can't fight this feeling | steve harrington x f!reader
summary: Steve Harrington is your best friend, and when he breaks up with Nancy, you're there to help him pick up the pieces. After a while, his heart is a little less broken and a lot more full.
word count: 3.1k
warnings: fluff, teen romance, s2 steve <3, mentions of injury/blood, curse words?, kissing, best friends who are totally not in love wym
suggested listening: cardigan by taylor swift, hey stephen by taylor swift, can't fight this feeling by REO speedwagon
He was wearing a blazer that you assume was his dad’s at one point. That, paired with those oversized glasses really made him look like a complete dork. Dorkiness aside, you could read the hurt on his face as he rushed out of the party the same way you could read your favorite book, though you suppose Steve was something like your favorite book anyways. Your high heels, which you thought perfectly completed your Sixteen Candles costume, pattered quietly against the cobblestone walkway as you exited the party to follow Steve.
“You sure left in a hurry, where’s the fire?”
You regretted the little quip when you really looked at the hurt that filled his eyes.
“Nancy’s the fire. You know, this whole time.. I really thought she loved me.”
His voice gave way to his emotion, cracking toward the end of his speech.
You were confused. Steve and Nancy were in love, from what he told you. You don’t know how anyone couldn’t love Steve when they truly knew him, like you did. Like Nancy does.
“Wanna tell me what happened?”
You reached a comforting hand out to pat his shoulder, which you could tell he appreciated.
“She told me our whole relationship is bullshit. You know, I really love her. And she said- she said, ‘acting like we’re in love’. She doesn’t love me, (y/n). I’ve loved her this whole time and she doesn’t love me.”
You brought him into your arms then, figuring the only thing you could do was offer comfort. Your heart broke for him then, because you knew just how much Steve loved her, how much he loves her.
“I’m sorry, Steve. I know you love her, so I know how much this probably hurts.”
He nodded, you felt his head move from where it rested on top of your shoulder.
“How about we get you home?”
“Will you stay? My parents aren’t at home and I just, really don’t want to be alone.”
You would give him the moon if he asked. Staying at his house was no problem.
“Of course.”
He’s gotten better since that night, but you could still see the flashes of hurt in his eyes when he sees her with Jonathan. She was his first love, it's not something you get over fast.
You were watching The Shining on Steve’s couch, half paying attention, when he spoke up.
“You know, I don’t really miss her as much anymore.”
You looked over at him.
“Does that mean you’ll finally stop moping around?”
“I do not mope.”
“Yea, you do. I can’t deal with sobby Steve much longer, I think I’ll lose my mind if I don’t get my best friend back soon.”
“Real fucking funny. Next movie night I’m forcing you to watch Saturday Night Fever.”
You gave him a shove, before turning serious.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
Mirth danced in his eyes before his next words.
“Would you rather watch Grease?”
“Steve. You know my Travoltaphobia is very serious. This isn’t a joking matter.”
He burst into a fit of laughter at you, and you soon joined him.
The laughter subsided, and you got serious maybe a bit too suddenly.
You rested your head on his shoulder, and Steve pretended not to notice the way his heartbeat picked up a bit.
“Me too.”
He figured you were the reason why, but at the same time he wondered, was it possible for him to be falling in love with you? So soon after Nancy?
If you caught him off guard enough, he would be able to tell you that it was you he loved the whole time. Nancy was just a scene in the movie that was really just filled with you. Your laugh would be the soundtrack, harmonious and light and full of joy. But he would only say it if you caught him off guard enough.
You saw the light come back to him now. It's been about a month since Nancy, and he was somehow Steve again.
Because he was Steve again, he had found his way into a fight.
You were pouring rubbing alcohol onto a washrag.You had made sure to picked a dark one, because although Steve’s parents were shitty, they weren’t stupid.
He was sitting all too relaxed on the toilet seat for your liking.
“Do I want to see the other guy? Or did you get your ass kicked?” You asked, hand on your hip.
“Hargrove’s an asshole, you know.”
He was right. Billy Hargrove was the biggest douchebag you had ever met. You turned him down last week when he tried to ask you on a date, knowing that it would only come at your expense in every possible outcome. His response was to tell you that you were “an ugly bitch anyways”.
So yeah, Hargrove? Total asshole.
“Yeah, Steve, I know.”
You shook your head, biting back a laugh.
“I did get my ass kicked though.” He said, looking up at you with heavy eyes, probably due to the bruising on one of them.
You laughed then, before lightly dabbing his brow bone with the navy blue washcloth, making him wince away from you.
“What are you putting on me? Liquid flames?”
You cupped his cheek gently, bringing his head back to you.
“You are such a drama queen, I swear.”
He lightly hit you with the hand that wasn’t gripping the counter, making you giggle lightly, and all he wanted then was to hear your laugh more and more.
“It hurts, okay? Maybe I should find another nurse, one that won’t make my wounds even worse.”
“You’re making me laugh too much and its affecting my work.”
He beamed up at you, award winning Steve-smile, that made your heart stutter and your steady hands almost shake.
“It's not my fault I’m utterly hilarious.”
You scoffed, but went back to work, tossing the rag aside to put butterfly bandages over the cuts on his face.
Being this close to him made you feel a little giddy, which was weird because he was your best friend, and you were always this close to him. Of course you loved Steve, but you didn’t ever think you were in love with Steve.
You figured it would make sense if you were.
The way you felt less lonely around him, and only him. The way you were pretty sure you would do anything for him. The way you kind of really wanted to kiss him right now.
“What’s going on up there, fly away to Neverland, princess?”
He waved a hand in front of your face with a goofy smile on his face.
“That was really dorky of you.”
You pat his cheek before stepping away, admiring your handiwork.
“Was just wondering, what did Billy do to make you want to let him absolutely kick your ass?”
He looked down, avoiding your eyes, seemingly guilty.
You tilted your head to the side, motioning a hand, hoping he’d tell you.
“He said some, uh. Some asshole shit about you.”
Your brow furrowed, and Steve stood up from where he sat on the toilet seat.
“Said he was gonna find his way into your pants, and that you were easy anyways, he just had to try one more time. When he said that, I just couldn’t hold back. No one talks about my girl like that.”
His girl?
Steve realized his mistake a second too late, because the moment he realized he had called you his girl, it had already found its way out of his mouth.
Luckily, you didn’t seem to notice.
You definitely noticed, but you didn’t think he meant anything by it, so you chose to not acknowledge it.
“You know, I can fight my own battles.” You said, before throwing your arms around him, drawing him into you for a hug.
“But thank you, for sticking up for me when I wasn’t there to do it myself.”
“Course, I’ll always take a few punches for you.”
Steve would take a whole lot more than some punches for you. By now, he’s sure he would lay down his life without a second thought just for you. He would probably find a way to lasso the moon for you.
He didn’t know that you would do exactly the same.
Your phone rang, pulling you from the trance that had kept all of your focus on your physics textbook.
You already knew Steve was on the other end, ready to talk your ear off, not that you minded.
Ever since he broke up with Nancy, which had to have been about a month and a half ago now, he’s made a habit of calling you every day, telling you about anything and everything he can think of.
Steve has been your best friend since you were old enough to know what those words meant, but you supposed that after everything you had helped him through since Halloween, he’s become even more attached to you.
You didn’t mind that, either. Over the past month or two, you’ve found yourself realizing you had feelings for Steve, which was a tough pill to swallow, at first.
He went from being the kid who used to split his lunch with you at recess, your awkward middle school dance partner, your study buddy, your ride home, and your partner in crime to the person you want to spend forever with.
You’ve had a taste of forever with him, 13 years and counting, and God. You wanted the full thing.
But first, the phone call. You’d settle for the phone calls.
“Hey babe, you know today I saw this cute little flower and it reminded me of you, it was like purplish and it was just sitting right between a bunch of daisies. I really wish I had a sick camera cause I think you would've loved it.”
He genuinely didn’t even realize he had called you babe. He couldn’t help it, it just happened. Steve and his stupid mouth, he thought, as he mentally kicked himself. He wondered if you could sense his panic over the phone.
Once again, you saved him by not acknowledging it, but this time, he’s 99% sure you noticed, because your voice sounded different, more flustered.
“That’s really sweet, Steve.”
A short moment passed, full of you both cursing yourselves. Him, for saying something maybe too romantic and ruining your friendship, and you, for not saying more.
“You know, today I saw a dead raccoon on the side of the road, really reminded me of you.”
He scoffed and you laughed fully, knowing he was definitely rolling his eyes.
“You know, this is what I get for saying cute shit to you. Remind me why we're still friends?”
“Because you love me Harrington, whether you like it or not.”
“I guess.”
He “guessed” he’s probably never loved anyone more, and that terrified him. But he figured that was a lot to dump on you, especially over the phone. That was when he hatched a master plan: lure you out of your house, because it was early on a Saturday night, and then find a way to romantically profess his love for you, because you deserved to know and also because you deserved every grand gesture in the book.
“What are you up to?”
He heard you shift around before you replied.
“Studying for physics. You saved me from probably two more hours of endless boredom.”
He laughed, and you missed the sound of his laughter ringing in your ears, unaffected by telephone static.
“Can you sneak out tonight?”
“For what?”
“A surprise, gotta wait until I pick you up to find out.”
You could hear the smile in his voice, and you wished you could see it.
You also wished you could stop sounding so stupidly in love with him, because it was grossing you out, but you knew you couldn’t. You were stupidly in love.
“Sure. But be here in 15 minutes.”
“It's a date.”
You really wish it was.
(It was).
You snuck out your window exactly thirteen minutes later, dressed in a pretty little outfit that made Steve’s heart stop when he saw it.
“Hey Steve.”
Hey Steve?
You come down out of your window like some kind of angel, and you say Hey Steve.
“Hey, you look really pretty. Probably too pretty for where I’m driving you.”
You felt your body get a little warm at the compliment, and you felt stupidly happy when he opened the car door for you.
You tried not to be so obvious as you watched him drive, but you really couldn’t help but look.
You were finally seeing him now, and he was just so pretty.
He took you to your old elementary school, pulling in right by the playground.
You couldn’t help but shiver with the cold air of the night, so naturally, Steve wrapped his denim jacket around your shoulders as soon as he joined your side out of the car.
He admired the way your face seemed to glow in the moonlight, before taking your hand and leading you to the small playground.
“You know, you used to push me off that slide.”
You rolled your eyes, embarrassed at your five year old actions.
“Yea, but if anyone else did, I’d push them off too.”
He laughed, before moving to sit on one of the blue colored benches. Naturally, you followed, sitting close by his side.
“You also punched Tommy Hagan by that bench” he pointed at another bench across from yours, and the memories came flooding back, “because he said I was stupid after I failed my math test in the fourth grade.”
“He deserved it. Kid was a little asshole.”
That was something you weren’t embarrassed of. You’d punch someone for Steve the same way he would for you, and you would never grow to regret it.
“I think that was the moment I realized I loved you.”
You whipped your head towards him in shock and disbelief.
“What?”
“That was the moment I realized I loved you. I don’t think I knew then, just how much that meant, but now I do. Now I know, this all started at that moment. I’ve loved you ever since.”
He grabbed your hands, and you shifted so you were facing him.
“I see it now, now that Nancy’s out of the picture, I see that it's you that I’ve loved this whole time. It’s kind of ridiculous actually, how much I love you. I’m sure you can tell, from all the phone calls where I say stupid shit just because I want to hear your laugh. Or the movie nights where I selfishly pick scary movies because maybe you’ll move a little closer to me. I really, really love you. You’ve stuck by me from when I slept with a toy dinosaur to now, when I can’t go to sleep without calling you up to make me feel less lonely. You don’t have to say it back” he squeezed your hand then, “but, maybe just say something? Cause I can go on and on about why I love you, but I can’t make you love me back so it would be a little embarrassing if I just kept talking and you just want to keep being best friends.”
You squeezed his hands back.
“Steve, I could probably give you fifty reasons why I’ve found myself falling in love with you. You, you’re everything I think I’ll ever need. If everyone decided to leave tomorrow, and it was just you, I would be perfectly fine because you’re the only one I want. I wish I could tell you the specific moment when I had fallen in love with you, but I realized it when you called me your girl in the bathroom after Hargrove beat you up. It made me realize how badly I wanted to be your girl, it made me realize that I was in love with you. I might have been this whole time.”
He let go of your hand, to bring his to your cheek.
“You just one-upped my love confession. Not fair.”
And then he leaned in, brushing his lips against yours with the softest of touches, before fully kissing you. And when he did kiss you, he kissed you, taking your breath away, which was fine with you because you didn’t need oxygen when you had him.
“I could kiss you forever, you know that?”
Your forehead rested against his, and so you both shook when you laughed, until he joined you, both of you giddy with love.
“Slow your roll, pretty boy, you haven’t even asked me to be your girlfriend yet.”
He hoped it was too dark, even under the light of a full moon, for you to see his light blush at being called pretty.
He hopped up from the bench, only to get down on one knee and grab your hand, bringing it to his lips to place a light kiss upon your knuckles.
“(y/n), will you do me the honor of being my girlfriend?”
You pretended to think, tapping your hand upon your chin, and Steve rolled his eyes at your antics.
“Of course. Now take me home, it's getting late.”
“As you wish, princess.”
He held onto the same hand he kissed, and you both nearly started skipping to his car, filled with joy at your newly requited love.
He turned the car on, and Can’t Fight This Feeling by REO Speedwagon came on.
Steve looked at you with a huge smile, turning up the radio, and you felt your body fill up with pure happiness. The pure joy you felt in that moment made you a little overwhelmed, and your eyes grew glassy with happy tears.
He pointed at you, singing loudly, but somehow still decently,
“You’re a candle in the window on a cold, dark winter’s night, and I’m getting closer than I ever thought I might”
You laughed, before joining him for the rest of the song, both of you giggling your way through the lyrics, losing yourselves in the other’s eyes.The music crescendoed, and then came to an end with a, “Baby I can’t fight this feeling anymore”. He brought you in for another sweet kiss, and you were so happy Steve couldn’t fight his feelings anymore, because here he was, kissing you. And every time he kissed you, from that cold November night and forever forward, all you and Steve felt was utter and complete happiness. Same goes for every time you both heard REO Speedwagon; Can’t Fight This Feeling comes on, and you’re both just like kids again, filled with the freedom that only teenagers in love have. Or maybe, it's the freedom that only comes with being with each other; you and Steve, forever.
summary - Bradley Bradshaw has one goal as he finishes his junior year of college - get Makayla Cunningham to be his girlfriend. Because Makayla Cunningham is exactly the kind of girl a guy like Bradley Bradshaw deserves. There's just one problem, Makayla is adamant that Bradley is a bad boyfriend. If he wants to win her over, Bradley has to prove he can keep a girlfriend of Makayla's choosing for the entire summer. It's just his luck that girl is his little sister's best friend.
warnings - college au, frat boy Bradley (Bradley’s frat is completely fictional and in no way meant to reference any existing frats), language, descriptions of a panic attack, brief mention of throwing up, talks of parental death, Bradley is 22 and reader is 19, no use of y/n, Bradley is 6'6" because I said so
this blog is 18+, minors please do not interact
word counts - 3.3k
the trial run masterlist
Makayla: what are you doing now?
Bradley feels his phone buzz against the shiny, faux wood table at the casual sports bar he and the guys had chosen to watch the Phillies game. Normally Bradley would have been just fine watching the game at home, his mom had a pretty big television and she never tried to trick herself into thinking that her son wasn’t drinking while he was away at college so she didn’t care too much when the boys pulled out a beer or two.
But Admiral Simpson absolutely hated the mess, and didn’t care much for sports either, and with his return looming over Bradley’s head, he just didn’t want to deal with it. So he, Jake, and Javy decided to find a sports bar that was close by and watch the game there. His mom tried to assure him that it wouldn’t matter, but Bradley Bradshaw isn’t 15 years old anymore and he knows enough to know that just because his mom wants something to be true doesn't mean that it is.
But the buzz of his phone pulls him from these thoughts and Bradley looks down to see Makayla’s name lighting up his screen. He types out a quick reply to her message, moving his thumb to press the send button before he hesitates. You always like when he sends pictures. Opening the camera quickly, Bradley shoots a somewhat awkward smile, angling to get some of the bar in the background before sending it off with a text.
Watching the Phillies game
Bradley watches the three gray dots appear as Makayla takes several seconds to respond. He’s almost anxious for her response, which he doesn’t fully understand because he knows he shouldn’t be. Something about talking to her always put him a bit on edge.
Makayla is a very particular girl. She has strong opinions on things and tends to make sure everybody knows them. Bradley isn’t blind to how sometimes unnecessarily cruel she can be—this whole date requirement being a prime example of it—but Bradley thinks that girls like her are allowed to be.
He lets out a breath when she still hasn’t responded, dropping his phone screen side down and letting the conversation die as Jake and Javy come back with their drinks.
“Has the score changed?” Jake glances at one of the many televisions pointed in their direction while Bradley shakes his head. All three boys have their eyes trained on the TV and Bradley lets out a small mumble of thanks when Javy passes him his beer. The only thing that draws them away from the Phillies game is Bradley’s phone buzzing on the table again. Jake grins when he sees Bradley scramble for it. “That the girlfriend?”
Makayla: right
Bradley clears his throat, looking up from his phone. “Yeah.”
“I gotta say, dude,” Jake continued to rib him playfully. “Your sister’s best friend? I did not see that coming.”
“Honestly, I’m just happy to see him move on from Makayla,” Javy joins in the teasing, but Bradley can see how sincere his words are.
His brows furrow. “What do you mean?”
Taking in Bradley’s expression, Jake scoffs in disbelief. “Come on, man. Sometimes I’m not convinced you even like her.”
“What?” Bradley’s fingers clench defensively against his beer.
His eyes flit between Jake and Javy and, to his surprise, both boys seem to be in agreement, having noticed something Bradley wasn’t even aware of. What do they mean he doesn’t like Makayla? Of course he likes Makayla. It’s the whole reason he’s doing any of this.
“I can’t be the only one who realizes that she’s exactly the kind of girl the Admiral would approve of.”
Jake’s words dump over Bradley like ice water, so chilling that, for a moment, he genuinely thinks someone’s poured beer on him. She’s exactly the kind of girl the Admiral would approve of. In some capacity, Bradley guesses that’s true. Makayla comes from a wealthy, established family, she was raised with the gender values Admiral Simpson wishes his mom had. Now that he thinks about it, Makayla’s probably the only person he knows who would not only survive, but enjoy a dinner with his stepdad.
Before Bradley can say anything to argue that of course he likes Makayla, a resounding crack rings out through the sports bar and the patrons jump up in excitement at the home run playing on the large TVs. Jake and Javy join them quickly, not nearly as affected as Bradley as he sits on his vinyl seat dumbly. He takes a long sip of his beer before shaking the feeling off and trying to forget everything long enough to enjoy the game.
Again, his phone buzzes on the table.
Makayla: also you should shave that mustache before you get back
Bradley purses his lips, the comment striking a cord in a way that has him locking his phone instead of responding to Makayla. Bradley doesn’t consider himself to be insecure—not in the slightest—but he’s finding it harder and harder to focus on the game, something nagging in the back of his head that he’s doing something wrong.
He uses the feeling of his cool beer bottle against his palm to ground himself, but he still finds himself shifting in his seat every few seconds, an uncomfortable itch overtaking him. From his peripheral, he catches his phone resting on the table. He can suddenly feel his keys inside his back pocket.
“I have to go.”
Javy and Jake turn away from the game in confusion—and truthfully Bradley also can’t believe those words just left his mouth. “What?”
“I just—” Bradley clears his throat, getting up almost frantically as he grabs his phone from the table. “I remembered I have to do something. Just— Tell me how it ends.”
With that, he’s leaving the table before Jake and Javy can even respond. He lets out a shaky breath, wiping his sweaty hands on his pants. He’s barely had a sip of alcohol and feels confident to drive, but he stays sitting in his Bronco for several minutes anyway. Keeping his gaze trained on the steering wheel, Bradley tries to feel like he’s not swallowing rocks.
He looks down to find his hands shaking and he bites down on his lip, squeezing his eyes closed. “Shit.”
He knows what’s coming. He can feel it, like that feeling when you’re about to vomit. Bradley shoves his palms into his eye sockets, leaning back in his seat until his head is touching the headrest. Tears prick at his waterline, even though his eyes are closed tight, and each one feels almost painful as his throat gets smaller and smaller.
Bradley all but throws himself forward, resting his forearms on his knees as he holds his head in his hands. He keeps reminding himself that this will pass—it always does. But the waiting is the worst part and Bradley just can’t believe he’s trapped himself in the parking lot of a sports bar, hiding under the view of the windows as he waits to calm down.
His bottom lip is trapped between his teeth and he pulls at his hair as his breaths get sharper and quicker. The pain stings against his scalp, but it does little to distract him. Truthfully, Bradley should have known this was coming. It’s been looming over him since he stepped foot in San Diego and, if anything, he’s just grateful it happened when he was alone.
His fingers are still shaking, worse now, and his breathing pattern is entirely erratic. He tries to slow it down, but deep breaths feel like cement in his chest, and he just can’t. Bradley feels like a kid again, hiding in a stall in the boys bathroom until he was strong enough to come out. It’s the same quivering breath against his palms, the same stubborn tears rolling down his cheeks, he’s still that same kid. And he hates it.
Bradley hates that he’s not over this. Because he should be. A few words from his friends and a text shouldn’t be able to do this to him. But it does. And it is. And now he’s sitting in his car trying not to hyperventilate in the parking lot of a sports bar while his friends sit inside, none the wiser.
Bradley really hates coming home.
“Are you okay?”
Bradley needs you to stop asking him that every time you see him. Because you shouldn’t be able to tell that he’s not okay. The two of you only somewhat know each other and if you can tell that something’s going on, then he’s not hiding it as well as he thought.
“Fine,” he says simple, actively trying to ignore the worry in your eyes as you look at him.
He thought he waited long enough before coming inside to make it look like he hadn’t just been crying, but under your attentive gaze he keeps purposefully avoiding your eye so you don’t notice.
“Did something happen?” You try again gently. “I thought you were supposed to be watching the game with Javy and Jake.”
“I missed you.” The words come out before Bradley can process them, his own voice almost unrecognizable to him as he spits the words out instinctively.
Your lips part slowly and then he watches them curl up in a small smile. “It hasn’t even been an hour, Bradley.” You tease him, but it’s soft, as you take a step closer to him.
Bradley relaxes just slightly, allowing you into his space as some of his anxiety washes off of him. He nods. “Exactly. Too long.”
You smile again, letting your arms wrap around his shoulders while Bradley’s finds purchase on your hips. And then, just because he felt like it, he dips down to catch your lips, kissing you slowly. He tries to focus on the feeling of you, the softness of your lips, the way your nails scratch at the base of his curls every so often. Sighing against your lips, Bradley pulls you closer, his shoulders finally sagging.
“Okay, ew.” Giselle’s voice cuts the room and you pull away from Bradley quickly. Bradley honestly couldn’t give less of a shit about what his sister saw the two of you doing together, but you’re clearly embarrassed, looking down bashfully to hide your fluster.
Bradley shoots his sister a deadpanned glare. “Can we help you?”
“Oh, I was just looking for my best friend,” Giselle plops a grape in her mouth from where they’re sitting on the kitchen counter. “Making sure she hadn’t died or anything.”
Bradley grunts, the hand he still has on you squeezing your hip. “Well, she hasn’t.”
“Yeah, but she’s kissing you. That’s a fate worse than death.”
“Giselle,” you cut in before Bradley can respond. You and Giselle share a look, seemingly communicating to each other without words. Whatever your trying to tell her gets across because his sister sighs, holding her hands up in surrender.
“Fine,” Giselle nods and Bradley watches as she grabs another grape. Then she shoots you another look—equally unreadable to him—and you nod. “I’ll leave you to your sucking face then.”
Bradley waits for her to leave the kitchen before he looks down at you. “Sucking face?”
You smile slightly. “It’s a long story.” Turning back into his hold, you place your hands on his chest, smoothing down the fabric of his t-shirt. For a second, Bradley thinks you’re going to kiss him again, but instead you ask, “Is the Phillies game still on?”
“Should be,” Bradley glances at the stove clock. It’s only been an hour and a half, there was still a significant chunk of the game left.
Though, at this point, Bradley had no intention of watching it, he doesn’t say anything as you lead him around the house, grabbing your laptop from Giselle’s room and then heading into his. He’s still quiet as you manage to find—what may be an illegal—site to watch the game on, setting it up on the foot of his bed.
“Come on,” you pat the spot next to you and briefly Bradley thinks that you don’t look at all out of place in his bedroom.
He moves wordlessly to sit beside you, your thighs brushing only just as you both get comfortable on his bed. He doesn’t really know what you’re doing or why you’re doing it, and you seem to show no signs of wanting to tell him, so all he can do is sit somewhat awkwardly next to you as he watches the small screen of your computer.
You lean a bit closer to him. “You’re gonna have to explain to me what’s going on though.” There’s a small smile on your face and Bradley’s grateful that you finally seem to be picking up on the fact that he just wants to pretend that everything's okay.
“Sure, sunshine.”
Bradley finds himself getting more invested in the game as the minutes tick by, his episode in the parking lot slowly forgotten as he explains terms and players to you in quiet mumbles. By his third commercial break, Bradley’s starting to feel more like himself, his grip on his emotions tightening and his mood rising.
He glances at you next to him. You hardly notice, now drawn into the Phillies game with a concentration Bradley can’t help but find adorable. He looks at the way your biceps are pressed against each other and lifts his arm just slightly. It’s when he tries to raise his arm again that you turn to look at him.
“No way.” A large grin overtakes your face as you look between him and his arm.
Bradley furrows his brows. “What?”
“Oh my god,” you laugh. “You’re about to do the thing. You’re so about to do the thing.”
Bradley can only look confused. “What thing?” When you only laugh harder, he makes a face. “What thing, sunshine?”
“The thing,” you hardly elaborate. “You were about to do the yawn thing where you put your arm around me.”
“What?” Bradley pulls back slightly in defense. “No, I—” When you just shoot him a look, Bradley purses his lips. You laugh again.
“I cannot believe the Bradley Bradshaw pulls moves that cliche.”
“Shut up,” Bradley shoulders you good-naturedly. “Don’t girls like that shit?”
You snort. “Just admit you’re losing your touch, Bradshaw.”
“I’m losing my—” Bradley laughs incredulously. “Alright, fine,” he gets up, holding out his hand to help you off his bed.
Confusion flashes across your features as he helps you up, leading you out of his room, the Phillies game now forgotten. “What are you doing?”
“Showing you that Bradley Bradshaw can be very,” Bradley turns around to shoot you a teasing smile. “Very smooth.”
Bradley can firmly live in the truth that he is smooth, the expression on your face proof enough when he pulls up to an empty part of the beach. In the late afternoon, the ocean sparkles, crashing and ebbing against the shore and the breeze is just cool enough to make the beating sun bearable.
You hop out of the car quickly and Bradley takes his time grabbing both your bags as you lay out towels on the abandoned sand. For whatever reason—even after all these years, Bradley still doesn’t know—every time he’s visited this part of the beach, there hasn’t been another soul on it. In the back of his mind, there’s a thought that this might be because it’s private property, but Bradley hasn’t been caught yet, so he figures it’s fine.
He sets your bags down next to you, sitting on the towel next to yours as he looks out on the ocean. Taking a deep breath, Bradley lets the ocean air fill his lungs, finally letting the events of the day wash off him. Makayla’s text comes back to him though, nagging at his brain, and he lets out a small sigh.
He knew it was stupid to be that thrown about a comment about his mustache. Even thinking the words felt stupid. But to him, it didn’t feel stupid. There was very little that Bradley has left of his dad. He doesn’t have the house, or the garage, or that vintage popcorn machine. He doesn’t even have all the memories, a lot of them he was too young to remember.
But when Bradley first started growing facial hair, it felt like he had something else of his dad’s. It was an embarrassing mustache at first sure, Giselle and his friends teased him to no end, but it grew and he’ll never forget the day his mom looked at him and sucked in a breath. Because Bradley looked just like his dad.
And yes, obviously Bradley took pride in his mustache when most of his frat brothers could only grow patchy beards at best. But he liked looking in the mirror and seeing his dad—or the reminder of his dad. He liked knowing that no matter what, no matter the choices his mom made, or people like Admiral Simpson, he will always be Nick Bradshaw’s son.
Bradley didn’t expect Makayla to understand that. How could she when he’s never said anything? But there’s something that stings about it, like she doesn’t get it. Bradley sucks in a sudden breath, a thought hitting him. Maybe no one gets it.
You shift next to him and Bradley’s so in his own head that, in a moment of insecurity, he turns to you. “Do you think I should shave my mustache?”
You look at him quietly for several seconds, the question hanging in the air as you cock your head slightly like you’re deep in thought. Bradley tries not to seem nervous as you examine him.
“Well, you should do whatever makes you happy, but I like your mustache.” You say finally, climbing into his lap and smoothing your thumbs along the hairs. “Feel like you wouldn’t really be you without it.”
“You think?” Bradley’s hands fall to your hips as you straddle his thighs.
“Yeah, it’s very Bradley Bradshaw.” You trace your thumbs along his mustache again and Bradley’s eyes flutter closed at the feeling. “And I happen to like Bradley Bradshaw.” You press a quick peck to his lips. “Very much.”
Bradley grins, relief flooding his veins, and he moves one of his hands to grab your chin so that he can kiss you again. “Well, I like you too, sunshine. Very much.” He rolls you down on one of your towels, being mindful of the sand, before deepening the kiss.
This is not the first time Bradley Bradshaw has made out on a beach, but even Bradley can admit that this time is different. It’s not that rushed, sort of “teenagers hooking up before they get caught” kiss that causes Bradley to fumble with bra clasps and get sand everywhere. His hands aren’t rushing over your body, grabbing and squeezing like he doesn’t have enough time. With you, Bradley can’t help but go slow. Slow enough that he can feel the warmth radiating off your body. Slow enough that he can hear every sound he pulls from your lips. Slow enough that the thought of going any faster doesn’t even cross his mind.
Bradley pulls away from you suddenly, watching as your dazed eyes blink away to confusion. Still hovering over you, he looks down. “What was that? Oh—” Bradley meets your eye again with a cheeky grin. “My mustache says it likes you too.”
You blink at him as you process his words and then throw your head back with a cackle. “Oh my god. That was worse than the yawn thing!”
“Oh, you want worse than the yawn thing?” Bradley traps you under him, a smirk forming on his lips. “I can make it dance for you, is that what you want?”
“Do not— Bradley!”
Somewhere in his bag, under a spare t-shirt and extra towel, Bradley’s phone lights up with a text notification that remains unnoticed as he goes back to kissing you through peals of laughter.
I don’t have a taglist but feel free to follow my library @jupitercometgold if you want to be notified when I post
summary a lot of things can happen before dinner. or, a snapshot into your life with steve, three daughters and a big secret. [3.1k]
warnings kid!fic, steve!centric / steve’s pov, dad!steve, mom!reader, afab!reader (reader is the birth mom of their three kids), fluff, a ridiculous amount of kisses and hugs, steve trying to figure out why you’re so tired and tense, pregnancy reveal, pregnant!reader, happy tears, a joke about lice (sorry), this was requested kind of here
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"Can we have popsicles?" Avery asks.
Steve looks down from where he's making dinner to find his three daughters. Avery, the oldest, stands at the front of their triangle with her puppy dog eyes already wide and shimmering. She's taller every time he looks at her lately. Constantly growing.
He wipes his hands on a hand towel. "Ave, dinner will be ready soon."
"Please?" asks Beth, the second oldest.
Beth, or more affectionately Bethie, stands at Ave's left. She's young enough to miss some words when speaking but old enough to hold very interesting conversation. She's also the Daddy's girl of the lot, and he almost cracks when she brings her two hands together pleadingly.
Steve doesn't even want to look at Dove because he knows she'll melt his reluctance instantly. Being the baby, she has a lot of power. She calls the majority of the shots these days. She's a little bit wobbly on her feet as she approaches, freshly turned two years old and the cutest thing Steve has ever seen.
"What do you think, Dove? You want a popsicle?" he asks, always encouraging her to speak. It's nearly unnecessary considering how often her sisters speak to her.
"Yes," Dove says quickly, pushing past her sisters to cling to his leg. She's usually a total mommy's girl. Her affection all but seals the deal.
He scoops her up with a smile. "Well…"
"Mom says it's okay," Avery adds.
"Yeah?" He grins at them. "If your mom says it's okay then you can definitely have popsicles."
They form a small crowd at the freezer. Steve pulls out the box and they're patient as they choose their favourite flavours. Raspberry for Beth, cherry for the other two. He peels back the thin plastic wrappings and encircles the wooden sticks with tissue paper to try and prevent sticky hands.
His three girls linger.
"What?" he asks, wondering why they haven't run off to finish watching their movie.
"Mom said we have to give you a kiss," Ave says.
"Did she?"
"Thank you kiss," Beth adds.
He squats down, beaming. "Your mom is totally right. You do have to give me kisses. At least one on each cheek."
He receives two prim kisses from Avery, two shy, soft ones from Beth and a very reluctant one from Dove, who's much more interested in her cold snack than any affection. He wipes the sticky kiss prints off of his cheeks and stands as they all totter out, a single form line that makes him want to take a picture.
Speaking of their mother, where are you?
He turns the pots on the stovetop to simmer and peeks his head into the living room, looking for you. You're not on the couch like he'd thought you'd be, Ave in your usual seat and Dove trying her best to climb up beside her. Steve watches her rub pink all over the couch and thanks god for fake leather.
"Where's mom?" he asks.
Only Beth looks up. "What?" she asks.
"Where's mommy, do you know?"
"She was upstairs," Ave says, lips stained cherry red.
"Can you keep an eye on Dove, please?"
Ave nods and wraps an arm around her little sister's shoulder protectively. He feels a swelling of pride.
Steve jogs up the stairs. You're in Beth's bedroom making her bed, looking very tired. Shoes off but coat still on, you've barely been home from work an hour. You're exhausted.
Steve believes that Friday night should be a time to relax. Let Saturday morning suffer all the neglected chores. Pushing yourself to clean won’t do you any favours.
"Hey, angel. Don't start in here, I'll do it after dinner."
You shrug and give him a small smile. "That's okay. I like doing it."
He waits for you to finish making the bed and then sidles into your space, arms around you in a hug before you know what he's doing. You smell like spearmint.
"You don't look the best," he says worriedly, arm behind your neck to hold you in place as he presses a firm kiss to your temple. "You need to take it easy."
You hug him back, your arms a familiar warmth against his back. "I'm okay, Stevie."
"I know, just…" He gives you another kiss before tucking you into his front. He doesn't say it. He hopes it's implied: how something happening to you would crush him into tiny pieces.
"I like taking care of them," you say. If he didn't know you better he'd think you were being defensive.
He pats your back with a big palm. "I know that. You're the best mom ever, babe."
You can't help smiling at his words, though you continue, "I don't want you to have to do everything."
"I don't do everything, Y/N, you're just tired tonight. It's okay to take a break. We'll do everything that needs to get done tomorrow. Or Sunday," he attempts a joke.
"You worked all day, too," you murmur.
Looking after your three kids is work. Hard work. He really does need your help when you get home. There's baths and homework and dinner. Even when the older pair are in school, there’s laundry, shopping, cleaning, and Dove is a full time job. An adorable, brilliant full time job, but demanding all the same. He wouldn't change it for the world.
With that in mind, Steve will always try to take the extra weight when you're not feeling up to it. In the same way you'll do it for him, in how you call in sick to work when there's too much laundry and the house is a tornado, or how you'll let him sleep in at the end of a long week and only wake him up when the breakfast is served and the kids are all dressed.
It's a partnership. It's being selfless, and asking for help when you need it.
He's told you that before and he knows you know it. He doesn't worry about telling you again, rubbing your back until you've gone lax in his arms.
"Dinner's ready," he says quietly. He pulls away from you, although it's the last thing he wants to do, and cups your face in his hand. "Think we should eat on the couch tonight? Might be nice. You can sit with Beth." And I'll have Dove, he doesn't say. Dove's the handful at meal times.
"Thanks," you say, looking up at him with way too much gratitude. He stomps it away ruthlessly – as in, with a chaste kiss and a squeeze of your cheek.
"We're a team," he says with a grin. "In case you forgot."
You lean into his touch. "I didn't forget." There's something very heavy in the way you say it. He chalks it up to how tired you are and shepherds you downstairs.
In the living room the kids are in disarray. All covered in sticky juice, Beth stands by the tv with her tissue in hand but her popsicle missing.
You find it soon enough in Ave's fist. The oldest holds both, seeming neither sad nor happy about it, Dove at her side gnawing on a naked stick. You slip it out of her hand and she looks like she might cry, but she’s quickly sated by the sight of you and your lips pressed to her crown.
Dinner and cleaning. Steve gives you the easier task. "You wanna go do dinner?"
You nod. You leave with Ave and Beth’s half-melted popsicles and return with a dampened hand towel for him. He accepts and smiles at you fondly, following your tense shoulders as you disappear down the hall.
Steve sits on the couch and wipes down Dove first. She hates it, to his chagrin, squirming and whining the whole while. Avery doesn't care, letting him clean her hands and cheeks with her eyes glued to the TV. She's old enough now to go wash her hands when asked but Steve loves to dote, telling her thank you with a bubbly affection that has her beaming.
He looks for his middle kid and finds her exactly where she'd been before, hovering in front of the TV.
"Beth, baby, c'mere," he prompts, holding out his hands. She climbs into his lap without a peep.
He cleans her small hands first. They're a lot like yours, especially the shape of her nails, and he takes very good care of them. "You have your mom's hands," he tells her.
Beth perks up. "I do?"
He holds up his hand. "See, they don't look anything like mine."
"Oh," she says, sounding put out. Where Dove favours her mom and Ave has learned to lie and say she loves her parents equally, Beth is a daddy's girl through and through.
"They're beautiful," he says quickly. "Just as pretty as mommy's."
She goes a little shy at the compliment, her face angling down. He tilts it up gently to wipe her warm cheeks clean.
She pouts as he rubs the towel over her lips, "Dad," she complains.
"What? Your lips are blue."
He pats her dry with an untouched corner and smiles, finding one of her hands to squeeze. "All done."
He isn't surprised when she stays in his lap. He worms an arm around her back and she collapses in the way little kids do, all at once like a balloon that's been popped. He lets his nose sink into her hair and breathes in her smell.
"Will you do me a favour?" he asks her quietly.
She looks up. "What?"
"Will you sit with mom for dinner? She needs a good hug like this one." He lays the compliment down thickly.
Beth nods with a funny look on her face. He wonders what she's thinking but is quickly distracted — jealousy is a powerful emotion and soon there's tiny hands on his legs, Dove's crying still so much like a baby's that it makes his chest ache.
It's very bittersweet to have them growing up. He hates to admit that he misses having a little baby around and worries about telling you. He doesn't want you to think you have to want more, or feel guilty in any way if you don't.
In any case, Steve wants a huge family and he always has but he'd say easily that the one he has now is perfect the way it is.
He frowns as Dove bubbles into hysterics. "Bethie," he says apologetically.
Beth slides off of his lap and wanders into the kitchen as Steve takes Dove into his arms with a sigh. "You're not very nice to your sister, you know that?" He can't stay mad when she does the same thing as Beth had, dissolving in his lap.
Avery approaches wantonly.
"Ave? Do you want a hug?" he asks.
"I'm hungry," Ave says, draping herself over his legs, all drama.
"Mom's doing it. You can go help, if you want to."
Ave climbs onto the sofa beside him. There’s a sheepishness to it that worries him, expecting an admission. A smashed glass or forgotten homework.
"What?" he asks her knowingly.
"Can I ask you something?" she whispers.
Steve frowns but quickly hides it away. "Sure, Ave. You can ask me anything."
She nods and her hand grasps his shoulder as she leans into his ear, her attempt at whispering clumsy and endearing. "Is mom okay?"
Steve narrowly avoids Dove's forehead slamming into his chin as he startles. "Why wouldn't mom be okay?"
"She was sick."
Steve blinks at her. "What?"
"She was throwing up. I asked if she was okay and she said to come ask you for the popsicles."
He doesn't know why you were throwing up. He'll ask, but first. "Ave," he murmurs, holding an arm out. She's as tall as him when she stands on the couch, and her head falls against his, her small cheek to his chin. Dove is quietly annoyed at his stolen attention. "Your mom is fine. I’ll take care of her."
"She's sad all the time this week."
He frowns. "Baby, she's not sad. She's tired. She's really tired, but I promise she's not sad. Don't worry about mom, okay?"
Avery slides down the couch cushion behind her and away from him. "Okay."
He kisses the top of her head. "Thank you, princess," he says quickly.
He picks up Dove and carries her with him into the kitchen. You're almost done, and he's glad to have caught you.
Beth lingers by your legs. You're having a half conversation with her about school, wooden spoon in hand.
"Beth, let me talk to mom?" he asks, giving her an apologetic smile. She grumbles all the way out of the room.
You look up at him with wide eyes. Dove, having seen you, wants to be in your arms rather than his. You take her and dot a few soft kisses over the side of her face as she settles in your hold.
"You were sick?" he asks, straight to the point, maybe a tiny bit angry that you hadn’t told him but more worried than anything.
"Just… a bit."
"You weren't gonna tell me?”
"I was. Later. After dinner."
He bumps your hip to take the pan of golden-brown veggies and starts to dish them out. "How long have we been together?"
You smile at him. It's always been hard to pinpoint when you stopped being Y/N and Steve and started being Y/N and Steve. Slowly, so slowly, you'd come together, and now all of a sudden you're a family down the line with no signs of coming apart.
"I need you to tell me when you're sick, no matter how busy you think I am." He scoops out what's left of the veggies onto your plate and then looks at you, worried you won't be able to eat. "Is it food poisoning? Nerves? I'll call the doctor after dinner, we'll-"
"It's not food poisoning."
He stares at you. Really stares at you. Thinks about how tired you've been. "Baby, are you-"
He cuts off when you lean against the kitchen counter behind you and promptly burst into tears. Quiet and fierce, fat teardrops crest your cheeks and don't stop. Dove looks rightfully panicked. Steve would find her concerned little face turning to him adorable any other time.
His heart breaks for you. "Hey," he says, frowning. "Hey hey hey, you're okay. It's okay. Come here, baby."
You let him hug you. One hand to your back, the other on Dove's, trying to manage her and comfort you at the same time.
"I'm sorry," you say, "I'm really sorry, I was gonna tell you tonight, when they were sleeping, and I wanted to tell you a week ago, Stevie."
You sound as young as you did when Steve first met you. "Baby," he murmurs, trying to be the calm to your panic. His thoughts come a thousand a second.
"I was going to tell you, I promise."
"Is that what you're worried about? I'm not mad." He speaks carefully, though the reality is sinking in, and his heart is racing.
You're pregnant.
He remembers the first time you'd told him, just like this, all tears and panic. Worried about how you'd do it, how you'd manage. And Steve had said exactly what he plans to say now – anything you want to do is what he wants to do. That he loves you. That you're perfect, and that your choice won't change that. He'd comforted you for days the first time. Weeks. Even after you'd made the decision to stay pregnant and to have Avery, you'd needed a lot of support and he'd given it to you in droves. He's more prepared to do it again.
You look up at him and you're smiling despite the tears.
He realises he might have miscalculated; you're overwhelmed by emotion, but that emotion isn't wholly unhappy.
You hold his gaze. "Steve," you say, tears pushed down your cheeks from the force of your smile.
His heart skips in his chest. It soars.
He crushes his lips to your forehead and laughs. "Oh my god," he says, kissing you haphazardly. "My girl. Holy shit."
"I got you a- a card," you say, still crying.
"Yeah?" he asks, feeling close to tears himself.
"S'in the car."
"I'm gonna get you more than a card. I'm gonna get you a parade."
"You're happy?" you ask him.
And there's so much to talk about: if you're ready for another baby, where the baby will fit, the mortgage and the car and the kids. Steve knows how it goes now, the hours upon hours of worrying and sorting and reassuring you and himself that it's something you can do if you want to.
More than if you're ready – if you can handle another baby. If you're well enough to be pregnant again. He looks at your poor tired face and feels that crushing awe he always feels when you are, can’t believe that right now you have a whole huge process taking place that could potentially become another Avery, or Beth, or Dove.
You sound like you want to do it. And if you want to, he's ecstatic.
"Are you kidding me? Baby." He plasters you in kisses. Every inch of your face. You giggle wetly and you're holding Dove so tight that she starts to laugh too, the three of you breathing in funny wet huffs as he paints over your skin with his mounting affection. He loves you so much he might die right there.
Beth appears in the doorway, quickly followed by Avery. The oldest is peeved.
"Dad! You told me she wasn't sad!" she says, distressed.
You laugh some more and are quick to comfort her. "I'm not sad, Avey-baby, these are happy tears."
"Why?"
You look at Steve with a precious, beaming smile. "You wanna tell them?"
He gives you another smacking kiss on your cheek. "You're my everything," he says to you, eyes locked.
You sniffle and wipe your eyes with a huge smile. He turns to the girls and grins maniacally.
"Mommy's got lice! They're sucking her blood and making her tired!"
"Steve!" you try to scold, your surprised laughter breaking up any real malice.
"And they're catching!"
"Ew!" Beth shouts.
Steve grabs Beth up and says, to her horror, "She already gave them to me, Bethie, and we have enough to go around."
He watches Ave cross the kitchen and hug your hip, still worried. You bend down to rub your nose against hers.
"Daddy, put me down! Now!" Beth screams, writhing away from him. She can’t escape his tight grip, practiced now in handling unhappy babies.
"Don't be like that, Bethie. Sharing is caring."
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thanks so much for reading! | my masterlist
if you enjoyed reading, please thing about reblogging! i promise it makes a big difference <3
new! can't fight this feeling | steve harrington x reader, where steve is your best friend, and after nancy breaks his heart, you help him pick up the pieces. after a while, his heart is a little less broken and a lot more full.
marvel
peace | steve rogers x reader, my personal love letter to steve rogers based on peace by taylor swift. reader grieves natasha and steve helps her pick up some of her broken pieces along the way.
willow | steve rogers x reader, based on willow by taylor swift.
daylight | matt murdock x reader, inspired by daylight by taylor swift, reader is a former black widow searching for redemption and matt offers some help.
nancy drew | peter parker x reader, reader thinks peter is acting weird, so an investigation is launched that uncovers his secret identity.
work song | peter parker x reader, inspired by work song by hozier.
tis the damn season | peter parker x reader, inspired by tis the damn season by taylor swift.
a long time | bucky barnes x reader, where reader and bucky grieve for steve, and find comfort in each other through it.
harry potter
gold rush | cedric diggory x reader, based on gold rush by taylor swift.
star wars
champagne problems | anakin skywalker x reader, inspired by champagne problems by taylor swift. anakin loves reader, and reader just can't reciprocate his feelings.
Summary: Steve Harrington was your best friend. He was the one person you swore would never hurt you. But when high school rolled around, Steve went searching for a place to fit in while you went searching for yourself. Now, years later, the universe has brought Steve Harrington back to your life and he doesn’t plan on leaving again. | Ft prompt request: “I want you to be happy.” “You make me happy.” + “I think I’m in love with you.” + “You’re the only one who gets to call me that.”
Warnings: Absent parents (Steve’s parents), emotionally abusive parents (reader’s parents), Steve was kind of an asshole in high school (but not really), best friend!Eddie, Steve listens to Hall and Oates unironically.
Pairing: Steve Harrington x fem!Reader
Word Count: 17.9k (I’m so sorry. I really, truly, terribly am.)
Stranger Things Taglist | Stranger Things Masterlist
Steve Harrington, dressed in a striped polo and the garish green Family Video vest, didn’t so much as bat an eye as you approached the counter.
There was no greeting, no forced customer service voice or Harrington charm - or lack thereof, as of late. Instead, he delivered a deadpan, “Someone else rented The Evil Dead,” as he continued stacking return tapes. “You really should just buy it at this point.”
The scent of his cologne, something woody that had always made your head a little dizzy - always blurred the sharp edges of your biting jabs and warmed the ice in your chest - enveloped you as you leaned against the counter. The surface was sticky beneath your elbows, as it always seemed to be, but you ignored it and grinned at him, cloyingly sweet.
summary: you’re set to marry a man you’re not sure you even like, but the person going to all the appointments with you is your life-long best friend.
words: 3.5k
a/n: I got inspired for this watching Toscana on Netflix! the whole idea of helping someone with their wedding while you pine for them… one of my fav tropes. this is my first time writing for steve 👀. enjoy!!
—
He’s attended every appointment with you–choosing flowers, cake tastings, all four caterers (since your mother wasn’t convinced that your idea of a food truck would properly serve a hundred guests, it was thanks to Steve’s meticulous notes that she finally came around… hundreds of dollars saved, too)--and never once complained.
Your friendship started with playing hide-and-go-seek around your neighborhood the first day your family moved in next door. Steve has been game for whatever you asked since. Friends in a way which makes ‘best’ feel insufficient, and far more fierce about vouching for you than your own brothers ever were. Steve’s a part of you.
The alterations place tried to chase him away for your dress fitting, but you needed his opinion! ‘It’s bad luck’–who cares? Your girlfriends had gushed over your dress when you first tried it, to a degree that you couldn’t remember if it suited you until you were standing there in the damn thing six months later, staring at yourself in the mirror. Steve didn’t say anything. Didn’t have to. He just leaned forward, arms braced on his knees, and smiled.
His gentle demeanor has grounded you the entire wedding planning process, so when your mother signs you up for a ballroom dance class… he’s affable. He’s unbothered. Of course he’ll go, of course he’ll wait, of course he’ll be your partner when the attendees are unevenly matched, of course he’s good at it, too.
But he isn’t your fiancé, and that’s why you’re fucked.
Said groom begs out of appointments with such frequency that sometimes you forget to even tell him about one. Did you mention the dance class? Or are you prescient, able to intuit his answer without needing to bring it up? Why would your own fiancé ever willingly join you for something that wasn’t his idea?
Why did Brock ask you to marry him? That question keeps you up at night, as he snores from the other side of your too-large bed.
You’ve been with Brock since college. You don’t remember what it feels like to get butterflies, just from the way he looks at you. His attention is certainly not as piercing as Steve’s softest gaze, because that man has never had an unsteady blink when you rely on his eye contact for reassurance. He probably wouldn’t blink, ever again, if that was what you needed. Brock doesn’t seem to mind how often you’re around the blond; time and again, he’s said how faithful you are, how loyal. He didn’t agree to Steve being in your wedding party, however, and it’s probably for the best because if Steve stood behind you while you told Brock you’d love him forever, it would feel like a betrayal of a relationship which never was.
Loyalty to Brock feels an awful lot like mutiny when you’re swaying in circles with the man who keeps his promises. Steve’s hand is warm at the small of your back. When you take an unsure step, he squeezes your joined hands. ‘You can stand on my feet,’ he whispers when the instructor steps out of the room to take a call. If Brock were here, he’d be dragging you along with no discernable rhythm or form.
It’s not that you don’t get along with Brock; you root for the same sports teams, you like the same music, you both like to cook and he’s taken you on some of the best trips you could ever imagine. Sex is infrequent but fine. He’s just not… that nice to you. He says he loves you like he’s forecasting the weather. He wouldn’t let you put the soles of your new dance shoes on his dress shoes so you’d stop tripping. So.
You let yourself slip into the daydream.
Stepping up onto Steve’s shoes, pressing your chest to his. Leaning your cheek against his chin. Closing your eyes. He’s humming, just a soft little tune. You’ve laid against his chest sobbing, before; touch is not an unfamiliar shared experience. Just not around Brock. Not because Brock would care. You’re not even sure your fiancé would notice. But–
“You don’t like him.”
It comes out of your lips too fast, on a quick exhale like your mouth knows something your brain hasn’t realized. Steve doesn’t say anything. He rubs a circle over your spine. You try to pull back, to look up at him, but he holds fast. The instructor returns to the room and you hastily step down, catching your heel. Thanks to his steady grip on your hand, you manage to avoid falling, but the woman running the class gives you a disgruntled snort.
Class is dismissed without Steve looking you in the eye once. He’s still at your elbow, but he’s quiet. He doesn’t turn the radio on in the car. He stares at the road. You can't bring yourself to break the silence, but all you want Steve to do is tell you whether you’ve made the right assumption. The street lights come on and the sky darkens, and you’re glad you can’t see the blank expression on his face anymore.
Two blocks from the apartment you share with Brock, he pulls over, shuts the car off, and rubs his chin. You fidget with your ring. He can’t help but clock your movement, and he grasps your wrist, interlacing your fingers like he usually does when you’re driving long-distance. Steve brings your hand closer, studying the bespoke diamond.
“You’re not a diamond girl,” he murmurs. Finally, finally… he looks at you.
Two decades of friendship zip through your brain on a reel. Every time he’s given you that look, stripped of any teasing or inside jokes, distilled into one composite realization that Steve Rogers has always looked at you like that. Like you’re sunshine, or something rare and precious. But not a diamond, because he’s right. You hate that ring.
He leans back in his seat, letting your arm drape across the console so he can keep a tight hold on your hand, and he doesn’t look away.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” you peep, when he sighs for the thousandth time.
“You were too excited, bug–how could I? The promising quarterback asked you out! I wasn’t sure your feet were ever gonna touch earth again.”
“Steve–I’ve been seeing him for almost a decade!” Heat rises in your cheeks. “Why didn’t you tell me the second you met him?”
He frowns. “Don’t think I haven’t been counting the days,” he says, and your heart lurches.
“You should’ve said something.”
“Would you have listened?” Steve bites his lip for a second like he doesn’t want to let you know the whole truth. He thinks better of it, squeezing your hand. “I don’t have to live with him, buggy, so what does it matter? If you’re happy, I’m golden, you know that.”
You sink into the passenger seat. The inside of his car blurs into a landscape of watery glowing lights.
“It’s just–” he stops. You turn your head away from him so he can’t see a droplet zing down your cheek. He plays with your engagement ring, twisting it. It doesn’t fit you but Brock never bothered to try to get it resized, so you figured you’d wait and get it sized with your wedding band. “This feels like the end,” Steve says.
“Tell me not to do it, then.”
He balks at the challenge just long enough that it hurts. “I’ll support whatever choice you make,” he says, knifing you between the ribs with his nobility.
This isn’t your best friend, who drove three hours to help you move into the dorms freshman year and gave you all his unsolicited opinions about placement of your unironic Shrek poster. This isn’t Steve, who tells you if your spaghetti sauce needs more garlic, or your plants need less water, or your car needs an oil change. Whoever this is, he’s not the Steve you… you love. He’s hiding behind good intentions, and it is painful enough trying to riddle through your own muddled feelings about your impending wedding without him coming up short for reason, too. So, you push open the passenger door, and rip your hand out of his hold.
“Bug–” You slam the door on his pleading call, striding down the sidewalk in your flip-flops, with your dance shoes dangling off two fingers and your phone clenched in your fist so tight you’d surely shatter the screen (if it weren’t for the heavy-duty cover Steve bought for you). His door opens and shuts behind you, and he’s running after you. You’re at the corner when he catches up, snagging your elbow. “Listen to me–” he breathes.
“What kind of girl am I?” you demand, forcing him to follow you over the crosswalk. Your tears are furious, and your feet ache.
“Hey–”
“Steven!” You rip your arm free, dodging around an annoyed older couple who you nearly barrel into. “You exploded my life,” you say, swiping your hand under your nose. “You think I can marry a man I know you hate?”
“I don’t, honey, I don’t.” He pulls you to a bench and forces you to sit with his hands on your shoulders. He kneels in front of you.
“Oh my god! Do you know how many people spit on the sidewalk?”
He rolls his eyes and cups your cheeks. “You’re hysterical. I’m–shit, bug. I envy him.” Steve wipes away the fresh tears, and he chuckles at the stunned look on your face. “You’re my world. My buggy. How could I interfere in your happiness? Even if it hurts me not to. You’re allowed to make choices without my influence, and you should. Hmm? You went three hours away for college without asking if it was gonna rip my heart out of my chest.”
You can’t help the hiccough of a laugh. “There she is. It wasn’t very nice of you, you know.”
“You don’t own me,” you manage, despite the smile which threatens your cheeks.
“I’m acutely aware of that, thank you.” He brushes your cheekbone. “I’m… trying. To make peace with the idea that You and Me aren’t always gonna be attached at the hip.”
“You did follow me to the city, you stalker.”
“You begged me for months!”
“You caved!”
“I did,” he says. His cheeks flush. Steve’s eyes can’t decide which of yours to study, but his stare is intense. “I don’t know what I’m doin’, here. But all I know is, if it was my name in curly script that you hand-wrote on a hundred invitations, you couldn’t keep me away from one second of planning our day.”
“I can’t even get rid of you now,” you say with a sad smile. You pull one of his hands from your face and press it between yours.
“So.” He shrugs. “Where is he? Huh? I feel like I’m the proxy for a dead man.”
You sigh. Your thoughts coming straight off Steve’s lips. “He says I’m better at ‘all this’ than he is. He ‘trusts me.’”
“He’s–fuck.”
“You’re cursing a lot, bear.”
His face lights up at the affectionate title. “I’m sorry I haven’t been truthful.”
“Lay it on me. Please.”
Steve promptly sits beside you, shoulder pressed to yours. You loop your arm with his and wait.
“I… yeah. I hate him,” he admits. “Brings out the ugliest parts of me. I never got jealous when you dated in school, but he made you draw a line, and I assumed (incorrectly or not) that it meant one day you’d have to stop talking to me. Which–when I called you from the bar? Remember that?”
You smile. “The day after Sam’s birthday? When you were shouting over the aggressive ABBA sing-along?”
“Yeah. I called Bucky, and I told him I needed him to take me out and get me wasted, and not ask me any questions.”
“He succeeded. You were barely intelligible–”
“Brock talked to me.”
The way your eyes widen has him nodding right away. “Yeah. He told me to play my little game, because you were never gonna leave him.”
“When the fuck did he say that?”
“After you told me he didn’t feel comfortable with me being your Man of Honor. I approached him on Sam’s birthday while you were doing the cake prep. Told him I hoped there were no hard feelings, that I was happy for you guys… he laughed in my face. He’s got a real ugly side when he drinks, bug.”
You swallow hard. “Jesus. I sent our invitations out before the party.”
“Yep. Which is why I couldn’t bring myself to tell you. The panic you would’ve had after two margaritas…”
“I would’ve gotten sick.”
He rubs your arm. “You were already so stressed out–”
“I had a panic attack at the post office. Mom had to pry the box out of my hands in front of a very concerned postal worker.”
“What–you did?”
“That’s why I cried when you handed me a drink,” you snort. Your head falls onto his shoulder. “Can I ask you a question? No frills.”
“Shoot.”
“Would you feel differently if I was engaged to someone you liked?”
“Hmm.” He glances down at you, but his face is shadowed with the street lamp behind him so you can’t fully tell what he’s thinking. But he points at your ring and holds out his hand. You slip your fingers into his without question. You know every groove in those fingers, by touch. He lifts your ring towards the amber glow.
“No. I wouldn’t. I’d still lose you in every way that matters.” Your blood thrums in your ears as he works the massive diamond from your finger with ease. “If he knew you at all,” he murmurs, “there would be a garnet on this finger. 14k gold, small band. Initials engraved in the band–E.M.R.”
“Bear,” you breathe. The corner of his mouth turns up. He wiggles the end of his pinky into your ring, and then leans forward so he can kiss the imprint of the stone on your skin.
“But then–I’d be pretty pissed if he proposed with my grandmother’s ring,” he says softly. “You ever thought about it, buggy?” When he looks at you next, he’s so close to your face that you shiver. It doesn’t take much to press your forehead to his.
“At first, no… especially with our moms always talking about it,” you say. He laughs. “But you asked Peggy to prom senior year and I thought the earth was gonna fall out from under me.”
“I know the feeling.”
“Once I went off to school, I dreamed about you showing up at my dorm in the middle of the night to tell me you needed me. Breaks were worse, especially Summer when I could set my watch by your morning text, asking me what we were gonna do that day. But you grew up quick, and way less awkwardly than I did, and there was no way you’d ever, ever like me. So, when I met Brock, and he was the first guy besides you to ever think I was worth spending time around, it sorta felt like my only chance. I think… I think I knew you didn’t like him when I brought him home that first time. I convinced myself that you wouldn’t let me move to the city with Brock if you didn’t like him. I still can’t believe you moved here, too. Or that you’re here, right now–”
He kisses your temple, and your throat closes off for a second. “I have loved you since you hopped outta that moving truck when we were ten. I wanted to ask you to Prom, by the way, but you told me you were gonna go with Carol and Maria.”
Your eyes flutter open and you glare at him, mouth agape. “We’re idiots.”
He laughs. “Yeah, bug. A pair of dumbasses.”
“God.” Your fingers trace his jaw like it’s new territory. “I–I don’t think I like Brock, either.”
“No?”
You shake your head. “He’s not–whatever. He’s not you, Steve, and that makes him deficient in every way.”
He sits back from you, carding a hand through his hair, almost like he doesn't believe you. “What are you going to do?”
“Ask me.”
“What–”
You cup his cheek. “Not to marry him.”
It takes him two seconds to get with the program. Steve holds the engagement ring which is wrong for you between two fingers. He slides off the bench and kneels on the sidewalk once again, making you cringe, but at least you can see his eyes again—nearly green from the lamplight. He rubs your knee with his free hand.
“Don’t put this back on. It’s not right for you to be with somebody who doesn’t jump at the chance to watch you learn to waltz.” When he smiles, your whole future settles into view. “But if you want to spend every day feeling like someone breathes because you do, then… I know a guy. And I know a ring, with my name on it. And if you’re game… could be your name too.”
The lights bathe the entire street in some kind of magical glow, and this is exactly how you dreamed of Steve Rogers when you were a smitten teen. Well… not with his knees on concrete, with another man’s promise in his hand, but with that sweet smile… offering you a world which was always yours. You just didn’t know it until he offered.
“My mom is gonna be pissed,” you breathe. “She just picked out her dress.”
Steve’s face breaks into a triumphant grin and he swoops his arms around you, twirling you around and around until you’re dizzy with laughter. When he sets you on your feet again, he hugs you so tight that you can feel his heart thumping.
“She will get over not hosting a hundred person party. Your mom loves me, bug,” he murmurs.
“It’s easy to love you. Wait—“
He hovers over you, so tempted to kiss you, but he holds off when you touch his lips.
“Once I give it back. Then I’ll kiss you.”
“And?” His ears perk up, and you can’t help but laugh.
“I’m yours.”
“Better get you home, then.”
“You are home, bear. Since we were ten.”
“If you don’t stop that, I might cry.”
You wrinkle your nose at him. “Come on.” You nod towards the prior block, where he is parked. He tucks Brock’s ring into the toes of your dance shoes, and practically skips back to his car. He pulls open the door for you, and jogs around to the driver’s seat. You’re hardly buckled before he’s peeling out.
–
Brock isn’t home.
Leaving is easy when you look around a place where you lived with a person, who never liked your taste much. Staring at art he chose, and the colors he likes, and the fireplace he refused to use so he’d never have to clean it… it’s strange that you would ever have thought this was a life you could settle into comfortably. It’s not Steve’s place, which is filled with antiques from going upstate in the Summer with you, and funny paintings found at flea markets, and the constellation motif he let you paint on the ceiling of the bathroom when you both had one too many tequila shots. Nothing about Brock’s apartment draws you in, or makes you want to stay.
You set the ring on the counter, spotless from his meticulous cleaning routine, with a short note vague enough to leave Steve out of it, and clear enough to let him know that you’re calling off the wedding.
Then, you take your wedding dress out of the spare room closet where you buried it behind golf clubs Brock never used. Turns it out was bad luck for your impending nuptials for Steve to see you in it.
When you descend the front stairs of your building, Steve is leaning against his car, nervously tapping his foot.
“How’d it go?”
“He wasn’t there. I have no idea where he is. Haven’t heard from him all day,” you realize. “Couldn’t think of anything else to take.”
He clocks the garment bag over your shoulder and holds out a hand for it. “Ooh, you grabbed the gown,” he says appreciatively, hanging the hook over the ceiling handle behind the driver’s seat.
“You never said you liked it on me.” You wink when he turns on you with panic. He scoffs.
“The things it made me think of were not gentlemanly to say at the time,” he chuckles, sitting in the driver’s seat again. Once you’re seated, he leans over and kisses your cheek. “You didn’t wanna grab clothes, or anything?”
“…Steven, I have two drawers of clothing at your place, and most of the time I’m over, I steal your shirts.”
That makes him grin. “What’s mine is yours, bug.”
“Your… lips?”
“Especially those.”
You’ve dreamed of kissing him since puberty. An embarrassing amount. Your first kiss was abysmal on principle, because it wasn’t with Steve. This kiss is twenty years of loving each other at arm’s length, demolished. He’s gentle, and the angle is difficult across the center console, but boy if it doesn’t feel like he was put on this earth to kiss you.
warnings: angst, grief/mentions of death, emotional hurt and comfort!! probably swearing, mentions of vomiting
a/n- hello it’s been a while but im back with my own love letter to steve rogers. steve is truly my favorite, i hope i capture him well in this and you all love reading!
you had matured, with the way everything had gone down. you still feel the weight of the soul stone in your hand, heavy with loss, you still see her sad smile flash before your eyes, you still hear her last words.
let me go.
it was ironic, because you just couldn’t let her go. you clung onto the memories, running like ribbons in your mind. you held those ribbons and tied them tight around your fingertips, in a desperate effort to preserve her.
it was hard. you were different.
you went into the endgame of it all with some rose remaining over your eyes, and you had come out barely able to see.
you didn’t want to see. you didn’t want to close your eyes and dream of the way she looked at you while she grasped your hand. you didn’t want to open them and see her spot next to you at the dinner table empty.
the avengers live the articles had all read, and maybe they had. the press only really cared about the idea of the avengers, the name of it all, and it was clear in their articles because not all the avengers had lived.
natasha sacrificed herself so carol danvers could snap and save half the universe.
natasha sacrificed herself. and you were different now. you were matured by grief, your naïveté destroyed, but your heart remained.
never let them take your heart.
if they were making a movie of your life, your coming of age would’ve definitely come and gone by now.
even after defeating thanos, danger remained in the world, and you still had a job to do, until you lost that too.
your powers started becoming stronger and stronger, to the point where you feared you lost control.
the man had a gun, aimed at yelena. you felt the chill wrap itself around your bones, and the panic thaw it.
you couldn’t lose another sister.
ice started to dance rapidly across the floor, your fingertips turning blue. the frost consumed the room, as a blade of ice shot from a hand you didn’t even know you had raised.
it flew faster than anything you’d ever created, and landed between the man’s eyes before he could even comprehend the situation.
the last thing you saw was the look of both pity and worry from yelena, before you succumbed to the cold consuming your system.
maybe the danger lived in you.
you had gone to visit steve when you felt yourself slip away, succumbing to your grief fueled powers.
steve, who had been a pillar of strength this whole time.
steve, who had held your hand tight and when he did it was the only time you didn’t think of her.
steve, who had told you he’d do whatever he could to see you get peace.
steve, who had retired, and gotten peace for himself.
steve, who was so warm you don’t even think you could make ice around him.
“the danger doesn’t live in you, (y/n).”
he had a concerned look painted across his features, blue eyes like pools of empathy.
“i killed someone, i lost all control, i almost froze myself. that sounds like danger to me.”
you didn’t notice you were crying until you felt a snowflake on your cheek.
it was overwhelming, the pain and now the panic. navigating grief was hard, and so was navigating your powers, but to do both? all over again? you had lost before. you had lost control before. but never both at once.
it was the kind of thing that just made weariness seep into your soul, fatigue into your blood.
steve approached you like you were a stray cat.
he moved a hand to your face, and swiped the snowflake onto his fingertip.
he held it out so you could see.
“this isn’t dangerous.”
he was so sincere it made you want to throw up.
it also made your heart want to run laps across the room.
“make me something.” he said, voice soft and quiet.
“i don’t think i can give you something pretty anymore.”
you hated the way you sounded, clichés covering your words, but it was true. you used to find beauty in your powers, but now all you saw was pain.
“i don’t care if it’s pretty.”
he saw the beauty where you couldn’t. he wished that he could take away the grief he saw stirring beneath your skin and bear it as his own, but he couldn’t, so he would do whatever he could to help you heal.
he wanted you to see the beauty in your powers, in yourself again.
you smiled for the first time today.
steve always made you smile.
“okay, but when you’re left with a spiky ball or something please don’t complain.”
he chuckled and you started to feel so warm you didn’t even know if your powers would work.
after some thinking, you were able to conjure a little daisy.
he plucked it from where you held it out to him between your fingers, big smile on his face and goosebumps on his arms as he put it behind his ear.
“how do i look?”
“as stupid as usual, steven.”
but you swear you hadn’t smiled this hard in months.
after your little visit with steve, and another with yelena, you had to return back to your reality. your apartment was cold, and you wished he was there to make your brittle heart warm again.
when you opened your door you were met with a large canvas leaning against the wall of your tiny little mudroom.
it was beautiful.
the oil paint had come to create a swirl of periwinkle and purple and blue to create a dreamscape-like arrangement of snowflakes.
there was a yellow sticky note on the front.
saw this in my dreams. for when you only see danger. -steve
the walls seemed to tower over you in that moment, because his integrity just made you feel so small. however, at the same time, his caring seemed to shrink the walls guarding your heart.
you lurked like a ghost around the tower, leaning against walls and saying fewer words than bucky. it was when clint showed up that you were forced from the wall to talk.
he sat you down on a couch, and you could feel a chill creep it’s way up your spine, but you forced it down before anything could happen.
“you know, i miss her too.”
his look was grim, that of a healing man.
you stayed quiet.
“i know i wasn’t her brother or anything, but damn did it feel like it.”
clint had never been this open with anyone before, and you could read his nervousness.
“but i’m healing. i’m moving. maybe not moving on, but i’m moving. i’m not letting this beat me because i know nat wouldn’t let it kill her if roles were reversed.”
he was right. she would grieve, yes, but nat was so resilient. she would move forward. she wouldn’t let the grief beat her the way you had.
maybe he was right. maybe you could find a way to let yourself find beauty in things again. maybe you could let people in.
“i just worry i’ll feel like i’m forgetting her.”
the words came out before you could think to stop them.
“i could never forget her, really. but i feel like if i try to move forward i’ll be moving on from her.”
“me and you, we don’t move on. not really. we just keep moving. and we’ll keep moving until we can’t anymore. natasha wouldn’t want you to lose yourself.”
never let them take your heart.
“will i always feel guilty?”
the room was a little colder now.
“find someone who makes you feel less of the guilt and more of the fondness.”
it was weird, coming from clint. he was never a let’s sit and talk about how this feels person, yet the words that came from him seemed both practiced and wise.
you thought of steve, of the dreamscape on your wall, of his effortless golden aura, of his honor. the way you were acting, the way you were feeling? it felt like you were wasting his honor.
“i think i’ve found that someone.”
he gave you a smile then, a fatherly nature taking over as he pat your shoulder.
“then hold on to them, tight.”
your body was in autopilot. clint’s words ran deep, and you realized you loved steve.
you almost ran to your car, driving to where you knew steve lived upstate.
you loved him.
you loved the way he drew in little sketchbooks that he stowed away, not allowing anyone to see.
you loved the way he smiled when he saw a dog, even from a distance.
you loved how he bought new music on vinyl because it’s a balance of both the new and the old as he had said.
you loved the notebooks he filled up with pop culture references.
you loved his stupid glasses he wore because “super soldier serum doesn’t protect me from blue light”.
you loved his snark, his kindness, his beauty, his innocence, his insolence, his anger.
you loved it all.
you loved him.
and you hated yourself for only now realizing it.
you figured natasha was probably screaming FINALLY at you, from wherever she was now.
to think you once thought that love was partially for show. now you understood it all, because you would die for him in secret.
you had a few tears painting their way across your cheeks, but there was no chill.
no cold, because he had found you and made you warm again.
but would he love you back?
it plagued you as you pulled into his driveway, but it didn’t stop you.
you knew that with your job, anything could happen, and you weren’t one to wait when it came to speaking from the heart.
it started to snow as you got out of your car.
this time it wasn’t from your flurry of emotions, but simply a work of nature as the white dusted the world around you.
you stood under the safety of his porch, knocking softly at the wood.
you were met with a beautiful mess.
his hair was mussed, and there was flour coating his shirt and hands.
“hey.” you said, suddenly nervous.
“hi, sorry i was just making some bread.”
of course he was.
the ice that has always been coursing through your veins seemed to melt a little.
“come in, didn’t realize it was snowing out.”
he was smiling at you, bright and warm, and you honestly had no idea how it could snow around him.
“there’s something i need to tell you.”
he furrowed his brows, giving you that steve look.
you stepped in the doorway, and he pulled your coat off your shoulders for you.
he’d do anything for you, really. he’d walk into the snow and lie in it if you had asked him to. but you didn’t know that, so you stood with bated breath.
“what is it you wanted to say?”
he stood in front of you, expectant.
you could tell he was nervous by the way he stood. his shoulders weren’t as far back as usual, and he keeps glancing down at his feet. it made your heart soar, and before you could think, your words came tumbling out of your mouth.
“i love you.”
his jaw dropped, parting his lips. you decided it would be better if you said more.
“i just realized today that i loved you. i was talking to clint and it just came to me. i couldn’t not tell you, now that i knew.”
you were wringing your hands, engrossed in his hardwood floorboards while you spoke. so engrossed that you didn’t see steve take a few steps closer to you.
he was smiling, like a summer day.
“you beat me to it.” he said, shaking his head with a bashful look on his face.
when you tilted your head in confusion, he offered an explanation.
“i’ve loved you for years now, probably ever since i met you. first time i saw you, it’s like i..”
his cheeks turned pink and your eyes glistened with happy tears.
“like i would do anything for you. i’d sit with you in the trenches again, if it meant i’d get to be with you. after i came out of the ice, it’s like some part of me was still cold, but you took it and made it warm again.”
his words melted your heart. it was your turn for your cheeks to heat up, as his words filled you with emotion.
“funny, because you do the same for me.” you smiled, and he looked down at you as if you’d just held out the sun to him in the palm of your hand.
“steve, i’d give you anything. all of me, every part. but, i don’t know if i can give you the peace you deserve.”
he was impossibly close now. his large hand came to hold your cheeks, tilting your face up to his.
“you are my peace.”
he brought his forehead to yours, and you thought you might explode with the way your heart was pounding.
you wished you could trap this moment in amber, and keep it forever as a reminder of the love you had. but the love wouldn’t ever go away. even if you became a wild storm, or if he did something a little stupid, you both would love each other. you would now, you would in a year, you would forever. that is the power of peace.
hiiii!! i just wanted to know that i really enjoyed your matt murdock fic 'daylight' ! it's one of my favorite song from lover. i can't wait to read more of your work!
aw omg thank you so much!! i love that song too, lover has been taking over my playlists
LESS than a month later i am posting another one shot. let’s hear some cheers!! i miss writing and posting my silly little things on here frequently, i’m trying to do better at more regular posts!
warnings: language, injuries, mentions of trauma (reader is a former black widow so…), mentions of alcohol
a/n- inspired by daylight by taylor swift (pushing the matt murdock is a swiftie agenda)!! i have been writing this mf fic for soo long you have no idea. i was going to give up on it but daylight is one of my favorite taylor swift songs and i cant let her down like that. i hope you all enjoy <3
you were just as cruel in love as the crime bosses of hell’s kitchen, you hurt the good and seemed to trust the twisted. everyone looked beautiful in your foggy outlook, and yet your love seemed to ache instead of heal. the people from your past were blurred over, a side effect of having tunneled vision, until you saw him.
you were a vigilante, a former black widow who took to the streets with your talents rather than to the government like others. one night, you were hunting out a lead on the Kitchen Irish, when everything changed. he was there, in his stupid gimmicky suit, and you had saved him. quite frankly, he was getting his ass handed to him. your shared target was landing blow after blow to the devil, and you had enough. quicker than light, you beat the information you needed out of the man, adding in a punch in for the daredevil who was observing in careful silence. after you’d lay waste to the guy, you’d offered your hand to the daredevil.
“you know i can’t see that, right?” he said quite gruffly.
you looked at him completely at his remark and noticed the red material covering eye holes in his mask.
“i know that now…” you replied, and dropped your hand.
“you’ve got a funny way of saying thank you.”
you watched his face break out in a smile, and he shook his head side to side.
“and you’re obviously not too humble.”
you listened to his voice and noted he was disguising it, making it rougher than whatever his normal tone was. smart, but also funny to listen to.
“i saved your ass, i shouldn’t need to be humble.”
“i wouldn’t go that far”
“i would. so, wanna help me get rid of these assholes? you do owe me one now.”
and that was the beginning. after that day, the fog you saw the world through lifted a little.
daredevil became your partner in stopping crime. turns out you worked well together, so you kept working together. you had taken down the bad left and right, night after night. you’d taken to his way of doing things, happy to escape the killing that splattered your past with red. texts on your phone from his burner number became normal, and you’d made your first paper together, The Devil and the Widow.
your life was complicated. not many people fight crime and also go to law school, and you weren’t one of them anymore; you were now a fresh graduate from columbia law.
after your escape from the red room you came to america, got your GED, went to college, and went to law school. on top of that, you still found time to fight crime at night and teach ballet at a nice studio. you had reclaimed the years dreykov had stolen from you, and by the age of 29 you were fairly accomplished. accomplished and actively ignoring letters with the shield logo that keep showing up at your front door.
you gave yourself a month to find a job before you even touched the letters. who even sends letters, anyway?
you had a plan for yourself, and that plan was nelson and murdock. you admired their work, their devotion to the people was something you aimed to have. maybe it would counteract your checkered past. the nice lady, miss page, told you that they would love to interview you, and you didn’t even care that they probably wouldn’t pay.
matt nearly peed his pants when you came through the door of nelson and murdock.
your name wasn’t connected to the widow, but you didn’t hide your face. you were always quick enough to avoid anyone but matt really seeing you, payoff from the years of being a spy. he was not expecting the person he fought with every night to be a girl fresh out of law school in search of a job.
he figured he should greet you, but you beat him to the punch.
“i’m (y/n) rushman… a ms karen page set up an interview for me.”
he moved from behind his desk to come greet you.
“i’m matt murdock, my associates, mr nelson and ms page are out today, so i’ll be interviewing you alone.”
his voice sounded familiar, and upon careful inspection you noticed his face did too.
you brushed it off, and responded with an “okay”.
the interview went well, and matt seemed to like you. he was also incredibly charming, and you held yourself back from any delusions of romance with an iron fist. however, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you knew him from somewhere. it wasn’t until you were leaving that you noticed something. there was a light bruise by his jaw, something you saw on daredevil last night.
holy shit.
how could he think he was fooling anyone?
or maybe you were just hyper observant former russian assassin.
you walked out as quick as you could without causing him alarm.
what the fuck do you do with that?
matt was thinking the exact same thing. you, the best spy and fighter he’d ever seen, were fresh out of law school? and looking for a job? he tried not to let his mind run away with him, tried not to let his stupid subconscious tell him it was divine intervention bringing you to him. why? because he was completely captivated by you and he hated himself for it. he had been conditioned to push people away when they got anywhere remotely close, but you had been close for months and he couldn’t push you away even if he wanted to. he hated himself even more now because he realized he didn’t know anything about you, and now? he was determined to find out.
your phone buzzed on your nightstand next to you, interrupting your current binge of brooklyn 99. you should’ve expected the text from daredevil- matt murdock- because it always came at exactly 9:05.
you replied to his same place?
with a simple be right there.
you had decided you just wouldn’t mention you knew his real identity.
you met him on the rooftop of a random apartment building every night at 9:15, ready to work with him to fight whoever he heard that night, but not tonight.
you arrived at the rooftop, decked out with your black suit and luminescent blue tasers, to find matt not suited up, but wearing a black mask over his face.
“what’s going on?” you asked, voice laced with confusion.
“i need to talk with you.”
he wasn’t trying to hide his voice anymore.
“about what? pretty sure there’s still crime out there that needs stopping, d.”
you went to turn and walk away, because though you did like fighting side by side with him, you didn’t need him to help people.
he figured he would just come out and say it.
“i know you know. about me.”
“well that’s a relief. i wonder how you fool anyone, honestly.”
he shook his head a little.
“i like to think i get by just fine.”
“keep thinking that, mr murdock.” you said, patting his shoulder in consolation.
“matt. you can call me matt if you come inside and talk with me. kitchen won’t die if you take a night off.”
you tsked.
“real fresh coming from you, matt. im rolling my eyes, by the way.”
“i know.”
he walked away, assuming you’d follow, and you did.
he’d led you to his apartment, and it was nearly silent between you.
“how the hell did you get an apartment this big?” was your ice breaker.
“look by the window.” he said, gesturing haphazardly to the large panes.
you looked over to the window, but didn’t have to put in much effort, seeing bright but soft pink light wash out the room, from an electronic billboard.
“woah” was all you could come up with.
real nice.
it was kind of awkward, honestly. you barely knew the guy, and also, he was very attractive. on top of that, you were regulating your heartbeat because you were sure if you let it go on its own, he’d hear it thump.
he chuckled at your speechlessness.
“so, matt, what is it you want from me?”
he tilted his head to the side and you thought he looked like a puppy.
“to get to know you.”
he didn’t beat around the bush.
“there’s a lot to know.”
he shrugged, and sat down on his couch. you opted to sit in the chair across from him, and you took a careful breath. you supposed you could tell him everything.
“my name is (y/n). i don’t really have a last name. i was too young when they took me to know it. rushman comes from a girl i once knew.”
he didn’t know about the red room. he knew you were a former assassin who wanted to change, but he didn’t know the true extent.
you were grateful he didn’t interrupt, because if he did you didn’t think you’d be able to continue.
“i was probably about three, when a man, dreykov, took me from my home. i was selected from a program analyzing genetic capability. it was like trafficking, but instead they trained us to kill. they educated us very well, taught us ballet, but they also drugged, beat, and tortured us. only one girl survived each “class” of the red room. it was kill or be killed in its truest form. and after that, after you “graduated”, they sterilized you and sent you out to kill some more.”
you didn’t bother sugarcoating what happened. the only thing you worried about was him seeing you differently.
he remained silent, so you continued.
“i was made to do bad things, and it ate away at me. one day, i had enough. i had been a widow for 16 years, and i found my way out. i was on a solo mission, one of the few he trusted for those, and right when i got to france, i cut my tracker out and i hid. i found my way here and i knew i wanted to do good with my new life. i wanted, and still want, to do whatever i can to be good, because i spent so many years being a monster. so, i got my GED, my degree, went to law school, and then went to your firm.”
he seemed to be processing all that you told him. you couldn’t help but worry in the stifling silence as he digested your story. you were worried he’d see you differently now- see you as the monster you tried to leave in the past.
“well first i should say that won’t impact if i hire you or not.”
you snorted and he had his… matt look on his face.
“but to me it sounds like you’ve been through hell.”
“and now i’m here with the devil.”
he gave you a little smirk, and you admired the way the soft pink light shone on his face.
you leaned back in the chair, shifting to get more comfortable.
“so, what about you, mr devil?”
“long story.” he said, and you scoffed.
“good thing i’ve got lots of time. you made me tell my sob story, let me hear yours.”
he chuckled and you held your heart tight, not wanting it to run away from you to him.
matt didn’t know what made him let you in, but he opened up his doors to you without you even having to knock.
he told you everything. and he could hear your heart ache for him, but he knew you, so he knew it wasn’t pity.
“so… you’re basically like a bat. you could’ve been like batman. sounds a lot cooler than daredevil.”
“hey, i like the name.”
you shared a laugh, and matt wished he could bottle the sound and save it for later.
you took out your knife from its holster on your forearm, and started to spin it around in your hand.
“not trying to get stabby on me now, are you?” matt asked, smirking at you.
“might have to, who knows.”
you twirled the blade, passing it through your fingers.
“your heart is beating faster.”
he stood up, and walked toward the chair you were sitting in.
“what’s on your mind?”
“is it right to ask if i got the job?”
he shrugged.
“don’t see why you wouldn’t. smart, have to be to go to nyu with a GED, and then columbia law. a girl after my own heart, i’d say. plus, i know you are on the right side of the things that go down here in the kitchen. why do you ask?”
he leaned on the side of the chair, towering over your seated form.
“no reason.”
“i can tell when you lie.”
“you’re listening to my heartbeat? got a crush, d?”
he shook his head and smiled, and you swear you saw his face flush a little. or maybe it was wishful thinking.
“im getting letters from shield. i told myself if i didn’t get a job in a month i’d go work for them.”
“do you want to?”
“no.”
“no one can make you do anything. don’t give anyone that power, (y/n).”
he placed a gentle hand on your shoulder, and you knew he could probably hear your heartbeat pick up slightly.
“thank you. you’re right, matt.”
he smiled down at you, and you’d bet it was worth a million dollars.
“always am.”
you put your metaphorical cloak and literal dagger away, though you did keep your taser on you; it was morning now, but you could never be too safe in hell’s kitchen. you grabbed your duffel bag and headed to the studio to teach your little ballerinas. halfway through the walk, you got a call from the number you recognized belonging to nelson and murdock. you couldn’t help the excitement that crept in as you answered.
“hi, miss rushman?”
“hello, this is her.”
“this is karen page, i’m calling to let you know we’ve decided to take you on as a part of the team! i’m sure matt told you all the details.”
“yes, he did.”
“great! i look forward to seeing you tomorrow.”
she sounded genuine, and you appreciated that.
“i’ll be there!”
she ended the call, and you walked to the studio with a new spring in your step.
you had gotten up extra early the next day, nerves blending well with your excitement. you donned a navy blue suit- the color of truth- and practically ran around your apartment getting everything you needed before heading out to your first day.
upon entering the office, you were greeted by karen page. she was very pretty, and she matched the mental image you’d created for her from your phone calls. she was just as genuine in person as she was over the phone.
“matt told me all about you, i’m happy to have another girl in the office.” she said with a kind smile, which you returned.
“it’s good to meet you, miss page. i’m happy to be here!”
“please, call me karen. there’s no need to be super formal here, we’re basically like a family.”
you nodded, offering up an apology which she brushed off, before she set you up at your desk.
“you’ll have to share the room with matt, we’re not exactly the biggest firm out there.”
“it’s no problem, really.”
she left the room, and you’d started settling the few things you brought in on the other half of matt’s desk. you started to let your thoughts wander as you placed a little succulent down.
did they know about matt? if they did… did they know about you?
the door opening snapped you out of your thoughts.
“(y/n), glad to see you settled in.” matt entered the room and you almost started.
“glad to see?” you asked him, and he barked out a laugh that drew the attention of foggy and karen.
“our new lawyer!” you heard in the distance, and matt signaled you to follow him.
you stepped outside to be met with the man you’ve heard so much about.
“(y/n), it’s good to meet you, matt’s been talking so much about you. he always seems to find the pretty one- ow!“ foggy was cut off by a jab from matt’s cane.
“i didn’t know i was entering a workplace with such violence” you feigned bewilderment, “i don’t know if i’m suited for this environment”
matt gave an exaggerated shrug while karen and foggy laughed at your dramatics.
“i can see why he talks about you so much now.” karen said, winking at you and matt’s face flushed a dark pink.
“you guys are going to scare her off, it’s her first day.”
“like some compliments are going to scare off the widow.” foggy said nonchalantly and you tensed up.
“what did you say?” you asked, voice breathy.
“they know… about me.” matt said, sending your worry. he walked over to you and placed his hand gently on your shoulder, the touch effectively soothing you.
“and you told them about me?”
“on accident. you know i’m a terrible liar.”
you scoffed, but you weren’t mad. if matt trusted them, you could too. your face broke out in a smile and you gave a simple “it’s alright.”
“i feel like i’m intruding on a private moment here…” foggy said, causing matt to drop his hand from your shoulder and you to step away from him.
“foggy, stop.” matt said, and it sounded almost like he was embarrassed.
foggy held his hands up in defeat, and walked out of the room, taking karen with him into his office.
“sounds like i have an admirer.” you said to matt, smirk on your face.
“who, karen?”
you swatted his arm and he chuckled.
“maybe i am your admirer.”
your heart picked up speed, and matt chose this time to reach out to your face and tuck your hair behind your ear.
there was no need in hiding your own rapidly beating heart, because you could hear matt’s breathing getting a little heavier in the closeness.
the tension in the room suffocated you, and you desperately searched for an out.
“wanna debrief me on your current cases, d?”
“yea, yea sure.” he moved his hand from your head and cleared his throat, turning around to gather his papers.
you let out shaky breaths, and that was when everything changed.
from that day on, you and matt were a bit different around each other.
before, it was light teasing. now? your conversations were mainly extreme flirting.
you were both at josie’s with foggy and karen, playing pool in teams.
“I GET KAREN!” foggy yelled quickly when you proposed the idea of playing teams.
“NO FAIR FOGGY you got to play with karen last time!” you shouted, looping a protective arm around the laughing blondes shoulders.
“i’ve always wanted two people to fight over me” karen said in between laughs.
“glad to know no one wants to play with me. probably because i’m blind.”
matt was watching you interact with foggy and karen so easily, heart fluttering because you had become a part of their little family so easily, like you belonged with them. with him.
“matt, if you wanted me to be your teammate you could’ve just said so. you didn’t have to pull the blind card.”
you slipped your arm from karen to ruffle matt’s hair.
he ducked his head down, face glowing at the light of your touch.
his hair was soft, and he loved the playful way you tousled his hair.
“sometimes i wonder if they know they’re a couple.” foggy said to karen.
“i don’t know, let’s ask.” karen started, and even though you could hear them before, she raised her voice to say “hey (y/n), matt, do you guys know you’re a couple?”
she was wearing a wide grin, twinning foggy’s.
“we’re married, actually.” matt said, taking your hand and spinning you around, making a show of things.
“still don’t know how matt always finds all the pretty ones.” foggy said with a roll of his eyes.
“married, huh murdock?” you whispered, looking and his hand that still held yours from when he spun you.
“of course. we’ve been married for years honey, are you feeling alright?” he said, pressing a hand to your forehead and cheeks, making you laugh lightly.
“quit being a dork so we can play some pool!” you said, picking up a cue and jabbing him with it.
karen still beat you and matt, even with foggy on her team. she was really good at pool.
after that, your fun night wound down- for you at least. only foggy and karen chose to drink the night away, you and matt opting not to drink. the two told you they were going to hit another bar, and foggy not so subtly winked at matt when he offered to walk you home.
“you’re lucky, matty. i sacrificed a win at pool for you.” you patted the hand that was gripping your elbow. it endeared you that he still had you guide him, though you and he both knew he didn’t need it.
“i feel like the luckiest man in the world, i’ll have you know.”
“how sweet, i hope you included that in your vows.”
“it was the first thing i said, mrs. murdock.” he was drawing shapes into the arm he was holding, and he could hear the quick thumps of your heart.
“i didn’t pin you as the kind of guy for commitment, matthew, but here you are calling me mrs. murdock.”
your steps had slowed now, and you turned to look at him.
“i guess you changed me.”
he gave you that smirk. the one that made you want to grab him and kiss him until you couldn’t breathe, but, you were strong and so you stood your ground on the stoop outside your apartment building.
“this is my stop.” you said, dropping your arm and he let his hand slip from its hold.
“you didn’t have to walk me home you know. i’m more than capable of protecting myself.”
“i know. i wanted to walk you home, though.”
the tunnel that usually governed your vision opened up and the fog seemed to lift, as he stood in front of you.
“why is that, d?” you said quietly, looking up at his crimson covered eyes.
“guess you’ll have to find out tomorrow.” he said, “get some rest, it’s late.”
you couldn’t have noticed. when you looked at him all you saw was golden light, daylight.
he didn’t tell you the next day. in fact, you hadn’t heard from him at all. it was saturday, so no work, but matt was radio silent since early evening.
usually, you got at least one text from a burner telling you where to meet him for the nightly patrol. it was 10 and you’ve heard nothing.
if you were anyone else, you’d have gone to sleep and assumed and he was just busy, but you’d been through it all.
you’d be lying if you slept a wink.
it was 4 am when you were shot out of your reverie by the incessant buzzing of your phone on your nightstand.
foggy.
“(y/n)… you need to come to matt’s. he’s bad and he won’t let me help him. keeps asking for you, says you know what to do?”
you could hear the panic in his voice and it made your own anxiety levels rise.
“i’ll be there in five.”
foggy took his leave as soon as you arrived, mumbling about how stubborn matt was.
you knocked lightly, careful of sounds too loud. it was something matt really loved about you- how considerate you were at all times, not just to him but to everyone around you.
“matt?” you whispered as soft as you could muster.
he was laying on his his back, the ghosts of cuts cleaned by foggy on his face.
“you’re here.” he said, almost like he was surprised.
“of course i am. wanna tell me what happened?” you tiptoed over to the side of his bed and kneeled there.
“got beat up. kitchen irish.”
“foggy said you were bad, any big cuts i need to stitch up?”
he shook his head.
“then what’s wrong, d?” you brought your hand to rest on top of his, and matt swore you didn’t need his senses to hear his heart pounding.
“i just…” he sighed, looking like he was struggling with something for a moment.
“i just wanted you here. with me.”
he flipped his hand so his palm was up, threading your fingers with his.
“i’m here with you.”
he moved to sit up, and patted the spot next to him on his bed.
you made your way over to the opposite side of the bed and took a seat next to him.
“i’m going to ask you something and it might sound weird.” he turned to you, and you gave a simple “okay.”
“can i… touch your face?”
you smiled, heartbeat picking up at the thought.
“sure.”
his hands felt like sun rays on your skin. they were gentle as they cupped your cheeks, and stroked over your eyes.
it made you nervous, to be caressed in such a way, but it also made you irrevocably happy.
after the moment, one of his hands lingered on your cheek.
“you’re beautiful.” he said, whispered and low.
“so are you, matthew.”
he could feel your smile.
“(y/n)…” his thumb made a little circle on your cheek.
“i think i love you. when foggy found me beaten up in an alley all i could think about was you, how much i wanted you with me, because as long as you were there things would feel okay.”
he took his hand off your cheek to grasp yours and press it to his chest, over his heart.
“it’s like i don’t want to think of anything else since i first thought of you. am i lying?”
“no.” you whispered, and he let your hand go.
you took them to his cheeks, grasping the skin softly, bringing his forehead to yours.
“and i’m glad you aren’t. i think i love you too.”
he smiled, and you were flooded with the daylight again.
you once thought that love would be burning red, but when you looked at matt, all you saw was pure gold.
the gold consumed you when you brought your lips to his, heart soaring to new heights.
his arms found their way around you, and yours around him, clutching each other like one of you may slip away.
his heart also found its way next to yours, fusing with it with the beauty of a sunrise.
you could still see it all in your mind, even years later, all of you intertwined with all of him for the first time like that.
summary: frank castle has a lot of pride - maybe too much to admit just how in love with you he is
(fem! reader - i am so sorry for using specific pronouns in this, it's just the way i ended up writing it but pls know all my other fics are g.n if u would like to check them out!)
warnings: so much language, mentions of injury, frank being frank, blood, usual canon typical violence
- jazz xx
Matt Murdock liked to tell his friends that you'd met at work.
Work being that you were both vigilantes who tended to accidentally rip the shit out of Hell's Kitchen.
Things then hadn't panned out the way you'd expected. And even what you'd thought was impossible had happened, it only continued. Life kept getting weirder and weirder, barely staying the same for weeks at a time.
This time two years ago, you see, Matt Murdock had been your everything. He was a complicated man; a contradictory one too. There wasn't anything specific in the Bible about putting on a devil suit and going out at night to beat the shit out of criminals, but he didn't like to think about that. Vigilantes probably hadn't existed in Biblical times, right? So there wasn't anything technically wrong them. That's what you had joked to him the first time you'd met on a roof-top exactly twenty six months ago. It had only taken a few more sarcastic jabs at his job, faith, and personality in general before he'd fallen head over heels for you.
Like him, your relationship was also deeply complex. You fit perfectly into the Daredevil side of him; you always vehemently denied being a side-kick, but you helped in every way you knew how. Most notably in imprisoning Wilson Fisk, but you also supported every single one of his ventures. That was what Matt had needed, really. Someone who showed up. Someone who helped in a fight and cleaned him up after. He had never realised quite how lonely his life had become until you showed up with your sarcastic commentary and out-spoken nature.
It was Matt's daily life that you struggled to navigate. There was no easy way to introduce you to Karen or Foggy -- how could he? How could he ever explain that one? Because sure, you had a life and a day job but there was no good explanation for how someone like you and someone like him could ever cross paths. Moreover, how you could ever end up together.
None of the mattered when you were running across rooftops together, or ducking behind chimneys in tears of laughter as criminals ran by you. Nothing compared to the soft moments of stitching each other up, or secretly repairing Matt's suit whenever he went out to court in the day. Truth be told, you could have spent your life-time in that little bubble. Just you and him against the world; Daredevil and the person who helped him fight crime and was slightly less of a main character but definitely not his sidekick. The outside world was hard to ignore, though. Reality had to come creeping in eventually, seeping in through the cracks of your foundations like an unwelcome visitor to your safe-house.
You had a good few months - nearly a year - together before that fact become harder and harder to ignore. Even behind the soft morning together, and the stolen kisses during your night-time escapades, you could no longer ignore the obvious. Things were falling apart. Your relationship was steaming towards nothing but a dead-end and a bad-break up - but to give credit where it was due, it wasn't for lack of trying. You clutched at straws for weeks, trying to breath life into a dead horse; trying to revive what had once been. It just took a catalyst for things to things to really, properly end.
Income Frank Castle.
The man was a bastard, really. A killing machine with no remorse and zero concern for his consequences. Your first meeting with him had been on a rainy, dark night in the Hudson Yards. You'd both come for the same man - an ex-gang member - and you'd half expected Frank to kill you. And when the gang member did try to kill you, Frank hadn't left you for dead. He'd taken out your shared enemy and dragged you to the nearest hospital, leaving you outside in a bloody puddle for a medic to find you.
A lot of Frank Castle's enemies were your enemies too. Bad, bad people who you nor Matt ever found the courage to kill off; his being religious reasons, and yours being that you valued human life a little too much. Still, you found it easy to view Frank's crimes in a grey area. Maybe you even understood his reasons. You just never in a million years thought that that would be the straw that broke the camel's back. In fact, it felt like a lot more than just that. It felt like the bullet that wiped the camel dead to the floor.
So, you packed and moved out. Took your things across Hell's Kitchen to a shitty little apartment. It was nothing like Matt's place - no high ceilings or spacey living rooms. No bath tub or working elevator. Worst of all, there was no him. There was no Matt to come home to; no Matt to wake you up with coffee on your nightstand or to wrap his arms around you when things became a little too much.
Your new apartment, however, was on Frank Castle's new stomping ground.
Now that he was assumed dead, Frank had all the time in the world to carry out his revenge on some of the worst men in the city. At the same time, you carried out your own missions at night - mostly saving cats from trees and helping old ladies cross the road, but there was a little gang territory there too. Mostly in an attempt to avoid Matt, you kept yourself to yourself - but your shared interests meant that some of your work would over-lap with Frank's.
You weren't an idiot, and neither was he. He knew who Matt was. He knew who you were. He'd seen you lingering beside Matt at the trial - and he'd seen you both retire back to the same apartment at night. Frank also couldn't pretend not to notice that you'd stopped doing that now. That you and the Devil had completely parted your ways, right from working together down to where you slept at night.
Your work had never been influenced by Matt. It just so happened that you wanted to fight the same bad guys - at least that's what it had been up until you met the Punisher. After that, your perspective had changed a little.
And it was through that epiphany that you began to get a little...cockier. Started doing more dangerous things; chasing meaner criminals and using better weapons. It was fun at first, exploring the new found freedom you have. Maybe Matt had been more of a restraint than anything; with his strong beliefs and influence on, you'd always stuck to what you knew; mid-level crime fighting. Now, you were moving up in the world. One night it was gang-members, the next escaped prisoners. All bad people; all worst ones than before.
That was how you ended up almost bleeding out on a roof-top above one of Hell's Kitchens busiest bodega. During the dead of the night, you'd tripped and fallen in a fight - now you had a twisted ankle and your own knife lodged in your leg. That was not how you pictured yourself dying. Not that you'd even given it much thought, but some part of you figured Matt might have been by your side. It was just your luck that this was the one night he'd chosen to explore the other side of the Kitchen. Not the one you were dying on, sadly.
"Fuck," you muttered to yourself. You couldn't move; couldn't stand up or call for help. Not if you wanted to stay out of prison.
You jolted slightly when you heard the sound of foot-steps round the side of one of the water tanks on the roof.
"...Ma - Daredevil?" you quickly remembered not to use his name half-way through your cry. There was no answer. "I have a gun-"
"- no, you don't," a gruff voice cut you off. A moment later, Frank Castle appeared from the shadows. "If you had a gun, you wouldn't be bleeding out on the floor, would ya?"
Propping yourself up on your elbows, you let out a huff. Anyone else would have run away (or tried to, given your situation). Not you. You didn't feel the need to. Frank had saved your life before. You had the same enemies. What was the saying...the enemy of my enemy is not my friend because my ex hates his guts but I still trust him because we hate the same bastards? Yeah, something like that.
Frank knelt down beside you. "You shouldn't be going after the Kitchen Irish on your own. They're dangerous and that makes you stupid."
"Aren't you meant to be dead?" you asked. "I preferred it when you were dead."
"Okay, smart-ass, go easy," he huffed. "D'you want my help or not?"
"Fucking obviously," you muttered. "Please."
Frank shrugged off his jacket, placing it beside you for the minute. You ignored the fact he was covered head to do in what was presumably someone else's blood, choosing instead to watch as he tore off a shred of his shirt. He tied it tightly around your leg, creating some kind of make-shift tourniquet.
"So, no Red around to help you tonight, huh?" he asked.
"Not tonight," you murmured.
"Lover's quarrel-"
"- I don't wanna talk about it," you cut him off, "not when I'm about to bleed out on a roof-top."
"Each to their own," Frank grunted. "I'm gonna count to three, okay? And on three, you're gonna hop up and limp a few blocks with me, yeah? Just over that way towards Harlem."
"Yeah, okay," you nodded.
"Okay - one, two -"
Frank stopped, pulling you off the ground and up into his arms. You let out a yelp as you did, the shock of his sudden grip catching you off-guard. Your hands instinctively clung onto the fabric of his shirt - maybe it was support, maybe it was for comfort. You didn't know, but either way, you knew in your soul that he wouldn't drop you. Call it intuition if you will.
"That wasn't on three," you said through gritted teeth, barely able to talk through the pain.
"Right you are," Frank hoisted you up a little bit. He began the descent from the rooftop, both your weapons now tucked away in his back pocket. "But you wouldn't have got up on three."
"Yes, I would."
"Bullshit," his body shook beneath you as he chuckled. "I know humans. I know humans in pain. They don't do jack-shit at the best times, let alone with a knife in their goddamn leg."
"Look at you, Castle," you shot back. "Such an understanding man."
"Right," he rolled his eyes.
The two of you stayed silent for the rest of the walk back to...wherever the hell it was you were going. Did Frank even have an apartment? You'd always worked in the assumption that he slept in drains and rummaged for food from bins. Like a raccoon.
Still, it would have made sense for him to have a place to crash. He was clean shaven every time you saw him; his hygiene seemed pretty fucking impeccable too. Not like the rest of the crusty ass criminals lingering around the dark corners of New York. Their clothes were always thick with blood and caked in dirt. You figured, though, that if Frank was happy to commit vast amounts of homocide, he probably didn't draw the line at robbing an Old Navy mannequin of its clothes whenever he needed new ones.
Turns out that Frank did have a place - it was a few blocks south of Central Park, tucked away in the corner of a surprisingly nice building. It wasn't anything like you'd expected; neat, tidy, a little bare. That checked out though. He spent years in the military - a place that prided itself on routine and order. Everything was perfectly organised, from the boots by the door to the chipped mugs on the side. What you hadn't expected was for Frank to have a dog. The pit-bull was sat patiently in his little bed, completely unfazed by the sudden presence of two people drenched in red.
"Nice place," you broke the silence.
Frank placed you down on the sofa, giving a light shrug in response.
"Keeps me dry," he said. He shrugged his jacket off and tossed it aside, reaching for a bottle of vodka from the coffee table, then pressing it into your hand.
"No thanks," you shook your head. "Not much of a drinker."
"Sweetheart, I'm about to pull a knife out of your leg," Frank shot back. "I suggest you down that thing like it's the elixir of goddamn life, okay?"
"Right," you took the bottle in defeat.
Naturally, it tasted disgusting. Burnt the inside of your mouth and made you pull a face that elicited a snort from the Punisher himself. It was weird to see him like this - cracking jokes and sharing his alcohol with you. You'd spent the better part of two weeks watching his trial; watching as your then-boyfriend and his partner tried so hard to get him thrown in jail for the rest of his living days. That had been a stressful few weeks for Matthew. He'd been tired and cranky and...angrier than usual.
Sometimes you wondered if it had all been bad-timing. If everything bad had just come at once, and your relationship ending was merely collateral damage and there was no actual reason for it. Because if there was no reason for it, then maybe it could be fixed, right? Maybe you and Matt could reunite once more.
That wasn't the case, though. You remembered those few weeks; tired green eyes hidden behind red-rimmed glasses, fists bloody and cut up from how hard he'd hit the wall. Court documents scattered all over the kitchen table and tense conversations over dinner. The arguments, the tip-toeing around one another, the weight of the world on your fucking shoulders. Maybe your relationship wasn't toxic or mean but hell, it had brought you too much grief. Your lives were too hectic and chaotic to ever consider the idea of fully loving another person. At least each other.
"Mother fucker!"
Your voice cried out through the apartment - in his defence, Frank had given you a warning before he pulled the blade out your leg. If you hadn't been too busy thinking about your ex, you might have heard him.
"Ah, so you are here," Frank muttered. "You zoned out. I thought you'd died or something."
"No such luck," you groaned in pain.
"Deep in thought, huh?" he asked.
"Something like that."
"This next part is gonna hurt too," he said.
The next few minutes were tense; you never thought that you could have sterilised wounds with vodka, but the more you know. By that point, you'd experienced so much distress that you barely felt Frank stitching you up. He recounted some old story from the war in an attempt to distract you, but you couldn't have recalled a single detail of it.
"The good news is that you're not gonna die," Frank declared, wrapping a bandage around your leg. "The bad news is that you're gonna have an ugly scar."
"Makes a good story round the dinner table, though," you replied.
"Sure does," he agreed. "You ever been shanked through the leg before this?"
"A couple times, but not that deep," you replied. "I used to get stitched up by someone that...that Red knew."
"So your boy had his own medic?" he took a seat beside you, eyebrows raised.
"Not quite," you shook your head. "Just a nurse with a good heart."
"And your boy never stitched you up? Not once?" Frank asked.
"He did," you said. "He tried to keep me out the fight a lot, though. Never liked me getting involved all that much."
Frank snorted. "That's bullshit. You can hold your own better than him."
"You've saved my life like twice now," you reminded him. "I wouldn't call that holding my own."
"I know. You pretended to be a lawyer so you could break into the interview room and be all gracious on my ass, remember?" he said. "I mean shit like that. Shit that you do. You're naive as fuck but I have mad respect for you."
"Naive?!"
"You brought a knife to a gunfight with one of New York's filthiest gangs," Frank explained. "Fought Fisk for what...two years?"
"Two and a half," you corrected him.
"There you go, then - you might be naive, but you got heart," he said. "Never lose that."
You saw a lot more of Frank after that night. Maybe you wouldn't go as far as to say you were friends, but you'd definitely upgraded from man who saved my life once to man who saved my life twice and has a questionably decent sense of humour. Because despite him being rugged and rough around the edges and just a tiny, tiny bit vengeful, you felt safe with Frank - at least when you were on the right side. You figured he might have not given you such a warm welcome if you were still with Matt.
That subject didn't come up for the first few weeks of your odd...partnership, was it? Whatever it was, it had started with Frank always just happening to be right where you were. Whenever you set your sights on your next target, he'd be there to help you. Even if it was the most minor thing in the world, like the guy who had held up your favourite bagel store last week, or the woman who scammed your neighbour. The most menial, harmless people who you just wanted to rough up a little bit. He'd be there.
You didn't question. You didn't want to question it, mainly because you feared for the answer. Who was Frank roughing up every night in order to get your location? Maybe he was just stalking you.
On the second or third week - of which almost every night had been filled with his alarming presence and increasingly deep chats - he finally brought Matthew up. You knew it was coming eventually. All your past ventures as a vigilante had involved him. There was a lot of history and it had to come out at some point.
You were perched on some scaffolding uptown, having extended your search for ones of the Dogs of Hell slightly past the Kitchen. It felt safer in a way, because you knew Matt wouldn't be around to hear anything. Maybe that's why Frank had waited til that specific moment to ask.
"So," he began. "You and Red - what's the deal there?"
"There isn't one," you replied. "Not anymore."
"What, he dump you or something?"
"It was a mutual dumping," you shot back. "Nothing in particular happened. I mean...shit happened, but that's exactly it. Life just got in the way. Kinda beyond our control."
Frank snorted. "C'mon. You don't just end a relationship because shit happened, that's not how love works-"
"- right, because you're the world's leading expert, aren't you?" you cut him off. "It was strangling the life out of us and it became more effort than it was worth."
Frank glanced over at you, uncharacteristically silent for a moment. He had a lot of grievances with Matt Murdock - a lot - but right then, his number one reason for beefing with him was that he hadn't tried just a little harder to keep you around. Because Frank hadn't known you long, but he did see something in you. Something of value; not to just to him, but to every human in the world. You'd fought and you'd maimed people just as much as he or Matt had, but you hadn't lost your spark. You were still outspoken and sarcastic even in the face of death; you never gave up a fight and you seemed to take every inconvenience in your stride. Not many people rolled with the punches like you did.
Frank couldn't deny that he didn't know you all that well. Not in the way Matt did. The only image he had of you was the one you had shown him. Still, it was more than enough for Frank to start wondering if Matt was just a little bit crazy for letting you slip through his fingers.
"He didn't fight for you?" Frank asked. "I know the man doesn't beg but hell, he didn't even push a little bit?"
"He was so tired at that point that he practically held the fucking door open," you quietly replied. "Him and I were never meant to happen, really. We were kidding ourselves for a long time."
"But you loved him?"
"Of course I did," you didn't mean to snap, but what kind of fucking question was that?
"And he loved you?"
You glanced over at him. "Yeah - and before you give me spiel on I would have fought my wife a thousand times over because I lost her just remember that there were times where I almost did lose Matt. Where he almost lost me. And we still couldn't make it work."
"Fuck," Frank muttered. "You predicting my lectures now?"
You shrugged. "Clearly, I'm spending too much time around you."
"Can I just ask you one more thing?"
"Well, there's no sign of the bastard we're looking for, so..."
"Did he protect you?"
You thinned your eyes at him. "Course he did."
"No, I mean did he really protect you?" Frank pushed.
You swallowed, trying to ignore the question. Deep down, you knew that Matt would have done anything for you - almost anything. If it came down to him having to end someone's life to save yours, you knew how it would have gone. That was a far fetched scenario for most but one that you almost found yourself in far too many times. Every time, you and Matt had both escaped alive. You'd made it out without him having to make that decision. That was just dumb lucky really.
"I know what you're getting at Frank," you murmured. "You're pointing to the fact that I would kill for him, but he wouldn't kill for me."
"You said it. Not me."
You let out a derivative snort, standing up. "Why the fuck do you care? Why are you asking so many questions?"
"I'm making conversation-"
"- so ask me about my day then! Or...my favourite shows!" you exclaimed.
"Okay, fine," Frank held his hands up in surrender. "How was your day?"
"Shitty," you snapped. "No thanks to you."
He didn't try to follow you when you up and left. You were glad about that.
You kept to yourself for a few days; stewing in annoyance at Frank and a little in heart-break. Even though it had been nearly four months since you and Matt had broken up, there was still hurt there. You didn't feel much for him anymore but you had, at some point, loved him. For the better part of two years, in fact. It just left an ache in your chest to know that it had been a little one-sided. You managed to fit him into every aspect of your existence, but Matt had only ever made room for you in one side of his life. You'd given him your all. He'd half-assed it.
Rather than going out at night, you stayed in your apartment. The city was safe in the hands of Frank and Matt - maybe not so much if they ever crossed paths, but you knew for a fact they actively avoided one another. It was a miracle that Matt had retired the idea of taking out Frank; instead, he just focused his energies else-where.
After three nights of staying in, you were woken one night by a tapping at your bedroom window. It was not long after midnight, and your first instinct was to reach for your newly acquired gun. You'd done so on The Punisher's advice.
Speaking of the Devil (not that one, though), Frank was relieved to be greeted by the sound of the safety clicking off. It meant you were taking what he'd said seriously. That knives did jack shit and that at least bullets went through walls.
"Attagirl."
"What the fuck, Frank?!" you demanded, kicking the sheets aside. "You can't break into my house-"
"- there was word on the street that you were dead," Frank cut you off. "I ain't seen you for days, either. How was I to know better than the fact you're just holing up in here watching Friends?!"
"Why would I be dead?" you asked.
"Just word on the street," he quietly said. "I was beating the shit outta one of the rats from the Cartel and they just...they said something of concern, that's all."
You let out a sigh, tossing the gun aside.
That was the first time you saw Frank getting...bothered. He had no reason to care about you; certainly not one enough to break into your goddamn house at some ungodly hour.
"Well, I'm alive!" you declared.
"Really? Here I was, thinking I was having a good ol' chat with your ghost ," he deadpanned. "It would just be nice if you gave me some of warning when you're gonna fuck off for days at a time like that, yeah?"
"How?" you pushed. "I don't have your number, Frank. Every time I've met you before this, you've just rocked up outta the blue."
"Okay, I'll give you that," he muttered.
You dropped back into your bed, reaching out towards your night-stand. There was a moment of fumbling - and one of tossing around random crap - before you produced an old flip phone.
"Take this," you tossed it at him. "It's a burner phone. I've got the number saved in my phone and mine is saved to that one too."
"Thank you," Frank replied. "D'you mind if I stay for a while? It's fucking freezing out there."
You pondered for a moment - Frank Castle in your home? What a weird fucking thought. Had he asked you a few weeks ago, you would have run in the opposite direction. He wasn't the same man anymore to you, though. He was no longer the Punisher. He was Frank Castle, who you now knew like an old friend. You knew that he was a terrible singer and that his favourite band was Guns N' Roses. You knew that he was partial to a good Taylor Swift song and that he could barely shoot with his left hand. You knew him.
"Sure," you shrugged.
Pulling aside the covers, you shuffled over so that Frank could join you. He kicked off his boots and jacket - you were pleasantly surprised to see that for once in his life, he wasn't drenched in blood. There was just a black t-shirt and sweats; ones that felt comfy against your bare legs as he slipped into the bed beside you.
You weren't sure what was happening, even less so why you were letting it happen. Nothing had made much sense since you and Matt had broken up, and you'd just stopped questioning the why's of things a long time ago. Frank was a steady presence and that was what you needed in that moment.
Neither of you said anything when you woke up the next morning, still in the same bed. You'd completely fallen asleep on Frank's side and he'd instinctively wrapped his arms around you. It felt natural - like you were supposed to be there with him, bundled up in blankets and saying nothing at all. It was like two pieces of a completely different puzzle that had fit together nicely. It also made a picture that made absolutely no fucking sense but...wasn't art subjective? Whatever picture it created, whatever confusing reality became of it, you liked it. Frank liked it. It was a weird, unreadable abstract piece but it brought comfort.
"We're gonna have to get up at some point," you murmured.
"I ain't got anywhere to be," Frank replied. "Do you?"
"Absolutely not," you said.
"Good," he muttered. "I gotta get some rest anyways if I'm gonna keep beating up bad guys for you."
"With me," you corrected him. "You might bring a certain amount of power but I have the brains."
"I'm not so sure you do, sunshine," he snorted.
"Complain all you want but I know you enjoy protecting me," you shot back. "You wouldn't keep showing up otherwise, would you?"
"I'm doing it outta the good of my heart," Frank insisted.
"I'm pretty sure you have a revolver where your heart should be, Frank Castle."
He knew then that he would do much more for you than Matt Murdock ever would. He wouldn't just stop at wiping out someone for you - he would do it to anyone who just hurt you. Whether it was one person or ten. Even a hundred. You'd accidentally become important to him and like hell was he gonna sit around and not protect you within every inch of his life.
It was a complicated situation to navigate, though. Frank wasn't good with feelings at the best of times, let alone when it came to the ex-partner of his sworn enemy. That territory was beyond complex. It was filled with land-mines and hidden traps and god knew what else. It was one that he couldn't even begin to deal with - but it was also one he couldn't run away from.
Things only continued on that up-hill trajectory after your morning together. Frank would stop by a few nights a week when he didn't see you, or you'd come stumbling back to his after a fight. You always said it was to see Max, your new favourite pit-bull, and Frank would always pretend to agree. It was nothing to do with the fact that you were the first person he'd loved in almost a decade, or the fact that you only ever felt safe with him.
There were some complications though.
Complications being that Frank knew some part of you would always love Matt.
In the same way you could never take away his love for Maria, Frank could never take away your love for Matt. Even if you stopped being in love with him, the man still had a piece of your heart. Whatever version of you had existed in the two years you spent together lived on in your memories. It lived on in the fact you saw Matt everywhere you looked in Hell's Kitchen; your favourite bar, the place you had your first kiss, the roof-top you'd first dropped the L-word.
Frank knew that. He knew even more that someone as bright and as sparky as you should end up with the guy with morals. A guy like Matt.
So, he just swallowed it down. It didn't mean that Frank stopped seeing or hanging out with you - in fact, things just stayed the same. That weirdly intimate limbo that you found yourself in just carried on. You continued to fall asleep with him and wake up beside him. The banter and flirty conversations persisted. Anything more than that was scary. Anything less was even worse.
Frank was good at hiding the fact he didn't like talking about Matt. It was just as well really, because neither did you. You just wanted to shut that history down and move on. Whether that meant with Frank, you weren't sure. All you knew was that Matthew Murdock belonged in the past. The future, however, was uncertain.
By three or so months into your little adventure with Frank, you had a routine. It differed from night to night but generally, you would always call or text him by 9PM. Sometimes, it was the location of where you wanted to meet. Other times, it was just a message to check in and let him know you were staying in that night. Either way, it brought comfort to him to always know that you were safe, even if the random emojis you sent never showed up on his shitty little flip-phone.
Naturally, when Frank hadn't heard from you for a day or two, he became worried. He brushed off the fact you hadn't texted him for one night; maybe you were busy. Maybe you'd fallen asleep. There was a million reasonable explanations for one goddamn night.
But two? No. He couldn't believe you would go two whole nights without contacting him, or making an appearance at his door. It had become such a common occurrence that it felt out of character for you to be so absent. Something was up.
Your apartment was empty, but your phone was there. That in itself was a massive sign that things were wrong, because the device was like a fifth limb for you. There was untouched food on the stove and a half-eaten pot pie on the side. That was wrong too. You weren't messy. Your apartment was always spick-and-span. Cluttered, yes, but messy? No.
Frank might as well have gone out his fucking mind looking for you. There weren't many places you could be - at least not ones you could go without telling him. If your passport was still in your nightstand, and wallet still in your bag, you couldn't have gone far. At least he could limit your location down to the whole of North fucking America, right?
The last place he checked was the one he'd been dreading the most.
Matt Murdock's place.
Okay, so maybe it wasn't the most realistic place for you to be, but Matt might have known something. Frank hated that he had to turn to him in order to protect you, but that was the main thing - he was protecting you. Or at least trying to.
"Red!" he yelled from outside the door. "I know you're in there! It's...it's important. It ain't nothing to do with me or you, it's about-"
Frank stopped talking when the door opened. He knew that Matt Murdock was going to be on the other side, but it felt startling to see him outside of the red suit. At least when the matter was to do with...vigilante business.
"You've got some nerve showing up at my door, Frank Castle-"
"- is she here?" he demanded. "Is (name) here?"
"What do you want with them?"
"I ain't seen my girl in days, Murdock," Frank pushed past Matt, entering the apartment. "I'm going out of my fucking mind!"
"Your girl?" The words rolled off of Matt's tongue with confusion.
"I...I can't go into it right now," he admitted. "I just need to know if she's safe."
"She is," Matt said. "She's in the bedroom."
"In the...are you fucking kidding me?"
Frank Castle wasn't a quiet person. His voice carried through walls - multiple walls. And when you heard it, you immediately came to find him.
It looked...questionable. You, exiting Matt's room. In his clothes, no less. What looked even worst was the bruise around your eye and your split lip. You'd been beaten up pretty badly and Frank's brain was working so goddamn quickly that he couldn't piece together a single explanation. At least not one that he liked.
"Frank?" you gently greeted him.
"H-hey," he stuttered. "You wanna tell me what's goin' on?"
Your eyes fell to the floor. "Not really."
"Of course," he snorted. "Why would you owe me an explanation, huh? Why would you owe me anything after..."
He trailed off, then stopped completely.
"After what?" Matt interjected.
"I've saved your girl's ass twice," Frank glanced between the two of you. "You wanna tell him about that, huh? How I rescued you when you two were still together? About how you stole his bar card to sneak through the court and see me?"
"Frank," you tried to reach out to him. "You're getting the wrong end of the stick."
"Yeah, no," he snorted. "I don't think I am."
"Will someone just tell me what the hell is going on?!" Matt demanded.
"You wanna know what's going on, Red, huh?" Frank turned to face him. "We've spent every day over the last three months together. You know what she's like, don't you? Clumsy as fuck and all brave heart. A certified dumb-ass, right? Yeah, well, I helped her fight. Helped her wipe out Kitchen Irish and the Cartel. Stitched her up and all. Looked out for her, lost sleep over her. And then she disappears off the face of the fucking Earth for two goddamn days and I go out my skull trying to find her, and...she's here. With you. All in cahoots, even though I know for a goddamn fact that you don't deserve her for a second."
"Frank!" you snapped. "If you would shut the hell up for just one second and let me explain yourself, you'll see that you've got the wrong idea!"
"You're in his bedroom, in his clothes," he dejectedly said. "Don't lie. Don't act like I'm a fool-"
"- I was kidnapped," you cut him off. "The Cartel kidnapped me, okay? And Matt rescued me. That's all it is."
Matt, who had completely given in on trying to understand what the fuck was going on, gave a shrug. So what if you were gallanting about town with Frank Castle? That wouldn't have even been the weirdest thing he'd seen this week. It didn't mean that the idea of you and Frank completely killed him inside, but he didn't have the energy to bring it up. Your relationship was dead to the world. Nothing he could say or do would bring you back, so why bother trying? He was just grateful he'd rescued you in time - and maybe a little ostentatious that Frank hadn't.
"She's telling the truth," Matt said. "I don't know what's going on between you two - and frankly, I don't want to know - but I can assure you that we're not in cahoots."
"See?" you urged. "Just...you just gotta listen to me, Frank. Okay?"
"You two clearly need to talk - and I need to go for a walk whilst I get my head around this whole thing," Matt announced. "Feel free to be gone when I get back."
A silence fell over the apartment as he picked up his jacket and left. Did you feel guilty? Absolutely.
Guilty that you'd worried them both; guilty that Matt had been dragged into the middle of the situation. Most of all, you felt guilty that you were realising your love for Frank Castle right in the middle of your ex's living room. Only about six feet away from the very place you'd both once laid your heads, amongst...other things.
"The Cartel got me the other night," you quietly began. "Dragged me off the street when I went out to grab some shopping. They were trying to get through me to get to you and...well, Matt got to me. Took a couple hours but he saved my ass, just because he'd been patrolling that area by chance."
"They wanted to get to me?" Frank's eyes flickered up from the floor.
"Yeah. They thought we were...in cahoots," you tried to fight back a smile at the phrase. "I told them they were wrong but hell, Frankie, now I ain't so sure."
He scrunched up his nose. "I was always worried about Red. Thought you were always gonna have feelings for him and all that."
"I'm always gonna care for him, but I don't love him anymore," you said. "That's the difference."
"The difference between what?"
"Between him and you - I don't love Matt."
"I know I said earlier that I ain't stupid but hell, are you even speaking English right now?"
"I love you!" you blurted. "Is that clear enough for you?"
"Clear as fucking day."
Frank reached out towards you, taking you by the waist. He crashed his lips on yours, a large hand resting on the back of your head. You know that feeling after you've been underwater for a long time and you come up for air? That's what it felt like. As though you were finally breathing after weeks and weeks of holding your breath; as though you needed his touch the same way you needed air in your lungs.
"You're gonna have to be patient with me, because I don't know what the hell I'm doing," Frank admitted, resting his forehead against yours. "What I do know is that I love you too. And I'm going to protect you with my life, okay? I ain't ever leaving your side from now on. I'm finding the men that hurt you and I'm going to maim them."
"How romantic."
"Heck, I'll get Red to help me-"
"- yeah, I don't think he will," you fought back a smile. "You know I'm gonna have to talk to him later, right? I owe him an explanation. Not that I can explain a single second of this."
Frank smiled. "Yeah, I know. For now, though, just....just-"
(tasm peter was in mind while i wrote this but i’m preeetttyyy sure it can go for any of them!)
word count- 2.1k
warnings- maybe a curse word? and the threat of jumping off a roof (in good fun!! it’s not serious)
he was a liar. you could tell he was lying, you knew him better than you knew yourself. he was your best friend, so naturally you were very well educated, graduated summa cum laude from the school of peter parker and his doings. you knew that whenever he lied, he’d either fidget with the hem of his shirt just slightly or his voice would raise the smallest bit. and that was when he was lying well. usually, you didn’t need to find a tick to tell when he was lying, because it was painfully obvious to the point where you almost felt bad for him. the other week, he lied to you and told you he had to feed his cat, as if he isn’t allergic to them. and as if you wouldn’t remember he didn’t even own a cat. the only thing escaping your mind was why he was lying to everyone lately. it was time you took the knowledge you’d garnered from reading nancy drew in the third grade and put it to good use. you would find out why peter was lying, and there was no time like the present, so you walked out your door and to school with determination in your steps.
close observance was a part of your detective work, and so at lunch you decided to watch peter very intently.
“hey peter, can you pass me that napkin?” you asked, noticing he’d stolen your plastic silverware packet to eat the little yogurt that came with your school lunch.
he glanced at you quickly and nodded his head a bit too much.
“yea sure of course.”
weird.
“you look like a bobble head. just give me the napkin, weirdo.”
he stopped nodding and went to hand you the napkin, but when he passed it to you, it stuck to his hand for a second.
even weirder.
“thanks.”
he nodded again, because he knew if he spoke his voice would do the raisey thingy it does when he’s lying.
his brown eyes were wide, like a deer in the headlights.
“what’s up with you pete?”
honestly, though you were now on a mission to find out what he was hiding, you were also concerned.
“you know you can tell me anything, right?”
his warm eyes shifted down to you and you saw some guilt swimming around in them.
“i know, i’m just… tired.”
he was telling the truth there. you looked at him then, and you saw his under eyes were darker than they used to be. you made a mental note of that and the napkin stick before speaking again.
“is there anything i can do?” you asked, genuinely concerned for the boy.
“no. i’ll be okay though, i have you.”
he was turning to flattery to try to get you to drop the subject, a classic move. you admit it did usually work, and you also admit that it made your heart beat a little faster. unbeknownst to you, peter could hear it, and his face turned a little pink.
“don’t get all romantic on me, parker.”
“don’t worry, i’m not.”
your smiles matched each other and the conversation ended with the ringing of the bell. he was saved by the bell for now, but you’d find out what he was up to.
so far, you have sticky hands, which was so weird, and tired eyes.
during eighth period, instead of paying attention to the lecture your teacher gave on the elements of art, you knew that already anyways, you added on to your plan. first on your little agenda: talk to aunt may. after school, you called your mom to tell her you’d be home late, and walked home with peter to his apartment.
“may! i’m home!” you greeted, to which the older woman smiled, before taking you into her arms.
“i’m off to the skate park, see you both for dinner” peter said, truthfully, before zipping out the door. perfect.
on any other day, you may have asked him to stay, but not today. you needed to talk to may today.
“hey may?” you asked, looking at the older woman.
“yes?” she furrowed her brow, slight frown on her face.
“has peter been acting… odd lately?”
you tilted your head to the side, studying her reaction as she looked to be experiencing a moment of clarity.
“i just thought i was losing it a little… i am getting old”
neither of you could help but laugh at her reply, but she continued answering your question.
“he sneaks out at night and thinks i can’t hear him, and he comes home dirty or a little… beat up sometimes, i just thought he was getting bullied at school, honestly.”
“he doesn’t anymore as much, not after i handed out some threats.” you said, and may shook her head.
“i know it’s not a girl though.” may said.
“how?”
“because all he talks about is- never mind”
she caught herself before she did what peter constantly begged her not to do, which was tell you about how he is ‘totally in love with you’. his words.
“i’m going to find out what he’s up to may. and once i do i’ll let you know.”
“i know you will, sweetheart. by the way, can you help me with dinner?”
it was your favorite part of the week, honestly. usually peter was there, watching you cook dinner with may and looking absolutely enamored, which, i guess you were just very skilled at cutting vegetables. uncle ben used to give may a look when he did, and the two would shake their heads at you both, but now poor may was left to deal with your obliviousness all alone. today, you were making pasta, which was easy enough, and may was baking cookies for after. upon peters quick return from the skate park, you began setting the table, and during such you almost dropped a plate.
almost.
somehow, peter was able to reach out and catch the flying plate before it could meet an unfortunate end.
“my hero!” you exclaimed, as he handed you the plate back.
he winked at you, and you felt your whole body heat up as your heart started running laps in your chest. it stopped though, and your brain took over instead. how did he catch that plate so quickly?
you shelved the thought, promising to return to it on your walk home.
dinner came and went, with nothing revealing or too eventful, and so you knew you should be heading home.
“thanks for having me!” you shouted on your way out the door.
“you know you don’t have to thank me anymore” may said as she walked you out.
“i still will anyways, may. bye parker!”
“sweetest farewells, darling.” he said,
putting on an english accent, and bowing to you as you walked out the door, rolling your eyes.
on your walk home, you realized that maybe you should’ve asked peter to walk you there. it was starting to get dark quick, and you were only five minutes in to your twenty five minute walk home. it really was too bad you couldn’t ride a bike.
you were nearly home, when you saw something blue and red flash by.
weird.
you took it as a sign and started walking so fast you were nearly running home.
you walked into your apartment and saw your dad reading an old newspaper on the couch when it hit you all at once. there on the cover of the daily bugle was none other than spiderman.
it all started to make sense.
“are you okay?” your mom asked, watching you stand frozen by the coat rack.
“yeah, i’ll be back in a second, okay?” you said, putting your coat on the hook.
“just be safe.”
you got to your room and took a second. it was so obvious. the sticky hand on the napkin, how he was able to catch the plate. he was so tired because he patrols at night, when aunt may sees him sneak out and how he comes home beat up. and the blue and red you saw on your walk home. it was peter, watching you as spiderman.
you didn’t know if that last part was kind or weird.
you needed to call him. so you did.
“what’s up” he answered, sounding kinda breathless. you hoped he wasn’t talking to you and swinging around the city.
“i need you to come over.”
“i’m a little busy”
“it’s an emergency, i really need you here. meet me on the roof of my building.”
you said, and technically you weren’t lying.
“alright i’m on my way. be there in five.”
he hung up before you could say anything else. knowing peter, he probably was talking and swinging.
you waited on the roof for his arrival, and ran up to him when you saw him.
you gave him a huge hug, to sell your “emergency” from earlier, and also because he deserved it. he was a hero. and this whole time, he’s been doing this in silence.
he smelled like cinnamon and clean clothes, and he could hear your heart rate accelerate, but barely over the loud thumping of his own.
“what’s wrong?” he asked, voice so genuine you felt bad for lying to him.
“i found something out.”
you were being cryptic and it was so unfair to him but it was also very funny to you.
“what do you mean?”
he pulled away from your embrace, hands resting on your elbows, studying your face.
he wanted to admire your beauty, but he couldn’t in the gravity of the situation. you decided to just rip off the bandaid.
“i found out that you’re spiderman.”
to say his jaw dropped would be an understatement, but he quickly tried to cover it up.
“where did you get that idea?”
his voice was higher.
“it’s obvious, honestly.”
you were smirking at him, victory tasting so sweet.
“i’m not spiderman. you can’t prove anything.”
“are you sure?”
you were always up for a good challenge, and a really stupid idea came into your head. you were going to jump off the roof.
you were like, 99% sure he was spiderman, and on the off chance he wasn’t, he’d stop you before you could jump by telling the truth.
and so with little thought, you started sprinting toward the edge of the roof, and just as you were about to sail through the air, you were pulled back by a web. he’d pulled you so you were chest to chest, and you looked at the web stuck to your arm.
“holy shit.”
you said, surprised, even though you’d figured it out.
“you really are spiderman.”
he looked down at you, a little nervousness in his big brown eyes and something else you didn’t understand.
“will you just shut up?” he whispered, leaning down and before you could get a word out, he silenced you.
his lips were brought over yours, and you immediately kissed him back. it felt so natural, as he brought his hands to your face, holding you impossibly close. his lips were impossibly soft, and for a second you swore you were dreaming. you just kissed your best friend. and your best friend was spiderman.
you pulled away, and the taste of him was almost as sweet as the taste of victory.
“not bad, bug boy.”
he shushed you, and kissed you again, this time deeper than before. your hands found their way to his hair as your lips molded together, and when you pulled slightly he nearly whimpered.
you pulled away again, and he tried chasing your lips but you took a step back.
“as much as i liked that, we kinda need to talk.”
“about what?” he looked like a puppy, eyes so big and his head tilted to the side, lips a little puffy and almost… pouty.
“peter…” you have a serious look, and he dropped the pout.
“okay fine. i’m spiderman. i have been for like a month or so. and i also am in love with you. i have been for about three years.”
it was incredibly nonchalant, but you could see him take his heart from his sleeve and hold it in front of you. and you, being oh so selfish, snatched it up.
“that’s cool.” you said, unable to form a real thought amidst your joy.
“i love you too.” was the only thing you could come up with, and in exchange for his heart you gave him your own just then.
“i actually-“ you started to talk again, but he interrupted you.
“i thought i told you to be quiet?”
he said, voice sounding a little husky.
“i guess you just need to make me, oh mighty hero.”
you smirked, and he most certainly made you, kissing you until you couldn’t think of anything to say.
Summary: You never expected a snowstorm to leave you stranded in an IKEA overnight. You never expected one night to change the trajectory of your life so completely. You never expected him.
Warnings: Fluff, just the tiniest bit of Angst (mentions of Steve's mom passing), Steve speaking French, because that absolutely needs to be a warning. Did I mention Fluffffff??
a/n: I finally got my act together and finished this, lolll. I will admit, I've never actually
been to an IKEA, but I watched two 30-minute video tours on YouTube as research...and I still took a few liberties, but only for the sake of the narrative! I hope you guys like this, ahhh! 💖💖(inspired by the news story about the people in Denmark).
“You’ve gotta be shitting me.”
The voice knocked you out of your stupor, tearing your gaze away from the white haze that had consumed the parking lot outside, turning around to face whoever had spoken.
You were not expecting to turn around and find a literal angel behind you. He was obviously lost down here with you mere mortals, his wings undoubtedly tucked neatly into the black pea coat he had on, the blue and yellow tote bag hanging from his hand filled with whatever earthly trifles he had picked up on his downward trip. Apparently, he had picked up some colorful language, too.
Do they not have furniture up there? You thought mildly as you stared for what was probably too long at the grounded seraph in the middle of an IKEA. A few strands of his blonde hair fell onto his forehead, his chiseled jaw set with a deep frown. He had the same perplexed dread on his face that you had had on yours moments ago, staring out at the swirling snowstorm that had swallowed up the landscape. After a moment, his eyes darted to you, and he seemed to come back to himself, taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair.
“Sorry about that ma’am,” he said gently, his full pink lips upturned slightly. His eyes—the most gorgeous shade of blue you’d ever seen—flicked back towards the storm, his shoulders deflating a little with defeat. “How did it get so bad? I was in here for ten minutes…” he mumbled, shaking his head.
“Folks, we’re gonna have to wait this one out,” someone else said, and you turned to find the store manager, Bruce, his nametag said, standing along with you and Blonde Gabriel at the doors, his hands on his hips. It was only then that you noticed the gaggle of people surrounding you, about eight other employees and twenty unfortunate souls who had decided to do some shopping during a snowstorm, you included.
You turned to look outside again, and there wasn’t a doubt that Bruce was right. There was no way anyone could drive in the middle of all that unless they had it out for themselves. You couldn’t even see your car, and you had snagged a spot right in front of the store.
Bruce sighed deeply, giving his employees a wordless look before glancing at his watch and up at the rest of you. “We close in about two hours, so hopefully it clears up by then. I’ll make a few calls to see about plows coming down here, but in the meantime…make yourselves comfortable,” he said, taking one last look at the storm before walking towards the back of the store.
You glanced back at the angel to see he had taken out his phone, furiously typing away at the screen, running his hand through his hair again. You guessed it was a stress habit he had, and you found yourself wishing you could replace his hand with yours.
“Can I help you with anything?”
You jumped a little, startled by the voice that thankfully pulled you out of your thoughts before they got too self-indulgent.
“I’m so sorry,” the employee in question said, her brow creased with worry. “I didn’t mean to scare you,” she said, her Eastern European accent wavering.
You shrugged away her worry, giving her a bright smile. “It’s okay…” you made a quick sweep of her auburn hair, her dark makeup, her nametag that said WANDA in block letters. “…Wanda. I’m fine, just bummed about the snow,” you said, jerking your thumb at the doors.
She scoffed, glaring at the storm as if she could control it with her mind alone. “After this, I’m moving to Tahiti,” she joked, and you laughed along with her. You were about to tell her to save you a seat on the plane when she frowned at something past your shoulder. “Stevie, you okay?”
It took you a moment to realize she was addressing the angel —Stevie . He was still typing away on his phone, his thumbs flying furiously. He let out a long sigh, looking up at Wanda and giving her a genuine, albeit stressed, smile.
“I’m good Wan, just telling Bucky off for sending me out in the blizzard of a lifetime,” he mumbled, frowning down at the device as if it were actually the offending ‘Bucky’. “Wait for me if it clears up, I’ll give you a ride home,” he told Wanda, offering another small grin to the both of you before walking off, placing his phone to his ear.
“You know him?” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop them, your voice painfully wistful as you watched him go. You cringed, looking over at Wanda to find her grinning at you knowingly.
“I do, unfortunately,” she said rolling her eyes. “He works with my brother. And often gets into trouble with my brother,” she deadpanned. “Do you know Steve?”
“Uh, no, we just met. Kinda,” you said, looking towards where he retreated. You swore there was a trail of pixie dust on the ground following his tracks.
“Do you want to know Steve?”
You looked at Wanda, that knowing smirk still on her face as if she could see all of the not-so-savory thoughts that had passed through your head moments ago. You could feel heat blaze on your neck, and you huffed out a nervous laugh, looking down at the wicker mail basket that you had forgotten you were holding.
“You know, I still didn’t pay for this. I should go do that,” you said, holding it up for Wanda to see.
She just cocked an eyebrow at you, turning in the direction of the register. “Okay then. Follow me, and I’ll ring you up,” she said, beckoning you to follow her.
You sighed, placing a cool hand on your embarrassingly warm cheek. You took one last glance at where your angel had disappeared to, hoping he’d choose to stay here on earth just a little while longer.
***
Two hours later, and things weren’t exactly looking up. A chorus of groans rang out in grim harmony as Bruce doled out the bad news to the crowd of shoppers.
“Are you serious? My kids are still with the sitter, I need to get home,” one lady complained, flapping her arms with exasperation.
Bruce shuffled nervously, wiping his glasses on the corner of his blue uniform vest. He had a sort of twisted, constipated look on his face, and you couldn’t help but feel bad for the poor guy. “I’m sorry ma’am, but that doesn’t look like it’s gonna happen tonight. The Department of Transportation rep was pretty adamant that the plows won’t be here until early morning.”
“Wait a second, the morning? So, you mean we’re actually stuck here? For the entire night? This is ludicrous!” another man exclaimed, a wave of murmuring bubbled up amongst the other patrons, growing louder and louder despite Bruce’s best efforts to mitigate the situation.
“Settle down, everyone.”
The angel’s— Steve’s —voice cut through the chatter with ease, all other voices dying down in response to his authoritative tone. He hadn’t even raised his voice, his words alone commanding respect and compliance without even trying. He stood towards the back of the group with Wanda, his shoulders squared, his jaw set, his entire figure composed and in full control as his gaze swept over the rest of his fellow patrons.
You weren’t sure if you wanted to salute or get on your knees.
“Look, this is a stressful situation for all of us. I get that,” Steve began calmly, his tone taking on more warmth. “I’m sure none of us saw this coming when we woke up this morning, but we’re here, and there’s nothing we can do about it. We’re all trying our best here, and Bruce is right,” he said, gesturing in the direction of the front entrance. Everyone else seemed as enraptured as you, all eyes trained on him with no protest. “The snow is still coming down bad, and even if the plows could make it out here, it would still be dangerous. At the very least, we’re in a warm, dry place with comfortable furniture we can hang out on until morning.” He sounded so sure, so unwavering, that you couldn’t help but believe what he was saying, to hold onto his words like an anchor out at sea.
“And food,” Bruce chimed in, looking measurably more at ease. “We still have plenty stocked in the café, including the meatballs. There’s coffee too.”
“And we have a projector in the back,” Wanda added. “We can hook it up to a tablet and put on Netflix.”
“Perfect, dinner and a movie,” Steve said enthusiastically, opening his arms in appeal to the others. “Can’t get any better than that, right? We’ll make the most of this. It’ll be fun, like a…a—”
“Sleepover?” another lady blandly finished for him, crossing her arms over her chest.
Steve chuckled, ducking his head a little. “Not exactly the word I was fishing for, but that works too,” he said, glancing up sheepishly. He straightened again, placing his hands on his hips, some authority returning to lines of his figure. “Let’s get this party started.”
He made his way over to Bruce, the two of them beginning to plan out whatever needed to be done, and Wanda made her way over to you, shaking her head and grinning fondly over at Steve. “He’s good at that, right?” she said, snorting lightly.
“It was quite the rousing speech,” you said mildly, ignoring the heat that threatened to invade your cheeks.
“Trust me, he sounds even better when he’s drunk,” Wanda said with a small chuckle. You laughed at that, and she regarded you for a moment with a calculating look, as if she were trying to take you apart and see what you were made of from the inside, out. She must have liked what she saw, because she grinned at you, tilting her head towards the other side of the store. “The projector’s in the back, and I bet we can find a white sheet to hang up, too,” she said, turning and heading towards the rear, following the main aisle that ran through the whole store.
You jogged a little to catch up to her, various room and furniture displays lining either side of you. It was almost like you were stuck in a human-sized dollhouse that some cruel, giant child had trapped you in for their amusement.
It didn’t take long for Wanda to find the projector, and the two of you managed to find a large white tarp to hang up. You found a good spot that would accommodate the group, pushing couches together to create a makeshift home theater. All the while, Wanda talked about her childhood, and leaving Sokovia when she and her brother were young. You told her about yourself, maybe a little too much, but it was surprisingly easy to talk to her and fill in the silence as you worked, despite only knowing her for less than an afternoon. The two of you were just about finished hanging the tarp when someone came and interrupted.
“Uh, Wanda?”
The two of you turned to find one of her coworkers, a lanky, brown-haired kid who couldn’t have been past 17, his hands and feet shuffling with nervous energy.
Wanda sighed, giving him a bland look. “What is it, Parker?”
He turned a little pink, scratching at the back of his head and tugging at his collar. “The toaster oven is acting up again,” he blurted quickly, as if he had said something forbidden. “We tried to jiggle the chord like you do, but...” he trailed off, haplessly shrugging his shoulders.
Wanda shook her head at him, sending a side-eyed look your way, and you bit your lip to keep from smiling. “This place would fall apart without me,” she murmured, more to herself than you or the kid, gesturing for him to follow her towards the back again.
You looked over the little movie set up one more time, adjusting some couches and making sure the projector was in a good spot. You eyed the tarp and noticed one of the corners was hung a little unevenly. You probably should have waited until Wanda came back to fix it, but you figured you could handle one corner on your own. You carefully climbed the ladder the two of you had found, holding on with one hand while the other attempted to fix the tarp.
“You know, you really shouldn’t use a ladder unsupervised like that.”
You jolted, the ladder shifting enough to make you yelp, grabbing onto it for dear life with both hands, tarp be damned.
“And I probably shouldn't startle you on a ladder like that, shit,” the deep voice chastised itself, a pair of large hands bracketing your waist to steady you and the ladder. “Easy, take your time stepping down,” the man said, his hands holding you steady as you made your way down. You turned around, ready to tell the man not to worry about it, but your voice caught in your throat.
Because it was your angel.
Steve .
Standing right in front of you like a dream. He was even more breathtaking up close.
For a moment, you just stood there, your mouth slightly agape, your brain working overtime to formulate words it could push out of your vocal cords. Your eyes swept over the golden waves of his hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the spattering of freckles that dotted his cheek and neck, until you finally gazed into the blues of his irises, cerulean swirls mingling with whisps of emerald. And his eyelashes—
“Are you alright, ma’am?” he asked, slicing through the murky mess of your mind. There was a small wrinkle between his brows, concern riddled over his prepossessing features. When you didn’t respond right away, the wrinkle grew deeper and he glanced over you, no doubt trying to figure out if you had, in fact, hit your head on the way down and sustained brain damage.
“Hi,” you finally blurted out, your voice a couple of octaves too high.
You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.
Steve’s face lightened up a little, a whisper of a grin beginning to form on his lips, though the concern was still there. “Hi,” he said back, amusement dancing in that one syllable.
It grew quiet again, the two of you unsure how to proceed with what was already an incredibly awkward encounter. That’s when you both realized how close you were to each other, and your gazes both trailed slowly down to Steve’s hands, which were still firmly holding onto your middle. Even then, he held on for a second longer than necessary, his fingers dragging along the fabric of your shirt as he pulled them away from you, reaching up to smooth over his hair with a light chuckle.
“Uh, you’re Wanda’s friend,” he said haltingly, jerking his hand back towards you for a shake. “I’m Steve, nice to meet you.”
You marveled at the dichotomy of the man in front of you, the one who had not long ago commandeered a group of strangers, who now seemed a little flustered and nervous just talking to you. You took his hand and shook it, vines of electricity zipping up your arm from the contact.
“Nice to meet you, Steve. I’m Y/n,” you said, desperately trying to keep the breathy wonderment out of your voice.
He smiled at you, and there was another pause, the air thick with a tension you couldn’t quite place. You scrambled for something to say, anything to say, when a pinging sound rang out, Steve’s face dropping as he pulled his phone out of his pocket. He groaned audibly, pinching his eyes shut and opening them again, shaking his head at the screen.
“Everything okay?” you asked carefully, resisting the urge to smooth out the frown on his face.
He puffed out some air, his cheeks inflating a bit as he swiped a few more times on his phone. “Yeah, just some work stuff I had to get done. It’s infuriating to do without a laptop, and the service in here is pretty shoddy anyway.”
“Ah,” you said, nodding slowly. “Well, I’m sure your boss will understand considering the circumstances. And if not, I’m pretty sure we’re only one more billionaire space race away from the proletarian revolution.”
You immediately wanted to kick yourself for trying to make a stupid joke, but your regrets dissolved as soon as Steve laughed, his whole body leaning back a little, his hand clasped against his impressively broad chest.
“Gosh, I needed that,” he said once he settled down, that damn smile lighting up his features again, sending a torrent of butterflies through your gut. He glanced up at you and lifted his shoulders helplessly, stuffing his hands in pockets. “This sucks, doesn’t it?” he breathed out, sounding relieved that he could finally give voice to his own negativity, to deflate and let it go, away from the ears of the angry mob.
You gave him a sympathetic smile, quirking your own shoulders up a bit. “It does, but like you said before, it could be worse. We could’ve gotten stuck in a Wal-Mart,” you said with a shudder.
He laughed again, and you couldn’t help the swell of pride that rose in your chest, the warmth that spread through you at the sight of him growing a little lighter.
“What exactly had you out in this storm, anyway?” you asked as you began to meander together along the main aisle towards the cafe. “Something about a Bucky, you said...”
“Don’t remind me,” he said, rolling his eyes with another sigh, though he didn’t seem as disgruntled as before. “My roommate Bucky found a stray cat a couple of weeks ago, and he’s been doting on her ever since. He asked me to stop by here on my way home to see if they had any nice cat beds for her. Apparently, the one we have isn’t ‘up to her caliber',” he said grudgingly as he took out his phone and handed it to you.
You were able to see that his lock screen was a picture of the fluffiest, white-furred cat you’d ever seen, with startling marble eyes and the cutest little nose. You cooed, and Steve chuckled, taking a look at the photo himself before slipping it into his pocket.
“Alpine,” he said, giving you a cursory glance. “She’s a cutie, I have to admit.”
“She is, and your roommate is right. She deserves a throne to sleep on, Steve,” you chided playfully, eliciting another laugh from him and earning yourself a small nudge from his arm that sent your butterflies into another tizzy.
“What about you?” He asked, turning smoothly, walking backward so he could face you as you spoke. “What made you run out in a blizzard?”
You hesitated, trying to find the right way to articulate your words. “I...I didn’t have a real reason,” you admitted, looking down at your shoes. “It’s just...this time of year is a little hard for me, and I impulsively decided to do some retail therapy.”
For some reason, shame rolled over you, as if you had committed a crime instead of just feeling a little down. This time of year was hard; it was cold, dark, and it was full of holidays that you no longer felt connected to, ones that reminded you of how lonely you really were. You sighed, chancing a glance up at Steve.
He slowed his steps until he came to a complete stop in front of you, a concerned look on his face. “You okay?” he asked softly, so softly that it made your heart ache.
You swallowed down the emotions that threatened to bubble up, pushing out a smile and straightening your posture. “I’m good. Believe it or not, I feel better than I did this morning. This is kind of my comfort store, so...”
“’Comfort store’?” he parroted, raising an eyebrow.
You chuckled, feeling a smidge self-conscious about opening up to a stranger, but Steve seemed like the sort of person you couldn’t help but confide in, the sort of person who would take what you said and tuck it in between his heart and left lung. “Yeah, my comfort store. When my siblings and I were younger, our aunt did a good amount of babysitting for our mom, and she would always drag us out shopping with her. She was always redecorating her place, so we went to IKEA a lot,” you explained, looking around at the furniture displays that surrounded you. “To pass the time while she shopped, we would play this game where we would go around to the different rooms they had set up and we’d pretend we were different people with different lives based on the room we were in. It was the best thing about coming here.” Those were some of the memories you held dear, remnants of a simpler time, or at least simpler than they were now.
When you looked back at Steve, his eyes were filled with something that left you feeling heady, a warmth that made it hard not to want his arms wrapped around you in the cool darkness of your room as snow piled up on your windowsill—
“Let’s play, then.”
You blinked at him. “What?”
“Let’s play,” Steve said again, gesturing to the displays. He gave you a boyish grin, one that made the thumping in your chest go faster. “I think we’ve got some time to kill before dinner’s ready,” he added.
You stared at him incredulously, your jaw hanging open a bit. “You wanna play the childhood game I played with my siblings?”
“Why not?” Steve shrugged, glancing up at you through those thick, gorgeous lashes. “Unless, of course, you know any other fun ways we can pass the time,” he said, a coquettish quirk lifting the edge of his lips.
It might have just been the harsh fluorescent lighting playing tricks on your eyes, but you swore there was a heat behind his gaze, a want behind his irises, and all executive function in your brain short-circuited.
Maybe you had actually hit your head getting down from that ladder and heaven just happened to look like a Swedish furniture store.
As quickly as the look came, it went, Steve jerking his thumb at one of the displays. “C’mon, we got nothing to lose,” he insisted, shooting you another dazzling grin and heading over there.
You helplessly followed after him, the two of you coming to a stop in one of the kitchen displays. Steve leaned against the counter, crossing his arms and considering the place before looking at you. “So,” he prompted, gesturing around. “What about this room? What’s our life like in here?”
He said it so casually, our life, as if you weren’t in the middle of your very first real conversation ever, as if the thought of spending the rest of eternity here in this store with you was something he wouldn’t bat an eye at. Warmth spread through you, but by some miracle you managed to smother it down before it reached your cheeks, averting your gaze from him to the décor around you.
You sighed, placing your hands on your hips, examining the kitchen you were in. It was modern looking, with obsidian marbled countertops, a stainless-steel sink with the appliances to match, and glossy black cabinets that were sleek and didn’t have handles. You thought for a moment, making a show of tapping a finger against your chin and narrowing your eyes while Steve looked on with an amused expression. You turned to him triumphantly.
“You’re a high-powered attorney,” you began confidently, trying to keep your grin at bay. “You make enough to pay for our Central Park penthouse and then some. In fact, you just made partner at your firm last month, and you said you would take me to Milan to celebrate.”
“Is that so?” Steve asked, struggling to keep his own face serious. “And what does my lovely wife do with her time?”
“ Wife,” you barked out, clearing your throat to compose yourself. If he noticed the heat spreading across your neck and face, he didn’t say anything. “Uh, yes, well I spend my days scanning your credit card on Fifth Avenue, hosting cocktail parties for the other wives at the club we’re members of,” you said, letting a giggle escape you at the image of being a stuck-up socialite. “The only time this kitchen has ever actually produced a meal was when we hired those caterers for John Mulaney’s second baby shower as a favor for a friend of a friend.”
Steve laughed, shaking his head at you, his crystalline irises beaming in a way that made your breath catch a little. You had the passing thought that you would do practically anything to hear the sound of his laugh over and over again.
“Alright,” he said, all business again. “What aboooout...this one?” he asked, leading you over to the next kitchen display, placing a light hand on the small of your back.
The small contact made fireworks ignite through your entire body, and he pulled away far too soon, pulling out a chair at the cherry red vinyl table in the middle of the kitchen and gesturing for you to sit. You smiled at him, and you realized how easy it was to smile at him, how easy it would be to peel back your outer shell and offer him every ounce of joy you had to give.
“Thank you, honey,” you quipped, pushing the thought away and keeping up the little game you two were in. That’s all it is, just a game, you reminded yourself.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart,” Steve responded in kind as he took the seat across from you, crossing his arms over the table and leaning in towards you. “Whatcha got? Lay it on me,” he urged.
You laughed, taking a look around before deciding on what life this room would hold. The floor was covered in black and white linoleum tiles, the cabinets were a soft mint green, and there was a retro SMEG refrigerator in the corner, circa 1944. You crossed your own arms on the table and looked right at Steve, a surge of boldness allowing you to lean closer to him, too.
“We got married right before the invasion of Poland,” you began, letting the image unfold from your mind. “You enlisted as soon as you could, and there’s not a day that goes by where I don’t worry about you. I got a job at a factory manufacturing sheet metal that helps us stay afloat,” you said, making the “Rosie the Riveter” pose. Steve chuckled, but didn’t interrupt. “Your mom lives just up the block, and she comes over every evening in hopes that I’ll pick up some cooking skills. She even tried to teach me the family cookie recipe, but I failed miserably,” you concluded.
You were ready to laugh at yourself, the very real image of your kitchen nightmares running across your mind, but it died in your throat at the look on Steve’s face. His smile had fallen, replaced by a grim line and a tight jaw. His eyes dimmed and darkened, a storm pulling 50-foot waves around his pupils, his gaze firmly fixed on the tabletop.
Your mouth suddenly felt too dry. “Steve? Are you okay?”
He took a sharp breath before finally looking up at you, his lips just barely upturned. “Yeah,” he said, his voice wispy and far off. “Yeah, I’m fine. What you said just reminded me of when I was younger. My mom was a nurse, so she had crazy hours most of the time, but more often than not she would manage to pull through for school functions,” he said, and some of the light returned to his eyes, though he still looked far away. “Especially bake sales. It was important to her, even though she already wore herself so thin, and the other moms judged her for not always being there.
“She would let me stay up late the night before and help her make her famous brownies. ‘Forever’ Brownies, she called them, because people always told her they could keep eating them and never stop,” he breathed out a laugh, but it sounded achingly hollow. “She said the key was her super special secret ingredient, and I wasn’t allowed to tell a soul what it was. She made me pinky swear,” he said, trying to play it off as something funny, but you could tell it meant everything to him. His entire heart was on his sleeve, exposed and beating in sync with his words, and you felt like you were bearing witness to something you shouldn’t have been.
You hesitated, drawing in a deep breath. “Is she...did she...”
Steve nodded, saving you from the rest of that question. “Two days before my high school graduation. Cancer,” he explained, and his grief was so palpable that you felt pinpricks in your nose and a boulder in your throat.
“I’m so sorry, Steve,” you whispered, because there wasn’t anything else you could say, there wasn’t anything you could do to fill that void for him, to take away that pain even though every string in your own heart yearned to.
Steve shook his head a little, pushing out a wide grin that didn’t quite reach the rest of his face. “Don’t be. She was a good woman.”
You grinned back at him. “Well, I already knew that,” you said, and his brow furrowed with confusion. You just shrugged, looking down at your hands. “She obviously raised a good man.”
It was silent for a long moment, the air thick with everything the two of you had spilled into it, heavy with all the things you didn’t dare say. When you glanced up at Steve, he was already looking at you, so intently, so intensely, that you swore there wasn’t enough oxygen in the whole world to inflate your lungs at that moment.
“You know,” he began, his voice unsteady, splintered and cracked at the edges. “I don’t really talk about her that much. With anyone.”
You knew what he meant without him saying it. That he had given you a small piece of himself, even though you were a stranger, that he trusted you enough to take a small sapling from the branches of his heart and plant it into your palm.
Maybe he felt it too, that magnetic pull you had felt towards him since the moment you met only hours ago. Or maybe you were just a stranger, a person with no stakes that could carry a secret with no true meaning.
You brushed aside the thought, stuffing down the emotions buzzing between the layers of your skin, giving him your best smile. “Well, thank you for sharing her with me. Come on, we can try another,” you insisted, getting up and urging him along to the next display.
He hesitated for a moment, his brow still furrowed as if he were trying to piece something together, but he shook it off, joining you at the center of the next kitchen, leaning against the island counter.
This kitchen was a little more rustic, with a faux stone wall on one side and wooden countertops. Copper pots hung from various hooks, and a pair of glass doors opened up to a backyard setting, complete with a picnic table and fake plants.
You thought for a moment, taking in every detail carefully before speaking. “We decided to take a gamble and move abroad to a cottage in the French countryside, where you work at a small vineyard that makes the best wine in town, and where I’m a local beat reporter who famously broke the news of the three-legged calf that was born at the dairy farm up the way,” you decided, looking to Steve for his input.
He had a soft grin on his face, as if he were picturing that charmed life, him coming home with grape-stained hands and fresh duck for roasting, and you pouring over notes at the picnic table for the article you were supposed to write.
“France, huh?” was all he offered with a honeyed smile, albeit a bit subdued.
You fought that heady feeling again. “Yeah. Not bad for a home, right?”
He looked at you silently for a moment, his eyes scanning your face, searching to find purchase, something to hold onto. “Je pense que tant que je suis avec toi, je serai toujours à la maison,” he said quietly, his gaze steady on yours. There was a weight behind what he had said, you could tell by his tone, and you could feel that weight curl down your spine and pool at your feet in a way that made the hairs on your body stand on end.
You shook your head slowly at him, catching the corner of your bottom lip between your teeth. “I don’t know what you just said, but I’m gonna need you to say it again,” you told him with a wry grin. “Just like that, too.”
You were almost too satisfied to see a tinge of pink coat his ears, his lashes fluttering against his cheeks as he looked down at his shoes. You laughed, giving him a slight nudge just to bring back the joking nature of the game, to shake off the growing density surrounding your heart. “I’m pretty sure it’s your turn now, dear husband,” you singsonged, placing your hands on your hips and looking up at him expectantly.
He pointed at himself incredulously. “ My turn?”
“Absolutely, yes,” you said matter-of-factly. “I wanna know what your mind is made of, or if I just married another pretty face,” you added with a smirk.
He glared at you playfully, hardly able to keep his grin from spreading before he abruptly pushed off from the counter, walking straight towards the main aisle again. You laughed, hurrying after him as he scanned the displays on either side, pausing occasionally before shaking his head, as if he were looking for something in particular. You were about to ask him what his M.O. was, when he finally slowed, his gaze fixed on a certain display.
When you caught up to him, you could see it was one of those sets that were made to look like a tiny apartment or house, a fully furnished living room connected to a bedroom and the matching bath. The living was filled with warm colors, one wall made entirely of polished wood, lined with bookshelves and a fireplace with fake flames flickering. The couch was styled in a way that made it look a little worn, as if it had already seen a bunch of love instead of coming straight from a factory. There was a small coffee table with two empty mugs on it and a cute pot of flowers. The rug looked decadent and soft, an invitation for you to take off your shoes and dig your toes into it.
You looked over at Steve, and he looked over at you, the two of you sharing a smile cut from the same cloth. You plopped down on the couch and he followed suit, resting his arm just behind you along its edge.
“So, what’s our life in here?” you asked quietly, shifting your leg just a bit until it touched his. His hand found your shoulder, his fingers languidly following its curve up and down. He let out a long, pensive, breath before he seemed to settle on something, a dreamy sort of look hazing over his features.
“I’m a teacher,” he began, and by the way he said it so assuredly, you knew he was telling you the truth, not a fantasy he had conjured up. “An art teacher at the middle school not too far from here. It’s not exactly what I thought I’d be doing with my fine arts degree but...I don’t think I’d trade it for the world,” he said, grinning softly at you. “What about you?”
You smiled back at him, and he pulled you in a little closer to his side, enough to make your heart stutter. “I work at a bookstore,” you told him, telling the truth back to him. “Not exactly what I thought I’d be doing after college, but it makes sense for me to be surrounded by books all day. Kinda where I belong.”
He hummed appreciatively, taking another look around, his thumb sweeping slowly across your collarbone. The two of you sat there for a moment in silence, nothing but the distant rumble of the HVAC system filling in the space. It was almost scary how comfortable you felt, how settled and at home you felt when you were nowhere near home at all. And this time, you didn’t fight the feeling, you didn’t scold yourself for getting too involved in this game, too involved with him. You just sat in it, and allowed yourself to indulge and succumb to the syrupy sweet haven you had found in the middle of a storm.
“You know, I bet if we knock down that BOGO sale sign, we’d have enough space for a couple more bedrooms,” Steve joked, nodding at the cardboard fixture a few paces in front of you.
“A couple?” you chuckled. “Will we be expecting a lot of guests, dear?”
He scrunched up his nose, a small smirk on his lips. “Guests, maybe. I was thinking more along the lines of the pattering of tiny feet.”
You raised an eyebrow at him. “Really? And I assume those tiny feet are attached to tiny humans?”
“Ideally.”
“Right. And how many of those tiny humans are we talking about?”
He thought for a second. “Five.”
“ Five,” you snorted, pulling away from him to get a good look at his face. “Two, at most. I’m not a womb factory.”
Steve laughed, shaking his head slowly at you. “Can we at least compromise at three?” he bargained, pouting a little.
You looked at him, the slope of his nose, the curve of his cheeks, the twinkle in his eyes. Those eyes. You were lost at sea, surrounded by nothing but the shade of blue only the man in front of you could offer, and you could only hope no one would throw you a life preserver.
“Deal,” you said, barely over a whisper. “But only if they have your eyes.”
His gaze swept over your face, his hand trailing up from your shoulder to the nape of your neck, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “As long as they have your smile, I’m good,” he whispered back, looking down at your lips for a moment too long.
Your head was spinning, and you could have sworn his face had inched closer to yours. Your own gaze found his lips, and you had the overwhelming urge to close the distance between you and him, to find out how they would feel against your skin, how he would taste—
“Hey there, dinner’s ready!”
You and Steve jolted back as if you had touched scalding water, looking up to find the kid from earlier, Parker, standing not too far off, smiling enthusiastically at you and Steve. It took him a moment to recognize your flustered looks, the tinge of red across Steve’s face, and the heat blazing on yours. Parker’s smile faltered a little, his hands wringing together in front of him. “Um, was I interrupting something...”
“No,” Steve was quick to say, smoothing back his hair hastily and getting up, offering you a hand to do the same. “We’re right behind you.”
“Great!” Peter said, giving you a double thumbs up, though his smile was still unsure, zipping around and heading down the aisle towards the café. You and Steve followed after him, your head still spinning from what just happened, and what might have happened, had there been no interruption.
By the time you made it to the dinner table, you had managed to school yourself into something resembling normal, but Wanda wouldn’t be fooled.
“Having fun?” she asked as you sat down across from her, smirking at you in between a bite of Swedish meatballs. She glanced over at Steve, who found a seat at the other end of the table near Bruce, wiggling her eyebrows at you pointedly.
You just gave her a look, grabbing another bread roll and taking a big bite of it, hoping to swallow down the smile that threatened to splice your face. You couldn’t help it; your eyes slid over to the other end of the table, watching as Steve laughed at something Bruce had said, the fluorescent bulb over his seat making his hair look even more golden and radiant, as if there really were a halo crowning his head. His eye caught yours, and his smile grew wider, stealing a few more seconds to look at you before he was drawn back into the conversation.
Your stomach did flips, which didn’t bode well for the meatballs you had scarfed down, and you did everything you could to avoid Wanda’s sly expression for the rest of the meal.
The movie that had been decided on was It’s a Wonderful Life, the whole group migrating to the projector setup you and Wanda constructed earlier. Wanda went up front to help Bruce put on the movie, and you decided on where to sit. You weren’t too keen on holiday films, so you chose one towards the back, far enough away from people that the glow of your phone wouldn’t disturb anyone during the film. The lights were dimmed, and you were just about to open Instagram when a deep, smooth voice cut in.
“I hope this seat isn’t taken,” Steve said, swiftly claiming the seat next to you despite the rest of the row being vacant. He kept his attention trained on the screen ahead, but there was an unmistakably impish grin on his face.
You wet your lips, pressing them together to contain your own grin. “Not at all, it’s yours to take,” you said, a gleeful tingle traveling across your skin.
The two of you were close again, though you weren’t touching, only a hairsbreadth between you. You wanted to close that space, to feel his skin on yours again, but you weren’t sure if that would fly now. You weren’t playing a game, you weren’t pretending to be husband and wife, but you didn’t want to let go of the fantasy just yet. For once, you wanted to take a risk, to take a dive without a parachute, so you inched your leg closer to his until the tips of your knees touched. You were sure your chest was going to explode.
For a moment he did nothing in response, seemingly unaffected as he kept watching the film. You were about to pull your knee away again in defeat, when he shifted his arm, resting it against yours so that the entire length of his was flushed against the entire length of yours. You took a deep breath and stretched your pinky ever so slightly until it rested against his, curling your tiny digit around his.
Again, he made no acknowledgment of your gesture right away, and you were about to run screaming for hills in shame when he lifted his entire hand, and in one fell swoop, gathered your hand into his, your fingers locked together like a braid. You glanced up at him and he was still focused on the screen, but his chest rose and fell as if he had just run a mile in the snow, his face spliced by a wide grin.
“Okay everyone, now’s a good time as any to get to sleep,” Bruce said after the movie concluded and the lights went up again. Steve was still holding your hand with no signs of letting go. “You have your pick of the beds here. The sheets are perfectly clean, so...first come, first serve, I guess,” he announced, gesturing around vaguely.
People began to get up, already looking around for a suitable place to sleep, and you shared a look with Steve, a reckless and coltish spark dancing around the rims of his pupils.
You both knew exactly where to go.
Without a word, you got up, hand in hand, laughing like school children as you ran down the main aisle, heading straight for the makeshift marital home Steve had found before anyone else could lay claim to it. You laughed until you made it there, falling back onto the bed in a gasping heap, hands still clutching onto each other as you smiled up at the ceiling.
Eventually, the laughter died down, replaced by a carbonated, nervous energy that fizzled and zipped between the two of you, the realization of the situation you faced hitting you both at the same time. It was only then that Steve let go of your hand reluctantly, sliding his palm against yours until it released, sitting up and running it through his hair like you’d seen him do plenty of time today.
He glanced down at you shyly, letting out a nervous chuckle. “I’ll take the couch,” he offered, patting the bed before standing up stiffly, as if his body and mind were working in different directions.
You sat up, shaking your head at him. “Don’t be ridiculous, dear. Why wouldn’t I share a bed with my lovely husband?” you joked, eliciting another chuckle from him. “But seriously, I mean, this bed looks plenty big for the both of us, and that couch is pretty lumpy,” you said, bracing yourself for rejection.
He hesitated before nodding slowly. “Okay. I promise to keep to my side,” he said with a wink.
You swallowed down the scream that erupted internally, instead pushing out a dramatic sigh, smoothing your hand over the duvet, which was surprisingly soft for a display bed. “It’s just gonna suck sleeping in jeans,” you said, looking down at the dark wash denim you had chosen that morning. If you had known how your day was going to end up, you would have chosen a pair of comfy leggings.
“Well, you can take them off.”
Your gaze shot back up to Steve and he blanched, immediately regretting his choice of words.
“I just meant—I mean,” he stuttered, looking down at the floor as if he were asking it to swallow him whole like you had earlier. “We’re gonna be under the covers anyway, we wouldn’t— I wouldn’t see anything—”
“Steve,” you giggled, saving him from himself. “I get what you mean. That actually sounds like a great idea,” you assured him, getting up from the bed. He looked relieved to hear you say that, giving you a sheepish grin which you returned. After a moment, though, you raised your eyebrows expectantly, and he got the hint, turning around quickly and covering his eyes with his hands.
You unbuttoned your jeans, heat rushing to your face even though he couldn’t see you. It had been a while since you had taken your pants off in the presence of a man, and even then, you had never done so with a man who looked like he belonged standing on a pedestal in the middle of the Louvre. You just thanked your lucky stars that you had thrown on a pair of your good underwear that morning.
You got under the covers and told him it was safe, covering your own eyes as he rid himself of his own pants, the mattress dipping down when he slid in after you. Just then, the lights in the whole store went out, save for the emergency exit signs and stray lamps that cast a soft, red glow around everything.
“Have a good night, shoppers! Breakfast will be available in the morning when you wake up, seven a.m. sharp,” Bruce’s voice rang out over the intercom, a bit of feedback trailing after his voice.
You sank a little lower into the sheets and turned onto your side, pulling the duvet up to your chin and hoping Steve couldn’t hear the hammering against your rib cage. “It’s freezing in here,” you said, just to say anything.
“Yeah, according to Wanda, upper management controls the thermostat, even in a snowstorm,” he said, and you could feel him sit up a little. “I can go find some extra blankets—”
“No, it’s fine,” you said quickly. “Besides, can’t afford to lose your body heat now,” you added in a weak attempt at humor.
He huffed out a laugh, and you could feel just a bit of his breath fan over the back of your neck. “In that case, maybe I should move closer, if we’re sharing body heat and all.”
“Maybe you should,” you said, the words flying out before you could even think. You decided then that you had, in fact, met your demise at some point during the day, because there was no earthly way this was happening to you. Nope, you were definitely deceased.
Slowly, Steve shifted closer to you until his chest was pressed against your back, your figure dwarfed by his big, warm body bordering yours. “Is this okay?” he asked softly, his voice so close to your ear that it drew a shiver up your spine.
“Yes,” you breathed, your pulse thrumming in your throat.
You felt his arm snake slowly over you, coming to rest over your waist, drawing you even closer to him. “How about this?”
You could only nod in response, your vocal cords lending all their willpower to help your lungs expand. It felt more than just okay, to be in his arms like this. It felt right, like this was where you were meant to be, like every small decision you made that day, and the day before, the years before, led you up to this very moment. It felt so right that you forgot how wrong it was to feel this way, about a man you had only known for twelve hours, a man whose last name you didn’t even know.
“Coffee,” Steve said suddenly, knocking you out of the delirium you were in.
“What?”
“My mother’s super-secret brownie ingredient,” he explained, his voice heavy and laden with the memory. “She would add a fourth cup of freshly brewed coffee to the batter. Apparently, it complimented the chocolate flavors.”
You smiled, wider than you had in a while. “I thought you couldn’t tell a soul.”
You felt him shrug, the tip of his nose tracing the curve of your neck lightly. “I don’t think she’d mind if I told you,” he said, giving you another piece of himself.
Your chest splintered, your heart straining to escape the cage of your ribs and find a new home right next to his. You turned in his arms, careful not to stray too far, your face only inches from his on the pillow. You reached up and twined your fingers delicately into his hair, and it felt even better than you had imagined it would.
“Tell me more about her,” you whispered, his hand trailing up and down your back lusciously.
You made out his smile in the dim glow, the current of his endless irises cradling you farther out to sea with no way back.
***
You woke up to the sound of jazz music.
It was seeping out of the sound system, broadcasting over the entire store, filling the air with soft saxophone and notes of piano. It took you a moment to remember where you were until you recognized the broad chest under your cheek, the heavy arm splayed across your middle.
“Bruce has immaculate taste,” Steve said, his early morning timbre reverberating through you.
You hummed amusingly, letting yourself indulge in the soft cotton of his shirt before propping yourself up on your elbow, looking down at him. He smiled at you lazily, his eyes hooded as if he were still in the middle of a dream, reaching up to brush his thumb over your chin.
“Good news everyone,” Bruce’s voice crackled in, interrupting the music. “The plows came overnight, and your cars were dug out. Thanks for hanging in there with us here at your local IKEA. At this point, you’re all eligible for our friends-and-family discount,” he quipped before the jazz continued.
That should have been good news, but it made your stomach drop down to your toes, dread slowly rising through you.
The snow was gone, which meant that this whole thing was over, that everyone could walk away and leave the store, going on with their lives as if it all never happened, just an odd memory to keep in the back of their heads until they needed a cool story to tell at a party.
You weren’t ready for it to be over. You weren’t sure you had the strength to walk out those doors and leave this experience behind. To leave him behind.
“Looks like we made it,” Steve said, though he sounded more somber than he should have.
“Looks like we did,” you said back, tracing your thumb along his jaw, mirroring the path he made on your own skin.
There was too much to say, or perhaps too little, you couldn’t tell. Either way, the dream you had found yourself in since last afternoon was over, the enchantment broken, reality already setting in like a dark shroud over the morning. The two of you just looked at each other, studying every line and facet of each other, committing them to memory and tracing hidden messages on each other with your fingers, hoping the other could find a way to decipher them.
Someone cleared their throat. “Hate to intrude, but I feel the need to tell you the store has a ‘you bang on it, you buy it’ policy for the merchandise.”
You and Steve snapped away from each other, sitting up to find Wanda leaning in the false doorway of the room, an eyebrow raised at the two of you.
“Good morning, Wanda,” Steve grumbled, glaring at her as he got up and passed you your pants to slip on under the covers.
“I would say the same, but I know you’re having a good morning, Steven,” she said, sending you the most shit-eating grin you had ever seen. You glared at her too, but she was unaffected. “Breakfast is ready, if you two are interested. I warmed up the cinnamon rolls myself.”
“Sounds good, can’t wait to dig in,” you said, but you couldn’t recognize your own voice, standing to button your jeans and avoiding eye contact with Steve.
“You okay?” Wanda asked, far too perceptive, a wrinkle forming between her brows as she regarded you.
You looked at her and forced out a smile you hoped was convincing enough. “Of course I am. I’m right as rain,” you said, but she didn’t look like she was buying it. A quick glance at Steve told you he wasn’t buying it either, concern laced across both their faces.
You shook your head at the both of them, nudging Wanda with your hip as you scooted past her in the doorway. “I really am, now let’s go eat.”
And that’s exactly what the three of you did, sitting along with the others in the café, laughing off the last remaining moments of the weirdest night of all your lives. You could hardly taste the cinnamon rolls though, and you couldn’t find it in you to take a cup of coffee, the drink taking on a new meaning for you that left you feeling a bit hollow as the minutes passed.
It didn’t take long for everyone to find their way out, spilling out into the parking lot and packing their trunks with the things they had bought the day before. You, Steve, and Wanda loitered at the doors, saying your final goodbyes.
“Don’t be a stranger,” Wanda said, giving you a warm hug which you returned in kind.
“I won’t be,” you said, giving her a squeeze before letting go.
“Do you need a ride too?” Steve jumped in, his hands stuffed in his pockets, bouncing lightly on the balls of his feet. “Or I could walk you to your car...”
“No, I can manage,” you assured him, smiling even though your heart was tying a noose for itself with your small intestine.
There was an awkward, heavy beat where no one said anything, You and Steve just looking at each other, Wanda looking at the two of you looking at each other. You were the first to gather yourself, adjusting the strap of your bag and giving them a small wave.
“Bye, guys. Maybe I’ll see you around during another blizzard,” you joked, though it fell flat.
“Yeah, maybe,” Steve said, his jaw clenching as he waved back.
You gave them both one last smile, turning and finally stepping outside, the cold air nipping at your ears and cheeks. You were aware of every step you took, each one taking you closer to your car, to you your apartment, to your home, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that home was no longer a place for you, that you had accidentally laid your roots down at the feet of an angel you would never see again.
“Y/n, wait!”
You turned to find Steve jogging to catch up to you, the tip of his nose already pink from the cold. He stopped a few feet in front of you, sighing with a sort of helpless expression, his shoulders sagging as if he wanted to make himself smaller somehow. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally spoke.
“I’m an idiot,” he blurted out, shaking his head more at himself than you. “A smack on the back of the head from Wanda reminded me of that,” he added, rubbing at the spot with a cringe.
The tips of your fingers felt numb, but it had nothing to do with the cold. “And why are you an idiot?” you asked him quietly, cursing the hope that rose in your belly.
“For letting you walk away from me like that,” he said earnestly, taking a few steps closer to you. His hand twitched a little, clenching into a fist as if he were stopping himself from reaching out to you. “I don’t want this to end. I don’t want us to end, if there even is an ‘us.’ But I want there to be,” he said unsteadily, lifting his shoulders towards his ears. “I really want to see you again. Is that crazy?”
Suddenly, you couldn’t feel the cold anymore, warmth blooming through you like a furnace. You took a few steps back towards him, your heart tugging you along. “No, it’s not crazy. I want to see you again, too,” you told him, your cheeks aching from the way your lips stretched into them.
He smiled back at you, and you swore the clouds parted just a little, the sky becoming just a little brighter. “Really?”
“Really,” you laughed, shaking your head at him.
He let out a long huff of air, glancing up at you through his lashes. “I should probably get your number then, before Wanda tackles me to the ground,” he said, extending his phone towards you.
You put it in, adding ‘from IKEA’ next to your name for good measure, though you had a feeling he wouldn’t need it. You handed it back to him, and your fingers lingered together for a second longer than necessary.
“I’ll call you,” he promised, stuffing it back into his pocket.
“I look forward to it,” you said, grinning at him. “Bye, Steve.”
“Bye, Y/n,” he repeated, giving you another small wave.
You turned reluctantly, your feet feeling so light that you might have floated off into the sky if it weren’t for the weight of your shoes. You stopped short, turning back to face the store. Steve was still there, standing where you had left him.
“Forgot something,” you said, gesturing towards the store.
“Yeah, I did,” he said tightly, his jaw set, his expression determined. With three long strides, he gathered you into his arms, bracketing your face between his hands and placing his lips over yours.
The kiss was soft and slow, wisps of cinnamon and sugar mingling between your tongues. His lips moved eagerly over yours, though not without gentleness, taking in as much of you as he could, consuming entirely as if you were the first breath of air after drowning.
It was a while before he pulled away, his forehead resting on yours, both of you gasping for breath.
“I meant,” you said when you trusted your voice, looking up at him. “I just meant that I forgot the mail basket I paid for yesterday.”
He smiled, his eyes inventing the color blue right before you, a laugh dancing at the edge of his lips, one that you caught with your own.
The French translates to (according to Google): I think as long as I'm with you, I'll always be home.
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