If you were to ask most sane people, a relationship between a hacker with a penchant for breaking the law and an FBI agent shouldn’t work. And yet, you and Benjamin Poindexter just seem to…well, work. You get each other. You love each other. In fact, it doesn’t take much to see that your boyfriend is completely and utterly obsessed with you.
Unfortunately, Wilson Fisk sees this too, and it isn’t long before it becomes clear just how far Dex is willing to go to keep you with him. And, after tragedy strikes, how far he’ll go to get you back.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Murder (I mean, it's Bullseye), Blood, Dex is down so bad guys, Smut!!, Unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it), Slight knife play, Slight gun play, Reader matches Dex’s freak, Vague mentions of mental illness (it's Dex), Angst, Canon-compliant character death, Please please let me know if I forgot anything!
Author's Note: And here we have the longest fic I've ever written! I loved writing these two so much that I'm almost sad to post it because I don't get to work on it anymore. Be warned that this fic is going to follow the events of Daredevil season 3 through Born Again season 2, so there will definitely be spoilers! As always, let me know what you guys think!! Your feeback brings me joy and keeps me writing!!
Word Count: 22k
-
It’s almost painfully cliche, how he meets you.
You slam into him, head banging against his shoulder so hard that it might bruise. So hard that your phone clatters to the ground in a chaotic little cacophony of plastic on pavement.
“Shit!” Your voice is a sharp cry in the crowded street, but no one really turns around for this kind of thing in New York. No one offers much more than a backwards glance and a raised eyebrow. He just wanted a damn coffee, and now his shoulder is aching and he’s about to whip around to snap at you for-
Your palm is pressed against your forehead, and your eyes are squeezed shut. You’re in a sweatshirt and jeans. There are subtle bags under your eyes from what he can only assume is a lack of sleep. Your sneakers are worn. There is almost nothing about you that should be in any way memorable.
One eye peeks open, and his heart…stutters.
“I’m sorry. Shit. You okay?”
His heart stops.
He isn’t sure why. He can’t exactly place it, but it’s just…there you are. Running right into him like that. Asking if he’s okay when you look like his shoulder bone might have fucking concussed you.
He reaches down, picks up your phone, and offers it to you.
“I’m fine.” He says, softer than he means to, and you open your other eye.
“Are you made of concrete or something?” You huff a laugh, accept your phone, and slide it into your pocket. He’s staring too hard. He needs to break the gaze but it feels impossible and wrong to even try.
“Not that I know of.”
A feeling like desperate need claws its way up his throat when you smile again. When you laugh at his words like you really hear them. He doesn’t know exactly what it is he needs, but it’s overwhelming to the point of near-pain.
“I’m sorry about that.” You say again, and you mean it. “If I left a bruise, don’t sue me.” You glance down, notice the badge clipped to his belt. “Or…arrest me.”
He can’t remember how to speak. How to breathe right. But he needs to act…normal. He can’t just yank you to him in the middle of the street, bury his nose in your neck and inhale your perfume. Not like he wants to.
The world is narrowed down to a pinpoint. The crowded, chaotic streets of the city are gone. The honking of taxis, the bustle of people trying to get to their destinations, the towering buildings, it’s all gone. It’s just you, and your smile, and your eyes looking up at him.
His smile twitches a little before it finally forms on his lips, lopsided and genuine. You relax at the sight of it.
“Don’t have my cuffs on me, so I guess you’re safe.” And you smile at the joke, and it’s perfect.
He’ll buy you coffee. He’ll talk to you. He’ll make you smile more.
Your phone dings, and you curse as you glance down at it. “Shit. I gotta go.” You murmur, shooting one more apologetic glance up at him. “Sorry again. Really.”
“It’s…okay.” But it’s not. You can’t leave. You can’t walk away from him he just found you he’s not done-
But you’re gone, and your sudden absence shudders his breath and makes his chest feel too tight. No. No, you need to be here. With him. He just found you. You can’t leave.
He doesn’t move for a good few seconds, frozen in place as the noise and chaos crashes back in, crippling and horrible.
The bell to the coffee shop dings. There. That’s where you are. Where you’re going. Not gone. Not too far for him to find again.
He waits sixty seconds, counts his breaths, and follows.
-
“Yikes, what happened to you?”
You’re rubbing your forehead. You’re hurt. His shoulder hurt you. The dull ache in the spot where you slammed against him feels like a connection. A tether holding you to him.
“Too embarrassing.” You grumble, but he can hear a hint of humor and familiarity in your voice. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Well now I have to know.” You smile at the blond man. Nelson. The lawyer. Dex knows about him. Are you with him, somehow? Is Nelson trying to take you away from him?
You huff a laugh, and plop down unceremoniously into the opposite chair, still rubbing your forehead. “I was trying to respond to your millionth text, and I just absolutely slammed into this smoking hot FBI guy.”
“FBI?” Nelson repeats, but you said hot. You called him hot. He’s so distracted by that that he barely hears your next words, dripping with sarcasm as you pull one foot up onto the chair and wrap your arms around your knee.
“Yeah, and then I told him all about my extra curricular activities, and my home address.”
“Your jokes aren’t as funny as you think they are, you know.”
“Neither are yours, and we’re still friends.” You accept the cup of coffee Nelson slides your way, and Dex’s heart stutters again as you smile over the rim of the mug.
“So, speaking of which…”
“I knew it. I knew it. You never just wanna hang out and get coffee.”
“We hang out and get coffee all the time.”
“The ratio is off, lately. You ask for favors more since you went into that corporate law job. Now your pro-bono work always goes through me and all my incredible skills like some dirty little secret.”
Pro-bono work. Secrets. What do you do? You’re kind. You’re good. He can feel it. Sense it like second nature. But the questions and lack of answers are making him grip his own mug a little tighter, making it difficult for him to lean back in the shadows and hide like he’s supposed to.
Nelson looks sheepish, but you give a good natured wave of your hand. A silent ‘go on’ gesture that Dex can’t help but find painfully charming.
“I have a case. This guy…” Nelson slides a file towards you, “didn’t do it. Works for a big company, going down for financial crimes that he didn’t commit. They’re trying to cover their tracks, and a little bit of proof might keep him from missing his kids’ elementary school graduation.” You raise an eyebrow, and Nelson smiles a little. “And middle school. And high school. And…college. The point is they’re gonna try to put him away for a long time, and he didn’t do it.”
You squint, and slide the file closer to yourself. “Financial crimes?”
“Just saying, a little bit of…evidence towards his innocence will really help.”
“Hm.”
“And it shouldn’t be a problem for the best hacker in New York.”
You raise an eyebrow again.
“Okay, the east coast.”
Your eyebrow climbs higher.
“America?”
You grin, and Dex twitches with the need to be closer to you. To see that grin directed at him.
“You’re gonna have to start paying me soon.”
“And if I do, it becomes illegal.”
You tilt your head back again, puff out a dramatic sigh, and curl your fingers around the file.
“I want one of your mom’s sandwiches, at two am. The one with the provolone that I like.”
Nelson grins, wide. “Done and done.”
And then, you tilt your head back towards Nelson. “Does this have anything to do with Fisk?”
Fisk. Fisk? That asshole? That annoying detail he’s about to be stuck on?
“Wilson Fisk?”
“No, the other one. The other crime boss who just got out of prison and has a bone to pick with you.”
Nelson rolls his eyes. “Still not funny.”
“Foggy.”
He hesitates, and frowns. “No. But don’t…just stay away from that, okay? We’ll figure it out. You getting involved, especially with your tendency to…piss people like that off…”
“I haven’t been caught.”
“You will be, if you keep up that little Robin Hood act you have going on. There’s only so much legal counsel I can give you. This is extra legal council. I should be charging you for this.”
“Those companies don’t notice any money missing. You know who does? Mr. Stevenson next door, who can pay off his damn bills and not have to work an extra six hours a day to afford medication for his bad leg.” Your tone is sharp. Defensive.
So you’re a criminal. A good one. Because stealing from the rich and giving to people who need it… that’s good. His own moral compass might be a little off-kilter, but he knows that much.
Then again, you could be a serial killer and he would probably still feel this way, but oh well.
Foggy frowns, like this is a conversation you’ve had many times before, and gives you a familiar little nod, like he knows arguing won’t get him too far. “Just…don’t get involved, okay? Stay away from it. This is more dangerous than you think.”
“Vague.” You grumble, but you’re sliding the file into your bag. “Sandwich with the provolone, three am.”
“You said two.”
You stand, finish your coffee, and smile. “This one’s gonna take a while.”
-
Watching you work is…fascinating.
It’s a slow process, Dex realizes quickly. You don’t click at your keyboard and bust through firewalls like in movies. You lay on your couch, bite your nails, and seem to work through problems one by one. It takes a while. It frustrates you. It makes you smile to yourself when you solve one of those problems.
You get your sandwich. You talk to Nelson for a while. Update him. Get back to work.
The sun is going to rise, soon. You’re still working. His eyes are starting to hurt from watching you through this telescope, but he can’t make himself look away.
When you move to the kitchen, you slide on the hardwood in your socks. You play music. You tap your fingers on your keyboard to the beat.
He watches every second. Every single twitch of your eye. Every frown when you can’t figure something out. Every bright little spark when you do figure it out.
Perfect. You’re perfect. And when you finally do fall asleep, computer resting on your stomach and eyes dropping closed like they’re weighed down by anvils, he wants more than anything to make his way into that dingy little apartment and carry you to your bed in the adjacent room. To slide his fingers through your hair, feel you smile, and listen to your heartbeat until he’s positive that nothing will ever be able to take you away from him.
But for now, he watches. He stays, long after you’ve fallen asleep, and he watches.
-
It takes planning. It takes hours of working himself up to it. Of watching you from afar, plotting every scenario out bit by bit and talking himself out of it a thousand times.
You consume his thoughts like a poison. He follows you to your work. Back to your apartment. Watches every interaction you have with everyone else and wishes it was him you were looking at until he stops fucking sleeping with the need to have you near him.
So, when the torture becomes too much, he follows you to a bar, and he sits in the corner, and he watches you laugh with your friends. Watches and watches and craves to be closer to the light that seems to emanate from your very being.
And he gets up at just the right time, and allows you to bump into him as you start walking back towards the group you came with.
Not a single drop of his drink spills on him - he’s still a little too organized to allow that to happen if he can help it - but he makes it look like it does. He catches your waist as you stumble with an ‘oomph’, and just like that you’re close to him. You’re touching him. He’s touching you. You’re here. With him.
“Oh, fuck. Sorry. Sorry.” You’re not drunk, barely even buzzed, but he knows you well enough now to know that you’re just a little clumsy, and this place is just loud enough for this to work.
Your eyes turn up to his, and you nearly stumble back.
Practiced smile. Fingers curling against your back a little because he just can’t help it. “We’ve gotta stop bumping into each other like this.” He’s practiced that line in the mirror, and it works. You laugh.
You laugh. At his joke. At his line that he’s practiced for this specific scenario. It worked.
“I know you.” You grin, wide, and then flinch a little, but you’re still laughing. “Have I said I’m sorry yet?”
“You did.” He has to let you go. He would rather die, but he can’t be holding you like this. You don’t know him yet. Not yet. “Never got your name, though.”
“I never got yours. Figured you hated me for dislocating your shoulder.”
“Dex.”
“Dex.” You repeat, and his blood hums in his veins at the sound. “Nice to meet you, Dex.”
“Nice to meet you…public hazard.” Lame joke. Bad joke. He just can’t string a fucking thought together when you’re near him and-
You snort. His heart bursts into flames.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Fuck. It’s too soon. Way too soon. You’re gonna say no, and leave, and he’s-
“Yeah.” You set your drink down. “Yeah, I do.”
-
“So…hobbies?” You take a bite of your pizza, heels clicking against the pavement, and he can’t stop looking at you.
“Not really.”
“Hm.” You don’t seem bothered by it. By his lack of interesting traits. He’s not lying to you. He doesn’t have to. You’re meant to be together, after all. He doesn’t have to lie about himself. Right? “Okay. Any special skills then, Special Agent?”
Actually, yeah. “I have one.”
You perk up, raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
He grins, real and genuine, and pulls a quarter out of his back pocket. “Think you’re ready for it?”
“Nah.” He flips the coin over his fingers, feigns pocketing it again. “Don’t think you are.”
“Aw, come on. Please?”
Butterflies swarm in his chest. A smile curls on his lips. He nods towards the darkened street before you. “Pick somethin’.”
You frown, cock your head to the side, and purse your lips when he doesn’t budge to give you any more information. “Okay….street sign. That one right there.”
“Letter.”
“What?”
“Pick a letter.”
Your brow furrows a little more, and your lips twitch in a smile. “T.”
The throws the quarter out, and the sound of metal on metal sings through the air.
There’s a dent in the T. It’s so small, so subtle, that you have to move over to the sign to inspect it.
“Holy shit.”
Do you like it? Are you impressed? He has to stop himself from grabbing your shoulder and demanding to know.
“Can you do it again?”
Yes. Yes of course he can. He’ll do anything. Anything to make you look at him with those wide eyes and that big grin.
You name five more things, he hits them all perfectly, and he doesn’t want to stop. He wants to keep impressing you. Keep hearing your startled noises of approval.
But you make it back to your apartment, and he has to force himself to let you leave. To not follow you upstairs and learn every inch of your skin until it’s locked into his memory forever.
Instead, he asks you to dinner, and you agree. You smile, and you agree.
-
He kisses you for the first time on your second date. Dinner and ice cream.
He’s walked you to your door, like he did the last time, and you’re standing there in your dress with that smile of yours and your eyes looking expectantly into his and he doesn’t know how to do this right. Sure, there have been women in the past. He’s kissed girls. Slept with them when the time was right, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and never really…felt anything. Never wanted anything like this. Fuck, he feels more excitement just looking at you than he did with every hookup he’s ever had.
He has to do it. Make it romantic. Make it perfect. He’s looked up the right way to do this. Studied romantic movies like it was some kind of assignment with life-or-death consequences.
Reach up, brush your hair behind your ear, drink in your shy smile, lean closer so his breath ghosts over your lips-
“You have ice cream on your nose.”
He freezes, fingers still cupping your jaw, and pulls back.
“What?”
You giggle, oblivious to how much his mind is spinning, and reach up to swipe it off with your thumb.
“Shit.” He mumbles, shaking his head and stepping back. “Shit. I’m sorry. I-“
You tilt your head to the side, curious and confused and beautiful as you seem to realize that he’s actually freaking out a little. Because it’s not perfect. It was supposed to be perfect because that’s the only way he gets to keep good things. Order. Focus. But he fucked it up and now you’re-
“Woah, hey. Hey.” You reach up, and turn his face towards yours. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it was cute. Just…try again.”
Try again. Yeah, he…he can try again. It can still be good. Still be perfect.
So he does. He leans down, and when his lips brush yours his breath comes out as a shaky exhale.
And then your mouth is on his, warm and soft and everything he’s ever wanted. Electricity shoots down his spine, through his blood, and some tether of control within him snaps. He presses closer, the hand on your cheek moving to the back of your head to keep you in place, and kisses you like he’s trying to devour you with a passion he didn’t know he possessed.
You gasp against his lips, arms coming up to wrap around his neck as you meet him with just as much enthusiasm. Just as much hunger. And this…this is perfect. This is rough and desperate and perfect. This didn’t need to go according to plan. This is so much better than the plan.
When you finally break apart, he’s out of breath and more than a little pleased to see that you are, too.
“Wow.” You whisper, and he grins as his nose ducks back down to brush against yours.
“Yeah.” He breathes, unable to think of another response. Any other word to describe this feeling. “Wow.”
-
When you see the caller id, you can’t help but smile at the screen.
“Geez, you look so weird with the cartoon heart eyes.” Foggy’s voice breaks you out of your little trance, and you snort as you answer the phone, confirming that Dex is off work and headed back to his apartment. You feel a twinge of excitement, cheesy as it is, at the idea of seeing him soon. You try not to flag down the bartender too quickly, lest the mockery get any worse.
“FBI guy?” Foggy raises an eyebrow, and you smile again.
“His name is Dex.” Foggy’s eyebrows rise even higher. You flush. “I dunno, I like him. A lot, actually.”
“He’s in the FBI. You’re a pretty notorious hacker.”
“So we don’t talk about work.” You take a sip of your drink. “Plus, he’s not gonna turn me in. I’m too good in bed.”
“But he knows?”
“Of course he knows.” You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward like you’re explaining something imperative. “One you start having sex with someone, it’s important that you confess all of your crimes to each other.”
Foggy laughs, and shakes his head. “You’re insane.” And then, curious and caring as ever, “so what’s he like, if he’s got you risking federal prison?”
Your smile returns, cheeks heating a little, and you shrug. “Cute. Nice. A little weird. Well, actually a lot weird, but…I like it.” You think about the precise way Dex loads the dishwasher. How he carefully makes the bed every morning. How he makes an odd joke every now and then, and then looks absolutely panicked until you laugh, and that panic will always melt into an expression of relief and adoration.
Sometimes his emotions are a little…intense. He can get frustrated, and sometimes he doesn’t seem like he knows how to handle it. But you help. You always do. You tell him to breathe and help him work through whatever’s bothering him, and it works. He always listens. Always tries, even if it takes a moment.
You just…work. Something about you, and something about him, and all the weirdness in between…it works.
When you get back to his place tonight, he’s holding a bouquet of flowers and looking genuinely nervous.
“I don’t get this.” He admits before you even drop your keys onto the counter, frowning down at the colorful petals. “They’re just gonna die in a couple of days.”
“Then why did you get them?”
He cocks his head to the side, but you can see a tinge of pink on his cheeks. “They did it in the movie we watched last night. You smiled.”
You smile now. Wide. “You know, you’re kinda cute, Poindexter.”
Something like vulnerability sparks in his eyes. “Do you not like the flowers?”
You snort, and move forward to slide your hands up over his shoulders, feeling the crisp fabric of his white button-down against your palms. “I like them. You did good. Really good.”
He smiles at that, like those words are the best thing he’s ever heard, and you pull him down to kiss you.
Your conversation with Foggy flashes through your mind. You forgot to tell him that one thing. That one major reason why you like Dex. Why you’re with him.
You get him. And he gets you.
You just…work.
-
The newspaper sits on the counter, Dex’s picture stamped right on the front page. FBI investigates one of their own.
You try not to talk about work with him. After all, you’re technically a criminal and he’s in law enforcement. But you knew about the investigation. It’s unjust, Dex says, and you believe him because…well, of course you do. It’s Dex. He saved lives that night, and the few coworkers of his that you’ve met since you’ve been dating have confirmed it.
And then the suspension came.
“It’s bullshit. It’s fucking bullshit.” In what feels like only a few words, his voice morphs from a frustrated growl into something as sharp and loud as the crack of a whip. His hand moves faster than you can even register, and in a split second there’s a kitchen knife sticking out of a photo on the wall. Right in the forehead of the person you recognize as his boss.
“Shit, I keep forgetting how spooky that is.” You breathe, and Dex’s eyes whip back to yours.
“Breathe, Poindexter.” You raise your hands in surrender, and step ever-so-carefully forward, like one wrong move might frighten him off.
“Don’t.” He snaps, fingers curling on the counter, but his eyes don’t leave you. He’s breathing too heavily. Too raggedly.
You reach up, and turn his face down to yours. Gentle, but firm. “You gotta breathe. Tell me three things you can see.”
He freezes, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to tell if you’re kidding or not, before he speaks. “Your eyes.” He finally says, voice softening a little with each word. “Your nose…your mouth.”
Okay, it’s usually supposed to be things around the room, but this works too.
“Three things you can feel?”
He blinks, eyes still fixed on you, and raises one hand to your cheek. “Your skin.” He leans closer, helplessly. His hand moves up to your hair, curling a lock of it around his finger. “Your hair…” his free hand drops to your waist, bunching in the fabric of your borrowed t-shirt. “Your shirt.”
“Your shirt, technically.”
He grunts, and buries his nose in your temple.
“Three things you can hear.”
“Your voice.” You hum in response, and he presses closer. “Your heartbeat. Your breathing.”
You nod, and reach up to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. He holds you a little more tightly. “Your breathing is better, see?”
He nods, and pulls back to kiss you. It’s slow, hard and desperate, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. You pull him closer, and he makes a soft noise against your lips before he lifts you up and carries you over to the counter.
“Do you feel better?” You ask against his lips, feeling his fingers push the hem of your shirt up so he can trace them over your skin.
“I’m still being framed.” He murmurs, pulling back to trail his lips over the line of your jaw. “It’s still bullshit.”
“I know.”
“You make it better.” His hands move up, higher, warming the bare skin of your back. “You make everything better.”
“Hell of a compliment.”
“I mean it.”
“Me too.”
You kiss him again, feel him press his body closer to yours until your fingers are moving up to fumble with the buttons of his dress shirt and his are sliding your t-shirt up over your head. Moving down to skate over the hem of your underwear.
“Bedroom?” You breathe, and he shakes his head, lips never leaving your body for a second as he lowers himself to his knees right there before the counter.
“Here.” He rasps, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and pulls you to the edge of the counter in one sharp movement that has you locking your fingers in his cropped hair. “Please.”
“That’s my line, I think.” You’re breathless, his lips are trailing higher.
“No, it’s not.” His blue eyes are on yours, filled with something so much like worship that it halts your breath in your lungs. “It’s mine.”
-
“One more.”
The word is warm and sweet in your ear, a low hum paired with wandering hands and a soft, languid kiss to your jaw.
You snort, and you can feel him grin against your ear.
“I think one more will kill me.” You murmur, feigning misery, and his hand slides down over your hip, teasing. “Seriously, how do you have so much stamina?”
“Mm, it’s just you.” He murmurs, and trails his fingers over your stomach. “I can go all night.”
“We have gone all night.”
It’s been hours since he snapped in the kitchen, and your brain has become too mushy to even remember when the two of you migrated into his room. The problem with Dex’s…ability, is that he really never misses. He can take you apart almost embarrassingly quickly, immediately finding every spot and movement that has you seeing stars. And, with his obsessive personality, he has a tendency to try to one up himself. A lot. To see how many times he can make you fall apart until your legs are shaking and you’re spending the next day aching in all the best ways.
Which is why you’re pretty sure, even as his fingers find the apex of your thighs once more and he swallows your gasp with a smile against your lips, that he’s going to kill you. Death by too-many-orgasms has to be a thing, right?
“Dex…” you breathe, arching beneath him as your hands fly up to grasp at his muscled biceps.
“One more.” He repeats, the words a quiet rasp. “You can do it. Just give me one more. Please.”
How the fuck are you ever supposed to say no to him?
You kiss him, and he groans as he presses his body closer to yours.
One more turns into three more.
-
You can’t get a hold of Foggy. Or Karen.
Their names aren’t on the list of people who died at the Bulletin, so that’s something. Still, the chances of either of them being in the building during the attack are pretty damn high. And you don’t blame them for not answering. If they really were there, they must be fucking traumatized.
You would absolutely love it if one of them could pick up the damn phone, though.
Dex shows up around midnight, and you’ve already pulled on your jeans. Already grabbed your keys in preparation to run out the door and start banging on apartment doors. Hell, you might even go to the church Matt’s been hiding out in since he got back. Self-appointed recluse or not, you want answers. Before the news makes the information public, this time. There’s only so much information that hacking can give you, and if the cops and news outlets are currently scanning through the cameras for information of their own, it’s going to take a lot longer for you to find anything out than it will if your friends would just fucking talk to you.
“Hey, where are you going? What’s wrong?” Hands are on your shoulders, moving up to your cheeks, and you wonder if you look fucking insane with worry and confusion right now.
What the hell are you supposed to tell him? Oh yeah, Daredevil is my friend Matt. You know the one who died and kinda sorta came back? Have I mentioned him? Well apparently he’s gone fucking berserk and tried to kill Karen, but I’m absolutely fucking positive that it wasn’t him, which means that someone is out there murdering people in his old suit-
“I’ve…gotta go.” You say weakly, lamely, and start to pull back.
His hands tighten on you. Fast.
“Where? Where do you have to go?” He’s holding you surprisingly firmly, large arms locked around your body and making a frown curl your lips.
“Dex, let me go.” You can’t tell him. Of course you can’t. You have to figure this out on your own.
He doesn’t. In fact, he holds you even more tightly. “You can’t leave. You can’t leave me.”
“I’m-huh?” You turn to him, now, and blink in surprise at what you find. His eyes are dark. He looks like he’s sweating. Shit, he might be shaking. “Dex, what’s going on?”
“I need you here, okay?” He’s breathing a little strangely, hand smoothing up over your back with something like desperation. “I…you need to be here.”
You frown, and reach up to brush your fingers over his cheek. He closes his eyes, and leans into your touch.
“Okay. Hey, it’s okay.” He wasn’t able to help tonight. That’s it. He’s just been suspended. All of the order and structure he relies so heavily on is gone. You didn’t realize just how much it must be affecting him, and you feel like a shitty girlfriend for not immediately seeing just how off he is. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
He ducks down, fingers curling against your cheek and lips hovering over your own. “Tell me you need me.”
“Dex-“ you start, but his fingers slide into your hair and he backs you against the wall. It’s not aggressive, not quite, but it’s firm. Determined. Almost overwhelming in its desperation.
“Say it. Please.”
You frown, but reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. “I need you.”
He groans, and kisses you so hard your knees give out. He catches you, all-but scooping you into his arms as he traces his tongue over your lip and slides his arms around your waist.
You have to go find Foggy and Karen and Matt. You have to make sure they’re okay, and the four of you need to come up with some kind of game plan. Or, they do, and they’ll probably need your help because you just had to learn Matt’s secret. Just had to get mugged that night and recognize his voice. Just had to check security cameras and figure everything out and confront him about it.
So, with your particular skill set, and the information you have, they’ll probably need you, as outside of all this as you like to keep yourself. But Dex needs you more right now, and that matters more. You’ll get to the bottom of this mystery another time, when your boyfriend’s trembling hands aren’t pulling at your clothes and his lips aren’t trailing over your throat as he whispers your name like a prayer over and over again.
“What’s wrong?” You ask again, breathless and worried as he lifts you against the wall, as he wraps your thighs around his waist and curls his fingers against your skin hard enough that you worry it might bruise. You hope it does.
“You make it quiet.” He murmurs between kisses, tugging at your clothes until your shirt slides up over your head, discarded on the floor in a second. Messy. Disordered in a way that isn’t like him. “You make it all quiet. I need it to be quiet. Please.” His voice is shaking. Desperate.
You’re not quite sure what he means, but you nod anyway.
The moment you do, his body is pressing impossibly closer to yours. His lips are moving down your neck, kisses so rough and starved that you can feel his teeth scraping over your skin. His hands are tight on your body, hips rocking forward and making you gasp, and you can still hear the shakiness in his quickened breaths as he moves back up to kiss you so hard your head knocks lightly against the wall.
Your fingers move to the buttons of his shirt. His breaths are getting quicker. His grip is getting tighter.
“D-Dex.” You’re so breathless yourself that you can barely get his name out, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. Doesn’t slow his desperate movements until you finally reach up to pull his face away from yours.
His pupils are blown. His gaze is starved. He’s still shaking.
“Hey, stay with me.” You card your fingers through his hair, and kiss him slowly. Warmly. He doesn’t need rough and desperate right now. He needs reassurance. Grounding. Love.
He releases a shuddering breath, kisses you back, and nods as he rests his forehead against yours. “I’m here. I’m good.”
You nod, and as he carries you into the bedroom and lies you back on the mattress, you can see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth. He’s here. He’s with you.
He peels the rest of your clothing off slowly, trailing his mouth over newly exposed skin, and you do the same for him, barely able to keep your lips and hands off of him for a second.
It’s slow, and loving, and painfully intimate. He murmurs your name against your ear as he moves with you, and you drag your nails over his muscled back as you tell him how good it feels until he falls apart with a groan that almost sounds like a sob.
He holds you after, presses his lips to your forehead and trails his fingers over your body like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you.
“Do you think I’m a good man?” His voice is low, quiet and vulnerable as he slides calloused fingers through your hair.
You look up, surprised by the question, and he holds you a little more tightly like he’s worried you’ll bolt.
“Of course.” You frown, reaching up to brush your own fingers over his cheek. He turns his face into your palm, kissing it once, and you turn his eyes back to yours. “You’re a good man, Benjamin Poindexter.”
He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, something raw and pained and full of hope, and tucks you closer to him like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” You kiss his shoulder, and let your eyes fall closed. “You’re gonna be okay.”
And for a moment, as he breathes something like a sigh of relief into your hair, you think he believes you.
-
“I need you to listen to me, and listen carefully.”
“Oh, now the zombie hiding in the basement is making demands. It’s good to see you too, Matt. I’ve been great, how about-“
“The man in the daredevil suit is Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter.”
That shuts you up, right the fuck away. “Very funny.”
“I’m not joking. He’s working for Fisk. He’s killing for him, and framing me.”
You feel cold. “No, he’s not. He wouldn’t do that.”
Matt’s expression is intense, his words are low and pointed. Urgent. This is his stupid fucking Daredevil voice. “He would. And he is. Fisk has him convinced that doing this will keep you with him. You have the means and the skill to prove me right. I need you to do that, as soon as possible. You need to get as far away from him as you-“
“Stop.” You snap, holding up a hand you know he won’t see. He’ll feel it though, or whatever. “Stop, Matt. You have the wrong guy.”
“You know that’s not true, and we don’t have time for you to come to terms with it. You are in danger, and you need to-“
“It’s not him.” Your ears are ringing. Your voice sounds desperate. Angry, even. “He’s…he’s a little intense. He’s a little weird, sure. But he wouldn’t…he wouldn’t do that.”
Matt’s jaw tightens. He shakes his head.
“You look into it the way you know how. You know. You’ll see it.” Matt reaches to grab your shoulder, and you flinch back. He looks pained, like he’s genuinely worried and didn’t call you here after all this time to falsely accuse the man you love of mass fucking murder. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been here for you enough. For Foggy and Karen. But I’m here now. I can protect you now. And you need to stay away from him.”
You pull back, and shake your head again. “I…no. You have the wrong guy, Matt. He’s…you’re wrong. We’ll find who’s doing this, but it’s not Dex.”
“We can keep you safe. You can hide-“
“No.”
“Please. He’s unpredictable. He’s dangerous. He could kill you if he knows you know.”
“I don’t know. I know you’re…you’re wrong.” He is wrong. He has to be wrong. “I’ll find out who it is, okay? But it’s not Dex. Just…it’s not Dex.”
And yet…
No. No. It’s not possible. There’s no way.
Matt spends the next ten minutes trying to convince you, and you block all of it out. You refuse to listen. You tell him you’ll go home, and you’ll avoid Dex until you can find the proper evidence.
You lie. And as you walk out of the church into the suddenly too-bright, too-loud city, you wonder if… if he could…
Fuck. You need to get to your computer. You need to prove him wrong.
-
He killed Ray tonight.
It doesn’t bother him. That kind of thing never has. What bothered him was Nadeem talking about you.
“He’s lying. He’s using you. He’s using her.” Dex’s hands had tightened reflexively on his gun. “You think he’s gonna keep her safe? You think this is how she stays in your life? Whatever he told you, he’ll hurt her the second it’s convenient for him, and he’ll take you out too.”
“You need to stop talking about her, Ray.” Dex’s voice is low. Quiet.
“When she finds out, you think she’s gonna stay with you? You think Fisk is gonna make her stay with you? How does this plan of yours work, exactly?”
Yes. Of course. Whether Fisk needs to make it happen or not, you’ll stay with him. And it will be okay, because you love him. Sure, you’ll be upset, but he can make that better. He will make it better. All of it. Everything he does is to keep you happy. Keep you by his side. But for now, you don’t have to know anything. You can just be with him, and love him.
If you learn a little too much, learn about the darkness that lives inside of him, about the things he’s done, Fisk will do what he needs to do, what he promised, and make sure you stay. Simple as that.
And you’ll still love him, right? Right. You’re meant to be together.
The shot lands perfectly between his former friend’s eyes. And, once it’s all said and done, he goes home to you.
-
You’re on the couch when he walks through the door. You’re chewing on your nails. You’re staring at your computer screen.
So perfect. So beautiful. All his. Just like he’s all yours.
Like he has a hundred times before, he moves over to gently move the laptop out of your hands, leaning you back against the cushions with a smile that surely holds all of the affection that feels like it’s about to overwhelm him.
“What’re you doing?” He presses his lips to your nose, your cheek, your jaw.
You’re tense. Something’s bothering you. He can fix that.
“Looking something up.” You murmur, soft and hesitant. “Or…I should be. I can’t…make myself do it.”
He can see in his peripheral that your screen is blank. You’re still tense, and when he kisses you he can taste the faintest tinge of iron from where you were biting your lip.
You’re wearing his t-shirt. He moves to slide his hands under it, reveling in the softness of your skin, and presses another kiss to the shell of your ear. You relax, like you just can’t help yourself, and he smiles as he settles a little more comfortably atop you.
“Hm, you know you’re not supposed to tell me about any of your hacking stuff.” He jokes, but you don’t smile like you usually would. Don’t tease him back. “Might incriminate yourself a little too much. And you know there’s only one way I wanna see you in cuffs.”
You do smile now, though there’s something in your eyes that he can’t place. He wants to ask, but you kiss him and he forgets everything that isn’t you.
“Or, you know. Put me in cuffs.” And you hum, and smile a little more.
He peels your clothing off nice and slow, trailing his lips down to follow every movement. It’s warm, and safe, and soft and gentle in all the ways the rest of the world is not. You gasp his name, look into his eyes even as yours threaten to flutter closed, and he loves you so much it hurts. So intensely that he worries it might swallow him whole. He wants it to.
When it’s over, and he’s pressing his lips over your cheeks and nose again, heavy breaths matching your own, he tastes the saltiness of tears on your skin and pauses.
His brow furrows, and he pulls back.
You reach up, and smooth your thumb over his cheek. “You’re a good man.” You whisper, and you sound like you’re talking to yourself, but he melts anyway.
“I love you.” He breathes, and drags you closer so he can kiss you again. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You murmur, and there’s never been so much of this strange emotion in your voice before. He can’t quite place it.
But you’re overwhelmed by your love for him, too. That’s all.
That’s all.
-
The worst part of it all is that you know you’re going to find it before you even bring yourself to open your computer.
And yet, it still feels like a punch to the fucking gut.
“Hello, Karen. It’s nice to see you again.”
You would recognize that voice anywhere.
It took you five minutes to get into the security cameras. Of the Bulletin. Of the church.
It took five more minutes for you to find all of the other evidence. The therapy sessions. The people he’s killed. The people he’s manipulated. Threatened. His lack of empathy. His obsessive behavior. His enjoyment of killing. Fuck, you even figure out that he was stalking you before you ever ran into him at that bar. You like to say, in your cockiest moments, that everything can be found online. Everything is documented even when people think it isn’t. You just have to look.
You didn’t look. In ten minutes, you found it all. In an hour, you’ve found too much for any excuse to ever work. For anything other than the truth to make sense.
And then, with perfect timing like the universe is making some sort of sick joke, Foggy Nelson tells you to come down to the old gym. He shows you Nadeem’s video, and you have to drag a trash can over so you can puke your guts up as the world drops from beneath your feet.
You cry silently. Curl in on yourself against the boxing ring while Foggy and Karen watch you, expressions filled with sympathy and guilt. Because they weren’t here. They didn’t check in on you. They let this get this far and it blindsided you because you were too wrapped up in stupid domestic bliss to even hang out with your friends like you should have.
Foggy’s hand comes down on your shoulder, comforting and kind. “Can you do it?”
You don’t look up from the phone screen even as you take it from his hand.
You nod.
-
“What are you-“
You aren’t supposed to be here. You aren’t supposed to be here. You aren’t-
Matt is gonna kill you, if Dex doesn’t do it first. And yet, you know without a shadow of a doubt that he won’t hurt you. Everyone else, maybe, but not you.
That doesn’t make him any less dangerous.
You grab his arm, and pull him outside with you, into the alley. It will be on camera. It will be obvious that you know, when Fisk sees it. But it doesn’t matter. None of that will matter soon, anyway.
His brow is furrowed, that look of frustration when he doesn’t have control of the situation tightening his features. After all, you did just show up to his work unannounced and drag him outside.
He reaches for you, and you step back.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asks, something in his face cracking a little. “Come here. Please.”
“Tell me it’s not true. Please, tell me it’s not true.”
Panic. Immediate, sharp panic. He knows. He knows you know. “Come here.”
“Dex.”
“It’s not true.” He says immediately, lies immediately, and reaches for you again. You back up again. “It’s not true. None of it’s true. Just-“
You pull out your phone, and play the video. Ray Nadeem’s confession. His eyes widen, and you already knew but the confirmation from him is fucking shattering.
“In three hours, it’s going out to every phone in the immediate area. To the cops. To the public. Everywhere. And if you kill me, it still goes out.” Your voice is tight, shaking. “You’re not gonna stop it.”
Dex tries to grab you now, not the phone, you, desperate. You jump back into the street. Into the public. Away from the dark alley and into the light of day.
“Don’t touch me. Do not fucking touch me.”
“Don’t do this.” He sounds dangerous now. You should probably be afraid of him. You’re going to fucking cry again and it hurts so bad you can’t think. You’ve never felt more stupid in your life. “Don’t you dare do this. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. You promised.” His hand catches your sleeve, and you rip it back.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Don’t leave me. Baby, don’t do this. You love me. I love you. We can-“
“What is this, fucking Barney?!” You snap, horror and shock making your voice shaky and shrill. “You’ve been murdering people.”
You’re fully in the street, now. You’re still shaking. He’s still approaching.
“If you come any closer, I’ll scream.” You mean it. He looks like he’s about to risk it. Like he’s moments away from covering your mouth and dragging you back into the alley. Into the shadows with him.
You turn, and walk away.
You hear him scream from a block away. It’s loud. Primal, even. It turns heads.
You keep walking.
-
He goes to prison that night. Matt defeats Fisk. You see it all on the news, from where you’re curled on the couch with tears drying on your cheeks.
He tried to kill Fisk at his wedding. Broke into the party in Matt’s Daredevil costume. It’s on the news. It’s on film.
He says your name before he starts killing people. Tells Fisk and Vanessa that the two of you wish them a world of happiness. You watch the clip. Newspapers call. You watch the clip again. You shut out the world.
It takes some time for you to leave your couch. Even longer to leave your apartment.
But time heals all wounds, even if they have to scab over and reopen a few too many times.
You meet Matt, Foggy and Karen at Josie’s on a Tuesday. They don’t mention it. You do. You apologize, and Foggy hugs you so tightly that your ribs creak.
And you heal. Slowly, surely, you heal.
Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
-
It’s a nice, normal Friday night.
Cherry’s retirement party is fun. You’re having fun. You’re laughing with Matt and Karen, listening to the laughter and jokes around you, teasing each other about Foggy’s attempts at hitting on Keirsten, and not thinking about Dex. Because you never think about Dex.
You don’t think about the way he made breakfast in the morning. Always so careful and precise. Always plating it perfectly like the act was a science, watching you when you ate it like he was either trying to figure out just how much you liked it or just…watching you. So much of him looking at you felt like he was basking in your mere presence.
Or the way he would leave on his way to work. Always the same pattern. The same habits. Wake you up with a kiss, get dressed, make breakfast, kiss you again on the way out the door.
The way he would smile at you like you hung the moon in the sky. The way he would hold you when you watched a movie on the couch. The way…
Warm lips against your temple. Your forehead. Your cheeks.
You hum, and feel Dex smile as his arm slides more tightly around you. “Morning.”
“S’the middle of the night.” You complain weakly, turning in his arms to hide your face in the warm skin of his chest.
“Five forty-five.” He murmurs, hand already coming up to slide through your hair. “Gotta get ready for work.”
“Play hooky.” You mumble, nuzzling closer, dreading the moment his warmth leaves the bed.
“Would if I could.” He means it, and you can tell, so you keep trying.
“You’re reinstated and promoted now…” you press a kiss to his collarbone, warm and slow and as tempting as you can make it. “Their apology should come in the form of as many days off as you want. Or going into work after dawn.”
His body relaxes a little. His hold on you tightens, like he’s thinking about it.
And then he sighs, and pulls back to press his lips against your forehead.
“I can’t.” He sounds so genuinely remorseful that you just might be falling in love with him all over again. Still, you plaster an exaggerated little pout on your face as you sit up.
“Goody two shoes.” You accuse, and if you were more awake you might think his laugh sounds a little…different. But he sits up with you, and kisses your neck, and wraps his arms around you again and any doubt or confusion flutters out of your mind as you melt into-
“Hey, you okay?”
Your eyes whip up, reflected in Matt’s glasses. You swallow. Smile. “Hm?”
“Your…” he lowers his voice, leans a little closer, “your heart is racing.”
Karen is looking at you, too closely, too kindly. You smile wider.
“I’m fine.” And you are. You’re fine. You’re absolutely, totally fine.
Ten minutes later, everything goes to shit.
Foggy goes outside. Matt hears something wrong. Karen follows You stay in the bar.
A gunshot outside. The bang of a flash grenade. The screams of panicked patrons.
You’re frozen for a moment, smoke and shock filling your lungs and fogging your mind. Gunshots. Screaming. The heavy sound of footsteps and-
“Hey, baby.”
A low, familiar growl of a voice, barely raised enough to be heard over the commotion but cutting through it all like a knife and zeroing your attention on the approaching figure.
Speaking of knives, you hear one whir through the air just before your wrist is slammed back against the wall, a blade attaching your sleeve to the surface with perfect precision. You reach up in a panic to remove it, only for another knife to slam your other arm back against the same wall. Neither blade comes close enough to even nick your skin, but you’re still completely trapped against the old wooden surface, eyes wide as Benjamin Poindexter stalks over to you like he has all the time in the world.
He’s wearing a mask, but you’d recognize his eyes anywhere. You’ve never seen them so fucking crazed.
“I missed you.” His hand is on your waist, large and gloved and firm even as you try to kick him away from you. He grunts, and halts your movements with a knee pressed between yours.
And then he rips off his mask, and kisses you. Hard. Rough. Tongue forcing its way past your lips and arm locking tight around your hip as his body presses against yours like it’s drawn there by a gravitational pull. It’s been so long, and you are most certainly in shock, but you can’t help the soft noise that pulls its way from your throat at the feeling. The way your toes curl a little at the rough sound he makes in response.
He reaches up, and pulls one of the knives out of your sleeve before throwing it towards Daredevil so quickly you almost miss it. He doesn’t even look. He keeps his gaze right on you.
The knife is deflected. Of course it is, because it’s fucking Matt, but Dex looks down at you, grins, and presses his lips to your cheek before pulling his mask back down just in time to be knocked to the ground.
The battle happens all around you, too quick for you to keep track of, and it takes you a good fifteen seconds to register that you need to get the fuck out of here.
The knife attaching your sleeve to the wall is in the wood so deep that you can’t get it out. You grunt in frustration, and finally rip your sleeve to free yourself. You think, vaguely, that you liked this jacket, before the sound of glass shattering makes you flinch and stumble back towards the door.
Your ears are ringing. You can’t think. You make it out into the street just in time to fall to your knees beside the body of your friend, nearly get trampled by people screaming and running and Karen is crying and you can’t think.
And Foggy Nelson dies on the sidewalk.
And, a few horrible moments of silence later, you hear a thud behind you.
And you don’t scream. You don’t cry. You still don’t even speak. Your clothes are stained with blood, and you can still taste the mint of Dex’s toothpaste on your tongue. Foggy dies, and Dex’s body just hit the pavement behind you.
You crawl to him in a haze of screams and the ringing of a thousand bells in your ears, and you can hear Karen sobbing behind you.
You think you might throw up. Or pass out. Or die right here next to Foggy Nelson and Benjamin Poindexter.
Dead. He’s dead. Oh God, Foggy isn’t breathing and now…and now Dex…he’s-
Blue eyes shoot open, wide and pained and crazed, and a gloved hand grabs your wrist. You didn’t even realize that you were touching him, hands shaking as they move over his body like you can fix it. Like you should even want to. Your palms sting. Knees, too. You think you scraped them on the pavement when you crawled over here.
“What did you do?” You ask, numb and confused and horrified, and Dex groans and presses his injured face into the pavement like the sound of your voice is the sweetest relief. His hand tightens on your wrist, relaxes, doesn’t let you go. “Dex, what did you do?”
-
ONE YEAR LATER
There is a deep, prominent scar on his cheek. He’s even larger than you remember. His eyes are different, like he’s allowed the illusion of control and sanity to shatter.
You’re here for Foggy. You haven’t seen Matt or Karen in almost a year. You are not here for Benjamin Poindexter.
But you’re here. Maybe you shouldn’t be, but you owe it to Foggy. To the other people this man has killed.
So many people. So many deaths. So many, because of you. And now Foggy, for reasons you still can’t understand.
The sentencing comes. The gavel is banged. You can’t hide your flinch at the sound. Dex’s eyes move right over to you, and lock in.
He smiles, eyes filled with a sick sort of love, and your fingers dig into your palms until your nails bite into the skin hard enough to draw blood.
They take him away, and he doesn’t stop smiling at you.
-
“He refuses to speak unless you’re in the room.”
Your fingers curl painfully tightly against your coffee cup. Your eyes fly up to Matt’s face.
“No.”
“I need information. We need information. He’ll be cuffed the entire time. He won’t touch you.”
“I’m not worried about that. I don’t want to speak to him.”
“They moved him to gen pop.”
You try to hide the way your heart pounds at the implication. You fail. And it’s Matt, so there’s no use pretending.
“Is…did they…” Gen pop. They’ll fucking kill him in there. Good, right? Someone like that shouldn’t be walking the Earth. He killed Foggy. He killed so many people.
“They will. He won’t last a week. Which means Fisk wants him dead.” Matt’s hand rests on the table before you, and he leans closer, adamant. “We need to know why. And then he can rot in prison until-“
“I want him out of gen pop.” You hate yourself so, so much for saying it that you feel like you’re going to be sick. “I want you to get him back in protective custody.”
Matt looks like you just slapped him across the face. You don’t blame him.
But he agrees. So you go. God help you, you go.
-
“Hi, baby.” His grin is fucking manic. His eyes are starved as they rake over you like he’s filing away every inch.
You glare, and sit down across from him. He leans forward, almost jerking in your direction, like he momentarily forgot about the cuffs in his desperation to touch you. Well, he’s not going to get to. Never again.
“You killed Foggy Nelson.”
“Your hair is longer.”
“You killed Foggy.”
“Do you think about it? The way it felt when I touched you again?”
“Shut up.”
“I’ve thought about it every minute. You tasted just like I remember.” His tongue darts out, smile lopsided as he traces it over his lip, eyes raking over you again so intensely that ice trickles down your spine in a way you really wish was unpleasant. “I wonder what else tastes just like I remember.”
You slap him, the sound cracking through the room, and his head whips to the side. His smile doesn’t fall.
“Do it again.”
“Fuck you.”
“Get me out of these cuffs, baby, and I will.”
“If you think I’ll ever, ever let you touch me again, you’re more fucked in the head than I thought.”
His smile cracks. Falls a little. His eyes darken. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Why did you kill Foggy Nelson?”
“You still love me.”
“No. I don’t.”
“You’re lying.” He’s still looking at you, intensely enough that you have to fight the urge to squirm. “Say it.”
“Fuck. You.”
His head rolls back, like those two words were a confession on their own. “Fuck, I missed your voice.”
“You said you’d speak if I came here. Answer me.”
“Do you remember our three month anniversary?” He asks, unbothered, and you want to throw something at him. Cuffs or not, the asshole would probably catch it. “Chinese food on the couch. The first time I told you I loved you.” Pain twists in your chest at the memory, and Dex leans forward when he sees it, another horrible smile curling on his lips. “I took my time with you that night. I had you making these noises, do you remember? These high pitched, sweet little begging sounds.” His fingers tap absentmindedly against the arms of his metal chair, and your face bursts into flames. “Think about them every night, but you know it doesn’t compare to the real thing.”
“You’re trying to get in my head.”
“I’m already in your head. Just like you’re in mine. We’re connected, forever.”
“Did you kill Foggy to punish me?”
He frowns, eye twitching a little when you refuse to give in. “No. But you shouldn’t have left me.”
“So what? Are you gonna kill me if you get out? Are you gonna kill me now?”
He looks genuinely pissed that you would even suggest something like that, jaw clenched and fingers flexing on the metal table again. “When I get out of here, I’m not going to hurt you.” The intensity of his gaze makes your blood feel cold. “But you’re not leaving me again. Ever.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do. I already have.”
“Fuck this.” You push yourself to your feet, the metal chair scraping against the floor like a gunshot. Like the shot that killed Foggy. Fired by the man in front of you. “Fuck you.”
That gets to him. “You’re not leaving. We’re not done.”
“We’re done.” You lean over the table, eyes hard as they look into his. His hands are already struggling against the cuffs locking him to the chair. “We’re done, Dex.”
“I haven’t seen you in a year. You can’t walk out like this.”
“And you’re not gonna see me for another eleven life sentences.”
His voice is a low, violent growl. “Don’t say that.”
And, because you’re a fucking idiot, you do exactly what you told yourself you wouldn’t do.
They confiscated your phone when you came in here. They didn’t confiscate your watch.
One button. One stupid thing you set up in anticipation for this meeting. That you promised you wouldn’t use. And yet, reckless fool that you are, you knew you would.
The security camera light flickers off.
Dex notices immediately, and the hunger that burns in his eyes and curls on his lips lights something aflame in your stomach that you don’t want to think about. Not right now.
You lean both arms on either armrest of his chair. His hands jerk against the cuffs, still trying to reach for you.
You lean closer. You don’t break eye contact. His mouth moves up to chase yours, and you pull back just enough to pull a frustrated grunt from his throat.
“If you ever, come anywhere even close to the people I love again…” you whisper, leaning in so your lips are close enough to his ear that he moans and tilts his head to the side, like he’s silently begging you to rip his throat out with your teeth. “I will kill you myself. Do you understand me, baby?”
For a moment, the thrill of it all makes you forget just how stupid you were for this. Just how dangerous this man is.
And then, as if to remind you himself, you hear a pop. A sharp, pained intake of breath.
Your eyes drop down to Dex’s right hand, just in time to see him slide it out of the cuff.
The crazy motherfucker dislocated his own thumb.
You jerk back, but Dex is faster. Of course he’s fucking faster. His arm locks around your middle, yanking you down onto his lap hard enough to pull an ‘oomph’ from your chest, and his breath is hot on your neck as you squirm against him.
“Shhh, shh.” His rough voice is too soft. You turned off the cameras. You’re a fucking idiot. Something hotter and more intense than panic shoots through your veins, and your breath catches in your throat. “I’ve got you.”
“That’s the problem.” You gasp, but his hand comes up to the back of your head, fisting in your hair and pulling you back so he can look at you.
“I did it for you.” He whispers, reverent. “I bought my freedom with it. For you.”
And then he kisses you, rough and hard, and your attempts to shove him off are met with nothing but a low and hungry growl.
There’s a moment, brief but painfully there, where the feeling of sparks lighting down through your blood is too overwhelming. Where his lips moving against yours is too familiar. Where you kiss him back, and his groan is nothing short of victorious as he wraps his arm more tightly around you.
And then the door opens, and he doesn’t let go. You sink your teeth into his lip, and bite down hard enough to draw blood. He moans shamelessly, but holds you tighter.
It takes two guards to get you out of his vice-like grip. His lip is bleeding. You can taste the iron of his blood. He’s smiling. Wide.
It’s only when the guards start pulling you toward the door that his smile falls, like he hadn’t expected that. Like he hadn’t even considered that you would be leaving again.
“No. Don’t take her. Stop it.” He snaps, as two more guards force his hand back into the cuff. “Don’t take her from me again. Stop it!”
They close the door behind you, and you wipe his blood from your lip with the back of your shaking hand as his scream echoes through the prison.
-
“You didn’t do it. You didn’t help him.”
Matt turns to you, and you can feel the surprise emanating from his very being at the sound of your voice. Here. At this fancy gala to celebrate the esteemed mayor.
“What are you doing here?” He asks. Deflection. And then, concern. “Have you slept?”
No. No, you haven’t. But you’re not going to tell him that. That ever since you went to that prison your thoughts have been more consumed by him than ever. That every beat of your heart has been chanting Dex, Dex, Dex and it’s getting more and more difficult to tell yourself that it’s because you want answers.
And you have them, now. Because you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t ignore it anymore.
“I did it for you.”
“It’s not exactly an invitation you can refuse.” Your dress is uncomfortable. Your heels hurt your feet. You can feel eyes on you from all around the fucking room and you’re going to crawl out of your skin. “And yes. I’ve slept.” You don’t care that he knows that you’re lying.
“I-“ he’s going to come up with an excuse, an apology, but Dex is probably already dead. You’ll probably be dead soon, too. So what’s the fucking point? What’s the point of being subtle? Of trying to be careful, anymore? You weren’t careful when you looked into all of this. You didn’t cover your tracks, and you know. You know it all. And they know you know. You’ll be in the ground in a week at best.
“It was Vanessa. She was in charge of his businesses. She did it.” You don’t even lower your voice. You’re exhausted, and you’re hurting, and you’re angry, and who fucking cares anymore?
Matt grabs for your arm, already beginning to steer you away from watching eyes and listening ears. You pull back, whirl to face him. “Stop. They know I know. They know what I do. That’s why I’m here. They’re probably gonna kill me too, tonight.”
For a moment, you think Matt Murdock might actually be speechless. You just keep talking.
“It’s fine. It’s a long time coming, right?” You run a hand through your hair, and your smile is a pained and humorless thing. “Do you know how many people have been killed, just from me loving him? Because he loved me too, and they used it to manipulate him?”
And Matt is still looking worried, still bothered that people might hear you. But who fucking cares?
“But it’s fine, right? At least the ‘weapon of mass destruction’ who did it is rotting in a prison morgue now. He didn’t deserve help. I didn’t deserve to ask for it. Not for him.”
Matt’s hand is on your arm. You want to cry, but you’ve cried all night and the tears won’t come anymore. You’ve cried so many tears for him. Maybe that makes you a monster, too.
“Keep it down.” Matt says, hand tightening on your arm, but you ignore him.
“I know everything, too. Do you know how many pills he was on in that prison, when she got to him? The inside of his body was a fucking pharmacy. I saw the signature. He couldn’t even hold the pen right.”
Matt Murdock’s jaw twitches. He looks right at you, through his glasses, and you can feel his unseeing gaze on your face. “He still did it.”
He’s right. He did. But-
“You don’t know him. He…he doesn’t think like other people. They got to him. They did this.” Matt opens his mouth, and you raise a hand. “I’m not an idiot. He did it too, okay? He did it. But…” and your exhausted eyes rise to the dance floor, and it all makes sense.
Fisk took everything from you. From so many people. Foggy is dead. Dex is dead. And they’re dancing and smiling like this is the happiest day of their fucking lives. They don’t care. Sure, you don’t care. You’re numb. You’re hurting and confused enough that you don’t care what happens to you, but them… these people did all of this, and they’re happy about it.
“They did this.” You murmur, just to yourself, and start to move forward.
Matt catches you, hard. Fast. In one smooth move, he twirls you onto the dance floor, deflecting your momentum and still trying to fucking cover for you.
“You’re delirious.” He says, voice low and grip tight. “You’re acting irrationally. Don’t-“
But you’ve made it close enough. Just close enough to hear what Buck says to Fisk, quiet and serious but very much audible over the din.
“Benjamin Poindexter killed three guards and escaped prison.”
The world narrows. The floor tilts beneath your feet. Matt holds you upright, and you barely register what he’s saying over the rapid beat of your heart.
Dex. Dex. DexDexDex-
“We have to get you out of here.” Matt’s voice by your ear, his feet already beginning to move you away. You blink, too shocked and…relieved to even force your own feet to move. “He’ll be coming for you.”
Alive. Alive. DexDexDexDex-
You may not have Matt’s senses, but you swear you hear the click of the gun at the same time his head whips up to face the balcony.
“Not me.” You whisper, eyes on the dark shape above you. The dark, achingly familiar shape of a man who should be dead.
And the gunshot launches the party into chaos.
Matt. Matt just jumped in front of the fucking bullet and you’re trying to get to him but you’re being dragged away by the crowd, nearly carried off in the commotion and panic as people rush to the door. You almost fall at one point, stumbling in your heels and nearly getting trampled before you’re saved by the arm of some kind civilian, and by the time you make it back into the ballroom to where the paramedics are crowding around your friend you can’t see the shape on the balcony anymore.
You reach towards Matt, and something on your wrist catches your eye. A small etching of marker on your skin that definitely wasn’t there before.
A bullseye.
-
Hours later, you climb the stairs to your apartment, aching and tired and knowing damn well what you’re going to find.
You spent every free minute tracing the bullseye on your skin with the tip of your finger, sitting in the hospital waiting room and listening to the beat of your own heart.
Alive. Alive. Dex. Alive. Dex. Dex. Dex.
The power is still out. You’re exhausted. There’s still blood on your dress.
Matt begged you not to go home, but he would find you anyway. Anywhere.
There’s a bullseye painted on the door of your apartment. Small, but noticeable. Right above the handle.
You drop your keys on the counter. Loud. No use in trying to hide.
“You moved.”
“Yeah.” You say, voice steadier than it should be. “My boyfriend ended up being a serial killer.”
“I don’t really fall under that definition.”
You hum, casual, and move to the dingy fridge in the open kitchen. Pull out a bottle of wine.
“You look tired.”
“You’re missing a tooth.” You pop the cork with your teeth. Take a swig right from the bottle. “You gonna kill me now?”
“Stop saying that.” It’s still dark, you still can’t see much more than his silhouette, but the words sound like they’re gritted out through his teeth. “I love you.”
“I trusted you.” You grit your own words out, fingers tightening on the bottle.
“You still can.”
You take another swig, and lean against the counter. “Now that’s funny. Didn’t know they taught comedy classes in prison.”
“I thought about you every day. Every minute.” His boots thud against the hardwood, and you turn before he can reach you.
“Funny. I thought about Foggy.”
“That sounds hard. Really-“
“Shut the fuck up.” And now, you have to stall. You have to find your phone, and dial Matt’s number. Or reach one of the panic buttons you installed that will call him. With the power out, there’s a pretty good chance neither of those things will work anyway. “Get out.”
“You don’t really want me to.” It sounds like a plea, beneath the roughness of his words. “You still love me.”
You pull out your phone. It flies out of your hand in a second. Shatters against the wall. You jump back.
“Was that a fucking knife?”
“Bottle cap. I don’t wanna cut you.”
“But you’ll shoot at me.” Well, not at you, but you know mentioning it will bother him.
“I would never in a million fucking years-“
“You. Killed. Foggy.”
“And we’ll work past it, baby. We can work past it.” And there he is, turning you in his arms and walking you back until your lower back hits the counter. His breath is warm, ghosting over your lips, and you hate how your body responds to it.
“You’re delusional.”
“You want me. Say it. Please.” Too close. Too close. His hand is wrapping around the wine bottle, pulling it from your grasp and raising it to his own lips. The moonlight spilling in through the window illuminates the lines of his face, so agonizingly familiar. So beautiful.
You reach up like a woman possessed, and brush your fingers over the scar on his cheek. He groans, and leans into your touch.
In a blink, your other hand whips up, and you press the blade of a kitchen knife to his throat.
He smiles, and you wonder if he’s always been this crazy. He leans forward, letting the blade dig into his skin to brush his lips over yours again, and now you genuinely wonder if he would let you do it.
“I should kill you.”
“I’d let you.” He murmurs, a truly sick confirmation, and your hand is trembling and you hate yourself for it. “But you won’t.”
“I don’t have Daredevil’s moral code.”
“No.” His mouth closes over yours, just enough to feel his teeth scrape against your bottom lip. “You love me.”
“I don’t.” But your voice catches on the word, and your hand shakes more, and he’s bleeding and he doesn’t seem to care.
You pull the knife away, and his fingers curl around yours on the handle, guiding your hand to lower it onto the counter beside you.
“You asked Murdock to get me out of gen pop.” He hums, still so close that you can feel his heartbeat against your own. “Didn’t work, but I appreciate the thought.” The confirmation. “Helped me get back to you.”
“I didn’t want you to get back to me.”
“Liar, liar.” He murmurs, teasing and soft, and kisses you again. These kisses are nothing like the last couple of times, so rough and nearly violent with their desperation. No, these kisses are brief and soft, gentle presses of his lips against yours between words like he can’t help himself.
“I thought you were dead.” You don’t mean to say it. You don’t mean to acknowledge it. “Matt left you to die.”
“And you mourned me.” Another kiss. Slower this time. More lingering. You need to pull away from him. You need to shove him the fuck off of you. This is so wrong. So fucked up. He has killed so many people. Lied so many times. He’s fucking batshit insane. “I saw you. You were about to confront Fisk. For me.”
“I don’t know what I was gonna do.” You breathe, and your eyes are already falling closed. Your body is giving in to him like it doesn’t belong to you. Your heart is still beating heavy in your throat.
Dex. Dex. Dex. Dex.
This time, you lean up and press your lips to his. Wrap your arms around his neck. Tangle your fingers in his hair and devour him. He makes a noise that’s almost akin to a whimper against your mouth, his own hands flying up to your face to angle your head so he can kiss you fucking breathless.
You bite at his lip. Pull at his hair like you’re trying to punish him for how much you want this. How much you missed him. How fucking good this feels.
He moans, lifts you onto the counter and presses his body up against yours like he can’t get close enough. Cradles the back of your head and all but sobs into your mouth when you whimper and kiss him hard enough that his teeth click against yours.
You hear a soft, metallic noise, and feel cool metal on your thigh as Dex slices through the fabric of your bloodstained dress to allow himself more room to press his large body between your legs, the prison guard uniform digging into your burning skin and making you arch against him.
You slide your hand over his neck, thumb digging into the thin cut beneath his chin. His moan vibrates through your entire body, and you smear the blood over his throat as you angle his head to pull him closer to you.
His hand slams into the cupboard by your head like he’s trying to brace himself, the fingers of his free hand gripping your hair so tightly you see stars, blunt teeth digging into your lip like a silent and desperate plea for more.
“Say my name.” He whispers, rough, and you don’t. You fucking moan his name, a sound you’ve never heard from yourself before ripping its way from your chest and making him shake as he releases you to rip his gloves off like separation between your skin is physically burning him.
He doesn’t leave you for long, warm fingers sliding up your thigh and trailing sparks in their wake until you’re trembling against him. Until you’re gripping the back of his head and yanking him down to kiss you again. His fingers slide higher. Higher. Until they’re curling in the waistband of your underwear and every kiss comes on a swallowed and ragged breath.
You nod your consent, fingers curling even more tightly against his scalp, and he kisses you again. You hear the click of the knife, feel the flat end of the blade slide up your thigh again, and can’t find the words to complain as he slices your underwear from your body.
When his long, skilled fingers reach the apex of your thighs, and he feels just how desperate you are for him, the noise that rips from his throat sounds like the most fucked up prayer that’s ever been uttered.
“Fuck.” He pulls back, presses his nose against your temple, and when his fingers immediately find the spot that has you fucking whining you hear a breathless chuckle against your ear.
“Never miss.” He whispers, cocky and infuriating and agonizingly intimate in the dark apartment, and you’re going to fucking kill him.
Kill. Kill.
All those people. Father Lantom. Nadeem. Foggy.
Clarity rips back into you like a fucking car crash. Like a bolt of lightning. It freezes your burning blood, rises to your throat, and makes you shove him so hard his back hits the wall across from you with a dull thud.
You’re just as breathless as him, and his eyes are on fire as they look into yours. As they rake over you, slow and hungry, and he doesn’t even try to catch his breath even as he realizes why you pushed him away.
“Why?” He asks, but he knows. He knows and he’s goading you and you need to make yourself-
“I hate you.” It is the least convincing sentence you have ever uttered. You’re still breathless, still flushed with need, still spread out on your kitchen counter with his name lingering on your kiss-swollen lips.
Slowly, without looking away from you, he raises his fingers to his mouth, and your next breath catches on a whimper at the sight.
He moves forward at the sound, and your foot flies up to stop him, heel digging into his chest.
Something flashes in his eyes. Something you can’t place. You don’t know what’s in your own expression, but you see him scan it. Watch the breath shudder out of his chest as his hand rises up to trail lovingly over your calf.
And then, scarred and beautiful and illuminated by moonlight, he drops to his knees.
Benjamin Poindexter looks up at you like he’s worshipping at your fucking altar, and refuses to look away from you as his lips press against the skin below your knee.
“Stop it.” You try. You really do.
He shakes his head, and blunt nails drag down over your thigh as he moves closer. Kisses higher. Keeps his eyes locked on yours as he guides your heel over his shoulder.
“Dex.” It’s supposed to be a warning. It comes out as a plea.
And then he’s right where you need him, on his knees before you with your hands gripping at his hair and his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you in place, and it feels so good that your eyes are watering with something between pleasure and emotion so intense it’s going to drown you.
Your hand leaves his hair, flying up to scramble for purchase on the creaky old cupboard behind your head as Dex doubles his efforts like he’s desperate to pull more noises from you. He moans into you, gripping you more tightly as your heel digs into his back, and your hand leaves the cupboard to slap over your mouth as a near-wail of pleasure echoes off the walls. It doesn’t do much. Doesn’t muffle your helpless noises nearly enough, and before long Dex is sliding his large hand up your body to pull your palm away from your mouth, fingers tangling with yours as his too-skilled tongue turns your blood to lava in your veins.
You fall apart in minutes, shattering with a sharp gasp of his name as your thighs tremble and your nails dig into his scalp. He pulls back like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, resting his head against your thigh and staring up at you with a breathless smile on his lips and you want to hate him so badly it hurts.
But you pull yourself off of the counter, slide onto his lap and kiss him hard as you fumble blindly with the belt of his stupid fucking prison guard uniform, and before you know it he’s rolled you onto your back and you’re ripping his shirt open as he hikes your ruined dress up over your hips and-
“Tell me you want this.” He rasps, low against your ear, and when you nod emphatically he grabs your chin and turns your face towards his. “Tell me.”
“I want this.” It’s a sick, horrible confession, but it’s true. “I want you.”
He groans, like it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever heard, and his first thrust hits home and your moan is loud enough to wake the neighbors.
“I love you.” He breathes against your lips, as you scramble at him like a wild fucking animal, desperate for more. “I love you.”
You won’t say it back. You can’t say it back. This is already fucked up beyond belief.
He holds you like he’s trying to touch every inch of you at once, lips trailing down your jaw until every near-whimper is vibrating against your ear. You can’t stop touching him, either. You yank at his open button-up shirt so hard you hear it rip, until he moves to help you pull it the rest of the way off of him, bracing himself against the floor beside your head and rolling his hips into yours until you’re sobbing his name on every breath.
When you break for a second time, your nails are dragging thin red marks down the skin of his back. He doesn’t stop. He keeps going, keeps relentlessly hitting that spot inside you until the pleasure builds up all over again and it is fucking unbearable.
“Dex.” You manage to gasp, mindless, head rolling back against the floor as he bites at your shoulder and speeds up his movements until you’re practically sobbing.
“One more.” He growls, low and rough and just as wrecked as you are. “Give me one more.”
The third time, he’s right there with you, pressing his nose into the hollow of your throat with a groan of your name that burrows its way into your very bloodstream. Locks itself in your soul and becomes just as much a part of you as the color of your eyes and the bones beneath your skin.
It takes a long time for you to come back to earth. Longer for Dex to pull himself away from you, just enough to roll onto his back and tug you into his side.
“I love you.” You whisper, like a shameful confession, and he shudders like the sound of it is a drug and he’s more than happy to relapse.
He pulls you closer. You rest your cheek against the sweat-damp skin of his chest. Try to even out your breathing as he cards his fingers through your hair.
You have to go. You have to get out of here. Fisk is gonna be coming for you soon.
He grunts, and you make a soft noise as he sits up and gathers you into his arms, drags himself to his feet and carries you into your bedroom.
Everything is so different, now. Dex is a killer. A monster. Your life has been flipped upside down and shaken like a damn snowglobe. You’re probably going to be assassinated soon.
And yet, as Dex helps you out of your ruined dress, skating his fingers and lips over the newly exposed skin, and reaches into your dresser drawer, it’s all so familiar that you ache.
He digs to the bottom, and his grin is triumphant as he pulls an old FBI t-shirt out. His T-shirt. The one you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away.
He slides it over your head, presses a kiss to your cheek, and smiles a little wider when you relax.
And then, when he’s cleaned you up and pulled you into the rest of your pajamas, he smooths out the sheets behind you like a ritual before he lays you down atop them, sliding his body over yours and kissing you until you melt into your cheap comforter.
You make love again. You don’t think either of you even mean to. It isn’t as desperate as the first time, not nearly as mindless and rough, but his kisses deepen and he slides his scarred hand down your back until he’s shifting you beneath him, murmuring a quiet plea against your throat as his fingers tug at the waistband of your shorts that you respond to with another emphatic nod. And then he’s sliding them off, and you’re unbuttoning his pants again, and his tongue is tracing silent sonnets over your skin until you’re writhing against him.
He doesn’t tease, but he still seems to savor every second. He nudges your knees apart with his own, and pushes into you with a groan of your name. He moves with you like the tide, builds you until the wave crests and whispers praises against your ear as it crashes through you. You kiss him, tell him how good it all feels, and he tells you he loves you until he’s hoarse with it.
When it’s over, and you’re lying together in the rumpled sheets and he’s breathing shakily against your forehead and holding you like you might vanish at any moment, you finally speak again.
“We’re not back together.” You mumble, and he hums like you just told him the sky is purple but he couldn’t care less. Like it’s such a ridiculous lie that he may as well indulge it for now.
You frown, but you don’t double down. There’s no point, really. You know him. You know he’s not letting you go anywhere.
“How do I fix it?” He finally asks, and your brow furrows as you sit up a little to look at him.
“What?”
“How do I make you forgive me? For Fog-“
Your hand flies up to cover his mouth as if of its own accord. The movement surprises even you.
“Don’t say his name.” You snap, pain curling in your stomach. Guilt, too. But not enough. You’re lying naked in bed with the man who killed one of your best friends, and you don’t feel guilty enough, and you hate yourself for it. “You still don’t get to say his name.”
He looks at you. Nods. You pull your hand back, and he chases your lips with his own.
He kisses you. You kiss him back. You keep trying to hate yourself for it.
“What do I do?” He asks again, and he looks so earnest that you want to die.
You don’t know what crosses your face. What expression is in your eyes, but his own melt into a look of pure desperation.
It takes you a while to speak, and even when you do, the words spill unpracticed and quiet from your lips.
“He was good.” You whisper, and grief tugs at your stomach with enough force to nearly cripple you. “Foggy was so…good.”
“You said I was good, once.” Dex murmurs, brow twitching a little in that way it does when he’s trying to understand something.
“I did.” You reach up, hesitate, and give in. Your fingers trace over the scar on his cheek. “I think…I think you can be. You can be good.”
He melts. He turns his cheek into your palm, looks at you like you are both heaven and earth and everything in between. “I’ll be anything you want. I’ll do anything for you.”
Your heart crumples, and you see it. You shouldn’t, and you’re fucked up for it, but you see it. You see how he thinks. How he is. How he’s been manipulated and hurt and how he’s hurt others and you still fucking love him.
“I want to kill Fisk.” You whisper, like it hurts, and he reaches up to curl a lock of your hair around his finger like you just admitted nothing more intense than liking sugar in your coffee. “I want them both dead. And I don’t want it…I don’t want it for the right reasons, I think.”
“Why do you want it?”
“Revenge.” You whisper. “The greater good, yeah, but revenge. They killed Foggy. They hurt you. I want them to die for it.”
“Hm.” He slides his hand up your back, palm flat and warm, and turns his nose into your cheek. “If I help you kill them…it balances the scales.”
You frown. “It-“
“A good deed, to make up for the bad. Right?” He presses a kiss to your ear, and your eyes fall closed. “It balances out. You’ll forgive me.”
“I can’t forgive you.” You can’t. You shouldn’t. You won’t.
Even if you understand how his mind works. How he was tricked and manipulated and taken advantage of. Even if you understand him.
You pull back, look into his eyes, and the look on his face breaks something inside of you. The desperate hope. The need.
“We’re probably gonna have to move tomorrow. Fisk definitely wants me dead.” You murmur, and brush your lips over his.
He smiles. “We’ll move.” We. You and him.
“If we do this, you don’t do it for me. I’m not making you do anything.”
“I do everything for you.” He says, matter-of-fact, and closes the distance enough to peck you on the lips. “But okay. Let’s kill ‘em all.”
-
“Such a sweet boy.” The old woman across the hall is absolutely enamored with Dex, or should you say ‘Tony’. Sometimes you think he’s enjoying it a little too much. Especially now, as he crouches down to slide a fried egg into her cat’s bowl. “And what are you two up to?”
“Takin’ the missus to lunch.” He answers smoothly, sliding his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You smile brightly, and endure a few more minutes of cooing and fawning before making your way down the hall. He keeps his arm around you the whole time, humming absentmindedly as you make your way out into the street.
“You have got to stop telling her we’re married.” You chastise, and he doesn’t let you go even as he flips a coin behind him into a homeless man’s cup.
“I didn’t.”
“You just called me ‘the missus’.”
He’s smiling, a little too proud of himself. “Could mean anything.”
You still insist that you’re not back together. He still allows you to, but he seems to find it more amusing than bothersome. Which, you suppose, is understandable. After all, you woke up in his arms just this morning, like you do every morning. And, like you do most nights, you spent the majority of the evening moaning his name.
But fuck, he’s like a drug to you. You tried so, so hard to hate him. To pretend like he was a monster. Maybe he is, but maybe you are too.
Because whatever Benjamin Poindexter is made of, it calls out to something intrinsic within you. He knows it, and he’s just waiting for you to admit it.
You don’t know if the spring in his step and the smile on his face is from your activities last night or anticipation of what’s about to happen, but you would say it’s safe to blame both as he holds the door of the diner open for you with an exaggerated chivalry. And, because it’s him and he’s an asshole, he makes you yelp as you walk ahead of him with a playful swat to your ass.
You glare. He smiles, and leads you to the counter.
“You two ready to order?”
The woman behind the counter looks tired. Dex smiles like he’s been practicing how to, sweet and with his eyes crinkled in the corners. Sometimes, when you look at him, scarred and huge and absolutely fucking bonkers, you wonder how much he’s changed since you bumped into him on the street all that time ago. How much you’ve changed.
“My wife and I will have a…banana milkshake, then.” He grins at you, and it is so annoyingly hard not to smile back. “Does that sound good, sweetheart?”
You snort. “Sounds perfect, darling.”
His fingers come up, catching your chin and turning your head to him so he can press a soft, smiling kiss to your lips.
“Cute. I’ll be right back with that.” The woman says blandly, disappearing behind the counter as Dex pulls back.
“Menace.” You accuse, and he pats your cheek before he pulls out his phone.
He makes the worst, least convincing phone call you’ve ever heard. So unconvincing, in fact, that you almost giggle as he says “oh shit, he’s got a gun” in the most monotone voice you’ve ever heard. His eyes don’t leave you for a second. They rarely do. Like when you’re near, he’s locked in on a target.
Then again, hasn’t it always been that way?
You did the research. You did the tracking. All you have to do now is wait.
Dex unwraps two straws, carefully places them both in the milkshake, and leans down to take a sip.
You smile at him, roll your eyes, and lean down to the other straw.
You swear, in moments like this, that his eyes could be little cartoon hearts. He doesn’t stop smiling. Doesn’t look away. And shit, if you don’t feel like baby bluebirds could be tweeting around your own head. Like you’re the only two people in the whole world. Cue the cheesy, romantic music. Cue the world vanishing around you until it’s just you and him in this diner, smiling like idiots and sharing a milkshake.
You glance down at your phone. Watch him finish the milkshake. “Forty five seconds.”
He grunts, calm and relaxed, and starts pulling on his gloves. Pulls a toothpick out of the cup beside you.
“Aren’t you gonna tell me to take cover?” You hum, and the corner of his mouth rises even higher.
“No one’s gonna touch you.” You believe him, and you like that he acknowledges that you know what you’re doing.
“Everybody get on the ground!”
You throw your hands in the air, view blocked by Dex’s large frame, and shriek like a dramatic damsel in a movie.
His shoulders shake once. A silent laugh.
“Too much?” You ask, just as they shout again and come closer.
A toothpick finds its home in the ATVF officer’s eye, and all hell breaks loose.
You climb onto your chair, just in time for Dex to push you over the counter. You land with a roll, and in a second he’s on top of you, hands over your head and body covering yours.
“That was a really great milkshake.” He mumbles almost conversationally as the bullets slow, and you reach up to pull his mask the rest of the way down for him before he climbs off of you and snatches up a handful of silverware.
You manage to get to your feet just in time to watch three officers fall with forks sticking out of their eyes. Unfortunately, it’s also just in time for another man to grab you and press the barrel of a gun to your temple.
“Stand down!” He shouts, right by your ear, and digs the barrel in harder. Deeper.
Dex turns, and tilts his head.
“Ow.” You pat the arm wrapped around your throat. “Wrong move, dude.”
He screams as a fork impales the back of his hand, and you feel two more whir past you before they find their homes in his face. Not kill shots. Not yet. When you turn, he’s moaning on the ground with cutlery sticking out of his cheek and eye.
You tuck yourself into a booth as the rest of the men go down, bullets and weapons finally coming to a stop. Heavy bootsteps land beside you, and Dex pulls his mask off as the man in front of you trembles and clings to a tiny dog in his lap.
“Dogs in restaurants are unsanitary.” He says, genuinely perplexed but not quite annoyed.
“P-Please don’t kill me.” The man whimpers. Dex smiles in that unnerving way he has, and you smile too as you grab a bottle of ketchup off of the table.
“Don’t worry.” He takes your hand, stands you up with him, and throws a final pair of forks behind him to slam home into the retreating form of the man who just held the gun to your head. “We’re the good guys.”
You draw a bullseye on the door. He kisses the side of your head as you make your way out of the diner, stepping carefully over shattered glass with the sound of sirens wailing down the street.
-
ONE YEAR EARLIER
“This is no way to live, Benjamin.”
Vanessa Fisk sits across from him. He tries to focus on her. On anything. His mind has been scrambled since he was checked into this place. The cocktail of pills they have him taking every day makes it hard to think.
But you’re still there. You. You. You.
He lies in his bed at night, stares at the ceiling and blinks like his eyes are weighed down by anvils, and if he focuses hard enough he can almost feel your head on his chest. Almost feel your soft hair against his nose. Maybe your fingers tracing over his skin, soothing and warm.
Your voice, lips barely brushing his own. “You’re a good man, Dex…”
And he’ll reach up, searching for you, wanting to pull you to him and feel your body against his. Wanting you so badly that the pain is overwhelming.
And there’s nothing there. And the room is cold.
“I miss you.” He’ll murmur to the darkness, tongue heavier than his eyelids. And he won’t hear anything back.
Now, Vanessa Fisk pushes something towards him. A picture.
Of you.
His near-useless hand paws at the table, something like desperation surging through him as he grasps for it. They won’t let him have any pictures of you here. They call you one of his ‘victims’. He hasn’t seen your face in so long.
“She misses you.” And a part of him knows Vanessa is manipulating him. Even through the drugs, and the longing, he knows it.
And yet, she pushes the picture toward him a little more, and there you are.
You. You. You.
You, at that bar he found you at. The second time you met. You’re with Foggy Nelson, Matt Murdock, and Karen Page. You’re smiling, but not with your eyes. He knows what it looks like when you smile with your eyes.
You look sad. His eye twitches with the urge to fix it. The urge to touch you.
His fingers curl against the picture.
“I know what it is to love someone so much that being separated feels like…” Vanessa’s voice is gentle. Kind. Vulnerable, even. Dex can’t stop looking at the picture of you. That vulnerability in her voice is reaching him, matching with his own. “Like a hollowness in your soul.”
He makes a soft noise. It sounds desperate, even to his own ears.
His fingers curl a little more against the picture. Brushing over your cheek. Missing the feeling of your skin against his.
“They talk to her about you.”
His eyes, still slowed by the pills, move up to her face.
“They tell her that you were evil. Horrible. She is trying to convince herself that it’s true.” Vanessa leans forward, earnest. “If you want her, you cannot let that happen.”
His eyes fall helplessly back to the picture of you.
Vanessa slides a contract his way. He doesn’t look at it. His trembling fingers trace the printed line of your cheek.
“You can have her again. I only need one…favor. But you will have your freedom, and she will have hers.”
You. You. You.
Vanessa’s manicured finger taps the picture. Taps the face of Foggy Nelson. “I need you to kill him, and one of his clients.”
Dex looks up, a muddled question in his eyes. Foggy is your friend. You like Foggy. Foggy-
“They are poisoning her mind.” Vanessa repeats. “I do not want to see you lose the woman you love, Benjamin. I am offering you a mutually beneficial opportunity.”
You are so beautiful it hurts to look at you. His shaking hand holds the pen. Hesitates. He tries to form a clear and straightforward thought.
“With your freedom, you can get back to her.”
Back to you.
He signs the contract.
-
One good deed, and it’s all better. And you forgive him.
Not like you haven’t already. Even if you won’t admit it, he knows you have. He can see it on your face. Feel it in your quickened breaths at night when he’s got you laid out on the sheets, or on the couch, or against the wall…
And when you eat breakfast together, and he’s staring at you and you’re grinning right back at him, and the sounds of the chaos and the city and the world around him fade and everything is just you. You. You. You.
You’re out at the bodega down the street, grabbing more bandages and water. You’ll be back in ten minutes, tops.
You’re gonna be mad at him. He hates that.
But Matt Murdock showed up four minutes ago, and now the apartment is an absolute fucking wreck, and the lady down the hall is screaming and terrified because Dex had to use her as a human shield for a minute there, and you’re gonna come home to that wreck and worry but…
One good deed. He can do it now. Earn your forgiveness. Earn his redemption. If he doesn’t move now, he might lose his chance. And then what? What’s the point of living if it’s in a world absent of your love? Despite everything, he can’t help but fear a day when you decide that you can’t forgive him. That his sins were simply too much. Where you deprive him of the love you offer now because you just can’t seem to help it, where you stop smiling at him and letting him touch you completely.
No, he has to go now. Killing Fisk solidifies your forgiveness. Allows him to keep you. Keeps the world balanced right.
So he leaves. He leaves the apartment for the last time, and prays to whatever God might exist that you’ll forgive him.
-
He throws the snowglobe. Plans the trajectory against Wilson Fisks’s swing. Watches the shard pierce Vanessa Fisk’s temple.
It was easy. Almost too easy.
But the bullet. That’s the problem. That landed home, and it hit all the wrong places.
He’s going to bleed out. You’re going to be upset.
But he did it. One good deed. He didn’t kill Fisk, but he killed Vanessa. At least, at the very least, he took that pain away. She ordered the hit on Foggy. Your friend. She made you hurt. She just made him the weapon. And now, she’s going to die.
-
“Mrs. Smithers, please shut up.”
She’s screaming, and crying, and you should probably be comforting her. ‘Tony’ just held a gun to her head, after all. And yet, you have bigger things to worry about.
Two minutes, and they’ll be here. Cops have been called. AVTF is on the way, guns blazing and you have seconds to find him and your heart is hammering in your chest in that familiar staccato beat.
Dex. Dex. DexDexDex.
There. The church. The fucking church, of all places.
Vanessa Fisk, mortally wounded. Daredevil and Bullseye at the boxing match. Dex Dex DexDexDex.
You smash your computer against the counter, cracking it in half, and bolt.
You take the fire escape, and begin scrambling down just as you hear them bursting into the hall.
And you pray, with every last shred of your desperate heart, that you’re not too late.
-
He’s bleeding out. He knows it. Seen it enough times to know he doesn’t have long, and Murdock isn’t gonna stick around to help him.
He misses you. He wishes you were here.
The dizziness of blood loss is a little frustrating, but Murdock is busy calling him a piece of shit. Fair. He shot his best friend, after all. If you’re still mad about that, it makes sense that he would be too.
“One last good deed.” He hums, propped up against the wall as blood leaks between his fingers, pooling onto the floor beneath him. “N’then she forgives me.”
“Asshole.” A whole conversation in the pews a minute ago, Dex’s whole speech about how he’s making it better and earning forgiveness and getting his mind back, and that’s all the guy can say. He thought lawyers were supposed to be more eloquent.
“Take care of her when I’m gone.” You. You. You. He sees Daredevil tense. He’s pissed at you, sure, but he cares about you. So Dex smiles, tired, and tilts his head back against the wall, confident in his next words. “Yeah, you will.” And if he ever touches you, Dex will return as a ghost and put a pencil through his eye. But hey, just something to worry about in the afterlife.
Murdock stutters some sort of apology. Has a whole little crisis about whether or not he can save him. He’s so stressed it’s almost funny, but he’s not gonna save Dex. He did it. He earned forgiveness. It’s time for judgement day.
The room pulses. The sounds of ATVF bootsteps echo above. His eyes close, and you’ll be okay. You forgave him. You didn’t admit it aloud, but he doesn’t need that. Never did.
Judgement day ticks ever-closer.
“Dex!”
His eyes open, and it’s too bright in the dark room. He’s too tired, but…
There you are. In the church and illuminated by low light like an angel. He smiles, bloody and exhausted and more than a little out of it. “Hey, baby.”
“Wake up. Dex, wake up.” You sound so panicked. So scared. For him. You love him. You. You. You….
“Dex! Fuck, please wake up. C’mon.” You’re pulling at him, trying to drag him across the floor and failing miserably, and he wishes you would just stay. Just admit that this is hopeless and let him hold you close. Admit that you love him, and that you need him, and let him feel your breath and smell your hair in his last few minutes on this earth.
“Fuck. Why are you so heavy?! Where’s Matt?” You’re trying to get your hands under his shoulders. It’s a little funny, but it hurts like a bitch when you jostle his bullet wound, so he grabs you and spins you down in front of him.
“In the wind.” He reaches up, fingers sliding over your cheek and smearing it with red. Fucking beautiful. They write poems about this shit. About women so lovely they steal souls and start wars. “You gotta go, too.”
“Fat fucking chance.” You press your forehead to his, unbothered by the blood, and cradle his own face in your hands. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you.”
Oh, that’s the best thing he’s ever heard. It’s the first time you’ve said it since that night on your kitchen floor, when you were still lying beneath him and still catching your breath and still all his after so much time. Back then, you whispered it like some horrible confession. Sweet music to his ears.
“My girl.” He’s fading. He’s fading fast. You hold him more tightly, smearing his own blood on his face as he does the same to you, the matching stains like a tether. Like a claim. “North Star….”
“Dex. Dex. Stop. Wake up. Don’t leave me don't you dare leave me-“
The sound of your voice is swallowed by the tide, and he doesn’t close his eyes, refuses to look away from you, but his vision begins to blur.
And then, from deep under the water, he hears it.
The door creaking open. Your panicked voice as your head whips to the side, dislodging his bloody hand from your cheek.
“Matt?! Matt! Help him! Please-“
…
-
You’re by his bedside. You have been for hours.
Karen is not happy with you. Neither is Matt. Soledad is stitching up Dex’s wound, pulling the bullet out, and he keeps waking up.
Not only does he keep waking up, he keeps jolting awake from the pain. Keeps squeezing your hand so tightly you wonder if he’ll break bone. Keeps finding your face in the haze of sleep and agony, and grinning like a lunatic when your eyes meet.
And then he’s healed. Somewhat. For now. And you’re fighting exhaustion of your own in the chair you’ve pulled up to the cot he’s asleep in.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Karen sounds pissed. You get it. But Dex is pale and his breathing is ragged and slow and you can’t let go of his hand.
“Hey, Karen.” The casual tone of your voice is insulting. You know it. You think you’ve been spending too much time with Dex.
“Him?” Matt isn’t here. Not now. You see sweat on Dex’s brow. Look down to make sure that his bandages are still in place. Every time his breathing slows even a little, your ears ring and your vision narrows.
“Yeah.” You don’t look away from him. You’re still covered in his blood. “Cute, right?” A lame joke, like he’s some boy you just met at the bar, rather than…well, fucking Bullseye.
“We’ve been trying to find you. We thought he kidnapped you.”
Your thumb trails its way over bruised knuckles again. “Well…I mean, he kinda did.” However things ended up that night after the party, you’re pretty confident that he wasn’t going to let you leave. Not without him.
“Are you sleeping with him?” You’re getting a little tired of the twenty questions.
“I’m in love with him.” You answer simply, and hear her suck in a horrified breath.
“He killed Foggy.”
“I know.” Dex stirs, just barely, like he might be reacting to your admission even in sleep. You squeeze his hand, and when you reach up to brush your thumb over his cheek he turns his face into your palm. “And I still love him. Isn’t that fucked up?”
-
He wakes cuffed to the cot. They’re worried about what he might do. Honestly, you’re surprised they didn’t cuff you too.
He winces as his eyes open, and smiles when they land on you. His low rasp of a voice is even more gravelly, hoarse with sleep and pain.
“Hey, baby.”
He always says that in the most fucked up situations. It always makes your heart beat a little faster.
He sits up, slowly, and pulls at the cuffs on the bed.
“Do your staples hurt?” You ask, eyes falling down to the bandages.
He grunts in acknowledgment. “C’mere.”
You do, slowly, and it’s only then that he seems to notice the gun.
“You gonna shoot me?” He asks, smile widening a little as he tilts his head to the side.
“I might.” You reach down, slip a paper clip into the cuff on his right wrist, and hear it pop free. He makes a soft noise, rolling his wrist once before sliding his hand up your back as you sink down to straddle his lap.
He leans in to kiss you. You press the barrel against his forehead and push him back. He smiles even wider.
“You disappeared.” You hum, and he pushes his forehead a little more into the gun. “You tried to get yourself killed.”
“Balancing the scales.”
“You got shot. You almost died. I watched you die.”
“You love me.” He breathes it like the memory is a fucking treasure - a shot of heroin straight to the system. His hand tightens on your back, pulling you more firmly onto his lap.
“I still hate you. For Foggy.” It’s a lie, but it should be true. He hums, and you slide the gun around to his temple.
“You love me.” He repeats, and brushes his nose against yours.
“I do.” You admit, soft, and he kisses you. Hard. Slow. His fingers slide up into your hair, curling into a fist behind your head as he completely ignores the firearm digging into his skull.
You pull back, and push it in harder.
“Listen to me, Poindexter.” You murmur, low and dark as your own hand slides up to his hair, pulling his head back and making him groan as he looks at you with a blissed-out grin on his scarred face. “Never do that shit again. You don’t get to leave me. Not now, not ever.”
Words he’s said to you before, albeit in different forms, back when you told yourself you hated him.
“Never.” He agrees, and his eyes fall closed like he would die happy if you pulled the trigger right now. He opens them after a moment, and leans up to bump his nose against yours again. “Wanna put that down?”
“I could shoot you.” You don’t know why you’re saying it. You’re smiling too.
“No bullets.” He hums, pleased. “And it’s not loaded.”
You laugh, and wonder just how crazy you’ve become. “The FBI trained you too well.”
He uses his free arm to tug you a little closer, until there’s no more space between your bodies, and you drop the unloaded gun in favor of wrapping your arms around him again.
“Not the FBI. I know you.” He kisses you again, in that slow and determined way, and slides the palm of his hand up beneath your shirt. “Uncuff me.”
You smile, and shake your head. Push him back down and chase his lips with your own.
He hums, nips playfully at your lip, and tugs on the other handcuff until it rattles.
“You’re injured.” You murmur, muffled by his kiss, and he tangles his fingers in your hair again.
“Feels better.”
“Liar.”
He grunts, and rocks his hips against yours. “This feels better. Let me touch you.”
“You are touching me.”
“Let me touch you more.”
You reach down between you, as wrong and stupid as it is, and unbuckle his belt.
He makes a very pleased noise, and moves his free hand down to unbutton your jeans.
“Uncuff me.” He growls again, demanding, as you shuffle out of your pants and move to pull his down.
“No.”
He pulls you back down to him by the back of your neck, traces his tongue over your ear. “Don’t wanna do this with one hand.”
“I could cuff your other hand.”
He grunts, and the next roll of his hips is harder. More punishing. You gasp, control slipping a little more than you want to admit, and he pulls at the hem of your blood-stained shirt.
“Off.”
You comply, and he leans back to look you over like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. You love how he looks at you like that. You love him so much it hurts.
“Your staples.” You murmur, as he drags himself back up to a sitting position, pulling you more firmly onto his lap until you can feel the very prominent evidence of his desire against you.
“Doesn’t hurt.”
It’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to focus as he moves his hand down to slide your underwear over your legs. You maneuver to help him, and his own breath catches in his throat.
“Liar, liar.” It comes out as a whisper, soft and teasing as you press a soft kiss to his lips, and his own lips curl into a smile.
“I want it to hurt.” He noses at your jaw. Down to the hollow of your throat. “Reminds me I’m alive.”
You kiss him, hard, because he is alive and he’s here with you and you suddenly need him so badly it hurts. When you finally sink down onto his lap, bodies joining and breath shaking with the feeling of becoming one, he buries a groan into your hair, hips stuttering as you begin to rock against him. Your thighs burn already at the angle, and he meets your movements with his own as he crushes you to him. It must hurt, and you want to tell him so, but when you open your mouth he groans low against your neck and finds that spot that has your toes curling and hands flying up to find purchase on his shoulders.
You slide your hands over his cheeks, pull his face back so you can kiss him breathless, and pleasure begins to build almost alarmingly fast in your core. You almost lost him. You love him. He’s kissing you like you’re the only oxygen he’s ever wanted to breathe and dragging his rough palm up over your bare back as he meets your movements with his own. The cuff rattles against the chair, but despite his restricted movement and injuries he’s still using his one arm to move you in his lap, angling your body to hit that spot in your core that has you gasping desperately against his lips.
One particularly rough thrust has him hissing in pain, and the reminder of exactly why he’s hurting like this possesses you in the strangest way as you slide your hand down to grip his throat, forcing his gaze to your own.
And there’s so much power in it. In watching this large, scarred, deadly man stare at you like he’s in awe of your existence. The sight of it alone has you falling apart, moaning his name as your body spasms against his. He clings to you, and your hand squeezes around his throat as he pushes his forehead against yours like he’s drinking in the sight of you, too.
“Mine.” You whisper, and he falls over the edge so violently you wonder if he might pass out, hand dropping down to grip your thigh tight enough to bruise.
You sit there for a while, tracing your fingers down the scar on his back as he catches his breath with his forehead pressed against your shoulder.
“I have to re-cuff you.” You murmur eventually, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. He uses his free arm to grip you tighter.
“No. Don’t move.”
“If they walk in here and see you uncuffed and inside me, they’ll probably cuff me too.” You hum, and feel him smile as his teeth dig playfully into your collarbone. You turn your head, lips brushing his ear in a conspiratorial whisper. “They think I’m crazy.”
He laughs, broad shoulders shaking as he pulls back to kiss you.
“Love you.” His fingers trace up your body, trailing slowly over your heated skin.
“Love you too, psycho.” You kiss his cheek. “No more suicide missions, or it’s both cuffs.”
Something sparks in his eyes. “Promise?”
“Both cuffs, and no touching.”
He frowns, and kisses you again like he’s trying to prove that he’s allowed to touch you now. “No more suicide missions.”
-
When Matt comes an hour or so later, you’re fully dressed and back in your chair at Dex’s bedside, one eye closed in concentration as you aim a knife at a bullseye you drew on the wall.
You throw it, and it bounces off the wooden surface and clatters to the ground.
“Flick your wrist.” Dex says, but his eyes are on you, hungry and dark. He’s tried to teach you how to aim weapons a few times before, and the lessons have more often than not been cut short by whatever seems to ignite in him like a bonfire at the sight of you holding a knife. It helps now that he’s in cuffs, but despite your activities earlier he looks damn close to trying to break out of them.
You pick up the knife, and try again. It sticks a little outside of the center, but it sticks. You turn to grin at Dex. He grins back, and the expression is downright feral.
“Uncuff me.”
“Bad boy. You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
Any response he may have, inappropriate or demanding or whatever it may be, is interrupted as the door swings open and Matt walks in. Angry. Silent.
He uncuffs Dex roughly. Sits across from him and doesn’t even acknowledge you. Rude, but fair. You can still understand why he and Karen are so pissed at you, even if you find it a little difficult to care.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I hate you for Foggy. And Father Lantom. And Agent Nadeem.” Dex’s eyes are right on you as he rolls his wrists, stretching the no-doubt stiff muscles and seemingly oblivious to how off-putting it must be that he won’t even spare a glance toward the man telling him how much he hates him. “And I even hate you for what you did to her. Whatever you did that broke her mind.”
“Woah, hey. I’m of completely sound mind.” You snap, defensive. Matt doesn’t turn around.
“Your shirt is on inside out.”
You look down, flush, and look back up in time to see Dex smirk.
“Dick.” You grumble, because he definitely knew, and he definitely didn’t tell you on purpose. You frown at Matt again. “I didn’t uncuff him.”
“Not all the way.” Dex supplies, and you glare so hard his smirk turns into a manic grin.
“Shut up.”
“Stop. Both of you stop.” Matt snaps, annoyingly serious Daredevil voice and all, and it takes a significant amount of effort to swallow your response and sit back in your chair.
He talks about forgiveness. About how he needs it for his own sake, and not for Dex’s or even yours.
But you saw Matt’s face, when you found him at the gala. When he tried to pull you out of there before you got yourself hurt in your anger and grief. And in the church, when he pulled you and Dex to safety as you begged the near-unconscious man to stay with you. To live because despite it all you couldn’t fucking lose him.
He’s angry. He’s hurting. But he cares about you. And you care about him, too. Your love for Dex doesn’t make those years of friendship just go away.
And then, the ultimate question. Aimed directly at Dex. “So, do you wanna do one good thing in a life full of shit?”
Benjamin Poindexter turns to you. You smile at him, an entire conversation passing between the two of you in the span of a second before he rolls his shoulders and turns to Matt.
“What do you need me to do?”
-
The whistle echoes through the vast expanse of the room. Three floors up. Directly and strategically across from the courthouse.
Four ATVF officers whirl, guns raised, and…
And then lowered out of pure confusion.
A woman stands in the doorway, in casual clothes, with her eyes wide and her hands raised in shocked and horrified surrender.
“I-I was just looking for the bathroom.”
Shit. A civilian. They’re gonna have to figure out what to do with her, now. There’s no way she didn’t see the fake Bullseye across the room, and if she tells anyone-
“Wait, please don’t shoot! I know what you do, right? You’re the good guys? You find vigilantes and…you know…” she curls her fingers into the shape of a pistol, aiming at the closest officer’s head, and pretends to fire in demonstration.
Exactly where the woman ‘shot’ him, a knife appears, jutting out right between a pair of wide eyes.
He goes down.
She jumps, surprised, and inspects her hand with alarm like smoke might start coming out of her fingers.
And then, she aims again, almost experimentally, at the second officer. The moment she ‘fires’, another knife flies through the air and hits home.
Just as the shock begins to wear off, spurring the startled men into action, she lowers her other hand into the same shape, and ‘shoots’ the final two men in rapid succession before they can even think to lift their guns.
And then, when all that’s left is the ‘fake Bullseye’, who is still standing there frozen and confused, she laughs.
The sound of heavy bootsteps echoes through the room.
“That was even more fun the third time.” She says, tone bright and amused as she tilts her head back towards the source of the sound.
Bullseye, the real one, appears behind her, and his low chuckle is the most frightening sound the other man has ever fucking heard.
The new Bullseye fires his gun, and screams as his hand is impaled by a knife. He goes down, crumpling to his knees and cradling the bleeding appendage, and his counterpart walks casually forward with the mysterious woman behind him.
He’s only in pain for a few seconds, just long enough to be pushed to the ground, and just long enough to see the glimpse of another knife before it finds its home in his eye.
-
“Holy shit.”
“Hm?” The click of the rifle. The subtle shift of his shoulders as he adjusts his shot. So careful and calculated, and yet you can feel him locked in on every word. Every blink. Every movement.
Even with another target in sight, he is always focused on you.
“Matt just told everyone he’s Daredevil.”
Dex hums, cocking his head to the side. “And?”
“And he’s probably gonna go to prison for it.”
Dex loads the sniper, the shell of the bullet clattering onto the floor. “Prison’s not so bad.”
“Says the guy who broke out of it.”
“For you.” He turns, and you can see his eyes crinkle in the corners even if you can’t see him smile behind the mask. “For romance.”
You hum, and pop your headphone back into your ear, eyes moving back to the monitor as you sit cross-legged atop the table beside the gun. “You’re a fucking psychooo~” you sing, under your breath, and feel him catch your chin between his gloved fingers before you have time to look back up. He tilts your chin towards him, and you feel the warmth of his lips beneath the rough fabric of his mask as he pulls you into a kiss.
He moves back to the gun with the grace of a cat, satisfied, and you do your best not to worry too much about Matt Murdock. Your friend. Daredevil, who has just outed himself to the entire world and sealed his own fate.
The shot is fired and thus your location is given up. It’s time to go.
You hesitate. You sit by the computer, and you watch the screen after it goes blank.
A gloved hand comes up, a warm chest against your back as that same familiar hand guides yours away from your lips.
“What’re you up to?”
Dex’s couch, so long ago. Your eyes locked on a screen. Warm fingers curling around your own. You must have been biting your nails again. It must be late. You barely even heard him come in.
“Tech company. Innocent employee. Spreadsheets.” You tilt your head back, sleepy, and catch his lips with your own. “Not supposed to talk about it though, remember?”
“Criminal.” He kisses you again, but he’s smiling.
“Not technically.” You kiss him back, pulling him closer, catching his hand to guide him around the couch and over to you. “You gonna tattle, Special Agent Poindexter?”
“Never.”
“Time to go.” That same voice is lower now. Raspier. Still just as achingly familiar. So much has changed, and everything is so different, and he’s still so incredibly yours.
“Matt…” the word is released on a breath, and that breath feels too heavy. Too weighed down by memories. Matt. Foggy. Karen. So many memories. So much loss.
“Can’t do anything for him now, baby.” His nose against your temple, his arm around your waist. He took his mask off, at some point. “But if they catch us up here, it’s gonna be a lot worse for him.”
You turn, still frowning, still worried, and reach up to brush your fingers over the deep scar on his cheek. He tilts his head into the touch, like he always does, and smiles.
That smile, sweet and scarred and as familiar as the palm of your own hand, will always feel more like home than any place in the world.
And that’s how it was always gonna go, wasn’t it? Since the day you ran into him in front of that coffee shop, the night he kissed you for the first time, the moment you saw the bullseye etched on the door of your apartment…
It was always him. It was always going to be him. The trajectory of your life changed before you even knew it was happening, jolting in a different direction like a ricocheted bullet, and always still pointed home.
Home, to him.
You smile back, and meet his eyes.
“Where are we going?”
-
Benjamin Poindexter rolls a coin over his knuckles, glances out the window of the airplane towards the earth thousands of feet below, and smiles.
The flight attendant speaks to the man in the seat beside yours, welcomes him into the ‘Million Milers Club’ or whatever, and he does his best not to glare at the noise. The man is beaming - annoying - but you would tell him that it’s rude to glare if you were awake.
Speaking of which, your head is snuggled up to his shoulder, breath soft and even and both arms wrapped around his bicep like he’s some kind of teddy bear, rather than a dangerous assassin.
Then again, you’re almost just as unhinged as he is these days.
He hums, content, and turns his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply and feeling you sigh and shift a little closer.
“You two seem happy.” The too-friendly guy in the seat beside you is smiling, and Dex resists the urge to wrap his arms around you and pull you onto his lap, hiding you from the world because you’re his only his no one else-
He’s gotta reel that under control a little more. That possessiveness. But, well, you’re his. And he’s yours. Two sides of the same coin. Soulmates in every way.
And he knows that you do seem happy. You always do, because you are. You walked onto this plane together in an almost sickening display of blissful love. He lifted your bag into the overhead bin for you, pulled you into the seat after, wrapped his arms around you and basked in your laughter as he shamelessly pressed kisses to your neck and shoulder. You’d leaned back, grinned at him like you were the only two people on the plane, in the world, and slid your hand into his own.
No one suspected that you’d helped him kill people only a few hours before. That you washed the blood off of each other before you came to the airport.
He raises his eyebrows. Too-friendly Guy keeps going. “You headed to your honeymoon?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. He rests his chin on top of your head. He has a ring in his pocket, and when you land in the next country, and he gets the very first opportunity that comes his way, he already plans to drop to his knee and beg you to marry him.
But for now, he nods, and fixes the stranger with a practiced smile.
“Yeah.” He hums, feeling you shift comfortably against him, sighing contentedly against his shoulder. Perfect. His. “It’s long overdue.”
The man looks the two of you over, and seems to be about to say something else, but you shift again and Dex’s attention suddenly couldn’t be any less focused on him.
Honeymoon. Yeah, you’ll have a thousand honeymoons. A thousand lifetimes of happiness and togetherness and love so intense it’s taken lives, saved lives, shattered governments, and so much more.
If you were to ask most sane people, a relationship between a hacker with a penchant for breaking the law and an FBI agent shouldn’t work. And yet, you and Benjamin Poindexter just seem to…well, work. You get each other. You love each other. In fact, it doesn’t take much to see that your boyfriend is completely and utterly obsessed with you.
Unfortunately, Wilson Fisk sees this too, and it isn’t long before it becomes clear just how far Dex is willing to go to keep you with him. And, after tragedy strikes, how far he’ll go to get you back.
Warnings: 18+ Minors DNI: Obsession, Stalking, Violence, Murder (I mean, it's Bullseye), Blood, Dex is down so bad guys, Smut!!, Unprotected PinV (wrap it before you tap it), Slight knife play, Slight gun play, Reader matches Dex’s freak, Vague mentions of mental illness (it's Dex), Angst, Canon-compliant character death, Please please let me know if I forgot anything!
Author's Note: And here we have the longest fic I've ever written! I loved writing these two so much that I'm almost sad to post it because I don't get to work on it anymore. Be warned that this fic is going to follow the events of Daredevil season 3 through Born Again season 2, so there will definitely be spoilers! As always, let me know what you guys think!! Your feeback brings me joy and keeps me writing!!
Word Count: 22k
-
It’s almost painfully cliche, how he meets you.
You slam into him, head banging against his shoulder so hard that it might bruise. So hard that your phone clatters to the ground in a chaotic little cacophony of plastic on pavement.
“Shit!” Your voice is a sharp cry in the crowded street, but no one really turns around for this kind of thing in New York. No one offers much more than a backwards glance and a raised eyebrow. He just wanted a damn coffee, and now his shoulder is aching and he’s about to whip around to snap at you for-
Your palm is pressed against your forehead, and your eyes are squeezed shut. You’re in a sweatshirt and jeans. There are subtle bags under your eyes from what he can only assume is a lack of sleep. Your sneakers are worn. There is almost nothing about you that should be in any way memorable.
One eye peeks open, and his heart…stutters.
“I’m sorry. Shit. You okay?”
His heart stops.
He isn’t sure why. He can’t exactly place it, but it’s just…there you are. Running right into him like that. Asking if he’s okay when you look like his shoulder bone might have fucking concussed you.
He reaches down, picks up your phone, and offers it to you.
“I’m fine.” He says, softer than he means to, and you open your other eye.
“Are you made of concrete or something?” You huff a laugh, accept your phone, and slide it into your pocket. He’s staring too hard. He needs to break the gaze but it feels impossible and wrong to even try.
“Not that I know of.”
A feeling like desperate need claws its way up his throat when you smile again. When you laugh at his words like you really hear them. He doesn’t know exactly what it is he needs, but it’s overwhelming to the point of near-pain.
“I’m sorry about that.” You say again, and you mean it. “If I left a bruise, don’t sue me.” You glance down, notice the badge clipped to his belt. “Or…arrest me.”
He can’t remember how to speak. How to breathe right. But he needs to act…normal. He can’t just yank you to him in the middle of the street, bury his nose in your neck and inhale your perfume. Not like he wants to.
The world is narrowed down to a pinpoint. The crowded, chaotic streets of the city are gone. The honking of taxis, the bustle of people trying to get to their destinations, the towering buildings, it’s all gone. It’s just you, and your smile, and your eyes looking up at him.
His smile twitches a little before it finally forms on his lips, lopsided and genuine. You relax at the sight of it.
“Don’t have my cuffs on me, so I guess you’re safe.” And you smile at the joke, and it’s perfect.
He’ll buy you coffee. He’ll talk to you. He’ll make you smile more.
Your phone dings, and you curse as you glance down at it. “Shit. I gotta go.” You murmur, shooting one more apologetic glance up at him. “Sorry again. Really.”
“It’s…okay.” But it’s not. You can’t leave. You can’t walk away from him he just found you he’s not done-
But you’re gone, and your sudden absence shudders his breath and makes his chest feel too tight. No. No, you need to be here. With him. He just found you. You can’t leave.
He doesn’t move for a good few seconds, frozen in place as the noise and chaos crashes back in, crippling and horrible.
The bell to the coffee shop dings. There. That’s where you are. Where you’re going. Not gone. Not too far for him to find again.
He waits sixty seconds, counts his breaths, and follows.
-
“Yikes, what happened to you?”
You’re rubbing your forehead. You’re hurt. His shoulder hurt you. The dull ache in the spot where you slammed against him feels like a connection. A tether holding you to him.
“Too embarrassing.” You grumble, but he can hear a hint of humor and familiarity in your voice. “Don’t make me say it.”
“Well now I have to know.” You smile at the blond man. Nelson. The lawyer. Dex knows about him. Are you with him, somehow? Is Nelson trying to take you away from him?
You huff a laugh, and plop down unceremoniously into the opposite chair, still rubbing your forehead. “I was trying to respond to your millionth text, and I just absolutely slammed into this smoking hot FBI guy.”
“FBI?” Nelson repeats, but you said hot. You called him hot. He’s so distracted by that that he barely hears your next words, dripping with sarcasm as you pull one foot up onto the chair and wrap your arms around your knee.
“Yeah, and then I told him all about my extra curricular activities, and my home address.”
“Your jokes aren’t as funny as you think they are, you know.”
“Neither are yours, and we’re still friends.” You accept the cup of coffee Nelson slides your way, and Dex’s heart stutters again as you smile over the rim of the mug.
“So, speaking of which…”
“I knew it. I knew it. You never just wanna hang out and get coffee.”
“We hang out and get coffee all the time.”
“The ratio is off, lately. You ask for favors more since you went into that corporate law job. Now your pro-bono work always goes through me and all my incredible skills like some dirty little secret.”
Pro-bono work. Secrets. What do you do? You’re kind. You’re good. He can feel it. Sense it like second nature. But the questions and lack of answers are making him grip his own mug a little tighter, making it difficult for him to lean back in the shadows and hide like he’s supposed to.
Nelson looks sheepish, but you give a good natured wave of your hand. A silent ‘go on’ gesture that Dex can’t help but find painfully charming.
“I have a case. This guy…” Nelson slides a file towards you, “didn’t do it. Works for a big company, going down for financial crimes that he didn’t commit. They’re trying to cover their tracks, and a little bit of proof might keep him from missing his kids’ elementary school graduation.” You raise an eyebrow, and Nelson smiles a little. “And middle school. And high school. And…college. The point is they’re gonna try to put him away for a long time, and he didn’t do it.”
You squint, and slide the file closer to yourself. “Financial crimes?”
“Just saying, a little bit of…evidence towards his innocence will really help.”
“Hm.”
“And it shouldn’t be a problem for the best hacker in New York.”
You raise an eyebrow again.
“Okay, the east coast.”
Your eyebrow climbs higher.
“America?”
You grin, and Dex twitches with the need to be closer to you. To see that grin directed at him.
“You’re gonna have to start paying me soon.”
“And if I do, it becomes illegal.”
You tilt your head back again, puff out a dramatic sigh, and curl your fingers around the file.
“I want one of your mom’s sandwiches, at two am. The one with the provolone that I like.”
Nelson grins, wide. “Done and done.”
And then, you tilt your head back towards Nelson. “Does this have anything to do with Fisk?”
Fisk. Fisk? That asshole? That annoying detail he’s about to be stuck on?
“Wilson Fisk?”
“No, the other one. The other crime boss who just got out of prison and has a bone to pick with you.”
Nelson rolls his eyes. “Still not funny.”
“Foggy.”
He hesitates, and frowns. “No. But don’t…just stay away from that, okay? We’ll figure it out. You getting involved, especially with your tendency to…piss people like that off…”
“I haven’t been caught.”
“You will be, if you keep up that little Robin Hood act you have going on. There’s only so much legal counsel I can give you. This is extra legal council. I should be charging you for this.”
“Those companies don’t notice any money missing. You know who does? Mr. Stevenson next door, who can pay off his damn bills and not have to work an extra six hours a day to afford medication for his bad leg.” Your tone is sharp. Defensive.
So you’re a criminal. A good one. Because stealing from the rich and giving to people who need it… that’s good. His own moral compass might be a little off-kilter, but he knows that much.
Then again, you could be a serial killer and he would probably still feel this way, but oh well.
Foggy frowns, like this is a conversation you’ve had many times before, and gives you a familiar little nod, like he knows arguing won’t get him too far. “Just…don’t get involved, okay? Stay away from it. This is more dangerous than you think.”
“Vague.” You grumble, but you’re sliding the file into your bag. “Sandwich with the provolone, three am.”
“You said two.”
You stand, finish your coffee, and smile. “This one’s gonna take a while.”
-
Watching you work is…fascinating.
It’s a slow process, Dex realizes quickly. You don’t click at your keyboard and bust through firewalls like in movies. You lay on your couch, bite your nails, and seem to work through problems one by one. It takes a while. It frustrates you. It makes you smile to yourself when you solve one of those problems.
You get your sandwich. You talk to Nelson for a while. Update him. Get back to work.
The sun is going to rise, soon. You’re still working. His eyes are starting to hurt from watching you through this telescope, but he can’t make himself look away.
When you move to the kitchen, you slide on the hardwood in your socks. You play music. You tap your fingers on your keyboard to the beat.
He watches every second. Every single twitch of your eye. Every frown when you can’t figure something out. Every bright little spark when you do figure it out.
Perfect. You’re perfect. And when you finally do fall asleep, computer resting on your stomach and eyes dropping closed like they’re weighed down by anvils, he wants more than anything to make his way into that dingy little apartment and carry you to your bed in the adjacent room. To slide his fingers through your hair, feel you smile, and listen to your heartbeat until he’s positive that nothing will ever be able to take you away from him.
But for now, he watches. He stays, long after you’ve fallen asleep, and he watches.
-
It takes planning. It takes hours of working himself up to it. Of watching you from afar, plotting every scenario out bit by bit and talking himself out of it a thousand times.
You consume his thoughts like a poison. He follows you to your work. Back to your apartment. Watches every interaction you have with everyone else and wishes it was him you were looking at until he stops fucking sleeping with the need to have you near him.
So, when the torture becomes too much, he follows you to a bar, and he sits in the corner, and he watches you laugh with your friends. Watches and watches and craves to be closer to the light that seems to emanate from your very being.
And he gets up at just the right time, and allows you to bump into him as you start walking back towards the group you came with.
Not a single drop of his drink spills on him - he’s still a little too organized to allow that to happen if he can help it - but he makes it look like it does. He catches your waist as you stumble with an ‘oomph’, and just like that you’re close to him. You’re touching him. He’s touching you. You’re here. With him.
“Oh, fuck. Sorry. Sorry.” You’re not drunk, barely even buzzed, but he knows you well enough now to know that you’re just a little clumsy, and this place is just loud enough for this to work.
Your eyes turn up to his, and you nearly stumble back.
Practiced smile. Fingers curling against your back a little because he just can’t help it. “We’ve gotta stop bumping into each other like this.” He’s practiced that line in the mirror, and it works. You laugh.
You laugh. At his joke. At his line that he’s practiced for this specific scenario. It worked.
“I know you.” You grin, wide, and then flinch a little, but you’re still laughing. “Have I said I’m sorry yet?”
“You did.” He has to let you go. He would rather die, but he can’t be holding you like this. You don’t know him yet. Not yet. “Never got your name, though.”
“I never got yours. Figured you hated me for dislocating your shoulder.”
“Dex.”
“Dex.” You repeat, and his blood hums in his veins at the sound. “Nice to meet you, Dex.”
“Nice to meet you…public hazard.” Lame joke. Bad joke. He just can’t string a fucking thought together when you’re near him and-
You snort. His heart bursts into flames.
“Do you want to get out of here?” Fuck. It’s too soon. Way too soon. You’re gonna say no, and leave, and he’s-
“Yeah.” You set your drink down. “Yeah, I do.”
-
“So…hobbies?” You take a bite of your pizza, heels clicking against the pavement, and he can’t stop looking at you.
“Not really.”
“Hm.” You don’t seem bothered by it. By his lack of interesting traits. He’s not lying to you. He doesn’t have to. You’re meant to be together, after all. He doesn’t have to lie about himself. Right? “Okay. Any special skills then, Special Agent?”
Actually, yeah. “I have one.”
You perk up, raise an eyebrow. “Really?”
He grins, real and genuine, and pulls a quarter out of his back pocket. “Think you’re ready for it?”
“Nah.” He flips the coin over his fingers, feigns pocketing it again. “Don’t think you are.”
“Aw, come on. Please?”
Butterflies swarm in his chest. A smile curls on his lips. He nods towards the darkened street before you. “Pick somethin’.”
You frown, cock your head to the side, and purse your lips when he doesn’t budge to give you any more information. “Okay….street sign. That one right there.”
“Letter.”
“What?”
“Pick a letter.”
Your brow furrows a little more, and your lips twitch in a smile. “T.”
The throws the quarter out, and the sound of metal on metal sings through the air.
There’s a dent in the T. It’s so small, so subtle, that you have to move over to the sign to inspect it.
“Holy shit.”
Do you like it? Are you impressed? He has to stop himself from grabbing your shoulder and demanding to know.
“Can you do it again?”
Yes. Yes of course he can. He’ll do anything. Anything to make you look at him with those wide eyes and that big grin.
You name five more things, he hits them all perfectly, and he doesn’t want to stop. He wants to keep impressing you. Keep hearing your startled noises of approval.
But you make it back to your apartment, and he has to force himself to let you leave. To not follow you upstairs and learn every inch of your skin until it’s locked into his memory forever.
Instead, he asks you to dinner, and you agree. You smile, and you agree.
-
He kisses you for the first time on your second date. Dinner and ice cream.
He’s walked you to your door, like he did the last time, and you’re standing there in your dress with that smile of yours and your eyes looking expectantly into his and he doesn’t know how to do this right. Sure, there have been women in the past. He’s kissed girls. Slept with them when the time was right, because that’s what you’re supposed to do, and never really…felt anything. Never wanted anything like this. Fuck, he feels more excitement just looking at you than he did with every hookup he’s ever had.
He has to do it. Make it romantic. Make it perfect. He’s looked up the right way to do this. Studied romantic movies like it was some kind of assignment with life-or-death consequences.
Reach up, brush your hair behind your ear, drink in your shy smile, lean closer so his breath ghosts over your lips-
“You have ice cream on your nose.”
He freezes, fingers still cupping your jaw, and pulls back.
“What?”
You giggle, oblivious to how much his mind is spinning, and reach up to swipe it off with your thumb.
“Shit.” He mumbles, shaking his head and stepping back. “Shit. I’m sorry. I-“
You tilt your head to the side, curious and confused and beautiful as you seem to realize that he’s actually freaking out a little. Because it’s not perfect. It was supposed to be perfect because that’s the only way he gets to keep good things. Order. Focus. But he fucked it up and now you’re-
“Woah, hey. Hey.” You reach up, and turn his face towards yours. “Hey, it’s okay. I’m sorry, it was cute. Just…try again.”
Try again. Yeah, he…he can try again. It can still be good. Still be perfect.
So he does. He leans down, and when his lips brush yours his breath comes out as a shaky exhale.
And then your mouth is on his, warm and soft and everything he’s ever wanted. Electricity shoots down his spine, through his blood, and some tether of control within him snaps. He presses closer, the hand on your cheek moving to the back of your head to keep you in place, and kisses you like he’s trying to devour you with a passion he didn’t know he possessed.
You gasp against his lips, arms coming up to wrap around his neck as you meet him with just as much enthusiasm. Just as much hunger. And this…this is perfect. This is rough and desperate and perfect. This didn’t need to go according to plan. This is so much better than the plan.
When you finally break apart, he’s out of breath and more than a little pleased to see that you are, too.
“Wow.” You whisper, and he grins as his nose ducks back down to brush against yours.
“Yeah.” He breathes, unable to think of another response. Any other word to describe this feeling. “Wow.”
-
When you see the caller id, you can’t help but smile at the screen.
“Geez, you look so weird with the cartoon heart eyes.” Foggy’s voice breaks you out of your little trance, and you snort as you answer the phone, confirming that Dex is off work and headed back to his apartment. You feel a twinge of excitement, cheesy as it is, at the idea of seeing him soon. You try not to flag down the bartender too quickly, lest the mockery get any worse.
“FBI guy?” Foggy raises an eyebrow, and you smile again.
“His name is Dex.” Foggy’s eyebrows rise even higher. You flush. “I dunno, I like him. A lot, actually.”
“He’s in the FBI. You’re a pretty notorious hacker.”
“So we don’t talk about work.” You take a sip of your drink. “Plus, he’s not gonna turn me in. I’m too good in bed.”
“But he knows?”
“Of course he knows.” You raise your eyebrows, leaning forward like you’re explaining something imperative. “One you start having sex with someone, it’s important that you confess all of your crimes to each other.”
Foggy laughs, and shakes his head. “You’re insane.” And then, curious and caring as ever, “so what’s he like, if he’s got you risking federal prison?”
Your smile returns, cheeks heating a little, and you shrug. “Cute. Nice. A little weird. Well, actually a lot weird, but…I like it.” You think about the precise way Dex loads the dishwasher. How he carefully makes the bed every morning. How he makes an odd joke every now and then, and then looks absolutely panicked until you laugh, and that panic will always melt into an expression of relief and adoration.
Sometimes his emotions are a little…intense. He can get frustrated, and sometimes he doesn’t seem like he knows how to handle it. But you help. You always do. You tell him to breathe and help him work through whatever’s bothering him, and it works. He always listens. Always tries, even if it takes a moment.
You just…work. Something about you, and something about him, and all the weirdness in between…it works.
When you get back to his place tonight, he’s holding a bouquet of flowers and looking genuinely nervous.
“I don’t get this.” He admits before you even drop your keys onto the counter, frowning down at the colorful petals. “They’re just gonna die in a couple of days.”
“Then why did you get them?”
He cocks his head to the side, but you can see a tinge of pink on his cheeks. “They did it in the movie we watched last night. You smiled.”
You smile now. Wide. “You know, you’re kinda cute, Poindexter.”
Something like vulnerability sparks in his eyes. “Do you not like the flowers?”
You snort, and move forward to slide your hands up over his shoulders, feeling the crisp fabric of his white button-down against your palms. “I like them. You did good. Really good.”
He smiles at that, like those words are the best thing he’s ever heard, and you pull him down to kiss you.
Your conversation with Foggy flashes through your mind. You forgot to tell him that one thing. That one major reason why you like Dex. Why you’re with him.
You get him. And he gets you.
You just…work.
-
The newspaper sits on the counter, Dex’s picture stamped right on the front page. FBI investigates one of their own.
You try not to talk about work with him. After all, you’re technically a criminal and he’s in law enforcement. But you knew about the investigation. It’s unjust, Dex says, and you believe him because…well, of course you do. It’s Dex. He saved lives that night, and the few coworkers of his that you’ve met since you’ve been dating have confirmed it.
And then the suspension came.
“It’s bullshit. It’s fucking bullshit.” In what feels like only a few words, his voice morphs from a frustrated growl into something as sharp and loud as the crack of a whip. His hand moves faster than you can even register, and in a split second there’s a kitchen knife sticking out of a photo on the wall. Right in the forehead of the person you recognize as his boss.
“Shit, I keep forgetting how spooky that is.” You breathe, and Dex’s eyes whip back to yours.
“Breathe, Poindexter.” You raise your hands in surrender, and step ever-so-carefully forward, like one wrong move might frighten him off.
“Don’t.” He snaps, fingers curling on the counter, but his eyes don’t leave you. He’s breathing too heavily. Too raggedly.
You reach up, and turn his face down to yours. Gentle, but firm. “You gotta breathe. Tell me three things you can see.”
He freezes, eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to tell if you’re kidding or not, before he speaks. “Your eyes.” He finally says, voice softening a little with each word. “Your nose…your mouth.”
Okay, it’s usually supposed to be things around the room, but this works too.
“Three things you can feel?”
He blinks, eyes still fixed on you, and raises one hand to your cheek. “Your skin.” He leans closer, helplessly. His hand moves up to your hair, curling a lock of it around his finger. “Your hair…” his free hand drops to your waist, bunching in the fabric of your borrowed t-shirt. “Your shirt.”
“Your shirt, technically.”
He grunts, and buries his nose in your temple.
“Three things you can hear.”
“Your voice.” You hum in response, and he presses closer. “Your heartbeat. Your breathing.”
You nod, and reach up to wrap your arms around his broad shoulders. He holds you a little more tightly. “Your breathing is better, see?”
He nods, and pulls back to kiss you. It’s slow, hard and desperate, like he’s trying to memorize the feeling. You pull him closer, and he makes a soft noise against your lips before he lifts you up and carries you over to the counter.
“Do you feel better?” You ask against his lips, feeling his fingers push the hem of your shirt up so he can trace them over your skin.
“I’m still being framed.” He murmurs, pulling back to trail his lips over the line of your jaw. “It’s still bullshit.”
“I know.”
“You make it better.” His hands move up, higher, warming the bare skin of your back. “You make everything better.”
“Hell of a compliment.”
“I mean it.”
“Me too.”
You kiss him again, feel him press his body closer to yours until your fingers are moving up to fumble with the buttons of his dress shirt and his are sliding your t-shirt up over your head. Moving down to skate over the hem of your underwear.
“Bedroom?” You breathe, and he shakes his head, lips never leaving your body for a second as he lowers himself to his knees right there before the counter.
“Here.” He rasps, teeth scraping against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh, and pulls you to the edge of the counter in one sharp movement that has you locking your fingers in his cropped hair. “Please.”
“That’s my line, I think.” You’re breathless, his lips are trailing higher.
“No, it’s not.” His blue eyes are on yours, filled with something so much like worship that it halts your breath in your lungs. “It’s mine.”
-
“One more.”
The word is warm and sweet in your ear, a low hum paired with wandering hands and a soft, languid kiss to your jaw.
You snort, and you can feel him grin against your ear.
“I think one more will kill me.” You murmur, feigning misery, and his hand slides down over your hip, teasing. “Seriously, how do you have so much stamina?”
“Mm, it’s just you.” He murmurs, and trails his fingers over your stomach. “I can go all night.”
“We have gone all night.”
It’s been hours since he snapped in the kitchen, and your brain has become too mushy to even remember when the two of you migrated into his room. The problem with Dex’s…ability, is that he really never misses. He can take you apart almost embarrassingly quickly, immediately finding every spot and movement that has you seeing stars. And, with his obsessive personality, he has a tendency to try to one up himself. A lot. To see how many times he can make you fall apart until your legs are shaking and you’re spending the next day aching in all the best ways.
Which is why you’re pretty sure, even as his fingers find the apex of your thighs once more and he swallows your gasp with a smile against your lips, that he’s going to kill you. Death by too-many-orgasms has to be a thing, right?
“Dex…” you breathe, arching beneath him as your hands fly up to grasp at his muscled biceps.
“One more.” He repeats, the words a quiet rasp. “You can do it. Just give me one more. Please.”
How the fuck are you ever supposed to say no to him?
You kiss him, and he groans as he presses his body closer to yours.
One more turns into three more.
-
You can’t get a hold of Foggy. Or Karen.
Their names aren’t on the list of people who died at the Bulletin, so that’s something. Still, the chances of either of them being in the building during the attack are pretty damn high. And you don’t blame them for not answering. If they really were there, they must be fucking traumatized.
You would absolutely love it if one of them could pick up the damn phone, though.
Dex shows up around midnight, and you’ve already pulled on your jeans. Already grabbed your keys in preparation to run out the door and start banging on apartment doors. Hell, you might even go to the church Matt’s been hiding out in since he got back. Self-appointed recluse or not, you want answers. Before the news makes the information public, this time. There’s only so much information that hacking can give you, and if the cops and news outlets are currently scanning through the cameras for information of their own, it’s going to take a lot longer for you to find anything out than it will if your friends would just fucking talk to you.
“Hey, where are you going? What’s wrong?” Hands are on your shoulders, moving up to your cheeks, and you wonder if you look fucking insane with worry and confusion right now.
What the hell are you supposed to tell him? Oh yeah, Daredevil is my friend Matt. You know the one who died and kinda sorta came back? Have I mentioned him? Well apparently he’s gone fucking berserk and tried to kill Karen, but I’m absolutely fucking positive that it wasn’t him, which means that someone is out there murdering people in his old suit-
“I’ve…gotta go.” You say weakly, lamely, and start to pull back.
His hands tighten on you. Fast.
“Where? Where do you have to go?” He’s holding you surprisingly firmly, large arms locked around your body and making a frown curl your lips.
“Dex, let me go.” You can’t tell him. Of course you can’t. You have to figure this out on your own.
He doesn’t. In fact, he holds you even more tightly. “You can’t leave. You can’t leave me.”
“I’m-huh?” You turn to him, now, and blink in surprise at what you find. His eyes are dark. He looks like he’s sweating. Shit, he might be shaking. “Dex, what’s going on?”
“I need you here, okay?” He’s breathing a little strangely, hand smoothing up over your back with something like desperation. “I…you need to be here.”
You frown, and reach up to brush your fingers over his cheek. He closes his eyes, and leans into your touch.
“Okay. Hey, it’s okay.” He wasn’t able to help tonight. That’s it. He’s just been suspended. All of the order and structure he relies so heavily on is gone. You didn’t realize just how much it must be affecting him, and you feel like a shitty girlfriend for not immediately seeing just how off he is. “What’s wrong? What’s going on?”
He ducks down, fingers curling against your cheek and lips hovering over your own. “Tell me you need me.”
“Dex-“ you start, but his fingers slide into your hair and he backs you against the wall. It’s not aggressive, not quite, but it’s firm. Determined. Almost overwhelming in its desperation.
“Say it. Please.”
You frown, but reach up to wrap your arms around his neck. “I need you.”
He groans, and kisses you so hard your knees give out. He catches you, all-but scooping you into his arms as he traces his tongue over your lip and slides his arms around your waist.
You have to go find Foggy and Karen and Matt. You have to make sure they’re okay, and the four of you need to come up with some kind of game plan. Or, they do, and they’ll probably need your help because you just had to learn Matt’s secret. Just had to get mugged that night and recognize his voice. Just had to check security cameras and figure everything out and confront him about it.
So, with your particular skill set, and the information you have, they’ll probably need you, as outside of all this as you like to keep yourself. But Dex needs you more right now, and that matters more. You’ll get to the bottom of this mystery another time, when your boyfriend’s trembling hands aren’t pulling at your clothes and his lips aren’t trailing over your throat as he whispers your name like a prayer over and over again.
“What’s wrong?” You ask again, breathless and worried as he lifts you against the wall, as he wraps your thighs around his waist and curls his fingers against your skin hard enough that you worry it might bruise. You hope it does.
“You make it quiet.” He murmurs between kisses, tugging at your clothes until your shirt slides up over your head, discarded on the floor in a second. Messy. Disordered in a way that isn’t like him. “You make it all quiet. I need it to be quiet. Please.” His voice is shaking. Desperate.
You’re not quite sure what he means, but you nod anyway.
The moment you do, his body is pressing impossibly closer to yours. His lips are moving down your neck, kisses so rough and starved that you can feel his teeth scraping over your skin. His hands are tight on your body, hips rocking forward and making you gasp, and you can still hear the shakiness in his quickened breaths as he moves back up to kiss you so hard your head knocks lightly against the wall.
Your fingers move to the buttons of his shirt. His breaths are getting quicker. His grip is getting tighter.
“D-Dex.” You’re so breathless yourself that you can barely get his name out, but he doesn’t stop kissing you. Doesn’t slow his desperate movements until you finally reach up to pull his face away from yours.
His pupils are blown. His gaze is starved. He’s still shaking.
“Hey, stay with me.” You card your fingers through his hair, and kiss him slowly. Warmly. He doesn’t need rough and desperate right now. He needs reassurance. Grounding. Love.
He releases a shuddering breath, kisses you back, and nods as he rests his forehead against yours. “I’m here. I’m good.”
You nod, and as he carries you into the bedroom and lies you back on the mattress, you can see in his eyes that he’s telling the truth. He’s here. He’s with you.
He peels the rest of your clothing off slowly, trailing his mouth over newly exposed skin, and you do the same for him, barely able to keep your lips and hands off of him for a second.
It’s slow, and loving, and painfully intimate. He murmurs your name against your ear as he moves with you, and you drag your nails over his muscled back as you tell him how good it feels until he falls apart with a groan that almost sounds like a sob.
He holds you after, presses his lips to your forehead and trails his fingers over your body like he’s trying to memorize the feeling of you.
“Do you think I’m a good man?” His voice is low, quiet and vulnerable as he slides calloused fingers through your hair.
You look up, surprised by the question, and he holds you a little more tightly like he’s worried you’ll bolt.
“Of course.” You frown, reaching up to brush your own fingers over his cheek. He turns his face into your palm, kissing it once, and you turn his eyes back to yours. “You’re a good man, Benjamin Poindexter.”
He makes a soft noise in the back of his throat, something raw and pained and full of hope, and tucks you closer to him like you’re the most precious thing in the world. “I love you.”
“I love you, too.” You kiss his shoulder, and let your eyes fall closed. “You’re gonna be okay.”
And for a moment, as he breathes something like a sigh of relief into your hair, you think he believes you.
-
“I need you to listen to me, and listen carefully.”
“Oh, now the zombie hiding in the basement is making demands. It’s good to see you too, Matt. I’ve been great, how about-“
“The man in the daredevil suit is Special Agent Benjamin Poindexter.”
That shuts you up, right the fuck away. “Very funny.”
“I’m not joking. He’s working for Fisk. He’s killing for him, and framing me.”
You feel cold. “No, he’s not. He wouldn’t do that.”
Matt’s expression is intense, his words are low and pointed. Urgent. This is his stupid fucking Daredevil voice. “He would. And he is. Fisk has him convinced that doing this will keep you with him. You have the means and the skill to prove me right. I need you to do that, as soon as possible. You need to get as far away from him as you-“
“Stop.” You snap, holding up a hand you know he won’t see. He’ll feel it though, or whatever. “Stop, Matt. You have the wrong guy.”
“You know that’s not true, and we don’t have time for you to come to terms with it. You are in danger, and you need to-“
“It’s not him.” Your ears are ringing. Your voice sounds desperate. Angry, even. “He’s…he’s a little intense. He’s a little weird, sure. But he wouldn’t…he wouldn’t do that.”
Matt’s jaw tightens. He shakes his head.
“You look into it the way you know how. You know. You’ll see it.” Matt reaches to grab your shoulder, and you flinch back. He looks pained, like he’s genuinely worried and didn’t call you here after all this time to falsely accuse the man you love of mass fucking murder. “I’m sorry. I haven’t been here for you enough. For Foggy and Karen. But I’m here now. I can protect you now. And you need to stay away from him.”
You pull back, and shake your head again. “I…no. You have the wrong guy, Matt. He’s…you’re wrong. We’ll find who’s doing this, but it’s not Dex.”
“We can keep you safe. You can hide-“
“No.”
“Please. He’s unpredictable. He’s dangerous. He could kill you if he knows you know.”
“I don’t know. I know you’re…you’re wrong.” He is wrong. He has to be wrong. “I’ll find out who it is, okay? But it’s not Dex. Just…it’s not Dex.”
And yet…
No. No. It’s not possible. There’s no way.
Matt spends the next ten minutes trying to convince you, and you block all of it out. You refuse to listen. You tell him you’ll go home, and you’ll avoid Dex until you can find the proper evidence.
You lie. And as you walk out of the church into the suddenly too-bright, too-loud city, you wonder if… if he could…
Fuck. You need to get to your computer. You need to prove him wrong.
-
He killed Ray tonight.
It doesn’t bother him. That kind of thing never has. What bothered him was Nadeem talking about you.
“He’s lying. He’s using you. He’s using her.” Dex’s hands had tightened reflexively on his gun. “You think he’s gonna keep her safe? You think this is how she stays in your life? Whatever he told you, he’ll hurt her the second it’s convenient for him, and he’ll take you out too.”
“You need to stop talking about her, Ray.” Dex’s voice is low. Quiet.
“When she finds out, you think she’s gonna stay with you? You think Fisk is gonna make her stay with you? How does this plan of yours work, exactly?”
Yes. Of course. Whether Fisk needs to make it happen or not, you’ll stay with him. And it will be okay, because you love him. Sure, you’ll be upset, but he can make that better. He will make it better. All of it. Everything he does is to keep you happy. Keep you by his side. But for now, you don’t have to know anything. You can just be with him, and love him.
If you learn a little too much, learn about the darkness that lives inside of him, about the things he’s done, Fisk will do what he needs to do, what he promised, and make sure you stay. Simple as that.
And you’ll still love him, right? Right. You’re meant to be together.
The shot lands perfectly between his former friend’s eyes. And, once it’s all said and done, he goes home to you.
-
You’re on the couch when he walks through the door. You’re chewing on your nails. You’re staring at your computer screen.
So perfect. So beautiful. All his. Just like he’s all yours.
Like he has a hundred times before, he moves over to gently move the laptop out of your hands, leaning you back against the cushions with a smile that surely holds all of the affection that feels like it’s about to overwhelm him.
“What’re you doing?” He presses his lips to your nose, your cheek, your jaw.
You’re tense. Something’s bothering you. He can fix that.
“Looking something up.” You murmur, soft and hesitant. “Or…I should be. I can’t…make myself do it.”
He can see in his peripheral that your screen is blank. You’re still tense, and when he kisses you he can taste the faintest tinge of iron from where you were biting your lip.
You’re wearing his t-shirt. He moves to slide his hands under it, reveling in the softness of your skin, and presses another kiss to the shell of your ear. You relax, like you just can’t help yourself, and he smiles as he settles a little more comfortably atop you.
“Hm, you know you’re not supposed to tell me about any of your hacking stuff.” He jokes, but you don’t smile like you usually would. Don’t tease him back. “Might incriminate yourself a little too much. And you know there’s only one way I wanna see you in cuffs.”
You do smile now, though there’s something in your eyes that he can’t place. He wants to ask, but you kiss him and he forgets everything that isn’t you.
“Or, you know. Put me in cuffs.” And you hum, and smile a little more.
He peels your clothing off nice and slow, trailing his lips down to follow every movement. It’s warm, and safe, and soft and gentle in all the ways the rest of the world is not. You gasp his name, look into his eyes even as yours threaten to flutter closed, and he loves you so much it hurts. So intensely that he worries it might swallow him whole. He wants it to.
When it’s over, and he’s pressing his lips over your cheeks and nose again, heavy breaths matching your own, he tastes the saltiness of tears on your skin and pauses.
His brow furrows, and he pulls back.
You reach up, and smooth your thumb over his cheek. “You’re a good man.” You whisper, and you sound like you’re talking to yourself, but he melts anyway.
“I love you.” He breathes, and drags you closer so he can kiss you again. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You murmur, and there’s never been so much of this strange emotion in your voice before. He can’t quite place it.
But you’re overwhelmed by your love for him, too. That’s all.
That’s all.
-
The worst part of it all is that you know you’re going to find it before you even bring yourself to open your computer.
And yet, it still feels like a punch to the fucking gut.
“Hello, Karen. It’s nice to see you again.”
You would recognize that voice anywhere.
It took you five minutes to get into the security cameras. Of the Bulletin. Of the church.
It took five more minutes for you to find all of the other evidence. The therapy sessions. The people he’s killed. The people he’s manipulated. Threatened. His lack of empathy. His obsessive behavior. His enjoyment of killing. Fuck, you even figure out that he was stalking you before you ever ran into him at that bar. You like to say, in your cockiest moments, that everything can be found online. Everything is documented even when people think it isn’t. You just have to look.
You didn’t look. In ten minutes, you found it all. In an hour, you’ve found too much for any excuse to ever work. For anything other than the truth to make sense.
And then, with perfect timing like the universe is making some sort of sick joke, Foggy Nelson tells you to come down to the old gym. He shows you Nadeem’s video, and you have to drag a trash can over so you can puke your guts up as the world drops from beneath your feet.
You cry silently. Curl in on yourself against the boxing ring while Foggy and Karen watch you, expressions filled with sympathy and guilt. Because they weren’t here. They didn’t check in on you. They let this get this far and it blindsided you because you were too wrapped up in stupid domestic bliss to even hang out with your friends like you should have.
Foggy’s hand comes down on your shoulder, comforting and kind. “Can you do it?”
You don’t look up from the phone screen even as you take it from his hand.
You nod.
-
“What are you-“
You aren’t supposed to be here. You aren’t supposed to be here. You aren’t-
Matt is gonna kill you, if Dex doesn’t do it first. And yet, you know without a shadow of a doubt that he won’t hurt you. Everyone else, maybe, but not you.
That doesn’t make him any less dangerous.
You grab his arm, and pull him outside with you, into the alley. It will be on camera. It will be obvious that you know, when Fisk sees it. But it doesn’t matter. None of that will matter soon, anyway.
His brow is furrowed, that look of frustration when he doesn’t have control of the situation tightening his features. After all, you did just show up to his work unannounced and drag him outside.
He reaches for you, and you step back.
“What the hell are you doing?” He asks, something in his face cracking a little. “Come here. Please.”
“Tell me it’s not true. Please, tell me it’s not true.”
Panic. Immediate, sharp panic. He knows. He knows you know. “Come here.”
“Dex.”
“It’s not true.” He says immediately, lies immediately, and reaches for you again. You back up again. “It’s not true. None of it’s true. Just-“
You pull out your phone, and play the video. Ray Nadeem’s confession. His eyes widen, and you already knew but the confirmation from him is fucking shattering.
“In three hours, it’s going out to every phone in the immediate area. To the cops. To the public. Everywhere. And if you kill me, it still goes out.” Your voice is tight, shaking. “You’re not gonna stop it.”
Dex tries to grab you now, not the phone, you, desperate. You jump back into the street. Into the public. Away from the dark alley and into the light of day.
“Don’t touch me. Do not fucking touch me.”
“Don’t do this.” He sounds dangerous now. You should probably be afraid of him. You’re going to fucking cry again and it hurts so bad you can’t think. You’ve never felt more stupid in your life. “Don’t you dare do this. Don’t leave me. You can’t leave me. You promised.” His hand catches your sleeve, and you rip it back.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Don’t leave me. Baby, don’t do this. You love me. I love you. We can-“
“What is this, fucking Barney?!” You snap, horror and shock making your voice shaky and shrill. “You’ve been murdering people.”
You’re fully in the street, now. You’re still shaking. He’s still approaching.
“If you come any closer, I’ll scream.” You mean it. He looks like he’s about to risk it. Like he’s moments away from covering your mouth and dragging you back into the alley. Into the shadows with him.
You turn, and walk away.
You hear him scream from a block away. It’s loud. Primal, even. It turns heads.
You keep walking.
-
He goes to prison that night. Matt defeats Fisk. You see it all on the news, from where you’re curled on the couch with tears drying on your cheeks.
He tried to kill Fisk at his wedding. Broke into the party in Matt’s Daredevil costume. It’s on the news. It’s on film.
He says your name before he starts killing people. Tells Fisk and Vanessa that the two of you wish them a world of happiness. You watch the clip. Newspapers call. You watch the clip again. You shut out the world.
It takes some time for you to leave your couch. Even longer to leave your apartment.
But time heals all wounds, even if they have to scab over and reopen a few too many times.
You meet Matt, Foggy and Karen at Josie’s on a Tuesday. They don’t mention it. You do. You apologize, and Foggy hugs you so tightly that your ribs creak.
And you heal. Slowly, surely, you heal.
Or at least, that’s what you tell yourself.
-
It’s a nice, normal Friday night.
Cherry’s retirement party is fun. You’re having fun. You’re laughing with Matt and Karen, listening to the laughter and jokes around you, teasing each other about Foggy’s attempts at hitting on Keirsten, and not thinking about Dex. Because you never think about Dex.
You don’t think about the way he made breakfast in the morning. Always so careful and precise. Always plating it perfectly like the act was a science, watching you when you ate it like he was either trying to figure out just how much you liked it or just…watching you. So much of him looking at you felt like he was basking in your mere presence.
Or the way he would leave on his way to work. Always the same pattern. The same habits. Wake you up with a kiss, get dressed, make breakfast, kiss you again on the way out the door.
The way he would smile at you like you hung the moon in the sky. The way he would hold you when you watched a movie on the couch. The way…
Warm lips against your temple. Your forehead. Your cheeks.
You hum, and feel Dex smile as his arm slides more tightly around you. “Morning.”
“S’the middle of the night.” You complain weakly, turning in his arms to hide your face in the warm skin of his chest.
“Five forty-five.” He murmurs, hand already coming up to slide through your hair. “Gotta get ready for work.”
“Play hooky.” You mumble, nuzzling closer, dreading the moment his warmth leaves the bed.
“Would if I could.” He means it, and you can tell, so you keep trying.
“You’re reinstated and promoted now…” you press a kiss to his collarbone, warm and slow and as tempting as you can make it. “Their apology should come in the form of as many days off as you want. Or going into work after dawn.”
His body relaxes a little. His hold on you tightens, like he’s thinking about it.
And then he sighs, and pulls back to press his lips against your forehead.
“I can’t.” He sounds so genuinely remorseful that you just might be falling in love with him all over again. Still, you plaster an exaggerated little pout on your face as you sit up.
“Goody two shoes.” You accuse, and if you were more awake you might think his laugh sounds a little…different. But he sits up with you, and kisses your neck, and wraps his arms around you again and any doubt or confusion flutters out of your mind as you melt into-
“Hey, you okay?”
Your eyes whip up, reflected in Matt’s glasses. You swallow. Smile. “Hm?”
“Your…” he lowers his voice, leans a little closer, “your heart is racing.”
Karen is looking at you, too closely, too kindly. You smile wider.
“I’m fine.” And you are. You’re fine. You’re absolutely, totally fine.
Ten minutes later, everything goes to shit.
Foggy goes outside. Matt hears something wrong. Karen follows You stay in the bar.
A gunshot outside. The bang of a flash grenade. The screams of panicked patrons.
You’re frozen for a moment, smoke and shock filling your lungs and fogging your mind. Gunshots. Screaming. The heavy sound of footsteps and-
“Hey, baby.”
A low, familiar growl of a voice, barely raised enough to be heard over the commotion but cutting through it all like a knife and zeroing your attention on the approaching figure.
Speaking of knives, you hear one whir through the air just before your wrist is slammed back against the wall, a blade attaching your sleeve to the surface with perfect precision. You reach up in a panic to remove it, only for another knife to slam your other arm back against the same wall. Neither blade comes close enough to even nick your skin, but you’re still completely trapped against the old wooden surface, eyes wide as Benjamin Poindexter stalks over to you like he has all the time in the world.
He’s wearing a mask, but you’d recognize his eyes anywhere. You’ve never seen them so fucking crazed.
“I missed you.” His hand is on your waist, large and gloved and firm even as you try to kick him away from you. He grunts, and halts your movements with a knee pressed between yours.
And then he rips off his mask, and kisses you. Hard. Rough. Tongue forcing its way past your lips and arm locking tight around your hip as his body presses against yours like it’s drawn there by a gravitational pull. It’s been so long, and you are most certainly in shock, but you can’t help the soft noise that pulls its way from your throat at the feeling. The way your toes curl a little at the rough sound he makes in response.
He reaches up, and pulls one of the knives out of your sleeve before throwing it towards Daredevil so quickly you almost miss it. He doesn’t even look. He keeps his gaze right on you.
The knife is deflected. Of course it is, because it’s fucking Matt, but Dex looks down at you, grins, and presses his lips to your cheek before pulling his mask back down just in time to be knocked to the ground.
The battle happens all around you, too quick for you to keep track of, and it takes you a good fifteen seconds to register that you need to get the fuck out of here.
The knife attaching your sleeve to the wall is in the wood so deep that you can’t get it out. You grunt in frustration, and finally rip your sleeve to free yourself. You think, vaguely, that you liked this jacket, before the sound of glass shattering makes you flinch and stumble back towards the door.
Your ears are ringing. You can’t think. You make it out into the street just in time to fall to your knees beside the body of your friend, nearly get trampled by people screaming and running and Karen is crying and you can’t think.
And Foggy Nelson dies on the sidewalk.
And, a few horrible moments of silence later, you hear a thud behind you.
And you don’t scream. You don’t cry. You still don’t even speak. Your clothes are stained with blood, and you can still taste the mint of Dex’s toothpaste on your tongue. Foggy dies, and Dex’s body just hit the pavement behind you.
You crawl to him in a haze of screams and the ringing of a thousand bells in your ears, and you can hear Karen sobbing behind you.
You think you might throw up. Or pass out. Or die right here next to Foggy Nelson and Benjamin Poindexter.
Dead. He’s dead. Oh God, Foggy isn’t breathing and now…and now Dex…he’s-
Blue eyes shoot open, wide and pained and crazed, and a gloved hand grabs your wrist. You didn’t even realize that you were touching him, hands shaking as they move over his body like you can fix it. Like you should even want to. Your palms sting. Knees, too. You think you scraped them on the pavement when you crawled over here.
“What did you do?” You ask, numb and confused and horrified, and Dex groans and presses his injured face into the pavement like the sound of your voice is the sweetest relief. His hand tightens on your wrist, relaxes, doesn’t let you go. “Dex, what did you do?”
-
ONE YEAR LATER
There is a deep, prominent scar on his cheek. He’s even larger than you remember. His eyes are different, like he’s allowed the illusion of control and sanity to shatter.
You’re here for Foggy. You haven’t seen Matt or Karen in almost a year. You are not here for Benjamin Poindexter.
But you’re here. Maybe you shouldn’t be, but you owe it to Foggy. To the other people this man has killed.
So many people. So many deaths. So many, because of you. And now Foggy, for reasons you still can’t understand.
The sentencing comes. The gavel is banged. You can’t hide your flinch at the sound. Dex’s eyes move right over to you, and lock in.
He smiles, eyes filled with a sick sort of love, and your fingers dig into your palms until your nails bite into the skin hard enough to draw blood.
They take him away, and he doesn’t stop smiling at you.
-
“He refuses to speak unless you’re in the room.”
Your fingers curl painfully tightly against your coffee cup. Your eyes fly up to Matt’s face.
“No.”
“I need information. We need information. He’ll be cuffed the entire time. He won’t touch you.”
“I’m not worried about that. I don’t want to speak to him.”
“They moved him to gen pop.”
You try to hide the way your heart pounds at the implication. You fail. And it’s Matt, so there’s no use pretending.
“Is…did they…” Gen pop. They’ll fucking kill him in there. Good, right? Someone like that shouldn’t be walking the Earth. He killed Foggy. He killed so many people.
“They will. He won’t last a week. Which means Fisk wants him dead.” Matt’s hand rests on the table before you, and he leans closer, adamant. “We need to know why. And then he can rot in prison until-“
“I want him out of gen pop.” You hate yourself so, so much for saying it that you feel like you’re going to be sick. “I want you to get him back in protective custody.”
Matt looks like you just slapped him across the face. You don’t blame him.
But he agrees. So you go. God help you, you go.
-
“Hi, baby.” His grin is fucking manic. His eyes are starved as they rake over you like he’s filing away every inch.
You glare, and sit down across from him. He leans forward, almost jerking in your direction, like he momentarily forgot about the cuffs in his desperation to touch you. Well, he’s not going to get to. Never again.
“You killed Foggy Nelson.”
“Your hair is longer.”
“You killed Foggy.”
“Do you think about it? The way it felt when I touched you again?”
“Shut up.”
“I’ve thought about it every minute. You tasted just like I remember.” His tongue darts out, smile lopsided as he traces it over his lip, eyes raking over you again so intensely that ice trickles down your spine in a way you really wish was unpleasant. “I wonder what else tastes just like I remember.”
You slap him, the sound cracking through the room, and his head whips to the side. His smile doesn’t fall.
“Do it again.”
“Fuck you.”
“Get me out of these cuffs, baby, and I will.”
“If you think I’ll ever, ever let you touch me again, you’re more fucked in the head than I thought.”
His smile cracks. Falls a little. His eyes darken. “Don’t talk like that.”
“Why did you kill Foggy Nelson?”
“You still love me.”
“No. I don’t.”
“You’re lying.” He’s still looking at you, intensely enough that you have to fight the urge to squirm. “Say it.”
“Fuck. You.”
His head rolls back, like those two words were a confession on their own. “Fuck, I missed your voice.”
“You said you’d speak if I came here. Answer me.”
“Do you remember our three month anniversary?” He asks, unbothered, and you want to throw something at him. Cuffs or not, the asshole would probably catch it. “Chinese food on the couch. The first time I told you I loved you.” Pain twists in your chest at the memory, and Dex leans forward when he sees it, another horrible smile curling on his lips. “I took my time with you that night. I had you making these noises, do you remember? These high pitched, sweet little begging sounds.” His fingers tap absentmindedly against the arms of his metal chair, and your face bursts into flames. “Think about them every night, but you know it doesn’t compare to the real thing.”
“You’re trying to get in my head.”
“I’m already in your head. Just like you’re in mine. We’re connected, forever.”
“Did you kill Foggy to punish me?”
He frowns, eye twitching a little when you refuse to give in. “No. But you shouldn’t have left me.”
“So what? Are you gonna kill me if you get out? Are you gonna kill me now?”
He looks genuinely pissed that you would even suggest something like that, jaw clenched and fingers flexing on the metal table again. “When I get out of here, I’m not going to hurt you.” The intensity of his gaze makes your blood feel cold. “But you’re not leaving me again. Ever.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I do. I already have.”
“Fuck this.” You push yourself to your feet, the metal chair scraping against the floor like a gunshot. Like the shot that killed Foggy. Fired by the man in front of you. “Fuck you.”
That gets to him. “You’re not leaving. We’re not done.”
“We’re done.” You lean over the table, eyes hard as they look into his. His hands are already struggling against the cuffs locking him to the chair. “We’re done, Dex.”
“I haven’t seen you in a year. You can’t walk out like this.”
“And you’re not gonna see me for another eleven life sentences.”
His voice is a low, violent growl. “Don’t say that.”
And, because you’re a fucking idiot, you do exactly what you told yourself you wouldn’t do.
They confiscated your phone when you came in here. They didn’t confiscate your watch.
One button. One stupid thing you set up in anticipation for this meeting. That you promised you wouldn’t use. And yet, reckless fool that you are, you knew you would.
The security camera light flickers off.
Dex notices immediately, and the hunger that burns in his eyes and curls on his lips lights something aflame in your stomach that you don’t want to think about. Not right now.
You lean both arms on either armrest of his chair. His hands jerk against the cuffs, still trying to reach for you.
You lean closer. You don’t break eye contact. His mouth moves up to chase yours, and you pull back just enough to pull a frustrated grunt from his throat.
“If you ever, come anywhere even close to the people I love again…” you whisper, leaning in so your lips are close enough to his ear that he moans and tilts his head to the side, like he’s silently begging you to rip his throat out with your teeth. “I will kill you myself. Do you understand me, baby?”
For a moment, the thrill of it all makes you forget just how stupid you were for this. Just how dangerous this man is.
And then, as if to remind you himself, you hear a pop. A sharp, pained intake of breath.
Your eyes drop down to Dex’s right hand, just in time to see him slide it out of the cuff.
The crazy motherfucker dislocated his own thumb.
You jerk back, but Dex is faster. Of course he’s fucking faster. His arm locks around your middle, yanking you down onto his lap hard enough to pull an ‘oomph’ from your chest, and his breath is hot on your neck as you squirm against him.
“Shhh, shh.” His rough voice is too soft. You turned off the cameras. You’re a fucking idiot. Something hotter and more intense than panic shoots through your veins, and your breath catches in your throat. “I’ve got you.”
“That’s the problem.” You gasp, but his hand comes up to the back of your head, fisting in your hair and pulling you back so he can look at you.
“I did it for you.” He whispers, reverent. “I bought my freedom with it. For you.”
And then he kisses you, rough and hard, and your attempts to shove him off are met with nothing but a low and hungry growl.
There’s a moment, brief but painfully there, where the feeling of sparks lighting down through your blood is too overwhelming. Where his lips moving against yours is too familiar. Where you kiss him back, and his groan is nothing short of victorious as he wraps his arm more tightly around you.
And then the door opens, and he doesn’t let go. You sink your teeth into his lip, and bite down hard enough to draw blood. He moans shamelessly, but holds you tighter.
It takes two guards to get you out of his vice-like grip. His lip is bleeding. You can taste the iron of his blood. He’s smiling. Wide.
It’s only when the guards start pulling you toward the door that his smile falls, like he hadn’t expected that. Like he hadn’t even considered that you would be leaving again.
“No. Don’t take her. Stop it.” He snaps, as two more guards force his hand back into the cuff. “Don’t take her from me again. Stop it!”
They close the door behind you, and you wipe his blood from your lip with the back of your shaking hand as his scream echoes through the prison.
-
“You didn’t do it. You didn’t help him.”
Matt turns to you, and you can feel the surprise emanating from his very being at the sound of your voice. Here. At this fancy gala to celebrate the esteemed mayor.
“What are you doing here?” He asks. Deflection. And then, concern. “Have you slept?”
No. No, you haven’t. But you’re not going to tell him that. That ever since you went to that prison your thoughts have been more consumed by him than ever. That every beat of your heart has been chanting Dex, Dex, Dex and it’s getting more and more difficult to tell yourself that it’s because you want answers.
And you have them, now. Because you couldn’t help it. You couldn’t ignore it anymore.
“I did it for you.”
“It’s not exactly an invitation you can refuse.” Your dress is uncomfortable. Your heels hurt your feet. You can feel eyes on you from all around the fucking room and you’re going to crawl out of your skin. “And yes. I’ve slept.” You don’t care that he knows that you’re lying.
“I-“ he’s going to come up with an excuse, an apology, but Dex is probably already dead. You’ll probably be dead soon, too. So what’s the fucking point? What’s the point of being subtle? Of trying to be careful, anymore? You weren’t careful when you looked into all of this. You didn’t cover your tracks, and you know. You know it all. And they know you know. You’ll be in the ground in a week at best.
“It was Vanessa. She was in charge of his businesses. She did it.” You don’t even lower your voice. You’re exhausted, and you’re hurting, and you’re angry, and who fucking cares anymore?
Matt grabs for your arm, already beginning to steer you away from watching eyes and listening ears. You pull back, whirl to face him. “Stop. They know I know. They know what I do. That’s why I’m here. They’re probably gonna kill me too, tonight.”
For a moment, you think Matt Murdock might actually be speechless. You just keep talking.
“It’s fine. It’s a long time coming, right?” You run a hand through your hair, and your smile is a pained and humorless thing. “Do you know how many people have been killed, just from me loving him? Because he loved me too, and they used it to manipulate him?”
And Matt is still looking worried, still bothered that people might hear you. But who fucking cares?
“But it’s fine, right? At least the ‘weapon of mass destruction’ who did it is rotting in a prison morgue now. He didn’t deserve help. I didn’t deserve to ask for it. Not for him.”
Matt’s hand is on your arm. You want to cry, but you’ve cried all night and the tears won’t come anymore. You’ve cried so many tears for him. Maybe that makes you a monster, too.
“Keep it down.” Matt says, hand tightening on your arm, but you ignore him.
“I know everything, too. Do you know how many pills he was on in that prison, when she got to him? The inside of his body was a fucking pharmacy. I saw the signature. He couldn’t even hold the pen right.”
Matt Murdock’s jaw twitches. He looks right at you, through his glasses, and you can feel his unseeing gaze on your face. “He still did it.”
He’s right. He did. But-
“You don’t know him. He…he doesn’t think like other people. They got to him. They did this.” Matt opens his mouth, and you raise a hand. “I’m not an idiot. He did it too, okay? He did it. But…” and your exhausted eyes rise to the dance floor, and it all makes sense.
Fisk took everything from you. From so many people. Foggy is dead. Dex is dead. And they’re dancing and smiling like this is the happiest day of their fucking lives. They don’t care. Sure, you don’t care. You’re numb. You’re hurting and confused enough that you don’t care what happens to you, but them… these people did all of this, and they’re happy about it.
“They did this.” You murmur, just to yourself, and start to move forward.
Matt catches you, hard. Fast. In one smooth move, he twirls you onto the dance floor, deflecting your momentum and still trying to fucking cover for you.
“You’re delirious.” He says, voice low and grip tight. “You’re acting irrationally. Don’t-“
But you’ve made it close enough. Just close enough to hear what Buck says to Fisk, quiet and serious but very much audible over the din.
“Benjamin Poindexter killed three guards and escaped prison.”
The world narrows. The floor tilts beneath your feet. Matt holds you upright, and you barely register what he’s saying over the rapid beat of your heart.
Dex. Dex. DexDexDex-
“We have to get you out of here.” Matt’s voice by your ear, his feet already beginning to move you away. You blink, too shocked and…relieved to even force your own feet to move. “He’ll be coming for you.”
Alive. Alive. DexDexDexDex-
You may not have Matt’s senses, but you swear you hear the click of the gun at the same time his head whips up to face the balcony.
“Not me.” You whisper, eyes on the dark shape above you. The dark, achingly familiar shape of a man who should be dead.
And the gunshot launches the party into chaos.
Matt. Matt just jumped in front of the fucking bullet and you’re trying to get to him but you’re being dragged away by the crowd, nearly carried off in the commotion and panic as people rush to the door. You almost fall at one point, stumbling in your heels and nearly getting trampled before you’re saved by the arm of some kind civilian, and by the time you make it back into the ballroom to where the paramedics are crowding around your friend you can’t see the shape on the balcony anymore.
You reach towards Matt, and something on your wrist catches your eye. A small etching of marker on your skin that definitely wasn’t there before.
A bullseye.
-
Hours later, you climb the stairs to your apartment, aching and tired and knowing damn well what you’re going to find.
You spent every free minute tracing the bullseye on your skin with the tip of your finger, sitting in the hospital waiting room and listening to the beat of your own heart.
Alive. Alive. Dex. Alive. Dex. Dex. Dex.
The power is still out. You’re exhausted. There’s still blood on your dress.
Matt begged you not to go home, but he would find you anyway. Anywhere.
There’s a bullseye painted on the door of your apartment. Small, but noticeable. Right above the handle.
You drop your keys on the counter. Loud. No use in trying to hide.
“You moved.”
“Yeah.” You say, voice steadier than it should be. “My boyfriend ended up being a serial killer.”
“I don’t really fall under that definition.”
You hum, casual, and move to the dingy fridge in the open kitchen. Pull out a bottle of wine.
“You look tired.”
“You’re missing a tooth.” You pop the cork with your teeth. Take a swig right from the bottle. “You gonna kill me now?”
“Stop saying that.” It’s still dark, you still can’t see much more than his silhouette, but the words sound like they’re gritted out through his teeth. “I love you.”
“I trusted you.” You grit your own words out, fingers tightening on the bottle.
“You still can.”
You take another swig, and lean against the counter. “Now that’s funny. Didn’t know they taught comedy classes in prison.”
“I thought about you every day. Every minute.” His boots thud against the hardwood, and you turn before he can reach you.
“Funny. I thought about Foggy.”
“That sounds hard. Really-“
“Shut the fuck up.” And now, you have to stall. You have to find your phone, and dial Matt’s number. Or reach one of the panic buttons you installed that will call him. With the power out, there’s a pretty good chance neither of those things will work anyway. “Get out.”
“You don’t really want me to.” It sounds like a plea, beneath the roughness of his words. “You still love me.”
You pull out your phone. It flies out of your hand in a second. Shatters against the wall. You jump back.
“Was that a fucking knife?”
“Bottle cap. I don’t wanna cut you.”
“But you’ll shoot at me.” Well, not at you, but you know mentioning it will bother him.
“I would never in a million fucking years-“
“You. Killed. Foggy.”
“And we’ll work past it, baby. We can work past it.” And there he is, turning you in his arms and walking you back until your lower back hits the counter. His breath is warm, ghosting over your lips, and you hate how your body responds to it.
“You’re delusional.”
“You want me. Say it. Please.” Too close. Too close. His hand is wrapping around the wine bottle, pulling it from your grasp and raising it to his own lips. The moonlight spilling in through the window illuminates the lines of his face, so agonizingly familiar. So beautiful.
You reach up like a woman possessed, and brush your fingers over the scar on his cheek. He groans, and leans into your touch.
In a blink, your other hand whips up, and you press the blade of a kitchen knife to his throat.
He smiles, and you wonder if he’s always been this crazy. He leans forward, letting the blade dig into his skin to brush his lips over yours again, and now you genuinely wonder if he would let you do it.
“I should kill you.”
“I’d let you.” He murmurs, a truly sick confirmation, and your hand is trembling and you hate yourself for it. “But you won’t.”
“I don’t have Daredevil’s moral code.”
“No.” His mouth closes over yours, just enough to feel his teeth scrape against your bottom lip. “You love me.”
“I don’t.” But your voice catches on the word, and your hand shakes more, and he’s bleeding and he doesn’t seem to care.
You pull the knife away, and his fingers curl around yours on the handle, guiding your hand to lower it onto the counter beside you.
“You asked Murdock to get me out of gen pop.” He hums, still so close that you can feel his heartbeat against your own. “Didn’t work, but I appreciate the thought.” The confirmation. “Helped me get back to you.”
“I didn’t want you to get back to me.”
“Liar, liar.” He murmurs, teasing and soft, and kisses you again. These kisses are nothing like the last couple of times, so rough and nearly violent with their desperation. No, these kisses are brief and soft, gentle presses of his lips against yours between words like he can’t help himself.
“I thought you were dead.” You don’t mean to say it. You don’t mean to acknowledge it. “Matt left you to die.”
“And you mourned me.” Another kiss. Slower this time. More lingering. You need to pull away from him. You need to shove him the fuck off of you. This is so wrong. So fucked up. He has killed so many people. Lied so many times. He’s fucking batshit insane. “I saw you. You were about to confront Fisk. For me.”
“I don’t know what I was gonna do.” You breathe, and your eyes are already falling closed. Your body is giving in to him like it doesn’t belong to you. Your heart is still beating heavy in your throat.
Dex. Dex. Dex. Dex.
This time, you lean up and press your lips to his. Wrap your arms around his neck. Tangle your fingers in his hair and devour him. He makes a noise that’s almost akin to a whimper against your mouth, his own hands flying up to your face to angle your head so he can kiss you fucking breathless.
You bite at his lip. Pull at his hair like you’re trying to punish him for how much you want this. How much you missed him. How fucking good this feels.
He moans, lifts you onto the counter and presses his body up against yours like he can’t get close enough. Cradles the back of your head and all but sobs into your mouth when you whimper and kiss him hard enough that his teeth click against yours.
You hear a soft, metallic noise, and feel cool metal on your thigh as Dex slices through the fabric of your bloodstained dress to allow himself more room to press his large body between your legs, the prison guard uniform digging into your burning skin and making you arch against him.
You slide your hand over his neck, thumb digging into the thin cut beneath his chin. His moan vibrates through your entire body, and you smear the blood over his throat as you angle his head to pull him closer to you.
His hand slams into the cupboard by your head like he’s trying to brace himself, the fingers of his free hand gripping your hair so tightly you see stars, blunt teeth digging into your lip like a silent and desperate plea for more.
“Say my name.” He whispers, rough, and you don’t. You fucking moan his name, a sound you’ve never heard from yourself before ripping its way from your chest and making him shake as he releases you to rip his gloves off like separation between your skin is physically burning him.
He doesn’t leave you for long, warm fingers sliding up your thigh and trailing sparks in their wake until you’re trembling against him. Until you’re gripping the back of his head and yanking him down to kiss you again. His fingers slide higher. Higher. Until they’re curling in the waistband of your underwear and every kiss comes on a swallowed and ragged breath.
You nod your consent, fingers curling even more tightly against his scalp, and he kisses you again. You hear the click of the knife, feel the flat end of the blade slide up your thigh again, and can’t find the words to complain as he slices your underwear from your body.
When his long, skilled fingers reach the apex of your thighs, and he feels just how desperate you are for him, the noise that rips from his throat sounds like the most fucked up prayer that’s ever been uttered.
“Fuck.” He pulls back, presses his nose against your temple, and when his fingers immediately find the spot that has you fucking whining you hear a breathless chuckle against your ear.
“Never miss.” He whispers, cocky and infuriating and agonizingly intimate in the dark apartment, and you’re going to fucking kill him.
Kill. Kill.
All those people. Father Lantom. Nadeem. Foggy.
Clarity rips back into you like a fucking car crash. Like a bolt of lightning. It freezes your burning blood, rises to your throat, and makes you shove him so hard his back hits the wall across from you with a dull thud.
You’re just as breathless as him, and his eyes are on fire as they look into yours. As they rake over you, slow and hungry, and he doesn’t even try to catch his breath even as he realizes why you pushed him away.
“Why?” He asks, but he knows. He knows and he’s goading you and you need to make yourself-
“I hate you.” It is the least convincing sentence you have ever uttered. You’re still breathless, still flushed with need, still spread out on your kitchen counter with his name lingering on your kiss-swollen lips.
Slowly, without looking away from you, he raises his fingers to his mouth, and your next breath catches on a whimper at the sight.
He moves forward at the sound, and your foot flies up to stop him, heel digging into his chest.
Something flashes in his eyes. Something you can’t place. You don’t know what’s in your own expression, but you see him scan it. Watch the breath shudder out of his chest as his hand rises up to trail lovingly over your calf.
And then, scarred and beautiful and illuminated by moonlight, he drops to his knees.
Benjamin Poindexter looks up at you like he’s worshipping at your fucking altar, and refuses to look away from you as his lips press against the skin below your knee.
“Stop it.” You try. You really do.
He shakes his head, and blunt nails drag down over your thigh as he moves closer. Kisses higher. Keeps his eyes locked on yours as he guides your heel over his shoulder.
“Dex.” It’s supposed to be a warning. It comes out as a plea.
And then he’s right where you need him, on his knees before you with your hands gripping at his hair and his fingers digging into your thighs to keep you in place, and it feels so good that your eyes are watering with something between pleasure and emotion so intense it’s going to drown you.
Your hand leaves his hair, flying up to scramble for purchase on the creaky old cupboard behind your head as Dex doubles his efforts like he’s desperate to pull more noises from you. He moans into you, gripping you more tightly as your heel digs into his back, and your hand leaves the cupboard to slap over your mouth as a near-wail of pleasure echoes off the walls. It doesn’t do much. Doesn’t muffle your helpless noises nearly enough, and before long Dex is sliding his large hand up your body to pull your palm away from your mouth, fingers tangling with yours as his too-skilled tongue turns your blood to lava in your veins.
You fall apart in minutes, shattering with a sharp gasp of his name as your thighs tremble and your nails dig into his scalp. He pulls back like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever had to do, resting his head against your thigh and staring up at you with a breathless smile on his lips and you want to hate him so badly it hurts.
But you pull yourself off of the counter, slide onto his lap and kiss him hard as you fumble blindly with the belt of his stupid fucking prison guard uniform, and before you know it he’s rolled you onto your back and you’re ripping his shirt open as he hikes your ruined dress up over your hips and-
“Tell me you want this.” He rasps, low against your ear, and when you nod emphatically he grabs your chin and turns your face towards his. “Tell me.”
“I want this.” It’s a sick, horrible confession, but it’s true. “I want you.”
He groans, like it’s the most wonderful thing he’s ever heard, and his first thrust hits home and your moan is loud enough to wake the neighbors.
“I love you.” He breathes against your lips, as you scramble at him like a wild fucking animal, desperate for more. “I love you.”
You won’t say it back. You can’t say it back. This is already fucked up beyond belief.
He holds you like he’s trying to touch every inch of you at once, lips trailing down your jaw until every near-whimper is vibrating against your ear. You can’t stop touching him, either. You yank at his open button-up shirt so hard you hear it rip, until he moves to help you pull it the rest of the way off of him, bracing himself against the floor beside your head and rolling his hips into yours until you’re sobbing his name on every breath.
When you break for a second time, your nails are dragging thin red marks down the skin of his back. He doesn’t stop. He keeps going, keeps relentlessly hitting that spot inside you until the pleasure builds up all over again and it is fucking unbearable.
“Dex.” You manage to gasp, mindless, head rolling back against the floor as he bites at your shoulder and speeds up his movements until you’re practically sobbing.
“One more.” He growls, low and rough and just as wrecked as you are. “Give me one more.”
The third time, he’s right there with you, pressing his nose into the hollow of your throat with a groan of your name that burrows its way into your very bloodstream. Locks itself in your soul and becomes just as much a part of you as the color of your eyes and the bones beneath your skin.
It takes a long time for you to come back to earth. Longer for Dex to pull himself away from you, just enough to roll onto his back and tug you into his side.
“I love you.” You whisper, like a shameful confession, and he shudders like the sound of it is a drug and he’s more than happy to relapse.
He pulls you closer. You rest your cheek against the sweat-damp skin of his chest. Try to even out your breathing as he cards his fingers through your hair.
You have to go. You have to get out of here. Fisk is gonna be coming for you soon.
He grunts, and you make a soft noise as he sits up and gathers you into his arms, drags himself to his feet and carries you into your bedroom.
Everything is so different, now. Dex is a killer. A monster. Your life has been flipped upside down and shaken like a damn snowglobe. You’re probably going to be assassinated soon.
And yet, as Dex helps you out of your ruined dress, skating his fingers and lips over the newly exposed skin, and reaches into your dresser drawer, it’s all so familiar that you ache.
He digs to the bottom, and his grin is triumphant as he pulls an old FBI t-shirt out. His T-shirt. The one you couldn’t bring yourself to throw away.
He slides it over your head, presses a kiss to your cheek, and smiles a little wider when you relax.
And then, when he’s cleaned you up and pulled you into the rest of your pajamas, he smooths out the sheets behind you like a ritual before he lays you down atop them, sliding his body over yours and kissing you until you melt into your cheap comforter.
You make love again. You don’t think either of you even mean to. It isn’t as desperate as the first time, not nearly as mindless and rough, but his kisses deepen and he slides his scarred hand down your back until he’s shifting you beneath him, murmuring a quiet plea against your throat as his fingers tug at the waistband of your shorts that you respond to with another emphatic nod. And then he’s sliding them off, and you’re unbuttoning his pants again, and his tongue is tracing silent sonnets over your skin until you’re writhing against him.
He doesn’t tease, but he still seems to savor every second. He nudges your knees apart with his own, and pushes into you with a groan of your name. He moves with you like the tide, builds you until the wave crests and whispers praises against your ear as it crashes through you. You kiss him, tell him how good it all feels, and he tells you he loves you until he’s hoarse with it.
When it’s over, and you’re lying together in the rumpled sheets and he’s breathing shakily against your forehead and holding you like you might vanish at any moment, you finally speak again.
“We’re not back together.” You mumble, and he hums like you just told him the sky is purple but he couldn’t care less. Like it’s such a ridiculous lie that he may as well indulge it for now.
You frown, but you don’t double down. There’s no point, really. You know him. You know he’s not letting you go anywhere.
“How do I fix it?” He finally asks, and your brow furrows as you sit up a little to look at him.
“What?”
“How do I make you forgive me? For Fog-“
Your hand flies up to cover his mouth as if of its own accord. The movement surprises even you.
“Don’t say his name.” You snap, pain curling in your stomach. Guilt, too. But not enough. You’re lying naked in bed with the man who killed one of your best friends, and you don’t feel guilty enough, and you hate yourself for it. “You still don’t get to say his name.”
He looks at you. Nods. You pull your hand back, and he chases your lips with his own.
He kisses you. You kiss him back. You keep trying to hate yourself for it.
“What do I do?” He asks again, and he looks so earnest that you want to die.
You don’t know what crosses your face. What expression is in your eyes, but his own melt into a look of pure desperation.
It takes you a while to speak, and even when you do, the words spill unpracticed and quiet from your lips.
“He was good.” You whisper, and grief tugs at your stomach with enough force to nearly cripple you. “Foggy was so…good.”
“You said I was good, once.” Dex murmurs, brow twitching a little in that way it does when he’s trying to understand something.
“I did.” You reach up, hesitate, and give in. Your fingers trace over the scar on his cheek. “I think…I think you can be. You can be good.”
He melts. He turns his cheek into your palm, looks at you like you are both heaven and earth and everything in between. “I’ll be anything you want. I’ll do anything for you.”
Your heart crumples, and you see it. You shouldn’t, and you’re fucked up for it, but you see it. You see how he thinks. How he is. How he’s been manipulated and hurt and how he’s hurt others and you still fucking love him.
“I want to kill Fisk.” You whisper, like it hurts, and he reaches up to curl a lock of your hair around his finger like you just admitted nothing more intense than liking sugar in your coffee. “I want them both dead. And I don’t want it…I don’t want it for the right reasons, I think.”
“Why do you want it?”
“Revenge.” You whisper. “The greater good, yeah, but revenge. They killed Foggy. They hurt you. I want them to die for it.”
“Hm.” He slides his hand up your back, palm flat and warm, and turns his nose into your cheek. “If I help you kill them…it balances the scales.”
You frown. “It-“
“A good deed, to make up for the bad. Right?” He presses a kiss to your ear, and your eyes fall closed. “It balances out. You’ll forgive me.”
“I can’t forgive you.” You can’t. You shouldn’t. You won’t.
Even if you understand how his mind works. How he was tricked and manipulated and taken advantage of. Even if you understand him.
You pull back, look into his eyes, and the look on his face breaks something inside of you. The desperate hope. The need.
“We’re probably gonna have to move tomorrow. Fisk definitely wants me dead.” You murmur, and brush your lips over his.
He smiles. “We’ll move.” We. You and him.
“If we do this, you don’t do it for me. I’m not making you do anything.”
“I do everything for you.” He says, matter-of-fact, and closes the distance enough to peck you on the lips. “But okay. Let’s kill ‘em all.”
-
“Such a sweet boy.” The old woman across the hall is absolutely enamored with Dex, or should you say ‘Tony’. Sometimes you think he’s enjoying it a little too much. Especially now, as he crouches down to slide a fried egg into her cat’s bowl. “And what are you two up to?”
“Takin’ the missus to lunch.” He answers smoothly, sliding his arm around your waist and pressing a kiss to the side of your head. You smile brightly, and endure a few more minutes of cooing and fawning before making your way down the hall. He keeps his arm around you the whole time, humming absentmindedly as you make your way out into the street.
“You have got to stop telling her we’re married.” You chastise, and he doesn’t let you go even as he flips a coin behind him into a homeless man’s cup.
“I didn’t.”
“You just called me ‘the missus’.”
He’s smiling, a little too proud of himself. “Could mean anything.”
You still insist that you’re not back together. He still allows you to, but he seems to find it more amusing than bothersome. Which, you suppose, is understandable. After all, you woke up in his arms just this morning, like you do every morning. And, like you do most nights, you spent the majority of the evening moaning his name.
But fuck, he’s like a drug to you. You tried so, so hard to hate him. To pretend like he was a monster. Maybe he is, but maybe you are too.
Because whatever Benjamin Poindexter is made of, it calls out to something intrinsic within you. He knows it, and he’s just waiting for you to admit it.
You don’t know if the spring in his step and the smile on his face is from your activities last night or anticipation of what’s about to happen, but you would say it’s safe to blame both as he holds the door of the diner open for you with an exaggerated chivalry. And, because it’s him and he’s an asshole, he makes you yelp as you walk ahead of him with a playful swat to your ass.
You glare. He smiles, and leads you to the counter.
“You two ready to order?”
The woman behind the counter looks tired. Dex smiles like he’s been practicing how to, sweet and with his eyes crinkled in the corners. Sometimes, when you look at him, scarred and huge and absolutely fucking bonkers, you wonder how much he’s changed since you bumped into him on the street all that time ago. How much you’ve changed.
“My wife and I will have a…banana milkshake, then.” He grins at you, and it is so annoyingly hard not to smile back. “Does that sound good, sweetheart?”
You snort. “Sounds perfect, darling.”
His fingers come up, catching your chin and turning your head to him so he can press a soft, smiling kiss to your lips.
“Cute. I’ll be right back with that.” The woman says blandly, disappearing behind the counter as Dex pulls back.
“Menace.” You accuse, and he pats your cheek before he pulls out his phone.
He makes the worst, least convincing phone call you’ve ever heard. So unconvincing, in fact, that you almost giggle as he says “oh shit, he’s got a gun” in the most monotone voice you’ve ever heard. His eyes don’t leave you for a second. They rarely do. Like when you’re near, he’s locked in on a target.
Then again, hasn’t it always been that way?
You did the research. You did the tracking. All you have to do now is wait.
Dex unwraps two straws, carefully places them both in the milkshake, and leans down to take a sip.
You smile at him, roll your eyes, and lean down to the other straw.
You swear, in moments like this, that his eyes could be little cartoon hearts. He doesn’t stop smiling. Doesn’t look away. And shit, if you don’t feel like baby bluebirds could be tweeting around your own head. Like you’re the only two people in the whole world. Cue the cheesy, romantic music. Cue the world vanishing around you until it’s just you and him in this diner, smiling like idiots and sharing a milkshake.
You glance down at your phone. Watch him finish the milkshake. “Forty five seconds.”
He grunts, calm and relaxed, and starts pulling on his gloves. Pulls a toothpick out of the cup beside you.
“Aren’t you gonna tell me to take cover?” You hum, and the corner of his mouth rises even higher.
“No one’s gonna touch you.” You believe him, and you like that he acknowledges that you know what you’re doing.
“Everybody get on the ground!”
You throw your hands in the air, view blocked by Dex’s large frame, and shriek like a dramatic damsel in a movie.
His shoulders shake once. A silent laugh.
“Too much?” You ask, just as they shout again and come closer.
A toothpick finds its home in the ATVF officer’s eye, and all hell breaks loose.
You climb onto your chair, just in time for Dex to push you over the counter. You land with a roll, and in a second he’s on top of you, hands over your head and body covering yours.
“That was a really great milkshake.” He mumbles almost conversationally as the bullets slow, and you reach up to pull his mask the rest of the way down for him before he climbs off of you and snatches up a handful of silverware.
You manage to get to your feet just in time to watch three officers fall with forks sticking out of their eyes. Unfortunately, it’s also just in time for another man to grab you and press the barrel of a gun to your temple.
“Stand down!” He shouts, right by your ear, and digs the barrel in harder. Deeper.
Dex turns, and tilts his head.
“Ow.” You pat the arm wrapped around your throat. “Wrong move, dude.”
He screams as a fork impales the back of his hand, and you feel two more whir past you before they find their homes in his face. Not kill shots. Not yet. When you turn, he’s moaning on the ground with cutlery sticking out of his cheek and eye.
You tuck yourself into a booth as the rest of the men go down, bullets and weapons finally coming to a stop. Heavy bootsteps land beside you, and Dex pulls his mask off as the man in front of you trembles and clings to a tiny dog in his lap.
“Dogs in restaurants are unsanitary.” He says, genuinely perplexed but not quite annoyed.
“P-Please don’t kill me.” The man whimpers. Dex smiles in that unnerving way he has, and you smile too as you grab a bottle of ketchup off of the table.
“Don’t worry.” He takes your hand, stands you up with him, and throws a final pair of forks behind him to slam home into the retreating form of the man who just held the gun to your head. “We’re the good guys.”
You draw a bullseye on the door. He kisses the side of your head as you make your way out of the diner, stepping carefully over shattered glass with the sound of sirens wailing down the street.
-
ONE YEAR EARLIER
“This is no way to live, Benjamin.”
Vanessa Fisk sits across from him. He tries to focus on her. On anything. His mind has been scrambled since he was checked into this place. The cocktail of pills they have him taking every day makes it hard to think.
But you’re still there. You. You. You.
He lies in his bed at night, stares at the ceiling and blinks like his eyes are weighed down by anvils, and if he focuses hard enough he can almost feel your head on his chest. Almost feel your soft hair against his nose. Maybe your fingers tracing over his skin, soothing and warm.
Your voice, lips barely brushing his own. “You’re a good man, Dex…”
And he’ll reach up, searching for you, wanting to pull you to him and feel your body against his. Wanting you so badly that the pain is overwhelming.
And there’s nothing there. And the room is cold.
“I miss you.” He’ll murmur to the darkness, tongue heavier than his eyelids. And he won’t hear anything back.
Now, Vanessa Fisk pushes something towards him. A picture.
Of you.
His near-useless hand paws at the table, something like desperation surging through him as he grasps for it. They won’t let him have any pictures of you here. They call you one of his ‘victims’. He hasn’t seen your face in so long.
“She misses you.” And a part of him knows Vanessa is manipulating him. Even through the drugs, and the longing, he knows it.
And yet, she pushes the picture toward him a little more, and there you are.
You. You. You.
You, at that bar he found you at. The second time you met. You’re with Foggy Nelson, Matt Murdock, and Karen Page. You’re smiling, but not with your eyes. He knows what it looks like when you smile with your eyes.
You look sad. His eye twitches with the urge to fix it. The urge to touch you.
His fingers curl against the picture.
“I know what it is to love someone so much that being separated feels like…” Vanessa’s voice is gentle. Kind. Vulnerable, even. Dex can’t stop looking at the picture of you. That vulnerability in her voice is reaching him, matching with his own. “Like a hollowness in your soul.”
He makes a soft noise. It sounds desperate, even to his own ears.
His fingers curl a little more against the picture. Brushing over your cheek. Missing the feeling of your skin against his.
“They talk to her about you.”
His eyes, still slowed by the pills, move up to her face.
“They tell her that you were evil. Horrible. She is trying to convince herself that it’s true.” Vanessa leans forward, earnest. “If you want her, you cannot let that happen.”
His eyes fall helplessly back to the picture of you.
Vanessa slides a contract his way. He doesn’t look at it. His trembling fingers trace the printed line of your cheek.
“You can have her again. I only need one…favor. But you will have your freedom, and she will have hers.”
You. You. You.
Vanessa’s manicured finger taps the picture. Taps the face of Foggy Nelson. “I need you to kill him, and one of his clients.”
Dex looks up, a muddled question in his eyes. Foggy is your friend. You like Foggy. Foggy-
“They are poisoning her mind.” Vanessa repeats. “I do not want to see you lose the woman you love, Benjamin. I am offering you a mutually beneficial opportunity.”
You are so beautiful it hurts to look at you. His shaking hand holds the pen. Hesitates. He tries to form a clear and straightforward thought.
“With your freedom, you can get back to her.”
Back to you.
He signs the contract.
-
One good deed, and it’s all better. And you forgive him.
Not like you haven’t already. Even if you won’t admit it, he knows you have. He can see it on your face. Feel it in your quickened breaths at night when he’s got you laid out on the sheets, or on the couch, or against the wall…
And when you eat breakfast together, and he’s staring at you and you’re grinning right back at him, and the sounds of the chaos and the city and the world around him fade and everything is just you. You. You. You.
You’re out at the bodega down the street, grabbing more bandages and water. You’ll be back in ten minutes, tops.
You’re gonna be mad at him. He hates that.
But Matt Murdock showed up four minutes ago, and now the apartment is an absolute fucking wreck, and the lady down the hall is screaming and terrified because Dex had to use her as a human shield for a minute there, and you’re gonna come home to that wreck and worry but…
One good deed. He can do it now. Earn your forgiveness. Earn his redemption. If he doesn’t move now, he might lose his chance. And then what? What’s the point of living if it’s in a world absent of your love? Despite everything, he can’t help but fear a day when you decide that you can’t forgive him. That his sins were simply too much. Where you deprive him of the love you offer now because you just can’t seem to help it, where you stop smiling at him and letting him touch you completely.
No, he has to go now. Killing Fisk solidifies your forgiveness. Allows him to keep you. Keeps the world balanced right.
So he leaves. He leaves the apartment for the last time, and prays to whatever God might exist that you’ll forgive him.
-
He throws the snowglobe. Plans the trajectory against Wilson Fisks’s swing. Watches the shard pierce Vanessa Fisk’s temple.
It was easy. Almost too easy.
But the bullet. That’s the problem. That landed home, and it hit all the wrong places.
He’s going to bleed out. You’re going to be upset.
But he did it. One good deed. He didn’t kill Fisk, but he killed Vanessa. At least, at the very least, he took that pain away. She ordered the hit on Foggy. Your friend. She made you hurt. She just made him the weapon. And now, she’s going to die.
-
“Mrs. Smithers, please shut up.”
She’s screaming, and crying, and you should probably be comforting her. ‘Tony’ just held a gun to her head, after all. And yet, you have bigger things to worry about.
Two minutes, and they’ll be here. Cops have been called. AVTF is on the way, guns blazing and you have seconds to find him and your heart is hammering in your chest in that familiar staccato beat.
Dex. Dex. DexDexDex.
There. The church. The fucking church, of all places.
Vanessa Fisk, mortally wounded. Daredevil and Bullseye at the boxing match. Dex Dex DexDexDex.
You smash your computer against the counter, cracking it in half, and bolt.
You take the fire escape, and begin scrambling down just as you hear them bursting into the hall.
And you pray, with every last shred of your desperate heart, that you’re not too late.
-
He’s bleeding out. He knows it. Seen it enough times to know he doesn’t have long, and Murdock isn’t gonna stick around to help him.
He misses you. He wishes you were here.
The dizziness of blood loss is a little frustrating, but Murdock is busy calling him a piece of shit. Fair. He shot his best friend, after all. If you’re still mad about that, it makes sense that he would be too.
“One last good deed.” He hums, propped up against the wall as blood leaks between his fingers, pooling onto the floor beneath him. “N’then she forgives me.”
“Asshole.” A whole conversation in the pews a minute ago, Dex’s whole speech about how he’s making it better and earning forgiveness and getting his mind back, and that’s all the guy can say. He thought lawyers were supposed to be more eloquent.
“Take care of her when I’m gone.” You. You. You. He sees Daredevil tense. He’s pissed at you, sure, but he cares about you. So Dex smiles, tired, and tilts his head back against the wall, confident in his next words. “Yeah, you will.” And if he ever touches you, Dex will return as a ghost and put a pencil through his eye. But hey, just something to worry about in the afterlife.
Murdock stutters some sort of apology. Has a whole little crisis about whether or not he can save him. He’s so stressed it’s almost funny, but he’s not gonna save Dex. He did it. He earned forgiveness. It’s time for judgement day.
The room pulses. The sounds of ATVF bootsteps echo above. His eyes close, and you’ll be okay. You forgave him. You didn’t admit it aloud, but he doesn’t need that. Never did.
Judgement day ticks ever-closer.
“Dex!”
His eyes open, and it’s too bright in the dark room. He’s too tired, but…
There you are. In the church and illuminated by low light like an angel. He smiles, bloody and exhausted and more than a little out of it. “Hey, baby.”
“Wake up. Dex, wake up.” You sound so panicked. So scared. For him. You love him. You. You. You….
“Dex! Fuck, please wake up. C’mon.” You’re pulling at him, trying to drag him across the floor and failing miserably, and he wishes you would just stay. Just admit that this is hopeless and let him hold you close. Admit that you love him, and that you need him, and let him feel your breath and smell your hair in his last few minutes on this earth.
“Fuck. Why are you so heavy?! Where’s Matt?” You’re trying to get your hands under his shoulders. It’s a little funny, but it hurts like a bitch when you jostle his bullet wound, so he grabs you and spins you down in front of him.
“In the wind.” He reaches up, fingers sliding over your cheek and smearing it with red. Fucking beautiful. They write poems about this shit. About women so lovely they steal souls and start wars. “You gotta go, too.”
“Fat fucking chance.” You press your forehead to his, unbothered by the blood, and cradle his own face in your hands. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m not leaving you. I love you. Do you hear me? I love you.”
Oh, that’s the best thing he’s ever heard. It’s the first time you’ve said it since that night on your kitchen floor, when you were still lying beneath him and still catching your breath and still all his after so much time. Back then, you whispered it like some horrible confession. Sweet music to his ears.
“My girl.” He’s fading. He’s fading fast. You hold him more tightly, smearing his own blood on his face as he does the same to you, the matching stains like a tether. Like a claim. “North Star….”
“Dex. Dex. Stop. Wake up. Don’t leave me don't you dare leave me-“
The sound of your voice is swallowed by the tide, and he doesn’t close his eyes, refuses to look away from you, but his vision begins to blur.
And then, from deep under the water, he hears it.
The door creaking open. Your panicked voice as your head whips to the side, dislodging his bloody hand from your cheek.
“Matt?! Matt! Help him! Please-“
…
-
You’re by his bedside. You have been for hours.
Karen is not happy with you. Neither is Matt. Soledad is stitching up Dex’s wound, pulling the bullet out, and he keeps waking up.
Not only does he keep waking up, he keeps jolting awake from the pain. Keeps squeezing your hand so tightly you wonder if he’ll break bone. Keeps finding your face in the haze of sleep and agony, and grinning like a lunatic when your eyes meet.
And then he’s healed. Somewhat. For now. And you’re fighting exhaustion of your own in the chair you’ve pulled up to the cot he’s asleep in.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Karen sounds pissed. You get it. But Dex is pale and his breathing is ragged and slow and you can’t let go of his hand.
“Hey, Karen.” The casual tone of your voice is insulting. You know it. You think you’ve been spending too much time with Dex.
“Him?” Matt isn’t here. Not now. You see sweat on Dex’s brow. Look down to make sure that his bandages are still in place. Every time his breathing slows even a little, your ears ring and your vision narrows.
“Yeah.” You don’t look away from him. You’re still covered in his blood. “Cute, right?” A lame joke, like he’s some boy you just met at the bar, rather than…well, fucking Bullseye.
“We’ve been trying to find you. We thought he kidnapped you.”
Your thumb trails its way over bruised knuckles again. “Well…I mean, he kinda did.” However things ended up that night after the party, you’re pretty confident that he wasn’t going to let you leave. Not without him.
“Are you sleeping with him?” You’re getting a little tired of the twenty questions.
“I’m in love with him.” You answer simply, and hear her suck in a horrified breath.
“He killed Foggy.”
“I know.” Dex stirs, just barely, like he might be reacting to your admission even in sleep. You squeeze his hand, and when you reach up to brush your thumb over his cheek he turns his face into your palm. “And I still love him. Isn’t that fucked up?”
-
He wakes cuffed to the cot. They’re worried about what he might do. Honestly, you’re surprised they didn’t cuff you too.
He winces as his eyes open, and smiles when they land on you. His low rasp of a voice is even more gravelly, hoarse with sleep and pain.
“Hey, baby.”
He always says that in the most fucked up situations. It always makes your heart beat a little faster.
He sits up, slowly, and pulls at the cuffs on the bed.
“Do your staples hurt?” You ask, eyes falling down to the bandages.
He grunts in acknowledgment. “C’mere.”
You do, slowly, and it’s only then that he seems to notice the gun.
“You gonna shoot me?” He asks, smile widening a little as he tilts his head to the side.
“I might.” You reach down, slip a paper clip into the cuff on his right wrist, and hear it pop free. He makes a soft noise, rolling his wrist once before sliding his hand up your back as you sink down to straddle his lap.
He leans in to kiss you. You press the barrel against his forehead and push him back. He smiles even wider.
“You disappeared.” You hum, and he pushes his forehead a little more into the gun. “You tried to get yourself killed.”
“Balancing the scales.”
“You got shot. You almost died. I watched you die.”
“You love me.” He breathes it like the memory is a fucking treasure - a shot of heroin straight to the system. His hand tightens on your back, pulling you more firmly onto his lap.
“I still hate you. For Foggy.” It’s a lie, but it should be true. He hums, and you slide the gun around to his temple.
“You love me.” He repeats, and brushes his nose against yours.
“I do.” You admit, soft, and he kisses you. Hard. Slow. His fingers slide up into your hair, curling into a fist behind your head as he completely ignores the firearm digging into his skull.
You pull back, and push it in harder.
“Listen to me, Poindexter.” You murmur, low and dark as your own hand slides up to his hair, pulling his head back and making him groan as he looks at you with a blissed-out grin on his scarred face. “Never do that shit again. You don’t get to leave me. Not now, not ever.”
Words he’s said to you before, albeit in different forms, back when you told yourself you hated him.
“Never.” He agrees, and his eyes fall closed like he would die happy if you pulled the trigger right now. He opens them after a moment, and leans up to bump his nose against yours again. “Wanna put that down?”
“I could shoot you.” You don’t know why you’re saying it. You’re smiling too.
“No bullets.” He hums, pleased. “And it’s not loaded.”
You laugh, and wonder just how crazy you’ve become. “The FBI trained you too well.”
He uses his free arm to tug you a little closer, until there’s no more space between your bodies, and you drop the unloaded gun in favor of wrapping your arms around him again.
“Not the FBI. I know you.” He kisses you again, in that slow and determined way, and slides the palm of his hand up beneath your shirt. “Uncuff me.”
You smile, and shake your head. Push him back down and chase his lips with your own.
He hums, nips playfully at your lip, and tugs on the other handcuff until it rattles.
“You’re injured.” You murmur, muffled by his kiss, and he tangles his fingers in your hair again.
“Feels better.”
“Liar.”
He grunts, and rocks his hips against yours. “This feels better. Let me touch you.”
“You are touching me.”
“Let me touch you more.”
You reach down between you, as wrong and stupid as it is, and unbuckle his belt.
He makes a very pleased noise, and moves his free hand down to unbutton your jeans.
“Uncuff me.” He growls again, demanding, as you shuffle out of your pants and move to pull his down.
“No.”
He pulls you back down to him by the back of your neck, traces his tongue over your ear. “Don’t wanna do this with one hand.”
“I could cuff your other hand.”
He grunts, and the next roll of his hips is harder. More punishing. You gasp, control slipping a little more than you want to admit, and he pulls at the hem of your blood-stained shirt.
“Off.”
You comply, and he leans back to look you over like you’re the most incredible thing he’s ever seen. You love how he looks at you like that. You love him so much it hurts.
“Your staples.” You murmur, as he drags himself back up to a sitting position, pulling you more firmly onto his lap until you can feel the very prominent evidence of his desire against you.
“Doesn’t hurt.”
It’s getting harder to breathe. Harder to focus as he moves his hand down to slide your underwear over your legs. You maneuver to help him, and his own breath catches in his throat.
“Liar, liar.” It comes out as a whisper, soft and teasing as you press a soft kiss to his lips, and his own lips curl into a smile.
“I want it to hurt.” He noses at your jaw. Down to the hollow of your throat. “Reminds me I’m alive.”
You kiss him, hard, because he is alive and he’s here with you and you suddenly need him so badly it hurts. When you finally sink down onto his lap, bodies joining and breath shaking with the feeling of becoming one, he buries a groan into your hair, hips stuttering as you begin to rock against him. Your thighs burn already at the angle, and he meets your movements with his own as he crushes you to him. It must hurt, and you want to tell him so, but when you open your mouth he groans low against your neck and finds that spot that has your toes curling and hands flying up to find purchase on his shoulders.
You slide your hands over his cheeks, pull his face back so you can kiss him breathless, and pleasure begins to build almost alarmingly fast in your core. You almost lost him. You love him. He’s kissing you like you’re the only oxygen he’s ever wanted to breathe and dragging his rough palm up over your bare back as he meets your movements with his own. The cuff rattles against the chair, but despite his restricted movement and injuries he’s still using his one arm to move you in his lap, angling your body to hit that spot in your core that has you gasping desperately against his lips.
One particularly rough thrust has him hissing in pain, and the reminder of exactly why he’s hurting like this possesses you in the strangest way as you slide your hand down to grip his throat, forcing his gaze to your own.
And there’s so much power in it. In watching this large, scarred, deadly man stare at you like he’s in awe of your existence. The sight of it alone has you falling apart, moaning his name as your body spasms against his. He clings to you, and your hand squeezes around his throat as he pushes his forehead against yours like he’s drinking in the sight of you, too.
“Mine.” You whisper, and he falls over the edge so violently you wonder if he might pass out, hand dropping down to grip your thigh tight enough to bruise.
You sit there for a while, tracing your fingers down the scar on his back as he catches his breath with his forehead pressed against your shoulder.
“I have to re-cuff you.” You murmur eventually, pressing a kiss to the side of his head. He uses his free arm to grip you tighter.
“No. Don’t move.”
“If they walk in here and see you uncuffed and inside me, they’ll probably cuff me too.” You hum, and feel him smile as his teeth dig playfully into your collarbone. You turn your head, lips brushing his ear in a conspiratorial whisper. “They think I’m crazy.”
He laughs, broad shoulders shaking as he pulls back to kiss you.
“Love you.” His fingers trace up your body, trailing slowly over your heated skin.
“Love you too, psycho.” You kiss his cheek. “No more suicide missions, or it’s both cuffs.”
Something sparks in his eyes. “Promise?”
“Both cuffs, and no touching.”
He frowns, and kisses you again like he’s trying to prove that he’s allowed to touch you now. “No more suicide missions.”
-
When Matt comes an hour or so later, you’re fully dressed and back in your chair at Dex’s bedside, one eye closed in concentration as you aim a knife at a bullseye you drew on the wall.
You throw it, and it bounces off the wooden surface and clatters to the ground.
“Flick your wrist.” Dex says, but his eyes are on you, hungry and dark. He’s tried to teach you how to aim weapons a few times before, and the lessons have more often than not been cut short by whatever seems to ignite in him like a bonfire at the sight of you holding a knife. It helps now that he’s in cuffs, but despite your activities earlier he looks damn close to trying to break out of them.
You pick up the knife, and try again. It sticks a little outside of the center, but it sticks. You turn to grin at Dex. He grins back, and the expression is downright feral.
“Uncuff me.”
“Bad boy. You’re gonna get me in trouble.”
Any response he may have, inappropriate or demanding or whatever it may be, is interrupted as the door swings open and Matt walks in. Angry. Silent.
He uncuffs Dex roughly. Sits across from him and doesn’t even acknowledge you. Rude, but fair. You can still understand why he and Karen are so pissed at you, even if you find it a little difficult to care.
“Let’s get one thing straight. I hate you for Foggy. And Father Lantom. And Agent Nadeem.” Dex’s eyes are right on you as he rolls his wrists, stretching the no-doubt stiff muscles and seemingly oblivious to how off-putting it must be that he won’t even spare a glance toward the man telling him how much he hates him. “And I even hate you for what you did to her. Whatever you did that broke her mind.”
“Woah, hey. I’m of completely sound mind.” You snap, defensive. Matt doesn’t turn around.
“Your shirt is on inside out.”
You look down, flush, and look back up in time to see Dex smirk.
“Dick.” You grumble, because he definitely knew, and he definitely didn’t tell you on purpose. You frown at Matt again. “I didn’t uncuff him.”
“Not all the way.” Dex supplies, and you glare so hard his smirk turns into a manic grin.
“Shut up.”
“Stop. Both of you stop.” Matt snaps, annoyingly serious Daredevil voice and all, and it takes a significant amount of effort to swallow your response and sit back in your chair.
He talks about forgiveness. About how he needs it for his own sake, and not for Dex’s or even yours.
But you saw Matt’s face, when you found him at the gala. When he tried to pull you out of there before you got yourself hurt in your anger and grief. And in the church, when he pulled you and Dex to safety as you begged the near-unconscious man to stay with you. To live because despite it all you couldn’t fucking lose him.
He’s angry. He’s hurting. But he cares about you. And you care about him, too. Your love for Dex doesn’t make those years of friendship just go away.
And then, the ultimate question. Aimed directly at Dex. “So, do you wanna do one good thing in a life full of shit?”
Benjamin Poindexter turns to you. You smile at him, an entire conversation passing between the two of you in the span of a second before he rolls his shoulders and turns to Matt.
“What do you need me to do?”
-
The whistle echoes through the vast expanse of the room. Three floors up. Directly and strategically across from the courthouse.
Four ATVF officers whirl, guns raised, and…
And then lowered out of pure confusion.
A woman stands in the doorway, in casual clothes, with her eyes wide and her hands raised in shocked and horrified surrender.
“I-I was just looking for the bathroom.”
Shit. A civilian. They’re gonna have to figure out what to do with her, now. There’s no way she didn’t see the fake Bullseye across the room, and if she tells anyone-
“Wait, please don’t shoot! I know what you do, right? You’re the good guys? You find vigilantes and…you know…” she curls her fingers into the shape of a pistol, aiming at the closest officer’s head, and pretends to fire in demonstration.
Exactly where the woman ‘shot’ him, a knife appears, jutting out right between a pair of wide eyes.
He goes down.
She jumps, surprised, and inspects her hand with alarm like smoke might start coming out of her fingers.
And then, she aims again, almost experimentally, at the second officer. The moment she ‘fires’, another knife flies through the air and hits home.
Just as the shock begins to wear off, spurring the startled men into action, she lowers her other hand into the same shape, and ‘shoots’ the final two men in rapid succession before they can even think to lift their guns.
And then, when all that’s left is the ‘fake Bullseye’, who is still standing there frozen and confused, she laughs.
The sound of heavy bootsteps echoes through the room.
“That was even more fun the third time.” She says, tone bright and amused as she tilts her head back towards the source of the sound.
Bullseye, the real one, appears behind her, and his low chuckle is the most frightening sound the other man has ever fucking heard.
The new Bullseye fires his gun, and screams as his hand is impaled by a knife. He goes down, crumpling to his knees and cradling the bleeding appendage, and his counterpart walks casually forward with the mysterious woman behind him.
He’s only in pain for a few seconds, just long enough to be pushed to the ground, and just long enough to see the glimpse of another knife before it finds its home in his eye.
-
“Holy shit.”
“Hm?” The click of the rifle. The subtle shift of his shoulders as he adjusts his shot. So careful and calculated, and yet you can feel him locked in on every word. Every blink. Every movement.
Even with another target in sight, he is always focused on you.
“Matt just told everyone he’s Daredevil.”
Dex hums, cocking his head to the side. “And?”
“And he’s probably gonna go to prison for it.”
Dex loads the sniper, the shell of the bullet clattering onto the floor. “Prison’s not so bad.”
“Says the guy who broke out of it.”
“For you.” He turns, and you can see his eyes crinkle in the corners even if you can’t see him smile behind the mask. “For romance.”
You hum, and pop your headphone back into your ear, eyes moving back to the monitor as you sit cross-legged atop the table beside the gun. “You’re a fucking psychooo~” you sing, under your breath, and feel him catch your chin between his gloved fingers before you have time to look back up. He tilts your chin towards him, and you feel the warmth of his lips beneath the rough fabric of his mask as he pulls you into a kiss.
He moves back to the gun with the grace of a cat, satisfied, and you do your best not to worry too much about Matt Murdock. Your friend. Daredevil, who has just outed himself to the entire world and sealed his own fate.
The shot is fired and thus your location is given up. It’s time to go.
You hesitate. You sit by the computer, and you watch the screen after it goes blank.
A gloved hand comes up, a warm chest against your back as that same familiar hand guides yours away from your lips.
“What’re you up to?”
Dex’s couch, so long ago. Your eyes locked on a screen. Warm fingers curling around your own. You must have been biting your nails again. It must be late. You barely even heard him come in.
“Tech company. Innocent employee. Spreadsheets.” You tilt your head back, sleepy, and catch his lips with your own. “Not supposed to talk about it though, remember?”
“Criminal.” He kisses you again, but he’s smiling.
“Not technically.” You kiss him back, pulling him closer, catching his hand to guide him around the couch and over to you. “You gonna tattle, Special Agent Poindexter?”
“Never.”
“Time to go.” That same voice is lower now. Raspier. Still just as achingly familiar. So much has changed, and everything is so different, and he’s still so incredibly yours.
“Matt…” the word is released on a breath, and that breath feels too heavy. Too weighed down by memories. Matt. Foggy. Karen. So many memories. So much loss.
“Can’t do anything for him now, baby.” His nose against your temple, his arm around your waist. He took his mask off, at some point. “But if they catch us up here, it’s gonna be a lot worse for him.”
You turn, still frowning, still worried, and reach up to brush your fingers over the deep scar on his cheek. He tilts his head into the touch, like he always does, and smiles.
That smile, sweet and scarred and as familiar as the palm of your own hand, will always feel more like home than any place in the world.
And that’s how it was always gonna go, wasn’t it? Since the day you ran into him in front of that coffee shop, the night he kissed you for the first time, the moment you saw the bullseye etched on the door of your apartment…
It was always him. It was always going to be him. The trajectory of your life changed before you even knew it was happening, jolting in a different direction like a ricocheted bullet, and always still pointed home.
Home, to him.
You smile back, and meet his eyes.
“Where are we going?”
-
Benjamin Poindexter rolls a coin over his knuckles, glances out the window of the airplane towards the earth thousands of feet below, and smiles.
The flight attendant speaks to the man in the seat beside yours, welcomes him into the ‘Million Milers Club’ or whatever, and he does his best not to glare at the noise. The man is beaming - annoying - but you would tell him that it’s rude to glare if you were awake.
Speaking of which, your head is snuggled up to his shoulder, breath soft and even and both arms wrapped around his bicep like he’s some kind of teddy bear, rather than a dangerous assassin.
Then again, you’re almost just as unhinged as he is these days.
He hums, content, and turns his nose into your hair, inhaling deeply and feeling you sigh and shift a little closer.
“You two seem happy.” The too-friendly guy in the seat beside you is smiling, and Dex resists the urge to wrap his arms around you and pull you onto his lap, hiding you from the world because you’re his only his no one else-
He’s gotta reel that under control a little more. That possessiveness. But, well, you’re his. And he’s yours. Two sides of the same coin. Soulmates in every way.
And he knows that you do seem happy. You always do, because you are. You walked onto this plane together in an almost sickening display of blissful love. He lifted your bag into the overhead bin for you, pulled you into the seat after, wrapped his arms around you and basked in your laughter as he shamelessly pressed kisses to your neck and shoulder. You’d leaned back, grinned at him like you were the only two people on the plane, in the world, and slid your hand into his own.
No one suspected that you’d helped him kill people only a few hours before. That you washed the blood off of each other before you came to the airport.
He raises his eyebrows. Too-friendly Guy keeps going. “You headed to your honeymoon?”
The corner of his mouth quirks up. He rests his chin on top of your head. He has a ring in his pocket, and when you land in the next country, and he gets the very first opportunity that comes his way, he already plans to drop to his knee and beg you to marry him.
But for now, he nods, and fixes the stranger with a practiced smile.
“Yeah.” He hums, feeling you shift comfortably against him, sighing contentedly against his shoulder. Perfect. His. “It’s long overdue.”
The man looks the two of you over, and seems to be about to say something else, but you shift again and Dex’s attention suddenly couldn’t be any less focused on him.
Honeymoon. Yeah, you’ll have a thousand honeymoons. A thousand lifetimes of happiness and togetherness and love so intense it’s taken lives, saved lives, shattered governments, and so much more.
CAN U DO LUKE AND READER ARE EXS AND THE READER DID THE TREND OF KISSING AND SEEING IF THEY MELT INTO THE KISS (DOES THAT MAKE SENSE?)
kissing ex-bf!luke castellan
you saw a silly thing online. bored out of your mind, you decide to try it out with your ex boyfriend luke.
people at camp most probably find your relationship with luke a little weird—not because you broke up, but because no one’s ever really sure if you did. couples who’ve been together for five years don’t usually act the way the two of you do after things end. the closeness, the familiarity, and the way you never seem to stay apart for long confuses people. but whatever they assume, it never really bothered either of you.
you’re now on your way to cabin eleven to try out something you saw on the internet. “luke!” you called as he was about to enter. “wait up!”
he turned to look at you, hands on his waist. “what now?”
“i’ve got something. come on,” you clung your arm onto his and dragged him inside. “eleven’s empty today. where are your siblings?”
“chiron gathered them for something,” he said as he sat on the bed. “what do you want?”
pulling him off his seat, you said, “you gotta stand for this. come on,” propping his hands up, making sure both were extended.
he dropped his hands, suspicious. “you’re not going to tickle me again, are you?”
you put his arms back up. “no! come on, don’t be a pooper,” biting your lower lip as you anticipated your next move.
luke rolled his eyes as he waited for what was going to happen next. your antics weren’t new to him as he’d long grown used to your tricks.
“what now—”
his complaint was cut off when your lips pressed against his. though taken aback, he reciprocated, his hands immediately moving to cradle your face.
tilting his head for a better angle, his tongue brushed against your lips. when you parted them slightly, he didn’t hesitate, deepening the kiss.
the longer it went on, the harder it became to suppress your laugh. pulling away, you grinned as he leaned in for more, clearly unwilling to stop.
“seriously,” you laughed, “you didn’t even push me away?”
he just looked away, frowning. luke was a little too mad at the trick you pulled this time, and he was too flustered to even look you in the eye.
playfully slapping his chest, you said, “this is why the other campers don’t believe us when we say we’re not together anymore.”
he caught your wrist. “stop pulling this shit.”
your smile faded. “are you mad?” he didn’t answer. “come on, luke, i was just playing—”
“you’re playing around with my feelings,” he said bluntly. “i’ve been asking you to come back. you dodge it every time, then you do this.”
earlier, the red on his face came from flustered amusement. now, it was pure anger.
“and now you won’t even talk. that’s what you always do when i tell you i want you back.” he ran a hand through his hair and headed for the door, only stopping when you wrapped your arms around him.
“don’t go,” you begged. he stiffened. “please. don’t go mad,” you turned him around, forcing him to face you, “i’m sorry.”
he sighed, “that pout isn’t going to work on me, y/n,” he tried masking his lie by crossing his arms. he thanked the gods you couldn’t see how badly he wanted to kiss the sadness off your face.
“come on, luke.” your voice softened into that familiar melody you always used on him. he was trying his hardest to keep his walls up—which weren’t that high at all.
out of ideas, you rose on your tippy-toes and pressed a quick peck to his lips. it happened too fast for him to react. “don’t you want to kiss your girlfriend a little more?”
that did it.
luke surged forward, hands cupping your face as he kissed you hard. the anger he felt from earlier bled through at first, every movement was intense and demanding.
but gradually, his touch softened. he guided you back towards the bed, resting your head down gently. “i missed this,” he murmured between kisses. “so fucking much—”
that’s when the door busted open. a child came screaming, “luke, chiron’s looking for you!” but nothing could stop luke. he was too focused on acquiring your taste again that no sibling of his could interfere.
thankfully, you were on a bed placed in the farthest corner, so the child didn’t really have a view of what you two were doing.
afraid of upsetting him again by pulling away, you tried your best to speak as his lips pressed on yours. “baby…” you tried. “that seemed…” but it was hard when he pushed against you. “urgent…”
luke groaned and finally pulled away, eyes lingering on you like he was memorizing your face. “i could stay like this all day.”
“oh. y/n’s here… again,” his little brother said, unfazed. “luke, chiron needs you.” then to you, “sorry. i’ll bring your boyfriend back soon.”
you opened your mouth to correct him, but luke beat you to it, kissing you once more. “see?” he said with a wink. “never not together.”
when they left, you sat alone in cabin eleven, realization settling in.
maybe the reason camp half-blood never questioned your closeness wasn’t because they thought it was strange—but because luke made sure no one ever believed you’d broken up in the first place.
and it was true.
he told everyone you were just sulky. that you didn’t mean it. that you still belonged to him.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: steve harrington x reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: your baby’s in love with her boyish, ridiculously charming swim instructor. and apparently, so are you. (2.6k)
𝐚/𝐧: hi :) ive been thinking a lot abt baby swim instructor steve lately.
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
There’s this dumb little joke that's making the rounds in your “Mommy and Me” baby swim group.
That the most dangerous part about Saturday beginner classes isn’t the water.
It’s the instructor.
You used to roll your eyes at it—bouncing your nervous, clingy toddler on your hip while listening to the other moms whisper and gossip with each other. Oh my god, have you seen him with the little ones? It's amazing.
You don’t roll your eyes anymore.
Because the instructor in question—Steve Harrington, as you’ve learned from the sign-in sheet and the way the front desk girl said his name with a dreamy little sigh—has somehow earned your daughter’s undying loyalty in record time.
And that feels like a betrayal.
Especially when he’s just some twenty-something-year-old guy in red swim trunks, with lean, tanned arms that flex every time he hoists a giggling baby into the air.
It's ridiculous, honestly.
Your daughter went from clinging to you—fingers fisted in your swimsuit strap, wailing the second her toes skimmed the surface of the pool—to vibrating with excitement the moment she catches a whiff of chlorine.
It took, what, three classes?
Now, she spots him before you do.
You’re barely through the gates when she starts squirming in your arms, legs kicking wildly against your hip. She babbles at full volume, squealing, clapping her hands together in a desperate attempt to get his attention.
“Okay, okay,” you murmur, shifting her higher. “We see him. I know.”
He’s finishing a lap when you look up.
He cuts cleanly through the last stretch of water, arms slicing forward, shoulders rolling smooth and strong beneath the surface. When he reaches the wall, he plants his palms on the edge and hauls himself up enough to hook both forearms over the edge.
Water streams down his shoulders, along the swell of his biceps, dripping from his chin in steady rivulets. The sun turns every drop of water on his skin into a shimmering prism of light.
He wipes his face with both hands, dragging them down over his eyes to clear the chlorine, and slicks his hair back.
Then he looks up.
And it’s unfair, how his whole face changes.
Recognition lights him up instantly, his mouth curving into that easy, unguarded smile you’ve seen a dozen times now—one that pulls gentle crow’s feet around those ridiculously kind eyes.
At first glance, they're just brown.
Until the sun hits.
Then a deep shade of hazel starts to blossom at the edges, that slow spill of green feathering inward. Honey-warm at the center, almost amber where the light pools. A kind of kaleidoscope you only notice if you stare for too long.
Which you don’t.
He grins wide as you approach the pool deck, squinting slightly against the glare off the water.
There’s always this split second where he looks so openly happy to see you.
Or, more accurately—to see your daughter.
You lower yourself carefully to sit at the edge, adjusting your grip because your daughter is now folding herself in half trying to reach him.
“Hey," he smiles, glancing toward the clock mounted near the lifeguard chair. "You guys are early today,”
“Yeah, I know, she—” Your daughter lets out a determined grunt and lunges forward, feet thumping against your thigh as she tries to swan-dive straight into the water. “—Okay, okay! Hold on!”
Steve laughs, water sloshing around his waist when he lifts himself up with one hand.
“Whoa,” he says gently, catching your daughter by the ankle before she can kick you in the ribs. “Here, let me see those.”
He wiggles her foot up and down, thumb brushing over the soft arch of her sole to make her squirm. She giggles, kicking against his palm the way he’s been teaching her to do in the water.
His eyes grow wide. “Hey! Those are some serious kicks. You been practicing without me?”
You laugh, tightening your grip before she can try to launch herself again. “Sorry, she’s just... really happy to see you."
He smiles at that, still holding her tiny foot in his hand. He gives it another gentle wiggle, brushing over her little toes.
“Yeah?” he murmurs to her, playful. “You're happy to see me?”
Then he glances up at you.
And it’s very deliberate, the way he looks at you when he says it.
Something soft in his smile when he tells you,
“I'm happy to see her, too.”
𓇼
It really was just curiosity at first.
You’d sit on the shallow steps with the other parents, water lapping at your calves, your daughter balanced against your chest while you adjusted her rash guard for the tenth time.
And you’d watch him.
He’d kneel in waist-deep water, a half-circle of bobbing babies surrounding him like ducklings. Wisps of hair pasted to tiny foreheads, fat cheeks glistening with water. Tiny palms slapping the surface while he explained very seriously that, “Pools are for swimming, not drinking. Ah, ah, Ben—I saw that, bud.”
Gentle water acclimation and back floats came first.
Then came assisted front floats.
Your stomach tightened the moment he announced it.
Your daughter had only just begun to stop crying when her ears dipped into the pool. Turning her over to face the water felt like betrayal.
You shifted her in your arms, hesitating.
Then you felt a pair of warm hands brush gently against yours.
“Here, you mind if I show you? No, no, you're fine, you're doing great. You just want to support her like… this.”
You watched his hand slide over yours, cupping under her stomach to demonstrate proper placement. The span of his palm was wider than your daughter’s entire torso, fingers splayed across her round little belly, thumb braced lightly against her ribs. His other hand hovered near her shoulder, ready to catch her if she tipped even slightly.
Your chest tightened as you let go.
“Don’t worry,” he reassured you, glancing up with an easy smile. “I’ve got her, promise.”
He knelt in the pool so he was eye-level with her, bringing his face close enough that she could focus on him instead of the water beneath her.
“You’re okay, I’ve got you,” he murmured, voice dropping into that calm, even register he uses with all the kids. “See? Just floating. That's not scary, right?”
And though his eyes were on her, you had the distinct feeling the reassurance was meant just as much for you.
He eased her forward across the water, keeping her chin well above the surface, adjusting instinctively when her body went stiff.
“Can you kick for me?” he coaxed, lifting one of her chubby legs and moving it through the water. “Kick? Like this?”
For a second, she just blinked at him. Then both legs started flailing at once—wild, enthusiastic splashes that sent arcs of water straight into his face.
He sputtered, wiping at his eyes with his shoulder. “Hey! Okay! There we go!”
He turned to you, grin wide, blinking away droplets from his lashes.
“You might wanna start saving up for Olympic training.”
It was the first time he made you smile like that.
It wouldn’t be the last.
𓇼
“Uppies” are his favorite part of class.
At the end of every session, when the babies are pruny and a little glassy-eyed with exhaustion, he rounds everyone up for one last game.
He holds each baby under the arms, gently lowering them until the water reaches their shoulders. Leans in close, dropping his voice to a dramatic whisper—ready?—then hoists them high overhead with a loud whoooosh!
The pool always fills with shrieks of laughter, your daughter’s being the loudest.
She’s fearless now. The same baby who used to cling to your shoulders now squeals in joy whenever he dips her in. Wraps her arms around his neck, fingers tangling in the ends of his damp hair. One time, out of pure excitement, she smacked him square on the cheek. He’d only laughed, lifting her back up for another round.
“You like that, huh?” he grinned, a little breathless from doing twenty sets of baby shoulder-presses. “Okay, okay—one more. But that’s it. Last one.”
It’s never the last one.
He always does it again. Then again. Down, up, down, up—biceps flexing with effort, cords of muscle rippling under sun-warmed skin.
It has to burn after a while, lifting water-logged, wriggling toddlers out of the water like that.
He never lets it show.
𓇼
After a few weeks, your daughter doesn’t hesitate anymore.
The moment he’s close, she starts reaching.
Abandons your shoulders, ignores the bright foam rings floating nearby. Both arms stretched out toward him, fists clenching and unclenching impatiently.
You think it’s because she's come to associate him with safety. With warm, steady hands and that reassuring laugh that always comes right after something scary.
Like independent swims.
He backs slowly through the water while she paddles toward him, barely supporting her—just two fingers under her hands at first, then nothing.
“It’s okay, you got it,” he encourages when she lets out a frustrated whine. “C’mon, show me those strong legs. Kick-kick-kick!”
Her face scrunches in fierce concentration. She paddles forward in determined bursts, swallowing a little water but pushing through.
“That’s it. Big kicks. Yeah, there you go!”
And the second her tiny hands smack against his chest, he steadies her instantly, sliding his hands under her arms.
“Yes! Look at you go!”
Up she goes, lifted higher and higher until her legs dangle, round belly catching the sunlight.
Droplets fall from his jaw, tracing down his throat as he tilts his head back to grin at her. His brows shoot up, eyes going wide in exaggerated disbelief.
“Woah!” he gasps. “That was all you! I didn’t even help!”
Your daughter squeals, loud and piercing, toes knocking clumsily against his chest. You watch as he lowers her back down, pressing his nose briefly to her cheek before settling her against his shoulder.
He turns to you, grinning so wide it creases his whole face.
Did you see that?! he mouths, eyes shining with pride, excitement radiating off him.
You can’t do much except smile and nod.
𓇼
The day you realize you’re well and truly gone is the day the class moves to the deeper end of the pool.
The water reaches all the way up to Steve's chest there. The babies have got snug little float belts on, just enough to add buoyancy while they practice longer kicks and back floats.
Steve's hand rests under your daughter’s back, fingers spread between her shoulder blades, the other steadying her hip. You cling to the divider rope, peering anxiously at the deeper water where they float.
When he catches you watching, he bends down close, lowering his voice in an exaggerated whisper.
“Who's that?” he gasps, pointing at you. “Is that your mommy?”
Your daughter follows his finger. Sees you.
She squeals, slapping both hands into the water so hard it splashes up into his face.
“Yeah,” he laughs. “That’s your mom, huh? Say hi! Hi, mommy!”
He lifts one of her chubby arms out of the water and wiggles it in a wave. “Look at us! We’re in the deep end!”
She babbles wildly, smacking the surface some more.
He adjusts his hold on her so she’s secure against his side and calls out, “You wanna come join us, mom?”
You blink, heat rushing to your face. “Oh—uhh, no, that’s... I’m okay!”
He studies you for a moment, something curious flickering in his gaze, but doesn’t push.
“Alright, we’ll just show off from here then,” he calls back easily, shifting his attention back to your daughter. “You wanna show mommy your starfish? Yeah? C’mon, show me your starfish. That’s it!”
𓇼
He finds you at the end of class.
You’re sitting at the edge of the pool, feet dangling just above the water. Your daughter is bunded up like a burrito in your lap, sucking from her sippy cup with half-lidded eyes, fighting sleep.
You see him walking toward you, still dripping from the pool.
Water traces slow paths down his calves, leaving faint wet footprints on the concrete. Without thinking, you reach into your bag and hold out your spare towel.
“Oh, thanks,” he breathes, a little winded still, taking it with a small smile.
He drops down beside you, close enough that your thighs brush. Drapes the towel over his shoulders and scrubs it briskly through his hair, roughing it up until it sticks out in uneven, damp spikes. A few strands fall back over his eyes.
You try very hard not to stare.
There are beads of water still clinging to his bare skin, catching in the dark tuft of hair at the center of his chest. One rolls down the soft line of his stomach before disappearing into the waistband of his swim trunks.
You clear your throat, suddenly very absorbed in fluffing up your daughter’s towel.
“Hey,” he says casually, nudging your shoulder lightly with his. “Were you okay earlier?”
You glance at him. “Earlier?”
“When we moved to the deep end.” He tips his head slightly, studying your face. “You just... seemed kinda freaked out.”
You huff a small, embarrassed laugh. “Was it that obvious?”
“A little,” he shrugs, smiling.
You shift your daughter higher on your lap and press a kiss into her damp hair, mostly so you don’t have to hold his gaze.
“I just, um…” you clear your throat. “I can’t really swim. Not very well, anyway.”
There’s a brief pause.
“Oh,” he says quietly.
When you glance up, you don't find any judgement on his face. Not really surprise, either. If anything, he looks thoughtful. Maybe a little relieved, like he’d worried it was something worse.
He adjusts the towel around his shoulders, rubbing at the back of his neck as he considers.
“Well,” he starts carefully, “would you want to learn how?”
You blink at him.
“It’s just—it's kind of an important skill to have, you know?" He supplies quickly. Then his gaze falters, drifting down to your lap, settling on your daughter who’s now blinking up at him with sleepy curiosity.
“I mean, I could uh... I could show you sometime. If you want.”
Oh.
“Oh—no, I—” you rush out, flustered. “I wouldn’t want to like, take up your time. You already have to deal with so many of us.”
He shakes his head, a small, easy smile pulling at his lips. “It’s fine, I don't mind. I'd be happy to do it.”
He turns to face you fully, smile turning playful when he adds, “Seriously, I won't even charge you."
That pulls a small laugh out of you.
“You won’t, huh?”
“Nope,” he says, eyes twinkling as he gestures to the small, bundled-up head peeking up at him. "Call it a... bonus. For having the cutest little swimmer around.”
You glance down at your daughter, smiling.
“I don’t know,” you say lightly, bouncing her on your leg. “This little swimmer has the tendency to get super jealous.”
He lets out a soft laugh, reaching out to gently nudge her pudgy cheek with his knuckle.
“What do you think?” he murmurs to her. “Should we teach mommy how to swim?”
Your daughter makes a soft, pleased noise, leaning into his hand.
Steve grins, then looks back up at you, gently brushing his thumb across your knee.
“So?” he asks, voice gone quieter.
His eyes hold yours—dark brown edged with hazel, warm honey pooling at the center.
Being a girl is: wanting to go to bed early but deciding to just get on tumblr/wattpad/Ao3 for a little bit and then end up finding a fic series that you really like and read until well past your usual bedtime then keeping on because it’s already past your bedtime. Then being mad when you wake up in the morning because you overslept your timer.
Steve Harrington x sunshine!fem!reader, 4.1k words
Summary: Steve Harrington treats you like an annoyance, all heavy sighs and eye-rolls, and you adore him anyway. Then he goes too far, says something that hurts, and realises that he's loved you all along.
Steve Harrington is mean to you.
Well, not mean, exactly. He’s just… Steve. Which is to say, his voice carries a permanent layer of exasperation that is seemingly only reserved for you in particular. He speaks to you in a shorthand of sighs and grumbles. You are, in his lexicon, “a nuisance,” “underfoot,” and most frequently, “in the way, sweetheart.”
He calls you “kid” when he’s feeling particularly dismissive, even though you're only a year younger than him, and he has a habit of flicking your forehead or ruffling your hair into a mess.
And you adore him. Hopelessly. You bring him a Coke without being asked, you memorise his work schedule so you can “accidentally” bump into him, and you hang on his every gruff word as if it’s gospel.
You're terrible at hiding your crush on him, shining from your eyes every time he enters a room. He finds it baffling. And, in his most private moments, a little bit breathtaking.
He finds your attention strange because he knows he doesn’t deserve it. His high school crown is gone, his hair is less perfect, and his most exciting evening plans usually involve re-shelving returns.
Yet, there you are. A constant. When he mutters about his stupid car making a weird noise, you nod along with grave concern and help him look up possible problems when you go to the public library. When he complains that Robin used the last of the good popcorn, you look genuinely outraged on his behalf.
You have this way of tilting your head just so when he talks, your entire being focused on him, as if the rest of the world has politely blurred into the background. It's unnerving.
It's also kind of nice.
It happens on a Thursday. Steve's had a horrible day. His head is pounding, his car is making a new, expensive-sounding whine, and a customer just yelled at him for five minutes because Risky Business was checked out. He’s a tightly coiled spring of pure, undiluted annoyance.
And then you appear. A burst of sunshine in the stale video store air. You’re holding a small, slightly lopsided cookie on a napkin, your face lit with a hopeful, proud smile.
“Hi! I baked,” you announce, presenting it to him like a sacred offering. “Chocolate chip. I know you said your grandma's were the best, but I tried the recipe you mentioned and I added extra chips, just like you like.”
You’re beaming, so pleased with yourself for remembering this tiny detail about him. You wait, your eyes wide and sparkling, for his approval.
Steve looks from your hopeful face to the cookie. The smell of sugar and chocolate, usually comforting, feels cloying. Your cheerful voice scrapes against the raw edges of his mood.
The spring inside him snaps.
“Christ, can you just… not for five minutes?” The words come out flat and cold, sharper than he intends.
Your smile wavers. “What?”
“The hovering. The… the constant attention.” He gestures vaguely, his jaw tight. “It’s suffocating. Do you ever just… exist without making it about trying to get me to notice you?”
Your face crumbles in less than a second. The light in your eyes dims so completely it’s like someone flipped a switch. Steve's mean, but he's never this mean. Not on purpose, not with an intent to hurt, but this hurts.
You look down at the cookie in your hand as if you’ve just realised you’re holding something disgusting. Your lower lip gives a tiny, traitorous tremble before you bite down on it hard, trying to steady yourself.
You don’t say a word. You just set the cookie down on the counter, turn on your heel, and walk out.
The silence you leave behind is deafening. Steve stands there, staring at the stupid, lopsided cookie. The angry heat in his veins instantly cools, replaced by a cold, sinking dread that pools in his stomach.
What has he done?
"Steve."
He turns. Robin is standing there, her face pale. She looks dangerously close to tears, staring at the space where you just were, then back at him, her expression one of utter disbelief.
“How could you?” she whispers, her voice trembling with a hurt that isn’t even hers. “How could you say that to her?”
He opens his mouth, but no defence comes.
“She’s just trying,” Robin continues, her voice gaining strength, thick with emotion. “She tries so hard, all the time, just to be near you. She thinks you hung the damn moon, and you just…”
Her voice switches to an angry tone. “Do you have any idea how rare that is? For someone to look at you like that? After everything? To see all the crap and the baggage and the scars and still think you’re worth a lopsided cookie?”
Steve feels like he’s been hollowed out.
“She’s the kindest person who walks in here,” Robin says, her voice breaking. “And you made her feel like a pest. You broke her heart, dingus. And for what? Because you had a bad day?”
She turns and walks back into the storeroom, leaving him alone with the cookie and the echoing, agonising truth of her words.
You don't show up at all on Friday. Robin only speaks to him when absolutely necessary, and every clipped word feels like a shard of glass.
Every time the bell jingles, Steve’s head snaps up, a pathetic, hopeful lurch in his chest that’s immediately crushed when it’s not you. He straightens the same row of horror movies six times.
By Saturday, he’s a walking bruise. He doesn’t sleep. He can’t eat. He’s been hollowed out and filled with a churning, toxic mixture of guilt and terror. He drives past your street three times but can’t make the turn. What if you look at him with that shattered expression again? He doesn’t think he could survive it.
Sunday is worse. The silence in his own house is maddening. He tries to watch TV, but he just sees your face—the way it fell. He hears Robin’s voice: You broke her heart.
He has to fix it. He has to try. Even if you slam the door in his face, he has to see you.
Monday afternoon, after a horrible shift, he drives to your apartment. His hands are sweating on the wheel. He knocks. Once, twice. No answer. Just a faint, muffled sound from inside that twists his gut.
He knows where your spare key is. You’d told him, months ago, laughing as you taped it under the ugly ceramic frog pot by your door. “In case I ever lock myself out!” you’d said. He’d rolled his eyes then. “That's the worst possible hiding spot, sweetheart. If I was a thief, I'd look there first.”
His fingers are clumsy as he feels under the cold ceramic. The key is there. Using it feels like a violation, but the silence from inside your apartment is worse. He unlocks the door and pushes it open slowly.
“Hey…? It’s me,” Steve calls, his voice strained.
The living room is dim, blinds drawn. And there you are. Not on the sofa. On the cold hardwood floor in front of it, curled into the smallest possible ball. Your arms are wrapped tight around your knees, your face completely hidden in your knees.
The sight knocks the air from his lungs.
“Oh, angel,” he breathes, the endearment a pained exhale he didn’t know he had in him.
He closes the door and crosses the room in three long strides. He doesn’t hesitate. He bends, slides one arm under your knees and the other behind your back, and scoops you up from the floor. You’re so light, so boneless with misery, you don’t even startle. You just let out a small, broken whimper against his neck.
“Shhh, I’ve got you,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “Can’t have you on the floor, sweetheart. It's so cold.”
He sits on the sofa and settles you on the cushions between his legs, your back to his chest, so you’re fully surrounded, cradled in the space he makes for you. One hand splays over your heart, feeling its frantic, sad rhythm. The other cradles your head, his fingers sinking into your hair.
You finally break. A raw, ragged sob tears from your throat, and then another. You twist in his hold just enough to press your face into the collar of his shirt, your tears soaking the cotton instantly.
“That’s it,” Steve whispers, his lips pressed to your temple. “Let it out. I’m here. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, baby. God, I hate that I said that crap to you.” His own eyes burn, but he keeps his voice steady to calm you as best he can. “I didn’t mean it. Not a single word. You’re my favourite thing in the whole world.”
His hand moves from your chest to find yours, lacing your icy fingers with his and bringing your joined hands up to rest under his chin. “I love you,” he says quietly, the first ever time. “I’m in love with you. And I was so scared of it I tried to ruin it.”
You tremble against him, your sobs slowly softening into hitching breaths. You turn your head just enough to look up at him, your eyes swimming with a heartbreak he put there. He hates himself for it. “You looked at me like I was nothing,” you whisper, the words scraped raw.
“You are everything,” he corrects, his voice thick with tears. “And I was too stupid to know what to do with it. Forgive me. Please. I’ll spend the rest of my life making it up to you.”
You stare at him, searching for the lie, finding only a desperate, open honesty you’ve never seen before. You blink up at him, eyes clearing of their sadness.
"You... you love me?" you whisper, your voice small and hoarse from crying, but laced with a wonder that makes his heart clench.
Steve lets out a watery, relieved breath that's almost a laugh. He nods, his nose brushing against yours. "Yeah. So much it makes me stupid. Obviously."
A shaky, almost incredulous little giggle escapes you, followed by a sniffle. "You are stupid," you agree, but the words are soft, devoid of any real bite. They're just a fact.
"You bake me cookies and look up car manuals for me," he points out, his thumb stroking your cheek. "So what does that make you?"
"Also stupid," you mumble, but you're nuzzling into his touch now, a movement that sends pure warmth through him.
"The perfect amount of stupid," he murmurs, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead. It's chaste, gentle, a promise. "My kind of stupid."
You're quiet for a moment, your fingers tightening around his where they're still laced together. You're studying him, the last of the walls around your heart crumbling under the weight of his sincerity. "You're really not just saying it because I'm sad?"
Steve's chest aches. "Partly, but not in the way you think," he murmurs quietly. "Not 'cos I feel sorry for you." He shifts you slightly so he can see your face. "I'm saying it 'cos seeing you this sad... because of me... it's like looking at the sun going out."
He takes a deep breath. "The truth is I'm an asshole. An asshole who's in love with you. But I'm gonna try to be less of an asshole, if you'll let me."
You're quiet for a long moment, just looking at him. Then, you lean forward, resting your forehead against his. "You're not an asshole. You're just... you. And I really love you."
The words, so softly spoken, land in the centre of his chest and explode into a supernova of pure joy. He closes his eyes, letting the feeling wash over him, before pulling you tighter against him, burying his face in your hair.
"Say it again," he murmurs, the words muffled.
"I love you, Steve."
He kisses your hair. "Again."
A real, genuine laugh bubbles out of you, light and clear. It's the best sound he's ever heard. "I love you, you big, mean, stupid jerk."
"That's more like it," he laughs into your hair, tucking you closer against his front.
The next day, Tuesday, around the usual time, the bell over the Family Video door gives a single, timid ting.
Steve’s head snaps up. His heart, which has been a heavy, anxious weight in his chest all morning, gives a hopeful, painful thud.
You’re standing just inside the door, frozen. You’re clutching a small, brown paper bag to your chest. Your eyes, while clear of the devastation from yesterday, are wide and watchful. You don’t smile, not yet. Even after yesterday, you're still wary. He doesn't blame you.
Steve sets down the pen he’s been fidgeting with and slowly rounds the counter. He stops a few feet away from you, his hands in his pockets.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he murmurs softly. Barely any gruffness, there, only soft care.
You swallow, your grip tightening on the bag. “Hi, Steve.”
“You brought me something?” he asks, his voice a low, coaxing hum. He nods toward the bag, a gentle prompt.
“Cookies,” you say. “I… I wanted to try again. Properly.” You take a small, hesitant step forward and hold it out. “If you want.”
Steve’s heart swells. God, you're the bravest person he knows. He closes the distance between you, hands coming up to cover yours where they hold the bag.
“Look at me, angel,” he says, his voice dropping to a whisper meant just for you.
You lift your gaze, and he holds it, letting you see every ounce of the remorse and adoration in his own. He sees the flicker of fear in yours, the memory of his cold voice. It guts him.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, his thumbs stroking gentle circles on your skin. “C’mere.”
He opens his arms.
You hesitate for just a heartbeat, your eyes searching his. He doesn’t move, just waits, his expression open and patient.
Then you step into him, and he folds you into his chest with a sigh of pure relief. His arms wrap around you, one hand splayed wide on your back, the other cradling the back of your head, holding you close. He feels you take a deep, shuddering breath, your body slowly relaxing against his.
He presses a lingering kiss to your temple. “I’m not gonna yell again. I’m not gonna be mean. Okay? My voice is never gonna sound like that when I’m talking to you. That guy’s gone.”
You nod against his chest, your arms tightening around his waist. “Promise?” you whisper.
“I swear on everything,” he vows. Steve pulls back just enough to cup your face in his hands, his thumbs brushing your cheeks. “You’re safe with me. Always. You could set the whole damn store on fire and I’d just be worried you got ash in your hair. You’re it for me. Got that?"
A smile tugs at your lips. "Got it."
He smiles back, his own eyes stinging. “Good.” He leans in and presses a soft, chaste kiss to your lips. “Now, what do you say we actually eat one of these cookies together?"
You let out a wet laugh. "Okay."
He keeps one arm around your shoulders as he leads you behind the counter, pulling out the stool he keeps there just for you. He opens the bag, pulls out two slightly-less-lopsided cookies, and hands you one. He takes a bite of his own, watching you the whole time.
“Mmm,” he hums, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “Perfect. Just like you.”
You blush, ducking your head, but you’re smiling as you take a bite of your own cookie.
The back room door bangs open, to Robin standing there, arms crossed, taking in the scene. Steve leaning against the counter, his body angled towards you, a soft, dopey smile on his face as he watches you eat. You perched on the stool, swinging your feet a little, looking up at him with stars in your eyes.
She lets out a long, dramatic sigh. “Unbelievable.”
You jump a little, your eyes going wide like a deer in headlights. Steve just shoots Robin a look that’s half-warning, half-plea.
Robin ignores him and stalks over, plucking the remaining cookie from the bag. She points it at you. “So. This is it? He says ‘I love you’ once, and you just... fold? No further questions? No demands for a written apology? No ceremonial burning of his hairspray? I could've helped you with that, you know.”
You shrink a little on the stool, clutching your half-eaten cookie to your chest. Your eyes dart from Robin’s stern face to Steve’s fondly exasperated one. “He… he meant it,” you say, your voice small but terribly earnest. "He said he was sorry. And that I was his favourite thing in the world."
Robin stares at you. She looks at your utterly sincere, smitten expression. She looks at Steve, who is gazing down at you with a look of such raw, besotted tenderness it’s almost embarrassing to witness.
She shakes her head. "You're hopeless, babe. Adorable, but the biggest pushover in Indiana." She takes a big bite of the cookie. Chews. Her eyes widen slightly. "Holy shit."
You blink. "What?"
Robin points the remaining half of the cookie at Steve. “You are a lucky fuck, you know that?"
Steve grins knowingly. "How so?"
“How so?” Robin repeats, her voice full of theatrical disbelief. “Let me count the ways. One: she bakes.” She takes another bite, speaking around it. “And well, might I add. The chocolate is still melty. The edges are crisp. The centre is chewy without being raw."
"Two: she looks at you like you invented the concept of joy. Even after you were a monumental dingus. The freaking loyalty, oh my God." She pops the final piece of the cookie into her mouth. "And three: you do not deserve her. And yet, here she is."
Steve's grin hasn't faded as he turns his attention from Robin's impassioned rant to you. Your face is burning with flustered embarrassment.
He leans down to turn you on the stool so you’re facing him, your knees bumping his legs. “She’s right,” he murmurs. “I am a lucky fuck. The luckiest. And I definitely do not deserve you. But I'm gonna try to."
“You don’t have to try that hard,” you whisper.
“Yes, he does,” Robin interjects, leaning on the counter. “The minimum effort is daily compliments, foot rubs on request, and never using the word ‘suffocating’ for the rest of his life.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but he’s still looking at you, a lovestruck smile on his face. He leans down to give you a kiss. It’s slow. Sweet. A gentle press of his lips to yours that feels like a promise sealed. When he pulls back, just an inch, he’s smiling, his nose brushing against yours.
“Alright, that’s my cue! I’m clocking out early before I develop diabetes from second-hand sweetness,” Robin announces, grabbing her bag and scattering off, the bell jingling after her.
The store is suddenly, wonderfully quiet. It’s just the two of you, surrounded by shelves of movies and the late afternoon sun streaming through the window.
Steve doesn’t move away. He stays right there, looking down at you, his features soft with adoration.
“Hi,” he says, his voice a low, warm rumble, as if he’s greeting you for the first time all over again.
“Hi,” you whisper back, feeling a fresh, giddy shyness bubble up.
One of his hands comes up, his fingers gently brushing a stray crumb from the corner of your mouth. His touch lingers, his thumb smoothing over your bottom lip. “You’ve got a little…” he murmurs, his eyes fixed on your mouth.
“Oh,” you breathe, your lips tingling under his thumb.
Instead of pulling away, he leans in and kisses you again. This one is even softer than the last, just a tender press of his lips, over and over, as if he’s savouring the taste of chocolate and you and love. When he finally leans back, his eyes are dark with a soft, dazed kind of wonder.
“So sweet,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you.
You duck your head, but he catches your chin with a gentle finger, tilting it back up.
“Hey,” he coaxes. “None of that. Look at me.” You do. His smile is unbearably fond. “There you are. My gorgeous girl.”
The praise, so sincerely given, makes you squirm with happy embarrassment. “Steve,” you whine softly, a feeble protest under his attention.
He chuckles. “What? It’s true.” His hands slide from your face down to your waist, his grip firm and sure. “You’re sitting here, at my work, swinging your feet and blushing ‘cos I called you gorgeous. It’s the best thing I’ve ever seen.”
You bite your lip to stop the ridiculous, happy smile that wants to take over your whole face. It doesn’t work. You’re beaming at him, and he looks like you’ve just given him the sun.
Steve's heart feels too big for his chest. “God, you’re pretty,” he breathes, the words falling out, reverent and awestruck. “The most stunning, beautiful girl in the whole damn world.”
You’re melting, a puddle of adoration in his hands. “You’re so… much,” you manage to whisper.
He grins, that lopsided, heart-stopping grin. “Only for you, sweetheart.” He kisses the tip of your nose, which makes you scrunch it up, and him smile. “Only ever for you.”
So, Steve Harrington is mean.
Well, not mean, exactly. He’s just… Steve. Which is to say, his voice still carries a permanent layer of exasperation, but it’s reserved for idiot customers and broken VCRs. He still speaks in a shorthand of sighs and grumbles, but they’re directed at Dustin’s latest conspiracy theory and the never-ending mess in the break room.
He is, and always will be, a little bit of a grump. A lovable grump with a sharp tongue and a low tolerance for nonsense.
But not to you. Never to you.
To you, his voice is soft. His sighs are breaths of contentment against your hair. Now, you are, in his lexicon, “sweetheart,” “angel,” and most frequently, “baby”. He calls you “kid” only when he’s teasing, his eyes sparkling with affection. He still ruffles your hair, but now it’s a prelude to tucking you under his chin. He still flicks your forehead, but it’s feather-light, followed by a kiss to the same spot.
He finds your attention breathtaking. He knows he doesn’t deserve it, but he’s going to spend every day of his life trying to be a man who does. His high school crown is gone, his hair is less perfect, and his most exciting evening plans now and forever involve you.
You're terrible at hiding your adoration, shining from your eyes every time he walks into a room. He no longer finds it baffling. He finds it home.
And when he comes home after a long day, his shoulders tight with the weight of the world, and sees you curled on the sofa waiting for him... the grumpiness melts away. The sharp tongue gentles. The guard drops.
“Hey, baby,” he’ll murmur, as he sinks down beside you and pulls you into his lap.
“Hi, Steve,” you’ll whisper, nuzzling into his neck.
And he’ll sigh, soft and deep, and press a kiss to your hair. “Missed you,” he'll say.
Sometimes, the air in your house will smell like brown sugar and warm chocolate. He’ll pause in the doorway, smiling.
“You baked,” he’ll state, the words soft with awe.
You’ll nod from your spot on the couch, a little shy, always so pleased to have done something for him. “Extra chips,” you’ll say, just like that first time, but now your voice is sure, your smile confident in his love. “Just like you like.”
He’ll toe off his shoes and cross the room, not to the kitchen for a cookie, but to you. He’ll sink down and gather you close, burying his face in the curve of your shoulder.
“Perfect,” he’ll murmur against your skin, and he won’t be talking about the cookies.
Later, he’ll eat three in a row, making ridiculous, happy noises of appreciation, and you’ll laugh, tucked under his arm, your heart so full you think it might glow. He’ll kiss your temple, his lips dusted with sugar, and whisper, “I love you, sweetheart.”
There's no grand gesture. No dramatic, romantic declaration of love, but you wouldn't want one anyway. You just want him. Steve. Your Steve. Mean to the world, impossibly, beautifully soft with you.
summary: when borrowing steve’s car ends in an accident that destroys his darling car, you’re left shaken and terrified of his reaction. except when he finds you, it’s painfully clear he couldn’t give a fuck about the car.
word count: 2.1k
warnings: car accident, totaled car, panicked sobbing, slight bleeding minor injuries, blood on face/hair, guilt, hurt/comfort, comfort, reassurance, overthinking.
“He’s going to kill me.”
The words spill out of you before you can stop them, thin and shaking, ripped straight from your chest.
You barely recognize your own voice. You’re staring ahead, eyes unfocused, fixed on nothing and everything at once. Not the spiderwebbed windshield. Not the hood crumpled inward, steam ghosting up into the air.
All you can see is Steve’s face when he finds out. When he sees the car. His precious car.
“Oh, sweetheart,” the older woman says gently. “Try not to worry about that right now.”
You shake your head, breath hitching. “No, you don’t understand. He’s—fuck—he’s going to lose it.”
Because not even twenty minutes ago, you’d been driving just fine. Careful and hyper-aware, even, because it was Steve’s car. His stupid, perfect red BMW that he loved more than most people, the one he washed by hand and showed off whenever he got the chance to.
The road had been clear, that’s until a cat darted into your headlights, and your body reacted before your mind could, wrenching the wheel to avoid it—sending the car headfirst into the tree instead.
If it weren’t for the passing car that saw the whole thing, for the woman and her daughter pulling over without hesitation, you don’t know what you would’ve done.
Steve’s car, though, was completely fucked. And that thought keeps looping in your head, loud and relentless, drowning out everything else around you.
The woman —who’s name you learned to be Mrs. Dunne—sighs and gives your shoulder a careful squeeze before stepping away. “I’m going to call for help, all right? My daughter’s a nurse. She’ll look at you.”
She hurries across the road toward the phone box, sensible shoes crunching against gravel.
You’re still trying to slow your breathing when the car door opens again.
“I need a number,” she says gently, already leaning across the seat. “Who owns the car?”
Steve’s name sticks in your throat, except you can’t even pull the words out. You point instead. “Glove compartment.”
She finds it quickly — a worn little address book, containing numbers and details— and flips until she nods. “Got him.”
“Hey,” a voice says nearby. “I’m Vickie.”
You look up to find a girl. She can’t be much older than you, short hair pulled back, a canvas bag slung over one shoulder.
“Can I take a look at you?”
“I’m fine,” you say immediately, the lie automatic. Then your mouth trembles. “I mean—I’m not fine. But I don’t think I’m that injured.”
Vickie gives a small, understanding huff of a smile. “Okay,” she says gently. “Still gonna check you.”
She guides you toward the back seat of the car—which is much less damaged than the front, one hand hovering near your elbow like she’s afraid to startle you. The air smells like antiseptic and gasoline, sharp and overwhelming your senses.
“I swear I wasn’t speeding,” you blurt, words tumbling over each other. “The road was clear, and then there was a cat, it just ran out in front of me and I didn’t even think, I just—”
“Hey,” Vickie says softly, crouching in front of you. “Pause. Breathe first. Then talk, alright?”
You try. The breath stutters anyway.
“That’s okay,” she murmurs, already pulling gloves on. “We’ll take it slow.”
She tilts your chin carefully, eyes scanning your face. “You’ve got a split lip and a cut on your temple.” Her voice stays calm. “Any dizziness? Nausea?”
“I feel sick,” you admit. “But I think that’s just because of… everything.”
“That makes sense.” She presses gauze gently to your forehead.
You hiss despite yourself, tears spilling hot and fast. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she says quickly. “Glass scratches bleed a lot. It always looks worse than it is.”
“It is worse,” you choke. “Steve’s going to see this and he’s going to lose it. Oh, God—the car—”
She stills, eyes lifting to meet yours. “Steve’s your boyfriend?”
You nod, but it only makes the lump in your throat worse. The words spill out before you can stop them. “It’s his car. His brand new BMW—which he, by the way, saved up forever for it. He literally paid an insane amount of money for it and shows it off every chance he gets.”
A laugh slips out despite the fear and guilt coursing through you, and you hate it. “I’m dead. I’m actually so dead.”
Vickie gives a small, incredulous smile. “I don’t know your boyfriend, hon,” she says, smoothing the tape down with careful fingers, “but cars can be fixed. People can’t. I really don’t think he’s going to care about the car when he sees you like this.”
“He will,” you say immediately, shaking your head. “He’s gonna take one look at it and just—God. I shouldn’t have borrowed it. I shouldn’t have touched it at all. I should’ve just walked, I—fuck.”
“Well, my mom already called him,” Vickie says softly, not stopping her work. “And she called your friends too. He’s already on his way.”
Your chest tightens at that, panic blooming fresh and hot. “No. Oh my God.” You drag a hand under your nose, trying to breathe around the pressure. “You should go, both of you. You’ve done more than enough, and I really don’t want you here when he—when he sees it.”
The image won’t leave you alone: Steve’s face hardening, his furious rage leading him to probably— rightfully so— break up with you. Your stomach twists at the thought, nausea rolling up hard enough to make you swallow.
Vickie shakes her head before you’ve even finished. “Yeah, that’s not happening.”
From across the road, her mom’s voice carries over, firm and unmistakable. “None of that, honey!”
Mrs. Dunne walks back toward you, arms folding like she means business. “We are not leaving you stranded and scared on the side of the road. Not for a second.” She softens just a touch as she looks at you. “We’ll stay right here until your boyfriend or one of your friends gets here. That’s that.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Dunne.” you smile warmly at her despite the worry churning in your guts.
Time stretches thin and horrible. Every passing car makes your heart jump. Your thoughts spiral tighter and tighter, replaying Steve handing you the keys earlier, the grin on his face, the way he’d said, Be careful, okay? like it was a joke, like nothing bad could ever happen to you—
A sharp screech of tires cuts through the air.
You flinch hard, breath catching painfully in your throat as a truck skids to a stop on the side of the road, door flying open before it’s even fully parked. Steve steps out, and the look on his face steals the air from your lungs completely.
You’ve never seen him look like that. Not angry, smug, or teasing.
Terrified.
His eyes scan the wrecked car, the tree, the road, wild and frantic, until they land on you. His face goes slack with shock and then he’s moving fast, running like the ground is on fire beneath his feet.
Vickie and her mom both straighten. “Well,” Mrs. Dunne says softly, already reaching for you. “That’ll be him.”
They each pull you into quick, careful hugs, murmuring reassurances you barely register.
Then they step back, giving you space, watching until Steve reaches the door and drops to his knees in front of you like his legs have given out.
“Oh my God,” he breathes, voice breaking. “Hey. Hey—look at me. Fuck—are you okay?”
The Dunnes’ car pulls away slowly, tires crunching over gravel, taillights glowing red before disappearing down the road. The quiet that follows is almost worse as you try to register Steve’s frantic words.
He keeps saying your name, softly at first, then a little louder, but it barely reaches you through the ringing in your ears.
“Hey. Hey—look at me, okay? Baby, c’mon.”
You can’t.
Your eyes stay glued to your shaking hands, to the dark flecks of blood dried beneath your nails. Your chest heaves in sharp, ugly bursts as the sobs finally tear loose, choking and uncontrollable.
“I’m sorry,” you manage, words tripping over each other. “I’m so sorry—I didn’t mean to, I swear, it just happened so fast and I tried to stop and—and I know how much you love it and I shouldn’t have taken it and—”
“Hey.” His voice cuts through, “Hey. Stop.”
Your voice cracks completely. You hiccup on a breath as the words choke out, panic spiraling tighter.
“I know it was stupid,” you ramble, tears blurring everything. “I know it’s your car and it’s new and you worked so hard for it and I ruined it and I didn’t mean to, Steve, I swear it was an accident—”
“—look at me,” he says, low and steady.
Steve’s hands come up suddenly, firm and warm, cupping your face on both sides. His thumbs press just under your cheekbones, forcing your head up despite your instinct to pull away.
Your eyes flicker up at last, red and glassy, breath stuttering.
“Breathe, baby,” he says immediately, softer now. “Just breathe with me. In and out. Come on.”
You suck in a shaky breath.
“Good. Out. Yeah, that’s it. Again.”
You follow him, lungs burning as you inhale and exhale in uneven pulls, his thumbs brushing lightly under your eyes, grounding you.
“That’s it, good job,,” he murmurs. “You’re okay. I’m here.”
Your body trembles again as he studies your face, eyes moving fast, cataloging every mark and every scrape.
“Now,” he says, voice firmer, sharper, like he’s trying to anchor you to reality. “Are you hurt?”
You swallow hard, your throat tight, and the words come out all wrong, tripping over themselves. “No—but your car, it’s—”
Steve’s jaw snaps tight, his hands gripping your face just tight enough to make your skin tingle.
“Did I ask about the goddamn car?” His voice cuts through the trembling air, sharp enough to make your heart drop.
You freeze, the panic climbing higher, and he leans closer, pressing just slightly, like he’s trying to pin you in place—but it’s not dominance, it’s urgency.
“I asked if you’re hurt,” he says again, softer but no less intense. “not the car.”
You look up at him, and it hits you as your stomach drops. The expression on his face, the tension coiled in his body, the raw, frantic light in his eyes—it isn’t anger. It’s terror. Pure, unfiltered, all-consuming fear of losing you.
His hands tremble as they cup your face, thumbs brushing away the tracks of your tears, and for a second, you see the world mirrored in his eyes—a world where nothing matters but you, and every fierce, frantic care he holds is yours alone.
You shake your head slowly, trembling. “No,” you whisper, voice barely audible over your racing heartbeat. “M’not.”
He exhales hard through his nose, “Does your head hurt? Your temple?” he says gently now.
You sniff, shaking your head again. “No. It stings, but—there was an old woman and her daughter. They saw the accident. The daughter’s a nurse. She helped me.”
Steve nods. “I know. She called me.”
Before you can say anything else, he pulls you into his chest suddenly. His arms wrap around you in a bone-crushing hug, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other pressing you so tight to his chest it knocks the air from your lungs.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he breathes into your hair. You cling to him, fingers twisting into his jacket as the last of the sobs shake out of you.
“Don’t ever do that to me again,” he murmurs, voice thick. “You hear me? Don’t scare me like that. I thought something much worse happened to you.”
In truth, the moment he’d gotten that phone call, his heart had dropped straight through the floor. He hadn’t thought about the car. Not even for a second. He’d pictured you bleeding, broken, or worse; not breathing.
He’d borrowed a truck, hands shaking so badly he could barely turn the key, every worst-case scenario slamming into him one after another.
He pulls back just enough to look at you again, forehead pressing briefly to yours. Then he kisses you, quick and desperate, like he needs to feel you over and over again.
You blink up at him, voice small. “So… you’re not mad about your car?”
His expression softens instantly, the tension melting out of his features. “Mad?” he echoes. “No. God, no.”
He shakes his head, a small, breathless laugh escaping him. “I don’t give a damn about the car. I can replace it, sweetheart—hell, I can buy another one tomorrow if I wanted.”
You laugh against his chest, still sniffling. “I don’t think you’re that rich, Steve.”
He snorts, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “Oh, come on. I might not have a Scrooge McDuck vault full of coins, but I can definitely scrape together a replacement BMW. You? Not so lucky.”
You pull back a little, squinting at him through your tears. “Are you seriously laughing right now? I just totaled your baby!”
“I’m laughing at the ridiculousness of you panicking like this,” he says, voice shaking with relief and amusement. “You looked like someone had just told you the world was ending.” His hand slides to your cheek, thumb warm against your skin. “Besides. You’re my baby. Not that damn thing.”
Your throat tightens all over again, heart warming up at his sweet words.
“Now, come on,” he murmurs, shifting closer, careful as he helps you to your feet. “Let’s get you checked out at the hospital.”
You hesitate, glancing down at the gauze. “But Vickie already wrapped me up—”
“I know,” he says softly, squeezing your hand like he needs the contact as much as you do. “I just need to hear it from a doctor, alright? Humor me.”
You nod, letting him guide you toward the truck, his arm never leaving your back, like if he does you might disappear.
steve harrington masterlist
a/n: likes, comments, and reblogs are all highly appreciated <33
Pls is there a part 2 to midnight city I want to know morning after and how everyone reacts to it because phew
A/N: When I originally posted midnight city on the old blog, this was one of my only fics that kept getting asked for part twos and I loved writing it, but really didn't know where to go. I guess, this lucky anon was the magical number to finally inspire this. And I will say, I do have a mini series all about Modern Steve coming out soon called "We'll Call it Love" - I hope you stick around for some more modern Steve.
But for you, anon & all of the wonderful people who asked for part 2? A little morning after blurb - enjoy 💋
Frozen:
part one: "Midnight City" | part two
modern!steve harrington x fem! reader
Summary: Steve Harrington still looks good in the morning. Your meddling friends have impeccable timing, but Steve and you still find time to get a little lost in each other. | masterlist | steve's music | NSFW 18+
WC Range: 1k-3k
Warnings: unprotected piv intercourse - creampie, petnames, Steve had stolen your shirt?, underwear found by friends
Lilac morning light falling across your eyelids as you wake from a dream you can’t quite remember, naked body stretching across soft sheets, arms under the pillow beneath your head. Lazily waking up in a bed that’s not your own, but somehow already feels like home. You let out a quiet yawn as you roll onto your side, eyes fluttering open at the warm breath that hits your cheek.
You bite your bottom lip as you take in the sleeping figure next to you. Steve’s face sharing your pillow, hair shorter than you’ve ever seen it before last night. His eyes moving in a dream under his closed eyelids, arms tucked under his chest, his back and shoulder muscles flexing as he shifts in his sleep.
You can’t help but watch him, taking in every slight twitch of a finger, a hitched breath, a snore - feeling like you’re watching an intimate and vulnerable version of the boy who keeps himself so guarded normally. His pink lips, soft and parted slightly, blowing air out in slow breaths and you’re a little mesmerized by them, remembering just how intimate you got with them last night.
You scoot your body slightly closer, sheets falling from your bare shoulder as your fingertips trace a light pattern across his back, your lips grazing his bicep, your body nudging into his.
You hear his breath shift as your fingers graze down his spine and back up, over his neck and scratching the back of his scalp. He moans a little, face burying itself in the shared pillow as you continue to scratch and card your fingers through the shorter hair and he stretches.
He finally opens his eyes as he turns his face towards yours. Eyes that aren’t quite blue nor green, mixing to form a color that reminds you of getting lost, blink at you and he smiles slowly, his voice deep and rough with sleep, “Good morning.”
His hand reaches over, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear, trailing down your neck, shoulder, and your arm, all the way to the hand that had found its way to his chest and he lifts it and kisses your palm.
You feel your body warm at the gesture and he smirks, kissing your wrist and up your arm, scooting his body closer to yours until your skin to skin and you feel just how happy he is to see you this morning.
You whisper, afraid to pop the bubble that you’re in as he buries himself into your neck, “Morning, Steve.”
Soft kisses, down the column of your neck as he hums as a reply back to you, his hand on your lower back buzzing soft circles into your skin. He’s not doing anything overtly sexual and yet your stomach is flipping, toes curling and breath hitching every time his scruff catches and tickles your skin. You feel his morning erection pressed to your thigh twitch as his teeth nip your earlobe gently.
Lips trailing down your jaw as your eyelids flutter closed and you whisper, “Steve.”
His reply is not with words, but lips finding yours, swallowing your quiet sighs, his fingertips slipping down the curves of your body until he’s pulling his fingers through your wet folds and you shiver against him.
Both of you wrap your arms around each other, pulling one another tighter as his tongue dips out and licks your bottom lip. His length slips between your legs as you rotate your hips over him, easily sliding together from your slick.
Panting into him as he sucks your bottom lip between his own, hand pressing your head closer as his other lifts your thigh higher and over his hip, sliding his tip through your folds and teasing at your entrance.
You press yourself harder against him and both of you gasp as he slowly pushes into you, slowly falling deeper until it’s hard to tell where you end and he begins, filling you fully. Hand guiding your body, he starts thrusting into you, softly, easy, slow. He’s rolling you to your back, his lips moving over yours in a matching, agonizing pace.
Nose bumping against yours as hands find each other’s, his grip tight as he’s pushing them up over your head, burying himself fully inside you and he pushes you down into the mattress. Steve’s pace is teasing, giving you everything you want and then taking it away. Pulling out almost completely and thrusting into you further and harder each time, curls of hair hitting your sensitive nerves with each thrust, rubbing together creating a friction that has you moaning into his mouth.
Your legs wrap around his waist, ankles locking together as you drive your heels into him, forcing him even deeper and to stay put longer, and he laughs a little, nipping at your lips as you roll your hips against him. He releases one of your hands, fingers falling between your bodies as he presses soft figure eights into your swollen clit and your body jolts against him. Thrusting into you slowly, fingers circling and his lips back to yours has the band in your stomach stretched as far as it can go, ready to fall apart all over him.
Steve whispers against your mouth, “Come on baby, give into it.”
You whimper against him, his hips never relenting in their lazy but brutal thrusts, sure he’s leaving bruises deep inside of you with each one. Your back starts to arch off of the bed, gasping his name as you feel your walls tightening around him.
His other hand drags your jaw open as his kisses get a little hungrier, swallowing your screams as he presses his fingers into your clit harder, thrusting a little faster and you can’t hold it off any longer, begging him to fall apart with you.
He moans at your request, hands forgetting their previous positions and he wraps his arms around your back, holding you against his body and he suddenly thrusts into you quicker. Deeper, faster, you’re screaming into each other’s mouths, panting out one another’s names breathlessly. He holds you tightly against him and as you feel him twitch inside of you, painting your insides with his own high, you fall apart too, stars in your vision as you grip tightly to his back, lips pushing against his frantically as you ride out your orgasms together.
Holding each other, sweating temples pressed together, the world doesn’t exist. It’s just you and Steve and you’re unsure why it took so long to figure out, but there was no going back now.
“What are you thinking about?” His voice is softer and quieter than you’re used to. Opening your eyes you see his dancing around your face, fingers tightening on your back as he sighs against you.
You kiss his chin, hands wrapped around his neck as your fingers scratch up and behind his ears, laughing into his jaw, “That I wish we could freeze this moment. Because as soon as everyone finds out it’s going to be I told you so’s up the wazoo and Robin is going to-”
His eyes go wide and he gasps, “Shit!”
He’s pulling himself away from you, both of you wincing at the quick and sudden loss and you pull the sheet around you and watch him frantically pull clothes from his dresser and yank them on haphazardly as you speak, “It was the wazoo wasn't it? You find me horribly unattractive now? You know, as I was saying it I really-”
He came over and kissed you once quickly and laughed, “I loved the wazoo, I love-”
He stopped himself and your eyes went wide. He cleared his throat, tapping your nose before he buttoned his jeans, “I love that we have wonderful friends who are going to be here in less than five minutes for brunch.”
Too caught up in the chaos of his statement, his previous almost slip-up fades to the back of your mind as you search for where pieces of your clothing got thrown the night before.
He tosses you a shirt that could be yours.
Wait.
It is yours.
You hold it up, “Why do you have this? I have been looking for this for months..”
He squints, scratches his jaw and points at the window and you turn to look and he dashes out the bedroom door as a loud buzzing falls from his entryway, signaling that someone had arrived downstairs.
You call out as you pull yourself together quicker than you ever have, “Don’t think you’re off the hook buddy! I accused Robin, Nancy, and Eddie of stealing this! My favorite band tshirt and you had it the whole time?!”
His voice calls out quietly from the kitchen, “What? I can’t hear you?”
You mumble under your breath about how you were dating a pervert and your hands stop in your hair. You were dating right? I mean, Steve wrote his goddamn name in your pussy and he had your tshirt and you’re pretty sure he almost just said I love you. You had to be dating.
Right?
You rounded the corner in the hallway, barefoot soft steps to see him staring at a set of coffee mugs as you asked, “Steve?”
He handed you a mug with coffee exactly as you took it and you smiled, but frowned as you set it down, “Are we dating? What do we tell people? Cause in about five-”
The melodic “secret” knock of Robin tapped on the door before it opened, her humming and arrogant smirk filling the apartment. Nancy’s and Eddie’s directly behind her.
Eddie grinned, “Oh good, Y/N. You’re here already.”
You folded your arms, refusing to give them even an inch of fuel for their fire, “Yep.”
They all smiled like triplet Cheshire cats, glances bouncing between you and then at Steve who was finding something in the other room extremely interesting.
Robin walked further into the apartment, a box of donuts sliding onto the counter as she tapped it, looking between you and her best friend as she said, “Well, we tried to call a bunch of times to see if you needed a ride. But, looks like Harrington beat us to it.”
Steve choked on his coffee and you glared at her.
“Yeah, I tried calling too, you must have been busy.”
And here you thought Nancy was supposed to be the mature one.
Eddie lifted his finger and pointed to the living room, “I-”
You interrupted in a yell, “We had sex! Okay? Everyone happy? Got that out of your systems? Can we all be adults please?”
Robin and Nancy grinned, Eddie mashed his lips together and Steve tapped your shoulder and you spun on him, “What? They were going to find out anyways and-”
He nodded slightly and you followed the gaze of his eyes to your underwear hanging on the plant where Eddie had been pointing originally.
You growled something about everyone keeping their mouths shut, grabbed the offending item of clothing and closed the door to his bedroom as you fell face first onto his bed.
Steve wasn’t too far behind you, slipping in through the door and clicking it closed softly before poking your side, “Come on, it’s not so bad.”
Your phone buzzed three times and you pulled it out and huffed, showing it to him. Ignoring the million missed calls and texts and focusing on the most recent three in the group text.
Robin: So, we did establish I’m the best man and Nance is the maid of honor right?
Nancy: They were really cute underwear Y/N, if that makes you feel any better.
Eddie: Need us to make ourselves scarce?
You peeked over your folded arms at Steve biting his cheek as you heard Eddie and Robin yelling through the door about being best man’s, flower girls, and so on. This isn’t how it’s supposed to be. All this extra pressure and nonsense, it made it confusing and it would hurt even more if it didn't work out. Thoughts you hadn’t even cared to think about last night because you were too caught up in the moment now flooding your brain.
Steve laid on the bed next to you, his crossed arms next to yours as his chin rested on them and he whispered, “I’d like the answer to be yes by the way.”
You sighed, “Yes? To what?”
He smiled, rolling to his side and wrapping his arm around you, tugging you closer like it was natural and a thing you’d done with each other for years, not one night. He kissed your forehead, “Dating. I’d like the answer to be yes.”
You looked up at him through your lashes and smiled, legs tangling together as your arms wrapped around his neck and you nodded, stomach floating with butterflies, “I’d like that too.”
He kissed down your jaw and whispered, “And as far as telling the others…something tells me they already know.”
You buried your face in his chest, inhaling a familiar scent of Steve in a new way, laughing through your embarrassment. He pulled your face up gently, kissing your nose before your lips tenderly. A lot had happened, and more would, and no doubt there was plenty to figure out. But for now, it was just you and him and that was all that mattered.
Hearing something about how the suit would look better on Robin over Eddie, you smiled.
In which Steve is just trying to love his girlfriend but he forgot he asked for six children.
fem reader, bikini, make out, smut p in v at the end, language, not proof read
The first occurrence was on all accounts, an accident. An annoying one.
"What'd you say, movie, me, you, tonight?" Steve expressed his desire for a date night, leaning over the counter that was splattered with butter and a variation of soda's.
"Steve, baby, you do realise I work at the movie theatres?" you asked, boxing up popcorn for someone who had brought tickets.
"Yeah, and I work at family videos, still wanna see you."
You had to admit, with the both of you in between jobs and babysitting gigs you somehow always got roped into it had been hard to get alone time together. But date night at the place you worked wasn't your idea of magic.
But Steve had turned up, his family video vest still hanging on only half an hour or something after his shift because he wanted to spend a night with you.
It was also humanly impossible to say no to Steve. "Fine. Weekend at Bernie's is on tonight at seven and that's one I haven't actually seen yet."
"Perfect," he grinned. "I'll pick you up when you're done here, drop you off at yours so you can get ready then I'll pick you up for six-thirty."
"Steve, that's too much driving, I can get the bus back."
"The bus?" he gasped dramatically. "I'd never have my girl on a bus." Steve pushed himself over the counter, pecking your sweet and salty lips from the popcorn you swiped between customers.
So at seven on the dot the two of you were walking through the cinema. The perks of working there was the tickets and treats you got on discount that Steve still insisted on paying for. He had Reeses and Boppers while you had the largest box of popcorn that Steve wasn't even sure was an option for regular customers.
You settled into your seats in the rather packed cinema and Steve threw an arm around you as the previews started.
"See, this is nice," he uttered to you. "Just you and me, date night."
Even if this was a room you swept more than fives times a day even you could admit, it all felt different with Steve.
You laid your head back on his arm. "Yeah."
Steve admire you. "I love you."
His lips were as soft as always as they kissed you, not daring to go any further while sitting in the middle of the cinema. If it was the back row, on the other hand-
"Shit, shit, I can't see,"
"Dustin, just move,"
"I am, geez, I just paid for this popcorn I am not spilling it,"
"You're walking like a grandma,"
"Grandma Henderson is spry for her age, asshole!"
Steve's nose brushed yours as he pulled back, dread marking his features. "It can't be."
Your heart sank. "No."
"Holy shit, hey guys!" said Dustin Henderson.
There was a chorus of surprise from them all: Dustin, Lucas, Max and Will. They piled in, pushing and shoving each other on the row below you.
"Huh, what are the chances?" Dustin grinned.
Steve laughed through clenched teeth. "Ha ha, tell me about it."
Lucas frowned at you. "Hey, I thought you worked here."
"I do."
"So don't you see movies on shift? You know, for free?"
"Woah, genius, I hadn't thought about that."
Max rolled her eyes, tugging on Lucas's arm. "They're on a date, leave them alone."
"Oh- oh!" said Dustin in loud exclamation. He apologised to those around him. "Sorry, sorry. We'll just take our seats, don't worry, you two carry on, you won't even know we're here."
Steve and you were not convinced even before they sat down. They sat down right on front of the two of you, the curls of Dustin bouncing as he tried to situate himself with his large soda and even larger popcorn.
Lucas and Max were arguing over who sat where while Will took the seat on the end, quietly munching on his popcorn and watching the preview intently.
"He's my favourite kid," said Steve to you.
Dustin's head turned back. "Sorry, what were you saying?"
Steve pushed his head around. "I wasn't talking to you."
"Oh right, yeah," Dustin apologised. "Not even here, we're not even here."
The movie started and they seemed on their best behaviour for all of five minuets. It was really Steve that started it, un-able to stop himself when he saw Lucas yawn and dramatically stretch out his arms until one of the laid across Max's shoulders. He couldn't not lean in to tell you that was his move.
"It's a classic," he whispered to you. "I've taught all of them that but Lucas executes it flawlessly."
Lucas looked back to the two of you and Steve threw a very proud thumbs up.
The quiet of the cinema room was interrupted when Will opened a large pack of chips. A collective 'shh' came from every party in the room.
Will lit up in red. "Sorry," he whispered.
"Hey, Will," Dustin tried to call as quiet as possible which for Dustin was not quiet enough. Another round of 'shh' started. "Shh yourselves."
"Dustin," you lectured.
"What? I just want some chips!"
Will took some before passing along the bag, letting Lucas take a generous hand full before handing it over to Dustin. The crinkle of the bag as he dove in was louder than the movie.
Dustin turned around to the two of you. "Any for yourselves?"
"No," said Steve. "Turn around."
"Alright, alright, was just asking!"
The rest of the movie went more like that. A passing of snacks and whispers that led to glares from everyone trying to watch the film. Every time you and Steve tried to settle in with each other, his arm around your shoulder or you leaning into his side, Dustin would turn to look at the both of you, seeing if you guys were laughing at the right times or Lucas poking you in the knee to have some popcorn.
It turned into just a regular baby-sitting gig.
When the movie finished everyone seemed happy to be up from their seats.
The four were ahead of you and Steve, talking about their best parts and throwing the last of their snacks away.
"Can't escape them for two hours, huh?" said Steve, fingers entwining with yours as he swung your arms back and forth.
"No, I guess not."
"Hey," he tugged at your arm, stopping you. "I'm sorry about them, we'll get a quiet night, I promise. How about my place, Friday? My parents won't be home."
You grinned. "I guess it's a date."
Steve's lips curled up as he kissed you, hand sliding to the back of your neck to keep you there, his tongue sliding over your bottom lip practically begging for enterance-
"Ew, gross!" Will complained.
"Steve, c'mon!"
Max huffed. "Leave them alone!"
"Steve, can give us a lift home!"
Steve pulled away, his hand curling in on itself on the back of your neck but his thumb was still loose to sooth you. "Shitheads-"
You couldn't help but chuckle. For all the complaining he might give you knew Steve loved those kids like they were his own. Just as you did. You couldn't really be angry at them if you tried. "Take them home, I'll go see Stacy, she'll be finishing up. I'll hitch a ride with her."
"What? No, no, no what kind of boyfriend would I be? Those little a-holes can bike home," he said, hands running up and down your arms.
"Steve," you said. "You'll be a great boyfriend- and even better one- if you take them home. Please, for me." It never did sit right with you that the kids were fine biking home in the dark. What with all the monsters you've already faced.
Steve couldn't say no to you so he decided he wouldn't even try. "Okay, fine but take this-"
The kids awed and cooed as they watched Steve peel of his jacket and drape it over your shoulders.
You rolled your eyes. "Steve-"
"The walk to the car will be cold." He draw you in, pulling at his jacket to do so to kiss your popcorn lips.
"Steve!" Dustin yelled.
"I'm gonna kill him, I swear," your boyfriend mumbled against your lips. He pecked them once and fetched the keys from his pocket before pulling it closer around you. "Call me when you get home, I love you!" he called, trotting back to the kids.
"I love you!" you called after him.
Max turned back, winking. "Yeah, love you too!"
You held your middle finger up to her, with affection.
Lucas clasped his hands over his chest as Steve pushed the kids ahead. "Oh Steve, I love you so much, mwah mwah-"
Dustin and Will laughed, the former making obscene kissing noises while rubbing his arms up and down himself.
"Cut it out!" Steve whacked him on the back of the head.
Really, after all this time, should the kids have been surprised at how the two of you were?
The next Friday came around with sweltering heat. Steve had turned on all the fans he could in his house but he had something better.
A swimming pool.
You'd stripped to your bikini almost immediately, sliding into the water that instantly cooled your body while Steve was upstairs trying to find his trunks and if you knew him getting distracted by his hair in the mirror for an extra ten minutes.
You swam a lap or two before relaxing on the side, arms slung out and head tilted back, letting the droplets of water slide down your neck. The pool stilled, the sun beamed-
"Cannonball!"
Before you could react Steve bombed into the pool splashing you in the process and sending shock waves through the water.
"Steve!"
He popped back up to the surface, shaking his hair out like a dog and wiping down his face. "Oh, now that feels good!"
You laughed. "You're ridiculous."
Steve found you once all the water was out of his eyes, heading your way. "You're beautiful," he said, wrapping his arm around your waist and pulling you in. "So beautiful, sexy-"
"Steve-" he kissed along your shoulder, playfully nipping at the skin.
"-mine."
You hummed when he kissed you eagerly, as if he hadn't greeted you the same way when you walked through the door. It had been a hassle enough to get to the pool without Steve un-dressing you then and there.
You wrapped your arms around his waist as Steve's hands cupped your backside, fingers digging into the flesh as if there were no bikini bottoms there. The two of you moved back through the water until you gently hit the wall of the pool.
You gasped at the feel of the tile.
Steve broke away at once. "You okay, baby?"
"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Your legs squeezed around him, bringing him in until his lips were on yours again, starving.
His hands sort out your back, travelling the expanse and toying with the straps of your bikini top-
When the sound of his backdoor closing alerted you both, followed by the sound of six voices struggling.
"I told you Steve would have ice, you didn't need to bring a bag!"
"Well shit Mike, it's for the cooler."
"Maybe Steve's got some beer for us?"
"He has nice wine," said Max. "y/n told me he has nice wine."
The two of you were still practically entwined at the edge of the pool.
"Please tell me I'm not gonna turn and see what I think I'm gonna see," said Steve, pulling away enough so you could hear him.
The kids, that being all of them, waved at the two of you when Steve turned to look.
Dustin was already throwing an inflatable bed thing into the pool while Max, El and Mike were setting down bags on the lounge chairs Steve had, Mike helping El out with lying out her towel.
"Lucas?" Max called over, clearly wondering if he was gonna make sure she was comfortable.
Lucas was already filling up water balloons with Will's help.
It was as if they hadn't even realised you and Steve were there... at his pool.
"Hey!" he yelled. "What the hell are you doing?"
Dustin grinned. "Hey Steve!"
The rest of them copied his grin at the two of you, waving and greeting you.
Stunned, you held your hand up in a wave.
"I repeat- what are you doing here?" Steve asked.
"You gave us a key!" said Dustin.
"Yeah, for emergencies!"
"This was an emergency!"
"What?" you asked, immediately jumping into action. You pushed yourself out the water, grabbing a towel that wasn't too far and started to dry yourself off. They were all too calm in the face of an 'emergency' "What emergency? Is everything ok?"
"No," said Lucas.
"Well what, what is it?"
"None of us have pools in our back yards."
You deflated.
"Are you serious?" asked Steve, sending a splash of water over to Lucas and Will.
"Hey."
"You can't just waltz in here and make yourselves at home!" argued Steve, reaching out to you to try and pull you back in the pool as you got to your feet.
"It's hot!" said Dustin.
"So hot," added Mike.
"And we needed to cool down!" said Max.
"We were almost dying," said El, "it was really sad."
You smirked to yourself, knowing that if Max and El pulled out the pouted lips and puppy dog eyes, he was done for. The girls were his weakness.
"Yeah... well..." Steve wasn't even trying to argue when he looked up at you.
The red bikini that framed your curves perfectly, the little droplets of water that slid down your body. He tracked each one doing down, rolling down your sternum and further down your legs-
"Steve!" yelled Dustin.
"Wh-what?" he reluctantly forced his gaze away from you to look at him.
Dustin gestured to the floaty that was drifting from him. "Hold it steady!"
"My god," he grumbled.
You had your towel, patting yourself down and sitting with Max and El as Mike went to join Lucas and Will's efforts. You sat with them in the shade.
"Nice suit," said Max. "Pretty sure Steve's eyes were about to jump out his sockets."
"Oh, ha ha," you rolled your eyes. "You guys got swim suits?"
El nodded. "We went shopping."
"Show me!"
Steve was, once again distracted by you. Sure, it was annoying not getting a spare second alone with you. Really he should have pulled you into his room and made it quick before getting in the pool. But the kids meant best... he hoped and the way you were with them, especially Max and El who deserved kindness more than most, warmed his heart.
He could just picture you with the children he hoped to have with you one day. The care that you had, the love. And of course the way of making babies was not lost on him-
"Okay, okay," said Dustin as he stood at the edge of the pool, clearly thinking of the best ways to get onto the float. "Hold it steady... hold it steady..."
"I'm holding- I'm holding it steady!" said Steve.
"Steady!" yelled Dustin.
Steve held it for him but at the last second- when he realised Dustin was going to jump on it- he moved it, sending Dustin crashing into the pool.
The group of them were left laughing as he broke through the water, paddling around. 'Shit! Shit!'
After that you and Steve got busy. It was summer break, so people wanted films all the time and ran Steve off his feet, his days dragging. By the time he picked you up from your shift (which he insisted on) he could sneak a kiss before dropping you off, or sometimes you'd stay with him but the two of you were always too tired for anything. A quiet meal, watch a show then go to bed to do it all again.
Any small moment was special, Steve just wished they'd last.
One day he was at work, fixing up messy shelves and updating the posters at the windows when the door opened.
"Hey Steve!" El and Max called, rushing to two different sections.
El to romance and comedy.
Max to action but Steve knew she'd watch any romance El wanted.
He smiled and was ready to greet them when you practically fell through the door next, arms overflowing with bags.
"Hey!" you smiled, breathless.
"Hey, hey," Steve was in front of you at once, kissing your cheeks and looking down at all the bags. "What's this? You finally moving in with me?"
"Girls day."
Girls day had ran you dry, clearly. You were leaning on the door, feet aching.
"Shopping, snacks and now a film," you said. "And I wanted to see you."
Steve grinned. "Well isn't that sweet." He kissed you deep and slow, dragging the moment out to last.
"Oh gag me!" Robin called from behind the counter. "Porno's are over there, people!"
El peeked up from a shelf. "What's a por-no?"
Max went red in the face, laughing wildly as she turned to you and Steve. "Yeah guys, what's a porno?"
Steve blushed and stuttered.
"Nothing, El, hurry up and get a movie, we need to catch the bus back."
Steve turned back to you. "Bus?"
"Not again," you rolled your eyes.
Steve didn't have an aversion to the bus. He had an aversion of you getting a bus when he could've been using that time to spend a few extra precious minutes with you. "No, no, tell you what, we're almost done here-"
"No we're not!" said Robin.
"Well, we'll close up and I can take you all back and we can all enjoy girls night, how about that?" he asked, inviting himself and Robin along.
Your cheeks ached with the smile Steve brough to you.
Max thought less so. "No, no, no, this is a girl's night, Steve. No boys allowed."
"Yeah, no boys," Said El, joining her friends side.
"Guys c'mon, it's Steve," you argued.
"I couldn't bring Mike," said El.
Steve cringed. "Mike's Mike."
El's brows furrowed in thought. "Mike is... Mike?"
You turned to Max, batting your lashes. "Please..."
Max didn't want to be the 'bad cop' but she also wanted a girls night. And perhaps she was worried, after all, besides Steve she didn't have that much of a positive out look on 'man'.
Lucas wasn't there yet.
Steve jutted out his bottom lip.
Max crossed her arms over her chest and looked away.
Steve knew Max, knew her well. It had come with the years of looking out for each of them. "Okay, how about I get us all a tub of each others favourites ice cream? Vanilla and sprinkles for El, Mint choc-ship for Robbin and strawberry for you?"
It worked a treat, you could practically see Max's body melting at the suggestion.
"Fine," she said, still feigning her annoyance. "But you don't get to pick the movie!" she said, rushing off.
Steve scoffed. "Please, I work with movies," he leant down to your ear. "I cannot watch pretty in pink again, please."
You shrugged as Steve's hands ghosted yours. "Tough luck, babe. That's what happens when you invite yourself to girls night."
He shrugged. "Just spend time with my girl, and hey, if you can't beat them, join 'em." His eyes wondered down to your lips before he kissed you again, slower.
"Earth to Dingus's!" called Robin. "You're blocking the door from actual customers!"
The two of you shuffled away from the door, abashed and apologising as a customer awkwardly made their way in.
"Okay, we've chosen," said Max as El signed out her movie with Robin. "So let's go!"
El joined Max's side after sliding the tape into one of your bags, leaving you stumbling with the bags.
Steve was conflicted. If he were with you he would have taken the bags from you in an instant but clearly you were carrying them for the girls so they would be free.
Max's eyes lit up in mischief. "Oh, if only you had a car, y/n. Then we wouldn't have to walk so far," she pouted.
"With such heavy bags," El added, eyes downcast.
You gave the girls a look but it wasn't enough to stop them.
Steve's eyes rolled and he dug into his pockets before you could tell him no. They had him wrapped around their finger. Never mind El could move things with her mind, she get Steve to do just about anything she wanted. Steve looked at you. "Take my car-"
"Thanks!" Max plucked the keys from him instantly, rushing out with El.
Steve followed her, poking his head out the store. "You're not driving!"
You chuckled and stood tall to peck Steve's cheek. "They have you whipped."
His eyes rolled, mocking you. "Drive safe."
And though Steve wished you could have stayed, or he could have gone with you, at least he'd wormed his way into 'girls night'.
Finally, Steve received the invite he was waiting for. Your family out of town, your house all alone... just you and him.
It wasn't like he'd never been alone in your home with you but it had certainly been so long. Your house was warmer than his, sign that a family might love you whereas his parents didn't know he was in another dimension half the time.
He had a little night bag in the back of the car for the weekend you would have together. Your favourite sweater of his, along with sweatpants and an extra pair of his clothes for you. Snacks, a film and.... a box of condoms. Steve had big plans.
He sped away from work, not even caring if he hadn't clocked out right and trusting Robin would correct it or berate him for it- either way it could wait. He drove quick through Hawkins but took roads that wouldn't take him by Lucas's house in case he got roped in giving Lucas or Erica a ride. He avoided town in case Mike and El had gone on a date and spotted him. At one point he saw a kid with curls on a bike and he swerved, trying to duck in case it was Dustin.
They were great kids. But the only thing greater than them was getting time alone with you.
Finally, after an extra half an hour de-tour of Hawkins he parked up in front of your house, checking over his shoulder in case one of them popped up.
Steve rattled his knuckles on the door.
It took a moment but you swung it open, breathless. "Hey!"
"Hey," Steve stepped in, hands on your shoulders and pecking your cheek. "I'm sorry I'm late, I took the long way, I didn't want to risk the kids-"
"They're here," you said.
Steve frowned. Was your family back? Was their a maintenance guy around. "What? Who's here?"
"The kids."
At your word there was a crash from your kitchen.
Your head whipped around. "Shit- shit-shit- no, no, no!"
Steve was hot on your heels.
Lucas and Dustin stood over a pie that now laid in pieces along with the dish it was in.
"Oh, come on!" Steve deflated against the wall with all his hopes and dreams.
"Sorry," said Lucas.
"It's fine," you sighed, reacting quickly when Dustin went to clean it. "Careful, you'll cut your hands!"
Steve surveyed the area. Max and Mike were having an argument about... well, with them it could have been anything. On the sofa Will was watching the film with El who painted her nails on the coffee table. "Are you serious right now?"
Dustin and Lucas went back to searching through your cupboards, assuming it's for a snack.
Steve knelt next to you, helping you clean the shards and crumbs up. "How did this happen?"
"I don't know," you whispered. "I knew El was coming around for some nail polish but I didn't think she'd bring Max and then Lucas followed her and he radioed Mike who was with Dustin and Will-"
"And you answered the door every time?"
"It was that or they break a window climbing in!"
"Y/n!" Max called.
Your head sagged but you quickly perked up when Max and Mike stood in front of you.
"Can you please tell Mike that Jean Grey is obviously more powerful than the Scarlet Witch!"
Mike spluttered. "What? Wanda Maximoff is literally a Nexus being and can warp the minds and reality around. She created children with nothing but her mind-"
"Jean Grey has the Phoenix force!"
"Like that means shit!"
Their argument started up again and Steve pulled you up, tugging you back into the corridor while everyone was distracted in their own chaos.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you rambled at once. "I wanted it to just be us, I did, but then El started to paint her nails and Max starting opening up about how hard things have been and I've been trying to get her to open up and then Lucas appeared and you know things have been tough between them and then the others came and I couldn't throw them out without kicking them all and they're good kids and-"
Steve grasped your cheeks and kissed you. Only partly to stop your rambling, and the other because he'd been wanting to kiss you all day. He let himself indulge a moment too long before pulling away. "It's fine. We babysit tonight and then tomorrow, we're not leaving your bed, deal?"
You licked your lips of the taste of him and smiled. "Deal."
Steve pressed a kiss to your forehead as the stairs creaked.
"Oh hey Steve," greeted Robin as she casually walked down the stairs as if he hadn't left her at Family Video not long ago. "I didn't know you were coming tonight too." She pat his back and moved past him.
Steve wondered if Jonathon and Nancy were lurking somewhere in the garden. It seemed half of Hawkins knew you had the place to yourself.
"Oh fuck, Steve!"
"Yeah, yeah baby, you like that?"
Steve had made sure of his promise.
The night ended at midnight exact when Steve realised you had fallen asleep on the sofa. He draped a blanket over you and quietly but urgently shoved all the kids away, putting them on their bikes or cars (their parents collecting them) and sending them on their way.
Steve didn't want to wake you so he carried you upstairs and fell asleep with you.
The next morning you were up early to make breakfast, dressed only in one of Steve's flannels and panties. Just to drive him mad. You were half way through pancakes when Steve's arms wrapped around your middle and all but threw you on the sofa, flattening you there.
That's how you both ended up naked on your parents sofa, you in his lap, his cock stretching inside of you and moans bouncing off the walls.
You mewl into his shoulder, nails digging into his shoulders.
Steve rocked his hips into yours as you continuously grinded down on him. "Wanted you so long, baby, was- was going mad."
"I know, I know!" You groaned, pulling back and holding his face in your hands, laying your head against him.
The two of you bodies sweat together, the cushions on the sofa already fallen off the floor and your clothes thrown anywhere other than around you.
Steve meant what he said. He kissed you, all tongue and teeth, desperate to get as deep inside of you as possible and then some more.
You pulled back, Steve's lips dragging down your neck, collecting your sweat and pulse. "Ah, St-Steve!"
His hand held the small of your back, pushing you deeper into him leaving you biting down on your lip to stop screaming out. "You feel me there, huh? Feel me deep?" he all but whined.
You nodded. Your back arched, cunt squeezing him harder as you leant back, hand on his thigh to steady yourself. "Steve- Steve- I'm gonna-"
There was a sudden pounding at the door.
Your whined but not in the way Steve wanted as he felt your climax escaping him.
"No, no, no baby, focus," he cupped your chin, forcing your gaze on him. "Focus on me baby, let them knock."
You both had already guessed who it was.
Steve's eyes screwed shut as he rutted into you quick but the knocking was just as insistent.
"Steve! Y/N, we know you're in there!" Dustin called.
Steve shook his head, rocking you against him. "They-they don't- arg-"
"Steve! We can see your car outside!" added Lucas.
You sat up on him, a hand on the back of the sofa and another on Steve's shoulder. "Steve-"
You both knew you'd never have the day to yourself if they were there, knocking at the door every time you were going to finish.
Steve looked at the door and back to you.
"Maybe there's a spare key?" suggested Will.
"That's it!" Gently Steve helped you off him and almost regretted it at once at the sound of your small whine and the sight of his hard cock leaking and everything coming out of you-
Quickly, Steve grabbed a blanket and tied it around his waist, brushing his hair back as you picked up another discarded on the floor to cover yourself.
He kicked his jogging bottoms out the way as he went and swung open the door, catching the gang of them scrambling for a spare key under the flower pots.
Dustin noticed the hair on his chest and the sweat first, chuckling. "Damn, Steve, all that hair got you stressing-" he realised half way through just why he was sweating and standing there in only a blanket.
"No!" he said. "You cannot have either of us today!"
Will had the decency to blush and look away, Max's jaw was on the floor at what they'd clearly interrupted.
"We just want-" Mike tried.
"No! Nop! None! Zero! We are closed today!"
"Well, actually you seem pretty open-"
"You want to finish that sentence, Sinclair?" Said Steve. "All I want is a day alone, of peace with my girlfriend, and yes that means doing adult things."
El frowned. "Adult?"
Sometimes he forget El didn't know all the ins and outs of the world.
And sadly they'd caught Steve on the precipice of bursting (literally).
"Sex! Yes, that is what happy and loving couples do, that is what we have been trying to do but we keep getting interrupted! So, no, you cannot come in and no you cannot go to my house to eat snacks or go in the pool cause guess what? We're gonna do it there to!" he actually had no plans for that but he just might. "So please, please just move along and let us get to it!"
Lucas chuckled.
Dustin cleared his throat, his voice stuck in a higher pitch. "Okay. We'll er... we'll just... move on."
"Yes, thank you!" Steve waited at the door, waving them down and watching them go all the way down the street. Every time one of them looked back, he waved. He saw El leaning into Mike and his ears going red but he decided he'd let Mike deal with that one.
When he was sure they'd got far enough, Steve slammed the door, locked it and put a chain on for good measure.
You were laughing, face hidden in the blanket when he returned, standing over you with his hands on his hips. "I cannot believe you just did that."
"Oh," said Steve, dropping the blanket as he fell to his knees, pushing up your blanket and pulling apart your legs. "It was a long time coming. And speaking of coming..."
summary: you accidentally overhear steve calling you “clingy” to robin. instead of confronting him, you retreat into silence, letting your hurt fester. steve notices and becomes desperate to understand, but the more he reaches out, the wider the distance grows.
word count: 6.1k
a/n: after writing way too much steve fluff, it’s time for some angst with my fav trope: fmc overhears her spouse call her clingy… eventual happy ending <3
tags: takes place after s4 timeskip, so much angst, emotional hurt, crying, reader has scars from a demo attack, nancy and robin are so sweet here, distancing, reader has ptsd, emotional vulnerability, reader was eddie's bsf, mentions of violence, trauma, typical upside down gore, lack of communication, so much fluff at the end, happy ending.
You truly didn’t mean to eavesdrop.
If anything, it was an accident, a cruel, stupid accident orchestrated by the universe itself and whatever higher power up there that wanted to see you suffering.
You’d been at the Squawk with Steve and Robin, the three of you crammed into the booth like always. Robin, as usual, was rambling about something while Steve laughed and bumped his knee into yours under the table, grounding you without even trying.
By the time the clock crept past 8:30, the air outside was already dark and heavy, that familiar tightness had started curling in your chest; one that always showed up when it got late.
You’d told yourself you could handle it, that you were fine and you weren’t helpless, but you still asked Steve to accompany you home anyway, too afraid to go on your own.
“Can you come with me?” you’d asked casually, “or at least drive me home?”
Steve frowned, glancing at Robin. “Baby, you’ll be fine. You can go on your own. I’ll be back in like an hour, okay? ”
You nodded and kissed him goodbye, then you walked out to your car telling yourself you weren’t a scared little kid, and that nothing can harm you anymore.
Only to realize halfway down the lot that your coat was still inside.
So you turned around.
That was all; a forgotten coat, a stupid, normal thing, and you would have been in and out in seconds if not for your name cutting through the noise in the squawk as you heard Steve mention you to Robin.
You shouldn’t have listened, you knew that. You were raised better than to hover at doors and steal pieces of conversations that weren’t yours to hear, but your body didn’t listen to reason anymore.
Your feet stayed planted, your lungs forgot how to work as panic washed over you so fast and so violently that for a second you weren’t in Hawkins at all.
You were back in the Upside Down.
Back in that choking red sky, where the air is thick and cold. You could feel all over again the vines slick and alive under your hands as you ran, heart tearing itself apart inside your chest.
You could still feel the demobats, the weight of them, the wet snap of their wings, the sound of flesh ripping, the blood, so much blood, everywhere you looked there was bloodbloodbloodbloodblood—
—the combined screams of yours and Eddie’s. You remembered the way his body had gone still, the way Steve had dragged your bloodied body away as your entire abdomen was ripped apart, shaking so badly you couldn’t even scream.
You remember the way you’d thought you were going to die there with your throat ripped open and your bones scattered across that fucked-up place.
You hadn’t felt safe since.
Four months, five months? however long it had been, it didn’t matter. Fear had latched onto you like a parasite and refused to let go.
Everything startled you now, doors, clocks, cold air on your neck, cars backfiring, footsteps too close behind you. The world felt like a nightmare, and the night was only much worse.
Steve was the only place that didn’t feel like that.
Steve made it quiet. Steve made it stop.
You hadn’t even realized you’d started clinging until it was already done, until your body had decided he was shelter, that he was protection, that if he was near then nothing could touch you.
And now you were standing outside a door, listening to him talk about you.
“I don’t know, Robin,” he says again, voice rough and worn down, like he’s been chewing on the same thought for weeks and it’s finally gone bloody. “She’s just… different. Ever since.”
Robin leans back against the counter, arms crossed, watching him carefully. “Yeah,” she says, slow and measured. “No shit. She went to literal hell, Steve.”
“I know that,” he snaps too fast, immediately regretting the edge in his voice. He exhales, drags a hand down his face. “I know. I do. That’s the problem. I know, and I still feel like shit about how I feel.”
She waits. Robin’s good at that. At letting him talk himself into the truth.
“It’s like,” he starts again, quieter but faster, words tumbling over each other now, “she’s everywhere. All the time. Wherever I go, she’s already there or tryin’ to be. If I grab my keys, suddenly she needs to leave too. If I’m sittin’ down, she’s sittin’ down. If I say I’m tired, she’s tired. It’s like she can’t exist unless I’m right next to her.”
Your stomach drops where you stand, frozen just outside the door, fingers clenched tight around the strap of your bag.
“I’m serious,” Steve keeps going, oblivious, frustration bleeding through every word. “If I’m goin’ to see Dustin, she’s got a reason to come. If I’m headin’ to the Squawk, somehow we’re paired up for drills again. She doesn’t do anything alone, Robin. Never. She’s just… latched onto me.”
He laughs humorless. “And I sound like a dick sayin’ it, I know I do, but it’s fuckin’ suffocating.”
Suffocating. Like he’s drowning because of you.
Robin doesn’t answer right away. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer, more careful. “Steve. That’s not weird, matter of fact it's a normal response given what she's been through. That’s her brain trying to keep her alive.”
“I know,” he says, rubbing at his neck like it physically hurts to admit it. “I know she’s not doing it on purpose.”
“She nearly died,” Robin presses. “She watched Eddie die right in front of her. She got dragged into the Upside Down and came back with scars all over her body. She wakes up screaming, Steve. You’re the only thing that makes her feel safe.”
“I didn’t say she was the bad guy,” he snaps, voice cracking despite himself. “I’m just sayin’ I’m overwhelmed. She’s so clingy, Robin. You saw her tonight. She didn’t wanna leave without me. I had to practically beg her to go first.”
Your vision blurs. You press a hand to your mouth, swallowing hard.
“It’s like I gotta make up excuses just to be alone,” he admits, quieter now, stripped bare. “I need space. I need to breathe. And I can’t say that without soundin’ like a heartless asshole because yeah, she’s traumatized, and then suddenly I’m the villain for wantin’ five goddamn minutes to myself.”
Robin scoffs, pushing off the counter. “Steve, you idiot. You said it yourself. Your girlfriend is traumatized.”
“Yeah,” he shoots back, voice rising, “but how the hell do I tell my traumatized girlfriend to back off without destroyin’ her. How do I say ‘hey, I love you, but you’re smotherin’ me,’ and not absolutely fuck her up more than she already is.”
“You don’t call her clingy,” Robin says immediately. “For starters. That word is banned and most girls, including Vickie, hate it.”
Steve lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Well, she is.”
Robin gasps dramatically, clutching her chest. “Oh nooo,” she mocks, voice high and obnoxious. “I’m Steve Harrington and my girlfriend loves me so much. Oh noooo, she feels safe with me. My life is helllll.”
“Shut up,” Steve mutters, shoving her shoulder.
“Oww, you asshole!” Robin shoots back, swatting him in return, then sobers as she gets all serious again. “You’re not wrong for being tired. You are wrong for talking about her like she’s a burden.”
Steve goes still. “I don’t think she’s a burden,” he says quietly, and this time it sounds like the truth. “I just… I don’t wanna be the only thing keepin’ her together. What happens if I fuck up? What happens if I leave?”
Robin sighs. “Then you talk to her. You communicate, dingus.”
You step back before they can see you, heart pounding, every word replaying in your head on a brutal loop. Suffocating. Clingy. Everywhere.
You don’t grab your coat when you leave.
You don’t even realize you’re driving until you’re already halfway home, knuckles white on the steering wheel as every memory crashes into you at once. Begging him to stay while you showered because you were convinced something would crawl out of the drain. Nights you woke up screaming, clinging to his shirt like it was the only safe place left in the world. Training days for the crawl where you stuck close, too afraid to be alone, grateful when you were paired with him again.
You could see it all, every single little thing you had leaned on him for, flashing through your mind like some god-awful horror slideshow.
Steve’s words had been like a bucket of ice water dumped on you, shocking you into clarity whether you wanted it or not.
Maybe you had been too sensitive. Maybe you had been unbearable. Maybe you had been so clingy that it wasn’t fair for him, and maybe you needed to let go, at least a little.
It wasn’t as if you had been the only one stuck in the Upside Down. Will had survived a week in that hell, seen things that should have ripped him apart, and yet he had come back and carried himself with a strength you couldn’t even muster.
Dustin had lost Eddie too, but he hadn’t latched onto anyone, hadn’t made himself a burden. Eleven had been tortured, exploited, experimented on, broken in ways that should have left her crushed, and yet she still managed to find herself amidst everything, to stand and breathe and continue on.
And here you were, the only one who seemed incapable of moving past it, of finding even a fragment of independence, still tethered to Steve as if without him you would fall apart.
Somehow, without realizing it, you had arrived at your shared home with Steve, parked your car in the driveway, and walked inside on autopilot, your body carrying you through familiar motions while your mind carried the full weight of guilt, shame, and heartbreak.
You stripped off your clothes in the bathroom, letting the water hit your skin in a rhythm you used to find comfort in, and prepared some dinner. You heated up leftovers, the smell of food filling the kitchen like it always had, but this time there was no laughter, no shared commentary on who had eaten what, no teasing Steve about his obsession with ketchup.
By the time Steve arrived, the house was quiet. You were already in bed, tucked under the covers, something you hadn’t done alone in months because for months you hadn’t slept unless his arms were wrapped around you.
But tonight, the house felt empty, and he found himself standing in the kitchen, fork in hand, staring at the warm meal you had prepared for him, and realizing that for the first time in an eternity, you weren’t waiting for him.
The next morning only deepened the silence. Steve woke to an empty bed, the sunlight spilling across rumpled sheets that smelled faintly of your perfume, and felt a prickling, cold panic he couldn’t name at first.
You were already dressed, shoes on, ready to leave.
“Where are you heading?” he asked, voice rough.
“Going to get some stuff from the store,” you replied dryly.
“Want me to come with you, sweetheart?” His words carried that familiar gentleness, but you couldn’t look past it without feeling like a burden.
“No,” you said simply.
It was such a small, simple word. It shouldn’t feel like this. Except it made Steve sit in bed alone, blood running cold, realizing far too late that you were beginning to avoid him.
You leave early and don’t come back until the sky is already dimming, the house dark except for the kitchen light that Steve has turned on and off three times now like it might summon you home faster.
By the time you unlock the front door, he has been pacing a groove into the living room carpet, heart in his throat, mind running through every worst case scenario he promised himself he wouldn’t think about anymore. The second the lock clicks and the door opens, he’s there, crowding your space before you can even hang up your coat.
“Where the hell were you?!” he blurts, voice tight and frantic, eyes scanning you like he’s checking for blood. “You’ve been outta the house for nearly six hours. Six. I was losin’ my goddamn mind. I thought somethin’ happened to you.”
You sigh, slow and tired, and for a split second when you really look at him, at the pure unfiltered worry etched into his face, you almost break.
Almost step into his arms, almost let yourself melt into him and admit how badly you missed him, how those six hours felt like six days without his voice or his hands or the steady reassurance of his presence.
If six hours did this to him, then the space you were forcing had been tearing you apart twice as badly.
But then your brain betrays you, replays his words in his voice, clingy, suffocating, always there, and you harden.
“I was out, Steve,” you say quietly.
“Yeah, no shit,” he fires back, following you as you walk toward the kitchen. “Out where?”
You open the fridge, more for something to do than because you’re hungry, and shrug. “With Nancy. We hung out and I accidentally lost track of time.”
The tension drains out of him immediately, shoulders sagging in relief. “Jesus,” he breathes. “Why didn’t you tell me, huh? I was freakin’ out. Is everything okay? Did somethin’ happen?”
You shake your head. “No, nothing happened, don’t worry.”
He nods quickly, like he’s trying not to push. “Okay. Okay. I won’t pry.” He hesitates, then softens. “Hey, I was thinkin’ dinner. You want lasagna or pizza?”
“I’m not hungry,” you say, already turning away. “I’m gonna go sleep, okay.”
He frowns. “But I thought we could just hang out a little, I mean we barely saw each other toda—”
“Maybe another time, alright? Goodnight, Steve.”
He exhales, defeated. “Goodnight,” he says softly. “I love you.”
You pause just long enough to whisper it back before disappearing down the hall. “I love you too,”
The days after are worse.
Steve wakes up and barely gets a word in before you’re already pulling on shoes, mumbling something about a jog. If he waits, you need a shower. If he waits longer, you’re late to see your nana.
If he suggests the Squawk, you’re already going with Nancy. It’s like every time he reaches out, you slip through his fingers a little more, like trying to grasp smoke.
Not long ago, you haunted him with your presence. You were everywhere, constant, inescapable, but now you ghost him with your absence. He doesn’t know where you go or what you do, only that the house feels emptier even when you’re technically still there.
That’s how he ends up sitting on the edge of the bed tonight, waiting for the bathroom door to open, heart pounding like he’s bracing for bad news. When you finally step out, hair damp, towel slung over your shoulder, he looks up like he’s been holding his breath.
“Hey, sweetheart,” he says gently, like he’s testing the word to see if it still belongs to him.
You glance at him in the mirror and give him a small, careful smile. “Hi, Steve.”
He lingers there for a second, then steps closer, hands hovering before he settles them lightly at your waist, afraid you might flinch. He leans down and presses a kiss to your collarbone.
“I missed you,” he murmurs. “You’ve been out all day. Didn’t even see you at the Squawk.”
Your body betrays you before your mouth does, a shiver running through you at the sound of his voice, the warmth of him behind you. For a heartbeat you let yourself feel it, the pull, the ache. Then you pull away, just enough to break the contact, reaching for your hairbrush like it’s a shield.
“Yeah,” you say lightly. “Nancy asked me to go shopping with her again.”
“Oh.” He straightens, nodding, trying to keep his tone easy. “Was it fun? I figured you’d come back with, like, ten bags or somethin’.”
You shrug, brushing through damp hair. “Didn’t need anything.”
He watches you in the mirror, the way you won’t quite look at him, the way your answers land flat and stop short. He clears his throat as heshifts his weight.
He hesitates, then clears his throat, trying again, voice low and careful. “Uh. We trained today. Me, Hopper, and El. She shaved her time down again.”
You pause only briefly, tugging at your hair with the brush.
“Thirty-three seconds,” he continues, a little brighter despite himself. “Last week it was thirty-six. She’s pissed about it too, which I guess is good. Means she knows she can do better.”
“That’s good,” you say quietly.
He nods, even though you’re not looking at him. “Yeah. She’s gettin’ scary strong again. In a good way.”
“Mhm.”
Steve frowns. He leans back on his hands, searching your face even though you’re facing away now. “We could all hang out this weekend. Just us, or maybe the kids too. Whatever you want. Thought it might be nice.”
“I’m actually quite tired,” you say quietly.
“Okay,” he says quickly. “Yeah. That’s fine. We don’t have to do anything big.” He pauses, then softly asks. “Hey. Are you okay? Like, really okay?”
You swallow. “I’m fine, Steve.”
There’s a beat of silence where he clearly wants to say more as his mouth opens and closes like he’s rearranging words that never come out right.
He tries again, desperate now. “Did I do somethin’? Because if I did, I swear I’m not tryin’ to mess this up. I just need you to talk to me, okay.”
Your chest tightens. You squeeze your eyes shut.
“Steve,” you say softly, cutting him off before he can dig himself deeper, “can you turn off the light, please?”
He gets the hint; you don’t want to talk.
He freezes for a second, then nods once. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”
He stands, reaches for the lamp, and the room falls into darkness. He lingers there for a moment longer, like he’s hoping you’ll turn back around, say his name, give him something to hold onto.
You don’t.
“Night,” he says quietly.
“Night,” you reply, barely audible.
He lies down beside you, careful not to touch, staring up at the ceiling with the awful, sinking realization that this is what losing you looks like..
As the days passed, then quietly turned into weeks, you built a new routine that did not include Steve in it at all. It happened slowly enough that it almost felt reasonable at first.
You learned how to time your mornings so you were out the door before he woke up, learned how to come home late enough that conversation felt unnecessary, learned how to smile just enough to keep him from asking questions that you did not have the strength to answer.
Avoiding him became second nature. Lying became easy.
You spent most of your days outside, anywhere that was not the house and not around him. Sometimes you sat beside your nana’s hospital bed for hours, holding her hand and watching the rise and fall of her chest just to remind yourself that people stayed alive even when everything went wrong.
Other days you walked until your legs ached, wandering neighborhoods you barely recognized, letting exhaustion drown out thought. Occasionally you called a friend, anyone who would answer, and let the hours blur together in cafes and parking lots and friendly conversations that never went anywhere deep enough to hurt.
It got to the point where you could not remember the last time you had kissed him without forcing yourself to think about it, and when you did, the number made your stomach twist. Four days. Four whole days since his mouth had been on yours, since his hands had found your waist without asking, since you had slept tangled together instead of inches apart.
There was a time when five minutes apart felt unbearable, when you haunted each other in hallways and kitchens and doorways, hands always reaching, always searching.
You grew used to the distance.
Steve though, did not.
His patience thinned in ways that showed. It did not help that things with Dustin were already strained. Steve started snapping again and retreating into old habits he thought he had outgrown.
He tried to pull himself back every time he felt it happening, tried to reach for you like he always had.
And every time he did, you stepped further away.
That was how he found himself one late afternoon sitting on the couch, elbows braced on his knees, staring at the front door.
You had been gone all day again, supposedly with Nancy, doing whatever it was you told him you were doing now.
Steve knew you were close to her, knew you trusted her, but not to the point where you would spend hours every other day together. Still, he told himself not to judge. Girls were odd in their friendships, and he did not want to be the guy who questioned everything.
But his mind would not shut up.
Every instinct in him was screaming that something was wrong, that he needed to do something instead of sitting there waiting. He was snapped out of his thoughts when the doorbell rang.
Steve was on his feet instantly, relief and fear colliding in his chest as he rushed to the door. He yanked it open, already ready to say your name.
Instead, Nancy Wheeler stood there.
For a split second, his brain refused to process it. Then panic slammed into him so hard it stole the air from his lungs. If you were supposed to be with Nancy, then why is she standing here alone?
“Where is she?” he blurted out, voice sharp and scared. “Is she okay? What happened?”
Nancy blinked in shock at his reaction, taking in the way his shoulders were tight, the way his hands were already shaking like he’d been holding himself together by sheer force of will. “Whoa, Steve, hey,” she said quickly. “Slow down. What’s going on?”
“What,” he shot back, breath uneven, eyes already scanning the driveway behind her like you might suddenly appear. “Where’s she? Why are you here without her, Nancy?”
Nancy frowned. “Without who?”
“Y/N,” he snapped, panic bleeding into anger because fear always did that to him. “I’m talking about Y/N.”
Her expression shifted immediately. “Yeah,” she said slowly, “that’s actually why I’m here. I haven’t heard from her in weeks. I just wanted to check in.”
The words hit him like a punch straight to the chest.
“What do you mean you haven’t heard from her?” he said, quieter now, like saying it louder might make it real. “You were literally together today?”
Nancy let out a short, incredulous laugh. “Steve, no. I’ve been with Jonathan all day. He’s waiting in the car right now. I just stopped by because I was worried about her.”
The color drained from his face so fast it scared her.
“Steve,” she said carefully, stepping closer, “you’re freaking me out. What’s going on?”
He swallowed hard, throat tight like it was closing in on itself. “She’s been telling me she’s with you,” he said. “Every time she’s gone. She says she’s with you.”
Nancy stared at him. “Why would she lie about that?”
“I don’t know,” he said, voice cracking despite how hard he tried to keep it together. “That’s the thing, Nance, I don’t know. One day she was everywhere. Everywhere. I couldn’t turn around without her being there, couldn’t breathe without feelin’ her next to me, and then suddenly it’s like she vanished. We didn’t fight. I–i didn't do anything. At least not that I remember.”
Nancy sighed, rubbing her forehead, her tone firm but not unkind. “Steve. You don’t just wake up one day like that. Something must've happened.”
“No, no, no” he said immediately, shaking his head. “No, I would know. I would remember if I fucked up that bad.”
“And you didn’t think to ask her?” Nancy pressed.
“I did,” he snapped. “I tried. Every time I tried she’d shut it down, say she was tired or busy or fine. What the hell was I supposed to do, corner her?”
“She was clingy, okay. I’ll say it. I couldn’t go anywhere without her, couldn’t get a second alone, and then suddenly it’s like she was gone.”
Nancy’s head snapped up. “Don’t,” she said sharply.
“What?” he shot back.
“You do not call her clingy, Steve!” Nancy said, anger flaring now. “You don’t get to use that word with Y/N out of all people!”
He bristled. “Oh come on, Nancy. I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yeah, you did,” she said. “And even if you didn’t, it doesn’t matter. In case you’ve forgotten, Harrington, we’re all wrapped up in this upside down bullshit because we have to be. I do it because of Mike and Barb. You do it because of Dustin. Guess what? She doesn’t have to be involved in it!”
Steve opened his mouth, then stopped.
“That girl is fucking traumatized, and she went through that shit because you dragged her into it!” Nancy continued, voice steady but fierce.
“She nearly died. She was attacked by monsters that shouldn’t exist. She watched Eddie die just like the rest of us, and she doesn’t get to talk about it with anyone outside this circle. She can’t go to her friends or her family and say, ‘hey, I got slimed by an interdimensional monster and almost got ripped apart.’ The only person she feels safe enough to lean on is you!”
His jaw tightened, guilt creeping in through the cracks.
“So yeah,” Nancy went on, “maybe she leaned too hard or she didn’t know how to be alone after that. But that doesn’t make her clingy, Steve. That makes her scared.”
He dragged a hand down his face. “I didn’t mean to hurt her.”
“I know,” Nancy said. “But intent doesn’t erase impact. Something you said or did made her feel like she was too much, like she was a burden, and instead of yelling or crying she did the only thing she could think to do. She disappeared.”
Steve let out a shaky breath. “She’s been lying to me, Nancy.”
“She’s protecting herself,” Nancy said. “You need to see things in her light”
Silence stretched between them, thick and heavy.
“So what,” he said finally, voice raw. “What if she’s just… done? What if she realized she doesn’t need me?”
Nancy softened then, stepping closer. “Steve. She needs you. She just doesn’t think she’s allowed to anymore. And that’s on you to fix.”
He looked at her, eyes glassy. “How?”
“You talk to her,” Nancy said simply. “Really talk. Don't accuse her or get defensive. Listen to her.”
She glanced back toward the driveway. “I’ll stop by tomorrow and check on her too, okay? But you can’t let this sit. Whatever’s going on, it’s clearly eating both of you alive.”
Steve nodded faintly, chest aching. “Yeah.”
Nancy opened the door, then paused. “And Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“Snap out of it,” she said firmly. “Before you lose her for real.”
With that, she left, heading back toward Jonathan’s car, while Steve stood alone in the doorway.
Ironically, barely ten minutes after Nancy and Jonathan pulled out of the driveway, you came home.
The house was dark. Too dark.
Your stomach dropped immediately, panic flaring hot and fast as you stepped inside, the door clicking shut behind you. No lights. No TV. No noise.
For a split second, every worst-case scenario you’d trained yourself not to think about came crashing in all at once.
“Steve?” you called out, voice tight.
Footsteps shuffled, and then he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen, lit only by the faint glow from the stove light.
“Hey,” he said, like nothing in the world was wrong.
You froze for half a beat. “Oh. Hi.”
There was something awkward in the air instantly, like you’d both stepped into the same room carrying entirely different weights. He leaned against the counter, trying to look casual.
“How was your day?” he asked.
You shrugged, slipping your shoes off. “It was… alright.”
His eyes drifted to the bag clutched in your hand, the crinkled plastic catching his attention. “What’s that?”
“Oh,” you said quickly, glancing down at it. “I stopped by the pharmacy to get the cream. For, uh… you know. The scarring.”
He nodded, softer now. “That’s good.”
Neither of you said anything else as you walked down the hall together. The bedroom felt smaller than usual as Steve sat on the edge of the bed while you set the bag down.
“Um,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “Do you want me to help you apply it?”
You hesitated for a second. Then you nodded and handed him the bag.
He unsealed the ointment while you slipped your shirt off and sat cross-legged on the floor, your back to him. You were suddenly acutely aware of every scar—deep, jagged reminders carved across your back and abdomen from the demogorgon attack. Old wounds, but never really gone.
Steve didn’t react the way you always feared people might. He never did.
His hands were warm as he scooped some of the cream, spreading it carefully across your skin gently. He worked it into your shoulders, thumbs pressing lightly as he massaged your shoulders.
You let yourself breathe.
He kept going until he was done, smoothing the last of it in with quiet focus. As you started to shift, ready to stand and pull your shirt back on, you felt it—
Two soft kisses. One pressed over each long scar crossing your back.
Your heart kicked hard against your ribs.
You stood quickly, sliding your shirt back on, suddenly unsure what to do with all the space between you. You were halfway to the door when his voice stopped you.
“Uhm, Y/n.”
You turned. “Yeah?”
He reached out, fingers wrapping gently around your hand, and tugged you a step closer. “Can we talk?”
He keeps hold of your hand when you hesitate.
“Talk about what?” you ask quietly.
Steve doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he steps closer, close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the familiar gravity that’s always pulled you in whether you wanted it to or not. His hand tightens around yours like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he loosens his grip.
“I know I’ve been shitty,” he says again, like repeating it might finally make it land where it needs to. His voice is low and rough, scraped raw by guilt. “I know I’ve been so far away from you. I know you felt it. I saw it, even when I pretended I didn’t.” He swallows hard.
“And I know you’re going through things—things I can’t even fully understand—and I hate that instead of being the person you could come to, the person who made it easier, I—”
He cuts himself off with a sharp breath, hand lifting to his face like he can physically stop the words from spilling.
Your chest tightens so painfully it almost steals your breath.
“I panicked,” he rushes on, panic bleeding straight through his words now. “I didn’t know how to handle it. Knowing someone was dependent on me, really dependent on me, not just for rides or babysitting or stupid shit like that, but emotionally.” His voice wavers. “I thought I was gonna screw it up. Thought I already was screwing it up. And instead of dealing with that like an adult, I freaked out.”
He laughs once, sharp and broken. “God, I thought I needed space. I thought if I pulled back, things would calm down, that we’d both breathe easier. But fuck—” His voice cracks hard on the word. “This is so much worse. You being gone is so much worse than you being everywhere. I’d give anything to have you hovering around me again, asking if I’m okay, touching my arm, sittin’ too close on the couch.”
He steps closer, hands shaking as they come up to your sides, not quite touching like he’s scared you’ll flinch away.
“Please,” he whispers, forehead nearly brushing yours now, eyes glossy and wrecked. “Please, sweetheart. Don’t stop being dependent on me. Don’t stop needing me. Don’t stop loving me.”
Your breath stutters, a broken sound caught somewhere between your chest and your throat.
“I need you to need me,” he says, the words spilling faster, desperate and unfiltered. “I didn’t realize it until you pulled away, but I do. I need it. I need you. Because I can’t do this anymore. I can’t wake up every day wondering if you’re okay and knowing it’s my fault you don’t tell me.” His voice drops to a whisper.
“I can’t do this without you.”
That’s when you break.
The sob tears out of you violently, ripping through your chest like something finally gave way. Your knees nearly buckle as you fold into him, crying so hard your body shakes, hiccups jerking through each breath.
Steve reacts instantly, arms wrapping around you tight, crushing you to his chest like if he lets go you’ll disappear for real this time.
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs into your hair, voice breaking completely now. “I’m so sorry. Fuck—fuck, baby, don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”
His hand moves up and down your back in slow, steady motions, grounding and familiar, his chin pressing into your hair. You cry into his shirt until it’s damp, until your throat burns and your lungs ache and you feel wrung out and hollow.
Eventually, trembling, you pull back just enough to look at him.
“I heard you, Steve,” you say, the words tripping over themselves.
He freezes. “You… heard what?”
Your hands curl into fists at your sides, nails biting into your palms like you deserve the sting. “A few weeks ago. At the station. I left early and forgot my coat.” Your voice wobbles badly now. “I came back, and I heard you.”
The color drains from his face so fast it scares you.
“You were talking to Robin,” you continue, tears spilling again. “You said I was clingy. You said I was suffocating you.”
“Oh—no,” he breathes, panic exploding across his features. “No, no, no, baby, please—”
“I didn’t mean to be,” you sob. “I swear I didn’t. I wasn’t trying to trap you or make you feel stuck. I just—” Your breath breaks, the words barely making it out. “I only felt safe with you. And everyone else was doing okay. Everyone. And I wasn’t. I was falling apart and I didn’t know how to be alone with that.”
You swallow hard, voice dropping to something small and raw. “And somewhere along the way, it started to feel like you weren’t loving me anymore.”
Your eyes lift to his, shining. “It felt like you were just… tolerating it. Tolerating me.”
Steve’s hands come up to cradle your face, thumbs brushing your tears away like each one physically hurts him.
“Baby,” he says fiercely, voice shaking as his arms tighten around you. “You can cling to me as tight as you want and as long as you want. I don’t ever want you to feel like you have to pull away to protect me.”
His voice drops, thick and aching, the words pressed straight into your hair. “I love you so much it hurts. I love you so much it scares me, and instead of owning that, I ran my mouth and said something stupid and careless. And I hate that it hurt you. I hate that I made you feel like you were too much when all you ever were was… you.”
He presses his forehead to yours, breath shaky. “You were never suffocating me. I was just scared of how much I needed you back.”
You search his face, eyes swollen, chest still hitching with quiet aftershocks of sobs. He looks wrecked and earnest and painfully open, like every wall he’s ever built has finally come down.
“It’s okay, Steve,” you whisper, even though the words wobble on the way out, even though they don’t quite feel solid yet.
He shakes his head immediately, curls bouncing with the movement. “It’s not. It’s really not.” His hands slide up your back, holding you close. “But we’re gonna fix it, okay? I will fix it. I promise. I don’t care how long it takes.”
His forehead presses against yours again, like he’s grounding himself. “Just… don’t pull away from me ever again.”
You nod, slow but sure, arms wrapping around him fully now as you bury your face into his chest. He holds you like he means it this time, rocking you gently, big hands warm and steady like they’re reminding you that he’s real, that he’s here.
You breathe him in.
And then—
Grrrgrgrgrgrgr.
You freeze for half a second.
Then you pull back just enough to look up at him, eyes still wet, face scrunched, and you burst out laughing—broken, hiccupy laughter that comes out of you mid-cry.
“Are you—” you sniff, laughing harder, “—are you hungry?”
Steve’s face goes bright red.
“I—” he stammers, mortified. “I was gonna wait for you to come back, okay? I didn’t wanna eat without you.”
That just makes you laugh more. You press your face back into his chest, shoulders shaking, and he lets out a breathy laugh too, embarrassed but relieved, his arms tightening around you again.
“God,” he mutters. “Timing, huh.”
You tilt your head up and kiss him. He kisses you back immediately, like he’s been starving for it just as much as food. When you pull away, barely an inch, he leans in again and kisses you harder this time and deeper, pouring everything unsaid into it.
He breaks the kiss with a breathless laugh, forehead resting against yours. “Missed kissing you.”
You smile. “Me too.”
He exhales, then straightens suddenly like he’s had an epiphany. “You know what?”
“What?” you ask.
“I am starving,” he says, dead serious. “And I’m pretty sure you are too.”
You blink. “Steve—”
“Come on,” he says, already grabbing your hand and tugging you gently toward the door. “Grab a coat.”
“Wait,” you laugh, stumbling after him. “Where are we even going?”
He grins over his shoulder, that familiar boyish smile you fell in love with. “Enzo’s.”
Your eyes widen. “What? No, Steve, that place is expensive. And you need a reservation and— I can just heat something up, it’s fine—”
“Nope,” he cuts in immediately. “Absolutely not.”
“Steve—”
“I gotta spend the next year or so making it up to you,” he says, squeezing your hand. “Minimum.”
You gape at him. “But—”
“Too late,” he says cheerfully, already opening the door.
You stumble as he leads you out to the car, the night air cool against your skin. He opens your door for you like always, and excitedly smiles at you. As the engine starts and the house disappears in the rearview mirror, you lean back in your seat, heart full and sore and warm all at once.
Deep down, you know it again: Steve will stay by your side. He’ll wait while you heal. He’ll hold you steady until you’re strong enough to take steps on your own.
And Steve knows, wholeheartedly, that he’ll be the one clinging to you just as tightly. Because you’re the only one he’s ever loved enough to spill his heart to.
And, apparently, spend three hundred and ninety dollars on at some fancy restaurant without even blinking.
Summary: In which Steve doesn't realize that his way of coping with Nancy and his breakup is hurting Y/N in the process. He also doesn't notice that Billy Hargrove is not only trying to take his throne, but the girl he's loved forever too
Warning(s): Angst, mutual pining, Billy being bff material, smut, light choking if you squint, fluff, Steve being a dummy, riding, oral (f receiving), cockwarming if you squint
A/N: was listening to Forever by Jessie Murph while writing this
She didn’t really understand how she got to where she was. How she wound up in this position. Truth be told, she somewhat did, cons of asking Steve for a ride to the party.
She would’ve expected him to wander off with Nancy, and do his own thing as usual while she would go join some of her friends for beer pong. She’d expect him to tell her when he and Nance were ready to head out, as she always made sure they got Y/N home okay. Y/N would also expect for him to let her know if he got her a backup ride in case they left before she wanted to.
What she didn’t expect was to watch him storm away, eyes glossed with tears as pure anger set throughout his entire face, pushing past the people in the crowd. Her gaze dropped and frowning as she gulped another sip of her beer. “Steve?” Y/N called out towards his direction.
She followed when he didn’t even so much as acknowledge her, setting her cup somewhere on some random table, the music going to a soft hum as she stepped outside. “Steve, where are you going? What happened?” she calls out, watching him unlock his car. He still said nothing as he clenched his jaw.
“Steve?” she says once more, rushing down the yard as he started up his engine. “Steve!” her voice rises as he begins to drive off without her. Y/N lets out a few curse words as she flips off his car while it sped down the street.
She tried searching for Nancy when she got back inside, only to find her being carried out by Jonathan, explaining she was drunk off of her ass. She nods, thanking him while letting out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. When Jonathan offered her a ride, she politely declined, saying she would ask one of her friends to bring her back. Explaining that he should worry about getting Nancy home safely.
Which now led her to where she stood on the porch, drink in hand as she let out a frustrated huff. Her friends had all been long gone by the time she tracked down one of their boyfriends, stating how they were all planning to stay put for the night. She usually would’ve stuck with that idea, but she had to be home to bring Dustin to Mike’s the next morning.
“The party’s inside, sweetheart,” a voice chuckles behind her, making her roll her eyes.
She didn’t have to turn around to know who the voice belonged to. “Too overstimulating, and I’m trying to sober up enough to walk home.”
Billy Hargrove takes a seat next to her, cigarette in hand as he blows out a puff of smoke. “Thought King Steve was your chauffeur,” he snorted. “At least I see you following him like a lost puppy. How does Nancy not hate that?”
Y/N scoffs. “I do not follow him around like that. We’re best friends, and on top of that, they both want me to stay close by in case we need to leave. So don’t act all snarky, Hargrove.”
Billy lets out a loud laugh, taking in another drag. “I’m just saying,” he starts. “You’re a little obvious for how in love you are with Harrington. Maybe back off a bit, or better yet, leave the guy be.”
Y/N’s gaze snaps toward him, glaring hard. “What the fuck are you on, Hargrove?” she snaps, watching his eyebrows raise as his smirk widens.
“Struck a nerve, have I?”
“You’re being ridiculous.”
He purses his lips while shaking his head. “Not a bit,” he takes another drag. “But he’s gotta watch his own actions before Nancy realizes he loves you too.”
Y/N’s eyes widened at his words.
“What are you talking about?” she snips, and he shrugs as he stands up, blowing out the last of his cigarette.
He turns back to her, holding out his hands for her to take. “I’m gonna head home, I’ll drop you on the way.”
“I’d rather take another gulp of whatever is in Tommy’s mystery punch bowl than ride anywhere with you,” she scoffs, Billy rolling his eyes as he lets out a huff.
“It’s the least I can do for being an ass-”
“You’re always an ass-”
“Are you always this much of a fucking headache, Henderson?”
Y/N just stares up at him in shock at his tone, watching as he stands in front of her with his hands on his hips. She then sighs, crossing her arms. “You’ve been drinking, Billy.”
He purses his lips once more with a smirk, shaking his head lightly. “I can take more than you think, honey. I am sober enough to drive with my eyes closed if I wanted to.”
She eyes him once more before taking his hands he then offers her once more, Billy helping her stand upright as he leads her to his car. He even opened up the passenger side for her, closing it once she was inside.
The engine revved to life, Billy giving her a smug expression before he sped off into the night.
It was quiet for the first few moments, Y/N’s gaze looking out the window with her hands picking at one another in her lap.
“So what is it about King Steve that makes you so obsessed with him? Let alone every girl I’ve met at that shit school of yours?” he starts up, making her groan and shake her head. “He seems like he’s so up his own ass, you can see his head coming up his throat.”
“Oh fuck off, you’re just as cocky. I don’t even know what you’re talking about, just let it go.”
He tuts. “Nope, I’m driving you home so I deserve to know what it is. You owe me that.”
“I’d rather jump out of the moving car-”
“Don’t you dare.”
“Well you’re wrong.”
Billy grabs her jaw to make her look at him as they rolled up to a stoplight. “Am I? Because it seems like you can’t see how you stare at him like he hung the moon.”
His tone is a bit more serious, nothing playful whatsoever as he looks at her, her eyes deflating as she sighs. She takes his hand off of her when the light turns green, rubbing her face in exhaustion. “There’s a lot to it,” she admits. “But he’s just always been there. Even in the worst circumstances, I’ve never had to question if he would be there for me. Even for my brother, he’s there at the drop of a dime.”
“Seems like tonight was the opposite.”
She rolled her eyes before sending him a scowl. “Something happened, so he probably needed to be alone. I get that way too when things happen. I’m gonna give him his space if so,” she explains, Billy snickering at her words.
“Wow you really are down bad, sweetheart,” he jokes. “Here I thought I’d be able to woo you somehow.”
“Not like I’d give you the time of day, Hargrove. That dick of yours has been in every girl known at Hawkins high school,” she shot back with a chuckle, watching as his jaw dropped lightly at her words. He puts a hand to his chest as he acts hurt playfully.
“Well played, Henderson. I’ll give you that,” he laughs, making her smile at him in amusement. “I like you, you’ve got some spunk to you.”
“You think I do, you should hear half the things my brother says.”
“Ah yes, the famous Dustin Henderson. I know all about that kid and his little shits of a friendgroup.”
She narrows her eyes and smacks his arm, making him hiss. “They’re good kids. Don’t you dare start.”
“They cause my sister to get into trouble, which causes me to get into trouble with our parents.”
“Well from now on if she goes off, you can tell your parents she’s with Dustin at my house. Have them call me and I’ll happily help you out. That way you don’t have to cancel any hookups of yours,” she jokes. “Fair trade?”
He rolls his eyes. “Noted.”
He pulled into her driveway, Y/N opening the door to step out, only for him to say her name softly. She bends down to look at him in the low car.
“Don’t wait around for a guy that’ll make you his second choice.”
She bit her lip. “He’s not like that.”
Billy gives her a look. “If you need help with igniting the fire, give me a ring.”
She laughs before closing his car door, waving goodbye as she begins to walk back to her doorstep.
It was the next morning, and Y/N had been stressing at the fact that she knew Steve was coming to pick her up this morning. She didn’t really want to deal with the awkward tension right away in that car, especially if things went down between him and Nancy.
She hesitated picking up the phone in the kitchen, dialing the number written down on a piece of gum wrapper from the night before. Her fingers slowly dialed the numbers into the keypad, biting her bottom lip as she held the phoneline to her ear. It didn’t ring for long, someone picking up the landline after a couple rings. “Hargrove residence, who’s calling?” a smaller voice, that didn’t take long for Y/N to know it was Max. She smiles softly to herself.
“Hey Max, it’s Y/N. I know this is going to sound weird, but is Billy there? He gave me a ride home last night, and I had to ask him something.”
She hears Max chuckle on the other line. “What in the world did you get yourself into last night?” she jokes, making Y/N run a hand over her face. “I swear it’s not what it sounds like. Steve ditched me, and Billy was nice to just give me a ride home.”
“If you say so,” Max snickered. “Just be careful, okay? I don’t want to lose you because my brother is an asshole.”
“It’s not like that, but I’ve got it.”
There’s some rummaging on the other side for a few moments, before it was just quiet for a small second. Bily’s voice booming through the phone softly. “Well if it isn't a little miss lovergirl. You change your mind?”
“Very funny,” she chuckles dryly, twisting the phoneline between her fingertips. “I really don’t want to be stuck in that awkward tension with him this morning. Are you able to pick me up?”
It’s quiet for a few seconds, Y/N shaking her head to herself before rubbing her forehead. “It’s fine if not,” she says quickly. “I will just walk if anything. I just cannot deal with all of that first thing in the morning.”
Billy hums for a second, leaning against the doorway with a smug look on his face. “Now what kind of gentleman would I be to let a girl walk to school, hm? Especially if it’s the one that’s going to cause Harrington a hard time?” he jokes back, making her roll her eyes.
“I’ll just walk at this point-”
“Okay, alright fine. Sorry. Yes I’ll be there in a few. Hang tight.”
With that the line clicks, and Y/N let out a breath she didn’t know she was holding. She finishes up her morning routine and eats breakfast with Dustin across from one another.
As she is finishing up putting her dish in the sink, a car honks outside and it makes her freeze. Dustin eyes her with a confused look. “That’s not Steve’s car,” he says matter of factly. Y/N shuts her eyes for a second before huffing.
“Don’t worry about it.”
Dustin smirks. “Oh I’m not worried,” he says slyly. “But Steve might.”
She shrugs. “Not my problem,” she mumbles before grabbing her bag, and going to give him a small hug. “Stay out of trouble today, please? Or at least wait till I’m home to go back into the woods.”
Dustin rolls his eyes, and nods. “No promises.”
With that she walks out the door, and looks up to see Billy’s car pulled up. Max is in the passenger seat, her smile widening at the sight of Y/N. Billy pushes Max’s arm, making her snap her head back at him with a glare. He nods to the backseat, making her huff and slide to the back.
Y/N smiles down at Max as she opens the car door to get inside. “Well good morning Maxine,” she chuckles.
Max smiles as Y/N hops into the passenger seat in front of her, squeezing her shoulders once she is inside. Once the door is shut, Billy sped off without warning, making both girls hold onto some part of the car while he laughs.
“Thank you,” Y/N says after a bit of driving. “For last night, and this morning. I mean.”
Billy shrugs. “Anything to make Harrington shake in his boots, I’m for it.”
She narrows her eyes while crossing her arms. “Is that all you’re keen on doing? To take some stupid title in the school that’s his?” she shoots, shaking her head. “If that’s your goal, you really have a low satisfaction line. Which is kind of sad.”
“That’s how he is,” Max sighs, making Billy glare at her through the rearview.
“Shut up, Max.”
“You’re not going to be an ass to her, not while I’m around. Especially if she’s right,” Y/N cuts in, making Billy roll his eyes.
“You sure have some spunk to you, don’t you princess?”
She grimaces at the nickname, smacking his arm. “Never that. Disgusting.”
“Okay fine,” he huffs. “No, I’m not just doing it to get on Harrington’s nerves. It is fun, yes, but I’m also doing it because I didn’t think you deserved to be ditched like that. I may be an asshole and go through girls like I do, but I’m not past letting a girl get left like that.”
Y/N raised her brows in shock at his words, but nodded slowly. “I don’t know how that really cancels out with how you treat women, but I guess that’s nice? Of you?” she trails off, not missing the way Max holds in a snort. Y/N trying to hide a smirk herself, and Billy eyes her.
“I’m half tempted to make you walk the rest of the way.”
“Do it, then. I said I was fine walking.”
Billy huffs out a laugh, turning down the street as the school comes to view slowly. “You really are a little shit like your brother.”
“If that’s what you think, then sure,” she shot back, not missing the way he coughs over a snort leaving his lips.
Y/N had a few side conversations with Billy after that throughout the schoolday, only when they walked past one another in the school’s hallways. Or if they were in the same class, he would come sit next to her instead, and just talk to her. Nothing more than platonic, Billy enjoying having a girl that didn’t want him just to say she had him, but because she actually wanted to be his friend.
The bell rang, signalling that second period was over. Y/N grabbing her books as she headed to her locker. She put away her history books and grabbed her things for physics, shutting her locker and jumped at the sight of Steve coming to view behind it. She held a hand up to her chest, letting out a breath. “Fuck, Steve,” she sighs. “You can’t just show up like that unannounced.”
Steve is looking at her with a hardened face, but his eyes are soft as he crosses his arms. “I showed up to your place this morning, Dustin said you were already gone. I was almost late to school. Where were you?” he asked her, making her eyes flick away from his. She tightened her grip on her books.
“I’m gonna be late for physics,” she mutters before trying to breeze past him. Steve grabs her arm and turns her back to him. Y/N’s eyebrows furrow, looking at where his hand was and then back up into his eyes. “Steve I have a test this period, I can’t be late-”
“Where were you this morning?”
Y/N sighs. “You now care? It seemed quite the opposite last night,” she shot, making his face drop.
“I was upset about the fight that happened between Nance and I. I just needed to get out of there,” he sighs, his voice getting quieter after each word he spoke. Y/N looked between his eyes. “I also just thought you’d be able to get a ride home from Tina or Rachel. So I didn’t really think about it after that.”
“Well then there you go. One of them picked me up this morning. End of story.”
Steve looks straight through her and frowns. “They’re not here today. Too hungover,” he shot back, Y/N snatching her arm away from his grip.
“Well either way I got home, okay? Just leave it alone.”
“Y/N-”
“I’ve gotta go Steve.”
She turns to walk away, only stuttering in her steps slightly when she sees Billy walking by. Based on the look on his face, he had seen the interaction and gave her a questioning look as if asking if she was okay. She nods curtly before breezing past him, taking a sharp turn down the hallway towards the labs.
Billy’s face turns back to Steve, he doesn’t miss the way Steve’s expression hardens at the small interaction he had with his best friend. Billy gave him a snide smirk before walking off, patting his chest when he passed. He was going to get under Steve’s skin if it was the last thing he did.
After Billy found out through Tommy and Carol that Steve and Nancy had gotten into a fight, pretty much breaking up at the party, he was going to get Steve to crack. He was going to make sure he pissed Steve off in every way possible, to the point he finally realized how much he wanted Y/N too.
At least, if Y/N wasn’t going to do it, Billy was going to do it. In the most menace way possible.
Especially when lunchtime came, he noticed Y/N was sitting at the familiar table that their entire group sat at, his eyes seeing Steve was still getting his food at the lunch line. Billy made his way over, sitting right next to her, leaning his elbow on the table causing her to jump at his sudden figure next to her.
She smacked his chest. “You cannot sneak up on a girl like that, Hargrove!” she hissed, wiping her mouth with a napkin. He smiles widely at her.
“When’s your free period?” he asked her, and she hummed while thinking and taking a bite of her food.
“Fifth, why?”
He leans toward her. “You should come sit in the gym for a bit. Watch me humble your little boyfriend for a change.”
She eyes him. “This again?”
He chuckles with a shrug. “I just want to push his buttons a little. I think you’d enjoy that after he ditched you after the Halloween party.”
“I already told you, he and Nance had a nasty fight. He apologized after that.”
Billy hums with a smug grin. “I think it still would be fun to watch, no? Come on,” he trails off, making her grimace.
“Fine. But only because I couldn’t reserve the study hall in the library.”
“Good,” he says before standing up, his eyes immediately meeting Steve’s, who was glaring straight through him as he watched the boy slowly stand from the spot next to her.
“Harrington,” Billy scoffs smugly. Steve’s eyes furrowed. “Wrong table, Hargrove.”
“It’s not if Henderson’s at it.”
Steve sets his tray down next to Y/N, the spot where Billy once sat, before standing over Billy
“Back. Off,” he says. “She’s not the next girl on your list, so move to the next will you?”
Y/N frowns, putting a hand on Steve's arm. “Steve, leave it be,” she says, only for him to still look at Billy. Billy’s smirk just widens as he eyes Steve up and down. He looks at Y/N, eyebrows raising.
She gives him a look as if telling him to knock it off as well, watching his eyes roll while he chuckles. He puts his hands up in defense, before pointing at her for a minute. “I’ll see you during fifth,” he chuckles. With that, he walks off, Steve huffing before slumping into the seat next to hers. She looks at him with an amused look, watching as he looks at her and rolls his eyes.
“Don’t start,” he says with a sigh, she snorts.
“I didn’t say anything.”
“You didn’t have to.”
“He’s harmless. Just being nice, that’s all.”
Steve looks at her with a look. “He’s being nice out of the blue? Yeah, he wants you, honey. You’re one of the girls on that long list of his.”
“Okay, don’t be an ass,” she groans, rubbing her hand over her face. “I’m still pissed at you, so you have no right.”
He shook his head. “I’m not trying to be, I swear. I just,” he sighs. “I don’t want you to get hurt. You deserve someone better than that jackass.”
Y/N’s eyes still at his words. “Steve, I’m not interested in him. He’s really just being friendly, that’s all. Nothing more, I made sure to vocalize that.”
He eyes her before letting it go, nodding before taking a bite of his food. “How did you even cross paths?” he asks her, making her shrug. She hadn’t told him that Billy was the one who drove her home that night, knowing he was already having a hard time with what happened that night with Nance. The last thing she needed was for him to flip out on hearing she was seen leaving with Hargrove that night.
“Just one of the classes we have together. We were partners for something in Physics, so now we’re just friendly.”
He snorts. “I’ve never known that guy to be nice to a woman unless he wanted something else.”
“Steve.”
He eyes her, before huffing. “Okay fine, I’m sorry. I know I don't have the right to worry, but I do,” he says. “I’m also sorry. About last night. You didn’t do anything, and you would’ve just been there to let me rant about what happened.”
Y/N nods, her chest tightening at his words. “I get that you needed time, but you could’ve just said that as you were leaving. You left without a word as if I did something,” she explains. “I mean it’s not that big of a deal to me anymore, because I’ve literally been in those woods at night after being chased by those creature things, but it hurts because of how you left.”
Steve’s gaze softens as he stares into her eyes. “I didn’t think. I’m sorry. I promise I’ll make it up to you, okay?”
“You don’t need to make up for it. Just don’t shut me out,” she says, and he nods.
“So about Hargrove-”
“Steven.”
“Right, dropping it. Sorry.”
Fifth period came a lot quicker than she thought, not taking much time to grab her things to bring to the gymnasium. She saw that the guys were all already there, warming up for their game of Basketball, while she walked up to the bleachers to take a seat. She unpacks some of her homework, knowing it was better to get it done now rather than wait.
She nearly had to roll her eyes when she saw the giant smile on Billy’s face, seeing he wasn’t wearing his shirt, panting as they positioned themselves for the next ball drop. Steve’s eyes followed Billy’s, gaze hardening as he saw Y/N sitting in the stands, her face lightly red as she rolled her eyes at Billy. He turned back to eye Billy.
“You can’t just leave her be, can you, Hargrove?” he scoffs, panting as sweat rolls down his neck.
Billy shrugs, playing into it. “It’s fun when you want something you can’t have.”
Steve’s insides burn at his comment, zoning in as the game starts off not too long after.
Each time Y/N pulled her eyes up to watch the boys, she noticed how Steve and Billy were always on each other. She watches as Steve runs up on Billy, ball in hand as Billy guards up against him.
She can see that they’re exchanging words, but not for long because Billy then snatches the ball from him, going down the court to score. Billy stuck his tongue out smugly, panting and sweating as he eyed Steve in amusement, before going to wink at Y/N. Before Steve can say another word, he hears his name, causing him to turn and see Nancy.
Y/N’s heart clenches just slightly, not missing how easy Steve followed after her, Y/N’s eyes following the pair. Billy’s eyes leave the pair that exit the gym, his eyes softening as he sees Y/N’s longing stare at where the couple once stood. He felt his anger burn for her, knowing she was so into Steve that it hurt her. No matter how much she denied it.
He continued to play, anger radiating off of him as he creamed their team without Steve. One of his teammates had to exit the gym to go grab Steve as they got dominated by Billy.
When Steve came back in, he looked more pissed off than he did before, putting everything into his game that he could. Y/N knew something bad must’ve happened, based on how hard he was pushing up against his opponents. He was panting so hard she was convinced he would pass out.
The whistle blew soon after the excruciating game, Y/N having to prevent herself from wincing at the scoreboard.
She began to pack up her stuff, zipping up her bag as she made her way down the bleachers. Her eyes caught Steve’s, frowning at his expression. He looked like he was trying to zone out, wiping a towel across his face as he breathed heavily. “Steve?” she called, walking over to him.
“What happened? You okay?” she asks, walking with him as he goes to grab his water bottle. He hums while squirting water into his mouth.
“I saw Nance walk in-”
“Please don’t. Not right now,” he says, walking off towards the locker rooms. She turns to him with her eyebrows furrowed. “Do you want to go for a drive after school to talk about it?” she asks, and he shakes his head turning to look at her.
“You’re going to have to find another ride home. I’ve gotta stay here for tutoring tonight.”
“Again? You’re shutting me out? We just talked about this,” she says, and Steve looks down at her as his figure towers over her. He kissed her forehead softly. With that, he heads into the locker room, making her chest tighten just slightly. Billy’s hand comes up to her arm, squeezing softly.
“You okay?” he asks, and she nods.
“I just hate how he does this. He shuts me out when things go wrong.”
He takes another gulp of his water. “You want a ride home?”
She shook her head. “No, I’ll just walk. I’ve got to wait for Dustin anyways.”
He hesitates slightly, before nodding. She nods at him. “Besides I know how much you’ve been looking forward to this study date with Heather tonight. Just go, I’ll be fine,” she assures, making him purse his lips before squeezing her arm one last time and heading to the men' s locker rooms.
The walk home was nice for her, as she and Dustin talked about everything he figured out for what’s going on with Dart, his new animal friend he found in their trashcan. Saying how he’s going to take him to the school tomorrow to see if anyone can figure out what he is.
Once they had gotten home, Y/N had immediately set to the bathroom to take a shower, rinse off the last few days as she let her thoughts run.
She sighed as she dries off and throws on her pajamas, hanging up her towel. She hears a knock on the door, she opens it slightly. Dustin looks at her sheepishly.
“Mom’s going to sleep early tonight, and I need to get to Max’s. Can you drive me?” he asks her, she groans.
“Did she say I could take her car?” she asks, and he nods. “Yeah, just- give me a second.”
“If anything you can stop at Steve’s on the way back. I heard Mike say that he and Nance broke up. He’s taking it pretty hard.”
She froze slightly, but rolled her eyes while throwing on her sweats instead of her shorts. “You guys need to stay out of their business.”
He snickers. “You know about it all too, so you’re just as nosey.”
She shook her head as she grabbed the keys from his hand. “I actually didn't. Steve has shut me out since it happened,” she admits, walking out to the car. “That’s why I’ve been getting rides from someone else.”
“You mean Billy?” Dustin shot, making Y/N halt in her tracks. Her head snaps back at him, she lets her eyes shut with a groan.
“Max,” she says more to herself, Dustin nodding as he packs up his bag.
“You need to be careful with that douchebag. He’s not good company to keep,” he explains. “At least that’s what Max says. Has a new girl with him every second of the day.”
Y/N squints at him. “I don’t want Billy. Just because he’s nice to me, doesn’t mean he has my attention,” she explains. “Besides. I’m already stuck on someone else. I couldn’t get over them if I tried.”
“Steve wants you too, you know.”
She rolled her eyes. “Not this again-”
Dustin frowns as he opens his car door. “You’re his best friend, how has he not said anything?”
She shrugs. “He needs his space if it’s as bad as I think it is.”
“Or maybe he’s finally coming to the realization he’s in love with you.”
“Dustin!”
“What? It’s true!”
She rolls her eyes. “At least that’s what Nancy thinks. Said something about how he can’t fully commit. She thinks it’s because he’s obsessed with you.”
She palms her face. “Okay enough, stop eavesdropping on Nancy’s phone calls. I’ll tell her you’ve been listening next time.”
His eyes widened, only nodding before changing the subject about something Mr.Clark was teaching currently. Only, Y/N’s mind couldn’t focus as she thought about if that was really true. Her thoughts threw a million questions around her mind as her brother rambled.
Once she pulled into the driveway, she put the car in park and told Dustin to call her if he needed her to come get him. Knowing full well he would get back in one piece after everything that happened before El disappeared.
She pulled out of the driveway, beginning her trek home, her mind going to wander back to Steve. More so back to what her brother was saying earlier. He had to be wrong. Had to have heard the conversation wrong, right? Because she knew how in love he was with Nancy. He only told her more than one hundred times. Each time aching more than the last.
Y/N was sure he heard it wrong, not bothering to think much more about it as she drove back home quietly.
Once she got home, she could hear her mom’s wave machine going, meaning she was passed out. She set the keys on the table before trudging to her room, closing the door behind her.
She walked up to her phone, taking in a deep breath before raising the handle up to her face and dialing in Steve’s number. She wanted to check in, see if he was okay despite him shutting her out.
The line began to ring as she played with the cord, biting her lip as she waited. It seemed as though it rang forever, making her sigh. She knew he was home by now, but he was choosing to not answer. It went to the answering machine shortly after.
“Steve,” she says softly. “I know you’re hurting, and that you’re shutting down. But don’t shut me out, I want to help you. Whatever happened, I’m here to listen,” she says firmly. “But if you really want space, I'll give you your space. I just hope you’re okay.”
With that, she hung up the phone, and went to sit in her bed.
The next day wasn’t much better, as he was now avoiding her almost completely. Instead of prying, she chose to let it be, knowing he needed the space. She ended up walking to school that morning, only to get an earful from Billy, saying he would’ve happily stopped by to grab her again. She didn’t argue, as she was too exhausted to do so.
When lunchtime came, she saw him sitting at their table, making her eyes light up slightly. She began to walk over to him, going to sit in her normal spot. When she set her tray down, he immediately grabbed his own and began to walk away from her. She frowned at his behavior, her eyes burning slightly as tears lightly formed. She blinked them away.
Y/N didn’t notice how Billy had watched the encounter, how he had noticed them all morning. He walked over to sit with her, telling her to come sit in the gym once more during fifth period, in which she nodded.
She asked him how it went with Heather the night before, letting him ramble about it to distract her from the ache in her chest.
When fifth period came, the boys were playing much harder than they had the day before, Y/N was writing down her notes as she heard yelling. She looked up, watching Billy yell out King Steve as he dribbled the ball. She watched the banter. “I like it. Acting tough today,” he plays.
Steve rolls his eyes, guarding Billy. “Jeez, do you ever stop talking man? Come on,” he ushers back in a snippy tone. Billy just laughs as he dribbles the ball. “Why? You afraid coach is going to bench you now that I’m here, huh?” he pushes, watching the fire in Steve’s eyes ignite. With that, he pushes forward and checks Steve with ease, causing Steve to land on the ground with a loud thump and screech on the gym floor. She stood up like a reflex, shock written all over her face. She doesn’t miss the way he goes back over to Steve, lending down a hand.
Steve glares at Billy, but takes his hand. “Or are you more afraid I’m going to take the one girl you’re too afraid to admit you couldn’t commit to Wheeler for?” he taunts, watching as Steve’s eyes harden. “You’re moving your feet. Plant them next time. Draw a charge,” he growls, before slamming Steve back into the ground and walking away to cheer with his teammates.
He slowly straightens up, his eyes going over to the bleachers where he spots Y/N. She’s looking at him with both confusion and concern in her eyes, he doesn’t say anything, only looks away and gets back up to join his own team.
Y/N’s heart aches as he goes back to acting like she’s just another person in the gym, slowly going to sit back down.
Steve goes to guard Billy again, his eyes so harsh, they could’ve put Billy six feet under if looks could kill. “You’re not going to touch her. You’re gonna stay away from her,” he snaps, watching as Billy gets the ball passed to him.
Billy laughs at his words, expression smug. “Careful. You almost sound territorial,” he snickers. “Besides, if I wanted her. I’d have her already. But she’s too stuck on the only guy who takes her for granted.”
Steve charges after him at that, playing as hard as he can the rest of the class period.
When the whistle blows, Y/N is quick to grab her things and leave. Not wanting to stick around after what she witnessed, and knowing she also needed to get ready to take her test after school ended.
The boys headed to the locker rooms to shower, Steve letting the water wash away every ounce of anger he had towards Billy. Only to huff when he knew it wasn’t going to work.
“Don’t sweat it Harrington. Today’s just not your day, man,” Billy says in the stall next to him.
“Not your week, more so,” Tommy chuckles with a smug smirk on his face. “You and your princess break it off for one day, and she’s already running off with the freak’s brother,” he says, making Steve look at him with light confusion before looking away.
Tommy’s eyes widened in shock. “Oh shit,” he says. “You don’t know. Jonathan and the princess skipped yesterday, and still haven’t shown. That must just be a coincidence, right?” he cackles, Steve eyeing him, scrubbing the suds through his scalp.
“I don’t give a fuck about them. He can have her for all I care,” Steve snaps back, scrubbing his hands through his hair. Billy smirks with a hum.
“Oh I know,” he trails off. “You finally come to your senses over your Henderson girl, right? I hear she’s the reason you hate commitment. Because you want to commit to her, is that it?” Billy taunts, letting the water run down his chest.
Steve scoffs and shakes his head, paying no mind to what either man was saying. “You don’t know her like that.”
“Oh, yes I do. I know a lot more than you think.”
Steve froze in his spot, his head slowly turning over towards Billy. “The fuck did you say?”
Tommy laughs, giving Billy a look. “You better tell him before he finds out through someone else, Hargrove,” he says, before grabbing his towel and turning off the shower.
His words make Steve freeze. “What’re you talking about?”
Tommy wraps his towel around his waist. “Wow you really have been out of the loop,” he trails off, nodding his head at Billy. “She left with him after the Halloween party. Why do you think they’ve been so inseparable? Girl can’t get enough of him.”
Billy glares at Tommy. “Goodbye Tommy,” he snaps back, watching the guy walk away with a smug grin on his face. Steve’s jaw was clenched, his eyes darkening as he looked over at Billy.
“Relax, Harrington,” he chuckles. “Since some dick I know left her by herself that night, I was a gentleman and drove her home,” he admits, smirking happily. “You’re lucky she’s so obsessed with you, otherwise I definitely would’ve taken her back with me, and trust me,” he chuckles while turning off the shower, patting Steve on the shoulder. “I’m still debating.”
Steve eyed him hard as he left, whipping off his own shower head.
Y/N had finished up her test, smiling warmly at her teacher as she handed it in, bidding a goodnight as she left the classroom. The halls were now quiet as it was after school hours, the rain slowly beginning to dribble outside as she could hear the echoes of other students playing in the gyms.
When she opened up the school doors, the breeze had gotten a little chillier, goosebumps arising on her skin as she walked down the sidewalk. The rain slowly picked up as she walked, making her put her hood up.
Her eyes squinted as she noticed Steve’s car was still there, making her frown. She then froze only slightly as he stood, leaning against the hood with his arms crossed. He looked more than upset. He looked livid. “Steve? Why are you still at school? I thought you didn’t have tutoring tonight.”
“Get in the car.”
She frowns at his cold tone the closer she got. She shook her head.
“No. Not after how you’ve been treating me lately,” she shot back, walking up to him. He clenched his jaw as the rain began to get heavier. He towered her figure, eyes staring down into her own. “I have to wait for Dustin too.”
“He went home with Mike,” he answered quickly. “Get. In. The car,” he says once more.
Instead of prying, she huffs and walks over to the passenger side where he goes to hold open the car door for her, letting her slide in. As he closes her door and rounds to his side, she sets her bag on the floor in the back. He slams his door shut before reversing out of the parking lot, and driving off.
“Why are you so pissed off? What did I do to you to make you hate me so much in the span of seventy-two hours?” she finally breaks the silence, her arms crossing over her chest as the rain poured.
His jaw tightens at her words, hand rubbing over his jaw. “I don’t hate you.”
“Then why are you acting like a dick? All I’ve been trying to do is help you, and you act like I don’t exist,” she scoffs as she keeps her gaze on the window. “I don’t know what happened between you and Nance, but I’m just trying to be there for you.”
He stays silent for a few moments, and then speaks. “We broke up. Things were complicated and she said things between us weren’t going anywhere.”
“You could’ve just talked to me, you didn’t have to shut me out. I would’ve listened,” she says in a softer manner. Still somewhat firm to show she was standing her ground.
“It seems you had your hands full with Hargrove anyways,” he says under his breath, but it was loud enough for her to hear. She snapped her head over to him.
“What?”
“You really took a ride home from Billy Hargove? Of all people? Seriously?”
She scoffs. “I wouldn’t have needed to if you didn’t run off like you did! Besides, he offered and was actually nice to me the entire way,” she explains, running her hands through her hair. “You have no right to be upset. You’re the one ignoring me and acting all big macho whenever he’s around.”
“Is he the one who’s been picking you up too? Bringing you home even?” he shot, making her roll her eyes.
“You’re a fucking ass. Why are you so obsessed with this guy?”
“Because he’s not good for you! He wants to fuck you, and then leave you for the streets! You’re nothing but a piece of pussy to that man!” he blows up, making her eyes harden and her eyebrows furrow.
“Stop the car.”
“What-”
“Stop the fucking car, Harrington! I will not be scolded like I’m a fucking child by you! Stop the fucking car, so I can walk the rest of the way.”
Steve looks at her like she is crazy. “Are you kidding? It’s pouring-”
Y/N starts to unlock his car doors, going to pull open the lever as the car was still driving, causing Steve to slam on his brakes as she opened his car door. “Y/N seriously?” he screeches, getting out of the car to follow after her. “Get back in the car! You’re being ridiculous!”
“I’m not! You’re the one being an asshole, Harrington!” she yells back, not looking behind her. She hears him let out a frustrated groan before slamming his car doors shut, and his engine coming up to the side of her. He rolled down the window.
“Get in the car, Y/N!”
She ignored his pleas, her body shivering as she was now drenched from the pouring rain. “Y/N M/N, get in the damn car before I make you,” he warns, letting out a low growl as she still looks forward and keeps walking. Steve brakes the car once again, opening his door and stomping up to her figure.
Y/N feels arms wrap around her waist, despite her protests, she’s then thrown over Steve’s shoulder. “Put me the fuck down, Steve! What the fuck is your problem?” she screams out, punching at his lower back.
“Seriously, let me down! I’m fuckign done with you and your bipolar fucking behavior-”
Her words die in her throat with a squeak as a loud smack is heard, a sting following on her ass a few moments after. She narrows her eyes. “Did you just-?” She trails off as he walks over to open his backseat doors.
Steve softly places her figure into his back seats, ignoring her curses and shouts at him as he slams the door shut and gets back into the driver’s seat. He sped off after that, not missing the way she was sending daggers to the back of his head.
“I told you to get back in the car, and you didn’t listen.”
“Because you were treating me like shit, and started accusing me of sleeping with Billy. When all he’s been doing, is being a better friend than you. Nothing more than that.” she spat, crossing her arms over her shivering figure. Steve sighs, clenching his jaw at her words. Knowing deep down that she was right, he was being a total asshole to her.
“Not when I feel how I feel about you. I can’t move on, even if I tried.”
He froze, his heart stopped for a split second at her words, realizing she had said it so quietly in hope he didn’t hear, but he heard her perfectly clear.
All of his anger slowly washed away as her words repeated in his mind, realizing that Nancy was right. He couldn’t tell Nancy he loved her, not when Y/N had been here all along. No matter how hard he tried, he really tried to make things work with Nancy. But she knew it wasn’t meant to be.
Because he couldn’t control how strong his feelings were becoming towards Y/N. Nancy knew it too, she saw it when he didn’t. Which was why she couldn’t blame him. He did try. He couldn’t bring himself to admit it. Not after how things just ended with Nancy. He needed to see if what he felt for Y/N really was real, which was why he pushed away. Turns out it was more real than he ever knew or understood. Especially after hearing Billy’s words.
“We’re going to mine,” is all he says, making her glare at him.
“What? No, I’m drenched, I need to go home and-”
“I have stuff you can borrow, so stop whining. We need to actually talk,” he shot back, making her go quiet with her mouth open in shock. “No distractions, nothing. Because your brother will somehow bring us into the next adventure going on, and we need to figure our shit out.”
Y/N lets out a grumble, but doesn’t argue any further, the car was quiet the rest of the way to his place.
Once he parked in his driveway, he grabbed both of their bags, then opened the door for her to get out. She whisks past him as he locks his car, the pair running up to take cover under the slight covering over his front doorstep.
When they both got inside, the sound of the rain pattering hard over the roof was heard, as well as the light sounds of the occasional thunder booming. He sets down their stuff, huffing at his now drenched state, shrugging off his jacket.
“You can shower in mine. I’ll use my parents.”
He leads them upstairs, grabbing her a towel and walking her into his room that she knew all too well. He hands her a pair of his sweats and a hoodie of his she always used to wear, before grabbing his own towel and heading towards his parents’ room without another word.
She goes into his bathroom, looking around as she sees it’s still the same. It’s been a while since she has been here. Her having the decision that maybe they shouldn’t hang out like they used to when he started dating Nancy. She didn’t want Nancy to think otherwise, and knew it wouldn’t look right.
Y/N let the shower run for a bit, letting it get warm as she stripped down her soaked clothes, a light shiver running down her spine.
Once the steam had filled the bathroom, she stepped into the shower, the warm water cascaded down her back, making her let out a small hum in content at how good the warmth felt. She rinsed and washed up quietly as she let her thoughts linger as she rinsed her hair.
She was too in her mind to hear the door open slowly, Steve closing it behind him as he saw her back turned away from his figure.
He couldn’t take it anymore. Not after hearing what she said. He was sick of dancing around it.
When he opened the glass door, Y/N jumped at the noise and turned towards him with eyes wide. “Steve? What’re you doing?” she asked softly, her voice sounding exhausted. Defeated. Steve said nothing, only closing it behind him and walking to her slowly. Y/N’s eyes followed his own as they took in her figure, then eyes softening as his eyes found her own.
He stopped just inches in front of her, the water running over them both, Steve towering over her as he looked down at her. Her eyes staring between his own as his hand came up to her jaw to make her fully look up at him.
He inched closer to her face with his own, their lips just millimeters away. Y/N’s hands stayed covering her chest, but slowly slid down in relaxation as their lips barely touched.
Their eyes looking between one another for what felt like forever, Y/N looked back at Steve with one final nod. That’s all it took, and his lips slammed down onto hers. It was hungry, needy, passionate. Fire ignited between them both as their lips moved in sync. Tongues fighting and teeth clashing as their pants filled the air.
Steve brought both of his hands to her hair, pulling her head back to let his lips openly trail from her lips, biting at the bottom one before going to her cheek, her jaw, and down her neck. Y/N’s eyes shut with absolute bliss at the feeling of his lips making contact with her hot skin. How his tongue poked out every so often, teeth biting at some spots.
Her arms came up to his forearms when he found a sweet spot behind her ear, making him hum in satisfaction. Y/N had grown greedy, and in dire need of his lips on hers once more, making her grab his face from the spot in her neck to slam their lips back together.
Steve’s hands trailed down from her hair, down her body, leaving sparks and fire in his trail as he touched her everywhere he could reach.
He never realized how much he craved her until now. Now, he couldn’t live without her. He couldn’t live with the fact that any guy could have her like this. Could’ve been in his spot. He especially couldn’t stand the fact that Billy almost could’ve been in his place if he waited any longer.
The thought alone made him grip her hips hard, making her whimper lightly in his mouth. He groaned as she bit his lip. They broke apart, just millimeters away from one another as he looked at her with a haze in his eyes.
“I’m never letting you go now,” he muttered softly, leaving one hand on her hip while the other trailed to her belly button. He watched her lips hitch in a gasp at his touch. Her eyes were big and hazy as they looked up at him. The rain poured hard outside, being heard even through the shower running around them. “Not when I’ve got you like this. This is all I’ve ever wanted. I’ve always wanted you. That was the problem, honey.”
His hand trailed down her navel, just above where she needed to feel him most. Her insides burn with desire and need for Steve.
“I couldn't stop thinking about you. Every second of every day,” he trails off, leaving soft kisses on her lips between his words. “You were always the one thing I came back to,” he hums, letting his hand finally cup her heat. He smirked lightly as he watched her eyes roll back as he let his fingers rub up and down her slit.
“Steve.”
“Hm?” he says, letting his hand figure out what she liked, how she wanted, needed, to be touched. Her face would contort when he rubbed or flicked certain spots, making him bite his lip as she watched her lose any ounce of control she had.
“Hargrove kept saying how he would take you like this. How he was debating on it,” he taunts, letting a finger slide in, Y/N let out a moan as her head fell onto his chest. He chuckled darkly as he felt her beginning to hump herself into his hand. “I kept thinking about that. Picturing. It pissed me off.”
She shook her head as her hand went to grasp at his wrist while he pumped his fingers in and out of her. “Never would’ve happened,” she moans. “I wouldn’t have let it happen.”
He takes his free hand from her hip and trails it up to her neck, causing her to look up at him. Her eyes are still lightly closed, light moans and whines leaving her lips.
“You sure? It seemed like you enjoyed getting pretty friendly with Hargrove.”
She shook her head. “Only wanted you. I only want you.”
“Oh sweetheart,” he says softly, taking his fingers out of her, causing her to groan at the sudden loss of contact. “I wish I believed that,” he says, shaking his head. She frowned at his words, still dazed and confused at the fact he left her high and dry.
She decided to push right back at his smugness.
“Maybe I should. If you’re only going to leave me high and dry. I’ll let him finish your job.”
Steve’s eyes darkened at her words, causing him to turn off the water behind her, then grabbing both of her thighs to wrap around his hips. He walked them out to his bedroom, slamming her body onto his bed as he towered over her figure.
“You and that mouth of yours are going to get you in trouble, honey.”
He spread her legs open, biting his lip as he tried to muster his groan, but failing miserably.
“And here I was going to be nice and give you my tongue,” he tuts, before grabbing his dick and sliding it through her folds. “But after that little stunt you pulled, I’m not feeling so nice anymore.”
With that, Steve slams all the way into her. The pair both let out moans at the feeling, Y/N grabbing his hair in one hand while the other scratched down his back. Steve began to pump in and out of her fast and hard, lips and tongue busying themselves with her breasts as they bounced with every thrust.
“Steve, please,” she whimpers at his pace. He looks up at her through his lashes, seeing how she is biting her lip to keep from moaning louder. He releases her left nipple with a pop and leans down to kiss her hard.
“Maybe if you fix that attitude of yours, I’ll take my time,” he groans into her mouth, capturing her moans in his own. “Fuck you the way I’ve been dying to. Nice and slow to show you how in love I am with you. You’d love that wouldn’t you?”
Y/N’s hand grips his hair to pull his head back to make him fully look at her. “Please, baby,” she moans out breathlessly, causing Steve to groan. She clenches around him tight, causing him to stutter his movements. Steve soon begins to slow down slightly, still hitting that spot inside of her that she loved oh so much. Her grip loosened on his head, both hands going to grab the headboard behind her as her back arched. Steve looked down at her in amazement, mouth open as he moaned out her name.
“So fucking pretty, fuck,” he pants, taking her slower as his gaze falls to where they’re connected. He sees her hips grinding up to meet his own, making him bite his lip and grab them to meet his own with each thrust. “You’re fucking mine. Not Hargrove’s. I don’t share. Especially not when it comes to you.”
Y/N can feel the tightness in her stomach getting closer and closer with every thrust, causing her to look back at Steve who is so focused on watching him thrust in and out of her.
“Steve I’m-”
“I know, I can feel it. Let go whenever, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”
It didn’t take much for her after that, clenching and sputtering around him with a loud moan that followed with his name. Steve came shortly after, placing his lips over her own as his hips stuttered against her pelvis. When their lips broke apart, Steve’s head immediately went into her neck, kissing at her collarbone a few times as they lay there breathless.
Y/N’s hand trailed from his shoulders, up into his hair. She didn’t miss how his body broke out into goosebumps from her touch. His breathing slowed moments later, his now softened cock still inside of her. She could feel him twitching again, hardening as she clenched around him each time he twitched. “Steve,” she moans softly, gripping his hair as she feels his tongue and teeth biting at the skin along her chest.
“I need more,” he groans out against her breasts, taking one nipple into his mouth. She arches into his mouth more at the feeling. His hands pushed down her hips as she started to nonchalantly grind up against his hips, letting his own hips slowly thrust and grind into her. “Gonna go all night. I might just need to have you like this forever,” he moans into her nipple, before pulling away with a pop. Y/N grabs his head and pulls his lips back down to hers, his thrusts hard but slow. Moans getting louder between them both as Steve hit that one spot inside her that made her toes curl.
Before Steve could react, Y/N had tightened her grip on him with her legs, turning them over with him still inside of her. She took his hands from her thighs and laced them with hers, pressing them into the mattress beside his head.
Her eyes looking into his with such adoration and want in them. She began to grind into him, moans leaving her mouth as she bit her lip from being too loud. Steve looked up at her mesmerized, mouth agape as he takes in everything about how she looked on top of him.
“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” he sighs, watching her throw her head back she grinded and bounced on him.
She let go of his hands, bringing hers to lean back on his thighs as she worked her way on him. Steve’s hands immediately went to the crevice where her hips and thighs met. He gripped them in a bruising hold, guiding her every move as he met his hips with hers. “Fuck Steve,” she moans out, not missing the way he hit that spot inside her once again.
“Nobody will ever get to see you like this, Never again,” he moans as he lets one hand slithering up her front, going to grip her neck in a tight enough hold for it to go to her head. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head at the feeling. “Not even Hargrove. This is mine.”
“Always has been,” she sighs while looking back down into his eyes. Their highs were coming closer than they did the first time, Steve pulling her down by her neck to meet her with a sloppy kiss.
Both of their movements became faster and faster as the pit in their stomachs got tighter and tighter. “Let go baby. I’m right behind you,” Steve breathes out against her lips, her nodding against him before her hips stutter and stilled as she reaches high. Steve took over and thrusted up into her through both of their highs as Y/N fell forward onto his chest. She wrapped her arms around his neck, nails running through his hair. His hands trailing up and down her back as they lay there breathlessly. “This is gonna sting a bit,” he said first, before slowly pulling out of her. They both let out a loud hiss, Y/N followed with a slight whimper at the emptiness as she gripped his hair lightly.
“You okay?” he hums against her, and she nods lightly. He chuckles. “We should probably clean up soon.”
She hums. “Soon. Just not yet,” she breathes out softly against his chest.
“Oh no, I’m basking in this as long as I can,” he chuckles softly. She smiles against his chest at his words. “I’ve got you, and I will not be letting you go anytime soon.”
“So you like me?” she jokes, making him grab her jaw softly to look up at him. He looked at her like she had two heads.
“I think we both know I’m way past liking you,” he admits, making her eyes soften at his words. His thumb caressed her skin softly. “It only took me how many years to come to my senses.”
“It took me being friends with Hargrove for you to come to your senses,” she shot, making him roll his eyes.
“Whatever,” he laughs, making her snort. “He’s not gonna let up on this, you know. He will be giving you shit till the end of time for taking so long.”
Steve eyes her. “He really knew before I did? Ouch.”
She smacked his chest softly. “He figured it out, I didn’t have to say a word.”
“Well, I still don’t like how flirty he is with you. So he better knock that off,” he says slowly. “I’ll make sure of it.”
“How will you do that?”
“Oh, honey we’ve got all night. I’ll make sure he knows to keep his hands off.”
i only want him if he says it first to me
i wanna, uh, him in the back of his mom's mercury
he looks like he works with his hands, and smells like marlboro reds
it makes me so, uh, and i can't get enough of it
summary: you like when he flirts with you, and he's too quick to adore the blush it brings to your cheeks, but when he desperately needs your help with a campaign repressed feelings begin to surface.
pairing: eddie munson x friend!reader
word count: like 12k
warnings: MDNI! swearing, thigh riding (i hate this why does it always show up in my fics), fingering, slight exhibitionism, oral (f and m receiving), v minor somnophilia, p in v sex, unprotected sex, r is inexperienced , i try to make up a d&d campaign.
notes: ya'll i re-watched ST for s5 and it brought back my love for this man i hate myself and then i wrote this thing in 2 nights bc i was feral with the idea. hope u enjoy it was fun to write.
You drew the short straw.
You cursed Jackie for shuffling them around, arranging them in a pretty order that led to you drawing the smallest one. You groaned as they laughed, as they packed up their things and began to leave you behind still in your theater attire.
And now the pale pink gossamer kept floating into your mouth as you picked up all the props and costume left astray to cart them down to the dressing room. You squatted down, skirts pooling around your feet, scooping up random pencils and wands, swords and sticks, askew leaves and a grey wig.
A door slammed closed.
"Hello?" You called, no one answered. You paid it no attention; it was probably a straggler, some sports player leaving after a long practice, an attendee to some competition. You pushed the large cart down the stage and through the double doors towards the props department. You silently cleaned up, put everything in its place vowing to memorize every stick so you'll never be on clean up duty again. Truly, this was probably only the third time you've had to do it, but it still sucked.
Another door slammed and this time you shot to your feet grabbing the plastic grey sword and brandishing it forward. "Hello!" You called again, their footsteps slapping against linoleum. "This isn't funny! I have a weapon!" Your arm shook as you pointed it towards the door that flew open the next second with a hurricane of frizzy hair and wind that blew the pink gossamer veil over your eyes.
"What are you doing?" There was amusement in his voice. "You'll stab yourself." You moved the fabric out of your face to see the smirk crawling on his face. "M'lady."
You breathed a sigh of relief. "Eddie. What are you doing here?"
"Looking for the props department." He said motioning around the room.
Your eyebrow rose slightly, "Why?"
He stepped closer the chain against his jeans clinking with every step, his body lithe as it moved with his strange fluidity. "Because I needed something."
"And what is that?"
His grin was feline, "You."
In the same chaotic wind he blew in on he grabbed your arm and rushed you out of the room. "Eddie." You gave a tug at your arm, but he kept walking with you, leading you down dark halls and sharp corners, deeper into the school towards his lair. "Eddie." You tried again, more serious using your other hand to pull on his grip pathetically.
He reeled on you a wild light gleaming in his eyes. "You're perfect."
The flush crawled up your neck and you almost forgot about his black painted nails digging into you...almost. "What's going on?"
He sighed hand softening on your bicep, trailing down your arm to lace his fingers with yours. "I backed myself into a corner." You furrowed your brows, "Hellfire?" You nodded along letting him know you understood the mention of his club. "Well as you know I'm Dungeon Master and I've spent months working on this new campaign and the kids have been loving it but..."
"You backed yourself into a corner." You repeated.
His hands wrapped around your face. "Yes! And I'm trying to not let on that I'm flying by the seat of my pants, so I figured out a way to get us back on track."
"Me?"
He cocked his head to the side tenderly. "You." He breathed then dropped his hands. "Well not you, I really went to find your hat to give the illusion of the princess, but when I saw you wearing it, and given your dramatic flair well that bump in the road wrote itself." He beamed wildly, that same smile that could lead anyone into a trance. "Just for a little while until I can nudge them back towards the main plot."
"So, I'm just a plot device to move your characters forward?" Simple enough.
He nodded, "You can even help me write some of your story line." He came closer using a knuckle to tilt your chin up the sharp edges of one of his rings digging in slightly, "Will you do this for me sweetheart?"
Eddie had been your friend for years, your dad had known his uncle which led to impromptu get togethers whenever the two decided to hang out. You developed a kinship with him; watching him play his music from the grass of his lawn, scowling at him for getting the first tattoo, but accompanying him for the second. You'd float aloofly around each other no animosity behind the action. You joined drama club; he built up Hellfire. You watched each other from different planets, waving hello, occasional small talk, you even offered the be his chemistry partner when he had been held back the second time, and he promised to stop smoking in exchange. He was lying though. There was camaraderie there, sweet nothings that the strange cliques of status quo fought hard to squash out. But he was still Eddie, and you were still you gazing up into brown eyes being swallowed into his abyss.
Okay, maybe something else had took root within your chest besides friendship.
"Of course, Eddie."
He leaned in close, lips a breath away. "That's my girl." And with his hand in yours he dragged you into a loud room filled with loud boys who didn't cease their noise as Eddie rounded the table with you.
Until he took his place at the helm with you at his side.
The room crackles into silence as eyes bore into you, then Eddie, then your pink princess hat that floats with a strange phantom breeze. In that moment you see them piecing it together, using that strange logic to continue the story, admiring Eddie's campaign as if he hadn't dragged it up from the props department's dark corner.
"Roll."
"For what Wheeler?" Eddie questions still holding you with an arm around the waist.
"Casting perception."
A small whisper of agreement as another boy shakes dice letting it crash along the table. It stops off to the left and Eddie peers down at it, "12."
The huddle together, "Not helpless."
"But also, a minor threat." 'Wheeler' adds.
"12 is a minor threat?"
"We should trust her."
"And have her turn on us? No way!"
Eddie yawns as he collapses into the chair behind him. "All this bickering is attracting the wrong attention." The room is silent then staring up at him with wide eyes, "Deep in the clouds leather unfolds, and the air swirls around as a deep booming flap-flap-FLAP echoes. Long talons loom as a hot screech rip through the sky; the sun blots out as all you can do is watch in horror as it scoops down and snatches the princess." Two arms wrap around your middle yanking you back into him. "With one outstretched hand she begs you to..." He glances up at you.
You turn back to the group with welling eyes, "Save me."
Eddie cackles jostling you around in his lap as the group groaned. You can't help but let a giggle slip past as they begin to argue about what to do next. Lucas, you learn all their names quickly, is pushing for the party to abandon you, stating you'll bring 'nothing but more trouble.' Dustin offers the fact that if you are in fact a real princess, rescuing you would bring in a hefty reward and notability. Jeff simply wants to slay the dragon for his own reasons not falling for your theatrics.
Mike peers up at you, then Eddie who has sat you on his right knee petting the pink gossamer over your hair. "Is there a reward?"
"Hmm," He coos. "A pretty reward. Not only from her father but slaying the dragon who sits on a mound of stolen gold and gems and charred armor of long dead enemies." His long arm wraps around your shoulder, slithering along your neck letting two nails dig into your jaw. "But...you'll have to pry her out of my cold, dead hands."
A collective whisper, a collective agreement and their quest began.
You stand up as things roll along going to the two clips that helped the large costume skirt stay in place over your jeans. You had forgotten you were even wearing the thing, that it was all play pretend. Eddie's hand went to your wrist, "At least let me buy you a drink first before you get naked princess."
A tense heat passed around the room at the flirtatious comment. The younger boys still trying to understand the dynamic between you two. But he was Eddie, and you were you, still blushing furiously as you let the skirt pool at your feet. "It's stifling in here Eddie."
"Am I getting you all hot and bothered?" You chew on your cheek as you draped it over a large table. You feel a soft touch on your fluttering pulse as he made you look at him, "Come on, tell me what I want to hear."
He had made you watch movies with him, a long marathon of space films while his body sprawled next to you. You giggled when Leia had said it and felt it fit him as well, he found it endearing. "Scruffy looking nerf herder." You smirked as you leaned against his chair, his throne.
He beamed up at you, "I love it when you scold me princess."
"What uh..." A boyish voice started, "What...Who are you?"
Gareth said your name for you explaining the strange dynamic between you two as if there was an easy way to understand it. "You don't have to stay." He waved to the game. "They'll be at it for hours before they even get close."
You smiled pulling up a long folding chair to sit next to him. "No, it's fine. I got nothing better to do." The hand you had resting on the table fell near his and the slightest twitch of his ringed pinkie had him brushing into yours. It burns your skin like a brand. "I also have some ideas." You gaze up at him innocently, "If you'd be open to them."
He leaned closer on his elbow, head against his fist, "For you, baby, anything." His long fingers toyed with pink fabric bringing it to his nose to inhale your scent.
"Are we interrupting something?" Mike asked staring at Eddie expectingly.
"Don't you have a dragon to find!" He shouted back.
The giggle slipped past your chewed bottom lip.
"The boys missed you last Friday." You had joined in on the campaign two weeks ago, occasionally dropping in for updates on the quest, if you were still alive, always hiding laughter when Lucas begged to leave you rot with the dragon. He did not fall for your damsel in distress guise. But between homework, and test, and the newest play (that involved your princess costume) you couldn't spare as much time as you liked. And you liked finding excuses to be by his side, you liked giving him excuses to touch you.
"They're sweet." You smiled digging in your locker for notebooks for your next class.
"They smell." Eddie grimaced closing it for you and walking with you down the hall. You never cared Hawkins called him a freak, you never cared they had labeled him strange, weren't you too? In your strange costumes, saying strange lines, playing pretend in the same way. He was your friend, and everything else was simply background noise. "You free today?"
You nodded, "I can come by a little early to go over some details." You stopped in the middle of the hallway, a sea of students moving around two stagnant bodies. "Bye Eddie."
"See ya princess."
You blushed, he smirked, and you went your separate ways.
You doodled details in your notebooks, wrote facts and stories for this side quest of his. You had never been super interested in the game before but being this involved, learning as you went, it began to suck you in, teleporting you beyond the small pieces on the board.
With a loud ring of the dismissal bell and a slight jump in your step you made your way towards that different dimension. He was sitting off to the side at a different table scrawling over his own notebook when you placed yours beside his, white pages against weathered yellow, black ink against multicolored highlighted words. Another sharp contrast and yet he only smiled up at you, matching yours.
"You're brilliant."
You shrug, "I try." He sat you down yanking you by the lip of the metal chair to slot your legs within his. He was touchy, always so touchy, needing some inexplainable amount of skin to skin you were more than happy to give him.
His shoulder brushed yours as he traced your words, "No this is gunna blow their minds." He glanced at you not at all surprised by your facial closeness. "Maybe next campaign you can be the DM and you can do whatever you want to me."
"Oh, so there's a next campaign now?" You raised a brow, "I thought I was just a plot device."
"I'm a filthy liar baby, what can I say?" He whispered, and the scent of him rushed into you, mint and musk and smoke, and your cheeks burned with it all. You went to bite your lip, but his thumb caught it, "Don't."
"Don't what?" You breathed, clueless except for his thumb tracing your bottom lip, holding you steady by that simple contact. Eddie being him. You being you. But sure, along the way he got flirtier, you got more flustered. He was handsome, he's always had a boyish charm but recently it had been turning into a rouge prince appeal that made you more inclined to agree with whatever he was asking. And right now, if he asked to shove his fingers into your mouth, you'd let him even as those fragile friendship lines began to dissolve into smoke.
His eyes flickered around your face, "Blush."
Your lips parted, but the question never left as he pushed his thumb into your mouth. He pressed the pad of it down onto your tongue letting you instinctively wrap your tongue along it. You had never done this, you had kissed people sure (on stage), but beyond that nothing, so you weren't quite sure what to do, or what he wanted. But he groaned and something hard dug into your knee buried between his legs. His other fingers curled around your jaw as he moved his thumb along your tongue, swirling it around, spit gathering at the corner of your lips. He grabbed you by the face and yanked you onto his thigh, your long skirt bunching up around you to put pressure on the place you craved most. He stared up at your face; thumb still rooted on your tongue.
He leaned in slowly, waiting for you to pull away, shove him out and explain that this isn't what friends do. But you would do anything he asked, and maybe every now and then you would chase an unachievable climax to thoughts of him defiling you.
So, you silently thanked Jackie, for shuffling those sticks around, arranging them in a pretty order that led to you drawing the smallest one. It led you here, to Eddie licking up the spit that dripped down your jaw, to the corner of your mouth where he planted a single kiss. Your lashes fluttered, your hips rolled against his thigh against your will as his thumb fell from your mouth. He brushed hair away from your face, trailing the deep crimson staining your cheeks, "What do you want princess?"
You wanted an end to this throbbing between your thighs every-time he stroked your face or called you some sort of pet name. You wanted a release from an ache he had caused by continuing to blur lines that may have never even been there. And because it had felt good the first time, you rolled your hips along his thigh once more a small moan slipping out.
He kisses you then, swallowing the noise whole, consuming you with an open maw letting his tongue lash against yours. He tasted like the last dregs of a cigarette, minty, harsh...addictive, and you wanted more, glad he never quit. Every-time he had lit a cigarette, he asked if you wanted some, and in the moment, you wished you had said yes just to have the little taste of him. You ground down on him as his tongue licked down your throat, as his hands dug into flesh beneath your shirt. "You that wet for me baby?" He dragged his mouth down your neck as you felt what he was talking about, as it soaked through you and him. "Has it been that long?" He nipped at your jugular, sucking and biting the pounding blood vessel and you desperately wanted him to just rip it open to end your misery. He stilled suddenly to peek at you taking in your flushed face and gentle furrowed brow realizing why he did in fact always get you so hot and bothered. "You poor thing."
"Eddie." You whined.
Nails dug down your back as he bit into your jaw needing to feast on every bare skin you'd let him. "Music to my ears." He sucked on your bottom lip, slating his mouth along yours melding it with teeth and tongue and spit. His hands went to your hips helping you roll against the meat of his thigh chasing the sweet friction. "You wanna cum like this?" It seemed like a genuine question. You didn't care; you just wanted a release. You moaned into his mouth, "Fuck yeah you do, look at you." It was open mouth kisses, sharing breaths and grunts as the warmth spread from behind your knees spreading slowly towards your already burning center. You wanted him to touch you; to feel something inside of you but it felt too good with every stroke against his leg, every tug of his hands deep within your hips helping you ride him. It was debauchery, disgustingly foul as you wrapped your arms around his neck to fuck his leg harder, nails scraping his scalp, tugging his hair as he sucked on your tongue.
He was hard against you, twitching and straining and you knew you should touch him, but your pleasure consumed you as you chased that high you only dreamed about reaching. "Please Eddie." You gritted out calves stiff, stomach tight, holding onto the blackness behind your eyes.
"You can cum pretty girl," He whispered, a hand stroking down your hair. "Come on its okay, let go." He kisses beneath your ear, soft, gentle whispering quiet words of encouragement. You grind down on him hard, hips stuttering as your orgasm suddenly hits you, clenching around nothing but his thigh muscle, stifling the screams into his hair. It takes you a few moments, a few bleary blinks to realize he's still talking to you, still stroking down your back. "Did so good for me..."
You peel off of him, suddenly cold between your naked legs as you straddle his soaked thigh. "Sorry I-!"
"No, no," He cupped your face. "That was good, you did so well." He stroked a thumb down your cheek, "Did you feel good?" You nodded letting the small smile bloom on his face. You tried to find embarrassment, but it was nestled too far beyond your pleasure to care. You did however feel bad he was still hard beneath you, your hand went to it, palming the large bulge gently. He hissed, "Easy princess." He glanced behind you at the clock along the wall, "As much as I'd love to see your lips around my cock not sure we have enough time for that." You stared at him, the question in your eyes, cheeks a ruddy red as you palmed him again, "Shit don't look at me like that unless you want our friends walking in on something indecent."
The throb echoed between your legs, and you couldn't help but palm him again letting his hips buck slightly into the touch. "You'll have to teach me." He eyed you with a gentle furrow in his brow, "Something indecent."
He twitched against you grabbing a fistful of ass beneath your skirt groaning against your skin. "I don't..." He blinked trying to finish the sentence as you ran down his never-ending length with a hard-pressed knuckle. "I don't want to scare you."
There was your sweet, gentle Eddie, the kind boy who always watched out for you, included you, took care of you. You wanted him to scare you, to ruin you, to make you realize what sinful truly meant.
It was the summer before your sophomore year, his first senior year and he had finally gotten his van. He had picked you up to show it off for you. He got you a cherry slurpee for the hot day claiming the van had no AC and drove wildly around, swerving and speeding and throwing you into sharp turns. You squealed and laughed and dug fingers into the cup, condensation running down your wrist, your thigh. He curved the wheel too hard, and you had nothing to hold on to and on instinct he had grabbed your thigh, fingers digging into dripping inner flesh. You couldn't help but burn at the contact, watching his fingers curl and uncurl against hot, wet skin. He didn't let go until he screeched to a stop patting and rubbing the bruised flesh.
"You need to be more careful Eddie." You breathed, hair wild, cheeks as red as your mouth.
He leaned forward wrapped his lips around your straw and sucked. "Too dangerous for you baby?"
Baby. It was new. You were used to his little terms of endearment, but this was something else. You blamed the summer sun for the heat in your face, in your core. His tongue glided along red glossy lips, and you wondered what they would taste like. Cherry, menthol, you wanted to know.
It was the first night you touched yourself to him, you chased it hard, tracing the marks his fingers left along your thigh as you fucked you own hand. It never worked, you never got there, something...stopping you, preventing you from that jump over the pleasured filled ledge. You groaned into your pillow letting that tension build and build and build.
You realize now you had needed to hear him tell you to let go, that this mental block of friendship had stopped you from cumming too many times. You shifted, throwing your other leg over him so you were straddling him properly and ghosted your lips over his own. "You could never scare me," You rolled against him his hard cock digging into your center from beneath tight jeans.
He groaned into your mouth, nails digging into your ass this time. "There are things," He nipped your bottom lip. "That I want to do to you that would take hours we don't have."
"Tell me." You whispered. You wanted to know, needed to know the sick and twisted ways he wanted you because your imagination was vanilla compared to his chaotic mind, because you didn't even know you could cum the way he made you.
"Baby."
You shuddered against him. "I don't care." You mumbled. You wanted him to be buried inside you; you wanted to crawl inside his skin. "Let them see you ruin me."
He kissed you hard, deep, tongue dipping along your throat, scraping against your cheek as his hips bucked up into you. You think he would have done it, truly, wrecked your very being if not for the loud tug of a metal door followed by a mess of voices.
You flew away from each other sliding into your metal chairs. Both of your hair was wild as he turned towards his friends who seemed suspicious of the musky smell of sex and hot air of mangled breath, but none the wiser. You tried to pull it together, wrangle down the knots in your hair from him before standing up. Thank God for your skirt hiding all the gush of arousal he had pulled from you, but now it had just left a cool stickiness to your skin.
Suddenly multiple eyes stared at you; you glanced at Eddie who was moving back towards you. You glanced down, admiring his skill to hide his hard length beneath jeans and long t-shirts, but watched his hand reached out to tug gently on your skirt unbunching it from where it had twisted into your underwear.
"I uh," You pointed towards the door. "Will be right back." You rushed off hearing the faint accusatory whisper.
"Jesus Eddie, were you trying to eat her?"
He only chuckled, "Princesses are rather tasty."
You understood what he meant when you reached the bathroom mirror. He had clawed and bit up your neck leaving harsh dark red marks along the column of your throat, along your collarbones and jaw. You traced them lightly, body burning at ever memory of his touch. You traced your swollen red lips, the maroon settled in your cheeks, the mess of tangles in your hair.
It was plain to see something had happened. Between your askew clothes, and perked nipples you struggled to subdue the sudden throbbing between your thighs. And as you cleaned off your legs, as you slid your underwear off fingers passing over your swollen clit, you ached for him so much more.
You straightened up your clothes, your hair. You stifled the bite in your lip as you rounded the corner back towards that sweltering room. You pretended nothing happened. You went back into the game oblivious to their suspicions.
Once seated next to Eddie who was quick to place his large hand on your thigh, you slipped something back to him, your drenched panties.
He bit his knuckle smirking at you as they laid across his crotch, you flushed a deep scarlet and knew he hadn't even need to have touched you for you to be ruined.
It was hard to move on from that, hard to go back to some hallow make believe version of friendship when you yearned for his touch across you fevered body. So instead of being on different planets you began to orbit each other, waving became flushed skin and lips between teeth, small talk came with long fingers curling around strands of hair. There was nothing left to blur. You came to Hellfire like it was your new religion begging for those moments it was just the two of you. It was never able to be anything more than swapped spit and heavy petting as his friends began to trickle in before you were allowed more time; always suspicious, always raising eyebrows at your split lips and heavy breathing.
You were half tempted to show up at his trailer as some sort of offering just to curb this pain between your legs for him. It was exhausting, needing him so badly, so roughly you couldn't think of anything else. He could sense it in the way he'd kiss your puffy mouth gently as they unpacked their things, as his thumb drew circles in your thighs rubbing together under the table to create some form of friction.
You'd slouch urging his hand up more only to earn some soft chuckle. It infuriated you so much you passed him a note during passing periods that you couldn't make it tonight due to some club scheduling conflict.
He didn't confront you, well not until the end of the day when you were taking your time packing away all the things you didn't need to bring home, lingering as if you were waiting for him to yank you back into his gravity.
"Wherefore art thou princess?" He called down the hall. You hid your smile behind your locker. You closed it slowly taking in his moving form, hand still holding his heart as he neared you. "Parting is such sweet sorrow."
You rolled your eyes, "You only know it so well because you had to repeat it."
He waggled his finger at you, "I passed English the first time around...it was just everything else." You didn't respond as his fingers reached up tucking a stray piece of hair away. "Maybe I couldn't bear the thought of not seeing you every day, what if you found someone decent." He takes your hand to hold it to his chest, "Which brings me to my next point; I checked the schedules and there's no club today so what gives? We just got to the best part in your storyline."
"I..." You shuffled your feet losing focus with his hand on yours, his other twisting between locks of hair. "Why won't you touch me?"
He raised an incredulous eyebrow. "That's what you're upset about?" He chuckled, not rudely, just surprised. Then he's cupping your face, cool rings brushing warm cheeks. "I hate the idea of being rushed, of those nerds seeing you."
You wanted to say you didn't care, but his logic made sense. Something nagged despite it, "Are you embarrassed by me?" Your voice was so quiet. It seemed to add up in that moment, tucking you away before anyone can see, fleeting glances and brushed knuckles under a table, a stolen kiss when eyes were turned away.
He let out a loud laugh. "Of you? Shouldn't it be the other way around?" Yeah, you supposed so. He sighed coming in close until his chest was against yours, hips flushed. "I don't want them messing with you, anyone messing with you for that matter." He tilted his head back and forth, "I do admit however to not wanting them thinking my feelings for you are altering the campaign."
Your concerned did seem silly now, and all you could do was copy his small chuckling. "I think...it's just all getting to me."
"What?" It was so innocent with wicked whims behind his eyes. He knew what you were talking about, he wanted you to say it.
"You." You breathed.
He shifted your bodies until your back hit the lockers behind you. "I know baby." He pets your hair, you whined into his mouth begging him to touch you where you needed him to. "It won't be sweet and nice like you pictured if I touched you here."
You didn't picture sweet and nice, you pictured him ravaging you, getting you stuck between his teeth. "I don't," You panted bucking your hips into him. "I don't want..."
His fingers trailed across bare skin along the top of your jeans. "You don't want it?" His mouth pouted against yours. You were breathing heavy, tugging him impossibly closer by his belt loops, nails digging into his wrist bone. "My naughty girl." It went straight down south as his fingers deftly undid the button and zipper of your jeans. "Don't want it special huh? Won't let me spoil you sweet girl? You want it hard and fast dontcha, like some little whore." You tilted your head back letting him drag his mouth down your carotid, tongue warm against it. Your fingers curled against his jacket sleeves as his hand trailed beneath fabric.
You could have cum from the sheer featherlight touch against your clit, but instead a throaty groan worked its way out. "Eddie," You gritted out. "Please."
He stilled and you brought your eyes back to his trying to read what was written there, wonder, concern, lust, a question. "I'll make you feel good princess." He nodded his other hand bringing your jaw towards him. "Have you ever touched yourself down here?" The pads of his fingers tracing your clit. You shuddered with a nod, "How many times did you cum with my face in your head?" You squeezed your eyes shut as you shook your head. He applied more pressure, and your mouth went slack against his, "Don't lie. You're soaked and I haven't even started."
"No I-!" You gasped as he circled your clit.
"Tell me." He growled.
You tried to focus, worried your confession would scare him away, but with his hand between your legs you didn't care. "I never could," His hand slowed slightly, his brows furrowed. "I tried but it never...never happened."
He pulled back a millimeter taking in this new truth. "Has it ever happened?" You thought back to riding his thigh, he seemed to draw the same conclusion that that had been your first orgasm. "No wonder you get so fucking wet." He kissed your mouth as his fingers pressed down hard. You tried to kiss him back, tried to fight his tongue back but you could only moan, moan as he drew circles into that small bundle of nerves as the heat boiled deep in your belly. He shifted shoving his hand further down your pants the run two fingers along your drenched pussy teasing your throbbing entrance.
You realized now he was covering your mouth with his to stifle the noise that came out of you when he slid two fingers inside of you. He began to thrust them in and out of you, palm rubbing against your clit with every pump of his hand. Gods it felt so good. Your hand had never felt this good, you could never reach, never stroke that sweet spot buried deep within your walls. Here he was, curling at the knuckle to hit everything that set your body on fire cool rings like a chilled ember that scrapped against everything good.
You mewled for him.
"That's it princess," He muttered into your ear. "Feels good, doesn't it?"
His hand went around your back to hold you to him as he fucked you with his hand. "I think...I..." You couldn't think as the pressure built, as your body was wrecked with pleasure.
"I can feel it." He nipped your ear lobe, "Can feel your body clenching around my hand." He moved faster, pressed his palm down harder. Your head fell back as you panted into the air, "Look at you. Letting me fuck you with my hand in the middle of this hallway. The janitors are still here you fucking slut." You arched your back into him trying to match his thrust, "You want someone to find us, see me defiling you."
"Eddie..." You moaned out as you rolled your hips along his hand.
"Eddie?" Another voice. Another person. Gareth. "Everyone's waiting..."
You could see the conflict in his eyes to either stop, yell, or make you cum and then it settled in some strange blown out darkness. "Think I'm embarrassed huh?" Eddie kept fucking you with his hand, bringing you closer and closer to your climax. "Come on just like that." He moved at a brutal pace as he curled his fingers just right, "That it baby, cum on my hand, you got it."
With a strangled cry your vision went out of focus as you clamped down around his hand the orgasm hitting you harder than the last one and it felt so good to clench down on something rather than the idea of it. His hand still moved gently inside of you, pulling you back down to earth and out of your dazed bliss. "I do okay?" You mumbled.
His hand slowly pulled out of you leaving you hollow. "So good, such a good girl."
A throat cleared, Gareth was still standing there, but his back to you now.
You were too boneless to care. "Gareth!" Eddie screeched. "Get the fuck out of here!" He scrambled off finally, "Fucking idiot." Eddie pressed a kiss to your parted lips, "Are you okay?" You nodded his fingers catching on your bottom lip, still glistening with your pleasure. You held onto his wrist bringing them closer to your mouth before sliding them inside. You remembered his thumb and swirled your tongue around his digits tasting the flavor of your pleasure. He groaned hard cock grinding into you, "Fuck greedy girl." You popped him out of your mouth letting his finger pads hover before he trailed them down your chest. He let his forehead rest on yours, "I'm gunna tell them we'll postpone."
You palmed his erection. "They'll be upset with you."
"I don't care." He bucked against your hand. "You were right I need to be touching you more, damn my chivalry."
You got bold, shimmied your hand down the lip of his pants until your hand was gripping the hard length of his. "Oh." You whispered staring up at him, you weren't sure what to do and the length intimidated you so you did the only thing you could think of and slid your hand down the shaft and back up again.
He shuddered. "You don't have-!"
"I want to." You cut him off. "But I need..." You blushed at the reminder of your inexperience, "I need you to defile me."
His forearm slammed into your chest throwing you back against the lockers with a harsh sound as you kept moving your hand up and down him. "I'm gunna explode if you don't stop." You didn't want to stop, you wanted him to have that feeling he gave you. You wanted to watch how he came undone under your fingers.
"Should I use my mouth instead?"
"Fucking hell baby, you're killing me."
Suddenly loud footsteps slapped against the floor and Dustin had stumbled upon you with hands covering his eyes. "Remove any elbows and please rejoin the party." He pointed an accusatory finger at the opposite wall not knowing where you two lurked, "Or else."
You stilled; Eddie blew out angry air. "I'm gunna kill you Henderson." You felt him soften slightly in your hold as he helped your hand out of his pants before redoing your own. Eddie grabbed your bag for you while Dustin disappeared the way he came realizing Eddie was listening to instructions. "Was that really the first time you had an orgasm?" You nodded, "Well I hope it was special." He slung an arm around your shoulder pulling you close.
You smiled up at him, "Anything with you is special." He rolled his eyes at you, "And anyways when are you gunna get it through your thick head; I'm not some doe-eyed schoolgirl you're gunna break."
"I can't help it if you blush like some sweet virgin every time I call you baby." He waited for the response that never came, "That's because you are." He answers his own question. "God I am so fucked up, maybe I am what everyone says I am."
You stopped at the metal door and looked up at him through his curtain of dark hair. You traced the outline of his cock, "And I am so god-damn wet every-time you look at me." His cock stirred in his jeans, your lashes fluttered up at him. "What does that say about your princess?"
The noise beyond the door caught up to you as you let Eddie hold it open to walk inside. They were gathered around the table comparing elbows when you walked up to them. "What are you doing?" He asked.
"Gareth said you were 'elbow deep.' in her pants." Dustin had repeated. "And we were trying to understand the logistics of that."
Your face burned red and you forced yourself to cover it as Eddie began shouting at them, reminding them he would scalp them all if they even mentioned anything to anyone especially you. "Get back to the game!"
"We were waiting on you Sir Elbows!" Mike argues back.
Eddied shot him a cold glare and Mike settled back into his seat. "Fine. Fine. Yes. You're in for it now kids." He beckoned you towards him. "You stumbled upon the crumbling palace that once could have belonged to a mighty king. Now, it houses a horrid dragon pent on roasting you the minute you try to save your endearing princess." You watched him move the dragon figurine into place unable to curb the feeling of them curling inside of you. You watch his mouth as he keeps talking, keeps moving them into place. He's handing them dice, pushing hair out of his face, and you wanted him to shove it all off and take you right here.
His eyes are on you, and you melt a little inside, new wetness seeping out of you. You know your cheeks are red as they sear into you, you know he detects it. He just motioned to the game with his eyes. "Hmm." It comes out a soft whine, a soft moan.
Eddie ticks your chin with his thumb knuckle. "Our party has discovered you princess."
The cloud of lust clears and you give your head a shake, clearing your throat. "Artificer." You say, Eddie gives you a small smile.
"Oh no." It's Dustin.
You turn to meet their gaze. "She's not just an inventor, but an alchemist, a magical engineer!" Eddie rages on, "And as you race in to save her you find her attaching a shimmering golden bridle atop the dragon which has the power to control the wild beast. She had played you the fool, used her fake rescue to attract the dragon to her side to destroy her father's kingdom. And now she will use you to fuel her ferocious beast"
A collective groan, an 'I told you so' from Lucus and a loud maniacal laugh from Eddie. The game rages on, you get caught up in as well, acting out along with the rest of them falling into this safe world of Eddie's mind. It spins you around in a swirl of wild dice and you're not sure you could ever walk away unchanged.
You help him clean up quietly as everyone leaves, moving around each other like twin moons. You stop in front of him. You drop to your knees and blink up at him.
"Tell me what to do." You run your hands down his jean clad thighs, fingers toying with the silver chain attached.
"Baby," He breathed growing harder and harder as you pull the button loose, as you trail the zipper down.
Your eyes quiver, "Please. I want..." You can't say it; it's too foul. You want the taste of him in your mouth, you want to feel him deep in your throat until you gagged, you wanted him to fuck your mouth so hard you cried. "I want to make you feel good too." You settled for.
He groaned, "Just...let me know..." He pulled himself free of his underwear. "If it's too much." It was going to be too much; you weren't sure how it was even supposed to fit in your mouth. You should have started with the hand thing again. You slowly brought it up, "Yeah start there and-!" He hissed as you stroked him gently as you used your hand to softly glide along the shaft. "Open your mouth." His fingers dug into your hair as you moved forward, mouth open, tongue outstretched licking the head ever so slightly. "Fuck okay okay keep going. It's okay if you can't fit the whole thing."
You mumbled some understanding and took him into your mouth. He tasted salty and smelled like Eddie and your tongue lapped around him until the tip of him hit the back of your throat. You gagged.
"Shit." He tried to push you off slightly, but you shook him off pulling back and sucking him in again until it was a steady pace of you choking on him. "Gods fuck you're such a slut." You moaned against him, sucking him deeper, spit pooling around your mouth. "Use your hand." You brought it up twisting it around all the places your jaw couldn't fit as his hips moved with your movements, as he used his grip in your hair to move you faster. You let him, let him use you to get off. You blinked up at him, wide eyed wonder as you watched him fall apart. "Don't ah..." He stared back down at you sucking in your cheeks to seal him in better, to hold his cock tighter in your mouth. "Look at you." He cupped your jaw, spit running down your neck. "Take it so well, let me do whatever I want to you, letting me fuck your throat."
You ran your tongue along the underside feeling him twitch heavenly.
"You want me to cum down your throat?" He gave your face a slight slap, "What about this pretty face huh?" You squeezed his thigh letting him know whatever he wanted, he could have.
So, he thrusted into your mouth faster, you gripped him harder, until the end got messy and loud and uncoordinated. His hips stuttered and he ripped out of your mouth stroking himself as hot ropes of cum shot all over your face, chest, gaping mouth. He had covered you in it, claiming you, marking you.
You ran your hands along your coated lips, the sticky substance gathering along your fingers before you sucked them into your mouth too, moaning at the taste of him on your tongue.
"You are..." You peered up at him through cum covered eyelids. "Magnificent."
A movie plays on in the background, some slasher film you're both are mindlessly watching. It wasn't strange for you to be here watching movies with Eddie while his uncle was away at work you had done it for ages. The difference: now your limbs were tangled beyond recognition. Before it was an innocent thigh brush, a hand to a shoulder when you jumped, a gentle head to bicep when you began to doze off and he inevitably would drive you home.
Now you weren't sure where you began and he ended. You were tucked between his legs, head against his chest as he stroked fingers through hair, down skin. "Lucus was on to me from the beginning." You chuckled
"He's too smart for his own good." Eddie replies. You can hear him rummaging around for his stray can of beer.
You can smell the stale alcohol of it and it twist something in your gut, "I can't believe they bridled me." You weren't overly surprised by their choice to put you down; you were surprised when they opted to leash you instead to keep your skills tethered to them.
"It was a good move." He took a drink. "Need more than that to rein you in." He set the can down to run the back of his cool fingers down your bare skin, "I can feel you blushing from here princess."
You peeked up at him, "I can't help it."
He cooed, "I know baby." He licks his lips, beer still leaving a shine behind as he stares down at you. You can't help your thighs from pressing together, he catches the movement fingers trailing up and down skin like he knew what he was doing to you. "I've always known."
You chew on your lips the sound of a porn star dying almost drowning out your voice. "It wasn't like that back then."
"Wasn't it?" He has an evil playful gleam in his eyes seeing right through you. "You don't think I noticed every time your breath hitched, feel you stuttering pulse beneath your wrist." He leans in close fingers dragging inward towards a pulsing heat. "I noticed princess, noticed that god forsaken blush on your face, noticed every-time you tried to rub away all those urges, the inclines of your chin begging me with those fuck me eyes."
You try to contain the noise as his fingers ghost over you, "Why didn't...you..."
"Fuck you?" He toys with the hem of your underwear as your legs open for him completely desperate for him. He chuckles to himself, "I didn't want to corrupt you." He beneath fabric now bare fingers gliding along wetness. "But you make it so easy." You hate him in this moment for stringing you out, teasing you, making you wait when all along he knew what you had wanted, even before you had.
Nails dig into his wrist, "Eddie..." You whine trying to shimmy your body onto his fingers.
He indulged you, slips two fingers inside hooking them deep within your cunt and you gasp out into open air. "This was what you wanted hmm?" He grunts into your head with every heard thrust of his hand inside of you, "Look at you, so fucking desperate for it, bet you'd let me do anything to you."
Anything. Anything for you. Anything.
You realize you're saying it out-loud too, but it's true. In these moments, with his fingers extracting every ounce of pleasure, you lose all sense of caring. You lose the right or wrong ways to go; there was only this, only him. His other hand comes around cupping your breast, kneading the flesh into his palm, pinching at your nipples through fabric. He moves down your body until he's got one hand inside of you, and the other rubbing circles into your clit. You arch back into him as he tries to pin your legs down with his own, but it only works when he shifts slightly using his weight to hold you halfway underneath him.
He's grinding his hips against your ass relentlessly as his hand pulls you apart from the inside. You have a sudden sense that maybe he'll just push your clothes to the side and shove his cock into you. You realize you want him to. You want him to shove you deep into the mattress until your suffocating while he pounds into you. You want to tell him, tell him to take you however he wants, but instead you cum in a muffled cry against bunched up sheets. "That's it, there you go, so good, so-Ah Fuck!"
Your fist had wrapped around his cock. It's sloppy and uncoordinated as you try to use everything, he taught you. You use precum to slide your hand down his length. He's close, you can tell but the small gasp he gives when you tighten ever so slightly. He probably would have cum in his pants if you had let him rut against you a little but longer. But you need to feel him in your hands, feel his nails dig into your body as you work him faster. "Mouth?" Is all you can ask him.
"You know where I want to cum," He growls into your shoulder, teeth bared against your shirt. You go to roll over to let him have you how he wants, but his hand on your hip stops you. "Gods fuck baby just because I want to..." He trails off.
"I want you to."
He pulls his other hand out of you despite your cry of protest and holds you still as he thrust into your palm. You let go for a moment, plunging you hand inside of yourself to gather every drop you could before sliding it back down his shaft. "How are you so fucking nasty?"
"You," You whisper as your hand glides more easily against him. It isn't long until cum splatters against your legs and back, seeping between thighs and sheets. You pump him full of it, draining every last drop until he begins to grow soft in your hand. You lay there for a moment both spent and drenched in pleasure, "Do you think my parents will let me come over for movie night still if I come home reeking on cum?"
He laughed loudly pushing away from you, pulling his clothes from his body to clean himself up. You trace the lines of his body with your eyes, the dark ink coating his skin, the chained pick around his neck. He finds a lone pack of cigarettes and shoving one between his teeth the only light in his room the faint glow of the TV. "Guess you'll just have to stay the night then." He ignites the lighter, sticking it to the end before inhaling deeply. In this state he looks like the dragon you imagined had stolen you away; black hair like dark scales, smoke billowing around him, red ember of the cigarette alight in his mouth. "Come here." You scooch to the edge of the bed as he stands in front of you every deep inhale casting an orange glow upon his features. You go up onto your knees as his hand tilts your chin upwards. "Are you going to let me do dirty things to you in the dark?"
You're dizzy from the nicotine swirling around him, from him. "I told you to quit smoking."
He cups your face bringing his other hand towards your mouth pressing the cigarette pass your lips. "You did, but I'm not as good as a listener as you." You know what he wants, to prove that he can, as if you had ever given him a moment to doubt that. You take a drag struggling it down, letting it burn and spin inside your lungs, exhaling it back into his face. He smirks.
He puts out his cigarette, and then he's on you. Hands raking through your hair as his tongue delves into your mouth. You taste the smoke still on his breath, the lingering sip of a cheap can of beer. He's moving with your body, backing you until you fall back into his bed, He slots himself between your legs hand pushing up your shirt to grab onto your breast trying to imprint that shape into his hand He kisses you deeper. "I want to do something."
You nod against him. "For you?"
He huffed a laugh against your lips, "For you sweet girl." He kissed you softly, "It will feel good."
You believe him.
He descended your body; he pulled your pants and underwear down your legs discarding them off of the bed. He pulled your knees up and out staring down at the burning heat between them casted in the flicker of the TV light. "So pretty," He mutters to himself as he lays flat against your bed. You stare up at the ceiling as his mouth attaches itself to your clit. He feasts on you; tongue licking up and down your entrance, circling your clit delicately as your squirm beneath him. He places a hand on your stomach; an elbow digs into your thigh to keep your legs apart.
You're fighting the scream, fighting him as you rake nails across his shoulders, a tight grip forming into his scalp as he moves his tongue wildly against your clit. You're going to black out, it's too much, too good, and you wonder if God had sent Eddie into your life to bring you the pleasure you always imagined but could never get. You didn't know it was supposed to feel like this, that this level of indulgence was allowed.
Eddie ravishes you; he pushes two fingers inside of you, and your hips buck into his face letting them hit everything that feels good. You taste copper as you bite your lip too hard holding back the noises trapped in your chest. You feel him humming against you, speaking into your cunt as something tight pulls from within. "Let it out baby." He murmurs into your cunt as the sound breaks free of your throat. You're moaning for him, falling through endless skies as he yanks every string loose., his name like a chant in his dark bedroom.
You hold your breath. He wraps his lips around your clit and the small sigh leaves as your orgasm slams into you. Your vision explodes as you throw your head back, as you gush around him, over him, through him. It's intense and blurry and you're not sure if its ten seconds or ten hours but when you come too, he's still lapping you up. It hurts slightly, you give him a soft shove and he's tugging his fingers from you, sitting up.
The TV's glow illuminates your pleasure glistening along his chin and jaw. "How do I taste?" You ask.
He leans down, hovering over you. "Like heaven."
Then he's kissing you, the taste of yourself spilling into your mouth with every breath exchanged, and you would drown in it just to keep his mouth attached to yours. "Did I do okay?"
"You did perfect princess." He chuckles against you. "Did it feel good?" He asks sliding next to your body, brushing hair away from the slight sheen of sweat on your forehead.
"Yes." You answered a slow blink in your tired eyes.
He kissed you once more, sweetly, tongue gently caressing yours, hand a cage against your hip, the air of possession suddenly mingling into the heavy room. You wanted to fall asleep within his arms, warm and safe, entrapped and surrounded by him, you didn't care who found you in the morning. His hand moved down your body again coming in contact with your nakedness.
"Eddie," You mumbled, bones heavy. "Tired."
"Shh shh," He kissed your shoulder. "Remember what I said," He kissed your sternum, your beating heart. "Just close your eyes," He kissed your belly. "Let me make you feel good." He kissed you between your legs.
His tongue was moving again against your clit, soft waves pulling you to and fro in a current of bliss. Your eyes were closed you think, or maybe the room was just that dark, but the pillow dragged you down as Eddie dragged your soul somewhere else, somewhere beyond your reach. It felt safe in his hands. In the sharp dig of his fingers in the flesh of your thigh, in the teeth gnashing against your clit, against the lash of his tongue within your throbbing entrance.
He stayed down there for hours, feasting on something forbidden. You slept deep and peaceful, until the pressure built too high to which he'd slap a hand over your mouth as you came against his own.
With your part in the campaign inevitably ended you were worried that that was the end of whatever was going on between you and Eddie.
That was far from the truth.
"I have class." You would force into his mouth as he shoved you in an out of order bathroom stall hand already halfway down your pants.
"Skip." He bites into your already broken and busted lip. "I always do."
You tried to laugh but it broke off into a moan as he pushed half his hand inside of you, "That's why..." Another gasp. "You failed." Was all you could accomplish getting out as he fucked you with his hand hard and fast plunging his knuckles into your mouth to stop any noises as girls would migrate in and out, in and out, in and out.
He wouldn't stop until you came at least twice and by then the bell would have rang marking you late. So, you did the only logical thing and got down onto your knees for him so you could go give your teacher some dumb excuse with his cum in your molars.
It was disgusting the way you seemed insatiable when it came to him, and him just as putrid to gratify the urges.
In the quiet moments as classes droned on, as you ate dinner with your family, the silent walk in the halls after a wrecking orgasm; you wondered what it all meant. Would you always be here in this perplexed state of needing him or would there ever come more. You tried to imagine it, a simple home, a simple life with jobs and children and normality. Eddie wasn't normal and neither was what was festering inside of you like some harsh fever, some aliment you only had one solution for.
"Let me take you out tonight," His hands were on your hips kissing you into the locker as students milled about beyond his shoulders.
People groaned. "Ugh get a room."
It was easy to ignore them with his tongue down your throat, his fingers brushing against skin. "Where?"
"It's a surprise." He smirked. "A date."
"A date?" You blushed.
He traced the pink tint, "Figured I owed you one finally." You laughed slightly as he presses a chaste kiss to your lips, "I'll pick you up at 7."
You got ready quickly trying to look cute even though he had seen almost every part of you naked and exposed. Your dad was at the bottom of the stairs, "Do you need a ride?" You shook your head, he knew you were 'hanging out' with Eddie. "How is he?" He shuffled his feet, behind him your mother packed up dinner trying to pretend she wasn't listening.
"Good," You nodded taking small steps down the stairs until you were in front of him.
"He's being...nice?"
You laughed, "Yes. A perfect gentleman."
Your dad nodded, "Good, maybe you can get him back on track. He's a good kid, but he could be more than that if he'd just screw his head on better."
You tried to smile. Eddie was a good man, but you also liked how he wasn't good either. You liked that he was raw and intimidating and a loose cannon. You thought it ironic that your father thought you could change him, maybe you could, maybe you didn't want to as something changed inside you too. "He's on track to graduate this year with me."
He smiles, relieved, like what he said was already working. "I bet his uncle is happy he has you."
He picked you up at 7:06, loud music coming from his van. He waved out of the window at your parents as you skipped over to him.
"Hi princess," He beamed at you, cigarette alight between fingers, leaning on the window's frame. You reached up to kiss him, but he set the tan end of his cigarette in your mouth watching you with lazy eyes "Suck," He commanded, so you did. Harsh air ripped through your throat, your lungs and you fought the urge to cough as you inhaled nicotine. He took it away and then slammed his mouth to yours stealing away all the air you had sucked in. You felt lightheaded as he held your face to his, mouth melting into yours. You'd stay like this forever, but he pulls away smirking at you. "Get in baby."
You went around the other side letting him push the door open so you could slide in before he sped off. You didn't ask where he was taking you, you knew it would be somewhere quiet. There would be no candlelight dinners with rich wines and small portions. There would be no dive bars with loud, old music, no drive-in movies or roller rinks. You could only hope he would make you laugh and maybe get a free soda out of it.
After 20 minutes of driving, of his hand resting on your thigh and a mixtape playing through the radio; he pulled off of the main road, gravel crunching under tires, until it turned into dirt, until it turned it soft grass.
He turned off the car a wild gleam in his eyes and threw the door open running around the side to open yours and drag you into the night. He trudges you around the back where he flung the back doors open and yanked a large blanket out laying it flat on the ground.
He pulled you down with him, back against a soft bed of grass. "Henderson said there was a chance Venus would be visible tonight." He dug in his pocket pulling out a creased piece of paper filled with strange drawings and scribbled words. He compared it to the night sky and shot a finger forward at a brighter light, "There."
You smiled at him, "Amazing."
He took you by the chin and turned your eyes upward where you finally took a look. "What would you do without me?"
"Never see Venus." You chuckled then tapped the paper, "But I think this one is all Henderson."
He curled you under his arm as your eyes trailed over the glittering sky, the full moon. "They keep asking me what it is exactly I do to you in the dark of the night."
"Did you tell them that you binge on my flesh for twisted ecstasy?" You peer up sideways at him. You tried to cover most of it up, but Eddie had a tendency to leave a stain. Bites and harsh marks from sucking too hard, bruises and nail indents, the split in your lip that was almost fully scabbed over from his teeth yanking too hard. Like a deer being ripped open by the wolf, only to be licked so affectionately it could only be called love. Then it dawned on you, "They want tips you sick freak!"
He only laughed, "I only indulge them a little, they can't know all my secrets."
And because he was Eddie, and you were you, you perched up onto your elbow the dark hiding the blush on your cheeks, "Can I know all your secrets?"
"Hmm," His thumb strokes the soft color he knew was there, like the color had been swirled and crafted just for him. "Maybe just one." He leans upward to attach his mouth to yours, a hand under your jaw as yours goes to his chest lips gliding over one another, tongue pushing past teeth to taste his gums. You stay like that for minutes, hours, years; time drags on within his mouth and neither of you come up for air, suffocating in each other as tongues caress each other, as he licks the roof of your mouth.
He pushes you lightly until your back hits the blanket, sharp greenery pocking through. He fans hair around your head as his creates a curtain over you, he stares down at you, waiting. "Well go on," You whisper. "Tell me."
"You already know princess." His mouth quirked up as the heat crept into your face. You did know, you had always known and now here you were laid out for him skin flayed, chest cracked open, ribs flared, blood oozing from a wound that he adorned with kisses. You were his, from the day your father walked you over to him; a sweet little gift all for him. So you would be; his, he had made certain of it. He had wanted his princess, so he stole her away, defiled and ravaged her, and kept her prisoner inside his black heart. This violent doting was nothing short of love; you wanted him to reach inside the mush of ligaments and tissues to let your heart finally take its place in his hands. He kissed along your jaw, "Are you gunna let me fuck you?"
Anything for you. "Of course, Eddie."
He smirked into goosebump covered skin, "That's my girl." He wastes no time peeling off every single layer of clothing until you're bare underneath him. He cups your breast, kneading his fist into them, pinching perked nipples before he wraps his mouth around them. You whine for him, back arching into his mouth as his tongue swirls around the bud, nipping slightly until you wince. "Sorry," He mutters.
You shake your head, "Don't hold back."
His mouth is on your other breast lavishing it just as much, nipping just as hard even as you wince again. "You don't know what you're getting into with that." You didn't care as his mouth stills as he looks up at you, as he studies your features. "Okay but you need to tell me if anything hurts." You nodded earnestly as he went down on you.
You wonder if anyone else would have treated your body so delicately during these intimate moments, or if you would have dealt with an unenjoyable sex life. You wonder if you should have lost your virginity sooner so you could be more experienced with him. It's not like you had been waiting for marriage, but you never had a boyfriend, and a one-night stand didn't seem right either. It felt right to be handled by Eddie, he was your best friend, now something more, something that felt more permanent.
He licks your clit slow, with a knowing ease, soft swirls around it that already had you head falling back. You found Venus against, using it as an anchor as Eddie moved your body to a different plane. Your fingers run through his hair as he presses down hard inserting two fingers. His movements are different; he takes his time stretching and opening you up for him, taking his time with you. You gasp as his fingers curl caressing that spongey part of you that feels too good, his tongue drawing languid circles into your clit. The stars are blurring as the warmth spreads over your body, you feel his shoulder pin you squirming thigh down, the other legs curling and uncurling along the blanket.
It's his small muttering against your pussy that sends you over the edge. You know what he's saying, can remember ever soft encouragement to gently guide you towards sexual bliss. When you glance back down his hand is still buried inside of you, but he isn't moving, it's just sitting there as he slowly undoes his jeans letting his hard cock spring free. In this moment, it looks too big, and you remember the countless times you gagged on it, remember the heaviness of it when it sat on your tongue, in your hand.
"I'm scared," It slips out as he finally takes his hand out using your sopping pleasure to stroke himself.
His hand doesn't stop, but he asks, "Do you not want to?"
You shake your head, "No, I do, I'm just worried it won't..."
He only laughs as he climbs over your body slotting himself between your legs the tip of him sliding along your soaked entrance, "Oh it'll fit, just won't be pretty."
"I'm glad it's you Eddie," You whisper up at him.
His kiss his featherlight. "For you, baby, anything." He pushes into you slowly, so achingly slow and you can tell why. You feel him stretching something deep inside until it feels like there's no more skin to give. Your pelvic bone shudders with the groaning fill of him. Nails dig into his biceps, "Fuck." It's an involuntary sound. "You gotta," He takes a deep breath, "Relax." You can't, you can't breathe, you can't even tell him it hurts. He shifts pulling at the skin of your thigh to separate the skin more, to allow him to push in a few more inches. Your insides feel like they're ripping apart and you grit through your teeth. He groans, plants his elbow next to your head and pushes the rest of the way in your scream getting swallowed by the moon.
You feel the gush of a broken hymen aiding in his burrowing into you. He doesn't move, neither do you as the tip of him kisses your cervix, you just breath against each other. "Eddie." Your voice is cracked. You can't sit like this as everything throbs painfully aware of him inside you. "Move."
"Hold on, just..." He takes a deep breath. "You're too tight I'm gunna cum too fast." The pain is a dull ache inside of you, so you try to relax, he feels it too. He begins to move, begins to pull back slightly and push back into you warming you up to the movement. You wince with every jerk of him trying to ease into it, so you try to focus on him. On his face screwed up in concentration, on his occasionally glance down to watch as his cock disappears inside of you, on the way his hands have begun to creep around your throat. "You feel so fucking good."
His words make the pain ebb completely, "You gunna fuck me for hours Eddie like you promised." His dark eyes bear into yours like a man possessed.
He squeezes on the soft skin of your neck, toying with the air coming in quick and fast to your lungs, "You want me to? Want me to fuck you so hard you can't walk next week? Want me to fuck you so hard you forget your own name?" His grip goes firm and suddenly you can't breathe again. "That's right you do because you're a fucking whore, you let me ravage you and you fucking like it." He thrust into you fast, his cock filling you so completely you can't think of anything else but each brutal stroke of him. He let's go of your neck air rushing into your lungs as you cling to him. He dips low, sucking and kissing and biting every spare piece of flesh you would give him. He takes it all like it was never yours, and maybe it never was, "You're mine you understand that? Mine." His teeth dig into your jaw, "Say it."
You can't, you can't breathe, can't focus on a single thought. "Yo...u." Finds a way up your throat and he's pulling up and away from you until he looms over your body his cock hitting a deeper angel and moan leaves your throat.
He spits on your open mouth, "Fucking tell me what I want to hear."
"Yours," Your tongue darts out to taste his spit. "Always. Yours."
He's rabid after that, fucking you so furiously you can't see straight. His fingers find your clit, and he presses down into it making your back arch, "My pussy, fucking made for me, wanted this for so long, wanted you." He brutalized you and you were gunna cum because of it, mind not comprehending his confession. "Take it so good princess." He grabs a fistful of your ass using the momentum to push your knee up into his chest tilting your hips upward. "Want to fuck you every day, wanna ruin you for everyone else." A guttural groan comes out and before you could stop it, you're clenching around him the stars blinking out of existence until all you felt was the steady thrust of his body. He's got two hands on your hips slamming you down onto his cock. He's saying something you can only catch fragments, "Cum...in..." You only nod not sure what you're even agreeing too but you wanted him to fill you, to carve a home for himself inside your body, let it fester and rot, let it grow in your womb so you could claw it out of your body for him on a silver platter.
You catch the moaning growl as his hip stutter, as warmth fills you. He thrust slowly as if letting your pussy milk every last drop out of him. He still doesn't pull out, "Did I do okay?" You ask groggily.
"Perfect," He breaths out finally pulling out. You feel hallow and empty without him, but he's quick to wrap you up in arms. "How do you feel?"
"Good. Sore." He forces his shirt over your naked body then places your head on his chest. "Thirsty."
"Whatever the princess wishes."
"What do you want to do forever?" You asked soda between palms, under a new blanket, feet dangling off the edge of his van while he leaned against the frame smoking a cigarette. You're still wearing his shirt, still leaking his cum out of you as the gas station lights flicker overhead.
He took a deep inhale of smoke and smirked. "You." You rolled your eyes, "Obviously I'm not good at the education thing, but something with music." He takes another long drag contemplating his motives, "Go out west, try to make some sort of name for myself."
"You're good with kids." You remind him. His eyes go to your abdomen painted with his semen. "No," You laugh. "I mean have you ever considered teaching, like for music?"
He smiles, something genuine. "Maybe when life gets boring." He drops the cigarette stomping the butt of it under his shoe. He comes towards you, hands on either side of you, "And what do you want to be?"
You mull it over for a minute taking a long-contemplated drink already knowing your answer. You set the Styrofoam cup down meeting his gaze, "Does this mean I'm in the club?" You motioned to his t-shirt covering your bare skin.
He laughed, "You can be co-owner, put you name next to mine in the yearbook."
"Okay," Your fingers toy with the chain around his neck as he waits for your answer. "I'd rather die than be anything but your girl."
His features faultered not expecting that answer from you. He moved slightly, cupping your face in his hands as he stands now in front of you, looming like some statue of a dark god you found grace in. "Don't you want someone good?" His words settle low. It reminded you of what your father had said that Eddie was a good kid but hadn't figured it out yet. You never saw it that way; Eddie was good to you, that was all that mattered.
"Good men die too," You whispered. "So I'd rather be with you."
His fingers curled against your skull, "Well then princess I guess I'll just have to keep you prisoner forever."
Your cheeks tinged with pink, "Promise?"
He leaned in close, pressed a kiss to your waiting lips. "Forever and a day."
endnotes: HAHAH if i had a nickel for every time I used cannibalism as a metaphor for love i'd have two nickels.
pairing: coach!steve harrington x teacher!reader
summary: your extremely professional relationship with coach steve may be under investigation by one (1) very observant six-year-old.
warnings: pure fluff, slightly suggestive, steve is just absolutely smitten, secret relationship, children being adorable, mention of marriage, post-s5 (2.3k)
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
Little Eli Parker is zooming down the hallway on a Very, Very Important Mission.
Six years old, sandy curls bouncing wildly with every step, he's panting hard through the wide gap between his two front teeth. One of the Velcro straps on his sneaker has come undone, flapping wildly as he skids to a stop just outside your classroom door.
5B
He doesn’t come all the way in. Just peeks around the frame, fingers gripping the edge as he rocks back and forth on his heels.
You pause mid-sentence, lowering the book you’ve been reading aloud. A few students crane their necks to look.
Eli’s bright blue mesh pinnie hangs crooked over his T-shirt, smudged with chalk dust and tiny white handprints—making it very clear which class he’s just sprinted away from. His cheeks are flushed, chest heaving like he’d forgotten the ‘no running in the halls’ rule until the very last second.
“Hey, Eli,” you call out gently. “You okay, honey?”
He sucks in a much-needed breath, eyes wide. “Um… miss you haveta come with me. Coach Steve says you need to!”
You tilt your head. “Coach Steve?”
He nods solemnly. “He said it’s a ‘mer-gency.’”
A ripple of whispers spreads through your fifth-grade classroom.
You blink, already pushing your chair back. “Did he say what kind of emergency?”
Eli shakes his head, serious as anything. “No. He just said we need to hurry.”
Your stomach gives a small, uneasy flip.
Eli isn’t the type to exaggerate. He’s sweet, careful. Reminds everyone when it’s time to line up after recess and always volunteers to erase the board without being asked. He's the sort of kid teachers trust without thinking twice.
If he’s the messenger, it’s because of something important.
“Alright, everyone,” you call to the class. “Keep reading quietly. I’ll be right back.”
A chorus of shuffling follows as you reach for your cardigan.
“Hurry, hurry,” Eli bounces on his heels, voice small but insistent.
Before you can answer, he reaches for your hand. His grip is tiny, warm, a little sticky—surprisingly strong. You find yourself getting dragged by his bouncy, determined steps, weaving past rows of lockers, dodging a cluster of kids heading to recess. He zigzags through the main hallway, past the water fountain, the art room, taking the shortcut through the library until you arrive at the wide, double doors leading into the gym.
The moment you push them open, chaos erupts.
Bright rubber dodgeballs zing through the air. Sneakers squeak across the glossy, lacquered floor. Laughter and triumphant shrieks ricochet off the walls, punctuated by the occasional, “Yes! Got you!” from victorious first graders.
Coach Steve's leaned casually against the far wall, clipboard tucked under one arm, whistle hanging loose around his neck. He’s sipping from a blue ceramic mug that reads World’s Best Teacher in chipped white lettering.
Only five months into the job, yet he’s already something of a legend here at Hawkins Elementary. The younger kids adore him—dodgeball days and ridiculous warm-up games where he pretends to be a shark, stalking the gym with dramatic dun-dun noises until they’re all shrieking with laughter. Older kids trust him in quieter ways, lingering after sex ed to ask questions they’re not brave enough to bring home.
Despite the nerves you remember from his first day, Steve has settled into teaching like it’s been waiting for him all along.
Right now, though, he’s fully in coach mode. Brow furrowed, stance wide, eyes tracking the game like it’s a championship match instead of a bunch of kids still learning how to throw straight.
“Out of bounds! That one doesn’t count.”
“Woah—no head shots, Jacob! C’mon, we talked about that.”
“You okay, Alex? I got you. Here, try it like this. Yeah, there ya go bud!”
Eli, who had been clutching your hand the entire walk across school, suddenly lets go and races toward his favorite teacher.
“Coach Steve! I did it! I got her!”
Steve looks up. Sees you.
And the grin that breaks across his face is so immediate, so fond, it'd be enough to give you both away if anyone was paying the tiniest bit of attention.
“Hey!” he laughs, stepping forward. “Nice work, buddy. Thanks for the help.”
You watch, eyes narrowed in confusion as he ruffles Eli’s curls and slaps a high five against his tiny palm.
Eli puffs up with pride and pivots to sprint back to the game.
“Whoa—hang on, pal.”
Steve drops to his knees, setting the clipboard aside as he reaches for the loose strap on Eli’s shoe. He fastens it with careful, practiced fingers, giving it a quick tug to make sure it’ll hold.
Your stomach melts a little at the sight of him crouched like that: focused, patient, so gentle with this kid who’s staring at him like he hung the moon.
“There we go, champ,” he grins, giving Eli's sneaker a little pat. “Good as new. Now go have fun, alright? Your team missed you.”
Eli nods hard, then rockets back into the game without another word.
Steve straightens and finally turns to you, eyes warm, smile soft—and just a touch guilty.
“Mr. Harrington,” you say, crossing your arms carefully, “what exactly is the emergency you pulled me out of class for?”
His mouth quirks sheepishly, hands slipping into his pockets.
“Well, I just…” He steps closer, dropping his voice. “Haven’t seen you all morning. I missed you.”
You blink.
“You—” A breathy laugh slips out before you can stop it. “You sent poor Eli to fetch me because you missed me?”
He nods like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Yeah. He's my fastest kid.”
“No, that's not the...” you trail off, turning your head, failing completely to hide your smile.
Steve steps closer, angling the clipboard between you so that, to anyone looking in, it would look like you’re addressing some very concerning issues with the class roster.
Well, except for the part where his eyes are glued to your face.
There’s this soft intensity in his gaze that makes your breath hitch, just by holding it. You find yourself staring back, unable to look away, appreciating the faint creases around his temples, how they deepen with his smile, the plush curve of his bottom lip and the rounded apples of his cheeks as they get pushed upward.
“That’s better,” he murmurs, voice all deep and honey-warm. “Just needed to look at you for a second.”
You shake your head, cheeks warming despite yourself.
There’s a reason you’ve been keeping this thing with Steve a secret.
You both realized, pretty early on, that acting normal in a building full of nosy children and nosier adults was a losing battle. You had to learn to bend with it, catching tiny, fleeting moments in the spaces between, holding onto each one as tightly as you can.
It wasn’t perfect. Mrs. Kline, the school secretary, has definitely noticed the two of you laughing a little too freely by the copier. One of your students will occasionally squint at you during silent reading time, wondering why a tiny scrap of paper left on your table at lunch leaves you grinning for the rest of the day.
Still, you make it work.
A shared coffee in the teachers’ lounge before the morning bell. Standing side-by-side near the parking lot fence as the buses roll in. A granola bar tucked under your desk with a note folded impossibly small.
you look beautiful today ◡̈
He repeats the message to you now, even as you roll your eyes and try to look away.
“Seriously, I mean it," he murmurs, tracing your face with his eyes—the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek—before lingering, unmistakably, on your mouth. “Want to kiss you so bad right now.”
You snort, nudging the sleeve of his sweatshirt with a finger. It’s soft, heather-gray, the Hawkins Elementary mascot faint and cracked across the chest.
“That’s deeply unprofessional of you, Mr. Harrington.”
He groans under his breath, brow creasing as he tips his head back. “God, I love it when you say it like that. Say it one more time?”
“Jesus—Steve!” you hiss, half-laughing, eyes darting toward the gym floor like the kids might suddenly develop super-hearing over the screech of sneakers and flying dodgeballs.
Instead of stepping back, he leans in closer, lips parted in that familiar half-pout, eyes full of mock agony. “Can’t help it, honey. You’re fucking killing me over here.”
“Language,” you warn him, simply out of pure habit.
He smirks, lips twitching.
From the far end of the gym, a group of kids cheer triumphantly, “Yes! Coach Steve! We won!”
You both jump back like you’ve been caught doing something much worse than grinning at each other like idiots.
“Uh—great! Great job, gang!” Steve calls, clapping his hands. “Let's get all the balls in the cart and then grab some water, yeah? Five-minute break.”
Then he leans back in, brows raised. “See? Total professional. I’m telling you.”
You shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
You’re still smiling when he pivots, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one’s paying attention. Satisfied, he turns back to you, brows drawn into a hopeful, pleading slant.
"C'mon," he murmurs, lifting the clipboard up like a partition. "I’ll get another game going. The kids won’t even notice. Just you... me...” He gestures between you, then toward the double doors leading outside. “Five minutes?”
You press your lips together, schooling your expression back into something stern. “Steve Harrington. I am not fucking you behind the school gym.”
"Language!" He gasps, mimicking your tone. “And jeez, who said anything about that? I was just gonna, you know, have a very professional conversation with you… about teaching.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, c’mon, bab—"
“Coach Steve?”
Both of your heads snap down at the same time.
Eli stands there, chin tipped up, hands clasped neatly behind his back like he’s been waiting for his turn to speak. He’s rocking gently on his heels, eyes bright with curiosity as he looks between the two of you.
“Heyyy, buddy!” Steve laughs nervously, voice jumping up an octave. “What’s up? You okay?”
Eli nods.
Then, completely matter-of-fact, he asks:
“Coach Steve, when you marry her, can I come?”
Steve chokes on absolutely nothing.
“When—what?”
“When you get married,” Eli repeats patiently, like Steve’s just being a little slow today. “I wanna come.”
Steve squats down so fast he almost drops the clipboard.
“Eli,” he says carefully, “why do you think we’re getting married?”
Eli shrugs, unfazed. “’Cause you’re prac-tis married.”
“Practice… practice married?”
“Yeah. Like my Auntie Jen and her friend Mark at Thanksgiving.”
Steve blinks. “Okay, and what's... why do you think we’re practice married?”
Eli doesn’t hesitate. He points toward the front of the gym, in the general direction of your classroom. “’Cause you always wait for her outside her door.”
Steve opens his mouth. Closes it.
“And you bring her coffee. But you don’t bring us coffee.”
“Well,” Steve murmurs faintly, “that’s ‘cause you’re six.”
Eli shrugs again. “And you talk to her really soft. Like this,” he cups his hand around his mouth to demonstrate, whispering loudly. “Also, you always save her a chair at ass-em-blee.”
Steve rubs a hand down his face, glancing up at you before looking back at Eli. “That’s, uh… very observant of you, buddy.”
Eli isn’t done.
“And you make funny faces at her in the hallway. Oh! And you fixed her pencil sharpener. And, and, there was one time you looked at her, and you didn’t look away for one... two... three...” He glances down at his fingers and starts counting under his breath. “five... six... seven... eigh—”
“Okay!” Steve laughs loudly, holding up his hands. “Okay, buddy, I get it. That’s... that’s a long time.”
Eli nods, clearly pleased with himself. “Auntie Jen and Mark, they used to go everywhere together. And Mark fixed all the stuff around her house. Then later they got married for real.”
He looks between the two of you, satisfied.
“So. I think you’re practice married.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and crouch beside Steve. “Well... I think that’s a pretty solid theory, Eli.”
“Mm-hm, thanks,” he nods confidently. Then he spins back to Steve. “So, when you do the real one, can I come? I’m really good at sitting still. And my mom says when people get married they always eat cake. I love cake.” He spreads his arms wide. “Auntie Jen’s was this big!”
Steve presses his lips together, letting out a short, incredulous snort. “You know what, pal? Sure. Whe—if we get married, you’re more than welcome to come. And we’ll get the biggest cake we can find, okay?”
Eli beams. “Okay!”
He starts to run back to the group, then skids to a stop and turns around.
“Hey, Coach Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“You should ask her nicely,” Eli says, serious as anything. “With flowers. Mark did that.”
And then he’s gone.
Steve stays crouched, staring after him, jaw slack.
“…Did a six-year-old just give me relationship advice?”
“Mm, seems like it.”
He stands slowly, running a hand through his hair, eyes still following Eli as he rejoins the others.
“You think he spotted it before we did?” he asks quietly. “Back when... you know, we were still trying to figure out what we were doing?”
You smile. “Probably way before then.”
Steve's still distracted when you put your hand on his shoulder, quickly checking to see that no one’s watching before pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek.
He blinks, stunned. “Wha—no, wait, shit—”
He reaches for you a full second too late; you’re already headed for the door.
“Language. Have a good rest of your class, Mr. Harrington.”
Steve watches you go, hand frozen at his cheek.
Across the gym, Eli spots you and waves enthusiastically, completely unaware of just how accurate his little theory was.
The proof?
A small velvet box, tucked away in Steve’s bedside drawer, waiting patiently for the right moment.
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .