Howdy! I don't think anyone is aware, but this is, in fact, a side blog. I have truly enjoyed writing and interacting with everyone, but sometimes I can get confused between this one and my main blog.
So, to fix that problem, I've made a whole new main blog for posting just my writing. This blog here will serve its original purpose, which was to reblog fanfics that I find (hence the name, lol).
I will not be deleting and reposting anything I've written to the new blog. I will just have links on the new blog to this blog for any old writing (That includes all the current chapters of Do I Know You?)
The new blog is @kandyscorner. Everything will basically look the same theme-wise, and this blog will get a new theme. The tag list for Do I Know You? will remain the same, too.
Thank you for all your love, and sorry if there is any confusion!
You ran out on Steve almost three years ago in the middle of a sweet fling, but now you’re back in Hawkins, and there’s a little girl on your hip that looks just like him. fem, 14k
afab reader, second-chance romance, girl!dad steve, slow burn idiots, no upside down au
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You realise how fucked you are pretty quickly.
It’s something in the way the kid is looking at you. He’s staring at you, not unfriendly but piercing, and his gaze keeps flicking to Leah like he’s trying to make sense of her, and his mouth is stuck obnoxiously with his tongue flat and pulled into that cruel letter ‘S’.
You freeze up like you’ve been caught, which doesn’t help.
And the kid spins in his Nike’s and races for the entrance, ditching a basket full of veggies and a pack of gum in the middle of the aisle.
“Okay, Lee,” you say, sweating despite the November chill. “Let’s get going.”
Leah grins in her seat in the shopping cart. “Meemaw’s?” she asks.
“Yeah. Let’s go make sure your meemaw had her dinner.”
Your ears ring all the way home. They don’t stop ringing. You spend the night waiting for a phone call you don’t get, awkward and clammy. There’s a certain way that rich families work in Indiana. You can see the coming hush money or the threat to leave town almost as clearly as you could see the loveless marriage years ago. You and Leah need to get out of dodge before you’re stuck having conversations you never wanted to have.
I mean, who could’ve predicted that? One of Steve’s teenagers recognises you in the grocery store three years after your fling, how’d they even remember?
The phone doesn’t ring, that night.
Or the next.
Maybe Steve didn’t believe the kid. Maybe the kid had an emergency completely unrelated to Leah. Maybe Steve believed it and didn’t care. You deem yourselves safe from harm in a venture to the grocery store when your mom asks for chicken noodle soup.
It’s there you recognise your mistake. Steve Harrington’s shiny BMW sits parked in the bay by the sign for the laundromat and the man himself sits inside with a paperback bent open on his thigh. He’s glaring at it like it killed his whole family.
You move bodily away from him with Leah clasped to your chest, wondering if you can beat him in, but then a chirp sounds near the door and you watch in slow motion as a young teenager brings a radio to his mouth and says, “Code milkshake!”
You hear a curse and can’t help looking back, right at the bimmer, where Steve is looking up through the windshield with a look of frozen trepidation on his face.
—
So.
How did you end up where you are?
You aren’t one for thinking about the past. Don’t like doing it. In fact, you try your very hardest not to think of the past when you can help it. Once Leah was born, that was easy to do. Babies are demanding, they take over your entire life, and your new life in Portland was already busy to begin with. You find thinking of the past incessant and unnecessary, but. Things are happening oh so fast —you had genuinely figured you could get through your homecoming without being spotted. You figured you could leave Leah at home with your mom while you shopped, but meemaw’s stroke has affected more than her body, and you couldn’t leave Leah there in good conscience in case an accident happened.
It’s not like you had many friends, before you left. Any, in fact. Steve was the first guy to ever show any interest in you, and as nice as he’d been in the quiet moments after, he hadn’t exactly brought you roses or promised you anything. You’re the dummy who got pregnant by the ‘washed out’ king of Hawkins High. It was probably going to be one of his peers, and it was never going to be Nancy Wheeler.
Things were obviously more detailed at the time, but you and Steve had come together in a fling. It’s not a relationship that you’d pictured for yourself, but it’s not as though you set your sights on him and thought, yeah, I’m going to fuck him. It was more that he was friendly, and you were both at the same bar at the same time sitting by yourselves, and with a little gin and a ton of mutual loneliness, it’d felt natural to let him kiss you against the hood of his car. When he drove you home, worried you’d get stuck in the rain, you’d offered him into an empty house. Things snowballed from there.
The sex was good. Steve was kind. He was a bit awkward from time to time and he didn’t know what to say without putting his foot in his mouth, but you liked it. Liked him.
Then the test. Then the memory of his Harrington name, how his mom wanted him to marry a socialite and his dad was priming him to get into the family business, whatever that may be. That silly conversation about kids. “I’d never put them through it,” he’d said, naked and tracing a star into your shoulder blades through the sheets, his hair damp at the nape of his neck with sweat, “are you joking? They’d be the loneliest kid ever.”
You remember laughing softly. You’d wanted him to say something different, but you aren’t sure what it is he could’ve said to make it right enough to stay.
In the end, you figured Leah could be part of a brand new start. You applied for a job in the classifieds and uprooted the rest of your life to go to it, and when you finally had your baby, you didn’t let yourself call Steve. What use would that have been, letting him smash the lingering, aching bit of your heart that wanted him to love you? You were smart enough then to recognise that your dream for the future was about as childish as getting knocked up at nineteen.
It hurts now, though, as he gets out of the car, how badly you want him to want you, and how stupid you’ve always been.
Steve shuts the door to the BMW and makes his way in a jog across the parking lot. He breathes your name. You’re nervous, not stupid. You don’t try to hide the baby.
She grumbles on your hip.
Steve stands in front of you. He’s remarkably not shouting at you, but he’s not smiling, either. He looks different than the last time you’d seen him for sure, fuller and broader, lip dark with stubble and his hair shorter (but not short). There’s a funny scar stretching unkindly against his throat, startlingly new to you but clearly healed.
He stands there in quiet.
Leah makes a fawning sound, like she’s tired and excited to see a new person.
“Hi, Steve,” you say, to get sound out in the air.
His eyes fall on Leah. She’s a good mix of you both. Got her dad’s eyes and her mom’s nose and a handful of his beauty marks, small dark freckles that sprouted all over her body a few weeks after she was born.
“Is she mine?” he asks, cutting straight to the fat.
You shift her closer to your chest. He’s impossible to read for once, not a lick of anything on his face as he waits for you to answer. The cold chaps your lips and the late-fall sunshine threatens to blind you where it’s rising from behind him.
“You didn’t want to have a baby,” you say carefully. Each word said with less enthusiasm than the previous.
He doesn’t speak. Leah whines at the pause, her hand spreading against your collarbone in protest.
“I know you didn’t. You said it’d be miserable, and you’d get stuck with a woman you didn’t love to save face, and I knew that. I didn’t see any good in… in making you go through that.”
To your complete and utter surprise, his face softens. His mouth puckers in sympathy and his arm twitches like he’s going to reach for you. His hair curls into his eyes in the cold breeze. He squints against it, gaze falling once again on Leah, who he can’t get enough of. He’s full-blown gawking at her, watching her sigh and sniffle and press her hand into your neck.
“Is she mine?” Steve asks again.
You clear your throat to answer, but you can’t summon the words. Your nod is jerky and embarrassed and annoyed, all at once. Of course she’s his baby. She looks so much like him, and you never let anybody else touch you.
Steve opens his mouth to finally speak and you cut him off. “Well, she’s mine,” you say tightly.
He nods like he understands. He doesn’t even look mad at the insinuation.
“Her name is Leah.” If he’d been angry with you, cruel, even agitated, which maybe he deserves to be, you’re not sure you could offer this to him now. “She… she looks a lot like you, huh?” you ask.
Steve manages a laugh, strained as it may be. “Yeah. Yeah, she does.” He swallows harshly. “I thought if I came by the house you’d turn me away. Uh. Because I thought there must’ve been a reason you didn’t want me to know, but now we’re… here.”
You glance around the parking lot. His tattle of a child has made himself scarce.
“Do you wanna come home with me?” you ask. Mostly for want of something to say.
“Yeah.”
You go to leave, but Steve makes a sound and brings you right back. Without comment, he curls an arm around your shoulder and pulls you into a half-hug, slotting his nose against your temple like he used to, even as you tense up in his embrace.
“I thought you’d be more angry at me than this,” you say under your breath.
“Yeah, that’s not really how I work.” He parts from you awkwardly and points to the car. “I’ll follow you?” he asks.
“Okay.”
“Okay.” He turns very suddenly and makes his way to his car.
You meander to your own car and pop open Leah’s door. “Sorry, Lee,” you murmur, tucking her into her carseat.
“Why?” she murmurs.
“We’re gonna go to meemaw’s, okay?” If your mom could hear you calling her meemaw before her stroke she’d have knocked you up the side of the head, but it’s all Leah’s ever known her as, and meemaw doesn’t have much choice in the matter now. You’d laugh if you didn’t feel sick.
“Okay.”
You kiss her cheek, getting stuck there with your nose in her hair, all manner of panic and awkwardness and I’d-rather-nots thrumming through you. I should’ve stayed in Portland, you think.
Leah kisses your cheek while you’re stooped there. Your misery takes a backseat as you gather your bearings.
You climb into your own seat, close the door, lock it, and shove the keys in the ignition. Steve’s car idles a few spaces behind, waiting for you to go. You cannot put this off much longer, but you’d pictured the moment so differently, there’s a sense of unreality now. Is this happening? Did you really spill the truth to him the very first time he asked?
Where’s your backbone?
Where’s your common sense?
With a groan, you pull the car out of the space and begin the drive to your mom’s house. You were never close with her, as strange as it seems. She was a woman with interests and her kid happened incidentally. It doesn't bother you anymore. You came to Hawkins to take care of her. Nobody else was going to do it for you, but so far she’s been an easy patient. She needs help making dinner and she can’t walk more than the length of the hall without finding herself breathless, but she’s recovering slowly, so long as her mental faculties recoup with her body, she’ll be alright.
You, however, have screwed the entire pooch. You look at Leah in the rearview mirror and worry you’ve ruined her entire life.
“Chill,” you say to yourself quietly, almost missing the road to your mom’s house. Worst comes to worst and we go home to Portland, you tell yourself. Nothing has to change.
“Mommy?”
“Mm?” you ask.
Leah leans forward in her car seat, huffing with annoyance when the belts keep her in place. The jacket she’s wearing has bunched into a lump under her chin. “Off?” she asks.
“Two minutes.”
“Off.”
“Let me park the car, Lee. I’ll take it off of you as soon as we get home.”
She whines long and loud.
“Sorry, sweet girl. Two minutes and we’re there.”
Leah sulks the entire way there. You park in the space in front of the house and hurry out of the car, quick enough to see Steve in the bimmer pulling onto the sidewalk. You open Leah’s door and offer her a huge smile, hoping to cull a tantrum with bubbly affection. “Hi, off?”
“Yes!”
You laugh to yourself and bring her out, even as your heartbeat climbs up your throat. You can hear Steve getting out of his car as you unbuckle Leah from the car seat and drag her out. You sit her in the slight dip of the window and use your stomach to keep her up as your fingers search for the zipper of her coat. You pull it tight down and unzipper her, freeing her of the thing that had been irking her so bad and restoring her good mood.
She exhales dramatically in relief, which has you laughing again. “Is that better?” you ask through it.
“Better,” she echoes.
Leah sits up at the sound of shoes on gravel. Steve’s crossing the drive, hands shoved in his pockets.
“Who?” she asks.
Uhhhh.
“He’s gonna come in and have dinner with us, okay?”
“Y’okay.”
“Yeah?”
Leah nods enthusiastically. You can see Steve grinning in your peripheral vision, and it’s so much like Leah’s smile you find your heart going haywire.
“Okay,” you say, your full attention to Steve. “Is that cool?”
“Can we talk, first?”
You don’t blame him for asking.
“Yeah, we’ll talk first. But… my mom, she’s not doing the best right now, so. Maybe we should talk outside?”
“I’m not going to yell.”
“No, but. If you’re angry, I get it, but she can’t cope with that right now.”
“Are you angry?” he asks.
“No.”
“Then we don’t have anything to worry about,” he says, the sound of his smile palpable as Leah gives one back. “I’m not gonna yell. I promise.”
You show him into the house. It feels like walking yourself to the gallows.
The room is narrow. The sides of your vision start to dissolve as you drop your car keys in the bowl by the door, then walk Leah to the kitchen. You hold her one handed as you palm off her shoes, dropping them and then her on the floor by the kitchen table. “Okay?” you ask her.
She wanders off toward the living room and the sound of TV.
Steve Harrington’s standing in your mom’s rinky dink kitchen waiting for you to talk. You’re standing there useless, taking sips of air that sting, waiting for him to cut the crap and berate you. It would make sense. If he’s upset that you didn’t tell him you were pregnant, or that you were stupid enough to keep her, to get pregnant in the first place, it wouldn’t surprise you. Men are cruel, and Steve had a reputation for popularity. It would make sense for him to be mean to you now.
“How old is she?” he asks finally.
“She’s turning two soon.”
Steve seems to be holding his tongue.
“Just– ask.” You try to look sorry. “Ask me whatever you want.”
“Can I–” He throws a hand out, the first sign that he’s not as genial as he appears. “Can I be her dad?”
You flinch. “What?”
“Like, I want to be her dad. A real dad. I want to be in her life, I want her to know me. Did you think I wouldn’t want that?”
“I didn’t think you wanted kids at all.”
“I want kids.” Steve crosses his arms over his chest. “I always wanted a whole team of them.”
“That’s not what you said.”
“When? When you told me you were having my baby?”
This is more what you’d been expecting. There’s a cruel pleasure in being vindicated. “When you told me you didn’t want kids, Steve. You said you didn’t want a miserable kid in a miserable marriage, what was I supposed to glean from that?”
“Exactly, I didn’t want a miserable kid, which is exactly what I was, and I didn’t want it in an arranged marriage that my mom thought would be good for me.” His anger drains a little. “I never meant– I mean, even if I didn’t, you should’ve told me.”
“She’s my baby.”
“That’s not fair.”
“That’s totally fair, she’s literally mine.”
“It’s not fair to act like I wouldn’t have cared,” he clarifies, frowning at you. It’s so disappointed-looking it pisses you off worse, but you're trying to keep a level head. Nobody here deserves for you to blow up and say words you don’t mean.
You bite your lip. “I’m sorry, Steve, but I wasn’t convinced that you would. I wanted what was best for me and her.”
“I can be best for you both.”
You wait for him to hold it up. To prove what he means.
“If she’s mine, I want to be her dad,” he says.
“If?”
He waves a hand, like he could roll his eyes. He should thank his lucky stars he didn’t. “Not like that, I’m not saying she’s not, I just want to look after her.”
“She’s looked after.”
“I’m not saying she’s not,” he says, uneasy now, shifting to hide a hand in his pocket. He wasn’t expecting you to be difficult, you think. “I’m not saying that. I’m not saying anything about you, I’m asking you if I can do right by you.”
“You might not actually want her, Steve.”
“I haven’t stopped thinking about her since the kids told me. I didn’t get a good look at her, but the idea? Just the idea of her? I wanted it.”
You sigh, frustrated, and set your sights on the fridge. “Can’t believe you had kids posted up at Bradley’s to stalk me,” you murmur.
“I needed to see her for myself.”
“Steve... You’re twenty three. We aren’t married. You don’t have to be anything to her, you don’t have to do right by me, we don’t have to play house until you’re miserable. In a couple of months we’ll go home to Portland and you don’t have to do anything. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, but you don’t have to worry. You can tell everyone you tried and I said no and you’ll still look good.”
“Why are you being like this?” he asks, leaving little air between your sentence and his. “What are you talking about? I’m asking you if I can keep you guys and you’re trying to run me out?”
“Keep us?” you ask indignantly.
“Yes!” He clears his throat. “I don’t get why you left without telling me and I am angry, but I also don’t understand what it’s like to have to make that decision, and I’m sorry you made it by yourself, and I don’t blame you for running away. Okay? Is that okay?”
He’s so loud, then, so tightly wound and upset, his voice a shade of pleading, that the protests you’d been making die on your lips.
“Yeah,” you say quietly.
“You didn’t think I wanted a baby, and I guess I didn’t give you a reason to think that, but I do want one. I would’ve— if you’d told me, I would’ve lost my mind. I’m still losing it.”
You pull out a chair at the kitchen table to take a wobbly seat. Your heart is racing, that stupid kiddie feeling of being in trouble for hurting him clouded by a lingering sense of mistrust. You’d thought… all these years, that Steve didn’t want kids, or marriage, or anything, and– and– maybe you didn’t run away because of him, maybe it was all you, maybe—
“Hey,” he says, a hand landing between your shoulders, “I’m sorry.”
“For what?” you ask, sharper than you mean to.
“I don’t know. I wanted you to stop freaking out.”
“Well,” you say, licking your lips, your breath coming short and shallow, “it didn’t work.”
Steve Harrington rubs your back. You try desperately to chill out, Leah in the other room, your mom sleeping or listening, probably already wound up from all the ruckus, and Steve, who you haven’t seen in years, who used to kiss all over your face before he’d hug you in the dark of his bedroom, waiting for you to calm down so he can say what he needs to.
A chair pulls out next to yours after a while. Steve sits beside you, resting his hand on your knee.
After a few minutes, you cover his hand with yours.
“She’s beautiful,” he says.
“Looks like her mom,” you mumble.
“Yeah, she does. More like me though.”
You huff a weak laugh.
“Are you gonna throw me out?” Steve asks.
“You want to be her dad?”
For a few seconds, you worry he hasn’t heard you. But he rubs a small back and forth on your leg and says, “Please.”
“Okay. Okay, then. I’m not letting you meet her if you’re not serious, Steve. You have to mean it.” You raise your eyes to his and all his perfect lashes. “Promise?”
He offers his pinky, which is so dumb. This whole scenario is so stupid. Too bad it’s mostly (almost entirely) your own fault.
You shake his pinky. He keeps them tied for a long time.
In a rush, you sniffle yourself dry and usher Leah into the room with a hand on her shoulder. She is so, so small. At least your mom missed the commotion, sleeping sat up in the armchair.
“You promise?” you ask Steve, pausing at the table.
Steve nods emphatically. By the looks of things, he’s all in.
You pull your chair out opposite Steve and scoop Leah into your lap. You hold her wrist in your hand gently and lean down to talk in her ear. “Okay, Lee. I gotta tell you something, okay?”
“Y’okay.”
“This is daddy.”
You can tell he’s not expecting such a straightforward introduction, but after a moment, he cannot hide his smile. Leah looks at him with his almond shaped eyes, all smiles in return.
“Okay? This is daddy, and he’s gonna spend some time with us.”
“Huh?”
You point at Steve, smiling even as your hand trembles between you both. “This is your daddy. He missed you very much and wanted to see you. Can you say hi?”
“Hi,” Leah says, her voice raspy and high.
“Hi, Leah,” he says, ever so slightly choked up. Just barely.
“He was my best friend,” you say, “and he wants to be your best friend, too. Do you want to play a game with daddy?”
“Wam’ play game?” Leah asks Steve.
“Please, I would love to play a game. What game do you like?” he asks.
“Um…” Leah places her hand in his and you could probably weep, but he’s smiling at her with so much love as he waves it up and down you never get there. She shakes her fist up and down in his, giggling when he over exaggerates her strength.
“Woah, strong girl!” he says. “Don’t break my arm!”
Leah gives him a good shake.
—
“I do not understand why you’re so calm. How you’re so calm. This is not how I’ve seen you react to things.”
Steve pushes the shopping cart into Robin’s hip. She squawks and thrusts it at him, the crate of kiddie water bottles he’d balanced on the bottom rung hitting him clean in the ankle.
“How am I supposed to react?” he asks, wincing as he brings his leg up to rub at the new wound.
“Uh, to blow the fuck up?” She tucks her hair behind her ears, staring at him. “I was expecting more whining, if I’m totally honest.”
Steve gets back to the task at hand. The aisle they’re in is pink no matter where you look, full of Barbie dolls and ballerina tutus and teddy bears with hearts in their palms. “What would you want if you were two?” he asks.
Robin offers one of her kinder smiles. “I guess I’d want everything.”
“Well, Y/N’s not gonna like that.”
He wants to take care of you both. He doesn’t want to make you feel like you weren’t doing that already. So. The cart is full of stuff for him mostly, things he’ll need to look after Leah should he ever be allowed to take her by himself, which he assumes he will. He’s got diapers, sippy cups, wet wipes, rash creams, a mountain of clothes he has to remember to keep the receipt for, baby snacks, a changing pad, bath toys. He has a towel like a poncho with a ladybug hood and a great big bottle of bathroom cleaner to shape things up for his baby.
He also got you pajamas. He’s not sure why. He remembers that old pair you used to wear whenever he’d make it to your place with the pink and purple plaid, and he’d been wondering if you kept them, and a desire to see you in them again had come over him and now they’re in the cart. He’s hoping he can sort of slip them in between diapers.
Steve doesn’t want to show you up, but he does want to prove he’s being serious, emotionally and physically —financially. Leah is his baby. Kids are expensive, and she must’ve already cost you a small fortune, and you didn’t want his help but you can bet you’ll be getting it, not singularly because he cared for you (he has to gloss it into that one word, care, things being complicated enough as it stands without remembered notions of falling and love) but because Leah is literally his baby.
He pauses on the spot.
Leah is his girl. He’s allowed to buy her things. It will not be an insult.
He grabs a Barbie with a puppy dog on a leash, a box of stickle bricks, a teddy bear with a big cutesy grin, and purple bunny rabbit to be his best friend.
Robin watches him put it all in the cart in silence.
“Is that enough?” he asks, despite previous internal decisions. She’s his best friend. Everyone needs one.
Robin turns on the spot to look at the shelves behind them, grabbing a box set of storybooks bound with ribbon down the spines. “These ones are from me,” she says, dumping them next to the second jumbo box of diapers.
“I’m not, like, super angry,” he says, getting behind the cart to push for the checkout. “I want kids. I want Leah. This isn’t a bad thing.”
“You kind of missed out on a lot,” Robin says. Carefully, not to be cruel, but to present it to him in case he hasn’t thought about it. Obviously he’s thought about it, but.
“I mean, yeah. But do you remember being a baby?”
“It’s, like, a deep down thing.”
He swallows. “Sure, I don’t like that I didn’t get to be there when Leah was a baby, but… I’m finding it hard to be mad when she was protecting all of us from things we didn’t want, or, that’s what she thought.” Steve gives a jerky shrug. “I’m sure she got enough love from her without me, but I’m gonna make up for whatever she missed out on.”
“Okay. Well, when you explode, I’m literally right here.”
Steve is overcome with the urge to snuggle her in the middle of the store, but he hits her with the shopping cart again and feels the thanks get stuck in his throat. “I’m not gonna explode. I’m happy.”
Steve is thrilled. He has a baby. He has a child. Maybe it’s not the wife and six kids he thought he wanted, but Leah is his baby.
“She’s mine,” he says.
“I know, dingus. You’ve said it a hundred times.”
He parks his cart at the belt behind a grandma buying cat food. “I can’t wait for you to meet her, Rob, she’s–”
“She’s beautiful,” Robin says, rolling her eyes. “We’re way too young for kids, Steven. You were supposed to go to college.”
“I’m still gonna go!”
“With what money?”
Steve will save again. It’s community college.
Robin holds his eye. He avoids it, starts putting things on the checkout belt. “You’re doing the only thing you can do,” she says, “I don’t wanna be friends with a deadbeat, but I wanted you to go. I’m too young to be an Aunt.”
“I’ll going, Rob.”
“Fine. I believe you.”
“Can you help?”
She pulls stuff out of the cart reluctantly.
Together, they pack what can be bagged and take it all to the car. Steve drops Robin off at home without much of a goodbye —either she’ll call him tonight or he’ll call her, ‘cos one way or another, they’re gonna talk. Then he takes the side road to your mom’s house and parks the bimmer behind your old blue Pontiac.
He grabs the toys and the bag of groceries. He’ll have to make another trip for the diapers, but he figures it’s best to see your reaction before he lugs it all up the driveway.
You answer the door. Parenting has been going better than expected considering you kept the baby a secret for two whole years, and you’re already smiling when you see him. Things were awkward that first week, but he’s been coming by every single day after work if he works, bright and early if he doesn’t. He can tell you’re growing more confident in his promises. He’s not gonna realise how big this whole thing is and run. He’s well aware of how world-changing his decision was to stay, but it wasn’t a decision at all.
“Hi, is she awake yet?” he asks. Leah naps every day at noon.
“Mm-hm. She was asking me for daddy all morning,” you say. Secrets you may have kept, but you’re glad for both of them whenever Steve and Leah get along. “I promised you’d be here after dinner.”
“Is it cool that I’m early?”
You eye the bags in his hands. “Sure. I already told you, I’m not gonna dictate anything. You can see her when you want to… What’s that?”
“I was thinking I’d make dinner?” He shakes the lighter bag. “And this is for Leah.”
“Right. Okay.”
You let Steve in. He, despite all things in his body that remember this song and dance and demand he kiss your cheek hello, powers through to the kitchen without making a fool of himself.
“Brought your favourite. Thought Leah would probably like it, since you liked it so much,” he says. “And those pastries you loved.”
“You want me to go grab her?”
“Where is she?”
“She’s sitting with my mom. Don’t think she heard the door, she would’ve come out running by now. She’s a little sleepy.”
“That’s okay. I can put all this away and I’ll go see if she’s awake.”
You cross your arms over your stomach, leaning against the counter. “You didn’t have to get stuff for me.”
“I wanted to.”
“You don’t have to, though. Leah’s your baby, but I’m…”
He feels achy in his jaw. He abandons the bag full of groceries to look at you fully. “If you’d turned up here without Leah, after two years of full radio silence, no letters and no clue where you went, if you came back, I’d want to see you. You know that, right?”
“I…”
“I asked your mom where you went, did you know that?”
“No.”
“Well, she wouldn’t tell me.”
“I don’t think she knew.”
Steve hates how much that annoys him, hates the way he relates to it. He dries his hands on his pants, not sure if he wants to hug you or tip your head with his thumb at chin, forcing you to look at him, to say the things he’s said in his head before bed a couple nights a week for years.
Steve Harrington does not love by halves.
“You’d tell me if you were gonna leave again, right?” he asks.
“We are leaving.”
“I know, I know, but. You’re not gonna disappear in the middle of the night.”
“No, Steve. I’ll tell you before we go home. I promise.”
His shoulders relax. “Okay, then, I’ll keep bringing stuff you like, too. Trade deal.”
“Mutually beneficial. I won't kidnap your baby again and you bring me raspberry turnovers.”
“Exactly.”
You surprise him with a laugh. “Okay.”
“Okay, good,” he says, grinning, wondering if he’s finally paving a path into your lap again.
From the doorway of the kitchen comes a pleased gasp. “Daddy?” Leah asks, her eyes widening in delight, feet stomping on the spot, “Hi, daddy!”
He was supposed to give this up for community college? Steve squats down in a half-second and holds out his hands, ready for an armful of sleepy toddler. Her hair is all puffy and her pajamas big at the neck like she’d wriggled for hours, but she’s soft, smells clean as he wraps his arms around her and she burrows into his neck.
“Hi, Leah,” he says softly.
Leah hums her content.
“Good nap?”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah? Did you have a good dream?”
She laughs as he strokes her back. He must’ve tickled her. “Da-ddy,” she says, a long, pulling word.
She’s so small Steve can’t hug her properly like this, so he hooks her in one arm and stands up to his full height, catching your unreadable expression from over her shoulder. Whatever you’d been thinking fades away, your smile strengthening as Leah pulls out of his neck to wave at you.
“Mommy,” she says, poking at Steve’s neck. “Look. Daddy’s for dinner.”
Steve laughs loudly. “I’m for dinner? You’re gonna eat me? I thought you liked me!” His head falls in a dramatic agony. “Leah wants to cook me up for dinner, I can’t believe it.”
“No!” Leah says, giggling as she grabs his face. She pulls at his cheeks, forcing his head up. “Not eating,” she says, like he’s silly.
Steve shifts her so she’s sitting braced on his lower belly, looking down at her. God, she’s so pretty. She’s perfect. She’s tiny, slim for her age according to you, but she isn’t weak. She holds herself up, her hands confident as they spread over his chest. Steve has to confess that this feeling is the strongest he’s ever experienced. Nothing compares to looking at this little kid who already treats him like he’s the best person she’s ever met, knowing that she’s his. He has to look after her. He gets to be loved by her without hesitation. Leah has no reason to love him, and yet here she is giggling in his arms from the excitement of seeing him. It’s like every day she likes him more, and every day, Steve gets to love her more. It’s so weird, but it's nice.
“I brought you something,” he says, shifting her again so he can cover her back with one arm, using the other to brush a stray bit of lint off of her face. “But– mommy, can she have it now?” he asks.
You flush. Steve recognises this look on you, pleased and startled. He’s seen it on you a hundred different times. You were always that girl who didn’t expect kindness, or to be considered. He remembers how endearing it was to surprise you with a kiss to say thank-you, or picking up the bill no matter how casual dinner felt, or something as small as helping you into your pajamas after you’d both showered. It was heartbreaking, but he’s never been unfamiliar with the bare minimum.
“Yeah, of course she can.”
“Alright,” Steve says, grinning. “Your Aunt Robin sent me with a gift for you, but daddy’s is better, so you can have mine first.” He twists for the bag it’s in and yanks it out, Barbie to him so she can’t see. “It’s only small, but I saw it and I thought you’d like it.”
“Can have?” she asks.
“Depends. Can I have a hug first?” he asks, checking your face to make sure he’s not being weird.
Leah nods erratically and throws herself forward. Steve gets a big kiss right on his smooth-shaven cheek, and he can’t stop himself from beaming, his punched out sigh poorly suppressed as he turns her to give her a much gentler kiss at the very top of her cheek. “Thanks, Lee.”
Her eyes squint with a smile. “Can I have, please?”
Steve brings the box up and tosses it to flip it, brandishing it right way round to her glee.
“Barbie!” she cries.
“With a puppy!”
“Oh gosh.”
Steve bursts out laughing. “Gosh! Should we get the box open? Then you can gosh at the accessories. She has two pairs of shoes, Leah. Two!”
Leah squirms to be put down, hands clenched tightly on each side of the box. You’re already grabbing scissors to get it open.
“Thank you.” You lean over Leah to start the dissection.
“Don’t,” he says, quiet but less shame-faced. “You don’t have to say thanks.”
You shake your head to yourself. “Yeah, well.”
“She deserves it, and it’s not up to you to say thanks. I’m serious.”
“It’s nice of you.”
He doesn’t know how to prove how certain he is about staying. He decides to keep his mouth shut for now, which is hard. Almost slips up that whole evening. You don’t look happy when he doubles back before he leaves that night with the bag of snacks and the huge box of diapers, but he catches you as you and Leah stand on the stoop waving at the bimmer. You’re smiling. A real one, teeth on display for the first time since you came home.
—
“Okay,” you say quietly, “up, baby. And another one. Good job.”
Leah demonstrates a unique level of concentration as she climbs up the stairs with you. You’d have carried her if she didn’t insist she could do it herself with a displeased squeal. Her eyes are nearly closed, her tongue slipping between her lips and a hand thrown out for balance, the other held in your own as she manages two, then three, the few shallow steps that lead into the WSQK building.
“Hi,” you greet a quiet man sitting at the door. “Is Steve in?”
“Think so. Why?”
“I wanted to talk to him, if that’s okay.”
The man gives you a suspicious look that eventually metes. “Sure. Gotta knock the booth before you go in, though, they might be on the air.”
“Sure. Thank you.”
Leah stumbles with you inside. There’s a wide wooden panelled room and smaller glass one within. You knock on it and wait for movement, too scared to look through the panels. You’ve learned that Robin has her very own radio show on the 94.5 called The Morning Squawk, and Steve, through best-friend nepotism, gets to be her sound guy. He has this WSQK van they drive around to do on the road interviews, and they’re both a hundred times happier here than they were rewinding tapes at Family Video.
It’s a pretty firm knot of roots to lay.
The door opens a good fifteen seconds after you’d knocked. You’re immediately greeted by a blondified Robin Buckley, her freckled cheeks slack with surprise. “Uh…”
“Hi, Robin.”
“Hi,” she says.
The last time you saw Robin, you’d been laying on Steve’s couch in his socks and what might’ve been Robin’s own sweatshirt, the three of you arguing on what movie to watch and what candy you were gonna tip into your popcorn. You’d laid your head in Steve’s lap.
“Leah,” you say, clearing your throat as subtly as possible, “say hi, bubby.”
“Hi, bubby,” Leah says.
Robin snorts.
“This is your daddy’s best friend ever, Aunt Robin,” you say, shooting Robin a sorry look as you mouth, “Is that cool?”
Robin culls your misery and manages a real smile. “That’s me, babe.” She bends at the waist. “Oh, you really do look like Steve. Shit, this is so cool.” Her awkwardness has melded to full-bodied delight. “You’re like his twin! Well, you do look like your mommy, duh, but this is trippy! Hey, did you get your books?”
Leah looks up at her with huge eyes.
“Did you like your storybooks?” you ask Leah, kneeling down behind her to hold her shoulder. “Aunt Robin gave you those ones, remember, daddy read one to you about the ugly duckling?”
“The duckies,” Leah says factually.
“Awesome,” Robin says. “I’m so happy you liked them, sweetie. And I’m so happy to meet you.”
You don’t question for a second that she means it.
You pat Leah on the shoulder. “Aunt Robin is your daddy’s best friend in the whole world.”
“Daddy’s here?” she asks Robin.
“Uh, not right now, he had to go get lunch.”
“Oh.”
“But you can totally come in!” she says, opening the door to the booth wide. “I can show you how the radio works! And then Steve– then dad can come back. I bet he’ll be here any second.”
“You’re not busy?” you ask.
“I mean?” Robin laughs, nervously incredulous, “if I ever have kids they’d be her cousins. That’s pretty important. And, like, she’s Steve’s, so? I’d die for her?” Robin scratches a hand through her hair. “Come on, baby Stevie, I’ll show you the keyboard. It’s your dad’s favourite gimmick.”
You hover in the middle of the small room as Robin slides a chair over to the desk with a keyboard and a mic balanced on top of it. She glances at you before she holds her hands out to Leah, and Leah goes into them willingly. Robin pulls her up and settles her in the chair. She can barely see the keys, but she’s already reaching for them as Robin starts to explain which ones do what, toggling a switch that you assume makes sure whatever sounds Leah plays are off air.
You sit yourself down on a loveseat by the door.
“We can play all of this stuff on the radio in the car,” Robin says, “do you listen to the radio?”
“The music, bubby,” you say.
Leah gives a neck-breaking nod.
“Well, me and dad choose what songs to play. Do you have a favourite song?”
“She loves ‘Save it For Later’ by The Beat. She gets super into it,” you say.
“Oh, we have that one! Let’s queue it up, Leah.”
Leah mashes the keyboard in a cacophony of introductions and funny sounds, then a long run of the Rockin’ Robin intro. She finds a sound bite of applause loaded up on the tape deck, hitting it over and over as she giggles.
“Be careful, Lee, don’t break it.”
Her hitting doesn’t slow.
“Lee,” you say more firmly, “baby, stop. You have to be nice. Don’t slap the buttons.”
Leah throws you a glare. “Mommy,” she whines.
“What? You have to be nice to other people’s things. Aunt Robin is letting you play with her keyboard, but it’s important. It’s okay to try all the buttons! But with nice hands. Yeah?”
The ajar door opens fully. “Is my Leah not being nice?” Steve asks, already beaming with all his teeth as he sees her behind the keyboard. “I don’t believe that for a second!”
Leah wiggles her excitement in the depths of the chair. Doesn’t bother calling out for him, there’s no need. Steve laughs, saying hi with a quick hand dropped on your shoulder, the gentlest squeeze anyone’s ever given with his thumb rubbing a half circle before he bends down by Leah’s chair. “Hi,” he says, your heart beating so loudly in your ears that you hardly hear him. “You’re at the radiohouse! Did Rockin’ Robin show you how to play a song? Do you wanna talk on the microphone?”
“Hi,” Leah says.
“Hi.”
“Hug me now?”
Steve’s like butter in the sun. He melts into nothing. “Yeah, babe, right now.”
She slinks forward and he picks her up, standing with a baby on his hip like he’s been doing it all his life.
“I’m gonna play her a song,” Robin says. “My queues almost empty.”
“Okay, thanks,” he says, to which Robin wrinkles her nose.
“Sure,” she says, sending you a look as she heads to her desk. Like, get a load of this idiot.
Steve presses his nose to Leah’s hair and smells her. Then he smiles, patting the small of her back.
Leah looks straight at you and says, “Daddy’s here,” in case you weren’t aware.
Steve blinks away a pained flutter, his brow pulling like he’d been in pain, quickly wiped away and hidden by the time Leah glances at him again.
You think maybe, for a second, he’d wanted to cry.
“Steve?” you ask quietly. “You okay?”
“Yeah. No, yeah.”
“You sure?”
He tugs Leah higher on his hip. “I’m okay,” he tells you, holding your gaze, his left sclera bloodshot but his nearly-tears blinked away. “I’m great, ‘cos Leah’s here,” he adds, pressing his mouth to Leah’s cheek, “at work! She’s a working girl now, we gotta get you on the payroll.”
It’s a little while later, sitting on the couch and waiting for Steve to ask you what it is you’re doing here, when the door opens. Leah perks up in his lap, the headphones she’d been wearing falling down around her neck in a heap that makes her cringe, giving a warbly cry as Steve offers assurances to her.
You’re focused on the teenager standing in the door. It’s the kid.
His eyes widen at the sight of you.
“Lucas Sinclair,” you greet, giving him a stony look. “You ratted me out.”
“Uh– did I?”
“I know it was you.”
Lucas grimaces. “Are we sure it was me?”
“I saw you.”
“Steve could’ve got the information from anyone.”
You glare for a few more seconds, then relax. “I’m messing with you, Lucas. I’m not mad. Even if you are a narc.”
“I am not! I told Dustin and it was Dustin that radioed Steve. He’s the narc. I said we had to wait for proof.”
“Well, thanks for trying.”
Lucas hesitates with you, though he comes further into the room and lets the door shut behind him. “I am sorry. Kind of.”
“We’re working things out.”
Leah tugs the headphones off of her head and out of the outlet in a great show of toddler rage, Steve laughing where he holds her. He grabs the headphones before Leah can throw them at the floor. “Hey!” he admonishes through laughter, “Those aren’t mine, babe. Should we put them on the desk?”
Steve takes them from her and sets them high. He moves the chair, bumping Leah on his knee, forcing her eyes to the new figure in the room. “Look, Lee, it’s your Uncle Lucas.”
Lucas gives an awkward, endearing smile. “Hi.”
“Hi!” Leah says.
“What’s up?” Steve asks.
“Can I get a ride, tonight? I asked my dad but he’s going to that miniature car thing.”
“Where to?”
“Max’s.”
“Why are you being cagey?” Steve asks, lifting an eyebrow.
“I’m not!”
“You so are, dude. What’s happening at Max’s?”
“Nothing! She doesn’t, like, know I’m going, that’s all.”
Steve leans in his chair in what would be a total act of casual derision if he weren’t also holding Leah to his front, his fingers waving patterns into her tummy affectionately. “So I’m gonna be on her shit list for whatever it is you have planned? No deal, dude.”
“I’m not in trouble. She’s not mad at me,” Lucas says.
“For once.”
“She’s not. I have a surprise planned? And it’s gonna get ruined on my bike, so.”
Steve’s suspicion wavers. “What sort of surprise?” he asks.
His smile is nice. Doesn’t it suit him? He’s calm where he sits despite the rumble of noise coming from Robin’s booth and Leah talking to herself in his lap. The red glow of the ON AIR light makes his brown hair nearly purple at the tops but leaves his face untouched, tan fading pale in the fall, his beauty marks the darkest bit of colour to him when you aren’t looking into the well of his eyes. His irises are like wet tree bark. His lashes look long from across the room.
And his biceps don’t look half bad when they’re wrapped around your baby. Her tiny stature emphasises the bulk he’s put on while you were in Portland. You’ve been noticing more of him lately—his weight gain, the change in his muscle, the cut of his hair, those reading glasses he keeps in the console of his car. But there are things about him that didn’t change. He’s pretty happy, as things go. He likes doing things for other people.
Their conversation drifts into focus. “…not too much, right?”
“Nah, I think that’s appropriate. Four years of dating is a long time.”
“Even if you’re broken up for half a year in the middle?”
Steve chuckles. Leah looks up at the sound. “I wouldn’t mention that part,” he says. “Look, I’ll come get you after I’m done here–”
“You’re not coming tonight?” you ask, entirely sincere in asking. Not a lick of judgement in it, but surprise, and a second emotion you aren’t eager to name.
“I was– I was gonna come,” Steve says. “If that’s cool.”
“Oh, sure. Sorry. I thought you were– Yeah, it’s fine,” you say.
Steve looks at you for a long second. “I can’t miss out on dinner,” he says, dipping down to speak in Leah’s ear, “can I? What am I making tonight, Lee, do you remember?”
“S’getti,” she says, with a vindication bordering evil.
Steve presses his lips together. Shrugs at Lucas smugly. “S’getti,” he says. “I’ll be there at six, okay?”
Lucas shoots an “Awesome, thank you, sorry,” over his shoulder as he leaves.
“Thank you sorry,” Leah repeats.
Steve has to lock into work and he doesn’t ask you to leave, moving Leah around in his arms and plugs the headphones in. She enjoys the novelty enough to sit there without complaining, bathed in attention. It’s weird to have Leah with you without having to look after her. Like, she gets uncomfortable and Steve moves her. She whines in his arm and he opens a drawer to uncover a bag of chips. He does ask if it’s alright for her to eat them, but you say yes and he doesn’t need guidance after that. He wipes her dirty face in his sleeve and twists a knob on the keyboard.
He is startlingly capable.
You are startlingly hot.
You pull at your neckline, wishing you’d brought a book to read or a zip tie to garrote yourself with for thinking such stupid shitty thoughts.
—
Steve packs his shit up at five with Leah on his hip, happy to stay with him. You’ve been quiet bordering silent and he hasn’t summoned up the bravery to ask why. He didn’t wanna look a gift horse in the mouth, ‘cos you’re here, and you brought Lee without any begging on his part. He shows her off to everyone they pass on the way out, less subtly to the smiley cleaner Cindy who loves to call him handsome in the morning. Who’s this? she asks.
This is my baby, Leah.
The problem arises when he’s trying to pass Leah to you to part ways in the parking lot.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard something that loud,” Robin laments, blinking fast. Because, despite years and time to learn, he’s her ride home.
Leah screams another ear-splitter. “No!” she’s shouting. “No, no!”
She sobs.
You try to disentangle her from Steve’s chest. He can feel your individual fingers pressing into his pecs. “Lee, come on!” you say, laughing nervously. “Daddy has stuff to do, we’ll see him for dinner!”
She sobs louder.
Robin shakes her head as though dislodging water from her ears.
“Baby, please,” you say, apparently possessing the patience of a god, “it’s okay, I promise, it’s not long. We’ll be okay for a bit.”
Leah sews her hands in his hair tightly, yanking until it stings. Steve flinches and you immediately stop trying to make Leah disengage.
“Sorry, honey,” you say, and Steve realises with a full body start you’ve spoken to him, your hand resting open on his upper shoulder. It’s an obvious slip of the tongue. You lean forward with a slight stammer, “I– Leah, don’t pull, you’re hurting.”
“Not going,” Leah says.
“Just for now!”
“No!”
You give Steve a wide-eyed frown. “I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s going on. She doesn’t do this… usually.”
“That’s okay, it’s fine, maybe you could come with me?”
You nibble your lip. “I gotta go check on my mom, I haven’t been home all day, I don’t know if she’s eaten yet.”
Steve tries to pass Leah into your arms with renewed purpose. The snap of hair behind his ear gives him pause. “Uh, can she come with me?” Steve asks, loud now, his head angled against her hand. “Ow, Lee!”
Leah stops pulling his hair with a sob.
“I’ll take her with me and I’ll drop Robin off, pick Lucas up early, and we’ll come straight to the house.”
You falter.
The thought of you not trusting him hurts his stomach, but you say, “Steve, can you deal with that? She might not get any happier for a while.”
“Sure I can, you’ve had to do it a hundred times. I’m mostly patient. If she doesn’t calm down, I won’t yell–”
“I didn’t think you would.” You pout, wrinkling your nose. “You’d have to move the car seat–”
“Yeah, I got one.”
“You got a car seat?”
“Installed it last week. Jesus Christ, Leah, not the hair!” He reaches up to force her hand as gently as he can away from his scalp. “Baby, owwww. Not the hair.”
Leah shudders away to check he’s not angry. He can see it on her tiny face, the worry. He brings his hand to her cheek, finds his hand is too big, and has to rub her cheek with his thumb alone. “You wanna come with daddy to drop off your Aunt Robin?” he asks.
“Yeah.”
“Yeah?”
“Come with you,” she says, a crocodile tear rolling down her cheek.
“But mommy has to go home, is that okay?”
Leah shudders again. “Y’okay.”
“Okay. Give mommy a big kiss,” he says, repeating one of your favourite lines when it’s time for Steve to leave.
You get a kiss. You’re startled, he thinks, almost expressionless in how slack you’ve gone, but Steve smiles at you and you smile in turn. “You know how to do the car seat?” you ask.
“Sure. It’s got the two mechanisms, right? Her arm goes through each of the triangle strap thingys?”
“Yeah. Okay. Are you sure you can manage?”
“Are you okay with me taking her?”
You shrug. He can see why Leah does it as much as she does. “I guess I am. I mean, when we go home… like, you’ll have to have her for summers, I guess?” you ask, and you’re as beautiful as you usually are, the awkward twist of you and your tired eyes don’t touch it. You were beautiful when he walked into the sound room and found you in the loveseat, beautiful when you told him you’d stay for now without saying goodbye, beautiful when he spotted you across the parking lot with his surprise on your hip. You’ve always been beautiful. He knows you don’t feel strongly about your looks, but he does, and now you made his girl? And she looks so much like the two of you?
Steve stares at you, not even in hopes of any realisation, but he stares at you and thinks I cannot let this girl go back to Portland without me.
He doesn’t expect you to stay. All he needs is to beg a ride.
Because yes, Steve will become your awkward cling-on. He’ll find a shitty apartment close to you and he’ll build his life around Leah if that’s all he can have.
But it’s not everything he wants.
“You go take care of your mom, and we’ll meet you for dinner at 6? 6:15 at the latest?”
“Okie dokie.”
Steve rolls his eyes to stop from kissing your cheek. “Say see you later, mommy,” he tells Leah.
“See you later, mommy,” Leah says.
You use his shoulder as an anchor to kiss her cheek. He swears you rub his arm as you pull away, but Robin would call that delusional thinking. “See you soon, bug.”
He watches you walk away. Every step is perfect. “Your mom’s such a bombshell,” he murmurs, “holy sugar, she’s everything.” You turn over the top of the car and give him a wave, blowing Leah a kiss. He wants to catch it. He finger waves back.
Then he spins and finds Robin judging him hard.
It takes them twenty whole human minutes to figure out how to get Leah safely secured in her car seat. Then he spends four minutes framing her face in his hands and kissing her cheeks, enamoured beyond anything to see her in the bimmer. Robin laughs at how lame he is and he strokes a hair off of Leah’s forehead rather than feed into her ridicule. His baby laughs up a storm as he chucks her under the chin.
“Steve, I’m gonna starve!” Robin warns.
“Right, right!”
He kisses Leah’s small forehead and clambers out.
Robin talks a big talk, but she bends around in the passenger seat to chatter to Leah the whole way to her neighbourhood. “And then dad got us stuck on the side of the road! It was crazy! I told him we were in trouble and he kept laughing! But nothing is that funny, Leah, nothing. I think it’s ’cos your dad has a bunch of screws loose from that time he slipped on melted ice cream at work.”
“Don’t listen to her, Lee!” Steve protests, laughing at her rolling giggles.
“He busted his head! Luckily I saved him, because I am very very smart and I went to camp–”
“You went to Girl Scout’s sleep away camp, that’s not real camp! You were there for a week.”
“But they taught me what to do when your dingus gets a concussion,” Robin says, in her silky radio voice that Leah’s magnetised to. “And that’s why dad only looks a bit wonky, as opposed to a lot.”
“I’m not wonky, am I, Lee?” Steve asks, checking the rearview for her.
“Wonky?” she asks.
“Does daddy look wonky?”
“Mm,” she says.
“What! That is so mean! Baby, I thought you liked dad?”
She giggles and goes all shy. Robin, bless her clumsy, alternative, mixed-up huge heart, goes soft as taffy against the seat. “We don’t like him at all, do we?” she asks, reaching out to rub Leah’s arm. Steve nearly hits a curb trying to watch. “Stinky dad. You can be my girl instead, if mom wants to share. I don’t mind your Harrington blood.”
He drops Robin off, but her mom comes out and wants to meet Leah and that’s a whole thing. She’s squarely heartbroken when she first sees her, going, “Aw,” and “Oh,” as her eyes fill with tears.
“Mom!” Robin says.
“Sorry, but she’s beautiful. Well done, Stevie.”
He murmurs a Thank you, Mrs. Buckley and gets the usual It’s Melissa, Steve.
It takes another ten minutes to get Leah in the car after her quick trip. He heads straight for Lucas’ and finds him freaking out about the bouquet he got Max —Erica told him to put salt in the water to keep them fresh. Steve drives him to the florists ten minutes before they close and they end up with two smaller bunches combined into a vibrant hodgepodge.
Steve buys a handful of daisies for Leah, tucking one behind her ear.
Max likes her flowers, but she’s far more interested in the baby. Lucas stands behind her rubbing his mouth.
“She does look like you,” Max says thoughtfully.
“Right? She has my eyes.”
“Yeah.” Max leans into the car. “Hi, Steve’s baby,” she says quietly.
“This is your Aunt Max,” Steve says.
Leah, who has taken all these new aunts and uncles in her stride (or is too young to get what the hell is going on), offers Max a huge smile with her tiny baby teeth. “Hi Am’ Max,” she says.
Max grins despite herself. “Hi. Are you having a good day?”
“Yessss.”
“Yeah?” She glares at Steve momentarily before standing in front of him, like she’s annoyed he’s seen her being normal, like he doesn’t catch her in a good mood all the time. “Don’t worry, you don’t have to lie. Did you have dinner?”
“Max, I am perfectly capable of looking after her.”
“I’m just checking!” She shakes Leah’s hand nicely. “This party had enough boys,” she says.
Steve ruffles Max’s hair, unbound and bouncing behind her. He’s lucky he makes it to the car with his hand.
Steve sighs when they’re on the road to your place. “Okie dokie,” he says, clenching the steering wheel to listen to the leather creak, “let’s go see your mom. It’s only–” He checks his watch. Blinks big and wide. It’s 6:37PM already, and it’s a five minute drive to your side of Hawkins. “Oh, my god. You’re mom is gonna kill me dead.”
“Kill?”
“Kiss!” he says, cringing. “Yep, she’s gonna kiss me! No other words.”
“Y’okay.”
“Who taught you to say that so cutely?” he asks, fully stressed now, the tightness in his voice surprising a giggle out of Leah. “Stop laughing!”
She giggles worse.
He can’t be more anxious as he pulls up to the house. He climbs out of the car, grabs Leah from her car seat, and in his rush to get her home before you murder him, slams his head so hard into the roof of the car he sees stars.
“Oh, fuck,” he says, holding Leah to his chest as his vision fades out.
Your laugh sounds out from behind him. “Every parent has to do it, Steve, I’m sorry to say,” you call, jogging down the path to the car. “I was wondering where you guys went. It’s… Steve?”
He blinks hard as he stands up, his arms around Leah shaky as his head pounds and pounds and pounds. “Sorry,” he says.
“Steve, what’s wrong?” You rest your arm behind his shoulders to hold him. “Hey, are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”
He urges you to take Leah.
The pain is radiating from the centre of his skull outward, into each eye and down the nape of his neck. It’s such a sudden sharpness he loses his breath, spotty vision fading in and out as he curls into himself.
“Lee, can you go inside, baby?” he hears you ask. There are a few steps, your dark shadows on the ground drifting further away before one returns, all alone. “Steve, what happened? How hard did you hit your head?” you ask softly.
“It’s– I got that–” Every word pulls at the nausea brewing in his stomach. “I’m gonna–”
Steve gags. He aims for the grass. Everything goes white.
—
Steve does a valiant job of keeping himself upright long enough for you to sit him down inside, but after that, he’s useless.
“Okay, it’s okay,” you’re saying, a ringing in your ears you can’t cope with, “it’s alright, Steve, you’re okay. Come forward, honey, let me see–”
You aren’t sure he’s conscious, but he slumps forward regardless to expose the back of his head. You feel through his hair and pull your hand out quick to check for blood on your fingertips, but they come away clean.
“Daddy?” Leah asks, wandering into the living room with her little smile and a daisy drooping behind her ear.
“How was meemaw, bub?” you ask.
“Sleeping.”
“Why don’t you go snuggle with her for a minute? I’ll bring you a buppy?”
Leah hugs your leg from behind. “Buppy?”
“Yeah, do you want one?”
Leah shoots for the bedroom. You take her absence as an opportunity to pull Steve’s head up, meeting his droopy gaze. “Steve, baby,” you say, so softly it’d be a wonder if he could hear you, “are you okay?”
He groans. “Just a migraine.”
“Are you sure?”
“Feels like one.”
“You get them a lot?”
“More since you left.”
You swallow roughly. “I’m gonna call an ambulance.”
“No.” At that, he sits up, holds his own head up to plead, “You don’t have to. I’m fine, this just happens sometimes. After I hit my head at the mall, I get these killer migraines.”
“You hit your head, though. I think you have a concussion.”
“Not my first one.”
You hold his cheek in your hand. Your thumb brushes over his beauty marks. “No?” you ask.
“Had three.”
“You never told me.”
“I know. Didn’t want you to think I was– some loser? I don’t know. I don’t know, I don’t know why it was hard to be honest with you, guess I thought– it’s not like it’s ever done any good before. I always say the wrong thing.”
You get on your knees in front of him. To cope with the strain of looking up at him, but more to see him face to face. “Steve, you nearly yacked in my yard. I think we’re past appearances.”
Steve covers his mouth with a big hand.
You tuck as much of his hair behind his ears as you can. “Can you look at me? I want to check your pupils.”
He opens his eyes properly, pouring his gaze into yours without hesitation. You check the size of each pupil and find them normal, though the longer he looks, the bigger they become. “I think there’s something wrong, Steve. Your eyes are blown.”
“It’s fine. It’s not ‘cos I hit my head. It’s a headache.”
“You almost knocked yourself out. You’re throwing up. What if I don’t call the ambulance and Leah’s dad dies on my couch?”
“I don’t need an ambulance. I barely puked, it was all spit.”
“Steve.”
“I’m serious. I didn’t even go for the first two concussions, and the third one, they said this could happen. Turns out that taking a couple of bad knocks to the head makes you fragile, I’m fine.” He cups your cheek. “Jesus, don’t feel sorry for me–”
“I do feel sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Seconds of stringy silence follow. He squints at you through the pain. “It’s okay,” he says, his own thumb rubbing at your veins. “I’m sorry, too.”
You pull his hand off your face. Not without care.
“…Can I please call an ambulance?” you ask, uneasy.
“I don’t need one.”
“How do you know?” you whisper.
He turns his hand in your grip to hold yours. His eyes are brown and teary with pain, but they’re so familiar. “I just do. Can you trust me, please?”
You try to stand. Steve squeezes your hand in his and makes you sit on the couch beside him as his eyes shutter closed and his head tips back, the column of his throat there and pale and working as he swallows his pain. You stare at the length of it with your hand too hot in his grip, wondering when it’s acceptable to pull your hand away, and if you’d even want to when the time came.
You told me you didn’t want this, you think, your two joined hands rising and falling where he’s pulled them to his chest. You swear you can see his heart in his chest. The gentle bump-bump of it against skin. A miserable wife.
“Can I get you anything?”
He croaks a hum. “Mm, no.”
“Are you sure? I have aspirin.”
His fingers flex. “It’ll go away.”
“When?”
“It depends. It can take a few hours, sometimes, but I don’t get the worst of the pain for long.” His voice is hoarse with its quiet.
“The other times?”
“They can last for days.”
You’d seen the physical change in Steve. He went weak and sweaty in seconds. His nausea was obviously extreme. You can feel the tremor in his hand as he talks like every word spurs pain.
“It won’t, though,” he says. “Don’t worry. I need five minutes and I can make dinner.”
“Uh, no you can’t. You can sit right here until you feel better, thanks.”
He sinks impossibly further into your mom’s old couch. “Okay. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” You lower your tone. “I don’t mind. I’m sorry if you thought I would.”
“I didn’t mean to–”
“To what? Give yourself a concussion on the roof of the car? I gathered that.”
“Didn’t mean for it to become your problem,” he says.
“You’re not a problem, Steve. I promise.”
You fight for better judgement and lose, letting yourself caress a piece of hair away from his pale neck.
“I think I really screwed up,” he says. “Think I made out all the wrong things. You didn’t think you could tell me about the baby–”
“We don’t have to do this again–”
“Yeah, we do. We do. Because I made you think I wouldn’t want you. I lied to protect my ego and I could’ve had everything I wanted,” —his brow pulls tight and glared, his jaw rigid— “and I hurt you.”
“I hurt myself. You didn’t make me run away, Steve. I did it all alone. I’m good at that.”
“I don’t want you to be alone.”
“I don’t want you to live a life that you hate.”
“I don’t. I won’t. How could I ever hate anything about her?”
You have to give him that. But. “I didn’t tell you for a bunch of reasons, Steve,” you confess, hardly wanting to let it out. “I was scared of everything, you and your parents, making you into the reluctant husband, or– or at the least the reluctant father. I didn’t want to deal with it. And I didn’t wanna be that stupid girl who got knocked up by the prom king. I ran away and nobody had to know.”
“It wouldn’t have been like that.”
“I realise that now.”
His head lolls to see you. He pulls his lashes apart enough to peek through them, that dark hedging a line you’d like to count. You tip your head toward his and face him across the couch cushions, hands joined and hot as a hearth.
“It was never messing around, to me,” he says quietly. Sweat wets the hair at his temples.
“You don’t have to–”
“I got my heart stomped on pretty hard over and over and I stopped trying. I put all my cards on the table every time. But with you, I couldn’t do it again. I thought I couldn’t, so I acted less into you than I was.”
You remember all his kisses and tight armed hugs, his affectionate nudges, his nose lined to your temple as he bore down. It hadn’t felt like less. But you’d never thought it was more, either.
“I pretended we were this summer fling, told you I didn’t want kids, that I wanted to live in the city and get a full time job at a firm with a company car, like that stuff mattered.” He frowns at you deeply. “I’m sorry. I wish I could change it.”
His throat bobs.
“S’it still hurting?” you murmur.
“So much,” he murmurs too, holding your hand against his heart. “I can’t get it to stop.”
“I can’t do this with you.”
He shakes his head minutely. “M’not asking you for anything you can’t give me. I’m just sorry.”
You want him to lean in and align his mouth to yours. You imagine it vividly, the press and taste of him, the scratch of the stubble on his upper lip and his hand slipping behind your neck, squeezing your nape gently, his thumb at the hinge of your jaw trying to open your mouth. You want him so badly it’s a palpable ache in your teeth, like he’s already kissed you harsh and quick, that clack of a collision and the subsequent metallic on your tongue.
But you aren’t lying. You can’t do this.
A thudding noise echoes from your mom’s room, compelling you up and away from his warm touch. Your hand sings with pins and needles as it falls out of his.
“Lee?” you call. “Sorry. I have to go make sure she’s okay.”
He frowns again as he pinches the bridge of his nose. “That’s fine. I’ll be here.”
—
The bedroom throw blankets haven’t changed since you were here last. Your mom didn’t waste much time turning it into a guest room, but the sheets and blankets are the same, soft with wear in your hands as you lay them out. Leah waits for you to finish before climbing into bed, her bottle teat bitten between her teeth. It slips out of her hand with a rush of air as she slips into the pillows. You pick it up and offer it to her again, your shoulders aflame with the weight of an uncommon gaze.
“What side do you sleep on?”
Steve, at half-mast but less obviously pained, takes his time answering.
“Left.”
“Left side’s all yours.”
He shuffles forward in a polo and a pair of his old sweatpants. You, in a horrible stroke of great luck, had them in the bottom of the chest of drawers.
“Make room for me?” he asks Leah.
She grins around her bottle.
You’re pretty sure that if Steve can’t open his eyes for more than ten seconds at a time, he can’t drive, and you don’t want him to fall asleep at home and never wake up. Hence your impromptu sleepover. The bed is a queen and you have a shared child as a buffer, but you’re already annoyed with yourself. Your arms keep remembering what it felt like to stretch out over him whenever he ended up on his front. It is not helpful.
You put the big light out and the nightlight on, a ladybug on a mushroom that glows a warm orange on Steve’s side of the room. In your own sweatpants and a vest, you climb into the right side of the bed and nearly fall straight back out at the lack of space.
Steve curls an arm around Leah tentatively, encouraging her into his side to make room for you.
“You okay?” he asks Leah quietly.
“You okay, daddy?” she asks.
“I’m fine, beautiful. I’m good.”
“Sleep?” she asks.
“With you, if that’s cool?”
“Cool,” she says decidedly.
When you lie down, Leah immediately rolls out of Steve’s grip and makes herself comfortable in the curves of you, her nose digging hard in your arm, the bottle warm on your chest.
“I’ll move her when she falls asleep,” you whisper, nodding to the foldout cot next to the bed with its padded interior.
Sleeping in the same bed as Steve Harrington is a long gone artefact of the past. It’s odd to be face to face with him, to smell him so close, the toothpaste on his breath and the salty, earthy sting of sweat mixed with allspice. You don’t strictly mind it, but you didn’t think you’d ever be this close again. It hurries the heart. You miss him like a slap.
Refusing to think on it is the best way forward.
“You sure you’re okay?” you ask him under your breath.
Leah suckles at her bottle, breaking the quiet, though it’s a monotone sort of sound. Steve doesn’t answer. You glance at him and find him dozing already, not a blanket over him nor a sheet untucked.
“Steve.”
He blinks to attention. “Huh?”
“Pull the blanket up over yourself.”
He must like your tone. You’d gone soft by accident, too used to lulling Leah to sleep via sweetness and dulcet murmuring. He kicks it down and then pulls it up to his ribs, a tight white parcel with the pink throw laid over his feet.
“It’ll be cold tonight. Does that make the migraines worse?” you ask.
“No. I’ll be okay.”
You let him fall asleep. Leah snuggles under your chin. This isn’t the daydream. You aren’t being cuddled and coddled by warm kisses along the side of your face, his big arm around you, your baby between you. Steve keeps a good distance and he’s exhausted.
Leah takes a lot longer to fall, but when she does it’s for keeps. You give her ten minutes tucked up on your chest but decide to move her when you feel your own eyes drifting shut. A rush of unnecessary shushing and a soft kiss later, you creep toward the bed and lay down on your side. Steve sleeps as your mirror, one cheek and eye hidden by the pillow, the sheets pulled haphazard over his hip. You yank them from under you and pull them up to cover him to the shoulder, tempted to tuck his hair behind his ear again. It’s long enough.
“Can feel you staring,” he whispers.
Your heart leaps in shock, though thankfully you don’t jump. “Hm?”
“Staring at me.”
“Trying to gauge whether you died in your sleep.”
“Still ‘live.”
You do reach for him, then, stricken by how badly you want to take care of him. “I can see that.”
He peeks down at your hand on his cheek and grins dopily. “Missed you,” he says.
“Missed you, too.”
You wouldn’t tell him if it weren’t dark, if he weren’t in pain.
“You did?” he asks.
“I always miss you,” you say. You pull your hand away like it’s him that’s said the wrong thing, annoyed at your own boldness, moving onto your back to stare at the ceiling.
He feels at your wrist, up your arm. Steve slides his palm over your stomach and holds it there. When you’re starting to think he might’ve fallen asleep again, your breath aching in your throat to be expelled, he presses down carefully and sighs. “I wish I got to see it. Don’t know why you were alone.”
“I wasn't.”
“Would’ve looked after you, though.”
“Steve…”
“I would’ve.”
“I know.” You know now. You could’ve stayed here and had him look after you, but it’s not what you wanted. “I wanted… more, than that.”
He stares at you across the pillows. Your breath catches as he brings his hand up to your cheek and encourages your head toward him, as he lifts himself up off the pillows to bear down over you.
“Do you still want that?” he asks.
You laugh, weak and weary. “Not when you’re concussed.”
He laughs in your face. It’s quiet to leave Leah sleeping, and to stop from hurting himself again, but it’s a genuine laugh of joy leaning over you. His hair falls in his face and he’s beautiful. All freckled and gold in the dim amber light sunning in from behind him.
“I am not concussed,” he says, leaning down.
You don’t kiss. Won’t lift your lips to his where he waits, though waiting might not be the right word. It’s like he’s alright with anything you’re about to do, or not do, sharing your breath.
“I don’t believe you,” you tease lightly.
He’s moved so much to be over you. It is unquestionably the position of a man who’s going to kiss you.
You press your forehead to his chin.
“We should sleep,” you say, because you shouldn’t kiss.
Portland feels very, very far away as he trails his fingers down the front of you and takes a handful of your hip.
“I’m not concussed,” he says, though it’s not asking for anything; Steve’s already pulling away. He sits up and slightly away from you, rubbing a wave into your abdomen lovingly, like you never went to Portland at all. Like it’s the sleepover after a night spent kissing slow and watching shit TV. “Get some sleep, angel,” he adds, so quietly you’d doubt he spoke if you hadn’t watched his mouth shape the words.
—
In the morning, you wake to find Leah chest to chest with Steve, his hair like water on your pillows.
“An’ my hand an’ my nose as my mouth,” she says factually.
“And your ears,” he says back to her quietly, stroking a path from her shoulders to her lower back and up again. “Your eyebrows, and your hair, and your neck.”
“Yeah.”
“Your tummy, and your legs, and your little toes.”
“Am’ my toes,” she says.
“Even your toes are pretty,” Steve agrees. “‘Cos duh. Leah’s the prettiest girl I ever met, right?” His voice drops low enough to rattle hoarsely. “Just as pretty as mommy. I didn’t know that was possible.”
You hide your face in the pillows, pretending to sleep.
This is not going to go how you’d first thought.
—
thank you for reading!! so excited I love steve and I know he could be bitchier and angrier here but I’ve decided to make him whipped instead cos he’s cute when he’s in love and if it’s not implied enough he’s still whipped for the reader lol. hope you enjoyed it thank you very much for reading and taking the time
KBD AND MY AVERY!! Our avery feeling a little left out cause reader comes home from work and instinctively shifts to the younger ones cause they’re a handful and our avery finally mustering up the courage to ask for a mommy daughter date I miss them sm
—Avery feels a little left out. mom!reader, 1.5k
You’re surprised to find your children playing in the grass outside the house when you return home. There’s a chair in the grass where Steve probably thought he’d get to sit and sketch or read or anything besides just wrangling the kids, but it is empty.
Steve is at the front of the house untangling Wren’s fingers from around a flower she has surely crushed, while Dove and Beth stand suspiciously by the garden house.
Avery sits next to the paddle pool in a dress, only her feet submerged.
You stride past her for the hose, taking it from Dove’s outstretched hand. “Hey, evil girl. What do you think you’re doing?”
“I was just gonna spray the grass,” Dove says sulkily.
“I do not believe you.”
“Spray me, mom!” Beth says.
You test the hose on the grass, then pause. “I feel like I’m teaching the wrong lesson if I do that, baby.”
“Spray me too!” Dove demands.
“Well don’t spray me,” Steve says, hoisting a whining Wren into his arms where she can’t murder anymore flowers. “I just got dry.”
“What happened to you?” you ask, priming the hose.
Beth cackles hysterically as you spray her toes.
“I tried to water your flowers and I just fudged it up so bad.”
“He fudged it up,” Dove says.
You spray her next. She sputters and laughs, water trickling down her bare legs to wet the mud sticking to her knees.
Wren’s whining turns to real, loud crying. You offer your hands and Steve swaps you; you get the baby, he gets the hose, and you both get a kiss over Wren’s head.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
You head inside through the open door to the kitchen to find Wren a bottle. You’re screwing the cap back on when Avery walks into the kitchen, her wet feet leaving tracks. Her hair is longer than ever. She got Steve’s lot, his nose and his hair and his sense of humour, and when she looks at you like this, all nervous and trying to hide it, she’s exactly her fathers daughter.
“What’s the matter?” you ask, holding out a hand.
She rushes forward to hug you by the hip. You rest your hand on her head, and rake it through her hair. Her bangs are ruffled around her face with sticky sunscreen, but the ends are clean and soft. You scratch back up toward her neck and scalp. Avery can’t help shivering, her sad pout perking quick into a nice smile.
“I’m sorry, honey. I totally walked past you, didn’t I?” you ask.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, Avery.” You tip her head back. “Are you having a good day?”
“No.”
You take a deep breath. “Come on, come sit at the table with me. Let’s crack this thing wide open.”
She sits, and you get her a juice box and a cookie and kiss the top of her head before sitting beside her.
“What happened?” you ask.
“Every time I go in the pool, Dove splashed me in the face, and I hate it so I haven’t been in the pool. Daddy told me I was being mean because I didn’t help Beth when she hurt her foot but I didn’t even know! And I waited all day for you to come home because– because daddy was mad at me, and you didn’t even care.”
“I do care, Avery.” You reach for her hand. It is difficult, having the baby in your arm and holding her bottle up, but you’ll manage. “I do. I promise. I’m sorry daddy told you that you were being mean when Beth got hurt. I’ll tell him the truth about it, because it’s not nice thinking you got misunderstood, is it?” You shake her hand. “Don’t worry, my girl. It was just a misunderstanding. I’ll get dad to say sorry. He won’t need me to, he’ll feel bad when he knows, yeah? But I’ll get him for you. We will punish him.”
She laughs. “Yeah? He won’t have cake and ice cream after dinner?” she asks.
“Exactly.”
She takes a bite of her cookie. “I am hungry, too. We only had banana and kiwi and stuff for lunch.”
“How hungry, baby?” You rub her knuckles with your thumb. She’s getting so tall, putting on weight, growing out and up! But her hands have stayed quite small. “I can make you a sandwich, or a bowl of cereal, or some noodles and sauce?”
She slinks off of her seat to hug you again. You lean down, kissing her forehead. She’s all minky soft at the eyebrows with tiny white hairs still, like a baby.
“Yes, please,” she says.
The sound of the hose spraying and Beth’s shrieking laughter echoes down the hall. You make Avery a ham sandwich with cheese and tip a pack of chips onto her plate. She looks much happier, then, munching through her sandwich, kicking her feet under her chair.
You head to the door and crook your finger at Steve.
“What have I done now?” he asks.
“You said Avery was being mean? Apparently, she didn’t even know Beth hurt her foot.”
Steve winces. “Yeah, my bad. I thought she was ignoring her when she was crying, but it was my fault anyways. They were in the yard and I came in here to get Dove a drink real quick.”
“Now she’s sad.”
“I’m a monster.”
Steve hugs you. He smells like sunscreen from the kids and that carrot-oil tanning lotion he pretends he doesn’t use, and his skin is more than warm where he folds into you.
“You’re a meanie,” you murmur, laughing when he squeezes you too tightly. “Ouch. Meanie, see? You’re hurting me and my baby.”
“Don’t say that!” He slips his hands under Wren and takes her back. “Come on, angel, let’s get you tired out for your nap later!”
When you head back in, Avery noticeably perks up.
“You’re back,” she says.
“I’m back. Can I have a chip? Pick me one with the most flavour, honey, please.”
She gives you a big one crusted with the flavouring powder. You sit as close to her as your chairs can get and wrap an arm behind her shoulders.
“If you want to go in the pool, I will come in with you and make sure Dove behaves,” you promise.
“Can I ask you something?”
You squeeze her a little. “Yeah, course you can.”
“You remember when we went for dinner?”
“When?”
“Just me and you. We dressed all nice and got fancy dinner?” She lifts her head, eyes widened in pleading and her mouth set, like she’s suspecting a bad answer. “Can we go again soon?”
“Yeah, we can go. Would that make you happy?”
“I miss you sometimes,” she says.
“Yeah?” You rest your face in her hair, encouraging her under your neck. “I miss you too, sweet girl. We can go get dinner soon, really soon. I just gotta figure out when is best. We had a good time last time, huh?”
“I like being with you with no one else,” she murmurs.
You can’t help smiling. “You are such a sweetheart…” You rub her arm.
Being her mom is the most special thing in the world, as cliche as it sounds. She’s your first baby, the one who taught you how to love someone like an extension of your body. There were months after she was born where you’d have her with you and look for her, that’s how used to holding her you’d become. You do it now with your other babies, but with Avery, it was all the time. She’d be sleeping on your chest as you ransacked the house looking for her.
You might even feel grateful for your husband and how he’s helped love her, if he weren’t currently hosing the kids off like muddy dogs and getting water up the front step and over the threshold. Maybe you and Avery need that dinner sooner, rather than later.
Avery finishes her sandwich, but she doesn’t want the chips, so you gather them in your hand and let her lead you by the other back to the front yard. Steve is now submerged in the kiddie pool despite his t-shirt with Wren dangling from his hands, her chubby feet kicking waves through the water. Beth is sitting in the grass now, wrapped in a towel and eating a slice of apple, and she brightens when you and Avery return.
“Ave, you missed all the fun!” she says.
“Where’s Dove?”
Steve twists a bit to show Dove laying across his back, dripping water all over him.
“Want some apple?” Beth asks.
Avery takes a slice.
“You didn’t play!” Dove cries to Avery. “We got dad all wet!”
“Mommy made me a sandwich.”
“We missed you, you could’ve had dinner later,” Dove says, wrinkling her nose.
“You did?” Avery asks.
“Of course we did,” Steve says, dipping Wren in the water. “You’re our best swimmer. Come and play before Wren kick’s out all the water.”
KBD AND MY AVERY!! Our avery feeling a little left out cause reader comes home from work and instinctively shifts to the younger ones cause they’re a handful and our avery finally mustering up the courage to ask for a mommy daughter date I miss them sm
—Avery feels a little left out. mom!reader, 1.5k
You’re surprised to find your children playing in the grass outside the house when you return home. There’s a chair in the grass where Steve probably thought he’d get to sit and sketch or read or anything besides just wrangling the kids, but it is empty.
Steve is at the front of the house untangling Wren’s fingers from around a flower she has surely crushed, while Dove and Beth stand suspiciously by the garden house.
Avery sits next to the paddle pool in a dress, only her feet submerged.
You stride past her for the hose, taking it from Dove’s outstretched hand. “Hey, evil girl. What do you think you’re doing?”
“I was just gonna spray the grass,” Dove says sulkily.
“I do not believe you.”
“Spray me, mom!” Beth says.
You test the hose on the grass, then pause. “I feel like I’m teaching the wrong lesson if I do that, baby.”
“Spray me too!” Dove demands.
“Well don’t spray me,” Steve says, hoisting a whining Wren into his arms where she can’t murder anymore flowers. “I just got dry.”
“What happened to you?” you ask, priming the hose.
Beth cackles hysterically as you spray her toes.
“I tried to water your flowers and I just fudged it up so bad.”
“He fudged it up,” Dove says.
You spray her next. She sputters and laughs, water trickling down her bare legs to wet the mud sticking to her knees.
Wren’s whining turns to real, loud crying. You offer your hands and Steve swaps you; you get the baby, he gets the hose, and you both get a kiss over Wren’s head.
“Hey,” he says.
“Hi.”
You head inside through the open door to the kitchen to find Wren a bottle. You’re screwing the cap back on when Avery walks into the kitchen, her wet feet leaving tracks. Her hair is longer than ever. She got Steve’s lot, his nose and his hair and his sense of humour, and when she looks at you like this, all nervous and trying to hide it, she’s exactly her fathers daughter.
“What’s the matter?” you ask, holding out a hand.
She rushes forward to hug you by the hip. You rest your hand on her head, and rake it through her hair. Her bangs are ruffled around her face with sticky sunscreen, but the ends are clean and soft. You scratch back up toward her neck and scalp. Avery can’t help shivering, her sad pout perking quick into a nice smile.
“I’m sorry, honey. I totally walked past you, didn’t I?” you ask.
“Yeah.”
“Sorry, Avery.” You tip her head back. “Are you having a good day?”
“No.”
You take a deep breath. “Come on, come sit at the table with me. Let’s crack this thing wide open.”
She sits, and you get her a juice box and a cookie and kiss the top of her head before sitting beside her.
“What happened?” you ask.
“Every time I go in the pool, Dove splashed me in the face, and I hate it so I haven’t been in the pool. Daddy told me I was being mean because I didn’t help Beth when she hurt her foot but I didn’t even know! And I waited all day for you to come home because– because daddy was mad at me, and you didn’t even care.”
“I do care, Avery.” You reach for her hand. It is difficult, having the baby in your arm and holding her bottle up, but you’ll manage. “I do. I promise. I’m sorry daddy told you that you were being mean when Beth got hurt. I’ll tell him the truth about it, because it’s not nice thinking you got misunderstood, is it?” You shake her hand. “Don’t worry, my girl. It was just a misunderstanding. I’ll get dad to say sorry. He won’t need me to, he’ll feel bad when he knows, yeah? But I’ll get him for you. We will punish him.”
She laughs. “Yeah? He won’t have cake and ice cream after dinner?” she asks.
“Exactly.”
She takes a bite of her cookie. “I am hungry, too. We only had banana and kiwi and stuff for lunch.”
“How hungry, baby?” You rub her knuckles with your thumb. She’s getting so tall, putting on weight, growing out and up! But her hands have stayed quite small. “I can make you a sandwich, or a bowl of cereal, or some noodles and sauce?”
She slinks off of her seat to hug you again. You lean down, kissing her forehead. She’s all minky soft at the eyebrows with tiny white hairs still, like a baby.
“Yes, please,” she says.
The sound of the hose spraying and Beth’s shrieking laughter echoes down the hall. You make Avery a ham sandwich with cheese and tip a pack of chips onto her plate. She looks much happier, then, munching through her sandwich, kicking her feet under her chair.
You head to the door and crook your finger at Steve.
“What have I done now?” he asks.
“You said Avery was being mean? Apparently, she didn’t even know Beth hurt her foot.”
Steve winces. “Yeah, my bad. I thought she was ignoring her when she was crying, but it was my fault anyways. They were in the yard and I came in here to get Dove a drink real quick.”
“Now she’s sad.”
“I’m a monster.”
Steve hugs you. He smells like sunscreen from the kids and that carrot-oil tanning lotion he pretends he doesn’t use, and his skin is more than warm where he folds into you.
“You’re a meanie,” you murmur, laughing when he squeezes you too tightly. “Ouch. Meanie, see? You’re hurting me and my baby.”
“Don’t say that!” He slips his hands under Wren and takes her back. “Come on, angel, let’s get you tired out for your nap later!”
When you head back in, Avery noticeably perks up.
“You’re back,” she says.
“I’m back. Can I have a chip? Pick me one with the most flavour, honey, please.”
She gives you a big one crusted with the flavouring powder. You sit as close to her as your chairs can get and wrap an arm behind her shoulders.
“If you want to go in the pool, I will come in with you and make sure Dove behaves,” you promise.
“Can I ask you something?”
You squeeze her a little. “Yeah, course you can.”
“You remember when we went for dinner?”
“When?”
“Just me and you. We dressed all nice and got fancy dinner?” She lifts her head, eyes widened in pleading and her mouth set, like she’s suspecting a bad answer. “Can we go again soon?”
“Yeah, we can go. Would that make you happy?”
“I miss you sometimes,” she says.
“Yeah?” You rest your face in her hair, encouraging her under your neck. “I miss you too, sweet girl. We can go get dinner soon, really soon. I just gotta figure out when is best. We had a good time last time, huh?”
“I like being with you with no one else,” she murmurs.
You can’t help smiling. “You are such a sweetheart…” You rub her arm.
Being her mom is the most special thing in the world, as cliche as it sounds. She’s your first baby, the one who taught you how to love someone like an extension of your body. There were months after she was born where you’d have her with you and look for her, that’s how used to holding her you’d become. You do it now with your other babies, but with Avery, it was all the time. She’d be sleeping on your chest as you ransacked the house looking for her.
You might even feel grateful for your husband and how he’s helped love her, if he weren’t currently hosing the kids off like muddy dogs and getting water up the front step and over the threshold. Maybe you and Avery need that dinner sooner, rather than later.
Avery finishes her sandwich, but she doesn’t want the chips, so you gather them in your hand and let her lead you by the other back to the front yard. Steve is now submerged in the kiddie pool despite his t-shirt with Wren dangling from his hands, her chubby feet kicking waves through the water. Beth is sitting in the grass now, wrapped in a towel and eating a slice of apple, and she brightens when you and Avery return.
“Ave, you missed all the fun!” she says.
“Where’s Dove?”
Steve twists a bit to show Dove laying across his back, dripping water all over him.
“Want some apple?” Beth asks.
Avery takes a slice.
“You didn’t play!” Dove cries to Avery. “We got dad all wet!”
“Mommy made me a sandwich.”
“We missed you, you could’ve had dinner later,” Dove says, wrinkling her nose.
“You did?” Avery asks.
“Of course we did,” Steve says, dipping Wren in the water. “You’re our best swimmer. Come and play before Wren kick’s out all the water.”
pairing: Walter "Keys" McKey x Female!Co-worker!Reader
summary: When Keys learns you're into dirty talk, he can't help but indulge his curiosity late one night at work. Thanks to an accidental headphone swap, you get to help him with his…research.
tags: MDNI [smut] [co-workers to lovers] [listening to a spicy audio together] [dirty talk] [nervous] [SWITCHY] [blowjob] [flustered to confident msub] [praise] [use your words] [semi-public sex] [fingering] [thigh riding] [kinda sweet, really slutty] 9k words.
God, Keys really needs to stop eavesdropping.
It’s already a bad habit of his—listening in on other people’s conversations at coffee shops, or when he’s sitting on the bus.
He just can't help it, okay? It's not his fault he's a curious guy by nature. And it's not like anybody ever sprints over to his corner office to tell him the new gossip, so he’s literally the last to know anything.
Like now, for example, standing at the shared coffee bar at work. He really should walk away and give you and your co-worker, Briana, some privacy for your conversation.
But he can’t.
Because he’s pretty sure he just heard the word sex.
His vision vignettes as he pours another sugar into his styrofoam cup of coffee. He only likes two, but now he’s lost count, opening packet after packet just to give himself an excuse to stay here.
Morning light pours in through the open windows on the east side of the office building, bathing you in gold. You’re so bright and beautiful, Keys can hardly even look at you.
Briana’s voice filters through his thoughts, tuning him back into the conversation. “I like him and everything, but the sex is just—I don’t know—”
“Bland?” you offer.
Briana pauses, giving you a weighted look before correcting. “Silent.”
You make a sympathetic sound, oblivious to your eavesdropper, whose cheeks are turning a charming shade of pink.
“There’s nothing worse than a silent man in bed,” you say, stirring your coffee. “I mean, we want to hear what we’re doing to them, you know? Like, moaning a little won’t kill them. And add in a little dirty talk? God, that shit never fails to get me off.”
Another sugar packet rips in his fingers and he pours without really thinking. Good lord, this coffee is going to be undrinkable.
But the cup of joe is the literal least of his worries, since he’s shoving his hips up against the edge of the table just to keep from getting a hard at hearing you talk like that. You’re his co-worker. You sit across from him every day.
He can’t be getting hard at work. And especially, not right next to you.
“Exactly!” Briana groans, enthusiastically. “So, I don’t know what to do about it.”
Keys’ head turns towards the open office floor, but his feet feel like they’ve grown roots, planting him right there in the dingy carpet, forcing him to listen.
You hum, a familiar sound that means you’re thinking. “Well, if he’s into it, maybe listen to some spicy audios together? There are some really talented creators out there that can give you both some inspiration.”
He glances up just in time to watch Briana’s dark eyes cut over to you mischievously as she takes a sip.
“Good idea,” she says, “I’m going to…”
Somehow, Keys finally uproots himself and slips away with his cup of sugary bean water.
He barely registers the rows of cubicles and windows swirling around him in colors of gray, blue, white, and black, too busy replaying your words over and over in his head.
…nothing worse than a silent man in bed.
…add in a little dirty talk?
…never fails to get me off.
His office chair squeaks under his weight and his glasses land on his desk with a clatter. Planting his elbows on his armrests, he breathes a deep sigh and scrubs his hands over his face.
Focus, Keys.
He replaces his glasses, and shifts forward in his chair, forcing his eyes back to his waiting code. The predictability of numbers—those never changing zeros and ones—usually settles him. But, not today.
He tries hard to force all thoughts of you from his head but—oh, it’s useless.
There you are, spread out on his navy sheets, writhing underneath him. His mouth trails soft kisses down your throat, over your shoulder, and lower…
You let out a needy whine, hands twisting up in his hair, legs parting for him on instinct. And in his imagination, he opens his mouth to say something hot—anything—but no words come. He wouldn’t know what to say.
He has a few trademark moves in bed. I mean, who doesn’t? And the girls he’s been with always leave happy.
But…is he silent? He doesn’t really know, actually. Never recorded himself…or anything…maybe he should—
“You good?”
The world whips back into focus, and Keys jumps in his chair. Suddenly, the overhead light’s too bright, and the AC feels like an icy blast, and you’re there, standing over your desk, staring at him with concern.
“What?” he squeaks, then clears his throat. “Y-yeah. Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”
You shrug, and take your seat across from him. “I don’t know, you just look…tired, I guess.”
He just grunts and returns his gaze to his computer screen. “Just…work stuff.”
You hum in agreement and turn back to your screen as well.
As much as he bitches about being shoved up in the corner of the floor, the only space with a huge window immediately to his left, the spot really does have its perks.
It’s annoying because it’s so bright he has to squint to see his screen most of the time. But the way the sun shines through the blinds, painting you in thin lines of shadow, lighting up your eyes and lashes?
He wouldn’t trade this spot for anything.
Shit. Now he’s staring.
Irritated, he forces his gaze away and pushes his glasses up higher on his nose.
His hand finds his mouse and he navigates to his work, but for one fleeting second, his curser hovers over the new tab button.
Now, Keys is a complete and total nerd, so, of course he’s no stranger to the internet. Especially the deep, dark parts of it. He’s fallen victim to those late night deep dives on reddit pages more times than he can count. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembers coming across those ‘spicy audios’ you gushed about earlier.
What did you call them? Talented creators? Which ones were you talking about? What things did they say? What did you like about it?
All it would take is a few clicks on his keyboard, and he’d get all those answers to his questions. But he quickly shakes his head to clear it and pulls up his code with a guilty look over his shoulder.
The white wall stares at him, disapproving.
What the fuck has gotten into him? He cannot be looking this shit up at work!
He really has it bad.
When he’s back home, in the comfort of his own gaming desk, only then will he let himself investigate this newfound scrap of information on you.
Later, he promises himself. Later.
Well, it’s later.
And Keys hasn’t got a single fucking line of code done yet.
Which is why he’s stuck at work late, miserably trying to catch up on his project after everyone else has left for the day.
Everyone, that is, except for you.
Apparently, you also got behind, and you can’t afford to. Not with the new launch coming up.
Vinny came by to collect the trash a while back, and he didn’t see you in the back corner, so he turned off the lights, plunging you both into darkness. Neither of you have gotten up to turn them back on, choosing instead to work by the dim lights of your computer monitors. And even though the two of you keep saying you’re going to leave “any minute,” those minutes turn to hours, and you’re both still here.
Alone.
The printer hums in the corner, and that blinking blue light on the side is driving Keys crazy. It keeps catching in the edge of his glasses, and the clicking of your mouse fills his ears.
It’s constant. Unlike his. Which means you’re actually getting work done. Unlike him.
Finally, your voice breaks the silence.
“The street’s kinda loud tonight, isn’t it?”
Keys makes a noncommittal sound in this throat and doesn’t look up.
Honestly, he hasn’t noticed the traffic humming far below the window, and he’s trying so hard not to look at you, not to think about you, that he doesn’t notice when you reach across over and grab his headphones by accident.
It’s easy to get them confused. They look exactly the same, tangled up together at the edge of where your desks meet. Black. Standard issue. Company logo on the side.
When Keys glances up and sees you with the headphones on, he sighs quietly in relief.
It’s ridiculous, but up until this moment, he was hyper-aware of everything he was doing. Was he breathing too loudly? Could you hear his heartbeat? Was he readjusting himself too much when every thought of you in his bed gave him a hard-on?
He tries to focus, he really does, but the numbers blur together on his screen.
Music.
That’s what he needs.
He grabs the other pair of headphones, and when he settles them over his head, all he can hear is his own heartbeat slamming in his ears, reminding him of what a fucking loser he is.
He should just ask you out. Like a normal person. But no.
The foam cuffs press into the ear piece of his glasses, reminding him why he usually prefers the wired earbuds. But he’s lost them somewhere, and he can’t afford to go looking at the moment.
The click of his mouse is silenced as he maneuvers it to pull up his music library. But, his cursor gets distracted on the way, hovering over that damn new tab icon in the corner.
He risks another peek at you.
Your brows furrow and you readjust your headphones, eyes still on your screen.
Resisting the urge to scrub a hand over his face in frustration, he turns his gaze back to his computer. If he’s honest with himself, he won’t be able to get any substantial work done until he satisfies his curiosity.
It’s risky, doing this at work. But there’s no way you can hear anything, and Keys is getting desperate.
After a few hasty searches, he’s navigating the depths of…erotic audios.
His eyes widen as he scrolls past the sprawling inventory of tropes and storylines. There are so many different kinds of fantasies, how would he know what you’re into? He leans in closer, scrolling carefully down the list until he hesitates on one in particular.
Talk Nerdy To Me.
The small blurb underneath catches his eye.
Your tutor tries a new tactic to get you to study for your big test. Just how sexual can his acronyms get before you decide to study anatomy a different way?
His cursor hovers over the LISTEN NOW button.
This is harmless enough, right? There’s even a little story. Like an audio book. Just way shorter. And way more explicit. And…yeah, this is so wrong, on so many levels.
Beneath his conscience, however, sits a burning curiosity. Keys is analytic at heart. If there’s a question, he wants to find the answer. And, if listening to this will help him figure out what to say in bed…
Fuck it.
The silenced click of his mouse through his headphones is as loud as a gunshot.
He waits, breath caught in his chest, heel tapping restlessly on the carpet as the little blue progress bar starts to move.
But he doesn’t hear anything.
He frowns and readjusts his headphones.
Nothing.
On impulse, he skips to the middle. Just in case there was a silent lull there at the beginning.
Still nothing.
He leans towards the screen nervously, and as he shifts, he glimpses you from behind your computer screen—and freezes.
You’re staring at him, cheeks flush in the dim lighting, chest fluttering with every breath. And small smirk begins at the corner of your mouth. It’s rueful and sinful, and…
His stomach drops.
Oh no. It’s in your headphones, isn’t it?
Oh, no, no, no, no—
His heart leaps in his chest as his hand flies to his mouse, scrambling to turn it off.
Oh, God, where’s the stop button?
There. That’s pause. Oh—he accidentally presses it twice. Now it’s playing again.
HOW DO YOU CLOSE THIS FUCKING THING?
You chuckle breathlessly, watching your genius coworker—who can code literally anything, by the way— flail around like a fish out of water when all he has to do is simply push the little red X on the top right of his screen.
The mouse starts to slip around in his sweaty palm and Keys gives up, slamming the power button on his computer, and enveloping the both of you in silence.
You stare at each other over your desks for a long second.
Then, Keys rips his headphones off and rakes a hand through his hair.
See? This is what he gets for being fucking curious. It gets him in trouble. He just needs to stick with what he knows—
He opens his mouth to apologize, to explain, to—beg for his dignity back? But you just slip the headphones down to hang around your throat and level his gaze with a soft smile.
“Was that Bennett Brooks?”
“W-what?” Keys croaks, shoving his glasses further onto his burning face.
“I recognize the voice actor. Haven't heard his stuff in forever, though. He’s good—voice is a little raspy for my taste,” you shrug prettily. “But good.”
He swallows. “Oh.”
The silent office presses in around you, so quiet he can almost hear your lashes click together when you blink at him. Suddenly, you whip his headphones off your neck and thrust them onto his desk.
They land with a clatter.
“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to take yours. By all means, don’t stop on my account.”
Keys lets out a choked sound, caught somewhere between a laugh and a cough. This is definitely making it into the top three most embarrassing moments of his life.
“I’m n-not...” he stammers, “Not into that. Like…that.”
You shoot him a knowing look. “No?”
“No! Listen, I just—” he scrambles for an explanation as you just fucking sit there watching him. Smiling at him. “It was just research. Okay? Not a big deal—”
The words barely escape his lips before he realizes his mistake.
“Research?“ Your eyes light up and you lean forward in your seat. His eyes drop to the white V-neck button down you’re wearing—that third button you leave unfastened haunts him every single day. “Research is my specialty, Keys.”
Yes, he knows that. You’re a data analyst for the company. One of the best in the region, actually, wasting your time at the desk next to his. He should apologize again, or confess he overheard your conversation at the coffee bar.
But the embarrassment burns hot, so instead, he clears his throat and hooks a finger in his shirt collar that’s currently suffocating him.
“It’s stupid, really,” Keys says at long last, and he hates how it comes out crackly. He clears his throat again, like that will help dislodge the panic in his chest.
It doesn’t.
You shrug, tilting your head in that cute way you do. “Didn’t sound stupid to me.”
You’re being so nice about it. Why are you always so nice? “You know, I could help.” Your eyes linger on him and the air seems to grow ten degrees hotter. Then softer, you add, “…if you want.”
And just like that, all thoughts of project and deadlines glitch and vanish from his mind like a crashed browser.
He’s nodding before he’s even really given it much thought.
You smile and sit up in your chair. God, you’re radiant. “Okay. Let’s start with what exactly you want to research. Is it audios, specifically? Or—”
“No, no, it’s just…I think I…” Keys’ bottom lip catches between his teeth before he heaves out a heavy breath. “I want to get better. I guess.”
“Better at what? Sex?”
This time, Keys doesn’t hesitate. “Dirty talk.”
“Oh.” Your eyes flick to his lips for a split second before meeting his again. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”
Keys adjusts in his chair, his dick is already twitching in his pants. “Yeah? So, you like this sort of thing? Guys’ voices dirty talking you and stuff. That…” He swallows hard. “Gets you off?”
You shrug again casually, like you’re talking about the weather. “It’s one way, yeah.”
Keys nods again. Too fast. Way too fucking fast.
“So, do you have anyone in mind?” You ask.
His pulse leaps. “What?”
“Well, you’ve got to be researching this for a reason, right? I mean, curiosity is a valid enough, don’t get me wrong. But is there someone…?” you trail off, unsure of how to finish.
A silent moment stretches out between you as Keys decides how to answer. The digital clock on the wall, the rise and fade of the passing lights, all seem to look between you—waiting for something.
Finally, Keys sighs. “Well, there is this girl.”
“Aha!” You lean your elbows on your desk, eyes brightening with interest. “Tell me.”
“It’s new. Like—” he chuckles, averting his gaze. “Really new. So.”
“It’s okay, Keys. We’re friends! We can talk about this kind of stuff.”
“I know!” he says defensively, although he’s not really sure why. “She’s just…into this sort of thing. Dirty talk. I think.”
“You think.”
“Yeah.”
You nod slowly, encouraging, if not a little teasing. “Okay…so, give me the rundown here. When’s your next date?”
“Uh. First one, actually. And…it’s…Thursday,” Keys stammers.
“Thursday? Okay.” You look out the window. A passing car’s headlights shine across your face for a second before the computer light consumes you again. “Lucky girl. Where are you taking her? I mean—before the inevitable trip back to your place.”
You swallow hard and busy yourself with re-organizing your pen cup as he scrambles for an answer.
Chinese.
You love that.
He knows because the one time he picked you up for work when your car was in the shop, he caught a glimpse of your apartment through your front door. Your coffee table was littered with little takeout boxes, and he filed that away like a crow picking up a shiny screw and calling it a treasure.
Yeah, he has it bad.
“Uh. I was thinking that Chinese joint on the corner of Cross and Elm."
Your jaw drops. “I love that place!”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know.”
When you look up at him again, there’s a hint of a smile on your lips.
“Okay, so, we have three days to prepare you. What questions do you have?”
Leave it to you to make this sound like a standardized research paper. Well, now’s a good a chance as ever. He might never get this chance again.
Keys straightens in his chair, heel tapping the carpet so fast his leg is bouncing.
“What do you—do girls,” he quickly corrects himself, “—want guys to say?”
You frown. “What do you mean?”
Heat rushes to his face. “I mean, like, do they tell you how to…touch yourself? I don’t—I can’t even—”
“You’re overthinking it. There’s no magical combination of words to use." You gesture to his computer. "Here, let’s listen to the audio, it’ll help me explain—”
“Oh, no! We don’t have to do that!” Keys squeaks.
You shoot him a look. “You said this is for research, right?”
“Yeah! Obviously. Totally.”
“Then you can’t half-ass it. If you really want to learn how to dirty talk for this girl, you gotta commit.”
He hesitates.
“C’mon, Keys.” Your teeth close over the end of your pen and you gesture to his computer with your eyes, smirking as you settle into your chair. “Press play.”
Fuck.
Your coworker, Keys, has been acting weird as fuck all day, and now you finally know why.
He totally overheard your conversation with Briana at the coffee bar, earlier.
Maybe it had something to do with the way you raised your voice on purpose, hoping to get through that head of hair and those brown eyes that seem to see everything except all the signals you’ve been dropping his way since you first started here.
From behind your desk, you watch him eye the power switch on his computer like it’s some gigantic red button that says ‘don’t touch’ or else it will somehow World War III.
Come to think of it, you might start World War III if it means getting your oblivious-as-he-is-cute-coworker to finally make a real move.
Still, though, there’s a part of you that feels for the guy. He’s so nice, and good, and sweet, and fuck if you don’t want him to corrupt him a little.
Only in the ways he wants to be corrupted, of course. Which, apparently, involves digging into ancient audio porn on reddit after work hours.
Oh, you are so into it.
“Why are you so embarrassed, Keys?” you say gently. “Look, this is normal, okay? Being curious. And you want to make this girl feel good, right?”
The girl has to be you.
After all those coffees he’s brought you from that fancy place that he insists only adds three minutes to his commute, but in reality, probably adds, like, twenty? And the way his hand accidentally finds ways to brush yours, and then he acts as if he’s not jumping out of his skin at the contact?
If this girl is not you, then this crush you have on your nerdy, hot co-worker is about to be devastating.
Keys blows out a breath. “Okay, fine.”
His computer powers up with a familiar hum, and blue light cascades over his features again.
God, he looks nervous. Why is that such a turn-on?
He looks so alone over there behind his desk as one lock of brown hair falls over his eyes, brushing the rim of his glasses, and suddenly, you get an idea.
“Wait, actually, no—” you mutter, standing up from your chair.
Keys jumps like you’ve shot him. “Yeah,” he says, scrambling to turn distract himself with something else on his computer. “Yeah! No, we don’t—this is—”
“—I’m coming over there.”
“What?” Keys’ gaze snaps to yours. Then, he gestures to the space beside him in his workspace. “Here?”
But you’re already rolling your chair over the carpet and behind his desk. It’s a tight fit, with these ergonomic chairs. Their wide armrests knock together as you slide in beside him.
Keys’ cubicle is different.
Technically, it’s the exact same as yours. The dimensions are the same, as well as your surroundings, but it smells like his cologne, and there’s that stack of board games he keeps hidden under his desk.
“Okay,” you sigh, settling back in your chair. “If we’re going to do this, we do it right. Which means, starting from the top. Clearly, you know nothing of the subject—”
“I—” he starts, but you shoot him a look that has his jaw snapping shut.
“Now, dirty talk is a broad subject, so, what kinds of things are you into?”
Keys shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess, it depends on what she’s into. I mean…” He threads his fingers behind his head and leans back in his computer chair in an obvious attempt at casualness. “What are you into?”
Smooth. Real smooth.
You decide to go along with it.
“I like a little of everything. Praise, instruction, degradation, fantasizing…but not every girl is the same—”
“Okay, let’s just do that, then,” he cuts you off, nodding once like it’s been decided.
You have to bite your lip to keep from smiling. “Okay, I’ll press play.”
You shift lean forward and your palm closes over his mouse. It’s slightly damp, like Keys’ fingers were clammy when he last touched it.
“Wait!” His hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. “Like…out loud?”
You gesture to the darkness beyond. “Keys, no one is here.”
“No, I know, but…” his eyes sweep the empty floor, shoulder hunched to his ears. “Okay fine, just do it.”
You nod and turn back to the monitor. “We’ll just pick up where you left off, okay?”
“Oh. I didn’t—”
Bennet Brook’s voice cuts him off, filtering through Keys’ computer speakers with that deep, raspy voice of his.
“—was pretty good. Okay, now let’s do the carpal bones. I have a mnemonic for this, actually, you want to hear it? Okay. Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can’t Handle. Yeah, it’s a little…suggestive? It just—it helps people remember okay? Yes! The sluttier the better. Look, it goes from thumb to pinky proximally, then pinky to thumb distally. Here, I’ll show you…”
You risk a glance over at Keys. He sits perfectly still, breath bated as Bennett leads the listener through the scene.
“Now you’re getting distracted,” Bennet laughs breathlessly. “What positions do I—I’m trying to help you study. Oh my god, you’re so annoying. Look. If I answer, will you study? Yeah? Okay, fine. My favorite is—”
You reach forward and press pause. The silence in the office rushes in to fill the empty space, and your stomach swoops as you turn to Keys.
“What’s your favorite sex position?” you ask abruptly.
He looks at you, eyes wide. You don’t miss the way his knuckles whiten around his arm rest, clearly doing that thing where he resists the urge to push his glasses up again out of habit.
“What does this have to do with—”
You sigh. “Just trust me, and answer the question.”
“Uh…missionary?”
“God, okay.” You roll your eyes and reach over to hit resume again. “That’s such a lie, but whatever.”
Keys stops you with that hand on your wrist again. “Wha—lie?”
“Yes. Lie.”
He finally turns to face you, incredulous. “Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert on what I like in bed?”
Heat shoots down your spine at his words, but you just scoff. “You play as a fucking stripper cop in Free City. Now, tell me the real answer.”
After a moment Keys groans, then looks away. “I don’t know the word for it. Like, the name, or whatever.”
“Oh! That’s not a problem.”
You reach for his keyboard, and before he knows what’s happening, you’re opening a new tab, and then, right in front of him, is a list of sex positions.
With pictures.
“Jesus!” He hisses, looking over his shoulder as if the wall behind you is somehow going to open up and reveal your boss or something. “I’m going to have to scrub my search history clean after this.”
“Relax,” you say, settling back in your chair. “Now, point.”
Keys lets out a heavy, resigned sigh and sits forward, squinting at the screen. Ten seconds later, he shakes his head.
“It’s not there.”
When he looks over at you, he immediately rolls his eyes, because the look on your face is the clearest I-told-you-so look he’s ever received.
“God, with how freaky you are, Keys, it’s a wonder you’re silent in bed—”
“Hey!” He interjects, glaring over at you. “I never said—woah, okay, why are you standing up? What are you doing?”
You plant hands on your hips, looking down at him. “Look, just maneuver me into whatever position it is, and I’ll find the name of it for you.”
“This is ridiculous.”
You huff. “This is a part of the research. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine, we—”
Without looking, he reaches out and grabs your waist. The warmth of his skin bleeds through your thin work shirt and a surprised squeak escapes you as he tugs you down.
You land in his lap with an undignified plop, facing him. Your stomach plummets as his knee presses against your core, but he makes a disgruntled sound, and grabs your thigh, pulling one leg up and over until you’re straddling him.
Your pulse hammers in your ears as you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders and peer down at him.
The dim blue glow of the computer reflects in his glasses and as his gaze meets yours, his expression makes your chest ache. There’s something so sweet there. Soft. Like flower petals against your skin. Fragile, too.
“This is it?” you whisper.
A small smirk crosses his lips.
“Okay, so, this is just straddling…” you say, but your voice trails off as his hands spread over your waist. They’re so big. How have you never noticed how big his hands were before?
You swallow hard. “Or, I think, it’s technically called seated cowgirl.”
“Really?” he asks, squinting up at you with a hint of cockiness you could get drunk on.
In your next breath, Keys’s fingers dig into your hips, and he spins you around on his lap. His chest is warm against your back, and his computer desk digs into your belly. You wiggle your hips back slightly to get away from the sharp edge, but still when his hard length presses into your clothed core.
“What’s this one called?” His voice is deeper now, threaded with heat, and it makes your hands clench against the cool metal of his desk.
“Reverse seated cowgirl,” you say, fighting to keep your tone even. “So, this is your favorite? Tell me why.”
His breath stalls in his chest, you can feel the way he hesitates against your spine.
The printer hums in the far corner of the office, and a car horn blares distantly from the street below.
After a long moment, he exhales, and his breath ghosts over your ear, making your lashes flutter.
“I like the view,” he admits softly. “Painted in blue-light, all needy—” Then, he lets out a quiet, “Fuck.”
Heat pools deep in your belly. He sounds…wrecked. Already. And you’re just sitting in his lap fully clothed.
God, you could make this man beg.
You tilt forward and look over your shoulder. His eyes lift to yours, then drag down to your mouth, your hips, and his bottom lip disappears between his teeth.
“What else?” you whisper.
He doesn’t hesitate this time. “I like the control of it, you know? Like—” he huffs out a quiet laugh, like he can’t believe he’s saying these things. “Like maybe I’m just playing a video game, and making you keep my cock warm. And you just… just have to sit there and take it.”
His words—so filthy and shy—stir hot embers of arousal between your hips.
“Shit, Keys,” you say with a breathless laugh. “That was so good!”
His eyes meet yours again. “Really?”
“Yeah! Okay, I’m pushing play again. I’ll skip forward a little, too, just so we get to the good stuff.”
He clears his throat. “You’re going to stay right here?” He taps your leg and his fingers linger on your skin.
You pretend to jolt in his hold. “Oh! Sorry, I can move if you—”
“No, no,” he shakes his head. “It’s fine.”
‘It’s fine’, he says, as if he’s not raging hard underneath you, holding onto your leg like he might die if you slid off him right now.
He’s too easy.
You press play.
Immediately, sounds of kissing and rustling fill the room. Keys inhales sharply, his erection growing against your ass, and you barely resist the urge to grind down on him.
“That’s it,” Bennet croons. “You take it so good for me, baby. Fuck, you’re incredible.”
The wet sound of hips meeting has Keys’ mouth dropping open. His eyes dart off the screen, like watching the loading bar is somehow equivalent to seeing these imaginary people fuck.
“That’s praise,” you whisper over your shoulder. “Obviously.”
Keys looks at you, then. Really looks at you. You can feel the way he takes in the slight shift of your hips as you try to find some friction to release the building ache.
He’s reading you. Analyzing the data. Recalculating.
Classic Keys.
The sight pulls at something in your chest. Truthfully, that’s the reason you like him so damn much, the reason you’re pulled to him like a ship to a lighthouse.
Because with Keys, you would be fully, and utterly known.
“…always so needy?” Bennet groans. “Just wanna be bent over a desk and fucked, huh, baby? This what you need? So dirty, I swear to God.”
“Degradation,” you murmur, turning back to the computer.
Bennett keeps going. “Oh yeah, just like that? C’mon, baby. Tell me what you want. Use your words.”
“Instruction,” Keys says, beating you to the punch.
You’re grateful your back is to him so he can’t see your self-indulgent smile.
“…thought about this a lot,” Bennet groans, the sound effects growing faster and louder. “Like in the library on campus? When we’re trying to study but you’re sitting across from me, and I can’t focus…”
Your breath catches at the exact same second Keys goes still beneath you.
“…I see it, you know. The way your hand brushes mine when you hand me a pencil. You think I don’t notice? Fuck—of course I’ve thought about you. Are you kidding? Every time I jerk my cock I think about you. How you’d sound when I’m fucking up into you like this. Oh, you like that, huh? Get you so cock drunk— oh, baby, that’s it—”
You swallow hard, mouth suddenly gone dry.
That’s fantasizing.
But for some reason, you can’t even bring yourself to repeat it. To solidify it. To make it any realer than it already is.
Can Keys tell how much you relate to Bennett's words? That every time you’re in bed at night, thoughts of him keep you up late, you’re rubbing your aching cunt, whining his name into the empty ceiling?
You’re soaking through your underwear now, but mostly from listening to Keys’ uneven breathing behind you. His fingers flex over and over against your work skirt, like he can’t quite get up the courage to slip them under the hem that’s riding up your bare thighs.
In an effort to relieve his aching erection, Keys shifts in his chair. It’s a small enough movement, but it’s just enough to send his elbow into a cup on his desk. It falls with a dull thud, the water inside instantly soaking into the carpet.
You smack the space bar on his keyboard, cutting Bennet off mid-moan, and leap to your feet.
Keys cringes and moves to stand, but you disappear behind your desk before he can blink, and reappear a second later with a roll of paper towels.
“Here,” you say gently as you kneel in front of him. “Let me.”
Keys reaches down at the same time you raise up on your knees, and when you lift your chin, you find your faces only an inch apart.
He doesn’t jerk back like you expect. Instead, he just finds the paper towel on the ground and gently pries your fingers off it, resuming the blotting himself.
Your hands find purchase on his knees for balance, and they spread wider under your touch, almost subconsciously.
Almost.
You swallow. “Keys?”
His shoulder muscles flex under his T-shirt as he works. “Yeah?”
“Do you want to keep listening to the audio…or…do you want to practice?”
“Practice?” He doesn’t look up, but his voice cracks.
“Only if you want.”
Keys sits back into his chair, tossing the wet paper towel into the nearby waste basket. Then his eyes settle on you for what feels like the first time all night.
Through his work khakis’, his erection presses an angry imprint. God, it looks so hard it probably hurts, confined like that. The air between you shimmers with that unsaid tension, the kind that releases butterflies in your stomach and in the chambers of your heart.
But while exciting, it’s equally terrifying, putting yourself on display like this. You feel strangely vulnerable, even though you were just teasing him a few seconds earlier.
“What are you thinking about right now?” you ask, voice soft.
Keys looks away, jaw clenching.
Suddenly, you wonder if you’ve misread this. Have you made him uncomfortable? What if there actually is a girl, and it’s not you, and you’ve just—
“Your mouth,” Keys says, cutting off your thoughts.
Hope renewed, your gaze snaps to his.
“Where?”
He rakes a hand through his hair, and his glasses slant adorably on his nose with the motion. His chest rises and falls once, twice, and then he whispers, “My cock.”
God, just hearing him say that makes your panties slick.
“Good,” you breathe. “Now, put it together.”
He huffs, a surprised laugh slipping from him before the heat returns to his gaze. “I’m thinking about your mouth on my cock.”
The damp carpet fibers dig into your knees as you watch his Adam’s apple bob on a swallow.
“Do you want me to do that?” you ask carefully.
There’s a certain irreversible tension sitting between you right now. It feels a little like waiting behind an ancient door, not sure if it will creak open and invite you in or vanish into a cloud of dust.
After a long moment, Keys nods.
A triumphant thrill zips through you, but you keep yourself together and hold his gaze. “You have to say it—”
“Fuck, I want it.” The words rush out of him in a gasp, like they’ve been sitting behind his teeth, waiting their turn the whole night. “I want my cock in your mouth. Please.”
He’s barely got the words out before your fingers fly to his zipper.
“Forgot about begging,” you mutter more to yourself, but he hears you anyway.
How could you have forgotten that very important category of dirty talk? It’s one of your favorites, and it flew from his lips unprompted.
He’s perfect.
“W-what about the—cameras,” he protests weakly, even as his hips lift from the chair to help you slide his pants down his thighs.
“The cameras don’t reach back here,” you assure him.
Hooking a finger in the band his underwear, you pull them down and reveal his cock. It sits hard and heavy against the happy trail on his lower stomach.
He sputters. “W-what? Wait—really? How do you know that?”
It’s only natural, digging into dark spots in the security systems at a new job. Especially when you have a coworker as hot as Walter McKeys.
Instead of answering, though, you shuffle forward and take him in your hands. His head tips back on a ragged groan and you relish the hot, velvety feel of him. It’s long and hard, and somehow, you always knew Keys would have a big dick.
It’s always the nerds.
Your pussy throbs, fluttering around nothing as you imagine him easing his length inside your slick core, whispering in your ear, telling you how well you’re doing, how much he’s wanted this.
Keys sits ramrod straight, breathing sharply through his nose as you let your hands explore him. You stroke him from base to tip, fondle his balls, then reach down and palm his thighs. His stomach flexes beneath his shirt, and on impulse, you reach up and lift it until the fabric bunches just below his ribs.
Soft tummy with muscles flexing underneath. A dark happy trail leading down. A glimpse of thicker hair littered across his chest.
God, he’s delicious.
What you wouldn’t give to have this man naked in your bed right now. Saliva builds in your mouth at the thought.
Can you die by horniness? Better research that later.
You stroke him firmly a few times, and when you lean down, he groans softly.
Glancing up, you search for any sign to stop, but his eyes aren’t on yours anymore. They’re glued to your chest.
You tilt your chin down to see what he’s looking at.
The three unfastened buttons of your work shirt give him a clear view of your cleavage, and the glow of the computer monitor illuminates the dips and valleys prettily.
A relieved gasp escapes him as your hands start undoing the rest of the buttons. He nods as if you read his mind when your shirt falls open, revealing your black bra.
Thank God it’s your cute one. Not lingerie by any means, but your nipples harden under his gaze, poking against the fabric.
You keep your shirt hanging loosely over your shoulders, just in case someone were to walk in. Although very unlikely, the thought of getting caught with Keys still shoots a wicked jolt of pleasure through you.
Wordlessly, you run your hands up his legs again until your fingers find his cock and resume your attention.
Keys says something—more like whines it—but it’s too quiet for you to hear. The carpet presses into your knees as you lean in. His thick thighs bracket your shoulders, and when your breath ghosts across the head of his cock, they go hard as rocks. He makes a muffled sound in the back of his throat, then clears it roughly.
You lean back to catch his eye.
“Whatever your voice, or breath, wants to do…just let it happen,” you say. “Don’t worry about being loud, there’s no one here.”
He nods, drunk on the sight of you, desperate for your mouth.
Those big hands reach down and gather your hair, and you scoot even closer, close enough to tap his dick against your lips with a soft smack. When you blink up at him, Keys curses under his breath, then stops himself.
“Stop swallowing it down,” you chide. “Let me hear.”
Before he can say—or do—anything, you lick a broad, wet stripe up his length. His hips jerk in your hold, a ragged moan tumbling from his lips, unabashed. Your eyes shine with pride when you look up at him. And fuck, he’ll do anything to see that look again.
You stroke him lazily. Like you have all the the time in the world here in the office after hours. Like you’ve been thinking about it for a long, long, time.
Drool pools in your mouth as you coat him with your tongue. Then, your lips wrap around him and you slowly work your way down, inch by inch, listening to his whimpers, feeling the way his body vibrates underneath you.
He’s still holding himself back, so you draw back up and suck gently on his tip before popping off him.
“Sorry,” he gasps. “Fu-forgot I was supposed to talk.”
You nod. “That’s okay. How do you like it?”
He starts to respond, but you envelop him in your warm, wet mouth again, and all words die on his lips.
“Feels so good, I can’t—can’t—mmmph,” he groans as you relax your jaw and take him deeper, then whimpers pitifully when you come off him again. “My brain’s fried. Like, actually short circuited. I can’t think—”
You press your tits together and tilt your head. “It feels good, right?”
He chuckles, a ragged soft sound. “Fuck—yeah.”
“Just talk to me, then,” you murmur, fluttering your tongue along the ridge of his cock as it twitches in your hold.
Something seems to click in his mind at those words, and his eyes harden as he stares down at you.
“You want to know why I’m always so tired?” he says, chest heaving. “I stay up all night, trying to get the work done I should be doing when I’m sitting at my desk. But I can’t. Because I’m—fucking hard—all the time. Because of you!”
You decide to reward him for that little speech—a great example of fantasizing and degradation—and relax your jaw again, sliding him deep into your throat. Deeper than before. Keys throws his head back on a groan. The stretch brings tears to your eyes, but you blink them back so you can look at him properly.
His hair looks so pretty illuminated in soft streaks of blue from the computer, and gold from the street far below. Like a painting.
Arousal floods your core, coating your underwear, and you can feel your clit pulsing in time with your heartbeat.
You slide up and off of him to let your lungs expand and he inhales with you, like that took his breath away as much as it did yours.
“Can’t stop thinking about what you’d feel like under me,” Keys pants. He watches you with heated eyes as you suck on his tip, stroking the rest of him steadily with both hands. “Or—or on top of me. What you’d t-taste like.”
Without thinking, you shove two fingers past your waistband, and straight through your soaked folds. The contact has you moaning around his cock, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure down his spine.
Then, you slowly withdraw them. They glisten in the glow of the monitor as you raise them up to his face, and Keys wastes no time leaning forward and capturing them in his mouth. His tongue strokes up to your knuckles eagerly, and as the first taste of you floods his mouth, it seems to unlock something in him. Some rusty, spider-web filled, creaking lock shoves open.
“Aghhh yeah,” he moans when you withdraw your fingers and suck him deep again. “That’s how I like it. However you do it, that’s how I like it, baby. Holy fuck.”
Your eyes actually roll back at that, and your hand flies down to circle your clit without thinking.
His eyes track the movement and he chuckles darkly. “Oh, you like that? You like hearing how well you’re doing?”
You whimper. Fuck, yeah, you do.
He bucks underneath you, like your mouth is just the best thing he’s ever felt in his life. “Just—fucking—on your knees for me? Shit."
Your eyes slide shut, lost in the salty taste of him as his precum mixes with your spit. His hand leaves your head and reaches down to tap your chin.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open in surprise.
You swallow around him in response and his jaw drops. He grips your hair again on instinct and you moan in encouragement as he starts to push you gently up and down his shaft.
“Is t-this okay?” he asks, breath ragged.
You nod, lashes fluttering as he hits that soft spot at the back of your throat.
Truth is, you love this.
Taking your rigid, calculating co-worker and turning him into something needy and honest. He’s wild, but with an edge of control. And somehow, you just know Keys could take you to the brink and keep you there like no other.
You hollow your cheeks as he grinds in and out of your wet mouth, pulsing against your tongue and spitting out the filthiest words you’ve ever heard him say in your months of working across from him.
You rub your throbbing clit faster, and he blinks down, watching you touch yourself to the feel of him in your mouth for all of three seconds before he’s yanking up on your hair.
Your scalp tingles as you disobey his silent order, determined to have him come in your mouth. His base is slick against your puffy lips, and he damn near chokes on his tongue when your nose hits his stomach.
He breaks off with a ragged moan as you grip his thighs and swallow around him—and then he’s spilling down your throat.
His abs tense and release over and over in your view, and the view is so intoxicating, you’re only a few seconds away from your own release when he finally slips from your drooling mouth.
You don’t know what you expected him to do when he finished. Maybe probably crawl back into that shy, nice-guy, missionary shell of his. Instead, when his chin falls to his chest, his soft brown eyes have gone molten. He reaches down and pulls his pants back up, tucking himself back into his briefs, but he doesn’t bother with the zipper.
“C’mere,” he demands, grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you up. Your legs wobble, but he catches you easily and pulls you down into his lap. “Ride my thigh.”
Your mouth drops open. “Ride your—”
“You heard me.”
In one smooth motion, he plunges a hand under your skirt and yanks your panties down your legs. His knuckles brush your wet folds and you gasp against him, grinding down instinctively against his knee.
“Look at you,” he whispers. “Taking instructions. Soaking through my pants like that? Fuck yeah.”
Your breasts heave as you try to catch your breath, but now, you start to wonder if maybe you’ll just be in an oxygen debt forever at this point. Because with the way he’s looking up at you right now, there’s no way you can breathe.
Your hips roll smooth and fast, and when he shifts his leg up slightly, meeting your movements, sparks shoot up your spine. Your head drops back, eyes slipping shut, but Keys is quick to pull your gaze back to his with a hand around the nape of your neck.
He clicks his tongue. “No, I want to watch you. Wanna see you fall apart for me.”
“God, Keys,” you pant, “you’re a quick learner, I’ll give you that—”
He cuts you off by pinching your nipple through your bra, and when he grabs a handful of your bare ass under your skirt, your lungs officially forget how to expand.
“Please,” you beg. “Keys—”
His hands fly to your hips, helping you rock back and forth on him. “What is it? What do you need? Need me to touch you?”
You whimper. “Yes.”
“Tell me where.”
You grab his hand and guide it under your skirt, but he pulls back at the last second.
“That’s not telling me.”
“Oh, fuck you,” you laugh, breathless and irritated.
He smiles, then. And it’s positively radiant, white teeth winking in the dim light.
“C’mon, use your words, or else I’ll have to stop,” he warns.
But you’re not listening, because at that moment, he dips his head and captures your aching breast in his mouth, pulling a deep moan from your throat and putting an arch in your back.
Your thighs burn, hips slowing to devastatingly desperate swivel in order to keep his mouth on you. The threads of his pants are warm and completely soaked through underneath you, and he’s licking and sucking your breasts through your bra like he’s trying to find a way to imprint his smell, his taste, onto your body.
The duel stimulation feeds that sprawling drive for more. Tremors start to run through your hands, making them claw restlessly at his shoulders and dive into his hair as your orgasm grows closer.
Suddenly, Keys pulls back. He ignores your whine of protest and blinks up at you from behind his glasses. Your tongue darts over your bottom lip as your eyes drop to his mouth.
His perfect…perfect fucking mouth. Soft lips, parted just slightly as he breathes heavily beneath you. The timber of his voice reverberates against your stomach as he talks. God, it’d be so easy just to lean in and press your mouth against his, feel that gentle glide of his tongue against yours…
Wait, is he saying something? You can’t fucking think—
“…not going to tell me, I have to stop.”
It’s only when his hands leave your body that the world slows to a stop.
Cold air rushes in where his hands just were. Now you’re just needy and wet, grinding down on his pants leg in the middle of a dark office.
“W-what?” you ask dumbly.
He shrugs. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t use your words.”
Your brain feels foggy, like your thoughts are traveling through a cloud, all the blooding your body pooled in your clit instead.
“But I...” you whimper, “But, what—”
He rolls his eyes.
“But I—but Keys—I just—” he mocks you, voice going higher on his register, and your mouth drops open in shock.
He smirks at the look on your face and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “What? you thought I wasn’t serious? You made me do all this—and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it. I watched you getting off on the power trip of it all, and now it’s my turn. So, go ahead. Tell me what you want me to do to you."
Where the fuck did your nerdy, shy coworker go? And who have you turned him into? Your breasts heave in his face as you blink down at him, but he doesn’t so much as glance at them.
“I’m right here,” he urges. “Go ahead. Ask for it. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”
After a moment, you finally find your voice.
“I-I want you to touch me.”
His hands instantly resume their place on your hips and your breath shutters in relief.
Then he leans in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “That wasn’t so hard, huh? Where do you want to come? On my fingers?”
“Yes!” The word leaves your mouth broken and desperate.
He hums. “Put it together.”
You exhale sharply, panting towards the ceiling in frustration. “Walter, I want you to finger fuck me until I come.”
He smiles against your throat. “Good girl.”
His hand finds your clit immediately and he rubs tight, hot circles that have your back arching.
“Oh, God, don’t stop!” you beg.
Your shirt slips from your shoulder and then his mouth is there, kissing the soft skin like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it.
The muscles deep in your core flex with your impending pleasure and you writhe against him desperately. Through it all, his hands stay steady, never wavering. Constant, and grounding.
You raise up on shaky legs as his two middle fingers circle your entrance and your pelvis tilts, eagerly seeking that internal friction.
He presses in, just a little, and your body welcomes him greedily. The sound of his fingers disappearing inside you making him groan out a slurred curse.
“Shit, baby—both at once? So wet for me, oh my God.”
When his fingertips brush that spongey spot that makes you see stars, your chest vibrates with your moan. The pressure on your clit is too much, and not enough, and everything all at once—it’s overwhelming. It's perfect.
Your hips snap into his palm, driving his fingers deeper and he lets out a choked sound as you whine, needy and breathless.
“There you go. That’s it,” he murmurs into your neck. His glasses knock into your throat as you tip your head back to give him better access. “Take what you need.”
That white-hot band of pleasure finally snaps as you clench around his fingers, and your orgasm rushes through you in a torrential wave of bliss. Keys slowly withdraws his fingers and helps bring you back to each with soft kisses to your chest, thumbs tracing circles into your thighs as you collapse on top of him.
“Holy shit,” you gasp, running a hand through your hair, gazing down at him through heavy lids. “That was…”
“Good?” he asks eagerly.
You smile. “Perfect.”
And you mean it. You really do.
His fingers brush over your bare shoulder and your breath catches again as your eyes connect with his. The stoplight on the street below turns green, reflecting in his glasses, and because you can’t help it, you smirk down at him.
“So, about this girl...” he murmurs.
Your stomach flips. “Yeah?”
“This date—”
“Yeah?” you say again, eagerly, cutting him off.
As you stare at each other, chests heaving, faces flush, a laugh builds behind your ribs.
He clears his throat. “I was kinda hoping…you’re free Thursday? I was thinking about that place on Elm and Cross—”
“Fuckin’ knew it,” you murmur, and the rest of his words die against your mouth as you lean down and kiss him.
a/n: Oh, hi. So, the way I feel about this fictional man, is actually pretty close to the actual definition of feral. Also, I just want to say, there are many more kinds of dirty talk out there, but these categories just fit the plot lol
Also everyone blame Jules (@tellcherhesgone) for putting this idea in my head, because she posted one thing about Keys definitely knowing what GoneWildAudio is, and that shit stuck with me lol
ohmygod HELLOOO??? this was absolutely stunning... please be warned i've written a dissertation below:
He just can't help it, okay? It's not his fault he's a curious guy by nature. And it's not like anybody ever sprints over to his corner office to tell him the new gossip, so he’s literally the last to know anything.
i just loved this whole opening sequence. it felt so authentic to keys' voice and the pov stays in this wonderfully close third space where we're following him externally while hearing his internal logic. i think the coffee bar scene is an especially strong introduction to his character:
His vision vignettes as he pours another sugar into his styrofoam cup of coffee. He only likes two, but now he’s lost count, opening packet after packet just to give himself an excuse to stay here.
Morning light pours in through the open windows on the east side of the office building, bathing you in gold. You’re so bright and beautiful, Keys can hardly even look at you.
keys is THE ultimate yearner/loverboy and it's shown so beautifully here! him unconsciously ruining his coffee bc he's too busy admiring reader....
and then you kept on giving us moreee yearning!!
It’s annoying because it’s so bright he has to squint to see his screen most of the time. But the way the sun shines through the blinds, painting you in thin lines of shadow, lighting up your eyes and lashes?
He wouldn’t trade this spot for anything.
Shit. Now he’s staring.
one of my absolute favorite parts:
He knows because the one time he picked you up for work when your car was in the shop, he caught a glimpse of your apartment through your front door. Your coffee table was littered with little takeout boxes, and he filed that away like a crow picking up a shiny screw and calling it a treasure.
Yeah, he has it bad.
and i just adored this little follow up moment to that too:
Your jaw drops. “I love that place!”
“Yeah,” he chuckles, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know.”
oh and a healthy sprinkle of self-deprecation bc what's good yearning without it?
He grabs the other pair of headphones, and when he settles them over his head, all he can hear is his own heartbeat slamming in his ears, reminding him of what a fucking loser he is.
He should just ask you out. Like a normal person. But no.
all of this just captures keys as a person so well by moving us through his mental state. the awkwardness, the insecurity, and the heart-wrenching longing that underpins his character...
and the headphones scene!! watching this MIT graduate panic because he can't close a browser window:
You chuckle breathlessly, watching your genius coworker—who can code literally anything, by the way— flail around like a fish out of water when all he has to do is simply push the little red X on the top right of his screen.
ugh and then the pov switch over to reader is so ingeniously timed:
Maybe it had something to do with the way you raised your voice on purpose, hoping to get through that head of hair and those brown eyes that seem to see everything except all the signals you’ve been dropping his way since you first started here.
through reader's eyes we learn even more abt yearner keys: the eavesdropping, the memorized food preferences, the coffees, the constant observations. all the love and adoration he feels for reader gets channeled into small, every-day acts that can make their life easier, bc that's just who keys is. I loved your metaphor of a crow hoarding shiny objects—it's so apt and I do think that's really the crux of who keys is as a lover.
and then OF COURSE we move into the subject at hand:
He finally turns to face you, incredulous. “Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert on what I like in bed?”
Heat shoots down your spine at his words, but you just scoff. “You play as a fucking stripper cop in Free City. Now, tell me the real answer.”
After a moment Keys groans, then looks away. “I don’t know the word for it. Like, the name, or whatever.”
i love that you called him out on his stripper cop bullshit bc i 100% agree that keys is not vanilla in the traditional sense, but I also don't think he'd be kinky in the traditional sense either? it's hard for me to express but i think we share a very similar vision when it comes to keys' appetite in bed:
He doesn’t hesitate this time. “I like the control of it, you know? Like—” he huffs out a quiet laugh, like he can’t believe he’s saying these things. “Like maybe I’m just playing a video game, and making you keep my cock warm. And you just… just have to sit there and take it.”
ooofffhhhh i mean.... 🥵🥵 the tension-building and sexual chemistry was insane and i can't even begin to express how hot the smut was. i also loved this tiny little moment in reader's pov bc it so obviously mirrors the yearning in both of them:
Can Keys tell how much you relate to Bennett's words? That every time you’re in bed at night, thoughts of him keep you up late, you’re rubbing your aching cunt, whining his name into the empty ceiling?
“You want to know why I’m always so tired?” he says, chest heaving. “I stay up all night, trying to get the work done I should be doing when I’m sitting at my desk. But I can’t. Because I’m—fucking hard—all the time. Because of you!”
oh and also this switch??? quite literally fried my brain:
“But I—but Keys—I just—” he mocks you, voice going higher on his register, and your mouth drops open in shock.
mermaid!au request: what if she notices how other girls have their legs shaved and is ??? about her own body hair... she finds herself inspecting the boys' legs and is even more ??? so steve patiently teaches her and maybe even helps her shave to see if she likes that better?
beyond the sea au | fem, 2.5k
Steve’s being clingy, even asleep.
This is fine. This is ideal, naturally. But you’ve been holding hands for close to three hours and your fingers are getting clammy.
You’re cautious about bodies of water at the moment, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t accompany Steve and his friends on a trip to the beach.
It hurts a little to be closer to the Great Lakes and to not know when you’ll be home again. Less when you look over at the towel beside yours and find Steve sleeping in the sand, a cap pulled over his face, sunscreen dried in white splotches over his arms and chest after Robin explained the risks of sun exposure. Apparently, humans can get extremely sick and burned. You are covered in splotches too—Dariyay informed you that mermaid skin, no matter the tone, is susceptible to the sun simply from generations of people who lived far below it. Steve had slathered you in sunscreen accordingly.
It is genuinely too hot today. The sun is brutal. There are no clouds. The breeze is sweet but comes too sparsely, and you’re gonna die if you don’t retrieve a coke from the cooler. The fizz will cheer you up.
You tease your hand out of Steve’s very slowly so as not to wake him, sand filling your flip-flops and sticking to your palms as you scrabble to your feet and walk the ten steps to the girls.
Robin, Nancy, and Max are all sitting with respective books and hats. Robin wears a strange cap, Nancy a straw hat with a long brim, and Max’s is like Steve’s, a baseball cap, as he called them. Your own cap keeps falling in your face.
“Can sit with you?” you ask carefully.
It surprises you when Max speaks first. “Yeah, there’s room,” she says, pushing a lumpy backpack off of the picnic blanket where they reside. You sit in the space that’s left, under the cover of their huge umbrella, the cooler a blissful cold to your left.
“Can have coke?” you ask.
“You don’t have to ask,” Robin says.
Pleased, you yank the lid off of the cooler and look for a coke. The cans inside are different colours, different flavours, but you’ve only tried the red coke. It’s weird. Kind of not nice and simultaneously delicious. Steve says this is down to the ‘sugar’ that makes food sweet, like the brown kelp that grows in the coasts south of your home waters.
“How are you feeling?” Nancy asks.
Your eyes widen. “How feel, me?”
“Yeah, how are you?”
You slide your finger under the tab on your coke and push against it like you’ve been shown. You’re scared of the crack, and the fizz wets the back of your hand, but you’re excited for the cold and you drink it quickly. “Thirsty,” you say.
Robin laughs. Nancy closes her book.
“You had a pretty rough time,” she says, frowning at you. You worry you’ve hurt her feelings, but you aren’t sure how. “And all that stuff, whoever was in the house–”
“Lock house. And Dariyay say not worry photo. Human stupid, not know real.”
“Yeah, don’t worry about it,” Robin says, giving Nancy a small nudge you fail to ignore.
You roll your shoulders back. “I am not scared. Thank you for… ask me. But Steve look after me. Eddie say get me a knife, also.”
You’re proud of using the word ‘also’. Robin and Max both laugh, but Nancy’s still frowning.
“I’ll get you a gun,” she says.
“That is not funny, Nance.”
“I’m not kidding.”
You catch Max giving you a once over, but she doesn’t offer much until you smile at her with your teeth, or grimace. It’s supposed to say, What did I do? and it must work.
“Sorry,” she says. Then, a little timidly, “I like your skirt.”
You run your hands over the sewn flowers and swirls. “Thanks. Steve say suit me, say, clothes match my heart.”
“Oh my god,” Nancy says, laughing behind her hand. Robin groans. Max giggles and goes back to her book, leaving you a little bit unhappy. These girls are nice, of course, but you feel like you aren’t in on the joke. Maybe it’s your language skills?
You sit there and pick at your coke can.
Nancy clears her throat. “Steve is sweet. I forgot how sweet he can be.”
“Steve sweetest, nicest, most kind,” you say.
“He really is nice to you, huh?” Nancy asks.
“Always.”
“That’s good.”
“But if he weren’t,” Max says, “like, if he did something mean or he pisses you off, you can, like, leave.”
“Pisses me off?”
“Yeah, if you argue, and you need space or time by yourself, no Steve, then you can have that,” Max says. “I break up with Lucas whenever he annoys me.”
“Break up?” you ask. “Sorry, not know.”
“Break up just means we aren’t together. Uh, not boyfriend and girlfriend?”
You shake your head. “Not want break up.”
“Sure, but–”
“You don’t have to break up,” Robin says, “but you know how to call me, right? Just call me if you get sad and it’s Steve’s fault. I’ll get him for you. I’ll ow him.”
You smile gratefully. “Not need, thank you. Thank you for… say that. Saying that.”
“Practicing,” Robin says with a smile of her own.
“A lot.” Nancy made you more flash cards to go over, but the English language in written form isn’t easily read. You’ve been doing practice books and phonetics with Steve every other afternoon, but studying isn’t half as fun as kissing Steve, or going out to see the woods and the creek, or being here with his friends at the beach.
You get bored in the sunshine while the girls read. You could go down to play with Dariyay near the water, or find Lucas and Mike, off searching for a rare bug for Lucas’ sister’s ’school project’. But you don’t want to get too close to the water lest it inspire a tug you can’t ignore, nor do you want to bother the boys, who seem friendly if a bit awkward. Your eyes wander, taking everyone in. Robin and Nancy have their legs stretched out and touching, flanks of naked skin shining with the grease of sunscreen. You peer sideways at Max in her denim shorts, perplexed.
From the water, Eddie and Dustin screech. Dariyay has forced Will and El to follow her around with their buckets collecting stones. The lake doesn’t have shells, and the sand is grittier than most beaches, but it’s beautiful to look out over the blue water and watch the sun shimmer across its surface, and to see all these people who love Steve, and have started to become your friends. Your sister fits in better, perhaps, because she can speak to them without issue and has a better education on human custom, but you’re not alone.
El comes running up the beach when she sees you’re not resting anymore, dropping a wet-bottomed bucket in the sand by the blanket, and kneeling to be in the girl’s circle.
“Let’s have lunch,” she says, which basically decides for the entire group.
The troops pile in. Dustin kicks sand on Steve until he wakes up, and there’s a ten second gap where he stops being annoyed and starts looking for you, sitting up in the sand, his cap in his hands. “How’s it going?” he asks everyone, but mostly you.
“Lunch now?” you ask him.
“Yeah, definitely.”
He sits beside you, annoying the girls who argue that there’s no room for him, but you simply lean back on his arm to express how dearly wanted he is and tuck in to a bowl filled with rice and cod, a white fish with less flavour than your usual favourite. There’s lemon juice and chopped greens mixed in, and it makes a nice change. You lean further into Steve’s arms to say thanks for the meal, and he presses his nose briefly to your cheek.
“The beach is hot,” you say, once Dustin and Mike have stopped arguing over the last turkey sandwich and you can hear yourself think.
“Has to be hot to get Robin in capris,” Steve says with a laugh.
“Not all of us are nudist freaks.”
“It’s my naked chest, Rob. You’ll be okay.”
Your day at the beach is long, a little lonely despite the company, and you’re glad when everybody packs up to go home, tired but content when Steve gets the last of his drop-offs done and you’re finally alone. You bring your legs up in the passenger seat despite Steve’s bitchy grumbling about sand in his leather seats and run your hand down your stubbly calves.
“Steve?”
You want to ask him if he ever gets lonely. He must. He does, he’s told you about long weeks spent alone in a house too big for one boy, but he just doesn’t seem sad. You falter, then, smelling the sunscreen on your knees, the muddy scent of your shoes in the footwell.
“What?” he asks, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. He offers his hand, then shoves it onto your thigh when you don’t take it to shake you. “Hey, what’s wrong? You tired?”
“Why feel like this?”
“What feels like what?”
“Leg. Feel rough.”
Steve raises his eyebrows at you. “What?”
“It feels rough.”
“Does it?” Steve runs a hand down your leg. “That’s not rough, honey. You have soft skin. You use lotion.”
“Hair.”
“Well, that’s normal.”
“Nancy not have.”
“She probably shaved her legs for the beach.”
“Shaved?”
“Cut the hair off. I don’t know why girls have to do it.” He bites his lip. “Okay, girls don’t have to do it, I shouldn’t have said that.” He glances around a little frantically. “Shit, is Robin around?”
You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Robin not like that?”
“Robin is very loud about women’s rights, babe, and it is your right to not shave your legs.”
You shrug. It makes sense to have hair there, it grows everywhere else, but it surprised you today to find that Nancy didn’t have any. Robin didn’t have a ton of leg on show but she seemed pretty clean-shaven too, and Max had fine, blonde hair that wasn't very noticeable in the sunshine.
“Why did she shave?”
He grins at you until you smile, and gives your thigh a wobble on the seat. “She wanted to,” he says, then, like he’s reluctant to tell you, “but she’s expected to. I don’t expect her to, I don’t care, and none of our friends do, but it’s a thing. Women shave their legs to feel– well, to be seen as–” He cringes. “Aw, god. Sorry. It’s hard, you need a lot of sincerity and I am not used to being this guy all the time, but you deserve to be told this stuff clearly, and I’m…” Steve sighs. “A loser.”
“Not a loser.”
“Thank you. Girls shave because they get made fun of if they don’t, even by people like me who have hairy legs. You don’t have to shave.”
You feel your stubbly legs again. They were smooth, for a time. You probably haven’t been human long enough beforehand to let the hair grow out. “I like smooth. Can try?”
“Sure you can. You can try whatever you want.”
“Thank you for ‘a lot of sincerity’. Mean serious and kind?”
Steve looks particularly loved up, like you’ve told him he’s plain gorgeous. “You’re welcome. And yeah, it pretty much does mean serious and kind. And it’s like honest, like true. Okay?”
You might not remember the word ‘sincere’ in English tomorrow, but the sentiment is there. You have your own word in Mer, and you’ll remember that.
“Serious kind Steve. Kiss my cheek?”
Steve’s huff of a laugh is warm on your cheek as he leans over and obliges.
—
Later, after Steve’s showered the sand off of you, he kneels by the bathtub and shows you how to shave your legs. You’ve watched him shave his face a few mornings a week for a while, but it is different to see that and to see this, to feel the razor on your leg.
“It’s sharp,” Steve warns.
“Is it hurt?”
“Does it hurt? No, never. I’m gonna be really careful.”
“Does it hurt,” you repeat, if only to keep the words in your head. Lots of tenses. “Does not hurt.”
Steve squirts the shaving stuff on your leg and laughs under his breath when you do, smoothing his hand up and down, the gel turning to a thick white foam. You lean back, hands in the few inches of warm water, the smell of your soap still kissing your skin.
He puts the razor gently to your ankle. “Stay still, okay? Don’t move. I can’t hurt you if you don’t move.”
“Still.”
He pulls the razor up your leg. It’s completely painless, though there’s definitely a sensation, and you freak out when he gets to your knee. He can see it on your face, immediately pulling the razor away to rinse in the water.
“Okay? Didn’t hurt?” he asks.
“Feel weird.”
“It feels worse on your face. I don’t know why. It tugs more.”
You lay back more, the steam rising from your naked skin, your hair kissing the tub, not sure how to start your question, so you take the easy route. “Question,” you say, quiet as Steve brings the razor to your ankle to the left of his first path and brings it up against your skin, “Steve has shaved leg.”
“Uh. Yes. Once, for swim team. It didn’t make me swim faster, though.”
“Oh. Make me faster?”
“It might, but maybe not. You’re fast.”
You laugh some more. It feels so good to be waist deep in water, as vulnerable as you can be with Steve at your side. He is unperturbed by everything, all of it. Happy to be with you like you’re happy to be with him, doing things that waste time, telling stories with no intent beyond knowing more about each other.
“Faster you.”
“You’re not faster than me, honey. Who told you that?”
“I win race lots times!”
“I let you win.”
“Let!” you say with another laugh, trying hard to stay in one place as the urge to push his chest grows. “Whatever. You are rude, I say before. Say again. Rude and…”
“Handsome?”
“Not funny.”
But you’re smiling, and Steve’s rinsing the razor again, leaning in to kiss your damp nose. “You wanna try it yourself?” he asks.
You deliberate. “No, thank you. Steve do?”
He sighs. There is not a millisecond of time where you believe his sigh to be a real expression of discontent. “I guess,” he says loudly.
Maybe a smutty Jason Todd x reader where it’s the readers first time? Love to see how you’d think Jason would handle that situation😝
Oh girl! I am feeling very good about this. I did finish writing it while I was at work, but it was like a pick me up after a terrible week. Thank you for requesting it, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it!
Warnings: SMUT, Oral (f receiving), Fingering, P in V, lover boy Jason(not really a warning, I just think it's important), let me know if there's anything else!
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“Stop looking at me like that,” you frown at Jason from your spot on the couch. He grins like a fool at you, and you want to smack him, "I'm serious.”
“I know. You're just being so cute about it,” his hand reaches for you, skipping your hand to smooth up your arm and to your shoulder, “You really mean it?”
His question throws you off kilter for a moment. How could you mean any different? Why would you lie to him about what you want? You think, perhaps, he’s still pulling your leg, so you joke with a dramatic sigh, “I don’t know, I could change my mind.”
He nods in agreement instead of laughing, “You could, just know I won’t like you any less for it”
You shake your head at his seriousness and scoot closer to him. You reach for his other hand in his lap as his hand on your shoulder slides to your neck. He leans towards you, and you think maybe he would just kiss you, and you could get on with it. Not that it was anything to just get on with, and not that what you wanted on that note would matter.
You knew Jason liked to take his time. Your relationship wasn’t totally innocent. You’d felt his mouth and his fingers. He'd even let you hump him like a horny teenager in the back of a car (a low-risk stakeout he let you tag along on. Suffice to say, Batman was not happy about the missing target).
Jason had been all too polite about you not being ready for the main event. He understood the feeling of being an older virgin, considering the whole dying at fifteen. He had gone out of his way to show you that sex was enjoyable and comfortable. It made you brave and fall just a little more in love with him each time.
He doesn’t kiss you, at least not on the lips. His lips press to your hairline as he murmurs, “I am being serious, sweetheart. Be honest.”
“I am being honest,” you reply, leaning into the contact, “I wanna sleep with you.”
His lips twitch against your skin, a hint of a smirk that tells you exactly what he’s going to say, “you already sleep with me.”
“Jason,” you scold. You pull away from him slightly, and he has the same look from before when he said you were being cute, “You know what I mean.”
“Do I?” He chides softly, “If you can’t talk about it, maybe you shouldn't be doing it.”
You roll your eyes, “You literally ate me out last week.”
“Oh? Is that what you want?” His hands shift to tickle at your waist, then drag you into his lap. One hand drops to pop the button on your jeans.
You squirm in your new spot, “Jay, stop it.”
His hand slips away, and you shake your head. He shakes his head with that knowing smile. You know he’s not intentionally teasing. He just wants your words, your consent to the whole situation.
“Jason,” you sit primly in his lap, and he focuses on you, hands smoothing up your waist, rucking up your shirt just to push it back down, “I want to have sex with you… please.”
“You’re ready?" he asks one more time as he pulls you forward on his thighs, hips to hips. You feel him already hard under you.
You nod, “I am ready. I want it to be with you.”
“Whatever you want, you get, baby,” he murmurs and finally kisses you softly, a gentle peck that turns into another and another until you're melting into his lap and eagerly parting your lips when his tongue prods for exploration. Your hand slides up into his hair, curling and tugging at the nape of his neck as your hips grind down on him.
The hand that had been pressing your shirt up and down finally slips under, fingers pressing into skin before pushing up to tease at your bra. You pull back slightly to pant his name against his lips. He stares back at you, not letting you go far and evidently as enamored by you as you are by him.
“Want it off,” He says, and you blink momentarily confused. You don’t know if he was asking you or telling you. Either way, he doesn’t wait for a response, pushing your shirt high enough that all you can do is lift your arms to help. The moment your shirt is off, he pauses to stare at you, pupils dilated but still loving.
Your hands smooth against his shoulder as you shift in his lap, “What is it?”
He shakes his head, hands respectfully at your waist, thumb stroking the skin. His eyes focus on your face as he replies, “You’re just beautiful.”
You huff with a shy smile, head tipping back as you roll your eyes, “You’re so sappy.”
“You deserve sappy,” he murmurs as he takes advantage of your tipped head. He presses soft kisses to your throat, trailing wetly down to your collarbone and chest. Your head tips up to look at him as he presses an open-mouthed kiss to the swell of your breast. He meets your eye, “You deserve sweet and loving.”
“Jay,” you murmur, bringing your hand up to push back his hair from his face, “you deserve that too.”
He smiles, giddy and in love, as he ducks to press his face into your cleavage. You shake your head at his antics with a soft laugh before you shriek and cling to him as he stands up. He takes to kissing your skin again as your legs wrap around his waist, walking to the bedroom without even looking up. You laugh the entire time because it’s Jason, and you think he’s so silly and sweet sometimes. Your giggling eases after he drops you on the bed, but only because he’s pulling off his shirt and you're easily distracted.
He gently presses you down on the bed as he climbs over you, hitching your knees against his hips to slot himself between your thighs, “And you are sure about this?”
“Jason,” you playfully roll your eyes before you catch his seriousness, “Jason, I’m very sure. You're the only person I trust with this.”
His eyes flicker between yours before dipping to your lips, then back to your eyes, an unnecessary question, but one you nod to all the same. He kisses you again with a new fervor, one you return. His hand dips behind your back, and you arch as he undoes your bra, peeling it from your body and tossing it aside. He leaves your lips to once again trail his kisses downward.
Your hands cling to his shoulder and hair as he dips down. A hand gently palms at your tit and you arch into it with a sigh, his thumb rubbing over a pebbling nipple. He kisses every inch of skin he can find, sucking soft marks almost worshipfully.
“Gorgeous girl,” he murmurs, voice rough as he kisses around a nipple before delicately wrapping his lips around, sucking softly.
“Jay,” you gasp, eyes fluttering. Your hips shift up to chase more pressure. He settles on top of you, pinning your hips down.
He eases off your nipple with a soft pop that makes you shudder, his fingers replacing his mouth to pinch at the bud as he moves to your other breast with a “Be patient, sweetheart.”
You take a breath, trying to relax back down on the bed. You knew he’d want to take his time, but it doesn’t make you want him any less. You ignore the heat in your belly to focus on him, his weight atop you, his rough hands touching you so sweetly, and his lips reverent and explorative. Your chest heaves against his mouth, and your hand slides over his shoulder, thumb massaging into the muscle.
He groans against your breast and peeks up at you, “What’re you doing?”
“Waiting,” you give him a sweet smile. He laughs fondly into your skin before he’s pulling back slightly, calloused hand giving your breast a final squeeze.
“Taking too long, am I?” he teases as he finishes undoing your pants, pulling the zipper down and hooking his fingers into the waistband.
You lift your hips with a shrug, “It’s okay.”
He snorts as he tosses the pants elsewhere, “It’s okay. Baby, tell me what you want. Said you get whatever you want.”
He presses a kiss to your hip, nose pressed to your skin above your panty line and breathing in your skin. Your first instinct is that Jason is so weird. Your second instinct, and the one that seems more right, is oh my god, I want Jason to fuck me right now.
“I want you,” you manage to keep yourself tame.
His eyes meet yours as he kisses your skin again, “Yeah?”
The heated pit in your belly grows as you stare down at him. You nod, biting on your lip to keep from bursting.
“Let me get you ready,” he murmurs. He slips lower, nose dragging down the crease of your thigh. You stop him with a hand in his hair. He gives you a questioning look but obliges, moving back up your body with smattering kisses. You squirm before his lips find your mouth, kissing you gently like before.
“Change your mind?” He hums against your lips.
You laugh at the notion, warm breath against his mouth, “No, I want you. I want you so much, I don't think you need to get me ready.”
“Ha, funny girl,” he mocks gently, prying your damp panties down your thighs, “I have to get you ready, first timer”
“Oh my god,” you laugh more, lifting your hips to help, "That's so mean, Jay.”
He tosses your underwear without thought, hand pushing your thighs open, “Mean or dutiful? Gotta make sure I don't hurt my girl.”
Your mouth opens to argue back, but the words are lost to noise, a sharp gasp as his mouth meets your cunt with a groan. Your hand slides over the back of his head as his tongue laps through your folds before sucking on your clit.
“Ya're wet,” he mumbles against you, the vibration making your thigh twitches, “not enough”
Your eyes flutter as he gets to work, licking into you eagerly as his nose bumps your clit. Your head tips back, then forward, chest heaving with moans as you try to decide if you want to bend to the pleasure or watch him. Your hips jump, and he easily pins you down.
He pulls back for a moment to breathe, mouth and nose covered in your slick, “doing so good,” then he dives back in.
His tongue flicks across your clit as he pushes two thick fingers into you. The stretch is barely there, slick enough that he slides in. Your fingers curl tight in his hair.
“Jay,” you whine as he focuses his mouth on your clit to slowly stretch you out. You were, by far, no stranger to Jason's mouth and fingers. If you were honest with yourself, sometimes you thought he might enjoy it more than having sex. You were eager to find out if you were right. That is, if he ever let up.
Your thigh presses against his jaw as the heat builds steadily with each lick of tongue, every prod of his fingers inside you. Jason knew your body better than you did, and you had a feeling you would cum before the main event. Your hips press up against the hand pinning you.
“Jason,” you gasp, foot digging into his back. Your eyes sink to stare at him, and he meets yours with a determined gleam. You shake your head, “I- I want-”
You lose your train of thought as he moves faster, a moan catching your words. Your hand starts to draw tight in his hair, thighs pressing against his head. He remains focused on his goal of getting you ready, which kind of annoys you in the moment. Sure, you want to cum, but you want him inside.
You don’t have much choice in the matter, though, and who are you to fight your own body? Your head falls back, succumbing to the build. Your back arches, thighs shaking slightly as the heat in your belly starts to boil over.
“Jay, Jason! Oh!” Your body seizes with sweet release.
Jason groans against you, making you whimper, his fingers moving slowly inside you to draw you out before stilling. He prys your hand from his hair, and you let him, hand cramping slightly from how tight you had held on. Ever so slowly, you melt down onto the mattress as his fingers slip from you.
He climbs over you, squeezing your hip and bending down to kiss the corner of your lips with a sticky mouth. You don't have it in you to complain. Not when he’s there above you. You want him. You need him. Your shaky hands dip to undo his jeans, tight against his erection. His head dips to your shoulder as he groans at your touch. Thankfully, he doesn’t stop you, at least not until you have his jeans tugged under his ass and your hand attempts to dip into his boxers.
“Easy,” he murmurs, “Are you sure?”
You smack his shoulder with an echoed clap. He jolts up to look at you in surprise. You give him an irritated look, which he finds entirely unnecessary, considering he’d just made you cum.
“What was that?” he huffs.
You glare up at him, “If you don't fuck me, I’m gonna fuck you.”
A laugh, more of a cackle really, leaves Jason at your horny threat before he’s leaning down to kiss you while he finishes shucking off his jeans and boxers. His cock resting on your belly, hard and leaking. Your breath stutters, and you part from the kiss to look down at him. He kisses your forehead, the corner of your eye, before pulling back.
“I’m not gonna fuck you, baby,” he murmurs as his hand curls around his dick, giving it a tug, “I’m going to make love to you.”
You look back up at his face, settled now that his pants were off, and he was so close, “There’s a difference?”
“Trust me,” he nods as he shifts on his knees, spreading your thighs wider, “There is a difference, and I can show you after this, okay?”
“Show me?” you question softly, hands curling into the blanket under you, his lean back too far for you to touch him.
He nods and finds one of your hands prying it from the sheet to press it on to the bed by your head, lacing your fingers as he hovers over you, “First time is for love making.”
He kisses your jaw, “soft,” your neck, “slow.”
Your eyes close as he presses kiss after kiss down to your collarbone. He sucks a soft hickey there before he nudges his cock against your entrance. Your eyes fly open with a soft gasp, but he doesn't press in, simply rubs the head of him up and down your slit. Your hips twitch up, cunt fluttering with want as he spreads your slick and his precum.
He pulls back from your neck to look at you as he notches against your entrance, “You tell me if it hurts or you need a second, okay?”
You nod, and he shakes his head, “Talk to me, sweetheart.”
“I’ll tell you,” you reply and press your thighs as wide as they can go, “Just please, Jay.”
He smiles down at you, like you're the sun, like he'd wait a thousand years just to hear your voice. He dips, pressing his lips to your forehead.
“Please,” he murmurs, “you don't need to say that.”
Then he presses into you, impossibly slow, watching your face the entire time. You stare back at him, hitched breaths leaving your lips as he stretches you, warm and hard, you feel every bit of him. There's never a moment of pain, despite Jason's worry, only an uncomfortable sensation of your cunt accommodating.
He sinks down on his forearm, hand still laced with yours, as he presses in deep. Your brow twitches at an odd nudge inside you, and he stills, hips not quite against yours.
“Talk to me,” he whispers, voice strained. You hadn't thought of how your own tight heat might feel around him. You give an experiment flex around him just to watch his eyes flutter. His hips twitch, and he nudges the spot that made your brow twitch with discomfort.
“Feels… strange,” you whisper, and his eyes flicker back open.
“Bad?” He asks, pulling back slightly. Your free hand curls over his shoulder as you shake your head.
“Not necessary,” you murmur, then you admit, “but not comfortable.”
His eyes flicker down to where he presses in again, and you fight to keep your moan, and then he stops at the odd sensation.
He nods like he's found something, “feel it too, let me move you a little, okay?”
You nod, and his hand, not holding yours, reaches for a pillow. He nudges your hip up slightly, and you follow, holding your breath as he stays in you. With your hips higher, he looks back to you and presses in and in. Your breath catches when his hips press snug against you, pressing against your sensitive clit.
“Better?” He asks like your mind hadn't just blanked from having all of him against you and inside you. You nod with a soft noise, and he pulls back slowly and presses back in. Your eyes flutter shut at the sensation, new, unfamiliar, but growing in pleasure with each thrust.
“Uh-huh,” you moan out as his hand slides up your thigh, hitching it up on his hip. You moan louder at a deeper thrust.
Jason's hand squeezes yours, and he drops his head to kiss you. It grounds you, pulling you back from the sensations that make your head fuzzy. Your hand curls against the nape of his neck to keep him close as you kiss him back, sloppy and uncaring.
Your focus makes you listen, listen to the soft wet noises of him pushing into you, listen to his voice, tight with quiet moans as he breathes against your mouth.
“Doing good, baby,” he murmurs before he sucks on your bottom lip like he thought you'd disappear, “tight and warm”
Your pussy tightens at the way he talks to you, and also not, like there's some higher power that needed to know. He leaves your lips to nose at your jaw, hips stuttering.
“Don’t do that, sweetheart,” he laughs, with gasping breath.
“Wasn't trying to,” you reply, just as breathless and wanting. You tip your head, kissing his brow near your lip, wanting to show your tender love the way he does, “the way you talk is just…”
“I knew you’d like it,” he huffs against your skin, “making me read those romance books to you”
His words are startlingly funny considering the moment, and you laugh, unintentionally tightening around him. He groans, pressing his face into your neck more. His hips thrust harder, leaving you arching at the motion and the way it rubs a nerve raw in just the right way.
“Jay!” Your hand clings to his hair, laughter gone.
His hand dips, thumb finding your already sensitive clit, rubbing against it as he repeats the harder thrust. You moan, your legs moving of their own accord, wrapping around his waist to drag him deeper. Gone was any uncomfortable sensation; all you had left was Jason and the simmering heat building with a newfound ferocity.
“It's okay,” he muttered, and you're not entirely sure he's speaking to you at first, “just a little longer. Take what you want.”
His words are the only thing that makes you realise that, as much as he's thrusting, your body is meeting in bucking hips, brought by the leverage of your legs around his waist.
“Sorry,” you moan as you arch and cling to him, still trying to meet his hips. He swallows your moans with a heavy kiss, hand caressing the skin of your thigh, hip and waist, just brushing your breasts.
“Don’t apologise,” he pants against your lips, foreheads pressing, “you're so hot”
You laugh again, terribly breathless and needy, and Jason smiles against your lips, “My girl gets what she wants, she takes what she wants.”
“Want you,” you moan as your head falls back, body starting to tense again.
His lips move down to your chest, trailing wet as he speaks, “You have me.”
His hand presses yours into the bed, squeezing to remind you of his presence as if you couldn't feel him everywhere. And just like always, he reads your body before you do, thighs squeezing at him as you moan.
“Come on,” he moans into your skin, mouthing lower to the swell of your breasts, “I've got you, baby. Come on.”
That, along with the deep thrust and circled rub on your clit, has you toppling over in the most intense orgasm you think Jason has given you. Everything feels too much and not enough as your vision whites, the only sensation you know is Jason.
“That’s my girl,” he groans, fuzzy to your ears. His hips keep rocking his cock into your spasming cunt, dragging out your release, and then he disappears as he comes across your belly with a heaved moan, squeezing your hand like its life line.
You slowly come back to the land of the living, eyes blinking up at him in the dimming light of the evening in the apartment. He looks unfairly attractive in the sunset, but you let it slide for the way he smiles at you, panting for breath.
“Hi,” he folds back down over you despite the mess to kiss you softly.
“Hi,” you softly reply, worn out in a way you didn't know possible.
“Are you okay?” He asks as he shifts off you, gently prying your legs from his hips to lie beside you, blindly grabbing a shirt to wipe up your stomach.
“Okay?” You giggle as you roll on your side, shifting from the pressure of your thighs before settling comfortably. He copies you, lying on his side and curling his hand back in yours.
He brings it to his lips and murmurs, "I didn't think you'd laugh so much. That bad?”
You shift again, faces close, “No, that good. It was everything a girl could wish for.”
You bring a hand up to comb through his sweaty hair and watch his eyes close, leaning into your touch. A peaceful quiet takes over as you both lounge bare on the bed, but together.
You nearly fall asleep like that before Jason shifts, picking you up bridal style. You wake right back up but don't argue, just lean your shoulder against him, “Where're we going?”
“The bathroom, “he kisses your hair, “aftercare, sweetheart. It's just as important as the sex.”
You smile at his words, “How did I manage to get you?”
“Being insane enough not to run from a shoot-out,” he laughs as he sets you on the counter.
“Oh, don't be mean!” You laugh with him.
He holds his hands up in retaliation, “Alright, alright. The mean is only for when I fuck you tomorrow.”
You gap at his statement as he runs the bath, “You're planning?”
“You asked,” he returns to gently hold your hips, smoothing you with more kisses, “and what my girl wants, she gets.”
This is shorter than I want it to be but I was at a good stopping point. Enjoy!
Brother's Best Friend!Eddie Masterlist
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You're thankful it’s summer, otherwise you think the rain soaking through your shirt would give you hypothermia. You'd been standing on Eddie’s porch for about 5 minutes, trying to work up the nerve to knock. He had offered, and you couldn't take another night of listening to the obscenities coming from your brother and new sister-in-law's room. They could have at least gone on a honeymoon to get most of it out, longer than a weekend in Indianapolis.
So there you stood, on Eddie's porch, soaked to the bone. Runaway bag still in your car in case Eddie had decided to change his mind. You finally knock.
Some thunder rumbles in the distance, and the rain pours harder. Your knock turns less timid in case he could hear over the rain. It was more likely that he was asleep, considering the late hour. You could always just sleep in your car for the night.
The porch light turns on like a little spring of hope in the darkness. You didn't actually want to sleep in your car. The door pulls open, and Eddie stands there, blinking at you in surprise.
“So is that offer still-” you're cut off as he drags you inside.
“What is wrong with you? It's pouring out,” his rub up and down your arms like it was cold and not midsummer.
“Really?” You quip, “I hadn't noticed.”
“Funny,” he scoffs as he pushes the door shut. He turns to stare at you, a dripping puddle in his home, “What are you doing out so late?”
You wring your hair out slightly, cringing as it joins the water at your feet. Eddie disappears down the hall as you answer flatly, “Jack and Adrianna.”
“That bad, huh?” He returns with a towel and drops it on your head. The world goes dark for a second as you let out a frustrated huff. You tug the towel and dry off with it, though your clothes are a lost cause, clinging to you like a second skin.
You fight to ignore the way Eddie's gaze drops as you answer him, “I thought I could just ignore, but it's making me sick to my stomach.”
He grins at your fake gag, “Poor princess, knocked from her tower.”
“That one's terrible,” you point accusingly as you settle the towel on your shoulder. You take a moment to find your nerves and finally ask, “Is it- can I stay… here? Your offer? Is that still on the table?”
“Of course,” he nods, frizzed hair bobbing at the motion, “what else am I gonna do? Kick you out?”
You shrug, “You could. Who knows?”
“Ouch!” his palm presses to his chest in dramatic offense, “You really think I’d do that? To you all people, princess?”
Despite all of Eddie’s playfulness, there’s a hint of worry in his eyes. You forget for just a moment that this boy has vaguely tormented you practically your whole life. You forget that two weeks ago, you would have never considered stepping foot in Eddie’s home like this, just because he was that annoying. You hate your friends for what they’ve done to you. You hug the towel closer around you and softly reply, “No, Eddie, I don't think you would do that.”
He stares at you. His fingers tap against his leg, and then he steps closer, grabbing the corner edge of the towel. You startle slightly as he presses it to the corner of your eye and down your cheek, drying your face.
“Good,” he murmurs, not quite meeting your eye, “I’d have to have a stern talking to myself if I made you think like that.”
All you can do is stare wide-eyed at Eddie, letting him dry your face for you. You're caught in the whirlwind again. Had he always been like this? Had you been ignoring it all only to be annoyed?
Eddie’s eyes drop, like they had in the kitchen the night he’d stayed over. Your lips twitch as you try not to think about him kissing you. You whisper instead, “I should get my stuff.”
“Your stuff?” he murmurs back, stroking a strand of damp hair behind your ear. You don’t think he’s doing any of this on purpose, but he was making all of it really hard.
You step back away from him, and it seems to snap him from wherever he was. His hand drops from the air as you answer, “Yeah, my stuff.”
You gesture to the door, “I brought clothes and things. I mean, I’m not planning on moving in or anything. I just don't know how long the rabbits will be going.”
He snorts at your comment, “Well, this storm probably won’t let up for another hour or so. I'll grab your stuff then. You can borrow something dry.”
“Oh no, that's not-” you try to stop him, but he’s already disappeared down the hall again. The moment he reappears with a pile of clothes, you're back on him, “It's not necessary. I’m already drenched. I'll just run out and grab- what are you doing?”
Eddie's arm hooks over your shoulder, and he pulls you deeper into his home. You’d been here only a few times. All of them were because Jack needed to drop something off for Eddie. You don’t know that you’d ever made it further than the front doorway. Now you were being led deeper and deeper inside to… the bathroom?
You blink as Eddie turns on the light to the small room, seemingly undeterred by your questioning, “Take a shower. Wear my clothes for a bit. I promise I’ll grab your stuff as soon as it stops raining.”
Your lips purse at the offer. A shower and dry clothes did sound nice. There wasn’t anything weird about it being his clothes. You needed to get over yourself. “Fine.”
“Good girl. I’ll be out here if you need anything,” He promptly shuts the door.
You’re going to kill him. You’re going to kill Eddie Munson dead. Who just says that? Good girl. He said it so casually, like you weren't… well, you weren't his anything, you suppose. You were his best friend's little sister, and that’s it. You really needed to get over yourself.
Hiiii can I please request a DIKY Jason Todd x reader smut where it's a year or two into the relationship and Jason is jealous so backshot time, but the entire drabble is literally just the smut pretty please. Thank youuuuuu.
Okay, last one! Honestly, three smuts for this challenge is very funny, as is two of them being for DIKY. You guys just miss them being weirdly horny for each other (same). This one is actually short! not like the other one, where I apparently lost my mind and is weirdly long. I hope this fits. Thank you, and please enjoy!
Warnings: SMUT, Jealous Jason Todd, doggy position, backshot, some cum play, Jason's a freak after getting over the virgin stuff apparently and I love that
Kandy's writing challenge May 2026
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“Who was he?” Jason grits out. The only response you manage is a harsh moan, barely muffled by the sheets your face had been shoved into. Your head is pulled back for you, a sting to your scalp as Jason hauls you up to your hands as he pummels into you from behind. The bite of pain and the arch of your back make you whimper.
“That wasn’t an answer, sugar,” he chuckles behind you.
You couldn’t believe it. If someone had told you two years ago or even a year ago when you and Jason started finally dating, that he would be jealous, that he would be mean and use his cock to prove something, you would’ve called them insane.
Not Jason, not your sweet Jay. Objectively, you knew somewhere deep in your mind that Jason could get jealous. Dick teased a bit, after he’d gotten over being the first person you had figured out, about how Jason steamed that day of the brunch because you had stared too long at Dick. all because you’d figured out I was Nightwing. He’s so stupid.
There was also the Red Hood persona that you had befriended before you knew Jason and he were one and the same. He liked to rile, liked to tease until you were thoroughly flustered and then push a little more. You’d forgotten about all of it until it came to bite you in the ass literally, an imprint on one cheek you were sure would bruise.
“Jay!” you cry as he tugs your hair a little bit more, driving your hips back. Your hands curl hard into the sheets below. He slows his thrusts, and his hand that had been gripping your hip moves to spread your cheeks to watch himself slide back into you harshly, the breath knocked out of you.
“I know that wasn’t his name,” Jason says condescendingly as he releases your hair.
Your chest and head drop back to the bed. He doesn’t pull out again, just grinds deeper while he lays his weight on top of you. His nose nudges your ear as his arm circles your waist, keeping you pressed to his hard chest, and to keep you in place for him.
You whimper under the affection as he whispers, “Tell me his name.”
“Don’t know,” you breathe out, peeking at him from the corner of your eye, cheek to the bed, “he just sat down and started talking. I wasn't even listening.”
The iceberg lounge was not your typical date night, both of you preferring to stay home, but Jason, or rather Red Hood, had some business to take care. He’d left you at the bar just for about fifteen minutes, the bartender tasked with making sure nothing happened to you.
Apparently, fifteen minutes is too long. Some random man from out of town settled on the stool beside you to chat you up. And chat you up he did, you couldn’t get a word in edgewise. You spent the last ten minutes of waiting for Jason, sharing annoyed looks with the bartender and sipping on a virgin daiquiri.
When you finally spotted Jason making his way towards you, you had missed the deep frown he wore, too eager to be away from the man as you announced, "There's my boyfriend, gotta go."
Jason was seething. You honestly hadn’t noticed until he’d flipped on your stomach to drive into you. Not uncommon, but it was typically a joint move; this was not. You were not complaining.
“You weren’t even listening, hmm?” he murmurs as his hand slips to rub at your clit, grinding his cock into you.
Your face pinches in pleasure, hips pressing back, “yeah, yes, was waiting for you, just wanted you.”
You can feel the second the tense leaves him, his hands gentling slightly, “I believe you. He’s a fucking tool, though.”
He sits back up, fingers still circling your clit as his other hand presses to your back, keeping your chest down. He pulls back and fucks back into you in a motion that makes your toes curl, a whine leaving you.
“Asshole should’ve known you were taken. I mark you up and didn’t do shit,” he grumbles as he picks up his pace, referring to the lovely trail of hickeys on your collar. Your body starts to shake as he repeatedly presses against the spot inside you that makes the heat in your belly spiral.
“Gotta do something different maybe,” he pants, hand slipping from your back to the bed beside your head for more leverage, “Something fucked up maybe, make you smell like me or something.”
You don't know what he’s talking about, nor do you care, so close to coming as he took his upset out on you, “Please, fuck!”
“Yeah, ya like that idea, sugar?” he keeps a steady pressure on your clit, hips bucking against you, slicking dripping down your thighs.
It builds, builds, and builds until, “Oh my god!”
You clamp down on Jason like a vice, and he talks you through your orgasm even as your ears turn fuzzy, and you bury your face into the bed.
“That’s my girl. Fucking perfect for me.”
And then his dick disappears, and you're left feeling empty as you spasm around nothing, so used to him lingering, and so do his fingers on your clit. You whine as you come back down from your high, head twisting to try and figure out what he's doing behind you.
Jason lets out a tight groan just as you glance back at him. Cum splatters on your ass and down your low back. The hot liquid making you gasp slightly, eyes widening as he keeps stroking himself, pushing out more cum. He breaths hard, hunching over you slightly before he’s rubbing his dick head against your skin, smearing sticky cum.
Your own breath stutters, “Jay, what’re you-”
“Making you smell like me, sweetheart. Gonna cover you in it till they catch a hint,” he grumbles. He lets go of himself, but only so his hand can spread the cum further. You squirm at the feeling.
If you’re still taking requests, may I request Jason Todd x fem!reader where they argue with each other? But a more light hearted arguing, not actual conflict. More for the love of the game rather than actually being heated.
I hope this makes sense ^^’
Thank you!
Thank you!! This doesn't necessarily feel like arguing, just a little bicker. I hope you like it!
Kandy's writing challenge May 2026
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The sun was warm on your back, a brief, clear day in Gotham amidst the summer rain. Jason had left you for a moment to get a soda from one of the food trucks, and your patience was wearing thin for a cold drink.
“Have I ever told you that you're very, very pretty?” Jason’s voice meets your ears. You know he’s teasing because you know you must look miserable, sweaty and hot in the humid air.
“I don’t like you,” you respond, lifting a hand to shade the sun as you look at him from your seat.
He grins, hovering close before pressing a can of soda to your cheek, “Are you sure?”
Your eyes flutter under the cold, taking the can and rolling it down to your neck. His hand slips from the can to settle on your shoulder. You smack it away and then fan yourself.
“You’re so mean to me, sweetheart,” he coos as he sits down beside you.
“And you’re too hot,” you reply, fanning yourself. You open your eyes to meet his in slight apology, “Sorry.”
“You should be,” he nods as he opens his own soda, taking a drink of it, “This trek into hell was your idea.”
You sit up and turn on him in the accusation, “What?”
“Let’s go for a walk, you said. It’ll be nice, you said,” he mocks fondly, casting you a glance that pushes away any meanness in it.
You shake your head, not fighting your own smile, “It was nice… until it got hot. I didn’t plan for that.”
“Sure you didn’t,” Jason pressed his knee to yours, “I forgive you for not knowing the weather though.”
“Wow, what a gentleman,” you roll your eyes.
Jason’s hand finds yours, but you don’t push him away this time. He leans closer, and you offer him a kiss despite the way you feel in the hot humidity.
“Thank you for the soda, handsome,” you murmur as he eases back out of your space, reading your temperament.
He kisses your sweat-damp hairline, “Of course, sweet girl.”
Hi! I'd like to submit a request for your challenge! I don't know how to explain it very well (English isn't my first language), but it's a very simple idea: the reader was Jason Todd's crush before he died, so the scenario would be him meeting her again after being revived! Thank you! <3
Short and sweet with a dash of vague angst, but how could there not be, all things considered. Thank you!
Kandy's writing challenge May 2026
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I remember you.
Those were the first words you said to Jason. They were just words, but it was you, your voice. He hadn’t meant to get too close, but it appears you’d gotten smart in the time he’d been gone.
Jason.
There was an ache to the way you said his name. But it was the way you looked at him that would burn in his mind for a long time.
“How?” Your voice is sharper now as you stare at him.
He glances over his shoulder, the cold rain soaking through his sweater, “What?”
“You're not a ghost. You don't look- you're older than he was then.”
You’re older than he was. Despite openly calling him Jason, you say he like the Jason standing before isn’t really him.
“I’m not a ghost,” he finally answers, and you flinch. Maybe you thought he was a figment of your imagination, something hovering just in your eyesight but not close enough to speak. You’d caught him in an alley, and he had yet to figure out how.
You step closer to him, like he was a stray dog, and really, he was. You're the first person from before he’d even tried to stay close to, even if it had been stalking.
“Jason,” you repeat, worry eating at your tone. Soon, you stand in front of him, holding your umbrella above both your heads, “I don’t understand.”
You were prettier than Jason remembered, which was fascinating because you had always been pretty to Jason. The lovely girl he went to school with, one of his few friends he’d managed at Gotham Academy.
It’s Jason’s turn to flinch when your fingers press against his cheek. His eyes squeeze shut, the bump of his scar aches under your fingers, not knowing a touch that was soft in so long.
“You’re real,” you murmur, “You’re alive.”
His hand curls around your wrist to pull your hand away, the touch feeling like too much after having nothing for so long. He wasn’t ready for this. How had you known he was following you? How did you corner him? This wasn’t supposed to be how it would go.
“I’m sorry,” his voice comes out hoarse, “I can’t do this, sweetheart.”
Sweetheart. Your face pinches at the term. It makes you think of childish affection. Teasing from boys and Jason standing firm about it.
Jason steps back into the rain as you stand under the umbrella. You step to follow, and he holds out a hand, “just not yet.”
“Okay,” you still with the umbrella in hand, “I miss you. I miss my friend. You don't have to be alone.”
It's a guess that he’s alone. You just figured it would’ve been on the news if Bruce Wayne's son had been resurrected looking worse for wear. He nods and steps further into the darkness. You're left alone in the rain, confused and worried for a friend you thought you’d lost a long time ago.
I saw you were asking for requests and well, I might have one.
I would like to request something smutty with Jason Todd where it starts out as just playful wrestling after dinner or something, and it ends with them wrestling while doing something quite smutty, maybe Jason manhandles reader (not maliciously, of course)…
Only if you want to, though!
Not quite smut but definitely suggestive, some touching and tempting. I hope this fits what you wanted. Thank you!!
Kandy's writing challenge May 2026
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“No, I’m pretty sure it’s your turn to do dishes.”
“Sweetheart, you say that every time there are dishes.”
You roll your eyes where you’re slumped on the couch and against Jason, “That would be because dishes are the bane of my existence.”
“The bane of your existence? That feels dramatic,” He retorts. He sits up, and you slide down behind him.
Your face presses into his back, voice muffled, “It really is that serious.”
“It really is not,” he retorts. He stands and hooks a hand under your arm, attempting to lug you up, “Come on, up and at ‘em.”
“Noooo,” you whine, letting yourself become a dead weight.
Jason rolls his eyes at your antics, letting you flop on the couch. You pout at him, hoping he’ll fold. He glares down at you, all attitude and no heat, “I am not doing the dishes.”
“Jasoooonnnn, pleaaasssseee.” Were you throwing a bit of a tantrum? Perhaps, but the dishes really were the bane of your existence. They were always dirty!
Jason squats where you lie limp on the couch. His hand pushes hair back, then slides down your cheek to your jaw. You stare at him, easily enamored by your boyfriend and his touch, that is, until he grips your cheeks, puckering your lips. You’d frown if you could, Jason gets your pinched brows of upset instead.
“You will be doing the dishes, sweetheart, nonnegotiation,” he tells you slowly.
You attempt to speak despite how he has you, “i ick oo.”
Jason's head tips at your words, and you do just as you said you would, foot coming up to gently kick his butt where he squats. He gawks at you, jaw dropping slightly. You giggle at the look, hand coming up to try and pry his hand from your face, “I said I’ll kick you.”
“Really?” Jason questions, face a little that has you worried for a second until his next words, “You wanna tussle?”
Your hands jump defensively, already laughing, “Now hang on!”
“Too late for that,” Jason’s hands are on you. You shriek, finally moving up on the couch as you push at his tickling hands. You manage to climb from the couch onto his back, but your efforts are futile as usual. Jason was trained for this. You were not.
You end up on the floor halfway to the kitchen. You scramble on your belly away from Jason, only for him to roll his eyes. You get a hand around the foot of the table before it disappears from its grip, or rather, you're pulled from its proximity. You squeal at the cold floor pressing to your belly as your shirt slides up, Jason dragging you from your escape by the ankles.
You scramble to push up uselessly. Jason’s weight bears down on you, straddling you from behind, and you’re gently pressed down against the floor again, “That’s cheating.”
“It is not, Sweetheart. Just give up and do the dishes.” Jason offers behind you.
“No can do, babe,” you wiggle under him, fighting his weight, “god, what do you eat?”
“Are you calling me fat?” he questions in mock offense. You stifle a laugh. Your hands press to the floor, and you try to push and worm your way out.
“None of that,” his hands grapple with yours, easing your chest back down on the floor without faceplanting. You’re pinned entirely. Jason settles over you more, his chest to your back, and whispers in your ear, “Come on, baby. Be a good girl.”
Your breath hitches, body stilling its fight. The thought of fighting over dishes suddenly seems like a distant memory. Had you misread his mood? Or had you misread your mood? Your hips press back against him. Oh, it was definitely his mood.
“Won’t you?” he keeps his voice low. He presses his lips against your hairline and your cheek, not pressed to the floor, like he knows you’ve sussed him out.
“Jason,” you sigh as he ruts against your ass slightly. You wiggle again, not in escape but in want.
“Yeah, sweetheart? You need something?” he murmurs.
“You're terrible,” you huff against the floor, but let him have his way all the same.
His hands shift to pin both of yours in one. His now free hand slips to your neck, pinning you despite you not fighting, and then slides it down your back. He squeezes at your hip, taunting, teasing you.
“Jay,” you squirm. He presses his forehead against your neck, muffling a noise in your hair.
His hand sneaks under your hip, fingers skimming your waistband, “Want me to touch you?”
You hum a moan in response, hands flexing in his hold. You attempt to spread your legs slightly, even as he presses his clothed cock against your ass.
“Just say yes. Be a good girl for me. Say yes,” he urges as his hand dives into your bottoms.
“Yes,” you whine, hips lifting to ho help.
Jason, his weight, and his touch vanish the second the word leaves your mouth.
“See, it is that easy,” he says as he stands. You lay stunned on the floor and devastingly cold.
You roll over to sit up and glare at him, “Excuse me?”
“You said yes to doing the dishes,” he leans back against the counter of the island, staring smugly down at you where you sit on the floor.
“I-” you stutter and frown, then cross your arms, “Jason.”
“What? You did,” he grins, “you said yes, like a good girl.”
“I can’t- I'm done with you,” you pout, “No sex for a week.”
“What?” Jason seems to have finally caught your own urgency, “Why?”
You smack your hand on the floor, “Are you really asking me that?”
“Yes, I am,” he steps back towards, “You can’t do this to me, baby. It's not allowed.”
You're hauled from the floor and thrown over his shoulder, “Jason Todd, put me down!”
Jason drops you down on the couch and climbs on top of you. He pushes your thighs open and settles snug up against you, “I’ll do the dishes, just let me have you.”
“Really?” you brighten under him, at the chore no longer being yours. You happy shift to undo the button of your bottoms, rucking your shirt higher, “are you that easy?”
“You know I am, don't tease,” he drops against you, just as eager.
Hello! I love your writing so so much and I’m here to make a request for your drabble challenge! Can you do fluff with Jason Todd x Pregnant!Reader and reader is going through their old baby stuff and crying that they’re soon gonna have a baby so small?
Thank you for your time!
Thank you! I definitely wrote this with the Baby Bump universe in mind. I don't know if that was what you wanted. A fun fact about (that'll make sense while reading why I'm sharing) my mom is she didn't really hold onto baby items, but she did hold onto weird things. She still has my sisters' and my baby teeth. Also, my older sister's umbilical cord. Ah, parents. Please enjoy!
Kandy's writing challenge May 2026
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The nursery was nearly done to your joy, not that it mattered necessarily. You still had two months before your due date. It felt so far away and yet incredibly distant. Your parents had stopped by briefly on a long coastal road trip to drop off some items you didn’t know they had.
I kept them all, your mother had said, I know it's a bit strange and I never wanted you to feel forced into trying to have a baby, my sweet, so I never told you.
Baby clothes and toys. Two boxes full that Jason had happily moved from their car to the baby room while your parents awed and cooed at you in the living room. It's not that he was on bad terms with your parents. They were great, but they were traditional. You had no ring on your finger, but a baby on the way. They frowned about it but ultimately fawned over the idea of a new grandbaby.
Jason gives the crib a sturdy shake as he sets down his tools, “Think that’ll do it.”
You lift your head from where you were lying on your back on the floor. Not the optimal position for a pregnant woman, but it had felt somewhat comfortable. You watch him shake the crib again.
“Can you mimic if the baby thought it was a trampoline?” you question as you rub over your belly. You get a bump against your hand.
Jason snorts at your question but obliges in a show that makes you laugh, “I think it’ll last.”
“That's good,” you reach your hand towards him, “Help me. I’m a damsel in distress, and I can’t get up.”
“You're a real comedian, you know?” he replies as he leaves the crib to help you up. His hand curls around your back as he gently sits you up. “You want the chair?”
You nod at the idea. The new rocking chair, you hadn’t even gotten to sit in it yet. Just like sitting up, Jason helps you stand, keeping you steady. He keeps a hand on your back as he walks you to the chair. You smile at his worry, “I’m not broken. I can walk.”
“Can I not touch the mother of my child?” He teases back as you settle into the cushioned chair.
A sigh of relief leaves you, and you wave him off, “I guess, if you want to.”
“This is what I mean, comedian,” he says, kissing your forehead.
“Ha, Ha,” you mock, “Can I have one of the boxes?”
He lifts a brow, glancing at the mess of boxes in the room, “You gonna fold them up for me?”
You frown at him, feeling like he’s being mean before you look around the room too, “Oh, no, I mean the ones from my parents. I’ll unpack, and you put away?”
“You got it, sweetheart,” He easily moves one of the boxes in front of you, opening it up for you as well.
You don’t move for a moment, staring down at the items. A yellow and white floral onesie sits on top of the pile. It shows a little wear; one of the stitched flowers loose on the fabric. Overall, you are stunned by how small it was. One hand holds onto the sides of the box in awe at the item. Jason pulls open drawers in the new dresser beside you, clearly ready to fill it with baby clothes and ignorant of the well bubbling in your chest.
Your fingers finally grace the soft fabric. You know that the item has been worn before, whether that was by you, a cousin, or a niece, is unknown. None of it mattered any because it was little and now it was going to be worn by your baby. Your little girl. She was almost here, and she was going to be so small.
There's tears running down your cheeks before you can stop them, not that you could have tried anyway. A near sob escapes your throat as you pull one tiny little sock from the corner of the box, “Oh my god.”
Jason’s head snaps to you in worry, a spike in his chest that something had happened. But then he catches the onesie, the sock held in your hand, and then your bubblering face. He leaves the dresser to kneel beside you.
“Easy, mama. What’s the matter?” His hand slides to the back of your neck, massaging as you breathe out wobbly. Jason likes to think he’s gotten good at helping with your elevated emotions, but sometimes he just could not understand what was getting to you.
“They’re just so little,” you choke out. You pull a small pair of stretchy ‘jeans’ from the box and cry a little bit hard. You press your face to the few pieces of baby clothes in your hand.
Jason smiles fondly at your emotion. His hand slides over your swollen belly, and he’s sure what he’s about to say will make it worse, “That’s because she’s going to be little too.”
He was right. You drop the clothes to your lap and curl an arm around his neck in an awkward hug. You speak muffled against his neck and still very much crying, “I hate you.”
“I know, mama,” he coos affectionately, stroking up and down your back. You stay like that till your back hurts, pulling away with red eyes and a frown. You look like the prettiest, miserable person ever to Jason.
“What is it, honey?” he tucks your hair. You hold up the now-bundled clothes in your lap.
“These smell bad.” You don’t give him a choice on whether or not he actually wants to smell it, pressing it to his nose. He gently catches your wrist as he smells. His face scrunches dramatically at the musty scent. It makes you laugh. Your grin has him pushing his hand affectionately down your back again.
“Okay, Laundry first, then we're breaking in the new dresser,” he says, pushing your hand to drop the clothes back in the box.
You nod in agreement, wiping roughly at your under eye. He stills your movement and takes over, gently stroking across your cheeks until your tear free. He gives you a gentle kiss, “I love you, you know that, right?”
Your lip wobbles, waterline growing wet again, “I love you too.”
And now you're crying again. What was he going to do with you?
Could I please request this for your writing challenge!!
So a smut of DIKY Jason Todd x reader, and if you don't mind Jason has a breeding kink? And obvs some aftercare cuz reader is wrecked.
I just want some smut cuz I'm horny 😔😔
THANK YOU
So this is like way, way too long to be considered a drabble. I don't know what happened. Also its been a while since I've written smut, maybe that's why. I don't always love the way I write because I feel like it's too clinical. Anyway, I hope I did your request justice. Also, there's not really aftercare because it was long, and also, Jason discovered something about himself. Enjoy!
Warnings: SMUT, creampie, mating press, a moment of cowgirl, lots of talking (which was probably unnecessary), brief talk about children.
Kandy's writing challenge May 2026
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“Knock knock,” Jason calls out as he enters the dim apartment. It was a little late, but you said you'd wait up when he said he'd be back after a long mission. He doesn't get a response for a moment and wonders if you've fallen asleep despite your best efforts.
Then he hears a thunk, “Hold on, handsome! I'm coming!”
Jason grins at the sound of your giggles from the hallway. He’d missed you a lot more than he thought he would. But this was also the longest mission he’d gone on since moving out of the manor and into the apartment. He had decided he didn’t really like being that far from you for so long. He drops his bag and tugs his boots off.
You slip, and he means slip quite literally, into the entryway. You let out a startled shriek as you almost slide into the wall. You must have been in the bath if your wet skin meant anything, that and the robe. Jason almost loses it the second he sees you in that forbidden robe. The same one from a year or so ago when he, as Red Hood, helped you pick out your outfit for the not-a-date with Jason.
Sure, he had seen it offhand hanging in the bathroom, but he hadn’t thought much about it. You hadn’t really worn it yet, that is, until now. It looked just the same on you as before. The V of the neck sitting a little looser, inching to more cleavage, and the bottom hem… it made the same swishing motion, higher than lower as you walked more delicately closer.
Jason remembers vividly the first sexual fantasy he ever had about you and what caused it. Your bare legs on display that night, and then you in his red hood jacket the next morning. His mind had offered the perfect image that he guiltily held onto for months, you in nothing else but that jacket. He hadn’t told you that yet. He didn’t know if he should. You’d been so endearingly sweet about the whole virgin thing, eager to take it slow and learn each other's bodies and what you both liked. Jason doesn’t get long to gawk and imagine this time before you drag him into a hug.
“I missed you,” you mumble against his neck as you tug him closer. His body catches up before his mind does, already wrapping around you on instinct. His nose nudges just below your ear, eagerly basking in your scent.
“I missed you, too, sweetheart.” He tries to focus on anything else but his own raging hormones. He didn’t want to jump you the moment he got home. You were not helping, pressing your body up against him with a pleased hum.
“Did you get the photos?” you question, pulling back from him. The V of your robe slips wider. JAson stares at drop of water sliding down your neck. He twitches in his jeans before he meets your eye.
“With Claire, right?” he murmurs back, trying to contain himself from spilling his guts. The few photos you sent of holding the baby had sent him into a spiral. You looked good with a baby. You’d look good with your baby, with his baby.
He tried to ignore it. You two were nowhere near that. Still learning to be honest, still learning each other, even if it felt like you’d always been together sometimes. But the idea still nagged at the back of his mind and, to his surprise, his nether regions. He assumed it had to do with the idea of getting you pregnant and the process to get there.
“-day, I want a baby.”
Oh my god, you were trying to kill him. He gently nudges you back away from him more. He’d be mortified if you felt how hard he was already, “You want a baby?”
Your eyes widen, and you fluster at his words, “Jay, that’s not what I said. I said someday, I want a baby. I didn't mean now. I wouldn’t- that’s not- Why do you want one?”
The question is clearly a means to get the heat off of you, and it does, but not in the way Jason wants. He flushes at the caught question, “No.”
Your head tips and you stare at him, “... why’d you say it like that?”
“It’s nothing,” he pushes you more out of the way so he can trek into the apartment in shame, feeling guilty and weird about his new desire.
“Excuse me!” you huff as he moves, following after him. “Tell me. You know I won't tease!”
He shakes his head, “Don’t lie. I know you.”
“Jason”
“Jay”
“Jaybaby, please.”
He pauses in the middle of your shared bedroom. Heat in his belly and nowhere to run from your questions, “Fine.”
You squeal as you climb onto the bed. Jason flushes dark as you practically flash him, no care about what your robe exposes, which is fair. He has seen it all before. You stare eagerly at him, practically bouncing on the bed. Despite his embarrassment, he gets distracted. You're such a sight. How had he not kissed you yet?
His feet move and then his lips are on yours. You let out a startled noise, but kiss him back with little urging. Your hand slides into his hair, and he slowly presses you down onto the bed, climbing on top of you. Your tongues slide together, lips slick as your legs part without thought, welcoming him close to your heat.
“Oh!” your lips part from his in surprise. You grin, salacious, teasing, and sweet somehow, “Was it hard being away from me?”
Jason nips at your lip as you giggle. His hips settle down more, no longer hiding how hard he is. You squirm under him, nose scrunching. You let a breathless laugh that doesn’t help the situation for him. His lips find yours again, hard but not mean. He spills his feelings into it like always. He really had missed you, sexual things aside.
You slip easily under his touch. You stop wiggling, and your hands slide from his hair to ruck up his shirt. If there was one thing when it came to you, it's that Jason was a good listener. He helps pull the shirt off, and your hands claim the new territory. Jason flinches slightly.
“Jesus, your hands are cold,” he mutters against your lips before his mouth slides down to your neck.
Your breath hitches, and you tip your head back as you answer thoughtlessly, “Well, I’m wet.”
Jason barely contains a laugh against your skin, “Yeah, you're wet?”
He didn’t need to lift his head to witness your eye roll, accompanied by a smile. Ever since you’d both been more open about sex, you’d come to understand that Jason had the humor of a middle school boy about it.
“Shut up and touch me, please,” you huff, and Jason snorts against your skin again before his lifting his head.
His hand finds the collar of your robe. It already sits mostly open, your breast still hidden. Despite your demand, Jason still meets your eyes. You nod in answer to the silent question. His hand slides softly down your chest to undo the tie of the robe, and soon your bared to him entirely.
“Never gonna get used to this,” his hands slide across the bare skin of your stomach, up to cup your breasts. You arch gently into his. One of your hands covers his, urging more of his touch, before both your hands drop to his pants, undoing the button and fly.
“Me either,” you admit quietly as he helps you shimmy his jeans and boxers down. His weight presses back over you again. Your eyes flutter as he presses hot and hard against your cunt.
Your lips find each other again as he grinds slightly against you. His hand roams wherever it can touch, like he can't believe you're there, that you're his.
“I really did miss you,” he murmurs between kisses. You hum, enamored and the truth slips from his lips as it tends to with you, “think I want to get you pregnant.”
You freeze under him, both of you naked and bared to each other, but Jason feels more vulnerable than ever. This could make or break relationships, and youd both been through so much and-
“Do you have a breeding kink?”
The question throws him entirely, “What?”
Jason’s so stunned that he lets you maneuver him onto his back. You straddle him with odd efficiency, and then you settle, heavy on him. A groan escapes his throat, his hips buck, jolting you slightly. Your hands ease across his chest, affectionate against his Y-scar.
“Easy, Jay,” you whisper, your hips grind slightly, more like you're soothing rather than trying to get either of you off. He listens, mostly. His hands were already gripping your hips tight, not knowing when they’d made their way there.
“You want to knock me up, handsome?” you question softly.
Despite himself, he twitches between your thighs, “Don’t say it like that.”
You do a shimmy that makes his grip tighten, “I’m not mad, you know. We’re not- we should not have a baby right now.”
“Not at all,” he agrees immediately, and then he thinks about your earlier question, “What kink did you say I had?”
There was a brief discussion the first time you both had actual sex about things you would need to learn about each other, desires, and kinks. Jason didn’t think you’d spot them before he did.
“A breeding kink,” you murmur. Jason bites down a moan as you grind your hips against him again. He knows you're not really trying to fuck with him, knows that you like to keep your body aroused even when you're trying to have these important conversations, but it was really messing with him.
“Sweetheart, you’ve gotta stop doing that. Give me something at least,” he pleads, completely at your mercy.
Your hips still, and you bend over him slightly, “a breeding kink is when you want to stuff me full of your cum. Do you want that?”
“Holy fuck,” Jason groans as you hit the nail on the head. Jason's eyes flutter a moment before refocusing on you. You're grinning at him. Little devil. “You already knew this, didn’t you?”
Your hips wiggle and then lift for a moment, “I knew about the cum thing.”
Before Jason can complain about the movement, you're easing him into your slick entrance with caught breath. Jason’s fingers find your clit the second you sink down slightly. He muffles his own noises to watch you. It gets harder with each second as your warm heat sucks him in.
“Fuck your perfect,” he finally moans as your hips settle against his. You make a whine nose lower in your throat as you flutter around him, adjusting to the stretch. You don't move, the energy simply is not there yet.
Jason talks your focus from the feeling for a moment, “Is there more?”
Your eyes, lidded and heavy, find his again, “Is there more what?”
“Is there more to this breeding kink thing?” he asks, trying not to lose it there and then. His stamina had gotten better over the past few weeks of living together.
“Oh,” you sigh, shifting your hips with a light laugh, “You want to, um, you want to breed, get someone pregnant, so fuck as much cum into them as it takes.”
Jason can tell you're flustered by your own explanation. It was just part of your relationship, this dynamic, when it came to sex. It also didn’t help that you could read him for filth, “Is there anything special about it?”
“That’s a weird question.” Your hips finally lift, both of you moaning at the movement as you drop down.
Jason chase your movement with his own, hands on your hips to keep you higher, to press up into you, “and there’s an answer?”
“Fuck tonna kids usually,” a broken laugh escapes you as your brows pinch, head hanging as he nudges deep in you.
“Funny, baby, gimme something else,” Jason keeps going, chasing your warmth around him.
You stutter a moment before you manage, “there’s, like… positions.”
Jason stills, and you squirm trying to press down on him, but he keeps you up. You openly curse his strength. He ignores it, “Like this one?”
You give up fighting him, “It can be because you get, you know, pretty deep.”
Jason drops you on his cock. A sharp choke escapes you, nails biting into his chest as your eyes roll, “What is wrong with you?”
He just laughs, and you can’t decide if you like it when he’s more confident during sex. You don't have any time to recover before you're flipped back onto the bed with him still snug inside you. He grinds against you, coarse pubic hair rubbing against your clit. It makes you keen, chest pressing to his.
“Or is this one better?” he murmurs. Your mind tries to understand what he's asking, trying to focus on anything other than his nudging cock inside you. You blink up at him a moment. One of his hands comes up to push your hair from your face, “Talk to me.”
“It's close,” you manage, “ we just need to-”
You take in a breath. Focus. Jason kisses your cheek, your nose. Your eyes flutter, and he kisses your eyelid. He whispers against your skin, like you missed it the first time, “Talk to me.”
“Legs up,” you get out, which Jason finds entirely unhelpful. His hips still from their grinding, and you have a moment of respite and finally find a sentence, “Hold my knees.”
Jason lifts a brow and sets a hand on top of your knee by his hip. A startled laugh escapes you, making you unintentionally squeeze around him. His hand squeezes your knee, and it almost feels like a scold.
“Under, Jay,” you correct, “hook under and like push it towards my chest.”
“I don’t want to break you,” he replies, though his hand does slip under your knee, “are you that flexible?”
“Let's find out,” you urge because, honestly, you were eager to find out if this was any good, for you and for Jason. You’d known he had a thing for filling you up since the first time. Thank god for birth control.
He pushes your other knee up too, sliding out of you slightly as he adjusts. Then he leans over you. Your calves settle on his shoulders as he folds you in half. Your hips raise with the motion, and then he slides all the way back into you.
“Jason!” you whine-gasp. Your body seizes as he presses deeper than you’d felt him before. Your hands turn frantic, grabbing at his hair, his shoulders, his arms.
He doesn’t move, just stares down at you, searching for a sign of hurt, “Is it okay?”
“Fuck, move,” your eyes water slightly from being so full and gaining no movement, “please.”
“Yeah?” his hips pull back, timid and unsure, and you have to remind yourself that Jason was still new to these things.
“Feels good,” you press out, “your so- so deep, Jay, can feel you against my cervix.”
The phrase must work for him and his newfound breeding kink. His hips pull back with a moan and snap back into you. You cunt squeezes him for it as he pushes back in.
Three weeks ago, he would’ve cum on the spot. Not this time, no, he was going fuck you this time in this position. He doesn’t know if it's your words or the way you're fluttering already, but Jason feels suddenly feral. His hips pull and snap back. Your head falls back, eyes sliding shut. Jason leans down on you more, your knees pushing to your shoulders as he finds a pace.
You whine and whimper so beautifully. Jason watches your chest glisten with leftover water and the start of sweat. He doesn’t know how he got so lucky to find someone so forgiving and sweet.
“Sweetheart,” he groans as his hips stutter slightly, fighting himself, “Tell me what you need.”
One of your shaky hands finds his. Your calf slips from his shoulder, knee settling into the crook of his arm to give him space as you guide him between you. Jason huffs at himself. One of these times, he’s not going to ask. Most of the time, this is what you want.
You let out a pitchy moan the second his thumb presses to your bundle of nerves, rubbing tight circles over it. Your hips buck, despite having nowhere to go, pinned under his weight. You clamp around him, warm and wet. He fucks into you harder for it.
“Come on, sugar,” he rumbles, trying to focus. Your eyes snap to his, and he knows he’s got you. It was just a name, but you claimed he only used it during charged moments. You also claimed it had an effect on you. You squeeze tighter. He rubs clit faster. Your eyes flutter.
“Jay, Jace, Jay, fuck.” Your thighs shake against his chest, “Please!”
Jason’s hips speed up slightly, his own thighs shaking, “Come on, you can do it, sugar. You can cum, and I'll fill you right up, stuff you full.”
Jason felt embarrassed by his words, feeding his own fantasy, but the thought disappeared because you're coming. You arch under him, sucking him deeper into your spasming hole as you let out a long whine. Your nails drag down his biceps, red welts trailing behind.
He’s right behind you, considering he was barely holding on in the first place. You squeezed him like a vice, and he did exactly what he said he would, his hips stuttering twice before he stills entirely, filling you up. His head drops to your chest with a whimper. You always felt like heaven, but what the fuck was that?
Your chest heaves against his forehead as you both stay quiet for a moment, catching your breath. Then your hand slides in his hair as you mutter, “You definitely have a breeding kink.”
Jason rubs at your clit once, making you flinch under him, squeezing him again. You smack his shoulder, “Don’t do that.”
Jason thinks he will be doing that again, only because he can feel your mixed release attempting to leak out around him. He pushes up off of you to get a view. Your legs slide from his shoulders and arms to simply spread. His eyes snap to you as you whimper and tense up.
“Are you hurt?” he asks, suddenly worried.
You shake your head, “It's not- just achey, in my hips. ‘m fine.”
“Yeah?” his hands drop to massage your hips, “So this is only a sometimes thing then?”
His eyes drop unintentionally to where you're connected. He forgets what you were talking about as he pulls back out. His massage on your hips turns to a grip as you wiggle. He pushes back with barely silenced noise. Fuck, he was sensitive, but he had a great view, cum pushing out of you.
“Jason,” you whine in complaint, shuddering, “Stop it.”
“Sugar,” he murmurs as he grinds slightly.
You shake your head, as if that would deter him. Your eyes meet his for a moment as you feel him twitch inside you, “You're joking? Are you getting hard already?”
He flusters, “No.”
“I can feel you, Jaybaby,” you poke the bear with a smile, “It's the cum, isn’t it? Wanna keep me stuffed?”
Jason drops his face to your neck with a groan as you laugh. You were definitely abusing this newfound kink.
In DIKY do you think Wally ever pulled up with old photos of our younger self and theres one photo where we’re with our sister and Jason would see a side of us he’s never seen before?
Also i yearn for more big brother Wally moments
I finally finished it! I do think it could've been a bit more Wally-centered, but oh well. He's definitely being an annoying big brother in this. Hope you enjoy!
Do I Know You? Masterlist (DIKY)
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Wally had searched for you everywhere. Mostly. He liked your new apartment, but it was missing you. He checked that new job you had before doing a run-through of the entire city. He finally admitted defeat and made his way to Wayne Manor. It's not that he didn’t like going to the manor. Alfred seemed to always be prepared for a speedster stomach, but sometimes he still got the heebie jeebies around the family. How do they disappear faster than him?
He chose to knock on the front door this time. With any luck, you wouldn’t even be there. Which would be unfortunate, but he could just leave the box of your stuff at your new apartment and leave you a message.
“Mr. West? To what do we owe the pleasure of you knocking?” Alfred steps aside, letting him.
Wally just laughs as he steps in, holding the box up higher, “Delivery.”
Evidently, you were out with the girls, but Jason was the default contact. He had brought you to the manor and was waiting for you to come back. Wally still didn’t like it, that you were dating Jason, that you were living together. He had complained to Linda about it, and what she’d said only made him terrified.
“It’s just training for when Jai and Irey are older. You may not like who they date but you have to let them, especially if they’re happy.”
The idea of his babies dating was not something he liked to think about, but he understood what she meant. You were happy with Jason, and that was what mattered. That’s why he was bringing this box of your stuff now. He had held onto it for the last few years, things your parents were going to throw out soon after the accident and the move. Luckily, Iris had seen it and had Barry pick it up rather discreetly. Wally wanted to wait to give it to you because it was things from your bedroom that you shared with Natalie. He didn’t want to bring up any sore feelings when you were still in a dark spot.
You were better now, in a better place, physically and mentally. You should have all of it. So there he was with Jason Todd and a nosy Damian Wayne, not so subtle looking through the box.
“What’s that?” Domain asks for the fifth time. Wally knows that Dick loves Damian, that the boys been through a lot, but he was ready to kick the kid out.
“I don’t know,” Wally answers the same way he had the last four times, without looking up from where he was sitting, flipping through a photo album. He hadn’t really looked at any of the stuff while it was sitting in his attic, but now he wishes he had. There were photos in this album he hadn’t seen before. Most of them, he remembers when they were taken. You may have been his little stalker when you were twelve, but the underlying friendship had stuck through your high school years. This album was a show of that.
“We’re home!” Steph’s voice rings from the front door. They all perk up at the sound, and things are shoved less than discreetly back into the box. The door from the kitchen into the dining room swings open. You have a wide grin on your lips that Wally hasn’t seen in years, bags eagerly placed on the dining table by the box.
“You’ve been driving,” Wally comments, leaning back in his chair. All three of you girls freeze.
You let out an awkward chuckle, “What?”
“Don’t ‘what’ me. I’ve got two kids that are troublemaking speedsters, and I got you out of being arrested multiple times.”
“Bullshit,” you brows pinch in offence, “I never got caught.”
“What are we referring to?” Damian suddenly seems very interested in the topic at hand.
Before you can cover yourself, Steph is throwing any attempt to hide out the window, “She used to be a street racer, and wow is she good!”
“Stephanie!” you scoff, now caught and slightly flustered.
“What? It's true!”
Wally gives you an unimpressed look, “So you were driving.”
“Yes,” you answer, a little glum before your eyes find Jason and follow his arm down to where it rests on the box. You change the subject, “What’s that?”
You step closer into Jason's space, and Wally doesn’t stop the eye roll when you kiss Jason on the cheek, giving him a half-hug as you pry the lid off the box. Nosey before you know it’s yours, the Waynes were rubbing off on you.
Your eyes widen in surprise, “Oh my god!”
You pull out a small teddy bear, holding it gently, nearly cradling it. Your eyes water slightly, and the room tenses. Wally pushes up out of his seat, “No, don’t cry.”
“West, I will cry if I want to,” you sniffle but smile.
The tension eases, and Damian is back to questioning, “What is that?”
“This is Graham… He was Natalie’s teddy bear.” A quiet settles at your words, but you continue, “I stole it from her when she was pretty little and lied about it being mine. She was easy to convince.”
You laugh softly, petting the bear before setting it aside to pull more things from the box, “Where did you find this stuff?”
There's an edge to the question Wally didn't like. He didn't know the details of your relationship with your parents, but he'd been at Natalie's funeral. He'd heard what your mom said to you.
“Just had it up in my attic, don't remember how it ended up there,” He tells you. The look you give him is one of gratitude and disbelief, but you don't argue.
Your focus returns to the box. You gasp as you pull out the album, pushing the box aside to sit. You get a crowd around you, though you don't seem to mind.
“Oh my god,” You laugh as you open up the book. It started fairly early, pictures Wally had seen hanging in your house growing up. You and Natalie in diapers, playing in mud, a dog he never knew. Despite your surprise audience, you happily share stories with plenty of the photos. At one point, the photos turn a little more blurry and at strange angles.
“What’s happening with the photos?” Steph asks, her head tipping to look at them.
You turn to grin at Wally, “You remember that old camera that Natalie carried around?”
Wally laughs, “How could I? It was impossible to escape her need for a photo.”
You turn back to your audience, “she wanted to be a photographer when she got older. She had these big plans of traveling everywhere and making a big album about the world.”
Your head dips to stroke a photo of you and Natalie, a shaky selfie on a camera not built for it. Wally’s hand finds your shoulder, and you give him a grateful smile. Unlike everyone else looking over the photos, Wally knew Natalie. He knew what she was like; she would tell anyone she could about her future plans. She knew what she wanted; it made that little permanent pit in your chest ache at knowing she wouldn’t get it. You let out a shaky breath as you flip the page.
You promptly smack a hand over a photo, rushing to try and flip the page again with a loud, “Anyway!”
“You can’t do that!” Wally grabs at your hand than at the book when you fight.
“Yes, I can! It’s mine,” you try to close the book on his hand.
Jason and Steph share questioning looks at the speedster fighting you over a photo album. Jason speaks up, not stepping in to help, “What’s happening?”
You’ve already slid down in your chair. The album has Wally’s hand trapped where you closed the book, but he seems undeterred as his free hand somewhat attempts to pull the whole thing from your grip by the spin.
“Come on, sunshine! You gotta show ‘em. Its part of who you are,” Any other circumstance, Wally know you would take it to heart, but he catches a feirce determination on your face. Oh, you really didn’t want them to see the phase you went through.
Usually he wouldn’t abuse his powers for something like this, but he really wanted to embarrass you in front of your boyfriend now. You embarrassed him plenty of times when he was first trying to get together with Linda. This was only payback.
The book disappears and so does Wally from his seat beside you. You push up to sit straight and stare, stunned that he would use his powers. His voice erupts from beside you, “Here we go, for everyone’s viewing pleasure.”
You twist in your seat with mortification as Wally holds the album up for everyone to see. You sink back into your chair as Wally grins at you.
“You went through an emo phase!” Steph shrieks in delight. You sink more, wondering if you could slip under the table unnoticed and melt into the floor.
“Is that a tattoo?” Jason questions, “You don't have a tattoo.”
Wally answer for you in great delight, “It's fake one! You knew the ones you get wet and it sticks to skin.”
“Wally!” you huff. You can’t believe him. You’re so embarrassed about the whole thing.
Jason meets your eye over the album and smiles. Thankfully its not in tease, “You were so cute, sweetheart.”
“And I’m not now?” you question with a pout, trying to gain his affection and distract him from the album.
He shakes his head, seeing right through you, “Your still cute now, but I’m still looking.”
You sink back down in your chair while everyone coos at your younger self. Wally, unwelcomly, offers stories with more detail than you like. As annoyed and embarrassed you felt, there was that same fondness you’ve had for Wally sense forever. Plus there was the great addition of hearing stories with Natalie in them. Your memories of her weren’t always what you wanted them to be, drowned by grief and pain and gotham experimentation. It was nice to hear about her.
Wally stayed for longer than you think he planned, going through more of the stuff in the box before he was called away for dinner at home. He drew you into a long hug, “Are you okay?”
“Me?” you pull back with a question.
“Yeah, you. Who else?” he snorts before turning serious again, “I know a lot of that stuff belongs to you and Natalie. I don't want to stir up any bad feelings.”
You shake your head, “It's fine, better than fine. I’m so happy you brought this stuff. That you had it.”
Wally thinks you know, with the way you look at him, that it wasn’t a random coincidence he had your stuff. He drags you back into a hug again, “You know you're always welcome with us back in Central City, even just to visit. You can stay with Linda and me, or I’m sure Barry and Iris would love to have you.”
You shake your head, not pulling back from the hug this time, “Too close, I… I’m not ready yet to go back.”
“Okay,” Wally pushes you back to squeeze your shoulders, “I'm a phone call away. If you don't lose your phone, or it gets stolen by kidnappers, or-”
“Shut up and go home,” you laugh, pushing him away this time.
He lifts his hands in defense, “Fine, fine. Bye sunshine!”
