows, you grew feelings for Kaz although you would never tell him because he didn't need another ego boost, and that the love was definitely unrequited. You never saw him return the looks that you gave him, he never treated you different from the rest of the crows, and Kaz in general was just the most emotionally unavailable person you had ever met.

Yet it still brought you back from when you were still living with your mother, those words were just so similar, the cold shoulders was also a tactic your mother used to use often. The fact that the triggering words came from Kaz made them even more painful.

Her words came back to your head, you thought you had healed but you were only starting to stitch yourself back up again, and all your stitch's had just been ripped open leaving a bleeding, gaping wound.

"Reasonable expectations, always meet them."

Then it became your motto again.

You started to work even harder, so you trained yourself over, and over again till your lungs were burning and your muscles were ready to give out. You took billions of small little solo jobs that were definitely were below your pay grade but in your mind you needed to prove yourself again. You didn't eat with the crows anymore you only ate on the go as you had been so busy, you took care of some of Kaz's paperwork secretly taking some of his pile and placing a signature where you knew you could do it, and it wouldn't be dangerous. Your memory did come in handy sometimes, it was the reason you were hired after all. You also took up extra shifts at the club either posing as a bartender or watching over the people and dealing with whatever pimp had decided they were cool.

You were barely taking care of yourself anymore, it showed with the bruises that littered your skin, the dark circles under your eyes and the franticness of your actions. Yet you couldn't stop, it was like Jesper and his gambling, you just couldn't stop. It was an addiction to prove yourself worthy of praise again, to meet the expectations that were set for everyone else again. To be deserving enough to have a place on the crows.

It was all so exhausting, and your body was screaming at you to stop but your brain wouldn't let you. What if they noticed you were slacking off? Would they think you were lazy? Would they be disappointed? Would they kick you out? Would he kick you out?

You were running a marathon no one else was, thus there was no winning, but you just couldn't stop. Because life's not that easy, trauma won't let the fish off the fishing line.

One day you were finally awarded to be allowed to go on a job with the crows again. When you had first heard the news you nearly wept with joy, yet you couldn't stop obsessing over it. You had to get this right, you just had too.

The crows weren't actually acting any differently towards you technically, you hadn't seen them much but they were still friendly towards you like before. You couldn't help yourself and be paranoid though, perhaps it was the fact that they hadn't let you on any other jobs again until now. So you could not. Mess. This. Up.

"Reasonable expectations, always meet them."

The plan was pretty simple, Inej would sneak in to the mercher's house to distract the party guests by turning the lights off, Matthias and Nina would pose as basically royalty from some far off country to take the focus off the host making him angry and distracted. While Wylan and Jesper would go undercover as servants listening in on the guests conversation so they could tell Inej when to turn the lights off. You and Kaz would be sneaking into the building as guards but would slip into the mercher's office when the lights were down to get some documents while you replaced them and Nina and Matthias bought you some time.

Then you and Kaz simply had to slink out of the office either; in an emergency, through a window in another room (as the merchant's office had no window) and run. Though, ideally getting back into your guard positions on time so you could walk out of the mansion without a problem while mentally flipping off everyone there and screaming in your head; "Haha losers, you didn't even notice a thing!"

Of course the victory walk wasn't necessary, but would probably help the crows stay off the radar of the merchant.

Yet as you walked through those doors dressed up in a uniform for the guards with Kaz beside you, you couldn't shake the feeling that something was going to go wrong. Maybe it was the fact that your body was bordering on it's limit of how much you could push it over the edge, or perhaps it was the slight shake in your hands as you feared the outcome. In your mind if you fucked this up the crows would be done with you, Kaz would be done with you.

So you ignored the soreness of what just walking had descended onto your body, and you quickly and effectively did the first part of your job perfectly as the adrenaline started to kick in.

Once the two of you entered the room Kaz had locked it behind him and nodded at you once. That was your only queue to start looking for the documents and you hurriedly got to work.

Looking through what felt like thousands of papers and folders you had finally found them and for a second you felt cool relief run down your spine reminding you how tired you truly are.

"Reasonable expectations, always meet them."

You couldn't think about that, you couldn't stop - not now.

"I found them." You spoke up and at the same time you heard gun shoots from outside your door.

Oh shit.

Scramming for the fake documents you quickly switched their places as Kaz hissed at you to hurry up.

Footsteps were coming closer to the door, and you readied your gun and walked as silently as you could behind the door while Kaz stayed out of view of it with his cane in hand.

You just hoped that the other crows had gotten out safe.

Suddenly the door got broken down and instantly, in a frantic move you shoot the guy in the head and the guard dropped to the ground dead.

You had killed very little people with your time in the crows, so killing shouldn't have been that easy. Kaz knew that, you should have tried another variable, hit him across the head with the gun, or shoot him in the hand or leg. Something was up.

Your heart squeezed in your chest yet your gaze only lingered on the guard for a split second before you were down the hall gun in hand readying yourself to jump out the nearest window.

"Reasonable expectations, always meet them."

Your vision wavered as you opened the door to the nearest room and it spun a tiny bit, but it wasn't too bad, you just figured it was adrenaline.

Opening the window you hopped out as you gestured for Kaz to come through. As he did you felt like throwing up everything in your stomach, there were black spots in your vision. You couldn't hear anything, and you could feel yourself panicking as you could only hear a ringing sound. It felt like someone was banging a stick against your head as you collapsed to the ground. Knees hitting the soil hard, and promptly passing out.

_______________

When you woke up you full on panicked.

"No, no, no!" You whispered as you sat up scanning the area around you hectically as you quickly realized it was Kaz's room/office.

Did they kick you out of the crows? Did they kick you out of the dregs and took pity on you for some reason? Perhaps Kaz was going to give you another one of his soul crushing lectures again. No, no, no!

Your chest felt like it had ten wolves on top of it, and your eyesight flickered which made you even more hysterical.

Panic attack, you were experiencing a panic attack.

You couldn't breathe, you really tried but it seemed impossible. Your hands shook as you curled into a ball despite the blankets that were on you.

"Y/n!" A raspy voice filled your ears and your eyes snapped up to meet his crow like eyes. Despite knowing that Kaz was there, that you weren't alone it didn't stop it, it didn't help.

It might have made it worse, because he was one of the reasons you were having it.

Crouching down beside your bed at eye level with you, he reached out a gloved hand to cup your cheek as you crunched your eyes closed.

"You did good Y/n, you did good."

Eventually your breathing even out and without realizing it you had leaned into the hand on your cheek. Slowly opening your eyes again your met with his dark eyes the color of beautifully terrible asteroids destroying worlds.

Smiling slightly you move away from his hand so he's no longer touching you.

"Hey."

Kaz scowled at you while standing up and crossing his arms.

"I'm taking you off jobs for the next two weeks."

Your jaw dropped and you couldn't help it when your eyes filled with water albeit it wasn't much. You were just pushed to your end, you didn't want to go back there again. You didn't want to be told you weren't good enough again.

"Reasonable expectations, always meet them."

"What! No fucking way!"

Kaz sighed dragging a hand over his face as if this was the most exasperating conversation he's ever had in his life.

"You need rest Y/n. When you fainted I thought you had been shot and were being an idiot and trying to hide it from me. But I found nothing."

Pausing, his eyes flickered down to your figure before looking back up into your eyes again.

"Nina quickly figured out that you were basically working yourself to death."

You were left there gaping like a fish, so he wasn't going to kick you off the crows for making a mistake?

Suddenly your mother's words didn't come to mind as the first response, it was something that Kaz himself had told you when you first started being trained.

"You're human, so be it."

Perhaps you needed to start acting like a human being again instead of some robot. You weren't perfect, and you had let your past get to your head.

Instead of saying this though these brilliant words came out of your mouth; "How did I get back?"

Kaz looked at you in almost disbelief that that out of everything was your question to him. Nothing about your health and what you should do to get better but nooo. It was how the ever loving fuck, did Y/n get back to the Slat?

"I carried you most of the way until we ran into Matthias and Nina, then Matthias had carried you the rest of the way to the Slat."

"You carried me?"

"I just told you I did."

You were a bit disappointed that you missed that, though you were sure it wasn't very pretty. Yet, your cheeks still burned when you thought of Kaz's arms around you, and his scent surrounding you.

There's a silence for a while before Kaz sits on the side of the bed and refuses to look at you.

Sighing you rub your hands nervously over your thighs.

"It's not your fault you know? Your words just triggered some stuff from the past and it sent me into a frenzy. That's none of their faults, and it's definitely not yours."

"I should have noticed.' He growled, while balling up his hands into fists.

"You have other things to worry about, and other people to care for. Nobody can blame you, you had other investments to look after." You say the end part almost bitterly.

Kaz shakes his head, his raven, soft hair with it.

"I should have seen something. I always see you."

"What do you mean?"

Kaz grits his teeth and lets out a frustrated grunt.

"I notice you Y/n, I can not notice you. You're every where I look, your everything I hear."

You froze as he moved closer to you realizing that this was basically Kaz Brekker confessing his love to you.

His (now ungloved) hand brushed up against your lips and danced down to to your pulse on your neck. Alive, he was making sure you were alive. Then with his other hand he laced your fingers together before slowly letting go after a couple of deep, loud breaths from the both of you.

"Was that you basically saying you love me?"

Kaz glares at you as he goes to sit on a chair close to your bed with papers in hand ready to start signing off and what not.

Did he really move a chair beside his bed so he could do work and watch you at the same time?

Rolling your eyes an affectionate smile graced your face as you gazed at the man.

"I love you too, Dirtyhands. I love you too."

Words 2690

-thedelusionreaderbitch

Grishaverse taglist: @kaqua @rika90 @thefandomplace @musical-theatre-obsessed-dumbass @gallysonegoodlung @navs-bhat @sumsebien @dontjudgeabookbythecover @brekker-zenik @alohastitch0626 @brekkers-desigirl @emmsamultifan06

[allexina]

Here are summaries for all the answer choices above!!

1. Johnny Cade x Female! Reader who’s stuck in a cult

Summary: You were stuck in a very religious household and were raised to believe that bad things would happen if you didn’t follow the rules set for you perfectly. When you meet Johnny Cade, an innocent boy who just wants what’s best for you, he shows you what affection and love is when given in a healthy dosage and not used in a detrimental way. When you finally open up to him about your family, Johnny decides he wants to get you out before something bad happens to you.

2. Johnny Cade x Female! Reader who sees everyone around her with no eyes

Summary: You were more often than not forced into your room with the curtains drawn and your door locked. Everyone around you was missing their eyes and all that was left was these gaping holes. They still moved around freely without knocking anything over so you assumed it was in your head until Johnny tells you that he sees it too and he doesn’t think the two of you are crazy.

3. Vampire! Johnny Cade x Female! Reader who’s completely obvious to the fact.

Summary: You had been friends with the Curtis’s for as long as you could remember so when Ponyboy mentions a friend named Johnny out of the blue, you grow curious. How come you’ve never met him before when you’re always at Ponyboy’s house? So, when you receive an invite to Johnny’s house, seemingly along with Ponyboy, you take him up on the offer. What you didn’t know about the boy was he was far more interested in the beautiful blood flowing through those pretty veins of yours.

4. Johnny Cade x Female! Reader who’s mother is an imposter

Summary: You were told that all potential living relatives were dead and you would never get to see your dad again. When you receive a letter in the mail, detailing the circumstances that forced your dad to leave. Along with the letter, your dad sent a picture of your family as a means of reassurance. The most terrifying part wasn’t that your “dead” dad wasn’t actually dead but the fact that the woman in the picture looks absolutely nothing like the woman you call mother now. With all of that happening, you began relying on Johnny Cade, your best friend, more as he comforts you and tries to help ease you through everything. At times, it seems like he knows more than you do but if you can’t trust Johnny then who could you trust?

5. Kidnapped! Johnny Cade x Kidnapped! Female! Reader

Summary: You were sneaking out to see one of your close friends when you get taken by a stranger in the middle of the night, with absolutely no one knowing your whereabouts. When you get to the place your kidnapper will be holding you hostage, you realize there’s another person and he already seems to be in the mood to fight for his life to escape.

6. Johnny Cade x Female! Reader where everyone disappears for twenty four hours

Summary: When every person in Tulsa, Oklahoma disappears within minutes, only you and Johnny are left to fend yourselves against the monster that had risen with nothing other than the shotgun your mom owned and Johnny’s switchblade.

I do want to add this down here just in case but these stories/oneshots aren’t suitable for those 15 and under. I know I can’t stop anyone from reading but I’d prefer an older audience because some of these topics are extremely mature. On top of that, I want to add this is all fiction. Please, don’t romanticize anything you see in any piece of literature that is tagged as horror.

I can swap the boys out if you want one with one of the other boys too. I specifically just wanted to show Johnny some love because he’s kind of overlooked. Plus, I love him so:).

All of these stories/oneshots will contain dark content that may be offensive or triggering to some people and I will add content warnings at the beginning of every story/oneshot.

I will also eventually get around to writing all of these out and getting them posted on here!!

One last thing is I only write for female reader. I’ve only ever experienced being a woman so I feel like I have no right to write about someone else’s experiences.

[gaiath]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐓𝐚𝐥𝐤 𝐎𝐟 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐀𝐥𝐥 𝐀𝐥𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭...

𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐈𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐀𝐬 𝐀 𝐆𝐢𝐫𝐥/non-man

This is a long one!

As soon as Jane entered school in California she met you. It surprised her how quickly you came to her defense when Angela felt particularly bitter, so, basically everyday.

You defended her in class and everyone was shocked but specifically her. She looked over at you with wide eyes and a gaping mouth. Right after the bell rang, she rushed over to your desk and let out a shy yet meaningful Thank you.

The two of you became such close friends and she always wanted to be close to you and immediately asked Joyce if you could come over. Joyce, Jonathan and Will were so relieved that she made a friend in that hell-hole so they didn't deny you the opportunity to come over.

They all showed appreciation for your kindness towards her since no one in that school took time out of their day to be truly nice.

Jane and you would have sleepovers where the two of you had to quietly giggle at what the other had said. When you made a joke about Angela she would gasp, slap her hand over her mouth and let out a breathy laugh.

You'd take her to get ice cream, show her your music taste, give her a little fashion show of your new clothing, offer to help style her and take her to your favorite spots.

You made her feel as if she were floating on the fluffiest clouds that had ever been formed. She would gush about you in her letters that were for Mike so much to the point where she had to erase some sentences so he wouldn't question: who is she? Who are you?

The way she wrote about you was so sweet and innocent she couldn't help but wonder, who wouldn't want to hear about you?

!Alert! Mike's jealousy wouldn't like to hear!

Jane found herself yearning to be near you all the time. Whenever something interrupted that she had to contain her mental meltdown.

A long thought that would make a long appearance in her head is, "how do I tell her about Hawkins? Should I?" Ever since she met you she knew that she had to protect you, she wanted and needed to. The last thing Jane wanted to do was scare you away and make you think she was psychotic because of the stories she had about her experiences.

She feels so strongly about you, a bit similar with how she felt with Mike but this was...better and sweeter. Don't get me wrong, they had been through a lot together but you made her feel a lot better than Mike was currently treating her. It was only through letter but she could tell, he wasn't in it.

I mean, he couldn't even say he loved her meanwhile she practically screamed it out so easily at the end of every letter. She remembers one day before you left her house you hugged her, said your goodbyes and right after you let out an I love you.

It left your mouth so smoothly and it surprised her. She had become familiar with the fact that friends would often say this to each other but she wanted to hear you say it all the time. She didn't waste longer than a second before saying it back.

Eventually, Mike would come to California to visit. You went to the airport with the whole crew in order to meet him and to ease Jane's and Will's nerves. The tension that was created was so suffocating you wondered how having a simple conversation with Mike would be like. You knew he was familiar with you and how you made Jane feel.

She hesitantly took the flowers he gathered for her because she wished they were from you-

But she has to shove those thoughts down very quickly.

You were there for the Rink-O-Mania incident but you didn't just sit there and watch with wide eyes as Jane was repeatedly humiliated. As you always do, you stuck up for her.

You punched your way through the circling crowd that pointed and chuckled at Jane, picking her up when you reached her. She looked at you with a humiliated expression before quickly taking your hand.

You fully supported her decision to knock on Angela's head with a roller skate. You didn't villainize her like Mike very vocally did, instead, you reassured her as you sat next to her in Argyle's van. Jonathan and him also reassured her but in a humorous way.

When she stormed off to her bedroom because of Mike's remark during dinner, she grabbed your hand and took you with her. When you slightly questioned her about it she mumbled a mournful "I just need you" as she looked at you with glossy doe eyes.

You sat on her bed as she took her spot next to you and asked "Do you hate me?" "I could never hate you, Janie." She looked at you with eyes that had such sadness in them you completely crumbled under their gaze. "You promise?" "I promise."

Her hand made it's way towards the side of your cheek as she leaned in and gave you a strong kiss.

[deadaldipshit-jpg]

↳ ❝ ¡UNREQUITED! ❞

Bestie seungmin x reader (feat. Jeongin)

Genre - angst

Word count - 0.6k

Warnings - this is pretty angsty. Unrequited love. Let me know if I missed something.

An - did j write this in the middle of the night cause inspiration struck, yes I did. And I'm really proud of this. Despite how sad I got writing this lol

When Seungmin met you for the first time, he knew that he wanted you in his life.

You were amazing. You had an almost identical sense of humor, the sweetest smile he had ever seen, a heart of gold and uncomparable sass. You became best friends immediately. You were a perfect pairing, and became besties almost immediately.

But unfortunately, he caught feelings. How could he not, when you were such an angel. Every moment he spent with you had him falling deeper and deeper. But he did not want to suddenly change the way he acted around you and cause you to suspect something. So he suppressed his feelings and acted the way he usually did, playfully denying your affection and jokingly acting cold.

He soon realized that it would be decision he would always regret.

You went to his place, as you usually did, to hang out. A place he shared with his roommate, jeongin. As you walked towards seungmin, who was seated on the couch, he noticed that you had a different expression on your face. It was something he had never seen before.

"Is jeongin here?"

His heart sunk as he realized the implications of what you had just said. "No, he isnt"

"Ok, so I have a confession to make. I like jeongin. Like I really like him. So much. Like I can't express how much I ..." You started rambling as you sat beside him. You looked so happy and so in love, and it broke his heart.

But he loved you too much, so he just nodded along with a smile on his face to hide the sadness in his heart.

"Do you think I might have a chance with him?"

"Hmm?"

"I asked, do you think I might have a chance with jeongin"

"I don't know, but I'll try to find out without telling him"

When you went back to your place, seungmin was left with a gaping hole in his chest. He should have seen it coming. If only he had shown his love a little earlier. If only he had not hidden behind his generally demeanor.

Later, when jeongin came back home, he asked him what he thought of you.

"They are the most amazing person I've ever met. They are so beautiful and so kind, and I can't stop thinking about them. I love that they come over often, cause seeing their face makes me so happy. I really like them. Like so much......" jeongin rambled on, the same way you did, with the same hearts un his eyes and smile on his face.

You and jeongin were the two of the most important people in his life. Even if he didn't act like it, both of your joy mattered so much to him so he wasn't going to let his feelings get in the way of tou both falling in love.

"You should ask her out. I'm pretty sure they like you, too."

The next morning, seungmin woke up to the sound of his phone ringing. He picked it up and was met with the sound of you squealing.

"JEONGIN ASKED ME OUT LAST NIGHT"

"That's amazing, I hope your date goes well."

And that was the first of many dates, before you became official.

Seungmin felt like his heart was going to burst. It hurt so much when he saw you with jeongin. Whether it was the stolen glances, the deep hugs, and most of all, the soft kisses, he felt so sad. But he would never forgive himself if he ruined what you had. It wasn't like you didn't spend time with him. You still hung out with him for the same time you used to. But it somehow made him feel worse.

The only solution was to move on. He didnt want you to leave his life just for his silly feelings. He knew he would be able to find love. It just wouldn't be you

Taglist - @karma1289 (send on ask or fill this to join)

[hacked-wtsdz]

Andor is so lotr-like. It’s so sincere, so unafraid to seem cheesy or cliche (and the moment this fear is dropped the thing can really become passionate and truthful, and by no means cliche or cheesy!) In a world where every meaningful thing said is constantly “spiced up” (diminished) by absurd, needless humour, in a world where seriousness, love, honour, betrayal is so often ridiculed by the efforts to make it idk customisable? Unchallenging? Easy to watch? Andor is another gem. Because “that’s just love. Nothing you can do about it.” Because “I love him more than anything he could do wrong”. Because “I have made my mind a sunless space. I share my dreams with ghosts.” Because “Id rather die trying to take them down than die trying to give them what they want”. It’s so unapologetically real, so filled with raw, sincere emotions, imo it’s things like that that we can call art. I mean, art could be anything, but Art is recognised instantly by the heart. That’s the thing that forces you to really look around and question yourself, your surroundings, your ethics, your emotions. The thing that reminds you “hey, you have a heart. You get to feel things whether you’d like it or not. And in the real world there won’t be anything to keep you comfortable and idle on your couch. Look, the real world is like this; full of love, full of hope, full of grief, full of cruelty, full of happiness, full of sacrifice, full of regret, full of beauty.” And you sit and think “yes, I do have a heart. And even if I throw it away (which is impossible) I will still be left with a gaping hole for where it used to be. You’re right, living is like this; it’s not what eleven sequels with hip music and characters interrupted right before they express profound emotion want you to believe. There is hope and love and suffering and holes you will never fill and holes you’ll fill with light.”

[thewrittingpan]

Painting Lies

Feitan/reader (with a slight mention of phinks/reader and shalnark/reader)

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

He was surprisingly gentle. Nails would carve jagged lines down your legs, he’d press bruises into your skin. The burning of ointment, and warm water often pull gasps from your throat. The stinging and burning of the cuts grasped the air in your chest by its tail, twisting and tugging until it was yanked out, the same way he used pliers on that poor man's teeth when he was annoyed. At least you weren't left with gaping bloody holes when your breath and whines were ripped out.

You met him at an exhibition. There was a gentle background of classical music, a flood of people chattering away as they strolled through the exhibit. You hid in plain sight, your name tag on your chest, staring across the room at a piece made by someone else. Their line work was wonderful, each mark beautifully dragged your eyes across the piece in a loop. Its web pushing you out and pulling you in again. You hated it, it wasn’t bad no, but it was exactly what you wished to be. You were jealous, so filled with envy that you wanted to scream, to cry, and to throw a fit, sob into your pillow, and be comforted by your old stuffed friend.

You liked your little corner, and you happily talked with no one, becoming quick friends with the snack table. A few people came over to complement your work, and you nodded and thanked them. Perhaps you were too anxious, maybe it was a bad day, but you felt like your thanks were forced. It felt like you were stripped bare in front of them, caught halfway through changing. Plucked from the shower, your hair still dripping wet, as if you were halfway through shampooing.

He was different. His eyes were sharp, he felt social-avoidant, more so than you. You stood silently near each other for a while. You still felt like you were on a platter but less so as he took the liberty of glances at your name tag and gazed across the room. He stepped closer as the room grew less crowded.

“You made those?” he motioned toward your section of the exhibition.

You nodded slowly, feeling as if you were shivering like a scared dog.

“They’re good.”

“Thank you.”

You stole sips from your drink, glancing up at him every so often. He looked nice in the suit, it was tailored well, and the vents in the back didn't have the shipping treads still attached. You noticed that it helped you realize who was most likely to have money, and at the very least let you know who knew how to dress in a formal setting.

“The one-piece, with the organs, looked real.”

“Oh? Yeah, I stared at images of surgery the whole time while painting it.” You twirled your straw around your glass. The ice tapped against the cup, like the glass wind chimes that hug from your balcony. Your downstairs neighbor complained about them and you had to get rid of them. Sometimes you still see yourself sitting there in your chair, with your cat tucked behind your feet sleeping. “I didn't get the color right, I should have worked on it longer, it doesn't have enough eye movement.” The piece you’ve been glaring at didn't have those imperfections.

“I like it.”

I like talking with you. “I’m glad.”

You saw the time, realizing you had to go. There were awards to be handed out, and all of them were another reason for you to grow jealous. You wondered if stuffing your pockets full of snacks would be a good thing to come from this night.

“Are you going to the award ceremony?”

He looked back at you, thinking about it perhaps, you wouldn't blame him. They can be boring, especially if they’re unnecessarily long. He nodded, stepping forward without saying anything. He looked over towards you, waiting only a moment before you walked alongside him.

Your table was close to the walls. Nicely placed close to the snacks and drinks, but not close enough to have people hovering behind you. Having your pieces sold wasn't a guarantee, so you stuffed small handfuls of the free food into your bag when you thought no one was looking.

You didn't care to remember much about the night. Your legs were killing you, and you felt like you could sleep through a week when you got home. You liked your brief time with that man, the one you never caught the name of. It was a slow quiet conversation that dragged on but it didn't feel as awkward as you were used to. In a way, you wished to see him again, to have him be a new familiar face at any future show you had. You liked him, in the way you like a staple background character in a show.

You were more than shocked to find out that every piece of yours sold. Even more so when you saw you got more than the original asking price. You were crying with joy, while you practically jumped off the walls letting yourself celebrate with a childish movie and a more spendy takeout meal than you usually allow yourself from time to time. You fell asleep watching it, your cat curled up on your chest.

Your streak of good luck had you dancing all week. You danced with your cat as you took breaks from your projects, swinging him in your arms like he was a newborn. His little squeaks of a meow made you squeal with delight. You peppered kisses across his nose and ears, brushing his chest and desperately fighting off mats that always tried to appear in his fur. Your day job was boring as usual but there were fewer annoying things to deal with. You lucked out managing to snag a deal on paints, even managing to fit an experimental project into your personal use stash of cash.

In your unprofessional opinion, the best thing to happen was bumping into that man from the exhibit. It was late in the afternoon, and the sun started to dip down behind buildings and trees. You had to make a quick stop at a convenience store, the chime of the door welcoming you. You passed by the man in the green jacket waiting on a pack of cigarettes. Your shoes clicked on the floor, they made you feel cute, if you weren't in public maybe you’d spin in a circle and laugh, telling a joke to yourself about being a teacher walking in the halls. You grabbed a small can of tuna, a treat for your cat until you could get his food tomorrow when the store opened. You made sure to triple-check your budget and grab a snack for yourself.

There were a lot of things that needed to be done; you had bills due next week, the cat needed more food, you needed to check on litter sales, and you needed to do some grocery shopping. You need to check the calendar when you get home, that cat of yours needs to go to the groomer to help with his too-fluffy face. Then lost in thought you took a step back bumping into someone behind you.

“Oh, I’m sorry.” You turned around, already apologizing with real sincerity.

“It’s fine.”

“Oh! You’re the guy from the thing,” You nearly didn't recognize him, half his face was covered after all. His eyes though were just so sharp, they were calculating and every time they dragged across the room it felt like the walls and floors shivered as a person would. They were beautiful in a scary intimidating way, matched with his silence you would have never dared talk with him.

“Do you live here? Or are you passing through or something?” Maybe you should have been more scared, no you should have been more scared, it was worse than extended family gatherings where you had to sit next to your father’s 3rd cousin’s great-niece, who was also your age with perfect grades and decorated in awards. Part of you desperately wanted to talk to him. You felt so strange dancing around your words, biting on sentences, and licking your comas, but you wanted to get to know this guy, as weird and as awful as it sounded, you kinda had a crush on the guy. It would explain your actions at least.

“Staying for business for a few weeks.”

“Maybe we’ll run into each other again, if that happens and you’re free I could show you this really pretty place with a bunch of cute kitties!” You smiled to yourself and went to check out your things, “I like doodling the cats sometimes they can be so silly, it's peaceful there,” you hummed a little note, thinking of them playing with each other and snacking on treats people left for them. “Anyways, it was nice seeing you again! In case we don't meet again, have a good few weeks!” You waved him goodbye and left with the ring of the door.

You passed through the streets until you were home and greeted by the cat sleeping atop the fridge. He was comfortably curled up with his tail covering his eyes and nose. His little pink ears poked out from atop his head twitching when the door opened and closed. His paws hung over the edge of the fridge, his little paw pads covered in dust and a little dirt from the plant on your balcony.

You went about your day painting his paws. Working diligently on your projects and scrambling to find that damned sketchbook. There were a thousand things to do during your very short few days before your exhibit. Everything was nearly complete. You needed to finish that one cursed liver that was not agreeing with the angle, and you had some hooks to hang to the back of a couple of others. That public showcase needed a more grief-stricken feel, you needed to figure out how to make it ooze out of the piece, and make this more than some random extra gory piece.

You worked late into the evening, you had bright white lights shining down onto the canvas from over your shoulders. When you started yawning every few minutes, your eyes started to water and you were starting to fight to keep focus, you decided to rest. The knot in your shoulders pinched and pulled at you stretched. You struggled to run your knuckles across your back as if to weed out the knots. You rubbed your eyes and noticed you forgot to close the blinds.

Living on the upper floors came with the benefit of safety. Though it did concern you that someone across the street could have been watching you. You’d simply need to make sure to do that every time you start to paint. Or set an alarm on your phone to make sure you close them each night. Though it was late and you needed to finish as soon as you could, so you didn't bother to go change into some fluffy pajamas or curl up into your bed but plopped onto your cheap futon with your cat and a small mountain of blankets you swiped from across the house and just let the exhaustion catch up with you.

Your hard work paid off. You reached your deadline, and while you had a thousand vile words for your last piece others only had small criticisms that you graciously thanked them for. You found yourself stuffing your face with snacks and yawning to yourself in-between conversations. You swear that if you miss one night of full sleep, you feel it for weeks.

Through the nice clothes of passersby and the quiet background chatter of the room, you saw that same guy looking up at one painting. His face was gently covered in a veil to cover his emotions, you couldn't read them even if you knew how. Yet he looked up and the way he looked made you want to believe that he liked it, you hoped that he was gazing up at it with admiration. He looked away from it, meeting eyes with you.

In a sudden surge of confidence, you stepped forward, your hands filled with your small prize of free food. You didn't know what you wanted to say to this man, but you did like how he looked in a suit, it's not your place to comment on his clothing but you preferred to see his lips the few times he spoke. You offered your handful of snacks as you munched on a cube of cheese, biting into pepper jack, how did you feel about the warm pepper jack?

“Do you like it?”

“Sort of.”

You looked up at the painting, your last one, the one that gave you the most trouble. The details still felt all wrong, the emotion was there but it was muddy, and hard to feel.

“It doesn't look like a liver,” you both said to each other.

You felt so excited, he knew it was off too, he knew that it wasn't right. “What’s wrong with it?” you smiled looking at the painting, tilting your head to see if that would help.

“The shading there,” he pointed, “ It doesn't have the right shade it should, and the blood vessels are too easy to see there.”

“Do you think a wash would fix it? I could give this a purple color in the shadows, less dark maybe like a lilac color? But then that part would look too uniform…”

You walked past each piece talking about the issues you could fix with the gorier ones, and how you could make the less gory invoke a desperate and sorrowful feeling.

“Can I ask if you're a collector or a critic?” You yawned a little, but you still felt decently awake, “I’m just curious you don't have to answer.”

“Neither,” he didn't bat an eye at your anxious stumble of words. “I went to the other one because my boss asked me to.”

“Did you come to this one because you wanted to?”

He didn't answer right away. “Yes.”

“Well I’m glad, it meant I could use you as an excuse to avoid conversation,” you joked, once again yawning as you sat down on a bench.

“You’re tired.”

“Yeah, I had to pull one too many all-nighters. I have to catch the last bus.”

He sat down next to you. Deep down inside you, exhaustion was bubbling up. It floated up to your skin melting away at your muscles and nerves. With every breath, you took it chewed through you until you were speaking in yawns and blinking through watery eyes. You wiped away at it, trying to keep yourself afloat in your head and not be dragged down into sleep.

“I could drive you home.”

You sniffled and yawned, trying to think. “I’d like that, I think, I’m just not exactly comfortable with it…” you couldn't ride the bus like this, you couldn't have some stranger drive you home like this either. Yet as if the world was against you, you had to pick between two awful ideas.

“Okay, you can drive me home, just don’t kidnap me, murder me, or any other gross shit okay?” You knew that the request made no logical sense but it made you feel ever so slightly more comfortable with the idea.

You typed your address into his phone, sinking into the passenger seat of what you kinda assumed was a rental car, though you didn’t care to ask while half asleep. The humm of the car on the empty streets was calming. The constant sound and the passing of the buildings only caused you to feel more sleepy, and you just slipped away. It just became so hard to fight to stay awake, it made you feel calm and there was an odd sense of comfort in it, falling asleep in the car, it reminded you of being a little kid.

You briefly woke up when the passenger door opened and you were plucked from the car. You made some confused noise which caused him to speak.

“I’ll carry you in.”

You mumbled something to him, probably your apartment number. Then you unsurprisingly feel asleep again. You kinda woke up to unlock the door. The handle was weird and had to be pushed just right to get the door to open.

“Come in if you want.” You said kicking off your uncomfy fancy shoes and scooping your very confused cat off the floor. He stared wide-eyed at the strange man that was invited into your home.

You had yet to move back into your bed so you collapsed just like every other night on your shitty little futon. “You can sleep over if you want, there’s my room that way if ya want the bed, possibly a sleeping bag if you’ll put up with a pink one from when I was nine.” You vaguely pointed in the directions of each place before promptly forgetting what happened next.

You woke up to a beautiful smell and a pile of blankets, pillows, and a pink sleeping bag on the floor. You were mildly confused but just rolled yourself onto the floor with your mountain of blankets and pillows. Nothing meowed when you landed so you took it as a success.

“Food.”

You looked out of the blankets at the feet beside your head. “I had like nothing in there to make real food out of?” You looked up at him confused.

“I grabbed stuff.”

“That’s like husband material right there.”

You yawned sitting up with a groan. He walked away back to the kitchen, and you looked down at yourself, wondering when you changed into pajamas, but it wouldn’t have been the weirdest thing you’ve done while asleep so you moved on like an idiot. That savory smell made you salivate like a starved dog. It was like your shitty little kitchen was glowing with holy light.

“Thank you so much!”

He nodded, sitting down on a mismatched stool next to you. You didn't mind eating in silence, you were so excited to have a home-cooked meal that tasted good, you may be able to do many things but cooking was not your forte.

“I leave tonight, will you show me the cat place?”

“The cat place?” you stared at him for a moment before it dawned on you and you practically screamed, “The cat place! Oh yes, I will! I have some wet food that we can feed them! My cat is picky and won’t eat the kind I wanted him to try.”

That's how you came to lead him through this bright sunny park, with a small bag of cat food and treats. It wasn’t warm, there was this slight cool feel to the air, when you stepped into the sun it warmed you instantly but as the leaves covered you from it you felt a shiver deep in your bones.

You stopped at a small little creek tucked away from the open park. You sat yourself on the ground and opened your bag, you had to fish out all your little gifts for the cats and handed him a can of cat food.

“Get ready, it's adorable.” You grasped the pull tab looking out across the grass and rocks.

Then pulled up the tab and unsealed the can. A series of loud meows and cries echoed around the trees as cats started locking their heads out of bushes and grass to find the food. You had a huge smile on your face and stood up to dump the food across the ground for them to fight over. You sprinkled and tossed some solid treats in the grass and across the rocks. Sometimes crows and ravens would eat them so you sat down and enjoyed watching the cats.

You gently stroked the kittens that climbed up your legs to grab your food. You playfully pushed the friendlier cats over and let them kick at your hands and naw on your fingers. The quiet man had let the cats rub along his sides scratching their heads. He said nothing but you’d sometimes catch him looking at you. You laughed holding a cat up to your face, and holding its paw so it looked like he was waving at the man.

“You know mister, a cute kitten such as myself, still doesn’t know your name.” You kissed the cat's head before placing him back on the ground. “But you obviously know mine, it’s quite unfair don’t you think?”

“Fetain,” he said, “Not unfair now.”

You laughed lightly and tossed him a water bottle, sifting through your bag to give him a simple sandwich and pulled out some snacks. The sun moved slowly pulling across the sky, shining down from the branches. The sun stippled across the grass, sparkling across the rocks of the creek, and curressing the kittens who were bathing in its warmth.

“It’s a shame you leave tonight.”

Your fingers plucked a fallen leaf from the ground, you rubbed your thumb across its veins, feeling the slight bumps. It was a smooth yellow, freshly fallen from the branches. It was leathery, and you loved its color. Staring at it left you feeling as if you had been gazing up at the sunrise, watching the sun scatter across the stream.

“I like this color.” You looked over at him, “reminds me of a sunrise, the white wispy clouds dyed this pale yellow and highlighting parts of the water…” you drew yourself into a melancholy silence, if you had a chance to watch the sunrise with him and the cats you would.

“Cheesy,” he huffed a small chuckle.

“I know I know, it’s gross and cheesy,” you rolled your eyes, “kinda looks like a cartoon cheese yellow, now that ya say that.”

“It’s getting late, sun's setting.”

“Oh, do you wanna be cheesy and watch it?” You wrapped your arms around your knees and looked over at him.

He didn’t say much of anything but leaned back onto his arms to watch alongside you. You pulled a friendly fur ball into your lap, and rubbed his little ears.

“I think my cat liked you, he’s pretty shy, but he seemed to like you.”

“He was cute.”

“Isn't he?” you laid down with a smile looking up at him. “I think he’d be cuddling with you in no time if you keep visiting.”

Saying goodbye was a bitter moment. You desperately didn’t want him to leave, you realized that you had become so isolated in your daily life. The momentary companionship had left a bittersweet taste, and the more you stayed hung up on it the more it felt like your teeth were rotting away from your overthinking. You tried to go out more after he left. You’d sit sketching the little creek you had shown him. If anything you felt yourself faced with an embarrassing block.

You repeated the same ideas, the same concepts but nothing felt complete, everything was missing something. There weren’t enough emotions maybe, or everything was too muddled together. Perhaps you were the problem and we’re trying too hard, or the idea wasn’t completed, and you were rushing it. Working through the block was a painful endeavor, you spent hours sitting and just listening to music, trying to let your mind wonder. Somewhere a seed of an idea was uncovered, a small fragile thing covered in a thin layer of dirt.

You rolled it between your fingers, the texture needed to be grooved, little threads feathering the figure. How can you capture the sorrow? How can you make something violent and graceful at once? You needed desperation in the figure, the hands needed to search for another that wasn’t there, it needed to feel both cruel and comforting, or maybe it would morph into something new, something that would take on its own life, becoming more than a painting filled with an empty heart. You found yourself transfixed on the eyes. They were the most detailed aspect, you found yourself drawn to them adding so much detail that every brush stroke was a reflection of yourself. When you had to cover it with a cloth, you knew you were succeeding.

You became haunted by the painting, its eyes followed you with that cruel pity. There was something foreboding with the way it giggled at you. You became absent minded with the time, forgetting to take care of yourself as you painted a nightmare of dependency. Having the eyes be such a focal point was a great idea and you were sure that it would look perfect when it was complete but it was just so gastly. It’s effect on you was proving how successful it was already though you had only been working for a short while.

You continued sleeping on your cheap futon while you worked passing out late into the morning and arising even later into the afternoon. Honestly you became too focused on work, ignoring your phone and missing the messages from that mysterious guy you think is cute not knowing he was visiting town again, honestly you should have been taking brakes and paying more attention.

When Fetain showed up at your door you were dressed in one of your painting shirts and left awkwardly without pants, since you had been neglecting your chores.

He stood staring at the painting as you folded your laundry, he would have sat down but the cat was fond of that chair. Fetain was drawn to the eyes too, or at least that’s what you guessed, he was staring intently at every little detail and it was nice if you had to be honest. He wasn’t someone you felt like you needed to look up to, not a teacher or a critic, or not that you know of at least, god you hope not, but he seemed genuinely interested in the ideas you had. Every concept seemed to make him think, the more abstract left him with open ended inferences, and there were a thousand ways one painting could inspire him. You sometimes see that shine in his eyes where he gets an idea. You never asked but you were starting to get curious about it.

“The eyes need to have more shadows.”

You waddled over folding a pair of pants, looking over his shoulder, “show me.”

The eye lids, you somehow missed that important detail and your shading was off. His hand pointed to the shoulder and the shoulder blades.

“Too sharp, and looks like they’re missing a lot of blood.”

“That’s not a bad idea actually, to purposefully make them look like that.” You leaned forwards holding your folded pants to your chest, you traveled your finger down the spine, “I could try to make these look sharper as if something like a knife is digging from the inside out? Do you think that would be too much?” You looked up at him.

“If you don’t like it you can always change it.”

You hummed in agreement, “I think I’ll try it and maybe I can make it look more bruised too.” You went back to folding your things thinking out loud about some of your n ideas under your breath.

“I’ll make food.”

“You really don’t have to do that you know, I appreciate it and I mean I love your cooking so I’m not going to say no it’s just, I feel a little awkward with a guest cooking, does that make sense?”

He nodded and started searching through your kitchen to get an idea of what you had. “I’ll still cook.”

There was something sweet about working on the painting as he cooked. You were jealous of his cooking, last time you had it it stuck in your thoughts. You’d be laying there and then shout out with annoyance as you could slightly taste it still, you could remember the way it melted on your tongue, you savored it and wished to rip into a newly made dish with the ferocity of a rabid dog. You felt like how you imagine your cat does when looking at an empty bowl and the empty box of treats that was mocking him.

You slowly went about putting your folded clothes back in the closet and your drawers. It was mundane but taking the break you needed was helping with preventing any sort of burn out. While you were in your room putting things away you just started wandering around and moving things that had been moved from their correct spots, you must have been looking for something and got distracted before fixing it. Some of your selves were getting dusty, you should wipe them down but you also needed to clean the bathroom.

You settled with staring in the bathroom, it would be less fun but it was needed more than the rest. You sorted through old makeup tossing out old products and things you hadn’t used in a while. You shuffled through spilt bandages boxes and your medicine cabinet. You scrubbed off the grime from the counters and the dust that had collected in the small corners.

You looked at yourself in the mirror. Little spots and marks on the glass dotted across your reflection. You could tell that you’ve been doing nothing but working for days. Your skin thankfully wasn’t bad but you started the process of washing it and attempting to prevent acne from bubbling up worse in the few spots that were starting to get a little more irritated. If the visit that you had missed the warning of had ruffle your feathers you relaxed as you rinsed off your face. It was grounding in a way, basic self care that can easily be pushed to the side and missed in a rush, and the warm water comforted you in the chill of autumn.

You walked back out where that beautiful smell was strongest, pulling the knots and tangles out of your hair as you did. The pan was sizzling and you could hear it as you came around the corner. You’d tug on your hair and a series of pops from the stove would mimic you. Tug. Pop pop. Tug. Pop pop. Tug tug. Pop.

“It smells good.”

“Good it’s done.”

You ate mostly quietly, caught up too much on the distinct flavors, and a myriad of textures. You happily tried everything with a joy comparable to that of a puppy running so fast that it ends up stumbling into its mother's legs. When you bit down into something bitter your nose scrunched up, and your eyes closed. You whined a little at the surprise and made a little joke about how maybe you shouldn't trust his cooking after all. He rolled his eyes and slid you a piece of his meal that he knew you enjoyed much more than you had gotten to tell him.

“Eat and stop complaining.”

You saw a glimmer in his eye and laughed, taking a bite of his kindness.

You talked quietly on your futon, some random thing playing on tv to fill the background. You tended to mostly be the one talking, it's not that you minded but sometimes you questioned if you were boring him or if he wanted to say something. You just kept talking to him and convincing your cat to trust him a bit more. When you started getting a little sleepy he didn't mind, offering to do the dishes while you rested.

“Are you sure? You already did the-” you were cut off by your yawn, “cooking.”

“It's fine, sleep.”

“Okay, but at least let me put them away when I wake up.” you lay down, watching him walk to the kitchen, “I don't want you doing all of it,” and you slipped to sleep, with your cat crawling onto your back not too much later.

It felt fuzzy and it blurred together like watered-down acrylic. You saw him scrubbing away in the kitchen, his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Your eyes dipped shut and when you pulled them apart half aware that you didn't want to sleep, he wasn't in the kitchen, he was walking around your home. He must have finished and wanted to let you sleep, you rationalized as you blinked asleep again. It felt so warm, so comforting to be asleep, but something was missing, something was off. You couldn't keep your eyes open anymore, you just laid there, eyes closed half aware that something was wrong.

You heard your cat meow. It was low and drawn out. He was upset. What could be upsetting him? You vaguely remember reaching for him but couldn't remember if you found him or if he was doing better or not. You definitely didn’t know why he was upset, or if comfort is what he needed, but you still longed to stop his crying.

The room was different, you noticed that first. You nearly didn’t notice it, a lot of the room looked familiar, but the furniture wasn’t as distressed as the ones you had. There was no sticker from when you were a kid on the shelf on the bottom. The shelves were arranged the same and even had the same things that you had in yours. It felt like you woke up from a weird dream. The shelves of books had the books you were missing in series and even books you wanted to read.

You didn’t really believe it, your sheets were different but so alike at the same time. It was clearly an attempt to replicate it as best as possible. You tossed the blankets off of you panic slowly seeping in, you were so confused so lost, you could have sworn you were home asleep on your futon, but this looked eerily close to your room.

Where was your cat? Had he been left behind? What happened to Fetain? Where were you, and why the hell did it look so much like your room?

You looked under the bed finding your cat tucked away with one of your shoes. His front paws were wrapped around the toes and his head was resting on the ankle of the shoe. Relief for his well-being leaked through you as you called out his name like a whisper, desperate for him to truly show you he was alright. His big eyes opened wide and he yawned squeaking as he stretched out his limbs before crawling over to you. You combed your fingers through his fur, and he purred and mewled, letting you drag him up to your face and cradle him like a newborn. His warm soft and fluffy body grounded you as you looked around wide-eyed at the room, for an embarrassingly long time you just sat there frozen and confused in the corner wondering what was going on.

You desperately clung to him, pulling open the closet to see your clothes lose threads, stains, and all, but mixed in were clothes that weren't yours at all. You took laps around the room inspecting everything in sight. The shelves had things that were nearly impossible to replace and things you had thought were long gone. There was a bag near the bed and when you peeked inside there were more, little knick-knacks and trinkets, books with notes, and emotionally important gifts.

It felt like choking. Suffocating. A thousand things went wrong like a ship in a bottle tossed helplessly onto the shoreline with jagged rocks. You wanted to sob feeling as if you were being torn into a million pieces, scattered across the wind. You grabbed the door handle wondering if you should open it or if you should even try to see if it was locked. Should you be sitting in bed pretending to be asleep still? Behave and be good in the hopes that you don't get brutally murdered? There were too many options, and you twisted the door handle.

It opened easily and you looked out into a hallway. It was plain, sparse with nothing on the walls, there was nothing except the orange lights humming above you. There were voices down the hall you stared down towards them. Should you see who that is? Should you go back and tuck yourself back into the sheets? It was all so strange, standing in the doorway of the mimic of your room, looking around at an unfamiliar place.

You stepped tenderly across the carpet that seemed to you like glass. Each step made you feel like the floor creaked and groaned, splintering and cracking with each timid tiptoe. You felt so cold, shivering and quaking down the long looming hall. There was a loud frustrated yell, a curse, and a mocking laugh, you peered around the corner tucked into yourself.

Two men, both blondes, were sitting around a tv, a low table covered in marks and scratches was scattered with cans and cups. There were wrappers and chips, a standard mess of snacks and drinks that had piled up. The two blondes threatened each other as they focused intently on the TV screen playing some sort of shooter game. You looked across it all into a kitchen that needed a bit of a clean too, it was much better than the table but some take out boxes were set next to the trash can.

You didn’t know what to do. A thousand different emotions glued you to the floor, tears threatened to run lines down your cheeks until it melted through the meat of your cheeks. Oh how crying could provide comfort, to be swaddled up with a tub of something sweet, and to whail to some cute comfort show. It was cruel, to be standing there like a statue, but as fragile as a newborn. You couldn’t do anything but someone could easily hurt you and make horrible nightmares cling like phantoms. Even worse they’ll be true and real digging claws to your skin and sinking down into muscle and bone.

You retreated back, tucking yourself around the corner. The sweet boy that was your cat mewled and squirmed digging his claws into your shoulder, as a toddler would try to stabilize itself in a parents’ arms. How many times would things go wrong?

You scattered backwards down the hall, the two blondes turning around the corner to see you standing not too far from them. You didn’t say anything to them, you couldn’t. There was nothing to do, you just kept backing up, holding on desperately to your cat, trying not to hurt him, but also it felt like you were holding a stuffed animal at this point.

“Where am I? Who are you?” it felt like you were choking, a plastic bag forced over your head as you were left gasping and sputtering for air almost. “Why am I here?” You felt like you were shouting but it was nothing more than a whisper, and your mind was reeling and spinning, a hurricane tore through your thoughts as you spiraled and gapped for air.

It became so hard to breathe, too difficult to try to stay calm and hold back the tears. You were shaking and panting, your chest rising and falling faster than a ball would bounce. It was horrible losing your thoughts as fear and panic overtook you. It became hard to know what was going on, and hard to stay standing as the floor seemed to sway and rock like the deck of a boat. The two men seemed a little shocked. One looked more awkward than anything.

You shook your head frantically, and stepped back like a dog in a corner. You were scared and everything just came imploding into you. When the cat squirmed out of your arms you were so lost and confused that you didn’t reach for him again, you watched him hide in the room you woke up in with a glassy and far away look. Somehow it felt like your body wasn’t yours, a doll tossed and strewn about the floor, left to be picked up by the next kid to come across you. Yet you laid there sobbing, shaking your body, and your face boiling as you cried. It must have been a pathetic sight, a desperate and lonely picture.

You didn’t fight more than a gentle push at one of the men's faces, as one picked you up from your puddle on the floor. It wasn’t like you even recognized which one it was, there was nothing you could do. The act was nothing more than a bleeding mouse trying to push away a cat. Nothing useful would come of it, it was a last act of defiance, a testament to freedom, and a symbol that you didn’t approve of this, that it was thrusted upon you by someone else. It was nothing more than that, but it boiled and evaporated just as fast as your emotions spilled over. You yawned through tears but leaned into the hold, because everyone needs comfort over everything else.

Fetain was like a shadow. He stood out in the room, the bright pale walls and the curious oddities of your old home made him look like a monster. He didn’t so much as speak a word along the lines of “good morning” just sat in a chair pulled back from the desk, with one of your books in hand. You knew it was your book, it’s hard to mimic the bite marks along the bottom corner of the first ten pages or so. You remember getting it to, remember reading it for the first time. You loved the book, but part of your confused mind knew that you shouldn’t like him reading it, or the fact that your cat was curled up on his lap.

Your cat was always shy, friendly enough that he would never hiss, scratch, or bite without a serious reason for it. He was easily spooked by strangers, always dashing away when they towered over him and reached down to pet him. He preferred watching them really, gazing down from atop the cabinets, or from across the room. When strangers were over sometimes you couldn’t even convince him to let you hold him he was so scared. Yet seeing him there on his lap, in this unfamiliar place pissed you off.

“Where am I?”

“Home, doesn’t matter where.” He didn’t look up, he scratched under your cat's chin.

“Bullshit. Why the hell am I here?” You pushed yourself up, hovering over the side of the bed, as if you could somehow intimidate him.

“I brought you home.”

You jumped up, the sheets and blankets falling like water across the floor. They followed your movements like an afterimage, leaving a trail in your wake. You grabbed his wrists forcing the damned book from his hands, letting it fall to your feet. The cat looked up at you, wide eyes, and his ears straight up in the air.

“What do you want?” It was despairing, a whisper and a plea.

You were so tired yet, exhausted by the weight of your emotions and the stress of it all. Your grip was pathetic at best, but it was desperate. Some last attempt at consoling, a final prayer for comfort, as you fell to your knees, and rested your head on the cat's stomach. You still held his wrists but now there was no fight, just proof that he was there and that it was his doing.

“You,” he said, the answer to your question that you already knew. His hand fell to your head, his fingers massaging your scalp, “I want you to paint for me.”

“Is that why?”

“Yes, and more.”

Your arms fell to your sides and you looked up at him, and his hands moved to your cheeks, pinning you gently in place so he could study your face.

“Others won't hurt you, they like you. You grow to like them too.”

You gripped his sleeve, as you fought back another sob, leaning forward so your nose was inches above his knees. The sob jumped in your chest and bounced around, but you never wailed, only gasped as he moved to hold your hand.

[ultravioletlightwaves]

Ao3 is up and down for me right, so for everyone else in the same boat, here's a chapter out of one of my current WIPs: 30,000+ words and counting of MCU/616 mismash Avengers team ensemble and IronBat (Tony Stark/Bruce Wayne).

This chapter is from right around the middle (so far). Enjoy!

-----

There wasn’t much to see on the first three blocks. Rather, there was plenty to see, but it was all business as usual for Gotham: gargoyles leering from the upper reaches of buildings, broken glass where someone had chucked what looked like a crate of bottles, limestone-clad walls with gothic flourishes, shredded cardboard where someone had discarded the outside of a package, addicts nodding out against light poles, unhoused people huddled in the doorways of buildings, where there was a little shelter against the drizzle that fell from the sky. Steve’s face got grimmer and grimmer as they went.

The fourth block started out much the same, only devoid of humans, even the addicts. The rain came down harder, washing little clumps of god-knew-what into the already half-clogged storm drains. Jan was the only one who had thought to bring an umbrella, but she tagged it with Pym particles until it was big enough for most of them to crowd under together.

“What are we even looking for,” Clint muttered. He had flipped up the collar on his SHIELD jacket and was trying to hunch down into it like a turtle.

“Any evidence that the weapon’s been used recently,” Steve said.

“Which would look like what?”

“It disintegrates matter,” Natasha said. “So holes where there shouldn’t be, things falling apart that shouldn’t be.”

Clint grunted. “Most of Gotham already looks like that, though.”

“I think more on the lines of that,” Jan said, pointing ahead with the hand that wasn’t holding the oversized umbrella aloft.

The building in front of them was a neo-Gothic revival like most of the structures in this part of the city, every window in the tall skyscraper framed with ornate detailing, the doorway positively frothing with carved embellishments. It had clearly been nice when it first opened, built with a kind of artistry that wasn’t often evident in newer urban architecture. But it had just as clearly fallen into disrepair since then. A quarter of the windows were boarded up, and there were chips and stains all over the façade, including round spalling that looked like bullet damage. Graffiti crept out of the alleyways to either side of the building and spilled across its front, encroaching on the door.

More to the point, there was an enormous gaping hole in the nearer side of the building, about 30 feet across and almost a full story high. Big pieces of the sidewalk in front of it were missing, all the way down to dirt. Through the hole the interior of the building was dimly visible. There were vast, unnaturally empty areas inside, as though the speilhund had taken big chunks out of the building’s innards as well.

“OK, I can see how that’s different,” Clint said.

“Recon,” Natasha said, stepping out from under the umbrella and immediately getting soaked. “Careful. We know it was here, it might still be here.”

Steve stepped up next to her, his hair slicked down to his head with rain. He pushed it backwards off his forehead with an innocent, artless gesture that nonetheless looked like something out of a men’s fashion magazine, or an extremely classy porno. “Look around for anything that might indicate why this building in particular. If someone’s controlling it, they might not be using it randomly.”

Inside it was drier, at least. It was obvious that the building had been stripped and gutted long before the speilhund came through. They picked their way through dark, cavernous shells of rooms with only the most stubborn remnants of built-in light fixtures or furnishings left attached to the walls. Anything that could be removed was so long gone that there weren’t even cleaner spots to show where furniture had been; the floors were covered with an even layer of fine dust and debris. Almost every room had a wall or two that had been opened so copper wiring could be stripped out.

Five rooms in the light from their flashlights disappeared into a massive hole in the floor. Tony crouched down, balancing on the balls of his feet to get his flashlight closer to the edge. “Foot-thick metal, insulating air layer. Some remnants of what was probably a piston system. There was a big vault here under the floor. Looks like they took out most of its door.” He played the beam of the flashlight around the edge a little. “Thing makes clean cuts.”

“Could it be simple robbery?” Steve came up to stand next to Tony, peering into the hole. “Going to the trouble of sourcing and mastering an Asgardian artifact just to steal things from vaults seems like overkill.”

Tony stood, wincing as his knees popped. “Yeah, it’s a little much, but that level of unnecessary drama is par for the course in Gotham, to be honest.”

“Might be test runs for something bigger or more dangerous,” Natasha said. “Or someone who doesn’t really know what they have. Lots of possibilities.”

“Can you tell how long ago this was done?” Steve looked from the hole to Tony and back again.

There was almost no flash rust on the cut surfaces of the hole. With Gotham’s humidity levels, that was telling. He looked at the way the debris was disturbed around the edges of the hole, the amount of debris that had fallen in. “Very recently. Within a day or two for sure. Maybe even earlier today.”

“Any tracking we can do?”

“Not without the suit.”

“All right. Suit up.”

Tony sighed. He tapped the little button on his wristband that called the armor, held his arms out to let it snap into place around him, picking up each foot as the boots closed over his dress shoes. The helmet wrapped around the back of his head, holding him familiarly for a moment before the faceplate snapped down and everything came online. The scene in front of him lit up in several different ways at once: a lime green wireframe of structural and topographical features, an infrared heatmap, an air current map, moisture mapping, electrical and magnetic field mapping—

“Whoa, is that new?” Steve blinked at him. The armor automatically tracked the rate and force of his blinks.

“Not that new, it just doesn’t get out to play all that often. It’s the most natively modular model I had available.” Tony crouched back down again to look into the hole; this time the armor supported the pose, exoskeleton-style, and his knees barely felt it. “I’ve got some add-ons specially tuned for Asgardian tech, needed a mod-compatible suit to use ‘em. Figured it was better safe than sorry.”

“Love the color scheme,” Jan said from somewhere behind him. Tony smiled inside the helmet. The Mark 42 armor was mostly black with gold detailing. Jan would be a fan.

“Iron Man,” Natasha called softly. He went over to her and focused on the area of floor illuminated by the oval of her flashlight. The dust was more unevenly distributed here, with patches of floor scraped almost bare. He flipped rapidly through scans until the HUD showed him something useful.

“Boot prints. Three—no, four people, likely men, plus something with six smaller feet, surprise surprise.”

“Can you follow where they went?” Steve was right behind him, out of visual sight but bright and obvious on the armor’s heatmapping; he ran hotter than the average, and glowed in infrared. Tony scanned the area, looking for residual heat signatures. Natasha was a red-yellow blob to Tony’s right. Jan and Clint were reddish blobs just behind Steve. There was a bluish blob above, behind, and to the left of them, high enough up that it had to be clinging to the ceiling somehow. Tony switched to the structural overlay briefly to confirm the presence of exposed ceiling beams. Back in the heatmap he watched the bluish blob cool even further, congealing into the background ambient temp. Almost like it was deliberately matching its radiant temperature to the environment.

Always with the fucking drama. He aimed a hand over his shoulder and fired a short repulsor blast at the ceiling beam behind him without looking. The beam exploded in a cloud of wood shards and dust.

Credit to his team: they all spun around and had their weapons out before he even finished turning around himself. A tall black shadow rose up from the floor, shaking itself free of debris.

“The new thermal masking is nice,” Tony called out.

There was a pause. “Not nice enough, evidently,” the shadow growled.

“Oh wow,” Clint said as the shadow approached, picking its way across the floor. “The ears are real. I always kind of thought that was a joke people made.”

Jan tilted her head thoughtfully. “I thought they’d be shorter, like Daredevil’s horns.”

“No, it makes sense,” Clint said sagely. “Bats have big ears, on account of the whole echolocation thing—"

“They aren’t thin and pointy, though,” Natasha noted. “Echolocating bat ears are all surface area, like satellite dishes.”

“Sorry about—literally all of them.” Steve strode out to meet the shadow in the middle of the floor. He stuck out a hand. “Hi. I’m Captain America. It’s nice to finally meet you.”

The Batman dipped his chin to look at Steve’s hand. He slowly raised his head to look at Steve’s face. The lenses were up, making his eyes blank white voids, but Tony could read the barely restrained disbelief on his face just fine. Steve kept his hand out for a couple of beats. Freshly disturbed dust continued to swirl down from the ceiling, settling on the floor and everyone’s heads and shoulders.

Steve lowered his hand. “All right. Well. Nice to meet you regardless. Do you know anything about the whereabouts of an Asgardian weapon, kind of looks like a six-legged metal dog, unusual optical properties? It wouldn’t hurt to work with someone who knows more about the local landscape while we try to clear this one up.”

Tony sighed. Bruce stared at Steve like he had never seen such a creature in all his life. “No.”

“No, as in, you don’t know anything about its whereabouts? Or no, as in, you don’t want to work with us?” Steve’s voice was taking on the same exaggeratedly patient tone he’d used in the police station. “We’re here to help.”

“Get out of my city.”

And here was one of the many things that Tony adored about Steve: he may have been an idealistic optimist with an unrealistically moral stick up his ass, but he also had a spine of steel, and he didn’t so much as twitch at the Batman glowering at him. “We’re here to help,” he repeated, like he was explaining something to a stubborn child. “We’re better equipped to deal with this thing than you are, and we have been assigned to bring it in. We’re going to do that with or without your help. I’d prefer to do it with you, but we don’t need you to complete this mission. And you certainly don’t have the authority to eject us from this city.”

Bruce drew his cape around himself, seeming to stand even taller. “You come into Gotham, and you speak to me about authority—”

“The Captain is correct. You don’t actually have jurisdiction here,” Natasha said. It wasn’t a rebuke, just flat statement, but he could see Bruce’s jaw clench anyway. The nerve of him sent a hot lance of annoyance through Tony. Nope, not today.

“You don’t have jurisdiction anywhere, buddy.” He swept both arms wide, encompassing the city, the country, the planet. “I know you like to think of yourself as the unelected lord and savior of this urban hell hole, but fact is, you don’t have any actual authority here.”

“If you think you have the right—”

“Actually, yeah, we do have the right.” Tony glared him down, knowing damn well that the impassive helmet was infuriating him, making it impossible to read Tony’s face. “We do have the right, because we’re Avengers, and like it or not the Avengers are a SHIELD-affiliated organization, and SHIELD is a federal agency. Federal as in a service of the American government. Gotham, last I checked, was in fact within the United States of America. Federal agencies have jurisdiction within federal borders, and more to the point, we literally and legally have the right to walk into Gotham and tell you and your people what to do, because you’re vigilantes, which is—that’s the opposite of legal enforcement. All you people traffic in illegal enforcement. Actually.”

“This isn’t productive,” Steve said, cutting right through whatever response Bruce was working himself up to. “Iron Man, tracking, please.”

“You got it, Cap,” Tony said, turning away to scan the scene again, in part because he knew it would drive Bruce insane to see him taking orders without complaint. He’d scan all fucking day to make it clear where his team was now. Scan scan scan.

Walking through the room, following the traces thrown up on his overlays, felt satisfying in a way that dealing with people never did. The tech would show him the truth of the scene. It would bear him out where he was right, and where he was wrong? It would show him that too, without drama or judgement. Everything was there, it was just a matter of having the right tools to see it. Clean. Simple.

“Federal intervention is unwarranted,” Bruce said quietly, just over Tony’s shoulder. Tony didn’t startle, because it was very difficult to sneak up on armor that had 360º sensor arrays. Bruce had always hated that.

“Agree to disagree.”

“I have it handled. Gotham PD will work with me where necessary. The matter is not nearly so dire as to require a hands-on SHIELD intercession.”

Tony muted all the scans, turned his full attention to Bruce. From the outside it wouldn’t look like anything had changed except for the fact that he’d turned his body slightly. “I don’t think you really understand the larger context here. This is an Asgardian artifact.” Bruce stared back at him with that eminently punch-able neutral non-expression on his face. “Imagine it was a priceless Amazonian artifact that was meant to serve Amazonian soldiers, and some dumb fucks boosted it and were using it to, I don’t know, steal candy from 7-11. Imagine Diana’s reaction. Imagine what kind of international incident that might shape up to be.”

“Hmm.”

“Now imagine that instead of a very touchy isolationist sovereign nation with a powerful but scale-limited military, the artifact belonged to a literally god-tier-powerful nation with super advanced tech, a much, much less scale-limited military, and a long history of direct, bloody intervention instead of isolationism?”

“Hmm.”

“Yeah, hmm. We’re here for several reasons, actually, and one of them is the fact that if anyone in Asgard’s ruling family asks, we can say with no hesitation and full honesty that we put the mightiest Earth warriors known to Asgard on the job. Asgard doesn’t know your ass from a hole in the ground. You think we can tell Asgard that we just left you to it, sorry it’s in the hands of that guy over there, nothing to worry about? You think that would go over well? You think we should lie and say we’re looking into it directly while we let you do whatever you want? Have you ever tried to lie to Frigga? Spoiler alert: you can’t, unless maybe you’re a frost giant.”

Bruce looked away. That was the closest he would get to admitting that Tony had shared a piece of information that did actually alter his opinion of a situation. It made Tony angry. The fact that he could read that intention in the gesture of Bruce looking away also made him angry.

“But god fucking forbid anyone try to help out in your city.” He snorted, switching the scans back on and turning away. “Next time maybe we’ll just let the Asgardians come down and vaporize a few city blocks for you. It’ll clear the way for some serious urban renewal, maybe it’d be doing Gotham a favor.”

“Iron Man. Are you—” Steve approached warily, gaze snapping between Tony and Bruce. “What’s our status?”

“We’re fine. I have tracking. I don’t think there’s much more to gain here, we should get moving.”

“Are you helping us, or is this where we part ways?” Steve asked, addressing himself to Bruce. He said it very calmly, like those were the only two conceivable options, like he was presenting them to any run-of-the-mill person off the street. Tony would have maybe gone to war for him, in that moment.

Bruce visibly failed to appreciate it-- there was a small narrowing of the lenses, a twitch of the jaw, all of it signaling loud and clear to Tony. He thought back, briefly, to Dick asking him to not actively antagonize Bruce, immediately followed by a quick recap of everything he’d said to Bruce since they got to this building. Ah, shit. Well, it was Bruce’s fault anyway. It wasn’t like Tony had sought him out.

“Perhaps it would be for the best that I assist you,” Bruce said, opening his mouth the absolute bare minimum needed to get the words out.

Steve beamed at him. “Great! Glad to have you on board.”

[dangermousie]

A pusher post: What Happened in Bali (2004)

This monster hit of a drama (also known as Something Happened in Bali) starred three about to become huge stars - Ha Ji Won, Jo In Sung and So Ji Sub. It's one of my favorite kdramas of all times and was HUGE when it aired, but because it's almost 20 years old, is nowadays less known than it should be.

My elevator pitch for it would be: "What it's like to be the object of (adult) Domyouji's obsession in real life." Answer - misery and self-destruction.

The plot seems fairly straightforward and revolves around four individuals, all of whom are damaged and none of whom are that likeable but some of whom (if you are me), you end up loving anyway.

Ha Ji Won is Soo Jung, a poor girl working as a tour guide who ends up being torn between attentions of two very different and very damaged men - the icy, ambitious, poor one played by So Ji Sub and a volatile, abused car crash about to happen wealthy one played by Jo In Sung. (In possibly my favorite performance of his ever.) The fourth main character is a wealthy young woman played by Park Ye Jin who was in love with So Ji Sub but threw him over for the status and money of arranged engagement with JIS.

Bali is a very dark drama, in a way dramas really aren't today. Yes, of course there are dramas with damaged or even negative protagonists, tragedy, and darkness. But what old kdramas sometimes had is a certain grinding every day aspect of misery, if it makes sense. It is not larger than life, there is no message, it's not healing. It's broken people trying to get through soul-crushing darkness and being ugly about it and often failing.

Ha Ji Won, the pivot of the story, is not happy or noble. She is desperate and grasping; she wants money and she wants love and she wants everything, anything to feel the gaping hole in her soul. I knew the story wasn't going to be your usual one when I saw the scene where Jo In Sung's character Jae Min offers her $$$ for a one-night stand and she calls him a jerk (and you see by his reaction he doesn't even understand that what he said was insulting - he is puzzled. In his world, everything can be bought and sold, and there is no such thing as affection) and then asks whether he is going to pay before or after. In her world, there is no room for the grand gesture, for throwing money in his face. She leaves only because he kicks her out (giving her money but not doing anything - which is so telling) telling her to buy her new shoes (hers are broken) and saying "it's not fun any more" (the first of many instances she really throws him off any usual ways he deals with things). And then she trips on her broken heels walking out, sprawling in the lobby, inelegantly grabbing and picking up money.

When we first see her, she seems mostly well-adjusted but the more the story progresses, the more we see she is just as broken as Jae Min, who just be the most broken kdrama ML that I have come across. (So Ji Sub's character In Wook has frozen himself and somehow avoided some damage that way; it doesn't hurt that his damage unlike SJ and JM's isn't reinflicted over and over; and Yeong Joo, our secondary girl, is largely content - she mostly accepts the devil's bargain she made for money.)

One of the biggest pleasures of this drama for me is contrasting in the way Jae Min is going to be with Soo Jung eventually - utterly desperate and brought down and willing to beg and beg and beg, and the way he is at the start - emotionally detached, with all the 'power' on his side - I mean, contrast his propositioning her for that one-night stand and the scene where they finally make love, a dozen eps from then.

BUT! And I think this is one of the reasons I love this drama so much - it is not a story of love as salvation, it is the story of love as damnation. As far as Jae Min is concerned, this is the story of devolution. His soul wakes up and he falls in love and he commits himself utterly and that breaks him down more and more and eventually makes him a broken destroyer of himself and the woman he loves. Because, the drama seems to say, in his environment, only a true cold monster can thrive or at least survive; the moment he loves someone, he's done. The whole this drama shows abuse is so telling. His monster father beats him regularly even if Jae Min is a grown man (there is a scene in his office in ep 2 where daddy is practicing golf in his office and Jae Min flinches any time the golf club is in his vicinity, and almost stutters and it's a small preview of what we are going to get.) But his mother who spoils her "baby" even though that "baby" is a grown man, but only if he does what she wants; he's supposed to have as much self-determination as a poodle, is as bad.

And there is Ha Ji Won - she is so desperate, so alone, so grasping, so greedy, so alive. She is a rare kdrama FL who sleeps with both her leading men (not at once, it WAS 2004 :P) and takes so long to decide that she loves Jae Min because she doesn't want to let go of even a crumb of what she can have because she's been so starved in every way.

And then there is the infamous ending

SPOILER

SPOLER

SPOILER

Where Jae Min (who has been through total hell by then; god the scene where he's on his knees begging his father to spare Soo Jung, trying to convince the man he never loved her) believes wrongly but reasonably that Soo Jung never loved him and played him to take all the family's stuff in cahoots with In Wook and goes into their room (where they just finished banging) and shoots them both right after she just finished telling In Wook that she is going to go back to Jae Min despite the risk because that's who she loves is !!!!! And as she dies, she tells Jae Min, for the first time, she loves him. And he goes out and the last shot (no pun intended) is him on his knees putting a gun to his temple and a shot ringing out. And that's the ending; our main three dead (and Jae Min never knew she never betrayed him and only finding out she loved him when it was too late), the sole survivor is the ice cold secondary girl. All people who had some humanity dead and destroyed by the monsters heaping constant wrong and abuse on them until they broke and said monsters continuing with their nice lives.

And the thing is - the drama does not condone anyone - not the family abusers who break Jae Min down bit by bit in the drama, not Jae Min who does the most monstrous thing at the end, going from a man willing to die body and soul so Soo Jung could live to the man who himself kills her, not In Wook who steals everything who wasn't nailed down, nor secondary girl who will never be touched by anything, not even Soo Jung who got into all of this because of her greed - it just lays it all out and presents their humanity and goes "watch. watch. watch."

Nobody would make this nowadays. They'd need a message or a cynical tint or w/e. Not just - sometimes there is no moral, no message, sometimes you watch people self destruct and love them as character even if not as people anyway.

There has been a rumored remake (shudder) for years but it has never taken off the ground and thank god. Without cast and with modern way of doing dramas, it would be terrible.

PS Speaking of terrible, the clothes in this drama oh my GOD.