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grimesgirll · 7 months

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you jumped at the chance to babysit for rick grimes.

your mom didn’t have to repeat herself when she instructed you to arrive at rick’s early the next morning to give him some help with his baby girl.

not that you minded, but you babysitting for rick was a part of your mother’s larger plan to welcome the new arrivals into the community. it was an easy way for the survivors - namely their leader, rick - to warm up to everyone. and you had to put your half finished developmental psychology degree to use somehow.

you’re disappointed when you show up bright eyed and bushy tailed to be greeted by rick’s son carl, and not the dreamy sheriff himself.

carl is more than happy to pass off the bubbly little baby - who you learn is named judith- to you and dash out the door after giving you the rundown on her routine and lack thereof.

it doesn’t take long for judith to get used to you - or get into the habit of pulling your long hair. carl mentioned that she’d had a solid breakfast already this morning so you hunker down next to her playmat to tire her out in preparation for her next nap.

thoughts drift from tummy time to the absent head of the house. where was he? you knew part of the reason you had even begun babysitting was to help rick with childcare if he accepted his new position as constable, but you couldn’t think of anywhere else he would be.

and truth be told, you’re disappointed.

the first day the southerners had arrived, you looked on as rick stepped through the gates, judith in his arms. you’d been shocked to see a baby but you were even more enthralled by the hot suburban dad who’d landed on your doorstep.

not as old as your own father but nearly old enough to be, rick grimes had been blessed by age. his wild, grown out hair and tense but demanding disposition immediately attracted your attention.

it’s wrong; you shouldn’t be crushing on the man you’re babysitting for.

but you’ve been so bored!

let’s be clear: alexandria is your home. the safe zone provided more stability than the road could ever offer but survival was boring. at least inside of alexandria.

but out there?

whatever was out there was written all over the face of every new survivor your community had taken in. you’d heard bits and pieces; cannibals, maniacs on a power trip, robbers, corrupt cops even in the end of times.

and you could really see it on rick.

he had the demeanor of someone always scanning the room for the exit. you’ve never seen him so much as smile so it’s hard to imagine anyone like him adjusting or relaxing, even somewhere like alexandria.

your mother had theorized that some childcare could help ease the ex-cop’s anxieties, give him and carl a chance to breathe.

someone like that needs a lot more than a day away from the kids though. rick grimes needed an all inclusive vacation

and maybe a blowjob.

you tear yourself away from your wild thoughts about the rugged leader to turn your attention to the little girl hitting you with all of the sleepy cues at once. glancing at the clock, you decide it’s time for a nap and scoop up the eight month old. it’s not until you try to lay her down in the nursery that judith gives you your first problem.

seems like you had a velcro baby on your hands.

your hypothesis is proven correct during little judith’s second afternoon nap when you’re resigned to the living room armchair.

any attempts to place the little girl on her back, stomach, or side were met with tears. you’d just huffed and posted up on the rocking chair, ready to rock her for the duration of her nap.

it could be a pain but some babies just slept better hearing another heartbeat besides their own. it’s biology. judith is long out of the fourth trimester but that doesn’t exempt her from wanting to fall asleep in a pair of warm, snuggly arms. and besides, it’s not like you have anything better to do.

so you’re still curled up with judith when her father arrives in the afternoon.

gun holstered on his hip, the front door swings open to reveal rick grimes, looking much more like a resident of alexandria than he'd arrived. despite his new haircut and the difference that a shower makes, rick still looks pent up to you. like the feral man who'd shown up at your gates was just bubbling under the surface.

“hey there,” he greets once he registers your presence.

in his constable uniform, rick is even more handsome than you imagined all cleaned up. his chestnut curls are trimmed - courtesy of your neighbor, jessie - and he’s fully fitted like an officer of the law, and not an outlaw.

"oh, hi," you sit up and offer as much of a salutation you can being nap trapped.

"you must be deanna's daughter."

"that's me," you chirp, keeping your voice low to avoid waking up the little girl on your lap. "sorry, you caught us during naptime."

the southerner shakes his head. "no problem. looks like you got her down easy enough."

easy? you want to ask him to repeat that again but you just smile.

"i'm sorry i wasn't here earlier to introduce myself, i'm rick." the man extends his hand to you and you have to steel your nerves so he doesn't feel your hand shaking.

you're shocked when you hear confidence dripping from your voice as you give him your name. under his dark blue gaze, you want to squirm but you're holding it together somehow.

"you know, you can probably get out here early today. carl should be home soon."

you do your best to hide your disappointment. "leaving early on the first day?" you grin. "i think i like this job."

that earns you a chuckle from the sheriff who points to the sleeping baby you're holding. "i've got it from here if you wanna head out."

you don't but you put on your pearly whites and utter a peppy "sure!" handing over the still sleeping judith to her father.

"thanks for agreeing to this," rick commends you, eyes looking over the picture books and learning materials piled up in your arms. "i really appreciate having someone here to look after judith during the day."

“don’t worry about it, she’s such an angel, rick.”

"yeah, she is," he agrees, pausing to glimpse down at the napping infant. "i guess we'll be seein' you tomorrow?"

“whenever you need me.”

as his gaze follows you out the front door, rick is hard pressed to confirm if that was actual innuendo that came out of your mouth or just a generous offer.

he’s even more surprised to see you on his doorstep again after supper.

“hey,” you start. “i think i forgot one of my books here when i was watching judith. do you mind if i grab it?"

your burnt orange journal is right where you'd left it - intentionally - on the accent table in the upstairs hallway.

"oh, perfect! it's right here," you exhale in manufactured relief as if you hadn't left it there a few hours ago just for this purpose.

"is she down?" you ask rick in your best quiet voice.

he nods his hickory head of hair. "wanna see her?"

you nod enthusiastically and he leads you a few doors down the hall where you two pop your heads into a dark, curtain drawn room.

“how’s she been sleeping?” you ask innocently, following the father’s gaze to the sleeping infant lying peacefully in her crib.

“good enough,” he grunts. “all things considered.”

“how have you been sleeping?”

a chocolate eyebrow raises.

“you know, you have to get some sleep too.”

“isn’t that you’re for?”

rick must notice your reaction from the way he clears his throat and walks back his words, clarifying, “taking care of judith and all so i can,” he makes air quotes with his fingers, “rest.”

breathing deeply in an attempt to calm your racing heartbeat, you offer a smile with your exhale. “yeah, but that’s only during the daytime. she still has two wakeups at night, right?”

the man leaning in the doorway beside you shrugs. “two or three, give or take.”

“that’s a lot of time to be waking up at night.”

his ocean blue eyes twinkle as he shoots you a look and crosses his arms. “tell me about it.”

you motion towards the crib. “so i know judith likes to be held for naps, but have you ever tried room sharing with her? or even sleeping with her in the bed?”

rick gives you a quizzical look. “i thought you weren’t supposed to let them sleep in bed with you.”

“only if you’re a heavy sleeper,” you discern. “or if you drink or you’re a smoker.”

“really?”

you nod. “it’s called the safe sleep seven. its a big thing in other parts of the world." you draw an awkward breath. "not that there's anything wrong with watching her from the monitor," you refer to the device in his back pocket.

"well," rick runs a hand through his dark waves, stopping awkwardly at the end like he forgot about his haircut. "judith's always been held so it wouldn't shock me that that's how she likes to go sleep."

"did you have to snuggle her to sleep to get her down tonight?" your honeyed voice inquires curiously.

"i held her." he answers with a sigh.

"it makes sense. humans are programmed to want to be close to each other."

a silence settles over the two of you before rick clears his throat. "yeah, maybe i'll have to look into this sleep safe seven."

"i can bring a book next time i'm over," you offer. "i was a developmental psych major in college."

"so you have a degree to babysit?"

you roll your eyes. "i was supposed to end up doing research. you know," you gesture to judith in her nursery. "working with younger kids like her and figuring out what works best for them for sleep, learning to eat, the potty, play, school, all that."

"sounds like you're pretty smart," the ex-cop concludes.

you shrug. "smart enough."

with that, you two are walking down the stairs and you're heading towards the door when rick asks you if you'd like anything to drink.

you stop in your tracks, turning around on one heel. "you know, i'm kinda thirsty. i'll actually take a water."

rick's hands around the cold glass must be tattooed in your mind from how intently you're watching him. you thank him for the glass and gingerly take a sip, taking a moment to notice how his hands are braced against the counter. a cacophony of cracks erupt when the man rotates his neck and you can't help but laugh.

the older man frowns. “what’s so funny?”

“did you not hear the way your neck cracked?”

he shrugs it off. “gotta do it sometimes.”

“not like that,” you insist, glancing at his hands again, you get an idea. “why don’t you let me show you how you’re supposed to crack that?”

rick gives you a sideways glance.

“my roommate was in school to be a masseuse.”

“you don’t have to do that.” he says quickly.

you shake your head at him. “it’s not a problem. you can give me pointers.”

it’s wrong; rick shouldn’t be face down on the sofa in the house your mother had given him, getting a massage from her young twentysomething daughter.

and he most definitely shouldn’t be trying to hide an erection.

never would he have imagined getting a massage from a college student a week ago. like the haircut, rick wants to accept your community’s gifts with tact but that’s hard to do when your hands are kneading lower and lower down his back.

“when was the last time you relaxed, rick?”

the question comes out of nowhere and he almost wishes judith would pop up on the baby monitor to spare him from answering.

“can’t tell ya’.” he replied honestly.

you hum in response, observing as he twitches under your mischievous ministrations. rick didn’t have to go to massage therapy school to know that this massage is nowhere near professional. it’s downright racy as your fingers skim the top of his lower back.

god, he has a nice ass for a dad, you muse. you wonder what he’d look like fully nude on this sofa and if you weren’t touching him through his undershirt.

“that’s a little low.” the new constable remarks, calling you out.

you giggle. “i don’t know. i think the muscles down here really need some attention.”

rick hisses when you venture past his lower back and squeeze. he wants to say something but it feels so fucking good to have the tension manually worked out of his muscles.

“flip over.”

rick is about to bust out of his pants.

“flip over, please.”

the brunette finally complies; he wants to be embarrassed but doesn’t have a second for the emotion because you’re falling to your knees in front of him, pointing.

“want me to help you with that?”

“what?” he sputters.

“please, let me.”

wow, you want him. and who is he to deny you? not with how much of a roller coaster the past few have been; he should at least get to decompress.

“go ahead-,” rick doesn’t get another word out of his mouth before you’ve fully yanked his pants down and scootch further between his legs, attaching a hand to his waist. you slide his briefs down and are almost smacked in the face by the eight inch cock in front of you.

“rick…”

“if it’s too big, i understand.”

he starts to say something else but can only manage a gasp once you swallow the first few inches of his cock in your mouth. you ease your way back up to alternate between gripping his length and lapping at his precum covered head.

god, he can’t let deanna find out.

or spencer for that matter. no need to give your brother another reason for rick to be on his bad side.

he can’t be bothered to think about your family when you’re on your knees with his dick in your mouth.

“you’re doin’ so good for me, honey,” rick praises.

you moan deeply around his cock as you fit him further down your throat. it doesn’t take long for his hands to find your hair and suddenly his thick length is sliding down. you just swallow around him the best you can. you wonder if he’d believe you if you said you’d never had a dick this far down your throat.

it’s only once your windpipe starts to feel rick’s size that you raise your mouth up and off of the man in front of, catching a shallow few breaths before diving right back down to envelope him in your mouth.

rick can’t get enough of this. a hot, more than willing knockout of a woman on her knees with nothing but relieving his stress on her mind. and nothing was a hotter than a girl who actually wanted to give a blowjob, and by the way you’re hollowing your cheeks and pumping what doesn’t fit down your throat, he knows you’re loving this. a good girl like you deserves more than just his dick in her mouth.

“slow down, sweetheart.” he instructs, even though it takes a moment for you to slow the vigorous pace you’d committed to. “i wanna help you out too.”

your eyes widen with delight and he doesn’t have to tell you twice to come up on the sofa with him. instantly, rick is in between your legs and undoing the button of your jeans in order to pull them down to your ankles.

his thick cock jumps at the sight of your sopping panties.

blushing, you lift your hips as rick clutches and discards the undergarment on the floor. that’s when he gets the opportunity to take in your already soaked little hole. he can’t help himself from slipping a finger in and driving it deeper at the sound of your raspy squeaks. the same noise comes out of you once he gives you another. you must’ve wanted this for a while from the way you coat his fingers. you’re wiggling and rotating your hips like they’re on fire and he only has two digits inside of you.

“easy, girl,” he warns and you pout as you struggle not to buck your hips.

“i need you, rick,” you gasp. “feel you in my core. i’m so hot for you right now.”

you so are. rick thinks and adds another finger.

not only are you making his dick swell more than he thought it could but your insides are hot. that tight little core is choking his three fingers like a boa constrictor.

“i’m gonna come on your fingers,” you make him aware, hoping he’ll move you to his cock.

“go right ahead, sweetheart.”

so you do.

you let out a muffled sob into his shoulder. he doesn’t stop scissoring his fingers into you until he removes them from your reluctant cunt. your mouth opens automatically when he lifts his sticky digits to your mouth. enthusiastically, you let him slip them into your mouth and suck until they come out clean.

you can barely respond to the “good girl,” he’s whispering huskily into your ear because your lips are pressed to his. disregarding the fact that your pussy is dripping all over the new sofa, you fold into the kiss.

where have you been? you wonder while his tongue starts to pick a fight with yours. the fact that you’re suddenly in his lap doesn’t register until you feel his hand on the small of your back.

“you’re up,” he whispers in your ear before shifting you on top of him.

you only understand what he means when you suddenly feel like you’re being torn in half. “fuck,” you exhale, conscious not to be too loud as to wake up the baby upstairs.

from his rapid breaths into your bust, you can tell that’s holding back.

“rick,” you whine.

fingertips find your hips just as your arms wrap around his neck and you’re holding on for dear life as the constable starts lifting and lowering you on his cock.

“god,” you cry through gritted teeth.

rick is fucking you just like you thought he would.

he doesn’t wait for you to roll your hips or ride him, no, he just fucks you. yeah, you’re on top but rick is the one pounding into you from below. you feel every ridge and vein on his impossibly thick cock as you brings you up and down on top of him.

this is the fucking that you expected from the dauntless, untamed man that rolled through your gates with his equally intimidating allies. you wonder how long it’s been since rick had a good fuck. by the way he ruthlessly spears you on top of him, you know it’s been months at least. you conclude it probably wasn’t for his lack of skill though, not with how he maintains a delicious pressure on your clit with those same digits he used on you earlier.

your core is calling again: this time it’s lava hot. whatever tension rick had you dripping at earlier is no comparison to the overwhelming internal buzz pulsing inside of you.

“fuck, honey, you’re gushin’ around me.”

you look down. he’s right; you’ve made a slick mess of both of your laps. the words to respond don’t make it to your mouth because rick is once again picking up the pace.

every time you coil around him, rick just adopts a more devastating pace. it’s like after months of going without, he’s doing everything in his power to be as deep inside of you as possible. any deeper and he’d be back in your throat.

“you gonna come again on my cock, baby?” the brunette murmurs in your ear.

“yes, sir.” you croak, not having the capacity to comprehend what your words were doing to him. unless your body and the mind of its own it had counted.

your core is reacting right on time to rick’s consistent teasing. “that’s it,” he encourages, applying even more pressure despite your shaking legs. every time you sink down onto him, you feel full to the hilt.

“ah, fuck.”

rick’s orgasm hits before your finale; nonetheless, his tightening embrace and desperate thrusts into you are just what you need. the contrast of your hot core with rick’s warm cum should make you sick with worry and maybe something else but you’re too fucked out and drawn into your peak to care.

sweat coats your brow and your hair is sticking up in every direction but you’re just swallowed up by the tightening in your core. swallowed by how full you feel. you feel like you could make even more of a mess on top of rick.

the jolt that reverberates through your core this time is galvanizing. you wonder if there was anything before this orgasm.

head laid forward against his chest, perfectly glistening tits rising and falling with each full breath, you are at peace. who knew that relieving rick of his stress could bring you so much pleasure?

and when you look up at him, all you can do is offer a pupil blown smile.

he might just like alexandria.

#the walking dead #rick grimes #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes smut #rick grimes imagine #twd imagine #twd smut #rick x reader #ricky dicky doo da grimes #constable rick #not beta read #grimesgirll #reader was a developmental psych major before the apocalypse #happy 15 days to this blog lol #reader is really forward #reader has rick rabies #blowy #p in v sex

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hitlikehammers · 2 months

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Steddie S4 💚Secret Relationship🩶

because when cheerleaders start floating and folding like laundry, what do you do? you run to your boyfriend (duh)

Eddie doesn’t dump his van on purpose. He runs out of fucking gas.

Through the pounding of his heartbeat and the screeching echo of his own screams and the memory of the cracking, the snapping of, of—

Through all of it he hears a voice in his head: when the little stick points to ‘E’ it isn’t a fucking suggestion, man and the tone the voice is in, the recognizable combination of snark and concern and fondness, genuine fucking fondness—it doesn’t calm his pulse at all but it does ease his nerves just a little, just enough to realize: he gonna have to run the rest of the way.

Thankfully, he took backroads: enough tree cover that footsteps would be hard to track so any direction would be way too hard to find, not quick enough, not before they can, not before Steve can—

He starts the old girl one more time before she gives out entirely, but the fumes take him into the woods far enough to hide the van pointing the wrong way, and the ground’s hard enough here still that he doesn’t leave tread marks. Okay.

Okay. So…running.

The lucky thing is, Eddie knows these woods.

Or rather: Eddie knows that these woods will take him right to where he wanted to go anyway. They run up against the backyard of the exact house with the exact man he needs.

He doesn’t keep to a straight shot, but he doesn’t waste time either, his chest hurts too much, and it’s weird that his heartbeat’s no harder or faster for fucking sprinting, his lungs no closer to hyperventilation when he’s a smoker who doesn’t really do physical activity, at least not the kind that’d help him out, here—it’s weird, and probably concerning that when he gets to the sliding glass off the back deck his lungs are on fire and his chest is heaving but it doesn’t feel any different from the moment he watched her, watched her…

No different from then, to now.

He thinks he’s slapping the glass more than knocking, but he’s answered quicker than he would be if the sole resident of the property had actually been asleep so. At least there’s that.

“Eddie?”

Steve’s all question in his tone for a whole second before he’s grabbing Eddie, pulling him in, closing the door and locking it quick and then, and then—

Pulling Eddie straight into his chest and wrapping around him and Eddie fucking collapses, drops into that embrace because he needs it, now, and it’s come to mean safe and home and, and loved and he—

“Eds, baby, are you hurt?” Steve doesn’t peel him away where he burrows in further, but starts running palms down Eddie’s limbs, looking for wounds, for clues as Eddie shakes, trembles and gasps against him.

“What is it, what happened?” Steve tries to get him to breathe even as he asks, even when his hands finish searching, when Steve sees that his body at least is intact, unlike—

Fuck.

“Eds, come on, deep breath with me,” and Steve grabs one of Eddie’s hands and shoves it hard to his own chest, models the motion like Eddie’s never learned how on his own and it helps, it does help, and he knows he needs to, to tell Steve and—

“Did,” Eddie gets out a single word on a huff of air but Steve soothes him, praises the pathetic accomplishment, so Eddie tries again, just one word. One word at a time.

“The mall.”

Two words. And Steve’s steady breaths. He can do this. His hand’s held still by Steve’s while the rest of him’s still shaking but: he can do this.

For Chrissy.

“Before, the other times,” Eddie bites out and screws his eyes shut because he can see it either way, and he needs to kind of hide a little, even if it doesn’t change anything, if he’s gonna get it out, if he’s gonna say it and make it real so he can’t take it back:

“Did people ever…float?”

Steve’s hands still, and Eddie swears he can feel Steve’s heart trip for just a second before it starts beating a little harder but: never once, not once, does Steve breathing falter. It’s a steady throughline for Eddie to keep following even as his fear deepens because Steve’s still, tense against him now in a whole new way and Eddie tries, he tries so hard to lose himself in breathing, in Steve’s breathing, so deep he��d probably have missed it if he weren’t pressed so tight against that chest so as to hear the murmuring from inside more than out:

“Not yet,” Steve barely whispers as his hands start moving, stroking back and forth up and down Eddie’s spine; “have they started to?”

Eddie starts shaking a little harder. He’d been real fucking afraid of that.

It takes an hour, maybe closer to two, for Eddie to choke out the details. They’re bundled on the couch, Eddie with a water Steve insists he drink, and it probably makes sense because of how much he’s losing in fucking tears as he just, just sees her snapping in half and folding into, into—

It makes sense, needing hydration or whatever, but Eddie’s doesn’t trust himself not to sick up even a sip of it.

By the time he’s finished, he feels wrung out in ways he didn’t know were possible. Like the blood in him’s been squeezed out and he’s just a husk, but Steve.

Steve doesn’t stop holding the wrung-out husk of him. And that’s…that is something.

“That’s,” Steve finally starts, and his tone is different now from the placating soothing he’d kept up throughout Eddie’s recounting of the horrors, but the press of his lips to Eddie’s temple is still exactly the same.

Eddie feels something in him starting to ease, solely because of and solely possible for the way Steve holds to him, close and unwavering. He feels it before the words come out, the slight tension that hits Steve’s muscles and the dry catch of the breath in his chest before he speaks:

“Eddie,” and it’s a tone that Eddie doesn’t hear too often, but is still wholly familiar with for the most heartbreaking reasons, like when the nightmares had gotten too frequent and Eddie had been the one to cry when Steve clammed up and shook head to toe in Eddie’s arms because Steve was hurting that bad and wouldn’t tell him why, and how could Eddie help if Steve wouldn’t tell him why—

It’s the tone of voice that broke Steve’s NDA that night. It’s the tone of voice that finally explained why Steve went ramrod-still when a light flickered. It was the tone that explained, the first time they got high together, why Steve hadn’t smoked in months and why he was scared to try again and he wanted to face the fear of it but would Eddie, could Eddie just make sure, like—

It’s the same voice, now, so Eddie saves him the trouble, because that voice shatters Eddie’s heart to pieces, every time.

“It’s like Starcourt,” Eddie whispers, hoarse as hell and still watery, as if somehow unthinkably he’s got more tears to spare; “and like the tunnels, and the,” be swallows, and turns to look Steve in the eyes:

“The nail bat?”

The first time he saw that thing he was naive enough to think it was badass. After he learned what it was really for, he didn’t think it was less badass but. He actually processed the stains that wouldn’t come off as the wrong shade for being just rust.

“I think,” Steve breathes in deeper, the way that always hurts, and he looks so fucking apologetic when he exhales, as if it’s somehow his fucking fault:

“I think so.”

The words aren’t said like there’s any doubt in them, though, and maybe Eddie starts to spiral.

“They’re gonna think it was me,” he squeezes his eyes tight against the scene in his living room, that his uncle’s gonna find, fuck, fuck; “they’re gonna think I—”

And then Steve’s grabbing him above the elbow, spinning Eddie around to properly face him, then shaking Eddie just enough to demand his attention, as if the low growl that escapes him, that hits a note Eddie suspects both gods and devils raise up to take heed of:

“I am not gonna let anyone lay a fucking finger on you.”

And…and what’s Eddie even supposed to do, when Steve says it, when Steve uses that voice for him?

All he can seem to do is cover Steve’s hands so desperate, anchor that this man is for him, and close his eyes when Steve leans to press a kiss to the top of his head.

“There are people who clean this up,” Steve reaches to cradle Eddie’s head closer, to press lips behind his ear; “but they’re slow and they’re always too chickenshit to step in and take fucking responsibility while it’s all going down,” Steve’s tone is dry, so much judgement but his grip, his hold is somehow so comforting and firm at the very same time and Eddie thinks that’s why he feels safe, or almost, even as Steve eases him back, licks his lips, nods to himself and then kisses Eddie, full on the lips and hard, quick, before he pulls them both up to stand, links one hand in Eddie’s as he pulls him behind him as he walks through the house, quick and almost clinical:

“So here’s what we’re gonna do.”

The terms Steve lays out are…simple, if kinda terrifying not least for the fact that Steve has terms, because no one could think this up so quick on the spot under this kind of pressure, not to mention with the prompt of how to hide your boyfriend if he ends up wanted for murder, Jesus fuck—

“It was a plan to keep you safe, or us safe, or you and Wayne safe or,” and oh, oh Steve’s answering him, Eddie didn’t notice he was talking out loud. He can’t even blush for it, doesn’t think there’s enough blood to pool there when it’s still racing through his veins maybe not at top speed anymore, but: still making a sprint to the finish as they climb the stairs down instead of up, as Eddie follows Steve to a wall with a painting in the finished half of the basement, watches Steve lift the painting off its hanger and—

“You have a basement vault,” Eddie can…only state the obvious as he watches Steve go under the back of the frame of the painting and find a very evil-villain type of key, in this very evil-villain type of set up, and he blurts without thinking, save it’s kinda all he can think:

“Is one of your parents a serial killer?”

Steve at least snorts, at that.

“Probably closer to white collar criminal,” Steve shrugs as he swings open a pretty…small, ish, space behind the metal door, thicker than Eddie’d figured but definitely evil-villain style with it.

“It had a bunch of locked filing cabinets, like three safes, and the shelves went across this way,” Steve stretches his arms along the back of the vault and okay, yeah, less evil-villain, unless you count Reaganomics-style capitalism as a villain. Which Eddie does, but.

Not the point.

“Just all stacks of shit in folders that definitely seemed a hundred percent normal,” Steve deadpans, takes it in stride; Eddie’s always impressed with his boyfriend but fuck: he’s in goddamn awe of him in a whole new way, just now.

“When it became pretty clear they weren’t coming back any time soon, and even if they were, when,” Steve shrugs and crosses his arms, rolls his shoulders back in that way Eddie doesn’t think he even recognizes doing:

“When the end of the world started to be a recurring thing, I mean, that sure as shit beats out trying to hide your shady business dealings any day.”

He nods to himself, and glances toward Eddie, maybe for agreement or approval or moral support and Eddie’s got all that and more, hopes his own bobblehead-like nodding conveys as much. Steve smiles the tiniest bit and then dives back in, like all he needed was a little boost. A little tacit but undeniable love.

And…maybe that really was all Steve needed.

“It’s a tight squeeze, but,” he curls himself into the space, crouches to demonstrate; it’s not terrible, but it’s definitely the tight side of cozy; “needs must or whatever,” exactly, yes, right, and Eddie’s wiry; it’s more than fine.

“Essentials are all packed in for short term use,” he gestures at boxes of food, cans and an opener, firearms. Ammunition. Eddie swallows…harder than he should. He’s fired a gun before.

Just…one time at the air to scare off a coyote.

“I tried to get a plumber but,” Steve grimaces, forging on; “they said they’d need to dig the whole thing up and they can’t start until summer at the earliest,” more than implying that he was on the list and waiting for summer. This was…this was…

“You really went all in on this,” Eddie kinda marvels because…holy shit, you know?

Steve, because he’s Steve, just raises a brow and smirks a little.

“Well, duh.”

And Eddie grabs him, frames his face and just drinks him in before he kisses Steve so goddamn hard.

“God, I love you,” he breathes against Steve’s mouth as they start to pull away, linger just to taste each other on the exhale, before Steve pulls back, but reaches to keep Eddie’s hand in his, like a tether.

Eddie sure as fuck appreciates it.

“Key,” Steve holds up the fancy thing and taps the keyhole; “you lock it, then close it behind you,” and Eddie nods, seems straightforward enough; “I’m gonna put it with some of my keys upstairs, make it look innocent, but,” and Steve turns to him, gaze more serious than Eddie thinks he’s ever seen it.

“If you hear anything, you come down here. If you hear anyone but me, and I’ll call out and make sure you know if it’s safe, and that I’m alone, but if it’s anyone but just me,” and Steve squeezes his hand before letting go and maybe Eddie whimpers a little for the loss, but he tracks Steve with his eyes, almost unblinking.

“I want you to turn this here,” he points the key to the lock again; “hide the key under this part of the rug,” he lifts an area of carpet Eddie doesn’t think is meant to lift until he sees the concrete underneath and the groove that lets the key lie flat, unnoticeable; “then lock yourself in, and flip the deadbolt to make sure you’re safe,” Steve swings the door further open and toggles the deadbolt for demonstration; “so when it issafe, I’ll know from the keys upstairs where you are, and be down the second the coast is clear.”

Eddie nods, runs it through in his head—use key, hide key, climb into the vault, deadbolt the door, wait.

He doesn’t realize he’s shaking until Steve’s palms are holding his own.

“Sweetheart,” Steve’s breathing out, sounds pained but then he’s stroking Eddie’s hair, tangling with a sweat-stuck curl, drawing Eddie’s forehead to his own to steady him, or try to as he promises:

“Baby, I’ve got you.”

And Eddie breathes, does his best to nod and not dislodge them from each other but Steve feels it, knows him, and pulls them chest to chest, wraps Eddie close so he can hide alongside Steve’s neck, feel the stray pump of his pulse where Eddie can feel anything outside his own sudden ramp back up toward hyperventilating, Jesus fuck.

“Do you trust me?” Steve’s suddenly breathing right against Eddie’s ear, and pulling Eddie’s hand, palm flat to his chest, filling the need he knows Eddie holds for the anchor, the rhythm he can tie himself to.

“Never thought I’d trust anyone, ever, like I trust you,” Eddie answers, steadiest as he’s been so far, as soon as he finds his voice to manage it. Steve presses his hand to his chest tighter, somehow holds him closer.

“I am going to keep you safe,” Steve vows, kisses Eddie’s hair and breathes in deep before he asks, his heartbeat still steady under Eddie’s hand but…stronger somehow:

“You love me?”

It’s a statement spoken like a question. Both and neither.

The answer’s the same either way.

“More than life.”

Steve nods, kisses Eddie’s temple now and pulls back only enough to look him in the eye as he cups his jaw and nods, takes in Eddie’s certainty and—

“Then no matter what happens, you won’t leave this house.”

Eddie stiffens, feels his jaw drop a little because, because…

“But—”

“And you’ll do exactly what I say while you’re in it, if something goes entirely fucking haywire and anyone tries to come for you here.”

And Steve’s eyes hold him so steady, so steely, so sure: because Eddie does love him. More than life. And…

And this is why Steve demanded spoken proof of the thing they both know.

“Dirty pool, Harrington,” Eddie bites out against Steve’s neck again, because…he’s so tired. And he feels safe here, against the man he loves, like…really loves. He…he’ll give in, for this man. Nobody else.

“It’s been closed all winter, so, yeah,” Steve sighs exaggeratedly, his chest lifting with it high, still under Eddie’s hand; “pretty dirty pool out there.”

Eddie can’t help how he snorts.

“Motherfucker.”

“Nope,” Steve shakes his head, tone dramatically lamenting; “I’m a deeply committed monogamist,” and Steve reaches, draws Eddie’s face from its hiding place and brings him within kissing distance:

“And I’m deeply committed to you, so,” and fuck him, fuck him for the way he runs a thumb so delicate, so tenderly down Eddie’s bottom lip, looks at him so lovingly, as if his nerves aren’t already fried enough without Steve making him fucking weak in the goddamn knees.

“But you’re going out there—” Eddie puts up a protest he wishes rang clearer, more forcefully—but he’s drained, and he’s starting to feel it hard.

“We know what we’re doing,” Steve tells him, not unkindly, not dismissively—tries like hell for reassuring, even. “And it’s not that I don’t think you do, or can. It’s not that I doubt you, you know that,” and fuck all: Eddie does.

He’s a coward and a hypocrite in a lot of fucking ways but. Not this one.

“But if they tie you to Chrissy,” Steve says so soft, treads so careful; “I need you safe,” and he’s right, he’s fucking right because Eddie ran, he ran from her body, and he—

“Because I can’t do my part to help stop this if my heart’s not in it all the way.”

Eddie frowns at that; doesn’t understand.

“Why wouldn’t it be?”

Steve’s smile tightens, goes thin but his eyes never waver.

“Because it’d busy worrying only about you,” and he’s honest to a fucking fault, like it’s obvious too, which Eddie’s own heart’s tripping twice on in a row and hard, just to hear it said so plain and adamant. “If you’re out there, even with us, you’re vulnerable.”

“I can take care of—” Eddie starts, but Steve’s thumb’s back on his lip: dirty fucking pool.

“We don’t do that anymore,” Steve whispers, and it’s the first time his eyes look less than sure as he breathes out: “do we?”

And fuck, fuck: that’d been Eddie’s line. That’d been Eddie trying to soothe Steve, to learn his secrets in the first place in order to help, or at least try. They don’t…they don’t have to take care of themselves alone.

“Please, Eddie,” Steve whispers, too low and almost toneless for it, in order to count as begging. But.

Steve’s got him. His own words. His whole heart. Fuck.

“Okay.”

And Steve looks at him, studies him without breathing almost to the point of concern, like he’s looking for the lie but there isn’t one. Eddie…for Steve.

Eddie can do this for Steve. He will do this for Steve.

And he gets a hell of a kiss for it, so. His efforts don’t go unrewarded.

Steve takes his hand again and leads him back up the stairs, sets him in a chair and kisses his head, keeps him as close as he can when he can’t hold him full-on while he makes a phone call that Eddie only hears on the periphery, makes out, hate to call so late, Mrs. Byers, but I just found out that, yeah, she’s taken a turn, and I know you were, yeah, exactly, Claudia will be a mess and, no, no, I think there’s time, just, if you still wanted, I think it’s probably a good idea to try and get here? Sooner rather than later, yeah, then he’s hanging up and Eddie’s watching him almost desperate with wide eyes he can’t seem to close, and Jesus fuck , he’s losing it again, he can’t stop shaking—

“Eds.”

And Steve’s there, pulling Eddie up but he’s a puppet with his strings cut; he falls right back to the chair and Steve guides him down to it, settles him again before he bends, kneels and takes both his hands.

“We’re gonna get some rest, okay, even if it’s just cuddling in bed, even if we can’t get to actual sleep we’re gonna get some rest,” Steve squeezes Eddie’s hands until he nods his understanding; “because I’m gonna go into work tomorrow like nothing’s wrong, okay?”

Eddie’s eyes go wide at that, not just for having to lose Steve at his side—he hates it but it makes sense, it makes the kind of sense that comes from absolute necessity—but he’s…what about Robin, or the kids, the people who know—

“You’re not gonna tell…”

“I’m not gonna risk it,” Steve answers immediately; “anyone could overhear and,” he shakes his hand and lifts Eddie’s hands to his lips:

“I’m not gonna risk you, understand?”

So Eddie follows him up the stairs, most of his weight on Steve so much that he may as well have been fucking carried, and neither of them sleep, but Eddie clings to Steve harder than he’s held on to anything, folded up small against his chest and it…it finally helps calm Eddie’s pulse a little, lets him soak Steve up like it’s the last time he’ll ever get the chance.

He’s already fucking terrified it will be.

But alarms go off, and sunrise comes, and Steve gets dressed and ready, stopping to drop kisses to Eddie head, his face, his neck as he goes from the bedroom to the en-suite and back while Eddie stays safe in bed, and it’s really the only thing that makes Eddie sit up, when Steve’s out of sight too long for doing his hair, it’s just to…to keep him, a little longer.

He gets out of bed and follows Steve around like a puppy, wouldn’t even deny it, couldn’t ever regret it, as Steve moves some of the food from upstairs down to the basement in case you feel more comfortable down there than in the dark up here because of course everything’s closed up tight and Eddie nods, grabs Steve and holds him close to his chest when it gets overwhelming, which is…a lot, he does it a lot of times, almost gets stuck in Steve’s work vest for fear of letting go.

For fear it’ll be the last time.

“Week, week and a half’s usually the most this shit ever takes,” Steve’s saying as he ties his shoes in the living room—where normally shoes aren’t allowed at all and the gesture of it, the automatic shift for Eddie’s sake almost makes him want to cry again, he’s so keyed up, so fucking anxious; “and honestly, it’s not even that long, most times—”

“Steve,” Eddie’s voice fucking shatters just around his name because…because this is happening, Steve is leaving, and Eddie’s, Eddie is…

“Depends on what act of the larger shitshow we’re walking into,” Steve tries to power through, but he grabs Eddie’s hand and holds it tight once his shoes are laced.

Eddie holds on harder.

“I will leave messages if I can, I’ll say they’re for my parents. Obviously they’re not.”

Because obviously.

“If I have any instructions, any things we learn to make you safe, I will call. So make sure you pay attention, but never answer.”

“Stevie,” and in being reduced to only being capable of speaking Steve’s name, apparently, Eddie comes to the immediate realization that it’s fitting. If he was left only one word in the world, it should only be the most important one.

“Don’t start to worry unless we’re gone, like, two weeks,” Steve squeezes his hand and makes to stand, makes to let go but—

“I’m worried now,” Eddie’s voice is a whine, more because he can’t control it to make it more or less—he clings to Steve’s hand in his own so hard he knows his nails have to be digging into Steve’s skin but Steve doesn’t flinch even once.

“I wanna watch your back,” Eddie whispers, staring at their hands, memorizing what it looks like: them. Together.

“You wanna watch me swing the bat,” Steve points out, tries to lighten the mood a little and goddamn him: it’s only a little, but it does fucking work.

A little.

“Also that, yes,” Eddie concedes but sobers quick, because it’s…it’s leaden, it’s so big and he is, he’s—

“I’m so scared and I’m not even the one who deserves to be.”

And Steve: Steve lifts Eddie’s hand to presses lips to his knuckles before pulling himself up and into Eddie’s chest to tilt his head and kiss him full-on.

“If there’s a next time,” Steve speaks so his lips drag against Eddie’s with every word he says; “we’re gonna get you ready for it, and you’ll be by my side, because I’m scared to let you out of my sight.”

And it’s only then that Steve pulls back, just to slam them chest to chest and wind his arms around Eddie, and Eddie’s response is to immediately do the same, until their lungs are fighting to press into each other like one entity—and Eddie wouldn’t protest, if they could. He wouldn’t think twice, if it was a choice.

“But this is the safest place this time, if they’re looking for you. If they want to,” and Steve’s voice gives out, or maybe he just can’t say it: doesn’t matter.

They both know what he means.

“You gotta stay here,” Steve breathes a little broken, and a whole lot desperate. “For me. Okay?”

And for anyone else, Eddie would fight it. Hell, Eddie a year ago would have fucking railed at least a little, still. But…not just for what he’s seen, and what he knows has got to be out there—Chrissy’s asshole of a boyfriend’s anger issues might pose more of a threat than the half-a-brain cops in this town since Hopper…well; since Hopper—but he will do it. No one will know he’s here. And no one will see hide or hair of him.

“For you,” Eddie agrees, but he can’t leave it just there; “if you do something for me.”

“Anything,” Steve’s quick to commit without even a hint as to what lies next. “So long as it keeps you here.”

And Eddie…never thought he could be loved like this. Never thought he could love like this.

He can’t fucking lose it.

“Be careful,” Eddie says, like those words hold the world, and they kinda fucking do. “Like, for real, okay? Come back to me. Come back for me. Please.”

“I will,” Steve vows, like, Eddie feels it kinda in his bones.

“Steve,” he still pushes a little, because Steve…he’s heard the stories. Hell, he knows how they got together, he has proof on his own end, no interdimensional monsters involved.

“No, no,” Steve nods, like he can read Eddie’s thoughts almost, or maybe his face gives him away. “I get it. I just, I can’t…not be—”

“You?” Eddie finishes for him, a little resigned but a lot proud, whole-ass in love. “I wouldn’t ask you to not be you. I love you, all of you. But—”

“But I get it,” Steve nods, eyes a little too bright. “I won’t leave you like that.”

Then he’s quiet, like he’s thinking something weighty over, but only for a second before he ducks his head, but still speaks more like he’s sure of the words than anything less:

“Kinda want, like, forever with you, or something, y’know?”

Eddie’s heart goes to his throat, and his breath catches before it can try to fight around the pounding, and Eddie processes the words, lets them sink in before he rasps, a little watery:

“You mean it?”

Steve licks his lips but doesn’t hesitate to nod. Eddie’s breath shakes so fucking much when he tries to get any air in.

“Me too,” he barely manages to whisper but his heart’s still in his throat; the words are saturated with it by default. “Have for,” he exhales, and his lips curve up with so much relief, so much fullness in his chest; “for a while.”

“Same,” Steve murmurs low, his gaze fucking sparkling; “the whole ‘falling fast’ thing I tend to do?” He chuckles a little. “You’ve been like,” and he airplanes one hand into the waiting ring of the other with a whoosh: supersonic. Faster than light.

Eddie feels…Eddie thinks he might fucking burst, he doesn’t know how you survive this…this. He’s never known it before. It feels…

It’s like magic, he thinks—but real.

“Stay here,” Steve’s leaning into him again, speaking straight into his open lips, directly down to his heart. “Be safe. Please. For me.”

Eddie seals it, his agreement, his devotion, his everything, by closing his mouth, catching Steve’s lower lip in a kiss before he turns the tables, does the talking straight up against Steve’s soul:

“Go out there. Be a hero. But be a safe hero. Please. For me.”

And Steve doesn’t hesitate to tip his head and cradle Eddie’s in a single second, both at once and bring them together to kiss full-on, to lick deep, to be sure in each other, with each other.

To taste the vows received and made in the heartbeats between them.

“Love you, babe,” Steve breathes into him, just before he moves back.

“Love you,” Eddie sighs, chest still heaving, heart still hammering, terrified but full: “so fucking much.”

“I love you more,” Steve volleys, playful, maybe a little tight edged but…the love wins out.

Always.

“I love you most,” Eddie tops him, the practiced exchange landing in his favor this time as Steve pouts before his grin turns sly.

“I love you mostest,” Steve counters, victory clear in his gaze.

“I don’t think that’s a word,” Eddie huffs but it’s got no weight, doesn’t want any either.

“Is now,” Steve snips back through a smile that reminds Eddie why he’ll stay here, hiding; why Steve fights in the first place: at the end of the day, it’s this, isn’t it. It’s every shade and flavor of this.

“Then I love you more than even the mostest,” Eddie declares definitively before he kisses Steve hard, fast, commits it to memory and tattoos it on his ribs, before he leans his head to Steve’s and whispers:

“Robin’ll bitch if you’re late.”

And that’s how Steve pulls back, watches Eddie every second, goes through the garage so no one will see through the door, so he can keep their eyes locked as long as possible—

And then he’s gone.

<<< Part One ~or~ >>>want some more?

For @vegasol, who requested 'Secret Relationship' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

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