Liyah

You were currently getting her hair ready for the upcoming dance recital she has this evening. She’s been obsessed with dancing since she could walk, and Ms. Sharon - the local dance teacher, had happily taken your girl under her wing years ago to help guide her talent.

“I don’t like it when you do my hair,” she grumbles under her breath at the next tug, and your hands stiffen - caught off guard by her complaining.

“What?” You ask calmly, hoping you didn’t hear her correctly.

“I wish Dad were here, so he could do it instead of you,” she doubles down, glaring at you through the mirror.

Your girl was propped up on the bathroom counter, legs curled up in the sink while you stood behind her - trying desperately to get her hair to look right because normally Steve was the one to do it, but the sudden attitude adds to the weight you’ve been feeling about your kids choosing him over you lately.

When your twins started fifth grade, you expected them to grow up quite a bit, had seen it happen with your oldest two, but what you didn’t expect was that they no longer seemed to want you - preferring to spend their time with Steve instead.

You felt silly at first, told yourself you were overreacting - that you were being unreasonable in feeling that they didn’t need you anymore, trying to chalk it up to being emotional over your oldest’s absence.

He was thriving in his first semester of college. You absolutely knew he would, but that didn’t mean it hurt any less that he wasn’t home with you and Steve. So when you found yourself misty eyed over your twins favoring your husband, you lumped the feeling in with being torn up over losing your oldest to the throes of adulthood.

But it was starting to feel like maybe you weren’t as important as you once were when they were younger.

And you know they love Steve. God, how could they not? You wanted them to seek him out, wanted them to feel safe in his arms, wanted them to show him that they admired him.

Yet, you couldn’t help the familiar ugly feeling of resentment that was building - bitterly settling in and making a home in your heart. You’ve been acting like nothing was bothering you, bottling it up because you didn’t want your babes to see how much it was taking a toll on you.

It meant that in moments like this, where your girl is making it clear she wants Steve and not you, you try your best to address the comment without admitting just how much it truly affected you.

You carefully set the hair bush down, and you can see a look of regret passing over your girl's face.

“Can you do this on your own?” You reply, folding your arms.

She looks down, “No.”

“And is Dad here right now?” You ask firmly.

“No,” she repeats quietly.

“Which is why I’m doing your hair for you,” you emphasize.

She turns around like she can hear her father scolding her for talking to you like that, “I’m sorry.”

“I know this is your thing with Dad. That’s okay. I love that he does your hair for you, but what you said hurt my feelings,” you tell her honestly, smoothing back one of her stray curls.

Her eyes brim with guilty tears, “I’m sorry, Mommy.”

Your thumb catches a tear that trickles down her cheek, “Thank you for apologizing, baby. Now, can you tell me what’s really going on?”

“It’s just,” she trails off, but continues when you nod encouragingly, “he always does my hair.”

“And?” You press lightly, knowing there’s something more that’s making her sad.

“He’s not here, and I’m scared he’s gonna miss my performance,” she mumbles.

“Oh, sweetheart. You know he would never miss getting to watch you dance. He just has some things to finish up at work, and he’ll meet us at the auditorium. You’ll see him cheering you on in the audience," you assure her, patting her knee that hangs over the counter.

“But he always gives me a good luck hug,” she says, lower lip trembling a little to fight off more tears.

Your stomach sinks at the revelation, hating that she’s feeling heartbroken over not seeing Steve beforehand.

“I can give you a good luck squeeze,” you try to soothe her.

“It’s not the same,” she looks down, fiddling with the pink tutu that wraps around her waist.

God, hearing that feels like something hot and sharp carving into you, even though you know she’s not intentionally trying to make you upset.

“I know. I’m gonna give you one anyway, okay?” Your arms slip over her shoulders, and she melts into your embrace.

It’s enough for now, feeling her find comfort in your hold, but her brother drives the invisible knife further into you later that evening.

The auditorium was packed, and your eyes were scanning for Steve as you hauled your youngest boy along on your hip.

“Don’t know how much longer I’m gonna be able to carry you, hun,” you say lightly as your arms protest under his weight.

He was growing like a weed, having proudly turned five and while he cried his eyes out on his first day of kindergarten - he now ran excitedly out the door each morning, eager to greet his teacher and classmates.

“My legs are tired, Mommy,” he reminds you seriously, having already chatted your ear off about how he ran too hard at recess.

“My arms are tired,” you reply playfully, but the truth of it is; you’ll carry him for as long as you can because one day it will be the last and you won’t have realized it.

“Daddy!” He yells, pointing a few rows down to where Steve sits alone - four empty seats next to him.

Your toddler was at home with the babysitter since she was still too young to sit through the hour and a half recital. Your eldest girl was free of her extra curricular activities, and your eleven year old boy had to miss his baseball practice, but didn’t complain because of how often his twin had to be dragged along to watch him play.

They were following behind you, but they picked up speed at the sight of Steve - ready to see their dad after a long day without him.

You set your youngest boy down, and he charges down the aisle - throwing himself at his daddy.

Steve lets out a grunt of surprise, but quickly brings him in for a hug, “Hey, buddy.”

You watch as Steve stands up while holding your boy, greeting your other two babes with the enthusiasm of a man acting like he didn’t just see them that morning.

It makes you feel foolish for being jealous, because when he looks at them like they're his whole world, of course they want to be near him.

“Hey, honey,” Steve reserves his sweetest smile for you, setting your boy down and slipping his hands around your back - tugging you to his chest.

He presses a sly kiss to your exposed collarbone, humming delightedly at having you in his arms.

“Missed you today,” he whispers, sneaking another kiss to your throat.

“Steve,” you chide, glancing around at the amount of people starting to fill the room.

“What? I’m just saying hi to my honey,” he teases, pulling back with one more quick kiss to your lips.

You can’t help but smile bashfully, smoothing out the lines of the sport coat he’s got on, “I missed you too.”

An announcement over the speakers breaks the moment, warning guests that they have less than ten minutes to take their seats.

“Was she nervous?” Steve asks worriedly, referring to your girl who’s now backstage.

“A little. She wanted you,” you reply softly.

“Damn, I knew I should’ve tried to get off earlier,” he sighs heavily.

“She’s gonna do great, babe. She definitely wasn’t pleased that I had to do her hair though,” you try to joke, but it lands a little flat, and Steve notices instantly that you don’t actually find it funny.

His eyebrows furrow, wanting to ask you the unspoken meaning behind that statement, but you turn to shuffle your children in their seats before the lights dim - purposefully trying to avoid your husband's troubled expression.

“Go ahead, hun,” you tell your middle boy, gesturing to the empty seat that would be next to yours.

He hesitates, “Could I, um, actually sit next to Dad?”

Your lips part, another strike attacking your fragile heart because it feels like he means that he doesn’t want to sit by you.

“Oh. Yeah, of course,” you stumble over the words, feeling your throat constrict - finding the need to leave before you start crying in public.

“I’m, uh, gonna run and use the restroom,” you lie, hightailing it out of there before anyone can ask to go with you.

Steve noticed the way your shoulders slumped, the way your eyes got glassy, and he sure as hell noticed how you barely spoke a word to him after your girl ran to him first when she finished her routines.

He knows you. Knows your cues, and he knows there’s something you’re keeping from him. He’s felt it for a while now - hasn’t said anything because he also knows not to push you to confide in him when you aren’t ready.

But your rigid behavior after the dance recital spurs him on to make an effort to convince you to confess what’s been bugging you.

“Honey,” Steve muses quietly in bed that night.

Your back was turned to him, curled up on your side - trying to block out the ache of missing your oldest boy, and the mean words your brain was throwing at you about not being enough for your children.

“Leave me alone, Steve,” you whisper, biting your lip hard to stop tears from forming.

“C’mon, honey. Don’t do this. Please don’t shut me out,” he begs, arm sliding over your waist - pulling your body to his.

There’s an anger that stirs from somewhere within you that you don’t understand. And you can’t help what spills out of your lips in response, too torn up over the torturous feelings flooding you - making you bubble over and lash out.

“I don’t want to talk to you,” you snark, pushing his arm off.

He tries to slip it around you again, “Why?”

“Because I don’t want you right now,” you fire out, rolling further away to force his hand off you.

He’s silent for a moment, chewing on your harsh words, “You don’t want me?”

“That’s not,” your breath hitches, “that’s not what I meant, Steve.”

“It kinda sounded like it,” he mumbles defeatedly.

You grit your teeth, “Not everything is about you.”

Steve scoffs under his breath, and you feel him shifting - reaching over to the nightstand to turn the lamp on.

When you hear his feet hit the ground, you prop yourself up on your elbows, “Where are you going?”

He sighs heavily, running a hand over his face, “I’m tired of you doing this.”

You swallow hard, “Doing what?”

“Pushing me away. I know something’s wrong, but I don’t know how to help you because you won’t talk to me,” he grumbles, stuffing a pillow under his arm.

“Nothing’s wrong,” you bite back.

He closes his eyes briefly, shoulders slumping in defeat, “Okay, honey.”

He rounds the bed, pressing a soft kiss to the crown of your head - mumbling a quick goodnight before heading for the door.

“Steve, where are you going?” You frown, scrambling into a sitting position - reaching out to catch his hand, effectively stopping him.

“Gonna sleep on the couch,” he replies desolately.

“No, don’t go,” you plead, slotting your fingers through his.

“Honey, I can’t sleep next to you when you won’t even look at me and be honest,” he admits, tone laced with an anguish that startles you.

You squeeze his hand, “I’m fine.”

He shakes his head, “No, you’re not. And I’m miserable because you seem to feel like you can’t trust me with whatever’s going on.”

“I trust you,” your voice wobbles, breath turning uneven.

Steve brings your hand to his lips, presses a swift kiss to each of your knuckles, “I love you, but I can’t pretend like you’re alright anymore.”

“I really am fine though,” you insist, hearing the lack of confidence in your tone.

“I don’t wanna argue, honey,” he says softly, dropping your hand.

You burst into a fit of tears when you see the distress swimming in those pretty doe eyes of his.

“You can’t leave me,” you sputter out, anxiety starting to claw at you.

His eyebrows furrow in concern, dropping the pillow and letting his hands move to your hips - stroking at the delicate skin when your shirt lifts.

“Don’t leave me,” you cry, hands grasping around his neck - burrowing your head in the juncture of his shoulder.

“Woah, hey, I’m right here,” he coos, hands grasping you tightly - one threading through your hair, and the other tracing up and down your back.

You cling to him, hiccups of despair slipping from you - stammering out an endless stream of pleas for him to stay, “Don’t go. Please don’t leave me.”

“I’m staying. I’m here, honey,” he murmurs, letting you mold yourself against him - wetting his shirt with how hard you’re crying.

“I’m sorry,” you repeat the phrase brokenly, like a record that’s been scratched.

Steve tries to pull away to look at you, but you take it as a sign that he’s deserting you - shooting a pang of alarm throughout your body.

“No, no, don’t go,” you weep, scrambling to lock your arms around him.

Choked sobs are ripping from your throat, sending Steve into a flurry of panic at the reaction you’re having.

“Baby, I’m not going anywhere. C’mon, need you to breathe for me,” he sneaks a hand around, dragging it up the curve of your tummy - coming to a stop to rest over the place where your heart lies. It’s fluttering wildly, thumping fervently at the thought of him abandoning you.

He tilts his head back enough to knock his forehead carefully against your temple, “Breathe, honey.”

His voice is like molten lava, warming you from the inside out - alleviating the pain that you’ve been holding onto. It allows you to suck in a sharp, but long gulp of air - trying your best to let it out slowly.

“There’s my girl,” he whispers, kissing down the slope of your neck as you focus on regulating your breathing.

“I’m sorry,” you mutter again, voice hoarse - tears still streaming consistently down your face.

“C’mere, baby,” he implores, arms wrapping under your thighs and hiking you up against him.

You bury your face in the crook of his neck, continuing to utter weak apologies while he carries you to the bathroom.

“No need to apologize, honey,” he sets you down on the counter, where your girl had been perched earlier that day.

“But I was mean to you,” you whine, refusing to pull your head up from its hiding spot.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he cups your face, trying to coax you to look at him.

“It’s not. I’m sorry, I love you,” you whimper.

“I know, honey. I love you,” he presses a kiss to your jaw, before reaching behind you to grab a washcloth from the cabinet.

His tenderness causes another wave of fresh tears to fill your eyes, watching as he turns the sink on, letting the water run warm - wetting the cloth and wringing it out.

“What’s going on in that pretty head of yours?” He asks, delicately dabbing the towel along your cheeks and under your nose.

You remain silent while he continues to take care of you, gathering your thoughts - debating on how to tell him you’re feeling like an afterthought in your own family.

Steve pats your face dry with a clean towel before discarding it into the dirty bin that rests on the floor. He scooches forward, standing between your legs with his arms resting on either side of you - successfully boxing you in.

“It’s breaking my heart seeing you like this. Please let me in, gorgeous,” he requests, staring at you with an affection that makes you crack open.

You close your eyes briefly, suddenly feeling ridiculous at the admission, “I’m scared I’m being left behind.”

A look of confusion floods his face, “What?”

“Everyone always leaves me behind,” you reach your hands out to play with the hem of his shirt, trying to avoid the haunted look in his eyes at your words.

At his silence, you peek up to see his jaw working - muscle popping out from the clench of his teeth.

He finally lets out a displeased noise - not with you, but with the circumstances that have led you to feel that way, “You talking about your mom, baby?”

“Yeah, she,” you falter, unable to spit the words out.

“She left you,” Steve fills in the blank gently, moving his hands to grip onto your lower back.

“And my father,” you shrug helplessly, “and Billy.”

“What else?” He prompts, thumb moving back and forth rhythmically against your spine.

“The twins are gravitating towards you now that they're older. I guess I’m just feeling a little left out,” you reply timidly.

Steve wants to protest, but he doesn’t - refusing to downplay what you’re feeling.

“And he’s gone,” you pause, swallowing thickly.

Steve doesn’t need you to explain to know that you’re thinking of your oldest now.

“I’m so proud of him, but I miss him so much sometimes that it physically hurts,” you tilt your head to rest against his bicep.

“How long have you been feeling like this, honey?” He inquires, hands trailing from your back to hook under your legs - running his hands soothingly over the curves of your knees.

“Long enough,” you let your hands drop, grabbing onto his - feeling like you need something to keep you steady for the rest of this conversation.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He questions without judgment or anger, simply genuine curiosity for how long you’ve been drowning on your own.

“Because I know it sounds absurd,” you answer meekly.

“Can you look at me while I tell you something?” He asks.

You release a shaky breath, pulling away to meet his loving gaze.

“Your feelings are valid, but I don’t think they’re telling you the truth,” he explains, hands splaying out to hold your face adoringly.

You shake your head, “I don’t know what you mean.”

“You’re feeling hurt. That’s real. And it sounds like maybe you’re feeling overwhelmed by all the changes happening. That’s also real, but it doesn’t mean you’re being left behind,” he promises.

You fidget with the wedding band on his finger, “It feels like it.”

“I understand it feels like it, but the twins are obsessed with you, baby. You don’t see what I see when they look at you. They love you. And they’re not purposefully choosing me over you. They’re feeling secure enough to make decisions where they’ll never have to worry about you leaving them,” he tips his forehead to yours.

“You think?” You mumble weakly.

“I know. You’ve worked tirelessly to make them feel incredibly safe because you know what it feels to be left by a parent. I’ve watched you, every day, making sure they never have to endure that,” he nudges his nose against yours.

“And our boy? God, babe I miss him too. But remember what you told me? We didn’t lose him, and he didn’t leave us just because he’s in another state. I mean the kid calls almost every night. I sometimes worry he’s keeping us too informed,” he jokes.

A splintered laugh escapes you, “He does call a lot.”

“Because he misses home. He misses you,” he murmurs, lips now hovering over yours.

“You know I’d never leave you behind, right?” He asks, voice shaking with the weight of emotion at thinking you’d ever doubt him.

You nod, hand sliding up the expanse of his chest and resting at his shoulders, “I know. I just panicked at the thought of you not being with me.”

Steve’s lips mouth at yours briefly, “No more trying to sleep on the couch, promise. It was a stupid, stupid idea anyway.”

He slots his lips with yours, greedily swallowing your noises of content - pressing urgently against you as he tries to ease the pain that’s been gnawing deeply in your bones.

The afternoon sun hangs hazily in the air while the Harrington children complete their after school routines. Your toddler was snuggled up in her bed, thankfully having gone down for a nap which doesn’t happen as often anymore.

Your eldest girl was studying in her room, with your youngest boy lounging on her bed - munching on a snack she got for him. The twins were settled on her floor, doing homework of their own.

Your girl had noticed when she got home that your shoulders were tense after having a hard day with the youngest, who now had enough attitude in her body that it felt like there were two of her instead of one.

“Mom, why don’t you go rest for a bit? They can camp out in my room,” she smiled kindly, leaving behind a bittersweet ache in its wake because she was becoming much more independent now that she was the oldest sibling still at home.

So while she graciously watched your younger babes for you, you were tucked in your room - spread out on your bed, crying. Again.

You couldn’t comprehend where the tears kept coming from, or fathom why they were there in the first place, but you tried to muffle the blubbering with no such luck because your children could hear.

“What does Dad usually do?” Your middle boy asks his older sister frantically.

“Kiss her,” your youngest boy giggles.

Your eldest girl rolls her eyes teasingly, “I’ll call Dad. You three go check on her.”

“Mommy?” A little voice filters through your bedroom door along with rapid knocking.

You feverishly wipe at your face, pushing yourself into a sitting position to lean back against the headboard - trying to put yourself together to not look like a total mess in front of your kids.

You clear your throat, “Yeah, hun?”

The door creaks open, and your youngest boy pokes his head in with a toothy grin plastered to his face. The sight of it makes you freeze, feeling like the wind has been knocked out of you because he looks just like Steve when he does that, and it sends you into another round of tears.

“Don’t cry, Mommy,” he pushes the door open and hoists himself onto the bed, crawling over to lay himself down on top of you - hugging tightly around your middle.

“Are you okay, Mom?” Your eleven year old girl asks as she pads in with her brother trailing behind her.

“I’m just feeling sad today,” you give her a weak smile.

She curls up next to you, and slips her hand into yours, “I don’t like it when you cry.”

It pulls a quiet laugh from your lips, “I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?” Her twin asks, cuddling up to your free side and resting his head against your shoulder.

“What?” Your eyebrows draw in with confusion.

“You and Dad never let us apologize for crying,” he reminds you.

Your middle girl twists around to grab the tissues off the nightstand. She gives them to you, still holding tightly onto your hand.

“You’re allowed to cry too, Mom,” she says sweetly.

Your lips part at the words of wisdom she’s just spoken, recognizing she picked the phrase up from Steve.

“Thanks, babe. I really needed to hear that,” you sober up a little.

It’s then that your eldest girl appears in the doorway with your toddler in her arms, “Is there room for two more?”

“Always,” you pat the empty space left.

She squeezes herself in, lets your toddler grumpily make her way towards you - clambering her way next to her older brother that’s still lying across you.

“Mommy, why sad?” She pouts, fist grabbing onto your shirt.

You give a wobbly smile, “I don’t know, baby.”

“No more sad,” she demands.

Her siblings chuckle at her insistence, teasingly repeating the words until a comfortable silence settles amongst them. You glance at each one of them, feeling a new inkling of adoration every time your eyes land on the features that make them so uniquely beautiful, and so preciously yours.

The stillness in the room is eventually fractured by the front door opening and closing.

“I’m home,” Steve calls loudly, voice traveling up to your room.

“I wonder why he’s here early,” you ponder, hearing him shuffling around downstairs - missing the smirk from your teenager.

When Steve normally gets home, he’s always got a greeting party ready to tackle him and tell him about their day, and you know your children are probably eager to do so.

“You should go say hi to him,” you tell them, stroking your toddlers back since she’s fallen into a slumber again.

“We’re good here,” your eldest girl smiles at you assuringly, while your youngest boy holds onto you tighter.

“We want to stay here with you,” your middle girl refutes.

“Yeah. You need us, so we’re staying,” her twin adds on.

And it’s there, those simple sentences that pass your children's lips so effortlessly, where the pieces that had broken off of you start to meld back together - being glued precariously with the sentiment that they do still need you just as much as you need them.

You can hear the thumping of footsteps up the stairs, and Steve pauses at the entrance to your room. God he’s a vision - still in his work slacks with a button up tucked in, sleeves pushed up to his elbows. His hair’s a bit disheveled, like he’s been running his hands through it nervously, and clutched in his hands is a small bouquet - a mixture of colorful flowers wrapped in brown kraft paper.

At the sight of him, your tears start again. You cover your face in embarrassment at the fact that you’re still crying.

“Honey,” Steve calls affectionately, treading over to the side of the bed you're closest to - kneeling down to look at you better with his elbows digging into the soft material of the comforter.

Your children grow quiet, watching the interaction unfolding between their parents with rapt interest.

“I’m sorry,” you choke out.

“No, there’s nothing to be sorry for, baby,” he reaches over to brush at the tears that puddle at your jaw, voice like a balm to your soul - soaking up the influx of confusing emotions you’ve been experiencing lately.

“What are you doing here? What about baseball?” You survey him, realizing he’s going to miss practice.

“The assistant coach is taking over for the day. Heard my girl needed me,” he replies tenderly, and the term of endearment has the littles giggling.

“Look at my babies taking care of Mommy,” Steve smiles fondly at the way they’re wrapped around you.

A chorus of responses from them ricochets around the room, ending with a resounding well, yeah - we love her.

“You hear that, babe? They love you,” Steve beams.

“Daddy loves you too. Look, he got you flowers,” your middle girl smiles excitedly, picking them up and handing them to you.

“They’re beautiful. I love them,” you sniffle.

“You’re beautiful,” he moves to give you a swift kiss.

Steve then kicks his shoes off, laying down on his side at the foot of the bed. He’s got a hand propped up to hold his head - feet playfully kicking your eleven year old boys while his free hand snags around your ankle, subtly starting to rub circles along your calf.

Your children giddily take turns talking to him. He’s nodding and replying, saying all the right things, but his eyes linger on you.

The familiar ring of the house phone chimes, making Steve jump off the bed - glancing at the called ID before grinning.

“It’s for you, babe,” he passes the phone off to you.

It’s your oldest - calling to tell you that he loves and misses you, which makes you throw a suspicious look at Steve, who cheekily smiles back.

When the kids are distracted by the passing of the phone because - I want to talk to him - was being argued when you finished your turn, you lean forward as best you can with a bunch of tiny bodies scrunched up around you.

You grab at the collar of Steve’s button down, pulling him down into the chaos and murmuring your appreciation for him.

“Thank you,” you whisper by the shell of his ear.

“Anything for you, gorgeous,” he kisses the high of your cheekbone.

Your children chatter idly for a while, while you and Steve listen along - grateful for children who love hard, and for the life that’s been built so thankfully different than your past.

Divider credits to @strangergraphics

Main Masterlist If Interested!

Mini Fathers Day Blurb (posted this without any tags since it was a quick ask, but linking in case anyone wanted to read)

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that morning you almost didn’t go to work, having even come up with a fake cold and typed out the email before deciding against it. the thought of having to face keys after what had happened the day before made you nauseous.

the image of his face falling and the sound of his “oh, fuck me” when he realised exactly who you were sat low in your stomach. you hadn’t been able to sleep because of it. every time you were about to drift off it came back to haunt you, and not in a good way.

it was his tone and the way he had avoided you the rest of the day, as if he was pissed off that all this time you were the one behind the screen. as if you yourself hadn’t also been flabbergasted when realization hit you.

so yes. having to seat across from him, work with him, talk to him right now was the worst thing that could happen to you.

but you weren’t going to let him win on this one.

thus, as you walked into soonami and your eyes inadvertently looked for him just to not find his mop of hair anywhere, you smiled. especially when you made your way over to your desk and noticed he wasn’t on his chair and his computer wasn’t on. maybe you had won and he would be the one to not show up today.

weak, you thought and sat down while pulled out of your bag your little notebook, reading your to-do list for the day.

an hour passed and you had even forgotten keys wasn’t nowhere to be seen. still, it didn’t last long.

your eyes were too focused on the screen as your fingers flew over the keyboard. so much that you almost didn’t notice when someone placed a mug on your desk. the sound of the clay against the glass of the desk pulled you away from the code you were working on as you took notice of it. it was your mug that you always left at work, filled to the rim with burning coffee.

you lifted you head and saw him sitting down in front of you. the only thing you could see was the poker expression on his eyes, barely visible above the monitors that separated you. he didn’t look at you.

the grip on the white mug was stopped by the feeling of something more rough on it. turning it around, careful not to spill its content, you noticed a light blue sticky note on its side.

you peeled it off and read it, stay late tonight?

you know all too well what he wanted to stay late for. you knew it ‘cause you had thought about it too.

your fingers seemed to have a life of their own as they reached for your phone, unlocking it and opening your chat with the one and only smashingkeys69. the last messages from yesterday stared back at you, sent just before both of you stepped out of the bathroom and came face to face with each other.

smashingkeys69: ill text u tonight

you: deal

he hadn’t texted you that night. of course he hadn’t. keys was just as embarrassed about the whole thing as you were; however, he didn’t look too embarrassed right now. his leg went up and down again and again, anxiously waiting for your answer.

you: im not fucking u

you took the coffee and sipped, staring at him as he got the notification from you.

smashingkeys69: good

smashingkeys69: cause thats my job

your legs pressed together from the rush of excitement that went through your body at having him so near. sending you texts like the ones he had sent you had multiple multiple times before from that exact desk. the only difference was this time you had finally put a face to the username. a pretty one.

you: if u think ill get naked for u in a bathroom stall at work youre insane

smashingkeys69: then lets go somewhere else

smashingkeys69: a closet

you: no

smashingkeys69: okay then here

you: theres cameras everywhere

smashingkeys69: not in antwans office

the crinkle in his eye and slight smirk as he stared at you, waiting for your reaction, told you all you needed to know. you wouldn't be going home early tonight.

—

when the last of your coworkers left the office, keys wasn’t around. you turned off your computer and sat back in your chair, debating whether you should send him a text or not. but just as you started to think he had ditched, he appeared, arms swinging by his sides as if you hadn't been waiting almost ten minutes for him.

keys stopped in his tracks when he saw you still sitting at your desk, like he hadn’t expected you to still be there “you stayed,” he said incredulously, more to himself than to you.

and for some reason that you did not understand, it pissed you off. “where the fuck were you?” you asked. there was a sharp ting in your voice that surprised even you, not really meaning to snap at him, but the irritation you felt was stronger.

“i was in the kitchen getting a coffee,” he pointed his thumb over his shoulder to the tiny room. his brows furrowed in confusion and you didn’t know if it was because he expected you to know or because it was obvious, “you’re here.”

you couldn’t help but roll your eyes, “what? would you prefer i’d left? you were basically begging me to stay late,” you got up and started to tidy up things around you that didn’t need to be tidied up, just an excuse to keep you busy and not stare at him for too long. your keyboard, your planner.

“oh my god what has gotten into you?” he questioned in between giggles as he walked to his own desk, right in across yours, and tidied up his own place. of course he founded your irritated state funny. sometimes it was everything he was good at, riling you up.

“you’re wasting my time, that’s what’s happening,” you opened and closed drawers with no real purpose.

“wasting your time? don’t be so dramatic now, it’s friday where else would you be?” keys threw his arms in the air.

“I- look, are we doing this or not?” you leaned forward and rested your hands on the wooden table.

keys didn’t answer. instead he let his gaze fix on your face, trying to decipher if you were actually pissed off or just trying to play difficult. he couldn’t figure it out. he knew there was a little something in your tone that told him he was so close to getting shut down. so, he didn’t try to test his own luck by doing anything else that could add to it. his legs suddenly got a life of their own as they got farther away from his desk, rounded it and got closer to yours.

your body didn’t move, but you let your head turn and look at him once he stopped next to you. one. two. three. four. you counted the moles on his face, and you could’ve continued if it hadn’t been for his touch.

keys lifted his right hand and hovered it on the side of your face, millimeters away. so close that the coldness of his palm got to you. you knew his eyes were on your lips, only because you could sense them but also ‘cause yours were on his just the same. and after a few seconds of hesitation, he whispered a tiny okay just to grab you by the nape of your neck harshly, and finally kiss you.

it’s not that it caught you by surprise, you knew it was coming; yet, you weren’t prepared for how good his lips would feel against yours. they were softer than they looked as they worked over your top lip, which was weird given how much he bit them.

your hands finally left the wood, a silent permission for him to touch you. keys’ hand left your neck to travel down your back and rest on your hip, just as the other one had been doing. and with a swift motion he lifted you up, sitting you down on top of your desk. the unexpected movement and the brush of his thumb on the side of your neck got a low moan out of you, but it was lost in between your mouths.

it wasn’t a careful kiss, it was heated and rushed, sweeping away all that was not him and you from the room. you savoured the lingering taste of coffee on keys’ mouth. when your lips slightly parted for the smallest breath he let his tongue crash into yours, but not before he dragged it across your lower lip.

you opened your legs to give him more space as you let the tips of your fingers get under his shirt and roam over his back, pulling him even closer.

you were both too high on the moment to realize the danger of what you were doing, and especially where you were doing it. the possibility of someone walking in at any given moment didn’t cross your mind, even less so when keys released your lips to instead kiss the sensitive spot behind your ear that you had told him about many times before over text.

he bit the thin skin and grunted against it when you dragged your nails down in response. it wasn’t until keys started fumbling with the button of your jeans that reality hit you, and you hit it back by trying to push him off.

“keys” you attempted to get his attention.

“mhm- what?” his hot breath against your damp skin from his own saliva made your entire body shiver.

“we-” as much as you didn’t want to, you stopped torturing his back and instead grabbed his shoulders, making him stop at last, “we said not in here, remember?”

“right. yeah.” he sighed and helped you get down from the desk. his hand wrapped around your wrist, making you follow his steps across the open-floor office until you reached antwan’s door.

“are we really going to antwan’s office?” you whispered for no real reason. there was no one else around but you two.

keys abruptly stopped in his tracks and you almost crashed into his chest as he turned around to face you. “you’ve got a better idea?” he snapped.

“not really, but maybe-” you were trying to find another solution but he cut you off.

“listen,” he was hovering over you, and right then and there you realized for the first time how good he smelled, a musky scent that was not too soft but also not too hard, just the right amount of intensity on it to pull you right under. “i’ve been thinking about this since the first night i texted you and i really, really need to fuck you,” his pupils were dilated, almost the entirety of his eyes was black as they went back and forth over yours.

you didn’t answer, there was no need to. if you were having second thoughts about fucking your coworker, they all slipped away at the neediness of his words, and that at the end made you take over. the cotton of his shirt was delicate inside your fist as you opened the door and pulled him by the collar, slamming your own back against it to close it.

keys was back on you immediately, going straight for your neck and getting his hands on your ass. he took his sweet time nipping at it and you didn’t know how much longer you could wait. he seemed to get the memo when you hooked your leg around him and tried to get some friction where you needed it the most. keys, desperate on his own end, tapped the side of your other leg, signaling you to jump, and you obliged.

“i’m taking you to the chair” he announced as if you would’ve been capable of denying him.

he carried you over to the place where your boss sat everyday and from where he gave stupid orders that you almost never followed.

keys let your feet hit the floor before flopping down on the leather. you watched him unzip his pants and lift his hips to get them off, he kicked the pool of fabric to the side with his feet. there was nothing you could do but stare at his already too tight underwear that covered his growing bulge, and prevented you from seeing what you had appreciated before through photos. the image of the dick picture he had sent you the first night you sexted came to your mind. you hadn’t forgotten how big he was, but it was different having it so close.

“are you sure?” keys asked when he noticed you too focused on what he was hiding.

“i wouldn’t have stayed if i wasn’t sure,” you came closer to him, undoing the button of your jeans and letting them fall before stepping out.

keys’ gaze went directly to your black panties, barely visible under the sweater you were wearing. he licked his lips before speaking. “come here” the words were accompanied by the motion of his hands which hit his own thighs two times, signaling you to sit on top of him. the order turned you on even more and you could practically feel goosebumps make way all over your body.

you did as he said and climbed on top of him, resting your knees on each side of his legs and purposely let your core rub against his boxers.

“fuck-“ he cursed as his head hit the back of the chair and his eyes closed at the sensation he had been waiting so long for. keys forced his eyes open, there was a fire on them that hadn’t been there two seconds before, as though your movement switched something on inside of him that had been dormant until that very moment.

he cupped one side of your face and kissed you hard, again. his lips hit yours with desperate force, his tongue pressed against your top lip, asking for entrance that you instantly gave, meeting it inside.

the kiss was pure need. the only sound heard in the room was your heavy breathing while you started to crave more.

trying to satisfy yourself, you broke the kiss and rolled your hips against him. the motion made your clothed chest crash against keys’ chin.

“i wanna see your tits” he begged, cupping them over the wool that covered them.

you nodded before agreeing with words, “take it off”

he took your sweater along with your tshirt off of you. keys moaned at the sight of your boobs spilling out of your bra, he wasn’t patient enough to let you unclasp it, and instead pulled the straps down your arms until they were completely free and let the piece of underwear rest on your waist.

the moment full of craving was interrupted by a rather sweet one when keys dropped his head down and left a trail of kisses on the valley between your breasts; however, it didn’t last long before he got his mouth on your left nipple.

“keys” you moaned and racked your hands through his hair, tugging on his brown messy locks. his tongue flicked over your bud while he pinched your right one between his index finger and thumb.

“you wanna know what i did last night?” he said against your skin and sucked hard in a way that would leave a mark that wouldn’t disappear for days.

“wh- what did you do?” it was hard to speak when all you were concentrated on was the feeling of his tongue dragging over you.

“i read our conversations,” he stopped playing with your tits to look you in the eyes, heavy breathing. “thinking about all the times you were just a few feet away from me, getting off to me, touching yourself how i was telling you to do…” he trailed off, almost like he was imagining it right then and there. “if i had known it was you-“

“what would you have done?” you nodded your head and touched his nose with yours, teasing him.

“i would’ve fucked your bitchy attitude out of you so much sooner,” he grabbed your thighs and pressed you down against him.

“what’s stopping you now then?” you tried to move but his hold on you was too firm.

“can’t a man enjoy what he has been waiting for for so long?” he joked with a smirk plastered on his face, and you giggled. “you gonna ride me?”

you attempted again, in vain, to grind against him, “i don’t care how, i want you inside me”

but he wasn’t done with his teasing. “you gonna show me you aren't all talk?” his thumbs made circles on your sides as the rest of his hand got under the elastic of your panties.

“i need to feel you keys” the way he was dragging it on was infuriating and cruel.

“i just wanna play with you for a bit first,” you grunted, you were running out of patience and he smiled. “you gonna let me play with your pussy?”

you felt his fingers slowly making their way to your front, and as much as you would’ve liked to have been able to get back at him, it was too much. so, you caved in “yeah”

keys didn’t need more confirmation to get his hand under your underwear. you jerked and hissed at the coldness of his fingers on you, he parted your lips with two of them and the slight rub of his palm close to your clit got you gasping for air.

“so wet,” he teased your entrance with slow, agonizing circles. “i bet you’ve been like this since this morning, haven’t you?” keys let the tips of two of his fingers get inside of you, and somehow that was worse than nothing.

“dont flatter yourself” you spat at him. the sudden attitude made keys push the rest of his two digits into you. “shit-“ you screamed.

he started pumping in and out of you in a steady rhythm. keys found pleasure in watching your head hang back with your mouth open and hearing tiny whimpers escape it, knowing he was the reason for them. knowing that he was making you feel good enough to bless him with your sounds. he wondered how many times it had happened before and he wasn’t there to hear them.

“go faster” you pleaded, breathless.

he sped up and started to rub your clit with his thumb, alternating between circling motions and just pressing on it, “like that?”

“yeah- fuck!” keys curled his fingers. “yes like that” you encouraged him to keep going and pulled his head back by his hair, exposing his neck where your mouth found its place, moaning against his jaw “i’m close”

the disappointment was instant.

keys took his hand away from your pussy and lifted it to his face, sucking his digits clean of your arousal. you felt empty the moment he stopped fingering you, but seeing him taste you made it worse. you felt jealous of his own mouth for having his fingers inside. “no, not yet,” he basically made fun of you.

“what the fuck!?” you hit his chest with your fists. you were still trying to catch your breath.

“you said you wanted me inside of you,” he tried to kiss you but you dodged it. “come on,” he rolled his eyes and squeezed your waist over the bra you never got totally off.

“you were inside of me,” you argued like you didn’t know exactly what he meant.

“but i want you to come on my dick,” his erection was pressing on your ass, he felt so hard that it was impossible to not be aware of it, but you had been too focused on your own high to notice it before.

it took everything in you not to look at him, knowing damn well that he probably had his puppy eyes on — a certain trait of him that you had caught on as soon as you started working together — but you did it, looking over his shoulder at the city through the window, the sun just minutes away from fully setting.

two minutes, maybe three passed and neither of you had moved. both of you were too stubborn.

until keys couldn’t take it anymore. your body tensed in anticipation the second it felt his hands travel from your waist to your pussy again. he stopped right above the wet spot on the dark fabric and searched your eyes with his own. you weren’t strong enough and stared right back, a silent agreement crossing your minds as you slightly lifted yourself off of him, so as to make way for him to grab your panties and pull them to the side.

“put it in,” he demanded, helping you up with his free hand on your ass.

your fingers sneaked under the waistband of his boxers; but not before you let them get a feel of his happy trail you were too aware of. after freeing his dick, you grabbed his length on your hand and started to jerk him off as best as you could from that angle.

keys’ hold on you hardened when your thumb rubbed his pink tip, smearing down his precum and getting him ready for you.

you decided to get back at him for his teasing by dragging his tip through your folds twice.

“fuck” he moaned.

once his dick was coated with your arousal, you lined him up with your entrance, ready to have a part of him inside of you again. slowly, you lowered yourself down, and keys let out a groan. there were still a few inches left; yet, you stopped. “shit,” you cursed at nothing. “i can't sit yet,” you told him, overwhelmed by his size.

“it’s okay,” he assured and you hugged him by the neck to try not to fall apart. without a warning, you sat down, taking the rest of him all at once. “holy fuck-” keys screamed in your ear.

“oh my god,” you said at the same time. the stretch burned you in the best way. you could feel him everywhere even if you were not moving.

you rolled your hips forward carefully, trying to get used to the feeling of all of keys inside you. for a moment all you could hear was your own heart beating and the unmistakable sound of skin moving against skin, with your face resting on the crook of his neck.

until he took your hair in a makeshift ponytail and got you out of your hiding spot with a not-so-gentle tug. “look down,” he told you. his dick was buried deep inside of you and there was no space left in between your bodies. “look how i'm filling you up,” keys pressed the heel of his hand on your lower stomach and you swore in that moment you could see stars as your vision got blurry from your watering eyes.

“it feels so good, keys” you managed to say and increased the pace. you began jumping up and down on his cock, all the pain you had felt at first had been replaced with complete ecstasy.

“just like that- you’re so good for me,” his praises made your walls clench “fuck- and so tight” he was again working on your clit, two of his fingers rubbed it relentlessly, sending a shock wave through your spine. “so much better than i imagined”

a knot was forming low on your abdomen and it was clear you weren’t going to last much longer, especially not since you had been so close before with just his fingers, “i’m gonna cum”

keys started to meet you halfway, pounding into you. “come for me, i can feel you want to- you almost came on my fingers now come on my dick” he cried your name out over and over again with each of his thrusts “fuck- fuck- fuck- let me feel how soaked your pussy gets“

the chair creaked under your bodies and if you hadn’t been so drunk on his dick you would’ve worried about breaking it. but in your head there was only keys, and when he hit that special spot inside of you that sent you over the edge, you let go.

“oh- keys,” your pussy squeezed around him as you reached your high and you fell on his chest, spent.

the warmth of your climax, and the clenching and unclenching of your walls as you came down did it for him. “i’m coming, shit- i’m coming,” keys’ broken cries echoed all over the room as he spilled inside of you, incapable of pulling out in time.

his arms wrapped around your middle as he held you close, your chests rose and fell as if you had just ran a marathon. you rested your sticky forehead on his and closed your eyes.

“same time on monday?” keys asked, still trying to catch his breath, and you laughed.

The night of November 12th, 1983, or maybe it was the early hours of November 13th, your friend Will Byers had finally been found after spending a week trapped in a dark, alternate dimension you and your friends had dubbed ‘The Upside Down’.

You were 13 now, the oldest of the party (beating Lucas by a whole 4 months), and Steve was 17.

After you had spent the night chased by government agents, and evil scientists and literal monsters, and after you had watched your new friend Eleven – El – die.

You and your friends had been cramped into the hospital waiting room, hoping to see Will when he woke up. Lucas and Dustin had been passed out, leaning on each other, and your head was on Dustin’s shoulder as you slept too.

Steve Harrington was also in the waiting room, sitting between a snoring Ted Wheeler and the door. His face was bloody and bruised as he stared at a blank spot on the floor ahead of him.

At this point in time, you didn’t know Steve. You knew of him, that he was a douchebag high schooler, that people called him ‘King Steve’, and that he was dating your friend Mike’s older sister, Nancy.

That night is when you think you met Steve Harrington for the first time.

You didn’t see him very often after that, maybe a few times at the Wheeler household when he was hanging out with Nancy and you were there to play D&D in the basement with your friends, sometimes you’d both be seated at the dinner table, but that was about it.

You didn’t really care about Steve then, he was just some guy – an asshole – who was dating Nancy, and nothing else.

That is, until the beginning of November, 1984. Just days after Halloween, after meeting Max Mayfield for the first time, and after Will’s episode on the field at the school.

You’ve always been closer with Dustin and Lucas than you have been to Mike and Will. In fact, out of all of them, you always considered Dustin to be your best friend.

That might be why you answered his code red that morning, while Lucas went out to try and recruit Max, the new girl, into your party. You were all for Max joining your party, you thought she was cool, and it would’ve been nice to have another girl around.

You ended up helping Dustin scrub blood out of the shag carpet in his bedroom, and helped him bury his now-dead cat after Dart, the slug-like creature Dustin had found in his trash, had turned out to be a baby Demogorgon.

Nobody else was answering the call, so you and Dustin headed to the Wheeler house to try and find Mike, or maybe even Nancy, but neither of them were home.

And when the two of you turned away from the front door to head back to your bikes, Dustin muttering obscenities under his breath, you watched a familiar BMW pull up outside the house.

Enter Steve Harrington. Again.

A bouquet of roses in one hand, running the other through his perfectly styled hair, now walking across the Wheelers’ front lawn and towards the door.

Was it fate? No, just convenient timing, but the next night your perception of Steve Harrington would entirely change for the rest of your life.

You had watched him walk down the steps to Dustin’s cellar, nail bat gripped in his hands, and your first thought was that you hadn’t realized how brave Steve Harrington actually was.

And the next day you had followed him down a set of old rail road tracks, dropping chunks of raw meat onto the ground and listening to him giving Dustin horrible advice on girls. At one point, he had even turned back and asked for your opinion, only for you to totally disagree with what he was saying, but he brushed you off like it was nothing.

Soon, once Lucas and Max had joined you in the junkyard, the five of you set up an old bus as your base of operations, and after that you were hiding inside.

Lucas and Max were up on the roof, keeping watch, Dustin was pacing angrily; he was mad about Lucas telling Max everything and letting her tag along, and you were sitting on one of the old bus seats with your arms crossed to your chest, watching Steve flick his lighter open and closed.

He was cool, you could admit that now. Sure, he still seemed like a douchebag, but after spending literally all day with him, you had come to find Steve wasn’t as bad as you had thought.

And he was kind of… cute. He had nice eyes, and a nice nose, and the moles littering his face were just the cherry on top. And not to mention his ridiculous, but somehow attractive hair that you had recently learned he styled with Farrah Fawcett’s hairspray. Plus, he was charming.

He looked up at you, catching you staring, and gave you a smile. Your eyes darted down immediately, face heating up quickly out of embarrassment of being caught.

“You good over there, kid?” He asked, calling out across the bus. You just nodded in response, avoiding his eyes.

That nickname would stick around much longer than you’d have liked.

And once Dart and the other Demo-dogs had started to arrive, and they weren’t taking the bait, Steve tossed his lighter to Dustin, telling him to “get ready,” and you watched him go outside with that nail bat, using himself as bait.

“He’s insane.” Max had stated, and you had silently agreed.

“He’s awesome.” Dustin had said with an awestruck expression, and for some reason you agreed with that too.

Dustin had clearly begun to admire Steve as a kind of role model, while in that moment, as you watched a number of Demodogs surround him swing at the monsters after you and your friends, you were beginning to admire Steve in a different way.

When he had run back to the bus, several Demo-dogs were right on his tail, and you had all screamed at him to run faster until he was eventually launching himself into the bus.

He pushed you all to the back of the bus, away from the monsters clawing at the door, and you were the one to make it to the ladder at the back of the bus, and the moment you looked up at the hole and saw a Demogorgon looking down at you, you screamed loudly.

“Out of the way! Out of the way!” Steve had yelled and Max yanked you back with her own shriek of fear, having seen the monster for the first time. Steve forced his way in front of you all, pushed you behind him, and raised the bat threateningly, ready to swing at the Demogorgon again. “You want some?! Come get this!”

And in that moment, right there in that rusty old bus, you fell in love with Steve Harrington.

He had jumped in front of you with nothing but that nail-studded baseball bat to protect you all, he had pushed you behind him like it was nothing, like it was easy.

For the rest of that night you were practically glued to his side, not close enough for him to notice, but lingering close enough that he was always nearby. Whatever room he was in, you weren’t far behind him.

From your walk to the lab, where you met up with Nancy and Jonathan, and soon after Chief Hopper, Joyce, Mike and Will, all the way to the Byers’ house, where you discovered that Will was possessed by the shadow monster he had seen and was somehow connected to the monsters, like a hive mind.

You and your friends made the connection between the shadow monster and the Mind Flayer, which Dustin then explained to the rest of the group, and soon after you, Dustin, Lucas, Max, Steve and Nancy waited inside while the others tried talking to Will in the newly disguised shed.

You sat on the couch, watching Steve as he practiced swinging his bat in the middle of the living room. You tried not to stare, really, but your newfound crush was hard to ignore. But then, awkwardly, you glanced over to Nancy.

Right, she was Steve’s girlfriend. Or… ex-girlfriend now? You weren’t sure, but all you knew was that you immediately felt guilty and you cast your eyes down to stare at your shoes instead.

When the Byers’s phone rang not once, but twice, and Nancy ripped it from the wall and threw it across the room, everything got hectic immediately.

The others came rushing back inside from the shed, weapons were distributed, and as Steve raised his nail bat, he pushed you behind him again so you were standing beside Dustin.

When the dead Demo-dog came flying through the window, shattering the glass, you all jumped back, and when El walked through the front door, relief flooded through your body immediately.

Her hair that had once been shaved was now slicked back, she was wearing dark clothes, converse and cuffed jeans, and had dark eye makeup on her face.

And when Hopper took a yelling Mike down the hallway to Will’s room after it came out that the Chief had known where she was for the entire last year and hadn’t said a thing to anyone.

But then she walked over to you, Dustin and Lucas, hugging the boys first and even touching Dustin’s teeth, which had only just grown in, before she walked over to hug you next.

“I’ve missed you so much.” You told her and she hugged you tighter.

“I missed you too.” She said before pulling back and smiling. 

Max stepped forward to introduce herself, giving a polite smile and holding out her hand, but instead of greeting her back, El brushed her off and walked away, towards Joyce.

Max turned to look at you, hurt evident on her features, and you watched El walk away.

“Did I do something wrong?” Max whispered to you and you frowned.

“I don’t… No, I don’t think so.” You told her and pat her shoulder.

Then soon after Hopper and El left to close the gate, and Will was taken by the Byers’ and Nancy to try and separate him from the hive mind, which left you and the rest of your friends alone with Steve once more, which was fine until Billy showed up.

Billy Hargrove was Max’s older step-brother, and he was a total piece of shit. Steve had gone outside to try and get him to leave, and Billy had just shoved him to the ground before bursting through the door, but instead of going for Max, he went for Lucas.

You and your friends were all shouting at Billy to stop as he slammed Lucas against the wall, threatening him, telling Lucas he was “So dead.”

And that’s when Steve stepped in and punched Billy, and for a moment things were looking up. Until they weren’t and Steve ended up getting his face pummeled in by Billy, who Max knocked out a moment later with a needle of whatever Hopper had used to knock Will out earlier.

“Shit, shit, shit, what do we do?” Dustin exclaimed, looking down at the two unconscious 18-year-old boys lying in the middle of Joyce Byers’s living room.

“We have to get to the tunnels,” Mike decided immediately. “To help El.”

“What about Steve?” You spoke up, gesturing down to him and his swollen face.

“What about Steve?” Mike repeated, giving you an unbothered look.

“Well, we can’t just leave him here, Mike, look at him.” You pointed out, and the five of you stared down at his bloody face, bruises already blooming on his skin beneath the red liquid.

“She’s right.” Dustin backed you up immediately. “Besides, he just saved Lucas, we can’t just leave him here for Billy to probably murder when he wakes up. Or what if he chokes on his own blood or some shit?”

Mike groaned loudly, rolling his eyes and looking down at his older sister’s ex? boyfriend. “Fine, whatever, we can bring him.”

“Yeah, but how are we even going to get there? It’s not exactly like we can just walk to the farm.” Lucas asked and Max spun on her heels quickly, walking over to Billy and digging through the pockets of his jeans before pulling out his car keys.

“I’ll drive.” Max said, holding the keys up and dangling them from her fingers.

“What? No!” Mike scoffed. “You can’t drive!”

“I’ve driven in a parking lot before, and I can guarantee that’s more than any of you.” She pointed around at the rest of you. “Besides, Steve clearly can’t drive because he’s practically dead.”

Dustin took off running down the hallway.

“Dude, where the hell are you going?” Lucas yelled after him.

“I’m getting medical supplies!” Dustin had shouted back.

You and Dustin were stuck cleaning up Steve’s face to the best of your abilities while the others scrambled around the house, collecting items they said you needed to go into the tunnels and light the ‘hub’ on fire.

Mike made a map based on the drawings taped to the walls, you all put pairs of gloves and masks in the trunk of Billy’s Camaro before you and Dustin hauled Steve into the backseat.

The car was extremely cramped, Max taking the driver’s seat, much to Mike’s chagrin, and Lucas took the passenger seat beside her to navigate with a map of Hawkins.

You, Dustin and Mike squashed into the backseat, and Steve was pulled between you and Dustin, though he was mostly lying on your laps due to the lack of space. At the time you had been extremely thankful that the car was dark, because your face was burning just due to the minimal contact.

After that, the night faded into a blur of chaos. Steve woke up, screaming frantically about Max driving, sounding so terrified that you were surprised he didn’t jump out of his skin, while Mike snapped at her from the backseat. Dustin was doing his best to comfort Steve while Lucas shouted directions at Max over the noise, screaming at how sharply she turned the corner into the farm.

You were frozen in your seat, stiff as a board, because in his panic Steve had grabbed a hold of your arm and now your heart was beating a mile a minute.

Then came the tunnels, dark, slimy, filled with spores from the Upside Down, and monsters from the very same place. Once you had made it to the hub with little-to-no trouble and doused it in gasoline, Steve tossed in his lighter and lit the place up.

You all raced back to the exit while Demo-dogs chased you all down the tunnels. Steve had lifted Max, Lucas and Mike up and out of the hole before the monsters came bounding around the corner, heading right towards you.

Steve’s arms wrapped around you and Dustin instinctively, and you had squeezed your eyes shut out of fear for your life.

The Demo-dogs just ran right by the three of you, and once they were gone, you all let out relieved breaths.

“You okay, Henderson?” Steve asked, patting Dustin on the shoulder and he nodded. Then he looked at you. “You good?”

Steve hoisted Dustin up first, and Mike and Lucas pulled him up and out of the hole. Then Steve turned to face you. 

“Alright, your turn, kid.” He had said, and all you could do was nod before Steve was grabbing your hips to help lift you out of the hole, and butterflies had swarmed in your stomach.

You felt ridiculous. All this for some stupid crush on Steve Harrington? You had to be out of your mind.

Surely it must’ve just been because of the situation over the last few days, and once everything went back to normal, you’d see Steve less and this crush would fade, right?

Wrong.

Suddenly, Steve was everywhere. Since his breakup with Nancy (which you had confirmed a couple weeks later when Will mentioned something about her and Jonathan definitely being together) Steve clearly had a lot of time on his hands, because now he was always hanging out with Dustin.

And because Dustin was your best friend, that meant you saw Steve a lot more than you would’ve liked. And that crush didn’t fade, not even a tiny bit.

By the time December of 1984 rolled around, Hawkins Middle School’s annual winter dance, the Snow Ball, was here.

You had been excited for the dance for weeks, it was an excuse to go out and dress up with your friends for a night, and maybe you hoped a boy would ask you to dance.

You had seen Lucas and Max grow closer, and Mike and El seemed to have something going on, and you wanted something like that too. And, besides, a boy your age asking you to dance might’ve helped you get rid of this stupid crush on him.

But it turned out that the boys at the dance weren’t the people you should’ve been worried about, because not even five minutes after you had arrived, feeling good about yourself and excited to see your friends, Stacey Albright cornered you.

–

Steve watched Dustin walk into the gym with an unfamiliar sense of pride; the smile that sneaks its way onto his face shows as much. He watched Dustin talking with Mr. Clarke, like a proud big brother, before his eyes betrayed him, his gaze slipping past Dustin and landing on Nancy.

Nancy, his now ex-girlfriend, was inside the gym, volunteering at the middle school dance because that’s the kind of person she was.

Steve’s eyes softened, but the smile he had had already disappeared from his face. He only stared for a moment, just a couple of seconds, before he forced himself to start the car and drive away so he could spend the next couple of hours alone before he had to come back and pick Dustin up.

But Steve only drove a few feet away before he stopped again, because as he turned to drive around the side of the gym, he spotted you.

You were sitting on the curb in your dress, knees brought up to your chest, and from where Steve was it looked like you were crying. Steve’s brows scrunched at the sight, why aren’t you inside with the others?

Steve parked not too far away before exiting his car, brushing his hands on the front of his red sweater, before he approached you.

Your eyes were glued to the ground in front of you, your shoulders shaking as your body was wracked with sobs, your chin buried in your arms that sat atop your knees. The sight made Steve frown.

“Hey, kid.” Steve spoke up and you jumped, your head snapping up so quickly Steve thought you were going to get whiplash. “Sorry– didn’t mean to scare you. What are you doing out here?”

You shrug half-heartedly, looking away from Steve and down at the ground, sniffling as you brought a hand up to your face, rubbing your eyes.

“I’m fine.” You told him and Steve let out a snort.

“Yeah, I’m not buying it.” He dropped down onto the curb to sit beside you, and your eyes went wide as you watched him do so. “What’s going on?”

“It’s dumb.” You muttered, still avoiding his eyes.

“It can’t be that dumb if it’s got you out here crying instead of being inside and having fun with your friends.” Steve pointed out and you sighed, still not looking at him. “Come on, kid, talk to me. What’s wrong?”

“Just… some girls.” You mumble, and Steve’s frown etched itself deeper into his face. “They were saying stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?”

You didn’t reply, instead you crossed your arms across your chest and curled further into yourself.

“Sometimes I just wish I was normal.” You said, and Steve paused.

“You are normal.” Steve said and you scoffed.

“No, I’m not.” You stated. “I’m a weird nerd and I’m ugly, and my dress looks ugly and no boys are gonna dance with me, I shouldn’t have even come to this stupid dance.”

For a moment, Steve didn’t know what to say. He knew how to talk to the boys, because he used to be a 13-year-old boy, but you? That was some new territory for him. But he found the words soon enough.

“Don’t listen to those other girls, they’re just jealous.” Steve stated. You immediately opened your mouth to protest, but Steve cut you off. “You’re way cooler than those other girls. You’ve fought interdimensional monsters.”

“You did most of the fighting.” You mumbled, but Steve waved you off.

“That’s besides the point.” He said. “If those other girls are being mean to you, they’re just lame.”

“This dress is lame.” You muttered back, flicking at your skirt.

“No, it’s not. You look pretty.” Steve complimented and you finally looked over at him.

“You really think so?” Your voice was quiet, but your eyes were wide and locked onto Steve as your tear-stained cheeks flushed.

“Very pretty.” He told you with a nod. “Too pretty to be sitting out here and crying while all of your friends are inside and probably wondering where you are.”

“But what if nobody wants to dance with me?” You asked Steve, tears still brimming in the corners of your eyes. “That’s what Stacey said would happen.”

“Well Stacey sounds like a bitch.” Steve stated bluntly, causing a giggle to escape your lips. “And if no boys want to dance with you, it’s because middle school boys are dumb.”

“I can’t wait to go to high school.” You said, and Steve chuckled.

“Yeah, well, high school boys are pretty dumb, too.” He said with an exhale, gesturing to himself. “But trust me, kid, one day you’re gonna find some guy who loves you for all those things you don’t like about yourself, and those girls are probably never gonna find something like that.”

“What makes you so sure?” You asked Steve, more curious than anything, but still soaking in every word.

Steve just shrugs. “Because you deserve it.”

You stared at him for a moment. You had stopped crying by now, and Steve took that as a small victory as you gave him a small smile.

“Thanks, Steve.” You sighed and Steve stood up, offering you his hand.

“Come on, let’s get you inside to your friends.” Steve said and you took his hand and let him lift you to your feet. You brushed off your skirt, frowning as you wiped your cheeks, and you nodded.

But you didn’t even make it around the corner before you froze at the sound of Cyndi Lauper’s Time After Time flooding out from the gym.

You spun around to face Steve again.

“I can’t do it. Nobody’s gonna dance with me.” You stated. “I don’t even know how to dance.”

“It’s easy.” Steve shrugged, then he offered you his hand again. “Come on, I’ll show you.”

“Steve, you don’t have to.” You told him, eyes full of panic, but he brushed it off.

“I need practice before prom anyway, if anything you’re doing me a favor.” He said, making you chuckle. “Here, put your hands on my shoulders.”

That night Steve Harrington became the first boy you had ever danced with, in the dark Hawkins Middle School parking lot in the middle of a cold December night.

That night you also knew you were completely screwed, and no boy your age would ever stand a chance, because you were absolutely head-over-heels obsessed with Steve Harrington.

–

The new year came quickly after that, and with 1985 came a brand new mall in Hawkins called Starcourt Mall, and after you and your friends officially finished middle school you were all spending almost every day of the summer there.

Well, all except Dustin, who went off to summer camp in the beginning of June. But the rest of you were spending your days outside riding your bikes or going swimming in the day before heading to the mall in the evenings.

And your favorite part of each trip to Starcourt, by far, was when you’d visit the little ice cream shop, Scoops Ahoy. Sometimes it was just for a snack, and sometimes it was to sneak into the movie theater for free.

The reason didn’t matter to you, because you were just happy to see Steve. He had gotten a job at Scoops Ahoy for the summer, which meant every time you went there, he was standing behind the counter in a cheesy sailor’s costume that he somehow still looked good in, hat and all. You were sure your face had flushed with heat the first time you had noticed his chest hair peeking out from beneath the shirt of his uniform.

There’s only one thing you didn’t like about seeing Steve at Scoops Ahoy, and that’s when he flirted with almost every girl his age who crossed the counter. He didn’t score a single date, not in that uniform, but it still hurt.

It made you wish that you were just a few years older. It made you think, if I was his age maybe he’d actually return your feelings.

And the thing was, Steve didn’t have a clue.

He greeted you casually, smiling at you or rolling his eyes like he did with all of your friends. A part of you was upset, but another part of you knew it was for the better. 

Steve had just turned 19 that June, and you were turning 15 in September. He had graduated high school, and you were only just about to start when the summer was over.

Realistically, you knew it wouldn’t work, and you knew it would be just weird if Steve actually liked you back at that point, but it still felt like a curse.

–

The night before Dustin came home from Camp Knowhere, you and your friends wanted to go see Day of the Dead, which meant you had to sneak in. And sneaking in meant seeing Steve.

It’s not that you purposefully dressed up just because you’d be seeing Steve for what was probably one minute at most, but you might’ve been dressed just a little bit nicer than usual for a trip to the movies with your friends.

Of course, you, Lucas, Max and Will all ended up waiting outside the mall for Mike to arrive from his usual daily visit to El at Hopper’s cabin, which meant your friends had plenty of time to analyse your outfit–specifically Max.

“Why are you dressed up?” She asked you suddenly, cutting off Lucas and Will’s complaining about Mike’s tardiness, and you scoffed.

“I’m not, these are my regular clothes.” You weren’t exactly lying, but you weren’t telling the whole truth either.

Max’s eyes narrowed at you, but Lucas shrugged from beside her. “I think she’s dressed normally.”

“Thank you.” You said to Lucas, but Max just raised an eyebrow.

“Right.” She nodded slowly, and a moment later Mike arrived.

“You’re late.” Lucas had stated with crossed arms as Mike jumped off off his bike.

“Sorry!” Mike replied, but he didn’t seem to mean it.

“Again.” Lucas emphasised.

“We’re gonna miss the opening.” Will added.

“Yeah, if you guys keep whining about it.” Mike said as he put his bike in the bike rack. “Let’s go!”

“‘If you guys keep whining about it. Nyeh-nyeh-nyeh.’” Lucas imitated Mike and you had snickered.

Then as you walked through the mall, Lucas complained about and mocked Mike for spending so much time with El and not the rest of you. It made you and Will laugh.

As you and your friends pushed your way down the escalator and towards the food court, bumping into a bunch of people as you went, your stomach began to flip with excitement.

You all made it to Scoops Ahoy and Steve was nowhere to be seen, instead his co-worker Robin was behind the counter. You thought Robin seemed cool, from what you had seen she was funny, sometimes a little blunt, but you liked her. You just hoped Steve didn’t.

Mike smacked his hand down on the bell on the counter several times, despite the fact that Robin was right there. She sighed and called out, “Hey, dingus, your children are here!”

And then the window on the back wall slid open and there was Steve in his sailor uniform with a scowl on his face as he looked over your group.

“Again? Seriously?” He asked, but instead Mike just rang the bell once more. He groaned, but ushered you all over.

He held the door to the back room open for you all, Mike and Will entering first, then Lucas and Max, and you were pulling up the rear. You smiled up at him as you passed him.

“Hi, Steve.” You greeted quietly and he sighed, but put on a smile.

“Hey, kid.” He said, letting the back door swing shut before he headed to the front of the group to open the door to the delivery tunnel out the back. He peered out through the peephole to make sure nobody was around before ushering you all out the door and into the hallway. “Come on. Come on.”

While your friends all pushed in and walked ahead, you gave Steve an appreciative smile. He didn’t pay any mind, instead just looked pretty stressed out as he called out after you all.

“I swear, if anyone finds out about this–” He would say the same thing almost every time, because he was worried about losing his job, but he knew your friends wouldn’t give up until he let them through.

“We’re dead!” You all chorused and you waved to Steve before following your friends down the hallway.

Steve closed the door with a heavy sigh and walked through the Scoops Ahoy back room before he made it behind the counter again, only to find his co-worker Robin already staring at him with an amused smile.

“Oh, what now?” He groaned and she chuckled.

“That little girl has a crush on you.” Robin stated and Steve stopped in his tracks, his blue Adidas sneakers squeaking against the tiled floor.

“What? Who, Max?” He asked, confused. “I’m pretty sure she’s actually with Lucas again right now, so you’re definitely wrong.”

“Is Max the redhead?” Robin asked and when Steve nodded she sighed. “Well, I’m not talking about her, I’m talking about the other girl.”

Steve said your name, and now looked even more puzzled, his brows drawing inwards as he looked at Robin. “No, she doesn’t.”

“Uh, yes, she totally does, dingus.” Robin chuckled, shaking her head. “God, you really are oblivious.”

“Um, no, those kids all see me as, like, I don’t know… A babysitter, older brother type, you know? I’m their friend.” Steve explained, like Robin was maybe just missing something. She was completely unaware of the trauma bond that had formed between the group over the last two falls. “She doesn’t have a crush on me, okay? She probably just thinks I’m cool.”

But, of course, Steve was wrong and Robin was absolutely right, because you did have a crush on Steve, which is what Max had been making fun of you for quietly as you walked through the delivery tunnels.

“You totally have a crush on Steve!” She had whisper-shouted to you at the back of the group with a giggle and your cheeks flushed with warmth.

“No, I don’t.” You lied. “Shut up.”

“That’s why you got all dressed up!” She realized and you shot her a glare.

“Shut up, Max, before the others hear you.” You hissed and she snickered.

“I knew it.”

When you had successfully made it into the theatre, you had split off to the few empty seats in the room. Max and Lucas ended up in the row in front of you, Mike and Will

The movie had been fine, except for the fact the power had cut out completely only a few minutes in. But it wasn’t just in the cinema, it wasn’t even just Starcourt Mall, it was the entire town of Hawkins.

When the power came back and the movie continued to play, the entire theater cheered before falling back to a regular silence and the rest of the night went on just fine. Completely normal, unlike the rest of the week would turn out to be.

–

The next day you and your friends surprise Dustin at his house once he returns from camp, and Lucas ended up with hairspray in his eyes.

Finding out that Dustin had somehow scored a girlfriend he deemed ‘hotter than Phoebe Cates’ in his three-week-long science camp was a shock to not only you, but the rest of your friends too.

But that wasn’t as much of a shock as what you and Dustin heard on his super radio, which he had named Cerebro in a true X-Men fan fashion.

You had all spent the entire afternoon lugging Dustin’s radio equipment up the tallest hill in Hawkins, one your friends called Weathertop, because he wanted to introduce you all to his girlfriend, Suzie.

But as the day turned into night and Suzie was nowhere to be heard, your friends had slipped away one-by-one. First Mike and El, who had ditched you before even making it up the hill, then Lucas and Max who left once nightfall had hit. Will stayed the longest, but once it started to get too late he left too, suggesting you all play Dungeons and Dragons the next day.

You stuck around, mostly because you had noticed the way Dustin had seemed to deflate as each of your friends left, and you wanted to know if his girlfriend was real or not.

“Guess it’s just you and me, huh?” Dustin had said and you just nodded at him in the dark as he repeated the prase, “Suzie, do you copy?”

By the end of the night you still hadn’t heard from Suzie, but you and Dustin had somehow intercepted what sounded like a secret Russian communication. Which led you to Scoops Ahoy the next day.

Dustin, of course, had wanted to see Steve and complain about how everyone else had ditched him the night before, but he also wanted to recruit him because overnight he had somehow gotten the idea that if you were to translate the Russian phrases he had recorded off the radio, you’d all become ‘American Heroes’.

The thing is, though, Dustin wanted to tell Steve all of this alone, which meant while they were talking in a booth in the back corner, you were leaning against the front corner, shooting them glances.

Robin was behind the counter, serving customers and wiping down benches, while also watching you. And after calling out to Dustin, making fun of Steve, she turned to you.

“So…” She said your name and you looked up. “That’s your name, isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” You replied and she nodded.

“Cool. So, uh, how long have you had a crush on Harrington over there?” She asked and your cheeks immediately flushed with warmth. Your fingers pinched at the chain of the necklace hanging from your neck, fiddling with the charm.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You lied. 13-year-olds aren’t the best at lying, and Robin very clearly saw right through you. “He’s, you know, old. And dumb. And hairy.”

Robin snickered and you looked down at your shoes. “Right.”

“I would never like him, okay?” You defended weakly.

“Like who?” Steve’s voice came from behind you and you froze, eyes going wide.

“Nobody.” You muttered and he raised his eyebrows. Dustin’s eyes locked onto yours and he stared you down like he was trying to read your mind. “Seriously, nobody.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, kid.” Steve teased and Robin glanced at you with amusement evident on her features. Then he nodded for you to follow him and Dustin to the backroom of Scoops Ahoy.

That’s where you spent the rest of the day, translating Russian phrases that seemed to be utter nonsense. Not a single word seemed to correlate with one another, and yet you had ended up translating a few sentences anyway.

Then, as you left Scoops Ahoy that night, you had all debated whether or not ‘The week is long, the silver cat feeds when blue meets yellow in the west,’ was a secret code of some kind.

And then Steve worked out that the music in the background of the recording, something the rest of you had chosen to ignore, was in fact coming from a mechanical horse from inside of Starcourt Mall.

Then Robin left on her bike, while Steve waited in his car, watching to make sure you and Dustin were alright riding your bikes home.

When you were gone, riding your bikes side by side, Dustin spoke up. He offered for you to stay the night at his. He knew you didn’t want to go home, not to your parents who fight every night. You took him up on the offer.

The next day, you and Robin sat around at Scoops Ahoy trying to crack the entire code you had finished translating while Steve and Dustin searched the mall for any signs of ‘secret Russians’.

You sat cross legged on a countertop in the back room, the straw of a milkshake between your lips while Robin mumbled the same words over and over, staring down at a notepad.

Robin cracked the code that same day, and that night was the night you found the secret room in the back of the mall, guarded by what your group had now confirmed to be ‘Evil Russians’.

But, of course, finding the room wasn’t enough and then you needed to find a way in, and after Robin bought blueprints to the mall and roped Erica Sinclair into the mix, you made it into the secret room the next night.

Upon opening a box that was labelled for the mall’s Chinese restaurant, you all found something that absolutely wasn’t Chinese food. Once Steve had pulled out a glass cylinder of some kind of mysterious, green liquid, the secret room had began to move.

That was when you found out the room was an elevator.

The next couple of days were a blur. You were all stuck in that elevator overnight, you had to spend the night listening to Steve and Robin talking the entire time while your chest burned with jealousy.

But the rest of your time in that dark, underground base was worse. So much worse.

You had spent almost all day walking down a painfully long hallway, arguing about the design of the base, who was and wasn’t a nerd, and whatever the hell that mysterious, green and acidic liquid was. There was even one small moment where you, Dustin and Steve had all shared looks and debated quietly whether or not the Russians knew about the Upside Down.

Then you made it to the main part of the bunker which was crawling with soldiers and scientists. You made it up to the comms room and watched Steve fight and successfully knock out one of the Russian soldiers.

While Dustin celebrated and Steve smiled proudly, pushing some of his floppy hair away from his face, you had struggled to tear your eyes away from him. That was, until Robin found something at the top of a set of stairs.

It was a giant machine, and that machine was opening a gate. A gate to the Upside Down.

You couldn’t even explain anything to Robin or Erica because a moment later the five of you were sprinting down hallways and running around corners while Russian soldiers chased you until Steve and Robin had yelled for the three of you to leave them behind and escape into the vents.

You, of course, had been extremely hesitant. You didn’t want to leave them, and neither did Dustin, but they were busy trying to hold a door shut and get the rest of you out of there to follow you.

Erica went in first, then you had forced yourself to follow her before Dustin joined you in the vents and you crawled away having to listen to the sound of yelling in Russian behind you, because Steve and Robin had been caught.

Your time in the vents might’ve been worse than the elevator or the hallway, because now you were terrified. You had no idea if Steve and Robin were okay, or even alive. You had no idea where you were or how to get out of the bunker. 

While Dustin explained everything to Erica, about when Will went missing and the Upside Down, and the two had an entire long conversation about My Little Pony, you were silent, only chiming in a few times to add to Dustin’s story. Erica had believed it all, except for the fact that Lucas was there, which was apparently hard for her to believe.

Once you had made it out of the vents and found Steve and Robin, they weren’t in the best condition at all.

You had gasped upon running into the room to find his face beaten black and blue, blood coated his face and his uniform and his eye was swollen shut. Robin looked better, shaken but unharmed for the most part.

Dustin had taken out the doctor in the room and the three of you had hurried to untie the older teens. The only issue was that Steve and Robin weren’t acting right.

They were giggling, a little hyperactive, whispering to one another, laughing hysterically at things that weren’t even funny, and just acting nothing like themselves.

You were the one to come to the conclusion that they were drugged once you were all back in the elevator, this time heading up. You had just watched Steve tumble to the ground after pretending he was surfing on some kind of delivery cart.

Dustin had checked and found his pupils were dilated and his eyes were a bright red. Though neither of them would give any of you a straight answer.

After getting out of the elevator, you had made it maybe ten feet away from the doors before two Russian guards were running towards you.

“Shit!” You and Dustin had yelled and shared a look before ushering Steve and Robin towards a door by your side.

“Why are we running?” Steve questioned and you had grabbed onto his arm to pull him into the delivery tunnels you would use to sneak into the cinema, and despite everything going on your stomach had fluttered at the contact.

Hiding in the cinema was easy. There was a late night showing of Back to the Future playing and you had forced Steve and Robin down into front row seats. You, Dustin and Erica had found more seats, but a moment later you and Dustin had headed up to the projection room with his walkie to try and get into contact with any of the others.

Luckily, you had managed to get into contact with Mike.

Unluckily, you had barely been able to tell him anything before the audio cut out and Dustin’s walkie ran out of battery.

He turned to face you with a desperate expression.

“Do you have yours?” He asked and you shook your head before pausing. “What about more batteries?”

“Wait–” You had realized and your face lit up as you met Dustin’s eyes. “I think my walkie is still in the backroom at Scoops.”

“Does it have battery?” He questioned you.

“I mean, it should do. It hasn’t been used in like a day.” You pointed out and Dustin shrugged. “Do you think we’d be able to get down to Scoops without getting caught?”

“Do you know the way through the tunnels?” He asked and you nodded.

“You have no idea how many movies Steve has sneaked us into, dude. Yeah, I know the way.” You stated before you both jumped up and hurried back down to the front row to find Erica.

The only issue was that now Steve and Robin weren’t in their seats.

After some searching, you had found them in the women’s bathroom, sitting on the dirty floor of the same stall, facing each other and laughing.

While Dustin scolded the pair for running off, you were trying your best to push down that disgusting feeling of jealously that swirled in your stomach.

The rest of the night was a mix of running from both Russian soldiers and a giant flesh-like version of the Mind Flayer, arguing with the rest of the group once you had all reconvened and shared what you had each discovered. 

There was blood, you had to hold El’s hand tight while Jonathan had sliced her leg open looking for something that had been moving inside it. There had been singing, when Dustin had somehow come into contact with his girlfriend Suzie and you and Erica just had to sit on the grass beside him and watch. There had been fire, after the others had used fireworks to attack the Mind Flayer they had unintentionally set the entire mall on fire.

And there had been tears, because when they were down in that Russian bunker to close the gate that had been opened, Hopper had died. And Max’s step-brother Billy had been killed by the Mind Flayer right in front of her.

But, for the most part, everyone was okay. Some bloodier than others, some suffering a little more trauma than before, but okay.

Once he had gotten his keys back, some American soldiers had recovered them from the Russian base, Steve had driven you, Dustin and Robin back to his place.

The Harrington house was large, and empty. Steve had made some excuse saying it was to make sure the drugs wouldn’t kill him and Robin in their sleep, saying something else about how he had accidentally given the Russians Dustin’s full name, but you had a feeling he just didn’t want to be alone, not after everything that had happened.

The four of you had crashed in his living room, Steve covering the sofas and large wooden floor in a collection of pillows and blankets before you all practically passed out, sleeping in until late the next afternoon.

–

El and the Byers’ moved three months later, not long after you all started high school. Saying goodbye to your friends before they moved to California wasn’t easy for any of you, especially not for Mike, but you all pushed through.

High school was different. You, Dustin, Lucas and Mike had a rough start, but soon you joined a D&D club called the Hellfire Club, led by a senior named Eddie Munson.

Eddie was great, despite being older than most seniors due to being held back for several years. He was cool, he was funny, he had a band and he loved D&D.

Steve, unlike the rest of you, didn’t like Eddie very much. He would make vague comments here and there whenever Dustin mentioned him in passing, or when Mike talked about Hellfire, or when Lucas told him a story while the two practiced basketball.

High school was very different from middle school. While, at first, you and your friends had fallen into your usual places at the bottom of the food chain, that didn’t last long for some of you.

Lucas had made it onto the basketball team, though he had been riding the bench all year, which had already given him a bit of a boost when it came to terms of friends. 

Mike and Dustin didn’t seem to care about popularity, rather embracing the fact that you were all nerds and geeks thanks to Eddie’s ‘guidance’.

Max still sat with you guys sometimes, hung out occasionally, but she had started to isolate herself from everyone. She had been struggling mentally, mostly due to her step-brother’s death, something she only ever told the school therapist and, well, you.

You weren’t quite sure what had happened to you in high school, or what had happened to your peers, because the bullying from other girls had diminished, and now they actually talked to you in the hallways, or sat with you in class, or paired up with you for projects.

It was different, but it was nice.

Though, sure, there were still times where they’d judge your friends, or some of your interests, like D&D, but you’d much prefer they make fun of the fantasy game you played with your friends than make fun of you.

Your first year of high school started off fine, great even, up until Spring break.

That’s when shit really hit the fan.

The last day of school before break was the last day of the Hellfire Club’s D&D campaign against the cult of Vecna, but it had coincided with Lucas’s basketball game. You had wanted to go and watch, but Eddie was already pissed enough that Lucas would be missing Hellfire, and you didn’t want to get on his bad side.

So you instead recruited Erica to be his substitute for the night, though you felt bad for missing your friend’s game, especially when you found out he not only actually had a chance to play, but had scored the team’s winning shot.

But the break itself was worse.

Mike had gone to California to visit El and Will, while you, Dustin and Max spent the first day of your break finding out that a Hawkins High student, Chrissy Cunningham, was found murdered at the trailer park Max lived in – specifically in Eddie’s trailer.

But Eddie himself was nowhere to be found, Max had seen him fleeing the scene in fear the night before, speeding out of the trailer park faster than she had ever seen him drive before.

So, of course, you, Dustin and Max had ended up in Family Video, where Steve and Robin had been working since about October, since the Byers’ had left town. 

Your group debated on whether or not Eddie was capable of murder, Steve being the only person to really think he was, while proceeding to use the three phones inside the video store to call Eddie’s friends in an attempt to track him down.

You were helping your friends, of course you were, but you couldn’t help but sneak longing stares over at Steve as he ‘attended to the customers’, and flirted with any girl his age that walked through those glass doors.

But you pushed down those feelings of jealousy and disappointment you had grown familiar with and did your best to focus on the task at hand. 

Still your eyes would betray you and flick towards Steve every so often, taking him in. The way his green vest stretched over his shoulders, the chest hair sticking out from the open top buttons of his polo shirt.

You’d watch him drag his hands through his hair in some kind of pathetic attempt to impress a girl who turned out to have a boyfriend and mourned the fact that you’d never be able to have him.

Eventually your friends managed to track Eddie down to the house of a drug dealer named ‘Reefer Rick’, and once you found him there, wide-eyed, shaking and terrified, Eddie told you all about what had happened with Chrissy.

How she seemed to be in a trance, how she floated into the air with her eyes rolled into the back of her head. How each of her limbs snapped and broke violently before her eyes popped from her skull and her body crumpled to the ground right in front of Eddie.

You, Dustin and Eddie then noticed the similarities between Chrissy’s trance and being under a spell or a curse. Specifically, Vecna’s curse. The same dark wizard you had just finished fighting in your Hellfire campaign.

You and your friends spent the next days doing your best to keep Eddie hidden from the police, bringing him food deliveries when you could, while also doing whatever research you could to find out what, or who, Vecna was, and why he was going after Hawkins High students.

After the second murder, a boy from the school paper named Fred, Nancy Wheeler joined your small group and you had to pretend you weren’t jealous whenever Steve looked her way, his eyes softening. When he practically jumped at the opportunity to go with her to follow a potential lead, only to end up pissed off when Robin went with her and he was stuck ‘babysitting’ you, Dustin and Max.

But then you found out Vecna was going after Max next, and suddenly everything was scarier. When you watched her float into the air just moments after Lucas had slipped her headphones over her ears, you thought she was going to die.

You had grabbed onto Steve’s arm out of fear, staring up at your friend as you all screamed her name, begging for her to come back down to the ground and out of that trance she was stuck in.

And she did, Max fell to the ground with the rest of you and Lucas cradled her shaking body in his arms, holding her close to his chest as she struggled to catch her breath.

After Nancy and Robin found out that Victor Creel’s family might’ve also been killed by Vecna, and Max had seen an old, broken house when she was in Vecna’s mind, your group went to the old abandoned Creel home to search for clues.

After Max found an old grandfather clock identical to the one she had seen in her visions, and Steve had suggested that Vecna could’ve been a clockmaker, you all split off into groups to explore. Robin and Nancy went together, Max and Lucas, which left you with Dustin and Steve.

Steve didn’t seem too thrilled, letting out a loud sigh and complaining about always being grouped with Dustin.

It made you frown, disappointment flooding your body. First you had been watching him make eyes and flirt with Nancy for the last couple of days, and now he was acting like being grouped with you and Dustin was a chore.

You were quiet as the two boys argued, Dustin quoting Sherlock Holmes and Steve not understanding a word before Dustin wandered off, and you followed behind.

Nobody really found anything in the house, but at one point while crossing the upstairs hallway you caught a glimpse of Steve and Nancy standing a little too close together while she smiled up at him. That was enough to dampen your mood for the rest of the night.

You knew it shouldn’t have mattered, there were more pressing issues going on at the time – like the fact Max had almost died and Eddie was being framed for murder – but you just couldn’t shake the jealous feeling away.

That night, after your flashlights had all blown up, you spent the night staring at the ceiling and replaying the way Steve had looked at Nancy over and over again.

It had just made you feel ridiculous. You needed to move on, find someone your own age, someone who could actually return your feelings and give you that love you craved so much. So you decided that you would, that tonight was the last night you would care about Steve Harrington and after that he would go back to being nothing more than a friend.

And then you saw him the next day, wearing that yellow sweater with a wide smile on his face, offering you Pringles in the back of Nancy’s station wagon, and you tried so hard to ignore the way your stomach fluttered when his big, brown puppy dog eyes met yours.

The fact that Vecna had killed another teenager – a boy from the basketball team named Patrick – the night before helped keep you distracted, but when you and your friends were walking through the woods in search of Eddie, following Steve and Dustin as they argued while leading you all to ‘Skull Rock’, you were left alone with your thoughts.

Of course, it wasn’t that long before Steve had found Skull Rock and began rubbing it in Dustin’s face that he was right and your best friend was wrong and you had found Eddie.

While Eddie ate the food you had all brought for him and he recounted the previous night’s events, including when Patrick was lifted into the air in the middle of Lover’s Lake and had each of his limbs snapped one by one, Dustin paced back and forth while staring down at his compass.

That was, until he yelled out a very loud, “Boom!” That echoed through the woods before he pointed at Steve. “Bada boom.”

Steve, naturally, was confused, as were the rest of you, before Dustin began spouting off about how Skull Rock was North once more, which made Steve roll his eyes before he started to argue back.

Then Dustin told you all that Skull Rock in fact was North, and his compass had been leading him in the wrong direction, which then made him point towards you and Lucas, making you recall a piece of information you had learned back when you were 13 and had just learned about El and the lab for the first time.

“Do you guys remember what can affect a compass?” Dustin had asked, and it was like a lightbulb had gone off in your head.

“An electromagnetic field.” You and Lucas both answered, like the memory of that information had just resurfaced for the first time in years.

While the others in the group were confused, you were starting to understand what Dustin was getting at. There was likely a gate somewhere nearby, much like when your compasses had deflected towards the lab back in 1983.

The rest of the afternoon was spent following Dustin and his compass through the woods as the sun set and darkness fell over Hawkins, and eventually his compass had started going totally beserk and he started running.

Eddie managed to grab him by the shoulder and stop Dustin from falling right into Lover’s Lake, which was where the compass had led him, which meant the gate was likely somewhere… inside of it.

The older teens all ended up on a rowboat with Dustin’s compass, leaving you, Dustin, Lucas and Max on the shore, watching them with a pair of binoculars.

“Wait, wait, wait. They’re stopping.” Lucas said suddenly, holding the binoculars to his eyes while hitting Dustin in the chest. “What are they stopping for?”

Dustin scrambled for his walkie. “Guys, what’s going on? Come on, guys, talk to me, what’s going on?”

You and Max had been standing off to the side, a little further back, whispering to each other, but your attention had been stolen once the boys had started to speak.

“Uh, Dustin, your compass has gone from wonky to wonky with a capital, ‘ahh!’” Robin’s voice crackled through and you had sighed, disappointed that you were all sidelined and forced to stay on the shore.

A few more silent moments passed before Lucas let out a disgusted groan.

“Ugh. When’d Steve get so hairy?” He asked and Max’s head snapped towards you with a wide smirk on her face, making your cheeks heat up as you whispered for her to stop.

“Right? I keep telling him he needs to tame that jungle, but he claims the ladies dig it.” Dustin explained and the boys each made a face before you stepped forward and reached for the binoculars around Lucas’s neck.

“Pass me those.” You said and he shot you a confused look before you took them right from his hands and peered through them yourself, getting a look at a very shirtless Steve Harrington in all his glory.

Lucas and Dustin shared confused looks for a moment before Dustin made a sound that was half a scoff, half a surprised yelp before asking, “Dude! What the hell?”

You just gave a shrug and watched as Steve dove into the lake, disappearing beneath the cold, dark water, and you handed the binoculars back to Lucas.

However, you and your friends didn’t get to see the outcome of the dive, because only a few moments after Steve dove in, you and your friends were lying on the ground and hiding behind a log because the cops had arrived.

Robin’s voice crackled through on Dustin’s walkie, saying Steve found the gate, but none of you paid any mind as he switched the walkie off and you stayed hidden for a moment more. And in order to keep the cops away from Eddie, Max jumped up and yelled for the cops to follow her.

Of course, you all got caught, and an hour later the four of you were cramped onto the couch in the Wheelers’ living room, surrounded by cops and your parents.

You had shrunk into the sofa at the sight of both your mother and father in the same room, but this time their anger was directed at you and not each other.

After some questioning, where you all lied in response to almost every question, you explained everything that had been going on to Erica, and she was the one who noticed the blinking light in the dining room, morse code that Dustin translated spelling out S.O.S..

Communicating with Steve, Nancy, Robin and Eddie in the Upside Down using Holly Wheeler’s lite-brite seemed crazy, but what was crazier was sneaking out of Nancy Wheeler’s bedroom window and running away from the cops, Erica popping the tires of the police cruiser before the now five of you rode your bikes across town to Eddie’s trailer.

There was a gate on the ceiling, and Dustin used a broom to break open the red, fleshy gateway to reveal the Upside Down on the other side. A moment later, Steve appeared above you, standing in the same place you were, looking up – or down – at the rest of you. Nancy, Robin and Eddie followed suit and you all waved happily, chuckling at the absurdity of the situation, before you were dragging Eddie’s mattress out of his bedroom to use as a landing pad to help the others through the gate and back to your world.

Except that proved difficult when after Robin and Eddie had crossed over, Nancy ended up in a trance much like Max and the rest of you searched Eddie’s trailer for any music that could help her while Steve stayed with her in the Upside Down, cupping her face and shouting for you all to hurry.

But Nancy got out of the trance on her own, and once she explained to you all what had happened, what she had seen, what Vecna – or Henry Creel, Number One – had shown her, to say you were terrified would be an understatement.

The end of the world. Hawkins on fire, everyone dying. Four gates opening up and spreading across Hawkins, splitting the Earth open.

Hearing that was enough to stop you from thinking about how Steve was sitting just a couple of feet away from you, completely shirtless except for Eddie’s denim vest he had started wearing at some point in the Upside Down.

So your group started coming up with a plan, Vecna wanted to kill four people, so Max would offer herself up as bait. Then, you’d strike.

Naturally, Eddie suggested getting weapons and gear from an army surplus store known as ‘The War Zone’, but it was too far for you to bike there. So Eddie hotwired his neighbors’ motor home and had Steve drive the damn thing there.

Halfway there, you had been sitting at a table in the back with Dustin, but your eyes kept drifting over to Steve driving the RV, and Nancy in the passenger seat talking to him with a soft smile. And Steve would turn and look at her with an expression you could only describe as pure longing, maybe even love.

And he told her a story about his dream for the future, about driving around in a Winnebago with five or six kids of his own, and then he looked at Nancy again. Suddenly you wanted to sink into the floor and never come back.

At the War Zone, you had to stay in the RV with Eddie, Dustin and Lucas as members of the Hellfire Club who were currently being hunted like the Salem Witch Trials, and obviously one of you had been framed for several murders in town. All of Hawkins believed you to be devil worshippers of some kind.

After your friends bought half of the store and then had a brief run in with Jason, Chrissy’s boyfriend, and the other members of the basketball team who were currently hunting you all down – especially Eddie – Steve, now dressed in a leather jacket and a camo shirt, pulled the RV off onto a field where you all began preparing your weapons.

You sat beside Max and Nancy on some old milk crates as Nancy sawed off the end of her new shotgun. Max asked her if it was legal for her to do so, and Nancy replied with something about it being a felony. You were distracted, yet again, by your overwhelming crush on Steve.

He was sitting with Robin in front of the Winnebago, filling bottles with kerosene to make their own flaming molotovs. And you kept glancing his way, then practically staring.

Then, at one point, he looked up and glanced your way. Your eyes darted away immediately and you turned your body to face Max, unaware that Steve hadn’t even noticed you staring because he had been looking at Nancy.

Max chuckled at you and immediately began with the teasing again, some comment about you drooling or making ‘heart eyes’ at Steve. You shushed her, but it was too late because Nancy, Steve’s ex-girlfriend who he had been flirting with over the last several days straight, had heard her.

Your face flushed with warmth and you looked down at your shoes on the grass, then shot Max a harsh glare when you thought Nancy wasn’t looking. But, of course, she still was, and even huffed out a little laugh.

“It’s okay,” She told you, her lip quirking up slightly as she said your name, and your attention was all hers a moment later. “I mean, I was the same once upon a time. Had a big crush on Steve, obviously you knew that because we…”

“Nancy.” You groaned, covering your face with your hands out of embarrassment, and Max had immediately started saying something about you being ‘in love with Steve for like two years’. 

You should’ve been used to her teasing by now, it was stupid and you knew it. It was just some dumb teenage crush. But you had slowly began curling into yourself, your arms wrapping around your body as your thoughts and insecurities took over.

You weren’t sure if it was about Steve, or just about craving that kind of attention. Craving love and a relationship, much like you had seen and heard from your friends.

Max and Lucas, Mike and El, Dustin and his long distance girlfriend Suzie, hell, even seeing Nancy with Jonathan. It felt like you were missing out on something that everyone else was allowed to have.

Your friends were all growing up and getting these experiences you could only dream of, like having a first kiss, or dancing with a boy who actually liked you and wasn’t just trying to comfort you when he found you crying on the curb outside the Middle School gymnasium.

So you lived vicariously through teen romcoms and stories from other girls in school, fantasizing about the moment a boy would actually show that kind of interest towards you. To want you, to love you.

And Steve… Steve was older. He was cool, he was good looking, he was funny, he had that charm you had seen him use to ask girls out on dates at Family Video while you were browsing for the closest thing you’d ever get to a relationship, aka. Star Wars, where you’d watch Han and Leia and sigh to yourself, or some cheesy movie where the guy pines after a girl for years and then finally wins her heart.

But Steve was also the first boy who had ever said that you looked pretty, and he was the first boy who had ever danced with you. And he was the first boy you had ever had a crush on that had lasted longer than a couple weeks.

All of it together was just enough to make you crave it so badly. Crave that experience of a relationship and that feeling of love.

And of course the only boy you had ever really liked had absolutely no chance of liking you back. Not in a million years.

“Can we just drop it please?” You asked and while Max nodded, Nancy gave you a sympathetic look that made you want to crawl into a hole and die.

So that night you were dropped off at the Creel House with Max, Lucas and Erica, and after stepping off of the dead silent Winnebago, you turned back and looked at Steve, eyes full of fear. He was watching you all as you left, and when he saw you looking back, he nodded at you, telling you to go on.

You did. You followed your friends into the creaky, old, crumbling house as the sun set, unaware of just how badly the night would end.

It started off okay, walking around the house only in socks, using lanterns as light and communicating using notepads to avoid making any noise that could potentially alert Vecna to your positions, and soon you and Erica had been hurrying outside as phase 2 initiated, to signal to the others in the Upside Down when you were going into phase 3. 

That’s when shit went downhill, because then Jason and his jock friends showed up. One of the basketballers, Andy, chased you and Erica away from the playground before he tackled you to the ground and pinned your arms behind your back.

You had been struggling against his grip until Erica managed to push him off of you and kicked him right in the balls, and Andy curled into himself, his hands grabbing at his crotch as he groaned in pain.

Then you and Erica had sprinted back into the Creel House, where Jason had headed when Andy went after you. The attic door had been locked once you reached it, but the two of you had managed to break it open and make it up to where Lucas and Max had been.

“Lucas!” Erica called out her brother’s name and you froze at the top of the stairs because Lucas was sobbing on the ground with Max pulled into his lap. Her limbs were snapped, twisted abnormally out of place and sticking out in directions that they shouldn’t, and her eyes were glazed over in a pure white, blood dripping down her cheeks.

Lucas had spun around immediately to face you both, screaming out, “We need a doctor! Call an ambulance! Hurry! Call an ambulance!”

And when Erica had rushed back downstairs, likely to find a neighbor or the closest possible phone, but you were completely stuck in place, staring at the girl you had grown up with, one of your best friends, as she sobbed in her boyfriend’s arms telling him that she was scared and that she wasn’t ready to die.

You were crying, your body shaking uncontrollably as you stumbled over to them, trembling as you dropped to your knees and practically begged her not to slip away.

“Erica, help!” Lucas shouted out, his voice so full of pain that you couldn’t breathe as you sobbed, gripping Max’s hand in yours as you pleaded with her to stay. But it didn’t work. Max died in his arms.

And then the Earth split open, a gate forming and growing. Lucas pulled Max away and you both scrambled to the side, watching as the gate ripped Jason in two and continued to spread further away from the Creel House and through Hawkins.

Then, after over a minute had passed, Max’s heart had started beating again, just enough that she was still alive. But Eddie wasn’t so lucky, he had died in the Upside Down, sacrificing himself to save Dustin.

Three days later, Max was in a coma in Hawkins Memorial Hospital, Mike, Will, El and Jonathan all arrived in Hawkins again, and you were helping Dustin, Robin and Steve volunteering in the post ‘earthquake’ aid and suddenly not having a boyfriend, or your crush not liking you back, didn’t feel like as a big of a deal as it had before.

And, somehow, life managed to return to normal after that. Well, something close to normal.

Hawkins was now under a government mandated quarantine, where the military crawled around every inch of the town, keeping you blocked off from the rest of the world. 

You and your friends were starting your junior year in high school, except for El, who was hiding from the military, and Max was still in a coma and had been for the entire 18 months that had passed.

The crawls were new. Every couple of weeks Hopper would sneak into the Upside Down with the military through the massive gate in the middle of Hawkins, right at the library, and would search for Vecna while Dustin and Steve tracked him from your side and Mike and Lucas kept watch from the nearby church.

But after 18 entire long months, you found nothing. Not even the slightest hint that Vecna was anywhere near, and after over 30 crawls it was like the entire Upside Down had been searched from top to bottom and absolutely nothing was found.

Not until what would be later known as your last crawl, the one where Dustin didn’t show up and you were thrown into the Squawk van with Steve and had to practically beg for Jonathan to come along for ‘help’ when really you didn’t want to be left alone with Steve.

Your crush hadn’t faded, despite the fact that you didn’t see him as often as you used to. Not when Dustin was acting differently and seemed to be avoiding him half of the time. But you listened to the WSQK radio broadcasts every day, mostly for Robin’s DJ-ing and to listen out for any hidden codes about crawls, but also because you knew Steve was the one behind the station’s many sound effects in the background of the broadcasts.

You were now 17 years old, almost an adult, and you hadn’t gotten over the crush on the guy who was basically your best friend’s older brother that had formed back when you were 14. You still had absolutely no experience in anything even slightly romantic, and it was killing you.

But the crawl in the Squawk van had been even more awkward with Jonathan around, because then they argued about Nancy, of course they had, while you sat in the back of the van awkwardly while thinking about Hopper’s signal, which you had lost when the van broke down.

At one point, Steve had spun around to face you, gesturing to Jonathan and asking why you had brought him along because, “Byers is a total buzzkill’. Jonathan had rolled his eyes and called Steve a name, and Steve had mumbled a bland insult back, and it almost felt like you were at home, listening to your parents doing anything but getting a divorce.

Just seconds after Steve had managed to get the van running again, finally, Dustin showed up. His face was completely busted and he had blood leaking from his nose and down his chin.

That just resulted in another argument, this time between Steve and Dustin, while you searched for Hopper’s signal again, only to come up with nothing, other than a strange noise Dustin had brushed off as nothing important because it wasn’t Hopper.

That same night, Holly Wheeler had been taken from her own home by a Demogorgon and her parents had been attacked and had almost died. El had followed the monster into the Upside Down to try and catch up to them and save Holly.

Sometime early the next morning, long after the sun had risen, you had arrived back at the Squawk, where Will then explained that he had a connection to the hive mind again, and to Vecna, and he knew that Vecna was going after another kid from Holly’s class next, a boy named Derek Turnbow.

Mike and Nancy shared the information they had learned at the hospital, that Vecna had stalked Holly long before she was taken, but had appeared as Henry and pretended to be her friend, not someone to be afraid of.

So then you were all coming up with a plan to try and save Derek, and this plan involved drugging and kidnapping the kid and his entire family.

Lucas and Mike recruited Erica, because her best friend Tina was Derek’s older sister, meanwhile you were on the McCorkle farm watching Dustin destroy Steve’s car by affixing the telemetry tracker to the top of the Beamer and crushing Steve’s heart.

You couldn’t help feel bad for him and the way he frowned for the rest of the afternoon, wincing every time he caught a glimpse of the car.

That night, the plan went well. The Turnbow family were all successfully knocked out by the pie Erica made using benzos that Robin and Will stole from the hospital, and while Joyce, Robin, Will and Erica took the family away to the farm, the rest of you set up traps around the house in preparation.

Watching Steve use a chainsaw to cut open a giant hole in the living room floor might’ve been the highlight for you, well, until you had helped him set up a trap outside Derek’s bedroom door using some wood planks, nails and a trip wire. Once the trap had been set, Steve had given you a high five that had genuinely sent a jolt of electricity through your body and a smile etched itself onto your face.

When the Demogorgon arrived in Derek’s room, only to find a dummy in his bed instead, it was your and Lucas’s job to pelt the thing with water balloons filled with acetone so it was guaranteed to catch a flame once Jonathan threw a flare at it.

Once the Demogorgon flipped using a small gate it had made in the living room, Nancy and Jonathan rushed outside to join Steve and Dustin in the Beamer as they chased the Demogorgon, hoping it would lead them to Holly.

Later, when you, Mike and Lucas made it to the farm on your bikes, telling the others about how you saw soldiers loading Debbie Miller and a bunch of other kids Holly’s age onto a bus, Dustin, Steve, Nancy and Jonathan were nowhere to be found because Steve drove his car through a gate and right into the Upside Down.

Will told you all about what he had learned in the hive mind, how many kids Vecna wanted to take, and now the military had all of those kids in one place in an attempt to protect them. But you and your friends knew the only way to really protect them was to get them out of Hawkins and out of Vecna’s reach, which meant it was time to make a new plan.

This time, Robin made it, basing her entire plan on the film The Great Escape. But there were a few key pieces of information you needed. How would you know where the washroom was to know where to dig up from the tunnels below Hawkins? How would you know which kids were even being targeted by Vecna?

Mike’s solution was to send Derek Turnbow, the kid you had managed to save, into the MAC-Z and into the barracks with the other kids.

And the plan had almost worked, until a burst pipe led to you all getting caught before you had gotten all of the kids out and into the tunnels. Robin and Lucas took half the kids to Murray, but the rest of you were captured by the military. 

Of course there was arguing, a fight started to break out after one soldier hit Derek on the back of the head, both you and Mike immediately jumping in to defend him, but everything stopped when Will fell to the ground.

Joyce rushed over immediately while you and Mike stayed with the kids, who were absolutely terrified. Will could sense the hive mind. Demogorgons were coming for the kids. 

They burst through the plates and immediately began attacking the soldiers, who were shooting at them left and right. Gunshots filled the air, echoing through what should’ve been a quiet night, and flames burst around the military base.

You hadn’t really realized how much you had grown up over the last few years until you and Mike were leading the group of kids around the base, protecting them from the monsters, shielding them the same way Steve, Nancy and Jonathan used to do with you and your friends.

But it was all for nothing, because the Demogorgons took the kids in the end. Vecna himself had come through the gate in the MAC-Z and when a blast of flames sent you, Mike and the kids flying back, you were knocked out.

When you came to, Mike was pulling you to your feet, only for you both to flinch back when a Demogorgon jumped towards you.

You had raised your arms to cover your face in a weak attempt at a shield, but no impact was made. The Demogorgon had frozen midair, and how? Will had his arm outstretched towards it, keeping it frozen in the air, using his own powers to stop the Demogorgon.

You were absolutely bewildered, your mouth falling open in surprise, having to blink a few times just to confirm you weren’t still unconscious and that this was actually happening. Mike, on the other hand, was staring at Will in absolute awe. 

Will lifted the Demogorgon into the air and snapped its limbs one by one before snapping its neck, similar to the way Vecna had killed Chrissy and the other teens, and had almost killed Max the year before. When its body crumpled to the ground, Will fell to his knees and wiped the trickle of blood that had formed under his nose.

Beside you, Mike had started to smile. The look on his face wasn’t something you quite knew how to describe at the time, but looking back later, you knew that was a look of love.

Back at the Squawk, the group had to come up with yet another plan to be able to find the others in the Upside Down and come up with a plan, because Lucas was sure Vecna’s plan to end the world was going to take place on November 6th, and that was just a day away.

Both Lucas and Erica came up with two separate plans, Erica’s involved creating a new telemetry tracker and finding Mr. Clarke and getting him to help, while Lucas wanted to Frankenstein one of the dead Demogorgons to link Will back to the hive mind.

You ended up going with Erica and Murray to find and recruit Mr. Clarke to help you, and it didn’t take much once you told him Dustin was in trouble and you needed his help. 

The four of you spent all night recreating the telemetry tracker until you tracked Dustin’s location to Hawkins Lab, though, in the Upside Down. Of course, Mr. Clarke didn’t know that and assumed he had left or something similar.

The others had arrived not long after, and when you saw El, you moved forward to hug her, glad that she was home safe and no longer in the Upside Down, even if Dustin and the others were still stuck.

“Mr. Clarke, thanks for the assist.” Mike spoke, walking forward to shake your former teacher’s hand as you stood by his side again.

“Don’t thank me yet.” Mr. Clarke had replied. “We successfully trilaterated Dustin’s position here, to precisely where I stand now.”

“But by the time we arrived, he was MIA.” Erica continued.

“Well, he wouldn’t be precisely here. He’d be under.” Robin pointed out, crossing her arms, and you nodded along.

Mr. Clarke tilted his head in confusion as he looked at Robin. “Sorry?”

Mike’s head then snapped towards you. “You didn’t tell him?”

“Told me what?” Mr. Clarke asked you.

“It… slipped my mind?” You excused, speaking to Mike, but your attention was stolen a moment later. “Oh, my god.”

“Holy shit.” Erica spoke from beside you as her gaze also landed on Max, who was being wheeled towards you all in a wheelchair, but she was very much alive and no longer in her coma.

“Holy shit.” Max echoed and your face lit up as you let out a surprised chuckle.

“Max!” You hurried over and she grinned as you crouched down to hug her, but the moment was cut short by Murray yelling that he got Dustin’s signal on his walkie and you all rushed down to his level.

After a brief conversation about Holly was shared between Mike and Dustin over the walkies, El ripped up one of the plates covering the rifts in the ground and you all, except for Lucas and Max, went into the Upside Down.

You were all calling out the names of your missing friends while you were trying to take in the fact that you were in the Upside Down for the very first time before you heard Dustin calling out your name, and then Mike’s. You both rushed towards him as he barrelled over.

“Jesus, it’s good to see you guys.” He sighed in relief, throwing his arms around you both and hugging you tight.

As you hugged him though, your eyes drifted to Steve as he approached behind him, standing off to the side from Nancy and Jonathan. It took a moment for you to notice how miserable they looked, and another moment for you to realize that Holly wasn’t with them like you had thought.

Turns out Vecna had pulled her into the literal sky and she had disappeared into the clouds. And you and your friends needed to save her before Vecna likely ended the world on that very same night.

So you all went back to the Squawk to share new information and come up with the final plan to defeat Vecna.

Dustin stood in front of you all with a black marker in hand, drawing on the glass windows of the recording booth as he explained something he had learned in the Upside Down version of Hawkins Lab.

“We’ve always the Upside Down was another dimension opened by Brenner, but it turns out it’s actually a bridge.” Dustin added two long lines to his diagram, representing the bridge. “More specifically, an interdimensional bridge that rips through space-time. It is wildly unstable, but held together by exotic matter, which we found dead center right above the lab. In theoretical physics, they call this type of bridge a–”

“Wormhole.” Both Erica and Mr. Clarke finished in sync, and Dustin pointed at them. You shared a glance with Max, who was sitting beside you in her wheelchair.

“And this wormhole connects Hawkins to here, another world that I’ve coined the Abyss.” Dustin explained.

“Any particular reason?” Robin asked and Mr. Clarke leaned forward in his seat.

“A realm of pure chaos and evil.” He spoke and Robin looked towards him.

“I’m sorry?”

“D&D.” You, Mr. Clarke, Erica, Mike, Will, Lucas and Dustin all answered at once.

“Jesus Christ.” Hopper groaned.

Dustin went on to explain how he believed the Abyss was the true home to the Demogorgon and the Mind Flayer and all of the monsters, and that Henry Creel had been sent there by Eleven years ago, before Dr. Brenner had her find him and created the bridge between the two worlds.

That had explained a lot over the last few years, like why every single crawl had come up empty, because Vecna hadn’t been in the Upside Down, he had been in the Abyss.

Will came up to the conclusion that the reason he was taking kids like Holly into the Abyss was because the minds of children were weaker and easier to mold, like he had done with Will himself, and he was going to use them to amplify his abilities and move worlds. To draw the Abyss and Hawkins closer and merge them together.

Will jumped forward to draw something on Dustin’s diagram and you shifted your body away from Max, who had just been talking, to then face him. In doing so, your arm brushed against Steve’s leg, and you muttered a quiet apology but didn’t look up at him where he was sitting on the back of the couch you were seated on.

Then you were working out a plan to get up to the Abyss to try and stop Vecna before he could draw the worlds together.

After Hopper’s first suggestion of a helicopter, which then resulted in the rest of you telling him that it wouldn’t work, and a rather crude comment about Steve made by Robin that made your eyes go wide, Steve himself was the one to come up with the plan.

He had jumped up from his place on the couch beside you and you had watched him as he walked a few steps away, then stopped, his brain clearly moving faster than his mouth could before shouting that you wouldn’t need a magic bean to make a beanstalk and climb up to the Abyss like some fairytale.

His idea was to use the Squawk radio tower in the Upside Down as a way into the rifts, letting Vecna draw your worlds together just enough that you could all make it inside before El would stop him from drawing them closer.

It was genius, and while the others added a few more small details to help, Dustin was the one who finalized it, suggesting for you all to leave a bomb at the exotic matter that would detonate when you left the Upside Down and destroy the bridge for good.

Then everyone was gearing up, dressing in old combat gear, gathering weapons, and Mike built the detonator for the bomb using a record player and a minifigurine. 

You sat with Lucas on a table in the basement as he adjusted his giant slingshot, a great improvement from his old Wrist Rocket he used against the Demogorgon when you were younger.

You were filling more water balloons for him with the flammable liquid inside the unlabelled canister you had found in the Squawk basement, but every so often you’d glance over to Steve in that same leather jacket he had worn the first time, the material stretching along his shoulders, and a backwards cap on his head, a small tuft of hair sticking out from the front, as he walked away from the cabinet in the corner that usually held the weapons, specifically the guns.

He held a small handgun until Nancy approached him, questioning whether or not he had used a gun before. Of course, he hadn’t, and you forced yourself to look away, only to find Lucas smirking at you.

“What?” You asked.

“You’re, like, in love with Steve.” He whispered with an amused laugh and you shushed him.

“Shut up, no I’m not.” You scoffed, then glanced towards Steve again, watching him follow Dustin through the basement before you met Lucas’s eyes again and saw he was still smirking. “Shut up.”

Getting into the Upside Down was the easiest part of the plan. Murray’s huge Bradley’s Big Buy truck was large enough to hold all of you as it charged into the MAC-Z right through the front gate, and Hopper took down any soldiers shooting at you from the inside, having sneaked in through the tunnels like he would before a crawl.

Nancy and her rifle climbed up the ladder in the middle of the truck and stuck out the hole at the top, where a Demogorgon had ripped the metal open, only to rain fire on any other soldiers around trying to stop you.

Once Hopper was inside the truck and the truck had successfully made it through the MAC-Z gate, the ride got a little bumpier.

“Jesus Christ.” Steve wobbled on his feet a little from beside you.

“Everybody alright? Everybody okay? You alright?” He asked Steve, who nodded, before looking around and asking the others. “Everybody alright?”

Steve looked down at you, where you looked a little shaken as you blinked a few times, and his face scrunched into one of concern.

“You sure you’re okay, kid?” He asked and you looked up, eyes going wide when you realized he was talking to you, as if it were something out of the ordinary.

You nodded before forcing yourself to speak. “Yeah. Thanks, Steve.”

Then he had reached over and patted your shoulder for just a moment before leaning back against the wall. He smiled at you, and you returned the gesture, though you had a feeling you were blushing before you looked to your other side and reached for El’s hand.

Once you reached the lab, Hopper, El, Murray, and El’s ‘sister’ Kali all left the truck, and Steve moved to the front to drive the rest of the way to the Squawk.

You hated the climb up the ladder on the tower, you weren’t the biggest fan of heights, and once you had made it up to the top, you, Lucas and Dustin all stood together and stared out at the Upside Down Hawkins skyline.

“It’s pretty damn spectacular.” Dustin had commented, bumping your shoulder with his.

“Yeah,” You agreed breathlessly, staring out at the dark, yet amazing parallel to your hometown. “It is.”

“It’s almost too bad we have to blow it all up.” Lucas added and you had glanced his way.

“Is it though?”

It wasn’t long after that when you could hear, and see, the Abyss as it descended towards you all, and the plan seemed to be going okay until Lucas noticed that the top of the tower wasn’t lining up with the rifts, which only meant bad news.

El wasn’t able to stop the Abyss fast enough and the planet above you came into contact with the needle, snapping it off.

You all jumped out of the way as it fell, gripping onto the edges and each other. The needle broke off one end of the tower’s railing, and it took Steve with it.

Both you and Dustin shouted his name, watching as he dangled from the edge of the tower, only gripping on with one hand. If he slipped, he would fall and die. 

And then he did slip, and he fell. But not far enough, because Jonathan caught him. He grabbed onto Steve’s hand and pulled him back up onto the tower, saving his life.

The moment he was back on the platform, Dustin charged forward and pulled Steve into a hug. You had almost wanted to follow him, but instead hugged Robin, who was sobbing in relief that she hadn’t just watched her best friend fall to his death.

The Abyss was strange, it was almost like a desert. A vast, empty desert. It seemed too empty, and too quiet, but eventually you found where Vecna was keeping the kids, inside of a ginormous spider-like monster. The Mind Flayer in a much larger, physical body.

And while El fought Vecna inside of the thing, you and your friends attacked the monster from the outside, shooting it, stabbing it, lighting it on fire, until it eventually collapsed to the ground.

Nancy was the first to rush inside in search of Holly, and the rest of you joined her a moment later, Mike rushing forward to reunite with his sisters. The rest of you helped the other 11 kids from where they were up in the spires on the wall. They were all confused, and dirty, covered in some kind of slimy residue as Mind Flayer particles expelled themselves from their mouths.

As you helped a young girl brush herself off, telling her you would help get her home, you could hear gurgling coming from somewhere nearby. You turned to see Vecna, though impaled on a sharp spike of some kind, was still alive.

Joyce dealt with him, decapitating him with her axe. The moment you watched his head tumble to the ground, rolling for a moment before coming to a stop, it felt like a weight was lifted from your shoulders immediately.

Soon you were all heading back home, having climbed back down the radio tower and all cramped into the back of the bus. Steve and Robin were in the front, and you were squashed between Dustin and El as you all talked, almost celebrating the fact that you had won.

Everything descended into chaos when you returned through the gate. The tires of the truck were flattened by spikes and everyone was hauled from the vehicle by soldiers in a flurry of chaos.

You were pressed against the side of the truck, El to your left and Mike to your right, as soldiers surrounded you all. There was yelling, arguing as soldiers patted you all down and searched you all.

Dr. Kay approached El, who glared in response, wincing at the loud radio feedback sound coming from the speakers around the base.

But then the bomb went off inside the Upside Down, and everyone watched the wind whipping around inside as the buildings collapsed and then… it was gone. The gate disappeared, leaving nothing but the crumbling destruction of the library.

After that, you and your friends were all brought in for hours of questioning by the military and Dr. Kay, asking about Henry, El, Kali, the Upside Down, the Demogorgons, why you had taken the kids, why you had gone into the Upside Down. They asked you about everything from the moment Will went missing and you found El in the woods to that point in time where you were being interrogated.

And, eventually, you were all let go and expected to go on with your lives like normal. With the Upside Down gone and Henry dead, El had lost her powers again and now the military had no reason to be after her, not after everything had gone down and she had stopped Vecna.

While it did take a long time, eventually things did get back to normal, as much as they could’ve at least.

–

The morning of your high school graduation you woke up with more energy, and more anxiety, than you had had in a long time.

You went through your morning routine like normal, waking up to a silent house because neither of your parents liked being around each other, or you, before getting dressed.

You had nothing to do all day before graduation, no boyfriend to celebrate with, no family around who wanted to take photos of you. You had the day to yourself.

So you turned on the radio and sat down on the couch with a book, listening as Robin Buckley presented the Squawk’s morning broadcast for the first time since Jimmy ‘Fast Hands’ Lee had returned to Hawkins and she had gone off to college.

At least that was something you could look forward to – college. You couldn’t wait to get out of Hawkins, to do more with your life. You were going to study to become a teacher, something you had wanted to do probably since middle school when you and your friends had all idolized Mr. Clarke.

A burp sound effect playing at the wrong time caused you to look up at the radio for a moment, brows furrowed before a whip cracking sound effect played and Robin’s voice came in.

“There we go. Sorry about that. My partner in crime ditched me.” Robin explained and your face fell for a moment. “But, well, as far as excuses go, he had a pretty good one.”

She was, of course, talking about Steve, who now coached the middle school baseball team. He was the only one of the older teens that hadn’t left Hawkins to go to college when the quarantine had been lifted.

At the mention of Steve, your stomach had flipped uncomfortably. 18 months had passed, and while your crush hadn’t faded, something had happened that now just made you feel guilty for liking him.

Steve had a girlfriend now, a woman named Kristen who he had been dating for a couple of months by this time, and it killed a part of you every time you thought about it.

But that was another reason why you were excited to get out of Hawkins, you would leave Steve behind, maybe meet a guy at college and finally move on from your dumb crush and have a relationship of your own.

That afternoon after you made it to the graduation, everything felt too real. You stood with your friends, dressed in your orange caps and gowns as guests all took their seats, and then the music played, queuing you all to take your seats so the ceremony could begin.

As you walked to your seats, lined up alphabetically like you had rehearsed, you looked around the bleachers to see who you could recognize.

There was Jonathan filming the event off to the side, Joyce, Hopper and El, the Wheelers (including Nancy), Lucas’s parents, Dustin’s mom, Mr. Clarke and Murray, Robin, and Steve.

He was dressed in a suit with a pair of sunglasses on, but as you all walked out, his head turned away from Robin to watch you all. You raised a hand and gave a small return, and he grinned, both him and Robin waving back and you smiled, looking down at your shoes before taking your seat.

Dustin’s valedictorian speech started off normal, he mentioned how he had wanted a normal childhood, but that didn’t really happen, due to obvious reasons. He went on to mention D&D, talking about bad chaos and good chaos. He mentioned making friends with people who were never supposed to be his friends, and how he had seen the same happen to others. He talked about how he was now a better person because of his friends.

But then, towards the end of his speech, something shifted. He called Principal Higgins a square, took off his robe and ripped open his shirt to reveal a t-shirt reading ‘Hellfire Lives’. You cheered loudly for your friend, and so did the others as he went on to say, “Screw the school. Screw the system. Screw conformity. Screw everything and everyone trying to hold you back and tear us apart, because this, this is our year!”

And as you all cheered for him, Dustin snatched his diploma from Principal Higgins and flipped the old man off, just like Eddie had said he would your freshman year.

After the ceremony, you and your friends ran through the sea of orange robes to find him.

“Dustin!” You all called out upon spotting him and the four of you hugged him tight.

“You’re a madman. You’re an absolute madman.” Mike said first as Dustin shook his shoulders with an excited laugh.

“Higgins totally shit his pants.” Lucas added with a laugh.

“Yeah, what’s he gonna do, expel me?” Dustin asked.

“You’re crazy.” Lucas told him, but before the conversation could continue, a voice cut in.

“Hey.”

You turned to see Stacey Albright, the same girl who had once teased you at the Snow Ball, approaching you, Dustin, Lucas, Mike and Will.

“Hey, Stacey.” Dustin greeted her with a grin and an attempt at speaking casually, but your smile fell just a little.

“I just wanted to say what you did up there was pretty badass.” She complimented Dustin, and for a moment you thought she wasn’t going to be serious. But, then again, everyone had matured since middle school.

“Oh. Thanks. I was kind of just going for like a bit of like a Belushi thing. But if he was like in a Hughes film.” Dustin scratched his eye and you shared a glance with Will, who was standing to your left. “But I don’t know. Does that make sense?”

“Yeah. No, totally.” She told him and there was a bit of an awkward pause where she went to turn around and walk away.

“Why did I say that?” Dustin whispered to you and you shrugged, but then Stacey had turned back.

“Hey, so I’m having a party later tonight. You guys should come.” She told you all, then made direct eye contact with you and smiled. Not in a teasing way, but more genuine. You did your best to smile back before she walked away.

“Did that just happen?” Dustin asked Will the moment she left, and the boy chuckled in response.

“Should we go?” Will asked, looking around the group, his eyes lingering on Mike.

“Is that rhetorical?” Lucas asked back, because the answer was obvious.

“No. Screw that. I got a better idea.” Mike stated.

His better idea had been a D&D campaign, and so the seven of you – You, Dustin, Lucas, Mike, Will, El and Max – all cramped around the table in Mike’s basement to play D&D until dinner, laughing and reminiscing about the last six years of your lives and the chaos you had all survived.

But after dinner?

“We still have time to go to Stacey’s party after this.” Lucas had said first, checking his watch by the Wheeler family’s front door.

“Oh, my god, please.” Dustin clamped his hands together and gave Mike his best puppy dog eyes. “Come on, dude, let’s go.”

Mike rolled his eyes. “Seriously?”

“Come on, Mike, don’t be a party pooper.” Max had teased, making El giggle from where she stood by Dustin’s side.

El and Dustin had gotten closer over the last year or so, after she and Mike had finally broken up for good. She had, obviously, been very behind on school, and was currently a grade behind you all, having to take summer school to catch up, but Dustin had been tutoring her and helping her with any subjects she had been struggling with, and now sometimes she hung out with Dustin more than you did.

Another recent development had been with Will and Mike. About a year ago, Will told you, Dustin, Lucas, Max and El that he was gay. He said he had only told his mom, his brother, Mike and Robin before that. Now, Mike hadn’t told you anything, but sometimes you caught the two of them sending each other glances across the room like they were the only two people around.

Will turned to face Mike. “Yeah, Mike, come on. It’ll be fun.”

Then Mike sighed, dropping his head back with a groan before throwing his arms up in the air in front of himself. “Fine.”

You had all walked to the party at Stacey’s house, and once you arrived she, as well as many others, were happy to see you all there.

It was like years of bullying and cliques and labels in school didn’t matter anymore, and that felt weird. It looked like the entire senior class was there.

Kids were high-fiving Dustin as they passed him, complimenting him on his speech loudly, raising their voices to be heard over the thumping bass of the music practically vibrating the house.

You and your friends decided to just let go and have fun; talking to people you usually wouldn’t, drinking alcohol, drinking a lot of alcohol. At one point you and Dustin had started teasing Lucas and Max as they made out in the corner of the room, only for Lucas to let go of Max and start chasing Dustin through the house, leaving you, Max and El bursting into a fit of laughter in the corner.

But the later into the night you got, the more drunk you had all become, and eventually you were all collapsed onto a couch together, El giggling as she played with Dustin’s curls while Max rested her head on your shoulder, her legs thrown across Lucas’s lap. Mike and Will were sitting just a little too close for it to not mean anything by your other side.

Then someone mentioned being tired, someone else started to get sad about the fact you would all be going away to separate colleges soon, and then you were all debating who to call to pick you up.

Will called Jonathan first, who said he could come pick up his brother and sister and one other person, which ended up being Mike.

You, Dustin, Lucas and Max had to find a different ride home, so Dustin went to make a call.

–

Steve had gotten home a couple of hours earlier after making plans to meet up with his friends in Robin’s weird uncle’s house in Philadelphia once a month, and he had been stretched out on the sofa, his arm around Kristen, his girlfriend, as the two of them watched a movie together.

When his phone rang, he furrowed his brows in confusion before getting up and crossing the room to pick it up, assuming that maybe Robin had left something behind in his truck earlier.

Instead he found Dustin on the other end, his words slurred slightly as he asked for Steve to come pick him up.

“Are you drunk, Henderson?” Steve asked, crossing one arm around his torso as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. Kristen had poked her head out of the living room to see what was going on, and he waved her off.

“Pfft, not even. Just, like, a little.” Dustin replied, though his words said otherwise.

“Alright, bud.” Steve chuckled, shaking his head. “Where are you?”

“What’s the address?” He could hear Dustin ask someone else on the other end before he recited Stacey’s address. “Oh, and can you pick up the others too?”

Of course, Steve couldn’t fit four teenagers into his truck, which meant he had to borrow Kristen’s car to go pick you all up, and when he arrived at the address he found the four of you seated on the curb, the party still going on in the house behind you.

Dustin was already half passed out, leaning against Lucas, but he grinned when Steve approached.

“Steve!” He cheered before nudging you and tugging on Lucas’s arm. “Guys, Steve’s here!”

“Steve!” The rest of you chorused the cheer, your face lighting up immediately, and Steve laughed before offering Dustin a hand to lift him up.

While Dustin, Lucas and Max all piled into the backseat, you were left with the passenger seat. And while your friends passed out almost immediately, all leaning against each other as they snored softly in the backseat, you were wide awake.

Something by Queen played on the radio, faint but still clear enough for you to understand every word Freddie Mercury sang as Steve tapped along to the beat on the steering wheel.

“Thanks for picking us up, Steve.” You spoke, half mumbling, as you shifted in your seat, no longer staring out the window and now facing him.

Steve shrugged. “No problem. You know I’d do anything for you guys.”

You hummed before looking around the car. “This isn’t your truck.”

“Nope.” Steve agreed, taking a look around himself. “It’s, uh, my girlfriend’s car.”

“Right.” You had replied, then sunk back into your seat, your eyes fluttering shut a moment later. Steve exhaled out his nose lightly in a gentle laugh.

He glanced over at you, then to your other friends in the rearview mirror before you spoke again.

“I love you, Steve.” You stated, still half-asleep, but your voice was clearer than it had been before.

He smiled, flicking on his blinker as he turned a corner on the dark, empty streets of Hawkins. “I love you too, kid.”

“No.” You had sighed, and Steve glanced your way again, watching how each street lamp illuminated your face for a few seconds as he passed them. “I mean, I love you like… like how you love Kristen.”

He stopped completely, the car slowing slightly, and he frowned as he looked your way again, one eyebrow raised. You what?

“You love her, right?” You asked and Steve coughed awkwardly.

“Well, yeah.”

“Good. She’s nice.” You mumbled. “You deserve that.”

Steve didn’t know how to reply. He had never felt so awkward in his life as he glanced your way.

“You don’t love me.” He told you, like he could decide that. Like saying that erased any feelings you might’ve had for him.

“Yes, I do.” You sighed again, turning to face the window again. “But, it’s fine. I get it. And I’m glad you’re happy, and once I go to college I’m gonna find a boy and he’s gonna love me and I’m gonna forget all about you, so it’s fine.”

And then you went silent for the rest of the car ride. When Steve pulled up outside of Dustin’s house, you shot him a kind smile, thanked him, and left the car like nothing had happened, waking Dustin up before the two of you headed off to the front door with nothing more than a goodbye.

And Steve sat there for a moment, watching the two of you make it into the house before he just stopped, thinking over the interaction he just had with you, extremely confused, because you were in love with him? Since when had you loved him?

The next time he saw you was a week later at one of his baseball games when you and your friends had all shown up to watch.

You were acting like nothing had happened, teasing him with Max like normal, laughing with your friends, acting like you hadn’t drunkenly confessed your love to him a week earlier.

Naturally, Steve assumed you were too drunk to remember the interaction. Hell, he assumed the entire interaction had only happened because you were drunk, because Steve didn’t think you loved him.

But you did love him, and you didn’t forget about the interaction.

Neither did Steve.

–

a/n: holy shit this was wayyyy longer than i had anticipated uhhh no wonder it took me literal months to write omfg. anyway the rest of the series is set in 1993, and the next chapters will be shorter i swear. um, i hope you liked this and the few changes i made lol. i’m excited for this series!!

A crawl was not how you imagined your night going. Especially when Hopper just said you were to ride in the van alongside your brother and your ex.

After your breakup with Steve, you had avoided the party for a couple weeks. There hadn’t been a crawl in awhile due to no news of any convoys and it wasn’t like you were super close with everyone.

You had always tagged along with Steve.

Although everyone was nice to you and invited you, it was clear Steve was best friends with everyone. Not you.

Like when your brother came home and you asked where he had been just for him to scramble and stutter about hanging out with the party. Without you.

But, Robin insisted you join the crawl after showing up at your house to return a book she had borrowed.

“I don’t know, Robin…” You had trailed off, picking at your fingernails and leaning against the wall in your entryway.

Robin had groaned. “Please? Everyone misses you. You haven’t gone to any of the movie nights in the past couple weeks.”

You stared at her, giving her a look. “That’s because I know he will be there.” 

“Please, dude. I can’t do this without you.” She said after a moment, processing what you had said. “Everyone is asking where you are and where you went.”

You didn’t believe it.

“If I go, you have to buy me ice cream.” You muttered finally, folding your arms across your chest.

Robin cheered. “Yes! Thank you!” She pulled you into a quick hug before leaving to find Vickie at the hospital.

A couple hours later, you were sitting in the living space of the squawk, listening to Hopper deal out roles and use an expo marker to create a plan.

You saw Steve across the room, perched on an arm chair that Lucas had occupied. His hair was styled perfectly, his butter yellow sweater ironed and his face? He looked like he hadn’t missed an ounce of sleep, like there wasn’t any stress in his life.

It sent a painful jab to your heart.

Because you had been lying awake for hours for the past few weeks, thinking of him and regretting what you had said. 

You spent an hour this morning just trying to cover up the tear streaks and dark circles under your eyes.

“Alright, we understand?” Hopper concluded, turning back to the group.

Everyone nodded. You followed suit a moment after, gaze still on Steve.

You watched as his eyes left the board and to you.

Your breath caught.

But a second after, Dustin walked up to him and said something. 

You looked away as he did.

A couple minutes later, everyone began to split up.

As you started for the door, you felt a hand on your shoulder. 

You looked back to find Robin behind you, giving a smile.

“You okay?” She asked, walking beside you.

You shrugged. “Guess I’ll have to be.”

Robin frowned. “At least you won’t be alone with him, Dustin’ll be there.”

“Yeah.” You mumbled, stepping into the night air. “But it’s not like he’s best friends with Steve right now. So, it might just be hella awkward.”

Robin chuckled.

You spotted the squawk van, Steve opening the driver side door.

“Dude! Let’s go!” Dustin stood by the sliding door of the van, hand cupped around his mouth as he called to you.

“I’m going, I’m going.” You muttered, annoyed. 

You waved to Robin and headed towards Dustin who climbed into the back. That left the passenger seat.

Fuck my life you thought, hopping into the leather seat.

“Hey,” 

You glanced over to find Steve giving you a small smile, one that didn't reach his eyes. “Hi.” You croaked as you clicked your seatbelt in place.

“How are you?” He asked like it wasn't the first time you guys had talked since that night. One of his hands rested casually on the steering wheel, the other on the gear shift.

You tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m…doing okay.” You had to look away. “You?”

Steve sighed. “Good. Good.”

You nodded. “Good.”

“Oh my god, can we go?” Dustin groaned from the back seat, his headphones halfway on. 

Steve shot him a look and shifted the gear into drive. “Jesus.” He muttered under his breath and took off down the driveway.

As he drove, you leaned forward and turned the radio on. A Crowded House song faded in, a soft beat filling the space of the van.

It was quiet, awkward.

You thought about how it was before.

Steve would sing along to whatever song was playing, whether he knew it or not. Dustin would complain of his horrible singing voice from the back and you would laugh.

The van rides used to be full of warmth and noise. Steve and Dustin would playfully argue, you would cover your hand atop of Steve’s. 

But now, it was cold. Silent. You had to move carefully so the leather of the seat didn’t crinkle and make noise.

You stared silently out the window, watching the buildings of Hawkins pass. 

“Henderson?” The walkie-talkie crackled with Joyce’s voice.

You reached for it. “This is y/n. I copy." You then mumbled, "Over." remembering Dustin's constant reminders to properly conclude your statement.

The walkie crackled. “Okay. We’re running a little behind. You’ll have to wait for a little bit. Over.” Joyce said from the squawk's basement.

Great

You nodded, then realized she couldn’t see. “Right, okay. Will do. Over.” You set the walkie down.

“Guess we’ll just have to park?” Steve mumbled from the driver’s seat, pulling into the usual waiting position in the alley in between the book store and an apartment building.

“Mhm.”

Steve’s fingers tapped against the window. “I’ll grab us a snack. You want anything-a diet coke?”

Your heart clenched when he remembered your favorite drink. You almost forgot to reply. “Uh, yeah. Please.” 

He met your eyes. “A pack of MnMs too.”

You nodded.

“Dustin.”

Your brother pulled off his headphones and appeared between the both of you. “Fanta. Lays. Classic.”

Steve pushed his head back, sending him into the back. 

“Hey!” Dustin squeaked.

You huffed a laugh.

Steve caught your gaze, his own smile tugging at his lips.

You sobered immediately, smile fading.

He held your gaze for a second before shaking his head and opening the car door. “I’ll be back.”

The door clicked shut behind him and you watched as he crossed the street to the convenience store.

"Can't you guys just kiss and makeup already?" Dustin asked, poking his head up front again.

You sighed. "It's not that simple." You watched Steve disappear into the store. "I ended things. Like an idiot. He doesn't want me anymore."

Dustin snorted. "Bullshit."

You gave him a look. "Language."

He shook his head. "Steve is definitely still in love with you."

Your heart clenched.

"He's always asking about you." Dustin went on. "It's getting annoying. And he looks miserable all the time."

You bit your lip. "I dunno, Dusty."

"Uh, well, I know." He rolled his eyes. "Just talk to him. I can give you a chance." He picked up an old rubix cube from the center console. "I'll pretend that the radio connection is bad or something, step out of the car for a few minutes..." You watched as he began to solve the white side. "And boom you say you love him, he'll say it back, then you kiss and happily ever after."

You laughed. "I don't know if its that easy."

He shrugged. "Worth a shot."

You paused for a moment, thinking.

If your brother was saying the truth, then maybe Steve still felt the way you did. You had spent the past month wallowing in self pity, it was exhausting. You definitely wanted him back.

"Fine. Okay." You mumbled.

Dustin grinned.

You rolled your eyes.

Your gaze traveled back out towards the store as Steve exited.

But he wasn't alone.

A girl followed, bubbly, blonde and laughing at something he said.

Your heart sunk.

She put her hand on his arm, her fingers curling around his bicep.

Dustin paused, watching as well.

She said something and he smiled, nodding.

You felt tears well in your eyes when she handed him a piece of paper and he accepted it. It was no doubt her number.

"It's probably not what you think..." Dustin whispered, but his voice spoke it like a question.

You shook your head, watching Steve hoist the grocery bag higher in his hands and beginning to walk the girl to her car. When she slipped into the driver's seat, he waved goodbye and started for the van.

You swallowed thickly, blinking away tears and taking a deep breath.

"Don't mention anything." You told Dustin, your voice a little shaky. Gone was any hope Dustin had given you, and now a sense of coldness towards Steve crept in.

He gave you a sympathetic look and sunk into the backseat, toying with the buttons on the radio system.

You stared straight ahead as Steve opened the door and hoisted himself up into the van.

"Okay, i've got a can of fanta and a large back of chips for you." Steve threw Dustin's food into the backseat.

Dustin groaned as it hit him in the stomach. "Jesus christ, dude."

Steve smiled and reached back into the bag. "And a diet coke and a family size bag of Mnms for the lady." He looked at you, trying to catch your eye. You didn't reply at first. "Y/n?"

You hummed, turning your head towards him.

His smile turned lopsided. "Your food."

You let out a breath as you took the things from him. "Thanks."

He nodded and pulled out his own can of root beer. "Any news on Hop yet?"

You shook your head, popping the tab of the can open.

Steve nodded again. He straightened. "Oh, they didn't have the normal sized Mnms, so I had to get you the mini ones."

You looked at the bag. "Alright."

You couldn't shake the sight of Steve leaning into the touch of that girl. How his smile seemed genuine, how he accepted her number like you'd never existed.

It sent jabs at your heart.

You didn't want to talk to him anymore.

Joyce radioed a couple minutes later, telling you Hopper was on the move.

Steve scrambled at the keys and harshly pulled into the street.

You gripped your seat as he made a sharp turn and sped up.

Dustin guided his speed and soon, you were at an steady pace.

The crawl ended in another dead end.

No sign of Vecna.

Another zone crossed out on the map that projected on the Squawk's wall.

You sat in the passenger seat, curled up against the window as Steve drove you and Dustin home.

"No, we're not listening to Iron Maiden right now." Steve scolded Dustin. "Your sister's sleeping."

"Oh my god, it's always about her, isn't it." Dustin deadpanned.

Steve swallowed because it was. It was always going to be about you.

He had spent the past two hours trying to come up what to say to you and how to ask you to talk. He had an idea of what he wanted to say, constantly repeating it in his head.

Steve had spent the past month picking up the pieces of himself. He had never cried like the night after Robin came by his house to get your stuff because you had been too scared.

His father drilled into his head that real men don't cry.

But that went out the window when he lost you.

He tried to distract himself with work. But you were everywhere. In every song that Robin played for the listeners, in the way he made his coffee for the early morning shifts, in the storage room where you used to sneak kisses.

This had been the first week that he could get through a day without breaking down.

Talking to you again had the tension in his shoulders relax. Hearing your soft voice let him take a breath. Seeing you smile had him wanting to smile back.

But ever since he got back from the convenience store, you turned colder. You didn't look at him, you spoke in one word sentences.

He was dying inside.

He thought about that girl earlier who had slipped him a piece of paper that some guy was creepily following her and requesting he walk her to her car.

Steve glanced at you, slumped against the seat, eyes closed, lips barely parted in soft breaths.

Had you seen? Had you interpreted it differently?

Steve needed to talk to you.

He pulled in front of your house, barely able to see through the rainfall that had started just minutes before.

"Hey," He said to Dustin. "Can you give us a second?"

The younger Henderson glanced at you before nodding slowly. "Yeah, okay." He pulled the door open and hopped out.

Steve watched him walk up the driveway before turning to you.

He placed a hand on your upper arm. "Hey," He murmured gently.

You sighed softly, your eyes fluttering open. "Hm?" You hummed.

Steve practically melted when you gave him a soft look. "We're home."

home

Home used to mean his parent's house. It was where you had lived with him for the past year when his parents skipped town after news of the quarantine put in place.

You blinked slowly, glancing over at your house. "...Right." You reached for the door handle.

Steve swallowed. "Hey...can we, uh, talk?"

You straightened, turning back to him. "Talk?"

He nodded, biting his lip. "About...everything."

"Okay." You said after a minute.

Steve let out a breath.

“What you saw?” He finally said. “That girl, it-it wasn’t what it looked like-”

“Steve.”

“Seriously.” He went on, shaking his head. “I was just helping her to her car, that’s it. I swear.”

“Steve. It’s okay.”

He shook his head again, swallowing. “I didn’t-I can’t move on.” He admitted, his voice cracking. “I won’t.”

Your breath caught. “I-”

“I can’t move on from you.” He gazed into your eyes, pleading with you. 

You tilted your head. “I can’t either.”

Steve sighed with relief, his chest lifting. “Okay,” His hand gently covered yours. “Okay.”

You shook your head, pulling back. “But it isn’t that simple.”

His eyebrows furrowed, chest constricting. “What-what do you mean?”

“Steve…we were fighting constantly.” You whispered. “It wasn’t healthy.”

Steve’s lips parted, his eyes bouncing between yours. “I don’t want to fight.” He reached for you again. “I won’t. I won’t fight with you.”

You drew back, avoiding his gaze. “You can’t promise that.”

“I can. I will.” He choked out. “Please.”

You shook your head. “I can’t right now, I-I need to go.” You opened your door and slipped out, shutting it behind you and starting for your driveway.

A moment later, a car door opened. “Wait!” Steve’s voice cut through the rain. 

You turned slightly. “Steve, go home.”

He rounded the car and caught up with you. “Don’t go. Don’t run away from me. Please.” 

You looked away. “I’m not running away.”

Steve pushed his hair from his eyes, the strands growing wet. “You are, baby.” He took another step closer. “Please, can't we try again?”

You shook your head, tears filling your eyes. “I can’t do this right now, Steve.” You tried to turn away, but his hand caught your wrist, his touch sending electricity up your arm. “I’m tired. Let me go.”

He only pulled you closer. 

You shook away from his hold. You said in a shaky voice, “Goodnight, Steve.”

You got three steps away when he called out to you, “Fuck, I still love you!”

The rain came in buckets as you halted.

“I never stopped.” He called out in a desperate voice. You couldn't leave like this. This couldn't be the end again. “I could never stop. Not when you told me to go to hell that night or when you never returned my calls.” He threw his hands up. “I could never stop loving you.”

Tears fell onto your cheeks as you stared at him while your heart was breaking and everything was screaming at you to run away. His hair was a wet mess, flopping across his forehead. His leather jacket was drenched, his eyes squinting in the rainy night.

“Give me another chance, baby. Please.” He pleaded, standing as if the rain didn’t bother him.

You felt tears running down your cheeks and your lower lip wobbled. Your voice broke when you spoke. “Steve.”

His expression softened and he stepped closer to you, hesitantly bringing his hands to cup your face. You shivered at his cold fingers. “Don’t cry, baby. Don’t cry over me.” He murmured, his thumbs brushing your cheeks in soft swipes.

You let out a sob, uncontrollable tears running down your face. “I can’t help it.”

Steve smiled sadly. “Okay, honey. Let it all out.”

Your shoulders shook as you buried yourself into his chest, his body warm against the cold night.

He wrapped his arms around you tightly. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” He kept whispering over and over again. You couldn’t tell if it was for you or for him.

You pulled away slightly. “I still love you.” You brought your hand to his cheek. “But I'm scared.”

Steve brushed wet hair from your face. “I’m scared too.” 

“I want to try.” You breathed. “I want you.”

A smile spread across his lips. “I want you too. All of you.” He held you tighter. 

You glanced down from his eyes to his lips. 

Steve caught the signal and bent his head down to capture your lips in a kiss. You sighed as he angled his head, his fingers pressing into your cheeks. 

Your legs went shaky as his hand traveled down to hold the small of your back. You latched onto him as the rain poured around you, drops landing on your nose and chin. 

You pulled away slightly so your lips still brushed his. 

His forehead pressed into yours, his eyes barely open and hooded. “I love you.”

You smiled, eyes half closed. “I love you too.”

–

steve harrington hasn’t been the luckiest with love, that much is certain to anyone who has as much as glanced his way in the last four years, but, god, he’s in love with you.

he can’t quite place the exact moment he started feeling this way, all he knows is that one day he glanced over your way, met your eyes, and it felt like his entire stomach twisted inside out and his body turned to goo.

he doesn’t have a clue how it started, maybe it was the way you always seem to laugh at his jokes, or the way you huff with an eyeroll whenever murray said something a little too distasteful. it could’ve been the fact that you come into the squawk every morning with coffee for him and robin from the cafe you work at, always just the way he likes it, and you hand it off to him with a small smile every time.

it could’ve been how funny you are, or how smart, or kind, or pretty, but steve thinks it must’ve been a mix of all of those things, because he loves everything about you. it’s been almost six months of feeling this way.

and, yeah, he’s definitely in love with you.

robin groans loudly as steve watches you leave the squawk one friday morning after bringing them coffee, as per usual, giving him a glance over your shoulder and a little wave as you walked out the door.

steve raised his hand to wave back, a dumb smile making it’s way onto his face easily before you slip from view, and he sighs.

robin shakes her head disapprovingly, murmuring under her breath, and steve looks away from the glass front doors and over at her.

“what was that, buckley?” he questions, not aggressively, but as if he’s challenging her to repeat whatever snide remark she had muttered to herself.

“all i said was, ‘god, you are pathetic, harrington.” robin repeats and steve shoots her a glare from his place by the soundboard, surrounded by tapes of different comedic sound effects.

there’s a record spinning by robin’s side, playing a song steve never would’ve picked but robin had insisted was ‘better than anything he listens to’. robin spins around on her chair to face him properly, shooting him a look from across the room.

“i mean, how long has it been steve, really? six months?” she asks and he sighs, reaching for his coffee and raising the paper cup to his lips.

“eight.” he corrects quietly before taking a sip and robin’s eyebrows shoot up.

“eight months. so you’ve been in love with her for half of this quarantine we’ve been stuck in, and the most you’ve done is smile at her a little differently?” robin shakes her head and steve scrunches his nose.

“who made you the love expert, huh? what happened to me being the one giving you advice?” he asks and she snorts.

“uh, how about the fact that i’m the one with a girlfriend here, meanwhile you’ve been pining for the better half of a year and have gotten nowhere.” robin spins around to face her microphone and adjusts a dial in front of her. “anyway, i think she’s going to eddie’s party tonight.”

“who, vickie?” steve asks and robin rolls her eyes so hard it looks like they might fall out of her head. and when robin says your name as if it was obvious, steve’s tummy fills with warmth and a smile appears on his face.

he wishes you could feel how he feels when somebody says your name. it’s almost like he’s going to be sick, but in a good way.

“really?”

“yes, dingus. maybe tonight’s your chance to work up the courage and finally say something.” robin says. “you know, confess? or, at least, ask her out.”

steve bites the inside of his lip and thinks for a moment, then groans because of course robin’s right, but he has no idea what he’d even say. he can hardly talk to you past a basic greeting or some small talk.

but then again, a party hosted by eddie means alcohol, and pot. maybe something there can help steve find the right words. no, that’s stupid.

he sighs and drops down onto his chair. “robin, i can’t do this. what if i say something and she’s just totally weirded out? i can’t risk that, it’ll kill me. like, actually, kill me.”

robin stares at him mid motion as she places a new record on one of the players, then sighs again.

“robin!” he exclaims but she quickly shushes him, holding a finger to her lips as the previous song dies down and she pulls her microphone down towards her mouth.

“goooood morning hawkins! glad you could join us on this beautiful friday morning.” robin shoots steve a glance over her shoulder and a mischievous smile slips onto her lips. “this next one goes out to my partner in crime, soundboard stevie, who’s been feeling a little lovesick as of late. who’s the lucky girl to have won steve ‘the hair’ harrington’s heart? well, we’ll have to wait and see if he has the guts to say anything to her…”

“robin!” steve hisses across the room, not caring that they’re on air, and she just giggles in response.

“take it away, olivia…” robin says and the opening to ‘hopelessly devoted to you’ by olivia newton-john fills the small sound booth. steve shakes his head and robin just grins over at him. “what?”

“what if she was listening to that, robin?” steve huffs, crossing his arms over his chest a little dramatically, similar to the way tantruming toddler would. “then what?”

“then i could be doing you a favor!” she points out but steve runs his hands through his styled hair, tugging lightly as he exhales.

“i feel like i’m going insane.” he tells her and she shrugs.

“save it for tonight.”

–

the air at eddie’s place is thick, a mix of smoke and heat from the large number of bodies filling the small house, and steve is perched on the couch between eddie and jonathan as they smoke, his eyes scanning the party, searching every face for yours. his nails dig into the denim of his jeans, and his friends seem to notice.

“what’s wrong with you, harrington?” eddie asks, holding out his blunt like an offering but steve shakes his head.

he opens his mouth to answer, but robin cuts in as she walks over with two cups and you right by her side.

steve’s mouth goes dry as he looks up at you, his eyes lingering on the cut of your shirt for maybe a moment too long before they reach your face. you’re smiling down at him.

“hi, steve.” you greet brightly and steve finds himself rubbing his palms against his thighs, like he’s wiping away imaginary sweat. he practically jumps to his feet and gives his best attempt at a charming smile. his friends all share glances behind his back.

“uh, hey,” when your name leaves his mouth, steve hears a quiet ‘oh,’ come from jonathan behind him and he’s immediately reminded that the two of you aren’t the only people in the room and, in fact, you’re standing in the middle of a party quite literally surrounded by your friends. steve awkwardly gestures toward the spot he had just been sitting in. “uh, here.”

“oh.” you stare at him for a moment and steve’s eyes flick over to robin’s in a brief moment of panic before you smile. “thanks, steve.”

“uh, yeah, sure. no problem.” he thinks he’s playing it cool, but everyone can see the way he shifts nervously on his feet.

“well, i’m getting another drink.” nancy says, standing up from her place on jonathan’s other side and pulling her boyfriend up with her. “anyone else want anything?”

“i just got a drink.” robin raises her cup. “but i’m gonna go find vickie, anyway.”

“i’ll come.” eddie jumps to his feet, winking at steve as he does so, and steve shoots robin a glare. she holds her hands up in surrender, mouthing that she didn’t say anything.

“can you guys get me a drink?” steve asks before taking jonathan’s seat on the couch and sitting down beside you. someone nods and soon the others all disappear, leaving the two of you sitting there alone.

to steve, the moment feels so right, the two of you sitting side-by-side, close enough that your legs are touching, but he also feels so wrong. his heart won’t stop beating, his stomach flips with each brush of your hand and when you look his way he forgets his train of thought.

he feels insane, worse than he had this morning, because now you’re next to him. now he’s not imagining what you’ll say if you speak to him, because right now you’re telling him about your day at work and your voice is like music to his ears.

the two of you sit there and talk for what feels like hours but was likely just 15 minutes before steve stands up.

“i’ll be back in a second.” he tells you before hurrying off, heading towards the kitchen first. he weaves his way through the sea of people filling the room, searching the house until he finds robin. she’s holed up in a corner, giggling with vickie, but still looks up when steve stops before them.

“what’s up?” she asks and he takes a deep breath, close to hyperventilating as he stares at her. he looks over his shoulder and back to where you’re sitting on the couch, giggling at something eddie’s saying as he holds two cups in his hands, one of those likely steve’s drink.

he faces robin and takes a deep breath. “how do i tell her?”

–

he’s given himself until monday morning. he’s got until monday morning to come up with a plan, because he’s going to tell you he loves you then.

the idea robin gave him is as follows, pick a song that explains how he feels about you, dedicate it to you on the squawk on monday morning, then when you come by with coffees he can actually talk to you and ask you out.

go big or go home, right?

the only issue is that steve has no idea what song to pick. it has to be perfect, it has to encapsulate exactly how strongly he feels for you, how you make him feel.

he wants you so badly that it feels like he can’t breathe when he’s away from you. his body feels like it’s been lit ablaze whenever you touch him, and he’s melting the moment your eyes meet his. you’re everywhere, even in his dreams.

he’s in love with you, he knows it. but is there even a song that can describe the way he feels about you?

steve’s been thinking, trying to come up with song ideas, while he’s been tossing and turning in his bed, unable to sleep because he can’t stop thinking about you.

he spends his entire weekend writing lists of song ideas, scanning the shelves of vinyls at the wsqk radio station for ideas, but none of them are right. none of them are perfect.

robin tells him he’s gonna regret it if he doesn’t have a song soon, the longer he waits to confess the less chance he’ll have. but how is he supposed to do this when every song he listens to doesn’t even begin to describe his feelings?

by the time monday morning comes around steve wakes up in a sweat, and not just from the summer heat.

he had a dream about you and now his boxers feel too tight. he slides a hand down, brushing against the scars healed over on his tumny, before squeezing his clothed bulge for some kind of relief.

but then he realizes. he still doesn’t have a song.

he makes it to the squawk tired, a little horny, and pissed off. and when he pushes open the glass front doors open and is immediately met with robin’s wide smile.

“so…” she starts as he drops his backpack by his chair in the booth. “today’s the day, loverboy. you got a song?”

he just groans in response, dropping down in his chair before immediately standing back up and walking out of the booth, over to the shelves of records.

“i’m taking that as a ‘no’?” robin says.

“how the hell am i supposed to do this?” he asks and robin stares at him in confusion.

“what do you mean? just pick a love song and—”

“but it can’t just be any love song, robin, it has to be perfect!” he exclaims frustratedly, hands finding their way to his hair immediately. “i feel like i’m going insane here, because the song has to be perfect, it has to tell her exactly how i feel and how in love with her i am but that seems impossible because i want her more than any stupid song could ever say and i have no idea how to explain that!”

“oh.”

the sound of a voice behind him makes steve freeze, then slowly turn around. you’re standing inside the squawk building, holding two coffees in your hands, and staring at him with wide eyes, like you just witnessed something you shouldn’t have.

“uh, hey.” steve slips a hand into his pocket in an attempt to seem casual. “i, uh, didn’t realize you were… you’re– you’re early.”

“yeah.” you say, and your eyes shift over to robin. “uh, robin asked me if i could come by a little earlier today…”

steve shoots her a glare over his shoulder and she just shrugs, walking towards you and asking which coffee is hers. then she takes it, thanks you, and leaves the room saying, “i’ll leave you two alone.”

the silence is awkward immediately. steve’s panicking internally, and you’re just watching him.

“so, uh, how much of that did you hear?” he asks and you chuckle.

“well, all of it.” you reply. “i was kinda pulling into the driveway when you got here. i think you might’ve been just a little distracted.”

“right.” steve nods and you do the same, a little awkwardly, before you step forward and hold out his drink. “yeah, thanks.”

he takes the coffee and stares down at it. he has to say something now. he has to.

“lucky girl.” you speak first and he looks back up at you.

“hm?” he looks puzzled.

“the girl you were talking about.” you clarify. “the one you said you were in love with. you know? ‘i want her more than any stupid song could say’? she sounds lucky. you’re a good guy, steve.”

you give him a small smile, different to the one you usually give him, this one’s sadder, and it takes steve a moment to process exactly why as you turn back towards the front doors.

“she’s you!” he blurts out and you spin around.

“what?” you stare at him, you blink once, and steve feels sick.

“you’re the… the ‘lucky girl’ you were talking about.” steve swallows before setting his coffee cup down and walking over to you. “i’m in love with you. i love everything about you, and i’ve just been scared to tell you for months because i don’t want to ruin anything between us. i was gonna do this thing, robin said to, you know, dedicate a song to you on the radio but…”

you haven’t said a word the entire time he’s been talking, but you also aren’t running and screaming, so that’s a good sign.

“not a single stupid song can even scratch the surface of how i feel about you.” he says, and then he waits. he watches you carefully, and you don’t give him a reaction. 

then a smile cracks through your features and relief floods steve’s body.

“well, that’s very lucky for me.” you chuckle breathily. “you know, considering the fact i’m in love with you, too.”

“really?” he asks and you nod rather enthusiastically.

“you kinda make it hard not to.” you confess and he just grins. “i mean, you’re funny, brave, kind, i mean, you’ve definitely grown up a lot since high school and, well, you’re hot.”

he laughs, dragging a hand through his messy brown hair before looking back down at you, your eyes meeting. “so are you.”

a soft chuckle escapes your lips and a moment later you’re both just standing there and staring at each other, now closer than before. steve reaches out to carefully grab your waist.

“can i kiss you?”

“yes.” you say as if it’s obvious and steve’s mouth connects with yours within seconds, probably setting some kind of record with that speed. your hands slide up his body immediately, one gripping his shoulder while the other slides around his neck.

steve pours his entire heart into it, melting into you, moulding into something that’s yours and only yours. he’s not thinking of anything else, just the warmth of your body against his hands and the feeling of your lips on his.

he lifts one hand from your waist to cup your cheek instead, pulling back slightly just to kiss you again, aiming a little higher so he can take your entire upper lip into his mouth.

it’s uncertain exactly how long the two of you just stand there kissing, but the sound of a hand slamming against glass is enough to break you up.

steve looks over to see robin in the soundbooth, tapping her wrist to mimic a watch while saying something neither of you could hear through the walls. looking down at his watch, steve realizes he’s got about five minutes until they’re supposed to be on air.

“shit, i gotta go.” he groans and lowers his wrist. your arms are still linked around his neck. “can i take you out on a date tonight?”

“mm, no.” you say and he frowns. “i think we should skip that step and you should ask me to be your girlfriend.”

the frown disappears just as quickly as it had appeared and steve chuckles. “will you be my girlfriend?”

“yes, of course.” you reply, clearly trying your hardest to hold back a smile and stay composed. steve doesn’t hide his own smile.

“great.” he leans forward and kisses you once more before stepping back, closer to the door to the soundbooth. “i’m gonna pick you up from work later, alright?”

“yeah, alright.” you smile and he nods, opening the door. “steve.”

he turns back quickly. “yeah?”

“your coffee.” you gesture to the cup he had set down a moment earlier and he hurried over to grab it.

“thanks, honey. i’ll see you later, yeah?” he calls out as you head for the door. “i love you!”

“i love you, too!”

steve closes the soundbooth door and takes his place in his chair before he looks over at robin, who’s staring at him with an ‘i told you so’ expression. he gives her a shrug and she rolls her eyes before they’re on air.

“good morning, hawkins! this is wsqk 94.5 fm, ‘the squawk’ and i am your dj, rockin’ robin, and ladies and gentlemen, love is in the air this morning because our very own soundboard stevie has made a move! that’s right, folks, steve’s got a girlfriend. so, to celebrate the very new relationship we’re starting this morning off with a little love song…”

steve queues up a sound effect, but even robin’s teasing and antics can’t wipe the smile from his face.

–

a/n: just a little oneshot before i start posting my new series ahh!!! hope u guys like this one i think it's cute. everyone should go listen to 'you seem pretty sad for a girl so in love' by olivia rodrigo right now!!!

clark will always recall the way the whole room went quiet. jimmy had blinked like he had something in his eye as he squinted. even lois, who wasn't even looking at clark swung her entire head towards him. perry, who had secretly been eaves-dropping the entire time, nearly dropped the coffee he was making.

"girlfriend." jimmy repeated, fucking gawking.

clark turned a shade scarlet. "yes, my girlfriend."

"what's her name?" lois asked.

"y/n."

"pretty name," jimmy said after some silence.

"yeah, she's an extraordinarily pretty girl."

there was some silence again before perry moved over and slapped clark so sharply against his back that the poor man almost flinched. "crude sense of humour, boy, but i appreciate the effort."

clark hadn't even managed to scrounge up a wrinkled eyebrow and a question forming around his lips before the room dispersed. mainly, he presumed, to talk about the confident "joke" he had just made.

that night, when he comes home to you, the shy, farmer boy facade wiped off completely, he slides next to you in the bedsheets as you nestle against his bicep.

"how was work today?" you ask.

"good." after some silence where you just run your hand over his face, he adds, "they don't believe me."

"about?"

"us. that i have you."

you laugh, resting your cheek against his skin as you look up at him. "really?" he nods, brushing his fingers against your cheek. but you don't think much about it.

clark, on the other hand? well, he tries not to, but it's pretty hard when jimmy slides by him the next day and prods him a little too hard in the ribs and makes a joke about saying you have a woman just because you want them.

nor does lois, who talks to jimmy again about it and talks a little bit too loud about her partner.

"i'm not lying," clark says a little aggressively, the next week, at lunch, through gritted teeth as another jab is once again made. "i have a girlfriend."

"sure." perry says without missing a beat, stirring his coffee. "and you're superman."

well.

after about a few months of this banter, clark asks you to walk him to the daily planet that morning with his said reasons, and you're more than happy to obey.

when lois spots clark standing next to you, she thinks for a second that he's helping a very pretty lost woman even despite their proximity.

until he bends down and kisses you.

lois's jaw drops open as she swivels her head to perry, who seems to be seeing the same thing.

"am i? am i?" perry blinks, coffee long abandoned.

clark tries to act nonchalant about it while he introduces you to them, hand around your waist. and when jimmy appears, seeing you extend your hand to your lois while clark's nose is close to your temple which he can't even pass as friendship, well he almost faints.

oh, just wait until they found about who clark really was.

You were one of Perry’s newest hires, fresh blood thrown into the Daily Planet bullpen like bait into shark-infested water, except you never seemed intimidated by any of it. Most newcomers either tried too hard or shrank into themselves. You did neither. You found this impossible balance that made people gravitate toward you without realizing it.

Kind, but not overly sweet in a rehearsed way. Professional, but still willing to join after work drinks. Funny, but not enough to earn Perry’s eternal annoyance the way Jimmy did after getting warned three separate times about “inappropriate use of humor during serious editorial meetings.”

You fit too easily into their world. Beautiful without trying, smart enough to keep Lois interested in conversation, sharp enough to challenge Perry during meetings, and somehow constantly showing up to work covered in bruises with absolutely no explanation.

The first bruise Clark noticed sat just beneath your jaw.

Not because he was staring. He absolutely was not staring.

It was only there for a second when you tipped your head back laughing at one of Jimmy’s terrible jokes, the collar of your sweater slipping just enough to expose the faded purple mark against your skin. Clark’s fingers paused over his keyboard immediately. His hearing dimmed beneath the sound of your laugh.

A bruise.

Not the kind someone got from bumping into a door, either. It looked darker than that. Finger-shaped almost.

Something ugly twisted in his chest.

He wanted to ask if you were alright. Wanted to know who put their hands on you hard enough to leave marks. But there was something guarded about you too, hidden beneath the easy smiles and sarcasm, and Clark worried that asking would make you retreat entirely. So he stayed quiet, even while the image lingered in his head for the rest of the day.

Three days later there was another one.

This one wrapped around your wrist, peeking beneath your sleeve when you reached up to grab a file from the top cabinet. Clark caught sight of it from across the bullpen and looked away so fast he nearly gave himself whiplash when your eyes flickered toward him.

“Smooth,” Lois muttered without glancing away from her computer screen.

Clark blinked. “What?”

“You’re staring.”

“I am not.”

The immediate defensiveness in his voice only made Lois snort.

“Oh, you absolutely are.”

“For your information,” Clark said stiffly, “I was looking at the cabinet.”

“The cabinet wearing glasses and cardigans?”

Clark cleared his throat and suddenly became very interested in the article on his monitor. Lois leaned back in her chair with a knowing smirk.

“You know,” she said casually, “normal people ask coworkers out instead of conducting FBI investigations.”

His ears burned instantly. “I’m not investigating her.”

Except he was.

Because there were patterns.

Clark noticed patterns.

You arrived every morning carrying coffee from the tiny stand three blocks over, despite always claiming you were running late. You wore thin-framed glasses that slid down your nose whenever you got stressed, and every time you pushed them back up, Clark had to physically stop himself from staring. Some days, there were scratches along your knuckles. Other days, bruises bloomed beneath your sleeves in places too deliberate to ignore.

And then Jimmy mentioned it. You disappeared almost every lunch break and came back twenty or thirty minutes later looking flushed and disheveled, your hair windswept like you’d been sprinting across rooftops.

“She disappears for hours sometimes,” he said one afternoon while tossing gummy bears into his mouth at Clark’s desk. “Like full mystery mode. One second she’s here, next second poof.”

Clark tried to sound casual. “Maybe she just likes being alone.”

Jimmy narrowed his eyes. “You're defending her because you’re in love with her?”

Clark nearly inhaled his own saliva.

“I am not in love with her.”

Jimmy looked unconvinced.

The thing was, Clark disappeared during lunch too, so he never actually noticed you leaving. Usually, he was halfway across the city, stopping a robbery or preventing some catastrophic disaster before rushing back to the Planet pretending he hadn’t just held up a collapsing bridge. But now that he knew you were vanishing too, every weird little detail about you started clicking into place.

And the biggest thing of all?

You somehow never reacted to Superman.

Everyone reacted to Superman.

Jimmy lit up like a little kid every single time Superman came up in conversation. Lois always had opinions, whether she admitted it or not. Half the newsroom stopped working whenever he flew past the windows.

You?

You barely looked up.

Like you’d seen stranger things before. Like the flying alien in blue wasn’t remotely the most interesting thing in your life. You never pitched Superman stories. Never fought for front page exclusives about him the way every newcomer usually did trying to impress Perry. Sometimes Clark caught you listening quietly when the others talked about Superman, your expression unreadable behind your glasses, but you never joined in.

It drove him insane.

Clark leaned back slowly in his chair one evening, staring at you across the bullpen while realization settled into his chest piece by piece.

Another superhero.

It had to be.

You weren’t active in Metropolis. He would know if you were. He would have seen you during patrols or heard whispers about a vigilante operating nearby. But another city? Another state?

A hidden identity.

A superhero.

The thought should not have thrilled him as much as it did.

Yet suddenly every interaction with you felt charged with something heavier. Something electric. Because maybe you understood him in ways no one else could. Maybe you understood the exhaustion of splitting yourself into pieces for the world. The balancing act. The secrecy. The isolation. The terrible loneliness that came with carrying things no one else could know.

And once the idea rooted itself in Clark’s mind, it refused to let go.

“You’re doing it again,” Lois said without looking up from her laptop.

Clark’s head snapped upward so quickly it was almost suspicious on its own. “Doing what?”

“Staring.”

“I’m not staring,” he said immediately. “I’m observing.”

Lois finally looked at him then, one eyebrow lifting slowly toward her hairline. “That somehow sounds significantly worse.”

Across the newsroom, completely unaware of the crisis currently unfolding at Clark’s desk, you sat cross-legged in your chair flipping through interview notes with one hand while absentmindedly chewing on the end of your pen. Your glasses had slipped halfway down your nose again, and every few seconds you nudged them back up without even noticing you were doing it. The soft yellow light hanging over your desk caught against the side of your face and illuminated the faint purple bruise resting high along your collarbone just above the neckline of your sweater.

Clark swallowed hard.

It looked fresh.

Not severe enough to panic over, but enough that his stomach twisted unpleasantly anyway.

Lois followed his line of sight with painful ease, then let out one long dramatic sigh like she was exhausted by his existence.

“Okay,” she muttered, shutting her laptop halfway. “Spill it, Smallville.”

Clark immediately lowered his voice despite the fact nobody around them was paying attention. “I think she might be a vigilante.”

Lois stared at him blankly.

Clark pressed forward before she could interrupt. “Or a superhero. I’m not completely sure yet.”

For three full seconds, Lois said absolutely nothing.

Then she burst into laughter loud enough that three people looked over, including Jimmy, halfway across the bullpen.

Clark frowned immediately. “I’m serious.”

That only made her laugh harder.

“Oh my God,” she wheezed, grabbing the edge of the desk for support. “You are serious.”

Clark crossed his arms defensively. “There’s evidence.”

“The fact that she’s pretty is not evidence.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Mmhm.”

“She disappears every lunch break.”

Lois deadpanned. “So do you.”

Clark blinked once.

“That’s different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes.”

“How?”

Clark opened his mouth.

Nothing came out.

Lois smirked victoriously before continuing. “Clark, this is Metropolis. Half the city disappears during lunch because something explodes every twelve minutes.”

“She comes back injured.”

Lois snorted. “I got clipped by a taxi last month and still came into work. Last week Jimmy walked into a parking meter and got a concussion.”

“Hey,” Jimmy called from across the room. “That was one time.”

Clark ignored both of them. “These aren’t normal bruises.”

Lois glanced toward you again, her expression softening slightly as she caught sight of the mark on your collarbone. “Okay, maybe they’re not ideal, but you’re jumping from concern to full conspiracy theory pretty fast here.”

“She hides behind glasses.”

Lois stared at him slowly.

Very slowly.

“Clark.”

“Yes?”

“You also wear glasses.”

“That’s different.”

“Why?”

Clark opened his mouth again.

Then closed it.

Because honestly, hearing it out loud made his entire theory sound insane.

Lois rubbed both hands down her face. “You have a crush and your brain stopped functioning.”

“It’s not a crush,” Clark said immediately, far too fast to sound believable.

Like he’d been summoned by the sheer force of gossip, Jimmy suddenly appeared beside Clark’s desk holding a soda and an expression full of dangerous curiosity. “Who has a crush?”

“No one,” Clark answered at the exact same time Lois said, “You.”

Jimmy gasped dramatically loud enough to earn a glare from Perry’s office.

“On Y/N?” he whispered aggressively.

Clark nearly inhaled his own tongue.

Jimmy’s grin widened instantly. “Dude.”

“I do not have a crush on her.”

“You stared at her for like six straight minutes yesterday,” Lois said.

“I was thinking.”

“About her mouth?” Lois shot back.

Clark physically choked.

Jimmy looked delighted. “Oh my God, you’re down bad.”

“I’m not down anything.”

Jimmy leaned against Clark’s desk with all the confidence of a man who enjoyed making situations worse. “You should ask her out.”

Clark immediately shook his head. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not?”

Because what if you really were risking your life every night somewhere? Because what if getting involved complicated things for both of you? Because what if you looked at him too closely and saw through every carefully built layer separating Clark Kent from Superman?

Because maybe a part of him desperately wanted you to.

Clark looked away instead.

Jimmy squinted at him suspiciously. “Wait.”

Clark already hated that tone.

“Are you scared of her?”

“No.”

“You totally are.”

“I’m not scared of her.”

“She is kinda intimidating,” Jimmy admitted thoughtfully. “In a hot way.”

Lois gagged.

Jimmy ignored her. “Last week I saw her come back from lunch with blood on her sleeve.”

Clark went completely still.

Every sound in the bullpen seemed to dull instantly around him.

“Blood?” he repeated carefully.

Jimmy nodded, suddenly less amused now that he had their full attention. “Yeah. Not a ton, but enough that I noticed. She was trying to hide it.” He lowered his voice conspiratorially. “I saw her scrubbing it out in the bathroom sink afterward.”

Lois sat up straighter now too, concern flickering across her face despite herself. “Okay, that is a little weird.”

Clark’s pulse started hammering.

Jimmy continued, oblivious. “And she looked exhausted after too. Like she’d been in a fight or something.”

Clark’s stomach dropped.

A fight.

Lois pointed a finger at him before he could spiral further. “Do not start building your murder board yet, Kent. There are normal explanations for this.”

Clark looked unconvinced.

“She could’ve gotten a nosebleed,” Lois argued. “Or spilled ketchup on herself. Or helped somebody who got hurt.”

Jimmy made a face. “Who spills ketchup directly on their sleeve?”

Lois ignored him. “My point is you are going from zero to one hundred.”

But Clark barely heard her anymore.

Because across the newsroom you laughed softly at something another reporter said, completely relaxed, completely normal, while absentmindedly tugging your sleeve lower over your bruised wrist like you didn’t want anyone noticing.

Like you were hiding something.

Clark narrowed his eyes slightly.

Definitely a vigilante, he thought to himself.

If only Clark knew how catastrophically far he was from the truth.

You were not a vigilante. Not a superhero. Not a masked protector operating out of another city with a tragic backstory and secret double life.

You were just unbelievably unlucky.

That was genuinely the entire story.

Your apartment building elevator broke so often you were convinced it had developed personal hatred toward you specifically. Twice a month it jerked violently enough to send you crashing into the wall, and once it trapped you between floors for nearly an hour while you sat on the ground eating stale crackers from your purse and contemplating every bad decision that led you to Metropolis. You bruised absurdly easily too. The smallest things left marks on your skin for days. You once woke up with a bruise on your thigh so dark and dramatic that you genuinely convinced yourself you had some terrifying hidden illness before remembering you’d walked into the kitchen counter half asleep at two in the morning looking for water.

Another time?

A pillow.

An actual pillow.

You had dropped face first onto your bed after a sixteen hour day and somehow managed to bruise your shoulder against the wooden headboard in the process.

Your body simply refused to cooperate with you.

It became such a normal part of your life that eventually you stopped noticing the bruises entirely until other people pointed them out. You were always distracted, always thinking too fast, always halfway somewhere else mentally, which meant you regularly walked into doors, clipped corners, slammed your hips against desks, tripped down stairs, or forgot objects existed directly in front of you. Half the bruises on your legs appeared without explanation because apparently your body just enjoyed creating mysteries.

The rest of your “suspicious behavior” was equally uninteresting.

Your disappearances during lunch breaks were usually spent crying in your car from stress, scarfing down vending machine snacks while answering calls from insurance companies, or sprinting halfway across Metropolis trying not to miss your younger brother’s physical therapy appointments. Since your parents passed, taking care of him became your responsibility, and balancing that with the Daily Planet nearly killed you some days. There were mornings you barely made it to work because you’d spent hours arguing with doctors or trying to convince your brother not to give up on recovery entirely.

The blood on your sleeve?

Your brother dropped an entire cherry slushie directly onto you after laughing too hard at one of your jokes.

You spent twenty minutes in the Planet bathroom trying to scrub fluorescent red sugar syrup out of your cardigan while wondering if adulthood was punishment for something you did in a past life.

That was it.

No secret missions.

No hidden enemies.

No rooftop fights.

Just terrible luck and a rapidly deteriorating mental state.

The only thing Clark had accidentally gotten right was the Superman part.

Because the reason you barely reacted to him anymore was simple.

You had already met him once.

Technically, though, he definitely didn’t know that.

It happened three years ago during what remained, to this day, the worst night of your life.

You’d been visiting Metropolis for a college journalism conference when the bridge collapsed.

Even now the memory felt sharp enough to cut.

You remembered screaming. Metal twisting like paper. The deafening sound of concrete splitting apart beneath hundreds of terrified people. Cars tipping sideways. Smoke everywhere thick enough to choke on. One second you were sitting in the backseat of a taxi answering emails on your phone, the next the entire world tilted violently and disappeared beneath you.

The impact shattered something in your leg instantly.

You still remembered the pain.

White hot and nauseating.

You had been trapped beneath mangled steel and broken concrete while people screamed around you in complete panic. Somewhere nearby a child was crying for their mother. Someone else was praying loud enough for you to hear every word. Smoke burned your lungs every time you inhaled and your vision blurred from the pain until honestly, truly, you thought you were going to die there.

Then suddenly everything changed.

There had been blue.

Bright against all the gray dust and smoke.

Then warmth.

Strong hands lifting impossible weight like it meant nothing.

And a voice.

God, that voice.

Gentle. Calm. Steady in a way that made the panic inside your chest loosen instantly despite the destruction surrounding you.

“I’ve got you.”

You remembered staring through tears as Superman crouched beside you in the wreckage, one hand braced against collapsing concrete while the other carefully untangled twisted metal from around your leg like he was terrified of hurting you further.

You remembered his cape moving in the wind behind him.

You remembered the symbol on his chest.

But mostly?

You remembered his eyes.

Kind.

Not performative kindness either. Not the polished, public version the world saw during interviews and press conferences.

Real kindness.

The kind that reached all the way down into a person.

You had looked at him while shaking from pain and fear, and somehow he made you feel safe immediately.

Like nothing terrible could happen while he was there.

He stayed with you until paramedics arrived even though half the bridge was still collapsing around him. You remembered him brushing dust from your forehead carefully, asking if you could breathe alright, speaking softly enough that only you could hear him over the chaos.

Then he smiled at you.

A small thing.

Quick.

But warm enough that your chest hurt afterward every time you remembered it.

For months after that, every man you met felt disappointing in comparison.

Not because they couldn’t fly or lift buildings or stop disasters.

But because none of them looked at people the way Superman did.

None of them carried gentleness so naturally.

Then you started working at the Daily Planet and met Clark Kent.

Clark Kent, who smiled exactly the same way Superman did.

Clark Kent, who tilted his head while listening exactly the same way Superman did.

Clark Kent, whose voice dropped softer whenever someone was upset.

Clark Kent, who had the exact same eyes as Superman did.

You figured it out in less than a week.

Honestly, it was almost concerning nobody else had.

The glasses helped more than they should have, but still.

Sometimes Clark would disappear for suspiciously long stretches of time right before Superman appeared downtown. Sometimes he came back looking exhausted with his tie crooked and his hair windblown while pretending nothing happened. Once you watched him return to the bullpen with ash smeared along his sleeve less than fifteen minutes after a chemical plant explosion Superman had supposedly been rescuing people from across the city.

You nearly laughed out loud.

But you never said anything.

Because it wasn’t your place.

The secret clearly mattered to him. Deeply. You could see it in the careful way he carried himself, always slightly restrained, always holding pieces of himself back. If Clark ever trusted you enough to tell you the truth himself, then he would. Until then, you would protect it too.

Besides, there was something strangely endearing about watching him maintain the act.

Clark tried so hard sometimes.

Too hard.

He’d intentionally stumble over absolutely nothing whenever people looked too closely at him. He lowered his voice around the office compared to Superman’s. Occasionally he pretended not to understand basic sarcasm because apparently Clark Kent was supposed to be awkward and harmless and incapable of throwing someone through a wall.

It was adorable.

Especially because underneath all of it, he was still just Clark.

Thoughtful. Sweet. Quietly protective.

You noticed the way he always carried extra snacks in his bag because he knew you forgot to eat during deadlines. The way he stayed late helping interns finish assignments without asking for credit. The way he checked if you got home safe after rough weather warnings.

That was the thing. Even as Clark Kent, he was still Superman.

“Hey.”

The sound of Clark’s voice pulled you out of your concentration immediately.

You looked up from your desk to find him standing there awkwardly between the rows of cluttered cubicles, broad shoulders slightly tense beneath his blue button up, two coffee cups clutched carefully in his hands like he was afraid he might spill them if he moved too quickly. His glasses had slipped lower on his nose again, and there was something almost unbearably nervous about the way he hovered there waiting for your attention.

Your stomach betrayed you instantly with a ridiculous little flip.

Which was honestly unfair.

A man should not be allowed to look like that while also being sweet.

“Hi,” you said, trying to sound significantly calmer than you felt.

“Hi.” Clark cleared his throat softly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. “I got your order.”

Your eyebrows lifted in surprise as he handed one of the cups toward you. “You remembered my order?”

Immediately, his entire expression changed.

Clark looked flustered so fast it was almost painful to witness.

A faint flush crawled up the back of his neck, his grip tightening slightly around the remaining coffee cup while his eyes darted away from yours for half a second before returning.

“Well,” he started carefully, “you order the same thing every morning, and I just happened to notice, and I was already there anyway, so I thought maybe…” He trailed off awkwardly before adding quieter, “You looked tired today.”

Something warm unfolded in your chest so suddenly it nearly hurt.

Because of course he noticed that too.

You smiled softly as you accepted the coffee from him, your fingers brushing briefly against his. The contact only lasted a second, but Clark went strangely still afterward, like he felt it too.

“Thank you,” you murmured. “That’s very sweet of you.”

The tension in his shoulders loosened almost immediately at your reaction. Just slightly, but enough that you noticed. Clark always looked like he carried invisible weight around with him, something heavy tucked behind his eyes even during lighter moments, but right now he looked quietly pleased in a way that made your chest ache.

Then his gaze dropped downward.

Your wrist.

Ah.

You had forgotten about the bruise.

It wrapped faintly around the inside of your arm, darker today than it had been this morning, peeking beneath the sleeve of your sweater where it had ridden upward while you worked. You followed Clark’s line of sight automatically and watched concern settle over his features almost instantly.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

The sincerity in his voice caught you completely off guard.

Clark wasn’t asking carelessly. He wasn’t fishing for gossip or trying to satisfy curiosity. There was genuine worry in his expression, in the slight furrow between his brows, in the way his body leaned toward you unconsciously like he was already prepared to help if you needed it.

And suddenly your heart felt painfully full.

You glanced down at the bruise before offering him a small reassuring smile. “Yeah,” you said gently. “Just clumsy.”

Clark looked profoundly unconvinced.

Honestly, insultingly unconvinced.

His eyes lingered on your wrist another second too long, jaw tightening slightly like he was debating whether or not to push further. You could practically see the thoughts moving behind his eyes, all that concern tangling together with whatever conclusions he’d already convinced himself of.

“You can tell me if something’s wrong,” he said quietly. “You know that, right?”

Your chest tightened unexpectedly hard.

Because he meant it.

God.

He really meant it.

Clark looked at you like helping people was as natural as breathing. Like caring was instinctive for him. And maybe it was. You had seen Superman pull strangers from burning buildings with that same expression on his face, gentle and determined all at once.

Now, Clark was looking at you exactly the same way.

The realization sent something dangerous curling low in your stomach.

For one reckless second, you wanted to reach up and touch his face.

Wanted to smooth out the worry between his brows with your thumb. Wanted to tell him he didn’t have to look at you like you were breakable. Wanted to know if his skin felt as warm as you imagined.

Dangerous. Extremely dangerous.

Especially because Clark already occupied far too much space in your thoughts.

You looked away first before the feeling could settle too deeply inside you.

“I’m okay, Clark,” you said softly.

The newsroom buzzed around you both, phones ringing somewhere in the distance while keyboards clicked endlessly across the bullpen, but for a second the noise felt strangely muted beneath the weight of his attention.

Clark studied your face carefully like he was trying to determine whether you were lying.

And maybe you were, just not in the way he thought.

Because no, nobody was hurting you.

But there were things exhausting you. Things wearing you down piece by piece until you barely recognized yourself some mornings. Bills piling up. Hospital visits. Sleepless nights. Fear. Responsibility. The constant pressure of trying to hold your life together with shaking hands.

You wondered briefly what would happen if you told him all of it.

Something in Clark’s expression softened further, his concern melting into quiet helplessness when you held his gaze again. Like he wanted to fix whatever burden you carried even without understanding it.

Finally, after a long moment, he nodded slowly.

“Okay,” he murmured.

But he still looked worried.

And somehow that affected you more than it should have.

Two nights later, Clark followed you.

The decision sat horribly in his chest from the moment he made it.

It felt invasive. Hypocritical. Wrong in ways he couldn’t ignore no matter how hard he tried justifying it to himself. Clark spent half his life protecting his own secrets, carefully balancing two identities and guarding every vulnerable part of himself from public scrutiny, and now he was trailing you through the city because he couldn’t let go of a theory.

But then he remembered the split across your knuckles that morning.

The bruise beneath your eye.

The way you smiled through it anyway like pain was something you’d learned to carry quietly.

And suddenly the guilt became easier to ignore.

That morning had nearly driven him insane.

You walked into the bullpen ten minutes late with your glasses slightly crooked and exhaustion written across every inch of your face. There was a bruise shadowed beneath your eye, dark enough that even makeup couldn’t fully hide it, and when you reached for your bag Clark saw the raw split across two of your knuckles.

His stomach dropped immediately.

“Come on,” Lois had said the second she noticed. Her voice softened with genuine concern as she leaned against your desk. “This is not nothing. What happened?”

You barely looked up from your laptop while setting your coffee down carefully. “I walked into a shelf.”

Jimmy stared at you. “With your face?”

You laughed quietly. “It was a very aggressive shelf.”

Nobody laughed with you.

Clark sat frozen at his desk watching you too closely, chest tight with something ugly and helpless. The bruise beneath your eye looked painful. Angry. Fresh.

And the worst part?

You looked tired. Not just physically, soul-deep tired.

The kind of exhaustion Clark recognized immediately because he saw it in the mirror some mornings after nights spent saving people until sunrise.

“Yeah, you can tell us,” Clark added carefully, trying to keep his voice light despite the tension in his chest. “I’m friends with Superman. I can make sure nobody’s hurting you.”

The second Superman left his mouth, you laughed.

Actually laughed.

Not mockingly, just this surprised little breath of amusement that made your shoulders shake slightly.

Clark blinked.

That was odd.

You rubbed at your forehead afterward and smiled tiredly. “I’m fine, seriously. Like I said, I’m just very clumsy.”

Clark did not buy that for one second.

Not remotely.

So yes.

He followed you after work.

Metropolis blurred gold and gray around him as the sun dipped lower between buildings. Clark kept enough distance that you wouldn’t notice him, perched silently atop rooftops while watching you move through crowded sidewalks below.

You looked painfully ordinary.

That somehow made him more suspicious.

You stopped at a pharmacy first. Then a bookstore. Then, finally headed toward your neighborhood, disappearing farther into the rougher parts of the city where streetlights flickered weakly, and buildings leaned tiredly into one another.

Clark’s confusion only grew.

No secret headquarters, no underground base, no suspicious contacts waiting in alleyways.

Just a rundown apartment building with cracked windows and buzzing hallway lights that barely worked.

You disappeared inside.

Clark perched silently on the rooftop across the street, cape tucked close as he frowned down at the building below.

Maybe this wasn’t where you operated from, maybe the real entrance was hidden somewhere else. Maybe you were intentionally throwing off anyone following you.

Twenty minutes later you emerged again wearing loose sweatpants and carrying two grocery bags.

Clark stared.

That was somehow even more confusing.

You adjusted the bags against your hip while locking the apartment door behind you, expression distracted like you were mentally planning tomorrow already.

Then suddenly you froze.

Clark heard it at the same moment you did.

Shouting.

It was sharp, aggressive, coming from the alley beside the building.

Clark straightened immediately.

Two men crowded near the dumpsters, one of them gripping the arm of a terrified teenage boy clutching a backpack against his chest. The kid looked maybe fifteen at most, eyes wide with panic while one of the men shoved him hard against the brick wall.

Clark moved instinctively.

Ready to intervene, ready to land between them before anyone got hurt.

But then you moved first, and Clark wanted to see what you would do.

Your purse hit the nearest thug square in the chest hard enough to stagger him backward.

“Hey!” you shouted, stepping directly between them and the teenager without hesitation. “Back off, don’t hurt him!”

Clark blinked.

The men laughed immediately.

One of them looked you up and down dismissively. “Mind your business, sweetheart.”

You shoved him backward before he could touch you.

The entire alley went still for half a second.

Then chaos erupted.

One of the men lunged toward you, and you punched him directly in the throat. Not with trained precision or with impossible strength.

Just pure instinct and adrenaline.

Clark watched in stunned silence as the fight spiraled. He waited for you to use your powers.

You got hit almost immediately.

Hard enough that your head snapped sideways against the brick wall.

Clark nearly intervened right then.

But you kept moving.

Kept fighting.

You grabbed a broken broom handle off the ground and swung it wildly, breathing hard while shoving yourself between the terrified kid and the men trying to grab him. One of them caught your wrist hard enough to bruise instantly, but you twisted free and slammed the broom into his ribs with enough force to send him stumbling backward cursing.

It wasn’t graceful, it wasn’t superhuman but God, it was brave.

Eventually the men fled swearing under their breath after attracting too much attention from nearby apartments. The teenager bolted immediately afterward, clutching his backpack while mumbling a terrified thank you over his shoulder.

And you?

You just stood there breathing hard.

One hand pressed tightly against your ribs while the other wiped blood from your split lip.

Clark landed behind you before he could stop himself.

The sound made your entire body tense instantly. Slowly, cautiously, you turned around.

Your eyes widened behind your glasses.

“Superman?”

For a second genuine confusion crossed your face before suspicion followed immediately after. “What are you doing here?”

Clark stared at the blood on your mouth.

The bruise already forming along your cheek.

“You’re hurt, ma'am.”

You let out a weak laugh despite yourself. “Little late for that observation, don’t you think?”

“You could’ve been killed.”

The words came out harsher than he intended. It was not Superman speaking; it was Clark. His theory was wrong, and he hated that he doubted you for a second. Instead of asking you, he followed you like a creep and watched you get hurt.

Fear still pulsed violently through him.

You looked startled by the intensity in his voice before your expression softened slightly.

“So could that kid.”

Clark stepped closer before he could stop himself. “Why would you do that?”

Your face changed then. Not dramatically, just enough that something inside Clark’s chest tightened painfully.

“Because no one else was going to,” you answered quietly.

God.

You looked exhausted. Bruised. Completely human standing there beneath the flickering alley light.

Not invincible, not secretly powerful.

Just good.

Clark suddenly felt unbelievably stupid.

“Oh,” you said after a second, voice softer now.

“What?”

A tiny smile appeared despite the split on your lip.

“ You watched the fight. Probably heard it before it happened, yet you didn't intervene. Because you thought I could handle it, didn't you? You followed me back to my neighborhood. Clark. You thought I was a superhero, didn't you?”

Clark’s entire face burned instantly.

“No,” he lied horribly.

“Clark.”

“I just…” He groaned quietly, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m sorry, okay? I just didn’t believe someone could actually be that clumsy.”

That made you laugh again, a real laugh this time. Warm and breathless and bright enough to completely wreck him.

Then you winced sharply halfway through it, one hand clutching your side.

Clark crossed the distance between you immediately.

“Easy, easy. I got you.”

His hands settled instinctively against your waist to steady you.

The second he touched you, both froze.

Clark became painfully aware of everything all at once.

Your breath caught softly as Clark’s hands settled against your waist. The warmth of his body this close to yours made your head spin a little, especially when your eyes slowly lifted toward his and found him already staring. Your heartbeat fluttered fast beneath his hearing, but not from fear.

His own pulse thundered in response. For a long second, neither of you moved, caught in this strange quiet tension that suddenly felt too intimate for the dark alley surrounding you.

And then it hit him.

You called him Clark. Not Superman. Clark.

Like you already knew. Like you saw through every careful layer, every disguise, every attempt to separate the two identities, and still looked at him like he was just himself.

Clark’s expression shifted instantly, something stunned and uncertain flickering across his face.

“Did you just call me Clark?” he asked softly.

Then softly, almost teasingly, you murmured, “You know, for someone hiding the biggest secret in the world, you’re surprisingly bad at recognizing them in other people.”

Clark froze completely.

Every sound around him vanished. The city disappeared, his hands tightened slightly against your waist before he caught himself.

“You…”

Your gaze met his steadily, affectionate in a way that nearly knocked the air from his lungs.

“I know, Clark.”

For one horrifying second he forgot how to breathe.

Then your hand lifted carefully, fingers brushing lightly against his arm like you were grounding him before he could panic.

“I figured it out almost immediately.”

Clark stared at you in complete disbelief. “You knew?”

“You’re not exactly subtle.”

“What? I am subtle.”

You gave him a look, and Clark immediately deflated a little. “Okay,” he admitted, “maybe not all the time.”

Your smile softened at that. “You wanted privacy. It wasn’t my place to say anything.”

Something tightened painfully in Clark’s chest. Most people reacted to Superman with awe or fear, but you were looking at him like he was just Clark, and somehow that affected him more than he could explain.

“You’re not scared of me?” he asked quietly before he could stop himself.

Your expression softened almost heartbreakingly. “Clark, I watched you hold a collapsing bridge together while comforting strangers so they wouldn’t panic.” His breath caught as you smiled faintly. “I think you’re the safest person I’ve ever met.”

The intensity in his chest became almost unbearable. Before he could overthink it, Clark reached up carefully, his thumb brushing beneath the bruise on your cheekbone with impossible gentleness.

“So all this time,” you murmured, amused now, “you thought I was fighting crime?”

A sheepish smile finally pulled at his mouth. “Cut me some slack, will you? You disappear constantly. What else was I supposed to think?”

You huffed a quiet laugh. “I have a brother with a disability. He needs constant care, so he stays in a hospital where they can help him properly.” Your voice softened. “I don’t really have other family left, so I try to spend as much time with him as I can. I don’t want him feeling alone.”

Clark stood completely still.

Every stupid theory he’d built over the past weeks collapsed instantly into embarrassment.

You kept talking quietly.

“Sometimes I come in late because we lose track of time playing Uno together,” you admitted quietly. “I think he lets me win now because his hands shake too much to hold the cards properly, but he still smiles like he used to, so I pretend not to notice.”

A faint smile crossed your face before fading slightly. “And sometimes I read stories to the kids in the pediatric wing during treatments because they get scared. It helps keep them calm, and the extra money helps me cover bills.” You looked away for a second. “I think I just… know what it feels like to be stuck in a hospital room wishing somebody would stay.”

Your laugh came softer after that, almost fragile. “Children are brutal critics, though. Apparently my dragon voices all sound the same.”

Clark honestly did not know what to say anymore.

All this time, he had built this entire version of you in his head. A masked vigilante slipping out of the Daily Planet during lunch breaks to save people somewhere across the city. Someone carrying bruises like battle scars, hiding secrets behind nervous smiles and thick framed glasses because they understood the impossible balancing act he lived every day.

Meanwhile, you were just… taking care of people.

Your brother. Sick children. Strangers in dark alleys.

You carried all of it alone without powers, without recognition, without anyone stepping in to help carry the weight with you, and somehow that affected Clark far more than the idea of you being a superhero ever had. Because there was nothing separating you from the pain of it. No invulnerability. No super strength. No ability to fly away from exhaustion or grief or fear.

Just you.

Still choosing kindness anyway.

Clark looked at you standing there beneath the flickering alley light with a split lip and bruised ribs after throwing yourself into danger for a stranger, and something deep inside his chest ached painfully.

“What about the bruises?” he asked softly after a long moment, almost like he was still trying to piece you together properly now that he finally understood.

You looked nearly offended. “Clark, I told you. I’m clumsy.”

“You had one shaped like fingerprints.”

“I sleep weird.”

Clark blinked at you slowly. “...how?”

“I genuinely don’t know.”

The seriousness in your voice nearly made him laugh again.

“And the blood Jimmy saw on your sleeve?”

This time you actually looked embarrassed, your hand lifting to rub the back of your neck awkwardly. “That would be the cherry slushie my brother accidentally launched directly at me.”

Clark stared at you for half a second before closing his eyes briefly.

“Oh my God.”

The sound of your laughter echoed softly through the alley then, bright and warm despite everything, and Clark felt something inside him loosen unexpectedly at hearing it. You looked exhausted, bruised, and emotionally wrung out, but you were still laughing.

“So this whole time,” you said between laughs, “Superman has been secretly investigating me because I walk into furniture too often?”

“When you say it out loud, it sounds bad.”

“It sounds insane.”

Clark finally laughed too then, helpless and warm and completely unable to stop himself. The sound bounced between the alley walls as he shook his head, looking down at the ground for a second in disbelief before meeting your eyes again.

And suddenly neither of you could stop smiling.

The tension that had followed both of you for weeks dissolved so naturally it almost felt unreal. The alley somehow seemed smaller now, quieter somehow despite the city noise surrounding it. Intimate in a way Clark wasn’t prepared for.

His hand was still resting gently against your face.

Your fingers still curled softly around his wrist.

Clark looked at you for a long moment before speaking softly. “You know what?”

“What?”

A small smile pulled at his mouth then, warm and almost disbelieving at the same time. “I was right.”

You blinked at him. “About what?”

“You are a superhero.”

The teasing smile on your face faded slightly into something softer as Clark stepped a little closer, his thumb brushing carefully against your cheek again despite the bruise there. The touch was impossibly gentle, and somehow that made the words hit even harder.

“You take care of your brother by yourself. You carry work and bills and hospital visits and all this weight every day, and somehow you still show up smiling like none of it hurts.” His voice lowered quietly, full of something that made your chest ache. “You throw yourself into danger for strangers even though you’re scared and human and breakable. I think that’s a lot braver than flying.”

Your throat tightened unexpectedly.

Nobody had ever looked at your life and called it brave before. People called you responsible. Stubborn. Overworked. Occasionally a disaster. Nurses at the hospital constantly told you to sleep more, and your brother liked to joke that you were secretly a seventy year old woman trapped inside a twenty something year old body. But brave?

Never brave.

Yet Clark stood in front of you looking at you with the same certainty he probably used while telling terrified people everything was going to be alright during disasters. Like he truly meant every word.

“That’s not really the same thing,” you said softly after a moment, trying to laugh it off despite the warmth spreading painfully through your chest. “You literally stop meteors.”

Clark shook his head immediately. “That’s easy.”

You stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“For me,” he clarified quickly, his expression turning thoughtful, almost frustrated by his inability to explain himself properly. “I was born like this. Flying, strength, hearing buildings collapse from miles away, none of it feels difficult because it’s just…” He hesitated briefly. “Part of me.”

Your expression softened immediately.

“But you,” Clark continued more quietly, “you’re human.”

Something about the way he said it made your pulse flutter.

Not lesser. Never lesser.

Clark said human like it meant something sacred.

“You get scared anyway and still choose to help people,” he murmured. “You’re exhausted all the time, carrying responsibilities that would crush most people, and you still stop for strangers.” His gaze flickered briefly toward the alley where the teenager had disappeared earlier. “You don’t have powers protecting you.”

You looked down for a second, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity in his voice. “I was a little terrified back there,” you admitted quietly. “I genuinely thought that guy was going to break my nose.”

Clark’s jaw tightened instantly at that. “Don’t worry,” he said, voice low and certain. “He won’t touch you again.”

The protectiveness in his tone sent warmth straight through you, immediate and dangerous. God, you really needed him to stop doing that. Stop sounding so soft and protective while looking at you like you mattered more than anything else around him.

You tried very hard not to think about the fact that one of his hands were still resting carefully against your waist.

“Honestly,” you admitted with a quiet breath of laughter, “I mostly acted before thinking.”

Clark huffed softly. “Yeah, I noticed.”

“It’s a problem.”

“It’s also why that kid got home safe tonight.”

The sincerity in his voice nearly ruined you.

Your eyes lifted back toward him slowly, and suddenly he felt very close again. Close enough that you could see every tiny detail in his face beneath the dim alley light, the soft curl of dark hair near his forehead, the faint shadow along his jaw after a long day, the tiny crease between his brows that only appeared when he worried.

And God, Clark Kent worried about you constantly.

The realization settled warmly into your chest.

Clark looked at you like he couldn’t quite figure out what to do with how much he liked you, and maybe that should have scared you more than it did. Instead, it made your entire body feel strangely light.

“You’re laughing,” he said quietly after a moment, sounding almost surprised by it.

You smiled faintly. “So?”

“You don’t do it enough.”

The softness in his voice stole the breath straight from your lungs.

Somewhere along the way your life had become schedules and hospital rooms and bills and exhaustion, and people stopped looking closely enough to notice when you were genuinely happy versus when you were only pretending to be okay.

But Clark noticed.

Of course he did.

He noticed everything about you.

“You notice a lot for someone who claims he wasn’t investigating me,” you murmured.

Clark actually looked embarrassed by that. “I can explain it.”

“You followed me across the city.”

“…in hindsight, that sounds concerning.”

You laughed softly. “In hindsight?”

“I really thought you were secretly fighting crime,” he admitted, the warmth in his voice returning.

“You thought I was Batman, huh?”

A helpless laugh escaped him then, low and unfairly attractive enough to make your stomach twist. The teasing lingered between you for another second before fading naturally into something quieter, softer, the space between you suddenly feeling charged again.

Clark didn’t move.

Neither did you.

His eyes dropped briefly toward your mouth before lifting back to your eyes again, and your heartbeat stuttered immediately at the look on his face. Slowly, carefully, like he was giving you every opportunity to pull away, Clark stepped closer.

“You know what the worst part is?” he asked softly.

Your voice came out quieter than intended. “What?”

A faint smile touched his mouth, but there was real vulnerability underneath it now, the kind that made your chest ache. “I think I started liking you before the conspiracy theories.”

A startled laugh escaped you immediately.

“I tried not to,” Clark admitted quietly. “I thought maybe it would make things complicated.”

“You mean because you thought I was secretly fighting crime at night?”

“That was part of it.”

“And the other part?”

Clark looked at you for a long moment before answering, his expression softening into something painfully honest. “Because when I care about people,” he said quietly, “they get hurt.”

Your heart cracked a little at that.

You could hear it then beneath all the teasing and softness. The fear. The loneliness he carried around hidden beneath careful smiles and gentle hands. Clark said it so simply, but it sounded like something he had convinced himself of a very long time ago.

Before you could overthink it, your hand lifted carefully to his face.

Clark went completely still beneath your touch.

“You don’t get to decide other people’s choices for them,” you whispered.

His eyes searched yours carefully.

“I know what you are,” you continued softly, your thumb brushing lightly against his cheek. “And I still…”

The words caught in your throat suddenly.

Still what?

Still wanted him?

Still trusted him?

Still felt your entire chest tighten every time he looked at you?

Clark’s gaze dropped briefly to your lips before lifting back to your eyes again, his voice turning almost unbearably soft. “Still what?”

Your fingers curled slightly against his cheek. “Still think you’re worth knowing.”

Something in Clark’s expression changed after that.

Not dramatically.

Quietly.

Like he had spent so long expecting fear or rejection that simple acceptance hit him harder than anything else could have.

Then, slowly, almost cautiously, his hand slid upward from your waist to rest against your jaw. Warm. Gentle. Careful enough that your breath caught immediately.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked softly.

And God.

Nobody had ever sounded like that asking before.

Like it mattered.

Like you mattered.

You nodded once, barely managing the movement before Clark kissed you carefully at first, tentative like he was afraid pushing too hard might shatter the moment completely. Then your hand slid into his hair and something in him gave way.

The kiss deepened instantly, warm and aching and full of weeks worth of tension neither of you had known what to do with. Clark kissed like he cared too much already, one hand cradling your face while the other tightened carefully at your waist like grounding himself against you.

And maybe the craziest part was that for the first time in a very long while, you didn’t feel exhausted anymore.

You just felt safe.

Safe.

That was the only word your brain could hold onto as Clark kissed you beneath the flickering alley light, one hand cradling your face like something precious while the rest of the world carried on around you unnoticed. You had blood on your lip, bruises already forming beneath your skin, your ribs aching every time you breathed too deeply, and somehow none of it mattered when he touched you like that.

For a few dangerous seconds, you forgot about everything else completely.

The hospital bills waiting on your kitchen counter disappeared. The exhaustion clawing constantly at your bones vanished. The pressure sitting heavy on your chest every waking moment, the schedules and responsibility and fear, all of it faded beneath the warmth of Clark’s mouth against yours.

Maybe that was what made the kiss feel so overwhelming.

Not just because it was Clark.

But because nobody had held you this gently in a very long time.

Your fingers tightened slightly in his hair without thinking, and the soft sound that escaped him nearly ruined you completely. Clark kissed you slower after that, deeper, his thumb brushing carefully along your jaw like he was still trying to convince himself this was real. There was something almost unbearably restrained about him, like he wanted far more than he was allowing himself to take.

Then suddenly he pulled back.

Not far.

Just enough for both of you to breathe.

His forehead rested lightly against yours while you stood there dazed beneath the dim alley light, your glasses crooked from his hands in your hair and your lipstick probably smeared all over his mouth by now. Clark blinked at you once, still looking slightly stunned, and for one quiet second neither of you said anything.

Then you both started laughing.

Soft at first.

Then harder.

Not because anything was particularly funny, but because the entire situation felt completely absurd now that the tension finally snapped. Clark Kent had followed you across Metropolis because he genuinely believed you were secretly a vigilante, accidentally discovered you already knew he was Superman, watched you nearly lose a fight with a broom handle, then kissed you in the middle of an alleyway like this was somehow a normal Tuesday night.

Clark rubbed a hand over his face with a breathless laugh. “Okay,” he murmured. “Wow.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Wow?”

“Sorry,” he admitted, still laughing softly. “I had a much better sentence in my head five seconds ago.”

“I’m sure it was very impressive.”

“It really was.”

You laughed again, but the movement pulled sharply at your ribs this time. The wince escaped before you could hide it, and Clark’s entire expression changed immediately.

The softness melted into concern so quickly it almost startled you.

His eyes scanned over your face again, lingering on the split in your lip, the bruise darkening beneath your cheekbone, the way your arm instinctively wrapped tighter around your side now that the adrenaline was fading.

“You’re hurt,” he said quietly.

You waved him off automatically. “I’m fine.”

Clark gave you a look so deeply unconvinced it almost made you laugh again. His hands slid carefully from your waist to your arms instead, gentler now, almost hesitant like he was afraid of hurting you further.

“We should go to the hospital.”

The immediate groan that left you made him blink.

“Why do I feel like that’s the exact opposite reaction people usually have to hearing that?”

“Because hospitals hate me.”

“I seriously doubt hospitals hate you.”

“You’ve never seen me filling out paperwork.”

Normally that would have made him smile, but Clark’s expression stayed stubbornly concerned. His eyes never left your face.

“I’m serious.”

“So am I,” you argued. “They’re just going to tell me I bruised a rib and charge me eight hundred dollars for breathing near a doctor.”

“You could have a concussion.”

“I don’t.”

“You don’t know that.”

“I feel fine.”

Clark stared at you in disbelief. “You fought two grown men with a broom.”

“One and a half grown men,” you corrected immediately. “One of them was kinda skinny.”

“You’re joking right now?”

“I cope through humor.”

“That explains a lot actually.”

A faint smile pulled at your mouth, but Clark’s concern only deepened as he watched the exhaustion settle back into your body now that everything was over. Your shoulders had started slumping slightly, your breathing slower now, careful. You leaned subtly against the brick wall behind you for support without even realizing it.

Clark noticed immediately.

Of course he did.

Without thinking, he lifted his hand and brushed his knuckles lightly beneath your eye again, so gentle it made your chest ache.

“So stubborn,” he murmured.

“You literally fly into burning buildings,” you pointed out softly. “I don’t think you get to call other people stubborn.”

“That’s different.”

“That’s exactly what you said about the glasses thing.”

Clark sighed dramatically. “I hate when you use my own arguments against me.”

“You’re going to have a terrible time dating a journalist.”

The words slipped out before you could stop them.

Both of you froze.

Clark’s expression changed slowly, beautifully, the realization settling across his face while warmth spread through your entire body in immediate humiliation.

“Dating?” he repeated carefully.

Heat crawled instantly into your face. “I mean hypothetically.”

“Hm.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Don’t make that sound.”

“What sound?”

“That smug sound.”

Clark laughed softly then, low and warm enough to make your stomach flip all over again. But the amusement faded quickly back into concern as his eyes searched your face.

“Seriously, though,” he said more quietly. “Let me take you to get checked out.”

The sincerity in his voice made it impossible to joke your way around it completely.

Because Clark cared in this overwhelming wholehearted way that made refusal feel almost cruel.

You looked away with a sigh. “I really am okay.”

Clark stayed quiet.

Reluctantly, you glanced back at him. “Probably.”

“Probably.”

“It’s a very optimistic probably.”

“Y/N.”

The way he said your name should genuinely be illegal.

Soft. Patient. Concerned enough that guilt twisted faintly in your chest.

You exhaled slowly. “Fine. Maybe urgent care tomorrow if I still feel awful.”

Clark frowned immediately. “Tomorrow?”

“Yes, tomorrow.”

“Tonight.”

“Clark.”

“What if you cracked something?”

“Then I’ll simply suffer dramatically.”

“That’s not a real plan.”

“It’s been my plan for years.”

He stared at you for another long moment before something softer crossed his face suddenly, realization settling quietly into his expression.

“You really don’t take care of yourself enough, do you?”

The disappointment in his voice hit harder than you expected because he wasn’t judging you.

He just sounded sad about it.

Your gaze dropped briefly toward the ground. “There’s not always time.”

Clark’s expression softened instantly, and God, you hated how quickly he understood things you never actually said out loud.

He stepped closer again, one hand settling carefully against your cheek despite the bruise there, his touch impossibly gentle.

“There should be,” he said quietly.

The words settled somewhere deep inside your chest.

For a moment neither of you moved. The city hummed faintly around the alley, distant sirens echoing somewhere far away while Clark looked at you with that same impossible tenderness that made it hard to breathe properly.

Then he sighed softly through his nose like he was losing an argument internally.

“At least let me walk you upstairs.”

You blinked at him. “You want to walk me home?”

Clark looked genuinely baffled by the question. “I followed you across the city and watched you fight people with a broom,” he said. “At this point it feels irresponsible not to.”

His vision vignettes as he pours another sugar into his styrofoam cup of coffee. He only likes two, but now he’s lost count, opening packet after packet just to give himself an excuse to stay here.

Morning light pours in through the open windows on the east side of the office building, bathing you in gold. You’re so bright and beautiful, Keys can hardly even look at you. 

Briana’s voice filters through his thoughts, tuning him back into the conversation. “I like him and everything, but the sex is just—I don’t know—”

“Bland?” you offer. 

Briana pauses, giving you a weighted look before correcting. “Silent.”

You make a sympathetic sound, oblivious to your eavesdropper, whose cheeks are turning a charming shade of pink. 

“There’s nothing worse than a silent man in bed,” you say, stirring your coffee. “I mean, we want to hear what we’re doing to them, you know? Like, moaning a little won’t kill them. And add in a little dirty talk? God, that shit never fails to get me off.”

Another sugar packet rips in his fingers and he pours without really thinking. Good lord, this coffee is going to be undrinkable.

But the cup of joe is the literal least of his worries, since he’s shoving his hips up against the edge of the table just to keep from getting a hard at hearing you talk like that. You’re his co-worker. You sit across from him every day.

He can’t be getting hard at work. And especially, not right next to you. 

“Exactly!” Briana groans, enthusiastically. “So, I don’t know what to do about it.”

Keys’ head turns towards the open office floor, but his feet feel like they’ve grown roots, planting him right there in the dingy carpet, forcing him to listen. 

You hum, a familiar sound that means you’re thinking. “Well, if he’s into it, maybe listen to some spicy audios together? There are some really talented creators out there that can give you both some inspiration.”

He glances up just in time to watch Briana’s dark eyes cut over to you mischievously as she takes a sip. 

“Good idea,” she says, “I’m going to…” 

Somehow, Keys finally uproots himself and slips away with his cup of sugary bean water. 

He barely registers the rows of cubicles and windows swirling around him in colors of gray, blue, white, and black, too busy replaying your words over and over in his head.

…nothing worse than a silent man in bed.

…add in a little dirty talk?

…never fails to get me off.

His office chair squeaks under his weight and his glasses land on his desk with a clatter. Planting his elbows on his armrests, he breathes a deep sigh and scrubs his hands over his face. 

Focus, Keys. 

He replaces his glasses, and shifts forward in his chair, forcing his eyes back to his waiting code. The predictability of numbers—those never changing zeros and ones—usually settles him. But, not today. 

He tries hard to force all thoughts of you from his head but—oh, it’s useless. 

There you are, spread out on his navy sheets, writhing underneath him. His mouth trails soft kisses down your throat, over your shoulder, and lower…

You let out a needy whine, hands twisting up in his hair, legs parting for him on instinct. And in his imagination, he opens his mouth to say something hot—anything—but no words come. He wouldn’t know what to say. 

He has a few trademark moves in bed. I mean, who doesn’t? And the girls he’s been with always leave happy. 

But…is he silent? He doesn’t really know, actually. Never recorded himself…or anything…maybe he should—

“You good?” 

The world whips back into focus, and Keys jumps in his chair. Suddenly, the overhead light’s too bright, and the AC feels like an icy blast, and you’re there, standing over your desk, staring at him with concern. 

“What?” he squeaks, then clears his throat. “Y-yeah. Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?”

You shrug, and take your seat across from him. “I don’t know, you just look…tired, I guess.”

He just grunts and returns his gaze to his computer screen. “Just…work stuff.”

You hum in agreement and turn back to your screen as well. 

As much as he bitches about being shoved up in the corner of the floor, the only space with a huge window immediately to his left, the spot really does have its perks. 

It’s annoying because it’s so bright he has to squint to see his screen most of the time. But the way the sun shines through the blinds, painting you in thin lines of shadow, lighting up your eyes and lashes?

He wouldn’t trade this spot for anything. 

Shit. Now he’s staring. 

Irritated, he forces his gaze away and pushes his glasses up higher on his nose. 

His hand finds his mouse and he navigates to his work, but for one fleeting second, his curser hovers over the new tab button. 

Now, Keys is a complete and total nerd, so, of course he’s no stranger to the internet. Especially the deep, dark parts of it. He’s fallen victim to those late night deep dives on reddit pages more times than he can count. And somewhere, in the back of his mind, he remembers coming across those ‘spicy audios’ you gushed about earlier. 

What did you call them? Talented creators? Which ones were you talking about? What things did they say? What did you like about it?

All it would take is a few clicks on his keyboard, and he’d get all those answers to his questions. But he quickly shakes his head to clear it and pulls up his code with a guilty look over his shoulder.

The white wall stares at him, disapproving. 

What the fuck has gotten into him? He cannot be looking this shit up at work! 

He really has it bad.

When he’s back home, in the comfort of his own gaming desk, only then will he let himself investigate this newfound scrap of information on you. 

Later, he promises himself. Later. 

Well, it’s later. 

And Keys hasn’t got a single fucking line of code done yet. 

Which is why he’s stuck at work late, miserably trying to catch up on his project after everyone else has left for the day.

Everyone, that is, except for you.

Apparently, you also got behind, and you can’t afford to. Not with the new launch coming up.

Vinny came by to collect the trash a while back, and he didn’t see you in the back corner, so he turned off the lights, plunging you both into darkness. Neither of you have gotten up to turn them back on, choosing instead to work by the dim lights of your computer monitors. And even though the two of you keep saying you’re going to leave “any minute,” those minutes turn to hours, and you’re both still here. 

Alone.

The printer hums in the corner, and that blinking blue light on the side is driving Keys crazy. It keeps catching in the edge of his glasses, and the clicking of your mouse fills his ears. 

It’s constant. Unlike his. Which means you’re actually getting work done. Unlike him. 

Finally, your voice breaks the silence. 

“The street’s kinda loud tonight, isn’t it?”

Keys makes a noncommittal sound in this throat and doesn’t look up. 

Honestly, he hasn’t noticed the traffic humming far below the window, and he’s trying so hard not to look at you, not to think about you, that he doesn’t notice when you reach across over and grab his headphones by accident. 

It’s easy to get them confused. They look exactly the same, tangled up together at the edge of where your desks meet. Black. Standard issue. Company logo on the side. 

When Keys glances up and sees you with the headphones on, he sighs quietly in relief. 

It’s ridiculous, but up until this moment, he was hyper-aware of everything he was doing. Was he breathing too loudly? Could you hear his heartbeat? Was he readjusting himself too much when every thought of you in his bed gave him a hard-on? 

He tries to focus, he really does, but the numbers blur together on his screen. 

Music. 

That’s what he needs. 

He grabs the other pair of headphones, and when he settles them over his head, all he can hear is his own heartbeat slamming in his ears, reminding him of what a fucking loser he is. 

He should just ask you out. Like a normal person. But no. 

The foam cuffs press into the ear piece of his glasses, reminding him why he usually prefers the wired earbuds. But he’s lost them somewhere, and he can’t afford to go looking at the moment. 

The click of his mouse is silenced as he maneuvers it to pull up his music library. But, his cursor gets distracted on the way, hovering over that damn new tab icon in the corner.

He risks another peek at you. 

Your brows furrow and you readjust your headphones, eyes still on your screen.

Resisting the urge to scrub a hand over his face in frustration, he turns his gaze back to his computer. If he’s honest with himself, he won’t be able to get any substantial work done until he satisfies his curiosity.

It’s risky, doing this at work. But there’s no way you can hear anything, and Keys is getting desperate. 

After a few hasty searches, he’s navigating the depths of…erotic audios. 

His eyes widen as he scrolls past the sprawling inventory of tropes and storylines. There are so many different kinds of fantasies, how would he know what you’re into? He leans in closer, scrolling carefully down the list until he hesitates on one in particular. 

Talk Nerdy To Me. 

The small blurb underneath catches his eye. 

Your tutor tries a new tactic to get you to study for your big test. Just how sexual can his acronyms get before you decide to study anatomy a different way?

His cursor hovers over the LISTEN NOW button. 

This is harmless enough, right? There’s even a little story. Like an audio book. Just way shorter. And way more explicit. And…yeah, this is so wrong, on so many levels. 

Beneath his conscience, however, sits a burning curiosity. Keys is analytic at heart. If there’s a question, he wants to find the answer. And, if listening to this will help him figure out what to say in bed…

Fuck it. 

The silenced click of his mouse through his headphones is as loud as a gunshot.

He waits, breath caught in his chest, heel tapping restlessly on the carpet as the little blue progress bar starts to move. 

But he doesn’t hear anything. 

He frowns and readjusts his headphones. 

Nothing. 

On impulse, he skips to the middle. Just in case there was a silent lull there at the beginning. 

Still nothing. 

He leans towards the screen nervously, and as he shifts, he glimpses you from behind your computer screen—and freezes. 

You’re staring at him, cheeks flush in the dim lighting, chest fluttering with every breath. And small smirk begins at the corner of your mouth. It’s rueful and sinful, and… 

His stomach drops. 

Oh no. It’s in your headphones, isn’t it?

Oh, no, no, no, no—

His heart leaps in his chest as his hand flies to his mouse, scrambling to turn it off. 

Oh, God, where’s the stop button? 

There. That’s pause. Oh—he accidentally presses it twice. Now it’s playing again. 

HOW DO YOU CLOSE THIS FUCKING THING?

You chuckle breathlessly, watching your genius coworker—who can code literally anything, by the way— flail around like a fish out of water when all he has to do is simply push the little red X on the top right of his screen. 

The mouse starts to slip around in his sweaty palm and Keys gives up, slamming the power button on his computer, and enveloping the both of you in silence. 

You stare at each other over your desks for a long second. 

Then, Keys rips his headphones off and rakes a hand through his hair. 

See? This is what he gets for being fucking curious. It gets him in trouble. He just needs to stick with what he knows—

He opens his mouth to apologize, to explain, to—beg for his dignity back? But you just slip the headphones down to hang around your throat and level his gaze with a soft smile. 

“Was that Bennett Brooks?” 

“W-what?” Keys croaks, shoving his glasses further onto his burning face. 

“I recognize the voice actor. Haven't heard his stuff in forever, though. He’s good—voice is a little raspy for my taste,” you shrug prettily. “But good.”

He swallows. “Oh.” 

The silent office presses in around you, so quiet he can almost hear your lashes click together when you blink at him. Suddenly, you whip his headphones off your neck and thrust them onto his desk. 

They land with a clatter. 

“Sorry,” you say. “I didn’t mean to take yours. By all means, don’t stop on my account.”

Keys lets out a choked sound, caught somewhere between a laugh and a cough. This is definitely making it into the top three most embarrassing moments of his life. 

“I’m n-not...” he stammers, “Not into that. Like…that.”

You shoot him a knowing look. “No?”

“No! Listen, I just—” he scrambles for an explanation as you just fucking sit there watching him. Smiling at him. “It was just research. Okay? Not a big deal—” 

The words barely escape his lips before he realizes his mistake. 

“Research?“ Your eyes light up and you lean forward in your seat. His eyes drop to the white V-neck button down you’re wearing—that third button you leave unfastened haunts him every single day. “Research is my specialty, Keys.”

Yes, he knows that. You’re a data analyst for the company. One of the best in the region, actually, wasting your time at the desk next to his. He should apologize again, or confess he overheard your conversation at the coffee bar. 

But the embarrassment burns hot, so instead, he clears his throat and hooks a finger in his shirt collar that’s currently suffocating him.

“It’s stupid, really,” Keys says at long last, and he hates how it comes out crackly. He clears his throat again, like that will help dislodge the panic in his chest. 

It doesn’t. 

You shrug, tilting your head in that cute way you do. “Didn’t sound stupid to me.”

You’re being so nice about it. Why are you always so nice?  “You know, I could help.” Your eyes linger on him and the air seems to grow ten degrees hotter. Then softer, you add, “…if you want.”

And just like that, all thoughts of project and deadlines glitch and vanish from his mind like a crashed browser. 

He’s nodding before he’s even really given it much thought.  

You smile and sit up in your chair. God, you’re radiant. “Okay. Let’s start with what exactly you want to research. Is it audios, specifically? Or—”

“No, no, it’s just…I think I…” Keys’ bottom lip catches between his teeth before he heaves out a heavy breath. “I want to get better. I guess.”

“Better at what? Sex?”

This time, Keys doesn’t hesitate. “Dirty talk.”

“Oh.” Your eyes flick to his lips for a split second before meeting his again. “Well, you’ve come to the right place.”

Keys adjusts in his chair, his dick is already twitching in his pants. “Yeah? So, you like this sort of thing? Guys’ voices dirty talking you and stuff. That…” He swallows hard. “Gets you off?”

You shrug again casually, like you’re talking about the weather. “It’s one way, yeah.”

Keys nods again. Too fast. Way too fucking fast. 

“So, do you have anyone in mind?” You ask. 

His pulse leaps. “What?”

“Well, you’ve got to be researching this for a reason, right? I mean, curiosity is a valid enough, don’t get me wrong. But is there someone…?” you trail off, unsure of how to finish. 

A silent moment stretches out between you as Keys decides how to answer. The digital clock on the wall, the rise and fade of the passing lights, all seem to look between you—waiting for something. 

Finally, Keys sighs. “Well, there is this girl.”

“Aha!” You lean your elbows on your desk, eyes brightening with interest. “Tell me.”

“It’s new. Like—” he chuckles, averting his gaze. “Really new. So.”

“It’s okay, Keys. We’re friends! We can talk about this kind of stuff.”

“I know!” he says defensively, although he’s not really sure why. “She’s just…into this sort of thing. Dirty talk. I think.”

“You think.”

“Yeah.”

You nod slowly, encouraging, if not a little teasing. “Okay…so, give me the rundown here. When’s your next date?”

“Uh. First one, actually. And…it’s…Thursday,” Keys stammers. 

“Thursday? Okay.” You look out the window. A passing car’s headlights shine across your face for a second before the computer light consumes you again. “Lucky girl. Where are you taking her? I mean—before the inevitable trip back to your place.”

 You swallow hard and busy yourself with re-organizing your pen cup as he scrambles for an answer. 

Chinese. 

You love that. 

He knows because the one time he picked you up for work when your car was in the shop, he caught a glimpse of your apartment through your front door. Your coffee table was littered with little takeout boxes, and he filed that away like a crow picking up a shiny screw and calling it a treasure. 

Yeah, he has it bad. 

“Uh. I was thinking that Chinese joint on the corner of Cross and Elm."

Your jaw drops. “I love that place!”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, raking a hand through his hair. “Yeah, I know.”

When you look up at him again, there’s a hint of a smile on your lips.

“Okay, so, we have three days to prepare you. What questions do you have?”

Leave it to you to make this sound like a standardized research paper. Well, now’s a good a chance as ever. He might never get this chance again.

Keys straightens in his chair, heel tapping the carpet so fast his leg is bouncing. 

“What do you—do girls,” he quickly corrects himself, “—want guys to say?” 

You frown. “What do you mean?”

Heat rushes to his face. “I mean, like, do they tell you how to…touch yourself? I don’t—I can’t even—”

“You’re overthinking it. There’s no magical combination of words to use." You gesture to his computer. "Here, let’s listen to the audio, it’ll help me explain—”

“Oh, no! We don’t have to do that!” Keys squeaks. 

You shoot him a look. “You said this is for research, right?”

“Yeah! Obviously. Totally.”

“Then you can’t half-ass it. If you really want to learn how to dirty talk for this girl, you gotta commit.”

He hesitates. 

“C’mon, Keys.” Your teeth close over the end of your pen and you gesture to his computer with your eyes, smirking as you settle into your chair. “Press play.”

Fuck. 

Your coworker, Keys, has been acting weird as fuck all day, and now you finally know why. 

He totally overheard your conversation with Briana at the coffee bar, earlier. 

Maybe it had something to do with the way you raised your voice on purpose, hoping to get through that head of hair and those brown eyes that seem to see everything except all the signals you’ve been dropping his way since you first started here. 

From behind your desk, you watch him eye the power switch on his computer like it’s some gigantic red button that says ‘don’t touch’ or else it will somehow World War III. 

Come to think of it, you might start World War III if it means getting your oblivious-as-he-is-cute-coworker to finally make a real move. 

Still, though, there’s a part of you that feels for the guy. He’s so nice, and good, and sweet, and fuck if you don’t want him to corrupt him a little.

Only in the ways he wants to be corrupted, of course. Which, apparently, involves digging into ancient audio porn on reddit after work hours. 

Oh, you are so into it. 

“Why are you so embarrassed, Keys?” you say gently. “Look, this is normal, okay? Being curious. And you want to make this girl feel good, right?”

The girl has to be you.

After all those coffees he’s brought you from that fancy place that he insists only adds three minutes to his commute, but in reality, probably adds, like, twenty? And the way his hand accidentally finds ways to brush yours, and then he acts as if he’s not jumping out of his skin at the contact?

If this girl is not you, then this crush you have on your nerdy, hot co-worker is about to be devastating. 

Keys blows out a breath. “Okay, fine.” 

His computer powers up with a familiar hum, and blue light cascades over his features again. 

God, he looks nervous. Why is that such a turn-on?

He looks so alone over there behind his desk as one lock of brown hair falls over his eyes, brushing the rim of his glasses, and suddenly, you get an idea. 

“Wait, actually, no—” you mutter, standing up from your chair. 

Keys jumps like you’ve shot him. “Yeah,” he says, scrambling to turn distract himself with something else on his computer. “Yeah! No, we don’t—this is—”

“—I’m coming over there.”

“What?” Keys’ gaze snaps to yours. Then, he gestures to the space beside him in his workspace. “Here?” 

But you’re already rolling your chair over the carpet and behind his desk. It’s a tight fit, with these ergonomic chairs. Their wide armrests knock together as you slide in beside him. 

Keys’ cubicle is different. 

Technically, it’s the exact same as yours. The dimensions are the same, as well as your surroundings, but it smells like his cologne, and there’s that stack of board games he keeps hidden under his desk. 

“Okay,” you sigh, settling back in your chair. “If we’re going to do this, we do it right. Which means, starting from the top. Clearly, you know nothing of the subject—”

“I—” he starts, but you shoot him a look that has his jaw snapping shut. 

“Now, dirty talk is a broad subject, so, what kinds of things are you into?”

Keys shrugs. “I don’t know. I guess, it depends on what she’s into. I mean…” He threads his fingers behind his head and leans back in his computer chair in an obvious attempt at casualness. “What are you into?”

Smooth. Real smooth. 

You decide to go along with it. 

“I like a little of everything. Praise, instruction, degradation, fantasizing…but not every girl is the same—”

“Okay, let’s just do that, then,” he cuts you off, nodding once like it’s been decided. 

You have to bite your lip to keep from smiling. “Okay, I’ll press play.” 

You shift lean forward and your palm closes over his mouse. It’s slightly damp, like Keys’ fingers were clammy when he last touched it. 

“Wait!” His hand shoots out and grabs your wrist. “Like…out loud?”

You gesture to the darkness beyond. “Keys, no one is here.”

“No, I know, but…” his eyes sweep the empty floor, shoulder hunched to his ears. “Okay fine, just do it.”

You nod and turn back to the monitor. “We’ll just pick up where you left off, okay?”

“Oh. I didn’t—”

Bennet Brook’s voice cuts him off, filtering through Keys’ computer speakers with that deep, raspy voice of his. 

“—was pretty good. Okay, now let’s do the carpal bones. I have a mnemonic for this, actually, you want to hear it? Okay. Some Lovers Try Positions That They Can’t Handle. Yeah, it’s a little…suggestive? It just—it helps people remember okay? Yes! The sluttier the better. Look, it goes from thumb to pinky proximally, then pinky to thumb distally. Here, I’ll show you…”

You risk a glance over at Keys. He sits perfectly still, breath bated as Bennett leads the listener through the scene. 

“Now you’re getting distracted,” Bennet laughs breathlessly. “What positions do I—I’m trying to help you study. Oh my god, you’re so annoying. Look. If I answer, will you study? Yeah? Okay, fine. My favorite is—”

You reach forward and press pause. The silence in the office rushes in to fill the empty space, and your stomach swoops as you turn to Keys. 

“What’s your favorite sex position?” you ask abruptly. 

He looks at you, eyes wide. You don’t miss the way his knuckles whiten around his arm rest, clearly doing that thing where he resists the urge to push his glasses up again out of habit.

“What does this have to do with—”

You sigh. “Just trust me, and answer the question.”

“Uh…missionary?”

“God, okay.” You roll your eyes and reach over to hit resume again. “That’s such a lie, but whatever.”

Keys stops you with that hand on your wrist again. “Wha—lie?”

“Yes. Lie.”

He finally turns to face you, incredulous. “Oh, and you’re suddenly an expert on what I like in bed?”

Heat shoots down your spine at his words, but you just scoff. “You play as a fucking stripper cop in Free City. Now, tell me the real answer.”

After a moment Keys groans, then looks away. “I don’t know the word for it. Like, the name, or whatever.”

“Oh! That’s not a problem.” 

You reach for his keyboard, and before he knows what’s happening, you’re opening a new tab, and then, right in front of him, is a list of sex positions. 

With pictures. 

“Jesus!” He hisses, looking over his shoulder as if the wall behind you is somehow going to open up and reveal your boss or something. “I’m going to have to scrub my search history clean after this.”

“Relax,” you say, settling back in your chair. “Now, point.”

Keys lets out a heavy, resigned sigh and sits forward, squinting at the screen. Ten seconds later, he shakes his head. 

“It’s not there.”

When he looks over at you, he immediately rolls his eyes, because the look on your face is the clearest I-told-you-so look he’s ever received. 

“God, with how freaky you are, Keys, it’s a wonder you’re silent in bed—”

“Hey!” He interjects, glaring over at you. “I never said—woah, okay, why are you standing up? What are you doing?”

You plant hands on your hips, looking down at him. “Look, just maneuver me into whatever position it is, and I’ll find the name of it for you.”

“This is ridiculous.”

You huff. “This is a part of the research. If you don’t want my help, that’s fine, we—”

Without looking, he reaches out and grabs your waist. The warmth of his skin bleeds through your thin work shirt and a surprised squeak escapes you as he tugs you down.

You land in his lap with an undignified plop, facing him. Your stomach plummets as his knee presses against your core, but he makes a disgruntled sound, and grabs your thigh, pulling one leg up and over until you’re straddling him. 

Your pulse hammers in your ears as you steady yourself with your hands on his shoulders and peer down at him. 

The dim blue glow of the computer reflects in his glasses and as his gaze meets yours, his expression makes your chest ache. There’s something so sweet there. Soft. Like flower petals against your skin. Fragile, too. 

“This is it?” you whisper.

A small smirk crosses his lips. 

“Okay, so, this is just straddling…” you say, but your voice trails off as his hands spread over your waist. They’re so big. How have you never noticed how big his hands were before?

You swallow hard. “Or, I think, it’s technically called seated cowgirl.”

“Really?” he asks, squinting up at you with a hint of cockiness you could get drunk on.

In your next breath, Keys’s fingers dig into your hips, and he spins you around on his lap. His chest is warm against your back, and his computer desk digs into your belly. You wiggle your hips back slightly to get away from the sharp edge, but still when his hard length presses into your clothed core. 

“What’s this one called?” His voice is deeper now, threaded with heat, and it makes your hands clench against the cool metal of his desk. 

“Reverse seated cowgirl,” you say, fighting to keep your tone even. “So, this is your favorite? Tell me why.”

His breath stalls in his chest, you can feel the way he hesitates against your spine.

The printer hums in the far corner of the office, and a car horn blares distantly from the street below. 

After a long moment, he exhales, and his breath ghosts over your ear, making your lashes flutter. 

“I like the view,” he admits softly. “Painted in blue-light, all needy—” Then, he lets out a quiet, “Fuck.”

Heat pools deep in your belly. He sounds…wrecked. Already. And you’re just sitting in his lap fully clothed. 

God, you could make this man beg. 

You tilt forward and look over your shoulder. His eyes lift to yours, then drag down to your mouth, your hips, and his bottom lip disappears between his teeth.

“What else?” you whisper.  

He doesn’t hesitate this time. “I like the control of it, you know? Like—” he huffs out a quiet laugh, like he can’t believe he’s saying these things. “Like maybe I’m just playing a video game, and making you keep my cock warm. And you just… just have to sit there and take it.”

His words—so filthy and shy—stir hot embers of arousal between your hips. 

“Shit, Keys,” you say with a breathless laugh. “That was so good!”

His eyes meet yours again. “Really?”

“Yeah! Okay, I’m pushing play again. I’ll skip forward a little, too, just so we get to the good stuff.”

He clears his throat. “You’re going to stay right here?” He taps your leg and his fingers linger on your skin. 

You pretend to jolt in his hold. “Oh! Sorry, I can move if you—”

“No, no,” he shakes his head. “It’s fine.” 

‘It’s fine’, he says, as if he’s not raging hard underneath you, holding onto your leg like he might die if you slid off him right now. 

He’s too easy. 

You press play. 

Immediately, sounds of kissing and rustling fill the room. Keys inhales sharply, his erection growing against your ass, and you barely resist the urge to grind down on him. 

“That’s it,” Bennet croons. “You take it so good for me, baby. Fuck, you’re incredible.”

The wet sound of hips meeting has Keys’ mouth dropping open. His eyes dart off the screen, like watching the loading bar is somehow equivalent to seeing these imaginary people fuck. 

“That’s praise,” you whisper over your shoulder. “Obviously.”

Keys looks at you, then. Really looks at you. You can feel the way he takes in the slight shift of your hips as you try to find some friction to release the building ache. 

He’s reading you. Analyzing the data. Recalculating.

Classic Keys. 

The sight pulls at something in your chest. Truthfully, that’s the reason you like him so damn much, the reason you’re pulled to him like a ship to a lighthouse. 

Because with Keys, you would be fully, and utterly known. 

“…always so needy?” Bennet groans. “Just wanna be bent over a desk and fucked, huh, baby? This what you need? So dirty, I swear to God.”

“Degradation,” you murmur, turning back to the computer. 

Bennett keeps going. “Oh yeah, just like that? C’mon, baby. Tell me what you want. Use your words.”

 “Instruction,” Keys says, beating you to the punch. 

You’re grateful your back is to him so he can’t see your self-indulgent smile. 

“…thought about this a lot,” Bennet groans, the sound effects growing faster and louder. “Like in the library on campus? When we’re trying to study but you’re sitting across from me, and I can’t focus…”

Your breath catches at the exact same second Keys goes still beneath you. 

“…I see it, you know. The way your hand brushes mine when you hand me a pencil. You think I don’t notice? Fuck—of course I’ve thought about you. Are you kidding? Every time I jerk my cock I think about you. How you’d sound when I’m fucking up into you like this. Oh, you like that, huh? Get you so cock drunk— oh, baby, that’s it—”

You swallow hard, mouth suddenly gone dry. 

That’s fantasizing.

But for some reason, you can’t even bring yourself to repeat it. To solidify it. To make it any realer than it already is. 

Can Keys tell how much you relate to Bennett's words? That every time you’re in bed at night, thoughts of him keep you up late, you’re rubbing your aching cunt, whining his name into the empty ceiling?

You’re soaking through your underwear now, but mostly from listening to Keys’ uneven breathing behind you. His fingers flex over and over against your work skirt, like he can’t quite get up the courage to slip them under the hem that’s riding up your bare thighs. 

In an effort to relieve his aching erection, Keys shifts in his chair. It’s a small enough movement, but it’s just enough to send his elbow into a cup on his desk. It falls with a dull thud, the water inside instantly soaking into the carpet.

You smack the space bar on his keyboard, cutting Bennet off mid-moan, and leap to your feet. 

Keys cringes and moves to stand, but you disappear behind your desk before he can blink, and reappear a second later with a roll of paper towels. 

“Here,” you say gently as you kneel in front of him. “Let me.”

Keys reaches down at the same time you raise up on your knees, and when you lift your chin, you find your faces only an inch apart. 

He doesn’t jerk back like you expect. Instead, he just finds the paper towel on the ground and gently pries your fingers off it, resuming the blotting himself. 

Your hands find purchase on his knees for balance, and they spread wider under your touch, almost subconsciously. 

Almost. 

You swallow. “Keys?” 

His shoulder muscles flex under his T-shirt as he works. “Yeah?”

“Do you want to keep listening to the audio…or…do you want to practice?”

“Practice?” He doesn’t look up, but his voice cracks. 

“Only if you want.”

Keys sits back into his chair, tossing the wet paper towel into the nearby waste basket. Then his eyes settle on you for what feels like the first time all night. 

Through his work khakis’, his erection presses an angry imprint. God, it looks so hard it probably hurts, confined like that. The air between you shimmers with that unsaid tension, the kind that releases butterflies in your stomach and in the chambers of your heart. 

But while exciting, it’s equally terrifying, putting yourself on display like this. You feel strangely vulnerable, even though you were just teasing him a few seconds earlier. 

“What are you thinking about right now?” you ask, voice soft. 

Keys looks away, jaw clenching. 

Suddenly, you wonder if you’ve misread this. Have you made him uncomfortable? What if there actually is a girl, and it’s not you, and you’ve just—

“Your mouth,” Keys says, cutting off your thoughts. 

Hope renewed, your gaze snaps to his. 

“Where?” 

He rakes a hand through his hair, and his glasses slant adorably on his nose with the motion. His chest rises and falls once, twice, and then he whispers, “My cock.”

God, just hearing him say that makes your panties slick. 

“Good,” you breathe. “Now, put it together.”

He huffs, a surprised laugh slipping from him before the heat returns to his gaze.  “I’m thinking about your mouth on my cock.”

The damp carpet fibers dig into your knees as you watch his Adam’s apple bob on a swallow.

“Do you want me to do that?” you ask carefully. 

There’s a certain irreversible tension sitting between you right now. It feels a little like waiting behind an ancient door, not sure if it will creak open and invite you in or vanish into a cloud of dust. 

After a long moment, Keys nods.

A triumphant thrill zips through you, but you keep yourself together and hold his gaze. “You have to say it—”

“Fuck, I want it.” The words rush out of him in a gasp, like they’ve been sitting behind his teeth, waiting their turn the whole night. “I want my cock in your mouth. Please.”

He’s barely got the words out before your fingers fly to his zipper. 

“Forgot about begging,” you mutter more to yourself, but he hears you anyway. 

How could you have forgotten that very important category of dirty talk? It’s one of your favorites, and it flew from his lips unprompted. 

He’s perfect. 

“W-what about the—cameras,” he protests weakly, even as his hips lift from the chair to help you slide his pants down his thighs. 

“The cameras don’t reach back here,” you assure him.

Hooking a finger in the band his underwear, you pull them down and reveal his cock. It sits hard and heavy against the happy trail on his lower stomach.

He sputters. “W-what? Wait—really? How do you know that?”

It’s only natural, digging into dark spots in the security systems at a new job. Especially when you have a coworker as hot as Walter McKeys.

Instead of answering, though, you shuffle forward and take him in your hands. His head tips back on a ragged groan and you relish the hot, velvety feel of him. It’s long and hard, and somehow, you always knew Keys would have a big dick. 

It’s always the nerds. 

Your pussy throbs, fluttering around nothing as you imagine him easing his length inside your slick core, whispering in your ear, telling you how well you’re doing, how much he’s wanted this. 

Keys sits ramrod straight, breathing sharply through his nose as you let your hands explore him. You stroke him from base to tip, fondle his balls, then reach down and palm his thighs. His stomach flexes beneath his shirt, and on impulse, you reach up and lift it until the fabric bunches just below his ribs. 

Soft tummy with muscles flexing underneath. A dark happy trail leading down. A glimpse of thicker hair littered across his chest. 

God, he’s delicious. 

What you wouldn’t give to have this man naked in your bed right now. Saliva builds in your mouth at the thought.

Can you die by horniness? Better research that later. 

You stroke him firmly a few times, and when you lean down, he groans softly.  

Glancing up, you search for any sign to stop, but his eyes aren’t on yours anymore.  They’re glued to your chest. 

You tilt your chin down to see what he’s looking at. 

The three unfastened buttons of your work shirt give him a clear view of your cleavage, and the glow of the computer monitor illuminates the dips and valleys prettily.

A relieved gasp escapes him as your hands start undoing the rest of the buttons. He nods as if you read his mind when your shirt falls open, revealing your black bra. 

Thank God it’s your cute one. Not lingerie by any means, but your nipples harden under his gaze, poking against the fabric. 

You keep your shirt hanging loosely over your shoulders, just in case someone were to walk in. Although very unlikely, the thought of getting caught with Keys still shoots a wicked jolt of pleasure through you. 

Wordlessly, you run your hands up his legs again until your fingers find his cock and resume your attention. 

Keys says something—more like whines it—but it’s too quiet for you to hear. The carpet presses into your knees as you lean in. His thick thighs bracket your shoulders, and when your breath ghosts across the head of his cock, they go hard as rocks. He makes a muffled sound in the back of his throat, then clears it roughly. 

You lean back to catch his eye. 

“Whatever your voice, or breath, wants to do…just let it happen,” you say. “Don’t worry about being loud, there’s no one here.”

He nods, drunk on the sight of you, desperate for your mouth. 

Those big hands reach down and gather your hair, and you scoot even closer, close enough to tap his dick against your lips with a soft smack. When you blink up at him, Keys curses under his breath, then stops himself. 

“Stop swallowing it down,” you chide. “Let me hear.”

Before he can say—or do—anything, you lick a broad, wet stripe up his length. His hips jerk in your hold, a ragged moan tumbling from his lips, unabashed. Your eyes shine with pride when you look up at him. And fuck, he’ll do anything to see that look again. 

You stroke him lazily. Like you have all the the time in the world here in the office after hours. Like you’ve been thinking about it for a long, long, time. 

Drool pools in your mouth as you coat him with your tongue. Then, your lips wrap around him and you slowly work your way down, inch by inch, listening to his whimpers, feeling the way his body vibrates underneath you. 

He’s still holding himself back, so you draw back up and suck gently on his tip before popping off him.

“Sorry,” he gasps. “Fu-forgot I was supposed to talk.”

You nod. “That’s okay. How do you like it?”

He starts to respond, but you envelop him in your warm, wet mouth again, and all words die on his lips. 

“Feels so good, I can’t—can’t—mmmph,” he groans as you relax your jaw and take him deeper, then whimpers pitifully when you come off him again. “My brain’s fried. Like, actually short circuited. I can’t think—”

You press your tits together and tilt your head. “It feels good, right?”

He chuckles, a ragged soft sound. “Fuck—yeah.”

“Just talk to me, then,” you murmur, fluttering your tongue along the ridge of his cock as it twitches in your hold. 

Something seems to click in his mind at those words, and his eyes harden as he stares down at you.

“You want to know why I’m always so tired?” he says, chest heaving. “I stay up all night, trying to get the work done I should be doing when I’m sitting at my desk. But I can’t. Because I’m—fucking hard—all the time. Because of you!”

You decide to reward him for that little speech—a great example of fantasizing and degradation—and relax your jaw again, sliding him deep into your throat. Deeper than before. Keys throws his head back on a groan. The stretch brings tears to your eyes, but you blink them back so you can look at him properly. 

His hair looks so pretty illuminated in soft streaks of blue from the computer, and gold from the street far below. Like a painting. 

Arousal floods your core, coating your underwear, and you can feel your clit pulsing in time with your heartbeat. 

You slide up and off of him to let your lungs expand and he inhales with you, like that took his breath away as much as it did yours. 

“Can’t stop thinking about what you’d feel like under me,” Keys pants. He watches you with heated eyes as you suck on his tip, stroking the rest of him steadily with both hands. “Or—or on top of me. What you’d t-taste like.”

Without thinking, you shove two fingers past your waistband, and straight through your soaked folds. The contact has you moaning around his cock, sending a sharp jolt of pleasure down his spine. 

Then, you slowly withdraw them. They glisten in the glow of the monitor as you raise them up to his face, and Keys wastes no time leaning forward and capturing them in his mouth. His tongue strokes up to your knuckles eagerly, and as the first taste of you floods his mouth, it seems to unlock something in him. Some rusty, spider-web filled, creaking lock shoves open. 

“Aghhh yeah,” he moans when you withdraw your fingers and suck him deep again. “That’s how I like it. However you do it, that’s how I like it, baby. Holy fuck.” 

Your eyes actually roll back at that, and your hand flies down to circle your clit without thinking. 

His eyes track the movement and he chuckles darkly. “Oh, you like that? You like hearing how well you’re doing?”

You whimper. Fuck, yeah, you do.

He bucks underneath you, like your mouth is just the best thing he’s ever felt in his life. “Just—fucking—on your knees for me? Shit."

Your eyes slide shut, lost in the salty taste of him as his precum mixes with your spit. His hand leaves your head and reaches down to tap your chin. 

“Eyes on me, baby,” he rasps. Your eyes flutter open in surprise.

You swallow around him in response and his jaw drops. He grips your hair again on instinct and you moan in encouragement as he starts to push you gently up and down his shaft. 

“Is t-this okay?” he asks, breath ragged. 

You nod, lashes fluttering as he hits that soft spot at the back of your throat. 

Truth is, you love this. 

Taking your rigid, calculating co-worker and turning him into something needy and honest. He’s wild, but with an edge of control. And somehow, you just know Keys could take you to the brink and keep you there like no other. 

You hollow your cheeks as he grinds in and out of your wet mouth, pulsing against your tongue and spitting out the filthiest words you’ve ever heard him say in your months of working across from him. 

You rub your throbbing clit faster, and he blinks down, watching you touch yourself to the feel of him in your mouth for all of three seconds before he’s yanking up on your hair. 

Your scalp tingles as you disobey his silent order, determined to have him come in your mouth. His base is slick against your puffy lips, and he damn near chokes on his tongue when your nose hits his stomach. 

“Holy—I’m gonna come,” he grunts, hips bucking. “Shit—baby, you’ve gotta—do you—”

He breaks off with a ragged moan as you grip his thighs and swallow around him—and then he’s spilling down your throat. 

His abs tense and release over and over in your view, and the view is so intoxicating, you’re only a few seconds away from your own release when he finally slips from your drooling mouth.

You don’t know what you expected him to do when he finished. Maybe probably crawl back into that shy, nice-guy, missionary shell of his. Instead, when his chin falls to his chest, his soft brown eyes have gone molten. He reaches down and pulls his pants back up, tucking himself back into his briefs, but he doesn’t bother with the zipper. 

“C’mere,” he demands, grabbing you by the wrist and yanking you up. Your legs wobble, but he catches you easily and pulls you down into his lap. “Ride my thigh.”

Your mouth drops open. “Ride your—”

“You heard me.”

In one smooth motion, he plunges a hand under your skirt and yanks your panties down your legs. His knuckles brush your wet folds and you gasp against him, grinding down instinctively against his knee. 

“Look at you,” he whispers. “Taking instructions. Soaking through my pants like that? Fuck yeah.”

Your breasts heave as you try to catch your breath, but now, you start to wonder if maybe you’ll just be in an oxygen debt forever at this point. Because with the way he’s looking up at you right now, there’s no way you can breathe. 

Your hips roll smooth and fast, and when he shifts his leg up slightly, meeting your movements, sparks shoot up your spine. Your head drops back, eyes slipping shut, but Keys is quick to pull your gaze back to his with a hand around the nape of your neck. 

He clicks his tongue. “No, I want to watch you. Wanna see you fall apart for me.”

“God, Keys,” you pant, “you’re a quick learner, I’ll give you that—”

He cuts you off by pinching your nipple through your bra, and when he grabs a handful of your bare ass under your skirt, your lungs officially forget how to expand. 

“Please,” you beg. “Keys—”

His hands fly to your hips, helping you rock back and forth on him. “What is it? What do you need? Need me to touch you?”

You whimper. “Yes.”

“Tell me where.”

You grab his hand and guide it under your skirt, but he pulls back at the last second. 

“That’s not telling me.”

“Oh, fuck you,” you laugh, breathless and irritated. 

He smiles, then. And it’s positively radiant, white teeth winking in the dim light. 

“C’mon, use your words, or else I’ll have to stop,” he warns. 

But you’re not listening, because at that moment, he dips his head and captures your aching breast in his mouth, pulling a deep moan from your throat and putting an arch in your back. 

Your thighs burn, hips slowing to devastatingly desperate swivel in order to keep his mouth on you. The threads of his pants are warm and completely soaked through underneath you, and he’s licking and sucking your breasts through your bra like he’s trying to find a way to imprint his smell, his taste, onto your body.

The duel stimulation feeds that sprawling drive for more. Tremors start to run through your hands, making them claw restlessly at his shoulders and dive into his hair as your orgasm grows closer. 

Suddenly, Keys pulls back. He ignores your whine of protest and blinks up at you from behind his glasses. Your tongue darts over your bottom lip as your eyes drop to his mouth. 

His perfect…perfect fucking mouth. Soft lips, parted just slightly as he breathes heavily beneath you. The timber of his voice reverberates against your stomach as he talks. God, it’d be so easy just to lean in and press your mouth against his, feel that gentle glide of his tongue against yours…

Wait, is he saying something? You can’t fucking think—

“…not going to tell me, I have to stop.”

It’s only when his hands leave your body that the world slows to a stop. 

Cold air rushes in where his hands just were. Now you’re just needy and wet, grinding down on his pants leg in the middle of a dark office. 

“W-what?” you ask dumbly.

He shrugs. “I told you what would happen if you didn’t use your words.”

Your brain feels foggy, like your thoughts are traveling through a cloud, all the blooding your body pooled in your clit instead. 

“But I...” you whimper, “But, what—”

He rolls his eyes. 

“But I—but Keys—I just—” he mocks you, voice going higher on his register, and your mouth drops open in shock. 

He smirks at the look on your face and tucks a stray piece of hair behind your ear. “What? you thought I wasn’t serious? You made me do all this—and don’t tell me you didn’t enjoy it. I watched you getting off on the power trip of it all, and now it’s my turn. So, go ahead. Tell me what you want me to do to you."

Where the fuck did your nerdy, shy coworker go? And who have you turned him into? Your breasts heave in his face as you blink down at him, but he doesn’t so much as glance at them. 

“I’m right here,” he urges. “Go ahead. Ask for it. Anything you want, I’ll give it to you.”

After a moment, you finally find your voice. 

“I-I want you to touch me.”

His hands instantly resume their place on your hips and your breath shutters in relief. 

Then he leans in, lips ghosting over your jaw. “That wasn’t so hard, huh? Where do you want to come? On my fingers?”

“Yes!” The word leaves your mouth broken and desperate. 

He hums. “Put it together.”

You exhale sharply, panting towards the ceiling in frustration. “Walter, I want you to finger fuck me until I come.”

He smiles against your throat. “Good girl.”

His hand finds your clit immediately and he rubs tight, hot circles that have your back arching.  

“Oh, God, don’t stop!” you beg. 

Your shirt slips from your shoulder and then his mouth is there, kissing the soft skin like he’s trying to memorize the shape of it. 

The muscles deep in your core flex with your impending pleasure and you writhe against him desperately. Through it all, his hands stay steady, never wavering. Constant, and grounding. 

You raise up on shaky legs as his two middle fingers circle your entrance and your pelvis tilts, eagerly seeking that internal friction. 

He presses in, just a little, and your body welcomes him greedily. The sound of his fingers disappearing inside you making him groan out a slurred curse. 

“Shit, baby—both at once? So wet for me, oh my God.” 

When his fingertips brush that spongey spot that makes you see stars, your chest vibrates with your moan. The pressure on your clit is too much, and not enough, and everything all at once—it’s overwhelming. It's perfect. 

Your hips snap into his palm, driving his fingers deeper and he lets out a choked sound as you whine, needy and breathless. 

“There you go. That’s it,” he murmurs into your neck. His glasses knock into your throat as you tip your head back to give him better access. “Take what you need.”

That white-hot band of pleasure finally snaps as you clench around his fingers, and your orgasm rushes through you in a torrential wave of bliss. Keys slowly withdraws his fingers and helps bring you back to each with soft kisses to your chest, thumbs tracing circles into your thighs as you collapse on top of him. 

“Holy shit,” you gasp, running a hand through your hair, gazing down at him through heavy lids. “That was…”

“Good?” he asks eagerly. 

You smile. “Perfect.”

And you mean it. You really do. 

His fingers brush over your bare shoulder and your breath catches again as your eyes connect with his. The stoplight on the street below turns green, reflecting in his glasses, and because you can’t help it, you smirk down at him. 

“So, about this girl...” he murmurs. 

Your stomach flips. “Yeah?”

“This date—”

“Yeah?” you say again, eagerly, cutting him off. 

As you stare at each other, chests heaving, faces flush, a laugh builds behind your ribs. 

He clears his throat. “I was kinda hoping…you’re free Thursday? I was thinking about that place on Elm and Cross—”

“Fuckin’ knew it,” you murmur, and the rest of his words die against your mouth as you lean down and kiss him. 

a/n: Oh, hi. So, the way I feel about this fictional man, is actually pretty close to the actual definition of feral. Also, I just want to say, there are many more kinds of dirty talk out there, but these categories just fit the plot lol

Also everyone blame Jules (@tellcherhesgone) for putting this idea in my head, because she posted one thing about Keys definitely knowing what GoneWildAudio is, and that shit stuck with me lol

keys taglist: @emotionallyaslut , @subtlesposts, @oliviaharrington, @drifting-daydream, @dracomalfoypilled , @mysticfluffyness

You never thought you’d have to teach a grown man how to kiss… Until you met Din. Given his creed and all, it makes sense. It’s been cycles since he felt someone else’s lips against his. 

You’ll never forget the first time he removed his helmet, shaky hands lifting it off his head as you waited with bated breath. It was overwhelming but in a good way, taking in every aspect of him; his wide brown eyes, matted curls, patchy facial hair, and lines deep in his face. It made you wonder about the life he lived before he met you. And it was a reminder more than ever that he was never just some faceless person moving through life, he’s a soul experiencing the galaxy just like you. 

You felt honored by the amount of trust he placed in you then, and continues to put in you now. He told you about all the other times he revealed his face to others, about the dire straits he was in. But there he was, sitting in the bunk of the Razor Crest getting ready to show you his face on a random afternoon. But you both knew the reason as to why he was doing this. He didn’t need to say it. 

The moment you kissed him was electric. You leaned forward and felt him freeze up against your touch, unsure of what to do, or where to place his hands. The kiss was chaste at first before you pulled away and asked, “Something wrong?” 

“No,” he said quickly. “I just don’t know what to do.”

It was quite funny to you at the time but you didn’t dare let him know that. This man had stuffed you full of his cock, folded you into positions you didn’t even know were possible. This man had killed people without even looking at them, capable of facing copious amounts of danger at any given moment. 

And yet there he was, shaking like a leaf under your touch, afraid to kiss you. 

“Just follow my lead,” you said softly, leaning forward and kissing him again. 

Learning to kiss was enough for one rotation. But by the end of the week, things change quickly. 

You’re straddling his lap, hovering above the bulge in his flight suit. He moans against your lips, desperate to be inside you already. But you’re enjoying just kissing him, hands entangled in his hair. You flick your tongue against his lips, asking for access. And that’s when he freezes, hands rigid on your waist. You can sense his internal panic so you pull back and say, “I think it’s time for another lesson.” 

“What kind of lesson?”

“Teaching you how to use your tongue.” 

“Oh,” he says, immediately flustered. 

“Don’t be nervous,” you coo, leaning forward and pressing a kiss in the spot where his neck meets his ear. His breath hitches in his throat, his Adam’s Apple bobbing up and down. You trail kisses down his jawline, his facial hair tickling your face. You run your hands through his curls just as your lips land on his. 

“Watch and learn,” you whisper, rolling your hips into him.

You brush your tongue against his lips again and this time he opens his mouth, letting you explore. He moans into you, hands roaming up and down your outline. You can’t help but get drunk off each other’s taste and scent, senses completely engulfed in the other person. 

You pull back again to check in, watching his face chase yours. You smirk and say, “That good, huh?”

“Yes,” he says quickly. “Please don’t stop.”

“No can do. It’s your turn.”

He groans but you don’t give in, leaning forward and whispering, “Show me what you learned.”

He grabs either side of your face and kisses you, leading the way. He starts slow and gentle but soon his kiss grows passionate, slotting his tongue against your lips. You give him access but give him no guidance, wanting him to learn what feels right on his own. One hand migrates to the back of your head and the other slides down your back, cupping your ass. He’s a fast learner, his tongue reduces you to a needy mess. The wetness in your core is undeniable, leaving a spot in your underwear as you grind your hips into him. 

He takes your bottom lip between his teeth, tugging on it gently. He follows with his tongue, licking the slightly tender spot he just made. You’re putty in his hands. 

You pull back with a wild look in your eye but he cocks his head to the side and asks, “Too much?” He’s so eager to please you. 

“No,” you breathe. “You’re a natural.”

“Thanks, cyar’ika,” he smiles, cheeks heating up at your praise. 

You whisper in his ear, “I think it’s time to show you something else.”

“I’m not done yet,” he whimpers. 

“No?” you chuckle. 

“Nope. I could kiss you until the end of time, cyar’ika.”

How can you protest? 

Fic notifs: @beskarandblastersfics

Now here you are, 1:53 AM being pointed at by that damn clock in an honestly mocking way at this point, with absolutely no pile of brown hair and tan skin to hold you close.

Even though you’ve already tried several times, you get up and stomp over to your pastel yellow phone hanging on the wall. You quickly dial Eddie’s number, knowing it by heart now that you’ve called probably five times already, and wait. It rings and rings and rings and then nothing. “Ughhh…” You snap the receiver back in place forcefully, ire and worry mixing inside you as you slump against the wall.

Being married to Steve had really been a joy. He’s a thoughtful husband, caring, sweet, a little spicy when he needs to be. But sometimes, he gets so excited to be hanging out with his friends that he simply loses track of time. It’s not really his fault, you know that. It’s actually one of the things you love about him, how he gets so enthralled and fully present in the moment that everything else falls away. It’s made you feel like the most important person in the world more than a few times.

But as you have told him time and time again, you just wish he’d call to warn you beforehand. A simple “hey, sweetheart. I’ll be home later than I thought, s’that alright?” Because it’s not like you want to cut his fun short, you know how important his friends are to him and you don’t mind if he’s out late. It’s the not knowing that makes you worry.

When it’s only been fifteen minutes, you can just shrug it off. Maybe he got delayed by a parent after the game, or maybe he stopped at the gas station for a few snacks. But the later it gets with no updates, the less you can easily ignore the thoughts that pop up in your mind. What if he got into a car crash, or what if he’s lying to me and he’s not at Eddie’s. Even though they weren’t always rational, because of course Steve would never deliberately hurt you nor was an accident very likely to happen, those ruminations still buried their roots deep and triggered that buzzing and tight sensation in your chest.

Tonight, it’s no different. Deep down, you know he’s probably in Eddie’s yard, sipping on a beer and talking about God knows what, unable to hear the phone ring inside the trailer over the music they’re listening to. But you still get those intrusive thoughts, and you get pissed off that your husband always forgets to call.

You make your way to your bedroom, slipping out of the sleep shorts you had put on earlier just to be in your comfy oversized shirt you stole from Steve when you were only just dating. An old and softened gray cotton shirt with cracked yellow letters – an almost unintelligible Hawkins High. You slip under the covers, resigning yourself to at least try to sleep. You curl yourself into a fetal position, turned toward your nightstand as you take deep breaths. It takes a few moments to calm your anxiety, but you do eventually fall asleep, the cold darkness of the room cocooning you instead of your husband’s warmth.

Meanwhile, at Eddie’s place, inside the rusty fireplace the metalhead got at a yard sale, the embers are glowing faintly with every soft gust of wind. Steve is talking about his job over the radio, tuned at a station playing nighttime music. He’s been nursing the same beer for over an hour, repeatedly telling Eddie that he needs to leave soon, before they both launch into a new tangent for another thirty minutes.

Eddie’s a night owl. He works afternoons and evenings at an auto repair shop in town, so he doesn’t mind going to bed late.

Steve, on the other hand, finally starts to feel the tiredness. He lets out a yawn before checking his watch. His eyes widen in slight panic, the time having seemingly slipped away from him again. He immediately thinks of you and feels a crushing pang of guilt.

“Shit, man… I’m sorry, but I really gotta go.” Steve says as he gets up and brushes off some dirt from his white baseball coach pants.

Eddie nods and gets up as well, dunking the rest of his beer on the embers to get them to die down even more. “Yeah, no problem, Stevie. S’getting late.”

Steve walks up to Eddie and holds out his hand. The tattooed man shakes it, before he wraps his arm around his friend’s shoulders and pats his back. “T’was good hanging out, man. We should do it more often.”

Steve pulls back with a smile and a slight shove of the other one’s shoulder. “Agreed. Night, Eds.”

“Goodnight, big boy.”

Steve chuckles as he hastily makes his way toward his car. He peels out of the gravel driveway and drives slightly over the speed limit the whole way home, even though he knows he’s way too late for it to actually make a difference. He curses himself internally, his fingers tapping against the steering wheel. Every few taps, the gold band on his ring finger catches against the leather, making the knot of guilt grow tighter inside his stomach.

Later, once he finally gets home, it’s about 2:30 AM. All the lights are off, the only sound that creepy grandfather clock. You’re probably asleep, he thinks, so he tries to be quiet as he removes his dulled sneakers and hangs his 'Coach Steve' jacket on the hooks near your front door.

He softly pads down the hallway to your bedroom. He opens the door and peaks inside – you’re turned away from him, your chest expending and shrinking softly, soundly sleeping. He smiles at the sight. Maybe you had fallen asleep earlier and you wouldn’t even know that he’d gotten home late. The knot inside him loosens slightly.

The door clicks shut as Steve makes his way back down the hall toward the bathroom, in desperate need of a shower. He peels off his coaching outfit, the striped baseball shirt, white pants and the socks that almost go up to his knees. Then his boxers come off, before he immediately puts the pile of dirty clothes in the washing machine for tomorrow.

He looks at himself in the mirror, the dust from the field clinging to the skin of his forearms. Speaking of them, his arms are slightly more tanned than the rest of him – a casualty of teaching kids how to play baseball under the hot sun all day. He turns to the side, eyeing the way his belly is a bit softer than how it used to be when you two first met. His hand goes over it, a nagging feeling of insecurity pulling at his flow of consciousness.

But then he remembers your sweet voice just a few nights ago, whispering in his ear how handsome your husband is as you run your hands over his body, grinding against his stomach. You had told him so many times how hot you found his body, peppering soft kisses down his abdomen and licking through his happy trail. It makes him feel better to think about that, a soft smile spreading on his face.

He then bends over the sink to look at his face more closely. He sees the tiny wrinkles starting to become permanent at the corners of his eyes and close to his nose. He sees the very few gray hairs starting to season his brown hair. For some reason, these additions don’t bother him as much. The shallow crow’s feet, the smile lines, the hair – it all makes him feel like he’s getting wiser. And Steve likes that.

He finally gets into the shower, the warm water washing away the dirt and lingering disappointment of his team losing earlier tonight. He’s not even thinking about the fact he came home late anymore.

Once he’s out and mostly dry, except for his damp hair, he makes his way back to the bedroom, cautious to not make a sound. He reaches into his thankfully already opened drawer for a fresh pair of boxers. He pulls them on before he lazily slides into bed next to you, exhaustion starting to weigh down his limbs.

You feel the solid heat of him press against your back as he wraps an arm around your waist, kissing your shoulder softly in an effort not to wake you. But It’s futile. As soon as your husband gets in bed, it’s like your body knows. You awaken and before you can fully comprehend what you’re doing, you wriggle gently out of his grasp with a soft huff.

Steve lifts his arm and pauses, his brows furrowing. You never were one to refuse cuddles, and for a split second he’s confused. Maybe she’s dreaming. “Honey? You awake?”

You sigh and wrap the covers tighter around yourself. “Mm.”

And then it hits him. You had been up waiting for him, and now you’re mad. Shit. His fingers softly graze your spine under the covers, trying to be soothing. “Come on, baby. I’m sorry, okay? ‘M here now.” His voice sounds wrapped in velvet, attempting to get you to forget it.

You don’t turn, frustration and anger still souring your mood. “Just go to sleep, Steve.”

The use of his actual first name makes him physically recoil. He’s used to pet names and nicknames from you, or at least a cute little ‘Stevie’. But tonight, he’s not getting that, and that makes him get defensive. “Fine. ‘Night,” he mutters, turning to face away from you.

You try to ignore how cold the bed feels with that distance between you as you drift back to sleep.

The morning arrives quietly. A warm limb around your waist. Soft breaths hitting the nape of your neck. A hand possessively splaying over your belly under your shirt.

You wake up slowly, feeling confused for a moment. You’re still turned away from Steve, facing the wall, but it’s like he couldn’t stop himself from reaching out for you and holding on in his sleep. The guilt from getting home late and leaving you in the dark was probably too much, and he needed to feel you close.

A soft sigh leaves your lips. You don’t want to give in so easily, to forgive him in an instant like you always do because of those damn puppy dog eyes that are still the same now at thirty-something-years-old.

But he’s so warm against your back. So solid. So… him. Your loving husband.

Fine, just a few minutes. He’s asleep. He won’t know, you tell yourself, sinking back into his sleepy heat.

It lasts for about sixty seconds before you feel the soft press of his slightly chapped lips against the base of your neck. You don’t move, trying to save face and make it seem like you never woke up at all. It’s pointless though – he felt you lean into him.

His voice is rough with sleep when he speaks, a low chuckle leaving him first. “Not mad at me anymore, baby?”

You huff, sure, but you can’t bring yourself to move. Your mind might be a warrior, but your body is weak. “Still pissed, Harrington.”

He coos and kisses your shoulder, his thumb rubbing arcs over the skin of your stomach. “Aww… you know I’m sorry, honey. What can I do to make it better, hm?”

The slow and syrupy quality to his voice is vibrating against your back and resonating through those empty spots inside you that belong to only him. You still hold your ground, though. Maybe your body is weak, and it wants him, but you can still turn this to your advantage. You deserve it after last night.

You scoot just a few inches away, keeping your tone soft. “You could start with a massage.”

You can’t see it, but you can pretty much hear him smirking. He lets out a breath and shifts to sit up against the headboard. “Fair is fair. Come on, sweetheart.”

You look back at him. And you shouldn’t have, cause now it’s incredibly hard to keep your detached and unbothered attitude intact.

His hair is mussed from sleep, looking soft as it sticks out in every direction. The sheets are pooled around his thighs, but he pushes them away to spread his legs, making room for you. Your treacherous eyes linger over the planes of skin scattered with moles, tracing the shape of him. His strong forearms, biteable biceps, broad shoulders and chest, soft stomach… The patch of hair over his thorax that thins just a bit going down his belly, before it thickens under his navel and disappears into his boxers. And oh. His morning wood looks indecent, straining against the fabric and tempting you like a cookie being dangled in front of a starving dog.

Fuck.

He looks entirely too pleased with himself, but he doesn’t comment on your staring. Relaxation emanates from him, and he actually looks like he’s got no ulterior motives. He motions for you to sit in front of him.

You manage to move, the mattress dipping under your weight as you sit in between his legs, your back to him. Instinctively, you reach up to move your hair from your neck and over your shoulder.

His hand finds your waist as he bunches up the shirt you’re wearing. “Can I take it off? It’ll feel better.”

You hum approvingly, raising your arms so he can slip the worn shirt over your head. His hands are immediately splaying on your skin, starting to rub up and down your back to warm you up.

He doesn’t speak at first. He concentrates on making you relax, on taking out the tension he created by being out so late and causing you all that anxiety. His thumbs knead in those spots between your shoulder blades where he knows you carry the most of it.

Soft little sounds spill from your lips, and you can’t help them from coming out. He’s way too good with his hands.

“I really am sorry, you know.” It’s almost a whisper, sincere and unguarded. “I… lost track of time.”

You nod gently, eyes closed, still focussing on his rhythmic motions. “I know, Stevie. I just wish you’d at least remember to call.”

He hums in acknowledgment, his hands going up over your shoulders and squeezing lovingly. He truly feels awful. “I know, baby… Were you worried?”

You let out a soft sigh and nod, your hand finding his knee and curling over it. “Yeah. You know me.”

He hums again, and this time, he sits up and presses his chest to your back, wrapping his arms around you as he leans back against the headboard. The movement makes you rest back against him, and you let it happen.

He feels warm and reassuring, your head tipping back to meet his pec and shoulder. Comfy. His hands start stroking over your stomach as he speaks against your temple.

“I didn’t mean to make you stress, honey. I never do.” He places a soft kiss against the hair there.

“Then why don’t you call? I don’t mind you getting home late, I just want to know so I don’t have to worry if you’re dead in a ditch somewhere.” Your voice is still gentle, not looking to start a fight, just explaining why you were so frustrated.

You feel his hand wander between the valley of your breasts as the other goes down to your thigh.

“S’not an excuse, but it’s like I get too excited or something and I just forget to call. And I don’t even know how that’s possible ‘cause you’re everything to me.”

His head dips down as he starts leaving soft kisses down your neck. You relax more against him. “You really are just a big puppy masquerading as a man, huh?” You say the inside joke with a small smirk, the anger ebbing out of you at his loving words and touches, being replaced with warmth.

Okay, maybe you’re not that much of a warrior after all.

He chuckles and presses his face against the junction of your neck and shoulder, breathing you in. “Let me make it up to you, yeah?” You feel calloused skin cupping your breast tenderly, kneading it as if you also hold tension there.

You let out a non-committal hum, your eyes still closed. But of course, your legs spread slightly without you even giving them the neurological command to do so. Like a stupid reflex – you’re body being so responsive to him. Not giving in was way harder than it should have been.

“S’that a yes, sweetheart?” His hand that was still on your thigh moves to cup your heat over your panties, feeling the damp patch there. He rubs light and lazy circles over it.

Your breath hitches. “Don’t know if you deserve it yet, Stevie.” You try to sound stern, to have some semblance of control, but you both know it’s futile.

He nips and licks over your neck once. “Oh. No? Even if I said I have a whole apology day prepared?” He presses just a bit harder against your pussy, feeling your lips get puffier through the cloth.

You turn your head slightly toward him, brows furrowing as you open your eyes. “An ‘apology day’?”

He smiles at you and nods, before pinching your nipple between his thumb and middle finger. His voice comes out so unaffected, as if he’s not touching you like that and driving you absolutely crazy. It’s both infuriating and insanely hot. “Mhm. I’ll take you to that diner you like for breakfast.”

Your eyes roll back as he finally dips under the waistband of your panties and finds your wet core. He starts to gently trace up and down, gathering some of your arousal on two fingers to start rubbing gently over your clit.

“T-that’s all?” you ask, moans not leaving you yet as you try to stay composed.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Greedy girl. But no, that’s not all. Thought we could go to that shop on Fifth Street, you know the one with all the - “

“Lights?” You finish his sentence. He knows how much you like that home decor shop, loving to walk around the aisles and looking at the set-ups, getting ideas for your own house. They have an incredible lights section, and it never fails to amaze you when you walk through it.

He smiles again, looking down at your lips. “Yeah, that one. I’ll let you get anything you want.” He’s still massaging your breast and pinching your nipple, and now you can feel his fingers circling your entrance.

A whimper leaves your throat, your back arching against him like you’ve finally let yourself feel what he’s doing to you. Your thighs spread wider, silently begging for more.

His mouth opens in reverence as he feels you respond, a low and pleased moan rumbling through him. You can feel his thick length pressing against your lower back, neglected. But he doesn’t care.

“But you know what else, honey?” He asks, his cheek pressing against the side of your head as your hips start rolling against his hand.

You whimper as he slowly presses his middle and ring finger inside you. “W-what?”

The pressure starts building low in your belly as he curls his fingers against your front wall, his wrist making slow circles that makes the heel of his palm rub maddening pressure on your swollen clit.

“I’ll do better. I promise you I’ll call in the future. Can’t have my perfect wife worrying over me for no reason.” He kisses the tender spot behind your ear, the one that smells the most like you as he keeps fucking you with his fingers. His other hand leaves your breast to grip your hip instead, helping you buck against him.

The promise and the way he knows exactly how to touch you after all these years – it gets you close to that sweet edge embarrassingly fast, your walls starting to flutter and tighten around his fingers.

“Fuck, Stevie… gonna c-cum.” You moan out, reaching back to grip his hair as your other hand squeezes his thigh.

“Mhmm…” is all he manages, sucking on the skin of your neck and keeping his hand movements steady as you release around his fingers.

Your hips stutter as your whole body relaxes, the force of your orgasm spreading like a wildfire throughout your body, before making way to a slow-moving wave of relief. Your husband’s fingers slowly come to a stop after he helped you ride it all out, whispering soft praises against your skin.

“There you go.” He says simply, almost looking proud of you, as he lifts his slick covered fingers toward his mouth to suck them off.

Now, Steve meant to stop there. Get you off, take you to breakfast, maybe buy you a nice new lamp. He was perfectly content to not get anything in return. This was about you, after all, and how he could make it up to you after his blunder last night. But at the first taste of your pleasure – as soon as your arousal hits his tongue – all his resolve flies out of the window.

His eyes roll back as he hums at the flavor, a needy and breathy “Fuck” is the only warning you have before he closes your legs and flips you on your belly. He wastes no time tugging your panties off and slipping a thin pillow under your hips.

You’re still recovering from your orgasm, face flushed and pressed into the mattress, so it’s no wonder that you didn’t register him taking off his boxers until you feel him straddle your thighs and press his body over top of yours. The hair on his chest tickles your back, and you can feel his hard and leaking cock against your ass, making you push your hips up slightly.

His breath comes out heavy against your ear, his hands tracing your curves reverently. “Still can’t believe you’re my wife, honey. So damn beautiful. Gonna let me have you, yeah?”

“Please, Stevie…” you nod eagerly.

He grins at the nickname and your pleading tone, pressing a gentle kiss on your shoulder. He sits up and brushes the hair away from your upper back, before running his hands down the expanse of skin. When he reaches down past your hips, he squeezes the globes of your ass and spreads you open, marveling at the wetness slicking your pussy and inner thighs from your first orgasm.

“Look at you.” He lets some spit dribble out of his mouth and onto his cock, making himself slippery as he gives it a few strokes. He lines himself up with your slit before slowly sinking his length into you. “Oh my god…” He says breathlessly, like he still cannot fathom that he gets to be the one to do this.

The stretch is always something, even after all this time. You whimper into the mattress, and he knows that it’s a bit much just by how you sound. He stays still, letting you relax around him. His hands start kneading and massaging over your back again. “Relax for me, honey. Let me take care of you.”

The feeling of being filled to the brim while Steve massages your back so tenderly is definitely up there on your very own list of ‘best sensations in the whole fucking world’. Fairly quickly, the slight sting from the stretch goes away and turns into a dull pressure that just makes you want more.

You push your hips back a bit, as much as you can with your husband’s weight pinning you down, making him go just a bit deeper. You whimper – a sound so addictive that Steve would gladly give up listening to music if it meant he could hear it on loop. “Please, Stevie… Move.”

His hands that were steadily working out tension over your shoulders slide down your back until he reaches your hips. He pulls out almost all the way, only leaving the tip in, making you mewl at the emptiness. “Anything for you. Anything.”

He pushes back in and starts a slow pace designed to make you feel every inch of his thick cock splitting you open over and over again. He always knew when to be rough and when to be gentle.

“Taking me so well, honey.”

“Look at that, so perfect for me.”

“Wanna make you feel so good, angel.”

He keeps praising you as his eyes are transfixed on his dick disappearing inside you, your arousal coating his length and leaving a milky ring at the base. The hair there, trimmed but still kind of bushy, is flattened down from the wetness.

Your fingers are clenching the sheets, face buried in them as your moans grow louder. There’s no where you can go when you’re on your belly like this, and you’re more than happy to just take it.

Steve’s moans grow heavier, some sweat starting to bead at his forehead. He pushes his hair back before leaning over you, bracing one hand next to your head as his other keeps holding your hip. The new angle hits that spot inside you, the one that has you seeing stars.

“Oh fuck, Stevie! Right t-there!” You take hold of his wrist by your head, your needy moans sending a shiver up your husband’s spine.

His hips keep a constant, devastating, but still slow enough pace for you to feel everything. “Yeah, baby? Right there, huh?” He moves to sink his fingers in your hair and tug gently, making you turn your head so you can see him.

You nod and whimper, your bottom lip stuck between your teeth as the coil tightens in your belly. You feel your abundant slick drip down on the mattress, but you can’t bring yourself to care.

“D-don’t stop…” You whimper out, your walls tightening around him like they never want him to leave.

Steve curses under his breath, his hand grabbing your hip again to keep you at the perfect angle. “Wasn’t planning on it. Ahh… Fuck, I can feel it. Come for me, baby.”

Your moans get higher, the coil tightening impossibly tight, but missing that little something to catapult you over the edge.

He can sense it, how your walls are starting to flutter around him, his own orgasm getting dangerously close. But no, you have to get yours first. His rhythm falters slightly, his breath shaky. “Gonna fill you up. S’that what you want? Wanna try again?”

Your orgasm crashes through you at his words – the idea of being full of your husband’s cum has always been a kink of yours, so when you had started to try to start a family, that was definitely a huge perk. You gush around him, moaning a broken version of his name as you fall apart.

The rhythmic contractions of your pussy trigger his own release, his cock twitching inside you as he buries himself deep and he coats your walls with his milky spend. “Fuck, baby…”

His body collapses over top of yours, though he braces himself a bit on his elbows so he doesn’t fully crush you. He nuzzles his face into the back of your neck and your shoulder, leaving gentle kisses on your overheated skin.

You sigh contentedly, still feeling him buried inside you, softening slowly. The minutes drag as you soak in the feeling.

“Mmm… you’re forgiven.” You say, reaching back to pat his thigh.

He laughs lowly, slowly lifting himself off of you as he pulls out. His hands stroke reverently over your back as you turn on your side to look at him.

“Still taking you to breakfast. And that store.” He reaches out and cups your neck, pushing some of your messy hair back as he strokes your flushed cheek with his thumb.

You smile at him lovingly, spent and full. “Well, my forgiveness is conditional to that, but still.” You chuckle and turn your head to kiss his palm.

When you look back at him, your breath catches. His eyes are soft, almost glistening in the delicate morning light spilling through the curtains. His hand leaves your neck to splay over your stomach, the golden band on his ring finger shining against his tan skin. “I can’t wait…”

“It’ll happen, Stevie.” You lace your fingers with his. “We just gotta keep doing… that.” You smirk.

He chuckles at your words and pulls you close, tucking your head under his chin. “Anytime, honey.”

************

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