VERO

In a reality where you fought inter-dimensional monsters and befriended a young girl with telekinesis, you would think there’s nothing worse than dealing with that.

But it’s pretty easy to say going through a breakup with Steve Harrington is infinitely worse.

You’re standing behind the counter of Family Video, eyes fixated on a small piece of fuzz swirling around the air. You’re trying really hard to ignore the customer flirting with your ex boyfriend ten feet away from you.

You’re grateful he doesn’t seem to be reciprocating her advances, but its probably because you’re nearby. Steve really grew out of being an asshole and flirting with her in front of you would put him right back at the top of the official asshole list.

It’s been a month since your breakup and just know whenever someone says it gets easier with time, they’re lying. The first week was spent on Nancy’s couch, surrounded by tissues and a family sized tub of ice cream. You called in sick from work the whole week and cried enough tears to fill an entire ocean.

The second week, she forced you to socialize more. She was considerate enough to start small – an invitation to have breakfast with her and Jonathan. The opportunity to take Mike and El to the new skating rink. Max spent some time with you too but she didn’t push you to talk about it, she just sat with you through four different movies. All horror, there was absolutely no room for romance or comedy.

By the third week, you really had to pull it together. There was no word from Steve and it was probably better that way. Eddie, Mike and Lucas did all the work to get your things from Steve’s house and pack it up to bring to Nancy’s. You really didn’t want to move into her apartment but it was a stepping stone after leaving Steve’s.

Looking back on it now, the breakup was .. well, it was stupid. It was a cumulation of arguing and stress and lack of space all in one. Petty arguments over chores and snide remarks about each others habits. It was something that should’ve been solved with one conversation but you were both equally stubborn and when you angrily shouted maybe you needed space, he didn’t argue.

Still, you missed him. You really fucking missed him.

And the worst part is he seemed to be doing perfectly fine.

Dustin swore he wasn’t taking sides but you haven’t seen much of him these past couple weeks. Whenever the kids hung around you, he and Robin were both missing and Mike let it slip they were at Steve’s. It’s not like you blamed them, you were all friends but Steve was their best friend.

Now, it’s day 34 without him and you’re wishing the ground will swallow you whole and save you from hearing this girl drape herself all over him.

“It’s just so good to see you, Steve,” She says. She wears a wide smile on her face, one palm resting on his bicep. Steve doesn’t seem to mind, he just fiddles with the tape in his hand and smiles back.

“Yeah, you too, Stacey,” He responds.

Stacey.

He never mentioned a Stacey when you two were together and now suddenly they’re a pair of good friends who wish they kept up with each other over the years.

You try not to stare but then she grabs his forearm and snags the pen he had clipped to his vest. Your stomach twists when she begins to write on the skin of his arm. Steve watches her, his brows pulled together and when she finishes, she raises his arm to her mouth – she presses her red lipstick covered lips against his skin, flicking her eyes back up to his and leaves a kiss mark.

You physically feel sick.

She removes her mouth, a quiet pop sound fills the store. You can see now she’s written her phone number on him, the kiss mark a cute little signature. Her thumb brushes over the lipstick stain and smiles up at him again.

“Call me tonight,” Her voice is low and sultry. Steve glances at you and when he sees you already looking, he swallows hard.

You can feel your eyes prick with tears and tear your gaze away from him. Your throat feels tight, you clench your jaw to keep yourself from crying.

Thankfully, a different customer approaches the counter with their own tapes to check out. You clear your throat and take a deep breath, then plaster on the best customer service smile you can muster.

“Find everything okay, Mrs. Langston?” You ask, typing in her information as you complete her sale. The older woman is easy to talk to and maybe for a few seconds, you’re able to forget all about Steve and Stacey.

You’re unsure how the conversation ends but when you hand the receipt to her, Stacey’s gone and Steve is carefully approaching the counter opposite of you.

You bid your goodbyes to Mrs. Langston and busy yourself with cleaning up the papers near the register. There’s nobody left in the store except you and him. Tension fills the air quickly and you can feel him looking at you.

You hope he doesn’t try to make conversation about Stacey. Aside from things related to work, you haven’t spoken since the night you broke up. If he tries now, you’re almost certain you’d burst into tears.

If he’s moving on – even though it’s only been 34 days – you won’t stop him, and you definitely won’t beg him not to.

“Hey, uh listen,” Steve’s voice breaks the awkward silence. “About Stacey, I just want you to know -,”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” You cut him off quickly. Your back is still turned to him and you’ve re-piled  the same stack of papers four times now to look busy.

“I know, but I want to.”

You freeze then. Steve notices and you hear the sound of his footsteps coming closer. He approaches you carefully, like he knows you’re seconds away from running away, and stops a few steps behind you. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth from his body.

He says your name softly but you still don’t turn. “I’m sorry you saw that,”

Sorry you saw that.

He’s apologizing it for happening in front of you, not that it happened in the first place. Because he’s not sorry. Clearly, the breakup and space has been good for him and while you’ve been a walking zombie, he’s been moving on.

You swallow hard and bite your lip. “It’s fine, Steve.”

He moves again. This time to stand beside you and his head bends to try and catch your eyes. You keep your eyes trained on the stack of papers and pray he’ll drop it.

Before he has a chance to say anything, the bell at the top of the door sings and the door swings up. You’re more than thankful for the distraction and you look up to greet the customer but you’re met with Eddie, Max and El.

Max and El are talking amongst themselves but Eddie’s eyes are stuck on you. You don’t miss the mischievous glint in his eyes as he looks between you and Steve.

“Look at my two favorite Family Video employees,” He sings and approaches the counter. Max and El follow.

“Hey guys,” Steve greets them, but you can feel his eyes still on you. Eddie clearly notices as well and smirks at you.

“We’re here to pick up the tapes Robin put on hold yesterday. Y’know, movie night and all,”

“Right, I’ll go get those,” You say quickly, taking any opportunity to get as far away from Steve as possible. You miss the way his eyes sadden but he doesn’t stop you.

As you scurry to the break room, Max and El trail behind you.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Max asks suspiciously. You send her a sideways glance as you fish around the room for where Robin hid the tapes.

You already know your answer – no, you will not be going because movie night is always held at Steve’s house and you can’t bear the thought of being there again so soon. But you haven’t told anybody you weren’t going. Honestly, you planned to just skip out on the whole thing without a word. Clearly, Max knows you well enough to know that’s exactly what you intended.

“I don’t think so, Max. I’m not feeling great today,”

She sees right through you. “Bullshit.”

You scowl at her. “Language, Mayfield.”

“You feel fine, you just don’t want to be around Steve,”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You wave her off, and kneel to the ground in front of a crate of old tapes.

“Why don’t you two get back together?” El asks. You look up from where you’re shuffling through tapes. “Max and Lucas break up and get back together all the time. Even me and Mike have done it before. He still likes you,”

Her oblivious nature is cute and you can feel yourself soften. “Steve and I are a little different from you guys, El. And I don’t think he wants to get back together.”

“That’s bullshit again!” Max exclaims.

“Max!” You groan and finally find the tapes Robin hid. Rising to your feet, you head back up to the front. “It’s just movie night, it’s not a big deal, alright?”

You push through the beaded curtain, the girls following suit and nobody misses Max’s sour face.

“It is a big deal! Eddie, will you tell her it’s a big deal?”

Eddie pulls himself away from the conversation with Steve and looks at you three. “What’s a big deal?”

“Nothing.” You say.

“She doesn’t wanna come tonight,” Max says at the same time.

Eddie makes a face. “Why not? It’s the third time you’ve bailed on movie night.”

Max gasps, realization dawning on her. “It is the third time!” 

You glare at him. Damn him for keeping count.

“Can you two relax? I just feel sick today,” You grumble, punching in Robin’s phone number into the computer.

“Bull.Shit.”

“Maxine Mayfield, I’m gonna wash your mouth out with soap!” You threaten, a finger pointed in her direction. She rolls her eyes but before she can respond, Steve speaks up.

“What’s wrong? Is it your head?” He asks. You look up at him and immediately regret it. He’s looking down at you with those chocolate brown eyes and they’re swirling with concern. “Have you been sleeping okay?”

You still for a moment because no, you haven’t been sleeping okay. Actually, you haven’t been sleeping at all.

“I’m fine,” You say quickly. “Can all of you relax? It’s just movie night,”

Steve ignores you. “But you said you were sick. What’s bothering you?”

“See?” El speaks up. “I told you he still liked -,”

“Okay, I’ll go!” You cut her off. She was one word away from completely embarrassing you. “Can everybody lay off now?”

Max and El look pleased enough, Eddie as well but Steve’s look of concern doesn’t disappear. Still, he doesn’t press you on it and you’re grateful.

The rest of your shift is spent carefully avoiding Steve and taking every opportunity to help a customer or stock shelves. You’re painfully aware of how he keeps an eye on you the whole time but he seems to respect your wishes to not talk.

By the time 8PM rolls around, the store is cleaned and ready to be locked up. Steve waits behind you as you lock the door before you both make your way through the parking lot. Three steps into the same direction, you realize he parked right next to you.

Thick tension surrounds you, and you’re silently wishing the birds chirping will be loud enough to make him not talk.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Steve’s voice is low and hesitant. Your heart pinches at that soft tone he carries – it’s something you got so used to but have been deprived of for the last month.

You nod without looking up at him, and pull the strap of your bag closer to your chest. “Everything’s fine,”

He looks torn between asking again or being quiet completely, and he chooses to be quiet.

This is the most you’ve spoken to him since the breakup and it’s even harder than you thought it would be. It’s taking every ounce of self control not to throw yourself into his arms and beg him to hold you. To come back to you and make everything better.

Your ego wins the battle. He didn’t fight for you to stay and hasn’t fought to bring you back either. If anything, he’s proving he prefers being apart from you.

You’ll get there, with time. Hopefully.

You make it to your car and surprising to you, Steve jogs ahead of you to open your car door. You finally look up at him and see him already looking down at you – he has one hand clutched around the handle and the other resting atop the door.

It’s hard looking at him, especially doing something to gentle like opening your door for no reason. Based on the look in his eyes, you’re sure he can see the pain in your eyes.

“Thanks.” You mumble softly and slide into the seat. He doesn’t shut it right away, so you glance up at him.

He takes a deep breath and moves to stand between the car and the open door. Carefully, he bends down to kneel so he’s eye level with you.

Gently, he says your name. “I don’t want you to miss out on things because of me,” He says and your heart sinks.

“I’m not,” You say instinctively. It was a lie and he sees right through you.

“If you’re uncomfortable being around me, I’ll skip out on tonight,”

You sit up, ready to argue that it’s his house and they’re his friends – he shouldn’t have to worry about your feelings. It’s not his responsibility anymore.

But he continues before you have a chance.

“I can find something else to do, it’s really not a problem.”

You frown at his words and your mind immediately goes back to Stacey.

He didn’t say he’d try to be around you, or that he won’t let it get weird – he was offering to leave completely. Maybe this was his way of finding an excuse to go out with her.

Your eyes flick to his arm and you see the faint trace of her phone number still on his skin. He follows your gaze and drops his arm from where it rests on your door.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He says quickly, almost defensively.

Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he did.

Truthfully, there was no way for you to know. And it wasn’t like you had the right to know either. He wasn’t yours anymore.

When you look back up at him, your face is blank, eyes void.

“You can do whatever you’d like, I won’t make it awkward.” You say simply and Steve’s eyes sadden.

He can tell exactly what you’re doing – steeling yourself off from him and he hates it.

Before he gets the chance, you turn away from him. After sliding the key into the ignition, your hands curl around the steering wheel and you look straight ahead. “I already promised Max and El. I don’t want to let them down,”

He looks at you while you avoid looking at him again. From beside you, you see him nod before standing upright and shutting your door softly.

You don’t waste a second before you’re peeling out of the lot and making your way home, all without even glancing at him again.

Whatever he chooses to do will be on him and has nothing to do with you.

You want to cry – you can feel it about to happen – but you’re so tired of it. Crying and wallowing hasn’t helped you these past few weeks and it’s not about to start now.

Even then, you’re debating just breaking your promise to the girls and staying home. At least then you wouldn’t know if Steve decides to stay home or go do whatever he has planned with whoever.

But you miss your friends, and you’re tired of sitting on Nancy’s couch alone all night and tormenting yourself with your own thoughts.

When you make it home – Nancy’s home – you drag yourself into her apartment and avoid all her questions about how your day was, how it was seeing Steve, if you’re okay.

You give short and simple answers, making sure to skip over the Stacey incident, and tell her you’re going to shower before you leave. She’s happy you’re at least going tonight.

By the time you finish, you showered and changed into more comfortable clothes. You managed to talk yourself off the metaphorical cliff – you’ll stay for one movie and drive separately so you can make an early escape.

You haven’t figured out a way to feel normal once you step back inside his house and when you park on the curb, that feeling of dread consumes you.

You turn the car off but stay sitting for a few seconds as you stare at the house. A month ago, it was your house – your home. Now you’re knocking for someone to let you in. It’s a saddening difference and it just makes you regret coming even more.

You’re five seconds from starting the car and leaving before Nancy knocks on your window, Jonathan next to her. She urges you to get out and you can see the look on her face – the one that’s reading into your every move and it’s obvious she’s worried.

So you gather your things and pull yourself together.

Robin is the one to let you guys in and you glance behind you to see if Steve’s car was in the driveway.

Relief sits heavy in your chest when you see the maroon car.

You follow behind Nancy wordlessly but when you see El peak her head around the corner, Mike lingering next to her, it’s hard to fight your smile – because you really did miss them.

She rushes to you, practically dragging you further into the house and to where she claimed her spot on the floor.

Max and Lucas have their own setup next to El and Mike’s and they’re completely engrossed in their own conversation. Dustin has taken over the recliner on the other side of the room, and Eddie takes the end of the couch closest to him.

Nancy and Jonathan settle into the longer couch, and Robin sits on the obnoxiously big beanbag chair she begged Steve to buy her for Christmas last year.

You still haven’t seen Steve, and you wonder if he did choose to skip out and hide in his room.

You take the chance to look further around the living room. It almost looks like nothing has changed. The furniture is still set up the same way, the color palette is still warm and full.

The posed family pictures he once had with his parents are still replaced with pictures of the group across the room. But when you continue looking around, your heart sinks.

Because all the pictures he had of just you and him are still there.

A picture of you and him at the beach sits on the coffee table. One of you two hugging at graduation hangs on the wall beside the TV. Another one of just you, smiling up at the camera at your birthday two years ago is sitting front and center on the fireplace.

Your throat burns and you feel it begin to tighten. You never really let yourself think of the possibility that he hasn’t moved on either. Leaving of group photos was one thing, but the ones of you both? The one of only you?

It’s all too much and it’s slowly breaking your resolve. It’s only proving the fact that the breakup was all for nothing and if you weren’t so damn prideful, you could’ve fixed it.

Suddenly, Steve emerges from the kitchen with his hands full. He’s holding three different bowls of popcorn and bags of chips and candy tucked into his arms.

Your eyes meet and for just a second, he halts. He looks surprised you actually showed and you don’t blame him. Still, he gives you a half smile and you try your best to mirror it.

Dustin jumps from his spot on the seat and makes grabby hands at the snacks Steve holds. Eddie leans up and helps pass them out and you watch Steve swat Dustin’s hands away as he tries to steal everything.

Beside you, El talks your ear off and you’re eager to welcome the distraction. Otherwise, you would’ve spent the whole night staring at Steve.

Before long, Robin starts the movie and Mike begins to argue with Dustin about being quiet. There’s bickering, and laughing, and food being thrown but it feels nice. Happy even.

Steve ends up settling almost directly behind you on the couch. His elbow sits on the arm rest to his left and your back is directly against the foot of the couch. His legs are almost touching your shoulder. Neither of you say anything.

But even though you’re having a good time and aren’t completely regretting coming, you’re painfully aware of how close Steve is. You can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the smell of his cologne is almost all you can focus on. Your hand twitches in your lap – begging you to hold onto his ankle and lean your head onto his thigh.

And as you watch the movie, your eyes keep finding the picture of you two at graduation. Steve has you pulled back into his chest, his arms iron clad around you. He’s resting his chin on your shoulder and you’re holding both your diplomas up at the camera. Your shared smiles gleam back at you and it’s enough to make you smile in real time.

It’s also enough to make you sad all over again.

Because it’s not your reality anymore, and you’re not sure it ever will be.

Somehow you end up staying through three movies. By the time credits roll on the last one, everyone is asleep. Mike’s leaning against the wall, his neck bent in a way that’ll leave him with a cramp in the morning, and El’s head resting in his lap.

Max and Lucas are sprawled along the floor across from them, one of his arms tucked under her head. Dustin has his face smushed into a pillow, one arm and one leg hanging off the side of the chair. Eddie is slumped beside him, drool pooling at his mouth.

Robin is curled into a ball on her beanbag chair, quietly snoring. Nancy and Jonathan are curled into each other on their side of the couch. You’re too scared to turn and look at Steve, but he hasn’t moved a muscle in an hour so you’re sure he’s asleep too.

It’s the perfect time to slip out undetected.

Carefully, you push yourself off the floor. It’s a mess around the room and even in a rush, you feel bad just leaving things the way they are. So you grab the bowls and snacks from the coffee table and move towards the kitchen.

“Let me help,”

Steve’s voice startles you so much that you drop the bags of candy to the floor, your palm covering your mouth to minimize the scream ready to slip out.

His eyes widen and he smiles. “Sorry, sorry,”

You exhale and it’s hard not to smile back.

He doesn’t look like he’d been asleep at all, which means he probably just sat there thinking the same thing you were. His hair is a little messy, a few pieces covering his forehead and you’re itching to fix it.

He leans down to pick up the bags and you go back to picking up the cups and bowls. You’re both careful not to wake anyone else as you carry everything to the kitchen.

It’s domestic – the way you fall back into rhythm of cleaning. Steve takes care of the dirty dishes and you begin putting the snacks back into the pantry.

When everything is cleaned, you’re unsure what to do next. At first, you figured you’d clean and leave without having to talk to anyone but now, you’re left alone with only him and he’s looking at you like that again and it’s hard to think properly.

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, facing each other. He has one hand resting on the counter, tapping his finger on the granite. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth.

“I, uh, I should go,” You finally say.

“You don’t have to,” He replies easily. “It’s late, you shouldn’t be driving right now,”

You glance at the clock on the stove and it reads back 2:19AM.

He was sweet for offering but it wasn’t far and the last thing you wanted was to prolong the inevitable awkwardness that would come in the morning.

Steve notices your apprehension easily. “You can take the guest room and leave first thing in the morning,”

Your head is screaming at you to say no thank you. To bid him a farewell and get home as quickly as possible. Your heart, however, is begging you to accept and take the chance to be close to him – even just for one night.

And you’re sick of sleeping on Nancy’s couch.

“Okay,” You nod.

His face lights up, a smile covering his mouth. “Okay.” He repeats.

Quietly, he shuts off the lights and TV before setting off upstairs. You follow behind him and when you make it down the hall, you both stop in front of his bedroom door. He turns around to face you.

“Uh, guest rooms right there,” He points at the door across the hall. “Bathroom is just down the hall. Second door on the -,”

“I know,” You cut him off and he nods quickly.

“Right, yeah. Of course,”

It’s awkward to say the least, but it’s not unkind. It’s nice to hear him talk again, even if it’s just telling you where things were.

You stare at each other for a moment. The clock in the hall ticks loudly and you wonder if he can hear how loud your heart is beating.

You break first. “Goodnight, Steve.”

He gives you a soft smile. “Goodnight.”

You enter the room and seconds later, hear his bedroom door click shut.

The guest bedroom is dull. There’s no pictures along the wall, only a painting of a red Cadillac from the 70s. There’s beige curtains covering the window and a matching beige bedspread on the mattress. There’s a small lamp on the bedside table and a desk on the opposite wall.

It’s a drastic contrast from Steve’s bedroom – especially after you helped get rid of his matching striped curtains and wallpaper.

It feels cold and lonely.

But you climb into bed anyway and do your best to stop thinking about how much better you’d sleep with him next to you.

On the other side of the wall, Steve lays on his own bed and feels the same way. His room hasn’t felt like his room since the day you left and now that he knows you’re so close, he’s using all his strength not to climb into bed with you.

He’s spent the last month trying to convince himself if he let you have some space, things would get better and you’d come back to him. To him, it was never a breakup – just a stupid stepping stone in your relationship.

But as the days passed, you pulled further away from him, and next thing he knew, the boys were coming over and packing up your things. He wanted to fight them on it, actually he tried – but then Mike said it was your idea and suddenly everything felt too real.

Maybe he fucked up so bad you were fed up. He thought about showing up to Nancy’s, thought about begging you to come home, but he didn’t want you to feel cornered. So he backed off.

But then he saw the way you reacted when you saw him with Stacey.

It’s not like it meant anything – it took her writing her number on him to realize she was flirting with him, all because he couldn’t stop staring at you. After he tried to talk to you about it, he spent ten minutes in the bathroom trying to scrub it off his skin. And you saw the remnants stained onto his arm later that night.

He didn’t want you to feel jealous or upset over it, he didn’t plan on ever calling her, but a small part inside of him felt relieved you did feel like that. At least you still felt something for him.

And he knew what you were thinking all night as he watched your eyes filter back to the pictures of you two. He didn’t leave them up to prove something, he just couldn’t stand the thought of taking them down. You would always be his, no matter what.

Still, the argument escalated so quickly because of him and he had to make sure if – when – you came back to him, it was on your terms. He wouldn’t rush you.

So he offered the guest room and hoped that would be the first step into forgiveness.

It’s maybe an hour after he’s climbed into bed when he hears the faint sound of .. crying?  

His ears perk up and he leans up on his elbows, turning his head towards the door. He listens for a moment but all he hears is the ticking of the clock.

He thinks he must have imagined it until he hears it again.

It’s still quiet, and easy to miss if he wasn’t already awake, but he can hear it – and it’s familiar.

It’s you.

It’s a cry he’s heard a hundred times over the years. It’s soft, and not the same one that comes from you during a sad movie - it’s fear.

He knows what’s causing it – your nightmares used to be overwhelming but ever since you moved in with him two years ago, they’ve become less frequent. Having him next to you was enough to tether you to reality and comfort you.

But now he hasn’t been there. Have you been dealing with them ever since you left? All the while he’s been making you feel like you should be gone.

His feet are moving before he even has a chance to think – like his body was made with a built in magnetic connected to you. He pulls his door open and pads directly across the hall to your door.

He presses his ear to the door and can hear your crying more clearly. They’re still quiet but they sound more intense now. His hand curls around the handle but then he hesitates.

Should he be the one to comfort you? Should he get Nancy to instead? Would you want him?

When he hears you cry out again, this time louder, he pushes the door open. The light from the hall shines through the doorway and he finds her curled in on yourself, sheets skewed across the bed. He can see you shivering, your brows pulled tight, creasing the beautiful skin of your forehead. He sees your skin is flushed red and your cheeks are stained with tears.

Guilt sits in his chest and without thinking, he’s climbing into bed with you. The mattress dips below his weight and he slides one arm under your head and pulls you from your fetal position so you’re facing him instead. He pulls you into his chest, an arm curled around your shoulders and the other cupping your cheek.

His warmth transfers to you, and as if you were searching for him the entire time, your body instantly relaxes in his hold. Your shaking stops, a soft sigh escapes past your lips, and your hand raises to clutch the fabric of his t-shirt.

You watches the way you bury your face into his chest, the crease between your brows disappears, and he hears the soft melody of your voice.

“Steve..” You don’t say his name as a question – he’s pretty sure you’re still not even awake. It’s relief. Even unconscious, you were given comfort again and you knew with absolute certainty, that comfort was him.

He feels his heart contract in his chest and he tightens his hold on you. “It’s me, baby,” He says softly, lips touching your hairline. “You’re safe, I got you.”

As he holds you in his arms, he knows without an ounce of doubt, he’s never letting go again. Nothing is completely fixed and won’t be overnight but when morning comes, he’s going to tell you exactly this.

He won’t ever let you forget how much he loves you.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re practically shackled to the bed by Steve’s arms. They’re wrapped tightly around your waist and his cheek is resting against the top of your head.

Confusion takes hold of you immediately, but you don’t pull away from his hold. If anything, you burrow yourself deeper into his head but it’s enough to make him stir and groan quietly.

Internally, you’re cursing at yourself for moving even an inch but then his hold tightens around you – if that was even possible. You can feel his head lift from where it rested atop of yours and you hold your breath.

“Hey, you awake?” His morning voice is gruff and it makes your stomach swirl. You hesitate for a second before giving him a timid nod.

“Mhm..”

He pulls his arms apart but only enough to spread his palms over your arms, his thumbs brushing back and forth over your skin.

Silence settles over the room, only the sound of your  breathing and the sound of his heart beating in your ear. It feels normal again.

“You were having a nightmare,” Steve says suddenly and your stomach drops. “Last night. That’s why I came in,”

You sigh softly, eyes squeezing shut from embarrassment.

“I’m-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up,”

Steve shakes his head quickly. “No, don’t apologize. Seriously.” His tone leaves no room for arguing.

You’re both blanketed in silence again but for the first time in weeks, it’s not uncomfortable. The feeling of his arms around you again, your body tucked perfectly against his – it feels warm and safe and grounding.

“Thank you,” You say quietly, fingers tracing shapes over his shirt covered chest.

“You don’t need to thank me either, baby,”

The pet name slips out so casually and your heart splits in two, but you grip his shirt even tighter. Steve picks up on your reaction and gently cups your face, encouraging you to look up at him.

You’re more than sure you look disgusting – bags under your eyes, and they’re probably puffy from crying in your sleep, cheeks flushed pink, hair a tousled mess – but he doesn’t look at you like you do, even for a second.

Steve looks down at you like you hung the fucking moon and stars. It’s intense enough to have you nearly shying away but he holds you firmly in place.

“I’m sorry about everything,” He says and you blink up at him. “This past month without you has been fucking hell. And seeing you last night, I don’t ever want you to deal with that alone.”

Tears well in your eyes almost immediately and when one slips down your cheek, he swipes it away gently.

“I love you so much and I don’t want to spend even another  second without –.” Steve makes a surprise sound when you cut him off by pressing your lips to his.

He recovers quickly, arms pulling you tighter into his chest and kissing you back just as hard. Every ounce of emotion you’ve kept bottled up are poured into this kiss and as he keeps kissing you, he’s gently wiping away the tears falling from your eyes.

When you finally pull away for air, you don’t go far – you rest your forehead against his and smile.

“I don’t want to be without you either.” You whisper softly.

Steve’s smile is bright and he quickly tosses you onto your back before he hovers over you, sweetly attacking your face with more kisses.

The conversation about children stayed untouched. Not avoided, not denied — just… gently set aside, left somewhere between you, waiting. And while you tried to make peace with it — with your body, with what it meant — Steve stayed close and patient, without pushing or rushing you. 

It wasn’t always easy, though.

Because the thought never truly left you, feeling it in small, unexpected moments. A woman passing by with a hand resting on her stomach. A baby crying softly somewhere nearby. A stroller rolling past. Each one was like a quiet reminder of something you couldn’t quite look at directly. School wasn't any easier. You spent your days surrounded by children—laughing, arguing, running through hallway — and sometimes it hit you so suddenly you had to pause, just for a second, and take a breath before moving on.  But the worst moment was when someone you knew announced they were pregnant. Because before happiness could come, before excitement or congratulations, you felt a sharp drop in your stomach. A flash of jealousy so quick and ugly that it made you feel ashamed. For a split second, thoughts crossed your mind that you immediately wished you could take back. That they didn’t deserve it. That it should’ve been you instead. Then guilt followed just as quickly. You swallowed it all down, forcing a smile onto your lips. You congratulated them, asked questions you didn’t really want the answers to and nodded in all the right places as you listened to nursery plans, baby names and ultrasound stories.

And you got good at that.

But when you got home, where no one was watching, everything came out, quiet at first, then all at once. You cried in the shower where your tears mixed with the water, or laying on the bed with your face buried against the pillow. 

But never in front of Steve. He was still recovering from the accident and you didn’t want him to suffer even more and to make everything worse. 

Again. 

Sometimes, you caught him watching a father with his child after baseball practice or a family crossing the street together. His gaze lingered just a second too long, his expression almost nostalgic, making your chest tighten. Every time he noticed you looking at him, he smiled or squeezed your hand. Like he knew what you were thinking. Like he wanted to reassure you without saying it out loud. Sometimes it worked. Other times it didn’t, the thought still finding its way in. 

Maybe one day he’ll realize it wasn’t enough. 

That you weren’t. 

And he’ll want more.

He’ll leave.

It crept in at the worst times. At the end of the day, when everything was finally quiet and there was nothing left to distract you. During Steve’s baseball practices. At night, when sleep wouldn’t come. Even when you were in his arms. In those moments, you stayed still, your face tucked into his chest, breathing him in like that alone could keep everything else at bay. Until the thought began to haunt you, waking you up in the morning.

Every day, before you even opened your eyes, your arm would move across the bed, reaching for his side — checking. Making sure he was still there. That the space beside you wasn’t empty. Or too cold. That he hadn’t gotten up and left. Not just the room. Not just the house.

But you. 

Most mornings, your hand found him without effort. Sometimes he was still asleep, his breathing slow and even. Other times, he was already awake, looking at you with that soft, familiar smile that made something in your chest ease and forget all your worries. Some days, instead, you didn’t even have to reach for him. You woke up already tucked against him, his arm loosely wrapped around you, like even in his sleep he hadn’t let you drift too far.

Those mornings were easier.

But not all of them were.

Sometimes, when you brushed the sheets slowly, carefully, hoping to find him without having to look, there was nothing. His side of the bed was already cold. You gave it a second. Then another. Your fingers pressed a little more firmly into the mattress, like maybe you had just missed him. Like maybe he was still there and you just hadn’t reached far enough. 

But he wasn’t. You kept your eyes closed for a moment longer, your breath catching as you delayed the reality you already felt settling in. Then you slapped your eyes and saw the sheets already smoothed out, as if no one had slept there. 

That was when the panic set in.

You’d sit up too quickly, your breath already unsteady, your thoughts racing ahead of you. And then you’d get out of bed, almost without thinking, your feet carrying you straight to the closet. 

It had become a habit before you even realized it. You’d pull the doors open and scan the space, your eyes moving over his things — his jackets, his shirts — checking, counting as you made sure they were still there. That he hadn’t taken them. But sometimes even that wasn't enough to reassure you. You’d turn and head for the stairs, taking them too fast, your hand brushing the wall to steady yourself as you went down two steps at a time, your chest tight, your pulse loud in your ears. Until you found him sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper spread open in front of him, a mug of coffee growing cold beside his elbow. Other times, he was stretched out on the couch, half paying attention to whatever was playing on television. His eyes would lift automatically and that familiar smile would appear. Easy. Familiar. Reassuring. Like everything was fine. And you would smile back, pretend you had just come down for something else. 

You never told him anything but Steve noticed. Of course he did. He was good at noticing things about you. He just… didn’t say anything. 

Until one Sunday morning, when you were standing in front of the closet again, your fingers still wrapped around the edge of the door as you let out a slow, quiet breath. Your eyes slipped closed for a second, your shoulders dropping just slightly as the tension eased out of you.

“What are you doing?”

His voice was close enough to make you flinch. Your eyes flew open. You turned quickly, your heart jumping into your throat, and found him standing in the doorway, staring at you. He must have just come up the stairs. His expression wasn’t accusing or angry. Just… confused, careful. In his hands there was a tray with breakfast.

Shame rushed through you, sudden and sharp. For a second, neither of you moved. You swallowed, your hand still resting against the closet door as if you hadn’t quite decided whether to close it or not. 

“I—” you started, then stopped. Your voice caught, the excuse you were about to give dissolving before it could even take shape. You shook your head slightly, a breath leaving you that sounded thinner than you intended. “Nothing. I was just—”

Steve didn’t move. His eyes flicked past you, briefly, to the open closet. Then back to you.

“Checking if I’d left?”

The words cut in cleanly. Your breath caught. For a brief second, you thought — hoped — he might be joking. But there was nothing playful in his expression as his eyes held yours, steady, serious.

“Wha—what?” you stammered, even though the denial sounded weak the moment it left your lips.

Steve let out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He stepped forward carefully, crossing the room with slow, uneven steps before setting the tray down on your vanity fair in front of the bed. The porcelain clinked softly against the wood. The sound felt louder than it should have. Then he turned back to you. He hesitated for a fraction of a second — like he was deciding how far to push it.

“You really think I haven’t noticed?” he said, his tone flat, controlled in a way that made it sharper. “The way you reach for my side of the bed every morning before you even open your eyes. The way you practically run downstairs when I’m not there.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Or how relieved you look every time I walk back through the door after work?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your mind scrambled for something — anything — to say, but there was nothing you could say. Because he was right. And the truth — the real reason behind it — felt too ugly, too fragile to put into words.

“I—” you tried again, your voice faltering, but it died there, unfinished.

Steve didn’t wait this time. “You still think I’m going to leave,” he said.

It wasn’t a question but a statement. The certainty in his voice made your chest tighten.

You didn't answer him but your silence did it.

He turned away from you, nodding, in disbelief, his back facing you as his hands settled on his hips. For a moment, he just stood there, looking up toward the ceiling like he was trying to steady himself, like he was holding something in.

You dropped your gaze. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.

When he spoke again, his voice was lower. Quieter. But if anything, it felt tired.

“I’ve told you — more than once,” he said slowly, “that I’m staying. That I’m not going anywhere.” A small pause. “I’ve never given you a reason to think I would. Even when I could have. Even when I was at my worst.”

You instantly knew he was talking about Kirsten. About that night. When he could have left and gone to her house. When he could have chosen something simpler. But he still didn’t. 

“I didn't even think about it,” he added, almost under his breath.

You believed him. 

And that made things even worse. 

You swallowed hard.

“And still…” He stopped, exhaling through his nose before turning back to you. His eyes found yours again, something unsettled flickering behind them now. “Still it’s like you don’t believe me. Like you don’t trust me,” he went on, quieter now, but no less direct.

You flinched slightly at that, your fingers curling in on themselves.

“When…” He hesitated, just for a second, like he was debating whether to let it out or keep it in.

You could already feel that it was no good. That it would hurt you. 

“When you’re the one who left.”

The words hung between you. Heavy. Painful. 

Steve looked away for a moment, shaking his head faintly before letting out a breath that sounded more like frustration than anything else.

“I’m the one who should be checking that closet,” he said, his voice tightening despite himself. “Making sure your things are still there. Making sure you didn’t just—” He stopped, jaw clenching, the rest of the sentence catching somewhere in his throat. Then, more quietly, but still honestly. “I’m the one who should be wondering if you’re going to leave again. Not you.”

He was right. You knew that. But that didn't mean his words hurt any less. Your hands tightened together until your knuckles ached. You bit down on your lip, hard, trying to keep the tears from spilling.

His gaze dropped for a moment, then lifted back to you. “Do you really think I don’t have those thoughts too?” he went on, his voice less controlled, sharper now, stretched thin. “That I don’t wonder if I’m going to come home one day and you just… won’t be here anymore?”

The words hit you straight in the chest like a punch, knocking the air out of you. 

“Or walk in and find you halfway down the stairs with your bags again?” he added. “Just like that day.” 

You stayed silent. 

Steve took a few steps toward you, his shoulders tense. “I’m scared every damn day,” he said, louder now, the frustration breaking through. “All the time.”

Your chest tightened as the words sank in.

“Do you know what I think about when I kiss you goodbye in the morning?” he continued, his voice rough, unsteady in a way that made it worse. “When I leave for work?” A short, humorless breath escaped him. “That it might be the last time.”

Your eyes filled with tears, burning you. 

“The last time I get to hold you. The last time I get to kiss you.” He continued, swallowing hard. “And every single time, I just hope… it’s not.”

Silence followed, thick and suffocating.

He turned away again, dragging a hand over his face before lifting both arms briefly, resting them behind his head. He stayed like that for a second, staring ahead, jaw tight.

“But I still choose to trust you,” he said after a moment, quieter now. “I choose it. Every single day.” His arms dropped back to his sides as he turned to face you again. “I choose to believe that when I come home, you’ll still be here.”

You couldn’t breathe properly. Your throat was dry, sore. 

He looked at you like he wanted to say more — like the words were there, right on the edge — but then something in his expression shifted. He stopped himself. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, his jaw tightening.

The silence stretched.

You pressed your lips together, unable to speak. Because he was right. About all of it. 

Even after everything he had said, some stubborn part of your mind kept waiting for the moment he would finally decide he had had enough. Even when… when you had been the one to leave. The one who had packed a bag and walked out, breaking something between you that you were still trying to fix.

What was wrong with you?

The thought came sharp and merciless.Your throat tightened painfully. For a second, you almost felt angry at yourself, enough to want to shake yourself out of it.

Steve cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the silence. 

“I need you to trust me too,” he said, more quietly now. Exhausted.

“Steve, I do trust you, it’s not—” 

Your voice was so weak that you almost didn’t recognize it. 

“Well, it doesn’t feel like it,” he cut in, not raising his voice, but not letting you finish either. He hesitated, like he wanted to keep going — like there was more sitting behind those words — but then he exhaled slowly and shook his head.

“Forget it. I just… went out to get breakfast,” he added, his tone changing, flattening, like he was forcing the conversation somewhere safer. “I got you those pastries you like. Thought I’d bring you them in bed. I just wanted to… surprise you.” A small pause. “That’s all.”

Your eyes closed for a second, the guilt settling heavier in your chest. When you opened them again, your gaze dropped to the tray on the table. You looked at it better this time — the coffee, still steaming faintly, the pastries neatly arranged like he had taken care choosing them, orange juice, eggs and bacon. There were all the things you loved to eat. 

Steve followed your gaze. “You should drink the coffee before it gets cold,” he said. His tone cold, detached that it surprised you. 

He turned before you could say anything else, moving toward the door with quick steps, without looking back at you.

For a second, you didn’t understand what was happening. Your body froze, your mind lagging behind as the sound of his steps carried down the stairs.

Then it hit you.

He was leaving.

Your throat tightened as you forced yourself to move, your legs finally responding as you rushed out of the room and down the stairs after him, still in your nightgown, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break through your chest.

“Steve!” You called his name with everything you had, your voice echoing through the house.

But he didn’t answer. He didn’t slow down either. He just kept going, one hand gripping the railing, as he moved fast, like he needed to get out before he changed his mind.

Panic surged through you.

“Steve, wait—!”

By the time you reached the bottom, he was already in front of the door.

“Wait — please, wait!” Your voice broke as you closed the last bit of distance and grabbed his arm, your fingers tightening around it, forcing him to stop. “Where — where are you going?”

He stilled under your touch, turning around to face you. His eyes were shining. “I need… some air,” he said, his voice low, steady in a way that felt final. “I’m going for a walk.”

You shook your head immediately, your grip tightening, your breath uneven. “No — please, stay. Let’s just — let’s talk, okay? Please.” Your voice trembled, the words stumbling over each other as the tears spilled freely now, warm against your skin. You didn’t even try to hide them.

Steve closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose like he was holding something in. “I already tried,” he said after a second, quieter now. “More than once. But you don't seem to hear me.”

You shook your head again, desperate. “I know. I know,  I’m sorry, I just—”

“I don’t know what else to say,” he cut in, not harsh, but firm. Tired. Exasperated. “I don’t know… what else to do to make you believe me.” His jaw tightened and for a moment he looked away. “I’m tired,” he admitted, his voice cracking just slightly at the edges. “And… angry.” He swallowed hard and you saw his throat move. “That’s why I’m leaving. I don’t want to say something I might regret later.”

Or do something he might regret, you thought. 

Your chest constricted painfully.

“Please, don’t go,” you whispered, shaking your head, your fingers curling tighter around his arm like you could keep him there if you just held on enough. “Please, don’t leave me.”

For a moment, his expression softened. He hated seeing you like that. 

“I’m coming back, okay?” he said, softer now, like he knew exactly where your mind had gone. Like he needed to stop it before it spiraled. “I’m… I’m not leaving. I just —” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “I just need a minute… to clear my head. Be alone for a bit.”

Your grip loosened, but only slightly.

“I’ll be back,” he repeated, more gently this time. “And we’ll… talk later. Promise.”

Talk about what? You wondered. 

Before you could say anything else, he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. It lingered just long enough to hurt. Then he pulled away. Carefully, he slipped his arm from your grasp. The loss of contact felt immediate. Cold.

You stood there as he opened the door and stepped outside. The door closed behind him with a soft click.

Silence flooded immediately the space he left behind. Loud. Unbearable. 

You didn’t move. You stayed there, right where he had left you, your hands hanging useless at your sides, your vision blurred with tears you didn’t even try to stop anymore. Your heart pounded unevenly as your gaze fixed on the closed door, like you expected it to open again any second. While upstairs, the coffee he had made for you was already growing cold.

His voice replayed in your mind, louder with every passing second.

I’ll be back. 

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, your chest aching.

Would he?

-

You were lying on the couch in the living room, curled on your side, facing the TV, even though it was off.

You hadn’t moved from there since Steve left.

The clock was ticking but you didn’t know how much time had passed. Long enough for the sobs to stop and the tears on your cheeks to dry, leaving your skin tight, your body still, your mind heavy and hollow. Your breathing had evened out. The storm had burned itself out, leaving behind nothing but a quiet that felt too big for the room.

Silence settled around you. Heavy. Uncomfortable. 

Then, suddenly you heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Your body reacted before your mind did. You pushed yourself up from the couch, your heart jumping as you turned toward the door just as it opened.

Steve stepped inside. His gaze lifted as he crossed the threshold, and it found yours immediately.

You stayed where you were. Even though every instinct in your body told you to run to him — to close the distance, to hold onto him, to make sure he was really there — you didn’t.

He closed the door behind him with a soft click and took a few steps forward. 

“You’re here,” he said, his gaze fixed on yours. 

You knew he didn’t mean just now. That you hadn’t left. That he hadn’t come back to an empty house.

You nodded, your throat tight. “And you are back.”

Something in his expression shifted — subtle, but there. He nodded once in return, like he was acknowledging something unspoken between you. 

He knew exactly what you meant too. 

He moved around the couch, with still his jacket on and sat down, leaving only a small space between you. For a moment, he just sat there. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, dragging a hand over his face before pressing his palms briefly against his eyes, like he was trying to steady himself.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “About before. I shouldn’t have… reacted like that.”

You hesitated for a second before sitting down beside him, careful and let out a slow breath.

“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “You — you were right.”

Steve turned his head to look at you.

You swallowed, your hands tightening together in your lap before you forced yourself to keep going. “I am… I am still scared. That you might leave one day.” Your voice wavered slightly, but you didn’t look away. “And I know I shouldn’t be. That it doesn’t make sense. You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you. Not once.”

A small pause.

“I’m the one who did that,” you added, quieter now. “I’m the one who left. I’m the one who… broke your trust.”

The admission sat between you, raw and unguarded. It hurt you to remind what you had done. But you needed to. 

“And I’m sorry,” you said, your voice softer now. “For that. For everything.”

Steve didn’t interrupt and kept listening to you. 

“But it’s not true that I don’t trust you,” you went on, shaking your head slightly, like you needed him to understand that part most of all. “It’s… me.”

That was harder to say.

Your gaze dropped for a second before lifting again.

“I don’t trust myself,” you admitted, the words catching slightly on the way out. “Because I don’t feel like I’m enough. Like I’m… lacking something. Like I’m not…” You exhaled shakily. “Not what you deserve.”

Your fingers twisted together again before you stilled them, forcing yourself to continue.

“And I know—” you added quickly, almost defensively, “I know you don’t see it that way. I know that’s not how you think. But I do. And it’s not something I can just switch off, Steve. It doesn’t work like that.”

Your voice softened, losing some of its tension.

“I need time,” you said. “To come to terms with it. With the fact that… it’s not my fault.” You swallowed. “And that it doesn’t make me less. Or… harder to love. I just… need time,” you repeated more quietly.

Then, after a small pause, you reached out, slowly, carefully, and rested your hand on his knee. Steve's gaze immediately dropped to where your hand rested. His eyes lingered there for a second before lifting back to yours.

“But I’m not going anywhere,” you said, meeting his eyes. There was no hesitation now, only quiet certainty. “I’m here. And I’m staying.”

Your fingers pressed slightly against his knee, grounding yourself in the moment.

“I almost lost you,” you went on, your voice softening further. “Twice.” Your throat tightened. “And the second time… I almost didn’t get you back at all. I don’t want that again,” you whispered, your eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

You held his gaze as Steve reached for your hand where it rested on his knee, lacing his fingers through yours and giving it a firm, grounding squeeze.

“Good,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not going anywhere either, okay?” His gaze held yours, steady, intent. “I’ve seen what it’s like… living without you. And I didn’t like it. Not even a little.” A faint, humorless breath left him. “Worst week of my life, actually. And I’m not planning on going through that again.”

Your chest tightened, but this time it wasn’t fear.

“So yeah,” he went on, softer now, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles, “some mornings you might wake up and not find me in bed. Or downstairs. And some afternoons or nights, I might come home late.” A small pause. “But wherever I am, I’ll be thinking about you. And I’ll always come back.” His voice dipped slightly, more vulnerable now. “As long as you still want me to.”

You didn’t hesitate. “I will,” you said, your voice steady despite everything you were feeling. “And I’ll be here too. Waiting for you.” A small breath. “As long as you want me to be.”

Something softened in his expression. Then he smiled and lifted his free hand to your face, cupping your cheek gently before leaning in.

The kiss started soft. Careful. Like everything else between you had been these past weeks. 

But as the seconds passed, some of the distance you had both been carrying seemed to melt away. You shifted closer without even thinking about it, your body moving toward his like it had been waiting for this. Your hands came up to his face as you kissed him back, deeper this time, more certain. The hesitation that had lingered between you began to slip, piece by piece.

You moved onto his lap, straddling him, your lips never quite leaving his. His hands found your waist, holding you there, tightly, like he needed to make sure you wouldn’t disappear.

The kiss grew hungrier, faster. His hands moved along your sides, firm, warm, sliding up your back, pulling you closer. Yours slipped into his hair, fingers curling, holding on as if that alone could keep him there. You felt him exhale against your lips, his forehead brushing yours for the briefest second before his mouth found yours again, more urgent this time.

He trailed slowly down your jaw, your neck, until it reached your shoulder. The strap of your nightgown had already slipped down your arm, giving him space, and he took it without hesitation. His lips pressed warm against your skin, lingering, then moving again — slower this time. Each touch sent a quiet shiver through you, your breath catching as he traced a path along your collarbone. You tipped your head back instinctively, giving him more room, your hands settling on his shoulders to steady yourself. For a moment, you just felt the warmth of his mouth, the roughness of his hands against your skin. And the solid presence of him beneath you. 

He was already hard. 

Your hips shifted almost unconsciously against him, drawn closer, and the contact made his breath hitch for a brief second. His hands tightened at your waist in response, grounding, firm, like he needed to keep you right where you were.

You threaded your fingers into his hair, gripping lightly, guiding him back to your lips. There was nothing hesitant left in the way you kissed him now. It wasn’t careful anymore — it was need, release, everything spilling over at once after being held back for too long.

You pushed his jacket off his shoulders, the fabric sliding down his arms as your hands moved over him, impatient. He let out a quiet breath against your mouth, helping you shrug it off the rest of the way without breaking the kiss for long.

Your nightgown had ridden up completely, forgotten, as you shifted in his lap, the fabric bunched at your waist. But you barely noticed it, too focused on him — on the way his touch felt after everything. After weeks without intimacy — without sex. The last time had been during that famous weekend that was supposed to be the last. Fortunately, it hadn’t been in the end. How could you have thought you could live without him? Without his touch? Thinking back now, it seemed almost impossible.

His hands slid lower along your thigh, slipping beneath the fabric of your nightgown, hesitating only for a fraction of a second — as if giving you time to pull away, to stop him. 

You didn’t.

If anything, you leaned into him more, your hands tightening his face even more, your lips parting against his in a silent answer.

You weren’t pulling away anymore.

His hand started moving over you again, sliding under the hem, caressing the bare skin of your ass, gently, slowly, as if he wanted to savor the moment. Like he was relearning you — like he needed to feel every inch just to remind himself that you were real, that you hadn’t slipped away again. 

You pressed closer instinctively, grinding down on his bulge in search of something more, something deeper. It wasn’t enough — none of it felt like enough after everything you had been through. The distance, the fear, the almost losing him.

You needed to feel him. Really feel him.

Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding on just as tightly, like you were afraid that if you let go, he might disappear. 

“Steve… please,” you whispered against his lips as his hand moved closer to where you needed him most. But every time, when he was almost there, he pushed it away, teasing you.

He smirked, amused. “What’s it, babe?” He murmured, voice low. “Tell me what you need.”

You let out a soft, frustrated breath, your forehead resting briefly against his.

“Please,” you begged, desperate, unable to form a complete sentence.  

Steve’s grin widened even further. He hesitated a few seconds, his hand tightening on your thigh, the other one on your hip, holding you in place as he watched you for a moment longer than necessary. Then finally, he gave in. His hand began to slide down along your core, feeling the wet spot that had already formed on your panties. 

His touch was slow, deliberate, rubbing gentle circles over your clothed clit as heat pooled low in your belly. Your hands found his shoulders again, gripping for balance as you moved against him, hips rolling, chasing his touch. Steve increased the pressure and you moaned into his mouth as you kept grinding your soaked panties.  

The other strap of your nightgown slipped from your shoulder, revealing your breasts. Steve groaned. As he kept caressing your core, he ran his other hand up your stomach and squeezed your tits, gently first, then hard. You moaned again, letting your head fall back.  But it still wasn’t enough. You wanted more. 

“Steve… I need you… Please,” you begged him, almost crying. 

“Yeah, babe? Where do you need me? I’m right here.” 

His hand pressed down on you harder, while your fingers curled into his shirt even more, resting your forehead on his shoulder, panting. For a moment, you hesitated, swallowing slowly. 

“Inside me.” Your voice lower than a whisper.  “I need you inside me, Steve. Please.”

Steve stopped moving, taking his hands off of you. You whined at the loss of contact, missing him already. But before you could say anything, he pulled your nightgown over your head in a single motion and threw it somewhere behind you, leaving you half-naked. 

His gaze dropped straight to your bare breasts, his eyes widening, hungry. He swallowed hard. 

“God…” he breathed, almost to himself.

After few seconds, you found yourself lying on the couch, on your back with Steve on top of you. He hooked his fingers into your panties, tugging them quickly down your legs. You lifted your hips to help him, eager to be free of them. 

Steve stood up, pushing his shirt up, revealing the trail of hair disappearing into his jeans. Then he took them off and his boxers in one smooth motion, letting them drop to the floor. His length slapped against him.

Both naked, he settled between your thighs, bringing you closer as you raised yourself on your elbows to see him better. His gaze traveled over your body spread open on the couch, lingering on your centre, shiny and swollen already. 

“Fucking beautiful,” he said, looking back at you, a little smile on his lips. “And it’s all mine.” 

Even though you were married and he had already seen you like that several times, you couldn't help but blush at his words.

He lay down on top of you and kissed you passionately, supporting himself on one arm, as he dragged his other hand through your slick folds, spreading yourself open. His fingers drew slow circles around your clit before dipping inside. Your body responded instantly, arching into him, hips rolling against his fingers. The wet sounds filled the room, mixed with your shaky breaths.

“You’re so wet, babe, and I barely did anything,” he murmured under his breath, holding his glistening fingers up to your lips. 

You took them into your mouth and sucked, tasting yourself on them as Steve never took his eyes off you. 

“So needy and desperate, aren’t you? And you really think you could live without me?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, a broken moan ripped from your throat as he rubbed his hand all over your entrance, spreading the wetness. Your hips moved towards him, looking for more. Then he grabbed himself and stroked it a few times, lubing himself up with your arousal. Your eyes fixed on him the entire time, biting your lip at the sight of his thick member. Even after so many years together you still hadn't gotten used to its size, capable of leaving you breathless and sore every time.

Steve moved closer to you, guiding his length through your folds, the tip nudging against your clit, teasing you. You threw your head back, a sigh escaped your lips. 

Without warning, he drove into you with one, quick thrust, seating himself fully inside you. You gasped at the intrusion, arching your back as he stretched you open with a deep groan. He started moving immediately, without giving you time to get used to it. You were so wet that he slid perfectly inside you all the way, meeting no resistance. The wet slaps of skin and your desperate moans filled the living room as he kept pounding into you at a brutal pace. Your hands ran down his hairy chest, his arms and then over his back, scratching him, digging your nails into him as he went deeper with each stroke. 

You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him in tighter to you. His hand reached your clit, rubbing it as he kept fucking you harder. He thrusted in and out, relentlessly, quickly. His eyes stayed locked downward, fascinated by the sight of himself sliding in and out of you, dragging a creamy ring back and forth along his length.

“How — How can you think I can leave? That I can do without all this? Without you?" he asked after a while, his lips pressed to your ear. 

There was no malice or bitterness in his voice, just honesty. You didn't respond, you couldn't. Partly out of shame, partly because Steve's movements prevented you from thinking or speaking clearly. Only half-formed words, moans escaped your mouth.

"Steve, I…"

"Yes, babe? Are you coming? I can feel you squeezing my cock. Come on, cum for me."

And you came, clenching around his cock and crying out his name. Steve followed you right away, coming inside you with a low, guttural groan as his release painted your walls. He gently collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat. 

-

About ten minutes later, you were lying on the couch, wearing only his shirt, curled slightly on your side with your head resting on Steve’s chest. Your fingers were still loosely intertwined with his, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He lay beside you in nothing but his boxers, one arm draped around you, absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm.

Everything felt… lighter now. Not just because of what had just happened between you, but because of everything that had come before it — your argument, the honesty, the way you had finally let yourselves say things out loud instead of carrying them alone.

It hadn’t fixed everything. You knew that. There were still cracks — fears that wouldn’t disappear overnight. Things you —especially you — would have to work through, slowly, patiently. But for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel impossible. It felt like something you could face together.

Steve shifted slightly beneath you, his fingers tightening around yours for a moment before he lifted your hand, turning it gently so your wedding band caught the light of the lamp.

“Give me your ring,” he said after a beat.

You barely noticed at first, still half lost in the quiet haze of the moment. Then you blinked, the words taking a second to fully register. You pushed yourself up slightly, one hand pressing against his chest as you looked down at him, your brows knitting together. “What?”

“Your ring,” he repeated, his voice calm but his gaze intense. “Give it to me, please.”

Confusion flickered across your face as you sat up properly, turning to face him.

“My ring? Why?” There was a trace of unease in your voice now, subtle but there. You instinctively curled your fingers slightly, as if protecting it without even realizing. You didn’t like taking it off. Not even when you had temporarily left Steve you had taken it off.

Steve pushed himself up into a seated position, resting against the couch armrest as he looked at you.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

You knew, instantly, that he wasn’t just talking about the ring. He was asking something bigger.

Did you trust me to stay?

Did you trust me not to leave?

Your throat tightened slightly, but you nodded without hesitation, swallowing. Your fingers hesitated for only a second more before you slipped the ring off and placed it in his hand.

It felt strange the moment it left your finger. Lighter. Wrong, almost.

Steve watched you for a second, then reached up and removed his own. For a brief moment, he held both rings in his palm, staring down at them — silent, thoughtful. 

You shifted closer, kneeling on the couch in front of him now, your eyes fixed on his face, trying to understand what was happening but without success. 

“What are you doing?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward slightly and placed both rings on the couch between you. 

Side by side.

You followed the movement with your eyes, your confusion deepening, your brow furrowing as you looked back up at him.

“Give me your hand,” Steve said softly.

You looked up at him, your confusion still written all over your face.

“Steve… will you tell me what you’re doing? I don’t—”

“We’re renewing our vows.”

You blinked, your eyes widening as you stared at him, even more lost than before.

“What?”

“Didn’t we say this was a new beginning?” he went on, his voice steady, certain. “For you, for me… for us.”

You nodded slowly, still trying to catch up.

“Then we need new promises,” he said. “Ones that actually fit us. Our way.”

Before you could say anything else, he reached for your hands again, holding them gently but firmly between his.

“Trust me,” he added, quieter this time.

There it was again.

That question beneath the words.

You swallowed and nodded. “I do.”

Steve took a slow breath, his thumbs brushing lightly over your knuckles as he gathered his thoughts. For a second, he looked almost nervous — but he didn’t look away.

“Do you take me to be yours again,” he began, his voice low but clear, “knowing that we don’t have everything figured out… that things might change, that life might not go the way we planned…”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“To have and to hold anyway,” he continued, “to stay instead of running, to try,  even when it’s hard… to not walk away when things get complicated…”

Your eyes burned, but you didn’t blink.

“To love me for as long as we both want this… for as long as we keep choosing each other?”

Silence settled between you the moment he finished.

For a second, you couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe. Then you nodded — once, twice, again — your grip tightening around his hands.

“I do,” you said, your voice trembling but certain. “I do.”

Tears blurred your vision as you held onto him. 

“Okay,” he murmured, a faint, relieved smile tugging at his lips. “Your turn.”

You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, your heart still racing as you repeated his words — slowly at first, then with more certainty, your voice finding its strength as you went. When you finished, Steve didn’t hesitate.

“I do,” he said immediately, like it was the easiest thing he had ever done. There was no doubt or uncertainty in his voice. 

He reached for your ring, holding it carefully between his fingers before looking back up at you.

“Repeat after me,” he said softly.

You nodded.

“With this ring, I choose you.”

“With this ring, I choose you,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I promise to love you, to be honest with you and to let you in, always.”

You repeated each word, your gaze never leaving his.

“I promise I won’t shut you out when I’m scared… to trust you, to stay… and to build whatever life we can — together.”

Your throat tightened, but you kept going, holding onto every word like it mattered more than anything.

“For as long as we both keep choosing each other.”

When you finished, his expression softened completely. Slowly—almost reverently— he slid the ring back onto your finger. The weight of it felt different now. Not heavier.

Stronger.

Your eyes dropped briefly to his ring, still resting between you on the couch. You picked it up carefully, turning it between your fingers before looking back at him.

“Your turn now,” you said softly, almost timidly. 

He nodded.

“With this ring, I choose you,” you began.

He repeated it without hesitation.

“I promise to love you, to trust you, and to stay when things get hard — not because I have to, but because I want to.”

His voice was firm, certain.

“I promise to stay even when it would be easier to walk away… and to build whatever life we can— together.”

Your chest tightened.

“For as long as we both keep choosing each other.”

When he finished repeating, you took his hand and slid the ring back onto his finger, your touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Your fingers intertwined. When you looked up again, he was already staring at you. Smiling. There was something lighter in his expression now. Softer. Hopeful. You smiled back, your eyes still shining.

“And now what?” you asked quietly.

A small, familiar spark returned to his gaze.

“Well,” he murmured, his voice dipping just slightly as his hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing softly along your cheeks, “now I get to kiss my wife.”

A flash of playfulness softened his features — something boyish and bright, as if he’d been counting down the seconds to this very moment. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, fueled by a quiet, steady confidence. Like he wasn’t asking — just finally claiming what had always been his.

And then he kissed you.

The force of it, the sudden pull of his hands, sent you tipping backward onto the couch, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as he followed you down without breaking the kiss, his body settling over yours.

You barely had time to react before your hands found him again — his shoulders, his hair — pulling him closer as if there was still distance left to close.

At first, the kiss was slow, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of care that felt almost reverent, like he was memorizing you all over again. Then it deepened, growing stronger, more urgent, the quiet tenderness giving way to something warmer, fuller, alive with everything you had both held back for too long.

Your fingers tightened in his hair, his grip on you firm but steady, keeping you anchored beneath him as if letting go wasn’t even an option anymore.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

But a promise.

A new beginning.

The first step into something new.

Together.

-

A week later, you started therapy.

It wasn’t an instant fix. Nothing about it was. But slowly — almost without noticing at first —something began to shift.

The mornings were the first to change.

You still reached for him sometimes when you woke up, your hand instinctively searching for the warmth of his side of the bed. But you no longer did it with that same sharp edge of panic or fear. You didn’t brace yourself before opening your eyes. You didn’t lie there, afraid of what you might — or might not — find. 

And some mornings… you didn’t even have the chance to.

You woke up already wrapped in his arms, his body warm against yours, his hand resting at your waist like it had been there all night. Other times, you felt him pull you closer in his sleep, like even unconsciously he was making sure you were still there — still his, still within reach.

Those mornings were easier. Quieter. Because they didn’t leave space for doubt to creep in.

And when he wasn’t there, you didn’t rush. You didn’t run to the closet anymore to check if his clothes were still hanging where they belonged. You didn’t scan the house with your heart in your throat, waiting to confirm your worst fear. Instead, you breathed — once, twice. You reminded yourself — quietly, firmly — of everything he had told you. Of everything you had promised each other.

You chose to trust him.

And, slowly, you started trying to trust yourself too. To believe that you were enough. Not just because he said it, or because he loved you. But because you were.

-

Two months later, you came back from a weekend away with Robin and Nancy.

The moment you stepped into the house, you barely had time to set your bag down before Steve reached you, taking the suitcase from your hand and leaning in to kiss you softly.

“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips.

“I was gone only for two days,” you replied, smiling anyway.

“I know,” he said. “Two very long days.”

And then you noticed the expression on his face. He looked suspiciously satisfied, like he was waiting for you to figure something out.

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What?” you asked, suspicious now. “What did you do?”

He feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest. “Wow. No trust at all?”

You gave him another look.

“Okay, maybe I did something,” he admitted, a grin slipping through.

“Please tell me you didn’t burn the kitchen down while I was gone.”

He scoffed, shaking his head. “Firstly, rude. And secondly, it’s a good thing. A surprise. Promise.”

Then he extended his hand toward you.

“Come on,” he said. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to see it.”

You hesitated for only a second before taking it, letting him guide you inside and up the stairs.

He left your suitcase by the bedroom door without a second thought and kept going.

And that was when you realized where you were going. 

Your steps slowed. Your grip on his hand tightened just slightly.

The further down the hallway you walked, the heavier your chest felt until you stopped, right in front of the door you almost never opened anymore.

Your throat went dry.

You hadn't stepped inside in months. Most days, you barely even looked at it when you passed. Sometimes you wished it wasn’t there at all. That the door could just… disappear.

“Steve… what are we doing?”

He turned back to you immediately, and whatever excitement had been on his face softened the second he saw yours. He stepped closer, taking both your hands this time, holding them gently but firmly. 

“Hey,” he said quietly. “Trust me. Okay?”

The words settled between you. Familiar now. Your eyes flickered to the door for a brief second, your chest tightening — then back to him. You swallowed hard and nodded.

“Okay.”

He smiled, just a little, then squeezed your hands.

“I need you to close your eyes,” he said. “And don’t open them. No matter what.”

A small flicker of hesitation crossed your face again. But this time, you didn’t let it take over.

“I’m trusting you,” you murmured. 

“I know,” he said softly before closing your eyes. 

You felt him let go of one of your hands, the other still firmly wrapped around his as he guided you forward. Then you heard the sound of the door opening. Your heartbeat picked up.

“Okay,” he said. “Come on. Just follow my voice.”

You did. Slowly. Carefully.

“Stop,” he said gently after a moment.

You stopped instantly, abruptly. 

“Okay… you can open them.”

You inhaled deeply and opened your eyes. 

At first, all you saw was him — standing in front of you, watching you carefully, almost nervously. Then your gaze shifted and everything else came into focus. You turned slowly, taking it in piece by piece.

Everything was different. But it wasn't what you had once imagined either.

The boxes were gone. The walls had been repainted in soft, warm colors that made the room feel brighter than you remembered. 

There was no crib by the window. No changing table. No carefully planned corners for a life that hadn’t come. Instead, there were large canvases leaned against the far wall, waiting to be used. Shelves lined with paints, brushes, pencils and jars of color.

Your breath caught. Your hand rose instinctively to your mouth as your eyes began to sting.

It wasn’t a reminder of what you had lost anymore. Of what you couldn’t have. Steve had transformed it into something full of possibilities that didn’t hurt to look at. That didn’t whisper what if every time you passed by.

Behind you, Steve shifted slightly. When you didn’t speak right away, uncertainty crept in.

He cleared his throat. “Maybe I should’ve talked to you first,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I just… I thought it was a shame to leave it like that and not using it. And you always said you wished you had a space to paint, so I thought—”

He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair, suddenly unsure.

“I mean, you don’t have to use it if you don’t want to,” he added, softer now. “We can —”

You turned to him before he could finish the sentence and closed the distance in two quick steps, kissing him. He froze for a second, clearly caught off guard — then melted into it, his hands coming up to steady you as he kissed you back. When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his, your breath uneven.

“It’s perfect,” you whispered. “I love it. And I love you.”

Your arms slipped around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” you murmured against him.

He held you just as tightly.

And over the following weeks, that room became yours.

You spent hours in there — painting, sitting, letting your thoughts settle into something quieter. Sometimes, you didn’t even realize how long you’d been there until the light changed. Steve would linger in the doorway now and then, leaning against the frame, watching you with that same soft expression—like he was witnessing something slowly come back to life. 

Eventually, you even convinced him to sit for you. He complained about it at first. A lot. But he stayed. 

And little by little, that room changed. From something that once held only absence, pain, sadness… to something filled with color.

And hope. 

-

A few weeks later, Steve showed up with a camper that looked like it had lived several lives before you ever laid eyes on it. It was old, dented in places, the paint faded and uneven — but there was a spark in Steve’s eyes when he stood in front of it, one hand resting on the hood like he’d just found treasure.

“I know what you’re thinking but it has potential,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “It probably has tetanus.”

He grinned.

With Eddie’s help — and a lot more time, effort, and swearing than either of them would ever admit— they brought it back to life. By the time summer arrived and school let out, it was no longer falling apart.

With no schedules to follow and nowhere you had to be, you left. The road stretched out in front of you, endless and open. It felt… freeing. You drove for hours with the windows down, music playing too loud, your hands resting somewhere on each other — your arm, your thigh, wherever you could reach — just to feel each other.

You made your way through the Rockies first, the air thinner, cooler, the silence deeper than anything you were used to. You hiked trails that left your legs aching and your lungs burning, but every time you stopped, every time you looked around, it felt worth it. At night, you slept outside more often than not. Sometimes in the camper, sometimes in a tent, sometimes just wrapped in blankets under a sky so full of stars it didn’t feel real. There were moments when you lay side by side, not speaking, just looking up. And your thoughts didn’t spiral anymore. 

At the Grand Canyon, you stood at the edge in silence, your shoulder pressed against his. His hand found yours without looking, fingers threading through yours like it was second nature.

“Hard to believe something like this just… exists,” you murmured.

Steve glanced at you instead of the view. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”

After that, you went to Yellowstone. Beautiful and unpredictable at the same time. One moment you were admiring the scenery, the next you were lost, soaked by unexpected rain, or arguing over a map you both insisted you knew how to read properly. 

And then there was California.

Everything seemed to slow down there. The air was warmer, the days felt longer. The ocean stretched out endlessly in front of you, the sound of it constant.

Steve decided he was going to learn how to surf. In reality, he spent most of his time falling off the board while you sat on the beach laughing so hard your stomach hurt.

You played volleyball on the beach with strangers, drank overly sweet cocktails decorated with ridiculous little umbrellas, and watched the sun melt into the ocean more evenings than you could count.

During the day, Steve refused to wear sunscreen, even though you had told him he’d regret it.

And he did.

“This is your fault,” he muttered later, lying on his stomach, his skin flushed red while you tried not to laugh as you applied aloe.

“My fault?” you echoed, incredulous.

“You should’ve insisted harder.”

You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, your fingers gentler than your tone. “You’re impossible.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But you love me.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to as you both knew the answer. 

Sometimes, you acted like kids — splashing each other in the water, chasing each other along the shore, collapsing into the sand, breathless and laughing.

Other times, things slowed down. Quieted.

You’d sit close together, his arm around your shoulders, your head resting against him, listening to the waves without feeling the need to fill the silence.

One night, long after the beach had emptied, you slipped into the ocean together, only in your underwear. 

The cold hit you instantly, sharp enough to steal the air from your lungs. You gasped, instinctively reaching for him. His hands found you beneath the surface, firm on your hips, pulling you into him until there was no space left between your bodies. The water moved around you, waves brushing against your skin. You laughed quietly when one hit you harder than expected, your hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, pressing your chest against his, your breath mixing. 

You started kissing — your lips touching, hesitant for half a second — and then it deepened instantly.

Hungry.

Your fingers slid into his hair, grabbing, pulling him closer as his hold on you tightened, one hand pressing firmly at your lower back, anchoring you against him while the ocean swayed around you. There was no teasing or slow build. Just want. Desire. Raw and immediate. 

“I need you,” he muttered against your mouth.

“Then stop talking,” you shot back softly, breathless, your eyes fixed on his. “And show me how much you need me.”

That was all it took.

The kiss turned rougher, deeper. His hand shifted, gripping your hip harder, pulling a quiet sound from you that you couldn’t hold back. The ocean rocked around you, but neither of you paid attention anymore.

By the time you made it back to shore, you were both breathing harder than you should have been, your skin still wet, cooling in the night air. The moment your feet hit the sand, his mouth was on yours again, stronger this time, more urgent, more demanding. Your hands moved just as quickly, sliding over him, holding, pulling, needing to feel him. 

You stumbled back together, barely coordinated, until the sand gave way beneath you and you fell, a soft breath leaving your lips as your back hit the ground. Steve followed immediately, catching himself just enough to not hurt you. 

Sand clung to your skin, your legs wrapped around him without thinking, pressing into him like you couldn’t get close enough, like your body refused the idea of space between you. 

His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, your neck, slower now — but not softer. Each touch leaving something behind, something you could feel spreading under your skin. 

“You feel that?” he murmured against your skin, voice rough. 

“Yes—”

Your head tipped back, breath catching, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he held you tighter, like he wasn’t planning to let you slip away again.

“Don’t — don’t stop,” you breathed against his mouth.

A quiet exhale left him, almost like a laugh, but darker.

“Never,” he replied, almost immediately.

When you finally came together, it felt inevitable. Natural. Like your bodies already knew the rhythm before you even found it. Every movement met, answered, matched. Your breath broke into uneven patterns, your fingers tightening, needing something solid as the rest of the world blurred into nothing but the sound of the ocean and the feeling of him. His name left your lips without thought, barely more than a breath, your body reacting to every shift, every movement that pulled you further into him.

Afterward, you didn’t move. You stayed wrapped around each other, your skin still warm, your breathing slowly evening out as the night settled back around you. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer instinctively, like distance wasn’t something either of you could tolerate. Your fingers traced slow, absent lines over his chest, your cheek pressed there, listening to his heartbeat.

The waves kept coming and going, soft, constant. 

And for once, there was nothing chasing you.

No doubt.

No fear.

No voice in the back of your mind asking what if.

-

When you came back from your trip and the new school year began, things felt different between you and Steve. Not all at once. Not in a way that erased everything that had happened. But the tension, the constant weight of fear and doubt — it had softened.

You still talked about children sometimes. About the future. About what you both wanted. But the summer spent together had reminded you of something important: you were happy. With Steve. With the life you had built together, even if it was only the two of you for now. But it was enough for now. So you decided to wait and to give yourselves time.

No deadlines.

No pressure. 

No quiet panic about what should come next.

Just the two of you.

Or rather, the three of you.

Because shortly after you got a dog.

A golden retriever puppy, barely a few months old, all oversized paws and endless energy that you named King. 

King made his loyalties very clear from the start. He followed you everywhere like your shadow. If you moved, he moved. If you stopped, he sat at your feet. At night, it became a problem. Every time you and Steve went to bed, King would jump up before either of you could stop him and curl up right on Steve’s side.

“You’ve got competition,” you teased one night, already half under the covers as Steve stood there, hands on his hips, staring at the dog sprawled comfortably across his pillow.

Steve scoffed. “Yeah, I can see.”

King didn’t move. If anything, he stretched and it took a solid minute of negotiating — firm voice, light pushing, and eventually bribery — before Steve managed to reclaim his spot. Even then, King would lie at the foot of the bed, eyes on you. 

Steve pretended to be annoyed at him, almost jealous. Sometimes he even sounded like it. But you caught the way he looked at the dog when he thought you weren’t paying attention — soft, amused, completely gone. He loved him as much as you did. Every evening, he took him out for walks, no matter how tired he was. You’d watch from the window sometimes as they crossed the yard — Steve throwing the ball, King sprinting after it like his life depended on it, ears flying, tail wagging wildly.

-

Not long after classes started, a position opened in the art department. A few days later, the principal called you into his office and offered it to you. Your first instinct was to say no.

The thought of being so close to children every day made something in your chest tighten again. Old fears, quieter now, but not completely gone, stirred under the surface.

What if it would hurt?

What if it was too much?

What if you couldn’t handle it after all?

But then you thought about the studio that Steve had set up for you. About the way your hands had found their way back to color, to creation. About the way you had slowly, carefully started building something new out of what you thought you had lost.

So when the principal asked for your answer a few days later, you said yes.

Steve was… impossibly proud.

The surprise party he organized was chaotic, loud, full of people you loved — and entirely overwhelming in the best way.

Your first day in the classroom felt different than you expected.

Not heavy.

Not painful.

Just… new.

There were moments of uncertainty, of course. Small pauses where you caught yourself observing, adjusting, learning where to stand, how to speak.  At one point, while you were leaning over a desk helping a child mix colors, you felt something shift in the room — a subtle change in attention. You looked up. Steve was standing by the door. He hadn’t said anything. Just… watching. A small smile already on his face.

One of the kids noticed him first. Then another. And suddenly the entire class had turned, voices rising all at once.

“Who is that?” “Coach Harrington!” “Is that your husband?” “Are you gonna kiss him?”

Your face flushed instantly.

“Okay — alright — back to —” you tried, but it was too late.

“Ki-ss! Ki-ss! Ki-ss!”

You shot Steve a look — half warning, half embarrassed.

He only grinned and walked over, slow, deliberate, like he was enjoying this far too much. When he reached you, he leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to your cheek.

The class erupted.

You covered your face for a second, laughing despite yourself.

“Sorry,” he murmured near your ear, low enough that only you could hear. “Couldn’t help it.” Then, after a beat, softer. “I’ll make it up to you later.”

Your cheeks warmed even more, and you nudged him lightly, trying to regain some composure.

By the time the day ended and the last child had left, the classroom fell quiet. You stood there for a moment, taking it in—the scattered drawings, the faint smell of paint, the soft echo of a day that hadn’t hurt the way you feared it would.

If anything, it had felt… right.

A light knock pulled you from your thoughts.

You followed the sound. 

Steve was leaning again against the doorframe, watching you with that same soft expression.

“So?” he asked.

You hesitated only a second.

“It was good,” you said.

He raised an eyebrow.

You smiled a little, shaking your head. “Okay… it was better than good.”

Something in his face eased. He stepped closer, his hand settling lightly at your waist.

“I knew it,” he said quietly.

You let out a small breath, glancing around the room one last time before looking back at him.

“I’m happy. Really happy,” you admitted.

It came out softer than you expected.

Steve’s thumb brushed gently against your side. “And I’m proud of you.”

You held his gaze for a second, then a small, knowing smile curved your lips. “Then maybe we should go home,” you said lightly, tilting your head just enough, “so you can show me how proud you are.”

Something shifted in his expression immediately — subtle, but unmistakable.

“Don’t say more,” he murmured, a hint of a grin breaking through.

“Come on,” you said, reaching for your bag.

He took it from you without a word, his other hand finding yours and you walked out together, turning off the lights behind you. 

-

One evening, you were already home, waiting for Steve to be back. Dinner was ready, the table perfectly set. The kitchen still carried the warmth of what you had just cooked, and King lingered nearby, pacing in small, hopeful circles, his eyes fixed on the counter in case something might fall.

You glanced at the clock one more time. 

Steve was late.

You furrowed your brow. Practice should have ended a while ago and he was rarely off schedule without a reason.

You dried your hands on a dish towel, trying not to let your thoughts drift too far ahead of you. But just as a flicker of concern began to settle in your chest, the sound of the front door opening cut through the silence.

Relief left your lips in a quiet breath before you could stop it. King reacted instantly, tail wagging as he rushed out of the kitchen, nails clicking against the floor as he ran to greet Steve.

“Hey, what happened? The kids wouldn’t let you go?” you called out, stepping out of the kitchen after the dog, still distracted as you wiped your hands.

“Hey,” Steve said.

Something in his tone — slight, uncertain — made you lift your gaze. At first, you didn’t notice anything different. Then your eyes caught it.

A small hand, barely visible, peeking out from behind his leg, fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his pants.

You slowed mid-step. Your mouth parted slightly, the words you had been about to say fading before they could form. Your gaze stayed fixed there, on that small hand, and on the hint of a face just barely visible behind him as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing. But you couldn’t quite see who it was.

You looked back up at Steve. “Oh,” you said, managing a small smile despite the confusion already building, “I see we have a guest.”

Steve lifted a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly, a nervous habit you knew too well. He smiled back—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was hesitation there. Almost… caution.

He glanced down behind him. Then, after a brief pause, he shifted slightly to the side.

And the child finally came into view.

You blinked. “Charlie?” you said, surprise softening your voice.

He stood half-hidden still, shoulders slightly hunched, his eyes flicked up briefly before dropping again like he wasn’t sure if he should be there at all.

You knew him. He was one of your students. And one of Steve’s athletes too. Quiet. Gentle. Polite. The kind of child who never demanded attention, who was always the last to leave, as if he had no hurry, or worse, nowhere to go.

“Good evening, Mrs. Harrington,” he said, his voice small, careful. His eyes lowered to his worn shoes, toes turned slightly inward. 

King, meanwhile, had already approached him, tail wagging enthusiastically as he sniffed at him. Charlie flinched slightly at first but didn’t pull away. He just stood there, still, letting the dog investigate him like he didn’t quite know how to act. 

You softened immediately at the sight.

“Hey,” you said gently, your voice shifting without you even thinking about it as you took a few little steps closer. “It’s okay, you don’t need to be afraid. He’s friendly. And… curious.”

Charlie gave a small nod, barely lifting his gaze.

You knew enough about his situation. In a town like Hawkins, people talked and everyone seemed to know everyone else's business. Over the years, you had heard various things about him. No father. A mother who was rarely home. And when she was, she often seemed lost in problems of her own and Charlie ended up spending many evenings alone.

Your attention flicked back to Steve again as he stepped closer to you. A thousand questions sat just behind your lips but you didn’t ask them. Not yet.

Steve cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he began, his voice low. “I should’ve called, but—”

He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, lingering just long enough to brush his lips near your ear.

“His mom didn’t show up,” he murmured quietly so that only you could hear. “We couldn’t reach her. And I couldn’t leave him there.”

He pulled back, his hand finding yours, fingers wrapping around it as he searched your face. Your eyes flicked briefly to Charlie, then back to Steve. You nodded, a small smile forming as you squeezed his hand lightly, reassuring him that it was all okay. You stepped away from Steve and moved toward Charlie, lowering yourself to his height so you wouldn’t tower over him.

“Hey,” you said softly. “You actually got here at the perfect time.”

He shifted slightly, hands clasped behind his back, weight moving from one foot to the other.

“I hope you’re hungry because dinner’s ready,” you continued, keeping your tone light. “And I made way too much food. Honestly, it’s a problem at this point.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “Think you could help us with that?”

Charlie nodded after a moment, still not quite meeting your eyes. You nodded back, as if sealing an agreement.

“Perfect,” you said gently. Then, glancing over your shoulder at Steve, “why don’t we go wash our hands while Steve… gets everything ready?”

Your eyes lingered on him just a second longer, enough for him to understand that what you were really giving him was time. He gave a small nod in return before going back to look at Charlie. You reached out carefully, giving him the chance to step back if he wanted to but he didn’t. Your fingers closed gently around his hand—small, a little cold—and you guided him toward the bathroom. Behind you, you heard Steve move, the faint sound of the phone being picked up echoing through the quiet house. As you walked, you could feel the slight tension in Charlie’s grip, the way he stayed close but cautious, like he wasn’t used to this kind of care.

When you stepped back into the kitchen, your eyes found Steve’s immediately. He shook his head, just slightly. Something in your chest dropped, but you didn’t let it show. You forced a small, easy smile for Charlie. 

“Here we are,” you said lightly. “Go ahead, Charlie, sit here.”

You gestured to the chair between you and Steve. He moved toward it slowly, almost carefully, like he was afraid of getting something wrong. Steve took the seat across from you, while King had already settled at your side, tail brushing against your leg, eyes fixed on the table with quiet anticipation. He knew you well enough to expect something, even if he’d already eaten.

You looked at Charlie, searching for the right thing to say. Make yourself at home sat on the tip of your tongue — but it didn’t feel right. Not when you didn’t know what home meant for him.

“Take whatever you like, please” you said instead, softer.

He still didn’t move. His mouth was slightly open, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him. You followed it.

Dinner wasn’t anything special — just spaghetti with meatballs, fresh salad and warm garlic bread. The portions were the same you cooked every night for you and Steve, the kind that usually left leftovers for the next day. It was normal for you.

But not for him.

His eyes moved slowly from one dish to the next, taking everything in. There was something in his expression — something caught between hesitation and wonder. Like he didn’t quite believe it was real or that it was actually meant for him.

Your chest tightened and a thought slipped in before you could stop it.

When was the last time he ate like this?

Not just ate — but sat down at a table, with other people and warm food in front of him that he didn’t have to earn, or rush, or hide. Maybe he didn’t know what to do. Maybe he was just waiting to understand what was allowed. Waiting for someone to tell him it was okay.

You swallowed hard but didn’t ask questions. Instead, you reached forward and began serving him yourself, adding a bit of everything onto his plate. More than you normally would. More than he probably expected.

“There you go,” you said gently once you were done. “There’s more if you want, okay?”

He nodded faintly, his hands still resting in his lap for a moment longer.

You and Steve served yourselves next, exchanging a brief look across the table before your attention returned to Charlie.

He hadn’t touched the food yet.

Only when you both took your first bites did he finally move. At first, it was tentative. Slow. Careful. He picked at the food like he was testing it, like he wasn’t entirely sure it was really his to eat. Like he expected someone to stop him. But after a few bites, hunger took over and his movements changed — faster now, less careful. He ate quickly, almost urgently, like his body couldn’t afford to wait. A bit of sauce smeared at the corner of his mouth.

You had stopped mid-motion without realizing it, your fork suspended halfway to your mouth as you watched him. Something shifted inside you. It wasn’t discomfort. Or pity. It was something else — warm, but heavier than you expected. Something that settled low in your chest and stayed there, tightening your throat just slightly. You didn’t have a name for it but it made it harder to look away.

You loved your students. All of them. But this felt different. Seeing Charlie like that, so small in that chair, so quiet and guarded one moment and then suddenly… unfiltered. Unaware. There was something vulnerable about it. But also something incredibly real. And it stirred something in you that you didn’t quite recognize. Something close to affection — but deeper, instinctive, almost unfamiliar in its intensity.

You smiled, softly. Charlie caught it out of the corner of his eye and he slowed down almost immediately. The shift was instant — shoulders tightening again, movements becoming smaller, more controlled, like he had just remembered himself or as if he thought he had done something wrong. Your smile faded just enough. You looked down quickly, pretending to focus on your own plate, giving him privacy again.

Dinner moved forward like that. Quiet, mostly. You and Steve tried to make conversation — small questions, light comments, easy conversation — but you didn’t push. When Charlie answered, it was brief. Polite. Careful.

So you let the silence settle instead. 

And strangely… it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It felt gentle.

Safe.

The kind of quiet that didn’t demand anything from anyone. The only sounds were the soft clink of cutlery, King’s tail occasionally brushing against the floor, and Charlie’s breathing slowly evening out as he ate.

And as you sat there, across from Steve, watching this small, fragile moment take shape at your table, you felt something shift inside you again.

Not sharp.

Not painful.

Just… something opening.

Something that felt, quietly, like the beginning of something you hadn’t planned — but somehow already cared about.

At some point, King started circling the table again, nails clicking softly against the floor as he moved from one chair to the next, hopeful and impatient in the way he always was. Then, without warning, he stopped beside Charlie and rested his chin on the boy’s leg. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Charlie froze instantly. His shoulders stiffened, his hand hovering mid-air, his whole body going still. 

“It’s okay,” Steve said gently, his tone easy, reassuring. “You don’t have to be scared. It just means that he likes you.”

He reached over, picking up a small piece of leftover meat from his plate and holding it out toward him.

“Here,” he added. “You can give him this if you want. He’ll be your best friend for life after that.”

Charlie hesitated. He looked at Steve first, uncertain — then at you. You gave him a small nod, soft, encouraging. He took the piece of meat slowly, carefully, like even that small gesture required permission. Then he lowered his hand toward King, a little unsure. 

King didn’t hesitate. He took it immediately, tail still wagging, clearly thrilled by the interaction and the food. Charlie watched him, something shifting in his expression. Then, almost cautiously, he lifted his other hand and rested it on the top of King’s head. He started petting him, slowly at first, light, almost testing. King leaned into it, happily, before licking his hand in response.

And just like that a small smile appeared on Charlie’s face. Barely there at first, like he didn’t quite know how to hold it. Then a quiet, surprised sound slipped out of him — something between a breath and a laugh.

You realized then that it was the first genuine smile you'd seen since Steve had brought him home. 

A real smile. 

The sight of it sent a rush of warmth through you so sudden it almost caught you off guard. You looked up, meeting Steve’s gaze across the table.

His expression had softened in exactly the same way.

Neither of you said anything. There was no need. Your smiles said more than a thousand words. 

-

Darkness had settled outside the windows. The last traces of daylight had disappeared long ago, replaced by the quiet hum of crickets and the occasional headlights passing on the distant road. The clock in the kitchen kept ticking steadily forward, each passing minute making the silence feel heavier.

Steve had tried calling again. And again. But it had become clear no one was coming.

Hopper had been informed, and after a brief conversation, the three of you had come to the same conclusion. It was late, Charlie was safe where he was, and dragging him somewhere unfamiliar in the middle of the night would only make an already difficult situation worse. Hopper promised he would start looking into things first thing in the morning. He'd check hospitals, talk to people, ask questions and figure out what had happened. But until then, the best place for Charlie was here. At your house. 

You and Steve got the guest room ready together, moving quickly, instinctively falling into rhythm without needing to say anything. Clean sheets, an extra blanket, a small glass of water placed on the nightstand. You found something for him to sleep in as well. One of the spare pajamas that had been left behind over the years after countless sleepovers. Dustin, Mike, Lucas and the others always seemed to forget something whenever they stayed over. The pajama shirt hung almost to Charlie's thighs and the sleeves fell past his wrists. It was obviously far too big for him, but it was clean, warm, and smelled faintly of laundry detergent.

When it was finally time to put him to bed, something shifted again — a different kind of uncertainty. You were suddenly aware of how unfamiliar this felt — not the presence of a child, not really. You and Steve were surrounded by them every day at school and you had even years of babysitting behind you.

But this was different.

This was your home.

And right now there was a child who was almost a stranger to you. Not one of your little friends, like Dustin, or a friend's kid you found yourself looking after for a night. Sure, he was your student, but you still knew little about him. He was a responsibility that didn’t have a clear boundary. You didn’t know what his routine looked like. Or if he had one at all. You didn’t know if someone usually tucked him in. If he was used to silence, or noise, or being left alone entirely. You didn't know what you could or couldn't do. 

He wasn’t your son, after all. 

And you weren’t his mother. 

The thought made you hesitate. But not for long. Because he needed you, whether you were his mother or not.

You stepped closer to him. He had already slipped under the covers, lying stiffly on his back, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself there either. You reached down and gently pulled the blanket up a little higher, tucking it around him. Your movements were careful, slow. His eyes stayed fixed on you the entire time. 

“I… uh,” you started, your voice quieter now. “Me and Steve — we’re just down the hall. First door on the left.” You offered a small smile. “If you need anything… anything at all, you can come get us. Or call.”

He just nodded.

You held his gaze for a moment longer, searching his expression, hoping he understood — not just the words, but what you meant.

That he wasn’t alone. 

“Goodnight, Charlie,” you said gently. “Sweet dreams.”

Still no answer.

You smiled anyway, then turned toward the door. You had just opened it, one foot already out in the hallway, when his voice stopped you.

“Goodnight… Mrs. Harrington.”

You turned back, your eyes met his again. For a second, something caught in your chest. You smiled again at him. Part of you wanted to tell him to use your name. To make it easier, less formal. But you didn’t. It was too soon. 

“Goodnight,” you simply said.

Then you stepped out and closed the door gently behind you, the quiet of the hallway wrapping around you almost immediately. You let out a slow breath, your shoulders dropping without you even realizing how tense they had been. It felt strange. Like you had just passed some kind of test you didn’t know you were taking.

-

By the time you reached your bedroom, the exhaustion of the evening had finally started catching up to you. You pushed the door open quietly.

Steve was standing beside the bed, halfway through changing out of his clothes. His shirt was already gone, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips while he tugged a clean T-shirt over his head. The moment he saw you, he stopped immediately.

“How is he?” he asked right away, concern already written all over his face. “Did he fall asleep?”

You shook your head as you closed the door softly behind you, your hand lingering on the handle for just a moment before you let it go.

“Not yet,” you said. “But he was fine... and I think he was tired too. After all, it was a busy evening... for all of us. I'm sure he'll fall asleep soon.”

Steve nodded slowly, eyes dropping for a second as he processed that, some of the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. Then his gaze lifted back to yours.

“And you?” he asked more carefully this time, his voice low. 

There it was.

The real question.

Are you okay after all of this?

You leaned back lightly against the dresser, crossing your arms loosely over yourself as you thought about it.

“Honestly?” you said after a moment. “Better than I expected.”

“Are you sure?” He said, carefully. 

You let out a small breath that almost turned into a laugh, but didn’t quite make it. 

“I’m not gonna lie. It was… intense,” you admitted. “And a little overwhelming at first.” You paused for a moment before continuing. “When I saw him standing behind you, I think my brain completely stopped working for a second.”

That earned the faintest smile from Steve, though it disappeared quickly again.

“I’m sorry I didn’t call first to warn you, but I didn’t really have the time or… a choice,” he said immediately.

You shook your head gently.

“Steve,” you said softly, “you weren’t going to leave him there all alone.”

His jaw tightened slightly at that.

You could still picture it clearly — Charlie patiently waiting at the baseball field long after everyone else had gone home, like he was already used to it. To being forgotten. The thought made something ache inside your chest all over again.

“You did the right thing. I would’ve done the same,” you told him.

“Yeah?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“Of course.”

Steve looked at you for a long moment after that, something conflicted moving behind his eyes.

“When I showed up with him,” he admitted quietly, “I was scared you’d look at me and think I’d lost my mind.”

You frowned immediately. 

“Steve—”

“No, I —” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling softly. “I was really scared… I didn’t know if this would… bring everything back up again.” His voice lowered on the last part. 

Even now he hated talking about the pain you both had gone through. But you promised each other you'd be honest and tell each other everything, even when it wasn’t easy. You didn't want to repeat the same mistakes.

Your expression softened instantly. “You thought I was gonna fall apart again.”

He didn’t talk but his silence was answer enough. You pushed yourself away from the dresser and walked toward him slowly.

“I… I was scared, at first,” you admitted.

Steve’s face tightened slightly.

“But not because of Charlie,” you clarified quickly. “More because… I didn’t know how I was supposed to act. What he needed. Or what the right thing was.”

You stopped in front of him.

“But…” your voice softened, “I’m glad you brought him here.”

Steve’s eyes searched yours carefully, like he still wasn’t fully allowing himself to believe that.

“And he can stay as long as he needs to,” you said firmly. “Honestly, I’m more angry that nobody seems to even be looking for him.”

Something dark flickered briefly across Steve’s face at that.

“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “Me too.”

Silence settled between you for a moment. Then Steve looked at you again, softer this time.

“You were really good tonight,” he said suddenly.

You blinked.

“With him,” he added. His mouth lifted faintly at one corner. “The second you realized what was happening, you just… took over.” He shook his head a little, almost like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “You made him feel safe in, like, five minutes.”

Warmth spread slowly through your chest.

“So did you,” you replied quietly.

Steve huffed softly. “I mostly panicked internally.”

You laughed under your breath. “No,” you said, stepping closer. “You brought him home. You made sure he wasn’t alone tonight.”

Your eyes softened as you looked at him. “You’re a really good man, Steve Harrington.”

His gaze dropped briefly, almost shy despite all these years.

“And… You’d be an amazing father,” you added, gentler now.

Steve smiled automatically at that—but it faltered almost immediately after. You noticed it instantly. Like the words had caught somewhere inside him. Your head tilted slightly, knowing exactly what had happened. 

“You can say it, you know,” you murmured.

His eyes lifted back to yours. For a second, he looked almost hesitant. Then finally, “You’d be an amazing mother too.”

A small smile pulled at your lips as you stepped even closer until your bodies nearly touched.

“Thanks,” you said quietly. “I’ll try to be.”

Your hand slid gently against his chest.

“One day. When we’re ready.”

Steve’s expression softened completely.

Relief. Love. Hope.

All at once.

His hands found your waist slowly, carefully, like he still wanted to make sure this was real.

“That sounds nice,” he admitted quietly.

You smiled.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You looked at each other for another moment before Steve finally pulled you fully against him. You melted into his arms immediately, your cheek pressing against his chest as his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close. His hand slid slowly up and down your back while the other rested protectively at the base of your spine. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear.

After a moment, you tilted your head back just enough to look at him again. “I love you,” you whispered.

Steve smiled. “I love you too.”

Then he leaned down and kissed you.

-

The next morning, you woke before the sun had fully risen. You blinked slowly against the soft morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in muted shades of blue. For a moment, you stayed still beneath the covers. The house sat wrapped in that quiet kind of silence that only existed in the earliest hours — before alarms, before life began moving again. Beside you, Steve was still asleep, sprawled on his stomach. One arm had somehow ended up stretched across your waist sometime during the night, heavy and warm over the blanket, his face half-buried into the pillow. His hair stuck up messily in every direction, lips slightly parted, completely unaware of the world.

You watched him for a few seconds, then your thoughts drifted to Charlie. You carefully slipped out from under Steve’s arm, moving slowly so you wouldn’t wake him. He stirred anyway, mumbling something incoherent under his breath before instinctively reaching toward the warm spot you had left. You smiled to yourself. Then quietly, you pulled something on and stepped into the hallway. Your feet slowed when you reached the guest room. Carefully, you opened the door just enough to peek inside. 

Charlie was still asleep, curled under the blankets, one arm tucked awkwardly beneath the pillow, hair messy from sleep. 

Relief moved through you instantly.

At some point during the night, he must have kicked the blankets halfway off himself and King had somehow managed to sneak in too, curled at the foot of the bed like some oversized guard dog, completely passed out.

You almost laughed.

Traitor.

You had checked on him more than once during the night. Each time half expecting him to be awake, scared, crying, confused. But every time, you had found him still sleeping.

Charlie’s face looked different asleep. Softer. Younger. Relaxed in a way you didn’t think you had ever seen him at school. He was just a little boy sleeping. Something in your chest tightened unexpectedly. You wondered when he had last slept somewhere without worrying. If he ever had.

You stepped inside just long enough to pull the blanket back over him. He shifted slightly but didn’t wake. King cracked one eye open, lifted his head lazily.

“You’re supposed to sleep in our room,” you whispered.

His tail thumped once against the mattress before he ignored you entirely. You shook your head, smiling faintly, and quietly slipped back out.

Downstairs, the house still smelled faintly of last night’s dinner. You started the coffee machine first. Then breakfast. You decided to make pancakes, hoping Charlie liked them. Without realizing it, you found yourself making more than usual. 

By the time you were whisking batter, you heard some familiar footsteps behind you and after a moment, strong arms wrapped around your waist, making you smile immediately.  

“Good morning to you too,” you said softly.

Steve leaned down, still half asleep, pressing his face against your shoulder, kissing it lazily. 

“It’s Saturday and it’s early,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “Come back to bed.”

You smiled despite yourself.

“Don’t tempt me, Steve.”

A soft hum vibrated against your skin.

“You know I can’t help myself,” he murmured near your ear. “Especially when I know I can convince you.”

His hands settled against your hips, warm and familiar.

“Steve…”

“Mhm?”

“I’d like to remind you we’re not alone in the house.”

He kissed your shoulder again. “I checked,” he murmured. “He’s still sleeping.”

The admission caught you off guard for a second. 

Of course he had checked too. 

The thought alone made your chest tighten in the softest way.

You tilted your head back for only a moment, giving him space without even meaning to as his lips brushed your skin again. Then you caught yourself. Turning in his arms, you rested your hands against his chest to stop him.

“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t wake up any second,” you said gently. “And I’d rather avoid traumatizing him any more than life already has.”

Steve let out a quiet sigh — not annoyed. Amused.

His forehead dropped lightly against yours.

“Ok, you’re right. I’ll behave,” he said. “For now,” he added before kissing you. Soft. Slow. 

When he pulled back, he exhaled quietly. 

“I’m gonna call Hopper,” he said after a moment. “See if there’s any news.”

The mood shifted a little, reality settling back in. 

You still nodded. Even though, deep down, you already feared the answer.

While Steve reached for the phone, you turned back toward the counter and started cooking. You needed something to do with your hands, something to stop your mind from spiraling.

You poured the first circle of batter into the pan, watching it spread slowly across the surface as the soft hiss filled the kitchen.

After a few seconds, Hopper answered. You could hear his voice through the receiver — agitated, fast — but none of the actual words reached you. You focused on the pancakes, the smell slowly filling the kitchen. 

A small stack of pancakes had already begun to form on the plate beside the stove by the time you glanced over again. Steve’s expression had slowly changed as he listened to Hopper. His eyes met yours, your stomach tightening. You could tell before he even hung up. 

“Still nothing?” you asked quietly, swallowing hard. 

Steve shook his head. “Hopper checked their caravan,” he said carefully. “Nobody was there. And no one has seen her apparently.”

He paused, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “He said… Charlie can keep staying here, for now. If… we want, of course.” You looked down at the batter absentmindedly as something twisted painfully in your chest. Not because you minded. God, you didn’t. But because no child should ever be left wondering why no one came. Then there was a part of you — the quiet, selfish one — that felt strangely relieved.

Your eyes slowly lifted to Steve’s.

“Yeah,” you agreed immediately. “Of course he can stay. As long as he needs it.”

“You sure?” he asked quietly. Steve watched you for a second, like maybe he was still afraid of your answer. Like some part of him worried this would be too much.

“Steve,” you said gently. “I told you. I’m okay, really. And he needs us now. That’s all that matters.”

Something softened in his face. “You’re kinda amazing, you know that?”

You rolled your eyes lightly. “You brought home a child, Harrington. You are.”

“Yeah, and you just took over, making it feel normal.”

“I just made him dinner.”

“You made him feel safe. Welcome.”

You looked at him, your mouth slightly open. But before you could answer, soft footsteps interrupted you.

You both turned.

Charlie stood awkwardly near the kitchen entrance, hair sticking up everywhere. King stood proudly beside him like he had personally escorted him downstairs. Charlie hesitated when he noticed you both looking.

“Morning,” Steve said immediately, casual — gentle enough not to scare him off. “Did you sleep well, buddy?”

Charlie shifted his weight slightly. Then, he nodded, quickly. 

“Good,” he said, softer than usual. “You hungry?”

Charlie looked up at you and after a moment, he nodded again. 

Your heart nearly cracked open. “Well,” you said, turning back toward the stove, “perfect timing. You pointed toward the bowl on the counter. “Pancakes. They’re almost ready.  And before Steve eats all of them, I suggest you sit down.”

Steve looked offended. “What? I didn’t…”

“You ate six last time.”

“Seven,” he corrected proudly. “It's not my fault if your pancakes are the best,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. 

And for the second time, you saw it. Small. Quick. Gone almost immediately. But there.

Another smile.

And somehow, standing there in your kitchen, with King circling his legs and Steve already pretending to argue over pancake rights, something shifted. You couldn’t explain it yet. Didn’t have words for it. But for the first time in a long while…

The house felt fuller.

Complete. 

-

Since school was closed for the weekend, you had the day off and could do whatever you wanted. So after breakfast, Steve disappeared for a moment before returning with two baseball gloves and a ball in hand. He leaned casually against the kitchen counter, looking at Charlie.

“So,” he said, shrugging lightly, like the idea had just come to him, “since you’re here…”

Charlie looked up from where he sat beside King.

“Thought maybe we could get a little practice in.” Steve tossed one ball lightly into the air before catching it again. “Consider it private coaching.” A small grin tugged at his mouth. “But don’t tell the others, alright? Can’t have the team thinking I play favorites.”

Charlie hesitated, shoulders tightening slightly.

“You really don’t have to if you don’t feel like it,” you added gently, not wanting him to feel pressured.

Steve nodded immediately. “No pressure,” he said easily. “We can just throw the ball around for a bit. King will probably join and ruin everything anyway.”

As if on cue, King lifted his head and after a second, Charlie nodded.

Steve pointed at him with mock seriousness.

“That’s my guy.”

-

Outside, you settled onto the porch with your sketchbook, intending to draw. At least, that had been the plan. Instead, your pencil barely touched the page as you found yourself watching Steve and Charlie.

Steve crouched down to Charlie’s height, explaining something while the boy listened carefully, shoulders tense. At first, he nodded and answered only when Steve asked him something directly. But little by little, the nervousness began to fade.

And soon, he was laughing quietly when Steve intentionally exaggerated a missed catch, dramatically falling backward into the grass.

“You did that on purpose,” Charlie said before quickly going quiet again, almost surprised by his own voice.

Steve placed a hand over his chest. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”

Another laugh escaped Charlie, his smile widened despite himself.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

Charlie looked… lighter. Like for a few hours, he had forgotten to be scared. And watching him — safe, laughing, free in a way you suspected he rarely got to be — stirred something unfamiliar and quiet inside your chest. And frightening in how natural it felt. You didn’t quite know what to call it. Not yet. Affection, maybe. Or something dangerously close to love. And that scared you more than you wanted to admit. Because you knew what love could do and how quickly it could turn into grief. How suddenly happiness could become fear and loss. And letting yourself care this much felt dangerous.

But then Charlie laughed again — breathless this time, chasing after King while Steve pretended to complain dramatically about being ignored by his own player — and something inside you softened anyway.

So, just for now, you let yourself enjoy the moment. The sound of laughter drifting through the yard. The warmth of the sun on your skin. Steve’s voice somewhere in the background.

-

By evening, the kitchen smelled like flour, tomato sauce, and melted cheese.

You had decided on homemade pizza.

At first, Charlie hovered near the kitchen doorway again, uncertain, hands half-hidden inside the sleeves of Dustin’s oversized sweatshirt. King sat loyally beside him, tail sweeping lazily against the floor every few seconds like he had already decided Charlie belonged there.

“Come here,” you said gently, patting the stool beside you. “I need help decorating.”

Charlie hesitated, glancing briefly toward Steve like he needed confirmation he wouldn’t be in the way.

“You heard the boss,” Steve said, washing his hands at the sink. “No backing out now.”

Slowly, Charlie climbed onto the stool beside you. You handed him a small handful of shredded mozzarella while you spread tomato sauce over the dough.

“Okay,” you said softly. “You can put the cheese on.”

He watched your hands first, careful and observant, before pinching a small amount between his fingers and sprinkling it over the pizza with extreme concentration. At first he moved slowly, like he was afraid of doing something wrong. Then he paused. 

“Like this?” he asked quietly, his voice almost a whisper. 

You opened your mouth to answer, but Steve leaned over the counter first.

“That is way too much cheese,” he said with exaggerated seriousness.

Charlie froze immediately and you shot Steve a look.

“Ignore him,” you said, nudging Charlie lightly with your shoulder. “There’s no such thing as too much cheese.”

Steve looked personally offended.

“There absolutely is.”

“There isn’t.”

“There is. You just refuse to acknowledge basic pizza science.”

You rolled your eyes.

Beside you, Charlie let out the smallest laugh.

As the evening went on, Charlie relaxed little by little. He started helping more without asking. Passing ingredients. Carefully arranging pepperoni in uneven little circles. Sneaking extra cheese onto one side of the pizza when he thought Steve wasn’t looking.

King, meanwhile, had become completely and utterly attached to Charlie. The dog barely left his side. Every time Charlie moved, King followed. Every time Charlie sat down, King somehow ended up pressed against his leg like they had known each other forever. At one point, while you were reaching for plates, you noticed Charlie glance around carefully before lowering his hand beneath the counter. The second the piece of cheese slipped onto the floor, the dog appeared like magic and eat it. Charlie looked oddly proud of himself. Across the kitchen, Steve caught your eye just in time to see Charlie carefully slipping another tiny piece of pepperoni. Steve let out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms.

“Great,” he said, crossing his arms. “Now he likes you more than me too.”

Charlie startled slightly, cheeks reddening.

“I— sorry,” he mumbled immediately, hand pulling back like he’d done something wrong.

Steve’s expression softened at once. “Kid, I’m kidding,” he said gently.

Charlie glanced up uncertainly. “He switched teams years ago,” Steve continued, nodding toward the dog. “The second she started sneaking him food under the table, I lost all authority in this house.”

“Excuse me?” you said, pretending to sound offended as you slid the pizza onto a cutting board. “You spoil him just as much.”

Charlie looked between the two of you quietly. Then, almost absentmindedly, his hand dropped to scratch behind King’s ears. King immediately melted into the floor with complete devotion.

Charlie also started speaking more. Small things at first. How he liked baseball more than math. How he hated peas. How King reminded him of a dog he’d once wanted but never got. Nothing really big or life-changing but every sentence felt important to you. Like trust being handed over in pieces.

“You know,” Steve said eventually, leaning back in his chair after another bite of pizza, “I think this might actually be the best pizza we’ve ever made.”

You looked up from your plate and glanced first at Charlie, then at Steve. You smiled softly. He wasn’t talking about the food. 

“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I think so too.” Then, after a beat, your eyes dropped back to Charlie. “I had an amazing helper.”

Steve pointed to himself immediately.

“Thank you,” he said, nodding once like it was obvious.

You looked at him flatly. “I wasn’t talking about you.”

Steve placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Wow,” he said, feigning heartbreak. “That’s actually cruel.”

You laughed quietly when the doorbell suddenly rang. The noise cut through the room so suddenly that all three of you looked up.

“Were we expecting someone?” Steve asked.

You slowly shook your head but but deep down, somehow, you already knew. You couldn’t explain how or why. Instinct, maybe. The feeling settled heavily in your stomach before either of you even moved.

Steve stood first. And you followed almost immediately, wiping your hands absentmindedly on a kitchen towel while Charlie remained seated at the table, one hand resting unconsciously against King’s fur.

When Steve opened the door, Hopper stood there. And beside him, there was a woman. 

Her hair was messy, hastily tied back. There was fading makeup smudged beneath tired eyes and a bruise near her temple, yellowing at the edges. Her clothes smelled faintly of cigarettes and hospital disinfectant. She looked exhausted more than anything else. Worn down by life in a way that made it difficult to tell how old she actually was. 

You didn't need an introduction to know who she was. 

Charlie’s mother.

Your chest tightened instantly.

The woman swallowed hard, eyes flickering nervously past you into the house, searching. 

Hopper exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

“She got into a car accident yesterday,” he explained quietly, glancing between you and Steve. “Minor injuries but she ended up at the county hospital unconscious most of the night. She didn’t have any documents with her, so they didn’t know who she was.”

“Charlie,” she breathed out.

You turned.

Charlie stood a few feet behind you but he didn’t move. Not immediately. Then, slowly, carefully, he stepped forward. The woman’s eyes were fixed entirely on him. She crouched immediately despite the obvious stiffness in her body, one hand bracing against her knee. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached up.

“I’m sorry, baby,” she said quickly, voice cracking as she looked at him. “I’m so, so sorry. For everything.” 

Her eyes filled immediately.

And the worst part was that she sounded genuine. Not cruel. Just… incapable. Like someone who loved her child but kept failing him anyway. The guilt hit you before you could stop it. Because part of you had already judged her and decided what kind of mother she must be. Someone selfish. Someone reckless enough not to notice their child was gone. But now, standing there, seeing the bruising near her temple, the exhaustion written all over her face, she just looked overwhelmed. And broken. 

She looked up at you and Steve then, eyes red-rimmed. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For taking care of him.”

“You don’t have to thank us,” Steve said gently. “He’s okay.” 

“A little scared,” you admitted quietly. “But… he’s okay.”

The woman nodded like hearing that physically hurt.

Hopper stepped aside eventually, giving them space and quietly pulled Steve aside.

“I already talked to her,” he muttered low enough that Charlie couldn’t hear. “One more screw-up and I’m stepping in. I mean it. And I’ll be checking on her. Frequently.”

Steve simply nodded.

Eventually, Charlie disappeared upstairs to grab his things. When he came back down, King immediately stood, tail wagging, following him toward the door. Charlie wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck, while he started licking his face without hesitation.

“You know,” you said softly, crouching beside him, “you can come visit him whenever you want.”

Charlie looked up. “For real?”

“For real,” Steve said. “Pretty sure you’re his favorite now.”

King barked once like he agreed. A tiny smile pulled at Charlie’s mouth. “Thank you,” he said quietly.

You smiled despite the ache building in your throat. You reached up before thinking, smoothing his messy hair back for a second.

“You’re always welcome here, Charlie”, you said, the words slipping out naturally.

They were already halfway to Hopper's truck when Charlie suddenly turned around. You smile and lifted your hand immediately.

“Bye, Charlie. See you on Monday,” you said, your voice trembling. 

He hesitated for a second before raising his own hand in return. Small. Shy. Your arms crossed instinctively over yourself. King moved forward as if ready to follow him but Steve caught his collar gently. “Easy, buddy.”

The dog whined softly. 

After closing the door behind you, Steve’s hand found yours silently. Slowly. His fingers threaded through yours and squeezed. Tight. Like he was comforting you. Like maybe he was holding onto something too.

The house felt unbearably quiet.

That night, lying in bed, you broke. You cried silently at first. Trying not to. Trying to be reasonable. After all, you would still see him at school. And Steve would see him at baseball practice. Nothing had changed. And nothing would. Not really.

Except it had.

Because somehow, impossibly, one day had been enough to make the thought of not hearing his quiet voice in the kitchen hurt more than it should.

Behind you, Steve said nothing. He wrapped himself around you, one arm around your waist, the other pulling you closer until your back pressed firmly against his chest, holding you tightly and letting you cry. 

After a long while, something warm touched your shoulder. At first, you thought it was your own tears. But then Steve buried his face more firmly against the back of your neck.

And you realized.

He was crying too. Silently. Or at least, he was trying to. The fabric of your nightgown was damp against your shoulder. You turned slowly in his arms. His eyes were red.

“Oh, Steve…”

His laugh came out shaky. “I know,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s stupid.”

“No,” you said immediately. “It isn’t,” you said, cupping his face, your forehead resting against his. 

And somewhere in the quiet dark, holding each other like that, you both understood. 

Seeing Charlie again at school would never be the same.

-

The next morning, you woke up early as usual but stayed where you were, tucked beneath the blankets while the soft gray light of early morning stretched across the bedroom. Beside you, Steve was still asleep, facing your side of the bed, hair sticking up in every direction, lips slightly parted as the faintest snore escaped him every few breaths.

You smiled despite yourself. Years ago, you probably would have found it annoying. Now, somehow, it had become comforting. Familiar. You turned onto your side, resting your head more comfortably against the pillow as you watched him sleep.

The night before replayed quietly in your mind.

Charlie leaving.

The silence afterward.

And the ache.

You and Steve had barely spoken once the house had gone quiet again. There hadn't really been words for it. Only a strange sense of loss neither of you had expected. 

And it made no logical sense.

Because Charlie had only been with you for a day.

One day.

And yet it had been enough to love him as something more than just a student. His absence had settled over the house like something physical.

Eventually exhaustion had taken pity on both of you. But sleep hadn’t come easily. You had spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, thinking.

About Charlie.

About Steve.

About the future.

And somewhere between all those thoughts, something inside you had finally settled into place. Something that terrified and gave you hope at the same time. Because you had spent so long convinced that door had closed forever and that maybe some broken part of you would never recover enough to want it again.

But Charlie had changed something.

Beside you, Steve stirred. His nose scrunched slightly before he rolled onto his back, stretching with a groan and blinking against the morning light. Then he noticed you watching him, a sleepy smile pulled at his mouth immediately.

“Well,” he said, voice rough with sleep, “that’s either really romantic or really creepy.”

You laughed softly. “Good morning.”

“Morning, early bird.” He rubbed at his face before glancing toward the clock. “How long have you been awake?”

You hesitated. “A while.”

He studied you for a second and then something in his expression shifted, his smile fading just slightly. Like memory had finally caught up with him. He pushed himself up against the headboard, running a hand through his hair.

“How are you?” he asked carefully. “After… yesterday, I mean.”

You sighed and looked down at the blanket for a moment, considering the answer.

“Sad,” you admitted quietly. “I miss him.” Your throat tightened unexpectedly. “And… I’m worried.” You exhaled slowly. “I just really hope he’s okay, you know?”

Steve nodded immediately. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.” He looked down for a second. “I know we’ll see him tomorrow. At school. Practice and all that.” He hesitated. “But it doesn’t really feel —”

“The same,” you finished the sentence, your eyes meeting his. “Yeah, it doesn’t.”

For a few seconds neither of you said anything else. You looked at him and suddenly, the words you had been carrying all night felt too important to keep inside anymore.

“You know, yesterday…” you started quietly.

Steve immediately looked up.

You cleared your throat and continued. “Yesterday felt like —” You paused, choosing your words carefully.

His brow furrowed slightly. You looked down at your hands, swallowing. 

“It felt like we were a family.”

The words settled softly between you. Steve stayed quiet, letting you continue.

“And I liked it. A lot,” you admitted, a small smile touching your lips. “And it… it made me realize something.”

Steve sat up a little straighter now, more careful. “What… what do you mean?”

You hesitated for a second, your fingers twisting nervously in the blanket and then, you finally looked him in the eyes. “I think I’m ready.”

His forehead creased. “Ready for what?”

Your heartbeat quickened. But strangely, you weren’t scared anymore.

“To be a mom,” you said softly.

The room fell completely silent. Steve blinked once, then twice, like he genuinely hadn’t expected those words.

You looked down briefly before continuing. “For a long time, I thought that part of my life was over.” You swallowed. “But taking care of Charlie yesterday felt... so natural. And good.”

A faint smile touched your lips as you remembered the previous day. 

“I liked making him breakfast. Checking on him.” You let out a small breath. “Seeing him play baseball in the backyard with you.”

Your eyes found Steve's again.

“And… I want that.”

Steve still hadn’t spoken. You could practically see him trying to process your words. 

“I want a family,” you finally admitted. “With you.”

Steve swallowed hard. The shine in his eyes made your chest ache. Slowly, his hand reached across the blankets until his fingers found yours.

“You sure?” he asked gently. “Because we don’t have to rush anything. We can wait if—”

You nodded immediately, squeezing his hand. “I’ve never been more sure.”

You took a deep breath. 

“Maybe we can’t be what Charlie needs,” you said quietly. “But there are so many kids out there like him.” Your voice softened. “Kids who just… need someone. And we could be that for one of them. Give them a better life, you know.” 

Your fingers tightened around Steve’s. You hesitated for a moment, then finally said it.

“I’d… I’d like to adopt, Steve.”

For a second, he just stared at you, completely still. 

Your stomach twisted.

“Say something, please,” you whispered, suddenly nervous. “What… what do you think?”

He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a slow kiss against your knuckles.

“I think,” he said softly, voice rougher now, “every time I convince myself there’s no possible way I could love you more…” His thumb brushed gently over your hand. “You somehow give me another reason.”

Your eyes stung instantly, your breath caught. “Steve…”

“No, seriously.” He shook his head slightly. “You have no idea how much I love you right now.”

He leaned forward without hesitation, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him.

“And you’re going to be an incredible mom,” he whispered against your hair.

A watery laugh escaped you. You lifted your head just enough to look at him, smiling. “And you’re going to be the best dad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His forehead rested gently against yours as his hand came up to cup your cheek.

“Let's do it. Let’s adopt.” 

Tears threatened to spill. “Really?”

Steve let out a quiet laugh.

“Really.”

Steve kissed you, slowly, carefully. Like the moment deserved to be held onto for as long as possible.

-

Two years later

The afternoon sun spilled across the porch, warm against your bare legs as you sat in the wooden chair Steve had built for you the previous summer. A sketchbook rested on your lap, your pencil moving lazily across the page.

You weren't drawing anything in particular, just pieces of the moment unfolding in front of you.

The yard.

The dog. 

And the baseball game currently unfolding across the grass.

King barked excitedly as he tore after the ball that had no intention of being caught by a dog. He missed it entirely, skidded through the lawn, and immediately tried again as though nothing had never happened. A boy sprinted after it, nearly tripping over his own feet before recovering at the last second.

You smiled to yourself.

"That one didn't count!" he shouted.

"It absolutely did," Steve called back.

The boy groaned dramatically while Steve looked entirely too pleased with himself. You laughed softly and shook your head.

Some things never changed.

The competitive streak Steve brought to absolutely everything was apparently hereditary. Or contagious. You still hadn't decided which.

Steve tossed the ball into the air before catching it again.

"Ready?"

The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“No. You’re cheating."

“I’m winning,” he said, throwing the ball anyway. 

The boy managed to hit it this time, the crack of the bat echoing across the yard. His face lit up immediately. 

It still amazed you sometimes.

The first time he had stepped into your house, every word had seemed dragged out of him. He had spoken cautiously, as though every sentence needed permission before leaving his mouth. Now he laughed loudly and argued confidently. 

Steve grinned. “There you go! Nice job, buddy."

The kid turned toward the porch. "Mum! Did you see that?”

Mum

The word still caught you off guard sometimes. Not because it felt wrong, it was quite the opposite actually. It felt so natural now that it was hard to remember a time when it hadn't.

Your eyes met his. 

Your son. 

“I did," you called back. “That was a good hit, well done!”

The boy looked pleased with himself.

Your chest warmed.

You never would have imagined this. 

You and steve hadn’t been parents yet.

And Charlie had still been someone else's child. 

But then everything had changed.

Charlie had lost his mother only a few months after you and Steve had finally decided to adopt. The grief that followed and the months afterward hadn't been easy. There had been lawyers, court hearings, social workers and many questions. But eventually, after months of waiting, the judge had signed the papers and Charlie had finally come home. This time not as a guest. 

But as your son. 

And now you were finally a family. Not the one you had imagined years ago but the one that had been waiting for you instead.

A sudden movement pulled you from your thoughts. Your hand settled automatically over the curve of your stomach as you looked down, a smile spreading across your face.  Even now, months after finding out, part of you still couldn't quite believe it. After everything that had happened, after making peace with the possibility that it might never happen, life had found a way to surprise you again. 

You felt another kick. This one stronger as if she was demanding attention.

You laughed under your breath. "Well, hello to you too."

A moment later you heard the familiar creak of the porch boards and Steve appeared beside your chair.

"You okay?"

You nodded and reached for his hand, placing it gently against the curve of your stomach. Right on cue, your daughter kicked again.

Steve’s face softened immediately. "There you are, princess,” he murmured, as though he were greeting someone already familiar. 

You watched him for a moment. The man who had once brought home a scared little boy because he couldn't bear the thought of leaving him alone. The man who had become a father long before either of you realized it.

Out in the yard, Charlie was already growing impatient.

“Dad!” 

The word made Steve glance up instantly. “Yeah?” 

“Are we playing again or are you tired already?”

Steve looked back at you, looking deeply offended. “Did you hear that? No respect around here."

You laughed. "Go save your reputation, coach."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading back toward the grass where Charlie was impatiently waiting for him, bat resting on one shoulder and King circling excitedly  around both of them. The afternoon sunlight wrapped around the three of them as they disappeared into another argument about baseball. You rested a hand over your stomach and watched.

Your husband.

Your son. 

The life and the family you were building together. 

Years ago, you had thought some dreams were gone forever. That you would never be a mother. Now, surrounded by the people you loved most, you realized that sometimes life gave you a different ending than the one you had initially imagined. 

And sometimes, somehow, it turned out even better.

THE END

Of course he did.

His hand found the small of your back before you could even say anything, warm and steady, grounding you without making it obvious. He leaned closer, his smile still fixed for the cameras, and murmured, “For the record, I also think this is weird. Grown adults yelling at us to turn left like we’re confused Sims.”

A laugh slipped out of you before you could stop it.

Joe’s grin widened, pleased with himself. “There she is.”

You glanced up at him, trying to hide how grateful you were, but he already knew. He always knew. His hand stayed firm against your back as he guided you a step forward, careful not to rush you, careful not to let the crowd swallow you whole.

“Joe! Over here!”

“Y/N, this way!”

“Joe, can we get one together?”

Your shoulders tensed at the sound of your name being shouted from every direction. Joe must have felt it, because he shifted a little closer, his body angled slightly in front of yours, not enough to block you completely, but enough to make you feel sheltered.

He turned his head towards you again. “Do you reckon if I trip dramatically, they’ll stop taking photos of you and start asking if I need medical assistance?”

You pressed your lips together, trying not to smile too obviously. “Please don’t.”

“I’m just saying, I’m willing to commit to the bit.”

“You are not falling on a red carpet for me.”

“I would absolutely fall on a red carpet for you,” he said seriously, then paused. “Maybe not face first. I have limits.”

This time, you laughed properly, and the photographers noticed.

“Beautiful! Hold that!”

Joe looked smug. “See? I’m a professional.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Your idiot,” he said, squeezing your waist gently.

The comment was quiet, meant only for you, but the way he looked at you was impossible to miss. Soft. Proud. Protective in a way that made your chest ache.

As you moved further down the carpet, an interviewer waved the two of you over. You felt your nerves return the second a microphone was pointed in your direction. Joe sensed that too. He always seemed to catch the smallest changes in you, the way your fingers curled into your palm or your smile became a little too fixed.

Before the interviewer could ask anything, Joe leaned towards the microphone and said, “Just so everyone knows, she’s carrying this entire evening. I’m mostly here for moral support and snacks.”

The interviewer laughed. “You two look amazing tonight.”

Joe looked at you instead of answering straight away. “Yeah, she does.”

Your face warmed, and you nudged him lightly with your elbow. “You’re meant to say thank you.”

“Thank you,” he said, still looking at you. “But I stand by what I said.”

The interviewer smiled, clearly picking up on the way Joe kept checking on you between questions. “You seem very calm together.”

Joe laughed under his breath. “That’s because one of us is actually cool, and the other one is me pretending I know what I’m doing.”

You shook your head, but you were smiling now. A real smile. The tightness in your chest had started to ease, replaced by the comfort of Joe standing beside you, making himself a shield without ever making you feel small.

When the interviewer asked you a question, Joe stayed quiet, but his thumb brushed gently against your side. A tiny reminder that he was there. That you did not have to rush. That you were doing fine.

You answered, your voice a little shaky at first, but stronger by the end. Joe watched you with that soft, proud expression again, the one that made it hard to remember anyone else was around.

When you finished, he leaned in and whispered, “That was very hot of you.”

“Joe,” you hissed, trying not to laugh with the microphone still nearby.

“What? I’m supporting you.”

“You’re embarrassing me.”

“Lovingly.”

The interviewer laughed again, and somewhere nearby, cameras flashed faster. You could already imagine the clips online later. Joe Keery making Y/N laugh on the red carpet. Joe Keery unable to stop looking at Y/N. Joe Keery being protective as Y/N gets nervous.

And maybe people were noticing.

Maybe they could see the way he kept his hand on your back, the way he gently moved you away from the louder photographers when they started calling too much, the way he answered quickly whenever someone tried to talk over you, giving you space to breathe.

But for once, you did not mind being noticed.

Because Joe made the whole thing feel less terrifying.

As you reached the end of the carpet, you let out a breath you had not realised you were holding. Joe looked down at you.

“You okay?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I think so.”

His face softened. “You did so good.”

“You kept making jokes.”

“Yeah, well,” he said, slipping his hand into yours as you stepped away from the flashing lights, “you looked nervous.”

“I was nervous.”

“I know.” His voice went quieter. “That’s why I wasn’t going to let you stand there feeling alone.”

Your heart squeezed.

For a moment, the noise of the carpet faded behind you. There was only Joe, his fingers linked with yours, his thumb brushing over your knuckles, his smile gentler now that no one was shouting for it.

“You’re very protective, you know,” you said.

He shrugged, trying to play it off, but the tips of his ears turned pink. “Only because you’re you.”

You smiled up at him. “That makes no sense.”

“It makes perfect sense in my head.”

You laughed, and Joe’s expression softened all over again, like that had been the whole point. Like he would make a fool of himself in front of a hundred cameras if it meant getting you to breathe a little easier.

Then he leaned closer, his voice low and warm beside your ear.

“Come on. Let’s go inside before I actually have to fake an injury.”

“You are so dramatic.”

“Protective,” he corrected.

You squeezed his hand.

“Yeah,” you said softly. “Protective.”

“tyler, what are you-” your chest tightens painfully.

“no.” he holds a hand up immediately, eyes still locked on your face. “no, wait a second.”

steve’s shoulders tense beside the door.

you can practically feel the anger rolling off him already.

but tyler keeps staring at you, specifically at your mouth.

and the longer he looks, the uglier his expression gets.

“are you serious right now?” he asks quietly.

you open your mouth but nothing comes out. because what can you even say at this point?

tyler notices that immediately too. his jaw tightens hard.

“wow.” he repeats, quieter this time. “we have a bad argument and stop talking for like one week and this is what happens?”

“it’s not-” you start before he cuts you off.

“don’t.” his voice sharpens instantly, getting closer to you. “don’t lie to me right now.”

steve steps in before you can answer.

“alright tyler, watch your tone.”

tyler’s head snaps toward him so fast it almost makes you flinch. “excuse me?”

“you heard me.” steve says coldly.

and there it is, that immediate tension between them. that thing that’s always existed every single time they’re in the same room together.

tyler’s always hated how close you and steve are.

and steve’s always hated the way tyler treats you.

but now? now there’s proof. at least for tyler.

he laughs again, but this time it sounds genuinely angry.

“this shit is unbelievable.” he points between you two. “seriously? him?”

“tyler let’s just talk first-” you whisper.

“no, i wanna hear this.” his eyes go back to you immediately. “i wanna hear you explain why your best friend opens the door looking like that, and you’re standing behind him looking like you just got done making out.”

your face burns.

steve’s jaw clenches so hard you can see the muscle tick. “that’s enough, tyler.”

“stay out of it.”

“not happening.”

tyler scoffs. “of course not. captain fucking harrington to the rescue, right?”

“tyler, stop…” you say quickly, panic rising in your chest. “please. let’s talk in private.”

but now both of them are too worked up.

steve takes one step forward instinctively, putting himself slightly between you and tyler without even realizing it.

“you really don’t even try to hide it, huh?” tyler asks slowly.

“hide what?” steve snaps.

“the fact that you’ve been waiting for this.”

silence.

steve freezes only for half a second but it’s enough, because tyler catches it immediately and suddenly the anger on his face shifts into something worse. something almost bitter.

“holy shit…” he laughs quietly. “you have.”

“please-”

“how long?” he asks, eyes darting between both of you. “huh? how long has this been going on?”

“it hasn’t, ty.” you say immediately.

“bullshit.”

“i’m serious!”

“then why does he look at you like that?” tyler asks.

the room goes dead silent.

your breath catches.

tyler says it so fast. so honestly. like he’s noticed it for longer than either of you realized.

you glance at steve automatically.

big mistake.

the second your eyes meet everything becomes obvious, all over again.

the tension.

the guilt.

the feelings sitting way too close to the surface now.

tyler notices the look. his expression crumples for the briefest second before anger covers it again.

“oh my god,” he mutters. “i was so fucking stupid for trusting you. you’re in love with him.”

“tyler, stop-”

“are you?”

you can’t answer.

that silence destroys him.

“wow.” his voice cracks slightly around the word.

in the middle of the tension, steve’s world stopped as soon as you didn’t answer tyler’s question. you were in love with him. and suddenly some of the anger leaves his face too, replaced by guilt. real guilt. because despite everything, despite how much he loved you, he never actually wanted to hurt you. or even tyler, really.

he just wanted you.

tyler shakes his head slowly, laughing again like he can’t believe this is happening.

“you know what’s crazy?” he says quietly. “i used to think i was insane.”

nobody says anything.

his eyes stay on you.

“every time i brought him up, you defended him.” he points at steve without looking away from you. “every single time.”

your throat tightens.

“and every time we fought, where’d you go?” he asks. “him. always.”

steve looks away briefly at that, because he knows it’s true.

“i thought i was just jealous.” tyler continues bitterly. “but i’m not crazy, am i?”

more silence.

“god, you kissed him fast.”

“tyler, you don’t know that.” you whisper sharply.

“what?” he snaps. “am i wrong?”

steve steps forward immediately. “okay, that’s enough.”

“or what?”

“or you leave.”

“you are in her house telling me to leave?” tyler stares at him in disbelief.

“yeah.” steve says coldly. “because you have no place to talk and you’re upsetting her.”

his eyes flick between both of you again before settling on you and suddenly he looks tired.

“did you even feel bad?” he asks quietly.

the question hits like a punch because the answer is horrible.

you do feel bad. but not bad enough to regret kissing steve.

that realization makes you feel even worse.

your silence says everything.

tyler looks at you for a long second, then nods slowly like he understands. like he hates that he understands.

“right.” tyler says quietly.

steve glances back at you immediately, concern flashing across his face at how overwhelmed you suddenly look.

“you are literally exactly the kind of guy i thought you were.” tyler turns to steve.

“and what kind is that?” steve says coldly.

“the guy waiting around for someone else’s girlfriend.”

“okay.” steve takes a step forward instantly.

“steve, don’t.” you warn quickly.

but tyler’s already spiraling now. he points at you suddenly.

“and you.” he laughs again, completely disbelieving. “you make me sick.”

your stomach twists.

“i didn’t mean for this to happen, tyler.”

“bullshit.”

“tyler-”

“you expect me to believe this just magically happened tonight?” he asks loudly. “look at you two.”

you probably look exactly like what just happened.

your lipstick’s ruined.

and the tension between you and steve is still practically visible in the room.

tyler notices everything and it’s making him angrier by the second.

“fucking hell.” he mutters, dragging his hands over his face. “i knew it. i fucking knew it.”

“knew what?” you snap suddenly, frustration finally boiling over too.

“that he wanted you!”

“and you know what?” your voice shakes but still raises. “maybe i liked having somebody around who actually acted like they gave a shit about me!”

the room goes dead silent.

tyler stares at you.

steve looks at you too now, his expression softening instantly despite the disaster unfolding around him.

“there it is,” he says quietly, chuckling sarcastically. “look at him.”

you wish he’d stop saying things out loud, because every time he does, it makes everything more real.

“he looks at you like you hung the fucking moon.” tyler says, voice dripping with frustration. “and you, you eat that shit up.”

“please, tyler…” your head starts to spin.

“no, seriously, this is pathetic.”

steve steps forward again. “don’t call her pathetic.”

“i wasn’t talking about her.” tyler shoots back instantly. “i’m talking about you.”

steve goes still.

tyler laughs harshly.

“you think this means something?” he asks him. “you think you won because she kissed you?”

“nobody’s trying to win anything.”

“please.” tyler rolls his eyes. “you’ve been circling her like a fucking vulture since day one.”

that one actually pisses steve off.

“careful.”

“or what?” tyler steps closer too now. “you gonna hit me? weren’t you the one who got beaten up by jonathan byers?”

“stop acting like you ever treated her right enough to claim territory here.” steve snaps.

tyler’s entire expression changes.

“claim territory?” he repeats slowly.

“that’s not what i-” steve immediately realizes that came out wrong.

“no, no, say it again.” tyler says, laughing angrily now. “go ahead.”

but he’s locked onto steve now. ego bruised beyond repair.

“you can have her.” tyler says.

your face falls instantly. “excuse me?”

“yeah.” he gestures toward you carelessly, anger making him cruel now. “if she folds this easily for her guy best friend, then maybe she was never worth keeping in the first place.”

his words hit like a slap.

silence crashes through the room.

steve moves before you even process it. “watch your fucking mouth. get the fuck out, man.” his voice is terrifyingly cold now.

tyler scoffs. “this is her house, man. don’t get to boss me around.”

“get out.” you say now.

tyler laughs in disbelief. “wow. look at you.”

he points between both of you again.

“this is gonna be so funny in like three months.”

your stomach twists. “what?”

“when you realize this whole thing is built on sneaking around and emotional cheating and whatever the hell this was.” he gestures wildly. “and he realizes you’re not some perfect little dream girl.”

“stop, leave.” you whisper.

but tyler keeps going.

because he’s angry.

embarrassed.

his ego is hurt.

and he wants to hurt you back now.

“you know what your problem is, babe?” he says. “you like attention. always have. and little king steve over here does exactly that, every single fucking time.”

steve immediately steps between you both.

“okay, you heard her, go.”

“there he is!” tyler laughs loudly. “god, this is embarrassing for you, man.”

steve’s jaw clenches hard. “you’re pushing it. leave.”

“you really think he’s different?” tyler asks you suddenly, eyes locking onto yours around steve’s shoulder. “he’s obsessed with you right now because he couldn’t have you.”

your throat tightens painfully.

“but eventually?” tyler shrugs mockingly. “you’ll just become another girl he got bored of.”

steve looks genuinely furious. hurt too, weirdly enough. but he’s holding back for you, he knows that what tyler saw is already enough.

“you don’t know a damn thing about me.” he says coldly. “and you clearly don’t know a thing about the kind of girl she is.”

“i know your type.”

“and i know yours.” steve fires back. “guys who make girls feel hard to love until they finally run to somebody who doesn’t.”

tyler stares at him.

then at you.

and suddenly he laughs again, except this time it’s quieter. meaner.

“wow.” he shakes his head slowly. “you deserve each other. really.”

your chest aches instantly. somehow that embarrasses you more than yelling would’ve. the disgust in his voice. the judgment, like you and steve are some cliché waiting to implode.

tyler backs toward the door slowly still staring at both of you.

“have fun with this.” he says bitterly.

then his eyes lock onto yours one final time.

and the last thing he says is quiet enough to hurt the most.

“just remember you destroyed a whole relationship for a guy who was waiting around for his turn.”

you physically freeze.

he nods once slowly like that was exactly what he wanted. then he walks out.

the door slams behind him so hard the walls shake slightly.

either way you know that your relationship with tyler was over long before you and steve kissed.

the silence after the door slams is horrible. thick and ringing.

you just stand there staring at the door, heart pounding so hard it almost hurts, tyler’s last words still echoing around your head.

waiting around for his turn.

your stomach twists violently.

suddenly everything feels disgusting. the kiss, the tension, your feelings. all of it.

you wrap your arms around yourself tighter like it’ll somehow hold you together, breathing unevenly while humiliation crawls hot beneath your skin.

behind you, steve is quiet for a second.

then softly. “hey.”

his voice is careful now. he already knows you’re seconds away from falling apart.

you close your eyes briefly because hearing him right now only makes everything worse.

you can still feel his lips on yours.

and tyler’s words keep replaying over them like poison.

waiting around for his turn.

you hear steve take one small step closer. hesitant this time. which almost never happens with you. but now he’s careful like he doesn’t know if he’s still allowed to.

“baby...” he says softly.

your chest tightens painfully. “don’t, steve.”

your tone comes out sharper than you mean it to.

steve immediately stops moving.

you stare hard at the floor, blinking rapidly because tears are starting to burn behind your eyes and you absolutely refuse to cry right now.

“don’t what?” he asks quietly.

you laugh once under your breath.

except it sounds awful.

“don’t call me that right now.”

steve goes still. completely still.

and immediately guilt crashes into you for that too.

because his face, jesus...

“yeah... okay.” he says softly after a second.

no attitude. no defensiveness. just immediate understanding.

which somehow makes you feel even worse.

you shake your head hard, frustrated tears finally slipping down your cheeks.

“this is so messed up.”

“it´s not-”

“no!” you spin around suddenly, emotions spilling over too fast now. “you heard what he said!”

steve’s expression tightens immediately. “yeah, and he was being an asshole.”

“but he’s not completely wrong!”

the second the words leave your mouth, steve freezes.

silence crashes between you both instantly.

that one hurt him. his eyes watch you up and down.

you see it happen.

his jaw tightens slightly.

his eyes flick away for half a second before returning to you carefully.

“you think i was waiting around?” he asks quietly.

and suddenly you realize what you just implied.

waiting around for his turn.

your anger disappears instantly, replaced by horror.

“steve, i didn´t mean it like that.”

“no, it’s okay.” he nods once quickly, even though it clearly isn’t. “i get it.”

“that’s not what i meant.”

“you’re upset.” he says.

his voice stays soft. he’s still trying to take care of you while looking visibly hurt himself. “i know you didn’t mean it like that.”

but you did, a little.

not truly.

not fairly.

but enough for it to sting.

you drag your hands over your face roughly, completely overwhelmed now.

“i’m sorry.” you whisper shakily. “i’m sorry.”

steve’s entire expression softens immediately.

“hey,” he says quietly. “look at me.”

he takes another careful step closer this time.

slow enough to give you room to stop him.

you don’t want to, because your chest feels too heavy and your face is burning and suddenly you feel like the worst person alive.

but eventually your eyes lift to his.

and steve just melts. completely melts the second he sees you crying.

“oh, baby.” he murmurs the nickname softly, completly ignoring your request earlier.

there’s no hesitation in his voice anymore, just concern.

he reaches toward you instinctively before stopping himself halfway.

asking silently this time.

your throat tightens painfully at that.

“i didn’t mean that.” you whisper quickly. “i swear i didn’t.”

steve nods immediately. “i know.”

“no, i really-”

“i know.” he repeats softer.

his eyes don’t leave yours, completely patient.

“you’re overwhelmed right now.”

another tear slips down your cheek. you wipe at it angrily.

“i just feel horrible.”

steve’s face softens so much it almost hurts to look at him. “c’mere.”

his voice is quiet.

you shake your head automatically, not because you don’t want him. because you want him too much.

“baby,” he says again softly. “please.”

your breath catches. you look down at the floor again, shoulders trembling slightly, and after a second, very slowly, you nod.

that’s all it takes.

steve crosses the room immediately, careful but fast, like he’s been restraining himself this entire time. his arms wrap around you gently at first, giving you room to pull away, but the second you melt against him with this shaky little breath, he tightens his hold instantly.

one hand sliding up into your hair while the other presses firmly against your back, pulling you completely against his chest.

“you´re okay.” he whispers softly.

you bury your face into his chest finally, fingers gripping weakly at the back of his shirt while the crying you’ve been trying to hold back starts spilling out properly.

steve just holds you tighter.

“i know.” he murmurs into your hair. “i know, baby.”

his hand keeps moving slowly through your hair, soothing and repetitive and impossibly gentle.

“you’re okay.”

you shake your head against him. “i hurt him.”

“yeah...” steve says quietly, always honest with you. “but that relationship was hurting you too.”

your grip tightens on his shirt.

“still doesn’t make this okay.”

steve exhales softly above you, his cheek resting lightly against the top of your head now.

“maybe not.” he murmurs. “but i’m not gonna stand here and pretend what he did this whole time didn´t hurt you first.”

you close your eyes tightly, letting him hold you, letting yourself sink into the warmth of him despite everything.

steve keeps his arms around you for another few seconds.

just enough for your breathing to calm a little. just enough for the crying to stop feeling so uncontrollable.

then slowly, carefully, he pulls back.

not far, just enough to look at you properly.

his hands slide from your back to your arms briefly before dropping completely, like he’s trying not to overwhelm you now. trying not to push.

you wipe quickly under your eyes, embarrassed immediately, but steve pretends not to notice, or maybe he notices and chooses not to make you feel worse about it.

he stays close though, standing right in front of you in the quiet hallway, watching you carefully like he’s trying to figure out the exact right thing to say.

normally words come easy but not today. today everything feels fragile.

you stare at the floor.

“don’t try to make me feel better about this.” you say.

steve’s face softens immediately. “little late for that.”

you let out this weak, miserable laugh through your nose.

he takes that as a good sign.

“baby,” he says carefully, “you’re acting like you murdered somebody.”

your head snaps up immediately. “steve.”

“i’m serious.”

“i cheated on my boyfriend.” you sigh.

“your ex-boyfriend.” he corrects gently.

you groan softly, dragging your hands over your face again “that does not help.”

“i’m trying here.”

despite everything, there’s something so familiar about the way he says it that your chest aches.

this banter, this rhythm between you it’s always been easy. even now. especially now, maybe.

steve leans lightly back against the wall beside the doorway, giving you space while still staying close enough that you can feel his presence.

“look,” he says quietly. “was tonight messy? yeah.”

you look at him tiredly. “messy.”

“trying to soften the blow.” he smiles softly.

“steve.”

“okay, fine.” he sighs dramatically. “disastrous. catastrophic. emotionally horrifying.”

another tiny laugh almost escapes you before you stop it.

his eyes catch it immediately and soften. god, they soften so easily for you.

you shake your head quickly. “don’t do that.”

his brows furrow. “do what?”

“make me laugh like everything’s okay.”

steve goes quiet for a second at that.

“i don’t think everything’s okay.” he says softly. “really.”

the sincerity in his voice makes your stomach twist.

he continues before you can spiral again.

“i just don’t think you’re some terrible person because of what happened tonight.”

“how can you possibly not?” you stare at him.

“because i was there.”

the answer comes instantly.

“i know what happened.” steve continues.

you cross your arms tightly over yourself. “yeah. we kissed.”

his eyes flick briefly to your mouth again, instinctive. then he looks away almost immediately.

“yeah. we did.” he says quietly.

the silence after that feels warm in the worst way, despite all this guilt, neither of you regrets the kiss itself. and that’s the problem.

steve exhales softly, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

“he made it sound like we planned this or something.” he mumbles.

“didn’t we?” you ask weakly. “in some subconscious horrible way?”

steve’s head lifts immediately. “hey. no.”

“but maybe he’s right.” you whisper. “maybe i checked out a long time ago and just…” you laugh shakily. “waited until i had someone else.”

steve’s face tightens instantly. “you didn’t use me.”

“i didn’t say that.”

“you implied it.” steve says.

you go quiet, because maybe you did.

steve shakes his head slightly, looking frustrated now, not at you. at the situation.

“you wanna know what i think?” he says finally.

you look up reluctantly.

“i think you spent a really long time trying to force a relationship to work because you didn’t wanna hurt somebody no matter how much he hurt you.” his voice stays calm. “and i think eventually you got exhausted.”

your throat tightens.

“and yeah,” he continues softly. “i think somewhere along the line, feelings got involved between us.”

his eyes flick to yours carefully then, vulnerable and honest.

“but that doesn’t automatically make you manipulative or cruel, or desperate for attention. you needed someone who understood you and i was there.”

you blink rapidly. hearing him say feelings out loud makes everything feel terrifyingly real again.

“steve…”

“what?” he asks quietly. “you want me to lie?”

you don’t.

he sighs softly, looking down for a second before speaking again. “look, if tonight never happened…” he pauses. “if we never kissed, i still would’ve wanted you to leave him.”

your eyes lift to his immediately.

his expression doesn’t change.

“not because i thought i’d get something out of it,” he says quickly. “before you say it.”

he pushes off the wall slightly.

“i wanted you to leave him because of all the times you came crying to me after he made you feel awful. and maybe because i actually am in love with you.”

‘and maybe because i actually am in love with you.’

the words hang in the room heavily, completely changing it.

you just stare at steve for a second, blinking slowly like your brain physically cannot catch up fast enough.

steve looks like he regrets saying it out loud immediately after. not because it isn’t true, because now it’s real, between both of you.

he lets out a quiet breath through his nose, glancing away briefly before looking back at you.

“well,” he mutters awkwardly. “that kinda slipped out.”

your mouth opens slightly. closes again.

“slipped out?” you repeat incredulously. “you don’t accidentally tell someone you’re in love with them, steve.”

“i know that.” he says quickly. “i’m aware.”

“then why do you sound so calm?!”

that actually makes him laugh softly.

not because it’s funny, he’s just nervous.

you can tell.

“trust me.” he says, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “i am very much not calm right now.”

you stare at him. “you just confessed to me after i cheated on my boyfriend with you.”

“ex-boyfriend.” he corrects you again.

“steve.”

“sorry.”

you look away first, arms crossing tightly over yourself while your thoughts spin violently.

all those moments you ignored, all those looks, all the tension, all the almosts, suddenly they mean something completely different.

you laugh once quietly under your breath. “oh my god.”

steve watches you carefully. “that reaction doesn’t feel super promising.”

your eyes snap back to his immediately. “i’m not reacting badly!”

“okay.”

“i’m not!”

“you just said ‘oh my god’ like i told you i committed tax fraud.” he holds back a giggle.

despite yourself, you huff out a tiny laugh.

steve’s face softens instantly at the sound. it’s subtle but it’s there, that stupid softness he only seems to have with you and that makes your chest ache even worse.

“how long?” you ask quietly.

steve’s smile fades slightly. “seriously?”

“yeah.”

“i don’t know.” he hesitates.

“that’s such a cop-out answer.” you roll your eyes.

“it’s not!” he argues immediately. “i genuinely don’t know.”

“steve.” you whine.

“what do you want me to say?” he asks, throwing his hands up slightly. “that i saw you one day and suddenly violins started playing?”

“you are so annoying.”

“and yet,” he says softly. “you still kissed me.”

“can you stop bringing that up?” your face heats immediately.

his eyebrows lift. “you want me to stop bringing up the life-changing kiss that happened like ten minutes ago?”

“yes, i do.”

“kinda hard, sweetheart.”

you look away from him again quickly.

bad idea. because it gives him time to really look at you and you can feel it, the weight of his eyes moving across your face carefully.

now that everything’s out in the open, he’s allowing himself to look at you differently.

“you’re doing that thing again.” you murmur.

“what thing?”

“looking at me like that.”

steve goes quiet for a second.

“i’ve always looked at you like this.” steve simply says.

your heart almost stops.

the honesty in his voice is devastating.

you blink rapidly, trying to steady yourself. “that’s not helping.”

“i’m not trying to help anymore.”

your eyes snap back to his immediately. steve’s expression shifts slightly then.

“i spent months trying to convince myself this was just me being protective,” he confesses. “or jealous because your boyfriend sucked.”

“he did suck.” you agree.

“thank you!” steve says immediately, pointing at you. “see? that’s all i’m saying.”

despite everything, you laugh softly again.

his mouth twitches slightly like he’s trying not to smile too hard.

“but then it got worse.” he continues.

“worse?”

“way worse.” steve admits.

“how?” you ask.

steve looks at you for a long second before answering. “you’d touch me and i’d think about it for, like, three business days.”

your eyes widen instantly.

he laughs quietly at your reaction, leaning back against the wall again.

“okay, you tell me something now.” he mumbles through a soft smile.

“what?” you ask.

“you seriously never noticed?”

your stomach drops slightly.

you noticed things. you noticed everything. you noticed the way steve always moved closer to you unconsciously. the way his hand always found your back in crowded places. the way he looked at your boyfriends like they personally offended him. the way he remembered every tiny thing about you without trying.

you noticed.

you avoid his eyes immediately which is answer enough.

“you did notice.” he says quietly.

“not fully!” you defend yourself.

“baby.” he groans.

“i thought maybe you were just-”

“hopelessly devoted to you?” he offers.

you groan loudly, covering your face with your hands. “stop talking.”

he laughs softly again.

“you know what the worst part is?” he says.

you peek at him through your fingers suspiciously. “what?”

“robin used to make fun of me for it constantly.”

“what? really?” your hands slowly lower.

“yeah.” he nods once. “apparently i’m not subtle.”

“robin knew you were in love with me?”

“robin knew before i did.”

you stare at him in horror.

“she used to literally kick me under tables whenever i stared at you too long.” steve laughs at your expression.

your jaw drops. “how have i never noticed this?!”

“because you trusted me.” his voice softens slightly after saying it.

and suddenly the mood shifts again.

steve looks at you for a second before speaking again. “i never wanted you uncomfortable around me.”

“you never did." you admit.

“good.”

he means that. seriously.

you shake your head slowly, overwhelmed all over again.

“i just…” you laugh weakly. “i can’t believe this is real.”

“yeah,” steve murmurs softly. “me neither.”

you study him carefully for a second.

“were you really okay never saying anything?” you ask softly.

steve immediately gives you a look. “absolutely not.”

“then why didn’t you?” you laugh softly.

his expression changes slightly, a bit more serious now.

“because you loved somebody else.” he says without bitterness. “and because i knew if i told you, i’d mean it.”

your throat tightens painfully.

steve looks down briefly before continuing quieter. “i didn’t wanna be some guy waiting around hoping your relationship failed.”

tyler’s words flash through your head immediately for the millionth time.

waiting around for his turn.

your expression changes slightly.

steve notices instantly. “don´t look guilty because of what he said.”

you swallow hard. “but what if he’s right about everything?”

“he’s not.” steve’s jaw tightens slightly.

“steve-”

“i didn’t sit around hoping he’d hurt you.” his voice stays calm. “i hoped you’d realize you deserved better.”

your eyes lock onto his and suddenly the tension between you shifts again.

steve takes one slow step closer, not enough to crowd you, just enough that your breath catches.

“and yeah,” he says quietly, eyes flicking briefly to your mouth before returning to your eyes. “a part of me wanted that better to be me.”

your heartbeat stutters violently.

his eyes flick briefly across your face again.

jesus, you do feel awful about tyler.

about how things ended, the humiliation on his face when he left was unbearable… but standing here with steve now, with all this honesty finally sitting out in the open between you, you can’t pretend your feelings disappeared just because the situation hurts.

you swallow hard.

“you make this really difficult…” you whisper.

steve’s expression softens immediately. “i know.”

“no, seriously.” you laugh weakly, shaking your head. “i should probably want space from you right now, steve.”

“do you?” his eyes stay on yours.

the question lands directly in your chest. the answer comes fast, too fast.

no.

not even a little.

you look away from him first.

“that’s the problem.” you say.

steve goes quiet after that.

you can practically see him thinking and holding himself back, trying so hard not to push you when emotions are already everywhere.

even now, even after confessing he’s in love with you, he’s still more worried about overwhelming you than getting what he wants.

your eyes lift back to his slowly.

“say something.” you murmur.

steve lets out the smallest breath through his nose. “dangerous request.”

“why?”

his mouth twitches faintly.

“because i’m trying very hard to behave right now.” he admits, eyes turning dark.

“steve…”

“i’m serious, baby.” his voice lowers slightly. “you’re standing there looking at me like that after kissing me half to death ten minutes ago, and i’m trying not to make this worse for you.”

your breath catches immediately.

the memory hits all over again at the way he says it. the wall against your back while his hands rest on your waist. the way he kissed you like he’d been holding it in forever.

you close your eyes briefly. big mistake.

suddenly you can feel it again.

and when you open them, steve’s already looking at you differently.

his voice softens instantly. “hey.”

“i know i should stop this.” you shake your head weakly.

steve’s jaw tightens slightly at the word should.

“but you don’t want to…” he says quietly.

not a question.

you hate how easily he reads you.

your eyes flick down briefly to his mouth.

steve’s breathing changes immediately. small and subtle.

the tension shifts all over again.

“this feels horrible, steve.” you admit softly.

“kissing me feels horrible?” steve’s brows pull together instantly.

“no.” the answer comes too fast.

your face burns immediately and suddenly steve looks dangerously pleased for half a second before softening again.

“okay.” he murmurs.

you groan softly, embarrassed. “stop looking at me like that.”

all the softness in his face comes rushing back.

“baby,” he says quietly. “i just want you.”

the sincerity in his voice hits hard.

your breath catches painfully because he says it so simply.

and suddenly the space between you and steve feels impossible.

you stare at him for one long second. then another.

and neither of you moves but the air changes anyway.

his eyes flick slowly between yours like he’s trying to decide whether he should stop this before it starts again.

he gives you every opportunity to pull away. every. single. one.

“tell me to back off.” he says softly.

like he’s hanging onto self-control by a thread.

you stare at him, breathing unevenly, because the worst part is that you know he means it. if you asked him to leave right now, he would. no matter how much it hurt him.

somehow that makes this harder.

tyler’s gone. your relationship is over.

you should be crying more than this. you should be devastated. guilty. disgusted with yourself.

instead you’re standing in your hallway staring at steve’s mouth while he looks at you like he’s trying not to cave.

“i hate this…” you whisper suddenly.

steve’s brows pull together instantly. “hate what?”

you laugh softly, but it comes out shaky. frustrated. “the fact that i know i should ask you to leave.”

his expression changes at that, he looks hurt.

he nods once slowly. “okay...”

and he actually starts stepping back.

he just accepts it immediately even though you can physically see how badly he doesn’t want to.

“wait.” you blurt out.

steve stops instantly.

you drag your hands over your face hard enough to make your skin burn. “god, this is so messed up.”

“yeah, i know… no need to tell me that.” he says quietly.

“and you standing there being all understanding is making it worse, steve.”

“what do you want me to do?” he asks softly. “be an asshole?”

“maybe a little.” you confess.

“not really my style with you.” he says.

he says it so naturally, him being gentle with you is instinct.

“you can’t just…” you shake your head helplessly. “you can’t just tell me you’re in love with me and then look at me like that.”

“how am i looking at you?”

you stare at him incredulously. “seriously?”

“i’m asking.” steve says.

“you already know what i’m thinking.” you reply.

steve goes quiet.

“do i?” he breaks silence.

you lean back against the wall with a tired exhale, eyes fixed on the floor. “i feel like such a bad person right now.”

“hey.” the firmness in his voice makes you look up immediately.

steve’s expression has hardened slightly.

“you are not a bad person.” steve says softly.

“steve, i cheated on somebody.”

“after spending months getting treated like shit.”

“that doesn’t excuse it.” you groan.

“i didn’t say it did.” his voice stays calm.

he takes one careful step closer again.

you cross your arms tighter over yourself. “you don’t get it, steve.”

“then explain it to me.” he says.

the answer comes so fast it catches you off guard. he sounds serious, completely open like he genuinely wants to understand every ugly thought in your head right now.

you stare at him for a second, then laugh weakly. “i don’t know how to explain it.”

“try.”

“i just…” your voice cracks slightly. “i feel awful because i hurt him.”

steve nods immediately. “okay...”

“but then i kiss you and i don’t regret it, and that makes me feel worse.” you admit, your voice low to hide the shame.

his eyes flick down to your mouth unconsciously.

you notice.

“you really don’t regret it?” he asks quietly.

“don’t ask me that, steve.” you sigh.

“i wanna hear you say it.” steve whispers.

the tension shifts instantly, your heartbeat stutters.

“steve…”

his eyes stay locked on yours. “come on.”

the softness in his voice makes it worse somehow. less pressure and more intimacy.

you swallow hard.

“no, steve.” you whisper finally. “i don’t regret kissing you.”

steve actually closes his eyes for a second after hearing that like the words physically hit him.

“you have any idea what that does to me?” he murmurs.

“i’m already barely holding it together.” you say.

“you think i’m doing any better?” steve asks.

he takes another slow step closer. close enough now that you can feel the warmth coming off him.

“you know what tonight’s been like for me?” he asks quietly.

you can’t answer.

steve laughs softly under his breath, shaking his head once.“watching you look at me like you wanted me all night and trying not to do something stupid.”

your eyes widen slightly. “i was not-”

he gives you a look. “you were.”

you open your mouth to argue again, then close it.

because honestly?

maybe you were.

his expression softens dangerously.

the air between you suddenly feels too thick to breathe properly.

“this is crazy.” you whisper. “and you’re way too calm about this.”

that makes him laugh.

“i’m not calm.” he steps even closer. “i’m trying very hard not to pin you against this wall and kiss you again.”

you hate how much your body reacts to him. how easy it is.

you shake your head weakly. “you’re impossible.”

“and you’re staring at my mouth again.” he smirks.

your eyes snap upward immediately.

steve’s lips twitch slightly and you see it because you actually were looking at his mouth.

“you’re so annoying.” you whisper.

“yeah?” he murmurs, leaning in just slightly. “still wanna kiss me?”

your stomach flips so hard it almost hurts.

gosh, he’s right and he’s so stupid.

you should stop this. you know you should.

but instead you whisper. “you make me feel insane, steve.”

steve’s face softens instantly at that. something emotional flashes across it so quickly it almost knocks the air from your lungs.

“sweetheart.” he says quietly. “you have been ruining me for, like, years.”

your eyes shut briefly. “that’s not fair.”

“none of this is fair.” steve whispers.

when you open your eyes again, he’s even closer, enough that your noses almost brush. and still he waits, still he lets you decide.

“if i kiss you again,” you whisper shakily. “i’m not gonna be able to pretend this is just a mistake anymore.”

steve’s gaze flicks between your eyes and your mouth slowly.

“good.” he whispers back.

you grab the front of his shirt suddenly and pull him in.

steve makes this low sound against your mouth like he’s been dying for it.

the kiss is immediate and messy. all the guilt and confusion and aching feelings pouring into it at once. intense in a completely different way now.

because now there are no misunderstandings left between you.

his hands slide to your ass instantly, gripping tighter this time as he backs you gently into the wall again.

“fuck.” steve breathes against your mouth.

the word sounds wrecked.

your fingers tangle in his hair again and his head drops slightly at the feeling, it affects him way too much.

“you have no idea-” he murmurs breathlessly, kissing you again before you can ask what he means.

his mouth moves against yours slower this time, like he’s savoring it now that he finally can. and god, the way he touches you, careful but desperate at the same time, is driving you insane.

you can feel it in the way his hands grab your waist instantly, pulling you flush against him with this desperate kind of care, like he can’t decide whether to hold you gently or never let you go again.

the kiss gets deeper fast.

and somewhere between steve backing you against the wall and your fingers tangling into his hair, your hands find the hem of his shirt.

steve reacts immediately when your fingers slide underneath it. his breath catches sharply against your mouth.

“fuck.” he whispers.

you don’t even think about it.

you just tug harder, desperate to touch him, to feel more of him. suddenly the layers between you feel unbearable.

steve breaks the kiss just enough to look at you, breathing hard.

his hair’s a mess already, lips swollen again, eyes completely dark with want and emotion all tangled together.

“baby,” he says softly, almost disbelieving. “you’re killing me.”

your stomach flips violently.

you tug at his shirt again impatiently. “take it off, steve.”

that catches him off guard. his eyebrows lift slightly and for one brief second he just stares at you. then he laughs softly under his breath.

“need you right now, baby.” steve groans.

heat rushes through your entire body and before you can even process the effect his words had on you, steve’s pulling the shirt over his head quickly, tossing it somewhere behind him without looking.

you feel your core shamelessly pulse at the sight.

you’ve seen steve before, obviously.

but not like this. not flushed and breathing hard while looking at you like he wants to crawl under your skin. not standing in front of you after kissing you senseless.

his chest rises unevenly as your eyes drag over him for half a second too long.

steve notices immediately.

“don’t look at me like you’re trying to get me into trouble.” he smirks.

you laugh softly. “pretty sure we’re already there.”

“yeah,” he says quietly, eyes flicking down to your mouth again. “guess we are.”

then he’s kissing you again, harder this time.

now your hands are on him directly, sliding over his hairy chest and shoulders while steve practically melts into every touch. you feel him shiver slightly beneath your fingertips and it sends heat straight through you.

“you’re so sensitive.” you whisper against his mouth.

steve lets out this breathless laugh that sounds almost embarrassed. “only with you.”

ugh, the way he says things.

your fingers drag lightly down his chest and his head drops briefly against your shoulder with a low groan.

“baby…” he groans warningly.

you can’t stop smiling. “what?”

“you know exactly what.”

his hands tighten instinctively at your waist before sliding lower, palms warm against your ass, restless.

he kisses down your jaw slowly, mouth warm against your skin while his hands roam carefully over your sides.

“you’re so pretty.” he murmurs against your neck suddenly. “seriously.” he pulls back just enough to look at you properly again. “you’re ridiculously pretty. it’s actually annoying.”

“that’s your line?” you laugh breathlessly.

“i’m distracted.” he steve replies.

“clearly.”

his eyes flick down your body briefly before returning to your face immediately, almost like he catches himself.

you reach for him again before he can pull too far into his own head, fingers curling lightly around the back of his neck.

“c’mere.” he whispers. “stop pulling away.”

he kisses you slower this time, one hand sliding into your hair while the other settles firmly at your ass again, pulling you into him until you can feel the warmth of his skin everywhere.

steve kisses like he’s losing control of himself slowly.

your hands are still moving over his bare chest, fingers dragging across warm skin while his mouth keeps finding yours again and again, deeper every time, and he’s becoming impossibly more affected by it all.

every little sound you make seems to hit him directly.

every tug of your fingers into his hair, every shaky breath against his mouth. it’s driving him insane.

you feel it the second his body presses closer against yours again.

his breathing catches hard, this time, there’s no hiding how turned on he is.

your stomach flips instantly when you feel him through his jeans, growing bigger every second.

“ah- fuck…” he breathes softly against your mouth, almost a moan.

his forehead drops briefly against yours, eyes squeezed shut for a second like he’s trying to regain composure and failing miserably.

“you okay?” you whisper breathlessly, barely able to stop yourself from laughing.

steve opens his eyes slowly. “you cannot ask me that right now.”

his hand at your ass squeezes, like he’s trying to find balance.

you laugh softly against his mouth.

his lips move to your jaw again, then lower, kissing slowly along your neck while one of his hands slips beneath your shirt.

warm skin against warm skin.

you inhale sharply at the feeling.

steve groans softly against your throat immediately.

“there.” he murmurs quietly. “that sound. jesus.”

your fingers tighten automatically in his hair.

he kisses you harder after that. and suddenly he’s pulling gently at the bottom of your shirt with slightly shaky hands.

his eyes lift to yours immediately after, checking, always checking.

“can i?” he asks softly.

your heartbeat stutters. you nod.

steve pulls your shirt up carefully but quickly, hands warm against your skin as he lifts it over your head and tosses it to the ground.

then he freezes. his eyes drag slowly over you and suddenly he looks almost overwhelmed again because you’re not wearing a bra.

“shit, baby.” he says softly before he can stop himself.

heat rushes to your face immediately. “steve.”

“sorry- no, not sorry, actually.” he laughs breathlessly, staring at you like he’s genuinely lost his mind a little. “holy shit.”

you shove lightly at his shoulder, embarrassed. “stop looking at me like that.”

“i literally can’t.” his voice has gone lower now.

his hands slide slowly up your bare sides like he still can’t believe he’s allowed to touch you like this.

“you are so fucking beautiful. i’m gonna fuck you so good, baby, i promise.” he murmurs.

a moan accidentally leaves your mouth, making steve smirk.

“you have no idea what you do to me.” he says quietly.

your stomach twists violently.

he kisses you again suddenly, hard enough to make you stumble slightly back into the wall. steve catches you immediately, one hand sliding firmly to your waist while the other moves instinctively up your back, holding you against him.

feeling him hard against you like this makes your brain go completely foggy.

you make this tiny involuntary sound against his mouth and steve groans immediately.

“fuck, don’t do that.” his forehead presses against yours again briefly while he breathes hard. “i swear i’m trying to behave.”

the words send another rush of heat through you.

steve’s hands are everywhere.

your waist.

your hips.

your boobs.

your ass.

his fingers hook briefly at the waistband of your shorts while his forehead presses against yours.

“baby,” he mutters breathlessly, half laughing from how overwhelmed he is. “you are making it very hard for me to think.”

“please, steve.” you whisper.

steve groans softly into your mouth, hands tightening at your hips before he steps back just enough to look at you properly.

his chest is rising hard, eyes dark and fixed on you like he’s gone.

then, slower this time, giving you every chance to stop him, his fingers slide more firmly against your waistband.

you nod before he even asks. steve’s eyes flick up to yours immediately at that, visibly affected by the trust in it.

“yeah?” he murmurs.

you nod again, breathless.

he pulls your shorts down quickly but carefully, hands warm against your thighs as he kisses you again immediately after, like he can’t go more than two seconds without your mouth now.

suddenly his hands are under your thighs and he lifts you effortlessly.

you gasp softly in surprise, instinctively wrapping your legs around his waist while steve steadies you against him immediately, one arm securely beneath your ass while the other tangles into your hair.

“hi.” he says breathlessly, looking up at you with this dizzy little smile.

you laugh softly despite everything. “show-off.”

“absolutely.”

his forehead bumps lightly against yours before he kisses you again slower this time, deeper, and god, being this close to him feels dangerous.

your fingers slide through his hair while steve walks you both backward blindly, unable to stop kissing you long enough to care where he’s going.

his hands grip your thighs tighter every time you react to him.

every shaky breath, little sound, it’s driving him insane.

he kisses you again before you can hide your face, smiling softly against your mouth when you laugh into the kiss too.

but the smile fades quickly because the way you’re looking at him now, warm and wanting and completely overwhelmed, absolutely wrecks him.

his grip tightens slightly beneath your thighs as his eyes drag over your face as he starts moving.

your legs stay wrapped around steve’s waist while he carries you through the hallway toward the kitchen, one arm locked securely beneath your ass again.

steve kisses you like he’s starving.

there’s barely any talking anymore, just breathless sounds between kisses and hands grabbing desperately at each other like neither of you can get close enough.

his mouth never really leaves yours as he carries you down the hallway toward the kitchen, your legs wrapped tightly around his waist while your fingers stay tangled in his hair.

every few steps he stops walking completely just to kiss you harder, sloppier.

and every single time you react to him, steve groans softly against your mouth like it’s driving him insane.

his grip tightens beneath your thighs when you pull at his hair.

by the time he gets you into the kitchen, both of you are breathing hard.

the tension between you feels overwhelming now, hot and messy and impossible to stop.

steve backs you gently against the counter for half a second just so he can pull away long enough to get his belt undone. his eyes never leave yours while he does it.

you can hear the buckle clink against the kitchen floor a second later before he impatiently pushes his jeans down and kicks them aside.

“gonna make you feel better than that asshole ever did.” steve whispers.

“steve!” you scoff.

then he’s right back against you again instantly.

his mouth crashes into yours again while his hands slide under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the kitchen counter.

you gasp softly into the kiss at the sudden movement. steve swallows the sound immediately.

one hand braces beside you against the counter while the other grips your waist firmly, pulling you right to the edge until he’s standing between your knees.

“you’re so goddamn perfect, baby. been dreaming about you like this for so long.” he praises.

leaning down, steve captures one rosy peak between his lips, suckling hard. his other hand trails lower, teasing along the waistband of your panties.

with a swift tug, steve removes your last scrap of clothing, your panties, baring you completely to his hungry gaze.

he sits you up easily on the cool marble countertop, nudging your legs apart to stand between them. his palms skim up your thighs, leaving goosebumps in their wake, before coming to rest on your hips.

“look at you,” steve rasped, voice thick with lust. “so fucking pretty f’me. can't believe this is really happening.”

“steve, please.” you plead, your body almost shaking in need.

he lays a large hand on your stomach, kinda laying you down a bit on your elbows to see your body better, spreading open for him.

“been thinking about this, about me, haven't you?” steve asks bluntly between open-mouthed kisses on your torso.

“mhm.” you nod pathetically.

“mhm?” steve slightly mocks you, pouting and eyebrows frowning as he hums.

steve’s hand leaves your hips to softly circle your swollen clit with the pad of his thumb, applying just enough pressure to make you gasp and your back arch.

he watches, transfixed, as your back arches off the counter, pressing your breasts towards him. the sight of you, lost in pleasure, it's probably the most erotic thing steve’s ever seen.

“let me hear ya’.” steve encourages huskily, increasing the pressure of his thumb on you. “wanna know how i make you feel.”

“so g-good, steve.” your voice fails as a soft gasp interrupts you, you grab onto his free big forearm.

steve leans in to capture your lips in a filthy kiss, all tongues and teeth and desperation.

he can feel how close you are, your walls closing around nothing but steve pulls back just as you teeter on the brink, denying you that release.

a wicked grin spreads across his face at your whimper of frustration.

“steve! why’d you stop?!” you whine.

steve just leaves that stupid hot grin on his face and lowers it between your legs. his warm and soft respiration hitting your sensitive wet folds.

slowly and torturously, he drags the flat of his tongue through your dripping slit, from entrance to clit. steve seals his lips around your clit and sucks gently.

“ah- fuc- more to the left. ughnhn- oh my god, there!” you guide steve, messy moans interrupting you constantly.

the feeling of your thighs clamping around steve’s head, holding him in place, only spurs him on. steve groans into your core, the vibrations intensifying the pleasure.

he maintains the slow yet effective soft licks on your clit, alternating between kitten licks and gentle sucks.

“you’re fucking soaked.” steve groans, words vibrating against your flesh.

your legs tremble around his head, your breath coming in increasingly shallow pants, your fingers threading through steve’s hair… you’re really close.

“almost- almost there.” you manage to say, holding on to steve’s hair for dear life.

steve’s tongue locks on your clit with singular focus, sealing his lips around the sensitive nub and sucking hard, pushing you to your limit.

“that’s it, baby. let go f’me.” he groans against your flesh, interrupting the amount of pleasure you were receiving from his tongue.

“don’t stop, steve.” you push his head against your wet folds.

steve smiles at your words and increases the suction on your clit again, feeling your body tensing, your muscles pulling. your thighs clamp tighter around his head, holding him in place as your orgasm crashes over agressively.

“oh my god, f-fuckck. fuck, steveeee.” your moans come out slurred and loud.

steve hums against your core. “mm baby.” his lips moving on your clit as he lazily speaks.

he works you through the aftershocks, his touches gentling as he feels your body relax under his touch. finally, he places one last kiss on your pussy, before pulling away to admire his work.

you, flushed and panting, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips. steve’s hands settle on your hips, thumbs rubbing small circles on your hipbones as he gazes at you with undisguised hunger.

“god, you're beautiful like this.” he murmurs against your lips, voice rough. “coming undone for me...”

“need more of you, steve.” you say, still panting, thighs clenching at the thought of his cock inside you. “please.”

“yeah?” steve’s voice comes out husky and rough.

you can feel his hardness grinding on your leg.

“c’mere.” he whispers, grabbing the back of your legs to get you off the counter gently. “turn around f’me.”

you quickly spin around, bending over the cold marble countertop. steve presses his chest to your back and leans down to nip at your earlobe.

“how’d i get so lucky with you? god.” steve’s voice causing you goosebumps all over your body. “gonna take you from behind right here, baby. that’ okay?”

“mhm. yes, steve. please.” you desperately agree.

he carefully kicks your legs apart and grinds his clothed erection against your bare bottom, letting you feel how hard he is for you. one hand slides around to rub tight circles on your clit while the other grips your hip possessively.

your soft desperate moans whenever he touches you are music to steve’s ears.

with a smirk, steve hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his boxers and slowly peels them down his hips. as more of his dick comes into view, steve hears your breath hitch.

your head gently turns to look behind you and watch him get undressed.

finally, steve steps out of the fabric pooled around his ankles, his big cock springing free, already leaking at the tip. he strokes the length from base to crown a few times without taking his eyes off of you.

“fuck…” you talk out loud without realizing, looking at his cock completely dumbfounded by his size.

you lock eyes with steve and then with his dick once more. he lets you drink in the sight. the thick, veiny shaft, the swollen purple head already glistening with precum, the heavy sack beneath.

at your continued silence, he raises an eyebrow. “i’ll go slow, baby.”

steve steps even closer, kissing your neck, the thick length of his erection sliding along the cleft of your ass, leaving a trail of precum in its wake.

then, he presses the bulbous head of his dick against your entrance. you can’t help but feel guilty for comparing his size to tyler’s. the difference is stark, almost intimidating.

steve takes a deep breath, reining in his overwhelming urge to simply slam into you.

with a low, rumbling groan, he positions himself at your entrance once more. gripping your hips for leverage, steve begins to push forward, breaching your slick folds with agonizing slowness. the flared head of his cock parts your labia, sinking into your tight heat inch by excruciating inch.

“fuuuuck, baby.” he hisses through clenched teeth. “so goddamn tight. relax for me, sweetheart. breathe and let me in.”

“steve steve steve, fuck!” you moan and grab at his hand on your hips for stability as steve continues his torturously slow advance, pausing frequently to allow your body time to adjust.

with each tiny increment, he can feel you stretching around his cock, accommodating to his size. steve’s fingers dig more into the flesh of your hips, anchoring himself as he struggles for control.

finally, after what feels like an eternity, steve’s heavy balls nestle against your clit. he stays still, savoring the sensation of being fully sheathed inside your cunt.

“holy shit, you feel fucking amazing, babe.” steve groans, voice strained with the effort of holding back. “made for my cock.”

slowly, he starts to move, withdrawing until just the tip remains inside you before pushing back in. steve sets a deep, rolling rhythm, each thrust hitting you deep.

“‘s too much, steve…” you gasp at the feeling.

“i know… i know, baby. take it.” he whispers through clenched teeth again.

the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin fills the kitchen, punctuated by mingled moans.

steve leans over you, covering your smaller frame with his larger one. one hand snakes up to wrap loosely around your throat, applying the barest hint of pressure as the other seeks out your clit, rubbing tight circles around the sensitive nub.

“fuuuuuuuck, steve- oh my god, m’ steve!” you moan, your voice kinda strained as steve grabs your throat tighter.

steve’s hips snap forward with increasing force, the wet squelch of your pussy, the slap of flesh on flesh echoing through the room.

he looks down to your ass hitting his hips with every thrust only to see a white ring around his cock, both of your juices mixing together. that almost sends him to the edge, a feral grin spreads across steve’s face at the sight.

“fuck, look at that.” he rasps. “you’re dripping on me, sweetheart.”

you can’t look but you know exactly what steve is referring to.

“feels so good, steve.” you pant.

“yeah?” steve groans, giving your ass a sharp slap. “my perfect little cockdrunk girl.”

his grip on your hip loosens slightly, becoming more caressing than bruising. steve’s fingers on your clit speed up, rubbing tight, fast circles.

“you're doing so well, taking me so deep.” he praises huskily.

he maintains the deep thrusts. the hand on your throat slides up to tangle in your hair, tugging your head back slightly as he leans in to nip and suck at the column of your neck.

unable to speak, you arch your back and press yourself against steve.

his hand comes down to deliver a sharp smack to your jiggling ass cheek. the stinging impact seems to spur you on, your cunt clamping down around steve like a vice.

“oooh- fuck, just like that!” he groans, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor.

“steve!” you moan out his name.

the sound of his name falling from your lips in ecstasy sends a bolt of pure lust straight to steve’s cock.

“i’m gonna- oh fuck, steve!” you gasp as steve thrusts.

“gonna what, baby? talk to me. fuuuuuck.”

feeling your body tensing, hearing the breathy warning in your voice, steve knows you’re so so so close. with a final burst of energy, he redoubles his efforts, hips jackhammering into you at a perfect pace.

“cumming, steve. god, you’re cock feels so good.” you let every word come out of you with each thrust of his hips.

the coil of tension in steve’s gut winds tighter and tighter, his thrusts growing erratic. he can feel your walls fluttering around his cock.

“let go, cum for me, baby.”

“oooh fuck! steve!” you throw your head back and scream in pleasure as your orgasm crashes over you, your body convulsing.

your inner muscles clamp down on steve’s throbbing dick, rippling and squeezing as wave after wave of intense pleasure courses through.

the feeling of your pussy squeezing him is too much to bear. with a moan of your name, steve buries himself to the hilt inside you, thick cock pulsing as he explodes inside you.

“fuck, fuck, fuck!” steve groans, hands squeezing your ass.

jet after jet of hot, thick cum paints your inner walls, flooding your insides with steve. he grinds against you, working his release deeper.

steve collapses forward, blanketing your form with his larger one as he rides out the aftershocks, his softening cock still twitching weakly inside your pussy.

“fuck…” you whisper, breath already slowing down.

now, the refrigerator hums, outside, a car passes down the street.

steve’s hand moves to your waist absentmindedly, thumb brushing back and forth like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. honestly, he probably doesn’t, he’s always touching you. the difference is that now you’re both painfully aware of it.

you swallow. “say something.”

that finally gets a real smile out of him.

“can’t really talk right now to be honest.” he laughs. “still… still coming back from what we just did.”

you smile at that, putting your back against his chest, kissing his jawline.

for a second neither of you says anything.

then steve exhales softly. “we’ll figure it out.”

you look at him. “you don’t even know what ‘it’ is.”

“doesn’t matter.”

the answer comes so fast it almost makes you laugh. “steve-”

“i’m serious.” his eyes don’t leave yours. “we’ll figure it out.”

and maybe it’s ridiculous.

maybe the entire night is ridiculous.

but standing there with him looking at you like that, so certain.

for the first time since tyler knocked on that door…

you almost believe it too.

note: omggggg this took me so LONG to write but i hope it was worth it 😭😭 tagging everyone who asked to be tagged !!

They played in your head like a broken record, over and over, and over again. From the moment you woke up and saw his soft sleepy face, to the moment he kissed you goodnight. It was deafening.

You punished yourself every day in your mind for being such a coward but you didn’t want to put your heart on the line. Even though, whether you said the words to him or not, they were still very much true.

The longer you waited, the more the doubt set in. Because sure, you hadn’t said it, but neither had he. And Steve was a confident guy – surely if he felt it, he would just say it… right?

Another month went by and you pushed the words down so hard that they were starting to push back. Like they had developed a mind of their own and were trying to claw their way out. But now you didn’t even want to say it, not when you felt like you wouldn’t hear those words reflected back at you.

It took every ounce of self control to keep the lid on your feelings, especially in moments when the filter between your heart and your mouth felt more permeable.

In the morning before the weight of the day set in.

At night as you drifted off, the line of reality and dreams becoming blurred.

Or when you had sex.

Because it didn’t feel like just sex – it felt like making love.

He’d get so deep inside you it felt like he was physically pushing the words out all the way from the pit of your stomach, up out your throat. He’d press his forehead against yours, his mouth over your gaping one, like he could breathe in the words if you let him. And the things that Steve would say to you during did not quell your feelings in the slightest.

I love how you feel around me.

That’s it, that’s my girl.

Love those sounds you make, baby.

It was like he was taunting you with words so close to what you wanted – needed – to hear.

In those moments, you only allowed yourself restrained whimpers as you felt Steve invade every crevasse of your physical body and your spiritual soul, worried what might slip out if you fully let yourself go.

“Steve,” you gasped out one time.

Steve’s hips ground into yours, brushing against your aching nub and gummy walls with each thrust.

“What is it, baby?” He asked not to tease you, but with genuine care and curiosity.

Steve always wanted to make you feel good. It made your heart light up in your chest as you felt heat course through you.

“I–ugh–I lo–“

Your orgasm cut you off, making you moan out something completely unintelligible. You narrowly avoided the embarrassment of confessing your love to Steve during sex. But it was getting harder and harder not to say it each time.

You came back down to earth to see Steve laying next to you with the most radiant smile across his lips. For a split second you thought he might say it. Something in the way his eyes traced your face, lingering on each of your features. His lips parted like he was going to say something.

Then he leaned over, pecked your lips and said; “goodnight.”

One afternoon, Steve was making sandwiches for the two of you. Sunlight streamed in the tiny window above the sink as his broad shoulders took up most of the space of his kitchen. You sat at the counter watching as he carefully assembled whatever weird combination of ingredients he had recently discovered.

“You’re gonna love it,” he assured you.

I love you, you thought.

He sat the plate down in front of you, gave you a soft kiss on your temple, before sitting himself on the stool next to you, his knee brushing yours in a way that felt so natural.

He tucked into his sandwich immediately but you just stared at yours.

It was also in these kind of comfortable domestic moments where you felt it even stronger. When it felt like you had known him for eternity and eternity would never be long enough.

“I know it looks kinda gross, but trust me, you–“

“–Steve, I love you.”

It just came out.

Your tone wasn’t romantic or loving, it was matter of fact, like you were telling him the time. You didn’t even look at him, just kept looking at the sandwich.

“What?” Steve said through his mouthful.

Definitely not the reaction you wanted. You almost wondered if you just thought you said it but what came out was actually complete gibberish.

You whined, collapsing your head into your hands. “I love you,” you said again.

This time it was shakier like you were uncertain. Not of how you felt, but of how he would react.

Nothing came out of Steve’s mouth except for chewing noises.

It felt like hours passed before he finally spoke. “Shit.”

Okay that was definitely worse than the first time.

Steve got up from his stool and started pacing as much as he could in the confined space of the kitchen. You slowly lifted your head from your hands, peeking out from under them to look at him but he wouldn’t meet your gaze.

“I’m such an idiot,” he said to himself.

You just looked at him confused and panicked.

“Steve–“

“–Are you being serious?” He finally turned to you.

Your eyes went wide, a choked laugh of disbelief exited your throat before you could stop it.

“What kind of question is that?” You shot back at him, your voice stern but your eyes started welling up.

“You’re in love with me?” Steve said like it was a question. His eyes were glassy also but his brows were drawn together like curtains he was trying to hide behind.

You took a deep breath before you answered. “Yes.”

“Since when?”

You groaned in annoyance, again with the questions. You didn’t want to escalate an already tense situation so you decided to just answer, then maybe he’d stop and at least let you down easy the rest of the way.

“Probably since the first time we kissed.” You felt embarrassed admitting just how long you’d let Steve live in your heart while you were just a guest in his.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered as he ran his palms over his face.

“Okay, look,” you said, sliding off the stool. Its legs scraped along the tiles gratingly. “I’m, uh, I’m just gonna go.” Your eyes never left your feet.

“Hey, no, no, no. Wait!” Steve’s hand reached out to grab your forearm.

Every wrinkle of your brain told you to rip it away from him, but every beat of your heart told you to stay.

Against your better judgement, you listened to your heart and turned back to him. You could hardly see his features through the tears in your eyes.

“I have fucked this up so bad, just–“ he took a deep breath, “give me a second.”

You did, you stood there looking at him, just letting him hold your beating heart in his hands, waiting for him to rip it apart.

Steve placed his hands on your shoulders and gazed deep into your eyes like he was looking for something in them.

“Do you mean it? Everything? That you’ve been in love with me this whole time?”

“Yes.” Your voice trembled as you spoke.

“Like, love, love?”

“God damnit, Steve.” You shook his hands off you. “How many times are you going to make me say it! Yes, I love you, okay? But right now I feel like I wanna fucking kill yo–“

Steve lurched forward, his hands enveloped the sides of your face as he pressed his lips to yours. You stumbled back in shock. You couldn’t even kiss back, you were too stunned, confused, and you were still crying.

Steve pulled back after a moment, he wiped a tear that fell from your eye with his thumb and you hated how much you instinctively leaned into his touch.

“I love you too,” he said, his voice soft but certain.

“What?”

Much like Steve’s reaction before, you were slightly caught off guard by his confession.

He leant his forehead against yours. “I am so sorry I freaked out, this is so not how I wanted this to go.”

“Yeah, me neither,” you said as you stepped back from him. “What the hell was that about?”

It was your turn to ask the questions. Not quite ready to move on from the ordeal Steve put you through for the last few minutes.

He sighed, his head hung low towards the floor. “I wanted to be sure you really meant it,” he said quietly.

“I wouldn’t say it if I didn’t.”

“Well I’ve heard those words before and they didn’t mean shit.”

You knew about his past relationships, knew he had been hurt before, but you had no idea he still carried that weight around so heavily. As much as that made your chest tighten, you were hurt that Steve had let it shift on to you.

“Steve, do not take your insecurities out on me.”

Steve looked up when he heard the crack in your voice.

“I know, I’m sorry.” He closed the gap between you again, reaching carefully for your hand in case you pulled away – you didn't. “I didn’t mean to I– I was just scared.”

“Scared of what?”

“That you didn’t love me like I love you or that you’d say it and then…” Steve’s voice trailed off, like he was finding it hard to truly articulate the worries swirling around his head.

“Hey…” you reached a soft hand up to his cheek. “I’m not gonna leave you.”

Steve smiled at how you somehow could decipher the mess in his mind, but it quickly dropped into a frown.

“You say that now, but–“

“–Steve,” you interrupted. “The time we’ve had together,” you started, bringing your other hand up to cradle his face and force his eyes to lock to yours. “Has been the most amazing time of my whole life. God, I can’t even remember what it was like before I loved you, and I don’t want to imagine what it would be like after.”

That soft smile was back on Steve’s trembling lips.

“I don’t want there to be an after,” he said.

“There doesn’t have to be.”

You leant into each other like magnets, pressing your foreheads together.

Steve took a few deep breaths to center himself, feeling your presence anchor him. “Can we try this again?”

You giggled, “sure.”

You stepped away from Steve and composed yourself as much as you could, but the smile plastered on your face took over. You took his hand in yours and held it tight to your chest, right over your heart.

You opened your mouth to speak but Steve beat you to it this time.

“My sweet girl,” he tucked your hair behind your ear with his free hand, “I love you, so much.”

The moment made you instantly forget the panic that you felt just a minute ago.

“I love you too.”

As you said it this time, your voice was unwavering. There was no anxiety laced through it, just pure, reciprocated love.

When Steve crashed his lips to yours again, you didn’t miss a beat before kissing him back. His strong hands cradled your face as you ran yours all the way up from his elbows to the hair that fell over the nape of his neck. You were both smiling into the kiss as Steve walked you back to the kitchen counter. As soon as it dug into your back you gasped, opening your mouth, which Steve took as an opportunity to brush his tongue past your lips. His hands fell down to your hips to press you tightly against him.

“I love you,” Steve said between heated kisses, “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

You giggled agaisnt his lips as he kept up his loving words. “You don’t have to keep saying it.”

Steve broke away to look deep into your eyes. “Yeah I do. I’ve got all these ‘I love you’s built up inside me, I’ve gotta get them out.”

He lifted you up onto the kitchen counter but you were constantly tugging him towards your lips by the hair, he struggled to get you up. Steve’s hands flattened out over your thighs as he stood between your legs. His palms spread warmth over the exposed skin that your shorts didn't reach. You stroked your hands through his hair as the kiss intensified. Deep breaths into each other's mouths, little whines of satisfaction and wanting more. You reluctantly pulled back, Steve’s mouth tried to chase yours but you held his face between your hands.

There was one more question you had to ask. “When did you know?”

Steve was a little frazzled from your kisses and didn't quite pick up what you were saying at first.

So you elaborated, “I told you when I fell in love with you, now you have to tell me.”

Steve’s eyes lit up like he could see the memory replaying in his mind. “Do you remember when I picked you up for our first date?”

“Yeah, I recall,” you said, smiling uncontrollably wide.

“Do you remember tripping on the porch step?”

“Oh my God!” You brought your hands up to cover your face. “I was so embarrassed! I couldn’t stop thinking about it the whole night.”

Steve gently moved your hands out the way and kept them in his as he continued, “it was then.”

You looked at him with slight disbelief but mostly with complete awe.

“I just felt something when you grabbed my arm and I held you to stop you from falling face first into the gravel.” Steve chuckled and you mirrored the infectious sound. “I guess it was really me that fell, ‘cause I fell in love with you right there and then.”

“You mean,” you started speaking but had to pause for a second as you felt your mind, and heart, processing what Steve just said. “We’ve both been totally in love with each other since our first date and neither of us said anything?”

“Looks that way,” Steve shrugged.

“Wow, we are such idiots.”

“I think I prefer the term ‘hopeless romantics’.”

Steve’s hands snaked around your back, rubbing you through the soft fabric of your cotton t-shirt that was actually his.

You wrapped your legs tightly around him as you both pressed hard into each other. Steve leant slowly back in to kiss you, but you spoke before he could get there.

“Wait, you knew you were in love with me when you picked me up, but you waited all the way until you dropped me home to just kiss me?”

“Hey, I’m a gentleman. Isn’t that one of the things you love about me?”

“One of many.”

“Tell me more.”

Steve’s lips connected with yours again in a long, hot press of his supple lips.

“Well, I really love that,” you said.

“What about this…”

Steve gave the same treatment to your neck, just below your jaw. You felt the heat of his mouth radiate through you.

“Oh yeah, love that.”

“And this?”

Steve’s hips circled over yours and you felt the subtle hardness in his jeans press into your core.

Your eyes fluttered shut, a content sigh left your lips.

“Yeah, you love that,” Steve said on your behalf.

You matched his rhythm as you ground your hips against him. The denim of his crotch, rough over the thin material of your shorts.

“God, do you know the amount of times I had to stop myself from screaming ‘I love you’ during sex,” Steve said into your ear, his voice lower than before.

“Fuck, me too.”

You both rubbed agaisnt each other harder at the realisation that you had been holding back, and that you didn’t have to anymore.

“I love you, I’m gonna tell you all the fucking time, baby.”

You whined, whether from his words or the way pressure was building in your core, you didn't know, but it felt so good.

“Ugh, Steve, I love you too. Don’t ever stop saying it.”

Your hands roughly travelled up under Steve’s shirt and he took it as a signal that you wanted it off. You were both still desperately grinding on each other like you couldn’t even wait to get your clothes off to feel each other.

Steve then made quick work of your shirt, throwing it to join his in a pile on the tiled floor.

“I want you,” he murmured agaisnt your mouth before opening it wide over yours, making you do the same.

“Show me how much you love me, Stevie.”

The feeling of his hot hands running up your back to the clasp of your bra sent electricity all the way to your fingers and toes.

You two were so in your own world that you must not have heard the sound of keys jiggling in the lock of the front door to the small apartment.

“Woah!”

You both froze as you heard Robin’s distinctive voice enter the room. The front door opened straight into the living room, the small kitchen in full view. It must have been quite a sight to behold. You and Steve, both shirtless, hands grabbing, hips moving.

“Robin!” Steve yelled, using his bare torso to cover yours.

“You guys know we have bedrooms here, right?” She said, not sounding too fazed by what she walked in on. She had caught the two of you in far more compromising positions.

“Sorry Robin,” you said, although your voice held little remorse. “We got a bit excited.”

“Yeah, I can see that.” Robin gestured towards Steve’s very obvious hard on in his jeans.

“Shit,” he muttered turning back to you to try and hide it.

“We just, uh, love each other a lot,” you told her, wanting to share the moment with the person who was witness to yours and Steve’s relationship as it bloomed.

“Wait, he finally said it?” Robin asked with a delighted look on her face.

“Well, she said it and then I was a total dickhead about it–“ Steve responded.

“–Total dickhead,” you added.

“But yeah, we said it.” Steve pecked your lips. “I have been telling Robin how crazy I am about you since that first date,” he said to you, his face close to yours like you were the only two people in the room.

“Really?” You asked him.

“Oh yeah, he’s been completely insufferable,” Robin confirmed, reminding you she was in fact still there.

“Aw,” you cooed at Steve.

You cupped his face and brought his lips to yours again, the rest of the world fading around you as you kissed him hungrily.

“Okay,” Robin clapped her hands together but it didn’t seem to have any effect on the two of you.

She turned around but could unfortunately still very much hear the sound of your lips smacking together.

“As happy as I am for you guys, I really don’t want to be in the building for whatever is about to, or is currently happening. So, why don’t I make myself scarce for, like, half an hour–“

“–An hour.” Steve broke away from you for a split second to correct her.

“Wow, okay, sure, whatever.” Robin walked back to the front door, grabbing her keys and opening it. “Just please, promise me you won’t do it there, that’s where we eat.”

“Promise,” you assured her, Steve’s lips now attacking your neck.

“Later, love birds!”

The door clicked shut and Steve let out a deep moan like he had been holding it in.

“Steve… C’mom, let’s take this to the bedroom.”

“No, here’s good.”

“I promised Robin,“ you whined reluctantly as you pushed his chest slightly away from you.

”I didn’t,” Steve smirked.

“She’s right, we eat here.” You gestured towards the kitchen island you sat atop. Steve’s half eaten sandwich to your left and your untouched one to your right.

A mischievous grin spread across Steve’s face.

“In that case,” he tugged at the waistband of your shorts, you in no way protested as he pulled them down and off your legs. “I better do this.”

Steve lowered himself to his knees, his eyes never leaving yours as he did. He placed a soft kiss to one of your knees before planting his large hands on the inside of your thighs and opening you up more.

As Steve’s head closed in on your core, you grabbed his hair, your other hand behind you on the cool worktop, allowing you to tilt your pelvis out for him. Nothing in your body told him you wanted him to stop, even if you were still hesitant with your words.

“Robin could walk back in.”

Steve placed a kiss to the damp patch in your underwear and held his face there as he hummed against you, the subtle vibrations flowing right through you.

“She won’t be back for an hour,” he mumbled, not quite able to move away from the part of you he was so close to tasting. “And I plan on spending that whole hour showing you just how much I love you.”

Steve’s hands moved up to pull your panties from your hips, down your thighs and off to join the pile of clothing that was building up. You were now completely naked in Steve’s kitchen, exposed to him in such a way that if it was anyone else you might feel shy. But Steve moaned just at the sight of you spread out for him. He was quickly back on you with his head between your legs, his hands on your thighs. You with your hands in his hair, pulling him closer against you. His mouth was hot, wet, desperate – just like you.

Something about knowing Steve loved you as he tasted you made it feel so much more euphoric, like you could feel the words on his tongue. It really didn’t take long for Steve to get you close to completely unravelling. Now that you didn’t fear the words escaping, you were much more vocal.

“God, Steve, ugh, that feels so good, you’re so good to me.”

And that seemed to make Steve even more ravenous.

“Want you to say it when you come, baby. I need to hear you say it.”

“I’ve wanted to for so long–ugh, fuck, I’m so close just like that Stevie, yes!

He sucked on your sensitive nub, every so often dropping his tounge to your hole, teasing it and tasting how he was making you feel.

“Steve… ah! I’m gonna come–ugh–I love you so much, so, so much.”

Steve mumbled, “I love you too”, against you as you came. Not that you could really make out what he was saying, but you got the idea.

He kissed your folds, along the inside of your thighs, before getting back up to face you at the same level.

“I do think I’m gonna need the bed for this next part,” he said with his mouth glistening.

“Oh really?”

“Hmm,” Steve hummed as he nuzzled his nose agaisnt yours. “I’m going to make slow, deep, passionate love to you.” He kissed you to share the taste of you. “I just wanna drown in you.”

Any air you had regained in your lungs seemed to leave it at his words.

“Steve.” You spoke his name like it was the only word left in your vocabulary.

He smiled against your lips as he lifted you off the counter and into his arms. You wrapped your legs around his waist and kissed him all the way to the bedroom.

When Robin returned, just over an hour later, she peaked throguh the front door hesitantly. She breathed a sigh of relief as she found nothing but the empty living room and kitchen. That was until she saw the pile of clothes on the kitchen tiles, your underwear at the top.

“These freaks,” she whispered to herself as she realised you definitely didn’t keep your promise.

She then heard a loud, ‘fuck’, come from Steve’s room, followed by a down right pornographic moan that was obviously you.

“Nope,” Robin said out loud to the empty room.

Once again, she grabbed her keys and hurried out the door.

“I really need to move out,” she muttered as she clicked the door shut, leaving the chorus of moans and expletives behind.

A/N: as if I got to over 400 followers before I got a chance to thank you guys for 300??? You lot are crazy I love it <3

Taglist: @ribeiroteresa97 @purpleeyeswithgoldensparkles @delightfuldreamer09

The humidity was too high? He was annoyed. The Colts didn’t win a game? He was sulking. The universe didn’t align to his every whim and need? He was pissed and he was going to make it everyone else’s problem.

And tonight, this was your issue, because you were scheduled to work the closing shift with Steve.

Great.

Robin says something to him that you don’t hear before slipping out of the booth, scurrying over to where you’re hanging your belongings up on the coatrack and hurriedly whispers, “He was up all night trying to find Dustin again, got no sleep. Rare form today.”

“I don’t understand how you’re friends with him,” you whisper back, letting your purse fall to the ground. “He’s an asshole, Rob.”

She makes a face, tilting her hand back and forth in the air as if to say, well…

“Steve’s a good guy when you get to know him,” she settles on saying. “Anyway, I have to run or I’ll miss my date. Have fun, be nice, and don’t kill each other, alright?”

“No promises,” you mutter, and Robin laughs as she skips out the door.

Steve is, if possible, even more irate when you slip into the booth, avoiding eye contact and gunning for the chair, hoping to keep conversation to the minimum for the next six hours.

He, on the other hand, has no such desire.

“Do you not know how to show up to work on time?” he huffs out. “Seriously, a couple of minutes is one thing, but half an hour—”

“And spend more time with your sparkling personality than I have to?” you snap without looking at him. “I think not. Besides, it’s not as though I suddenly have control over what the hell the military is doing.”

“It’s called planning,” he snarks.

You breathe in, once, sharply, and bite your tongue.

But Steve isn’t content to simply drop it, the way he’s never been content to drop it. And honestly, you don’t pretend to understand the intricacies of his life; You understand that he looks out for a bunch of kids, that one of them is in a coma, that another one is going off the deep end and taking all of his grief out on Steve. And at one point in time, that would’ve been more than enough for you to give him your deepest sympathies, to extend a level of grace only given to the most extreme of cases.

Except—

Then you’d met Steve, and he’d taken one look at you, wrinkled his nose, and asked Robin, “Did we really need to hire someone else?”

Your relationship hadn’t been anything better than adversarial ever since.

“—could take your job a little more seriously,” he continues to rant. “It’s not exactly like we’re flush with cash around here, and it’s not like there’s a shortage of people looking for jobs—”

The chair you’re sitting in scrapes against the floor as you stand abruptly, whirling around to find Steve standing entirely too close.

You see red, demanding, “God, what will it take for you to just shut up?”

Steve grins. “You could suck my dick.”

There’s a moment where the two of you are left standing there, chest to chest, nose to nose, and you can see the dare in his eyes. The tension in his shoulders, the set of his jaw. The fact that he doesn’t actually mean it, but he wants to push your buttons, to get you to react more than you ever have before.

He doesn’t have any intentions on you calling his bluff, and you’re determined to not lose this game.

“Fine,” you say sweetly. You move past him, snagging his wrist as you do. “But not in here. I don’t think Robin would be too happy if she found out.”

For the first time tonight, Steve doesn’t have a response. He doesn’t even fight you as you drag him along to a nearby closet, yanking the door open, shoving him in, and slamming it shut behind you. The room is plunged into darkness and you feel your way over to him, your fingers grazing the soft material of his sweatshirt. 

His hands find your waist, skimming up your sides until his palms are pressed into your cheeks, his breath hot on your lips, but before he can get any bright ideas, you say, “I said I’d suck your dick, not make out with you.”

You can practically feel his frown as he shifts his hands back, tangling them with your hair. 

“Fine,” he says shortly. “Then do it.”

That’s all the warning you get before you’re pushed to your knees.

You don’t waste any time reaching for his belt, undoing it with shaky hands as he continues to run his fingers through your hair, tugging at the roots the smallest amount when you pull his jeans and boxers down just enough to take him in hand.

A gasp gets caught in your throat when, even half hard, your thumb and pointer finger barely meet.

He lets out a throaty laugh. “Find something you like?”

“Fuck you.”

His fingers tighten in your hair. “Do you ever shut up? God.”

And as his thumb traces a path down your jaw, stopping just as it reaches your lips, you spit out, “Make me.”

His grip on your chin tightens as his thumb dips between your teeth, pressing down on your tongue and drawing your mouth open. Spit pools as you give him a few rough pumps, the tip of his cock jutting against your chin. He drops his other hand, then, placing it over yours as he taps the tip against your lips.

“Not so mouthy now, are you?” he says, pulling his thumb back and guiding himself in.

The heady taste of precome spreads across your tastebuds as he sinks into your mouth, his cock sliding over your tongue as you take him deeper. He lets out a low grunt, and for a moment, you wish that you’d had the foresight to turn the light on so you could see the face he’s making as he hits the back of your throat.

You gag and he lets out a quiet whimper as you pull back, instinctively looking up and wishing that he could see you as well. But even just hearing the sounds he’s making — you can imagine the wrecked look on his face, the flush spreading across his cheeks, and it’s enough to have arousal coursing through your own body.

(Because even though he acts like he has the power in this situation, you both know well enough that you’re the one wielding the proverbial blade.)

He guides you back down, muttering a curse when you take him just a little bit deeper, swallowing down your gag reflex as your hand twists around the base of his cock. 

And for all of the hell you gave him over everything, you find that you don’t quite mind letting him set the pace. There’s something intoxicating about the precome spilling onto your tongue as you hollow your cheeks, smiling when he moans, and all at once, he grips you by the roots of your hair and thrusts in.

“You can take it,” he grunts. “Fucking know you can. Always mouthing off, always getting in my business — well you’re all quiet now, yeah?”

Despite yourself, you nod, your hands sliding down to hold his thighs as he fucks your face, tears welling int he corners of your eyes. It should be humiliating to let yourself be used like this, to let your asshole coworker treat your body like an object for his own pleasure, but it’s hard to feel embarrassed when all of this is turning you on as well.

One tear slips down your cheek, and then two, and in a move that’ll no doubt have you reeling for weeks, his hand finds its way to your face, his thumb gently wiping away the wetness gathered there, even as he continues to use your mouth for his own pleasure.

“Just like that,” he says, voice dropping. “You like this, don’t you?”

You hum around his cock, wrapping your arm around his leg to pull him in even closer, to take him even deeper. He swears loudly when the tip of your nose brushes against his bush, and you only manage to hold him there for a few seconds before you’re forced to release, dizzy as you gasp for air.

You sit there, panting, and before Steve can even move, you pull him back closer, desperate to take him even deeper — to take him all the way — to have the exhilarating feeling of choking on his cock pull you further into the depravity you’ve found yourself in. He makes a noise of surprise when you repeat the motion, your nose pressing into his pelvis as he mutters fuck fuck fuck, and you whine when he pulls you off.

“You wanna choke on it that bad, huh?” he asks, condescending and sweet at the same time. “Wanna cry some more for me?”

“Fuck you,” you say, already reaching for his cock again.

But he doesn’t let you.

One hand grips your hair even tighter as he tilts your head back while the other slaps the tip of his cock against your lips, saying, “Open up for me. Gonna see what that bratty mouth of yours can do, yeah? Gonna make me feel good?”

He doesn’t give you a chance to respond, though, before he bullies his way in, setting a brutal pace as he thrusts in and out of your mouth. More tears spill down your cheeks at the pressure, but there’s no part of you that can deny how good it feels either. To be used without care, to have someone’s aggression taken out on you. Your clit throbs at the thought of doing something more, of seeing what else he can do when he’s as pent up as he has been for months.

He laughs when you gag. “Who knew that all I had to do to get you to be a little nicer to me was use your mouth?”

You pinch his thigh in retaliation — you’ve been perfectly nice, thank you very much — and in response, he presses even further down your throat.

“Gonna let me come in your mouth?” His voice comes out a little more ragged, a little more choppy as his hips stutter.

You nod (as much as you can, anyway, with his thick length prying your jaw apart) and he makes a contented sound, smoothing your hair away from your face in a way that’s entirely at odds with how roughly he’s using your mouth.

“Yeah,” he murmurs, more to himself than to you. “Thought so.”

His hand curls into your hair as he presses his front against your face, your nose grinding into it. You squeeze your eyes closed as the head of his cock nears the back of your throat, and then you feel it — the way he fills your mouth and throat, his come flooding it as he finishes deep within you. He pulls back and the last few spurts land on your tongue, mix with the rest already dripping down your throat, and your tongue presses against the underside of his length as you swallow.

You sit there for a moment, the only sound being made is that of your panting, before he pulls you up suddenly, fingers digging into your forearms, his lips crashing into yours. A startled noise escapes you as he presses you back into the wall, hands scrabbling for stability, and in the next moment, he finds the pull chain and the small closet is finally filled with light as he pulls back, his eyes dancing across your face.

“Fuck,” he gasps out, as though he has a reason to be out of breath. “Fuck.”

You open your mouth to retort, to say something, but he only pulls you back in for another kiss, his nose crushing painfully into your cheek and his tongue swiping against your bottom lip.

You let him in.

Steve, it seems, has no issue in tasting his own come in your mouth, eager and willing to explore every corner as you sink further into his hold, your own arms coming around to wrap around his neck. You feel him smile against you, and you can’t stop your own giggles from spilling out when he runs his tongue along the roof of your mouth.

And finally, finally, you pull away, chest heaving as you search his face, his brown eyes gazing at you with something more than thinly veiled annoyance for the first time, and a decision is made before you can think it through.

“If you need some stress relief again,” you say, grinning. “Let me know. Might be able to help.”

He huffs out a laugh, dropping his head against your shoulder.

“And next time I’m having a bad day…” You pry his arms from you and slip past him, cracking open the door just the tiniest amount. You glance over your shoulder to find him staring at you in open surprise. “I know who to call.”

It makes them reckless in some ways, but careful in others.

And I think that's what drives a lot of his behavior in s5.

Ultimately, Steve is someone who cares so much it probably gets exhausting for him sometimes.

For all his tendencies to act detached—snarky, cocky, stubborn, mean, bitchy, whatever you wanna call it—Steve has always been someone who loves people with his whole chest.

When he loves someone, he commits to them completely.

And when it comes to you, he's hopelessly attached.

So yes, when he fucks you prone—his weight crushing against your back as he grinds against your ass, buried so deep you feel him in your stomach—voice low in your ear when he asks if you can be a good slut for him—fuck, you just got so tight, baby. you like being my little slut? hm? gonna let me use this pussy whenever I want?—

When he yanks your arms over head, pushing his fingers into the space between yours, lacing them tight so he has all the leverage like this while he uses you—

When he leans down close, exhaling against your skin, nosing into your neck as he presses gentle kisses across your cheek—love you... love you so much. does this feel good? yeah? you gonna come for me, baby? that's it, good girl, let me feel you—all while fucking you so hard the bedframe thuds repeatedly against the wall, hard enough that the wallpaper’s gonna show it tomorrow—

You know it's because Steve doesn’t experience love in parts.

You pause, fingers stilling on the buckle. “What?”

“You’re not,” he repeats, voice even, eyes fixed somewhere just over your shoulder.

You frown. “That wasn’t the plan.”

“The plan changed.”

You glance past him, expecting backup. Robin’s busy with a radio. Nancy’s mid-argument with Jonathan. Dustin’s pacing, muttering to himself. No one’s paying attention yet.

You look back at Steve. “Why?”

He doesn’t answer.

That’s when you feel it, that tight, coiled thing under his skin. Not anger. Fear.

“Steve,” you say quietly. “Talk to me.”

He swallows. His jaw works once, like he’s biting back something softer.

“I don’t want you in there.”

“That’s not a reason.”

“It is to me.”

You take a small step back, searching his face. “You don’t get to decide this for me.”

“I do tonight.”

Your chest tightens. “Since when?”

“Since I’m done watching you play chicken with death,” he snaps.

The words hit harder than you expect.

You stare at him. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.”

Something in your posture changes. You straighten, instinctively defensive. “I’ve done every crawl. I know the layout. I know the risks.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” he fires back. “You know them and you go anyway.”

You shake your head, incredulous. “So does everyone else.”

“Not like you,” he says.

The space between you feels suddenly hostile.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means you don’t hesitate,” Steve says. “You don’t stop to think if you should be the one.”

“That’s not recklessness,” you say, voice sharpening. “That’s commitment.”

“No,” he says. “That’s you throwing yourself in front of things so no one else has to.”

Robin finally looks over. “Uh… everything okay?”

Steve doesn’t break eye contact with you.

“No,” he says flatly. “It’s not.”

Your stomach drops.

“You shouldn’t be here,” he continues, voice carrying now. “You slow people down.”

That one lands like a hard slap and you take a step back from him without thinking.

“Say that again,” you whisper.

“Every time you’re involved,” he says, forcing it out, “someone’s distracted. Someone’s worried about you instead of the job.”

Dustin freezes. “Steve, what the h-”

“I’m serious,” Steve cuts in. “We don’t need that.”

You laugh once, sharp and hollow. “You mean me.”

“Yes,” he says.

It’s a lie. A brutal one. And he delivers it like he practiced.

“You make things personal,” he adds. “And that’s dangerous.”

Your hands shake as you unclip the strap at your side.

“You’ve never said this before,” you say, quieter now.

“Maybe I should have.”

That’s when it really hits.

Your breath catches. Your shoulders curl in just slightly, like you’re bracing for another blow.

“So this is who you are?” you ask. “You wait until the last second to decide I’m a liability?”

Steve’s face flickers, his eye brows dipping slightly, pain, regret, gone as fast as it comes.

“I’m done catering to it,” he says.

You stare at him for a long moment.

Then you do something neither of you expects.

You pull the gun from your belt and shove it into his chest.

Not hard enough to hurt. Hard enough to mean something.

“Here,” you say. “Since I’m such a problem.”

Steve’s hands come up automatically, catching it.

Your fingers linger for half a second, and then you step back.

Further this time.

Like you don’t trust yourself not to fall into him if you stay closer.

Robin’s mouth is open. Nancy looks furious. Dustin looks like someone just kicked the air out of him.

“What the hell, Steve?” Robin snaps.

He doesn’t answer.

He can’t.

“Go home,” Steve says to you, voice low and final. “This isn’t your fight.”

You nod once.

Slow. Deliberate.

“You don’t get to tell me that,” you say. “But congratulations. You don’t have to anymore.”

You turn and walk away.

Not running. Not dramatic.

Just gone.

Steve doesn’t follow.

He stands there, jaw clenched so tight it aches, hands heavy around the weight of the gun you handed him.

Robin steps up beside him. “What did you just do?”

He exhales through his nose. “What I had to.”

Nancy shakes her head. “That was cruel.”

“I know.”

Dustin’s voice cracks. “She didn’t deserve that.”

Steve finally looks down, shoulders sagging just a fraction.

“I know.”

They don’t say anything else.

Because the truth is already sitting there between them:

Steve just torched something important on purpose.

Somewhere down the road, you’re driving with one hand tight on the wheel and the other useless in your lap, vision swimming just enough to make the headlights stretch and smear. You don’t pull over. You don’t slow down. You just keep going, letting the hurt sit where it landed.

Because if you stop, you might think too hard about what he said.

About how easily he said it.

Back in the lot, Steve is still standing where you left him.

The floodlights hum. Gravel shifts under boots as the others move around him, talking in low, urgent bursts he barely hears. Your gun is heavy in his hands, colder than it should be.

Steve blinks, shifting slightly but cautiously in order not to wake you.

“…Yeah, absolutely,” he answers without missing a beat. “The saltiness doesn’t go well with the sweetness.”

You don’t even hear him, just continuing to snore softly and go back to whatever debate you were having. And somehow, it becomes a thing.

Whenever you mumble nonsense in your sleep, Steve always answers like it’s second nature now, like you are having a totally normal back and forth conversation.

“Mmm, blue strawberries…”

Steve nodded, though that food made complete zero sense. “Sounds yummy.”

At first it had just made him laugh, but now it became something he would look forward to. You mostly talked about things you liked, rambling about every topic that filled your dreams.

One night, you were fast asleep while Steve was just listening soundly to your even breaths, holding you close against his own warm body.

“Steve…” you grumble, and Steve reacts with thinking, responding with muscle memory as if you're still awake.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I miss you.” His breath catches, your words catching him off guard. Even in your conscious you still longed for him, and though your physical form remains present, he longed for you even more.

“I’m right here, honey.” Steve whispers into the night, tucking you closer as if to reassure you that he wasn’t going anywhere.

But the only problem is that you don’t remember any of it, and Steve likes to keep that to himself.

It came to an end when Robin crashed your place in the morning, eating the breakfast Steve had made for you as he chatted loudly.

“She told me yesterday that she climbed the Great Wall of China." Steve said, just as you rounded the corner.

You froze in your tracks, he surely couldn’t have been talking about you, could he? “I told you what?”

Steve turned around casually, “what, do you not remember it?” He knew you of course wouldn’t have, but there was no harm in playing around with you a bit as he watched your expression turn more confused by the minute.

After a couple of moments, a horrifying realization spread across your face. “Wait—I had a dream about it.” You said slowly.

Steve grinned wickedly. “Uh huh, and you told me all about it.”

“You’re lying.”

“And apparently you enjoy blue strawberries.”

You cover your face with your hands as Robin bellows over in laughter. “That doesn’t even exist.” You said mortified.

Steve shrugged, looking far too pleased with himself. “According to you, it does.”

“Why have you never told me this?” You sigh.

“Because it’s cute.” He says without hesitation, making you pause.

“Cute?” Robin repeats, still having not recovered from her laughing attack.

“You mumble weird stuff, I answer. It’s our thing.” Steve says like it’s obvious, your cheeks flushing with the thought of all the possible things you could’ve accidentally confessed to in your sleep.

“You guys are sickening.” Robin cuts in, but none of you turn to look at her.

“So every time I talk nonsense, you respond…and you don’t think it’s weird?” You point at him.

“At first—strange, but I’ve gotten used to it.” Steve shook his head, his words coming out fondly.

You suddenly felt a rush of affection towards him, you wouldn’t know how to react if someone started talking to you in their sleep, but Steve hadn’t even mentioned it to you about it until now.

“But I guess my favorite one was when you said you missed me.” He winked slyly.

Look away. Look away. Look away. Look away.

Steve’s angel on his shoulder is screaming at him, begging for the man to listen but he doesn’t. He can’t.

Because less than a hundred feet away from him, you’re there. Carefree and beautiful, swimming and floating around in your pool.

Never mind that it’s almost one in the morning. Every night for the past two weeks, you’ve stepped onto your patio and swam laps around the pool while Steve watches from his window.

He can’t tell if it’s a blessing or a curse that his bedroom window has the perfect view of your backyard, and the pool you’ve occupied lately.

Steve doesn’t know you well. You moved into the house next to his only a few months ago – renting it from the Belmont’s he’s grown up living next to.

You seemed nice, kind even. On the first week, you had knocked on his door with a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. You introduced yourself with a dizzying smile, and a syrupy sweet voice – he physically had to stop himself from drooling.

And once you were fully settled in, your routine began. You worked at the diner in midtown, and he only knew that because saw you wearing the uniform dress and apron while he was checking the mail – not because he was watching you (he absolutely was).

You seemed to take the mid shifts for the most part. You left for work around 2PM and came home at 9PM, four days out of the week. He wasn’t sure what you did once you were home but once midnight hit, you were in the pool – every night like clockwork.

And tonight’s no exception.

Steve is standing in front of his window, far enough to not be seen unless you’re really looking, but still close enough to see you clearly. There’s not much light outside – most of it comes from the reflection of the moon and a warmer light you’ve installed in your own backyard.

You’ve been swimming for almost thirty minutes now and not once has his eyes wandered from the sight of you. Despite the darkness, he can see you perfectly. You’re floating on your back now and your body is on full display to him.

You’re wearing a red bikini and the color is so stark, it almost glows against the water. Your arms are moving slowly under the water to keep you afloat, your knees and ankles moving carefully to help tread the water.

He can’t tell if your eyes are open or not, and it’s hard to focus on anything except your tits.

Steve inwardly cringes at himself, and tears his eyes away from you – choosing to stare at a patch of carpet on his bedroom floor instead. He’s being disgusting and disrespectful. You’re in the comfort of your own home, doing something that brings you peace and he’s invading that. Even if you don’t know it.

He should close his blinds– no, he’s going to.

Just as Steve looks back up to close the curtains, his eyes land back on where you were floating but something’s different.

You’re still floating, easily treading water but this time, without your fucking top on.

Steve’s mouth goes completely dry and his already half hard cock, hardens even more – straining against the waistband of his sweatpants.

He sees the bikini top you had on barely two minutes ago now hanging off the small stonewall ledge of the pool. For a second, he wonders if you took it off for him. But that would be ridiculous. Surely if you had even an inkling of him watching you, you would storm right up to him and smack him across his face – probably yell obscenities at him, maybe even call the police.

Right?

Steve swallows harshly and despite telling himself to shut the blinds a few moments ago, he grabs the chair from his desk and slides it to in front of the window. He settles into it without much more thought and watches as you move through the water.

He knows he shouldn’t but all common sense has left his mind and has been overtaken by hunger. Steve’s hands find the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, swiftly tugging them down past his thighs.

The cool air hits his skin and just barely offers him some sense of relief. He can feel the bead of precum wet on his tip. Keeping his eyes on you, he raises his hand and carefully spits into his palm. He wraps his palm around his cock, slowly twisting his wrist as he jerks himself off.

“Fuck,” He breathes aloud. The relief is immediate, and even though he wishes it was your hand instead of his, he welcomes it.

His wet hand keeps working around himself, and he watches you descend under water. You stay under for a few seconds, long enough to make him miss you. Finally, you come back up, your hands raising to push your drenched hair away from your face.

Steve doesn’t even try to silence the moan that spills from his throat. His eyes follow the way the water cascades from down your face, down your throat, all the way till it falls over your tits. Your mouth is just barely hung open, very clearly so you can inhale fresh air, and water slides over your rosy pink lips.

Steve’s hand moves faster as he keeps his gaze glued to you. His room fills with the sound of his slick hand fisting his cock, his hand stroking himself up and down, up and down.

He whines into the air as you lean backwards again, your chest and torso displayed to him again and he’s so, so fucking grateful.

“Oh fuck, mhmm,” Steve groans, his hand moving faster. The lewd schlick sound of his wet palm stroking his cock surrounds him, it’s so loud he’s almost worried you’d be able to hear it.

His breathing getting heavier as he tracks the way you move. His eyes threaten to squeeze shut but he can’t bring himself to look away from you, even for a second.

You keep moving, slowly swimming from the shallow end to the deep end. Your body moves to effortlessly, so beautifully and his mind begins to wander.

He imagines how you’d look riding him. He imagines how your tits would bounce in clear view of his face, perfect for him to grab and squeeze as you fuck yourself on his cock.

His hand tightens around his shaft, a thin layer of sweat building at his temple. He keeps thinking of how you’d look as he fucked you.

He could fuck you in that same pool – push you against the stone wall, holding your hips in place as he fucks into you. He imagines every pretty sound that would slip past your lips, how you’d whine and beg for more.

“S-Shit. Yeah, just like that, baby,” Steve hisses as he moans mindlessly, his hand pumps his dick faster, rougher. He’s so close already.

He focuses back on you. You’re floating in the shallow end again, and Steve’s gaze is fixated on the way your hand rises out of the water, the tips of your fingers gently gliding across the west skin of your stomach, up the valley of your breasts, carefully circling the skin around your nipple.

His hand is frantic now, stroking himself relentlessly as he stares at you. He’s a moaning, blubbering mess as he watches the way you touch yourself. It’s a show perfectly made for him.

Steve felt that rush of adrenaline coursing in his veins, traveling through his chest and all the way down to his cock. He was right there, and as he watches you emerge from the pool – water soaking your tanned body, droplets sliding down your skin, he’s thrown over the edge.

His stomach tightens, head thrown back as he whines your name into the air. He barely has time to throw his shirt upwards, exposing his stomach as warm ropes of cum spurt from his cock, coating his skin.

His chest heaves, and he keeps his hand moving over his skin, drawing out his orgasm. It takes him a few seconds for the ringing to leave his ears and come back to reality. His hand uncurls itself from around his dick, and he lets it drop against his sticky stomach.

Steve tracks you as you step out of the water and reach for a towel. He’s sad as you cover yourself up, but as his mind catches up with his body, he realizes he should feel guilty. His face burns with shame and he moves to clean himself up.

He grabs a few napkins from his nightstand, wiping his cum off his skin, and tells himself this was a one time thing and it will never happen again.

Twisting soft strands around his fingers. Scratching lightly against your scalp. Pushing hair back away from your face whenever it falls forward.

Steve likes touching you. This is not exactly new information.

What is new is the fact your voice suddenly cuts off halfway through a sentence.

Steve glances down.

You’re asleep.

Completely asleep.

Mouth slightly parted against his shoulder, breathing slow and even, one hand still loosely curled in the fabric of his t-shirt.

Steve blinks once.

“…seriously?”

You do not respond, mostly because you are unconscious.

Steve stares at you for another few seconds before looking down at his hand still buried in your hair.

Interesting.

The second time it happens, he starts suspecting a pattern.

You’re sitting between his legs on the floor of his bedroom while he half watches a movie over your shoulder and half messes with your hair mindlessly. You’d insisted you weren’t tired less than ten minutes earlier.

“You literally slept till eleven,” Steve reminds you while separating sections of your hair carefully.

“I know,” you mumble. “That’s why I’m not tired.”

“Hm.”

“You’re so annoying.”

“You like me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Steve grins slightly to himself before dragging his nails lightly across your scalp again.

Your shoulders loosen immediately.

Another few minutes pass.

Then, nothing.

No response to his last comment. No movement either.

Steve leans slightly sideways to look at your face properly.

Dead asleep.

Again.

Still sitting upright between his legs.

Steve laughs so suddenly he nearly wakes you back up.

“Oh my god,” he mutters quietly.

By the fourth or fifth occurrence, it becomes less of a coincidence and more of a genuinely ridiculous amount of power for one person to hold.

Especially because Steve starts testing it.

Not maliciously.

Scientifically.

“You’re doing it on purpose now,” you mumble one afternoon, already sounding half asleep despite having argued thirty seconds earlier that you were “definitely awake.”

Steve, stretched out beside you on his bed, continues scratching softly through your hair with an expression of complete innocence.

“Doing what?”

“The hair thing.”

“What hair thing?”

“The…” You frown weakly. “The sleepy thing.”

Steve bites the inside of his cheek hard trying not to laugh.

Because it really is absurd.

You could be fully awake, actively talking, even complaining about not being tired at all, and within ten minutes of Steve touching your hair for long enough you’re suddenly fighting for your life trying to keep your eyes open.

“You’re being dramatic,” he says.

You squint at him suspiciously through obvious exhaustion. “You’re evil.”

“Mhm.”

“You’re like…” Another yawn interrupts you completely. “Like a tranquiliser gun.”

Steve loses it completely at that.

You fall asleep less than five minutes later with your face squashed into his chest while he quietly laughs into your hair.

After that, it becomes sort of unavoidable.

Steve starts noticing all the tiny signs before you even realise you’re tired.

The slower blinking. The way your body gradually gets heavier against him. The increasingly delayed responses during conversations.

And every single time, without fail, the second his fingers slide into your hair properly, you melt.

On the couch.

In bed.

Once in the passenger seat of his car while he waited for Robin to come out of Family Video after locking up.

Another time at the Wheeler’s house with your head in his lap while everyone else argued loudly over a board game around you.

“You cannot be serious,” Dustin says, staring at your sleeping form in disbelief. “How does she keep doing that?”

Steve barely looks up from where he’s still lazily playing with your hair. “Doing what?”

“She was literally talking.”

“Yeah?”

“And now she’s unconscious.”

Steve shrugs like this is completely normal behaviour.

Robin narrows her eyes immediately from the opposite couch.

“Oh, this is definitely psychological.”

Steve scoffs. “What does that even mean?”

“She’s associated you with sleep now.”

“That’s not a thing.”

“It absolutely is,” Robin says. “You Pavlov’d your girlfriend.”

“I did not Pavlov my girlfriend.”

“You basically turned yourself into a human melatonin gummy.”

Steve rolls his eyes, but his hand never stops moving gently through your hair.

Mostly because Robin’s not entirely wrong.

There’s something about the trust of it that affects him more than he expects. The fact you fall asleep so easily against him. The way your whole body relaxes the second he touches you softly enough.

Like some part of you recognises him as safe before you even consciously think about it.

That part gets to him a little if he thinks about it too long.

Which is why he tries not to.

Unfortunately for him, you make this extremely difficult one rainy afternoon a few weeks later.

You’re both curled together in his bed while thunder rumbles softly outside, Steve lazily tracing shapes against your scalp while you blink sleepily up at him.

“You know,” you mumble eventually, “I think my body’s accidentally been trained.”

Steve grins immediately. “Finally admitting it?”

“This is your fault.”

“My fault you’re always sleepy?”

“My fault for trusting you enough to fall asleep this much.”

The smile slips slightly from Steve’s face at that.

You notice immediately, even half asleep.

“What?”

Steve looks down at you quietly for a second before shrugging one shoulder.

“Nothing.”

“Steve.”

His fingers slow slightly in your hair.

“It’s just…” He huffs softly through his nose. “I dunno. Kinda nice, I guess.”

Your expression softens immediately.

Because there it is.

The actual thing sitting underneath all the teasing.

Steve likes being trusted.

Likes being needed in these tiny quiet ways that nobody else really notices.

The way you automatically reach for his hand crossing roads. The way you sleep better beside him. The way you unconsciously move closer every time you’re tired.

You shift upwards slightly against his chest until you can kiss him properly.

Steve kisses you back slowly, one hand still tangled gently in your hair.

“I genuinely think this is my favourite thing.”

Your lips twitch.

“Me falling asleep?”

“No.” Steve smiles faintly. “You trusting me enough to.”

Something warm twists painfully through your chest.

You kiss him again before you can think too hard about it.

Steve’s fingers slide slowly through your hair once more afterwards, scratching lightly against your scalp in that familiar absentminded rhythm.

Dangerous.

You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

“You know exactly what.”

Steve looks deeply unconvincing. “I’m just touching your hair.”

“You’re literally weaponising affection.”

Steve starts laughing quietly while you attempt to glare at him through increasingly heavy eyelids.

“You’re already falling asleep,” he says.

“No I’m not.”

“You just blinked for like six seconds.”

“That means nothing.”

Steve grins down at you, still gently combing his fingers through your hair.

“You’re done for, sweetheart.”

You open your mouth to argue.

Then immediately yawn instead.

Steve looks so unbearably pleased with himself that you weakly shove at his chest in protest.

It does absolutely nothing.

Mostly because less than ten minutes later, you’re asleep against him again.

And Steve, unfortunately, looks far too happy about it.

“But it is a date,” Trinity perks up, a cheshire like grin forming on her face while she spins the chair you're sitting in and charting to face her. “Tell me everything– who is he, how did you meet, what are you going to wear–”

“Okay, slow down!” A small laugh unfortunately manages to escape you, and you don’t know whether to be touched or offended over the fact that she was this invested in your love life. “There’s nothing to tell, I haven’t even met the man yet,”

“Oh, ew,” she immediately says, grimacing in disgust, “You met him on the apps? That’s low, even for you babe,”

You stare at her blankly, momentarily stunned. 

“Desperate times means desperate measures,” you finally say, officially finishing charting and logging out of the computer. Standing up, you start making your way towards the lockers, Trinity's excited voice following behind you.

“I mean, not that desperate. I know one man that would go out with you in a heartbeat,”

Opening your locker, you take out the little duffel bag you had to bring into work today. In order to make it to the date on time, you’d have to get ready at work, and as much as you hated drawing attention to yourself, you wouldn’t have time to make it back home. 

So you’d done your hair the night before, hoping for the best when you tied it up for work, shoved your makeup kit, as well as your dress and heels into a bag and made your way to work. 

This was also the exact reason you had asked to get out before handoffs. And Robby owed you just enough favors to let it slide, but not before giving you a suspicious look. You knew better than to tell your ex-husbands best friend– and by default spy– why you suddenly needed to cash in on those very handy, very hard earned favors.

“Yeah, and me and that man are broken up for a reason,” you snort, promptly shutting down any insinuations and blaming it on her sleep depravity.

Slipping off your scrubs, you falter when you hear Trinity snort at the action.

“Excuse me? What happened to privacy–”

“Alright, alright– sorry!” She amends, throwing her hands up in defeat and turning around.

But the sound of her laughter is already replaying in your mind and you huff at your own insecurity, crossing your arms.

“What is it, Santos?”

Immediately turning back around, Trinity gives you a sheepish smile, before her eyes dart to you, still standing in your underwear.

“Are we, like,  super committed to the granny panties?”

You gasp, throwing your scrub top at her face when she speaks.

“Rude! They’re not granny panties, they’re just, you know…” you defend yourself, digging through your duffel for your dress. “Comfortable. They’re comfortable, Trinity,”

“That’s kind of the problem, babe. You’re going for sexy and alluring– not comfort! Trust me, I’m the last person to tell someone to change for a man, but those–” she points an accusing finger at your matching set, “Are just one big turnoff, my friend,”

You groan, running a hand through your hair.

“You cannot be telling me this right now. I don’t have any spare underwear with me– are you sure you’re not just biased?”

Trinity gives you a sad look, then walks to the door, peeking her head around the corner.

“Mohan! Get in here–”

You gape, quickly tugging your work pants back on and crossing your arms over your chest.

“What the hell? Hello, I’m like naked in here–”

“Oh calm down, we’re doctors,” Trinity waves you off, and before you can say anything else, Samira Mohan walks into the tiny excuse of a locker room.

Her eyes dart between Trinity and you, before going down to your chest, where a very sturdy looking bra is in place.

“For the date tonight?” she says carefully, noting the agitation on your face and the amusement on Trinity’s.

“Does everyone know?” your answer confirms her words, and Samira gives you a gentle smile, officially dismantling the last irritation in you.

Slumping against the lockers, your head hits the metal with a small thump!

“Okay,” she finally says, adopting the same, comforting tone she uses when explaining treatment plans to patients, “I don't think they're bad,”

“You lie, sweet child of mine,” Trinity sighs dramatically, crossing her arms when she looks back at you.“Literally just go commando at this point,”

Shaking your head, you snap out of your haze, going back to your bag and digging your dress out.

It’s not like you’re going to sleep with the man.

You weren’t ready for that just yet, your mind echoes to you, but you quickly stop the spiral you feel forming. 

If you were still with Jack, you wouldn’t have to worry about first dates and underwear–

Okay, no.

“Zip me up please?” is what you say instead, looking between the two women helplessly.

Noticing your sudden quietness, Trinity obliges and does what you ask. The zipper slides up your back smoothly, and for once, she’s quiet.

“Hey, come on,” she says softly, giving your shoulder a squeeze once she's finished. “You look pretty,”

Samira nods, taking a hold of your other shoulder and leading you to the mirror, a small smile on her face as you watch her reflection watch you.

“You look good,” she says simply, in a way she knows does more of an impact on you than an overflow of compliments would. 

Your eyes linger on your reflection, smoothing down any crinkled pieces of fabric as an attempt to self soothe. But there was something deeply humiliating about standing in a hospital locker room, while two coworkers attempted to convince you that you weren't a complete disaster.

Admittedly, you do agree. You looked pretty wearing something other than scrubs and letting your hair down for once– hell, even applying new lipstick makes you feel reborn. 

Taking one final look, you straighten your shoulders before walking back to your bag and taking your heels out, putting them on and shoving your bag back into the locker and dumping your dirty scrubs into Trinity’s arms.

Payback for the panty comments.

“Wish me luck, ladies,” you say, the small purse you’d brought with now swinging on your shoulder.

“Knock him dead, babe!” Trinity grins, and Samira gives you a supportive thumbs up beside her.

Twenty more meters and you're out of here, on your way before anyone can properly see you.

You take a deep breath, trying not to cringe or look at people as your heels click against the linoleum floors. The doors to the ambulance bay hiss when you step through them, a small sigh of relief escaping you once the evening breeze washes over your face.

 Rounding the corner towards the parking lot, a yelp escapes you when you crash into someone.

“Shit!”

Strong hands grab your arms before you can stumble backwards and crack your skull open on the pavement and die in your granny panties.

“Christ, slow down,” a familiar voice mutters and your stomach instantly drops.

Fuck. 

The last person you wanted to see, the reason you were leaving work thirty minutes early and watching your back like a criminal, instead of a grown woman simply going on a date.

Jack Abbot, in all his fine glory, dressed in one of those tight, white shirts he loves and his usual cargos.

His hands are still wrapped around your arms, your own are still gripping his forearms, far too close for your already scrambled mind to be able to handle right now.

Pulling away, you quickly smooth down your dress once again, clearing your throat.

“Hi! Uh– nice catching up, I should probably–” you laugh awkwardly, motioning vaguely with your hands towards your car.

Jack doesn’t say anything, his eyes unabashedly travelling across your body. First your styled hair, then to your painted lips, then to the dress, gaze lingering on your exposed legs.

“You’re awfully dressed up for work,” He mutters dryly, head tilting once his eyes lock with yours once again. “But I suppose this wasn’t how you came in at seven am,”

“Wow, nothing gets past you, huh?” you can’t help but quip, ignoring the warm feeling in your belly at the sight of him fighting a smile at your words.

The evening breeze catches a loose strand of your hair and blows it across your face. Before you can move it away, you notice Jack's hand twitch, but ultimately stay rooted by his side.

"Clearly not. Are you going to answer or keep being a smartass?”

Against your will, a small smile forms on your face, and you shake your head and cross your arms.

“I should be on my way to a date,” You finally concede, gauging his reaction. 

Yeah, to see if he even cares anymore.

Unfortunately, as Jack glances toward the parking lot before looking back at you, he asks:

“Is he not picking you up?”

For some reason, his words send a wave of embarrassment through you. Like you have to prove to him that you’re not going out with a piece of shit, like you’re not downgrading, or settling, or desperately trying to get over Jack by going on shitty dates.

“It’s the first date, I’m not having him know where I work,” you mutter petulantly, shifting on your feet, the pain growing more intense the longer you stand there. “That’s just common sense,”

Jack hums thoughtfully, shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants.

“You’ll have to excuse my ignorance, then. I haven’t been on a proper date in a while,”

Asshole.

You know he’s talking about your relationship, that petty bastard.

“And who’s fault is that?” the words come out sharper than intended, but you’re too deep into this to notice, or even care about it.

“You know, normal people would just let it go,” Jack muses, eyes narrowed in amusement as he takes a step closer to you.

“Normal people also don’t interrogate their ex in the parking lot,” you retort, chin raising defiantly as your irritation spikes at his indifference towards seeing you moving on.

You’d once heard a rumor of another attending on the surgical floor reportedly laying it on pretty thick at some gala.

It had you eating ice cream for dinner for a week, just the thought of him moving on from you that easily.

Your phone buzzing in your purse fills the silence, and you’re suddenly made aware of the entire reason you're standing here in a dress and heels instead of driving home to watch terrible reality television.

“I should go,” you say quieter than intended, clearing your throat afterwards.

The amusement fades from his face, replaced by something harder to read, and for a moment, Jack doesn't say anything, his eyes flickering to your purse and where your phone is buzzing.

A cruel reminder to him of the fact that you indeed are moving on, probably with some guy your age that wouldn’t have to worry about how you’d look walking down the street with him.

“Yeah, don’t let me keep you,” Jack mumbles, shifting on his feet as he follows you with his head when you walk past him slowly.

Your heels sound against the pavement, the loud clicks taunting in his ears, like a clock reminding him of the time he's running out of, both in life and with you.

“Fuck,” He mutters under his breath, scratching the scruff on his face harshly, before walking after you. “Hey, wait–”

“I really have to go, Jack,” you don’t stop walking, in fact speeding up a bit.

You couldn’t trust yourself around him.

“You don’t even know this guy!” Jack throws out in a desperate attempt to get you to stay, to make you argue with him, anything to make you stay– to choose him again, even if it only were for a moment.

You stop so abruptly your heel almost catches on a crack in the pavement, before you’re whirling back to glare at him.

“Are you serious right now?

Despite your anger, Jack can’t help but notice how pretty you look while glaring at him, and even though he'd be six feet under if looks could kill.

“I’m just looking out for you,” He has the nerve to say, shrugging slightly while he walks up to where you’ve come to a stop.

“I don’t want you to look out for me! You wouldn’t need to if you hadn’t–” you stop yourself from lashing out, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath. “...Why are you doing this?”

“I’m worried about you, I mean– leaving work early, dressing up, then running straight into me because you aren’t paying attention–” Jack lists, the lies falling from his lips unconvincingly.

You scoff, turning around and walking back towards your car.

“Goodbye, Jack,”

Panic fills his veins, and his hand shoots out and grabs your arm, pulling you towards him.

“Fuck, okay! Alright, just–” Jack sighs, running his free hand through his silver curls, “Just wait, okay? Don’t just…go,”

“Then tell me why you’re being like this,” you press him again, impatiently.

Jack takes it as a small victory when you don’t rip your arm out of his grip.

“I don’t want you to go out with him,”

“You don’t even know him–” you roll your eyes at his shitty explanation.

“I don’t want you to go out with anyone,” Jack interrupts, jaw clenching as he forces the words out. “I don’t want to see you laugh with anyone, or leave work early because you’re seeing someone, or see you get dolled up for another man,”

The words echo in the empty parking lot and land bitterly in your ears.

Your mind couldn’t help but betray you at this moment.

Why wait until now? Is it to make sure his words are devastating enough? To make you lose the progress you thought you had made after he broke your heart?

Was it really all his fault if you could let yourself be this affected by his words?

“You’re such an asshole,” you say shakily, eyes welling up with unshed tears.

Jack nods, a bitter smile forming on his face.

“Yeah, I know,”

He doesn’t argue with you, because he agrees.

He is an asshole. A selfish, greedy asshole who wants nothing more than to get on his knee and grovel at your feet, because the biggest mistake he’s made is thinking that letting you go is an act of love.

Over the fear of what others might think.

Over the fear that there will come a day where instead of him taking care of you, you’ll be taking care of him, while he takes advantage of your youth, all while knowing you’d be too sweet to leave him.

Jack stares at you, your teary eyes and trembling lips, he stands there and he stares at the woman he still loves.

“I’m fucked up, I know. But every morning I wake up and you're still the first thing I think about,” he begins, swallowing thickly when he feels a lump form in his throat. “I look for your car in the parking lot before I walk in. I mean fuck, even at handoffs, I look for the charts that have your signature,” 

The tears are definitely ruining your makeup now. You were late beyond belief for the date, and the buzzing in your purse had ceased ten minutes ago.

And yet you have no urge to go anywhere anymore.

“That’s kind of sad,” you sniffle, muttering weakly. 

Jack chuckles weakly, fingers tightening around your arm before he reluctantly lets go.