angel face, devil thoughts

alex (she/her) dylan o'brien sanctuary chaos center

[maroonmusings]

where the magic happens

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

**for Dylan O'Brien-centric characters, check out my sideblog @sophisticatedstiles

Matt Murdock

Free Appetizers

To Hear a Heartbeat

Steve Rogers

Before We Go

Steve Harrington

Coulda Fooled Me, Man

My Favorite Song

Reggie Peters

Despite Our Strife

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

More coming soon . .

. . including . . .

Steven Grant

Bucky Barnes

Din Djarin/Mando

[maroonmusings]

My Favorite Song [s.h.]

Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Steve x reader Word count: 3.2k Warnings: minor s4 spoilers, minor language, angst :( but then fluff :)

Patience may be a virtue, but it runs for the hills anytime Steve Harrington is around. As if she knows the mortgage of effort is a higher cost than the payoff of a successful client. Based on the rhythmic drumbeats of his fingers against the leather steering wheel, or the bounce of his knee to the beat bearing enough strength to shake the entire car, you’d say she made the right call.

Dustin pops in between you and Steve from the backseat with an annoyed arch to his mouth. “Cool it, Harrington! If you shake the car any harder, the hubcaps are gonna fall off!”

“Oh, good! Something to harden your fall next time I make a sharp turn! Happy sledding!”

“Don’t you mean ‘soften my fall?’”

“Nope.”

“Steve,” his name escapes your lips with more admonishment than you’d intended, but he immediately looks at you regardless. Sending him what you hope is a reassuring smile, you say, “Max will be fine. Just give her a couple more minutes, yeah?”

Lucas chimes in from the backseat, nudging Dustin to the side so they can both have their heads peeking between the front seats. The sight reminded you of a duo of golden retriever pups, curiously peering through a window too small for them both. “Hold on. Why are you making it seem like Max is getting the visions too?”

You only furrow your brows at Lucas, missing the panicked, wide-eyed glare Steve is giving him. “I thought that—”

“She is!” Steve exclaims, the high pitch of his obvious liar voice an electric shock to your eardrums.

Lucas hasn’t seemed to have gotten the hint. Maybe it was hidden amongst the food crumb rubble of Steve’s floorboards. “Um, no. The only one here having visions is—”

“Dude.” Steve seethes in a frenzy, but, by the look on Dustin’s face alone, it isn’t difficult to put the pieces together.

It’s truly incredible, how quickly anxiety soars in with a velvet cape the moment you don’t know what to do with your emotions. Rattling the tendons in your hands, the joints in your knees. It grabs a hold of your lungs, and you suddenly forget what it even felt like to use them in the first place.

Cool afternoon air waits to greet you as your shoes crunch against the gravel below, carrying you away from the car until you can breathe again. Except there isn’t a moment of silence before Steve is scrambling after you.

“Woah, woah, woah, hey,” is his attempt, these alerted mumblings, at pulling you back to the present. Back to him.

Breathing is becoming a chore. A privilege, rather than a right. 

Steve’s hands grasp at your shoulders, ducking down to meet your eyes. “Look at me. Please.”

“Who else knows?” Your voice sounds more hollow than a silly straw, a wooden wind chime devoid of its tune. It almost rings foreign enough in your ears to startle you.

Steve’s visage only crumbles further, brow creasing in guilt. “Dustin. Only Dustin.”

You stare at him.

He cringes, head shrinking into his shoulders like a turtle. “Who told Lucas. Who told Max. Who told—”

“So, everyone but me,” you say impatiently, and overall hurt. “got it.”

Lips protruding to a pout, he looks like he’s about to cry. “I thought it would be best. I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“Steve, have you ever been to Hawkins? I literally always worry about you!”

“And I always worry about you!” He returns, anxious. “That’s why I kept it a secret. If you’re worrying about me, then I’m going to worry about you worrying about me! It would be an all-out Worry Fest, which is, like, the worst kind of fest!”

“Well then, you better start blowing up the balloons, and throwing up the streamers, because this Worry Fest has already started!” You’d be surprised if Steve managed to comprehend any of that due to the sheer velocity of your proclamatory squeaks. His fingers tighten around your biceps, but you liken it up to being startled by your outburst. “Because why the hell would it ease my anxieties to have this kept a secret from me? You had to have known it was going to slip out one way or another. I mean, you told Robin, for fuck’s sake! Like, I love her to death, but she can’t keep a secret to save her—”

Steve’s eyes are unstable now, hastily flickering between yours and a distant figure over your shoulder. A bewildered “what the . . .” tumbles from his lips.

Craning your neck to follow his line of sight, you’re confused when you see nothing. Other than the vast expanse of leaf-stained forest that loomed, there was absolutely nothing that should have garnered such a reaction from him.

This is what terrified you the most.

With a hesitant call of his name, he’s coming back to you. “What’s going on? Talk to me.”

“I don’t know,” he shudders, crowding closer to you, hands sliding down your arms to clutch onto your fingers. “You’re here. Like, right here.” He looks over your shoulder again. “But you’re also there.”

Helpless, you can only shake your head. Raising your hands to cup his face and bring his attention back to you, he immediately clutches onto your wrists from the lost contact of your fingers. It’s difficult to conceal the wobble in your tone when you console him. “Exactly, I’m here. Right here. Just keep looking at me, okay?”

With a trembling chin and a hushed “okay,” he rapidly nods. Flyaway hairs are actually tempted to fly away from the force of his constricted breaths. His watery eyes are bouncing around your face, as if committing the sight to memory. Thumbs swiping at the expanse of your wrists, just to feel the warm brush of your skin against his. You catch a tear as it slides down his cheek. He suddenly stills, looking directly into your eyes in what can only be described as sheer terror. And yet, he can’t seem to look away, mumbling to himself, “no no no no no.”

Steve suddenly clenches his eyes shut, as if to block out an unappetizing sight. Your knowledge of Vecna’s curse was limited, especially when paralyzed in fear from witnessing the person you loved most experience it firsthand, but you assumed this was a manipulation tactic, of sorts. Vecna had already gotten into Steve’s head, that much was clear, but now Vecna was using Steve’s mind against him.

And Steve was trying to fight it.

With cotton ears you can hear the kids scrambling around in a muted chaos by the car, having taken note of Steve’s strange behavior even from a distance. Dustin pours his panic into Robin’s ears, presumably through their corresponding walkie talkies, freckled with eager desperations for help.

“Steve,” you say in a pathetic whimper, sniffling away the snot building in your nose. Through a blurry-eyed haze, you never stop looking at him. “It’s okay, it’s okay. Don’t listen to him. Please.”

His eyes open, and you gasp, because they’re not his.

These aren’t Steve’s eyes. They’re not warm, and sweet. They’re cold, and dead. They’re not stained with a chocolate imprint and golden glitter. They’re hidden behind a milky white film that acts as a curtain to the real Steve. To your Steve. Blood red outlines trace his pupils.

Keeping your hands locked around his jaw as Steve’s fall to his sides, you call out to your friends, “um, guys? Little help here!”

As if the cotton had been removed, the pillows tucked into your eardrums vanquished, you’re hit with the frenzy all at once. Dustin is screaming into the walkie talkie now, Robin’s pleads of ease crackling through the speakers. Lucas, and Max, who must have returned from Billy’s grave upon hearing the commotion, are talking over one another in a volume contest.

Steve is stuck staring straight ahead, no matter how many gentle slaps you drum against his cheeks, or how hard you tug on the collar of his jacket. Your tears only fall harder, and more frequently.

That’s when you feel him tug back.

Except it’s against your hold. A limp ragdoll, Steve’s sneakers skid across the gravel below you both, as if his body were being pulled by the clouds.

“Dustin,” you nearly shriek. Hands marrying themselves to Steve’s arms, though you doubt it will overpower the strength of an otherworldly demon, you hope it will, if anything, stall the process. Because you will not lose him.

“Music!” Lucas screams, distancing his ear from the walkie, likely relaying Robin’s advice. Grabbing onto the walkman Max gladly relieves from her hold, he’s scrambling over to you, Dustin in tow.

“Here!” Dustin calls, lightly clasping the headphones over Steve’s ears.

“What’s his favorite song?” Max calls from the car, hands fishing around the numerous tapes stored in Steve’s glovebox.

“Y/N,” Dustin grants the responsibility of choosing to you, and you grimace. “What’s his favorite song?”

“I don’t know!” Your heart clenches, and the tears start to gather again. You didn’t think you had any left to share. The admission was embarrassing to reveal, but it was true. Steve’s taste in music fluctuated in accordance to recent fads. He could have a thousand favorite songs, or, better yet, one you’d never heard of. “I’ve never asked!”

“Well, we better start guessing!” Lucas says as Steve’s body begins to rise at a snail’s pace. His feet are fully detached from the ground.

“Holy shit,” you cry, tightening your grasp on Steve’s arms, using your body weight to keep him from floating any faster. It’s hard to tell if it’s actually working, which only makes your heart beat faster. 

Watching his body ascend, slipping further and further from your grasp, you call out the first name that comes to mind as you watch him go. Dustin and Lucas repeat the name to Max, in case she hadn’t heard it befall your own tongue. You’re not even sure if Steve has it on tape anymore. Maybe he burned it, reduced to the same rubble as that of your snuffed flames which used to shine so bright.

“Got it!” Max cheers. You’re so caught up in watching Steve’s body in the sky that you hardly notice the tape clicked into place. Those familiar opening notes with which he used to grace your ears until dawn now trickle into his own, and you can only hope you’d made the right call.

An egotistical call, really, but you didn’t know what else to say.

It was a song once deemed to belong to only you and Steve. Your lover’s anthem. The theme song that played in the background each time your eyes met his, your lips fell onto his own, or his raucous laughter fluttered against your ear. 

Secrecy was a joke when it came to the lovesick beat of your heart, the obvious remainder of his fingertips on your soul. Though you had parted under the guise of safety, it had been made clear during several instances now the waste of said precautions. Severing your half of your heart from his hadn’t increased your protection, if the combined total of your near-death tallies had anything to say about it.

Last time, it was you who had been in Steve’s place. You wonder if he was even half as terrified as you were now.

With a selfish aside, you also wondered what the success of your song choice would say about him. About where the two of you stood, in terms of beginning again.

On all sides of you, the kids scream for Steve’s attention. As if the music will carry their voices alongside it, their calls for their friend transported by means of eighth note. You join in, though you’re positive you sound more desperate than the others. He is your other half, after all. Without him, you’re not sure what you’d become.

His eyes open, and, this time, they’re his. He awakens with a gasp, his body reacquainting with gravity as he falls back to you. You know it won’t help much, but you try to soften his fall.

Steve takes you down with him as he hits the ground. You both cough around groans from the rough landing, his back flush with your front as he lays in between your legs. Dustin, Lucas, and Max cloister closer to you, a collective sigh of relief deflating amongst the group. The action causes Steve to fall farther into your touch.

“That,” he stops to catch his breath. “Was not very fun.”

“No shit, dumbass.” Dustin says fondly, patting Steve on the knee.

Two conjoined strings in a ball of yarn. You tighten around him, mumbling into his neck, “holy shit. Don’t ever do that again.”

Crossing a hand over his chest to cup your opposite bicep, he huffs breathlessly, “I definitely had control over that happening, so, yeah. You got it, sweetheart.”

Laughing crosses your mind, but that’s all it is. A passing thought, left on the shelf by your subconscious that desperately grasps onto the reminder that he’s okay. Tucked into you safely, as if fated to lay in your arms. As if two halves of a candle wax mold found their way back to one another, forged to lay as one under the heat of a beating heart.

With a warm chest, you surmise that perhaps it was your heart that had laughed.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Steve is seated close beside you atop the hood of his car later that night. Backs pressed to the windshield, shoulder to shoulder and arm to arm. As your gaze drifts to the stars above, sprinkled across a black backdrop like powdered sugar, you wonder if they ever look back at you. Twinkling fractiles reflected in the pupil of your eye, watching with the same awe as you.

“How’d you know?” Like the soft beam of a flashlight in summer’s night, Steve’s voice glows in your ear.

“Hmm?” you hum patiently, head rolling against the glass to peer at him.

He’s already looking back, a smile in his eyes. “The song. From before. How’d you know it would bring me back?”

“Oh,” the short interjection is the only attempt at stalling that was nestled in the depths of your sleeve. Weighing the pros and cons of honesty in this context, you’re in freshman year mock trial all over again. It’s as if you’d never left, the way the arguments and counterarguments zip around your head. The only difference here is that the opposition was never your ex-boyfriend. “Just a shot in the dark. It was at the top of the stack, so,”

Your mock captain should be embarrassed to have ever worked with you.

As punishment, you have to watch the light fade from Steve’s eyes. The shift is minute, but you’ve spent enough time ogling and staring at him in your years of knowing him that the change is obvious. “Right.”

“Plus, I mean, everyone likes that song—”

“So, now I’m unoriginal,” he chides with a grin that only widens as you push at his arm. Some of the forgotten light returns, and it’s like a breath of fresh air.

“Shut up.” You mutter, gently, blanketed with a fuzzy laugh. His eyes are still locked with yours, so you avert your gaze to the sky before you fear you’ll need a defibrillator.

“Maybe it is everyone’s song, but I can only think of you when I hear it.”

Never mind. You’re gonna need a defibrillator.

It wouldn’t be outrageous to presume Steve’s windshield had suddenly caught fire, due to how quickly you were sitting up to distance yourself from the glass. With crossed legs, you turn to meet Steve’s eyes, only they’re attached to the stars. The relaxed slouch to their sphere leads you to think he’d hardly lifted his head to notice your jagged movements.

As you open your mouth to respond, he’s already beaten you to the punch. “Which, I mean, I guess that makes sense, because, if I had the choice, I’d say that you, Y/N—you’re my favorite song.”

If his words hadn’t literally sucked the breath from your body, vacuum hypoxia, maybe you would have teased him for how corny they were.

Seeming to think you were trying for the latter, in a verbal flourish, Steve, once again, beats you to the punch. You’d be surprised if his mouth wasn’t dry. “Wow. Okay, rewind. That sucked. Let’s try again.”

“We should,” the words fall on their own accord, a combined fear of Steve continuing to issue his word barrage, as well as a fear of letting the one last good thing in your life slip through your fingers. Again.

Whether it be the quick flick of his eyes to yours, or his parted lips, you’re certain Steve catches the alternative meaning to your interruption. The look in your eye that must be characteristic of the tremble of your lung. Though his body remains in a leisurely lounge, he’s mentally sitting so close to the edge of his seat you have no doubt he’d fall.

“Try again.” Overwhelmed, and yet so content, under his stare, you simply shrug, shoulder lifting as a nervous grin tickles your lips. “You and me.”

“Oh,” his voice is small, eyes stuck to yours. You feel like your heart will fly away, straight out of your chest. So long as Steve Harrington’s the one to catch it, you don’t think you’d mind. “Oh.” He sits up. “Yeah?”

Taking in his soft beauty, you’d never felt more confident in your response. “Yeah.”

Steve’s hand finds yours easier than a cat in the dark, thumb swiping at your skin with the elegant brushstrokes of a painter’s paw. He deflates his body through a long sigh, lip corners twitching at the sight of your hand locked to his. It’s one of those moments you find yourself wanting to wrestle into a jar, so that you can hold onto it forever. That is, until he suddenly looks up at you, as though remembering. “You’re sure, right? Like, absolutely positive? Because I still eat in the car, and get crumbs everywhere—I’m serious, my floorboards look like the bottom of a box of Cheerios. And I pop my knuckles when I’m stressed, or bored, or hungry—okay, all the time. Not to mention that I’m still always, always—”

You figure you’re doing Steve a favor when you place your lips on his, tilting his face closer to yours with your free hand. A surprised hum vibrates in the back of his throat at the interruption, his hand detaching from yours to place them both on your face. The skin of your cheeks and jaw roar under his touch, and you assume it must resemble the image of mercury rising in a thermometer. One of his thumbs strokes the underside of your bottom lip, and your lips subconsciously part so he can deepen the kiss. Your hands grasp his, and he sighs into your mouth.

Pulling away, you let out a breathy giggle when he tries chasing your lips. He nudges your nose with his, gently dropping his forehead onto yours. With closed eyes, he nearly moans out, “God, I missed you.”

You place another kiss on his lips, softly. “It’s good to be back, Harrington.”

He opens his eyes, as if for the first time. “Welcome home, beautiful.”

[maroonmusings]

Despite Our Strife [r.p.]

Fandom: Julie & the Phantoms Pairing: Reggie x fem!reader Word count: 1.3k Warnings: overall hopeful but with angsty undertones, the rare use of third person on this blog

A/N: this was originally written with a female oc in mind, as it was supposed to be part of a fic that just never came to fruition. it's also me testing the waters to see if there are any jatp buds left here

“No. No you don’t.” Y/N immediately denied the boy’s confession, brows drawn together in concern as she lightly shook her head. “You can’t. Please.”

“That’s certainly not the reaction I was banking on.” Reggie dumbly pointed out, lips parted in what could only be described as a surprised confusion.

Y/N paid little attention to Reggie's reaction, however, too busy tumbling down her rabbit hole of thoughts. Her body moved on its own accord in a distressed pace that ran the length of the piano to the coffee table, and back again.

“I mean,” she started, a laugh that was void of any substance spilling past her lips before she could stop it. Her hands wrung together so tightly they could’ve become one. “How could something like this possibly work? You’re a ghost, and I'm not. We’re quite literally from two different worlds, Reggie.”

“I—I’m a little confused. Is the way I feel about you reciprocated or—” The bassist trailed off with a questioning lilt to his voice. He held up his index finger to signify his hopes for a pause in Y/N’s stressful spiral.

A breathy laugh suddenly escaped Y/N, finding her friend’s adorable obliviousness to be equally as cute as it was humorous. Tears pearled at her waterline when her pacing finally ceased. Reggie felt his heart pump harder in his chest when her eyes met his. The two gazed at each other with varying facets of fondness: Reggie, a perplexed yet hopeful fondness, and, for Y/N, a hopeless fondness that she knew would never go away. “Of course they are, Reg.”

“That’s such a relief!” Reggie couldn’t help but exclaim, drawing a soft chuckle from Y/N as well as a playful eye roll. He drew nearer to her, both subconsciously drawing in a breath at their close proximity. His voice lessened in volume as he drank in the girl who’d deliciously plagued his every thought since their first meeting. “So what’s the problem?”

“What isn’t the problem?” She retorted, her clear devastation over the issue withholding any heat from exploding in her delivery. Noticing Reggie's brows beginning to furrow once more, she elaborated. “There are so many uncontrollable factors that’ll stand in our way if we tried to be together.”

“Like what?”

“Well, no one other than the band can see you, for starters.” Y/N reminded, a tear cascading down her cheek as she spoke the impossible hurdle into existence. “What’ll we do about dates, or literally anything that requires us to be out in public together?”

“I’m sure we can come up with some fun date ideas that are garage-friendly!” Reggie said optimistically, catching her tear with his thumb. He brought his hands to rub her upper arms comfortingly. An almost whimsical smile was painted on his pink lips. “Think about it, Y/N. We can make this place our little sanctuary. Well, when the band isn’t already using it for practice, that is.”

“Reggie, I don’t think you understand.” The girl pointed out patiently with a soft shake of her head. “I can't keep my feelings for you contained in this garage. If i’m going to be with you, I’d want to scream about it from the rooftops. When I leave class and go to my locker, you’ll already be there waiting for me. and I can just pull you into the biggest hug and talk to you without anyone thinking that I'm looking at thin air. I want to take turns finding different restaurants that we can try together, one star or five. We can go on these wild adventures together that’ll be a pain in the ass to share with friends because we’ll either have too many stories to tell or be laughing too hard to get through them. When I smile, I want people to know that I'm not smiling at thin air, but at you, Reg—the sweetest, funniest, most talented, most beautiful person I've ever met. I want them to see you the same way I do.”

It was a wonder Y/N was able to finish verbalizing her train of thought, for an incessant stream of tears was flooding from her eyes by the end. Reggie was in a similar state, but an awestruck grin still nipped at his rosy cheeks. He tugged the girl before him into a warm embrace, where she took a moment to cry into his chest. The boy felt his tank top dampen within an instant, but couldn’t find anything in him to be upset over it.

“We can find a way to fix this. I’m sure there’s a way to make us visible to lifers.” Reggie reassured, swaying her body in tandem with his and stroking her hair. He pressed a kiss to the top of her head for good measure. “We can ask around and see if any other ghosts can help! Preferably ones that are smarter than us.”

“Reggie, you know how that went last time!” She cried, clutching onto his shirt to tug their bodies closer together. The mere thought of the boy before her getting himself into a caleb-level risk again terrified her. Tucking her face into his neck, she felt his shoulders slump, and knew that his mind traveled to the same destination as hers. “So, no. no magic. No evil, hundred-year old magicians. No nothing. I'm not letting you die again just to be with me.”

“You’re absolutely right. We just need to be more cautious of the company we keep.” He conceded with a soft nod that had his chin grazing her cheek.

When she removed herself from his chest, and her glassy, red eyes found his, all Reggie could see was discombobulating beauty. Another weak, half-hearted laugh escaped her as she forced a watery, incredulous grin. “Even if we were careful, you’re always going to be a teenager, Reggie.”

The boy in question was a little slower to uncover the necessity for her remark on his age. “What do you mean?”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Y/N averted her gaze to the floor. “You’ve stopped aging, sure, but I haven’t. I don’t want to, but i’m gonna be forced to move on without you, Reg. There is no graduating high school and moving in together during our college years for us. No growing old together. Our relationship has an expiration date, and I just know that I’m not going to be able to let you go when the clock hits zero.”

“So, don’t,” came Reggie's rapid response, hands reaching for Y/N’s. She sniffled as their eyes met again. “I mean, you saw what happened when you and Julie were finally able to touch me and the guys. Ever since you hugged me after seeing it work for Luke and Julie, I’ve felt stronger than I ever had when I was still alive. Hell, I’ve felt alive. That has to count for something, has to mean something. We’re so close, Y/N, I can feel it.”

Her lips parted and closed multiple times, before she was able to shakily convey what was on her mind. “I—I don’t want to lose you.”

“And you won’t.” He immediately reassured, hands clutching tighter to hers and bringing his forehead to hers. Their soft gaze that they shared was troubled yet determined. “If you think that I’m going to let you slip through my fingers so easily, you’re as crazy as Star Wars when they killed off Han.”

Y/N huffed out a small laugh, rolling her eyes affectionately at Reggie. A breathtaking grin attacked his face at the sound. She couldn’t help but smile back, even if it was laced with minuscule traces of concern.

Reggie's eyes softened, hands trailing from hers and up to her shoulders. He squeezed them gently, keeping his forehead on hers. “We’ll figure this out, you and me. I’ll do anything if it means getting to come home to you every night.”

Y/N pulled Reggie closer, and, as their lips met in a gentle, yet passionate, embrace, she knew that he was right. She would follow Reggie every step of the way, because that’s what you do when you’re in love.

[maroonmusings]

To Hear a Heartbeat [m.m.]

Fandom: Daredevil (Marvel) Pairing: Matt x reader Word count: 2.7k Warnings: angst, but fluff :), religious imagery/references bc it's matt

A/N: takes place during/after the blip in which Matt tries to cope without you

Five years had passed since Matt Murdock lost his heart. Ripped straight from his heart with an electric fist, leaving in its wake a barely there shock which erupted daily. Hourly. By the minute, by the second.

Every time he thought of you. The milliseconds of his mind infiltrated by you, seizing his being. He went through every day feeling as if a hand laid on his throat, skin sewn close to his. Each day, the fingers around his jugular would squeeze tighter, and tighter. He had forgotten how to breathe the second you left.

He had forgotten how to do a lot of things since the day you were taken away from him.

Like how to tilt his chin heavenward, when his head pressed into your lap so he could feel your warmth, a setting sun, tickle his face. Now, it only hung forward, as if an anvil chain suspended from his neck.

Or how to make the muscles in his cheeks cramp from smiling too hard. When he was around you, surrounded by your presence, he didn’t think it was possible not to smile.

That day, he didn’t just hear over a million heartbeats cease in their thumps at once.

He heard yours stop, too.

Skies became darker after that, an overbearing chill creeping into the air that, once it settled into his bones, it never truly left. If he didn’t know any better, he’d suspected that, when you left, the sun followed after you.

Or, better yet, that you were one and the same.

Tuesday after Tuesday. Friday after Friday. They were all molding into the same day, difficult to depict separate images of—like a subway taking its blurry flight through a tunnel. That specific observation had always felt ironic to him, as the days scrawled by much slower than that, as if by boat. Something slower than that, even. A dinghy. Canoe.

Sundays didn’t even happen anymore without you around. No sweet caress of your voice in his ears, delicate cursive manuscript on yellowed parchment. Your laugh, angelic and loud, kickstarting his heart over and over again with its repeated staccato. Your touch, sweet and kind, a delicious spread of fire to his veins, despite its inability to pass the threshold of platonic. 

Having known you and loved you for as long as he can remember, you had come close many times. Fingers tracing fingers over the pretense of passing papers in the office. Hands gracing shoulder blades or backs, a communicative maneuver around one another in the kitchen. Dancing around one another in graceful twirls and side steps to triplets in triple meter.

Even on his walk home from work, Karen and Foggy on either side of him, a protective forcefield from further heartache, his mind couldn’t detach itself from you. As if chemically connected. His axons only activated if they tilted in the axis of your heart.

“Matt, buddy, back me up!” Foggy’s voice shot through his muddled thoughts like a laser through metal. Matt tried to conceal how it had startled him, how he had been caught drifting away again. “Would you please tell Ms. Page over here that Liar Liar is one of the best films of all time?”

“You sure you’re not a bit biased, buddy?” He asks, referencing the occupation of the film’s main character, same as their own. Though the chuckle he emits is forced, the smile comes a little easier at the absurdity of the conversation.

“Thank you!” Karen exasperates in a shriek, heels producing a hollow click against the concrete. “Foggy, don’t deny that your favorite movie would be literally any other movie if your profession were different.”

“Oh yeah? What’s your favorite movie then? Come on, hit me.”

She hesitates. “Sleepless in Seattle.”

The howl that leaves Foggy is borderline barbaric, Matt clutching his friend’s shoulder as an uncontrollable sputter of laughter skips past his typically pouty lips. “Foggy, you’ll wake up the whole neighborhood.”

“Meg Ryan is literally a journalist in that, Karen!” The blonde man babbles on, pointing an accusatory finger at Karen. “You are literally going home after working with us all day to work on another project for Ellison!”

“Well, I’m a bad example!” She giggles.

Shaking his head to himself, Foggy turns back to Matt to acknowledge his previous remark. “Buddy, it’s Saturday. It’s not like anyone has to work tomorrow.”

Matt huffs out a laugh, nodding in agreement, even though he does have to work tomorrow. He doesn’t expect Foggy to remember that, however, as you normally need to tell someone something in order for them to remember in the first place.

Karen knew, but only by mistake, that Matt had picked up a second job in order to pay your rent while you’ve been gone. Begrudgingly, he had accepted her help in exchange for sealed lips. 

Though he never wanted either of them to know. He didn’t want them to know that he was delusional enough to think that he’d ever hold you in his arms again. Finally whisper those sweet words of admission in your ear, standing before you in your apartment, lips parted, words on the tip of his tongue, before your heartbeat vanished.

Foggy and Karen, they were there for him, and he was trying his damndest not to push them away in his grief. He knew he hadn’t been doing a great job at keeping them close when they offered to start walking him home after work each night. Whether they worried about him stumbling around the dark streets of Hell’s Kitchen in a hazy, drunken stupor, or the simple image of him, alone, they were there. Laughing, and talking. And breathing.

Though it was proving difficult to hear laughter if it wasn’t coming from your tongue. To hear a heartbeat, healthy and alive, and right in front of him, if it wasn’t attached to you. 

He hadn’t noticed that he was drifting away again until he was face to face with his apartment door. Karen and Foggy, tucked away on either side of him, like always. They’re always here, he muses. I wish I could be, too.

“Good night, Matt.” Karen’s voice is sweet and comforting, hand squeezing his shoulder briefly, before backing away. “Try to get some sleep.”

“Text or call if you need anything, man.” Foggy throws the words into the air, like he does every time, hoping that one day Matt will be there to catch them. 

“Yeah, of course,” Matt answers, like he does every time. The offer tumbles between his fingers like sand. Today, like all the others, isn’t going to be that fateful one day where he catches them. “Thank you, guys. Really.”

Then he’s alone. Body filling the mold imprinted in his couch, still in his clothes from the day, as he stays awake and awaits your return. Like he does every night. Until his eyes begin to slip close from pure exhaustion, rather than content with the present day and an eagerness to do it all over again tomorrow. A fresh layer of tears help to seal his eyes for the minimal amount of sleep he will inevitably grant himself.

It’s the next morning that feels different from all the others. Conscious mind rescuing him from the nightmares of your absence, Matt jolts awake. His eyes almost hurt to open from the dried tears, a taught tension in his brow from the emotional night behind him. He readjusts his glasses, having jostled to a crooked stance on his nose.

His alarm clock goes off in his bedroom, a faint, melodic thump that brings a crease to his brow. 

He never set the alarm clock for today.

That’s when he hears it. Like an uproar of a million souls, scattered, but standing together. A rush of different sounds, different voices, painting the otherwise dull canvas of Hell’s Kitchen with its gradients of radiance. 

He can taste the tears of a mother and son just outside the apartment complex, reunited with their husband and father. Three bodies smashed together in a tight communion.

He can feel the relief of an elderly man from a block away, as his wife reappears beside him on a park bench. Her hand intertwined with his, as if she’d never left his side in the first place. 

He can smell the coffee, spilled by a startled secretary on the first floor as an interested renter from five years ago is suddenly seated before her again. 

He can hear the heartbeat, blood bringing oxygen to the pumping organ of a warm body two floors above him. Their shuffling feet, unsure of their trek. His name dangling from their lips, a concerned vibration of mystery.

Matt chokes on a sob, because, even though it’s been five years, spotting your heartbeat in a sea of millions came easier to him than brushing his teeth. Your name desperately dribbles down his tongue like a prayer, and it turns into an under-his-breath chant as he fights against hypoxicated lungs to make it to you before your heart has to take another beat without him. Newfound rejuvenation tugs on his already loose tie, tugs him up staircases, past reconnecting families, until he’s at your doorstep.

Clouds swim around his head as he struggles to find his breath. He wanted to say his heart stopped beating the second he heard yours again, but he knew that would be a lie.

Because his heart didn’t start beating again until yours fluttered into his eardrums today. 

The door opens before he can even raise his fist to knock, and he’s quickly overcome by all things you. As if capsized, overturned to drown in your elegant waves. Be washed away by your captive touch. Float amongst the chuckles of your laughter.

“Matt?” Your voice, thick with unshed tears and concern. 

Suddenly, breathing’s never felt easier.

He could hear your heartbeat, healthy and alive.

And right in front of him.

Ushering him inside, hand furtively locked around his wrist, your skin is etched upon his like a tattoo. This is when the dam shatters, broken sobs clawing up his esophagus until they’re free. He clutches onto your forearms as he sinks to his knees, taking you with him. You draw him in so tightly you worry that he’ll pop, hands carding through his hair as he cries into your collarbones. His fingers clutch your body as if you could disappear again, and he’ll be damned if he lets it happen again. They can take him, too, so long as he doesn’t have to spend another five years suffocating without his lungs.

“I’m here, darling.” Soft coos drip from your tongue, sweet honey, as you hold onto one another tighter. Resting your head on his, you sway his body gently. “I’m right here.”

“You’re here,” he repeats with a rasp, more of a reassurance to himself than an attempt at conversation. Pressing his forehead to your chest, where your heart now beats vividly against his ears, he mutters around a dry cry, “right here.”

Reaching down to intertwine your fingers with his, you raise your connected fists and press a series of kisses to his knuckles, watching a smile slowly tug at his lips. Your fingers depart from his to caress his cheek and jaw, and he leans into your touch, pressing his lips to your palm. He holds onto your wrist, skimming the skin gently.

“I know you’re confused,” he says, kissing your palm again. “And I promise I’ll fill you in, but I need to finish what I was gonna say five—before.”

“Of course,” you say, and he wants to bottle up the sound, so used to your voice, yet so deprived of it at the same time. He presses a kiss, slow and gentle, to your forehead, your eyes momentarily sliding to a close from the gesture.

Sliding off his glasses, he places them on the cold wooden floor beside your warm bodies. His fingers find your face, brushing your soft skin tenderly, slowly, as if memorizing your features all over again. A trail of heat travels across your face, beginning with your brow, and ending with your lips. For a second, you think he’s going to kiss you, pouted lips just barely grazing yours before he stops himself.

He takes a deep breath, since he can actually do that now. Voice soft, he goes, “you know, growing up, I was taught to keep my faith. No matter what. Because, if I don’t have my faith, then I won’t have salvation. ‘You always gotta stay faithful, Matty,’ they’d say. ‘It’ll hold you together, even as you feel the rest of the world crumble around you.’ And I believed them.

“Until I held onto that faith with a tighter grip than I’d ever known, with a grip tighter than I know even God himself doesn’t possess, only to turn up empty-handed. Because I still didn’t have you. You’re my entire world, Y/N. I’d compare you to the sun if it could even hold a candle to your warmth. Your humility. Your generosity.”

A deluge of tears glide down your cheeks, and Matt is quick to wipe them away. His face is closer to yours now, whispering this next set of words so softly he has as well be breathing them into your very being. Inflating your heart with every exhale, and shrinking it with every inhale, until your breaths become one. “I don’t deserve your love, and I don’t even know if I have it yet, but I'll be damned if I don’t fight for my chance at salvation.”

“That’s the thing, Matty,” you sniffle, laughing into a sob. For a moment, you just look at him. Taking him in. This man, who would go through Hell or high water for you. He who makes you feel safe, and grounded, and cherished. Who makes you feel so crazy with love and adoration that you’d trail the streets of Hell’s Kitchen until everyone in the damn city knew about just how loved this man made you feel. Despite ever having said the words out loud, until now. “You’ve always had it. With every beat of my heart, Matt Murdock. I’m yours.”

His laugh is breathless, as if sent to the heavens to float amongst the clouds. To soar high in the skies on a bird’s feather. It’s pressed into your cheek, just as the faint rumble of his chest transcends to yours, and you swear it kick starts your heart to beat in tandem with his. “And I’m yours, sweetheart.” Swiping the tip of his nose against yours, a gentle side-to-side motion that has you arching into him, lips craving his own. “My heart was only created to beat beside yours.”

When his lips collide with yours, you feel lightheaded, thoughts turned to vapor under his warm caress. His fingers, brushing into your hair from the base of your skull, tug you closer to deepen the connection. A soft moan settles in the back of your throat from his passionate touch, heat dusting your cheeks with pink stardust as his hands trace the path to their hue. They end their descent at the column of your throat, gently curved around the skin, to feel the impact of his closeness. 

The proverbial fingers around his own throat slither away, like the snake in the garden of Eden. As if they knew he was not to be tempted when his temptation, his salvation, was already right in front of him. An ethereal glow cascades the expanses of his face, from his hairline to his jaw. Like all the colors of you chose to shine, just for him, reflected through your stained glass and orange, yellow, and red.

Even when you part, you remain close, Matt’s nose pressing into your cheek to cough out a laugh of disbelief. You grin, captivated by the ethereal beauty of his happiness.

“What day is it?”

You’re thrown off by the stamina of the question, pushed in one breath with an eager lilt. Recalling the date you had seen on your phone, you answer, “um, Sunday. Why?”

Letting out a quick breath, an almost knowing grin grips his cheeks so hard they begin to hurt. “No reason.”

Once again, his ears were tickled by the quiet, steady thumps of a heart.

This time, it was his own.

[maroonmusings]

Coulda Fooled Me, Man [s.h.]

Fandom: Stranger Things Pairing: Steve x reader Word count: 5.2k Warnings: season four spoilers, fluff, fear of water/drowning, mention of blood, slight love triangle with eddie bc i can’t help myself, gaslighting you all into thinking the Wheeler’s have a front porch, deviation from canon towards the end

“More water,” you groan, a close relative of a whine, more to yourself than to your friends. Looking skyward, as if your salvation swirled in the twinkling cosmos, you ask, “why does it always have to be water?”

“Aww, don’t worry. I’ll hold your hand if you get scared.” Eddie teases, hands squeezing your shoulders softly from behind. You ignore the jab and instead focus on the comforting touch, though fleeting.

You continue. “If I see one more boat after tonight, I’ll be gagged.” 

Eddie leans into Robin beside him with faux secrecy. With a square mouthed cringe, he whispers loudly, “Wait ‘til I tell her about the cruise tickets I bought for the gang.”

You direct a glare at him, veins heating up. While you’re mostly sure that he’s joking, there’s no sooner time than the present to start practicing trust issues.

“Watch yourself, Munson.” Dustin chides with a cheerful grin, the sight alone aiding in further soothing your nerves. “There’s a fire in those eyes that’ll flame that perfect hair to a crisp.”

“Hey, look at me.” Steve enters your line of sight, draped perfectly before you so as to block out the rest of the world. Your body starts to cool under his brown eyed gaze, a new heat taking place at your face. He knows more than anyone here your struggles with swimming, and water in general. “You don’t have to do this. You know that right?”

“And let you go by yourself? No way.”

“Well, I won’t be going by myself.”

“You know what I mean, Harrington.” Your eyes almost pierce his in a glare. Since the inception of your childhood born friendship, there had never been a time you and Steve let the other go about something scary alone. Like in kindergarten, when your grandfather died. Steve came to the funeral service, his hand etched to yours the entire time, like it belonged there. Or in the sixth grade, when Steve needed to get braces. You returned the favor and held his hand throughout the entire procedure, even if it proved to be a nuisance to the dental assistants assigned to him. “‘To the moon and Mars,’ remember?”

A shy, reminiscent grin tugged at his lips. His eyes escape yours so he can look down and shake his head with a huffed laugh. They find yours again easily, voice soft. “I remember.”

“Then let’s do this.”

Steve and Eddie work on preparing the boat, each of you taking turns boarding. Robin goes first, bracing each of her hands on Steve’s and Eddie’s heads as a makeshift railing. Nancy follows, and you decide you’ll go next, despite the leaf-like trembles embedded in your clammy hands.

Lifting a hand out to grasp yours, Steve squeezes your fingers tenderly as he helps you aboard. The hand braced at your back, probably Eddie, adds stability to your body as the boat ebbs under the added weight.

You can only breathe again once you’re seated, perched on a bench across from Robin and Nancy. 

“I thought you said there was only room for four!” Dustin exasperates as Steve and Eddie join you and the girls. 

Steve throws a fake apologetic glance to the boy as he tucks himself in beside you. Eddie’s on your other side, all three of you packed onto one bench. The comfort rate is low, but you have to admit you feel safer tucked between them. Less possibility for your body to be jostled by the waves, that way.

As Robin and Nancy begin to row you away from shore, Steve is quick to check in. Leaning closer to you, he scans your features—and definitely detects the existential fear splattered on your face like spaghetti sauce after a cafeteria food fight—before saying “Okay. How are we doing?”

If he hadn’t already seen the blatant terror in your brow, perhaps you could’ve gotten away with lying.

“Oh, totally terrified.” You say with faux cheer, throwing a delusional wish to the stars that your forced smile will somehow trick your mind into feeling more calm. “But it’s fine. I’ll be okay.”

Like a switch, those final words enhance your hyperfixation on the waves carrying you to the middle of the lake. How they ebb and flow, tilting the boat in a slow waltz at midnight. Except your partner keeps stepping on your toes. The heel of your shoe is two twirls away from perfectly snapping in two. A loose thread of your lovely laced gloves hooking onto their wristwatch’s spine.

Until the sun comes. Its warmth cradles your cheeks, spreading through the rest of your body in a tropical gradient. You’re seated at a gimmicky vacation themed cafe, a coconut punctured with a straw perched on the white wicker table before you. The sundress adorning your body hugs you perfectly, as if designed with you in mind. You’re safe. Content. Perfect, even.

Back to reality, you look down and realize Steve’s hand has nestled with yours. Fingers tightly tangled. As your eyes catch his, he throws you a small smile, eyes squinted with reassurance. You force a smile back.

“Um, guys?” Eddie mumbles distractedly. You quickly avert your gaze from Steve, embarrassed, thinking he was speaking to the two of you. That changes when you actually look at him, though, his eyes locked onto the compass cradled in his palm. Being right next to him, he shows the device to you first. “Is this supposed to be happening?”

With a perplexed lilt to your brow, you use your free hand to take the compass in your grasp. Your other hand retains its tight grasp on your True North, while you watch the compass needle haphazardly scramble in search of theirs.

You lean in, closer to the center of the boat with the compass tilted skyward for your friends to see. They crowd in, all of your heads nearly pressed together as you take in the phenomena.

Dustin’s voice crackles from the walkie. “Guys, what’s going on?” A pause. “Come on, talk to me. What’s going on?”

Robin responds, hands tucked around the device. “Uh, Dustin, your compass has gone from wonky to wonky with a capital ‘ahh!’”

If possible, the sky grows darker than before. Steve slips his hand from yours, and you watch, stunned, as he starts to untie his shoelaces. “Whoa, hold on. What are you doing?”

“Somebody’s gotta go down and check this out.” His arm jostles against yours as he struggles to move with the limited occupancy. This hardly phases you, however, limply ebbing against his shimmies to remove his shoes and socks. You’re discreetly shaking your head before you realize it. “Unless one of you four can top being a Hawkins High swim co-captain, and a certified lifeguard for three years, then it’s gotta be me.” No, it can’t be. “No complaints, all right?”

“Weird time to be bragging about your aquatic achievements,” Eddie relents from your other side. “But I won’t stand in your way. Roll a natural twenty, man.”

Steve is visibly confused by the reference. “Thanks, man.”

You’re frozen, staring out at the darkened waves. Thinking of what lurks below, what Steve could run into down there, sends your pulse into overdrive. Luck would truly be on your side if you don’t need to call a rescue squad by the time this night ends. If it ever does, anyway.

Steve enters your line of sight again. You want to say it’s because he knows you so well and can detect even the slightest quirk to your brow, but you’re sure the anxiety is just emanating from your being in droves at this point. Max can probably see it all the way from the shore. And that’s without binoculars. “Hey,” his voice is so soft around the edges it makes your tear ducts burn. “I’ll be fine. I’ll come back to you. I always do.”

All you can do is nod with a forced smile, not trusting your vocal chords to fray and unravel at the smallest tug of pressure.

With one last squeeze to your shoulder, Steve is standing and shedding his shirt. He tosses the yellow crew neck to you. You’re staring at him again, but for a different reason. This given appearance wasn’t foreign to you, but it also wasn’t as familiar as you’d want it to be. 

Your nose begins to burn.

“Gross,” Robin chimes in, flicking the newly lit cigarette from Eddie’s fingers. He watches, disappointed, as it dives into the water. 

“Is now really the best time for that?” Nancy admonishes.

Eddie flails, and you catch his wrist right before it can make contact with your face. “Have you been alive today? I would argue that now is the perfect time for that!”

Steve looks down at the water, the trepidation written so plainly on his face you could mistake him for a post-it note. Before you can stop yourself, you’re latching onto his wrist. He cranes his head to watch you over his shoulder. “Be careful, yeah?”

Twisting his arm in your grasp so he can squeeze your wrist, he says, “of course.” He looks at the gang. “Stay out of trouble while I’m gone?”

“No promises!” Robin gushes, sugary sweet, flicking another lit cigarette from Eddie’s clutches. He smacks his leg and curses under his breath.

Steve sends you one more meaningful look before he’s swallowed by the waves. The anxiety increases by tenfold without him pressed against your side. You wring your hands together to trap their tremble.

Quiet befalls the group, your only background noise being the oceanic soundtrack which trickles around you in micro pecks. The longer you wait, the more convinced you become that Steve isn’t coming back. That you’ll never get to see him again. Laugh with him again. Hold him again.

Maybe you should’ve told him how you felt when you still had the chance. You tug his sweatshirt closer to you.

“Hey,” Eddie lowers his head, nearly tilting it sideways, to meet your gaze. His fingers tap your temple gently. “How’s it going in there?”

A faint exhale escapes your nose, the lamest excuse of a chuckle you’ve ever heard. You appreciate the concern. “Hanging in there. I just hope he’s okay.”

His lips tilt to the side in a reserved smile, but you also notice a freckle of forlorn acceptance in his eye. Voice dropping into a whisper saved for you, he says, “You really care about that guy, huh?”

Your heart skips, peeking at the girls across from you to make sure they’re still engaged in whatever conversation they might be having. They look drawn into their own world enough that they didn’t hear Eddie, but you wouldn’t be surprised if at least Robin didn’t have one ear directed towards you. Drifting back to Eddie, you say quietly with a chuckle, “of course I do. He’s my best friend.”

“Coulda fooled me, man.”

Lips parting to respond, a dull shriek escapes instead, as Steve breaks through the water’s surface with a gasp. The rest of the gang is startled, too, Eddie clutching to your shoulders in a panic. You think his scream was the loudest, if your ringing ears have anything to say about it.

“I found it,” Steve announces, taking two final breastrokes to reach your side of the boat.

“You found it?” Nancy echoes excitedly.

“I found it.” He repeats, hypoxicated disbelief on his tongue. Hands clutching to the boat’s rim to give his arms a rest, he says again, “yeah, I found it.”

Relief breaks out into hives across your skin in the form of goosebumps, coming down from the overheated peak of your anxiety. The sigh nearly deflates your body, lips tugging up into an agile grin. Your fingers grasp onto his, the look on your face contagious enough for Steve to mirror it.

“Dustin, you are a goddamn Einstein.” Robin says over the walkie with a happy fatigue. “We found the gate.”

“It’s pretty wild,” Steve says while you all wait for a response from the teens at shore. He braces his arms atop the boat. “It’s more of a snack-size gate than the mama gate, but, still, it’s pretty damn big.”

That’s when your heart stops. Or that’s how it feels anyway.

Steve suddenly propels downward, as if tugged by the ankle. His white-knuckled grip on the boat keeps him afloat, but the force of whatever grabbed him had caused the boat to violently bob. Everyone clamors to stay afloat. Sweat immediately gathers at your hairline, and you feel as if all the bones in your hand could shatter from the deathly chokehold you retain on the bench below. A barely there whimper nestles into the back of your throat.

Then he’s gone. Steve. Forced back into the water against his own volition. Hands flayed in a panic, they’re the last things you see before he’s fully taken under. 

The last word to fall from his lips is your name.

“I have to go in.” The words are spoken shyly, despite their willingness to come out, a reluctant admittance to your new fate. Your plea is hardly heard over the screams of your friends, still reeling from Steve’s being reeled under the current. Fingers grasping Steve’s sweatshirt to tug it over your body—your biceps had been getting cold anyway, exposed to the chilly nip of night’s teeth—you speak louder this time around. “I’m going after him.”

“Are you insane?!” Nancy screeches. “No, I’ll go.”

“Well, gate’s at the bottom, isn’t it?” The words dribbled from your lips quickly, eyes flickering between your friends and the dark abyss beneath. “Isn’t this the one time that not knowing how to swim should come in handy?”

“The lady makes a fair point,” Eddie agrees, only to endure an arm smack from Robin.

“Not if she actually drowns!” She all but shrieks.

“I won’t!” You argue, trying to mask the clear anxiety zapping your veins. “I’ll just toss myself into the water, sink for a little bit, then boom. No harm done.”

“Just stay with the boat.” Nancy pleads. “Please.”

“Yeah? Well, the idea of something happening to Steve freaks me out infinitely more than some water. End of story. I’m going in.” You were running out of time. God only knows what’s happening to Steve on the other side. 

Everyone is silent for a beat. 

Until Robin holds out a hand, a begrudging, almost knowing, smile painting her lips. “Fine, you stubborn idiot. But you’re not allowed to let go of me. Got it?”

Next thing you know, you’re in the water. It burns your eyes to keep them open in the dark, lurky murks, but it would help to know exactly where you’re drowning yourself to. Robin keeps one hand tightly latched to yours, as if melded by superglue or a dress zipper that refuses to budge. She pushes the other through the vast depths, kicking her legs so you’ll get to the bottom faster. You try to mimic her movements, unsure if they’re actually helping or not. It may sprinkle speed into the passage, but the distraction of doing something with your body might be playing tricks on you.

That’s when you see it: the gate.

Like an oasis surrounded by a sea of sand. A blue accent wall meant to bring life to the otherwise dull color palette of a hospital. Steve, spotted within an instant of searching a voluminous crowd.

Red glow seeping through the black branch-like coils awaits you, roaring faintly with the eerie moans and creaks of the upside-down. You’re scared, but intrigued. It draws you in.

Emerging from the water, you catch sight of Steve. You can finally breathe again.

Until you hear his screams.

He’s overtaken by these bat-like creatures which swarm his being. They’re above him, beside him, on top of him. Some bite and tear into his flesh.

Not for long.

Swinging at one with a nearby branch you’d found, you spit out a “go back to Hell!” as it unlatches from Steve and soars to the ground with a thunk.

“I think we’re already there!” Eddie hollers, taking down another one.

You all take turns batting at the bats until they’ve all succumbed to your willpower and determination to save Steve. Exhaustion melts into your bloodstream, but you power through. For him.

Magnetized with unnerve, you’re by his side the second the last bat hits the ground.

“You’re here.”

Unable to take your eyes off his sustained injuries, the blood seeping from his wounds—he should be okay, just needs to be bandaged up. Maybe Nancy wouldn’t be too bummed to donate her scarf to a greater cause—you’re only able to grant a customary glance at his face before you’re looking down again. He receives the muttered response, “where else would I be?”

“You came after me,” he points out, like he’d just connected the largest, most obvious pair of dots that you’d have to be a dufus to miss. 

Color yourself a dufus, you guess. “I know.”

A hand grasps your wrist, softly. His hand. “You can’t swim.”

Eyeing the contact before slowly scrolling up to his eyes, you respond. “I know.”

His brow creases upward briefly, the slightest flicker of emotion. All freedom of movement within you is suddenly lost, unable to tear yourself away from his gaze. From his hold, his fingers still wrapped around your wrist. The touch is firm, grounding, as if his eyes aren’t enough confirmation that you sit before him. His thumb crosses your skin so feather-light it almost tickles. Flamed heat warps your cheeks and neck, like you’re leaning in to blow out your birthday candles and overestimate the distance.

You assume time to move differently in the upside-down, but a local clock could tell you years had passed—and you’d hardly bat an eye.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

You’re in the woods now, surrounded by the brush of big trees, and under the sound dampener of Skull Rock. Demobats had overpopulated the place the gate had dropped you at, so you had to get out of there. A collective sigh of relief is felt and heard through the gang.

As you separate from the tighter protective coil you’d been wrapped in with one another, you notice Steve moreso stumbles from the group. He braces against Skull Rock’s jaw. 

“Stevie?” you try, making it to him faster than you ran to escape the demobats. “You good?”

“I’m fine.” He mumbles, an obvious lie. Slumping further into the rock, he repeats, “I’m fine.”

“Okay,” you say with a gentle finality. Gentle as a sunflower, you grab his forearm with one hand, using the other to brace against his bare torso. Tugging him down in hopes he’ll see the point, you mumble, “sit down, you liar. You’re losing blood.”

His chuckle is faint, but still floats into your ears with a warm whisper. You both lower to the ground, his hands clutching to your arms as a wave of pain seems to rush through him. 

Scooting closer, you brush a hand over his cheek. “It’s okay. I’ve got you.” Turning to Nancy with what you hope is a charming smile, you say, “hey, Nance. Looking radiant. Got any important plans for that scarf?”

With a reluctant grimace, she hands it over.

“I’ll buy you a new one the second we get back home. Promise.” You assure, taking the garment from her hands.

“You better,” she jabs, its edges softened by the humorous quirk of her lips.

Steve’s already staring at you when you turn back to him. You quickly avert your gaze, pulling him away from the rock so you have enough room to wrap his torso. “Okay, let’s get you patched up, huh?”

As you’re wrapping Nancy’s scarf around him, he gets to his knees to match you, arms raising from his sides.

You make the mistake of looking up.

With his hands braced behind his head, his arms form two mirrored triangles; a glimmering diamond in this otherwise desolate sea of barren ash and decay. His biceps are flexing due to the pose. Chin tilted towards the sky, his Adam’s apple is more pronounced and his neck, elongated. Eyes closed, lashes feathering his cheekbones. His pretty lips are parted, presumably in pain, but you can’t deny he looks good. You can’t control your cognitive functioning, especially around him.

He looks like a Greek god.

You quickly finish tying and knotting the scarf around his wounds, hoping that the snickers you hear to the right aren’t directed at your obvious ogling. 

Though they definitely are.

Especially when your eyes catch Robin’s and she wiggles her eyebrows at you.

“Okay, good as new.” You tell Steve quietly.

He slumps back against the rock at the news. Dropping his otherworldly supermodel  pose, he squints his eyes open. Clearing your throat, you back away slightly. You can’t get too far, however, his hand finding your wrist again. You wonder if his fingers will leave a permanent mark on your skin with the home they’ve found there. A brand, or a tattoo. His voice is still weak, but definitely stronger than it was mere moments ago. “Thanks.”

“Always,” you return, lips curving at the sight of his scrunched nose. He’s so adorable.

Eddie pops the bubble, shrugging off his jean vest and handing it to Steve. “For your modesty.”

Steve nods in thanks and starts to throw it on, when your voice stops him. “Oh, wait. Here.” Gesturing to his sweatshirt on your body. “You can have this back.”

His hands reach out to hold yours in place, effectively stopping their movement. “After you stunk it up? No way.”

You’re gobsmacked for a second, trying to register his playful jab. Then you scoff, shoving his shoulder gently since he’s still likely in pain. “If I stink in this thing it’s only because you put the stench there in the first place, Harrington.”

“You’re probably right,” he relents, and you laugh for the first time since boarding that godforsaken boat. As you help him put on the vest, his smile is blinding. 

Like sticking a bottle of sunshine into a darkened closet.

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

After establishing the next step of your escape plan, which was to walk to Nancy’s house and arm yourself with the guns she kept tucked away in her room, you began your trek through the woods.

You strode along the beaten path through the wilted trees with Robin and Nancy, hopping and stepping over Vecna vines as you went. Small bouts of laughter and strategy bounded past your lips the whole way. The reassurance of this new plan had seemed to brighten the group’s soul, bolstering your confidence to the point that you didn’t need to spend your time chomping your nails down to the root anymore. 

Steve and Eddie stay farther back behind you three, engaged in their own conversation.

About you.

“So, Y/N’s a real Betty, isn’t she?” Was how Eddie had chosen to approach the topic.

Steve immediately gets defensive. He tries to conceal it, waiting a beat longer to mimic casualty, but Eddie sees it on his face the second he finishes asking the question. “If you’re trying to ask for my blessing or something, the answer is no way in Hell.”

“Okay,” he draws out awkwardly. “Pushing aside my hurt feelings for a second, I mean no harm. Just having a conversation, is all.”

“Bullshit,” he jabs gently, eyes momentarily flickering to you to make sure you’re alright. He watches your head tilt back, laughing at something Robin said, and his lips tug. “Look, you don’t have to beat around the bush, man. I know you’re into her.”

“Duh, I have eyes,” he scoffs. “But I know true love when I see it, so I’m making the most selfless sacrifice here to help you use your own peepers.”

“True love?” Steve echoes incredulous. “What are you on about, Munson?”

“Look, the second you went under, and I mean the very second, that girl dove in headfirst after you, Harrington.” He watches Steve’s eyes immediately flicker to you. “She was the one leading the charge to come and rescue you, and she can’t even swim, man! We all tried to make her stay with the boat, that we would go in her place. You know what she said to that?”

Steve is breathing harder now, eyes flitting between your joyous figure and Eddie faster than a movie projector fluttering through frames. He can only shake his head in response to Eddie’s query.

They’re both halted in the path, Steve waiting with baited breath at what Eddie has to say. If Steve was expected to focus on his motor skills and you at the same time, he’d stumble and break his ankle if he so much as thought about that damned gorgeous smile of yours.

“She said,” Eddie pauses dramatically, before frowning. “Well, actually, I can’t remember.” Steve deflates, throwing his arms up exasperatedly. Eddie continues, “but, basically, she said that losing you would’ve been scarier than setting foot in any body of water. Any. Body. Of. Water.”

Steve’s eyes soften so much they begin to feel fuzzy. Chest cavity warm, as if someone put a candle in him like he was a jack-o-lantern. He can only see you, a physical diagnosis of the retina where his heart would only continue to beat from watching you.

“Now,” Eddie continues, more gently. The sight of Steve Harrington in love was endearing, to say the least. “I don’t know what happened between you. Why you’re not together anymore. But, I’d get her back.”

“‘Get her back?’” Steve echoes again, looking at Eddie again. Though not for long. “We never dated.”

“Coulda fooled me, man.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

Relax finds your muscles later that night, at the Wheeler residence. The real one, not the abandoned grayscale remake. Outside, the cool air is a welcome inhaler to your lungs, the inexplicable smell of Spring like a refreshing glass of pink lemonade. Ice knocking around its container like a wooden wind chime.

“There you are!” A voice gushes. Peeking over your shoulder from your being braced against the porch railing, you see Steve. Flowers begin to sprout in the front yard. They wind and intertwine with one another, vine-like in their trail up your legs to ascertain your heart. He grows closer, and the vines tug. “I was worried about you.”

With a soft grin, you roll your eyes. “You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine.”

“Oh. Y/N.” He pretends to only acknowledge your presence now. With a point to your body, he justifies, “I was actually just talking to my shirt.”

You guffaw and shove him. Though he sways from the force, the grin on his lips couldn’t be any more gleeful. “Always some kind of trick up your sleeve, eh, Harrington?”

Tossing an arm around your shoulder, he looks into the dark night alongside you. “That depends. Does it annoy you?”

You consider the question. “Occasionally.”

“Then yes.”

Full chuckles resonate on the porch, both yours and Steve’s shoulders shaking in tandem: palm trees in motion. Appreciating his warmth, you lean into his hold. His fingers tighten around your shoulder a fraction, tugging you closer. Though his bandages are fresh and his face has been rid of the dirt that once caked his skin, leaving only disinfected cuts in their wake, he doesn’t smell too great. You’re also certain you don’t exactly smell like a rose garden, despite receiving similar dirt removing rituals as Steve. It’s hard to care, though, his hold on you feeling so destined.

You feel the weight of his head press onto yours, and he asks, softly, “seriously, though. You’re okay?”

“I am.” It’s the first time tonight you’ve been able to say that and actually mean it. “Or, I will be, at least. Nothing a good nap can’t fix, at this point.”

He hums in agreement. “Ain’t that the truth.” With a soft sigh, he begins “tonight was,” only to trail off, shaking his head lightly against yours.

“Mental?” You try with a lifted brow.

His head tilts further into yours for a beat, as if considering the response. “Yeah, that’ll do. More like, that times, like, a million, but yeah. That’ll do.”

“I’m just glad we all made it out there alive.”

He hums again, further tightening his hold on you. As if you’d slip away, a receipt in the wind, if his grasp was too light. Before the topic can get too serious, and, because this is what Steve does, he cracks a joke. “Now if only I could take a damn shower. You especially.”

Expecting the punchline, you just smirk. “Oh, that’s real nice of you, considering I spent most of today fearing for your life.”

He removes his arm from your shoulders, bracing his elbows on the railing to mirror you. His arm is pressed so tight against yours you’d think they made one ligament. Shimmying that shoulder into yours, he says, “that’s cute. You care about me, Y/L/N?”

“I’m not too sure, anymore. You’re kinda mean.”

“If I’m mean it’s only because you put the mean there in the first place.” He tries to echo your jab from earlier in the day. You sputter at his failed attempt, and he scrunches his face up in disappointment at himself, which only makes you laugh harder.

“You’re such a character, Stevie.”

He hums, before offering nonchalantly, “I’ll be any character you want me to be, so long as you get to play my love interest.”

You’re stunned into silence. All you can do is blink up at him.

“I love you. Really.” he says more seriously. “Like, I’m in love with you.” he chuckles to himself. “I think I’ve always been in love with you. I’m just an idiot, and, well, it took another idiot to help me figure it out.”

That’s when you realize. “Eddie.”

Steve nods. “He’s really got the hots for you.”

A knowing smile stretches across your face. “Maybe so, but I’m kind of in love with my best friend, so.”

His face relaxes in relief for a beat, before it scrunches up. “Kind of?” 

“What?” you offer innocently, turning to fully face him. Mirroring your actions, a smile sparkles in his eyes, shaking his head to himself minutely. Perhaps it’s just his addictingly overwhelming presence playing tricks on you, but it feels like he’s inching closer. “I mean, I haven’t even kissed the guy. How can I know if he—”

A welcome interruption, Steve’s lips on yours. His hands, gently cradling your face like you’re the damn most precious thing in his world. The words die on your tongue as his licks into your mouth, a soft hum of content coming out instead.

Warm and bright, you feel like you can see the sun rise behind your eyelids. Orbs of orange marry yellows of the most magical hue, footsteps tracing the horizon in their dance to the top. Though they burn their fingertips on the sun’s surface, nothing compares to the way they burn for one another. With one another.

“To the moon and Mars, yeah?” The words tickle your lips, soft and sweet. A secret sealed behind his padlock heart. 

You never knew you always held the key until this moment. Trapped between your fingertips like a magician with her dog-eared quarters.

“To the moon and Mars, Harrington.”

[maroonmusings]

Free Appetizers [m.m]

Fandom: Marvel Pairing: Matt x reader Word count: 4,662 Warnings: soft!matt, accidental Karen erasure, probably definitely inaccurate lawyer talk, potential time jump snafus between mcu canon and daredevil canon

A/N: idk man I just wanted to write something with Jennifer, Matt, and Foggy all interacting in case we've been pranked and Matt and Foggy (or at least Matt) aren't actually gonna be in the show

Two sets of heels skittering down linoleum tile fill your ears, the scent of steaming coffee in your nose, and the sound of your boss, Jennifer Walters in your ears. A typical Tuesday, in other words.

“I barely got any sleep last night.” You admit, chugging some of the heated beverage in your hands for emphasis. “I seriously don’t know how we’re gonna find enough evidence to save the client when there were no witnesses to the crime, and the only remaining family or friends are all virtually untraceable.”

“I know. We’ll be lucky if we can exonerate her by August.”

“Jen, it’s December.”

“Exactly!” She throws her arms in the air, narrowly avoiding a passing intern. “If this last minute team they sent in from Hell’s Kitchen doesn’t pull through for us, I’ll help you find a new boss.”

You groan. “Again?! The last guys from Landman and Zack didn’t even care about the client! The only assets they care about can be found on a woman’s body, if you catch my drift.”

“Oh, I’ve caught it. Saw it coming from a mile away. You’re not one for discretion are you?”

“Coming from the green giant’s cousin.”

“Please. You’re just jealous you don’t have powers that allow you to outbench cocky assholes at the gym or reach the top shelf at the grocery store.”

“Maybe so. But you’re not the one who’s a real hoot at company barbecues.” Referencing your ability to create and manipulate fires, you add, “Or could flame your ass in a heartbeat.”

“You have a terrible professional lexicon. I’d love to meet your boss.” She remarks passively, before finally breaking into a grin at the sound of your snickering. 

You were nearing the door to her office now. “Alright, let’s see what kind of half-witted shit for brains they sent in this time—”

“Y/N!”

“Foggy?” the sight of the jovial blonde lawyer threw you for a loop. He immediately sweeps you into a warm hug. You could’ve melted into his arms if not for your perfectly timed acknowledgement of one Matt Murdock. He wore a tight-lipped smile and an even tighter hold on the top of his cane. Foggy pulls away, holding you at an arm's length. You’re dazzled by his cheerful grin. 

God, you missed them both so much. Add one more person to the equation, and this reunion would be everything you’d dreamed of. “Where’s Karen?”

Foggy explains that Karen is back at the Bulletin, working on a big assignment for Ellison. In between projects there, she is helping Matt and Foggy with clients and working towards becoming a legitimate lawyer herself.

“Two jobs? I can hardly handle one!” You exclaim. Karen’s the real superhero amongst your friends.

“That’s what I said!” He exasperates.

“You guys are back with Landman and Zack? Both of you?”

Foggy’s face screws into a displeased swirl. “No. What bizarro paper do you get your news from around here?”

“That’s news to us.” His gravelly tone was foreign yet familiar, shot directly into your bloodstream in the most addicting way. A warm shock to your system. “Where’d you hear that?”

“Jennifer Walters,” it’s impressive how quickly your boss can shift from friend to, well, boss. She sticks out a hand to shake with Foggy, then Matt. Locking eyes with Foggy. “Mr. Nelson, is it? We spoke over the phone last week. Everything we’ve learned regarding your business affiliation was retrieved from our own company’s archives.”

“Well, those need to be changed immediately.” He pretends to scratch at his arms. “I think I’m breaking out in hives.”

“Right after you hug me. Nice.” You joke.

“Maybe they have a two-for-one at the hospital.”

“I’ll go pack a bag.”

He grins. “Perfect,” sending an obvious glance to Matt behind him, he says, “while you do that, I’ll start going over preliminaries with Ms. Walters.”

“Oh, just Jen is fine.”

“You got it, Just Jen.”

“Great, now there’s two of them!” She exclaims in false praise, looking between you and Foggy. The latter sends you a wink and finger guns before following Jen to a table farther into the room. Now they’re great enough a distance away that, with effort, they could still hear you. And you feel like their nosiness will propel them far in that effort.

“Matt,” you asserted, almost in alarm. It was a challenge to keep your eyes focused on the translucent red lenses he sported, slanted ever so slightly down the bridge of his nose. You were reminded of how good he looks in a suit. Gray wool and white cotton dashing across a canvas to culminate in the mesmerizing painting of Matt Murdock. You settled for subtlety, though the innocent tilt of his head gives away the fact that your heartbeat is being monitored. “You look good.”

“You, too. Uh—” the adorable confusion takes your heart for a spin like it’s a merry-go-round. You try to conceal a smile. His hands tighten around the top of his cane, wringing. Foggy snickers over the newest client files. Jennifer smiles beside him like she knows of Matt’s secret life, even though you know she doesn’t. Why is she smiling like that then? “Probably. Definitely. You always do. Probably. I’m sure you do.”

“Thanks,” you laugh, face feeling warm despite the crisp atmosphere of Jen’s office. Risking another glance at what had become your audience on the far side of the room, you weren’t surprised that your interaction with Matt had their undivided attention. Though they tried to conceal it behind incoherent mumbles, miming busy work, whenever they caught your stare.

Turning back to Matt, you involuntarily sucked in a breath when he appeared to be closer. Close enough to smell his cologne. With his sensitive senses, he tried to veer away from the stronger, more overpowering scents a lot of the men you’d met in your particular line of work. His scent was subtle, clean. Like fresh bed sheets on a Sunday morning.

The sweat accumulated on your palms faster than you could blink.

You fought the urge to continue talking to Matt, just being in his presence, but didn’t last more than two seconds in the ring. “How are you, Matt?”

He paused for a moment to genuinely think on his answer, your gaze catching on the slight pout of his lips. Self-control was posing a challenge after spending so long away from him. Unresolved feelings left with an even more unresolved goodbye. “I’m good.” A lie. “You? Settling into the City of Angels alright?”

“I am.” You nod, an unintentional smile tugging at your lips at the moniker of your beloved new home. It was good for you. This is where you have to be right now. “But, I gotta say,” voice dropping to a whisper, you lean in conspiratorily, “I’m surprised the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen was allowed in here.”

He leans in, too. One more nudge forward and— “Ah, but I’m a good catholic boy, remember? One wave of my pocket bible and the border patrol forgets I was even there.”

“Oh, of course. Of course.” You lean back, overwhelmed by his presence, crossing your arms. “How could I have forgotten that this definitely-real-pocket-bible gives you Jedi powers?”

“Yeah, see, catholic guilt is like one of those punch cards. Like the ones we’d get at that Indian joint, but always forgot to bring back, so we just had an army of those things with only one punch each?” He explains, propping his cane against his chest so he could form a rectangle with his thumbs and forefingers. Even the sheer mention of the restaurant where you shared many “dates” unlocked the Matt Murdock memory gate. You were reminded of how the lights reflected in his eyes like the most other-worldly kaleidoscope you’d ever have the fortune of looking into. How, despite all of those lights strung on the ceiling, none could overpower the brightness of Matt’s smile. 

You didn’t even hear the punchline to his joke, too wrapped up in memories of him to acknowledge the him that was here now. Right in front of you.

Matt was chuckling at said punchline now. Head shaking back and forth, the slightest ebb, as if in disbelief of his catholic-centered humor. Maybe it’s just because you’re too far gone—and it’s been that way for you since you first stepped into his office all those years ago—but you’ve always thought that everything the man says is funny. So you laugh along, certain that this time was no different.

“Those damn punch cards,” you mused, memories of Matt branded to your brain like a tattoo gallery. “Could probably find one at the bottom of my purse if I looked hard enough. Buggers are everywhere.”

“I found one in my fridge the other day.”

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious!” He grins, wide and blinding. You swear you can hear an angel chorale vocalizing their praise nearby, the room getting brighter. If you’ll be working with him for much longer, you might want to consider investing in a pair of sunglasses.

The angelic voices thrumming around your head must’ve telepathically modulated to Matt, both of you seemingly in a cheek-numbing, smiley daze. 

Until the angels die.

Smile dropping, Matt pushes both of your bodies just in time for a bullet to whiz by the place you once stood. The tall glass window panel it penetrated shatters. A small oomph huffs past your lips as you’re pinned to a nearby wall by Matt’s body. It’s difficult to focus on anything other than his fingers grasping at your waist, especially in places where your blouse had ridden up in the craze of movement, but you fight your eyes away from him to check on your other two companions.

Jen has ushered Foggy under the table, the nook they were working in providing the needed protection from anyone looking through the window the bullet came from. You and Matt seem to be protected from view, too, as no further bullets make an appearance. Not yet, at least.

Matt tilts his head to listen for enemies, and you signal to Jen to hold still in her nook with Foggy. She looks confused, but she stays put. 

“How many?” You whisper, as quiet as you can muster. God knows if the room is bugged, too.

If at all possible, Matt leans in closer to you. His breath fans across your neck, a chill erupting from your skin. “Seven on this floor. Two above, on their way to us. They’ve got hostages.”

“And the sniper?”

“Two more rounds and he’s out.”

“So, sniper first then his cronies.” You surmise.That’s the benefit of having worked with him, both in the courtroom and on the streets. You can always tell what he’s thinking. “They’re only here if he can’t finish the job.”

Matt smirks. “And he won’t.”

A plan formulates in your head. Not a great one, you’ll admit, but a plan nonetheless. “I’ll go in his line of sight and then you can get me out of there as the weapon fires.”

He grins sarcastically. “Ha-ha, good one. Not a chance.”

“You’ll push me out of the way in time!”

“Y/N.”

“I trust you. Just do it.”

He’s silent.

“Yeah?”

“I’ve got you. Go.”

But, before you can, Jen is stepping forward. One more step and she’ll be in line with the sniper’s next shot. 

“Terrible timing, I know,” she amends, mostly to Matt and Foggy. Foggy’s eyes grow comedically wide as Jen transforms into her hulk form. Her pigmentation melds to a greenish hue, clothes stretching to fit her more muscular alter ego. She’s at least three feet taller. “But I can get us out of this.”

“How many of you guys are there?!” Foggy whispers incredulously.

His response is the harsh thud of the office’s door flying open, making contact with its adjacent wall. The seven previously mentioned cronies barge in, ready for a fight.

And they’re sorely mistaken if they aren’t expecting one from you.

Jen lines herself up perfectly with the sniper in the next building over, wielding her wrists like shields to deflect his final two rounds. 

“Since we’re sharing things today,” Matt announces, parting from you to land a perfect punch to someone’s jaw, following up with a backwards elbow to another guy behind him. That was mostly for Jen, you presume.

Most of the guys have flocked to Matt at this point, so you duck in to help. You deliver your punches charged with your fire manipulation to send them flying. It doesn’t finish the job, but it’ll at least take them longer to get back up. Jen’s throwing one around like a ragdoll; nice to see the imprint of Bruce’s training in her fighting. 

One of your guys is coming back to, making a beeline for Foggy.

Or the client paperwork.

“Foggy, the files!” you alert.

“Got it!” He scrambles to his feet, haphazardly sliding the pages into an uneven stack. A guy gets too close and Foggy has to smack him across the face with his briefcase. “Keep them off me!”

“On it!” you propel, a new skill you had finally been able to master with your powers, over to stand before Foggy. You throw up a molten force field just in time for one of the cronies to run straight into it. He immediately scrambles away with a holler from the minor burns.

“Get fried, dude!” You yell, Matt coming in to fully knock him out.

“You can make heat shields now?!” Foggy exclaims, completely forgetting about the papers for a second to grin in awe at your construction. “That’s so useful!”

“Foggy, the papers!” You laugh, nodding at the table. 

“Sorry!” He gets back to work, concealing your client’s case files away in his briefcase, fully protected from any unwanted hands and eyes. 

Chuckling again, you shake your head, letting the shield fade into crumbled ash. Matt and Jen had taken care of the rest of the intruders. The chaos in the room dissipates to staggered breathing.

“You lied about having a disability?” Jen asks Matt, still green. “Not cool, dude.”

Despite himself, Matt huffs a laugh. “It’s a long story.”

“Forget about that,” you chime in, looking up at Jen. “You’re bullet-proof? That would've been so helpful to know before I was about to throw myself in front of a sniper!”

She shrugs, gesturing to herself. “Figured it was common sense.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“Okay, maybe I will stay green. Just for a little longer.” Jennifer muses, watching the small group of giggling college students leave your table, phones in hand.

“A little longer? With all of those photos they made me take of them with the Incredible She-Hulk—”

“For free, might I add.” Foggy grovels.

“—this better be a permanent thing.” You complete, rubbing your right thumb with a jovial frown on your face. “I think I got a thumb cramp from filling up that guy’s camera roll.”

Matt coos out a patronizing “aww” from beside you, scooting closer on the booth bench to rub your thumb tenderly. Rolling your eyes gently to distract from the heat rising to your cheeks, you nudge his shoulder with your own as you both laugh.

As he leans back into the booth, but remaining close enough that your thighs and shoulders are now connected, you muse upon how easily it was to fall back into rhythm with Matt. Like an old boom box, the speakers spark whenever music plays. But it still works. It’s consistent. The only time it fails to falter is during your song.

“Hey, buddy.” Foggy calls to Matt, who looks in his general direction, eyebrows raised. “You ever think Daredevil would want to have meet and greets with the citizens of Hell’s Kitchen?”

“Absolutely not.” He immediately denies, not an ounce of thought dedicated toward the response. You laugh at his reaction, swearing that the corner of his lips tug at the sound.

“Come on, man! Live a little!” Foggy exclaims, drink sloshing in his glass as he throws his hands up. “With the extra cash we could actually afford to pay the electric bill for our office every month!”

“You seem to forget that doesn’t exactly cause me any issues.”

“Don’t worry, Fog.” You jump in, reaching to place your hand on his side of the table. “We’ll go shopping and I can buy you some night-vision goggles.”

“Thank you.” He emphasizes, looking back at Matt. “I forgot there were still people out there that actually cared about my safety.”

Matt giggles, and it’s easily the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. Cue the swoon. “How about this? Next round’s on me. What do you say, buddy?”

Foggy pauses to think, eyeing his best friend. “I guess that’s a good first step to being my best friend again. Make it a double, and all is forgiven.”

“Sounds like a fair deal,” Matt says, clearly indicating in his tone that he didn’t believe a word of what he just said. Taking yours and Jen’s orders, he’s gently nudging your shoulder to let him out of the booth. When you’re both standing, he presses a hand to the small of your back as he passes, muttering a “thanks, darlin’.”

Pursing your lips hard, you hum out an affirmative before sliding back into the booth. Don’t think about it don’t think about it don’t think about it. Maybe Foggy wants to talk about the bar you’re all currently at. “So, Foggy, what do you think of Pinky’s?”

“Well, it’s certainly no Josie’s.” He laughs into the final sips of his drink. “I mean, my shoes don’t stick to the floor when I walk here, and the martini olives aren’t gray and fuzzy, but it’s still got some charm, I suppose.”

“Oh, don’t forget about that one old guy that comes in every Wednesday morning to do karaoke and cry.”

“‘Landslide’ Larry!” Foggy nearly screams, Jen flinching at the volume. “We had to represent him a couple months ago.”

“Seriously? What happened?”

“Well, he was innocent, obviously.” He sends you a knowing look, referencing Matt’s enhanced hearing. “Framed by an ex.”

“Damn,” you let out a low whistle. Matt’s return with the drinks catches the corner of your eye, and you get up so he can get back into the booth. His hand finds its way to the small of your back again as he passes, and you hate how perfect it feels there.

When you’re seated side by side again, it’s like he’d never left. Thigh to thigh and shoulder to shoulder. Except, now he’s got his left arm strategically placed on the back of the booth behind you. His arm is basically around your shoulder, but it’s also not. You wish it was.

As Foggy dives into a story he was suddenly reminded of, you use the distraction to shift closer to Matt, keeping your eyes on Foggy and smiling along with his tale. Matt’s warmth consumes you immediately, radiating from his side stronger than your own powers ever could. You wonder if your powers are contributing to the heat flooding your body, or if that’s just how Matt makes you feel.

Behind you, his arm slides down at a snail’s pace. Peeking at him from the corner of your eye, he’s facing forward, contributing affirmatives and humor to Foggy’s story when appropriate, like you. Your pulse pounds hard enough that it feels like it’s about to tear through your throat, the permanent smirk on Matt’s face confirming that he can hear it, too. 

When his fingers finally make contact with your bare shoulder, you slouch further into his hold. Biting back a grin, you realize he’s trying to do the same. His chest appears to be moving up and down faster than before.

If asked, you’re not sure you can identify where you begin and where he ends.

You stay like that for what feels like hours, and you’re not too sure you ever want the night to end. Just four friends reconnecting, or getting to know each other, in Jen’s case, rediscovering what it feels like to come back home. Because it quickly hits you that Hell’s Kitchen, nor Los Angeles, for that matter, is your home.

It’s these people sitting with you right now.

Getting up from this booth, from Matt’s hold, doesn’t become necessary until it’s mandatory. Turns out, alcohol fills your bladder. Who would’ve thought?

You’ve barely evaded earshot before Jen is leaning into the table. She stares down Matt, hard. “Okay, what is up with you two? My grandparents are more subtle with their gripes on when I’ll ‘give them grandkids’ than you are with your—whatever it is.”

Foggy coughs around a laugh, nearly choking on his drink. “Good luck getting anything out of him. I’ve been asking him that question for nine years. Guy’s a brick wall, I’m tellin’ ya.”

“Yeah, well, maybe I’m a better lawyer than you.” she turns back to Matt. “Spill.”

Foggy scoffs at the lazy tactic of acquiring the desired information. “Oh yeah, such a better lawyer.” Jen elbows him, a little harder than intended, what with her ignorance of her own strength. Foggy mumbles a forlorn “ouch” as Jen turns to Matt once more, an expectant arch in her brow.

“There’s nothing to ‘spill’ other than it would never work out. If I could have even the smallest role in hurting her I'd lose all sense of myself.”

“And yet you still let her tag along on your little late night satan—”

“—it’s a devil.”

“Whatever. Point is, she could’ve gotten hurt during one of those.” Matt’s face falls. “And she did. You do realize that holding her at an arm’s length in an emotional capacity is hurting her just as much, right?”

“Okay, hotshot.” He snaps. “I understand everyone here in the City Where Dreams Come True—or whatever delusion-inducing fog you gas yourself up with every morning—jaunts around with their heart on their sleeve, but you won’t be getting that from me. Lawyer or not, you’re not going to manipulate me with your rainbows-and-sunshine haze and get me to admit that that woman is my very excuse for breathing and the only reason why I took on this damn case in the first place.”

A stagnant pause fills the air, which only amplifies the heavier huff to Matt’s breathing. Foggy is stunned to silence, while Jen simply watches Matt with a sympathetic crease to her brow. To her, it was obvious, both Matt’s true feelings as well as the best motive to make him crack. She’s proud of herself for coaxing the words from his lips, though that doesn’t make it any easier seeing the inner turmoil gathered so plainly on his face.

Foggy finally speaks. “Damn, you are good.”

“Hey, guys!” You come charging back with an easy grin, slipping in beside Matt. “What did I miss?”

“Nothing much,” Jen crosses her arms and places them on the table. She has that same knowing look on her face from before, directing her gaze toward Matt. “Matt will fill you in on the walk home. Won’t you, Matt?”

Smiling towards you, though it looks forced, he says, “of course.”

*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

“That’s why you’ve been acting so weird since Pinky’s,” you muse, Matt having just finished filling you in on the conversation you missed during your bathroom break. 

Both of you were walking home now, leisurely scuffs of the shoe with Matt’s arm tucked around yours. It had been revealed with a passing comment from Foggy that the hotel he and Matt were staying at was only a five minute walk from your apartment. While Jen more than forced the invitation into his lap, Matt still insisted on walking you home. Given the short distance from the hotel as well as Pinky’s, he admitted that he wouldn’t turn away the extra time with you.

A smug grin tugs at your lips, and you nudge Matt playfully. “I make you that nervous, huh, Matty?”

Nudging back, he rolls his eyes. “Don’t act like you don’t already know what you do to me.”

Feet catching on the concrete below, you stop, then, effectively stopping Matt with you. His adam’s apple bobs as you turn him by the cheek to face you. Stroking the underside of his jaw once, you drop your hand. “What do I do to you?”

“Well, this, for starters,” hand slipping down to cup yours, he brings your hand up to his chest. Right over his heart. You can feel the faint, erratic thumping underneath your palm. He keeps a hand over yours, swiping your skin with his thumb. “It’s like this just about anytime I’m near you.”

You look into his eyes and fumble over your words. “Mine too,” you pause. “You probably already knew that.”

He grins, a knowing quirk of his mouth. One hand still locked onto yours, the other raises to tuck your hair behind your ear, sliding down to cup your jaw. Your heartbeat increases, as does the joyful expression on his face. “I had an idea,” he teases. 

Shaking your head at him with a smile, you enlist your free hand to gently slip his glasses from his face and onto the top of his head. Admiring the way his brown eyes twinkle under the streetlamps as you stroke his cheek, you mumble, almost subconsciously, “beautiful.”

His expression softens, eyebrows creasing, leaning into your touch. “You don’t know how much I think about you. How much of my brain capacity is just consumed by you.” 

Your breath catches, looking at his lips. “How much?”

He leans closer a fraction, the hand over yours matching the other to cup your jaw. Your touch drifts to his chest. Matt tugs you close to him, his nose brushing against yours. “Enough to do something about it.”

“I don’t know, Matt.” You tease breathlessly. “It’s only been nine years. Isn’t it too late to do anything about it?”

He swallows, eyes flickering around your face frantically. Your chest grows warm at the realization that he must be looking for your eyes. Voice dropping to a whisper, as if the words are reserved just for the two of you, he says, “too late?” Biting his bottom lip, he grins. “I’d say the timing is perfect.”

His lips find yours, and it is, indeed, perfect. Bodies molding into one flesh as one of his hands glides down to gently grasp your neck. The other clutches onto your waist. While kissing wasn’t a foreign friend to your something-ship with Matt, this one felt different. Lazy mornings flavored with coffee and linen. A sun, just barely visible in its ascent to ring in a new day; a hazy horizon. Reaching the final chapter of your favorite book, flipping amongst those final pages in search of that shining resolution where all of your beloved characters are content. 

It was soft, and warm.

And new.

When you finally pull away, you now know for certain you’ll need to buy a pair of sunglasses to protect from Matt’s blinding smile. His fingers slide up to your jaw again, thumb swiping across your skin fondly. You nudge his nose with yours affectionately, wrapping your arms around his waist and under his jacket. 

But you feel something scratch gently against your arm from inside the jacket. With furrowed brows, you reach into a pocket sewn inside the fabric.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” you mumble, amused, pulling out the punch card with only one stamp staining its cardstock. Matt’s fingers meet with yours, feeling the card held up between you. He laughs when he realizes what it is, placing his forehead to yours.

“Maybe we can finally get that free appetizer, huh?” He kisses your cheekbone, smiling against your skin. You both laugh.

His kiss may have closed out the final chapter of a nine-year chase, but your story with Matt was just beginning.

[maroonmusings]

Before We Go [s.r]

Fandom: Marvel (Endgame-centric) Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 1,698 Warnings: nope :)

A/N: this is a repost/touch-up from an account I don't post fics on (it's literally the only one I'd posted on there lmao). just a cute little romp before all hell breaks loose in endgame 🙃

Cold water trickles down your face, a refreshing intoxication to your system. It does wonders for the nerves you’re going to expertly conceal when you’re surrounded by the team. Authority doesn’t work without confidence and a solid game plan. That’s how you always felt about it, that is.

After drying your face and cutting off the faucet’s water flow, you take in the new suit adorning your body. Primarily white with black accents and red trim. A smirk crosses your lips. While your knowledge of quantum physics was as limited as the percent of malevolence in Scott Lang’s psyche, you knew its kinetic fibers would protect you in your attempt at time travel. The concept had always frightened you, as you harbored a genuine fear for the unknown, but those stones have to be located if it means bringing back your friends. Your family. 

Besides, you looked good. Who would have thought that red and white complimented each other so perfectly?

Exiting the bathroom, you nearly run into the aforementioned Ant-Man. Not because you weren’t looking properly, but because Scott looked to be light-years away. It’s as if he had already traveled to another dimension without you.

“Lang,” you greeted with a tilt of your chin, thinking the sound of your voice would be enough to break him from his mental reverie. Based on the way he continues to wring his hands and paw at the back of his neck, legs carrying him from one end of the hallway to the other, and back again, you’d say you failed. You press further. “Scott.”

Startled green eyes meet yours, jaw popping open for a fraction of a second before he composed himself. You rose a brow in disinterest as he straightened his posture, puffing up his chest to appear more self-assured. “Hello, fellow Earth’s mightiest hero. Yep. It is I, Scott Lang: an emotionally stable who could definitely defeat Thanos in his sleep. I deemed it selfish of myself to go it alone, hence, I came to you for help. I’m very strong.”

“Scott—”

“Like, embarrassingly so.” He continues. Oh my God, he’s broken. “As in, I went to pick up my coffee mug this morning, and the whole thing just shattered.”

“Hold on—”

“Like, a million pieces.” Laughing nervously, he throws in a passive, “My muscles are so big.”

“Dude, cut the crap.” You demanded half-heartedly, gaze softening. “This will work, okay? You’ll get to see Hope again, and we can get rid of that purple bastard for good.”

“I know, I know.” He returned, almost sounding defeated before the battle had even begun. “I guess I’m overwhelmed by, just, everything. So much is happening all at once with so much at risk. One wrong step, and I could ruin this for not only myself but everyone.”

“Scott Lang, you are the toughest Ant-Man I know—”

“There are other Ant-Mans?!”

“—and you’re not gonna screw up anything, because we’re all gonna be covering each others’ asses out there. We’re a team. A family. We’re all in this thing together.”

“She’s right, Scott.”

Ignoring the tremor that ran through your body at the sound of his voice, the corner of your lip curled upwards as Steve Rogers, Captain America, joined the two of you. He met your eyes briefly before focusing on Scott, his cheeks now carrying a faint pink hue. “We are a family, and families stick together. It won’t be any different for us. We’re gonna go back in time, get to those gems before Thanos, and bring back our friends.”

“God, you guys are good together.” Scott uttered before giving much thought to his words. The compliment caught you off guard, as you choked on your breath while Steve’s face became a deep shade of red. Scott’s eyes widened as he attempted to save himself. “Oh, I didn’t mean it in that way, of course! I was just trying to say that you’re really good at those motivational speech things. You knew that, right? God, maybe my superpower should be ‘knowing when to shut up.’”

“Yeah, why would we—”

“How about we just get back to the others?” You suggested, sending a tight-lipped smile to convey your need to evade this conversation topic.

“Great idea!” Steve agreed a little too enthusiastically, the excitement in his tone making you jolt in surprise. 

Shaking off what may have been the worst interaction in your life, you led the two men back to the rest of your friends.

“We ready to do this?” Natasha wasted no time for pleasantries as she lifted an eyebrow in question. “I know I am.”

“Sure, why not?” Scott returned, nervously, but you could tell from the newfound determination on his face that he was ready.

“Let’s do this.” Bruce said.

“I’ve never been more ready for anything in my life.” Clint stated, a hard look in his eyes from all the pain he had endured due to Thanos.

“Hell yeah!” Rocket cheered. “Let’s get this dirtbag, once and for all.”

Thor tipped his head back to chug the soda in his hand before crushing the can and releasing a belch that caused even you to crack a smile. “I’m with the Rabbit.”

“Well, majority rules.” Tony pointed out, an edge to his tone that hid his true levels of excitement to be working with the team again. “Let’s go save our friends, and, hopefully, the world.”

Natasha guided the temporary remaining members of the Avengers to the Quantum Portal. Your friends followed her, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do the same. Something was holding you back. Or someone.

“Actually, Steve,” There was a waiver to your voice, and you silently cursed yourself for waiting so late to do what you were about to do. The man stopped in his tracks and looked back at you, brows furrowed in question. You sighed shakily, suddenly hating the way feelings made you feel. You spoke quietly so as to not alert the other seven people who will definitely tease you about this once everything is back in order. “Can I talk to you about something for a second?”

“Yeah, sure.”

“Everything alright back there, you two?” Tony shouted, but the dryness in your throat made you unable to speak above anything more than a whisper. 

Steve took note of this, probably because he’s never seen you in such an emotional state before, and answered for you. “Yeah, we’ll be over there in a minute.”

“Fifty-nine, fifty-eight, fifty-seven, fi—ow! What the hell, Iron Moron?!”

“Stuff it, Build-a-Bear, or I’ll stuff it for you.”

“Yes!” Thor says jovially. “Because Build-a-Bears are made with—”

Steve shuffled into your line of sight, his calm and reassuring baby blues giving you the motivation to catch your breath. His voice is soft and gentle, matching the grasp he has on your forearms. “Hey, what is it?”

In a terrifyingly accurate Lang-like fashion, an avalanche of words tumbled from your mouth before you could organize your thoughts. But first, you try to back out. Naturally. “Um, well, it’s a lot, so if you’d rather just talk about it later, actually, I wouldn’t mind.”

“No,” he assures, timbre more soothing, if that was even possible. “You can tell me. We have time.”

Nice try, you guess. Cue the Lang ramble. “Okay, well, there’s this thing that has kind of been bothering me. Well, a lot of things bother me, as you know. But, um, this thing revolves around the two of us. I’ve been meaning to talk to you about it for a long time. As in, practically since the day we met. Obviously that never happened. Probably because of these stupid walls I put up to block out anyone who I find myself the sligh—”

Hands sliding up to your jaw, Steve pulls you closer. Your eyes find his, clouded with something that made them sparkle. Like glitter sprinkled in the sky. His words are quiet, insistent, and only meant for you. “I love you, too.”

Steve’s lips were soft and warm, like a field of flowers on an enchanting summer day. His touch was gentle yet persistent. Kind yet urgent. Loving yet determined. His hands held your face in such a way that anchored you to him. The two of you became one as he drew your body in closer, your hands finding a place to rest on his chest. Every emotion running through your bodies could be felt within the embrace. 

The urgency of the mission.

Fear for its outcome.

Hidden doubts, tucked away to appear strong.

Ambition to bring back your lost friends.

All while keeping the found ones safe. 

Love stored in a deep heart department that only he could reach.

As you parted for air, your eyes remained closed. After pushing back the desire for any chance of happiness for yourself, you had finally fought those inner demons to find love. You finally had him. You wanted to bask in this moment of self-glory in his arms for eternity, but even a couple more seconds would suffice. 

Rowdy cheers and applause were what forced you to open your eyes to the genuine smiles on the faces of those you loved. Seeing them celebrating in a time such as this lightened the weight on your shoulders, as living a life like yours required you to seize every moment of laughter that you could. 

Steve’s smile widened upon seeing your happy expression. He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear, before slightly shaking his head in bewilderment at the sight before him. His eyes had never been clearer. “You ready to go restore humanity, doll?”

“Always,” You kissed his pink cheek, your smile falling the slightest bit as you said your next words. “Just don’t die on me, Rogers.”

“And you be careful.”

“When am I not?” You winked, poking his nose.

The two of you rejoined the team in the Quantum Portal where you would be sent back to the past. You locked eyes with Tony across the way, who flashed you a quick thumbs up and a wink.

From that point forward, you all began the mission to save your friends, and, hopefully, the world.