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jiminscockr1ng · 2 months

Note

hi! i love your works. can i put in a request? joon or jk x reader. arranged marriage. breeding kink and pregnancy scare. thank you for your service🫡🙏🏾

✩｡°𝄞🍼 TRY AGAIN✨𝄞°｡✩

╝ requested / one-shot ╔

╰ ₊ 𓂂➢ pairing: namjoon x fem!reader

╰ ₊ 𓂂➢ genre: arranged marriage au, smut, angst, a little fluff.

╰ ₊ 𓂂➢ warn!ngs: breeding kink, pregnancy scare, mentions (suggestive) of infidelity, degradation (usage of slut), reader is a brat, reader has a high libido, oral (namjoon and reader), squirting, unprotected sex, mentions of birth control, spanking, hair pulling, rough sex, negative pregnancy test, mention of (trying for) children. (let me know if there’s more!)

╰ ₊ 𓂂➢ summary: your arranged husband punishes you after causing a scene and acting like a brat.

╰ ₊ 𓂂➢ word count: 3,765 words

The sounds of slapping bounces off of the walls like gun shots. Your face is buried into the large fluffy pillows on your king sized bed with your ass raised in the air. Giving Namjoon, your husband, the perfect access to spank your behind.

When the sharp, burning, sting— a millisecond of pain and pleasure is inflicted upon your ass again you let out a whimper into the black silk pillow. As the indecent sounds exit your mouth, Namjoon couldn’t stop the depraved thoughts that battle their way through his mind. You just looked so fucking sexy. So vulnerable and submissive before him, he could just eat you whole right now.

But that wouldn’t be right, now would it? After all, you were a bad girl. You brought this on yourself.

You didn’t think Namjoon would just forget about the way you rubbed your ass against that man on the dance floor? No. He’s not that graceful. You’re his wife, for god sakes. Even if you didn’t take this arranged marriage serious, he must show you that he is. He is taking this very seriously.

“Do you know how embarrassing it is to have people asking if the woman causing a scene on the floor is my wife? Huh?” He begrudgingly asks, caressing your ass that is two slaps away from bruising.

You deserved it, the way you seductively eyed him while dancing on another man replays in his mind. He best not be fooled by your little innocent and submissive act right now, you whimpering and whining. He knows you’re a brat.

When his parents first introduced you to him, he knew he’d eventually fall for you. Despite the distasteful you held on your face that entire meeting. You didn’t approve of the arrangement, Namjoon knew that. So he gave you space. But of course, one thing leads to another. Especially when you’re flew out to Italy for a honeymoon, a villa all to yourselves. If you recall correctly, you believe the two of you fucked in all 8 rooms. Plus the kitchen… and the bathroom… the couch, the garden, the pool, the arcade room— damn there everywhere.

Needless to say, Namjoon has been pussy whipped ever since. Becoming helpful, loving and caring— all the amazing qualities one could find in a husband. Along with those qualities, he grew possessive over you, rightfully so, you’re his wife. But it seems like regardless of anything he did, you still seemed to show little to no care for the man. Except for what was between his legs. Because babes, the dick is bomb!

Recently Namjoon has been depriving you from the ‘bomb dick’. So you did what any brat would do. You acted out. Unfortunately for Namjoon, that led to complete and utter embarrassment, displayed in front of all of his friends at a work event. But who cares about that, right?!

Because fortunately for you, Namjoon is spewing all kinds of sexy little insults at you, dirty talking your panties right off.

“Do you enjoy being a fucking slut?” Another slap is planted on your ass. You let out a gasp before biting down on your bottom lip. Useless, as to when he grabs a handful of your hair, roughly yanking it back, your mouth falls agape.

“You like that shit, huh?” You eagerly nod your head, so high off of the thought of getting fucked up. This is exactly what you wanted. Namjoon always gives you exactly what you want.

You strain yourself forward to close in on his lips. His lips wraps around yours as you share a sloppy kiss. Your teeth graze his bottom lip as you pull back. What you do next makes Namjoon lose his shit.

You giggle.

Like actually fucking giggle in his face. Without thinking, he grabs your face, pulling you back in for a hot yet desperate kiss. Namjoon’s eyes furrow into it, trying to get some sort of understanding. He needs to understand how you do it. How you act so heinous one second and then so admirable the next. Even now, you’re submitting to him. But Namjoon knows more than anyone that you have him wrapped around your cute little finger.

The hold on your face doesn’t leave as Namjoon roughly pulls away to marvel in your beauty. Your gorgeously melanated skin, your two toned lips, and those big brown almond eyes he willingly falls victim to. There’s a smirk that plasters on your face that Namjoon doesn’t miss.

“Am I being a good little slut for you?” Namjoon couldn’t hide his widened eyes. He’s angry— completely enraged, you mustn’t forget. But as usual, he gives in. Because you’re in control. “Fuck yes.” He whispers out before flipping you over, absolutely manhandling you. Your figure bounces on the bed as Namjoon hovers over you.

“You don’t even know just how crazy you make me.” He mutters in your ear. Your hands wrap around his neck, fingers traveling through his short blonde locks. “Show me.” You lick at his jawline, slowly nibbling on the chiseled edge. “Show me how crazy I make you, baby.”

Without a second to waste, Namjoon lifts up, attacking the buttons of his black dress pants. He slips them down to his ankles along with his briefs, kicking them off to the floor. The thick, long, pink tipped length you desire is revealed. You lick your lips just to make sure you aren’t drooling. He gives his length a few pumps before his hands are replaced with yours. This is what you’ve been begging for, what you desired and needed inside of you for weeks.

Hell, you even danced on some random middle aged man just to get it. You love it! Namjoon would battle that you love it more than its owner. Especially the way you kiss the tip. Like you’re finally meeting the love of your life after years of being apart. Namjoon breath is shaky when he exhales. Your lips wrap around his tip, you close your eyes and let out a moan, sending vibrations through his dick. “Don’t tease.” He says sternly. And you look up at him, his tip still resting in your mouth.

You look absolutely angelic. The way your big doe eyes innocently look up at him with his dick in your mouth. He could just cum at this image alone. “I’m sorry, baby.” You say with a feigned apologetic tone and expression.

Even if you aren’t sorry, Namjoon is immediately relieved once you take his whole length in your mouth. Your nose touching his lower stomach as you slightly choke. The little gag reflex doesn’t stop you from showing your love to the pretty dick. Namjoon lets out low pitched moans as you continue to attack his length, your performance growing messy. Something you quite liked. What can you say? You’re a proud slut.

But still a brat. You back away from Namjoon’s dick, resting yourself on your elbows that are propped up behind you. Namjoon lets out a groan at the abandonment of your mouth. Instead, you spread your legs, quickly slipping off the soaked black thong you were sporting.

“Look,” you say as your hands reach for your wet cunt— fully exposed, you slip your fingers through before showing them to the man before you. “Look how wet you make me.” You say and you can see Namjoon’s dick twitch at that. You slip your coated digits in your mouth, sucking off your own arousal.

Namjoon is actually fucking shook by your pornographic performance. He knew you had a high libido but damn… he think you might even have him beat.

“You want to taste— or you gonna just keep kneeling in front of me.” You raised a brow, growing impatient. Namjoon is in utter disbelief that you’re his wife. He doesn’t know what he did in his past life to get so lucky. Yet, due to the circumstances, he can’t quite figure out whether he is or not. He shakes away his thoughts, though. He can’t ignore the highly appetizing meal that glistens in front of him right now. The meal he dives into.

His tongue ventures through your folds, mouth sucking on your swollen clit. You throw your head back as Namjoon’s mouth brings you the familiar pleasure that you have wholeheartedly missed. He enters two digits inside of you as his tongue flicked at your clit. You grasp onto his blonde hair as he eats your pussy out like no man ever has. “Fuck yes! Just like that.” Namjoon holds your thigh with his free hand, spreading them wider. His fingers move faster inside of you and you can feel yourself growing closer. You scream out an excessive amount of “yes”s and eventually squirt in his mouth.

Namjoon freezes as you release— not once but twice into his mouth. He looks at the way your chest heaves up and down. That wasn’t enough for him. He needed to be inside of you now. Without any warning, Namjoon slips his dick into your sex, slowly stretching your pussy out. Your legs shake as he makes his way through. “You feel so fucking good.” He mumbles as he thrusts into your pussy again.

The pace almost instantly quickens, the hunger and need from both of you takes over. “I missed your dick so much.” You say as you trail your hands up his chest, caressing over his thickly defined pecks. “Mhn— you’re such a fucking slut. Causing a scene just to get my dick inside of you.” He grabs your hands and places them above your head, restraining you from touching him.

“You feel so good inside of me— ah!” You moan out as Namjoon thrusts deeper inside of your wet pussy. “Fuh— faster, please!” You beg and Namjoon continues to thrust deeper inside of you.

“You’re begging now?” He mocks. It’s quite entertaining to see, actually. He bends down to grab your face, slowing the pace down to tease you even more. “Oh, you don’t like that, do you?” You desperately shake your head. “Beg me to go faster.” Stubbornly, you stay quiet as your pussy aches around his length that slowly strokes inside of you. His lips rest just above yours. “Come on,” he murmurs softly against your lips.” “I wanna hear my little slut beg for dick.” You moan at his words, growing even more aroused.

“Please Joon.” You bite your lip as the grip on your jaw grows tighter. “Please fuck me faster! I— I need your dick.” You beg.

And just like that— you should’ve braced yourself. Namjoon slams his dick inside of your tight hole. Your body jerks at each thrusts. You scream out as Namjoon abuses your tiny cunt. Your screams could be heard throughout the whole two story house.

You look up at Namjoon who is hovering over you while slamming his dick into you. He looks so sexy the way his blonde hair clings onto his dampened face. The sweat trickling down the sides of his face. The sounds of your skin clapping together and the arousal from your pussy lapping up around his dick is sending you over the edge. You feel yourself growing close again.

Namjoon pulls your legs over his shoulders as he fucks into you. You’re completely fucked out— your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel Namjoon hit your spot. You don’t even notice when he attaches his lips onto yours again. You feel yourself unraveling underneath him.

“I’m gonna— mm” You say against his lips. Namjoon nods, breathing heavily. “Cum for me.” He slurs and on command you release yourself around his dick. Namjoon lifts up, still thrusting himself into you. You can feel his dick twitch inside of your pussy, signaling his high.

“Cum inside of me.” You say, eagerly. He looks down at you with an uncertain expression but you nod your head. “Please, cum inside of my pussy.” You whine and Namjoon groans at the sound of your begging. “Fuck.”

Immediately, you feel the warm, sticky, drags of cum release inside of you. You moan at the feeling. He doesn’t pull out. Instead, his chest meet yours and the two of you share another erotic kiss.

It’s been two weeks since that night Namjoon had fucked your brains out. Ever since that night, he hasn’t touched you. Most likely still angry about the events that occurred before he fucked your brains out. Rightfully so— even you can admit that you crossed the line that night. Did you mention he fucked your brains out?

Nevertheless, you have bigger fish to fry. You’re late on your period. You should’ve gotten it a few days ago but the red flood never showed.

Yes, you’re on birth control. Still, inevitably you miss a few days because of your inconsistent schedule so it may not be that effective. Especially not when you beg your husband to cum inside of you.

You wince at the thought as you rest your head on the bathroom door. A few hours ago you went to go pick up a few pregnancy tests from the store. You can’t help but overthink while you wait for the stick you just peed on to tell you whether or not you’re pregnant. You try to imagine the possibility of becoming a mother, how you would act and how you’d speak. How Namjoon would react when you tell him you’re pregnant. Him as a father.

You’re immediately snapped out of your thoughts when you hear the front door slam.

Namjoon’s home.

Your heart rate immediately increases and you pray that he’ll continue ignoring your existence just like he has the past two weeks.

It seems that god is not on your side because you can clearly hear his footsteps approaching the bathroom. Of course he has to go to the bathroom. You just want to cry but that wouldn’t be much help either.

The door handle to the bathroom turns but doesn’t open. The lock on the door stopping him from entering. After a few seconds, he knocks. You flinch at the sound, looking around the bathroom for a way out. Obviously, at a loss when u realize that you’re trapped inside the four walls.

“_______, open the door I have to use the bathroom.” You hear him say behind the door. You look at the pregnancy test on the sink to see that nothing has changed. You silently curse to yourself. Why the fuck is this piss stick taking so long.

“_______.” You hear your name again, along with a few knocks. “I— I’m using the bathroom.” There’s a sigh on the other side of the door. “Well, can you hurry? I’m about to piss myself.” He adds, impatiently to which you roll your eyes.

“Use the guest bathroom!” You shout defensively. Due to you being on the other side of the door, you can’t see the way Namjoon’s brows furrow together. You two never use the guest bathroom even if someone is taking a shit. It’s like an unspoken rule.

“I swear to god _______, open the door. I’ve seen you shitting like a thousand times already.” It’s true, you really couldn’t care less what Namjoon had to say about your smelly poop. Unlike Namjoon who would beg you to leave. But you’re running out of excuses.

“Namjoon, fucking— ugh! Just go to the other bathroom!” You spaz and Namjoon is left with only one thought.

“Is there someone in there with you?” He asks and when you grow silent he makes up his mind. You honestly didn’t know what to say, you were taken aback. How could he think so lowly of you?

“You brought a man into our house _______?” The sound of his voice is a mixture of hurt and anger. And maybe you would feel bad for the man if you weren’t too busy trying to pick your jaw up off the floor. Because… how dare he?

“What the fuck are you talking about? Why would I bring someone into our house?!” You’re pissed that he would even think you would do some shady shit like that. I mean yes, shaking ass on another man in front of his coworkers is bad but bringing another man into your house while he’s gone… that’s fucking low. Even for you.

“Why?” He mockingly repeats before letting out an unhumorous laugh. “Because you don’t want to be in this marriage, that’s why! I wouldn’t be surprised if you brought someone here just to rub that shit in my face.” You angrily swing the door open, absolutely not giving a shit about the stupid pregnancy test on the bathroom sink. You are livid and now Namjoon is going to hear your mouth. Face to face.

“As much as I don’t want to be in the marriage I still have respect for you and I would never bring anyone into this house.” You shout at him. The man is way taller than you but somehow you’re still all up in his face.

“I don’t even know where you would get that idea from. Unless you had another woman in our house.” You fold your arms over your chest. Okay… you knew Namjoon would never bring another woman into this house. You just had to give him a taste of his own medicine. And the expression on his face is so worth it.

“I would never do that to you.” He says, more reassuring than defensive. “I’m the one who is always desperately trying to make this marriage work. I want this to work.” His voice turns soft and he steps closer to you to grab your hands. You couldn’t even be angry at him. Not when he’s right.

You see how hard he’s trying everyday to get through to you. However, you can’t help but be angry. You didn’t want this marriage and you know it’s not his fault but hell… someone had to be at fault. So you take your anger out on him. Looking up at the man you can’t help but feel bad.

“Look,” he says. “I’m sorry for accusing you of bringing someone here— that was fucked up and I shouldn’t have taken it there. I’m just… a little insecure right now and that’s something that I need to work on.” His explanation makes you want to shower him with kisses and hugs. There’s no way you’ve made this man think lowly of himself. The man is absolutely breathtaking and could have anyone he wanted.

If the circumstances were different you would’ve approached him anyway. He’s exactly the type of man you always wanted in your life.

“Don’t apologize.” You focus your eyes on the ground. “It’s my fault, I’ve been acting really bitchy and giving you a hard time.” Your eyes finally meet his again and there’s nothing but disbelief behind them. He doesn’t even think he’s hearing you correctly. There’s no way you’re apologizing.

“You don’t have to work on anything— you’re perfect, Namjoon. I… have to work on being a better wife.” Namjoon swears he hears fireworks going off somewhere. He doesn’t even think before pulling you into a tight hug. Completely forgetting about the urine that was previously begging to be released. And you forget all about the stupid pregnancy test that rests on the sink.

Until Namjoon see’s it. He hesitantly pulls back from the hug, looking as if he seen a ghost. “Joon, what’s wrong?” You ask, worried that there actually might be ghosts in your house. That’d be a real bummer— this house costed a fortune.

“You’re pregnant?” He mindlessly say, still eyeing the pregnancy test on the sink. Your heart drops at the words, eye widening. “I am?!” In an instant you turn around to check the stick. Picking you up you notice the red line going through it.

Only one red line.

You stare at that line for a moment, feeling disappointed for some reason. You waited for what felt like ages for the test to process. Thinking of the future and what type of mother you’d be, how Namjoon would be an amazing father. And it’s negative.

“It’s negative.” You say and Namjoon can’t make out your emotion. You throw the stick out in the waste bin before spinning around the face Namjoon. “I guess we don’t have to worry about the giving the whole abortion talk.” You lamely say before letting out a strained laugh. Namjoon eyebrows furrow at that.

“You wanted to have an abortion?” He sounds disappointed. He would never stop you from having an abortion— it’s not his place. But the thought of you not wanting to have a child with him did kind of hurt.

You shake your head at Namjoon’s question. “No it’s not that. I just assumed… you know.” You awkwardly fidget with your hands as you try to find your words. “I didn’t think you’d want to have a child so soon.” Shrugging your shoulders, you let out another strained laugh, much to Namjoon’s dismay.

“That’s not funny, _______” His expression is serious. “This is why we need to communicate. I’ve always wanted children— I’d want nothing more than to have a child with you _______” He speaks sincerely and you swear you could burst into tears right now.

You place your hands on his cheeks to pull him down for a kiss. It’s not rough, titillating, or sloppy. It’s a kiss filled with passion and for once there’s a speckle of joy in there. You felt safe and secure in Namjoon’s arms. Your husband. A man you don’t quite love yet but you definitely like him. And you’re willing to love him— to fall in love with him.

Namjoon pulls away to catch his breath. You couldn’t help but smile up at your gorgeous husband. “Thank you… for saying that Namjoon. For everything, honestly.” The blonde haired man is smiling from ear to ear. He couldn’t control the wholehearted happiness he felt— it’s floating along with his aura.

“Mmm, thank you for saying you’ll have my kids.” He says, his smile widens as you let out a little laugh. The dimples in his cheeks so prominent you wanna bite them. “The test is negative, Joon.” You remind him. Just in case he forgot from all of the cheesing and giggling he’s doing.

As if he couldn’t express his euphoric excitement any more than he already has, he picks your body up into his strong arms. His hands resting underneath your thighs as he walks you to the bedroom, his lips on yours.

You pull away, not without letting a goofy little giggle leave your mouth. “What are you doing?” You ask, in complete oblivion. Namjoon smiles at you before quickly pecking your lips.

“We’re gonna TRY AGAIN.”

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blondieeu · 5 months

Text

practice. satoru g.

okay don’t get me wrong, moving into a small apartment with fiancé!gojo was one of the best decisions you could’ve ever made for yourself and your future.

making the house your own and setting up the wii, putting a billion pictures of the two of you up around the house, even getting a little puppy and naming him gumi just to make megumi mad.

to getting to experience more intimate things with him like helping him make things because he ends up really loving oragami, seeing his morning face when y’all both look busted asfc or cuddling together in the winter because for some reason the heater is broken he turned it off on purpose.

but the thing was, satoru was a very sexually active man… ever since you got your own apartment without anyone to be in your business he wanted to fuck you everywhere and anywhere he could.

on the table, on the couch, on the balcony, in the pool, on the dryer, on the floor, on the wall, the kitchen counter even right now in the shower!

you tried you didn’t to stop him from sweet talking you into letting him come into your shower, believing him when he was pleading with you, “baby i have to go somewhere let me in your shower,” “it’ll just be quick,” “please in and out?”

your second mistake was letting him scrub your back, and then start kissing on it, and then start to pull you closer, and then start kissing at your lips… and then start to lift your leg up …. “just the tip baby!!”

and here you were, holding onto the shower tiles for dear life. warm water flowing into your curly hair while he gripped your waist and kept slamming it into you.

“ fuckkk me toruuu— ..”

you cried, getting dizzy from all this fuckin’ and putting a hand behind you so he would slow down a little.

“ ‘m gonna nut quick if you keep doing that ‘toru..”

“ oh yea? cum on it then babe,”

he encouraged, going a little faster and grabbing both your arms to hold behind your back so you were forced to be upright, now fucking you up against the shower wall.

the calling of your ass against his waist was loud accompanied by the extra noise of the water and the two of you making loud noises you especially.

and before you really even knew it, there was a warmth pooling out of you and onto his fat cock, a white creamy texture that he calmly stuffed back into you quietly with a smile.

… “ can we do it again ? i didn’t get to nut inside );”

okay last one for 2nite i have to get up early😘🫣 bloundieeu xx

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rabbitblackx · 1 year

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Hiii! Happy Halloween!

May I please have the slashers (Michael ‘78, Jason, Freddy, Brahms) when their usually cheery and happy-go-lucky S/O tells them they want someone de*d? (Censoring just in case aha)

Also, I love your works!

Hiiii! Happy (late) Halloween! Hope u had a spooktacular time!👻 also thank u sm! I really really appreciate it and am glad u like em! :D💖

Slashers when Cheerful!Reader tells them they want someone dead

Includes: Michael Myers (1978), Jason Voorhees, Freddy Krueger and Brahms Heelshire

Warning: Violence and sexual references

Michael Myers (1978)

*Head tilt*

Michael didn’t feel much, but it was safe to say he was a tad bit shocked when you said that. You, of all people… wanted someone dead?

Michael stalked this person, tracking them down to their house. Instead of killing them then and there, he dragged them kicking and screaming back to your place.

His white mask shone malevolently in the dark kitchen, void of emotion. Your wide eyes travelled down to the person restricted in his arms. Their head was bleeding and their mouth was covered by Michael’s hand, his other around their neck

“Michael…?”

He wasn’t going to kill them, he wanted you to do it

His black eyes were shadowed in darkness, but you knew what they said. In a silent exchange, you slowly slid open a drawer. The person struggled and screamed into Michael’s hand. Your fingers wrapped around the smooth handle of a knife, and you pulled it from the drawer

Michael watched in awe as you approached, shakily lifting the blade. He held the person against his chest, giving you access to their abdomen. You stabbed them over and over, much like how you learned from Michael. Their cries of pain soon died down to nothing but a gurgling death rattle. He threw the person roughly down to the kitchen floor, where their blood pooled around their limp body

Michael didn’t let you say anything. He thrusted you into a wall, making you squeak. He gripped your wrist tight, your hand still holding the bloody knife. He was completely infatuated with you in this moment. His hungry eyes traced down your body as he breathed heavily behind his mask. Though you had just literally killed someone, you could feel yourself coming back to your cheery self as his lustful gaze made you all giddy inside.

Michael gently grabbed your throat, and tugged you towards your bedroom

Jason Voorhees

Though he wouldn’t show it, he was a bit concerned when you weren’t as happy or cheery as you usually were. One morning in bed, as you both sat up, he gently wrapped his strong arms around your frame. A tired smile met your face, knowing that was how he sometimes asked, are you okay?

“I’m fine, Jacey. It’s just that…”

When you told him you wanted someone dead in that sweet little voice of yours, the arms around you stiffened. Rage overtook Jason’s thoughts. What did this person do to you? If you, cute and innocent you, wanted someone dead, they must’ve been the devil himself

That night, Jason left the woods and headed to the more suburban area of Crystal Lake. He was an excellent hunter, and found your foe real quick. He stood over their bed as they slept, their chest rising and falling with each breath. The person soon furrowed their brow and stirred, sensing the hateful eyes boring into them. Jason hardly gave them a moment to realise what was happening before he went in for the kill. He thrusted his machete down, over and over until they were spewing hot blood all over the bedsheets

Jason walked back home, pretty satisfied with himself. His mother was quite proud of him as well. But what excited him the most, was your own glowing words of praise. You were finally gonna be your happy self again!

Jason crept into the cabin, trudging towards your shared bedroom. You slept soundly within the sheets. Unlike his last victim, he would not wake you so rudely. He instead laid down next to you, bloody clothes and all. Jason wrapped his arms around you and pulled your back into his chest

“Mmm, Jason…?” You croaked

You could feel the fresh blood dampening the blanket. But alas, you were too tired to care. You also knew exactly who’s it was

“Love you, Jason.” You smiled

Jason rested his head on top of yours, cuddling against you affectionately

I love you too

Freddy Krueger

Instantly aroused😨😨

Freddy laughed evilly and licked his lips at you. Now we were talking! He loved that you were always happy and cheery, it was what made you so fun. But there was that small part of him that just wanted to ask, don’t you just wanna go ape shit?

He was gonna go kill them, sure. But in that moment, all he wanted was you. He slammed you against the wall and gripped your waist hard. Flirty giggles bubbled from your lips as he pulled you into a needy kiss

Freddy slithered into the person you wanted dead’s dreams like a fox to a chicken coop. He tormented them continuously, physically and mentally. He even interrogated them, shouting right in their face about you

“How dare you fucking touch them? You’re mine now, you little bitch!”

Couple slashes to the face later, Freddy waltzed his way over to your own dreams; his favourite place in the whole world. You greeted him with a wide smile and open arms, running up to him and attacking him in a hug. Freddy was careful with his bladed glove as he hugged you back

“It’s all taken care of, prince(ss). They won’t bother you ever again.”

Freddy pressed his chapped lips to yours, then shoved his bare hand under your shirt. Now the gory deed of his was done, he wanted you all to himself. You thought you could be all sexy, ask him to kill for you and then get away with it? Nuh-uh, babe! He was gonna eat you up

Brahms Heelshire

Brahms always adored how joyful you were. Whenever he felt blue, you were right there to cheer him up! What would he ever do without you?

One night, after reading Brahms a bedtime story in the most enthusiastic and engaging way possible, you gave him a goodnight kiss before cuddling up next to him in your shared double bed. Like usual, he fell asleep before you did, with his curls nestled against your chest. Just as you were about to drift off yourself, a loud crash sounded from downstairs. You nearly jumped out of your skin, becoming alert. You shook Brahms furiously awake, causing him to moan and groan in protest

“Brahmsy, I heard something from downstairs! I think there’s someone down there!”

You both leapt to your feet and snuck down to where you heard the noise. Just as you guessed, a burglar was in the living room, shoving old antiques and your tech into a duffel bag. He soon locked eyes with you, before looking over to Brahms. The burglar charged towards him, tackling him to the floor. The porcelain mask Brahms wore shattered into five large pieces, and laid at your feet. You screamed bloody murder as the two men began to tussle with each other. You kicked at the burglar, trying to get him off your boyfriend

Brahms ended up shoving him off, scrambling to his feet and looming over the smaller man. You looked to the broken mask on the floor, and a wave of anger hit you

“Kill him, Brahms.”

Before you could even realise what you just said, it was too late. Like a trained attack dog, Brahms threw himself onto the burglar. He straddled his hips, holding him down. He felt around for one of the shards of porcelain, and snatched one off the floor.

Brahms drove the jagged edge into the burglar’s throat. Your words echoed in his mind as he twisted the porcelain deep within the man’s jugular. He would do anything for you. You told him to do something, and he was straight on it. Always

When the burglar’s body stilled, Brahms lifted himself off him and stumbled over to you.

“Brahmsy…”

You threw your arms around him, and laid your head against his chest

“It’s okay, dear. I’ll protect you forever.” Brahms uttered in that deep, rich voice of his

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ourautumn86 · 8 months

Text

rich stress

shane mccutcheon x fem! reader

synoposis; after a contract gone wrong, your wife needs you to feel better.

cw; minors dni!! shane being pissed off, rough sex(?), fingering (r receiving), oral sex (shane receiving), hair pulling, praising, praise kink, hickeys, no use of y/n, scissoring, tit and nipple play, make out sessions, multiple orgasms, implied shower sex…

ugh so imagine just you and shane getting married, and with time, finding your dream house in LA. she had her pockets filled with money, being known as not only the most wanted female stylist, but the own CEO of her brand. now, with millions of salons under her name and stars hitting her up everyday, she couldn’t say no to your puppy eyes when this one ticked all the boxes. anything for her baby.

it had a beautiful front garden yard with fountains and a private yet outdoors pool that had your knees going wild at the thought of the possibility of seeing shane naked on it late at night. swimming. smiling at you in that goddamn way to get you to get out of your clothes and join her too.

it had also an open kitchen and isle, in which you’d spend your sunday nights cooking with shane for your little inside-dates. and the most amazing salon for when you’d invite the others over.

it was so modern yet homey… and private. you liked that. the clear pannels that led to the pool and exterior letting the views of the city light the nights.

shane knew it was a winner when your finally saw the main bedroom. you liked big beds. for obvious reasons. and the bathroom, decorated in marble floors, had this amazing bathroom whirlpool with sights to the skyscrapers. you liked the idea of taking a bath with her after a tiring and stressful long day, and helping her let go of all the stress she underwent once she was completely undressed.

bette obviously bought the two of you lots of art pieces to decorate it with. she had such a beautiful taste. she also bought you some unique pieces of furniture that had you drooling all over yourself since of course shane insisted on screwing them up all by herself. those arms and fingers working so easily yet so hard to make the house you’d bought together your home… anyways, you thanked bette a lot for that.

and when everything was finally accommodated, you knew this was your home.

“you like it baby?” shane had asked, lips on your neck. she was still wearing her suit, ringed hand heavy on your sides.

you sighed against her. “i love it.”

“good to know i make my girl happy.” she’d smiled.

“the happiest.”

today her demeanor was completely changed. alice had called you up to tell you that the contract she so hard had been working on for the last 2 months had gone to waste. and that she was mad. you’d gulped. a shiver running down your spine. you knew what a mad shane meant, and your legs were already quivering.

the entrance door banged closed, and you continued with your work in the kitchen, knowing she’d be quick to find you. in less than thirty seconds, there she was, heavy and tense on the door.

“shane, baby…” you tried but she was shutting you up too quickly. her lips were harsh on yours, and you whined when one of her hands came up your chest to grab at one of your tits.

“don’t wanna talk about it.” she lowly muttered against your lips, and you nodded before surrounding her neck with your arms, kissing her once again. you knew what she needed right now.

she pushed you against the wall, free hand pushing inside your panties, since all you were wearing was one of her shirts and your underwear. she groaned when she noticed how wet you already were. too wet to be exacts.

“you have been thinking about this, huh? what? did alice called you to let you know?” you nodded, whimpering when her fingers met your clit. “of course she did. and you knew what would happen once i’d get home. you knew i was gonna fuck you, don’t you baby?” you moaned, one of her slim large fingers now inside your cunt. you blushed at the squelch of your walls opening for her. she scoffed when you nodded. “words.”

“yeah…”

she pushed another finger inside, and your thighs shook. “i’m so fucking mad.” she groaned. “good thing i have my doll to make me feel better, don’t i?” you whimpered. she sucked on your neck, leaving hickeys while she rocked her body against you with each harsh thrust of her fingers. she pulled from one of your thighs so you’d surround her hips, reaching deeper, hitting your g spot over and over again as she curled her fingers.

your back arched, and you cried out her name. she moaned as well when you pulled from her hair. her own hips thrusting against you. her tongue pushed inside your mouth, teeth clashing and lips bruising.

“i’m cumming…” you moaned, and she grunted, keeping the pace and the harshness, bringing you to your orgasm. your jaw fell slack, and she kissed your cheek and chest, her free hand cupping your tits and teasing your nipples. she didn’t stop fucking you with her fingers until you were squirming due to the overstimulation. you watched as she popped her cum soaked fingers inside her mouth, making you whine at the thought of her own slick coating your tongue. “let me help you…” you pleaded, one of your hands cupping her cunt over her pants. she grunted. “please. use me.”

you begged, and soon enough she was pushing you into your bedroom.

“you know what to do.” you nodded, your tongue dampening your lips as shane got rid of her pants while you kneeled in front of the bed. you stared up at her as she pushed her underwear down her thighs, a patch of black hair decorating her mound. she then proceeded to sat down and spread her legs, giving you a perfect view of her glistening pussy and folds. you bit down on your lip, a soft moan leaving your throat at the sight. your palms met her thighs as you got closer. “come on princess. use that pretty mouth of yours, hm?” you complied, dragging your tongue through her folds to collect her sweet slick, making her grunt as you hummed. “yeah. just like that. atta girl.”

she tasted so good…

her fingers dug into your hair, pushing you flush against her cunt as her head fell back, a groan leaving her lips when you eagerly sucked on her clit. she was so pent up and sensitive due to the stress…

she was leaking, already turned on by having had you cumming on her fingers. and now that you were on your knees for her… there was no sight she adored more.

you were eating her out like a starved woman, pants leaving her lips. “so fucking needy…” “tastes good baby? you like eating my pussy?” you nodded, moaning as your tongue plunged inside her hole. “of course you do. you like being used, don’t you?” you moaned. “come on. fuck me. need you to make me feel better.”

you exchanged your fingers with your tongue, pushing inside and making shane moan. she sounded so fucking sweet when she did, eyebrows knitted together and eyes squinted close as her jaw fell slack.

“shit. just like that.”

you sucked on her clit, kissed her folds, steadily thrusted your fingers to pull out of her more moans and grunts. and when you curled them to hit her g spot, she tugged on your locks, pushing you harder against her. she was close. you knew.

“gonna cum. gonna cum all over that pretty face of yours. fuck. gonna make a mess outta you.” you moaned, moving your fingers faster as she humped your face, thighs clenching and squirming as she gushed all over your mouth with a beautiful pornographic moan. your eyes looked at her the moment she fell apart, wanting to take on the sight through your eyelashes. ‘cause she’s looked so fucking perfect every time she came…

you cleaned her up, tasting and drinking up her juices. your chin and lips shone with it. the hand that stood on your hair fell to your cheek, her thumb tugging on your bottom lip. she looked at you with such lust that made you shiver. “come here.” she said, and you were quick to get on your feet and join her on the bed. you straddled her, and eagerly received her tongue inside your mouth, the mix of the two of you tangible. her hands harshly took your ass, tugging on your soaked panties to pull them off. you two were a mess of hands, getting rid of each others clothes in a frenzy. you looked at her tits, her perfect tits, and couldn’t help but latch onto them as her back hit the duvet. shane groaned, her hands, back on your hips, rocking you back and forth against her. you two looked like two animals in heat. humping each other as drool decorated your chins due to how messy you were being.

“need to fuck you.” you nodded, muttering a ‘please’ as she rolled you over until you were the one pinned against the bed. “so fucking pretty…” she groaned, taking you in. with your flushed cheeks and swollen lips, tits slightly bouncing with your heavy breathing. she positioned the two of you so her cunt would hover over yours. you didn’t have to beg twice, ‘cause she was already thrusting against your wetness, clits bumping against the other and making the two of you moan. you were so worked up. “so wet… all of this for eating my pussy, baby?” you nodded. “so cute.” you let out a scream when she harshly thrusted against you, the sound of your slick filling the bedroom. “such a good girl, letting me use her… look at this pussy, hm? soaked wet just for me. isn’t that right princess?” you nodded, and she clicked her tongue. “words.”

“yes, shane. fuck. just for you.” she moaned. she loved it when you called her name. it sounded so sweet falling from your lips…

your hips unconsciously thrusted against hers. you could already feel your orgasm building up. her hands cupped your tits, stimulating your nipples. your moans became more and more loud. letting her now that you were close.

“come on baby. be a good girl cum for me, i know you want to.” just a little praising and you were falling apart, gushing against her cunt as your back arched. just the sight and a couple more thrusts had her groaning as she felt her release hit her, fucking the two of you through it until the overstimulation became too much. she laid beside you, tucking her face on the crook of your shoulder as she pulled you into her arms and you caressed her hair, your fingers lacing through it. “thank you.” she muttered and you kissed her cheek. “i love you, baby.” she said, softly kissing your swollen lips, her thumb drawing circles on your hip.

“i love you too, shane.” you smiled, and kissed her back. the kiss was sweet and slow yet deep, and when she pulled away she asked:

“shower with me?”

you chuckled at the smirk on her lips.

“let’s go.” and yet. you gave in.

a/n; my first shane fic!! idk if it’ll get reads since it seems like there are not many shane fics on the app but anyways i love her and had to write about her.

hope y’all like it! :))

#shane mccutcheon #shane mccutcheon x reader #shane mccutcheon x fem! reader #shane mccutcheon x you #l word #l word x reader #l word shane #shane l word #shane x reader #shane x you #shane x y/n #l word smut #l word fluff #shane mccutcheon smut #shane mccutcheon fluff

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leahluvr · 6 months

Text

insistent - alexia putellas x reader

genre: smut, you get a national team call up but at what cost?

warnings: nsfw, fingering

an: i know alexia usually speaks catalan but i had a cuban friend translate spanish accurately for me

____________________________________________

you hurriedly searched for your keys in your kit bag and struggled to put them through the front door’s keyhole. it was becoming increasingly difficult because as you did so, alexia pressed her hips to your ass and kissed your neck desperately. she sucked harshly on your soft skin making you let out a loud moan, careless about being in the public hallway of your apartment.

alexia had been all over you, all day. at every spare chance she had gotten, she’d slid her hand under your training kit, placing it over your bare waist. you could tell she was begging for the contact by the way she longing stared into your eyes. you let those hazel eyes win; once you had arrived home from training, alexia putellas had you all to herself.

at the click of the door knob, you and alexia stumbled in, the weight of her body clinging to you, weighing you down. when you entered your apartment nala did not come to the door, seemingly sleeping on the sofa. beside the silence, alexia’s desperate, breathless, wet kisses to your upper torso and your whiny moaning echoed against the walls.

after throwing your kit bag to the floor, alexia, too impatient to walk into the bedroom, firmly pressed your hips against the cold marble countertop of your kitchen. she tightly grasped the skin of your hips, evidently inhaling the infatuating smell of your perfume and post-training sweat mixed together.

“baby,” you drawled, your core aching for any sort of contact, “i need you.”

“mmh estás muy desesperada por mi, no es verdad, querida?” (mmh darling your so desperate for me aren’t you? ) she mumbled, sucking your now very raw, red neck. you’d have a hell of a time trying to cover it up.

alexia pushed and pulled your training kit over your head, chucking it onto the floor. she then hooked her fingers on the waistband of your shorts, allowing them to pool at your feet. you were left topless with nothing but a tight thong on, already drenched by your pleasure.

“que culo tan lindo, bebé,” (such a pretty ass, baby) she growled, leaning down and pressing a kiss to your ass cheek, before using a hand to slap it hard, leaving a bright red hand print. “por qué no me besaste cuando estábamos practicando? pensé que me prometiste ser una buena chica?”(why didn’t you kiss me at practice? you promise to be a good girl for me now?)

“yes, i promise, just please fuck me ale,” you groaned, pushing your ass back into her. she grabbed your ass, enjoying her time playing and grasping at it, before she moved her hand to cusp your clothed cunt.

alexia moaned at the feeling of your soaked-through underwear, knowing she hadn’t even properly touched you yet.

“mierda, estás empapada y no e hecho nada todavía,” (fuck, you’re so wet and i haven’t even done anything yet, sweetheart) she said, sliding her fingers up and down your folds, still covered by your wet panties.

she hooked a singular finger on the waist line of your thong, releasing it and letting it flick against your skin, then finally pulling them down and letting them drop to your ankles.

alexia moved one hand to explore your soaking folds and the other to grasp onto your tit.

“mmh fuck, ale,” was the last the thing you managed to say before the phone that you had carelessly thrown onto the counter began to vibrate. the last thing you wanted to do in this moment of time was to answer a phone call while getting the fuck-of-a-lifetime by your lover.

“responde,” (answer it) alexia demanded, letting go of your breast and grabbing the phone, forcing it into your hand.

you obeyed and flipped the vibrating phone over to see the caller id. though your eyes didn’t want to believe the name.

“sarina,” alexia had moved to the back of your neck, whispering your managers name into your ear, with her spanish accent.

“ale, no i can’t, but i have to- fuck, shit. what do i do?” you panicked, still feeling your spaniard girlfriend’s fingers that played with the wetness between your thighs.

“que te dije de ser buena chica para mi? responde.” (what did i say about being a good girl for me? answer it)

“yes, mami.”

you hesitantly swiped the ‘answer’ button across, putting the phone up to side of your head.

“hello?”

“good afternoon, yn!” the dutch woman spoke on the other side of the phone.

“oh hi sari-“ you winced, halting your breathe when; not one, but two of alexia fingers, with no warning, plunged knuckle-deep into your pussy.

“i’m calling to let you know, you have been selected for the december squad for the next nations league fixtures! well done, yn, you’ve been playing exceptionally well at barcelona!”

your breathe hitched when alexia’s fingers slowly pulled out of you.

“tha-“ before you can finish your first word, her fingers, once again vigorously pushed deep into you, forcing you to use the one hand you had for your balance on the countertop to cover your mouth, stopping the loud groan slipping away from the tip of your tongue. the lack of stability made your torso smack onto the cold counter, bare skin and breasts hitting the stone surface, forming a loud hitting sound. you mustered as much effort possible to regain your composure, when alexia ran her fingers through your messy tangles. “thank you, sarina.”

“yn, are you okay?”

as you were about to answer, alexia leaned closer to your bare back, pressing her additional third finger into you, and using her hot tongue to taste the bare skin of your back.

“ohh- yeah i’m all good, just a bit busy at the moment. haha, not the greatest time to get a national team call-up.”

“um, okay! i’ll leave you to it, yn. see you in a week.”

sarina ended the call.

you dropped your phone and let out a disturbingly loud moan as alexia striped her tongue across your cunt.

“my good girl,” she mumbled in her spanish-laced english accent underneath you.

“fuck alexia,” you breathed, “i’m going to fucking kill you.”

1 week later

“yn, are you sure you were okay on that phone call?”

“yeah, i actually can’t remember what i was doing, sorry about that.”

“no don’t apologise, i was just worried you sounded as though you were in pain.”

you laughed the conversation off, though you internally wanted to kill yourself from humiliation; embarrassed that your national team coach had heard your desperate moaning over a phone call.

you were so grateful, none of your teammates had overhead the chat between sarina and yourself. or so you had thought.

when you walked into the team break room, the group sat relaxed, laughing together, engaging in some sort of game on the beanbags on the floor. you looked around the room, finding a spot next to your closest mate, lucy.

“never have i ever kissed more than one person in 24 hours,” tooney asked, peering around the room.

the room filled with laughter when a handful of the girls, sheepishly raised their hands.

“all right, all right let me go next!”

you turned to lucy next to you, who had a nasty smirk plastered onto her face, you laughed, ready to hear her question.

“never have i ever…had sex during a call up for the national team!”

your heart plummeted to the floor. lucy made direct eye contact with you, her grin becoming increasingly wider when your cheeks flushed a scarlet shade of red. you wanted to die.

“YN WHAT?!” everyone yelled.

____________________________________________

an: hope that was alright. kinda rushed it.

#alexia putellas x reader #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas #woso fanfics #woso imagine #woso x reader #barca femeni x reader #woso blurbs #woso one shot

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redwing4life · 21 days

Text

Shadows

CHAPTER 2 | ASHES TO EMBERS

PAIRING: Firefighter!Neighbor!Bucky x Fem!Reader

WARNINGS: Fluff, talk about night terrors, ALPINEEE, reader continues to be oblivious, bucky being a flirt

SUMMARY: After yesterday’s elevator fiasco, you’re left with the guilt of overstepping in Bucky’s business. He could barely look at you when you went to the firehouse to thank the crew, so it’s fair to say you’re surprised when he turns up at the cafe you work at.

WORD COUNT: 3813

PREVIOUS CHAPTER // NEXT CHAPTER

5 months ago…

Rain patters against your windows, dancing with other fallen drops as they race to the bottom. You’ve always found downpours to be comforting and tonight is no different.

The fan of your laptop whirrs along to the sounds of the movie you’ve been waiting to watch for weeks, only now getting the chance to after spending most of your time at the cafe, helping with renovations.

Surrounded by soft pillows that muffle your giggles, you reach for your phone to check the time. 01:54. Since when was it that late?

You reach to put your phone back, deciding to finish your film before calling it a night, when you hear a muffled yell. Slamming the space bar to pause the movie, you sit up in your bed adorned with a frown.

The silence that greets you leaves you questioning if you made it up. You clench your eyes shut, as though you’re blinking away your delusions, when a guttural cry travels through the thin walls of your apartment, tightening your muscles into a flinch that snaps your eyes wide open.

Your blood runs cold at the sheer terror laced within the following whimpers, adrenaline sending your mind into overdrive. Thoughts run rampant, dragging you through all the possibilities you can think of as you slowly piece together enough to understand what’s happening.

Your new neighbour, James. The firefighter. It’s his screams flooding your home.

Worry consumes you, sending you throwing the sheets off your body before you clamber out of bed. The hardwood floor is cool beneath your feet as you rush to your kitchen to grab your keys. You don’t even bother to put shoes on, hurried by the growing volume of James’ shouts.

You make quick work of unlocking your front door and ignore the voice in your head telling you it’s none of your business. You’d be damned if you don’t check on him, no matter how little you know him.

Raising your fist, you knock on the dark oak door of your neighbor’s apartment and pray he answers unharmed.

“James?!” You call through the door, not caring if you disrupt anyone else in the building.

With several more knocks, the muffled screaming comes to a halt and a small wave of relief washes through you.

You listen intently for any sign of the firefighter. “James?” Your voice is a little quieter now that you don’t need to shout over his bellows. You raise your hand to knock once more when the door suddenly opens.

Bucky Barnes stands before you in just a pair of shorts, sweat pooling above his brow line. Drops run down the valley of his chest, following the trail down to his abs. His chest is heaving up and down, up and down, lungs guzzling oxygen as though he’s been underwater for hours.

“God, James- I- are you okay?” Your eyes study the man in front of you, scanning every inch of his face with a worry that Bucky’s never seen from a stranger before.

“Fuck, y/n, I’m sorry” He shakes his head, “I- I just had a nightmare, I didn’t realise I’d been screaming.”

Shame tugs at his features, a frown nestled between his brows that you find yourself wanting to trace - to run your fingers over his cheeks till his heart stops beating so fast.

“It’s okay, really. I was worried, I didn’t know if you were hurt or...” Your words trail off, gaze falling to your feet as a light blush creeps up your neck.

You suddenly realise you’re wearing a tank top and shorts, hardly appropriate attire for a midnight conversation with your next door neighbour. One you may or may not have a school girl crush on.

“I’m okay,” Bucky rubs the back of his neck nervously, “I really am sorry for disturbing you, it won’t happen again.”

The desire to comfort him and tell him that it’s okay for him to have problems is clawing at your heart, but you remind yourself that living next door to him doesn’t mean you have the right to impose yourself on his life.

“You don’t need to apologise, James. I was still awake so it didn’t bother me, i’m just glad you’re alright.”

Your confession almost makes your neighbour blush. He wipes the sweat soaked hair from his forehead and smiles at you, but you see the way it doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Thanks for checking on me, doll.” God, will you ever not swoon at that name? “I hope you sleep well”

Eyes raking over your frame one final time, Bucky reaches behind him ready to shut the door.

“You too, Barnes. Goodnight.”

“Night, sweets.”

Present day…

A dull ache ripples through your shoulders as you carry the final bag of coffee beans to the storage room. Soft jazz plays from the radio on the counter and you hum along, accompanied by the scuff of your trainers on the tiles.

It feels like a lifetime has passed since this morning when you dropped off some cakes at the firehouse to thank the crew for yesterday. They were more than happy to take them off your hands, though one particular firefighter didn’t pay you so much as a glance.

You and Bucky have yet to speak about the events of the elevator; guilt has followed you like a lost puppy, a constant reminder of your colossal fuck up.

While you understand why Bucky is being cold to you, it hurt when he avoided you like the plague this morning. Against your best efforts, Steve saw how your eyes kept wandering back to your neighbour, offering a sympathetic smile when you returned your attention to him.

You did get to meet the crew properly which was lovely. Sam, who clearly has a knack for annoying Bucky, told you all about how he beat him in their physical exam last week. You longed to hear Bucky’s laugh at Sam’s remarks but were forced to settle for his silence.

After leaving the firehouse, you vowed to forget about your neighbour for the day, focus on work and not let your thoughts run you into the ground, yet here you are, daydreaming about him as you’re surrounded by flour and coffee beans.

The cafe is bathed in the orange and pink glows of sunset when you return from the storage room; emerald leather booths reflecting the few remaining beams of sunlight. It took you and your boss a week to build those damn things, but a satisfied grin settles on your lips at the sight of them.

“My back hurts just looking at ‘em.” Your boss, Sophie, chuckles from her armchair in the corner.

“I don’t think mine ever stopped!” You laugh.

It’s your usual closing routine; Sophie does the paperwork while you tidy up. Although you do work for her, the pair of you are good friends and you enjoy the quiet evenings talking nonsense as you wrap up for the night.

“How’s things with the hot firefighter next door?” She asks.

A scoff escapes you, “He won’t even look at me after yesterday.”

“What? I thought getting stuck in a lift with you would be heaven for him!”

Sending an incredulous look her way, you let your hair down from its messy bun. “You’re hilarious.”

Sophie rolls her eyes. “How is it that you get the hot firefighter pining over you and you can’t even see it?”

“Pining?” You shake your head, “Soph, we barely talk!”

“Then why is about today walk into my cafe?”

You barely get chance to process her words when the bell rings and a rush of cool air sweeps the room. You spin on your heel, faced with the man himself.

“James?” Your brows furrow, mouth ajar.

Bucky waves awkwardly. “Hey, doll.”

“What- Um… what are you doing here? We closed at six.” Words stumble over each other as you try to string a sentence together. Your heart, as usual, thuds like thunder in his presence.

“I came for you.” Bucky’s eyes bore into you, a hopeful expression on his features. “I thought m-maybe I could give you a lift home and- and we could talk?”

You hold his gaze, watching intently as he tilts his head slightly; it’s painfully silent while you endure a battle of your heart and your brain.

Your brain pleads with you to say no. To remember that nothing good could come of this and to spare yourself the embarrassment of being told to leave him alone.

Your heart, however? Well, your heart has already taken off your apron and walked out to his car.

“Okay,” You nod once. “I’ll be out in five.”

Awkward silence envelopes Bucky’s old beat-up four-by-four. The worn leather scratches the skin of your palms that have yet to leave your sides, ready to bolt at any moment.

Heat trickles up your neck with every stolen glance from Bucky and though he’s desperate to finally meet those pretty eyes, you’ve not raised them from your lap since you hopped in five minutes ago.

The firefighter clears his throat, “How was work?”

“Busy” You reply, biting your cheek lightly. “How was yours?”

A sigh rolls out from the drivers seat and he runs a hand through his hair. “It was a calmer shift, for once.” A content smile settles on his lips.

“No trapped elevators today?” You raise a brow, stealing the quickest of glimpses at your neighbour. Who could blame you when he’s running his hand through his hair like that? God, you’ve always wanted to do that.

Bucky laughs. “Not today. Think i’ve had my fair share for a little while!”

You breathe a laugh and Bucky’s grin widens, finding it hard to focus on the road when you’re sat looking so beautiful in his passenger seat.

The car rolls up to a red light before you start playing with your fingers.

“I’m so sor-“ “I need t-“

Your voices blend together as you begin speaking at the same time, drawing a nervous giggle from you.

“You go,” your cheeks burn crimson.

Bucky takes a shaky breath, eyes now trained on the road. “I need you to know that yesterday wasn’t your fault.”

Small tendrils of hair fall into your face when you tilt your head to the left. “No, James, I shouldn’t ha-“

Words die on your tongue as Bucky places his warm hand on your thigh; you try to focus on his voice and not how his hand is spread so fucking far across your jean-clad legs.

“Please, doll, let me say this, I- I need to say this.”

The sheer vulnerability that ripples from the base of his throat makes you want your heart to stop beating so loud, just so he’d have all the silence he needs.

“I’ve never been one to solve my problems, I just deal with them. I get on with life with this huge fucking shadow over me and, god, I dunno, I resign myself to a life in the shade.”

Bucky scoffs. “You were the first person to see it… the shade, I mean.”

It’s like your ribcage is turning to lead, heart heavy knowing he’s talking about his nightmares.

“After you came to check on me that night, it was like a weight was lifted from my shoulders. And that was enough to stop them back then.”

Absentmindedly, his fingers roll beneath his knuckles, fist tightly clenched on your lap. “But the dreams came back and that weight came back and it was heavier than before.”

“It was like a knife to the stomach when you brought it up yesterday because I finally had to admit that I never got over my problems, i’ve just been existing with them. Knowing that you knew of my shadows wasn’t enough anymore and I took it out on you and I’m so fucking sorry, doll.”

Bucky’s breath hitches in his throat when you reach your right hand to rest on the one on your thigh. The sparks beneath your touch beg him to look at you; blue eyes meet yours, swarming with an emotion you can’t quite figure out. With your hand still laying on his, you drag your left one up and down his forearm, tracing the veins and the valleys like its second nature.

It doesn’t evade either of you that it feels so right to have your hands on him, for you to comfort him this way.

His name falls from your lips and Bucky’s stomach flutters. He loves that you’re the only person who calls him James, though he knows it’s only because you don’t know to call him Bucky.

“James,” You say again, eyes flitting to the road briefly, “the lights are green”

Oh. He thinks, biting back a frown as he turns back to the road and is forced to pull his arm away to release the hand break. But your eyes never leave his face, not once.

Not when some dumb fuck cuts across the road and Bucky has to slam on the brakes. Not when you turn down the street of your apartment. Not even when the car comes to a halt and he kills the engine.

The heat of your gaze has the firefighter’s heart racing, far too aware of your silence. He steals a glance of you at the corner of his eye and can’t bear to feel so naked before you; he turns away and goes to pull the door handle when he feels a hand wrap firmly around his bicep.

“James, wait” You plead, squeezing his arm slightly. “I didn’t get my turn to talk.”

Reluctantly, Bucky eases back into his seat, his body rigid with apprehension. He utters an apology and you take a deep breath.

“Every single night that I heard you screaming, I’ve wanted to go running to your door, just like that first time.”

A sad smile tugs at your lips as you release your grip on his arm. “I hate knowing you’re on the other side of the wall, so hurt that even sleep can’t hide your pain.”

You watch his eyes clench shut while you talk. “Yesterday, in the lift, I couldn’t hold it in anymore, I had to bring it up. It was selfish, really. It became so unbearable pretending that I don’t hear you at night that I confronted you without care of what that might to do you. I brought it up when you weren’t expecting it and that’s on me. I’m sorry, James.”

Bucky shakes his head lightly, going to argue but you continue. “I know you’re sorry for being cold, and you don’t need to be. I understood why you shut down, even if it hurt.”

“I’m still sorry, though” He admits, “I shouldn’t have said such harsh things.”

“And I shouldn’t have acted like I know everything. I don’t.”

You both share a laugh, the air in the truck lightening at your confessions. Those bright blue eyes fall to your lips, a relieved smile left from your giggles.

“Hey,” He breathes, eyes hopeful, “do you- do you wanna come meet Alpine?”

Bucky’s heart melts at the way your grin widens at his question.

You nod vigorously, “Yes, I would love that.”

James Bucky Barnes’ apartment is not what you expected.

When you step inside, warmth greets you with haste. Soft lamps illuminate the room from various corners; the light bounces off the few plants and various decorations while the long windows on the far wall begin to reflect the light as night falls.

“Do you want a drink?” Bucky asks, stepping around you when you still in the middle of the open plan room, a mirrored layout to your own.

“What’ve you got?” Your eyes wander up and down his frame as he walks to the kitchen, pausing at the rippled muscles of his toned back. He’s still in his work gear; a navy blue station t shirt, dark grey utility pants and heavy black boots. And as always, he looks thigh-clenchingly good.

“Uhh, I’ve got some beer, coke, water,” His head peeks out from behind the fridge door, “or I have some coffee or hot cocoa?”

You gasp playfully, “You got hot cocoa?”

Bucky raises an amused brow, a grin toying his lips. “You want one?”

Your hair slips from behind your ear as you nod and shuffle your way to the kitchen. Butterflies swarm your stomach at the sight of Bucky tinkering away with your drinks, his back to you as he works. Thoughts of a life with him as your boyfriend flash through your mind but you shake them away.

Spinning around, you scan the apartment for any sign of Alpine, only to come up short. When Bucky notices your searching eyes, he pulls a stool out from beneath the little island and stretches a hand out to you.

“Climb up, doll.” He grins.

“What?” Confusion laced within your voice, much to your neighbours amusement.

He jerks his head toward the refrigerator, or more specifically, above it. Curiosity fuels your movements and you take Bucky’s hand, helping you up onto the stool. Ignoring the adoring gaze from the firefighter, you look to see the infamous white cat, curled up in a ball above the fridge.

“Aww” You coo, catching the cat’s attention. She pushes herself up onto her paws and tentatively walks to the edge to get a closer look of you.

Bucky watches closely, “She loves it up there, dunno why” He helps you down from the stool when Alpine climbs down onto the counter.

“You’ve got a good little hiding place, huh?” Her fur is soft beneath your fingers as you stroke her head, lightly scratching behind her ears. She nestles into your palm and purrs, eyes closing at your attention.

“You were quite the hot topic at the station today, ya know?” The firefighter says, throwing a cheeky glance over his shoulder when he returns to making your drinks.

“Oh, really?” You walk back to the small breakfast bar and lean against it on your elbows, head tilted in curiosity. Alpine scurries away to the couch now that your focus is on Bucky.

“Yep, some of the guys talked about ya all day.” A blush creeps up your neck, much like it always does in Bucky’s presence. “It’s not often we get a pretty woman come in with the best cakes in town.”

You didn’t think it was possible, but your cheeks only grow hotter at his words. Pretty woman, huh?

Bucky turns back to face you and places two cups of hot cocoa on the counter.

“You don’t get thank you cookies?” An innocent frown pulls your brows together and Bucky swoons.

“Oh, we do!” He smirks, “Just not always from pretty women.”

Oh dear lord, help me.

Your neighbor pushes a mug closer to you and continues, “And they’re not always the best cookies.”

A snort of a laugh escapes you as you wrap your hands around the cup, “Well i’ll tell my boss you liked ‘em.”

It’s hard to describe the way you feel in this moment. It’s both familiar, yet exhilaratingly new; Bucky, the apartment, Alpine, the steaming mugs of hot cocoa, it’s all so peaceful. You feel whole in his presence, as though the missing piece of the enigmatic puzzle of your life has been filled.

Conversation flows for hours, the sky turning dark outside the tall windows, though you barely notice - too invested in your neighbour and the discussions you share.

The more you learn about him, the more you see him becoming a part of your life. If Bucky’s doting eyes are anything to go by, then you can guess he feels the same.

The buzz from your phone vibrates across the countertop, dropping you back into reality.

“Jeez,” you mumble, “it’s nearly ten.”

Bucky chuckles, “We have been talking for a while, sweets.”

You hum in response, reading the text from Sophie.

‘How’d things go with the hot firefighter?’

Praying said hot firefighter can’t see the text himself, you quickly turn off you phone and place it back down.

“I- um” You stutter, distracted by the sight before you; Bucky stretching his arms up behind his head, revealing a slim stretch of skin beneath his shirt. Eyes wide at the dip of his adonis’ belt and the glimpse of a happy trail, you scramble to regain your composure. “I should start heading home, James.”

When he shakes his head and breathes a laugh, you frown, “What?”

“You’re the only person who still calls me James.” He confesses.

“Well what else would I call you?” You ask.

“My friends call me Bucky.”

You smile to yourself. “Bucky…” You test it out, oblivious to the hitch in his breath when you say his name. “Would you like me to call you Bucky?”

Your question poses more of a challenge than you expected and the firefighter places his hands on his hips, adorned with a frown.

“You’re welcome to call me either, but i’d rather you choose.” He says.

“Oh, that’s a lot of power, Barnes” Your grin widens, a mischievous glint in your eyes.

He scoffs playfully, “James or Bucky, doll, I’m not giving you free rein. So which is it?”

Pushing yourself off the breakfast bar, you step backwards and look around the apartment before turning back to your neighbour. “You’ll have to wait and see”

Before you know it, Bucky is stood right in front of you, his chest mere inches from yours, his breath fanning across your cheeks as he looks down at you.

“Oh, really?” He cocks his head, eyes pinning you to the ground.

You fight the urge to gulp at the close proximity; your heart is racing and mouth slightly ajar.

“Mhmm” You nod slowly, finding your feet in this new dynamic. Bringing a hand to his chest, you tap against it twice. “Gives you a reason to invite me over again.”

Bucky revels in the feeling of your hand on his body, desperate for more. He doesn’t even care if you can feel how his heart is beating as fast as yours, too lost in the moment to give a shit.

“I don’t need a reason to invite you over, doll”

Sweet Jesus.

After a moment too long, Bucky escorts you to the door. You give Alpine a quick head scratch on the way.

“I’ll see you in the morning?” The firefighter asks as you walk to your apartment down the hall, leaning against his door frame.

“You know it!” You reach you door and turn to grin at him.

“Don’t forget to set your alarm, sweets” He teases, drawing an eye roll from you, and steps back into his apartment before closing the door.

Following suit, you rest your back against the wood and throw your head back. What a fucking day.

NEXT CHAPTER

a/n: second chapter done and released a day early ;) hope you enjoyed it, the end is a little rushed but i’m happy with it. as always, my dms and asks are open if anyone has any questions or suggestions for this fic or any other fic ideas. love, red <3

comment if you’d like to be added to the ashes to embers taglist 🧡

taglist: @armystay89 @rabbitrabbit12321 @mishkatelwarriorgoddess @harrystylesandthegoobs @zannemes @noonespecial90 @pank0w @blackbirdwitch22 @wintrsoldrluvr @pingpongfingfong @belleofthebooks @larienjenova @chaosbarelycontained

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bellaxgiornata · 3 months

Text

The Devil at Your Window |2: Borrowed Scarf|

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word count: 4.4k

Warnings/Tags: 18+; fluff, flirting, sexual tension, light angst, pining, eventual smut, identity reveal, and lots of black suit Matty

Series Installment List & Summary

a/n: Another fluffy and flirty installment for this series! Some hurt/comfort coming up next for this series! Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag list: @danzer8705 @darkened-writer @keepingitlokiii @kezibear @dorothleah @sarahskywalker-amidala

Stomping your boots on the little entry rug just inside your apartment, you attempted to knock most of the snow from off of them. You didn’t want the water to pool all over the hardwood by your door when the snow inevitably melted. Even though, admittedly, the floor in your place wasn’t in the best condition to begin with. But you always thought it added ‘character’ to the apartment.

With a sigh you leaned to your right, resting a shoulder against the wall while your left hand clutched the two bags of takeout you’d just picked up. Reaching a foot forward, you gently nudged your apartment door shut with a boot before drawing your leg back towards yourself and sluggishly removing them one at a time single-handedly. Once you’d removed both boots, you placed them on the rug to dry before pushing off the wall and taking a moment to lock your front door.

A strong, delicious scent wafted out of the takeout bags as you made your way over towards your kitchen, your stomach rumbling hungrily in response. You knew you'd gone a little overboard ordering tonight, aware there was no way you could actually eat everything you'd picked up, but you figured whatever was left could end up as lunch tomorrow at work. Everything had just sounded too good because you’d been starving when you ordered it.

Setting both bags down on your kitchen counter, you headed towards your fridge and swung the door open, grabbing a beer from off the top shelf. You twisted the cap off, tossing it into the garbage as you passed it. Taking a drink from the bottle, you opened a cabinet with your left hand and pulled down a plate, closing the cabinet door with your elbow before spinning on the spot. Heading back towards the counter where the bags of takeout resided, you set both your plate and beer bottle onto the surface. With your hands free, you immediately began to tear the bags of food open, rifling around in them and pulling out one of the burritos and setting it onto your plate. Next you dug out the container of rice before grabbing the chips and salsa, setting them on the counter before opening the nearby drawer and pulling out a spoon. In a rush to eat, especially after having made the trek around the corner to pick up your food in all the snow, you began to quickly plate both items hungrily.

Once everything was ready, you grabbed your beer in one hand and your plate of food in the other before making your way out of your kitchen and over towards the living room, leaving the mess on your counter to deal with once you’d eaten. As you began to lower yourself onto the couch, you reached forward and set your beer onto the coffee table. Settling down onto the cushions with a contented sigh, you balanced your plate of food on your lap and picked up the television remote from the arm of the couch. Impatiently you turned the TV on with one hand while beginning to unwrap your burrito with the other, too hungry to wait to eat until you’d started your show. Tearing off a large bite of food, you opened up Netflix while you chewed, fully prepared to continue binging the series you’d been watching. Though the sound of a few loud raps gave you pause before you could push play.

Swallowing down the bite of food you’d had in your mouth, your brows furrowed in confusion. It was late, almost eight o’clock. You’d been held over at the office today, and then the snow-laden sidewalks had slowed your walk home from work afterwards, making your walk take longer than usual. After getting out of your dress clothes, you’d decided you were too tired to cook this evening and ordered food instead. Which was why you were now having such a late dinner on a Tuesday evening.

But it was Tuesday evening. Which meant you weren’t expecting visitors.

The knock sounded again and your eyes narrowed as you lowered the burrito to the plate in your lap and set the television remote back onto the armrest of the couch. That’s when it hit you. There wasn’t someone knocking at your door, there was someone knocking at your window .

Your head spun to the right instantly. Sure enough, the Devil clad in all black was standing on your fire escape. The moment your eyes landed on him, he raised a single gloved hand and waved, a smile forming beneath his mask. Eyes going wide, your mouth once again fell open at the sight of him standing there so casually on your fire escape in the cold of the night.

It had been just over a week ago since the snowstorm that had led him to fall onto your fire escape when you’d first met him. The same night where you’d cuddled with him for warmth when the power had gone out in your building before accidentally falling asleep on him. But he’d snuck out of your apartment before you’d even woken, and you hadn’t heard from him since, even if you had seen him in some blurry photos on the news.

But it wasn’t as if you’d truly ever expected to see him again after that strange night where you recalled staying up and talking with him well past two in the morning. Sure, you’d hoped he’d stop by again–fantasized about it maybe, especially with how good your mind kept recalling him looking in person in all that tight-fitting black. Those blurry cell phone images of him truly didn’t do him justice. But they were just that. Fantasies. The conversation had flowed and you swore you’d thought he was being a little flirtatious, but you figured that was probably his ‘thing.’ It didn’t mean anything. At least, not to him. And you’d scolded yourself repeatedly every time your brain decided to remind you of him over the past few days because that encounter shouldn’t have meant anything to you, either.

So why the hell was he suddenly standing on your fire escape now gesturing for you to open the window?

Still feeling entirely confused, you shifted your plate from off of your lap and onto the coffee table next to your beer. Rising to your feet, you made your way the few steps over to your window. As you moved, your eyes never left the Devil’s face, and you noticed how the smile never left his.

Reaching out, you unlatched the locks on your window and pushed it upwards. A cold rush of air burst into your apartment instantly and you shivered. Your eyes remained focused on the Devil’s face, a rush of questions racing through your mind as you took in the now almost cocky grin on his lips. Eventually your mouth blurted out the first question it could before you could stop it.

“What’re you doing here?” you asked him.

He raised a gloved hand up, clutching at his chest dramatically as he took a partial step back from the window. “Ouch,” he replied. “Certainly not the greeting I expected.”

“No,” you said, shaking your head as the bitter chill of the night continued to bite at your skin, “that’s not how I meant it. I meant, why are you here? I didn’t expect to see you again unless I needed saving or something.”

“Maybe I just missed my favorite space heater?” he teased.

Heat immediately flamed at your cheeks. Even if he was joking, his words still had an effect on you. And the way his smile grew into more of a smirk in the brief silence that followed wasn’t helping.

“In all seriousness I came to return this,” he said, holding up his other hand.

Your eyes darted down at the movement, not having noticed he had been holding something in his other hand. It was a bunched up ball of fabric with a bright blue plaid pattern.

“Oh my God,” you breathed out, eyes widening as realization dawned on you. “My scarf? You have my scarf?” A laugh bubbled up out of you as you glanced back up at his half-obscured face. “I wondered where that had gotten to! I thought I’d left it at the office somewhere.”

An almost sheepish smile tugged at his mouth now as he shook his head. “I uh, I borrowed it. It was freezing that night when I left your apartment and you’re right, this suit doesn’t offer much protection in general. I figured you wouldn’t mind because I intended to return it the next night, but well, I may have gotten a little…distracted with some things this past week.”

“Yeah, it definitely seems like you’ve been keeping busy from what I’ve heard in the news,” you told him.

The cocky smile easily returned to his face as his head tilted a little to the side. Your heart skittered at the sight and you tried to ignore it.

“Keeping tabs on me?” he asked. “I'm flattered.”

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your breath was coming in a little faster now, too. Really though, it wasn't fair how that deep gravelly voice of his paired with all those muscles and his charm could get your pulse racing with such little effort.

“Do you maybe want to come in?” you asked him when another harsh breeze blew into your apartment. “To get warm for a moment? Or do you have some super secret vigilante business that you urgently need to attend to?”

He chuckled in response, the warm sound drawing a little smile onto your own lips. So you could still make him laugh. That shouldn't have made you as pleased as it did.

“It's currently quiet in the city,” he replied. “Which is why I had time to stop by and return your scarf. But if I'm not interrupting your evening, I wouldn't mind getting warm for a moment.”

“You're not interrupting anything,” you assured him, stepping away from the window and waving him inside. “It's not often I get the opportunity to help out Hell’s Kitchen's literal superhero.”

“Well now,” the Devil began as he slipped effortlessly through the window, “that title might be undeserved.”

You gasped dramatically, catching the smile on his face just before he turned around. His gloved hands raised up, grabbing onto the window and closing it after himself, immediately cutting off the harsh wind that had been blowing into your apartment.

“You? Being humble?” you teased, watching as he turned back towards you still grinning. “Now that’s a surprise.”

“Are you implying I have an ego, Miss…?” he asked, holding your balled up scarf in his hand out towards you.

You reached out, grabbing the scarf from him as you shook your head and waved a finger at him. “Uh uh, no. But nice try,” you told him. “If I can’t know your name, why should I give you mine?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he playfully teased back, “maybe so I could properly thank you for letting me steal your scarf for a week? Especially since you’re not the one going out at night committing countless crimes and actually having a need to keep your identity hidden?”

Turning, you headed back towards your coffee table to set the scarf down onto it. You’d forgotten just how enjoyable the verbal back and forth with him had been the night he’d fallen onto your fire escape. He was funny but he was witty, too.

“You can thank me just fine without a name, Devil,” you pointed out. “Besides, you just admitted to being a criminal. Probably not a good idea giving my name out to a criminal.”

The Devil shook his head, a smile stretched wide across his face when you glanced back at him. One of your brows rose curiously onto your forehead.

“What?” you asked.

“I mean, what does your name matter when I know where you live?” he questioned. “And if you’re that worried about your safety with me, you should probably stop inviting me into your apartment to get warm as often as you do.”

You rolled your eyes, waving a dismissive hand at him. “It’s not like I’m actually worried about my safety around you,” you countered. “Otherwise I would’ve called the police on you that first night, not let you in. And I certainly wouldn’t have invited you in a second time, either.”

The Devil’s masked head cocked to the side, the corner of his smirking lip twitching. It was impossible not to stare at his mouth when everything else was covered up. Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

“So then why did you let me in a second time?” he asked.

His gravelly voice had somehow pitched to something lower when he’d spoken–something that almost sounded borderline flirtatious. Again. And it only had the hair on your forearms raising, goosebumps prickling along your skin. For a moment you just stood there in your living room, blinking hard a few times as your brain fumbled to come up with a witty retort. In that brief hesitation, you saw his smirk grow.

“Maybe I just have a thing for strays,” you finally shot back.

His lips parted in surprise, the smirk vanishing from his face. A pleased smile made its way onto your own in return because you’d clearly taken him off guard. He didn’t seem like the type to be surprised that easily.

“Are–are you calling me a stray?” he asked in mock-offense.

His surprise had caused that deep, fake voice of his to falter when he spoke, allowing you to catch what you assumed was his real voice for the first time. You liked the sound of it.

“I mean technically I did feed you, give you water, and a place to get warm,” you joked, laughing lightly as you replied. “And well–” you gestured a hand at him standing across your living room, “–you came back.”

“Yeah,” he said, his own hand gesturing to the scarf you’d set down on the coffee table, “to return the scarf I borrowed.”

“Stole,” you corrected him.

A mental image of him dressed in his entirely black outfit with your blue plaid scarf bundled around his neck as he jumped from roof to roof suddenly surfaced in your mind. You couldn’t help but giggle at the visual of it. The Devil took a few steps towards you at the sound, his boots thudding heavily against your worn wood floors. That easy smile was back on his mouth again.

“What’s so funny?” he asked curiously.

“I was just thinking,” you told him, “that the bad guys on the streets this past week must have thought you were trying something new fashion-wise. Or that you got dressed in the dark with you running around wearing my scarf.”

He nodded his head, a chuckle slipping out of him. “Well maybe I did,” he replied. “Get dressed in the dark, I mean. Or something like that.”

You paused for a moment, laughter subsiding as one brow rose up onto your forehead. What a curious thing to say.

Out of the corner of your eye you caught sight of the extra takeout food sitting on your counter. You remembered how he’d admitted previously that he didn’t keep much food in his fridge and you nervously began gnawing on your bottom lip. Would it be weird if you offered him dinner? You did have extra, after all. And you had a sinking feeling that when he finished his night out fighting crime–or whatever the hell he called it–he was probably not about to find something to eat.

For some reason that realization made you a little sad. How often did Hell’s Kitchen’s hero actually take care of himself? Was there even anyone who looked out for him? After everything he did for this city and the people in it, surely he deserved that.

“You know, I was actually sitting down to eat dinner when you showed up,” you began, though you abruptly quieted when he took a few steps back towards the window.

“You’re right, I noticed,” he replied, his tone suddenly serious. “I’ll let you get back to your night.”

“No, no,” you said quickly, taking a step towards him.

He stopped, his head once again tilting to the side. It seemed like he was eyeing you curiously beneath that black mask even though you couldn’t actually see his eyes. His lips were set in a straight line as he waited for you to continue, all joking suddenly gone from him. Had he really thought you were kicking him out?

“I actually was going to ask if you’d like something to eat,” you told him. “Something more than some protein bars this time.”

There was a few seconds of silence before he spoke.

“You’re…asking me to stay and eat with you?” he questioned, surprised.

“Yes,” you answered.

Another few seconds of silence passed and you figured he was pondering the offer. Then gradually, his posture changed and a smirk reappeared on that tempting mouth of his.

“Are you trying to feed me so that I’ll come back again?” he teased. “Like the stray you think I am?”

Heat flamed at your cheeks, your eyes going wide at his accusation. “No!” you answered, shaking your head. “No, I just remembered you saying you didn’t have much food at your place. And I get the feeling you skip dinner most nights because of running around the city as the Devil.”

“Well they do say breakfast is the most important meal of the day,” he countered cheekily.

You rolled your eyes at him yet again, though you couldn’t resist the smile that returned to your face as you made your way around your couch and back towards your kitchen.

“Okay, well I’d like to make sure you’re not malnourished,” you said, reaching up into a cabinet and pulling down a glass. “Or dehydrated.”

You stepped over to the sink, filling the glass you’d just pulled out with water from the faucet. Vaguely you were aware of the Devil making his way into your kitchen as you did.

“What makes you think I’m malnourished?” he asked curiously.

You shook your head, laughing lightly. “Please, there’s barely any body fat on you,” you answered, turning off the faucet before turning around.

You almost dropped the glass of water onto the floor with how surprisingly close he had been standing behind you. Eyes going wide, you stared up at the masked face of his that was now only a foot away from yours.

“Been observing me that closely, have you?” that deep voice of his rumbled out.

Swallowing hard, both of your hands tightened around the glass of water. Your mouth felt like it had gone dry, your heart picking up its pace inside your chest. A slow, satisfied smirk twisted the corner of his mouth as he reached a hand out, gently grabbing the glass of water from your hands.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Mhmm,” you hummed out.

He turned around, heading back towards your living room while taking a sip of water from the glass. Letting out a quiet exhale, you quickly ran a hand over your forehead and tried to collect yourself. He should not be able to affect you so easily.

“I admittedly don’t have much time,” the Devil called over his shoulder to you. “So I probably shouldn’t stay long.”

“That’s–” you began, shaking your head lightly as you tried to remember how to form a sentence, “–that’s okay. How quickly do you think you can eat a burrito?”

Pushing yourself off the counter you’d apparently fallen back against, you headed over to the bag of takeout where you’d left it. From your living room, you heard the Devil laugh.

“My old college roommate has asked me that far too many times before,” he told you.

“Oh?” you asked, digging through the bag for the second burrito. “So the Devil went to college?”

You glanced up at him as you pulled the neatly wrapped package from out of the brown paper bag. The amused smile was gone from his face, replaced with that serious expression once more. You frowned in response. You'd clearly done something wrong.

“I probably shouldn’t have told you that about me,” he mused quietly.

“It’s alright,” you assured him, making your way back over to him. “The number of people who’ve gone to college and had a roommate is vast. I’m not going to guess your true identity based on that alone. It’s not like you told me where you went to school or what you studied.”

You came to a stop in front of him before slowly holding the wrapped burrito out towards him. He stood there in silence, a muscle jumping in his cheek as if he was grinding his teeth. You almost felt bad for calling out his minor slip up. You hoped it wouldn’t suddenly keep him away, because admittedly you’d found yourself enjoying this second unexpected visit of his, too. You kind of hoped there might be a third one.

“I suppose you’re right,” he said softly.

Hesitantly his black gloved hand rose up, cautiously accepting the food from your outstretched one. Despite you joking earlier, he actually did remind you a bit of a stray. Especially with how guarded he became if you touched on the wrong topic, like he was ready to bolt right back out of your window if you did or said the wrong thing.

“Why don’t we sit?” you suggested.

Making your way back over to the couch, you heard his heavy footsteps following after you. You returned to the spot on the couch where you’d been initially while the Devil sat further away from you, all the way on the opposite end of it. Trying to hide your disappointment at the obvious space he’d put between the pair of you–one that hadn’t been there last time–you picked your plate back up from off of the coffee table, setting it onto your lap.

“So why exactly don’t you have long to eat?” you asked him cautiously.

Truthfully you were afraid the answer was because of you. Because he didn’t want to risk giving too much of himself away. Or that maybe now that he had returned your scarf, he had no more reason to be here anymore.

“Because something might be about to happen in the city,” he answered, unwrapping the burrito and drawing it up to his mouth. “And I might be needed.”

You sat there dumbfounded at his response, your hand hovering over the burrito on your plate. Yet again it was another odd thing for him to say. How could he possibly know that while he was sitting here in your apartment talking to you?

“Okay,” you said slowly, watching him tear off a large bite of his food and chew it quickly. “Do the criminals around here have a schedule you got a hold of somehow?” you asked, half-joking. “At quarter to nine this evening they’ve penciled in some nefarious activities or something?”

The Devil huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as he swallowed down another bite of food. “No, nothing like that,” he answered with a mysterious grin.

He tore another bite from the burrito in his hands, your brows both raising onto your forehead at how quickly he was making his way through it. How often had he downed burritos in college in a rush? You found yourself curious, wanting to know more about him–who he was outside of the Devil–but you knew better than to ask. Surely a single question that was a little too personal would have him running off like a scared cat.

“Well that’s…an oddly cryptic comment then,” you told him, picking your own burrito up and drawing it towards your mouth. “But I’ll just chalk it up to keeping your identity secret, I guess.”

“Much appreciated,” he replied around a mouthful of food.

Trying to stifle the giggle threatening to slip out of you at how adorably comical he looked stuffing his face with that mask on, you took a bite of your own food and began to chew. A comfortable silence settled between the pair of you for a minute as you both ate, your mind trying to work up a safe topic of discussion. Though before you had a chance to think of one, you noticed him abruptly stiffen on the other end of your couch. Your eyes narrowed curiously at him, watching as his head darted back towards your living room window, shifting around a few times like he'd heard something.

“What?” you asked him cautiously.

Your head darted over your shoulder, looking out the same window he was. Though you couldn’t see anything.

“I have to go,” he said.

You glanced back at him and saw that he’d abruptly risen from your sofa. Brows knitting together, you quickly placed your burrito back onto your plate. The Devil started to swiftly make his way back to your window without another word.

“Wait, what’s going on?” you asked after him.

Hurriedly, you set your plate on the coffee table before scrambling up to your feet and following after him. He spun around towards you once he’d reached your window, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth downwards.

“Someone’s in danger, I can’t explain how I know,” he said in a rush. “But I have to go. Thank you for unknowingly letting me borrow your scarf and for feeding me.” He held up the almost finished burrito in his hand, a smile briefly ghosting over his lips before it disappeared. “A second time.”

“Of–of course,” you stammered out, watching in puzzlement as he turned back around and quickly opened the window. “Are you going to be okay?”

With a grace you could never muster, he climbed back through your window, stepping out onto your fire escape. One last cheeky smirk was on his lips as he turned around and eyed you through the opening.

“Are you worried about me, Miss…?” he asked.

You bit your lip, trying to fight back the smile threatening to break out across your face. “Nice try yet again,” you told him off-handedly. “And what if I was?” you shot back. “What if someone in Hell’s Kitchen was actually out there worrying about you? What then?”

“Well,” he answered, that cheeky smirk still on his lips, “then I’d tell them not to worry about me. Because I’m a big boy and I can take care of myself.”

Lips parting in surprise at his response, you watched as he briskly turned around. And then, with a cat-like grace, he flung himself over the edge of your fire escape, burrito and all.

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock fluff #matt murdock #daredevil

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ghosttotheparty · 11 months

Text

a place where i belong

also on ao3 // 13k words cw: verbal abuse; gaslighting; family angst; smut/nsfw

He’s in the kitchen when he hears it. Standing by the sink and downing a painkiller, shoes on, jacket on, car keys in hand. He pauses when he hears it, hypervigilant as always, freezing without swallowing the gulp of water, the pill floating in his mouth for a moment as he realizes.

A car pulls into the driveway.

He swallows, closing his eyes and sighing heavily, and he sets the glass in the sink.

He’d forgotten they were coming back today. It’s been on the calendar, marked with a vague, innocuous red dot that he’d begun to look past, to look through, to ignore without meaning to. He’s been too focused on everything else, on his own messy handwriting reading Lucas basketball - 3pm and kids theater - noon and Max physical therapy - 1pm. His weekly hours are jotted down on a piece of paper that’s stuck to the wall next to the calendar, updated every Saturday evening. Robin’s handwriting is just as bad as his, but he’s gotten better at reading it, the same way she’s gotten better at reading his.

Steve rests his back against the counter by the sink, taking a breath, steeling himself. He crosses his arms, clutching his keys in his hand so tightly the teeth bite into his palm. He looks at the ground. Follows the lines between the tiles with his eyes like he’s mapping out a maze. Or an escape.

He hears the front door open. Hears some shuffling, some muttering, the clunking of suitcases coming through the entryway.

And then he hears, “Steven, your car is filthy, when was the last time you had it washed?”

His eyes get stuck on a tile, at the corner of it. The tiles used to be a pristine, shining, sparkling white. When Steve was a little boy, they were always sparkling. Glistening. Always freshly mopped, scrubbed, waxed. They don’t look like that anymore. They’re dull now, still white but just barely grey. The one Steve is looking at has a crack in it. It’s a tiny crack, thin as a hair, branching off from the corner, but he sees it from where he’s standing.

“A few weeks ago,” he says, even though he knows it’s been months. “I don’t know.”

The house has aged with him, he thinks. His parents stopped making sure the floors were being taken care of when they started leaving. They stopped making sure the chimney was cleaned, the pool was cleaned, the walls were sturdy. Steve gave up on keeping everything in order when he started high school. When he started to question whether or not they were coming back at all instead of what day they’d show up.

Steve stares at the tile. Traces the crack in it.

“Steven, I paid good money for that car, I expect you to take care of it.”

He nods at the floor.

Quiet.

Good.

He hates when they come home. It’s like the house gets a little colder, like the echoes of the kids’ laughter get sucked out the windows. Like the last burning embers in the fireplace have turned to ash.

It doesn’t happen often, them coming home. But when it does…

“Goodness, this floor is filthy. We need to get these tiles replaced.”

He blends into the walls. Turns to mist that they look right through. Fades back into the little boy he used to be, too small to look into his father’s eyes or to reach the liquor cabinet, quiet and well-behaved and good.

They keep talking. He doesn’t hear his name. He keeps looking at the floor. He decides he likes the crack in that tile. He kind of wishes they were all like that. It took almost twenty years for that crack to appear, that tiny, thin crack. He wonders how many tiles there are in the whole room, wants to multiply that number by twenty. See if he’ll still be alive when they’re all like this one, damaged so subtly he has to look for it. He imagines it, the tiles grey and dusty with age, cracks spreading across them like a spiderweb across the floor. In his head, it’s beautiful.

And then he remembers that they want to replace them now. Because they’re not as shiny as they used to be.

Steve doesn’t feel very shiny. He doesn’t think he’s ever been shiny.

They’re still talking. Steve exhales.

His eyes find a scuff on his shoe. He blinks at it, trying to remember where it came from, and for an awful, awful second he thinks it’s from gym class, from basketball practice, from fucking around in alleyways, before he remembers.

He thinks it’s from the Upside Down. From running, hiding, fighting.

The keys bite into his palm, and he loosens his grip, inhaling sharply as his brain registers the pain. He looks at his hand, holding his fingers open to make sure he isn’t bleeding. He isn’t. His skin is red, indents from the teeth of the keys sharp in his skin, in the creases of his palms.

Fuck.

He looks at the clock across the room, and for a moment he wants to just leave silently, to walk right past them to the front door. But he doesn’t.

“Uh,” he says, quietly enough that he isn’t really interrupting them. They both look at him, turning their heads a little but still glancing at him out of the sides of their eyes, and he finally looks at them. Sees them. They look older than he thought they did, lines around their eyes and mouths and on their foreheads. His father’s hair is mostly grey now, his mother's still dark red. It looks fake, just like the pearls around her neck. “I need to… go.”

“Go where?”

“To— To pick up some kids.” He stutters. He hates stuttering. “And take them home, I— I told their parents I’d get them home by six.”

Walter sneers.

“Why are you driving children around?” he asks. But he isn’t really asking anything at all. He’s just… commenting. Like he always it. Your grades are shit. Your car is dirty. Why are you driving children around?

“I’m their babysitter,” Steve says. He used to hate that word. It felt so demeaning. He remembers his babysitters from when he was little, teenagers that only took the job for the money instead of for Steve, teenagers that would spend hours in the living room smoking or nursing beers and watching movies while Steve played by himself upstairs or in the corner.

But he doesn’t mind it now. Being the babysitter. Driving the kids around. Making sure they’re okay, they’re safe and healthy and happy. Even though he tells them to shut up, he likes hearing their laughter and relentless bickering from the backseat. Even though he calls them little shits, he thinks he loves them.

“Babysitter,” Walter repeats dryly. He’s making that face again. He’s always making that face at Steve. Like he smells, like he’s a stain on the carpet. Like he’s a dirty floor tile. Walter sighs, shaking his head like he’s disappointed. “We’re going to need to discuss your career plans, Steven, you can’t go on with your life babysitting.”

Steve stares at him blankly. He won’t meet Steve’s eye.

He’s wearing a suit. He’s always wearing a suit. Steve can’t remember the last time he saw him in anything else.

And now, come to think of it, Steve can’t remember the last time he saw him.

It’s been months that they’ve been away. Months since they’ve stepped through the front door into the boring entryway, through the boring hallway, into the boring kitchen. With no greeting, no Hi, Steve, how’ve you been? No We missed you, how are your friends? What happened with the earthquakes and the serial killer? Are you okay?

Nothing.

A comment about the dirt on Steve’s car, and the dull floor tiles, and Steve’s future career. He wonders if they even know what color his eyes are.

“Right,” he says finally, his hand clenching around the keys again. “Well, I’d love to have that conversation with you, but I really need to go, so…”

“We just got home,” Catherine says sharply, looking at him from where she’s sitting at the table, unbuckling her high heels. “You haven’t seen us in months, Steven, and this is how you greet us?”

Steve looks at her. At her hair. It’s stiff with hairspray, piled up on top of her head in fake curls. Her makeup is creasing in her wrinkles, and her lipstick is faded around the center of her lips. Steve blinks.

“I didn’t know you were going to be here right now,” he says carefully. “And I already told the kids’ parents I’d have them home by six, it should only take a few minutes.” He pauses, looking at her but feeling Walter’s eyes on him. Like he’s analyzing him, looking for faults. He can’t see the scars under Steve’s shirt. “I can’t just leave them there,” he says, pausing, thinking about how worried the kids would be. How they’d blow up the walkies trying to contact him, calling Eddie and Robin and even Nancy to ask if they know where he is, if they’ve heard from him. But he knows Walter would just laugh. “I’m responsible for them,” he finishes.

And he starts toward the door.

“When did you turn into such a little adult?” Catherine says lightly behind him, teasing. Careless.

He stops walking, fist tightening on the keys again. He’s facing the doorway, and the room is quiet except for the soft shuffling of her shoe on the ground as she undoes the buckle. And he feels like his whole body is aching and sore, because he was nine.

The first time they left him home alone. It was just a few days while they went to Indianapolis, but he remembers how quiet the house was. How he suddenly missed the smell of cigarettes and weed, how he missed the indistinct chatter of the television, of his babysitters’ voices muffled through the walls while they talked to their friends on the phone. He sat on the stairs for a while after hearing their car pull out of the driveway. Like he was waiting.

He realized after a few hours that without a babysitter, he could go outside. It was his first time outside without supervision.

He just tried to catch the fireflies.

Steve turns around and looks at them. They’re both looking back at him, eyebrows raised curiously at the way he stopped short, at the way he froze.

“Probably when I turned into an actual adult,” he says, his voice quieter than he intends.

Walter scoffs.

Steve feels like he just plunged into Lovers’ Lake again. Ice cold all over, in the dark. Eyes straining to see what’s ahead of him.

“You’re an adult when you finish high school, Steven. You’re a child.”

Steve blinks.

His gaze shifts over to him, to that fucking expression, at the earnestness in his eyes. The fucking ignorance. And Steve, inexplicably, laughs.

It’s a short laugh, but it’s almost hysterical, and he really just doesn’t know how the fuck else to react, to respond. They’re looking right at him. And they can’t see the age in his eyes, in his height, his face. They don’t even know him. He’s a stranger in their house.

They’re strangers too.

“I’m an adult, Dad,” Steve says dryly after the laugh, still half-smiling, even as the expression on Walter’s face deepens. Condescending, and mean, and judging, and even with the grey hair and the wrinkles, he’s the same man that Steve used to look up at as a child. “I graduated high school,” Steve says before Walter can say anything. “Two years ago.”

Walter blinks, making a face and looking at Catherine, who just raises an eyebrow at Steve.

“You were in Italy,” Steve says, trying as hard as he can to remain light, nonchalant, to keep his voice soft and sweet and quiet and good. “I sent you an invitation to the ceremony.”

“Oh, Steven, you know we never check our main when we’re abroad,” Catherine says lightly.

Steve looks at her. The faux kindness in her eyes. The smile gracing her red lips. Like it’s Steve's fault. Like he’s a child.

He hates her.

“Right,” he says softly, nodding slowly, looking away. “Silly me.”

“So you think finishing high school makes you a grown-up?” Walter says, amused. Steve looks at him.

“Isn’t that what you just said?”

“...Steven, you have no idea what it means to be an adult.”

Steve looks at him. At his face. The condescending shine in his eye, like he’s talking to a kid, like Steve isn’t his height. (Maybe taller. He’s too far away to tell right now.)

Stranger. Stranger. Stranger.

Steve nods. Puts his keys down.

“I’ll be back in a second.”

The phone is in the living room, near the doorway, and he closes his eyes as he picks it up, taking a deep breath before he dials the number he memorized within a day of learning it.

“Munsons.”

“Hey,” Steve says quietly. “Uh, would it be cool if you picked the kids up from the arcade for me?”

“The arcade…” Eddie repeats, his voice more distant like he’s leaning away from the phone. “Weren’t you getting them today? Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve lies easily. But Eddie’s always able to know when he’s lying. Steve doesn’t know how he does it. Every time Steve lies that he’s fine, that No, my head doesn’t hurt, and I didn’t have a nightmare, I just wanted to get some water, and I feel fine. Eddie just… looks at him.

“Steve.”

And Steve always breaks. Lets the brick wall between them crumble to dust.

“Uh.” He pauses, glancing down the hall. He feels like they’re listening. “My parents came back a minute ago. We’re talking.”

“Oh, shit,” Eddie says. “Is everything okay? Do you need backup?”

Steve smiles into the phone, closing his eyes as his stomach flutters.

“No, just… It’ll be fine. We’re just talking.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment, and Steve can practically hear the gears in his head turning.

“Okay,” he says. “I’ll get the little shits, don’t worry about it.”

“Okay,” Steve says, taking a deep breath. “Thank you, Eddie.”

“‘Course, Stevie.” Steve’s stomach flutters again. “Good luck with your parents.”

“Thanks.”

They hang up. Steve presses his face to the wall for a moment, taking a slow breath before he exhales.

He goes back to the kitchen.

Leans against the counter by his keys. Crosses his arms and looks at the floor. Finds the cracked tile and stares at it.

It feels farther away now. Like he’s gotten taller.

“You don’t think I know what it means to be an adult,” he says.

“No, Steven,” Walter says lightly. Jovially. Condescendingly. “I think you’ve lived a very sheltered life. You haven’t seen the world, or experienced anything that could push you into adulthood. But that’s okay,” he adds like it’s reassuring. “You’re fortunate, you know.”

Steve's jaw twitches. He grinds his teeth. Stares at the tile, then the scuff on his shoe.

“Do you wanna know what I think?” Steve asks quietly.

Walter scoffs again.

The sound grates at the inside of Steve’s skull, and his stomach twists. His lungs feel constricted, like they’re too tight.

“What do you think?” Walter asks. His voice is gentle, so gentle it sounds like he’s talking to a five-year-old, humoring him, playing along. Steve lifts his head and levels a gaze on him.

And across the kitchen, in the soft late afternoon sunlight, Steve looks at his wrinkles and his grey hair and his goddamn suit, and he’s just a man. And Steve wonders how the fuck he used to look up to this man, how the fuck he used to think he was anything more than this.

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” Steve says softly.

Walter’s eyes widen, and he tilts his head in shock as Catherine lets out an Excuse me!

Steve nods, staring, and staring, and staring, and he can’t look away.

“I think you don’t know shit about me,” he says again. “I think I have been… through hell. And you weren’t here.”

“Steven—”

“You weren’t here,” Steve snaps, his voice a little louder. He uncrosses his arms and stands up straight, and he thinks he is taller than his father. His stomach twists again. “You wanna know when I became a little adult, Mom?”

She stares at him, eyes wide.

“I became a little adult when you left me home alone to fend for myself,” he says forcefully. “When I was a child. And I should have been off playing with my friends, and memorizing multiplication tables, and getting my knees scraped on the pavement.” His heart is pounding now, and he can barely hear himself over it. “I wasn’t doing any of that. I was learning how to fucking cook, because there was no one else to do that for me. I was learning how to reset the heat in the house, and I was growing up when I shouldn’t have been.”

“So you’ve been through hell because you had to learn how to use the stove,” Walter says dryly. Steve looks at him.

“God, you really have no idea who I am, Dad.”

“I’m your father,” Walter says, an amused smile teasing his lips.

“Is that what you call yourself?” Steve asks. “Is that what you tell people? That you’re a father? Because, I…” He scoffs and shakes his head, and maybe he’s more like his father than he’d hoped he’d be, but he doesn’t care right now. “I gotta tell you, man, that’s gonna be really misleading when people hear that.”

“You don’t think I’m your father,” Walter says. He’s starting to get angry, and a part of Steve feels vindicated. Good.

“No,” Steve breathes.

“How on Earth is he not?” Catherine interrupts, and Steve had almost forgotten that she’s even here, looking up at them from the chair she’s sitting in. “You have his DNA.”

“Right,” Steve says. “So we’re related. Biologically.” He looks back at Walter, and they’re closer than he thought they were, but he can't tell how close they really are. Concussions and trauma do wonders to one’s depth perception. “You didn’t raise me.”

“I didn’t raise you?” Walter says, his cheeks flushing red. Something in Steve cheers.

“No,” Steve says calmly. “You left me alone with teenagers that didn’t know shit about how to take care of children, and you left me home alone. By myself. In the middle of the fucking woods.”

“You weren’t that young, Steve—”

“I was nine.” He looks at Catherine, silencing her. “I remember.” He looks back at Walter. Their eyes meet. They have the same eye color. Steve hates it. “Fathers know their children,” he says. “You don’t know me.”

“Of course I know you,” Walter snaps. “You’re my son, Steven, how could I not—”

“How old am I?”

The room falls quiet.

Steve stares back as Walter looks at him. He can hear his own heartbeat, his own breaths. The water tapping in the sink. A bird chirping outside.

And he nods.

“You don’t know me,” he says quietly. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“You’re still our son,” Catherine says haughtily.

“...When’s my birthday?” he asks. When they’re silent, he says, “What am I allergic to? What’s my favorite color? Who’s my best friend?”

“The Hagan kid,” Walter says, like it’s an accomplishment, answering one question incorrectly.

“I haven’t talked to Tommy Hagan in three years,” Steve says. “And you didn’t know that.”

Walter huffs and rolls his eyes.

“How was I supposed to know that?” he mutters. “Look, Steven, this…” He gestures aimlessly at Steve, making a face. “Your favorite color, your friend’s name, they don’t matter.” He laughs lightly, dismissively. “You wanna be treated like an adult, but these are the things you care about, Steven, they’re irrelevant.”

“It doesn’t matter that they’re irrelevant, Dad,” Steve snaps, his voice louder. “It matters that you don’t care. I’m your kid, you should care about the things I like, and— and about my friends, and about my fucking birthday.”

“Don’t you raise your voice at me,” Walter says, his eyes darkening with anger, and Steve aches.

When he was six, he was watching Looney Tunes on the television on a Saturday morning. He laughed a little too loud, and he was sent to his room for the rest of the day. Because his father needed quiet to focus on his work. Walter’s always hated hearing Steve speak, so Steve has kept quiet. Seen and not heard. Fading in the background, hiding in plain sight. But Steve is fucking sick of being looked through. Ignored.

“No,” he says, shaking his head, almost on the verge of delirious laughter. “No, I’m gonna raise my voice at you. Because I’m pissed, and because you never had a problem raising your voice at me.”

“You were a child—”

“So that made it fine? To yell at me? To tell me to keep my fucking mouth shut? That’s all fine to tell a child?” He stares at Walter. “You wanna talk about the shit that actually matters, fine. Let’s talk about the shit that actually matters.”

He’s shaking now, breathing hard and trembling with twenty years of anger that's boiling and spilling over his edges.

“You guys know about Hawkins,” he says, crossing his arms and looking at the floor, avoiding their gazes as he takes a breath.

“About Hawkins,” Walter repeats.

“Hawkins, yeah,” Steve says. “The shitshow that is my hometown, you know all the shit that’s happened here, right? The missing kids, the— the fires, the lab.”

“Of course we know everything about this town, Steven,” Catherine says curtly. “We’ve lived here twenty years.”

“You really haven’t,” Steve says lightly. “But that’s fine. You know about everything.” He pauses, gathering his thoughts. “You know the girl that went missing?” he asks, looking up at them. “Barbara. And the whole conspiracy with the lab and the chemical spill and everything.”

“Yes,” Walter says. “We heard about all of that.”

They’re both staring at him curiously now, quiet while he looks back.

“Yeah,” Steve says softly. “I was involved in all of that.” He watches their confusion deepen the wrinkles on their faces. “She was my ex-girlfriend’s best friend. She went missing from here, from—” He gestures out the window, toward the pool that’s covered with a blue tarp. The water is probably swimming with dead leaves.

“You know anything about Billy Hargrove?”

Catherine blinks.

“The… The boy that passed away in the fire,” she says slowly, remembering. “At the mall.”

The fire.

“The boy,” he mutters to himself before he bites his lip, pausing. “Yeah. The year before he ate shit, he almost fucking killed me.”

They both blink at him, blank.

“And he tried to kill me,” he continues, “because I stopped him from killing a thirteen-year-old.” He takes a shuddering breath, uncrossing his arms, looking at them, and his vision wavers as he remembers it, as he remembers the glass smashing over his head, the floor against his back, Billy’s laughter. The kids’ shouting. “He beat… the shit out of me. Gave me a grade four concussion.”

He looks back at forth between them, waiting for a reaction, but they keep staring. Catherine’s eyes are wide, but Walter just looks angry. Like Steve is wasting his time.

“It took me three weeks to recover from it,” he says. “And you were in fucking Spain.”

His voice shakes.

“The mall fire,” he continues before they can say anything. “You know about it. Fourth of July, thirty dead.”

“Yes,” Catherine says softly.

“Take a wild fucking guess where I was.”

Silence.

Until Catherine’s voice says quietly, “...The mall.”

“Inside,” Steve says softly, looking at her intently. “With my friends, with the kids I babysit— and it wasn’t just a— a fucking fire.” He takes a shaky breath. “I can’t tell you what really happened, because I signed a goddamn nondisclosure agreement—”

“Steven, what—”

“But I can tell you,” he interrupts loudly. “That I got the shit beaten out of me again.”

A flash of light. A fist cracking against his face. An ache in his ribs, a sharp pain in the side of his neck. His own voice, rough from screaming, broken and pleading.

“Another grade four concussion. The medics asked for my home number so one of you could come to pick me up,” he says, his throat tightening, his eyes stinging. “And I had to tell him that you were in Chicago for a fucking business trip.” His breath shudders, and his vision blurs, and his hands are trembling as he gestures aimlessly, pointing to nothing. “I was driven home by a fucking government agent, because you weren’t here.”

“Steven—”

“You heard about the kids in town that were murdered?” he says, his voice breaking, tears sparking his eyes. “The kids that were fucking… broken?”

“...Of course we heard about them.”

Steve exhales shakily.

“...There was a serial killer loose in town,” he says, fingers curling into fists. “And you never even called.”

“We were working,” Walter snaps.

“You’re always fucking working,” Steve says strongly. “I got used to you not being around, but it didn’t make it any fucking easier. You weren’t here when I had concussions, when I couldn’t fucking see, or when my hearing started going, you weren’t here when I could barely move because my injuries were infected, you were never fucking here.”

“Oh, Lord,” Walter says, rolling his eyes and scoffing, glancing at Catherine. Steve’s stomach twists, and he can’t see clearly. Everything is too bright, swimming in his tears. “How were we supposed to know you were hurt?”

Hurt.

He makes it sound so… little. Like Steve had a papercut. Like he needed a band-aid and a kiss on his forehead to feel better.

“That’s not what I’m saying, Dad,” Steve says adamantly. “Obviously you wouldn’t fucking know, that’s not the problem— The problem is that you weren’t here for any of it, for anything I’ve gone through, and even when you knew what the fuck was happening in this town you couldn’t even be bothered to call, to— to make sure I was okay.”

“You said you’re an adult, didn’t you?”

Steve exhales.

He doesn’t feel like an adult right now.

He feels like a child. Like he’s five years old, searching for his parents’ attention, their affection, anything. Like they’re looking past him, through him, ignoring him in the hopes that he finally shuts up.

Seen and not heard.

“You said you signed a nondisclosure agreement,” Walter says. “Let’s say you really did— You have to be eighteen for contracts to be legally binding. So you’re an adult.” Walter looks into his eyes, like he’s sizing him up. “You shouldn’t need mommy and daddy to take care of you.”

Steve’s lip quivers. He blinks tears back. And he’s stuck here. A kindergartener in the body of a twenty-year-old, the way he was thirty when he was twelve. Unmoving.

Walter scoffs again, looking at Steve trying not to cry.

“Are you done with your little temper tantrum?” he asks dryly, turning slightly. “It was a long trip back, I’d like to take a shower and rest.”

And Steve longs to tell them. About the monsters, the dark, the flickering and flashing lights. About the Upside Down. To show them the scars that cover his skin.

“You weren’t here when I was a child, either,” Steve says, stopping him before he can leave, and Walter turns with a heavy sigh, giving Steve a bored look. Steve’s fists tighten. His nails bite into his palms.

“Steven,” Catherine says, standing from the table like she’s bored too. “That’s quite enough.”

“You weren’t here when I was injured,” Steve says shakily, his vision blurring again. “You weren’t here when I was concussed, and when I couldn’t see, and you weren’t here when I turned twenty, or when I graduated high school, and you weren’t here when I learned how to ride a bike, or how to swim, and you weren’t here when I got my first A, and you weren’t here for parent-teacher conferences— I went by myself,” he adds roughly, gesturing at himself, hitting his own chest.

“Steven—”

“You weren’t here when I had nightmares or when I got sick, I took care of myself.”

“It made you strong—”

“I was a child!”

He’s never raised his voice at them like this. Never yelled. But he’s crying now, tears falling freely down his cheeks as they stare like he’s grown another head, and he can’t help it.

“I didn’t need to be strong,” he shouts. “I needed to be loved, and I fucking wasn’t.”

“How…” Catherin huffs, her face red, and Steve looks at her, taking a hiccuping breath. “You think we didn’t love you,” she says. “But we provided a roof over your head, and—”

“A roof wasn’t enough,” he says, holding back a sob. “I used to— I used to wait after school, fucking waiting for you to come get me, to— to drive me home, I used to watch all the other kids with their moms and dads, I used to watch them laugh, and smile, and hug them, and I fucking waited for you. I waited until nighttime once, and you never fucking came.”

“Steven, that’s just irresponsible,” Walter says, and Steve hiccups.

“I was nine,” he says. “I waited for you, all I fucking wanted was my parents to drive me to school, and you were off in fucking Paris or wherever the hell you were. I had to teach myself how to ride a bike, and I had to take myself, because you weren’t here—”

“I have responsibilities—”

“I was your responsibility,” Steve finally screams. “I was your son.”

He takes a gasping breath as they stare at him again, and he wipes his face so roughly it hurts.

“I missed you,” he chokes. “I needed you.”

“You clearly didn’t need us that much,” Walter says, huffing, gesturing at him. His wedding band sparkling in the sun and Steve wants to melt it. “If you’re doing just fine now.”

“I’m not,” Steve says before he can stop himself.

He’s never said it before. That he’s not fine. Even when he was concussed, when Robin was concerned, he insisted he was okay. It doesn’t hurt that bad, Robbie, don’t worry. And he went home. Turned off the lights. Covered the windows. Laid in bed. Cried.

It’s some cruel, cruel irony that these are the first people to know.

“I’m so fucking far from fine,” Steve says. He covers his face for a moment, and for a brief second, he wishes he was bruised, purple and blue and bloody. He doesn’t know why. Maybe so they could fucking see it. So they’d believe him.

“...The first time my best friend said I love you to me, I laughed.” He looks at them, and he suddenly wants to crumple to the floor, to lean against the wall, to go to bed. Exhausted. “I never fucking heard it from you guys. Never heard it from my girlfriend. I didn’t know how to respond. Didn’t know what it fucking meant.”

He looks at them across the room. They’re both near the doorway of the kitchen, both turned slightly toward each other like they’re leaving, hesitating to watch Steve. Like he’s putting on a performance, like he’s pretending.

“You really fucked me up,” he says weakly, tiredly.

They’re quiet for a moment. And he doesn’t know what he expects. An apology. We’re sorry, Steve, we’ll be better parents from now on. We’ll be present in your life.

“I really don’t like the language you’ve been using today, Steven,” Catherine says. Ignoring him. The tears on his face. “It’s really no way to speak to your parents.”

But he supposes he should have seen this coming. The deflection.

He looks away, blinking tears back and exhaling, but before he can say anything, a car pulls into the driveway. He turns to look out the window, wiping his face as he catches the end of Eddie’s van before it’s hidden from view, and in spite of it all, he smiles.

That was quick.

He should have anticipated Eddie coming over as soon as he could. He probably sped on the way here.

“Who…” Walter starts, but he’s interrupted by the front door swinging open. The doorknob hits the wall with a muffled bang, and a moment later, Eddie appears behind in the entry to the kitchen.

Walter and Catherine part, looking him up and down, looking, scandalized, at the rips in his jeans, the swords on his t-shirt that form an upside down star, at his hair. And he isn’t even wearing a jacket or any jewellery, and Steve’s stomach flutters with the realization that Eddie really didn’t waste any time.

Eddie’s eyes find Steve, and he crosses the room, pushing past Walter.

“Are you okay?” he asks Steve quickly, his eyes scanning over his face, his body, lingering on the tear tracks on his cheeks. “Did they touch you?”

“No,” Steve says softly, wiping his face again, and Eddie’s eyes follow the movement. Steve thinks he must be holding himself back; usually after nightmares, he wipes Steve’s tears for him, the same way Steve wipes his. “No, I just…”

Eddie exhales, looking into Steve’s eyes, looking for a lie. He’s out of breath, like he ran here instead of drove, and Steve smiles weakly. Until Walter interrupts.

“Who the hell do you think you are,” he says forcefully, and Eddie and Steve turn to look at him. “Coming into my house.”

Eddie looks back and forth between Walter and Catherine like he’s trying to memorize them both, scanning their clothing the way they scanned his. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips are pursed, and even though from here Steve can’t really see him, there’s a warm pit in his stomach, because Eddie’s so beautiful, and he came for Steve, and he’s stepping forward a little bit like Walter is going to try to lay a hand on Steve, and Steve’s never felt so fucking safe before, and he doesn’t know what to do with this, and—

Catherine gasps. Steps back with a slight stumble even though she’s not wearing her high-heels anymore. Clutches at her pearls.

“You’re that boy,” she says, touching Walter’s arm and pulling. “That Hellfire boy, you—”

“Eddie didn’t do anything,” Steve interrupts, his stomach dropping, but Walter recognizes him too, and he turns red, glancing at Steve and then looking back at Eddie.

“Get out of my house,” he says, his voice too loud, and Steve feels so fucking small, and he hates feeling small.

But Walter starts toward Eddie when he doesn’t say anything, and Steve remembers suddenly that he isn’t small anymore.

He steps in front of Eddie, knocking Walter’s hand aside before he presses his fingertips to his chest, pushing him back gently. Walter stares, wide-eyed, red-faced.

“You lay a finger on him,” Steve says too calmly, “and I will fucking kill you.”

Walter blinks, shock coloring his face darker before he laughs, but it’s a forced laugh, and Steve’s never been more serious in his life, his hands shaking with adrenaline, his heart pounding, and Walter doesn’t seem to know that Steve will do whatever the fuck he needs to for Eddie.

“You think you can kill me, Steven?” Steve looks into his eyes.

He’s smaller than Steve. Not by much, but when Steve lifts his chin, he has to look down at him to hold eye contact.

“We just had a whole conversation about how little you know me,” he says quietly. “Do you really wanna fucking test me?”

He hears Eddie exhale behind him, but he doesn’t look away, staring into Walter’s eyes, challenging him, and his hands almost itch. He hasn’t had any fights in a good long while.

Walter looks past him, breaking eye contact, staring Eddie down now, but his eyes flicker like he’s looking across Eddie’s face, analyzing him. Steve knows what he’s looking at. The scar on his cheek, the mangled skin. Steve loves that scar. It had to be stitched together, but it makes Steve think of the constellation Cassiopeia, almost W-shaped. He longs to trace it someday. To thank it.

Walter backs up finally, and Steve exhales, watching him go back across the room to stand with Catherine, who’s still watching, wide-eyed, a hand on her chest over her heart.

“Sickening, Steven,” Walter says, shaking his head and glaring at Eddie. “Really. I thought I raised you to associate yourself with better—”

“You didn’t raise me,” Steve interrupts. “Stop… acting like you were some fantastic fucking father that a fucking stand-up job of raising a son, you didn’t do shit.” He stares, breathing hard, his back tingling with some sort of anticipation. “I did. Not you.”

“So you think you’re so independent?” Walter says with that awful fucking laugh again.

“I had to be,” Steve says softly. Eddie is closer now, still behind Steve, but less like Steve is protecting him, and more like Eddie is here. “You didn’t give me a choice.”

Walter looks at him. At Eddie. He’s holding the back of a chair, exasperated, and he shakes his head.

“Never thought I’d be so disappointed in my own son.”

Steve looks away, hesitating.

“Eddie.”

“Yeah,” Eddie says softly. His voice is so kind.

“...Can you go upstairs and pack me a bag?”

“‘Course.”

Eddie touches the small of his back gently as he passes by toward the entryway, where he passes Walter and Catherine with a faux polite nod that’s so on brand for Eddie that Steve wants to smile.

Walter glares at Steve while Eddie goes upstairs, and Steve can hear him breathing heavily. He doesn’t remember the last time he saw him this angry.

And then Walter is standing up straight abruptly, muttering something about fucking trash in my house under his breath as he leaves the kitchen, and Steve’s stomach drops as he follows, his vision blurring as his blood courses in his veins, fingers twitching. But instead of going up the stairs, Walters passes by them, headed toward the master bedroom, and Steve stops, watching. He scoffs when he realizes where he’s headed, and he leans against the wall. He hears a thump upstairs.

“Steven, you really…” Catherine shakes her head in disappointment. She’s got her arms crossed, twisting the plastic pearls of her necklace. “This is all very disrespectful.”

Steve looks down at her.

“...You think you deserve my respect?” he asks quietly. She looks at him like she’s alarmed. “You think I care if you think you do?”

He looks away before she can respond.

Eddie is coming down the top steps just as Walter appears again.

Steve looks up at Eddie.

He’s carrying a duffel bag on his shoulder, carrying the nail bat in one of his hands, and he raises an eyebrow as Walter yells at Steve from across the room.

“Where is it?”

“Nowhere you’ll find it,” Steve says lightly, lifting a hand to catch the bat as Eddie tosses it to him as he reaches the bottom of the stairs. Walter is huffing, and puffing, and it’s kind of ridiculous now.

“What’s he looking for?”

“Gun.”

“Ah.” Eddie is almost smiling. The gun is in the back of his van, taken for target practice when Nancy taught Robin how to shoot.

Steve turns back into the kitchen to grab his keys, swinging the bat. It scratches the tile floor. When he turns back around, Walter and Catherine are staring at it, at the rusted nails and the blood-stained wood.

“What the hell…”

Steve swings it again, moving his keys so he’s holding the one for his car between his fingers.

“You don’t know me.”

Eddie is by the door with the duffel bag when Steve gets to the hallway, and he looks into Steve’s eyes. The light is dimmer now. The sun’s starting to go down.

“Come to my place, yeah?” Eddie says softly, touching Steve’s arm gently, his thumb brushing over the fabric of his jacket before he squeezes. His eyes are shining earnestly, and Steve’s chest aches. He nods.

They both step out onto the porch. It’s cold out, the air biting at Steve’s face, but it feels refreshing, like inside the house was stuffy and claustrophobic, like he’d been trapped under a blanket for too long. Eddie goes to the van, tossing the duffel bag in as he gives Steve one more look.

“Is there anything else we don’t know about you?” Walter says behind Steve, who turns to look at him again.

Walter’s eyes are lingering on Steve’s arm, like he can see Eddie’s handprint on it, and then he looks into Steve’s eyes, shining with disgust and judgement and hatred, and Steve

doesn’t

fucking

care.

“You’ll never get to know,” he says quietly.

And he leaves.

He’s vaguely aware of Catherine saying something, her voice high-pitched and wavering, and Walter shouting something about the car, but Steve ignores them, blank and empty as he gets into the car and pulls out of the driveway. He glances at the house in the rearview mirror as he leaves. It occurs to him that with the location of it, hidden by trees, away from town, Steve could live in Hawkins all his life and never have to look at the house again.

He smiles.

Eddie and Wayne live in an apartment in town now. It’s two floors above a cafe that opened a little after Starcourt, and sometimes when Steve is going to the door, he smells coffee and baking pastries. It’s nice.

He doesn’t smell it at this time of night, though.

He and Eddie arrive around the same time, and they’re quiet as Steve parks next to the van, grabs the bat and silently follows Eddie to the door. Eddie leads him in, up the narrow stairs, and they’re quiet as he unlocks the apartment, as they step inside and kick their shoes off. Steve leaves the bat resting against the wall by the door in Eddie’s room, and Eddie tosses him his bag.

Steve looks into it, rummages through the bunched-up, hastily-packed underwear, jeans, shirts, sweaters. His fingers brush cold cans that he recognizes as his hairspray, and he smiles, his stomach fluttering because Eddie remembered where they were.

“Steve,” Eddie says softly. He’s leaning against his dresser. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Steve says easily.

“Steve,” Eddie says again, almost whispering.

“I am, Eddie,” Steve says, looking up at him, his hands falling still on top of the bag. Eddie’s eyes are shining with concern, and his arms are crossed. “I really…” He trails off, looking at the ground.

It’s hardwood, the wood faded and creaky, and there are a few gaps between the floorboard. He can see the nails in them, shining in the dim light of Eddie’s room, and it makes Steve think about the tiles in the kitchen at his parents’ house. Faded and dull and cracked because they’ve been walked on. Used.

“I feel great,” he says, looking back at Eddie, half-smiling.

Eddie’s expression softens.

“Just tired,” Steve adds, looking away. “I haven’t… cried. In a while.”

“You wanna lay down?”

Steve hesitates.

“...Can I borrow a sweater?”

Eddie smiles.

“‘Course, Stevie.”

Steve likes it when he calls him that.

It makes him feel little, but not in the way his parents make him feel. Not little like a little boy, like he has to stay quiet, stay still, like he can’t ask for a second serving of dinner or turn the volume of the television up past three in case he pisses them off.

Little like Eddie will take care of him.

Which he does, even though he has no idea how it really affects Steve, how it makes butterflies erupt in his belly every time he touches him, every time he calls him Stevie. He has no idea how hard Steve is crushing on him, and a part of Steve hates him for it. For how sweet he is, how kind.

Because there are nights he’ll call after a nightmare and Steve will look out at the moon while he listens to him cry, while he listens to Eddie tell him he called because in the dream he lost Steve, because he needed to make sure he was okay.

Because Eddie touches him in ways no one else does, in ways no one else ever has. In ways Steve wouldn’t ever let anyone.

He blushes every time he remembers that night, the night he’d spent after staying up too late watching movies with Eddie. He’d had a gruesome nightmare, but as soon as his eyes opened he couldn’t remember what had happened. But Eddie was there, tentatively touching his hand, eyes wide awake, saying Stevie. Stevie. I’m right here. You’re okay. And Steve had just cried, reaching out to Eddie, who took him in his arms.

He held Steve until he stopped crying. And then he kept holding him. Steve had pushed his face into Eddie’s chest, gripping his shirt, listening intently to Eddie’s heartbeat. It was a little fast, but it still helped.

And then Eddie pushed a hand into Steve's hair.

Steve was already falling asleep, and he had let out a soft hum. Eddie pulled his hand away, apologizing.

Sorry, I know you don’t like your hair being touched.

And even half-asleep, Steve spoke.

Only you. Please.

Eddie pushed his hand back into his hair gently. Steve hummed. Eddie’s fingers twisted around the strands carefully as his other hand slid up Steve’s back, and Steve just fucking melted. He let out a whine that he could barely hear, and Eddie’s fingers curled into a fist, gripping his hair in a tightening fist until it almost hurt, and Steve groaned.

Too hard?

Mm. Feels good.

Eddie kept doing it until Steve fell asleep, pulling his hair, squeezing his fist in it, tugging until Steve’s scalp ached dully, and when Steve woke up, Eddie was still asleep, his hand still in Steve’s hair. And then it was normal, every time they slept in the same bed or sat too close on the sofa during movie nights, Eddie’s fingers would find Steve’s hair again.

They both change. Eddie tosses Steve some sweatpants along with the sweater, and Steve smiles, glancing up at Eddie as he changes, facing away from Steve. He’s paler than Steve, and Steve kind of wants to see what their skin would look like side-by-side, pressing close. His scars are mesmerizing. Steve wants to trace them with his fingertips, with his lips and tongue.

Eddie beckons to Steve when they’re climbing into his bed, and Steve sighs. They move into their normal position, Eddie leaning against the wall, Steve between his legs, back to his chest.

He feels little again.

Eddie’s arms wrap around him, hugging him tightly, and Steve lets his head fall back to his shoulder, sighing. He slides his hands over Eddie’s forearms. He’s wearing a sweatshirt, and the fabric is soft. Steve plays with one of the folds, looking around the room, and he realizes they haven’t communicated at all about how long Steve is staying here.

His bag is on the floor by the dresser. It blends right in with Eddie’s dark clothes littered around the floor and hanging out of his drawers, with the dark rug that Eddie bought when he moved in.

Steve’s eyes trail across the wall, across the sliding doors of the wardrobe that are partially open, the interior hidden in shadows. At the CORRODED COFFIN tapestry that’s pinned up, the Judas Priest poster on the back of the door. The photos and magazine pages and posters that are covering the old, faded wallpaper. Eddie’s lamps have a golden glow, and it makes everything look warm. Steve loves it here.

“How long am I staying here?” Steve asks softly, and Eddie snorts, arms tightening, burying his face in Steve’s neck.

“Forever?” he says. “I hope?”

Steve’s stomach flutters.

“You want me to stay forever?”

“Mm.”

Steve exhales when Eddie’s hand finds his, and he watches, spreading his fingers to lace with Eddie’s. His hand is a little cold.

“Sounds nice,” he says quietly. Eddie hums. He sets his chin on Steve’s shoulder.

“You still feel okay?” he asks softly, his voice soft and breathy next to Steve’s ear.

“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He feels so okay. Here in Eddie’s room, in his clothes, in his arms. “I feel good.”

One of Eddie’s arms reaches across his chest like he’s keeping him secure, and he rubs Steve’s upper arm, squeezing gently.

“You wanna tell me what happened?”

Steve takes a breath, unlacing their fingers to trace the back of Eddie’s hand.

“It was kind of, like. A lot of stuff.”

“Tell me, Stevie.”

Steve closes his eyes.

“They, uhm. Came back and just… started telling me my car was dirty, started saying the— the kitchen floor was dirty, that they should get the tiles replaced. They didn’t even say hi.”

“Jesus,” Eddie breathes.

“And when I tried to leave, I had to, like, explain I had to pick up the kids, and Dad started, just, berating me for babysitting, and Mom made this… comment. That I was acting like an adult. And when I said I am one, Dad…” He exhales, pressing closer to Eddie, whose arms tighten. “Said I’d be an adult when I graduated high school.”

Eddie is quiet for a moment before,

“What?”

“Yeah, they don’t— they don’t even know how old I am.”

“Holy fuck, Stevie,” Eddie says softly, squeezing him. “I’m sorry, sweetheart.”

Steve ignores the butterflies that erupt in his stomach.

“It’s…”

“You don’t have to say it’s fine.”

“...It’s not fine.”

“‘S right.”

“I tried… I tried telling them, like— showing them how they just don’t know me, but they just— everything I fucking said, they just… Tried to make it so it wasn’t their fault. Pretended it was no big deal, even though— even though it is, I…”

“It is,” Eddie murmurs softly. “It matters to you, they never treated you right, Stevie.”

Steve exhales shakily, relaxing against him again.

“They’re so fucking condescending,” he says after a moment, his voice softer. Eddie rubs his arm gently, reassuringly. “He always does this thing, where, like… If I point something out, or I— I do something, he pulls this bullshit, and he’ll say, like, Oh, let’s say that’s true, as though I don’t fucking know, like I didn’t just fucking tell him.”

Eddie lifts a hand and reaches to touch his hair, running his fingers through it gently.

“He said I’d be an adult when I graduate high school, and then as soon as I told him I did, and I am, suddenly I actually know nothing about adulthood and I haven’t experienced the world, and I’m— Whose fucking fault is that? They never took me along on any of their fucking trips, they left me in fucking Hawkins, Indiana.”

Eddie plays with his hair, listening to him talk. His fingers are so gentle.

“He said I was having a temper tantrum,” Steve says, looking across the room. Eddie’s hand tightens, tugging gently. “I just… They make me feel like— like such a child. And it’s bullshit, because how can I feel so fucking little when they never treated me like I was little when I was?” he rambles. “They acted like I was a grown man when I was a kid, they acted like I knew how to live my life, but they were never there to show me how. And now I am grown, but they tell me I’m disrespectful, and that I’m having a tantrum, and…”

“Take a deep breath for me,” Eddie says softly.

Steve inhales slowly, closing his eyes, and he exhales after holding it for a moment, relaxing against Eddie again, who murmurs a soft, “There you go.”

“Can I tell you something?” Eddie asks quietly. Steve nods, holding his forearm with both hands as his fingers drag through his hair slowly. “...You did everything fucking right, Stevie.”

“...You think?”

“Jesus, yeah. They’ve never treated you the way you deserve, Steve, you have every fuckin’ right to stand up for yourself, to— to tell them to go fuck themselves.”

Steve exhales again, a feeling settling in his chest.

“I hate them,” he says quietly.

“Me too.”

“And I hate that fucking house.”

“You’re here now.”

Eddie tightens his fist in his hair, and Steve sighs, closing his eyes.

“Love you,” Eddie says softly. Steve squeezes his eyes shut for a second.

Eddie says that a lot. Every time they say goodbye, every time Steve does something stupid, every time either of them has a nightmare.

It was a nightmare that prompted it the first time. Eddie had slept over at Steve’s, and Steve woke up to Eddie crying in his sleep, his body shaking as he cried into the pillow, whimpering and clutching at the blanket. Steve woke him up carefully, touching his face, his hands, his arms, squeezing as gently as possible, whispering his name. Eddie woke after a minute, his eyes finding Steve in the dim moonlight, and before Steve could even say anything, he was reaching out for him, sobbing and pressing his face into Steve’s chest as Steve pulled him into a hug. He whispered it when he stopped crying, as they were rocking back and forth, as Stee combed the tangles out of his hair.

I love you, Stevie.

And Steve’s world flipped inside out, and he was in pain, every cell in his body on fire, because he was hearing it, because Eddie told him, and because only Robin had ever said it to him like that, all three words, carefully annunciated, intentionally said. And also because Steve knew how he meant it.

I love you too, Eddie.

“Why’d you come?” Steve asks. “After taking the kids home?”

“Wanted to make sure you were okay,” Eddie says. “...Had a feeling.”

“...Thank you,” Steve whispers.

Eddie takes a breath, tugging again before he turns his face and presses a kiss to Steve’s temple.

He’s never done that before.

Steve feels almost sick with butterflies, and he can feel his face flushing with heat, but he can’t suppress his smile. Eddie looks at him for a moment, and then he does it again, slowly. Deliberately.

Steve exhales, letting himself feel it, Eddie’s lips on his skin, his breath warm and close. Eddie’s hand tightens again, his fist squeezing in Steve’s hair before he lets go.

And then Eddie’s lips press to his cheek, slowly and softly, and then again, and again, slowly moving down toward Steve’s jaw. Steve tilts his head, his eyes closed, and he’s scared to open them, scared he might wake up.

Eddie’s lips press under his jaw, sucking a soft kiss into his skin, and when he pulls away, his lips brush Steve’s skin as he murmurs, “So fuckin’ proud of you.”

And Steve whimpers.

He’s gripping Eddie’s arm tightly, and he feels like he might start crying, but Eddie just kisses him again, moving down to the side of his neck, gently pulling his hair out of the way.

Steve bites his lip to hold in another sound, squeezing his eyes shut as he listens to it, to Eddie’s lips on his skin, to Eddie’s soft, slow breathing, as he feels Eddie’s fingers tug at his hair. He feels fucking weightless, like he’s floating in the air, like nothing in the world exists right now except for them.

“So proud,” Eddie breathes against his neck, kissing him again.

“Did I do good?”

Steve wants to jump out the fucking window.

His voice comes out weak and breathy, quiet and so fucking desperate that he flushes with embarrassment, and he opens his eyes like he’s going to look for an escape, to leave even though he just got here, but Eddie…

“So fucking good, Stevie,” he whispers without hesitation. “You did so good, I’m so proud of you.”

Steve’s eyes flutter shut, and he exhales sharply, his head falling back as Eddie kisses his neck again. It’s wet this time, and Steve keens at the thought of Eddie’s open mouth against him, of his tongue and his teeth and his spit.

“Eddie,” Steve whines breathlessly, squeezing his arm.

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks quickly, his hand pausing in Steve’s hair.

“Don’t stop,” Steve says weakly. Eddie hums softly, his hand tightening, and Steve lets out a soft noise before Eddie kisses a slow line up the side of his neck until he finds his earlobe, where he pauses, kissing it before he sucks it between his lips as gently as possible. “Eddie.”

“Alright?”

“Mm. Feel so good.”

Eddie hums quietly, and Steve keens as he nibbles at the shell of his ear, his teeth nipping gently, tenderly. His arm tightens around Steve’s torso, his other hand squeezing in his hair so hard that it hurts, and one of Steve’s hands finds Eddie’s leg next to him, gripping just above his knee desperately.

“I got you,” Eddie murmurs into his ear, like he just knows how overwhelmed Steve is, how his whole body is flooding with this feeling.

“You got me,” Steve repeats absently, head lolling back onto Eddie’s shoulder.

“‘S right, Stevie.”

He kisses his neck again, harder, more confidently, his teeth and tongue on Steve’s skin, and Steve fucking hopes he leaves marks in his path. He wants evidence of this, proof that it wasn’t all in Steve’s head like some fucked up wet dream.

Eddie tugs on his hair, moving his hand to the back of his head before twisting his fingers in it tightly. Steve lets out a broken noise, biting his lip to muffle it.

“Eddie—”

“Stevie,” Eddie breathes.

“I…”

“What is it?” Eddie whispers, kissing his jaw gently. “Tell me.”

“Need more,” Steve says weakly, his face hot with embarrassment.

“More what?” Eddie murmurs, and Steve wants to be annoyed, to roll his eyes and tell Eddie not to make him say it, but he can’t, because his head feels like it’s filled with cotton, and his limbs feel heavy, and he feels fucking high, just because of Eddie’s mouth on him, because of Eddie’s sweet words.

“You,” he chokes. “Please, Eddie, I need you, please—”

“Fuck,” Eddie exhales, tugging Steve’s hair so his head tilts before he leans down and kisses his neck, his lips brushing his skin as he speaks. “I need you too, Stevie.”

Steve stifles a whine, pressing his lips together as Eddie sits up a little, leaning closer to kiss his neck, and he’s almost kissing his throat now as Steve’s head falls back, and Steve reaches up to his head, pushing his fingers into Eddie’s curls messily.

“Eddie, please,” he says softly. “More.”

“Shit,” Eddie hisses, breathing hard against Steve’s neck. “Turn around, come here.”

Steve turns, aching when he has to leave Eddie’s chest, and he tries to keep his balance on Eddie’s soft mattress that’s covered in blankets. Their legs tangle, and Steve has to take a moment to sort them out, and Eddie giggles softly, reaching to push Steve’s hair out of his face. Steve smiles hopelessly, moving forward.

Eddie pulls at his legs, tugging him so their legs are wrapped around each other, so their chests almost press, so their faces are close. Eddie looks wrecked, his cheeks flushed, hair messy, eyes shining like he’s going to cry, and Steve knows he can’t look much better. He exhales, reaching up to trace his scar. It stretches when Eddie smiles. Eddie closes his eyes, turning his head to let him.

His hands slide up from Steve’s legs to his hips, his waist, pressing and firm and gentle on Steve’s sides. Steve slides his hands to hold his face, leaning close enough that their noses nudge together.

Eddie exhales, his eyes fluttering shut, and his hands slide to Steve’s back, pulling him closer as he murmurs.

“So fucking proud of you, Stevie, I can’t even tell you,” he says softly, nudging their noses together again. “No fucking words.”

Steve’s body flushes with heat, and he melts, his hands slipping to Eddie’s neck. He can feel the scars under his fingertips.

He tilts his head, his eyes stinging as Eddie keeps talking, keeping whispering and murmuring about how proud he is.

No one’s ever told Steve that they’re proud of him. He’s never heard it before.

But Eddie says it so earnestly, like he’s fucking reverent, and Steve listens.

And then Eddie is kissing him between words, his lips gentle and a little chapped against Steve’s, and Steve feels like he’s going to fall over with it all, his lips parted because he can barely kiss back. Eddie doesn’t seem to mind, kissing his mouth, his cheeks, his chin, whispering to him.

“So proud of you, Stevie, you did so fucking good. So brave.”

Steve’s hands find Eddie’s head again, his fingers pushing into his curls, and he sighs, listening and listening and listening and absorbing the feeling of Eddie’s lips pressing to his softly.

His hands tighten in his hair after a moment, and he pulls Eddie in, shutting him up with a hard, lingering kiss. Eddie’s hands tighten on Steve’s waist, his fingers pressing into the scarred skin, and Steve’s whole body aches. They part with a slick sound and a gasp, but Steve pulls him back in before he can say anything, tugging his hair.

Eddie kisses him back desperately, clutching at his back, tilting his head to kiss him deeper, and Steve thinks he might be dying. It feels so fucking good, and the way Eddie is touching him…

His fingers dig into the knit of the sweater he’s wearing, holding him close as his legs tighten around him, and after a moment, one of his hands slides around Steve’s side, up over his chest slowly until it reaches his neck. It feels like he’s being so careful, gentle like Steve is delicate, and Steve’s never wanted to feel delicate before, but he’s basking in Eddie’s touch like it’s sunlight. He wraps his arms around Eddie’s neck, and their chests are almost touching as Eddie nibbles his lip the way he did with his ear earlier.

It feels kind of silly, really, in the grand scheme of things.

That they’d survive the end of the world, stop the end of the world, live through horrors beyond comprehension, and Eddie is proud of him for yelling at his parents. And now they’re making out, kissing each other stupid in Eddie’s bedroom, surrounded by his posters and blankets and the glow of his cracked lamps.

But Steve can’t think of a single place he’d rather be.

Eddie is holding the side of his face now, his fingers gentle on his skin, and Steve holds in a groan when Eddie’s tongue slips past his lips, his chest tightening.

Eddie pulls away and they both gasp for air.

“Baby,” Eddie breathes.

“God, yeah.”

“Was that okay?” Eddie asks quietly, brushing his thumb over Steve’s cheek, and Steve closes his eyes as they start to sting. He doesn’t want to cry right now.

“Yeah,” he says weakly, almost choking the word out. “It was so okay, Eddie, I… Please.”

Eddie kisses him again. Pulls away to breathe, resting their foreheads together.

“Want you,” Steve says softly, whispering.

He doesn’t mean to say it out loud, but he can’t take it back.

Especially when Eddie is kissing him like this, like he’d die if he didn’t, like he’s drowning and Steve is air. Steve’s arms tighten around his neck, and he’s shivering, chills spreading over his skull, down his spine, as he listens to the soft breathy hums Eddie is letting out as he listens to the wet sounds of their lips, their tongues. Eddie licks into his mouth, licks his lips and his teeth and the roof of his mouth, and Steve lets him, even though their lips and chins are wet now, slick with each other’s spit, and it’s a little gross. Steve doesn’t fucking care. It feels good.

He lets out a whine, letting his jaw drop for Eddie to suck on his tongue for a moment, and his cheeks flush with heat. Eddie smiles against his mouth, kissing him again.

“You still want more?” Eddie murmurs, caressing his cheek. Steve exhales, nodding.

“Please.”

Eddie presses wet kisses over his jaw, down his neck, and Steve melts, his head falling back to give him room. He shivers, tightening, when Eddie’s lips find his throat, pausing to suck on his skin lightly before he continues, kissing across the scars on his neck.

His scars are lighter than Eddie’s. Shallower. A metallic, faded pink that only stands out against his skin when he tans.

His parents didn’t notice them.

Or the scar on his chin, which Steve forgets about himself a lot of the time. It’s from that night at Starcourt. He used to stare at it in the mirror, hating it, hating himself. It’s faded so much it’s barely noticeable, but everyone knows it’s there. Steve knows it’s there.

Eddie knows it’s there.

He kisses it when he finishes with Steve’s neck, holding Steve’s face in place as he presses kiss after kiss after kiss to it, softly and tenderly, and Steve wonders if he looks at this scar the way Steve looks at his scar.

“Eddie,” he breathes.

“Yeah, sweetheart.”

Steve bites his lip, squeezing his eyes shut, and Eddie presses his thumb to his lower lip, pulling it free before he kisses him gently.

“Do you wanna take your sweater off?” he asks quietly, whispering. Steve nods.

“You too,” he whispers, opening his eyes and meeting Eddie’s gaze. He looks so… tender. His eyes are shining at Steve, and he’s almost smiling, just barely, and his face is so relaxed, more at peace than Steve thinks he’s ever seen him while awake. “Please.”

Eddie nods, kissing him again before pulling his hands away from his face, and he reaches for the hem of the sweater Steve is wearing.

They have to separate for him to pull it up over Steve’s head, and Steve shivers when it’s off, the air in the room colder than he expected. Eddie tosses the sweater aside, his eyes skimming over Steve’s body, and he feels shy suddenly, overcome with the desire to hide his chest, his scars, the soft rolls of his belly.

Eddie pulls his sweatshirt off, and Steve watches, crossing his arms over his stomach as he looks at Eddie’s pale skin, at the scars that mark his sides, his chest. The art that’s inked into his skin. One of the tattoos is almost gone, the bare edges of it rough around the skin graft on his chest.

“Don’t do that,” Eddie says softly, like he’s scared of disturbing the quiet air. He reaches for Steve’s hands, pulling them away from where they’re hiding his stomach, and he leans in to kiss him, pulling his hands to touch Eddie. “Wanna see you.”

Steve kisses him back, squeezing his eyes shut, and he slides his hands across Eddie’s chest to touch his neck. Eddie hums, pulling his mouth away to look at him, and Steve blushes as Eddie’s eyes scan his chest, his arms, his belly.

“So fucking gorgeous, baby,” Eddie murmurs against his mouth.

Steve whines.

He pulls Eddie into another desperate kiss, and he shifts onto his knees, leaning over him, holding Eddie’s jaw so he tilts his head back.

“You too,” he says breathlessly, into Eddie’s mouth. “So fucking pretty, Eddie, you’re so beautiful it fucking hurts.”

“Fuck, Steve,” Eddie pants, and he wraps his arms around Steve’s legs, holding him as they kiss, and it’s messy and sloppy and desperate, and Steve feels like Eddie is touching him everywhere, his callused hands rubbing away every bad feeling Steve’s ever had. He tilts his head, sliding his tongue along Eddie’s, and Eddie’s hands tighten, squeezing his thighs.

He slowly shifts onto his knees too, moving up so they’re face to face, and he hugs Steve’s waist, pulling him against himself. Steve groans softly, stifling it, wrapping his arms around Eddie’s neck again before he slides his hands over his shoulders.

And they can’t keep their hands off each other, palms and fingers sliding and pressing and touching. Eddie’s hand pushes into Steve’s hair, tugging sharply as he sucks on his lip, as his other hand slides across his back, gentle on his scars, and then he’s running his hands over Steve’s waist and chest and reaching down to his thighs, murmuring beautiful into Steve’s mouth, and Steve believes him.

They kiss until Steve’s mouth is sore, until his legs are tired from kneeling like this, until his chin is wet again, and Eddie is smiling against his mouth, still fucking talking, still telling Steve how proud he is, how good Steve was.

He kisses Steve’s neck, and Steve’s head falls back.

“God, baby,” Eddie breathes, panting as he kisses his neck again, and his tongue slips over Steve’s skin. “You’re so fucking good, shit.”

“Eddie,” Steve chokes, pushing his hand into his hair and pulling. “I need— Fuck, I need you, baby, Eddie, please, I—”

Eddie lowers so he’s kneeling, and he pulls at Steve’s thighs again, pulling him so he’s straddling his hips. Steve wraps his arms around him, letting out a sharp breath as he lowers, as Eddie licks a line up his neck. Eddie’s hand runs over Steve’s stomach until it reaches his sweatpants, and he touches him over them, gently pressing against his dick. Steve chokes, hiding his face in Eddie’s neck.

“Is this okay?” Eddie asks breathlessly, his other hand running up his back and holding the base of his skull. Steve nods. “Baby, I need words, please.”

“Yes,” Steve gasps. “‘S okay, it’s so okay, please, just… I need you .”

Eddie does it again, pressing and squeezing, and Steve is so hard it almost hurts, but Eddie is so tender with him, rubbing his back as Steve clings to him. They’re both breathing hard, and Steve is biting his lip to stay quiet, but it’s hard when Eddie whispers.

“Can I take it out?”

“Fuck,” Steve breathes. “Yeah. Please.”

He holds his breath.

Eddie’s hands are warm. And gentle. Eddie pulls away just enough to glance down to look, carefully tucking Steve’s sweatpants out of the way, and he’s smiling. Steve tugs at his hair, making him tilt his head back so he can kiss him so hard their teeth clash. Eddie is still smiling, his hand moving slowly, carefully.

When they part, Steve is gasping for breath, eyes squeezed shut so hard he might get a headache, and Eddie notices, reaching up and rubbing the spot between his eyebrows with his thumb.

“Breathe for me,” Eddie whispers. Steve exhales slowly, looking at him, watching as he nods, and lowers his head. A moment later, he’s letting a line of spit drip out of his mouth to Steve’s dick and Steve groans quietly, pulling him back into a hug as Eddie slides his hand to spread it. Eddie’s other hand presses to Steve’s back securely, holding him close.

“Do you like it?” he asks softly.

“Fuck, yeah,” Steve says, and he doesn’t recognize his own voice. It’s so high-pitched, weak and shaky and breathless and so vulnerable he wants to hate it, but he also doesn’t care, because Eddie is holding him like this, touching him and letting him tremble. “I like it, I like it so much, Eddie.”

“Good boy,” Eddie murmurs.

And fuck.

Eddie moves his hand slowly, and after a moment he shifts so he’s sitting, and they’re back to how they were before, their legs wrapped around each other. Steve keeps his arms around his neck, hiding his face. Eddie slides his other hand into his hair.

“You want me to pull?”

“God, yes,” Steve chokes. “Please.”

And Eddie definitely noticed how it made him feel just a moment ago, because—

“Good boy.”

Steve can hear his smile.

His hand tightens, his fist squeezing in it, and it’s a slow, dull ache that grows on Steve’s scalp. He stifles a groan, pressing his lips together.

“Stop doing that,” Eddie says breathlessly, his hand loosening, and Steve exhales with relief, his mouth falling open. A moment later he processes Eddie’s words, and he hums in confusion.

“Keeping yourself quiet,” Eddie says. “Stop, I wanna hear you.”

Steve blinks his eyes open, his eyes blearily finding the Slayer poster above Eddie’s bed. His vision is blurry, and he feels like he’s cross-faded, out of his damn mind with the feeling of Eddie’s hands on him.

“You don’t want me to be quiet,” he mumbles absently. He doesn’t mean to say it out loud.

“No,” Eddie says softly, twisting his hand. Steve’es eyes close again. “I don’t want you to be quiet. Let me hear you, baby.” He moves his hand a little faster, tightening his fist, and Steve lets out a whine, burying his face in Eddie’s neck.

“Louder,” Eddie says, moving his hand faster, his other hand tugging Steve’s hair sharply.

“Fuck,” Steve gasps before he moans weakly.

“Louder,” Eddie whispers, his hand tightening in his hair. Steve lets out a sob.

“Eddie.”

“There you go,” Eddie whispers, tilting his head to kiss his jaw, and it sounds almost condescending, but it wraps around Steve like a blanket. “Good boy. You don’t have to be quiet, baby.”

So he isn’t.

His mouth stays open, panting against Eddie’s neck and shoulder, letting out soft moans and whines and whimpers and Eddie’s name as Eddie pulls at his hair again, his other hand jerking Steve off, alternating between rapid and fast and slow and tender, squeezing and tugging and drawing it out.

“I love how you sound,” Eddie murmurs after Steve lets out a sob. “So fucking pretty, baby, God.”

“Eddie,” Steve whimpers.

“I got you, honey, ’s okay.” He scratches Steve’s scalp, pulling his hair.

“Fuck, I love you.”

Eddie lets out a soft noise, and he pulls at Steve’s hair sharply, tugging him away from where he’s resting his head, and he kisses him. Steve kisses back after a moment, almost lightheaded, and he clutches at him, at his hair, his arm.

“I love you too, baby,” Eddie pants when they part, pressing their foreheads together. “I love you so much.”

Steve lets out a long groan, squeezing Eddie’s wrist.

“Eddie, I—”

“You can come,” Eddie murmurs. “It’s okay.”

He kisses Steve’s cheek, murmuring as Steve buries his face in his neck again, moaning as Eddie’s hand speeds up again, and Steve is crying into his neck, sobbing as his body floods with heat, as he comes.

“There you go, baby,” Eddie whispers, fingers still working, jerking Steve until he finally slows down. “Did so good, Stevie.”

“Fuck.”

Eddie’s hand finally stops, and he lets go, his other hand running through Steve’s hair comfortingly as Steve catches his breath. He tucks Steve back in his sweatpants carefully, patting his crotch when he’s done, and Steve snorts.

“You okay?” Eddie asks softly when Steve is breathing slowly. Steve hums. “That good, huh?”

“Mm. No one’s ever wanted to hear me before.”

“No?” Eddie says, running his hand over Steve’s back, tracing his spine. “But you sound so good.”

“Hm. I don’t know,” Steve mumbles. “One girl commented that I was noisy and it just… made me self-conscious, I guess.”

Eddie hums softly, sliding his hand up to hold the back of his neck, and it feels protective, possessive, and Steve could die happy here.

“I like hearing you,” Eddie says. “Don’t ever want you to be quiet.”

“Okay.” He takes a breath, nuzzling into Eddie’s neck before he kisses him gently under his jaw. “Can I get you off?”

“Mm. Yeah. ‘S not gonna take much, though, I almost came just listening to you.”

Steve giggles, lifting his head and reaching for the hem of Eddie’s sweatpants as their eyes meet. He pushes his hand under them, watching Eddie’s expression shift, watching his eyes flutter shut and his lips part, watching his shoulders slump. He’s still holding the back of Steve’s neck, and his hand tightens.

“Can I take it out?” Steve whispers.

“Yeah, baby,” Eddie breathes. “Go ‘head.”

Steve does, licking his lips, and Eddie pulls him in to rest their foreheads together. Steve lifts his hand to his mouth and spits on his palm before reaching down again, touching him.

“Yeah,” Eddie says, laughing lightly. “Fuck.”

“You always this easy?” Steve asks softly, whispering. Eddie hums.

“Only when I have the… hottest boy in the world touching my dick.”

Steve giggles, sliding his hand up and down slowly, listening to Eddie breathing heavily. He’s having fun. He’s never had fun like this during sex. It’s always felt like something to just do, to get done, to make his partner feel good. But even as he focuses on Eddie, he can’t stop smiling, watching his own hand on Eddie’s dick, listening to the soft moans and hums Eddie lets out. Eddie’s other hand finds Steve’s thigh and squeezes tightly, gripping so hard Steve wonders if he’ll leave bruises under his fingertips. He kind of hopes he does.

“Fuck,” Eddie gasps after a while. “I’m gonna come.”

Steve kisses him. Messily, desperately.

“Come for me.”

Eddie grunts, his hand slipping to hold the base of Steve’s head, and he pants, breathing hard against Steve’s cheek as Steve watches, almost mesmerized by the come dripping over his fingers, his knuckles.

“Jesus,” Steve breathes as Eddie comes down, his grip on Steve’s leg and head relaxing. “You’re so…”

Eddie hums softly.

“So…”

“I don’t know,” Steve says quietly, pulling his hand away as Eddie softens, and he tucks him back into his sweatpants, imitating him with the gentle pat. Eddie laughs. He has a beautiful laugh.

“I’ve heard I’m a lot,” Eddie says.

“You are,” Steve says, looking into his eyes. He smiles, and Eddie tilts his head curiously. “In a good way,” he adds. “I like it.”

Eddie smiles bashfully, his cheeks pink, and Steve nudges their noses together, closing his eyes.

“...Are you gonna talk about it?” Eddie says after a few moments. Steve exhales, swallowing.

His hands are in his lap, and he looks at them, at the come on his hand.

“...I’ve had a crush on you for a while.”

It’s quiet for a moment before Eddie touches Steve’s chin, gently prompting him to lift his head. He’s smiling when Steve looks at him, and he leans in to kiss him softly, chastely. Familiarly.

“Cool,” he says, his lips brushing Steve’s. “Same.”

And Steve laughs.

Eddie kisses him again, smiling against Steve’s smile, and Steve wraps his arms around his neck, keeping his dirty hand in the air as his other hand pushes into Eddie’s curls. Eddie’s hands slide across Steve’s back.

Steve pulls away.

“You are getting come all over my back.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Eddie says sarcastically, and Steve snorts. “What do you think about a shower to clean you up?”

“Ah, that was your master plan, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah, my goal was to get you naked by getting you mostly naked.”

“Pure genius, Eddie.”

“I know…”

Steve follows him to the bathroom after they get clothes. (Eddie just gives him more of his own)

It feels nice when Eddie washes his hair. Even though he forms it into a mohawk with the soap. He’s grinning as he does it, his eyes sparkling, amused, and Steve lets him. It also feels nice when Eddie washes his body, which he does without saying anything, scrubbing him gently, tenderly, washing the soap away with the showerhead and pressing kisses to his wet skin. Steve does the same to him. It feels nice to do this, to help him even though he doesn’t really need it.

Steve kneels to do his legs, and as he does, he kisses his scars. Eddie holds a hand out, blocking the water from hitting Steve’s face. And Steve somehow falls in love all over again.

The tile wall is cold as Eddie pushes him against it to kiss him, but he doesn’t mind.

They separate to dry themselves off, and Steve stops him when he starts to scrub his hair dry with the towel. He scolds him lightly, pulling close and taking over, scrunching the ends and drying it gently, noting that he wants to get some product for him. Eddie just gazes at him silently, his hands on Steve’s hips.

“I love you,” he whispers when Steve hangs the towels.

Steve hugs him, and Eddie hugs him so tightly that he lifts him up a little bit, his toes touching the ground.

“I love you too.”

Over his shoulder, Steve can see them in the reflection of the mirror. It’s fogged over from the shower steam, but he can see the shape of them, their dark clothing in the bright light of the bathroom, and Steve sighs.

They go back to bed, arms around each other as they find their places again, Steve’s back to Eddie’s chest. Eddie kisses his neck. Steve closes his eyes.

“So what do you say about forever?” Eddie asks quietly as Steve is starting to drift off. He hums, turning to tuck his face into Eddie’s neck, and Eddie pushes a hand into his hair, holding him gently.

“Forever sounds nice.”

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