what a wonderful life

His hands have already settled on your ample hips, lips kissing on your shoulders, pulling at your sundress straps with his teeth. 

"There. Just needed a woman's touch." You move your hand to cradle his neck as he's kissing and grabbing at you. 

"Yeah, well ain't the only thing that needs a woman's touch." He mutters against your skin.

He’d glare at you if you called it whining, but the truth hurt.

"Is that so?" You chuckle as he's pulling you into him more.

"Been thinking about these fuckin' tits all day..." He says breathlessly, as he pulls down the top of your sundress, hands already pawing at your bra. 

You let out a laugh, shaking your head as he kisses up your neck to your cheek. "Tough day?" 

"Roy had me doin’ a whole buncha bullshit." He groans out as he finally gets your bra unsnapped, massaging your breasts roughly. "But now I'm home. And I need you."

"So demanding, Deputy Tillman." You tease as you press your chest into his hands, letting him do what he pleases. "You got a warrant for this very hands-on search you're doing?" 

"Yer my wife. I don't need a warrant." His tongue is lapping at one of your nipples now, swirling around it before taking it into his hot mouth. "Damn marriage certificates my fuckin' warrant." 

Your head falls back against the wall he's pushed you up against, a soft sigh leaving your lips.

The streaks of golden hour light play along the skin of your breasts as he has his way with them. It was always the first part of you he went for, big, soft, and perfect for him.

"Lemme just get a quick taste... then I gotta take a piss." He mutters, moving to your other breast.

You laugh breathlessly. "Don't let me stop you." Your hands find home in his slicked back hair, keeping him flush against you as he worships your chest.

Once he's finally has his fill (for now), he looks at your face, then a little confused smirk graces his face. 

His thumb comes up to wipe something off your cheek, before bringing it to his lips. 

"Cherry pie, huh?" He says with a smile, licking the bit of filling from his thumb. "Tastes real good, mama."

You shrug with a smile. "Just for you, baby. Now go pee, I'll put these away." You say, gesturing to your breasts and adjusting your bra and dress.

"Like hell ya will." He barks a laugh as he heads down the hallway to the bathroom. "Get yer fuckin' ass upstairs to the bedroom and I'm gonna come up in a minute for a real cherry pie."

You didn't have to be told twice.

By the time you heard the bathroom door open and heavy footsteps starting on the staircase two at a time, you had already taken off your sundress, bra, and panties, and had gotten comfortable on the bed, laying on your side.

Gator stood in the doorway for a minute, looking at you. "Ya look like those nudie paintings we saw when you dragged me to that artsy museum in the city." 

"For the million time, they're Rubenesque paintings from the Baroque period. And thank you." You say with a smile. "Now are you gonna come here and show me how much you missed me?"

He's taking his uniform shirt off, followed by his cargos and boxers, so he's fully naked as he slides in the bed with you. 

"Well someone's wasting no time." You laugh as he pulls you close and latches on to your tits again. "Must have really had a bad day, usually you like me unwrapping you." 

"Woulda had you bent over the kitchen counter, but I didn't wanna get yer pie crust messy." He says, muffled by your breasts.

You giggle. "Such a romantic."

"Ya make dinner? Should we eat first? Don't want it goin' cold." He whispers as his lips spoil your nipples. 

"Pulled pork is in the crock pot. Got another hour left I believe." You say, running your hands down his back. "We have plenty of time for a quick appetizer."

His large hands start to move from your breasts, down your stomach, then moving to the front of your legs, making you shudder as he lightly runs them over the tops of your thighs, then slowly to your inner thigh, and finally, to your dripping core.

"Ain't gonna be quick. Yer gonna let me in this warm little gash while you scratch my head the way I like." 

"You are so poetic." You whisper, as one of his fingers starts to rub your clit lightly.

"Just call me pretty and lemme get my cock all warmed up." He nips at your neck as he moves a finger inside you.

It took a lot for him to accept when you'd call him pretty, but in the privacy of your shared bedroom, he let you take care of him in ways no one had to know about outside the walls of your home. 

"Okay, honey." You whisper, letting your legs fall open more for him.

He works you for a minute, using two of his long fingers, feeling your walls, listening to the wet sounds of your arousal.

"Fuckin' drippin' thing. Always soaked for her man." He mumbles in your ear.

You moan softly at the praise, your body arching into his touch as he hits that spot inside you.

"You want it, mama? Want my cock in this pretty little thing?" He groans, his own hips starting to rut against your thigh, feeling how hard he was.

"Think you need it even more than I do." 

The low growl that leaves his lips is more than enough evidence of that. 

"Yeah? You got a problem with that?" He says mockingly, but the slight vulnerability in his eyes betrays him.

"Never." You say breathlessly, your fingers still carding through his hair. "You work so hard. Let me take care of you, pretty boy."

"Fuckin' right." He mumbles, lining himself up with your entrance. "Gonna fuckin' stuff this needy girl." He grunts as he pushes inside. 

You let out a soft moan at the feeling of him stretching you, filling you completely as he hooks your thigh over his hip. You’d never get over the way he fucked you.

"Atta girl. She's always takin' this cock so good." He grunts, keeping you absolutely stuffed with him. 

The feeling of him inside you is intoxicating, the stretch, the fullness, the way he fits so perfectly against you.

One of his hands moves from your hip to your breasts, playing with them again as you warm his cock. 

This was the best way you two have found to calm him down after work. Make him feel taken care of, while not stripping him of the masculinity he clung to like a lifeline.

Let him use your body, be in complete control, but you were the one calling him pretty, letting him have you like this.

"Pussy feels so fuckin' good. She missed me."

"Mhm." You moan softly. "Wet all day thinkin' about you."

"Yeah?" He grunts, hands squeezing and teasing your breasts more needily. "She was thinkin' about me comin' home, warmin' up in her? Lettin' me get a taste ‘fore dinner?"

He liked talking about your pussy in the third person. Like it was his to own. A pretty, wet thing he got to come home to forever

"She knows who she belongs to." You say softly, pressing back against him.

"Thats right." He says, nipple in his mouth again, suckling on it gently. "Knows exactly who her man is. This fuckin' cock is all hers." He's rolling his hips a bit now, but he's not really fucking you, not yet.

This was your game. Let him get comfortable inside you, let him warm up in your heat while he has his fill of your body. 

"Let me see these." He moves you so your back is now on the bed, still inside you. "Goddamn, I love these." He moves over you, grabbing both of them, and starts to bounce them in his hands, watching them move.

You bite your lip to keep from laughing, watching your husband become hypnotized by your chest.

"Laughin' at me bouncin' em? Huh?" He says, looking at you with a smirk, continuing to make them jiggle in his palms.

"No." You lie. "Just watchin' you have some fun."

He rolls his eyes. "You're lucky you're so fuckin' pretty." He says, leaning down to kiss you, a messy kiss that's all him. The kind of kiss you've come to define as needy. 

"Now, fuckin' look at how my cock makes these big fuckin' titties bounce." He says as he finally moves fully on top of you and starts to fuck you in earnest, his hips snapping against yours, watching your body move with each thrust.

You couldn't help but let out a gasp at the sudden change, the way he was hitting you deep and hard.

"Yeah, just for me." He says, grabbing one of your hands and putting it on your breast. "You feel that? How much they're movin'? That's all my cock, baby."

And god, he wasn't wrong.

"God, I love fuckin' you like this.." He grunts, his pace picking up. "Such a good wife. Lettin' me get all this stress out. Takin' what I need."

His words were a mangled mix of praise and filth, just how you liked it. Deep down, the truth was that you were equals, but sometimes he still needed to be the big, strong provider, the protector. The winner. The big man in charge. You were happy to let him have that.

"Jerked off in the cruiser at lunch." He admits. "So I could last longer for you."

A small, triumphant smile plays on your lips as you tease. "That's what our county's tax dollars are going to?" 

"Shut up." He says, without any heat. "You know my cock ain't ever gonna be able to go a whole day without least thinkin' about this. 'Specially when you wear those little sundresses around the house. Practically beggin' for it, givin' me easy access like that."

You moan as he changes his angle, hitting that perfect spot inside you that makes your toes curl.

"Yeah, she's gonna let me give her a nice, big, messy creampie ‘fore dinner. Get all my stress out and pump ‘er full. How 'bout that?"

"Gator!" You say, a surprised giggle, partly a moan. "You're so gross sometimes."

"You fuckin' love it." He says, grabbing your legs and wrapping them around his waist, pulling you even closer. "And you're gonna take it all."

He was right.

You did love it. 

He stopped his thrusts, rolling you to your sides again, going back to keeping his length warm. 

"Oh so it's gonna be this kind of night, huh?" You murmur as you kiss him. "All about takin' your sweet, sweet, time."

"Gonna be hard to do mucha this for a bit. Roy's got me on patrol the rest of the week. And then I gotta help with some bullshit at the ranch." He complains, burying his face in your neck. "Can't escape when your dad's also your fuckin' boss."

"Need to escape in my pussy for a while?" You whisper back, moving your hips slowly, grinding against him.

"Don't have me cummin' early, woman. Not yet. Wanna keep bein' in here." He whines.

You nod, letting him keep you still. "Okay, okay. Just let me keep you warm. As long as you want."

"Damn right." He mutters, holding you close. "Gonna make me forget about all the idiots I had to deal with today."

The crock pot could wait. The world could wait. All that mattered right now was the weight of your husband's body on yours, the feel of him inside you, and the quiet contentment that settled over you both.

"Ya still gonna let me fuck ya like this when yer all round with my baby?" He asks, the question coming out of nowhere, but somehow not surprising you. "Even let me play with these? When they're full’a milk?"

He's had this fantasy for a while now. Seeing the evidence that you were truly his. Having everyone in town know he fucked you raw.

"Gonna be even bigger then." You say with a smile, running your hands down his back. "And you're gonna be the one who put a baby in me. You're gonna be the one who made them all big and sore. It'll be your job to make them feel better." You teased.

A shiver runs through him, and he starts to move again, a slow, deliberate pace.

"Don't start talkin' like that unless you want me to get ya pregnant tonight." He warns, his voice a low growl.

"Well I'm still on the pill, so only in your wildest dreams, mister." You tease, but the thought of it, of him filling you up and having it actually take, sends a jolt of something through you.

"Mmm, guess we gotta stick to playin' mommy and daddy then." He says, moving faster now, the urgency from earlier returning with a vengeance. "Gotta make sure this body's ready for when we really try. Keep her practicin'."

You can only moan in response, the feeling of him moving inside you, the dirty talk, the thought of him being a dad, it was all too much.

"Ya love keepin' yer man happy?" He says after he rolls you on top of him, eyes on where you're connected as you start to ride him.

"Love it." You say, putting your hands on his chest for leverage as you move. "Love taking care of you."

"Yeah, takin' this cock... ridin' me like a good girl... lettin' me have this fat fuckin' ass whenever I want." He lands a hard slap on your ass, making you yelp and clench around him.

"Oh she loves that, clenchin' round me... ya dirty little thing." He smirks, sitting up to latch on to a bouncing nipple again.

"God, Gator..." You moan, your head falling back as he sucks and nibbles on your sensitive flesh.

His greedy hands are grabbing at your ass now, guiding your movements, pulling you down harder onto him with each roll of your hips.

"This is your fuckin' seat." He says, releasing your breast with a wet pop. "Ya hear me? This is where you belong. Right 'ere. On my cock. Makin' me feel good."

"Watch it go in ‘n out." He commands, his hands still on your ass, spreading you open. "Look at my dick disappearin’ in that greedy little cunt."

You do as he says, looking down at where you're joined, watching him disappear into you over and over. It's an obscene, beautiful sight.

"Look at that, drenchin' my cock. Creamin' all over me."

Your face flushes, but you can't deny it. You can feel how wet you are, hear it, see the evidence of your arousal coating the hair at the base of his length.

"You like watchin' it too, don't ya? Like seeing how much I turn you on?" He says, a smug look on his face.

"Fuck you." You laugh, but the breathless quality of your voice gives you away.

"Oh, I'm fuckin' ya, alright." He says, flipping you over so you're on your back again, your legs spread wide for him as he drives into you with force. "Messy little bitch in heat for her husband's cock."

He's pounding into you now, the headboard hitting the wall with each thrust. The sounds filling the room are a mix of your moans, his grunts, and the wet, slapping sounds of your bodies coming together.

"And I'm just a greedy bastard fer ya." His voice is strained as he moves faster, chasing his release. "Greedy for this pussy. Greedy for these tits. Greedy for you." He's got one of your legs thrown over his shoulder now, opening you up to him completely.

"Gonna fill you up... get you all messy with my cum..." He's muttering, his face buried in your neck. "Let it drip outta ya all night... get the sheets all dirty... my fuckin' girl." 

You whine his name as he spits filth. 

"Oh, that's it, mama. Whinin' and beggin’ for a big load in this warm little hole." 

It's degrading, but it's your favorite degradation, and it sends you over the edge, your body tightening around him as your orgasm washes over you.

"Oh, sweet fuckin' Jesus." He groans. "She's just beggin' for a baby in her, huh?"

The words send another thrill through you, and you feel your second consecutive orgasm building. "Gator..." you whimper.

"Look at me." He commands, pulling back to look at your face. "Look at me while I breed ya."

His eyes are dark, intense, locked onto yours as he continues to fuck you through your release.

"You want my baby in ‘ere? Don't you? Don't you?"

You're nodding, tears of pleasure pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Yeah, I do... I do..."

"So good at your wifely duties. Taking what I give ya. Gonna pump this little cunt so full of me you'll be drippin' through dinner." He's pistoning into you now, chasing his own end.

"Shit, shit, I'm gonna..." He grunts, burying himself deep, his body tensing as he empties himself inside you.

The feeling of him pulsing inside you, the warmth of his release, it's enough to send you over the edge again, a final, shuddering orgasm wracking your body as he fills you up.

"Oh fuck yeah..." He murmurs. "Milked my fuckin' cock dry."

He collapses on top of you, his full weight pressing you into the mattress as he catches his breath. You run your fingers through his hair, feeling the sweat on his brow.

"Good?" You ask, a small smile playing on your lips.

"Good?" He snorts. "Felt like I died and went to heaven for a minute." He kisses your shoulder. "Ya always know how to take care of me."

"You're easy to take care of." You tease. "Just give you some food and sex and you're a happy camper."

"Callin' me easy? I'll have you know, I'm a complex man with specific needs." He says, though there's no bite to it.

"Is that so? And what are these specific needs?" You ask, playing along.

"Well, for starters," he says, propping himself up on his elbows. "I need these big titties available f’me whenever I want ‘em. And I need this pretty little pussy to be warm and wet f’me when I get home. And I need my belly full so I have the energy to fuck my wife senseless."

You laugh. "Well, Deputy Tillman, I can certainly accommodate those 'complex' needs. Especially the last one."

"Yeah, yeah." He says, leaning down to kiss you. "Love you, ya know. Even when I'm calling ya mean shit in bed." 

You know part of him feels guilty, even though you both enjoy this side of your sex life. The side that lets him be rough, dominant, and just a little cruel. The side that lets him feel like he's in charge.

"I know, honey." You say, kissing him back. "I love you too, even when you're being a caveman."

"Hey, cavemen knew how to provide fer their women." He says, a proud smirk on his face.

He slowly pulls out of you, and you can't help but wince a little at the empty feeling, the sudden rush of wetness as his release starts to trickle out.

"Fuckin' look at that..." He says, with a low whistle, spreading your legs and watching as a mix of your fluids and his cum drips out of you. "Leakin' all over the damn place, mama."

You roll your eyes. "Well, someone was determined to 'breed' me."

"Don't start, woman." He says, though he's smiling. "You know I'm just talkin' shit. I know you wanna give it a few years, travel ‘n all that shit ya always talk ‘bout."

"I just wanna live with you a little bit more before we start changin' diapers." You say, reaching for him.

He helps pull you upright, and you make a face as you feel more of his cum slide out of you.

"Better go clean up." He says, smacking your ass. "Don't want you gettin' a UTI or some shit. Then I won't be able to fuck ya for a week."

"Look at him, learning." You tease as you get up, heading for the bathroom. That had indeed happened when you first got together, and you’d never seen him pout more than that one week.

You're in the middle of cleaning up when he follows you in, leaning against the doorframe.

"What's the matter? Can't be away from me for five minutes?" You ask, catching his eye in the mirror.

"Somethin' like that." He says, coming up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder. "Just wanna look at what's mine."

You see the two of you in the mirror: his tall, sturdy frame, your soft, curvy body, the marks he's left on your neck and breasts.

He's bending you over the sink before you can protest, the cold porcelain a shock against your heated skin.

"Gator!" You gasp, looking up at him in the mirror.

"Still got thirty minutes till dinner's done." He says, a wicked glint in his eye. "And I ain't done with you yet."

He's already hard again, and he's lining himself up with your entrance, sliding in with a groan.

"Wanna have s’more cherry pie before dinner. Been real good to ya. Earned it." He says, grabbing your hips and starting to move. 

"Think ya can take another load?" He says, leaning down to whisper in your ear. "Think ya can take me whenever I want, like a good wife should?"

You can only moan in response, your hands braced against the sink as he fucks you from behind.

"That's what I thought." He says, smirking at your cock drunk reflection. "Should make you warm me at the dinner table. Pull my dick out and have you sit on my lap. Right in front ‘a the dinner you cooked."

"God, you're relentless tonight ..." You start, but you're cut off by a particularly hard thrust.

"Gonna fuckin' talk nasty to ya while you do. Ask you how your day was while yer full of me. Tell ya 'bout my day. Eat my meal with my girl on my cock. Make ya keep it in while ya do the dishes."

He's getting faster now, the wet sounds of your coupling filling the small bathroom.

"Yeah, ya'd like that, wouldn't ya? Like bein’ my personal cocksleeve. Always ready, always wet, always willin’."

He's talking through his teeth now, his grip on your hips tightening.

"Gonna cum in ya again, fill you up some more." He's rutting against you, chasing his release.

"Gonna plug you up after, keep all that cum in there. Make you sleep with it in you." His other hand snakes around to rub your clit, and you can feel your own orgasm building.

"Gonna wake ya up with my cock in the middle of the night. And in the mornin’. And after breakfast. And again ‘fore I go t’work."

He's panting, his movements becoming more erratic as he gets closer to the edge.

"Gonna keep you full of me all the fuckin' time."

His fingers are moving faster on your clit, and you can feel yourself getting closer.

"C'mon, mama, cum with me. Squeeze my cock."

The command is all it takes, and you're cumming with a cry, your body convulsing around him as he empties himself into you for the second time.

"Shit..." He murmurs, leaning against you, both of you breathing heavily. "Goddamn..."

He stays inside you for a minute, just holding you, before slowly pulling out.

"Turn around." He says, and you do, leaning back against the sink.

He's looking at you, a mix of awe and something else in his eyes.

"Love you." He says, the words coming out a little rough.

"I love you too." You say, a tired but happy smile on your face.

"C'mon. Dinner time. I wasn't kiddin' ‘bout the dinner table." He winks at you.

You roll your eyes as he helps you stabilize, pulling you into a hug.

"Just let me get some panties on." You laugh, pushing him away playfully.

"Nuh uh." He says, grabbing your wrist. "What I just say?" 

It was gonna be a long night. 

sweet prompts = 🍒

spicy prompts = 🌶️

February 1st

Sending/Receiving love letters (bonus points if they are from a secret admirer) 🍒

"You look so beautiful like this." 🌶️

February 2nd

"Is that a ring box in your pocket or you just happy to see me?" 🍒

Placing a kiss on all their favorite parts 🌶️

February 3rd

Making funny faces behind the computer as the other is on a boring call 🍒

"Is this okay?" 🌶️

February 4th

Apple/Berry Picking Date! 🍒

"Are you just going to stare?" 🌶️

February 5th

"Nothing feels as good as coming home to you." “Nothing feels as good as having you come home to me." 🍒

Strawberries and chocolate 🌶️

February 6th

Teddy Bear 🍒

You don't make it to dinner 🌶️

February 7th

"Do you think I would make a good mom/dad?" 🍒

Scraping teeth on their neck just to feel them shiver 🌶️

February 8th

Going to a wine tasting, one of you gets silly drunk -🍒

“I want you so badly it hurts to hold back" 🌶️

February 9th

"You are just so cute" "You are the only one aloud to say that" 🍒

Lace/Lingerie 🌶️

February 10th

hiding under a blanket to hide your/their blush 🍒

an accidental ‘I love you’ 🌶️

February 11th

Flowers 🍒

Recreating a book or movie scene together 🌶️

February 12th

"You're such a nerd" 🍒

Love Potion 🌶️

February 13th

Breakfast in bed 🍒

Oh no! There's only one bed 🌶️

February 14th (valentines day!)

Candlelight 🍒

“I’ll make you mine forever” 🌶️

Swap Outs:🍷

getting too handsy on the dance floor 🌶️

"It's so hot when you talk like that."🌶️

"I'm not done with you."🌶️

You can't decide on the right playlist. 🌶️

Wrapping their biceps with cute ribbon.🍒

"I would choose you in every lifetime, every universe"🍒

"I can hardly wait to put a ring on that finger"🍒

On Valentine's Day everything is discounted for couples, so why not pretend! 🍒

Info! 💋 PLEASE READ

This event will run from February 1st through February 14th (Valentine’s Day!)

Each day there are two prompts associated with that date! One on the sweeter side and one on the spicy side! But, don’t let that limit how you choose to interpret the prompt! If there is any time or day the prompt isn’t speaking to you…We have provided a few swap outs (both sweet and spice) you can use any time, once! You can combine the sweet and spicy prompts into one fic or, you can pick one out of the two or, write two separate fics/drabbles etc, for both!

This is a non commitment collab! So feel free to join as much or as little as you would like! There is NO pressure, just sweet Valentine’s Day themed fun!

Updated: NO! INCEST OR DARK/DDNE THEMES! If you wonder if your fic/idea crosses that line shoot us a message!

When you post your fics please use the collab tag #Isla&Pink’sGalentinesCollab so we can see everyone’s works! (Note: There will be no event Masterlist)

IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS CHECK HERE… IF STILL NOT ANSWERED COMMENT OR SEND a AN INBOX! WE ARE HAPPY TO ANSWER ANY - Isla and Pink! 💌💐

You, Robin’s other best friend, never pass up an opportunity to remind Steve that actually, according to Best Friend Law: you were there first. Which allegedly gives you some sort of eternal precious connection to Robin and bragging rights until death.

It was you who defended Robin against the Chocolate Milk Bullies of ‘74, you who has spent countless hours in the Buckley basement for sleepovers, you who Robin has clung to through the tumult of the last decade.

But if Steve ever needs to rile you up, he’ll mutter something about the ‘psychokinetic bonds formed through drug-induced hallucinations’ and that’ll get you going for a good half hour, at least. (He doesn’t actually know what the words mean, beyond memorizing them to imply a badge of closeness with Robin that drives you up the wall.)

If it weren’t for Steve’s deep love for Robin, he’d have weaseled you out of the psuedo-triangle of friendship already. But he’s not a total jealous tyrant and he respects Robin’s wishes, however irritating those wishes may be. 

If it weren’t for your deep love of Robin, Steve would be buried six feet under. Somewhere offroad, past mile marker 10. 

You’ve run the logistics enough to know you probably wouldn’t get away with it, but there’s always room for a plan b in your heart.

___

Robin has a right to be worried about this evening. 

During the Thanksgiving meal at the Wheeler’s, you’d snuck a giant spider (courtesy of Dustin and your bribe of twenty bucks) through the cracked window of the Beemer. 

Steve ran to get the leftover can of whip cream in his front seat before the pie was cut, and screamed so loud Hopper nearly shot out the Wheeler’s living room window.

You’ve never seen Steve that color before- a bright, cherry-cheeked red, chest heaving like he’d just run a marathon, shaking with adrenaline and anger. 

It’s a personal goal of yours for next year to make him return to that color, somehow.

But for tonight, you really do mean to swallow it down, for Robin's sake. To put your bitter rivalry on the back burner and come together in holiday cheer, just for an evening.

And then you walk in the room, and across a room full of faces you love, there he is- wearing a green cashmere sweater that looks stupid expensive and is hugging his frame stupidly tight across his stupidly broad chest. 

There’s a glass of champagne in his hand; he’s leaned a shoulder against the wall, talking to Jonathan on the couch- but when Steve see you walk in, he stops conversation altogether to grin wicked, calling out far too loudly- 

“Hey, look who it is! Lay any evil spider eggs recently?”

“Funny, Steven,” you shoot back, bickering coming as easy as breathing, pushing it even when Robin gives you a sharp warning look over the coat rack- “I’ve reserved all further egg clutches for that towering mess you call hair.”

You catch the twitch in Steve’s fingers, like he’s dying to push a hand through those auburn strands falling over his forehead but doesn’t want to give you the satisfaction. It makes you smile. 

“OH-kay!” Robin announces, brightly, pushing at your shoulderblades to hurry you into the kitchen. “Merry Christmas, everyone- let’s not fight in front of the kiddies.”

The kiddies, in various groups of board games and television watching, remain undisrupted. It’s not exactly new to hear you and Steve exchanging barbs; most of them keep absorbed in their current holiday fun.

Dustin manages a wave before you’re ushered into the bustling kitchen, much to Steve’s chagrin. 

“What?” From the couch, Dustin shrugs off Steve’s death glare, eyes dropping back to the screen of Lucas’s new GameBoy. “I’m not the one who thinks she’s the devil incarnate, come to slay us all. Maybe it’s time you turn a new, reasonable leaf.”

“You’re twelve,” Steve retorts, with stunning childish inaccuracy. The stem of the champagne flute creaks under his grip. 

Once you’re in the kitchen it’s easier to ignore your rival’s presence- Mrs. Byers and Nancy set you up with a cutting board, and you get to work, chatting happily over the holiday radio station.

Dinner passes mostly without incident, a blend of families and friends so big that some of the younger kids resort to stretching out on the living room carpet with plates piled high. 

You and Steve are sat on opposing corners of the extended table, so you’re able to keep true to your deal with Robin. No chance for you to accidentally knock the table vase of flowers into Steve’s mashed potatoes; no chance for Steve to sneak a spoonful of gravy into your water glass. 

It’s almost a little boring. You wonder if Steve (seven seats away and listlessly pushing his fork through a mound of peas) is missing the chaos, too. 

After dinner and cleanup, everyone disperses back to various groups. An instrumental of Silent Night plays softly from the handheld radio, while in the living room, A Charlie Brown Christmas rerun is just beginning.

Eddie catches your eye from across the kitchen, pack of cigarettes raised in question. Your jean jacket and boots are thrown on in record time, shoulder bumping into Eddie’s genially on your way out the back door.

___

Steve is really trying to pay attention to Argyle’s one-sided debate about the merits of flats or wings, but he can’t stop thinking about your coat. 

And about how thin it looked, and how much it’s snowing, and how long you’ve been out there- jesus christ, is Munson trying to kill you? It’s been thirteen and a half minutes. How long does a smoke break take, anyways?

“-but the sauce, brochacho, you gotta consider the sauce-” Arglye gestures towards Steve with emphasis while Jonathan, two couch cushions down, hums in sage agreement. 

“Yeah,” Steve replies, eyes on his watch. “That’s awesome, man. I’m gonna hit the bathroom. Back in a bit.”

The kitchen is still bustling with conversation as Steve ducks in unnoticed, snagging two clean glass tumblers from the side table and bringing them over to the cooler resting on the far counter.

Among other drinks in the ice bed, a vintage whiskey lifted from Harrington Sr.’s cellar for the occasion lies in wait. Steve uncorks it, then pours a generous stream into each glass. 

His eyes flick to the window above the sink- it’s dark, but in the dim back porch lights he can just make out two forms at the edge of the yard, backs turned and feet stomping with cold. 

“Be nice,” Robin calls in warning from her seat at the table, slung over Vickie’s lap and being no help at all in the current round of Jenga.

In answer, Steve raises two glasses of perfectly nice alcohol, an extra coat tucked under his arm as he backs out the front door and into the chill of the night air.

The snow has eased some, but there’s still plenty on the ground; it soaks through the bottom of Steve’s jeans as he crunches across the frozen grass to join you and Eddie on the far side.

Duel clouds of smoke trail and twine into one as Eddie passes you a joint, and you pass him a cigarette- a trade off, as both of them are lit. 

Steve tsks in greeting. “What, not enough fresh air out here for you two to desecrate, so you gotta smoke twice as many things?”

“I knew I smelled hairspray.” You’re quick with another hit off the joint, blowing it downwind, the pretty shape of your profile hitting Steve with unusual force. “Careful, Eddie- Harrington here isn’t supposed to be near an open flame with the amount of product it takes to keep it up.”

Steve’s sigh floats out of him in a cold cloud. “C’mon, princess, lighten up- ‘tis the season. I brought you some spirits.”

You squint at the glass Steve leans to hand you, immediately suspicious- “Did you spit in it, or something?”

“No, I didn’t spit in it,” Steve protests- and then, knowing you won’t believe his word without action, takes a sip from both glasses to prove his point.

“I dunno.” Smoke streams from your nose, eyebrow cocked. “You might be the type of guy to drink your own spit.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Exasperated, Steve makes to give the whiskey to Eddie, instead, but you intercept the glass.

Eddie takes a step back with his fingerless gloves palm-out in surrender. “Hey, man, as long as you two promise not to tear each other to ribbons, I’m gonna head in.”

Steve waves him off, and you give a half-hearted scout’s honor with your free hand. The back door creaks closed again, and Steve steps into place at your side, proffering the flannel-lined coat he’d brought. “Here. For you, too.”

“Oh. Thanks.” You’re appreciative but don’t say anything more as Steve helps you into the first sleeve, then the second, and soon it’s quiet as the fresh snow all around.

Steve swirls the whiskey in his glass and takes another swallow. Then, because he can’t stand the silence anymore- “Smoking is bad for you.”

“God,” you groan, but it’s followed by a snort of amusement. “Thanks for the health tip, mom.”

Steve smiles into the rim of his cup. He sees you smiling, too, from the corner of his eye- until it fades and you’re staring unseeing into the winter forest past the fenceline. 

“Do you think we’re totally just gonna end up like our parents? Mine, they used to fight just like this. Like you and me. I’d hate to be like either of them, when I get older.”

Steve’s heart flickers at the raw, open vulnerability in your voice. 

He thinks about the Christmases spent between his parents at either end of the dining table, used once a year; his father talking incessantly about the world of law, trying to mold his son into it like an ill-fitting suit; his mother, all blurry lipstick and distant smiles as she used the holidays as an excuse to polish off the fancy wine.

Steve thinks about his parents’ absence from the last three Christmases, and how little he misses them. How the seasons have brought him siblings in droves, aunts who always make sure to send him off with overflowing tupperware, friends to warm the cold interior of the Harrington mansion and make it feel like home for the first time.

From what Steve’s heard in bits and pieces over the years (via the ever-accessible Robin gossip line and the more rare drunken confessions from yourself), your parents weren’t exactly batting a thousand, either. 

Probably, you’ve had it even harder- which is why Steve is so awed by your nature. You’re a caretaker, a shining pillar of quiet goodness, with a soft quality that’s only obscured like a finely-tuned reflex during tiffs with Steve. 

Memories weave in and out, seamless and shifting into the next- your hands braiding Holly’s hair at the breakfast counter. Your grin, bright as a sunbeam, for Max’s skating trick, then a whoop and a holler and a round of applause that makes Max blush but secretly preen. Your arms around Robin on the couch, Nancy in the summery front yard, Jonathan on the porch; always willing and eager to give kindness where you can.

Even to Steve, when he really needs it. Mugs of tea that have appeared noiselessly at his elbow. The gentle pressure of a hand on his back. The poke of your sneaker against his knee under the table. Small ways to show that you care, that you see him, usually when no else bothers to. 

The fights with you are just a bonus. He counts himself lucky that he’s been hand-picked to take on this side of you.

Steve realizes he’s been quiet for a long time, thoughts tumbling; you shift beside him from one boot to the other, and he pinwheels his way into speaking-

“Oh, like- you mean like, we’re playing at being adults. With their bad habits, and everything.”

You nod. Still staring off into the distance, still with your hands around the unsipped whiskey glass. The cherry of the cigarette between your fingers is no longer glowing.

“I know what you’re saying,” Steve starts, cautious but earnest- “-but no, I don’t think we’re like our parents. Either of us.”

There’s a beat, a moment where you really absorb this- and then, as if the honesty makes you squirrelly, you breathe out a sigh and close your eyes in mock contemplation. “I think this fighting’s good for my aggression outlet. So. I’m not gonna stop.”

“Merry Christmas to me,” Steve says dryly, reaching to clink his glass into yours. “What would I do without your smart mouth and the threat of life-endangering pranks in the new year?”

“Quit talkin’ about my mouth or I’ll hit you in yours.” 

You both descend into quiet snickering laughter, and Steve feels something loosen in his chest. Words bubble to the surface before he can think to censor them.

“Y’know, some days, the only reason I get out of bed is because I know I get to fight with you at a party.”

And then he turns on his heel, cutting a swift path back towards the house, leaving you in open-mouthed silence in the gently falling snow.

___

Steve thought that statement was a clear white flag. An unsubtle declaration of wanting to stop pretending- pretending like he doesn’t stare at your mouth just to memorize the shape, pretending to take no heed of your laughter even and especially when it’s at his expense.

Three days after Christmas, in yet another crowded family kitchen, you’d eased past Steve with your hands settling on his hips, briefly, the pressure there and then gone in your path towards the living room.

Steve had to go to his parked car for a bit. He sat in the passenger seat and bit his knuckle raw, reciting every Mets player like a Hail Mary just to will away the stiffness in his dick. 

So yeah, Steve’s in deep, and while he has the distinct feeling you and him are speaking different languages entirely, he’s still trying to send signals. 

The softer he gets, the more you resist, claws digging in with a bite, remarks sharper than usual. Never cruel, but pointed and quick. 

Steve knows he’s throwing off the whole rhythm you two have built up over the last few years. The bitch-for-bitch routine only works if he’s a bitch, too-

but he can’t help it. He’s tired of the bullshit. He’s tired of pretending. 

He just needs you to see it, too.

___

Steve has been so weird, recently. 

The more you’ve been dishing, the more he’s been taking- graciously. With a smile quirked at the corner of his lips like the whole thing is funny. You’ll tee up a snide comment and he’ll bow his head, hair flopping over his forehead in a puppy-like way that makes verbal combat so much harder.

You feel like the rug keeps getting pulled out from under you in every social interaction. It’s like he doesn’t even want to be friends anymore. What’s the point of this whole arrangement if you’re sparring by yourself?

There’s a sneaking suspicion you have- that after that night in the snow, Steve pities you. He feels bad, and that’s why he’s been going so easy. 

It makes his niceness much harder to swallow. 

Which is why the reappearance of your crush on Steve is so goddamn inconvenient. 

Usually, you’d be in the rightful position to take advantage of his lack of comebacks- but he has you feeling flustered. Goddamn twitterpated. 

Looking at you under long lashes, with those doey eyes. The moles on his neck deeply confronting every time he wears a low collar. 

And the killer is, you don’t even have the guts to talk to Robin about it. Your best friend in the whole world. It becomes a secret guilt, something that pushes your psyche to the avoidant side.

You start withdrawing from Steve. You stop picking at him like you normally do the second he walks in the door; you excuse yourself to activities in other rooms, on other couches; you pick up extra shifts and tell yourself it’s for the holiday pay but really, it’s to get out from under the potency of Steve’s gaze.

Most of your friends are too wrapped up in their own shit to really notice the new strangeness, the new tension that’s formed (one-sided though it may be). 

It comes to a head one evening, though. 

With that fucking sweater. 

The off-white, heavy-knit, rainbow-thread-pricked sweater that fits Steve like it was made for him. The contours of his shoulders, hunched against the winter winds in the Wheeler’s driveway, draw your eyes in like a beacon. 

“Did you hear me?” Steve says your name again, pointing at Eddie’s van idling on the curb. “There’s not enough seats. I’m gonna stay behind- it’s past my bedtime, anyways.”

The idea of leaving Steve in an empty house while the rest of you enjoy the heated interior of the kids’ concert hall performance is ridiculous. It jolts you from the single-mindedness of watching a snowflake melt into the golden apple of Steve’s cheek.

“Don’t be an idiot,” you say, pulling him by the sleeve to the open door of the van. The last empty seat is by the window. “I’ll just sit on your lap. As long as you promise not to be a weirdo about it.”

Steve grins. The flash of his teeth feels like a shot through the heart. “Promise.”

Nancy and Jon had the same idea, already snuggled up with a shared lap belt, so it shouldn't be weird, except that Jon and Nance are a couple, and you and Steve aren’t, and you’re really trying not to overthink it-

and then you’re sitting in Steve’s lap. Someone else closes the door, the van kicks into gear, and the radio fills in all the gaps as your world shrinks down to just the feeling of his thighs underneath yours. 

You’re not sure how to place yourself best, half-perching and holding onto the seat in front until Steve slips an arm around your waist. 

“I won’t break,” he says, low at your ear, just for you. 

So with his coaxing you settle your weight further in, letting him ease the front of his chest to your back. There’s a bump in the road, and Steve tightens his hold to keep you steady.

“Sorry,” he murmurs, breath spilling down the line of your neck. 

Goosebumps cascade across your skin. You’re grateful you thought to wear jeans tonight, not a dress- although feeling him all around, so suffocatingly close, feels just as revealing.

“It’s okay,” you breathe back, nose turning down over your shoulder to reply. His right eye, the one you can see, squinches like he’s smiling. 

The drive to the community center is a staggering 15 minutes. Around you, your friends are laughing, talking over the radio like nothing has changed and Steve isn’t pressing his forehead to the back of your neck in the dim light.

There’s an ache growing steadily between your thighs. You try your best not to shift around too much, but then there’s a bend in the road that has Steve’s thumb slipping against the bare skin of your stomach, and it takes enormous effort to keep your legs from snapping shut at the feeling.

“Are you cold?” Steve asks. In that same quiet, just-for-you voice.

You shake your head. He feels it. 

The tenderness of his thumb stroking over your hipbone is making your head foggy. Impairing your better judgement. He smoothes gently, at first, waiting for you to snap at his wrist or maybe tell him off- but when you don’t, Steve grows more confident with his touches.

He settles into a stroking rhythm with his thumb while his other hand subtly crawls up the path of your outer thigh, one wide, warm palm coming to rest over the seat of your jeans. If anyone looked now, it would simply seem like Steve had your best interests at heart, wanting to steady you from the rocking of the backroads.

When in reality, Steve was taking you apart at the seams. Splitting them open one by one. 

His nose is pressed just above the collar of your coat, like he’s breathing you in the same way you’re taking lungfuls of his spiced cologne and laundry detergent. You think his breath might be shuddering, but whether it’s from the cold or the proximity, you can’t tell. 

The spell breaks when the van screeches to a halt in the parking lot. There’s a flurry of movement, a tangle of limbs as everyone catapults back out into the chilly night air. 

Steve’s lips brush the back of your neck before he withdraws. It feels like it might’ve been an accident. You’re not sure of anything, anymore. 

He opens his arms, releasing his hold, and you crawl from the van, stepping into the snow without looking back.

___

The night before New Year’s Eve, Robin comes over to help Steve prep for the party.

There’s tinsel strewn across the dining table, black and gold balloons in various states of inflation bobbing in a cluster underneath Robin’s chair. She ties off the end of another gold one and drops it unseeing to the pile below.

“Jon will grab the pizzas, Vick’s on soda duty, and Eddie will supply us with all the age-appropriate drugs our devious little hearts desire.” Robin reaches for a deflated black balloon, wincing around the taste of latex. “And Sweets will bring the cake. You got any top-shelf champagne you’d like to gift us from Dear Old Dad?”

“Technically basement-shelf,” Steve corrects, letting go of the half-blown balloon in his hand. It squeaks a loud path upwards, careening towards Robin’s side of the table and glancing off her shoulder with the last of its air. 

Steve feels unsettled and overly warm at the mention of your name, the epithet rolling off Robin’s tongue like it’s simultaneously precious and nothing to call you that. 

He spins a string of tinsel around his pointer finger, winding it tight enough to cut off circulation, then releasing it again. “Is Sweets- is she, um. Seeing anyone? Recently, I mean.”

“Not since Roy.” Robin pokes her tongue out in concentration, flat end of the balloon twisting in her uncoordinated fingers. 

Steve almost flinches at the name. Roy Stillwell, the biggest idiot on the former football team, who somehow managed to capture your attention for nearly six months. 

Robin finishes tying off the balloon and lets it slip through her grasp, already reaching for the next. “He wasn’t nice to her, like, at all. I’m so relieved she listened to the good sense of her most wise best friend and dropped his hulking ass after the earthquakes.”

It’s been almost a year, then. Steve tries not to sound suspicious but fails, ears tingeing pink as he asks- “So no one… no one special for her since then?”

Robin looks up from her self-imposed balloon wrangling job with a withering squint. “Why? Are you planning to mess with her, or something? You’ve both been so good recently. It’s been bringing my poor torn heart such healing.”

“Shut up,” Steve tells her, feeling overly fond and deeply embarrassed. The tinsel stretches between his fingers and breaks, noiselessly. “I was just thinking, if she wants to get back out there- I could set her up with one of my buddies.”

“Buddies,” Robin echos, incredulous. “I’m sure our graduating class of high school rejects would absolutely froth at the mouth to get a chance with her, but honestly, Steve, she doesn’t deserve it. You can’t sabotage her love life. I draw the line at food and animal-based pranking.”

Steve shakes his head, eyes dropping to the half-drunk beer between them; he picks it up just to have a label to pick and peel at. “I wasn’t planning any love-based sabotage, so you can cool your jets with that.”

He cringes to think about the narratives you’ve likely been fed by Robin regarding his own love life (or lack thereof), what with her fantastic propensity to bloat the truth. Daliances distorted and disproportionate and probably miles away from reality. 

Steve Harrington might not hold the king’s title any more, but his track record this last year as far as keeping women around where any meaningful long-term capacity is concerned has not been good.

He’s lied, here and there, to Robin, which he hates doing, but there are only so many times he can come crying to her about a girl never calling him back after the third date before it gets pathetic. 

The details of who, exactly, neglected to call whom after sleeping together have been fudged enough to make Steve seem slightly less lame. More in control, more laid back and casual than he actually is. 

He really shouldn’t bother, anymore. Like he said- he’s tired of pretending, tired of the bullshit- 

and Robin already thinks he’s kinda lame, yet loves him anyways. 

Robin rises from the table, breaking Steve from his thoughts. She kicks gently at the balloons to begin herding them into the living room, and says over her shoulder with finality on the issue- “She deserves better.”

Steve peels the label off his beer in one clean sweep. “Yeah. Can’t argue there.”

___

In the end, it’s Robin that brings the two of you together. 

As she always does. Intentionally or not. 

Two AM in the new year finds Robin belting out a jazzy rendition of Auld Lang Syne, cheeks flushed with spirits as she’s half-carried, half-pushed up the stairs by you and Steve.

“Don’t worry,” you’re calling down the hall to where Vickie stands giggling, car keys in her hand. “We’ll take good care of your girl.”

“If she doesn’t kill us first,” Steve grumbles, ducking another one of Robin’s far-flug arms. “All right, songbird, that’s enough out of you.”

He takes a wider stance against the stairs, leaning forward to tuck Robin’s waist against his shoulder, then straightening up with a grunt. She drapes like a sack of potatoes, and Steve grits his teeth before the next step. “Christ alive, Buckley. You’re practically sloshing.”

Robin’s head lifts from the small of Steve’s back as she declares, “You are the slushed one. Shteve.” 

Your hands go to stabilize Robin as you follow them both, and Steve can hear you laughing quietly at her drunken antics. 

Steve decides to put her to sleep in the second guest bedroom- it’s the one furthest down the hall, with a bathroom attached. He eases Robin from his shoulder straight onto the mattress, supporting her neck on the way down- then gets stuck halfway to standing as she throws her arms around him.

“Steve,” Robin sighs. “You’re the best- my best- friend. Ever. Love you, dingus.”

Steve’s cheek is squished into the side of her neck. He chuckles and pats at her hips. “Hey, love you too, Goose. Unhand me and I’ll take your shoes off for you.”

Robin’s arms flop back to the sheets, and Steve bends to ease the sneakers from her feet. He sets them under the bedside table, where you’ve just appeared with a glass of water and two blue Tylenol pills.

“I scrounged around in the bathroom cabinets,” you say, by way of explanation.

“No, that’s- that’s cool,” Steve rushes to assure- but your focus has already been pulled entirely to Robin.

You kneel at the mattress edge, the back of your hand lifting to brush down the side of Robin’s flushed cheek as you tell her softly- “Gonna leave you some water. Try to get some sleep, okay?”

“Sweets,” Robin croaks, eyes hazy and roaming over your face. “Jus’ you’n me?”

“Yeah,” you say, keeping to the same soft tone, even as your free hand jolts backwards. “Just me, honey pie.”

Somehow you land a perfect hit to the side of Steve’s ribs, and he’s forced a step backwards into the shadows of the room. He stifles a laugh into his fist, your touch melting into his skin long after the initial impact of your fingertips. 

Robin doesn’t notice the noise, eyes only for you as she catches your hand in both of hers and says, “You should tell ‘im goodnight. Go onnnn. It would be so fun, I love y’both so much-!”

You shush Robin’s stream of consciousness, in a mild way, like one might for a child fighting a much-needed nap. “Hush, Robs, you’re talking silly. Beddy bye time.”

Then you pull up the covers to her chin, lean in to kiss her sweaty forehead, and brush past Steve on your way out to the hall. 

After turning out the lamp and ensuring Robin is snoring, Steve follows in your wake; he finds you downstairs, on the living room couch. Feet tucked under yourself, hands twisting in your lap. 

It’s a bit of a disaster area, empty bottles and Happy New Year ephemera strewn about the room. The lamp over your shoulder is the only source of light in the room, casting your profile in warm oranges. 

“Hey.” He eases onto the cushion next to you but keeps his knees tilted away, leaving a careful amount of space between your bodies. “What did, uh. What’d Robin mean?”

Steve’s heart thumps unsteadily at the base of his throat, waiting for your response. 

It comes quietly. 

“She wanted me to tell you goodnight. Which I guess is code for, like, admitting my big fat crush on you.”

Steve jerks his gaze to yours, heart thudding louder. 

There’s no indication of any life-altering statements that have just been made- in fact, your chin is tilted upwards, an expression of practiced nonchalance settled into your features.

When Steve meets your eyes, though, there’s something that courses over your face unhidden. It’s fear, or embarrassment, maybe, the intensity of it there and gone in the span of a breath as you work to smooth back into a blasé manner. 

Your gaze drops to the knee of your jeans, plucking at a stray thread. There’s a bitter quality to your voice as you speak. “What, no punchy comment? It’s fine. You can let me have it. You pity me, and I’m the last person you’d ever wanna-”

Steve moves on pure instinct and desire, closing the gap of your bodies in a moment, hands reaching to cup your cheeks, noses bumping together briefly as his face crowds yours. He hears the quick intake of your breath before he whispers, sharp-

“Please shut up.”

And then Steve is kissing you. In the hungry, desperate way he’s been thinking about for the better part of three years. Lips pressing and sliding together, teeth clacking with the force but it doesn’t matter because you’re kissing back. 

Parting your lips for him, tongue sliding against the front of Steve’s teeth, the roof of his mouth; your hands fly to his wrists, keeping him in place, keeping him close as the kiss keeps spiraling. Drawing back only to readjust, to fit your nose to the side of his, angling to get in deeper-

Steve’s hands are trembling. The adrenaline is coursing through his veins, along with a dozen other emotions rapidly rising to the surface. He sends a silent prayer to every god ever that you won’t notice, that you’ll let him keep kissing you and drinking you in.

You do notice, though. There’s a wet click as your lips leave his, and Steve keeps his eyes closed, begging to keep the moment for just a little longer, nose still pressed to your cheek.

But all you ask, in a quiet whisper, is- “Are you okay?”

Steve nods. A hoarse exhalation shudders through him, as his thumbs memorize the path of your jaw. He wants to tell you that he’s more than okay- that the tremors are just a pesky side effect from all that torture and trauma, that he’s shaking with anticipation and delight, not nerves, exactly- 

then you’re swinging a leg over his hip and sitting in his lap and under the weight of you, Steve’s racing thoughts go silent. 

All he can think about is that car ride where he felt suffocated by lust, by wanting, and how badly he’s longed for this, the pressure of your thighs draped over his and your fists in the roots of his hair like they’re doing right now. 

“I don’t pity you.” Steve says the words before his brain gets too clouded by your smell and touches. He settles his hands at your waist, guiding you to sit more heavily, just like he had in the car. “You believe me?”

This won’t work if you don’t. 

To Steve’s immense relief, you nod, eyes flicking from his spit-slick lips to his gaze still locked on you as you whisper back, “Yeah. I believe you.”

With a stifled groan, Steve reaches one of his trembly hands to the nape of your neck, pulling you in to kiss again. His cock is rapidly filling out a hard line in the leg of his jeans, brain going static at the tiny whimpers you’re making into his mouth.

It’s nearly overwhelming, being this close to you. Steve has always wondered what noises you’d make when kissed, how you’d respond to a hand sliding under your shirt along the length of your back- and now, he’ll never have to wonder again. 

Your tongue twists against his. Steve’s glad he had the foresight to close his eyes, because the way they’re currently rolling to the back of his head is probably not very pretty. 

His left hand, beneath the sheer black shimmer of your shirt, grazes the edge of your bra, and can’t help but think he used to be good at this. Good at hookups, at fun, meaningless sex; at unhooking a bra with nothing but an unshakeable pinky. 

This hookup isn’t nothing, though. It’s sort of everything to Steve. The culmination of all the pent-up feelings of the last few years, channeled into every touch, sinking deeper than the surface of his skin, down into his bones. 

The hands in his hair tighten and loosen in a repetitive pattern, sharp then gentle, like you’re having a conflict of your own- you break the kissing again just to let out a frustrated huff. “I can’t- I don’t know how to be soft. It might break me, to be that with you.”

Steve knows what you mean. The intimacy of gentleness, with your shared history of bickering, can’t be overstated. 

He pets at your hip, across the planes of your back, leaning forward again to kiss at the downturned edge of your mouth. “Hey. I get it. Even though I do think you know how to be nice, I’m not asking you to be that. Not right now, at least.”

You shift again in his lap and Steve grits his back molars at the feeling of your thigh against his cock, electric even through all the layers. Tentatively, you tug at the roots of his hair again, then harder, gaining confidence as Steve responds to the sharper pulls. 

Your mouth is back on his and there’s a flash of teeth again, on purpose this time as you bite into the plush bottom of his lip. Steve hisses, brows drawing together, another lightning strike of arousal turning his thoughts to dead air. 

“Like that?” You question, but it’s self-assured and slightly smug and Steve feels like he’s burning up.

“Please let me go down on you,” he murmurs, instead of a simple ‘yes’. 

He doesn’t have time to consider how very whiny he’s sounding because the begging increases, surges with force as Steve licks under your jaw, planting kisses down the pretty line of your neck in between each word.

“Please let me, please, I’ll make it so good- wanna taste you-”

You’re already guiding him with the pull of your limbs to a much more horizontal position on the couch, Steve catching his weight with a hand planted on either side of your shoulders as he continues to kiss his way down your body.

He carves a path between the valley of your breasts, leaving wet lip imprints against the sheer shimmering black fabric of your shirt (a New Year’s-themed low-cut number that Steve didn’t put a whole lot of effort into pretending not to stare at all night). 

There’s the darker outline of the lace edge of your bra so Steve kisses that, too, then continues to your tummy, a bare stripe of skin waiting for his lips to press over. Steve’s left hand drifts underneath the hem of your shirt, exposing more skin to kiss at, seeking out the soft mound of your breast and squeezing to mold the shape in his hand.

At this, your hips give a short jolt upwards, and Steve hears a soft gasp leave you. The sound lights him up, moving on pure instinct to drive his own hips down into the pressure of the cushion beneath. 

Steve ruts the bulge of his cock forwards and fumbles at the button of your jeans with his free hand, tremors at an all-time low as his focus hones in between your thighs.

Everything Steve has ever learned by fumbling in the back seat with girls who wouldn’t care about him in a week- he thinks it might’ve been all for you. 

All to be able to hear that noise you make the first time he gets his mouth on you.

It’s halfway to a long, breathy moan, cut short by the slap of your own palm, but it doesn’t matter because Steve’s already burned it into his mind for forever as he laps against your bare cunt. You taste just as good as he’s always imagined, sweet and bright and honeyed as his tongue slides into the channels of your muscle. 

He feels you pulse around him. Steve moans, the vibrations making your hands snap to his hair again, taking the reins to pull him further in. 

“Steve,” you whisper, thighs beginning to close around his ears. “Steve-”

His name has never sounded better, coming from you. Not ‘Harrington’, not ‘King Steve’ with sarcastic derision. Just Steve. He’s never felt more seen. 

It’s probably for the best that his mouth is occupied, because Steve gets pussy-drunk at an alarming rate- a rate that’s made even worse if he likes the person. 

And he really, really likes you.

Steve withdraws his tongue from your cunt and seals his lips around the beating heart of your clit, listening for the hitch in your breath as he finds the right pressure. His fingers squeeze tighter around your breast, thumb and forefinger pinching at your nipple; your back arches from the couch, pressing yourself into his touches. 

His hips grind mindlessly down and forwards, trying to find a reprieve for all the blood currently pooling southwards but it only serves to draw the band of pleasure even tighter. 

Steve distracts himself by sinking his middle finger into the wet heat of your center, sucking on your clit in time with the exploratory thrusts he gives with the digit. He slides another alongside it as your thighs begin to quiver.

When Steve curls his fingers and drives the angle against your front wall, a choked cry and a sudden sharp pull at his hair tells him to keep going. Steve does, sucking hard enough to hollow his cheeks, humming a low note of encouragement. 

He stays the course until you’re spasming around him, cursing quietly with his name thrown into the mix. 

Steve pulls off just long enough to look at you, still keeping the rhythm up with his hand but resting his chin briefly on your lower stomach.

“I gotta give you three, sweetheart, okay? Not trying to blow my own horn, or whatever, but- uh- I won’t fit unless I stretch you out a little. Yeah?”

“Oh my god-”

You take his third finger like you were made for it, head lolling back and hands still fisted in his hair. There’s another spasm of your walls and then you’re coming, unexpectedly soon but Steve acts quick, latching back onto your clit and coaxing you through the wave of it with feverish enthusiasm.

That’s it, he thinks, instead of speaking aloud, mouth full of your taste, a palm full of your slick. That’s it, baby- 

Steve draws out your orgasm for as long as you’ll allow him, fingers finally pushing at his forehead when you’ve had enough. He lifts his mouth from you, but not before leaning forward to lick the flat of his tongue through the new wetness dripping from your hole. 

His dick leaks in the confines of his briefs at the sight of you- sweat dewing your skin, making you glow, lips parted in short heaving breaths as Steve gives you another kiss. A lingering but overall rather chaste one from someone who was just drinking from you like a starving man.

“I don’t have- I didn’t really stock up on condoms,” Steve stammers, suddenly remembering as your hands wander down the front of his button-down chest. “Shit. Sorry. It’s, uh- it’s been awhile, for me.”

“It’s okay,” you murmur back. Hands fiddling with the buckle of his belt. “Been awhile for me, too. But I’m on the pill. So. Have your way with me, or whatever.”

You give a shrug and a grin and Steve feels like the luckiest person to have lived, maybe ever. He buries a groan into the plush of your breast as you giggle at him. 

His burn of embarrassment quickly gives way to the hot flame of desire, rutting into the flat palm of your hand as you work your way to the top of his zipper.

Steve is overcome with a need to be good for you- to let you have whatever you want. He’s spellbound with obedience, looking down at you with half-lidded eyes. 

“Let me see you.” You thumb at the button of his jeans. Half of a smile on those lips Steve knows so well.

Steve helps by sliding the waistband of both his briefs and pants down, settling them just under his ass because he’s too wound up to stop for a proper strip. He can’t help himself, brushing over the head to spread his pre over his shaft, pumping a few times before you reach to bat his grip away. 

Then your hand is wrapping around the throbbing length of his bare cock and Steve has to restabilize against the cushions again, putting his weight in his forearms that sit snug along your sides. He has to dip to bite at the column of your neck in order to smother a loud moan as your fingers tighten around his girth.

“Holy fuck, you weren’t kidding.” You’re still speaking in a low voice but this time it’s hushed with awe and disbelief. “You really are huge.”

Steve licks at the indent of his teeth in your skin and huffs a laugh, then chokes on it when your hand twists around the base and up again in a cruelly slow arc.

You help pull the collared tee from his body and then your hand is trailing down his chest, through the thicket of hair, with curiosity- lingering on parts Steve doesn’t normally think of as hot. Fingertips trace the outline of his scars, the round of his stomach, the sparse line of hair leading below his belly button.

It’s the way you’re looking at him, too, eyes skipping between his and down lower to the cock in your fist. It’s almost like you’ve been dreaming of this, as well. 

“So handsome,” you’re murmuring, still roving over the scars at his side with the hand that isn’t pumping him into oblivion. “Steve- you’re so hot, so good-”

Steve feels it in that space behind his chest, the white-hot bloom of feeling. You’re not saying it like he’s some sort of novelty, some sort of side-show you’ve been jonesing to see, a ticket punched with no promise of return.

You’re saying it like Steve’s something to really look at. Like he’s worthy of the praise and kindness you’re doling out without expectation. 

Steve tries his best to take it in stride, but it’s becoming increasingly hard to think when all the blood in his body is currently being siphoned into the led pipe of his cock in your hand. 

He’s spilling precum onto your stomach, and you pause mid-stroke to gather some of it from your skin before taking him up again, moving more slickly with the help. 

Steve feels the weight of your gaze again as he tilts his hips, aligning himself with your entrance; his own hands rest on either side of your head, thumbs at your temples as he leans in to kiss you again.

He reaches to shove the hem of your shirt up to your throat, exposing the stiff peaks of your nipples through the fabric of your bra, chests crushing together as the head of his cock notches into place. 

Steve’s toes are curling in his socks while the arches of his feet press for further stability against the couch’s arm. From between the press of your bodies, your hands slip out to rest at the tops of Steve’s freckled shoulders. 

He kisses your breastbone, your jaw again, then says at your ear with ill-concealed strain- “I’m gonna- I’ll go slow, okay? And you tell me if- if anything, something- doesn’t feel good, and we can stop, yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, fingernails beginning to sting into his skin. “C’mon, Stevie. Let me have it.”

Fighting words, Steve thinks, hiding a smile into the side of your neck. He pulls back only so he can monitor your expressions as he begins to enter you.

The thick head of his tip gets swallowed up with immediacy by the warm, wet embrace of your walls, sinking further in, pausing when there’s some resistance. Steve’s trembling again but this time it’s with the concerted efforts of slowing down, of avoiding the overwhelm for both of you. 

Your cunt is so blissfully tight. He’s only got the first few inches in but already Steve’s having trouble breathing, stuttering out short pants as he keeps watching your face for any signs of discomfort.

“It- you’re so- so big.” The words are strung thin, your brows knotted together, eyes pinched in concentration. 

Steve presses another kiss to your sweaty cheek, feeling the dampness of his own hairline and hoping he doesn’t drip any onto you as he sinks another inch inwards. “I know, honey, I know- and you’re doin’ so good, that’s my girl-”

The term of endearment leaves before Steve thinks to drag it back, but all it does is make you sigh, eyes blinking long-lashed and half-open to look up at him again, right hand leaving the top of his shoulder to fist back into the longer curls at the nape of his neck. “Steve… I can take it all. Let me.”

And who would Steve be, denying you a thing?

He lets you have all of him, pelvis lowering to seat the length of his cock fully inside you. Your nails dig past the first layer of his skin in your ecstasy, crown of your head tipping backwards as Steve feels the pulse of your walls surround him.

“Fuck me.” Another hoarse whisper as he waits, letting you adjust to the feeling of being stuffed before dragging his cock back again, until it’s just his head at that upper wall of your cunt- then sinking back in with one long thrust.

This makes you moan, loud enough that Steve instinctively curls a hand to fit over your parted lips. His best friend may be notorious for being able to sleep through a hurricane after a few shots but he’d really rather not invite chance to play tonight.

If Steve is worried about the covering being too much, he’s instantly gratified when your teeth sink into his middle fingers, like you needed something to mouth on. 

You’re so wet from Steve’s earlier work that his length glides smoothly with every rock forwards and back of his hips, a maddening cycle that’s starting to steal his breath again. The sharp tugs to his hair and the punctuated, muffled whines you’re making are enough to have his climax looming close. 

“Ah- fuck, shit-” Steve curses, stilling when his hips are pressed to yours, cock throbbing. “Not gonna last long, sweetheart, fuck- sorry, you feel too good. Pussy is choking me.”

The dirty talk has your eyes fluttering. Steve takes his hand off your mouth and kisses you, once, twice, then whispers- “Feels good, yeah, honey? Y’like taking me like this?”

Your ankles lift to cross at the small of Steve’s back, hand like a vice at his roots once Steve starts up a rhythm of fucking into you again. “Steve, keep- keep talking like that, and I’ll- I’m right there-”

He obeys, holding your shoulders again to keep you in place as his cock drags against the inner front wall of your cunt with precision. The beginning stages of an impending orgasm have Steve babbling- “That’s it, sweetheart- let me give it to you. I’ve got you, shit- y’feel so amazing. So good for me-”

“Fuck, Steve-!” Your face turns to profile as one side presses to the couch cushion beneath, mouth dropping into a silent o.

Steve slides as deep as he can, muffling his own shout into the fat of your breast, nuzzling in as your cunt flutters and squeezes around him. Your ankles pull him in hard, pelvis hitting at your clit and sending you over the edge for a second time. 

You’re silent as you come, back arching, eyes squeezed shut. Steve feels the wave of it wash over you, every sense dialed up to 10 as he memorizes how it rolls through your body. 

When you return to earth, you gasp in a breath, reaching to cup Steve’s face in your hands, stars still sparkling in your eyes when you whisper-

“Your turn, Steve. Gonna fill me up?”

Steve is done for three sharp jerks of his hips later, spilling into you with a growl caught at the back of his throat, abs rippling and jaw clenching with every rope of cum pulsing out. 

He swallows down noise as he keeps circling his hips. The highs spiral down slowly; once you begin to squirm under Steve with overstimulation, he takes it easy on you and stops. Kissing at your collarbone with apologies. 

Breathing still struggling to return to normal, he sags into your arms, careful to keep most of his weight off you. You’re giggling at him somewhat breathlessly, dotting kisses along the apple of his cheek and petting over the back of his skull with a gentle hand. 

In all those hidden fantasies with you at the back of his mind, Steve never let himself linger on the afterglow, one of the best parts of sex, in his opinion- holding his partner, feeling the bellow of their ribs, the hitches as everything simmers back to normal. 

It felt too personal, like just by wanting it bad enough (because Steve did want it, badly) the sacredness would somehow dim. 

Steve’s delighted to find this isn’t the case. 

Even with all the bodily fluids, sweating, and achy muscles that have accumulated, you don’t seem to care, pulling Steve to fit between your back and the couch. He wraps his arms around your middle, nose tucking to the hollow of your neck, breathing in the trace smell of your faded perfume and hormones. 

You breathe a long, contended sigh. Somewhere beyond the far window, an owl hoots into the dark night.

Your hands smooth across Steve’s forearms absently as you break the room’s silence with a whisper. “Hey. Do you think- would it be okay if we don’t tell Robin? Not yet, at least.”

Steve holds you a little tighter, running the tip of his nose up the line of your neck. “Yeah. ‘Course it’s okay. And, y’know, we don’t have to do this again, if you- if you don’t want-”

“Oh, we’re definitely doing this again.” There’s a shadow of a former tease in your voice. “It’s just- she’s gonna be so goddamn smug when she finds out. She already said I wouldn’t last two weeks from when I first told her about the crush-”

“And how long’s it been? Since you told her?” Steve interrupts to ask, ears perking up. 

He can only see the back of your head, but the long silence is enough to clue him in to your loss of pride before you mutter, “About 12 hours.”

“Oh my god.” Steve laughs against you, even as you growl at him to shut up, even as your teeth skim over the soft skin of his elbow, daring him to say more. “If I knew you had it so bad for a jock I would’ve pulled out the ol’ Hawkins Tigers shirt way sooner.”

“Former jock,” you correct, turning in Steve’s arms to plant one elbow against the cushions, other arm lifting to rest your hand over his heart. “And I think you look best wearing nothing at all, so. Might want to take that note.”

Steve doesn’t care at all how dopey he might look right now, fondness all-consuming as he reaches up to thumb at the corner of your wry smile. “Note taken. Y’know, I think this setup will be a great outlet for your aggression. Feel free to use me any time.”

Your wide smile pushes into the pad of his thumb, sweetness on your tongue when you lean down to kiss him again. “Note taken.”

Your own fingers lift to roam over Steve’s face, tickling at his hairline, down to the corner of his brow, like you’re memorizing the feeling. Steve lets his eyes slip shut, smiling as your pointer finger traces at the edge of his right eye.

“I like these little lines,” you murmur. “They only happen when you smile, though. Lights your whole face up.”

In the dawn of a new year, Steve rises with a heart overflowing to kiss at your bare shoulder. 

They’re proof that this happened. Whether it was a good idea or not, it happened. And—because you’re a fucking fool—it’s going to happen again. 

You keep playing it back in your head. All the times you could’ve just kept it down, and not walked right into this beautiful, horrible, perfectly laid trap. 

When Nat texted you to go out for drinks, and you said yes. You could’ve just told her you were tired. Then you’d just be in your own bed, playing out scenarios in your head where this did happen, none the wiser to how it would actually feel. How it would ruin you in the best way, and you’d never be able to go back.

Then after Sam, Nat and Steve turned in for the night, leaving just you and Bucky, you could’ve easily left as well. Just grabbed your bag, pulled Bucky into an awkward hug you’d think about for weeks to come, and walked out into the rain. It had just been rain. It wasn’t going to kill you. But Bucky had said stay, I can drive you back once the storm clears, doll, and it was like he’d strapped you to the booth with only a small grin and smooth voice. 

And when he leaned across the table you could’ve leaned away.

When his hand tangled in your hair—trying to deepen a kiss that was already spreading warmth through your whole body—you could’ve pushed him back, or kept your lips closed.

Then he’d pulled back with a lust-blown expression, and asked if you wanted that ride back to his place. You’d said yes. 

You’d said yes a lot, tonight. 

When he’d asked if you were sure, and you were, because you two hours ago was too drunk on Bucky, his attention and hand on your lower back and lips hovering right over yours for her to understand what this would really mean.

You’d scream yes when he’d double checked you were good with this as he played with your tits, and when his head had been between your thighs, and when he’d been sheathed deep inside of you.

You’d mumbled it after, when he’d kissed your shoulder and asked if you want a shower. 

You could’ve said you’d just go home. Taken the walk of shame with all the spiraling thoughts alone, lost in the night and unsure if it had been just a dream. 

But it wasn’t. You step out of the shower and sway awkwardly in the doorway, and Bucky looks up from his book—of course he reads in bed, he’s a perfect, amazing, beautiful asshole—with a small frown.

“You wanna sit down, doll?”

Doll.

You’re back to being doll. And it’s sweet, it’s always been sweet, and you’ve always loved it because Bucky said it, but God. An hour ago you’d been babydoll. 

It’s sort of like you’re suspended in time. It’s moving around you, but you’re not moving with it. And it’s hitting you like the sky falling or the end of the world, what you just did. You slept with Bucky. And it wasn’t the gentle, sweet sex you’d always fantasized about having with him. It had been a little wild and feral—messy and wet and hot—and the best fucking sex of your life. 

But he hadn’t whispered in your ear that he loved you. Probably because he didn’t. If there had been a time to say it, last night would’ve been the moment.

It’s all in a stasis and it’s a wonderful, technicolor nightmare, because you know what comes next and you’ve never wanted it more than anything, but you know it’s going to be your ruin.

You know.

And you still don’t leave.

Bucky says your name cautiously, and you give him a soft, winning smile. This is fine. 

From where he’s sitting—comfortable, with his heart not fracturing from waiting for the future—everything is fine. 

“You- Uh-“ He clears his throat as you drop at his side. “That was fun.”

You nod, forcing yourself not to stare at his hands. Or your hands. Or anything that had been involved in the night, which means the little bit of dust on the edge of the room. “Really fun.”

“Yeah. And if you’d want it, not that you gotta, I’d…” Bucky sighs, and you can’t look at him. Your heart will break right now, if you look at him and see none of your own turmoil reflected on his features. Then you’ll just fucking do this anyway. “I’d like to do it again. If you’d want that.”

There’s a little tang of blood, on the inside of your cheek. 

Another moment, when you should just kill this. Right here. Again doesn’t mean a date. Doesn’t mean sunlit mornings or late, painful nights that give way to kissing on the floor and heads on shoulders. 

Again means sex. Raw, primal, amazing sex. 

So you should say no. 

But this is worse than an addiction. An addiction you can kick. And when it has you by the neck, you need a hit more than oxygen but it’s still just a hit. One can learn to live without it, and after wading through a storm you come out the other side. 

This is the oxygen. 

You’re not going to crave it, or shuffle through the day just thinking about Bucky’s lips on yours, or his hands angling your hips up hit you deeper. You’re just going to keep breathing it in, because it’s the only way. 

That what you tell yourself, when you nod, and say, “Okay.”

It doesn’t matter than it’s going to end. That it’s going to have a half-life, then die a quiet or explosive death. 

You just have to have it, in anyway you can. 

“Okay.” Bucky echoes, and you finally look at him. He’s got this wide, almost boyish grin, and it’s the one you’ve only ever seen in old black and white photos. 

Maybe your heart does break here.

Maybe Bucky just bumps your shoulder and keeps smiling, and that puts it back together in the same second. 

It doesn’t really matter. 

The type of arrangement you’re talking about never ends well. It’ll break again.

“We should have rules,” you try to keep your voice casual, and it works. Bucky just shrugs.

There’s another break.

“Alright. I’ve never done this thing before, so you’re gonna have to tell me what rules we need. Is it like, fight club?”

You let out a soft laugh. “No, it’s- Who made you watch Fight Club?”

“Guess.”

“Nat?”

“No,” Bucky says your name with a roll of his eyes. “It was you. You said it was a brilliant movie, I just couldn’t get all man about it.”

“Oh.” You tilt your head down, trying to hide the flush of your cheeks. He watched a movie because of you. “Did you? Get all man about it?”

Bucky pauses. “Tried not to. You can be the judge of that.”

God, there’s a tiny shatter. It’s just below your ribcage this time. “I will.”

“I know, doll.” He pauses, and you try to take a deep breath. There might not be enough air in the world. “So? Rules?”

You shrug, flopping onto your back. “There are a few classic ones.”

“Classic ones?”

“Yeah, like- Rules people always follow. When they do the friends with benefits thing.”

There’s a long pause—too long, you almost push up on your elbows to look at him, which would be another thing you’d have fucked up—and then Bucky speaks, his words a little slower than before. “Got it. What’s the first one?”

Fuck. You’re doing this. And you know exactly what rules there are going to have to be, if you want the stretch this and breathe it as long as possible.

“Don’t fall in love.” 

You say it like you haven’t already broken it.

Like you don’t know, deep down, that you’re going to break all the others, too. Right until it all comes crashing down.

———

Bucky raises his brows at you across the meeting table, and you give him a small nod in return. You’ll be tired after the mission, but it will give you an excuse to pass out in Bucky’s bed. And when you wake up in the morning he may not be there, but it will still smell like him. You’ll still smell like him. Maybe he’ll smell a little like you. 

But you have to get through the mission first.

It’s not a rough one. Just a Hydra cell that put itself on the map, and needs to be cleaned up. Not all hands on deck, not even half hands on deck. Just you, Bucky, and Steve. It was supposed to be Tony instead of you, but then they found out it was deep, deep underground, and suddenly it was a you problem. 

You can get through a mission with Bucky and Steve. It’s just Bucky and Steve. You’re pretty sure they actually moved you onto the unit not because of any powers or logistics shit, but because if it’s Bucky, Steve, and Tony barely anything will happen, but just Bucky and Steve will be worse.

The first time you’d met Bucky had been a just Bucky and Steve mission. He’d sat across from you at a table like this one, Steve standing at the head of the table and trying to sell that it was—really, when you thought about it—a victory. They hadn’t gotten the data, and they’d both almost died twice before trying to throw themselves off a mountain for each other, but that just meant the team hadn’t lost two Avengers, and everyone now knew how dangerous mountains could be.

You hadn’t been paying attention. You’d be folding a little paper bird—you were bored—and you’d felt eyes searing into the back of your head. You’d looked up and found Bucky staring at you with a small frown, and he’d been pretty. He’s always pretty. 

It’s easier to think you didn’t fall for him right there. When you’d given him a smile in return before finishing the bird, and sending it over to land on his head. He’d stared at you like you were insane, then given you an awkward smile when the bird climbed into his hands—already growing tiny, colorful feathers—and you’d been a goner. 

He’d looked like a wet puppy, then. And you’d wanted to keep him warm.

You sort of get to, now. 

It’s amazing, and horrible, and you never want to stop.

“Everyone understand what we’re doing here?” Steve asks, and you sigh, slumping further into your seat.

“There are only two of us, Stevie,” Bucky drawls, and you’re going to have to give him a really good blowjob later. Arguing with Steve is always rough. “Everyone does understand.”

Steve just sighs, standing a little taller in his stupid Captain Posture. “I just want to make sure we’re all on the same page. It’s a small cell, but it’s Hydra, and we all have complicated history with that-“

“We do?” You let out a mock gasp, and Bucky snorts. “Gee, when you said Hydra, I didn’t know you meant that Hydra. Bucky, did you know he was talking about that Hydra?”

“Nah. Thought he was talking about the ancient octopus.”

You frown at him. “Lizard.”

Bucky blinks. “What?”

“It’s not an octopus, it’s a lizard.”

“It’s an octopus on their stupid logo-“

“That’s because it’s a stupid logo.” You cross your arms, giving him a pointed look. “It’s like, a lizard monster, right? No octopi?”

“Octopi?”

“Plural of octopus.”

“Right. Course.” Bucky gives you an amused look, and you can feel heat starting to rise to your cheeks. “Any other lessons today, teach?”

You shake your head, ripping your gaze down to the disgustingly big files dossier. “No.”

Bucky grunts, and you can distantly hear Steve talking about movements and plans again, but you can’t really take any of it in. You should’ve pushed back more. You would’ve pushed back more, a month ago. When you didn’t know this mission was going to end with Bucky using that same teasing voice as he asks you what do you want, babydoll. 

Him. You want him. And you can’t have it. 

It won’t get in the way of the mission. It shouldn’t get in the way of this mission.

But you keep seeing it. Whenever you look at him, or hear his voice, it’s all you can think about. How he sounds when he’s praising you or asking you to ride him faster. What those hands, fiddling with the quinjet settings, feel moving so carefully on your breasts or over your clit. How his set, stone-like face feels when it’s contorted in pleasure and grinning at you from above.

You shouldn’t think about it. 

But you love him, and he’s letting you have it, and now you’re going to lose your mind. 

And there’s a cold dread growing in your gut. That something you say will be the thing that makes him stop fucking you. Maybe you’ll do something, and he’ll realize that this isn’t casual for you. That you love him and want him in a way that’s soul-numbing and all consuming. That you’re just killing yourself to be with him for a second.

And Bucky’s a good friend, so he’d let you down easy. But it wouldn’t change that you’re going to be haunted by the touch of him, and you’re forgetting how to act like you don’t love him. It’s like a dam has been slowly crumbling away with every secret look and hidden touch, and it’s far too close to breaking.

You’re always too close to ruining everything. 

You stare at him the whole flight. And when you land. And when he grins at you, you return it, but you also make a strange sound and look away too fast. 

When you get underground—the halls and rooms illuminated by your light—and Bucky and Steve are fighting, you’re distracted. Staring at Bucky though the shimmering bubble you’ve wrapped yourself in, not paying attention to the bullets flying in your direction. They all turn into flower petals when they passed through the barrier anyway.

A Hydra goon runs at him with a knife. And he can handle it, easily. He always fights like it’s a dance and never walks away with more than a scratch, but there’s also the guy fighting Steve,  and he’s raising his gun over Steve’s head, to- 

You don’t think. 

You always think, but this time, you just feel a white-hot fury and dread and- 

Light flares through the room, and when it clears, the men are all frozen in stone, and you’re curled on the floor. 

“Jesus.” Steve mutters, poking the goon with the gun. “That’s a pretty neat trick.”

Bucky grunts an agreement, but his gaze is mostly focused on you. 

Fuck. 

He helps you back to the quinjet. His arm looped around your waist in a way that maybe looks casual, but isn’t. To you, it’s never casual. And when you get to the jet, you just sit in complete silence, staring at him and wondering if he noticed. 

You haven’t lost control like that in a really long time.

Not since Bucky started training with you.  

And you’ve been in the field with him before, and he’s been in danger before, and you’ve reacted rashly but never like that. Something could’ve gone wrong. You could’ve hit Bucky and Steve, you could’ve changed the Hydra goons into something other than stone, or you could’ve missed all together and turned computers into worms. It was stupid and dangerous, and worst of all, you can’t justify it. When Bucky asks if you’re alright, you just give him a small smile and make an awkward joke you can’t even remember. 

When he asks if you want to push tonight off, you almost shout no. You’re fine, and you need him, and don’t change anything because you’re fine. He’s fine, so you’re fine. 

But you’re tense and off during the debrief, too. Tony asks you what made you go all bang bang on them, and you just mumble that you’re really passionate about data. 

“Are you sure you’re fine?” Bucky mutters, once everyone else clears the room. “I’m not gonna take it personally if you wanna push tonight off, we live in the same building, doll, we can go again-“

“No.” You shake your head, picking at your nails. “I’m good. I’m so good. Just tired.”

Bucky frowns. “If you’re tired, you should sleep-“

“Not that kinda tired.”

“I-“ He blinks. “What other kinds of tired are there?“

“Sleepy. Emotionally.” You shrug. “You wanna watch a movie? Before we fuck?”

“Uh,” Bucky stares at you for a second, then give a small, tight now. “Sure.” 

You go to leave the room, but Bucky catches your wrist, a concerned look on his face. 

“Promise me you’re okay. With us, y’know- Doing this.”

You frown at him. “What?”

“You’ve just been acting off, and Steve told me you didn’t even write your post-mission reports, and I- I don’t know.” He sighs, squeezing your wrist gently. “I wanna make sure it’s not cause of this. That you’re not gettin’ stressed about it or anything.”

There’s a tension in your heartstrings that snaps.

You’ve been acting off.

Don’t make it weird. The second rule was don’t make it weird, and when you’d said it, you weren’t entirely sure what you meant, but now you do.

This.

You’re making it something Bucky has to double check with you about. Something that’s affecting how you’re talking and behaving, something weird. 

“I’m not stressed about it.” You give Bucky a small smile, and he returns it nervously. “Just tired.”

Bucky lets out a slow breath, and you don’t think he believes you .

It doesn’t seem to matter either way. He still watches the movie with you, then carries you back to his room to fuck you with his hand rubbing and slapping your ass, while you grind down onto his dick with loud, sinful sounds. 

Another rule broken. 

A little bit closer to the end. 

But you don’t stop. Bucky doesn’t either.

One day he’ll want to. 

And that breaks your heart again, the very same moment Bucky kisses you and puts it back together.

——————

This doesn’t mean anything. 

You’re not moving on—you don’t think you know how—but you’re doing damage control. You will be able to recover when Bucky is done with you, because you’re sort of funny and smart and pretty. Bucky Barnes might be the Sun—and the only one that’s ever given you life—but that doesn’t mean there aren’t other stars. 

It’s not a date. There’s no world where this ends with you in a bed that doesn’t smell like pine trees, because you’re still going to cling to Bucky until he pries you away. 

This isn’t anything. 

You can’t even feel anything. 

But you’re still doing it. Either as a sadistic kind of self-masochism—proving that you’re right, nobody is as good as Bucky, and nobody is ever going to be as good after him—or so that when you go back to him tonight, you can tell yourself you tried. 

You are trying. 

Not that hard. 

But with Mark—one of Tony’s more charismatic engineers, who’s been asking you out for a year with no avail and isn’t questioning why you suddenly said yes—you’re trying.

“You know, I’m not an Avenger.” The man across the table from you chuckles to himself, and you force an amused smile. “But I get adventures. Went rock climbing, once. You ever been rock climbing?”

“Yeah, um,” you swallow, and Mark is sweet, so you have to just keep fucking trying. “I was on a mission in- the Alps, I think. It was a few years ago, now. But we had to scale a cliff.”

Mark leans forward with a grin. “How’d that go? I’m scared of heights, so for me, it sucked.”

You laugh softly. “Yeah, I didn’t love it. I got freaked out by a bird, and turned a big section of the cliff into ice. It was fine, though, Sam caught me. Then passed me off to-“

“Barnes!” Mark laughs, and you smile like you can’t feel your heart burying itself in your stomach. “Oh, I remember that one! We had to do a bunch of maintenance on Barnes’ arm after, cause some of the wiring had turned into ice but he’d kept using it. The damage was horrible, and Stark yelled at him for ten minutes, but he was super chill about it. Thanked me, after I fixed it. Even if it was just, uh,” Mark frowns into the air. “Kind of a grunt.”

“Yeah.” You sigh. “Bucky mostly talks in grunts.”

Except when he doesn’t. When he’s above you or has you pinned to a wall, and it’s all soft, smooth, so pretty, babydoll and takin’ me so well, being such a good girl, feel like heaven, sweetheart. Or after, when he asks what you want to eat like he didn’t just devour your pussy, and you didn’t just choke on his cock. 

It’s not fair. It’s not fair how he does that, even though he doesn’t know how it breaks you. Not fair that he’s invading your thoughts when you’re supposed to be on a coffee date with sweet Mark, who’s got long eyelashes and is clearly emotionally available, but all you can think of is Bucky-

“It’s so crazy when you do that,” Mark chuckles, and you frown at him.

“Do what?”

“Say Sam and Bucky instead of Falcon or Barnes, and talk about turning mountains into ice.” Mark shakes his head. “You’re like, a goddess. And you’re having coffee with me.”

Oh. You might be the worst person alive. “I’m not a goddess.” You mumble. “I just drank space goo. Could’ve happened to anyone.”

“Yeah, but you’re also super cool.” Mark shrugs, and this was a horrible idea. “You make everyone brownies.”

“I only know how to make brownies.” 

“Maybe,” Mark leans over the table with a small grin. “But they’re really good brownies.”

You give him a small, nervous smile. “Thanks.”

Maybe you can actually do it. Mark really wouldn’t be a bad boyfriend, and it isn’t all about sex. You might not get over Bucky, but you could see a world where you build Mark up to his height. And you’d try. It would be cruel and unfair, to keep being in love with Bucky while doing this, but there aren’t a lot of other options. And it’s not like Bucky loves you back. Like there’s a future you’d be sabotaging by letting yourself be happy with Mark. 

And you know this makes you a bad person. That it’s the type of thing villains in lifetime movies do—the movies you watch with Bucky, and he always yells at the screen like it’s a sport, and you love him, and you need to stop thinking about that right now—but you’re going to do it anyway. You’ve already made a lot of bad choices to get here. 

One more really isn’t all that much. 

So you don’t kiss Mark goodbye, when the date ends. But you also don’t tell him no when he asks for another date. 

And that’s another fucking rule, broken. You’re supposed to tell Bucky about other relationships, because the agreement had been you weren’t exclusive, but it shouldn’t be made complicated. 

You’d made that rule. For your own sanity. You’d made it because if Bucky was going to maybe end it, you wanted a warning. 

But now you’re breaking it, and this is so fucking unhealthy, but the entire team had voted against mandatory therapy sessions last month, so you’re stuck figuring this out alone.

You’ll tell Bucky. You’re going to tell him after the mission briefing, but then he walks out of the room without looking at you. Then you’re going to tell him on the mission, but the moment he sees your refracting off the walls, he seems to vanish into the shadows. 

You have to tell him. He’s not giving you the chance to. 

He could be about to end it. You could’ve made the right call, going on that date with Mark, because you’re about to lose Bucky. And given how he won’t even look you in the eyes, your friendship might be over too. 

You don’t know what you did. Why he’d just suddenly flip and decide that he hates you, because you can suck—the Mark thing is blatant, painful proof of that—but he’s not perfect either. And most of your friendship has been about being not perfect together. Bucky gets angry, and you let him rant about it until you shove back with reasons he might be wrong. You get snarky or haughty, and Bucky lets you tire yourself out before reminding you that you can’t control everything. That you hate trying to control everything, you just hate incompetence more. 

And he has nightmares, and you watch a movie with him.

And you get anxiety attacks, and he sits with you until you come back down. 

You don’t know how you’re going to go without that. You know you’re not easy, but Bucky’s never cared. He’s always been there. And that’s why you didn’t want to fucking do it, why you knew it was a bad idea, why the moment you lose him forever you’re going to shatter on the floor. He’s your friend, and months of the most mind-blowing sex isn’t worth paying the price of your friend, but it might be too late-

“We need to talk.” Bucky grunts in your ear, walking a pace behind you to the mission debrief. 

And you nod, but your heart breaks again. On the floor of the hanger, and in the debrief, and splattered behind you as you walk to Bucky’s room. You’ll be fine. His face is unreadable as he opens the door but you’ll be fine.

Bucky’s closing the door and pinning you against it, his arms caged over your head and his eyes narrowed, but this is something you’ll survive. It’s going to kill you, and bury you, and maybe your heart will turn into a flower that can grow on Bucky’s windowsill, but you’ll survive. 

“You got something to tell me, doll?”

You blink at him. “I- You asked me to talk.”

His jaw ticks. “Answer my question.”

“Bucky-“

“I saw you.” He spits the words out like they’re venom, and you feel the blood drain from your face. “And I know I don’t have any sort of- You can do whatever you want. But you’re supposed to tell me.”

“It just happened.” You whisper. “Like, yesterday.”

“When did he ask you out.”

Shit. “Last week.”

“Yeah.” Bucky lets out a dry laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

That’s not fair. He can’t hold this over you like it’s some great crime, when you did break a rule, but it doesn’t mean anything to him. When your heart breaks every day, and he puts it back together, and you watch women throw themselves at him during parties, but you go on one coffee date and suddenly it’s like you cheated on him. 

“I was going to tell you, Buck, but you were avoiding me- And-“ You take a shaking breath. You don’t want to fight. But you don’t know how to back down either. “I’m sorry. I promise I’m sorry, I just didn’t know how to tell you, and I didn’t want it to be a thing, and I’m really sorry-“

“You love him?”

You blink at him, the world a little blurry. 

But not Bucky. 

Bucky’s never blurry. He’s all shining blue eyes and sharp features you want to trace with your lips, and so much care you can sometimes feel it around you like a shield.

And he’s looking at you like you’re the only thing in the world. It’s making you a little dizzy, and your words far too soft.

“No.” I love you. “We- It was just coffee.”

Bucky’s jaw ticks. “You gonna get more coffee with him?”

Not worth lying. “Maybe.”

You can’t read his expression. You don’t really want to. Nothing it tells you will make this better.

And Bucky’s just hanging over you, his metal hand tracing over your face before carefully grabbing your neck, and you let out a soft, needy sound. 

“You still wanna do this?” He rasps, and you nod. You’ve never wanted anything more. 

This rule break wasn’t the worst one, maybe. Not when it’s making Bucky kiss you like this. His tongue down your throat, his body pressed right against yours, and everything feeling a little different. His lips are molded over yours that same way as always, but he’s kissing you like he’s trying to eat you alive. Touching you like he wants to leave a mark. And when he carries you to the bed, you don’t even get a chance to palm him over his jeans before he’s all over you. 

You’re drowning in him. Everywhere, it’s just Bucky touching you, it’s almost feral. Teeth almost biting your clit, a bruising grip with tight hands, powerful arms holding you to his chest like you’re going to vanish. He cums all over your chest, and smears it around with a satisfied look, before diving back between your legs. 

And when he’s done, you’re a mess. You’re always a mess, but Bucky usually helps clean you up. 

This time, it feels like he’s trying to pull you all the way apart. And it feels so good, but when the daze of sex clears, your head is still a little clouded. 

It’s not fucking fair. None of this is fucking fair, and you have no one to blame but yourself. 

You wish you could blame Bucky, but you’d broken the rule. 

And he’s so soft, after. Cleaning you up and bringing you a cookie. 

“You don’t even like cookies,” you mumble, and Bucky shrugs.

“Yeah. ’S why I got them for you.”

——————

This sucks. It sucks so much. It’s turning you into someone you hate and someone you’ve always wanted to be at the same time. 

You don’t like lying. Sneaking around behind everyone’s backs, and telling Bucky you’re fine when he seems to understand that you’re not.

You’d called of the second date with Mark because you’re busy, and not ready for a relationship. And it fucking sucks how this has made you someone who says that kind of shit. Someone who looks a perfectly good man in the eyes and gives him a sad smile when he says, if you change your mind, he’ll be there.

Of course he will be. 

But that’s not what you want, and you’ve never hated yourself more for it. 

You’re driving yourself out of your mind. Beating yourself up in the dead of night with all the ways you could’ve done this differently, all the ways you could’ve avoided this, and all the ways you’d let it happen. You’ve been playing that game from the very start, and you never fucking learn your lesson. 

You don’t want to. 

Because the parts you want—the parts that make this worth it—are perfect. 

“I’ve never had a meringue.” Bucky mutters, his chin propped on your shoulder in the kitchen, and you hum.

“I’ve never made a meringue. So we’re experimenting together.” You shoot him a glare, before his mouth can even open. “Don’t.”

He’s grinning. It’s the freest, easiest grin you’ve ever seen, and in these moments everything feels too real. It’s like toeing a very careful, thin line you’re always about to trip over. You and Bucky always did things together, before the arrangement. But he’s never stood this close to you. And he’d been this free, and you’d known how to guess everything he was about to say, but now it’s all jokes and teasing.

It hurts. 

But you really must be a masochist, because you’d never want any other pain.

“I didn’t say anything.” Bucky drawls, squeezing his hand on your hip. “But I got ideas for other experiments, after you done- Shit-“

You’d flung some of the meringue whip, right at his face, and you can’t stop the giggle bubbling up in your throat at the sight of him. Stumbling back and wiping pastel yellow from his face, looking adorable and disgruntled and in the second, like yours. 

“I warned you, Bucky-“

“I didn’t think you’d hit me with a fuckin’ projectile.” He grumbles, rubbing his hand over his face and spreading it everywhere. “Jesus, doll, you’re gonna kill me-“

You snort, setting down the bowl to grab him a washcloth. “You’ve been shot, I think you’ll be fine.“

“It’s an emotional wound.” He grumbles. “You got it in my beard.”

“Oh no. How ever will you survive.”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “You’re real bratty for someone who’s about to get what’s coming to her.”

You blink at him for a second, and he’s got this light dancing in his eyes that goes right to your core. It’s another thing only you get to see. Another thing that’s not fair, and makes him twice as beautiful, and makes all the agony of this more than worth it. 

“No comeback, babydoll?” Bucky raises his brows, and you’re screwed. You’d never want to be anything else, with him. “Not even gonna try to defend yourself?”

“I- Um-“ Your knees are already a little weak, and you hold up the cloth pathetically. “I was gonna help you clean.”

“So good to me.” He hums, slowly walking you back against the counter. “You can help me clean, sweetheart. That what you want?”

You nod dumbly, and Bucky tips your chin back, giving you another unreadable expression.

“Open.” His voice is almost a growl, and you obey without a thought. “Good girl.”

Oh. Oh, God. 

This. This is why you’re putting yourself through this. For Bucky’s smooth voice and undivided attention, and the fantasy he keeps feeding that this could, in some slightly shifted universe, be a real thing. You and him. 

That when he slides his fingers between your lips and makes you clean them off, it’s not just a fevered hunger in his gaze. And when he kisses you it’s just because he wants to kiss you. That it’s this deep and passionate because he wants to stay in this moment forever too.

It really feels like he does. 

And then you’re stuck in the cycle. Where you love every single second you spend with him—falling to your knees and taking him in your mouth, before being splayed on the countertop and eaten out until Bucky’s suffocating between your legs, then cleaning up and baking like nothing ever happened at all—and then loathe yourself afterward. 

It’s so fucking confusing. How he’s acting like he is yours, but he’s not. How he fucks you like that then can just pretend it never happened. How he got so fucking pissed when you went for coffee with Mark, then just grunted when you told him you weren’t going on a second date. 

You’re still getting distracted on missions. More distracted. It’s dangerous, and not like you. 

To the point that Steve calls you into his office—the corner of the library nobody ever uses, because it smells like fucking paint—and stares at you with a deep frown, like he’s trying to outlast you into just confessing you’re on drugs or something. 

It’s not working. 

Bucky calls you a stubborn little thing, when he’s trying to make you beg for his cock. And even then, it can take hours. 

You prefer determined. And you’re not in love with Steve, so he’s not going to get you to cave. 

He breaks first. 

“Okay. I know we’re not as close as you and Bucky are.” His words are so careful, and you force your face to remain neutral. “But something’s going on with you. We’re all getting… Sort of worried. Nat said she saw you turn a bo staff into a snake by accident, and last mission you turned a nuclear reactor into tree. It still had radiation,” Steve sighs your name, giving you a sad look. “And it’s going to take months to de-root properly. I’ve been advised to keep you off missions until I’m certain you won’t…” he trails off, and you offer an end to his sentence.

“Go crazy?”

“I don’t want to call it crazy.” Steve mutters. “It’s just not like you. You’ve been more removed and reckless, and I’m more worried that something’s going on.”

You let out a long breath. “Steve-“

“Bucky’s worried, too.” Steve adds quickly, and you have to bite your tongue to stop a reaction. “He asked me if I’ve noticed how you’ve been acting off, or if I’m seeing any changes in your behavior or habits-“

“Bucky doesn’t talk like that.” You mutter, and Steve sighs. 

“I’m sort paraphrasing, but-“

“And we’re fucking. That’s why he asked.”

There’s a long silence, and you don’t fully realize what you said until Steve clears his throat, his eyes almost comically wide on yours. 

“You- Uh- You and Bucky are sleeping together.”

Fuck. 

Fuck.

You’re not supposed to tell anyone. That was another rule, don’t tell anyone, and you told Steve. Of all the people you could’ve slipped up and told, you told Steve, like a fucking idiot, why did you tell Steve-

He says your name cautiously, and it’s too late to go back now. 

“Yeah. We are.”

“Ah.” Steve’s still just staring at you, and your fingers curl in your lap. “Is- Is that what’s going on?”

“No. Yes. I-“ You give him a grimacing smile. “I don’t know. I don’t really want to talk about it-“

“I can’t let you back in the field until we talk about it.”

Your eyes narrow. “That’s not fair-“

“Yeah. It isn’t.” Steve leans back in his chair, running a hand over his face. “But that’s what’s happening. If I know what’s going on with you guys, I can structure the missions so it doesn’t affect them. But I have to know.” He sighs your name, and at the very least look incredibly guilty about the whole thing. “Did you guys, uh- Have a fight-“

“No.” Your gaze drops to your hands. If you’re doing this, you can’t look him in the eyes. “I- Just- Fuck, dude, you can’t tell Bucky any of this-“

“Wasn’t going to.”

You believe him. Steve isn’t the type to lie about that, even if Bucky’s his best friend. 

And he’s your friend too. 

You’ve come this far. The whole thing is a mess anyway. Might as well bring it home.

“We’re not- Together.” You chose the words carefully, as if that fucking matters. “But I’m getting confused. It’s like we’re right on the edge of together, but we’re still- We’re not.”

Steve hums. “Do you want to be together?”

“I don’t see how that’s important-“

He grunts your name, and you sigh. 

“I don’t want to lose him.”

You can hear the frown in Steve’s voice. “I don’t think you could lose Bucky if you tried-“

“But I’m not trying.” You whisper, digging your nails into your wrist. “And I’m going to lose him anyway.”

“You’re sure of that?”

You shake your head, and Steve sighs again. 

“So just- Talk to him-“

“I don’t want to.” 

“Nothing’s going to get better if you don’t talk to him-“

“Steve.” You give him a firm glare, and he’s looking at you like you’ve lost your mind. “I told you I don’t want to talk about it. Please.”

He frowns at you for another second, before he speaks. “I still think you should talk to him.”

“I’ll talk to Bucky if he talks to me.” You shrug. “But I- I don’t want to ruin things.”

Steve just stares at you for a second, and he doesn’t need to speak for you to know what he’s thinking.

You don’t have to talk to Bucky to ruin things.

You already have.

———

Bucky had heard about Her, before he met Her. 

All light, is what Nat had called Her. All light and a lot of quiet anger. So much it makes everything around her harsher, sometimes. Like staring at the sun.

And that hadn’t been entirely wrong.

But the Sun would burn your eyes out, and then you’d never be able to see again. 

When Bucky had looked at Her, it had been like seeing the stars for the first time. Out of reach and entirely indifferent to him, spinning in a chair in a meeting room and transfixed with the paper in Her hands. Beautiful, and made of light, but more made of wonder. Made of watching and wondering if he’d even be big enough to grab one is his hand, like his ma had told him. 

He’d asked Steve, after that first meeting. 

And he liked to think he’d been casual about it. But he hadn’t been casual in eighty years. He’d forgotten how. If Steve had seen it, he hadn’t said anything. He’d just raised a brow and shrugged.

“Bruce and Tony calls is transmutation.” He’d shrugged. “Way they put it, that light in her body can sort of give things life, or take them away. She’s one of Hydra’s questionable experiments, so she’s never worked combat.’

Bucky had grunted. He could help with that.

He’d trained people before.

“What does she do, if she can’t do the field?”

Steve had shaken his head. “She does the field. Just get panic attacks, and it can get out of a hand. We try to keep her out of stressful situations. She mostly works recon missions.”

Bucky could work recon. 

He liked to keep out of stressful situations. 

He mostly liked Her. 

A lot.

The more they spoke, and She warmed up to him, the more Bucky liked Her. He help Her with combat, and it seemed to give her more control over her magic shit. Then they were partners, then they were friends, then they were close.

She’d run a hand casually through Bucky’s hair like touching him was something easy for Her to do, and it had hit him there.

He loved Her. 

He’d forgotten how to love things, too. Not without breaking them. 

But he’d been trying to learn. He took care of Her the best their relationship would allow, and he’d tried to be a good friend, but there were still nights. Where he didn’t have nightmares She came to his aide for, but rather dreams. 

Her voice in his ear and hands on his body. Lazy morning and a long, normal life where She made him a million more paper birds, and he caught Her when she stumbled over any sort of cliff. A real one on a mission, or a metaphorical one. Stress or harder times or anything She wanted to hold Bucky through. Anything at all. 

He never should’ve asked Her back to his place. He’d known, that very first night, that whatever casual sex people did these days wouldn’t work for him. That She deserved something better than a beaten, broken man, and he still didn’t know how to love enough to love Her well. That is that was all She asked of him, he’d give it until he was clawing at his organs and bones to give Her something a little more, and She turned all that life giving light to someone who could offer Her more than shadows.

She’d asked for rules.

Bucky would’ve given Her the Moon.

And he’d made a real damn effort to follow those rules. There had been no hope for that first one, because it hadn’t even been falling in love. That implied a drop. Some sort of ruin at the end. Bucky had climbed into loving Her. Long and rough and painful and ending high enough to catch a star. 

But there was nowhere to go but down. 

It had taken barely a day for him to break another rule. Steve had asked how his night was, and Bucky had frozen. 

“Uh, Buck-“

“I fucked her, Stevie.” He’d whispered, his voice hoarse. “And she- She doesn’t know.”

Steve had frowned and said Her name, letting out a long sigh when Bucky had nodded. “Does she not know because you didn’t tell her?”

“Tried to. She wants a friends with benefits thing. Like, we fuck and nothing else.”

“Yeah, I already got that one explained to me.” Steve had given him a pitiful look. “What’d you-“

“Told her yes.”

“Bucky-“

“I don’t wanna hear it.” He’d muttered, and Steve had dropped it. 

And Bucky had just kept breaking more rules.

He’d made it weird. His hands had kept fisting to stop himself from touching Her, and kept trying to get Her attention on missions. Making moves he would’ve have otherwise, all just to impress a beautiful woman. 

And he’d been trying it out with a nice girl Nat had set him up with, before that night. Before he’d tasted Her and realized he’d never be hungry for anything else. He’d gone on two more dates with the girl, because he was a lonely asshole who didn’t trust that Her, in his bed, was good enough to be real. And he’d called it off without telling either of them, but still acted like a possessive asshole when She’d gone on one date with the engineer. 

Bucky knew that guy. He was nice. And he’d be good to Her, too, but he’d ruined it for Her. He’d been selfish and tried to claim something that didn’t—and never would—belong to him. Cost Her a chance at normalcy, and never apologized.

He hated who this was making him. Hated how he had to dance around Her and pretend he didn’t want all of Her. And now he couldn’t even get Her to look him in the eyes, and it was going to make him fall apart. He’d been a second from strangling Stevie just a week ago, with his constant suggestions of just talking to Her. 

Bucky didn’t want to talk to Her. Talking meant the end. 

But She already looked a little dimmer than he’d found Her. And She’d shine so bright when She was with him, but then start to flicker the moment she walked away. She’d been taken off all missions, because of it. 

Bucky was ruining Her. Breaking Her. Just like he broke everything else. 

And it wasn’t fair, but life had never been fair. 

At least he’d be able to keep loving Her, even when he didn’t have Her. At least he would’ve had Her for a time. 

It was more than Bucky had ever had anything else.

And if he only ever got to have one thing, even just half in his hands and always slipping through his fingers, he’d always be beyond grateful it got to be Her.

———

It’s so annoying, when Steve is right. He’s going to hear about it, and give a little shrug like he didn’t mean to be right, but you know better. He’s going to bring it up, casually and airily, for the rest of your lives, and nobody’s ever going to believe you because it’s Steve. 

But he is right. 

You need to talk to Bucky.

You spend the week planning it out. Rehearsing it in your head, preparing for any possible response he could have. If he tries to interrupt you, there’s an exact outline for how to shut him up and make him let you finish. If he tells you h doesn’t feel the same way, there’s an elegant exit plan to walk away with your heart in the bottom of your gut, but all your dignity in one, fractured piece. If he feels the same, you’ve practiced a very normal reaction about it in the mirror. 

You’re ready for anything, when you go to knock on his door. 

Anything but Bucky opening it, yanking you forward, and slamming the doors behind you. His arms wrap around you in a second, his lips crashing down to yours in a brutal, unyielding kiss, and you didn’t have a plan for this. You don’t even have the oxygen for it, because Bucky’s inhaling your every sound and pulling out deep moans from your chest, holding you like you’re going to crumble in his hands.

“Bu- Bucky-“ You shove at his chest, just enough for him to pull back. 

He looks desperate. For you. And god, that’s not fair, not right now-

“Sorry,” he mutters, his thumb tracing over your lower lip. “Just- I need you, babydoll. Please.”

A final moment where you should stop this. All of it.

And again, because it might be the last time, you don’t. You give Bucky a small nods, wrapping your arms around his neck, and try not to melt when his eyes soften slightly. 

“You don’t have to-“

“I want to.” You whisper. “Whatever you want, Buck. I’m yours.”

His eyes flash for a second, and you want to analyze it. To pull it apart and figure out what that expression meant, because it’s one that’s going to haunt you. 

But it’s too late. 

Bucky’s moving over you, and now this moment is the only one that’s ever existed. Bucky’s hands holding your face so delicately as he kisses you, and the weight of it evaporating into something light and hot and wet. He’s not kissing you like he’s trying to eat you alive anymore. 

This is like he has time. 

His hands are everywhere, once he has you carefully pressed against the wall. Gliding under your shirt and palming at your breasts, leaving feathery kisses down your neck and toying with the band of your pants until you’re grinding up into his hand. 

“Bucky-“ You mumble, letting one hand glide down to grab him over his own pants, and smiling against his lips when he lets out a low groan. “Just- touch me-“

He laughs against your neck, and you throw your head back as he rolls a nipple between his fingers. “Patience, sweetheart. Heard it’s a virtue or somethin’-“

“Bucky-“

“So needy,” he coos, and you nod, trying to tug at his jaw. To angle it up, so you can leave your own little marks wherever you can. “Think you can spread your legs for me? Let me taste how wet I make you, how good I’m makin’ you feel-“

“I- Want you to fuck me-“ Your words are already coming in soft gasps, and Bucky carefully lifts your arms up guiding you out of your shirt. 

“I will,” he mutters, the metal hand tracing down the curve of your waist, sending shivers up your spine. “So pretty, babydoll. You let anyone else see you like this?”

God, he’s mean tonight. Mean and soft and perfect, kissing that perfect spot on your throat he knows is going to drive you insane before backing away and raising his brows. 

You sway alone, a little stunned from the loss of his warmth, and he pulls his shirt over his head, giving you a stern look. 

“Strip, baby.”

“Oh.” You mumble, sort of dumbly, but that’s something only Bucky does to you. The buzz of what if and how about fades into background noise whenever he looks at you. When he talks you it’s only a hum. 

And when he touches you, it’s really only in him. Just Bucky. Giving you an approving look when you’re bare before him, then sinking to his knees. 

He doesn’t give you any more warning that that easy grin—the one only you ever get to see—before he dives into you cunt. 

Bucky seems to be a man on a mission. He kisses your clit gently before starting to lick you like ice cream, and groans right into your pussy when your hands fly into his hair. 

“Bucky-“ You gasp, and he gives you a gentle squeeze of your ass in response. “God, that feels so good, don’t stop-“

He flicks his tongue rapidly over your clit in response, and you can feel his grin when you let out a high sound, your knees almost buckling down onto his face. You’re grinding against him, and he’s encouraging you. Guiding your movements and kneading on your ass as his beard tickles your thighs.

“Oh- I’m-“ His tongue plunges in and out of your cunt, and you gasp. “Bucky, I can’t- I’m gonna cum-“

He moans again, and your eyes flick down to see him fisting his own cock, pumping it in a steady rhythm with his every kiss and lick on your cunt. The sight, combined with the pull of your clit between his lips, sucking it like candy as his hums send perfect shivers through your body, sends you right over the edge. You cum with a yank of his hair that only makes him groan a muffled sound like your name, and Bucky’s arms shoot to your waist to hold you steady as your knees give out. 

“There you are.” He mutters, pressing a soft kiss to your inner thigh. “Good girl, takin’ what you need.”

He’s still rock hard. Thick. Long and ready for you. 

“Do,” you nod down to his problem. “I can return the favor-“

Bucky shakes his head, moving to his feet. “Want to fuck you, babydoll. You-“

You tug him up into another long deep kiss, and speak against his lips. “Yes. Please.”

He nods slowly. “Bed?”

“Bed.” You whisper an agreement, and stumble over to the mattress. Crawling onto your hands and knees and presenting you ass for him to take and touch and-

Gentle hands slide of your body, a wet kiss planted on your spine, and-

Bucky flips you over with a squeak, crashing his mouth over yours. Another long, slow kiss as he shifts you around below him, notching himself at your entrance and raising his brows. You give him a tiny nod—you’re on the pill, and you’d both gotten the routine check last month—and he slides in easily with a deep groan. His brow falls to yours as he bottoms out, ragged breaths fanning over your lips. 

He’s acting… off. Usually there’s dirty talk and teasing but this is all just feel. He kisses you and starts to slowly but firmly fuck into you, and it’s like he doesn’t want to distract himself. Every sound you make earns you another hot and feverish kiss, every moan of his name gets you a deeper, harsher thrust. 

This is what you’d wanted, that first night. All the pleasure of your other wild sessions, but the feeling like he wants you. Is touching you because it’s all he’s ever wanted. Is going slow because he wants to savor it. 

But still fucking you. 

Still really fucking you. Slow but so deep you can feel him everywhere, kissing you and grabbing anywhere he can reach, pushing a hand between your legs to rub your clit when your breathing start to get shallow, and moaning your name as you start to squeeze around him. 

“Cum for me,” he hums your name over your lips, and you only make a dumb little sound in return. “That’s it, babydoll, just let go-“

It could be stars in your vision, or just the glow of your own light as your second orgasm unravels you entirely. Bucky’s breath is ragged in your ear as he fucks you through it, and you’re sore and boneless, but you need more. Just a little more.

“Where-“

“Inside,” you gasp, your back arching off the bed as he hits that spot again. “Please, Bucky, I can take it, just wanna feel you-“

He kisses you, his hips starting to piston into you, and a tiny, shuddering orgasm rips up your spine as he paints your cunt with his release.

There’s another moment, just like the first night. Where you’re suspended in time, and it’s like you’re floating and falling all at once. The only thing keeping you tethered to reality being Bucky’s warmth over your body, and the sound of his heartbeat near your ear.

You could stay here forever. 

But just like that moment, this one has to come to an end. 

Bucky cleans you up. He always cleans you up. While you’re still a mess on the bed he pulls away—giving you one last, almost painfully soft kiss—and going to get a warm cloth, a snack, and your clothing off the floor. And he doesn’t rush you, but he’s not speaking, either. Usually he tries to talk to you, about a movie or something annoying Sam did or how he thinks Tony is going to try and steal his arm to test on again.

Tonight, though, is dead quiet. 

It’s making something twist in your gut, and when Bucky mutters your name, you want to go back. 

You’ve never heard him say it like he doesn’t want to, before. 

It breaks your heart before he even says what you know is coming next. 

“I think that had to be the last time.”

You dig your nails into your palm, forcing the tears not to fall. “Last time?”

He lets out a deep sigh. “Of this. Our whole- Thing. We’re done. You’re free.”

You blink, the world getting blurry, and his words ring in your head. 

Free. 

You’re free.

He’s saying it like he’s opening a door to let out of a cage, rather than locking you out of the safest place you’ve ever dared to wander. Like he’s been keeping you hostage, when you’d made the choice to trip and stumble and collapse right into his arms when you fucking knew better. And if he’s done, he’s done. You can’t keep him longer than he wants you, and you’ve always known that, but-

“We’re- I still wanna be friends.” He mutters, and you might be drawing blood. You can see little bits of your light, leaking out from under your finger nails, and there’s a heavy lump in your throat that’s going to strangle you.

But, though all the hurt, you still manage to push out words. “You still want to be friends?”

“Yeah.” 

You look up at him, the movement sharp, and he seems to flinch. “You’re just fucking ending it, without a warning or reason, and you want to be friends?”

He frowns. “We said we could end it whenever.”

“I- I know-“ Fuck. Another rule, broken. “But I just want a reason, Bucky.”

“I-“

“God, you were balls deep in me twenty minutes ago and you’re just done? Just- I-“ You’re going to cry. You’ve been promising yourself you wouldn’t cry. “I- don’t understand, Buck-“

“We said we wouldn’t let it change things.” He snaps, his hand flexing at his sides. “That was the most important rule, you said it was the most important rule. But it has.“

“No, it-“

“It has.” He sighs your name, giving you a defeated look. “We both knew it would, doll. I sure as shit knew.”

You sniff, wiping at your cheeks, and Bucky looks like it’s physically straining to not touch you.

This isn’t fucking fair. You really have no one to blame but yourself.

“Why’d you agree to it, then.” Your voice is barely a mumble, but Bucky tenses. He can hear you. “If you knew it was going to end so bad, why ever bother.”

He stares at you for a long, tight moment, and you can feel the pressure of his gaze. Right on your heart. Pressing on all those fracture, making them start to snap in a way that’s going to take so long to repair-

“Because I wanted you.” He mutters. “And I didn’t care how.”

The room is sort of spinning. “You- You wanted me?”

He lets out a dry chuckle, hanging his head. “Yeah. Loved you, too. Got selfish about it, and I- I’m sorry. You should date the engineer guy. He’ll treat you well.”

You stare at him, and he looks like a painting. Shining metal and shadows, and you- you can’t-

“Do you love me now?”

Bucky frowns at you like you’re insane. “‘Course I love you now-“

“But you’re ending it-“

“You’re not happy, doll.” He says it like he’s pleading with you. “I can see it, everyone can see it, and I know it’s my fault. I’ll give you space, if that’s what you want-“

You shake your head, cutting him off with soft words. “I don’t want space, Bucky. I want you.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Yes, I do-“

“You like the sex, sweetheart. That’s not wanting me-“

“Stop arguing with me about what I want!” Your voice raises slightly, and Bucky’s mouth snaps shut. “I- I want you, Bucky! And there’s no fucking reason for me to lie, and I- I said yes because I love you. I never wanted to just fuck, I thought it was the only way I get to have you.”

Bucky blinks at you, your words hanging in the hair for a long moment before he says, “You said you wanted friends with benefits. It was your idea.”

You shrug weakly. “I thought you didn’t want anything else. And you agreed to it.”

He huffs a weak laugh. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, doll, but I have a real hard time tellin’ you no.”

“You’re telling me no right now.”

His eyes flash, and when he leans a little bit forward, it’s gravitational, and you lean with him. You can feel the warmth from his body. Light is leaking from your fingers, and little flowers are blooming as they curl on the sheets. 

“You want me to tell you yes?” He asks cautiously, and you give him a tiny nod. “Can you-“

“I do.” You whisper. “I want you to tell me yes.”

He nods slowly, and reaches carefully for your hand. He doesn’t turn to flowers or stone when he takes it, but you don’t think you’ve ever come in danger of that. 

You like him just the way he is. 

And you’d never, ever want to change it. 

So instead, you just glow as Bucky pulls you into his lap and holds you in a gentle, tender kiss. It’s as if he’s never kissed you before, and he’s afraid he could possibly do it wrong. He’s holding you the same way. And all it takes is nip of his lower lip and sigh of his name, and you’re being pulled closer, the kiss deepening without speeding up. 

Bucky pulls away, when he starts to get hard against you, and you start to tug at his hair. Watches you with an awestruck look before muttering your name, and taking your hand into his, holding it between your chests.

“Bucky.” You repeat in a similar tone, and he gives you that smile. It’s perfect. 

“Can we try again?” He says carefully, playing with your fingers between his. “Start over? Go on dates and out to dinner with no rules, just-“

“Me and you?” You offer, and he nods.

“Yeah. Me and you.”

“I’d like that.” You lean down, your lips hovering over his, and you’re going to do this right. “I’d like that a lot.”

It won’t hurt. There won’t be an end, or a dread of it, because this can, really, only get better. And as Bucky tugs you back into a kiss and high giggle leaves your lips, you feel high and soft and light. 

“Good.” Bucky mutters, grinning against your lips, and you’re never going to let him frown again. “Me too.”

End Note: This one is dedicated to all my homies who get consumed by emotions and relationships. Sorry guys. Me too.

If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3

Buy me a coffee!☕️

Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)

@globetrotter28 @lordofthunderthr @youdontknowe @panicking-outside-the-disco @ambiguous-avery

@generalmoonpolice @foxyjwls007 @ilovedeanwinchester4 @tiana-kh @woaheasytig3r

@winchester-whiskey @jsudsgf @deans-yn @jofinka @megara0224

@funkenniffler @disappearintofanfiction @solsborg @sheneedsjesus @bonkydarnes

@whimsicalcherry @charliethemanticore @cats-chaotic-mind @forzalando @roseblue373

@sleepysongbirdsings @angrydragon90 @dumbwhorestuff @biodegradable-glitter-fest @idontwannabehere78

@miss-marmalade @cowboysandcigarettes @mgchaser @starrylanex @cookiemonstermusic258

@milaer @winchestert101 @juliperezsilveira @kamisobsessed @amelya5567

@skrph @kanakarbakar @lcolumbia1988 @sebastians-love @jjwasneverhere

@annoyingrebelsoul @strawberrykiwisdogog @panickedbitch @itserickalove @sineminuse

Bucky was a possessive person at heart, you brought it out of him in a new way. It scared the fuck out of Steve. He would watch you with a shadow casing over his eyes, making him look dangerous and an aura some would only expect from the winter soldier. You’d spar with other male agents, and make a point to skillfully rub yourself against the other — knowing Bucky Barnes was lurking with his intense stare, like a wolf stalking its prey.

You would tease him in the hallway by swaying your hip a little too seductively, knowing he couldn’t do a thing about it. Brushing your hands against his elbow and looking at him through your lashes, before stepping out of the way before he could even lay a finger on you.

Once in a room together, the tension would be so thick it would choke any unsuspecting person. Challenging glances would blur your minds. And soon enough the line between just teasing and actually hurting each other was crossed. There was absolutely no going back.

You started tossing around fellow agents like playthings just to rile up Bucky, a foolproof way of getting his attention. Once the thought of another man on you got to be too much, he’d pound you into oblivion and fuck the thought of any man out of your brain. Or just any thoughts at all. you had him wrapped around your fingers.

But Bucky was adaptive, he was smart and figured your game out quickly. When he began to tear his gaze from you in the hallways, acting smug and like he didn't care you were feeling up agent Mason and giving him false hope in an attempt to get Bucky's attention.

He soon grew hungry to have you chasing after him, to be desired by you the same way he ached for you.

and it didn’t take long for him to achieve his goal.

Another one of Stark's stupid galas, he invited all the avengers and every in-combat and training agent under SHIELD. Bucky noticed you almost immediately, lingering in the corner was a drink in your hand. You wore a tight black dress that cut out on your chest and hips making you look stupidly hot. The exposed skin taunted him, he imagined grabbing you tightly there and bending you over the bed, and going at it like no tomorrow.

Bucky knew you saw him, you tried to hide the side eye, but Bucky always saw through your ploy. You were fucking ignoring him, inching closer to the short blonde across from you. Bucky clenched his fist so hard he might have drawn blood in the right. 

You would come to him, he didn’t care. it was his mission for the night, to get you begging for him.

Bucky murder strutted to Natasha, who was thankfully right in your line of sight. perfect.

“Do be a favor, Natalia, and flirt with me?'' Bucky asked and put out the most innocent smile he could muster up.

It surprised Bucky how perceptive Natasha could be at times, she’d already clocked him the moment she noticed the dark haze over his eyes — glaring at you.

“I’m not going to be put in the crosshairs of y/n just so she’ll fuck you later tonight.” She rolled her eyes.

“Nat.” Bucky pleaded. 

“No, but agent 201 has been staring you down all night.” Natasha mentioned, her eyes glancing over at the short brunette a few feet away. a little far from your eye line, but he trusted you to search him out. “Just don’t lead her on.”

“Whatever, Natalia.” Bucky scoffed, pulled away from the redhead, and straight to the brunette agent.

It didn’t take long for the game to start, Steve and Sam sat in the corner and watched you two play your cards like it was a fucking sitcom. Placing bets on who would break first and drag the other to an empty hallway.

You noticed Bucky's gaze softened on the girl, his stupid playboy smirk as he grazed his flesh hand against her arm. Bucky noticed you scowl through the corner of his eye, this would be exciting. You dragged some man to an area cleared for dancing, pressed your ass against this groan skillfully, and just waited for Bucky to pounce. 

Bucky was going to play it out, restrain himself until you cracked at the sight of his attention being on another girl. But as you pulled the blonde agent close to you, his lips grazed to the spot behind your ear. Your sweet spot, he knew it well. He was only allowed to tease you there, your knees would grow weak every time he kissed there.

“y/n is busy right now, so go fuck off, yeah?” The raspy, low voice from behind you, the harsh grasp on your wrist, and the utter fear in the blonde’s eyes in front of you had you knowing exactly who it was.

And before you could comprehend anything else, Bucky was dragging you from the crowd. The world felt slow for a moment. All you saw was broad shoulders in front of you, stealing you away to go somewhere more private. You knew you won and a small smirk graced your lips. 

A gasp left your mouth as your back hit the wall, Bucky punched the up button for the elevator. His large hands grasp around your shoulder and waist, leaning close to your ear.

Bucky’s hot breath sent a chill down your spine and pooled in your panties, “you fucking tease. How long were you planning on dragging your ass against his dick, huh?” 

“Did it turn you on?” you snarked. 

Bucky’s grip tightened around your waist, he wore his anger on his face rather than shoving it down. He bit his cheek and breathed hard. Your eyes landed on the dent in his pants, and with a shit-eating grin, you looked up at him through your lashes.

“Sure looks like it did.”

ding!

It is equally scary and fucking hot how quickly he pushed you inside the elevator. Bucky's lip attached to your neck, he had to get the scent of any other guy off of you. The man should have known not to get in between you two. Bucky drew out whines from you as he nipped and licked your skin. He wouldn’t give you the pleasure of planting his lips on yours, that sweet satisfaction.

“I'll kill anyone else for touching you like I do.” Bucky muttered against your skin, and he was serious. He was seeing red only a few moments ago. “you’re mine.”

You chucked coyly, his lips ghosted your lower neck. Bucky's head rose slowly, noses centimeters apart as he stares you down.

“You think I’m fucking joking?” Bucky growled, his metal hand gripping you right around your waist. no doubt there will be bruises tomorrow.

“I think you're being a little overdramatic, buck.” 

Bucky poked his tongue to the side of his cheek, looking you up and down slowly with lust-filled eyes. “I hope you don’t call me overdramatic when I’m fucking every coherent thought out of your pretty head, the only thing you should be thinking about is how good you feel with my cock inside of you.”

You shuttered. and Bucky sensed it, a small smirk on his lips before he hoisted you up on his waist harshly. You knew the route, the 6th floor and the 4th door to the right was Bucky's room. 

The door slammed open by Bucky's shoulders. He was growing impatient and you were slowly grinding yourself against his groin. For the third time that night, your back slams against the wall harshly, and you yelp when Bucky bites at your lip. Definitely drawing blood. 

“How do you wanna do this, princess?” Buckys spoke against your lips, noses touching and steady eye contact. You slowly unwrapped your legs from his waist and steadied yourself on the ground. Bucky followed your actions intently.

Your finger slid down his shirt, you always seem to forget just how solid he was under all the black and leather. Slowly unbuttoning his shirt, bucky's hand wrapped around your wrist before you could make it to his belly. 

“I hope you don’t think you're in charge here.”

“We’ll see.” You said and looked up at him through your lashes. 

“Fuck you, doll.” Bucky spits.

“Waiting for it.”

Teleportation is real – because you were against the wall a second ago and not being pushed and shoved on the bed. Bucky tore at your dress and tights, slowly undressing you and pushing your neckline down to show your chest. Two metal fingertips pinched your hard nipple, earning a loud yelp from you. His lips traveled farther down, across your collarbone, and down your sternum. Bucky was sucking hard on your exposed skin, he felt this possessive and almost primal urge to leave a mark. So you'd know the next day after looking into the mirror who was making you feel good, no one else would be able to touch you without seeing bucky's mark. He wished he could tattoo it into your skin if he could. 

“Bucky…” you whine as he ghosted his lips over your lower tummy. You felt him smirk against your skin and a soft blow as he chuckled. 

“Don’t get greedy now.” He met your back on your lips, bruises and swollen bright pink. “Show me what you want.” He growled, an order you obeyed happily. Your eyes stayed on his before you rolled on your stomach and slowly perched your ass high for him to see. He moaned, tugging your panties down by hooking them under his thumb. 

“Good girl.” You smiled at that, biting your lip as he pushed one, cold metal finger up and down your folds. Testing the waters, he scooted up further to press his groan up to you. Still wearing his dress pants and pressing his digits to your pussy. You bit back your moans, not wanting to give him that satisfaction yet. Simply toying with him until he was so desperate he just —

“Fuck.” He dragged out as his already wet tip poked at your hole, he was getting needy too. Perfect. “I don’t care who listens, I want you screaming or I won’t let you come. Want everyone to know who makes you feel good, yeah?”

You hummed, pressed against him as he still teased your cunt with his tip. You hear a low chuckle under his breath, grasping your hips and pressing his chest to your back. Bucky filled you to the brim with his cock until he bottomed out, you exhaled and felt his hot breath on your ear. 

“What’s in that pretty head, huh?” He started to make forceful and slow trust into you, his hips snapping as he spoke. “You thinking about that blonde’s dick in you? Do you think he’d fuck you like this?”

You don’t respond, only small dragged-out moans as he started to pound into your pussy. The sound of skin slapping filled the room. Pure ecstasy filled your body, as he filled you. You’d feel it with him deep inside you, squeezing around his cock as he found the most sensitive parts of you.

“Huh?!” He shouted, with an especially forceful snap of his hips. Right after, beginning to speed up and wrapping his flesh hand around your throat. “You thinking about his cock, honey? Be honest, baby, tell me.”

You whined, “no.” Already feeling your eyes start to lull back as you lost yourself in Bucky, he was fucking you like he couldn’t get any closer. Like he wanted to be one. 

“Who do you belong to you?”

“Mhmmm.” You drew out, “your. I’m all yours. No one can fuck me — ah! James — fuck me like you. No one.” 

“That my good girl.” He cooed, releasing his hand off your throat, and began to drill into you as if his life depended on it. Choked grunts and moans escaped his lips as you squeezed his cock, “now take it, let me fill you up and take it.”

“Oh! Fuck, James!” You shouted, his cock hitting the perfect spot. Filling you up until it felt like he was in your stomach, your eyes closed back as the world became a blur and all you felt was him, you and him. Nothing else matters. 

You feel your body grow limp, almost useless as your chest and face fall to the bed and you melt into him. His hand runs down your arch, sending a shiver down your spine as he moans out your name. Hissing as his cock continued to fill you. A dark chuckle left his lips, “they’re we go, baby. Just like that.”

“My sweet girl, you’re so tight around me, so fucking good.” He grunts, rambling on like a madman under his breath. Whines of filthy words and his name leave your throat, whimpers as you plead for more as pleasure shoots through you like a fucking lightning bolt.

Can’t even move against him anymore, you're paralyzed under his rough grasp. His fingers mark bruises on your hips. 

“Fuck Bucky! I’m - oh my god - ‘m gonna come. Baby, please.” 

It’s then you decide Bucky Barnes is the ultimate fucking asshole when he slowly slides his cock out of you, halting the hard and forceful snap of his hips and you feel empty. So goddamn empty. 

His hand goes to rub your pussy, making you ache and whine. “You’re not allowed to yet, baby girl.”

“Fuck you,” you spit. He just shows you a toothy grin and turns you around onto your back, smoothing his hands on your breast, stomach, and waist. You can feel the weight of him on your core, it’s intoxicating. 

This entire… relationship was rocky and built in mostly lust and jealous eyes. Late nights and short mornings. But sometimes, and it always took both of you by surprise, romantic gestures and sensual touches would leak through the cracks. So as Bucky leaned down close and took your lips against his, it wasn’t aggressive or dirty. A little passionate but it held an innocence that was unfamiliar to you, but by god - it lit you the fuck up. 

You breathed into his mouth, hot breaths and moans as Bucky slowly slid into you. The stretch was delicious, and Bucky was devouring you. Bit by bit. 

“Fuccckk.” You moaned, breaking the kiss to let your head lull back into his silk sheets. All you can feel is warmth and fullness as he begins to rock his hips again. Bucky’s pushing against you, his hands on your hips so he fuck you in just the way he likes.

“M’not a fuck toy, Buck.” You tease, and he doesn’t let up, still drilling into and taking pleasure from your body like a feast. 

“Aw, baby?” He teases, an almost condescending look on his face as he looks down on you. The metal of his dog tags brushed against your breast. You forgot how lovely that cold sensation was. “You don’t wanna be my little fuck toy?”

He snaps his hips so hard you cry out. 

“Let me use you until you’re all full of my cum?”

Another forceful, hard thrust. Your irises roll to the back of your head as your mouth stays wide open.

“So, I’ll fuck you how I please.” Snap. Bucky lets out a grunt before wrapping his mouth around your breast and sucking hard. Biting at your pebbled nipple until you're crying out his name so loud you're sure the party 6 floors down can hear you.

Bucky's tongue is hot and wet and is everything good on earth. You tighten around him and hear bucky wince and groan into your skin, you giggled - soon cut off by a harsh thrust as you choke. But his thrust begins to slow again, he knows you're close and he’s trying to keep you dancing over the edge as long as he can. Not letting you have the pleasure of relief. 

“Bucky, let me come, goddamnit!” You choke out, “please, please.”

You hear him chuckle, “begging? Good girl. I’m glad we figured out whos in control here.” One metal hand snakes around your waist and up your back. Pulling your flesh against his chest as he continues to drill into your cunt. Practically splitting you open and filling you with nothing except pleasure, warmth and him.

“Fuck, fuck. Bucky-“ it's so close, to the release. you squeeze around him and he feels it.

“That’s it, doll. I got you.” 

“Oh my-“ your legs shake and your body starts to lose all its strength, but Bucky holds you steady. The touch is almost sensual, but you can’t think about that right now. Not when you're slowly letting go.

He swallows your moans as you let go, his hips don’t let up and you feel him close behind you. You begin to think Bucky Barnes fucking you like this, filling you whole with his warmth is the closest thing you’ll get to a religious experience. 

Bucky begins to slow his thrust, a mixture of your juices filling you, coating both his and your thighs. 

“I got you, I got you, baby girl.” Bucky whispers into your ears, sounding breathless as his chest rises up and down. Similar to you, your head falls into the crook of his neck and stays there as you slowly ground yourself back to reality. His thumb smoothed over your back, still holding you close and inside you. 

“You’re okay,” his voice softened “where is my girl at?”

“M’tired.” You whine, Bucky smiles and slowly pulls out of you. The lack of fullness and warmth makes you chase after his touch, a really pathetic and weak attempt, too. But Bucky doesn't let go, slowly moving so he could hold you securely against his chest and lie down. 

It grows very quiet for a while, like most of the time. You’ve come down from your high, half expecting Bucky to up and leave once he knows you’re mentally okay. But he stays, his arms still wrapped securely around you and smoothing your skin. Just breathing together and in a bliss silence, naked and flush against each other. 

The pit in your stomach grows larger and larger, anticipating when he will leave the bed. And as he stays longer and longer, you know it will hurt more when he finally lets his side of the bed cold and leave you alone. You wished you could let go of these silly feelings, knowing they will never grow to be anything else besides some possessive little fuck every now and then. You wish you could be more to him than —

“Can we stop doing this?” 

Your thoughts come to halt, you can’t move, can’t speak. What does that even mean? Bucky's breathing heavily on your neck, not from the exercise of sex, no no- this is, he’s nervous. You're almost glad you can’t see his face.

“Doing what?” You ask.

Bucky gulps, “this game.” He sighs, sounding almost pained as he speaks, like some sacred confession that hurts him in the gut to say out loud. “The jealousy and the spite towards each other, only seeing each other when we want to fuck. I- I don’t like it anymore, it doesn’t feel good.”

Your eyebrows furrow, swiftly turning to face him. Bucky looks pained, and tortured. He bites his lip and you suddenly feel speechless. Trying to gauge a sense of his emotions, what he’s feeling, and trying to grasp your head around what he is saying. 

“What are you saying Bucky?”

His Atlantic blues tear holes into you, and for a second, it almost looks like he wants to cry. 

“I love you.” 

Your eyes blow wide open, a small gasp leaving your mouth. “I-“

“You don’t—“ Bucky sigh, closing in on himself as he begins to regret even opening his mouth. “You don’t have to say it back, or say anything. I just wanted you to know.”

I just wanted you to know.

You blink once, twice, maybe a third time before a small sigh leaves your lips. Looking down and away from Bucky's eyes that couldn’t let you think, you gulp.

Now or never?

Sweet lips slant against yours, swollen and pink as your hand wraps around bucky's neck, tugging at his brunette locks. You feel Bucky's signature Cheshire grin grow against yours. His hands never left your body, still rubbing at your soft skin. The kiss is so innocent and full of love that it’s almost uncomfortable for a second between you two, so unfamiliar. 

There’s a little slobber on Bucky's lips when you part, he’s smiling like a kid in a candy shop. His eyes practically twinkle and you realize he looks quite charming like this. 

“I love you, too. I think I have for a while now.”

Bucky pulls you back into a kiss, a sweet and loving kiss. 

After another much more loving round of sex, one you wouldn’t even call fucking because it was nothing close to that. No, you make love with Bucky for the first time and it was utterly liberating. His arms stayed wrapping around you as you fell asleep against his chest, as he whispered soft and sweet nothing into your ear. You fell asleep loved for the first time.

The next morning was even better, no rushing to get up and away from another. Bucky stayed with his hands around you and softly breathed, “you can sleep, doll. I’m gonna go get some breakfast.”

You hummed and let your head fall back onto the pillow, Bucky ran a hand through his tousled locks and threw his boxers and sweats on. Bare feet padded as he walked into the kitchen with sleep and love apparent on his face. 

A few avengers saw it too.

A loud and shrill whistle came from behind Bucky as he poured hot coffee into a black mug, “how’d the game end last night?”

Bucky turned to Sam, biting back a smile, and shaking his head slowly. “No more games.”

“Oh shit?” Natasha and Sam shared a look before Natasha could smirk and let the question dance off her lips. “Who confessed first?”

“I did.” Bucky smiled, god, has he ever smiled this much before?

Sam groaned loudly and slipped Natasha a 20-dollar bill from across the table, a defeated look as she quirked the end of her lip up. “Don’t hate the player, hate the game.”

“You guys are fucking assholes, you know that?”

-

Feedback and comments are highly recommended!

Tag list:

But at eight years of age, all you needed was a scarf, your mother’s leg warmers and the skates and you could stay there until the sun set.

Your dad was looking at you from the kitchen’s window, a humming cup of coffee in his hand while your mother was doing her weekly crossword and watched the news in the living room. He didn’t think that the distant image of a father and his son playing hockey would be a problem for you, and he would’ve never imagined that you would be a problem for them.

That’s why he didn’t put the cup down when he saw the little boy skating towards you. He was a bit taller than you, but he must’ve been around your age. Your father thought he was just going to say hi, the boy’s dad was watching from the other side of the pond too. Everything was okay. You were a spoiled only child, overprotected by everyone in your family after being the first granddaughter and niece. He needed to let you be independent sometimes, he told himself, to socialise without needing your parents there, and more than anything you needed to learn to stand up for yourself.

Those were all very logical and healthy ways of thinking about parenthood, he thought satisfied, as he kept observing the interaction between you and the boy. He felt relaxed and confident, even proud of himself. Until he saw the way you pushed the little boy to the ground.

‘Oh, shit.’ He put the cup aside before running to the door, the distant sound of your mother’s voice behind him as he took his scarf and coat to walk outside.

When he got there, you were standing in front of the boy and his father with a frown on your face, and your arms crossed under your big scarf. The dad was helping the boy stand up while you stood silently angry, the embarrassment taking over your father as he lifted a friendly hand in the air.

‘Hello.’ He said. ‘What’s going on here?’

‘She pushed me!’ The little boy screamed at you with an accusing finger once his dad managed to help him stand up. ‘You saw it, daddy! You saw it! She pushed me!’

Your dad looked down at you as you rolled your eyes and looked to your side.

‘She did push him.’ Said the boy’s dad gravely. The tension between the two parents started to arise the more you refused to acknowledge what you had done or apologise quickly.

‘I saw.’ You dad finally said, kneeling down next to you and cursing the day he told your mother he wished you were like him. You were just as proud. ‘Snowflake, would you please explain to me why did you push…?’

‘Steve.’ The other man said, wrapping his arm around his boy before he started brushing the snow off him. Steve’s bravado had disappeared, and he couldn’t help but lean into his father’s touch, processing what had just happened.

‘Why did you push Steve, snowflake?’ Your dad said as he looked for your eyes.

You looked back at your father, very careful not to look back at Steve’s dad to avoid feeling intimidated. He wasn’t happy, and though most times he was patient and indulging with you, you had a feeling this time none of those things would help you.

‘He called me the B word.’

Both men frowned at your accusation, the atmosphere suddenly changing before they looked back at Steve, whose cheeks had recovered colour and were turning even redder now.

‘I called her a brat.’ He simply said.

‘That’s a bad word!’ You pointed at him.

‘It’s not as bad as bitch!’ He argued.

‘Hey!’ Steve’s dad took him by the shoulders. ‘Don’t say that word.’

‘I am not a brat.’ You said between your teeth to Steve as you stood there, ready to push him again if it was necessary. ‘And this is my pond.’

‘Okay, Snowflake, why don’t we—’

‘What happened?’ Your mother’s voice suddenly made them all look up. She had wrapped herself in one of those beautiful cosy shawls you loved to fall asleep on sometimes. ‘Oh, you must be the Harrington’s. I’m so glad to finally meet you.’

Mr Harrington didn’t refuse your mother’s hand as he stood up and gave her an awkward smile before looking at Steve.

‘This is Steve.’ He said putting a hand on his son’s shoulder. ‘We just had a bit of a misunderstanding.’

‘Oh, no.’ You mother said gravely, looking at you before she bent a little in front of the boy. ‘W-What happened?’

‘Your daughter’s a brat.’ Steve said.

And that was it, you were on him again. You heard your mother let out an Oh my god as you both fell on the floor, and you started to scream at him.

‘I told you I’m not a brat!’ Your hands gripped at his hockey shirt.

‘You are a brat!’ He screamed. ‘Get off me!’

You were taken away by a pair of arms that you’d recognise as your dad’s while he swore under his breath, and Mr Harrington had to help little Steve stand up once again.

‘I’m so sorry.’ You mother said mortified as she helped Mr Harrington with Steve. ‘I’m so sorry, sweetie. We’ve tried— She’s just not really good at sharing yet.’

‘This is my—’ Your started saying.

‘Hush!’ Your mother employed a severe tone you had rarely heard her use with you. Her eyes shut blades at you when she looked behind, and that was the day you learned that if there was something your parents couldn’t handle, was public humiliation. ‘Come here and tell Steve you are sorry.’

You crossed your arms, getting rid of you dad’s embrace as you looked from him to the scene in front of you. Steve swallowed hard when your eyes fell on him, and it should’ve given you some sense of satisfaction to know he was now scared of you, but it didn’t. You were too embarrassed by the warmth that ran to your cheeks at the sight of his pretty pink cheeks and his messy brown hair.

‘No.’ You finally said.

Your mom took a deep breath, looking from Steve to Mr Harrington as she offered them an apologetic smile.

‘I’m sorry.’ She said defeated. ‘Give us a few minutes with her. I am so embarrassed about her behaviour.’ She laughed nervously as she stood up, looking from father to son and cursing the day she said she wished to have an opinionated daughter.

‘She’s not usually like this, Steve.’ She proceeded as she smiled to the little boy. ‘I promise.’

‘Please come for dinner this evening.’ Said your dad then. You looked up at him with a frown on your face. Today was supposed to be pizza night. Another thing that this stupid Steve had taken from you. ‘We’ve been living in this neighbourhood since we got married, I wouldn’t like you to feel unwelcomed just because… Well…’

Your dad looked down at you, still with your arms crossed and determined not to apologise for what you had done.

Mr Harrington’s laugh made you all look back at him. Steve looked at his father too, shaking his head with a smile of the defeat before giving your parents an understanding look.

‘She’s got character, your little one.’ He said looking at you for the first time. You finally grew shy then, moving to hide behind your dad’s legs as you felt the heat rushing to your cheeks. ‘She’s gonna make it far.’

That was the beginning of a beautiful friendship.

Not between you and Steve, no. No matter how many playdates your parents arranged, or how many times you were invited to the Harrington’s and Steve to yours, you never seemed to get along and you’d probably never will. But the more your despise for each other grew, the closer your families became.

Every winter there were fights about the pond. At first, they were appeased by your dad, who offered to play hockey with Steve while you skated when his parents couldn’t. On other occasions, it was Mr Harrington who agreed to arrange a new routine for you as long as you remained polite and respectful of Steve’s time on the pond.

Through the years you heard him tell your father many times during dinner, that you should go professional, that you had potential. But you never failed to interject in the conversation and remind Mr Harrington that your mind was set on dancing, and though skating was a beautiful discipline, you weren’t interested in the elitism of sports. Steve’s dad would take a deep breath and give you a smile of defeat, as he had always done, before asking his son to pass him the salad.

It worked like that all through primary and middle school. Until you and Steve became too old to push each other every time there were disputes about the coveted body of water. But then ambition brought subtle changes: Steve started waking up extra early to practice before school, then you’d come back from rehearsals in the evening and changed your ballet shoes for the skates. Peace had been restored, and despite the occasional quarrel, it worked. Until Steve got injured.

It didn’t happen in the pond, but one Friday evening in Hawkin’s ice rink while he was at hockey practice. A bad fall, a crack and suddenly there was a femur fracture, a knee dislocation and three months in bed that cost him his place at college. He couldn’t play anymore.

So, the pond ended up being all yours that winter, just like you predicted years ago, and the tension faded away, almost forgotten. The forced interactions decreased as Steve started working in Starcourt on the weekends and you had to train harder in the dance studio. Then he moved to Family Video and you saw him even less, only when you’d walk into the Harrington’s house when his parents had invited yours for dinner, and he’d be kissing his mom goodbye.

Other times you simply didn’t have the energy to join anyone downstairs, or you stayed at the studio until late. Life got in the way sometimes, but you always, without exception, found some time to put your skates on and go on the ice for a while.

And despite his injury, so did Steve.

‘Look who’s here.’ He said that evening when you appeared still wearing your baby blue leotard and your translucent skirt, only a scarf and legwarmers to protect you from the early December cold.

He wasn’t on his own, and you hated that even more, giving him an unwelcoming smile as you started sliding casually around the ice. While you had always been consistent with your friendships, Steve seemed to change friends every damn season.

First it was Carol and Tommy, sometime around that he started dating Nancy Wheeler. After the incident, he started hanging around with this Robin that somehow needed to be invited to every single family dinner, and along with her there was a group of pre-teens that idolized him. Then it was Eddie Munson, and somewhere along the way there was Nancy again with Jonathan Byers. And today they all seemed happy to come to your pound to smoke weed or skate mediocrely or whatever thing they had planned. And all you needed was some time alone to think.

‘Hey Ice Princess!’ Nancy greeted you from her place next to Jonathan’s car. She was more enthusiastic than usual, and you assumed by her heavy eyelids that she was either drunk or high.

‘Hi.’ You said shyly as you slowed your pace.

‘Hey, do you want a beer?’ Eddie Munson’s voice made you stop in your tracks. You looked from him to Steve before giving him a polite smile and shaking your head.

‘No, thanks.’ You said. ‘I just had rehearsals and I’m tired.’

‘How’s the dancing going?’ Nancy asked, taking a sip of the glass bottle before cleaning her mouth with the back of her hand.

‘It’s going okay.’ You shrugged before smiling and resuming your workout, thinking that maybe now they’d leave you in peace.

It didn’t last long until you heard a very distinctive noise behind you, the familiar scratch of a pair of skates that you’d recognise anywhere.

‘Hey, bratty.’ Steve said as you both kept skating at comfortable distance. ‘What are you doin’ tonight?’

‘This.’ You simply said as you kept skating without giving him the satisfaction of acknowledging the nickname or even look at him.

‘I’m having a party at mine.’ He said catching up with you and skating besides you. ‘Do you wanna come?’

‘Not really.’ You said still looking at the ice in front of you before you looked over your shoulder. ‘Slow down.’

‘I’m fine.’ He brushed it off, but he still had to put one of his hands on your shoulder as he tried to catch his breath. ‘Why not?’

‘I’ve got training to do tomorrow, and I don’t like dancing hungover.’ You finally stopped when you started hearing his agitated breathing, rolling onto your skates to finally face him. ‘Steve, you could hurt yourself like this.’

A smile slowly formed on his face as he looked back at you.

‘What’s up with you tonight?’ He said amused.

‘Nothing’s up with me.’ You crossed your arms, studying his face. ‘Are you drunk?’

‘Are you drunk?’ He mocked you. ‘D’you ever hear yourself?’

‘Right.’ You started skating away, but though Steve wasn’t as agile as before, you remembered how strong he still was when he caught your forearm.

‘Wait.’ He said, laughing as he softly pulled you backwards. ‘Okay,okay,okay. I wanna know how your audition was.’

You stood still as you looked back at him, curious brown eyes searching for an answer in yours, the heat rushing to your cheeks in a matter of seconds as you fixed your skirt.

‘How do you know about that?’ You said more shyly than you intended.

‘Your mom doesn’t stop talking about it.’ He rolled his eyes with a silly smile that fell from his face the more his eyes studied you. He swallowed hard for a second, and you could smell the alcohol on his breath then, his semblance turning serious out of sudden. ‘Nobody fucking stops talking about you.’

You nodded once, looking away from him as he let go of your arm, or you slowly pull it away, you weren’t sure.

‘Have fun, Steve.’ You said softly before skating away.

‘Jesus, mom!’ You screamed as soon as you walked through the threshold of your home. ‘You almost gave me a heart attack. What are you doing?’

Your mother stood on the entrance, wearing her pyjamas and holding a pair of jeans and one of your favourite tops while she looked apologetically at you.

‘I’m holding the clothes I need you to change to so you can go and stay at the Harrington’s tonight.’

It took you a second to process her words before you could speak again.

‘What?’

‘Well, Steve came here earlier…’

‘Of course he did.’ You rolled your eyes as you walked past her.

‘He said his parents are away tonight and he’s having a little party! And he was so sweet and polite about it as usual. He asked if I could keep an eye on them and told me he wanted to invite you too.’

You let out a scoff-like laugh as you walked into the kitchen to get a glass of juice.

‘Wow. He’s good.’ You said bitterly to yourself. ‘He’s really good.’

‘Honey,’ Your mother said with an accusing tone as she rested against the kitchen’s door. ‘You’ve been training a lot lately, and I think it’d do you some good to hang out with friends—People your age.’ She corrected herself as soon as you gave her an annoyed look.

‘Listen, mom.’ You said pouring some juice on a glass. ‘I hate to burst your bubble, but Steve didn’t invite me because he’s sweet and polite. He invited me so you wouldn’t tell his parents. They’re getting high, and drunk and—’

‘And you’re here talking to your mother.’

You took a deep breath, shaking your head before drinking the juice.

‘I’m not going.’ You said before leaving the kitchen to climb up the stairs. ‘Oh, and by the way, auditions were good. Thanks for asking.’

You heard your mom sigh behind you as you made you way to your room.

‘I told Linda.’

‘What?’ Your peeked over the banister to look back at her. ‘You called his mom?’

‘Of course I did.’ She said. ‘What kind of mother do you think I am? I’d like her to call me if you were having a party while I’m away.’

‘That’s dirty, mom.’ You accused her as you walked down the few steps you climbed, standing in front of her with a face of disbelief. ‘That’s mean as fuck even if it’s Steve we’re talking about.’

‘Which is why I promised her you would stay with them tonight.’  She said stroking your arms.

‘Cause I’m so responsible.’ You mocked her with disbelief all over your face.

‘Well…’

You couldn’t say anything, your jaw open and a hysterical frown taking over your face as you looked back at her.

‘You’re a psycho.’

‘Don’t be dramatic.’

‘You are. A psycho.’ You took a step back as you moved your hands in the air. ‘Why do you need this woman’s approval so badly?’

‘Now don’t be mean, honey.’ She said putting a strand of hair behind your ear. ‘Linda and I are just really good friends. Like you and Barb before she moved away. We want the same for you and Steve.’

‘Well, that’s not really easy, is it!’ You said lifting your hands in the air, feeling suddenly hurt at the name of your best friend. ‘Not with all the ass kissing that goes on in this house!’

‘Honey!’

‘Oh. My god.’ You said taking another step back. ‘Like, really. Joint dinners every week, Mr Harrington practically living on our couch to watch the baseball, and then it’s football at theirs every Sunday. Labor’s Day, 4th of July, Thanksgiving. Like every fucking thing is with the Harrington’s involved! Are guys like swingers or something? Can’t you do something normal like having a book club where nobody reads and get drunk every now and then at the diner?’

Your mom stood quietly in front of you, shocked and processing your words before the sound of the bell dissipated the tension. You stood on the bottom of the stairs, clenching your jaw as she walked to open the door.

He had changed, and probably sprayed something to cover the scent of weed and beer, because you could smell bergamot from where you were.

‘Just came to pick up the Ice Princess.’ Steve said.

‘Ew, don’t call me that.’ You said stepping down. You gave your mom a severe stare as she got lost on the living room with a smile painted all over her face.

‘I like it, ‘s got a ring to it, you know? Nancy’s really good with nicknames.’

‘Do you need a toothbrush, honey?’ She asked offering your dance bag. ‘I put the change of clothes inside for you.’

‘No, I’ve got one, thanks.’ You said with a straight face before looking at Steve. ‘Come on. I need to get out of here.’

‘I don’t know why you’re so mean to your mom.’  He said as you walked past the pond together. He had sobered up somehow, the weird mood he had shown earlier completely gone, leaving the indifferent Steve you knew so well behind.

‘It’s a mother-daughter thing.’ You shrugged. ‘You wouldn’t get it.’

‘C’mon.’ He pushed your arm with his, and you frowned just a little at his sudden friendliness, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘She adores you. Everyone in this town does.’

You looked down to the snowy ground, not particularly flattered by his comment, but thoughtful about what he had said before. Apparently, people in Hawkins talked about you, saw you. This wasn’t a big town, but with the results of the auditions coming out tomorrow, you wished for once to be tiny and invisible.

‘I just can’t stand her sometimes.’ You admitted out loud. ‘She’s too friendly.’

He let out a snorty laugh. Dry, and so very spiteful that you couldn’t help but look back at him with a frown.

‘Or you’re too cold.’ He concluded as you made it to his front porch.

You didn’t say anything else while he opened the door, following behind. Without Steve’s parents around, the house acquired a desolated, almost ghostly atmosphere. Linda Harrington always made sure that there were flowers in the vases, that there was lightning everywhere, that the kitchen always smelled like raisin bread and coffee.

You peeped through the living room’s entrance to find Steve’s friends all curled up on the couch, hypnotised by the TV while cans of beer and boxes of pizza were scattered on the floor. Nancy’s blue eyes found yours and her lips lifted softly in a drunken smile.

‘You came!’ She said softly.

‘Hi, guys.’ You said shyly as you took a step inside. ‘What are you watching?’

‘Uhm,’ Nancy stretched on the couch before she realised Robin was fully asleep on her shoulder. ‘The Exorcist?’

‘That’s over now.’ Said Eddie amused at Nancy’s state of drunkenness. ‘We’re watching The Nanny now.’

‘The Nanny.’ You repeated as you looked at the TV before your eyes fell back on them.

‘Ya wanna join’ us?’ Said Nancy as she tried to sit down properly. ‘Uhm, tell Steve to bring you a blanket.’

‘She gets really affectionate when she’s high.’ Said Jonathan with a smile.

You opened your mouth to say something, when you heard an unusual thud upstairs. You looked back at them, wondering if only you had heard it, but they all seemed too high and sleepy to even notice.

‘I see.’ You looked down to your shoes before taking a deep breath. This was going to be a long night. ‘I’m gonna check on Steve. To see where ‘m sleeping and stuff.’

‘Sure, Ice Princess.’ Nancy said with a giggle. It should’ve tendered you or you should’ve at least found it funny, but somewhere inside you felt bad. As if she was mocking you in some way you weren’t aware of.

You climbed the stairs quietly, having been in this house so many times before since you were a child. Knowing exactly where they kept towels, what step cracked if you pressed on the right spot, what colours the walls were five years ago before they modernised the place.

You made it upstairs with your bag still on you, wondering if you should just sneak into the guests’ room or maybe remind Steve that you had to wake up early for practice tomorrow. Your train of thought was about to take you somewhere else when you heard another thud, this time less loud, followed by a whine.

‘Steve?’ You softly called before pushing the door of his room to find him sitting on the floor, a painful frown taking over his face as he held his knee against his chest.

‘Jesus, are you okay?’ You said kneeling next to him. ‘What do you need? Where does it hurt?’

‘S just my knee.’ He said under his breath. ‘It’s fine. It’ll go away.’

‘Let me help—’

‘Get the fuck out of here.’ He said clenching his jaw.

‘Fuck no.’ You said sitting better. ‘This was your idea, remember? Now shut up and let me handle this.’

‘I don’t need you to handle— Uh.’ He moaned in pain again. ‘F-Fuck.’

You started to feel hot under your layers, but you still found the nerve to put Steve’s arm around your neck and squat next to him.

‘Put your weight on your other foot.’ You instructed. ‘I’m lifting you in …1 …2 …’

And then swiftly, you lifted him so he could sit on the bed. You heard him complain under his breath again, but at least he wasn’t on the floor anymore and you could help him more easily from here.

He observed you as you breathed heavily by the effort, lifting his other leg along the bed and as a result, making his whole body move until he was safely laying on the bed. Steve stood silently, a bit in shock, looking at you as you got rid of your scarf and jacket, before walking towards the door.

‘M just gonna get some ice.’

You blinked away your tears on the way downstairs, feeling flushed and a bit confused about why you were this emotional. But there was this recurring thought, echoing through your head saying Steve, Steve, Steve. He was supposed to go places.

You poured a glass of water in the kitchen, hearing the distant sounds of the TV in the living room while you drank it slowly. In the freezer you found not one, but about three different types of compresses, and you took the biggest one.

Something took over you then, and you were suddenly moving automatically. You checked that the back door was locked as well as the front door. You took an extra blanket from the cupboard and covered an asleep Eddie with it before taking the remote from his hand and turning the TV off. You did the same with the lights and climbed upstairs, before taking a clean towel to wrap the icy compress with.

Steve’s leg was still flat on the bed, but he was now sitting more comfortably against the headrest, waiting for you. He wasn’t particularly grateful or relieved to see you come back, but you weren’t happy to be here anyways.

He took the compress you offered and leaned in to place it on his knee, and another hissing sound of pain came out from his lips when he did. You stood there for a second until you realised you were staring, and before he realised too, you started to untie your hair.

‘Am I sleeping here?’ You said taking a wool sweater out of your bag and pulling it down over your leotard.

He shrugged.

‘Your friends don’t mind?’ You pressed, looking at him with a straight face. ‘Your little girlfriend?’

‘Nancy’s not my girlfriend.’ He said with indifference.

‘M talking ‘bout the other one.’ You said walking around the bed to find a place on the opposite side.

‘Robin’s not my girlfriend either.’ He said in the same tone as you got inside the sheets.

‘Wow.’ You said sarcastically as you made yourself comfortable. ‘Talk about being bitchless.’

‘They actually think we’re sleeping together.’ You heard him say as you closed your eyes.

‘As if.’ You replied, trying to get cosy in this bed that smelled like bergamot and boy, and Steve.

‘Wouldn’t kill you to moan a little for the sake of my reputation.’ He joked, and this time you actually laughed. It was a subtle thing, but loud enough to make him smile to himself.

Steve stood there, waiting for the pain to pass as you dozed off. It had been a long day, after all. Training from five, then driving to the city and waiting the whole day to be seen for the audition.

‘I’ll drive you to the studio tomorrow morning.’ He said.

You stayed quiet for a while, and he thought maybe you had fallen asleep already. But really you were wondering why he couldn’t just give up and say thank you like a normal person. Thank you for staying. Thank you for helping. Things always had to be so complicated with Steve.

‘You don’t have to do that.’ You said after a while.

‘I want to.’ He simply said before turning the light of his bedside table off and placing his back against the wall to sleep like he had so many times before.

A few hours later you were woken up by something warm on your face. You leaned in for a second, giving in to the soft fingertips that brushed your cheekbone, before they were gone too soon.

‘C’mon.’ Something pushed your leg softly. ‘You don’t wanna be late.’

You growled softly, feeling your body aching in ways it hadn’t in months. Maybe you should’ve left the studio a bit earlier yesterday, or maybe you should’ve skipped skating after such a long day.

Stretching, you opened your eyes slowly to find Steve standing next to you, his eyebrows lifting softly at the sight in front of him. You stayed there for a while, looking at each other, before you looked to your side to find the sky was still dark.

‘What time is it?’

‘Four.’ He said. ‘Where are you training today?’

You took your hands to your face, growling softly before you decided to sit down properly.

‘In the city.’ You said still quite sleepy.

He nodded once. ‘I’ll get the car ready.’

‘Kay.’ You said trying to convince yourself to get up. Only then you noticed he had changed already, and his hair was wet as if he had just taken a shower. ‘How’s your knee?’

Your question seemed to make him uncomfortable, as he scratched the back of his neck looking away from you. But that was normal, Steve’s injury had always been a forbidden subject. Only then you thought that he had probably been drunker than he had let on last night.

‘S good now.’ He simply said before moving to walk towards the door. ‘I’ll wait for you downstairs, yeah?’

‘Sure.’ You said, before he left you all alone in his room.

Hawkins was beautifully quiet in a way it could only be during this time of the year, showered by the atmosphere of sadness, nostalgia and desolation that winter often hid during Christmas time. Steve seemed to understand this pretty well, because he didn’t speak or even turned the radio on as you left the town behind, and the sun started rising.

‘When do you find out if you got the role?’ He said as he parked outside the theatre. You saw the way his eyes lingered on the intimidating building behind you as you opened the door.

‘Today.’ You were trying to be a big girl and pretend you weren’t nervous, but you swallowed hard as you took the heavy bag with you, switching the subject as you stepped out of the car. ‘Thanks for driving me.’

‘Thanks for staying.’ He said in the same plain tone. ‘What time should I pick you up?’

‘Oh, don’t worry about that.’ You stood up awkwardly on the pavement while the door was still open. ‘I’ll call dad and ask him to pick me up.’

The frown that took over his face made you feel stupid out of sudden.

‘Your dad’s away fishing.’ He seemed amused at your cluelessness. ‘With my dad? For the fundraising dinner?’

‘That’s tonight?’ You complained with a whine, fighting the need of stepping your foot on the floor. ‘I thought that was next week! Why can’t they just donate some money or just buy the fish like normal people do?’

‘Well,’ He started patiently, ‘Given is an event for the Fishing Association I guess there has to be some fishing involved, you know—’

You interrupted him with a sound of irritation, climbing on the passenger’s seat again and closing the door behind you.

‘Okay. We need to talk, Steve.’

‘Talk?’ He chuckled, sitting back on his seat to have a better look at you.

‘This whole thing between our parents?’ You started. ‘This is like, toxic. It’s sickening, actually.’

‘Sickening.’ He repeated with an amused smile.

‘Why do they need to do everything together?’ You complained. ‘It’s like— God, like there’s no privacy between our families. I can’t remember when was the last time I walked into my house on a Friday evening and I had my parents all to myself.’

Steve lifted his eyebrows then, looking visibly uncomfortable as he scratched the space behind his ear.

‘Uh, have you tried having actual plans on Friday nights?’

You sighed loudly, fighting the need to roll your eyes as you sat on your side.

‘You know I’m right.’

‘Actually—’

‘It’s forced.’ You said stretching the word. ‘It’s just not the fact that they can’t stay away from each other but how they force us to be there too.’

Steve took a deep breath as he sat better on the seat, looking through the windshield as he considered your words.

‘What?’ You finally said after a while.

‘I mean, you’re never really there, are you?’ He finally said.

‘What do you mean?’ You pushed his arm. Though it was demanding, it had been a soft, innocent gesture. Yet you noticed the way he sat better on the seat after it, as if your impulsiveness hadn’t pleased him very much.

‘Well, last week it was the bake sale. And the week before that we all went bowling, even Robin was there.’ 

You rolled your eyes at the mention of Steve’s friend.

‘Hey.’ His voice had turned firm as he started losing his patience with you. ‘All I’m saying is that maybe you’re exaggerating a bit. The only reason they—’ He started saying, but he seemed to be unsure of how to proceed. ‘Well, you know…’

‘What?’ You pressed, feeling the heat rush to your face and even your scalp was turning warm while you crossed your arms over your chest. ‘Say it, Steve.’

‘Maybe it’s been suggested that you don’t do anything other than skating and training since Barb moved away.’

‘So I get a pity invitation because I don’t have any friends?’

‘I didn’t say that.’ He let out a frustrated sigh.

‘You didn’t have to.’ You said in the same tone. ‘Yeah, I miss Barb, whatever, but that’s not reason why I’m not willing to join the circus every weekend. I’m working. Hard. For this.’

‘You are.’ He said, looking through the windshield as you stared at him, challenging him to disagree with you. ‘But you’re… You’re too strict, I’ve seen you, you— You don’t breathe.’

‘I do. Breathe. Steve.’ You said feeling more desperate every second you entertained this argument. ‘But I’m not just competing physically, there’s— There’s the girls whose parents have contacts, the ones that went to dance school— Do you know what it’s like to be surrounded by people whose lifestyle only consists of eating once a day?’

He scoffed then. You had to sit back on the seat with the sudden discomfort of feeling arrogant or vain, irritated at the fact that he wasn’t taking you seriously at all.

‘Get out of my car.’ He snapped.

You stayed there just for a second, wondering if he was joking. But one of the worst things about having grown up with Steve Harrington, was the involuntary understanding you both had of each other’s character.

You squinted your eyes as you tried to read him, and it took you a few seconds of studying him. Of really looking at him, to realise. The nervous movement of his leg, the way he looked through the windshield, his hand instinctively rubbing his leg over his jeans, where you knew there was a scar.

‘You, more than anyone else, know what it’s like to want something so much you get scared of losing it before you even have it.’ You felt the anger rising and the frustration growing as you spoke. ‘The difference is that you lost it, and I won’t.’

And just like that, you grabbed the bag and left his car before he could say something back.

The guilt set on your chest like a heavy rock the whole time you were warming up. It stayed there when you broke through the anxious bodies of the other determined ballerinas to have a look at the board where the roles for the winter production were displayed. It didn’t leave you when you started your training, when you switched from pirouettes to fouettes, and it certainly didn’t stop haunting you as you looked at yourself in the mirror, carefully repeating grand adages until you couldn’t feel your toes anymore.

You were late to the fundraising dinner, but you hoped, you prayed that your parents would be too drunk to reproach you. The soft roar of the taxi’s engine got lost behind you as you walked through the many cars parked outside, climbing the steps of your house and hoping for the best.

There was laughter and music coming from the living room, your cheeks going from freezing to warm as soon as you closed the door behind you. The first few seconds where nobody noticed you were comforting, until Steve’s silhouette appeared through the living room’s entrance.

He was wearing a green sweater over his shirt, and a full glass of wine was on his hand when his eyes looked at you with curious amusement. You were aware that your pride would only make things worse, but there was no part of you that wished to apologise right now.

You were about to move towards the stairs when he walked first, standing in front of the first step. Repressing a sigh, you had no other option but to face him.

‘How were rehearsals?’

‘They were good.’ You simply said before walking past him to climb the stairs.

You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you heard him follow behind you.

‘Did you get the part?’

‘I got a part.’ You said as you opened the door to your room. ‘I’m very pleased with it.’

You thought that would be enough to keep him away, that he would give up. But as you absentmindedly got rid of your shoes and walked towards your window to close the blind, you heard the door of your room closing.

‘Do you mind!?’ You said as you turned around, finding Steve standing against the closed door, hands inside his pockets and the same unbearably amused stare on you.

‘Not really.’

You shook your head and decided to ignore him, grabbing the dress your mother had picked for you from the closet, still feeling his eyes on you as you did so.

‘Do you want me to have a look at that?’

When you looked up his eyes were on your feet, the bloody bandages wrapped around each one of your toes making you feel way too self-aware.

‘No.’ You hid your eyes from him before walking into the bathroom.

You took another deep breath as you felt him move around your room while you quickly got rid of your leotard. Somehow his calm was frustrating you, his lack of pride had you overthinking about all the different ways in which he could get back at you tonight.

He was looking around your room when you walked out fully dressed. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes at the way he studied your posters while you slipped on a couple of mary janes, because you couldn’t bother to change the bandages just now and nobody would want to look at those.

You sat in front of your vanity then, swiftly starting to get rid of the bobby pins around your hair bun as you kept an eye on him through the mirror. He seemed chill, he seemed unbothered, it was killing you. Your gaze lingered on him easily through the mirror, leaving his empty wine glass aside as he took a book from your shelf and eyed it casually.

The heat rushed to your cheeks when he looked back to find you staring. You looked down quickly as your hands moved clumsily, your hair tangling a bit as you kept working.

He moved without you having to ask, standing behind you to help you get rid of the tangled pins, your fingers progressively giving up until his took over delicately.

He worked in silence, and you stood there, thinking about a time where your mother used to brush your hair before practice, those days were you still had ballet classes with Miss Cécile. She had left Hawkins years ago now, to retire somewhere far, somewhere in Europe.

‘There’s no hard feelings, by the way.’ He said as he placed the last pins on top of your vanity.

‘Hm?’ Your eyes were fixed on your reflection as you brushed your hair, making sure you remained expressionless as he placed his hands on the wooden surface of the vanity. You could feel the warmth of his body, the softness of his sweater on your back as his bergamot cologne surrounded you.

‘About today.’ There seemed to be some satisfaction behind his tone, but you didn’t want to acknowledge how much his indifference annoyed you. ‘I forgive you.’

You stood then, fighting the need to clench your jaw as you walked towards the door.

‘I didn’t say I was sorry.’

The dinner started as it always did. Because your parents were hosting, your father gave a little thank you speech before everyone sat down. You and Steve sat on opposite sides of the table as people started passing the fish. He let a discreet chuckle out when you wrinkled your nose at the sight of some of the dishes, but you ignored him, focusing on acting as a good host and kindly helping the rest of the guests.

People started to talk and joke, conversations about the town, the upcoming holidays or, well, fishing dominated the table while you stayed quiet. The tiredness of the day was heavy on your shoulders and neck, even your eyelids were a bit heavy.

You tried to sit straighter in an attempt to wake up, wishing you could’ve spent at least half an hour skating outside to bring your energy back, when Mr Harrington addressed you from the other side of the table.

‘Hm!’ He cleaned his mouth with the napkin as you waited to hear what he had to say. ‘How was your audition yesterday?’

‘Uh, it was good.’ You nodded shyly.

‘Did you get a good part, honey?’ Mrs Harrington next to him asked.

You stood quiet for a second, avoiding your parents’ gaze on the other end of the table as you tried to choose your words carefully. All the guests stared at you expectantly, and for a second you were speechless, even helpless, until you felt a subtle touch on your ankle.  

You lifted your eyes to find Steve’s brown gaze already on you. A bit softer than usual, you couldn’t help but swallow hard when the tip of his leather shoe ventured upward to stroke your shin. He lifted his eyebrows subtly, an encouraging sign that brought you back to Earth quickly.

‘Yeah, uhm…’ You shyly played with the drops that fell from your wine glass before looking back at Mr Harrington. ‘Yeah, I did. I, uh… I’m going to play Odette.’ You chuckled nervously. ‘And Odile too, of course.’

‘Oh my God!’ Said Mrs Harrington. ‘Sweetie, that’s amazing.’

‘Congratulations.’ Said Mr Harrington, followed by a few more alike comments from the guests next to you.

You dad winked at you from the other side of the table. There was a sweet smile on his face, you knew he was proud. What you couldn’t understand was why he wouldn’t just say it.

‘That’s wonderful news.’ Your mother agreed with a soft smile. ‘We shall have a little toast after dinner.’

You looked down to your plate, biting the sarcastic smile on your face as you grabbed your glass of wine.

‘After dinner.’

Maybe Steve was the only one who heard you repeat your mother’s words before you took a sip of the drink while the conversation around resumed. He was the one who saw the way you bit the inside of your cheek as the fishing subject arose again, searching for your eyes while his foot kept stroking your leg.

He abruptly lost you a few seconds after, as you crossed your legs under the table, leaning towards Mrs Miller next to you to ask her if she needed any salt for the sprouts.

There was no toast after dinner, just a dessert that you politely declined with the excuse of a headache. Wine glasses kept being refilled, Christmas music played louder, and when everyone moved onto the living room you took the opportunity to sneak away in your bedroom’s direction.

Once you made it upstairs, the sight of Steve coming out of the hallway’s toilet made you stop in your tracks for a second.

‘Downstairs was taken.’ He said before turning off the light.

You nodded once as he walked towards where you stood. He was supposed to go back to the party, and you were supposed to get in bed, but all he could do was stand in front of you with his hands inside his pockets.

‘What if,’ he said before nodding on your bedroom’s direction. You lifted your eyebrows with an unamused semblance. ‘I steal a bottle of wine, and you save me from another conversation about seabass.’

There was still a trace of the charm that had worked for him during High School on his face, his adolescent confidence always took over him after a few drinks. But now those traces faded away much more easily; he took a deep breath as he rolled his eyes and looked down at his shoes.

‘Dad just keeps introducing me to these friends of him.’ He looked up at you. ‘He wants me to beg for a job in finance.’

You chuckled before shaking your head no, but the proposal was still tempting. Your limbs were tired. You hadn’t gotten properly drunk in forever. Your eyes were still on him as you started walking towards your room.

‘Just get something stronger, would you?’

You got rid of your shoes before climbing on top of your covers. It was relieving to feel free to stretch your toes, and flex your feet soles, and crack your ankles. Looking at the ceiling, your started remembering today’s steps in your mind. The passé, the relevé and then…

‘What are you doing, you weirdo?’ Steve said when he walked into the room with a bottle of whisky and two glasses.

You shrugged when he closed the door with his foot. Sitting up, you observed in silence how he poured a bit of the dark amber liquid on the glasses.

‘Just… revising, I guess.’ You took the glass he was offering you.

You took a sip as he shook his head in disapproval. The liquid burnt your throat, but it made you warm and it awakened you, while Steve downed the drink fully before sitting next to you and pulling your legs up to his lap.

You frowned, but instead of saying something you just took another sip of the whiskey.

He carefully started to remove the bandages, frowning painfully at the sight of your poor blistered and bloody toes. You observed him in silence, completely numb to the pain on your feet but entertained by his clear distress as he piled the bandages at the end of the bed, rubbing the bridge of your feet in the process.

‘So…’ He started.

He wouldn’t look back at you as you waited for him to speak.

‘So?’ You finally said.

‘What’s the name of that character you’re playing on the show?’

‘Characters.’ You corrected. ‘Odette and Odile are traditionally played by the same ballerina.’

‘Hm.’ he said as he got lost in his thoughts. You waited for him to say something else, but he just kept massaging your feet.

‘Hm?’ You repeated searching for his eyes. ‘What does that mean?’

‘Nothing.’ He shrugged. ‘Sounds like quite a demanding role.’

‘It is.’ You recognised. ‘We’ve got about three weeks of rehearsals. Opening night’s on Christmas Eve.’

‘Three weeks.’ He repeated humorously. ‘That’s impressive.’

You clenched your jaw in silence before removing your legs off his lap and moving to lay on your side.

‘Hey,’ He laughed behind you as you faced the window. His hand stroked your leg playfully from your ankle upwards, but you kicked him before it could sneak under the skirt of your dress. ‘C’mon, bratty—'

‘Don’t call me that.’ You said squirming and hugging the pillow under your bed. ‘I should’ve known you’d make fun of me. You don’t understand anything.’

‘Aw, c’mon.’ You felt his body fall on the space behind you before his arms wrapped around your waist. His bergamot scent invaded your lugs, and before you could help it you were taking a deep breath. ‘Don’t get mad at me.’

You turned around on the bed, facing him with a serious frown on your face. You’d never been this close to Steve or had even touched him like this. His cheeks were so red it looked as if he had a fever, and his eyelids were heavy as he looked down at you with an amused smile.

‘You’re drunk.’ You simply said.

‘And you’re warm.’ He said with the same stupid smile, his fingers brushed the skin on your back as he pulled you towards him.

You stayed very still as his head leaned in, and for a second you thought he’d might kiss you, but instead he just innocently hid his nose on your neck.

‘You’re so warm.’ He whispered to himself. Your hands hovered on your sides before you lifted an arm and slowly rested your hand on his neck, diving your fingers on his hair to stroke his scalp softly. He seemed to like that, by the little noise that left his mouth when his body melted against yours. ‘M so proud of you.’

It was the softest thing, barely a whisper, but still you heard it. You swallowed hard as he made himself more comfortable, sighing deeply as he started dozing off and you were more awake than you’d ever been in your life.

‘Steve.’ You called as you softly pushed his shoulder to have a better look at him. ‘Don’t fall asleep. C’mon, wake up.’

‘I’m awake.’ He said lazily while his eyes remained closed. You rolled your eyes before pushing his shoulder with a bit more of strength, and that finally made him look back at you. ‘I’m awake! Fuck, I’m awake. Jesus Christ, you really like hitting me, don’t you?’

‘Well, you earn it quite easily, you stupid idiot— Why are you laughing?’

He took a deep breath as he looked back at you with the same annoying smile. The silence was tense as he stretched slowly, never taking his eyes off you while you were still so close you could feel the warmth of his skin underneath the layers.

‘Can I touch you?’ He suddenly asked. It wasn’t blunt, really, just a bit unexpected as his eyes lingered on your dress before they looked up at your face again.

The heat rushed to your cheeks immediately, and that angered you in ways that you refused to acknowledge as you looked back at him.

‘Touch me?’ You repeated softly, almost offended as you slightly moved back. ‘Touch me how?’

Your eyes never left his as he took another deep breath and the hand he rested on your waist drew a trace down the curve of your hip. You stood very still as his hand slid under your dress, fearing that any move you could possibly make would ruin the tension and spoil the excitement you were feeling right now. This was wrong, it was Steve, for God’s sake,but—

‘Like this.’ He whispered when his thumb stroked your upper thigh, so very close from your centre. Then his hand tentatively stroked the hem of your underwear, before it confidently found the warmth of your crotch over the fabric. ‘Here.’

You let out a choky breath as his fingers wandered, stroking softly, as if he was getting to know you. You remained on the same position, not quite opening your legs for him but trying to understand where was all this coming from.

‘Why?’ You asked foolishly, still not able to show your real emotions. The anticipation, the excitement. You knew you were getting wet every second that his fingers brushed over your skin, and surely he did too, because the sides of his mouth were lifting slightly.

He shrugged, looking down at you as his fingers ventured a bit more daringly, finding shelter on that little, sweetly tight gap between your thighs. ‘You seem tense.’

You swallowed hard, clenching your jaw just slightly, because you didn’t know how not to be tense. You didn’t know how to not to be this: the perfectionistic, overachiever kid that everyone in town considered an uptight prissy. Just the thought made you even more anxious.

You looked down then, maybe reconsidering why he was doing this or if you were even cool enough to enjoy it, when he searched for your eyes. You only looked up when his nose brushed against yours, encouraging and so very patient.

‘Can I help?’ He asked softly, his fingers’ touch was even gentler now, almost soothing as he rubbed his fingers against your wet underwear.

You were unable to reply, either by the heat on your cheeks, the rising temperature of the rest of your body or the wet patch that was staining your panties by his sweet yet bold proposal.

So instead, you just opened your legs slightly. It seemed like such a simple gesture had a big effect on him, because when his palm was able to cup your pussy fully, his forehead fell softly on yours while a deep sigh came out of his mouth.

He looked at you carefully, his brown eyes studying yours as his hand played with the upper hem of your underwear. Unable to deal with the anticipation any longer, your own hand sneaked under the skirt to start pulling the soaked fabric. As if your initiative was relieving, he pulled the other side down to your knees, always keeping his eyes on you. Always careful that he was doing the right thing, that you weren’t just yielding.

Then his hand made contact with your warm, sticky, skin. All those nerves sensitive and tender just for him, and something impulsive took over you as your head fell back by the pleasure. A guttural, helpless sound left your mouth when his fingers stroked your clit softly. His fingers were soaked by you, and yet it seemed like that wasn’t enough, by the way he ventured further until the base of his palm was rubbing against your core too.

You were maybe too responsive, your hands found his shoulders to hold on to him, pushing down while you moved your hips.

‘Moan.’ He whispered, it wasn’t an order, but it did feel as if he was giving you permission. Maybe he had noticed how hard you were trying not to be loud, by the way he chuckled softly. ‘I won’t judge. Wanna hear you.’

You shook your head softly, shutting your eyes hard as you repressed yet another whine.

His hand started moving a bit more enthusiastically, finding a circling pattern that excited you in a completely different way. The sudden stimulus made you release a choking breath, and only then, when he saw how your lips parted and your eyebrows arched, he leaned in.

Steve’s lips were surprisingly soft. Despite the strong taste of whiskey, despite the dislike you felt from each other, despite your limited experience, he was so very tender and soft.

This was maybe what messed up with your head, because all you had ever known when it came to Steve Harrington was determined roughness. Pushing his arm, rolling your eyes, laughing at him. And yet here was his delicate tongue tingling your palate; his sloppy lips sucking on yours, while his soft fingertips were buried deep in between your legs. And all you wanted to do was bite him.

And when you did, his hand started moving faster, his lips became much greedier. You moaned shamelessly, and the thought of being unable to be tender or sweet as him was starting to haunt you. It was impossible, you’d never be able to show this much need without fucking it up in the process. Not as he was. But did you have to?

‘Slow down.’ He said with a raspy voice when you grinded more violently against his hand. You dig your nails on his shoulder wishing you’d left marks on him, hoping that you were.

You were searching for that extreme, unreachable release. Daring to open your eyes, you looked right at him to let him see what you were capable of. With Steve, things had always been about proving yourself. His eyes had turned almost absent as he looked at you, the way you were almost convulsing on his hand, the contradiction of the anticipatory ectasis taking over your innocent face.

‘Slow. Down.’ He said between his teeth. This time it did sound like an order, worse than that, his voice had taken that tint from the day you caught him skating drunk.

He was mad at you, maybe, but you couldn’t care. One of your hands dived into his hair and you dared to pull a little bit, softly at first, but the more you moved the more you wanted to turn into a sweet mess on the palm of his hand. You wanted him to feel your pussy pounding, you wanted him to keep looking at you with those lost pupils. As if you were the only thing worth looking at in this cosy room, in this boring world.

Then you pulled harder, letting out an animalistic sound as you started feeling it from your belly. Hot and nice. His fingers were soaked, his skin so warm and eyes glossy as you kept looking back at him with challenging eyes.

‘Slow down, fuck.’ He repeated, the obscene noise of your hips moving and the mattress squeaking worsened the situation. ‘M tryin’ to—’  

You finally released a chocking breath as the walls of your pussy started pulsing, your breaths got mixed with little high-pitched noises, and the sweet orgasm hit you as you pulled his hair once again. This time shamelessly, and so carelessly you heard his chocked complaint in the distance.

The embarrassment rushed to your cheeks as you tried to catch your breath, looking down as he helped you lift your panties again. He swallowed hard, taking a deep breath as he unleashed from your embrace to lay on his back and you waited for something, anything. But he remained quiet, looking at the ceiling as a soft frown took over his face.

You licked your lips, half-confused, half-disappointed, before you turned your back towards him again. The sky was navy outside, but the snow made it all seem much brighter. You knew down there the frozen pond waited for you, and on the other side of it was Steve’s house, with his empty bed that waited for him.

But he wouldn’t make it, not tonight. A few minutes later, his arm wrapped around your waist. This time more carefully, and gentle. He pulled you in, and you let him. When his lap barely touched your ass, there wasn’t a trace of his excitement, and that somehow relieved you, confused you and offended you at the same time.

But you just stayed silent.

He took a deep breath while his nose dived in your hair and you let him. He fell asleep like this, in your bed, and you let him.

Steve was woken up by the sun on his face. He growled and stretched on the bed searching for a body that he knew had been laying next to him during the night, but the space next to him was empty.

When his eyes opened slightly, he recognised your room. The blue dress was on top of your desk and a towel drying on the chair next to the window. He took a deep breath, hugging the pillow where you head had been and rolling onto the other side to get a few more minutes of sleep.

It could’ve been a couple of hours later when he woke up out of sudden. He felt embarrassed and a bit disoriented as he sat up, realising that the sun was much lower than where it had been the first time he woke up.

You were still not in the room, but there was movement downstairs. He stood up from the bed to find the distant figure of your body skating outside. Steve stayed there, looking at you sliding around the pond elegantly, like a lonely swan swimming on a silver lake, and he thought about had happened last night.

The morning was quiet, the snow around the pond glistened and the cold winter sun tinted everything in your room with a blue hue as he stood there with his hands in his pockets, wondering how was it possible, that you could look so delicate from afar and then yet still be so rough whenever he touched you.

After a while, he made his way downstairs, feeling his stomach rumbling and his head pounding by the ghost of a hangover.

‘… Have no idea what to do with her.’ Steve heard the sound of your mother’s voice in the kitchen when he made it downstairs. ‘She doesn’t want to do things with me anymore. I feel… I feel weird. Like, I’m unwanted.’

Steve lingered on the corridor, not sure about why he was suddenly so interested in your parents’ conversation about you.

‘C’mon, honey, she’s just a bit reserved.’ Your dad started. ‘She’s always been… shy, and overly independent. Maybe you’re reading too much into this.’

‘You say that because you’ve always indulged her too much.’

‘Honey—’

‘You have. You do.’ She complained. ‘For her you’re the— the cool parent, the “chill dad”. I’m not. But what does that leave me with? She doesn’t want to do anything with me anymore! No Christmas shopping, or charity activities, or salon appointments… I used to be the one who went to try tutus with her, remember? She hasn’t even mentioned anything about that and I’m pretty sure she must know already when the appointment is—’

‘Honey,’ Your dad interjected again. ‘She’s an adult. You need to let her be.’

‘She’s playing Odette!’ She snapped. ‘She’s wanted to be Odette since before she even had pointe shoes, before she could even walk. And she doesn’t even want to celebrate with me, her mother.’

‘Just give her some time.’

‘Maybe I should’ve told Linda and Ronald not to ask her about it in front of everybody.’

Steve held a breath at the mention of his parents, wondering about what to do. If he should interfere, if anything he thought about the situation was important enough to argue.

‘Honey.’

‘They put her on the spotlight.’ She said. ‘That’s not good for her, she doesn’t know how to deal with it. And… maybe it wasn’t the right time.’

‘The right time for what?’ You dad asked.

‘I don’t know.’ She pondered in silence for a second. ‘For Steve. I mean, did you see his face when they mentioned it?’

Steve started walking loudly towards the living room then, making himself heard around the house as your parents suddenly turned silent.

‘Good morning.’ He said shyly as he walked into the kitchen. ‘I’m sorry I overslept; I didn’t mean to abuse my stay.’

‘Oh, good morning, honey.’ Said your mother with a smile as she took a sip of her coffee. ‘Don’t worry about it, you know this is your home.’

‘Do you want some breakfast, son?’ Asked your dad searching for a cup in the cupboard.

‘I’d, uh, love to.’ He admitted politely with a shy smile, he still didn’t know how he felt about your parents talking about him or his family. ‘But I have a shift starting in half an hour and I still need to shower and search for my vest.’

‘I’ll pack something for you, then.’ Said your dad without waiting for an answer.

Steve observed him grab a container, and before he could protest your dad was already filling it with scones.

‘Are we seeing you at dinner tonight?’ Your mother asked sweetly.

‘Uh…’ He couldn’t reject the scones that your parent handed him, feeling a bit uncomfortable out of sudden. Maybe you had been right, and all this friendship thing between them and his parents was getting a bit out of control. ‘Unfortunately, I close tonight. Robin’s taking the evening off. But I’ll be there next week.’

You dad tsked. ‘That’s a shame. It’s football night.’

‘S a pity, sir.’ Steve agreed, feeling he needed to leave the house soon, or he’d go crazy. ‘But I’ll be there next week.’

‘Have a good day, honey.’ Said your mom as he walked towards the kitchen’s door.

‘Thank you.’ He said without looking back before closing the door behind him.

You were still on the ice, and he wondered how long you had been there as he walked the distance towards his house in silence. The cold was burning his cheeks, and you were only wearing gloves and leg warmers over your leotard and tights.

He looked down at his feet when you spun on the ice flawlessly, and he couldn’t help but clench his jaw softly. Some things just came so easy to you, and he wasn’t really sure if you deserved them.

The first week of rehearsals went so quick that when you made it home on Friday night you could feel a knot in the pit of your stomach.

Training had been ruthless with your body and mind. You had thrown away your ballet shoes mid-week and replaced them with a new pair on Thursday, and no matter how long you had spent banging them against the floor, they still hadn’t been broken in. That was messing with your balance and the overall quality of your performance, it was driving you insane.

That’s why you couldn’t care less about having dinner at the Harrington’s as long as that meant that you were fed and in bed by eleven. You opened the door carefully, hearing the noise of cutlery and chatter as you dropped your bag on the entrance, got rid of your coat, and walked inside.

‘Hey!’ Mr Harrington was standing next to your parents, refilling their wine glasses with a bottle of Chardonnay. ‘Come in.’

‘Hi.’

Steve was sitting next to the only empty seat, and you were looking for Robin everywhere, but she didn’t seem to have been invited tonight. That somehow disappointed you as you stood next to your mom’s chair, smiling shyly at everyone.

‘Hi, sweetie.’ Said your father.

‘Was there lots of traffic?’ Asked your mother looking up at you. You were only about ten minutes late, but she didn’t seem very happy about it.

‘I had to make a quick stop at the mall to get some more tights.’ You explained simply without looking at her as you made your way towards the empty seat. ‘And then I went home to change.’

‘Have you tried on your costumes yet?’ Steve asked as soon as you sat down.

You placed the napkin on your lap as Mr Harrington poured some wine on your glass, wondering why he was asking that or why did he even care.

‘Not yet.’ You simply said, feeling your mother’s eyes on you. ‘They took my measurements today so the first fitting should be next week.’

‘Isn’t that too close from the show?’ Your mother asked, worried.

You shrugged as you grabbed a spoon to get some potato salad. Steve’s stare was on you, but you were too tired to indulge the awkwardness between you two. That and maybe the fact that you didn’t want to tell your mother the costumes were practically ready.

‘You need to let us know when the tickets go on sale.’ Proceeded Mrs Harrington. ‘I’d love to take my goddaughter with me, you know Maxine, right?’

You nodded politely as you took a bit of your food. ‘I know Max, yeah.’

‘We’ll she’s training with Dolly Higgens at the Hawkins theatre.’ She proceeded, putting her fork aside before she sat down better. ‘I know she’s no Miss Cécile, but I was wondering if you could give her some pointers for her Sleeping Beauty audition next Monday?’

‘Oh.’ You stayed quiet for a second before smiling. ‘I didn’t know she was auditioning for next season. She could’ve tried The Nutcracker.’

‘I think she was a bit intimidated by the idea.’ Mrs Harrington said, satisfied by your excitement. ‘But I told her about you, and she said she’d really appreciate it if you’d help her prepare for the audition. As long as that’s not a problem for you, honey. I know you’re very busy right now.’

‘It’s no problem.’ You giggled, excited for the first time in a long while. ‘Of course I’d like to.’

‘I told Steve he could drive you and Max to the city as a thank you for your help.’ She said satisfied. ‘That way I won’t feel like we’re taking time from you.’

‘Oh.’ This time you looked down, trying to conceal your discomfort. ‘That— I don’t think that’ll be necessary. I’m just happy to help.’ You turned to Steve then. ‘You don’t need to do that.’

An uncomfortable silence took over the table then. Steve didn’t say anything as he extended a hand to grab his glass of wine. When you looked up, your dad hid his eyes from you while your mother cleaned her mouth and proceeded to ask Steve how his shift had been.

The dinner progressed as it usually did after that, but you felt a strange feeling of inadequacy as your parents talked about work and Steve complained about his manager Keith, and your mother started planning some new event for the town with Linda. Yet you still ate your food, said yes to dessert and listened absentmindedly.

‘Don’t worry about that, sweetie.’ Linda’s hands on your arms surprised you when you started taking the plates from the table. Everyone had moved to the living room, and you had thought that by helping, your parents might forgive you for leaving early. ‘I’ll get Steve to clean all this later tonight.’

You opened your mouth to say something, but she didn’t let you speak.

‘Why don’t you go upstairs to get those tapes Stevie got for you, huh? You go watch some movies together, we’re just gonna play a record and talk.’

Before you knew, you were leaving the living room feeling like she had probably dismissed you in a polite manner, but you weren’t sure if you were supposed to feel offended.

You climbed the stairs fighting the need to roll your eyes, wondering how things would’ve been if you had chosen college rather than sticking to dancing. You’d be having a normal life away from the Harrington’s and Hawkins, maybe your parents would miss you enough to visit you on weekends and you could just spend time as a family the way everyone else did.

The door to Steve’s room was briefly open, but you still knocked before coming in. In the darkness, your eyes lingered on the wall next to the door where once there had been hockey trophies and now there were framed pictures of his friends and piles of records and VHS tapes. You’d probably missed that detail last time you were here, when you had found him struggling with his knee on the same spot where he was sitting comfortably now. His eyes lifted when you closed the door behind you before they went back to the TV in front of him.

‘Your mom said you had some tapes for me?’ You asked shyly. ‘What was that about?’

‘They’re on my desk.’ He said without looking at you.

You bit your lip as you walked to the other side of the room where the desk was. On the surface there was a copy of the 1980’s production of Swan Lake by the New York City Ballet, where Merrill Ashley had played the lead. The other one was a version from 1975 by the National English Ballet that Merle Park starred.

‘These are very hard to find.’ You admitted loudly before looking behind your shoulder with a smile, but Steve kept his eyes on the TV, ignoring your comment.

You walked back with the tapes in your hands before sitting next to him. Fixing your skirt as you rested your back on the side of the bed, you wondered how you could thank him without making things more awkward than they already were.

‘How was training today?’ He asked without looking back at you.

‘Honestly?’ You chuckled. ‘It was miserable.’

Your confession was what made him finally look back at you, but you didn’t seem stressed, just very tired. The sight of your puffed eyelids reminded him of your relaxed face when you slept, he didn’t get to see you like that as often as he wished.

‘Surely not as miserable as rewinding tapes for four hours.’ He joked before speaking softly. ‘What happened?’

‘Well, my new shoes are still breaking in and Priscilla Webber spent the whole day watching my développés like a hyena looks at a baby antelope.’

He grabbed one of the cases and took the Merle Park tape out of it.

‘Is she your understudy?’ He asked as he put the tape inside the VHS under his TV.

‘Yep. It’s usually the other way around, I’ve always been the one ready to cover for her.’ You made a short pause when the opening credits rolled up. ‘I don’t think she’s ever been anyone’s understudy.’

He chuckled as he sat back next to you.

‘Sounds like she’s having a hard time.’

‘I fucking hope she is.’ You recognised. ‘She’s unbearable.’

Steve’s eyes stayed on the TV for a few seconds, a subtle frown took over his face as he looked at the screen but didn’t really watch. The reflection fell on his face tinting his cheeks blue and purple at times. After a few seconds of silence, he finally looked back at you.

‘Do you always talk about each other like that?’

‘What do you mean?’ You laughed softly as you rested your cheek against the bed.

‘I don’t know.’ He shrugged. ‘Aren’t you two members of the same company? Like, you’re putting a show together, right?’

‘Yeah, but we’re not friends.’ You said amused. ‘No one really is, to be honest.’

‘Well, but you’re like co-workers. Kinda. Like, in a normal situation you’d be decent with each other at the very least.’

You looked back at him with a tendered smile on your face, and he didn’t seem to like that very much by the way his cheeks were blushing under the TV glow. You weren’t really offended by his logic, just merely entertained.

‘This is not a team, Steve.’ You whispered patiently. ‘If something happens to me, Priscilla gets my spot and the world goes on.’

‘Hmm.’ He nodded. ‘That’s a bit harsh, isn’t it?’

You shrugged. ‘People work really hard to get to dance at a professional level. It’s expensive, time consuming, and once you turn twenty-five people start treating you like you belong in a nursing home.’

‘Sounds like hell if you ask me.’ He said after a while.

‘Good thing I didn’t.’ You replied looking back at the TV.

Your eyes got lost in the beautiful silhouette of Merle Park as she appeared on the stage like a pale silver ghost. Her make up was at least ten years outdated now, but she still managed to look elegant and perfect.

‘It’s just so fleeting.’ You admitted out loud. ‘The rush of satisfaction when you’re there. There’s also the fear of not getting it right, of giving in to the pain, but, I don’t know. There’s something so humanly beautiful about attempting to reach perfection even when you know it’s impossible. And there’s something… euphoric about proving what your body is capable of.’

‘There are easier ways of doing that.’ He said resting his head against the bed next to you. His knees had flexed just enough to brush yours, and you craved for the texture of his soft fingertips under your skirt. He was smiling, softly, but still cheeky.

‘Yeah, but they’re not all beautiful.’ You murmured.

He looked back at you, studying your face seriously before whispering.

‘You don’t think what we did the other day was beautiful?’

He looked so small then, as he waited for your answer, and you wondered about what to say while your cheeks felt as if they were on fire. You shrugged shyly, feeling that no answer would be good enough, because you didn’t want to tell him that you had thought about it every night this week. You had thought about it a lot.

‘Come here.’ He said patting his lap.

And you did, because somehow you were listening to the Overture for the thousandth time today, but this time it felt like that distant day where you watched the ballet when you were seven. This time it felt as if it had a meaning, as if the ethereal notes had a complete different effect on your body.

‘Tell me,’ He whispered in the dark as his fingers dived under the chiffon skirt of your dress. His greedy hands cupped your butt cheeks before he pushed you down, and your centre hit the erection under his jeans. ‘Isn’t this beautiful? Huh?’

‘We clearly have different concepts of beauty.’ You joked, but the amusement died when he started guiding your hips and your clit was being nicely pressed against his hard cock.

You released a sigh of relief when you started getting wet, throwing your head back as he was learning you did when something really excited you. He lifted one of his hands and softly pulled down the strap of your dress before kissing your shoulder. Every hair on your skin turned into a goosebump, and your fingers sneaked under his sweater, scratching the skin of his back as you rubbed yourself a bit harder against him.

You heard a distant complaint coming out of his lips, but it could’ve been a moan as you pushed yourself against him and your mouth searched for his neck. The TV started playing the familiar notes of the black swan’s pas de deux, melancholic and dark, and so frivolously complicated. He heard you take a deep breath, and you tried to kiss him there as softly as he had pecked your shoulder, but in a matter of seconds you were sucking on his skin while your hips gained speed.

‘Shit.’ You heard him say under his breath. Your hands dived in his hair, making it messy and pulling it a little like you had before. You liked that he didn’t know what to do with you, because you also didn’t know what to do with yourself. Steve was so hard under the warmth of your lacy underwear, and he smelled so good, and his skin was so soft you couldn’t bear it.

He opened his mouth to say something else, but you hushed him with a violent kiss. Your heart beat much faster when your tongue dived inside his mouth and he blindly searched for a dominance that you weren’t going to give him. A guttural noise left his throat then, and when your hand pulled the neck of his sweater to hold on to while you rubbed yourself on him, something changed.

Steve grabbed your waist more firmly; he pushed you harder and it all turned much clumsier and dirtier after that. The moan that left your mouth encouraged him to explore this, something melancholic and dark that hid in the unconscious corners of himself.  Now he was moving his hips with you, your breaths were getting faster, you were staining his jeans for fuck’s sake. It was as if you didn’t know the concept of patience when it came to sex.

‘Fuck.’ You moaned against his mouth; he was looking at the way you shut your eyes hard as he swallowed your breath, mesmerized by the delicacy of your features despite the violence of your body.

He observed you through it all to make sure that he wasn’t hurting you, but you responded gladly to the increasing pressure, to the hard rhythm. Then you opened your helpless eyes to look at him while he squeezed your butt cheek, his fingers wandered a bit further down to find a sticky mess in between the friction of your bodies, and you pleaded with a soft, exhausted whine.

His eyes didn’t leave your face as you came hard, almost painfully as you trembled in his arms. Your legs wrapped tightly around his sides while you panted on his shoulder, the music had been muted by a buzzing in your ears, and you were still trying to catch your breath when he spoke urgently.

‘Take them off.’ His nose stroked yours, his lips so close from yours you could almost taste every word as his hands slipped inside your underwear. ‘Please, take them off for me. Please.’

Steve’s request was urgent and needy, he couldn’t even wait for you to mutter a response as he was starting to pull down the soaked fabric and you blinked repeatedly in confusion.

It took you a couple of seconds to help him pull down the pale blue panties. His eyes lingered on the way a thin thread of wetness kept connected to your pussy, your legs getting a little bit stained with the clumsy movement. He urgently unzipped his jeans as his eyes were still lost on the mystery under your skirt and yours couldn’t leave his dumbed-out face when he pulled down his boxers.

For the first time since this started your movements were slow and delicate, your knees found a place on each side of his legs while he sat more comfortably, and you placed the fabric on his hand. You couldn’t even breath by the anticipation, and by the funny fear that sat on the pit of your stomach as your eyes fell on his veiny and hard cock.

With the same urgency as before, he wrapped your soaked underwear around his dick and started to touch himself softly, but insistently. Your cheeks couldn’t get impossibly warmer as you observed him in silence, equally fascinated and shyly flattered by his desperation.

‘Touch my face?’ He asked in between breaths, his eyelids getting heavier the more he pumped his dick. ‘Please?’

You realised then, that there was an unbearable distance between your bodies now. Sitting carefully, you lifted your shaky hands towards his face and cupped his cheeks, you thumbs stroked the corners of his mouth before you leaned in to kiss him, not knowing if you were doing it right.

But apparently you were, by the way he sighed under your mouth, by how he shut his eyes hard as you licked his lower lip. If only you’d knew how to help him release his tension, if only you weren’t you, maybe you’d be able to be sweet enough to him.

You tried though, clumsily, testing it all as you pecked the little red bite you had left on his neck minutes earlier. Then you licked it, drawing a line up to his ear with your tongue, letting out a nervous breath that he would’ve loved to swallow.

‘Tell me.’ He whispered, feeling your mouth so close from his ear, resting his cheek against yours. He was sweaty and hot against you.

‘W-What?’ You asked nervously. Somehow you felt embarrassedly naked there, even if he wasn’t touching you anymore, even if you were dressed.

‘Tell me.’ He repeated, begging in a vulnerable whisper. ‘Tell me anything, just— just say something, please. I’m so close.’

What could you say to him? What could you offer him that wasn’t rough and battered? What did he want to hear? That this was beautiful? Would it be honest if you said that? No, he’d knew you didn’t mean it.

But it was, wasn’t it? He was beautiful, you thought as your nose played with his earlobe and you pecked his cheek. His request got you feeling clueless, completely speechless for the first time.

Feeling uncomfortably embarrassed, you moved back to face him. Your nose brushed against his while your hands were still on his face, and you let out a nervous, shaky chuckle as his movements increased speed.

‘I don’t know.’ You admitted softly. ‘I-I don’t know what to say. I’m sorry.’

He smiled then, equally tendered and amused by this side of you while he studied your face. Your stupidity didn’t seem to discourage him as he rested the back of his neck on the edge of the bed. His free hand stroked your thigh, still touching himself with a patient smile on his face.

‘Just somethin’ sweet.’ He murmured. ‘Anything you can think of.’

You swallowed hard, fearing that you would finally fuck this up.

‘But I’m not sweet.’ You whispered after a while, totally defeated.

He tsked then, shaking his head softly as he sat better. It had all turned much slow-paced than before, and you thought that was odd, that he couldn’t possibly not be desperate to cum. You were confused by his lack of disappointment as his free hand wrapped around your waist to sit you better on top of him. His forehead rested on yours as you looked away, feeling anxious and stupid.

‘You gave me these.’ He said looking down at the obscene yet flattering image of your lacy, wet underwear around his dick as he stroked up and down. His nose poked yours so you’d look up at him. ‘That was sweet.’

‘Hm.’ You shrugged, grabbing the neck of his sweater with your fist.

‘And you slowed down this time. A little, at least.’ He laughed softly as his lips brushed yours. ‘For me.’

‘Well, I want you to feel good too.’ You admitted softly.

‘Yeah?’ He leaned in, closing his eyes as he took a deep breath, getting lost in the warm closeness between your bodies. It was overwhelming, how he managed to get so needy in such a short time. ‘Tell me. How.’

You were breathless at the fact that this was somehow working. You looked down at his fast movements before your gaze fell on his beautiful face again.

‘I just think it’s… nice.’ You giggled, and hated yourself for it, but he smiled with his eyes closed, so it couldn’t have been that bad. ‘Maybe you can keep them and use them again. If you want to think about me.’

‘Do you want me to think about you?’ He asked as his free hand sneaked under your skirt again. He squeezed your bare ass softly, fondly, releasing another deep shaky breath. ‘Huh?’

‘Yes.’ You whispered. The effect of such a simple word made him shut his eyes harder, his lips opening partly but no agony sound coming out of them as his forehead fell on your chest.

Your hands dived in his hair carefully and you couldn’t resist to leave a kiss on his head. He smelled so good, so sweet, so Steve, and the moan that left his mouth tendered you even more. It was loud, as if he was in pain, but you knew he wasn’t.

What took over you then wasn’t animalistic or primal, it was oddly human. You embraced him, hugging him against your chest, hiding his head under your neck as if you were protecting him. You had never protected anyone or anything before, and such a realisation could’ve brought tears to your eyes.

He came hard, by the way he was trying to repress his growls, by how tightly he squeezed your waist and how long he stayed there catching his breath.

The heat rushed to your cheeks as you sat back while he cleaned himself with your underwear before zipping up his jeans. You swallowed hard, feeling the need of crossing your legs as you climbed down of his lap. The TV was still playing the tape, while the soft ethereal music overtook the silence between you.

‘Honey?’ Your mom’s voice from downstairs made you stand up out of sudden.

You fixed your dress as you walked towards the door before you felt Steve’s hand wrapping around your arm. It took you out of surprise when he turned your body back, cupping your face before his lips found yours desperately. His hungry tongue tasted you, licked you, his greedy hands were squeezing your waist again.

You pushed him then, out of habit or maybe out of fear. Steve looked seriously at you, and you felt the anxiety rush to your chest as he took his jacket and walked past you towards the corridor.

‘Oh!’ Your mother’s exclamation made you walk out when she encountered Steve on the stairs. ‘Is everything okay, Steve?’

You were on the top of the stairs now, unable to look at his face as he made his towards the entrance, and your mom stood still with a worried look on her face.

‘Just remembered I forgot to lock the back door at work.’ He said taking his keys from the hook on the wall. He still didn’t look up as he shouted at his parents from the entrance. ‘I’ll be right back.’

You stood on your place, fixing your skirt once again and trying to process what you had done and what had happened before.

‘Is everything okay, sweetie?’ Your mom asked as she looked back at you.

You nodded softly.

‘Yeah. Of course.’ You chuckled as you walked down the stairs. ‘Why wouldn’t it?’

‘It just kind of seems you two got into a fight.’ She said as she followed you back downstairs.

‘Steve and I don’t get into fights, mom.’ You rolled your eyes nonchalantly when you made it to the entrance and picked your jacket and scarf from the rack. ‘We’re not eight anymore.’

‘But he seemed so upset…’

‘We just never seem to get along.’ You shrugged. There was a careless smile on your face but something inside you was unbearably breaking the more you pretended things weren’t wrong. ‘Think I’m gonna go home now, I’ve got a long day at the studio tomorrow.’

You kissed her cheek softly, ignoring the knot on your throat, and then you walked out of the house.

There was no sign of Steve’s car once you closely observed the desolated surroundings of the house. You took a shaky breath in and walked down the steps before walking home in the silent winter night. The moonlight lit the frozen pond like a glistening lighthouse, and for once you allowed yourself to feel lonely.

A snow day in the middle of the second week of rehearsals wasn’t ideal, it was fatal. You had spent the whole morning begging your dad to find an alternate route to the city for you. You promised, promised, promised that if he’d help you pay for a hotel room for the rest of the week, you’d give him the money back as soon as possible, but he reluctantly said no.

So, you had no other option than to grab your skates and spend the morning on the pond as you wondered what to do. You started as you always did, skating in loops for a while before you moved on to more complicated turns. You had just started practicing some harmless jumps that you hadn’t tried for a while, when the noise of chatter and laugh behind you startled you.

The fall was clean, and not too nasty. The heat rushed to your cheeks as you clenched your jaw and stood up while Steve and his friends looked at you from the other side of the frozen pond.

‘Are you okay?’ Max Mayfield was skating towards you now. Behind her, the other four boys that were always accompanied by Steve were putting their skates on.

You cleaned the snow off your butt as you nodded softly, skating in their direction.

‘I’m fine, thanks.’ You said skating past her.

Steve’s eyes never left your face as he realised how that had discouraged Max from speaking to you, but he couldn’t concentrate on that for much longer when you stood in front of him.

‘Steve,’ you said. ‘Not today.’

He let out a sarcastic chuckle with a frown on his face, he was holding his own skates on his hand as he looked back at you.

‘I agree.’ He said walking around the edge of the frozen pond. ‘I’m not arguing with you today either.’

‘Steve,’ You insisted as you skated next to him. ‘I really need the place for myself today. Just give me a couple more hours and I’ll—’

‘I don’t care.’ He snapped, stopping on his tracks. The kids had lifted their gazes at his tone towards you, a few of them frowning in confusion at his sudden change of mood.

‘Steve.’ You said more stubbornly, feeling your fingers almost shaking on either side of you because of how angry and stupid you felt.

‘What!’ He screamed at you. ‘I can’t leave the fucking pond whenever you want to! What are you, five? You parents are home, you’re always complaining ‘bout how they ignore you, well then why don’t you go and leave us the fuck alone?’

You stood there, feeling ashamed under his severe stare as you tried to think about a comeback, when Max spoke softly:

‘There’s no need to be so harsh, Steve.’

‘Yeah, I can say the same.’ He said still looking at you.

‘Right.’ You said looking back at the kids, trying to pick up the last pieces of dignity you still had. ‘The pond’s all yours, guys.’

You walked out of the ice with your skates still on, too mad to even take them off yet. After a few seconds walking towards your house, you took a deep breath and stopped. This was dangerous, you could injure yourself and say goodbye to Odette and Odile if you hurt your ankles or knees. You already had a bruise forming on the side of your leg by the previous fall, and you weren’t going to fuck up things this easily.

You threw the skates away from you as you still stood on the snow barefoot, wondering where the fuck you had left your boots, when a soft tap on your shoulder startled you.

‘Jesus.’ You said turning back to find Max’s shy face in front of you.

‘I, uh, sorry.’ She said nervously. ‘Hi.’

‘Hi.’ You said, a bit confused. Beyond her, the kids had already started skating while Steve was putting his own skates on.

‘I just wanted to tell you that Miss Dolly’s at home today, she might be able to lend you the theatre’s studio.’

‘Your ballet teacher?’ You asked excitedly before thinking about it. ‘Holy shit, you’re so right. Thank you, Max.’

‘You’re welcome.’ She smiled softly. ‘Am I still seeing you this Saturday for the audition thing?’

‘Sure.’ You nodded. ‘Right, I’ll make sure to write it down on my calendar.’

‘Cool.’ She said with a wide smile.

You weren’t able to reciprocate her excitement, but you were happy that she was so enthusiastic about getting better at dancing. It reminded you a little bit of yourself.

‘Cool.’

As Linda Harrington had said, Dolly Higgens wasn’t Miss Cécile, but she had trained in Paris and toured Asia as Coppélia. So, when you knocked the door of her house trying to catch your breath and explained everything to her, she gave you the keys to the old studio where you had once learned the transition from first position to sixth.

The place was warmer than your remembered, but the wooden tiles still creaked the same way they did when you were eight. The old curtains had been replaced, but the barres under your stretching ankle still felt the same as the first time you managed to execute a successful plié.

All your ballet clothes were in the washing machine, so you had to resort to shorts, a sports bra and your leg warmers. You were sweaty when you heard the knock on the door. The noise made you frown, so you kept on moving until you heard the knock again, grabbing your shrug from the floor and wrapping it around you before walking to the door.

‘I came to pick up Max.’ Steve said as he stood on the threshold. He was avoiding your eyes, wrapped in endless layers of wool and cotton while you still caught your breath.

‘Uh, she’s not here.’ You said.

He scoffed.

‘C’mon, just tell her I’m outside.’ He looked at you, annoyance written all over his face as he looked back at you. ‘She asked me to drive her to the movies tonight.’

‘Well maybe she meant—’ But he didn’t let you finish, he just walked into the studio to find the large room empty except for the big speakers and your bottle of water.

‘Max?’ He asked loudly. ‘Max?’

‘Maybe she meant her house?’ You crossed your arms over your waist.

‘No.’ He turned back to look at you. ‘No, she said she’d be rehearsing with you and then I could come pick her up.’

You bit the pitiful smile that was trying to form on your face before shaking your head.

‘Our rehearsal’s on Saturday.’ You simply said.

He shook his head then, growing more tense the longer he spent inside the studio, the longer you looked at him from the other side of the room.

‘She wouldn’t lie to me.’ He scoffed.

You shrugged, closing the door behind you as you walked back into the studio.

‘If you don’t mind,’ you said calmly, taking off the shrug. ‘I’ve got things to do.’

But just as you were about to play the music, he snapped again.

‘What did you tell her?’

You scoffed, knowing that he was just looking for excuses to fight with you.

‘Nothing.’ You said, looking at him seriously. ‘I didn’t have to tell her anything. Maybe she couldn’t stand the fact that Hawkin’s golden boy was treating me like shit this morning.’

‘Oh, please.’ He let out a snorty laugh. ‘You got it well deserved.’

‘No, I didn’t.’ You were more than just offended as you walked towards him, letting out a laugh of disbelief. ‘Steve, you ran away.’

‘You pushed me.’ He said between his teeth.

‘What?’

‘You fucking pushed me.’ He repeated. You could see that his cheeks were turning redder by the anger.

‘You kissed me.’ You said slowly. ‘Steve, my mom almost caught us.’

‘So what?’ He said throwing his hands in the air. ‘Who gives a shit? We’re not kids anymore.’

‘I do, Steve.’ You argued, feeling yourself more and more flushed. ‘I give a shit. I have to deal with her belittling me all the time—’

‘Oh, here we go.’ He rolled his eyes, letting out an exhausted noise before he licked his lips. ‘Seriously, don’t you ever get tired of feeling sorry for yourself?’

You let out a sarcastic laugh.

‘Right. I get why you’d like her to know.’ All your patience had ran out, this time all the anger and frustration were taking over you as your heart beat fast. ‘I guess you enjoy the fact she hasn’t stopped talking about you since your accident—'

‘Do you think I like the fact you’re getting everything I wanted?’ He shouted then ‘When you don’t even fucking deserve it?’

‘Yes.’ You said firmly. As firmly as you had asked him to think about you a week ago. He didn’t get to decide if you deserved this or not. ‘In fact, I think you like the pity, Steve. I think there’s no one in this fucking town that feels as sorry for that accident as I do. Because now everyone fucking pities you except me, and that’s probably why you’re doing this— Why you keep kissing me, and touching me and shit, because you want me to pity you so badly…’

You just couldn’t keep your impulses in, and your arms found his chest easily to push him again, to vent, to throw all your anger at him. But as soon as you did, and you realised he was almost flinching, you couldn’t do it. All you could do was pull him from his shirt and kiss him, you were on your tiptoes, you were sighing hard.

He hesitated, and that made you feel desperate, stupid, small. But then a few seconds after his hands were cupping your ass, his tongue was making his way inside you as he pulled you in. He was leaning in to be at same height as you, the cold surface of the mirror was against your back as his wet lips made their way from your ear to your neck. You could feel him hard against your groin, warm under all those endless layers that kept him away from you.

Your desperate hands got rid of his scarf first, before moving on to his jacket. You were squirming against the mirror, desperately trying to chase his lips, when you felt the warm breath of his laugh against your neck.

‘You’re so bratty.’ He whispered before laughing again.

‘Don’t call me that.’ You tried to said it seriously, but you were sighing, you were melting by the way his kisses were making their way down your chest.

‘Can I taste you?’ He said between kisses, slowly kneeling in front of you. His lips were warm and soft against the hem of your sports bra, and you blinked repeatedly as you looked down at him.

‘W-What?’

His hands had entwined with yours and he only stood straight again to kiss you. You were too stunned to say anything as he pulled you down softly, and you followed him, of course. Your back was against the floor, his mouth on your bare stomach as you felt a sweet, yet terrifying rush of energy run down your spine.

You lifted your waist so he could get rid of your shorts, and you were purposefully avoiding his eyes as you felt the fabric leaving your ankles. His gaze was focused on the side of your thigh, a worried frown taking over his features as his fingers brushed against the bruise.

‘Is this from this morning?’ He asked softly.

You were still trying to catch your breath so all you could do was nod.

‘God, I’m sorry, baby.’ He said before leaning in to kiss it. Just the stimulus had you repressing a moan. ‘M so sorry.’

There wasn’t a good answer you could think of, anything that could’ve left your lips would’ve sounded stupid to yourself. All you could do was shut your eyes hard as he kept repeating soft I’m sorrys while he kissed your thighs, your hipbone, the little curve of your pelvis. You weren’t sure what he was apologising for, and at this point you couldn’t even care.

‘…gentle.’

‘Huh?’ Your fingers were already diving inside his brown locks, waiting for the moment where you could pull them that way you liked to.

The warm breath of his laugh brushed against your covered pussy, and you had to fight the need to roll your eyes at it.

‘Was saying,’ He took your hands then and placed them over your breasts. ‘I’m gonna teach you how to be gentle.’

You blinked a couple of times, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks when he kissed you over your panties before his hands stared to pull them down. His eyes lingered from your face to your stomach, down the trail that led to your pussy as if he was fond of the image in front of you.

‘Lift your bra.’ He said then. ‘And touch yourself softly.’

You were too nervous to roll your eyes or get embarrassed by the fact he was telling you what to do. You did as he said, rolling up the elastic fabric and feeling quite exposed, but too needy to worry about it.

The sides of Steve’s lips lifted softly as you stroked your breasts, the tips of your nipples hardening by the stimulus, a longing sigh stuck on your throat as your eyes never left his. You thought of him the first time he touched you, his murmured I’m proud of you, was it so crazy that you wanted him to be proud of you for this too?

‘I said softly.’ He laughed when you pinched one of your nipples. And you laughed too, shrugging while you still looked at him.

‘I like it.’ You confessed shyly.

He shook his head to himself then, before his hands rested on each side of your legs. You looked down attentively, mesmerized and terrified, until he finally leaned in.

His tongue was warm. Wet. Soft. You were a mess of little noises and gulps as you arched your back while he licked your clit. Your hands softly wandered down, but then you remembered he wouldn’t let you pull his hair, and there were no bedsheets to fist as he started sucking.

You shut your eyes hard, sinking your nails on the skin of your stomach as you panted, too overwhelmed to keep the moans in.

‘Don’t do that.’ Steve said suddenly. You looked down then, finding his lips shiny and cheeks pink, his eyes focused on the harmless little half-moons on your abdomen.

One of his hands grabbed yours, kissing your fingertips before sucking them in the same sensual way he had sucked your clit before. Your eyes couldn’t leave his face as his tongue licked the bottom of your middle finger up to the top, leaving them sticky and wet for you, until he guided that same hand back to your bare, needy breasts.

You were breathless as he resumed his kisses in between your thighs, and you pushed your breasts until all his spit had been perfectly rubbed on your nipples, until you felt completely his.

‘Steve.’ You moaned as you recoiled, trying to find sweet ways to beg him to release you from this misery, but other than his name you didn’t know how to do any of this. The sweetness, the softness of it all.

The thought brought tears to your eyes, and you had to shut them hard and move your head to the side to keep him from looking at you like this. It was better if he thought your choky breaths were due to the pleasure, and not because the words you had said to him were drilling your brain.

‘Open your eyes for me.’ He asked then, and when you did, what you found was your reflection on the mirror, his lips working on you as your legs were lightly flexed, your body all exposed for him. ‘Look at us.’

‘Huh?’ You looked down at him, trying to get rid of that image but at the same time wishing you could cherish it forever.

He smiled again, tendered by your cluelessness, by the sudden shyness that sometimes overtook your face.

‘Do you still think this is not beautiful?’ He asked softly against your pussy. You threw your head back when he dived in again, this time more consistently, with the purpose of eating you, with the purpose of ruining you.

‘Cause I think we’re…’ He sighed, hearing you panting and feeling you squirming under his tongue. ‘Hmm.’

‘Shit.’ You finally moaned, as the feeling built from your stomach and you were moaning, maybe crying a little, you were laughing and cumming deliciously. ‘Fuck.’ You laughed again. ‘W-What the fuck.’

You were still catching your breath as he sat up, and he couldn’t help but laugh shyly too, his eyes falling on your uncovered breasts for a second before he looked away. You took it as a sign to pull the fabric down, finding yourself more exposed than you had ever felt in front of him.

He grabbed your underwear and the silent question of if he’d ask to keep them lingered between you. Yet your eyes stayed on his puffy lips as he pulled your panties up through your legs and you let him, lifting yourself so he could place them perfectly, then doing the same with your shorts.

The silence was awkward when the heat and the sweetness died down, tensions from the previous argument resurged in between you two. You sat down as he stood up, putting your shrug back on and playing with its sleeves. Then you felt the need of saying thank you, I’m sorry or please stay.

‘Guess I’ll see you around, bratty.’ He nodded at you. You guessed he was supposed to sound cold, but his lips were shiny, puffy, red. And you wondered if he could still taste you.

‘Sure.’ You murmured, hugging yourself as you heard the door close.

On Monday you climbed out of your car feeling achy and restless. What was supposed to be a resting weekend turned out to be a couple of days of training with Max nonstop. She was better than you thought she would be, and just as stubborn and perfectionist as you were at her age. So, when you figured that spending two days with Max at Dolly Higgens’ studio would save you from another dinner with the Harringtons, you told her you’d help her get the role no matter what.

Steve had driven her to the city for her audition. You knew this because Max had told you several times that it wouldn’t be a problem if you wanted to join them on Monday morning. It shouldn’t have caught you by surprise then, when you saw him on the theatre’s lobby as you walked in with your dance bag.

Max was queuing for registration as you walked past them quickly, lifting your hand in the air as a quick, subtle hi. She waved back at you enthusiastically, while Steve looked at you with a careful smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

‘Good luck.’ You said waving again, before you got lost on the hallway that led to your studio.

A few hours later you were still achy and more tense as you sat down to have a snack.

The forecast for the last week of rehearsals didn’t seem too good. You had been shouted at before, and it was normal to have disagreements with other dancers, but it was obvious that everyone was as nervous as you.

Miss Fyodorova, the ballet mistress, had been constantly repeating you not to tremble, and the more she did the more you did, and the worse it got the easier it was to lose your balance. You had to force yourself to look at your eyes in the mirror to avoid getting distracted, but somehow you were able to see everything you were doing wrong with your pirouettes and it all got so tense and ridiculous everyone was sent to lunch earlier.

The door to the dressing room opened behind you, but you didn’t look back as you took an absent bite of your protein bar. Once again you tried to read the same paragraph from your novel when you heard Priscilla Webber’s voice behind you. 

‘And this is the dressing room. I think I can check if I can show you my costumes.’

You looked behind your shoulder then, because you knew that what she meant was your costumes, though you knew that in a normal show she played one of the Baby Swans. Priscilla was accompanied by an old woman, and the tension on your face dissipated when you noticed the way the lady was looking at the room in fascination before her eyes fell on you.

‘Hi.’ You said shyly.

‘Hi.’ Priscilla said, not too amused by your interruption. ‘This is my grandma.’

‘Hello.’ You were suddenly standing up and offering your hand and your name.

She took it kindly. ‘And who are you playing?’

You looked at Priscilla then, almost searching for her approval, or asking if you should lie. If maybe you should’ve humoured the lady a little bit and tell her that you were his granddaughter’s understudy and not the other way around.

‘She’s Odette, grandma.’ She said ignoring your gaze on her. ‘And Odile.’

‘How wonderful.’ Her grandmother said.

You were about to say thank you when she carefully placed the palm of her hand under your chin, looking at you closely.

‘You’re perfect.’ She said.

‘Excuse me?’ You chuckled.

‘For the role.’ She smiled. ‘You’re wonderful.’

‘T-Thanks.’ You said softly, feeling the heat rushing to your cheeks as you tried not to look at Priscilla.

She didn’t seem bothered, though. Both of them stayed on the room for a little longer as you stood awkwardly next to your chair, feeling that your hands were sweating cold.

‘It was nice to meet you.’ She said before walking out, Priscilla was standing on the entrance as she looked at you behind her shoulder. ‘I will see you on the show this Friday, dear.’

‘It was nice meeting you too.’ You lifted a hand in the air.

The old lady finally got lost behind the door and you bit the inside of your cheek as you got lost in your thoughts.

‘Why are you being so weird?’ Priscilla said once her grandmother left.

‘I’m not being weird.’ You murmured. ‘I’m just… I don’t know, nervous.’

You sat down then, feeling her eyes on you through the mirror as you picked your book once again.

‘I know that you wanted to tell her.’ She walked towards you. ‘I don’t need to lie about being the understudy.’

‘Okay.’ You said after a while.

‘Specially just so you can feel better about yourself.’

‘Fine.’ You turned the page without knowing what you had just read exactly, but you were trembling again, and you couldn’t stand it.

‘Though it does makes me feel kind of good to know that you can’t even get your family to visit you.’

You shut the book then, grabbing your things to leave the dressing room.

‘I’m not doing this today, Priscilla.’

‘You should’ve seen yourself back there in the studio.’ She said frustrated. ‘Seriously, you were worse than bad, you were unprofessional.’

‘Fine, well,’ you said standing in front of her. ‘There’s a reason why I get to be bad and unprofessional and still be the lead and that’s the fact that I deserve this.’

‘I deserved this.’ She shouted, you could see her eyes getting progressively glossy as she spoke. ‘I fucking do, and it’s killing me to see you fucking it up!’

‘Well, you don’t have it.’ You said in the same tone. ‘I do. Sometimes, Priscilla, people deserve better than they have, and they still don’t get it. Get over it.’

You left the room feeling a strange sense of dissatisfaction. It wasn’t the first time you two got caught on a quarrel and it wouldn’t be the last, but something about what you said was starting to mess with your breathing pattern. You were thinking about Steve. You were thinking about his accident. Why did you care this much?

Your heart beat fast, and there was a knot on your throat the size of a fist as you walked out towards the parking lot.

It was easy to find his car, you almost had the plate memorised just by how many times you had seen it next to your house. He was sitting in the driver’s seat, of course, eyeing a magazine as you made your way towards him almost stomping.

A frown took over his face when you opened the door, not worrying about anything else as you jumped into his arms, sitting on his lap and clashing your mouths as you felt yourself almost panting by the anxiety. You were trying to show him that you needed him, right now and here more than anything else. Because there was no one else that could understand what you were feeling right now as he did.

He let out a noise of protest, pushing you softly before looking back at your face.

‘What are you doing?’ He asked almost angry.

‘W-What?’ You asked confused.

‘Move, Jesus.’ He said lifting you easily as you moved absently to the co-pilot seat. ‘Somebody can see you, and then what? You lose your place as the lead for this shit?’

He closed the driver’s door then, and you were still confused, blinking a couple of times as you wondered what you were doing here, inside his car.

‘Are you stupid?’ He said then, only then you had noticed the little dot of blood in his lower lip, one that you had probably caused by how unexpectedly you had kissed him.

‘I-I’m—’

He hit the top of the wheel with his hand as he tried to check through the windshield if there was anyone around.

‘This could’ve got you fucking expelled.’

You didn’t say anything, instead you lifted a shaky hand towards his face. Your thumb brushed the bloody spot of his lip as you blinked repeatedly again.

‘Did you bite me?’ He said then, before he tried to look at himself in the rearview mirror. The heat rushed to your cheeks then as you sat back uncomfortably.

‘I-I’m sorry.’ You said. ‘I didn’t realise. I didn’t mean to.’

He chuckled, shaking his head as he cleaned his mouth with his hand.

‘Listen,’ He said after a while. ‘This thing between us can’t keep going if you don’t learn to be a little less rough, okay?’

You nodded softly then. It was so absurd that after everything, this was the one thing that was almost bringing you to tears. You felt so stupid out of sudden. Every single day since this had started you had felt stupid.

‘Like…’ He tried to find words, but all he could do was sit back and look through the windshield while he shook his head. ‘You worry me sometimes. Do any of the other guys liked this type of shit? Did they treat you like this?’

This time you felt the blood leaving your face as you hugged yourself in the seat. You looked away, towards the window, trying to remember any words but unable to find any.

‘I gotta go.’ You said softly, trying to open the door on your side, but it was locked.

‘What?’

‘I have to leave,’ Your voice was shaky and you hated yourself for it as you tried to open it again. ‘I have to go back inside, Steve.’

‘But you still have about forty minutes.’ His voice didn’t sound so harsh as he checked on his watch. Steve’s hand landed on your knee as you tried to open the door again, and then he pronounced the next word softly and sweetly, as only he could.

‘Stay.’

‘I don’t wanna stay.’ You said still hiding your face from him.

‘Why not?’ His thumb was stroking you softly and it was unbearable, you kind of preferred it when he was angry.

‘I’m not comfortable here.’ You simply said, feeling that you were losing oxygen every second that you were trapped in this car.

‘W-Why? Was it something I said?’ He tried to touch your arm, but you flinched at his touch, taking your hands to your face. ‘Hey. I’m sorry I snapped, you just caught me off guard, okay?’

‘I really need to leave.’ You repeated, massaging your temples as you felt yourself shaking.

He sat back then, pondering about what to do. You could feel his heavy breath next to you as you hid your face from him, fighting the tears that were about to leave your eyes.

‘I don’t get to ask about other guys?’ He asked softly.

‘No, Steve. You don’t.’ You snapped as your eyes kept focused on the glove compartment because you just couldn’t look back at him. Because you couldn’t tell him that there were no other guys. There had never been any because you were simply not that likable. ‘Can I leave?’

‘R-Right.’ He said, and you heard the relieving noise of the car unlocking. ‘Will I—’

You closed the door behind you, finally feeling the tears that were in your eyes rolling down your cheeks. Hugging yourself, you rubbed your hand against your cheekbone, deciding that you didn’t have time for this right now. You had to clean your face, fix your make up and go back to the studio, because the opening night was in five days.

Who would’ve thought that the secret to reach perfection was a broken heart?

As soon as you had made it inside there was no more trembling or unbalancing allegros, your face was perfectly able to enact Odette’s agony, or Odile’s malice as you blindly looked beyond your body in the mirror.

There was no doubt you deserved the role, despite what everyone else had try to make you believe. And yet when you left the theatre that night, as soon as you walked out to the desertic parking lot, you were in tears again.

In fact, you had spent the whole week crying in your bed, facing away from the sight of the glistening pond where sometimes you could hear the laugh of a few teenagers accompanied by the voice of someone you couldn’t give your heart to.

Nobody noticed, and often you were thankful while other times you wished you could scream loud enough that he could hear it from his house. But your behaviour of rejecting dinner at the Harrington’s or leaving your parents to have plans by themselves wasn’t new. You could call Barb, but last time she had mentioned she had finals on the week of the show. You were more than desolated, and angry at yourself, you were embarrassed.

On Thursday night you walked into the kitchen to find your mother weaving Christmas wreaths. She smiled at you softly as you moved inside to prepare some tea. Outside, the night was navy and illuminated by the reflection of the snow, you could hear noise coming from the pond, maybe Steve was having another party, or maybe it was just the kids.

‘Are you nervous about tomorrow?’ She asked.

You turned back, resting your back against the counter as you waited for the water to boil on the kettle. She was distracted, adding glue to a little red ball that she stuck next to a fake leaf.

‘Yeah.’ You admitted. ‘Terrified, actually.’

She laughed softly, still concentrated on the design as you looked back at her.

‘You don’t need to worry, honey.’ She sounded as if she was certain of it. ‘You will be great. You always are. I never have to worry about you.’

You swallowed hard, looking down at your slippers as you bit the inside of your cheeks.

‘Sometimes I wish you did.’ You admitted then. ‘Worry. Louder.’

Your mom turned back then, looking at you for a second as she processed your words.

‘Oh, honey, that’s not what I meant.’

‘I know.’ You said immediately. ‘I know, mom. I just— Forget it, I just wanted to ask you if you’d do my hair tomorrow, that’s all.’

Your mother sat back then, a confused stare on her face as you bit your lip and tried to play it cool.

‘Honey, sit down.’

You did as she said, wondering if you’d be able to put your thoughts into words if you had the chance to.

‘Okay, so. First of all, of course I’ll do your hair whether you like it or not.’ You let out a small laugh as she lifted a manicured finger to distract herself with some of the supplies that were on the table. ‘Second, I need to know why, my daughter, the best ice skater in Hawkins, hasn’t gone to her favourite spot in the world not even once during the most stressful week of her life.’

‘Second best.’ You admitted under your breath.

‘He can’t be the first after his injury, honey.’

‘Mom.’

She burst out laughing, and you stayed there in shock that she was trying to joke about something so serious right now.

‘How bad was it?’ She placed her hands on yours.

She lifted her eyebrows at the way you were biting your lip, shrugging.

‘That’s it.’ She said standing up. ‘I’m going there.’

‘What?’

‘I told Linda things weren’t good, and I told your father something was definitely up with Steve, and nobody listened to me…!’

‘Mom,’ you said standing up. ‘It was my fault.’

‘How could it be your fault? You’ve never had a boyfriend.’ She said taking her jacket and scarf from the counter. ‘And if they think I’m not uninviting them for Christmas after their son—’

‘Mom.’ You softly took the jacket from her. ‘You don’t need to uninvite anyone. It was my fault; I handled it terribly. Steve’s patient. And sweet. And I’m… awkward and rough, and cold—’ 

‘Stop.’ She lifted a finger at you then, her eyes had suddenly turned serious. ‘You’re going to stop now; you’re not talking about yourself that way in front of me. You’re the sweetest girl in this town. Everyone adores you.’

‘That’s not really…’

‘It is.’ She said firmly. ‘And you would know this if you ever attended anything with me. Everyone’s constantly talking about you. Half the town is going to the show tomorrow to see you.’

You stood silent as you looked down to your slippers again.

‘This is not about Steve, is it?’ You bit your lip.

‘Oh, it is about Steve.’ She said then. ‘That boy should’ve showed up with flowers and a card as soon as you two had your disagreement. But instead, he has you skipping dinners and missing daylight and exercise. I don’t like him.’

‘Mom…’

‘I am fond of him. I love that kid. But I don’t really like him right now.’

You took a deep breath, trying to hide your smile as you moved to pour the hot water inside your cup. Moving in silence, you decided that maybe you might prepare a sandwich too, given the circumstances.

‘Do you need help with that?’ You sat down next to her, grabbing the other naked wreath on the table.

She hummed for a while as you two worked together, and you drank your tea and ate your sandwich in silence.

‘I thought you’d be happy.’ You said with your mouth full as you sat more comfortably.

‘About you and Steve?’ She laughed. ‘Well, it had occurred to me before, I just thought you disliked each other way too much. You two are too competitive and I never wanted to encourage you to fight. But clearly, I always failed.’

You laughed softly, focused on the wreath because you didn’t want her to notice the way you were blushing.

‘And, well… his parents always pushed him into the whole scholarship thing, and then he had that terrible accident.’  She shook her head. ‘The poor boy’s had a terrible time trying to find his own path, I feel so sorry for him.’

You took a deep breath, thinking about all those awful things you had said back in Miss Higgens’ studio, knowing that you didn’t mean any of them. Your mind took you back to a year ago, when Steve was at the hospital and you spent the whole month skating alone.

‘It was very bad, wasn’t it?’ You murmured.

She swallowed hard before looking back at you.

‘Yes.’ Then she made a long pause before she grabbed another fake leaf, looking at it carefully. ‘It almost made me want to ask you to quit dancing.’ She sighed when she looked at your confused stare. ‘Sometimes I still want you to. I just wouldn’t be able to see you deal with that level of disappointment if something like that happened to you. I’ve got mixed feelings about it, honey, I’m sorry.’

You bit your lip then, considering her words.

‘But that doesn’t matter. You’ve always been stubborn enough to do what you want whether I like it or not.’ She shrugged. ‘As you should, that’s how I raised you. Look at me.’

A soft laugh left your lips as you looked back at her, feeling your eyes turning glossy.

‘You like him, don’t you?’

‘Yeah.’ You admitted softly, hugging yourself. ‘Very much, but I was such an idiot. I was just… so unpleasant and so stupid, mom.’

She laughed softly then, looking back at the wreath.

‘And when have you ever been anything else when it comes to Steve Harrington?’

Steve Harrington had in fact, never felt so unpleasant and stupid in his life. He had dodged Robin’s questions the whole week, he had forgotten to pick Dustin to take him Christmas shopping to the mall, and he had snapped twice at his mom.

It came to him slowly. At first, he had just assumed you were seeing someone else at the same time, maybe some guy from the ballet company, someone from outside Hawkins.

Then he thought there must’ve been something seriously wrong with him, because you never spent this much time away from the pond unless you were sick or away on vacation. He must’ve done something awful to have you avoiding him so purposely.

His friends just assumed he was on a bad mood since soon it would be the first anniversary of the accident, that maybe Christmas had him in this gloomy mood, but when Nancy bumped his shoulder and innocently asked where was the Ice Princess, he just shook his head and started walking back to his house.

A part of him was scared to know what had he done wrong. What if all this time you had been trying hard to like him but never really managed to? What if all those instances in which you threw your head back and your back arched irresistibly at his touch had been just an attempt to please him? Steve knew you could be mean, but were you that mean?

On Friday evening, he stood inside his car longer than necessary, wondering if he should just drive back to Hawkins and throw the bouquet of white roses somewhere far, so no one would ever find out that he had been making a fool of himself.

He had told his parents he wasn’t sure if he would come to the show tonight, some lame excuse about his shifts and Keith. But Robin had made sure that Steve’s schedule was clear, she even double checked that his tank was full, that he was dressing properly. And when she said goodbye on the front porch of the Harrington house, she made him promise to bring back a programme for her.

‘There you are!’ Said his mom as soon as he walked inside the lobby. The heat rushed to his cheeks at the sight of so many acquaintances. So many people were trying to be discreet about the bouquet he held in his hand, except for Max, who was smiling widely at the sight of the white roses.

‘Hi.’ He said with an attempt of a smile.

‘We thought you had changed your mind.’ Said his dad as he put his hands inside his pockets.

‘Sorry, I was just trying to get a tie, and then I… decided I didn’t want to wear one, and… I don’t know. Thanks for waiting for me.’

Mr Harrington nodded, trying hard to repress his smile as the queue advanced and they finally made it to the entrance.

A sudden noise made him turn back, someone seemed to be rushing inside the lobby. A security guard approached the young lady that was panting next to the heavy glass doors, and it took Steve a few seconds to recognise her.

‘Miss, you can’t run in here.’ The man said.

‘I’m sorry.’ She said in between heavy breaths. ‘I’m so sorry. I thought I was late; I got a ticket. Here.’

‘Barb?’ Said Steve as he walked towards here.

‘Hi?’ She said confused for a second until she recognised him too. ‘Oh, hi, Steve. God, I’m sorry, I’m all over the place. I literally ran from the train station. I couldn’t get a taxi with all this traffic. What time is it?’

‘We still got about ten minutes before the show.’ He said.

‘Great.’ She said before her eyes fell on the bouquet in his hand. ‘Oh, no. Nononono— Flowers! I forgot the flowers, fuck. I was gonna get her some on the way, but my train got delayed, and— She doesn’t even know I’m here you know?’

‘I figured.’ His face was overtaken by a pitiful smile, the internal debate taking over him as he looked back at Barbara. ‘I tell you what, why don’t you give her these? You know her better than I do, after all.’

‘Are you sure?’ She said as they started walking towards the entrance of the main theatre. Behind the young lady who was checking the tickets, Mr and Mrs Harrington waited along with Max.

‘Of course.’ He said giving his ticket to the girl as he offered Barb the flowers once again. ‘Here.’

‘Oh, thanks.’ She smiled then. ‘It means a lot. Really.’

He shrugged before walking to join his family. ‘Enjoy the show.’

‘You too.’ She said offering her ticket to the girl.

‘Why did you do that?’ Max asked when he joined them.

Steve shrugged, hiding his hands inside his pockets as they walked inside the theatre. The place was full of people already chatting softly on their seats, as he followed his parents towards the row where your family was waving from.

Max let out a frustrated sigh as they sat down, and he suddenly felt nervous. He wondered if you were, somewhere behind those intimidating red curtains that kept the stage hidden from the audience.

‘Steve, sometimes you can be very stupid, you know?’ Max said before the lights started to turn dim.

‘Shhh.’ He heard his mother in the dark.

Steve didn’t reply. He curiously leaned in as the orchestra walked in, followed by the applause of the audience when the director appeared right behind them.

The was an unbearable silence then. The director lifted his baton, the curtains opened, and the music started. He could feel Max leaning in next to him too, the sight of a few male ballet dancers, the interpretation of some sort of royal scene in which the characters discussed.

‘Where’s she?’ He whispered then.

‘Shhh.’ Max said.

Steve sat back, releasing a sigh as his eyes wandered around the staging, the fairytale-like music that preluded your apparition made him feel equally anxious and inadequate inside the fancy room. He rubbed his leg as he looked at the male dancers, nervously touching that one spot where he knew there was a scar.

Then the scenery changed. The lights were cold and dim, the stage washed in shades of blue, and about thirty different figures in white tulle costumes appeared, but only you wore the delicate silver tiara on your head that granted you the title of principal dancer.

He swallowed hard at the sight of you that wasn’t you exactly, but at the same time held the innocent air that so often you tried to repress but sometimes it slipped unconsciously. It seemed than in Odette you had found a way to expose it openly though, in the ways your eyebrows arched, and you lamented the day that awful spell had turned you into a swan forever.

Steve stood still as he saw you tiptoe around the stage in elegant movements that he knew required excessive amounts of discipline and control. From the distance, his eyes lingered on your hands and arms, as you tried to hide from the price, as you blushed, as you danced. He found himself smiling at the way your movements resembled those he had seen you try on the ice sometimes, his eyes took in the perfect harmony of the choreography, the urgency of the music… and the hope in your face, that mixed with despair the more the show progressed.

He had the pleasure to just watch you for a few hours, as if you were the graceful figure inside a musical box gifted to him on Christmas day, and he wasn’t going to take it for granted. He was enjoying himself.

But then he saw you turn into something else, that was also you in a more obscure and uncomprehensible way.  Of course, he recognised the piece that played that day in his room, when you had so beautifully turned into nothing as your warmth rubbed against his. He couldn’t help to hold onto his seat when you appeared wearing a black version of your tulle dress. Your movements were still impeccable but much more calculated, hiding a certain malice he had familiarised with through glimpses you let him see, but not in such a shameless manner.

The prince lifted you and held you as if you were a leaf, while Steve thought of your mouth, of your hands in his hair, of the weight of your body on his. He swallowed hard at this other version of you, that was not scared of embodying this elegant violence that took over Odile’s body as she stole the only precious thing Odette had left.

He held his breath when he saw you appear again as the poor, desolated Odette who prepared herself to give in to the sorrow of heartache. It was as if the whole audience stayed breathless with him, while the orchestra’s symphony turned progressively darker, ethereally distressing and your own innocence mixed with a doomed melancholy that he knew was yours and only yours. He knew then that you understood loneliness in a way probably not a lot of people did. And yet you were here, selflessly descending into madness in the most delicate and artistically delicious way in front of everyone. The disturbing last notes of the Moderato echoed through the theatre and Odette fell into a painful death in front of him. And then you were gone.

He was still getting used to the lights when they all walked out towards the lobby and his mind was still trapped inside that dreary, foggy stage where your ghost had danced for about two hours. Max kept pulling his sleeve, asking him if he had liked the show and Oh, wasn’t it so sad? Wasn’t it so sad how fate kept people apart in fairytales?

All Steve could do was nod absently as he tapped his shoe against the red carpet of the lobby while everyone waited for you. He scratched the back of his neck nervously as he saw Barb talking to your parents next to the exit. She was still holding the flowers he should’ve given you right after you left the show; with your hair still up a bun and your sparkly make up still on. In another life, you would’ve jumped into his arms right after and he would’ve wrapped you in a hug like a precious thing. He would’ve told you how proud of you he was. But the more he thought about it, the more he felt the insides of his throat closing, the knot of his stomach growing, and the blood leaving his face.

‘I think I’ll see you guys at home.’ He turned to his dad then.

Mr Harrington stared at his son for a long beat before taking a quick glance at the place where your parents waited. Steve thought that for a second he had figured him out, he probably had already if he was smart enough, but he just couldn’t talk about it. Not here, at least.

So, all his dad could do was nod carefully. Steve returned the glance; he was saying thank you, he was saying I’m sorry. As he had so many times before during the last year.

‘Where’s he going?’ He heard the voice of his mother as he made his way out towards the parking lot, but he couldn’t stay. He knew he couldn’t.

The blanket of snow that fell on Hawkins overnight glistened in the quiet morning of Christmas Day. You woke up early, feeling rested for the first time in forever, but you still stayed in bed for a little while, looking at the way the sunlight reflected on the distant snow.

One year ago, you had woken up to the awful news of Steve’s accident. It had happened around lunch, while you slept through a hungover in the living room after spending the whole night watching movies with Barb. You heard the phone in the distance, you mother picked up, and when she gasped, loudly and urgently, you got up disoriented.

Now everything was quiet. Your parents were probably still asleep while you ate your cereal leaning on the counter. They had driven Barb to her parents’ late after dinner last night, when half the town went to Enzo’s to celebrate your success. It had been nice to be the centre of attention, to receive flowers and cards and enjoy the praise after all the hard work. Still, you had to try hard to keep your eyes away from the empty seat next to Max the whole night. Many times your eyes fell on the restaurant’s doors, hoping that maybe he’d walk in with a forgiving smile, but it didn’t happen, and you went to bed feeling in your heart that things were really over before they even began.

That feeling still accompanied you as you looked back behind your shoulder to find the white landscape of the desolated pond through the window. You hadn’t gone skating in a week, but somehow the idea still didn’t seem appealing; maybe you were just tired, maybe in the last few weeks something had changed in you. You felt much more grown, less childish and impatient than before. Sad.

The nostalgia didn’t leave you the whole day as you helped your mother with the cooking and your father lit the chimney. The snow slowly melted as you opened presents, the house filled with the smell of roast and cinnamon, and when your dad took out a bottle of his finest whiskey and the guests started arriving, you excused yourself to get changed upstairs.

It took you a while to get the courage to leave your room. You stroked the front skirt of the black dress as you looked at yourself in the mirror, wondering if the hair updo was too much, if you were too much. Maybe you would avoid the drinking tonight and stay in the shadows of the living room. Maybe all that attention from the day before had left you drained.

You walked down the steps slowly, carefully trying to peek through the bannisters to see who was downstairs. A few of your father’s coworkers, some women that were part of the knitting club your mother attended, Nancy Wheeler’s parents…

No. It was too much, you were about to walk back into your room when Linda Harrington appeared through the corridor.

‘There she is!’ She seemed excited at the sight of you. Her glass of wine was half empty and most of her lipstick was gone, so you assumed she had at least downed half a bottle. You laughed shyly, making your way down as she extended a hand towards you. ‘Our little swan! I still can’t believe how wonderful you were last night.’

Mrs Harrington hugged you from your side fondly as you walked towards the living room together. You recognised a few joyful people from the Fishing Association, and you tried to smile and wave as the noise of chatter and Christmas music made you flushed and a little bit overwhelmed.

It was very warm inside, yet you still rubbed your arms as you looked around the room, maybe looking for your parents but really just looking for him. But Steve wasn’t here, he wasn’t anywhere. He hadn’t come. You couldn’t believe he hadn’t come.

You blinked your tears away as you discreetly made your way back to your own room, passing through a few people that were chatting on the couch, until you made it back to the entrance. And then you stopped in your tracks when you saw the familiar silhouette of Steve Harrington sitting down at the bottom of the stairs with a glass in his hands.

He absentmindedly looked up to find you standing on the living room’s entrance. His eyes went to your hands when you tried to pull your sleeves over your fingers out of habit, but your dress didn’t have any. You felt naked.

Steve looked down at his glass again, and you finally got the courage to walk and sit down next to him. From here, the party sounded like a distant dream; the sound of laughter and chatter were like a forgotten memory, the clash of cutlery and glasses overshadowed by the music while the tense silence sat between you two.

‘Merry Christmas.’ You said softly after a while.

His lips lifted subtly as his eyes still stayed on the drink in his hand. He was about to take another sip, but then he seemed to have changed his mind and put it aside on the step below. You felt silly when he attempted to look back at you, your eyes fell to your hands immediately while all the blood on your body rushed to your face.

‘Merry Christmas.’ He said as well.

You both stayed silent for a while, avoiding each other’s gaze as the party progressed and everyone inside seemed to get more enthusiastic.

‘Congratulations on the show.’ He said then.

‘Oh, thanks.’ You smiled softly at him before looking away to the decorations on the front door. A few people walked out of the living room to go out smoking then, and you and Steve smiled politely at them before they closed the door behind them.

‘You know,’ You started, still looking at your hands. ‘I never said I’m sorry for not going to see you at the hospital after the accident.’

You heard him laugh softly next to you. ‘That was a year ago.’

‘Still.’ You shrugged. ‘It must’ve been hard.’

‘It was hard.’ He said after a while. ‘…It was also very frustrating to see you skate every morning while I was paralyzed in bed. But I got used to it.’ 

You nodded softly, looking at your hands while you tried to find the words to say what you wanted to say beyond your foolish apologies. You were about to open your mouth when he spoke.

‘I’m sorry.’ Your eyes looked back at him as he studied your face. ‘I never meant to upset you that day at the parking lot.’

‘You didn’t.’ You rushed to say. ‘I was just being stupid. I’m sorry, Steve.’

He frowned then, considering your words before he nodded softly. Silence took over once again and you felt your heart beating against your chest as you swallowed hard. Again, you were thinking of the right words to say what you really meant, something, anything that could mend the situation, but you felt as if thousands of invisible eyes were on you as you kept nervously playing with your hands.

‘You’re not stupid.’

‘Huh?’ You said looking back at him. You must’ve looked so clueless, feeling the back of your neck sweaty.

This time his laugh echoed in the little space you shared, as he looked back at you with a softness he had been holding back during these last agonising minutes filled with small talk.

‘You’re not stupid.’ He said again, this time smiling at you.

‘Oh.’ You said under your breath, thinking that if you looked away then maybe your insecurity wouldn’t be so obvious. You felt worse than stupid, you felt defeated. ‘Well, I don’t know. I’ve been feeling pretty stupid the last few days, if I’m honest with you. You see, I…’

His eyebrows lifted subtly as he looked back at you attentively, but your eyes couldn’t hold the sweet brown of his. You turned even more nervous when they fell on his mouth, and then you were looking away again, because your lips had forgotten the rest of the sentence. You tried to hush the voice in your head that reminded you why you sucked so much at this: because you had never done it before.

Steve was about to say something then, but you had finally found some courage, some humble remains of dignity inside you when you decided to speak again.

‘Do you remember,’ You interrupted him with an unintentional aggressiveness, feeling that you had messed up the calm, cosy atmosphere, but well. ‘Do you remember the first time you tried to skate?’  

He sat quietly, maybe remembering, but you weren’t about to let him speak now. You were too hyped to, too terrified to let yourself get carried away by cowardice.

‘I do.’ You proceeded. ‘I-I was seven. It was a year before you moved. I saw these pair of skates at Miss Vinny’s second-hand shop. You know the one that used to be ‘round the old gas station?’ You were almost swallowing every word as you kept going enthusiastically. ‘They were silver and white, and they had stars on them and I just— I went crazy. I needed them.’

Steve laughed softly at your story as you looked back at him feeling more scared every second that passed, uncertain that he knew where you were going, feeling your heart on your throat the whole time.

‘So, you know me, I can’t take no for an answer, and I begged dad, and he got them, of course.’ You kept going. ‘And well, one winter morning he and I went to the pond… I put them on. And I guess I expected to be good at it at the first try, but I had this— this feeling Steve, in my stomach. This awful, sickening vertigo that I felt inside as I stood there. Because I had never done this before.’

He stayed very still as he looked at you, and you swallowed hard as you hoped he’d understand what you meant, you hoped to God that he’d get it.

‘So, I did what I used to do sometimes, what I do still, which is basically throw myself into the unknown and hope for the best and pretend that I’m perfect at something that I’m not.’ You said looking down at your hands, feeling the tears pooling on your eyes and goddammit why were you trying to pull your sleeves again if you knew you didn’t have any? ‘And then I fell.’

You looked back at him, feeling the tears rolling down your cheeks while his eyes were desperately studying your face. His soft hands found your arms and they were rubbing them so softly, as if his fingertips had a lifetime of experience stroking the arms of girls who cried on Christmas day.

‘I fell so hard.’ You admitted to yourself before looking back at him. ‘…And the ice was cold.’

And the ice was cold? You shut your eyes then, hiding your face on your hands and then placing your forehead on your knees as you felt that you had made a complete fool of yourself once again.

‘Hey.’ You knew he was smiling even without looking at him, just by the way he said it. His hands found either side of your head before you felt his mouth kissing your hairline softly. His lips still brushed against your scalp as he whispered. ‘Hey. ‘S fine, sweetheart. I think I’m getting where you’re coming from.’

‘I feel so stupid.’ You murmured.

‘You’re not stupid.’ He tried to search for your face with little kisses that started at your crown and followed down all the way to your ear and cheek. ‘You could never be.’

Your teary face came out of its hiding place then, and you looked back at him fully ashamed and flushed. Your fingers found the collar of his sweater as you tried to get distracted with something, because the hem felt just like the sleeves of your shrugs. Because it felt like him, and it smelled so much like him.

‘I hurt you.’ You said softly.

‘For a very valid reason.’ There was a shadow on his smile on his mortified face as he cupped your cheeks. ‘I should’ve done things differently. I didn’t know.’

You blinked a couple of times before rolling your eyes at him.

‘Well, you must have because I never touched you.’ You said almost annoyed.

He laughed then, throwing his head back before he brought your face close enough so his nose could brush yours.

‘I wasn’t even thinking about that.’ He whispered cheekily. ‘Was too busy looking at you.’

You pushed his chest then, like you had so many times before, but this once he was able to get back at you when he pulled you in playfully, and his lips finally crashed against yours. You melted like ice, like honey, like a little helpless snowflake. And as you deliciously sighed under his lips and your grip on his sweater slowly turned into your flat palm over his beating heart, you thought that maybe there was something deeply sweet inside you that had desperately been trying to come out for a while. It just needed a little push.

🏷️: @keerysfolklore @starrgurl46

They used to visit the tree farm, pick the tallest, fullest tree they could fit in their living room, and decorate it the very same day. Their attic and even parts of their garage were home to lights and tinsel in every color you could think of, and ornaments Sarah brought home from art classes and the yearly holiday fair at school.

All of that changed after the outbreak. It wasn't just her passing that did it. It wasn't even the threat of death or worse lurking around every corner. It was time. 

Joel just got used to life without it. After 22 years of missed holidays, he decided he didn't actually miss them at all. He couldn't afford to spare precious resources or energy on anything that wasn't necessary for survival. But that isn't the point of Christmas, is it? 

You celebrate your loved ones and their joy. You celebrate life. Here in Jackson, he finally has all of that, but if Joel is anything, he's a stubborn man set in his ways. You can tell he's still resistant to the idea because he genuinely believes there are better uses for his time.

You can also tell he's afraid to let his guard down. You just haven't figured out a way to show him he doesn't have to be. No one's safety is guaranteed in the world you live in, but you're protected now. And that responsibility isn't solely on him anymore.

If you could give him anything for Christmas this year, it would be peace. One day, even just a few hours of tensionless shoulders and a wrinkle-free brow would be a gift for all of you. He deserves to enjoy something merry and cheerful again, just for the sake of it.  

So, you ask the person who knows him best in the world for help.

"What do we think about getting Joel a Christmas gift this year?"

Ellie glances up from her guitar with the most incredulous look you've ever seen on her face. 

"Depends. Do you have a death wish?" she jokes, draping her arm over her instrument so she's sitting more comfortably. She's settling in—you both know this is about to be a painful conversation.

"No, but—," you sigh, leaning against the door behind you. It's still chilled, even through your coat, from when you barged into the shed and interrupted her practice. "I don't know. He wouldn't make that big of a deal, would he? It doesn't have to be anything flashy, just something small. Something nice."

"So, you wanna get Joel something nice for a holiday he hates? That makes total sense," she says, rolling her eyes.

You don't appreciate the sarcasm, but you expected it. She knows as well as you do that Joel won't be thrilled by the gesture, if he even accepts it.

"El, come on. I could really use your help here," you try to appeal to the part of her that usually can't say no to you, and thankfully she's starting to cave. "If there's anyone who can come up with a present Joel will actually like, it's you."

She sighs. Her fingers drum an arrhythmic beat on the wood grain while she thinks, a habit she must've picked up from Joel.

"Look, Joel's not really a 'thing' kinda guy," she replies, and she's probably right. He's never been the kind of guy who has physical attachments. "When's the last time he actually gave a shit when something broke or got lost? Even his watch is broken."

"Yeah, but that's different. You know it's different," you counter softly. But you can see the point she's trying to make. "Okay, so we don't get him a 'thing'."

She nods, waiting for you to offer another idea, but you're even more stumped than you were when you got here. 

"Maybe you can draw him something?" you grimace, grasping at straws now.

"His house is full of shit I've drawn," she deadpans. "Plus, I thought this was an us gift. That sounds like a 'me doing all the work' gift."

You let out a frustrated groan, and your head thunks dully against the door. You knew this wasn't going to be an easy task, but you thought it would at least be possible. Joel's a complicated man—it's one of the things you love most about him—but his wants and needs are surprisingly simple. 

He loves a home-cooked meal, especially meat and potatoes. He enjoys cold beers with Tommy on the porch during the summer and walking Ellie through complicated picking patterns when she's stuck on a song. He likes relaxing on the couch and watching old Westerns or cheesy action movies, and craves your body, soft and pliant, under his after a frustrating day on patrol.

But you want this to mean more than any of that. A special something that goes beyond the norm to loosen some of the springs that keep him wound up tight and constantly in motion. 

You glance around Ellie's space as your hope begins to dwindle, and the corkboard above her bed catches your eye. It's always been there, covered in doodled-on scrap paper and photos of her family and friends, and you're positive you've seen it hundreds of times since you've been in Jackson. But this time, it gives you an idea. The idea.

"That Polaroid camera you found in Eugene's basement—the one in the library. Does it work?"

Ellie's brows furrow at your sudden question. She clearly didn't expect it, but you're hoping she'll be on board once she finally catches on.

"Uhh, yeah, Cat and I were messing around with it the other day. Worked pretty well for us," she replies hesitantly, pointing at the entertainment console next to you. "It's next to the PlayStation."

Humming in response, you squat in front of the shelf to inspect it. It's in great condition, even better than you expected. Even the flash button lights up and whirs just like you remember. 

Before she can protest, you whip around and snap an extremely candid, brightly lit photo of her. If the look on her face is the same one you just caught on film, then you're already off to a great start.

"Dude, what the fuck? What was that for?" she groans in annoyance, blinking the bright spots out of her vision.  

"A scrapbook," you grin. "For Joel."

She's still glaring at you as she rubs her eyes, but she bites back whatever retort she was about to say. You watch her expectantly as she chews on the idea, relief blooming in your chest when she finally nods.

"I guess that could work," she says slowly, still thinking over the logistics in her head. But then she frowns. "When exactly did you plan on taking all those photos? Not to be a downer, but Christmas is in like, a week."

Damn, she's right again. It'll be hell in a handbasket to fill an entire scrapbook in that amount of time, and even if you manage it, it'll be a half-assed attempt at best.

No, if you're going to do this, then you're going to do it right. No rushed or slapstick presents for the man who already hates Christmas—Joel deserves better than that.

"What if we let Joel do his bah-humbug thing one last time? That's probably his idea of a perfect gift, anyway. Then next year, it'll be this," you hand her the fully-developed Polaroid.

It shows Ellie hugging the guitar Joel made for her, but there's no sign of the shocked annoyance that followed the camera flash. Instead, she's smiling. She has that rare, unguarded expression on her face, the one reserved only for people she trusts. It's a tender moment of peace, forever frozen in time.

She looks up at you, and you can see it in her eyes. She gets it, now.

"You do realize it's still a 'thing' present though, right?" she interjects playfully, and you have to resist the urge to grab the wood polishing cloth on the table next to you and swat her with it.

"Yeah, but it's a sappy thing. Admit it, Joel's a huge sap and you know it. You said it yourself, his house is basically a glorified fridge with your art magnetized to the walls."

She rolls her eyes again, but you can see the smile tugging at her lips. She knows it's true.

"So, you'll help me?" you ask, daring to hope that she'll agree.

"As long as you don't pull this shit again, I'll do whatever you want," she lifts the Polaroid, shooting you a dirty, but affectionate look before handing it back to you.

A grin breaks out across your face, and you bolt across the room to hug her awkwardly around the instrument still sitting in her lap. She places it down so she can wrap her arms around you properly. 

Physical affection has never really been Ellie's thing but if you catch her at the right moment on the right day, you might get lucky. Today, you do.

"So, when do we get started?" she asks, pulling away.

"Right now," you reply, unable to contain your excitement. For the first time in over two decades, Joel Miller might actually have a merry Christmas, and that's something to celebrate. 

"Now?" she gapes at you, looking over her shoulder longingly at her guitar as you drag her out of the shed. She barely has enough time to grab a coat before you're out in the cold with nothing but each other, a camera, and a plan.

"Now." 

ONE YEAR LATER

Jackson in the spring is one of the most beautiful things you've ever seen, even among your memories of the world pre-outbreak. Snow remains on the mountain peaks in the distance, but the foliage below blooms with the promise of warmer weather. Somehow, you managed to capture it all—fresh flowers in the shop windows, friends and neighbors shedding their coats and congregating in the streets, and the post-winter excitement that spreads more and more with each sunny day. 

You hid the stack of photographs in an empty jumbo box of tampons in the hall closet, positive they’d be safe from Joel’s prying eyes while you and Ellie continued your mission.

In the summer, two new foals were born, and Ellie and Maria spent almost every day at the stables to help out where they could. They even named them—Shimmer was Maria’s choice, and Ellie named the other Callus just to piss off Joel. Not only did it work, but it resulted in some of the cutest pictures of the season. 

Joel and Tommy built a porch swing for Maria and their rambunctious toddler and spent countless balmy nights drinking Tommy's extra-strength whiskey and shooting the shit. They even broke out their guitars every so often and managed to bully Ellie into playing with them once or twice. You caught that on camera, too. 

Slowly but surely, the memory box filled up, and the photos were transferred to a scrapbook you and Ellie made yourselves—with a little local help. One of the school teachers happened to be a former librarian with a bookbinding hobby, and graciously gave you a treasure trove of old, tattered books that were perfect for your project. 

By autumn, everything was falling into place. Ellie adorned those pages with painted leaves in shades of red, orange, and yellow to complement the photos you took at the town’s annual Harvest Festival and Thanksgiving potluck. You hopped around from booth to booth, table to table, and thanked your lucky stars that Eugene was a hoarder and held onto every pack of film he found over the years.

Now, it's the night before Christmas and you have a single shot left. One last photo intended for the final page, but you can’t think of anything you haven’t already documented. Looking around Tommy’s living room, there are plenty of moments you’d love to capture, and yet none of them feel like the moment. 

How the Grinch Stole Christmas plays in the background while you sit on their couch, curled into Joel’s side with Ellie’s head on your lap, but you’re barely paying attention, still lost in your thoughts. Joel isn’t paying attention, either—he was unsurprisingly averse to the movie to begin with—so when you don’t laugh along with everyone else at the Grinch’s antics, he immediately knows something’s up. He kisses your temple, careful not to jostle Ellie.

“What’s got you so in your head you’re not even laughin’ at Jim Carrey? I thought you loved this movie,” he murmurs against the shell of your ear. His familiar Southern twang somehow warms you up more than the fireplace crackling next to the television. 

“I do. I think I’m just getting a little sleepy, is all,” you reply softly, sagging into him. “Winter dance prep sucked this week. It’s like everyone conveniently forgot they volunteered to help.”

He nods, mumbling an apology into your hair.

“Guess that makes sense. All that runnin’ around you’ve been doing with that camera of yours probably ain’t helpin’ either,” he says offhandedly, and your brows furrow in response.

It’s not the first time he’s mentioned your sudden interest in photography, but with his gift sitting less than 10 feet away under Tommy and Maria’s Christmas tree, it seems more than a little suspicious. You catch Ellie glancing up at you in your peripheral, and you meet her gaze as discreetly as you can.

“Yeah, maybe,” you laugh it off, hoping it doesn’t sound as tense to Joel’s ears as it does to yours.

“What are you doin’ with all of those photos anyway? I swear, you take ‘em and then they disappear into thin air,” he presses on, none the wiser.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” you joke, shaking your head as if that’ll shake off all of his incoming questions. But it doesn’t work nearly as well as you hoped.

“Y’know, I was wonderin’ that myself,” Tommy interjects from the recliner to your right. “You’ve been takin’ photo after photo for almost a year, and I don’t think I’ve seen a single one.”

Maria scoffs next to him, coming to the rescue before you’re forced to come up with a believable explanation. 

“Mind your own damn business,” she smacks him in the chest, then shoots you a sympathetic look. 

You asked for her help not long after you and Ellie started planning Joel’s gift, so she knows how important this is. The last thing she’s going to do is let her husband’s need to stir the pot ruin it. But Tommy’s not the type of guy to give in that easily.

“I’m just sayin’, might be nice take a look at ‘em. You probably got some good ones of the kids in there, ‘specially from birthdays and holidays—,” he manages to get out before Ellie cuts him off.

“Can you guys have this conversation somewhere else? Some of us are actually trying to watch the movie,” she sits up from her spot on your lap to glare in his direction. 

Then, Tommy abruptly stands like something just occurred to him and strides across the room to the mantle above the fireplace—right where you set the camera down earlier. Your heart leaps into your throat. 

“Hold up. This thing’s still got one shot left, don’t it?” he asks excitedly, and you’re not sure how to shut him down without drawing too much attention to yourself or sounding mildly hysterical.

“Well, yeah, but—“

“Oh shit, s’got a timer and everythin’,” he continues, fiddling with its limited settings. He turns back towards the rest of the group and holds up the camera with a grin. “C’mon, everybody get together. We’re takin’ our first official Christmas card photo.”

“But, Tommy—,” you try again, but you’re drowned out by Joel’s sad attempt to leave the room.

“Look, I said I’d watch the movie, but I sure as hell didn’t agree to take a damn Christmas photo,” he grumbles, moving to stand, but you latch onto his flannel before he gets too far. He softens at your downtrodden expression and settles back in.

“Just to be clear, m’doin this for her, not for you,” he amends his previous statement gruffly, throwing an arm around your shoulder. You kiss his cheek gratefully, and Ellie pretends to gag as she shuffles to sit between your legs.

“Whatever you say, big brother. All you gotta do is sit there and look pretty. Think you can handle that?” Tommy teases him, making one final adjustment to the camera's placement. “Alright y’all, here we go.”

He sets the timer, then runs to the couch, squishing into the only available spot between Maria and an armrest. Everyone huddles together with varying levels of smiles and grimaces on their faces while you wait for the camera to go off. Except, it doesn't.

“Wait, how long did you set the timer for?” you peer around Maria to see Tommy looking genuinely dumbfounded.

“…Does it not just go 5, 4, 3, 2, 1, shoot?” he asks sheepishly.

"Oh my god, are you kidding me?" Ellie groans, leaning back against you, and the entire couch bursts out laughing. 

And in that moment, the flash goes off.

Yeah, this is the one.

The photo in your hands feels like the culmination of every memory you made and preserved in the past year. Five faces—and one tiny sleeping one—look up at you, fully developed and as happy as you've ever seen them.

Tommy and Maria sit side by side with their son in her lap, their heads thrown back in laughter. Next to them, Ellie sits between your legs, mid-knee slap, as you cackle with your chin resting on top of her head.

And then there's Joel, grinning from ear to ear as he looks on at the family he's fought so hard to protect. The family that's safe and sound, and enjoying an ordinarily special day, just for the sake of it. You can only hope that a book full of photos and everything it represents will be enough to convince him once and for all that it's the truth.

As you slide the final Polaroid into place, Joel sidles up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist.

"What's all this?" he watches curiously as you close the book and swipe your hand lovingly across the cover. Then, you pick it up and turn in his embrace, leaning back against the kitchen counter. 

"A gift," you reply carefully, hugging it to your chest. 

You glance over to where Ellie's still sitting in the living room, but she shakes her head and offers you a small smile, her delicate way of telling you that you're on your own. You take a deep breath before continuing.

"It's a Christmas present from me and Ellie," you explain, hoping to convey even a fraction of what this means to you. "Look, we know this isn’t necessarily your favorite day, but...we still wanted to do something nice for you."

He nods, his expression frustratingly unreadable. But then he does something unexpected.

"Y'gonna keep huggin' it or are you gonna show it to me?" he drawls jokingly, and your brows shoot up in shock.

"You wanna see it?" 

His face falls, and you immediately feel terrible at the brief wave of hurt that crosses his features. You didn't mean to sound so surprised, but you didn't anticipate this easy acceptance.

"'Course I do. The two of you spent a whole year workin' on this thing, why wouldn't I?"

That grin you know he loves lights up your entire face, and you turn to place his gift back on the counter. Flipping to the first page, you step aside and let him explore it for himself.

He takes in each moment of each season slowly, running his fingers across Ellie's doodles between photos and in the margins. Spring is framed by butterflies that you're somehow just realizing are painted in all of Sarah's favorite colors. 

Ellie added so many painstaking details you'd never talked about. You're not even sure how she knew something like that, but you're grateful it's there. Joel notices it too, and reaches down to take your hand, gripping it tightly for the rest of the book. 

He's silent as flips through summer and fall, and when he finally reaches winter, you feel him begin to tremble beside you. 

The last page sits open in front of you, the photo from earlier flanked on either side by notes from you and Ellie. As he reads, then rereads them, you can see the cogs turning. He's starting to understand why you did this—and how something as simple as a photograph isn't just a look back on a life well-lived. It's a reminder to keep living.

“This is…,” his brows furrow as he tries to find the words to express the conflicting thoughts racing through his head.

“I—I’m sorry, I didn’t get you anything," is what he ultimately settles on, but when he looks up at you, his eyes are wet. You immediately drop his hand to cup his cheeks.

"You didn't need to. I have everything I've ever wanted right here," you tell him gently, brushing away the tears threatening to fall. 

You glance over at the familiar faces in the living room, the same ones looking up at you from the page below, and he follows your gaze. The tension in his body begins to bleed away the longer he watches them, and you learn the wrinkle in his brow isn't actually the permanent fixture it always seemed to be.

He reaches up to cover one of your hands with his own, and you can feel his heart racing through his fingertips. In the back of your mind, you wonder if this is the moment it happens. If his heart grew three sizes bigger today, and if he's finally ready to give himself the gift of peace.

“Merry Christmas, Joel Miller," you whisper, kissing him deeply as the sweet voice of Cindy Lou Who brings the movie credits rolling in the distance to a close.

thanks for reading and happy holidays!

Din stops you, though, a hand across your hips to pull you back with a gentleness you shouldn't be surprised by anymore. 

"It's not a home for two," he murmurs, his voice halting. Vulnerability isn't something that comes easily to either of you. "It… it doesn't have to be."

"You want me to stay?" you prompt, your voice devoid of its usual teasing lilt. Din nods, his arm tightening around your waist. You look at him pointedly. He sighs.

"Yes. I want you to stay."

"You know what that means, don't you?" You step away from him. His fingers twitch as he reels himself in, stopping himself from reaching for you. "This is… commitment. This is serious. This is different."

"My love…" Din begins, a layer of hurt seeping into his voice that makes you dig your nails into your palms. Always hurting, you think to yourself. You will always hurt him. "I understand commitment more than anything else. This is what I want… with you. With our son." Din's voice is sombre as he speaks, his words prompting you to glance at where Grogu's chasing frogs in front of his new home - in front of your new home, if you let it be.

"Your son," is what you fire back, though, the panic of having something good clouding your rationality - the fear of having something that can be taken away.

"Our son," Din corrects firmly, stepping towards you. You tense like an animal ready to bolt, but you don't run. Progress, Din supposes. "This is your family as much as it's mine. This is your home, as much as it's mine. I wouldn't say that unless I understood the severity of it."

You sigh, your shoulders dropping as your fists unclench. There's a solidness about him, a resoluteness that turns him into a fixed point for his family to lean on when they need to. He has never stumbled underneath your weight, and you think it might be unfair to expect that he suddenly will now. You look at him through his helmet and let your brows furrow as you try to gauge his reaction to your snapping, to your walls closing up. He seems to take your relaxing posture as a sort of victory, though, because he steps towards you again, reaching forward to brush his gloved fingers against yours. You let your fingers intertwine with his, holding his hand firmly enough to convince yourself that he won't disappear from in front of you - that this good thing is here to stay.

"I'm sorry," you murmur gently, letting your head thump against his shoulder. He relaxes at the feeling of you pressing your face to his neck and breathing him in, squeezing your hand gently in his while his other strokes up and down your back.

"There is nothing to forgive, my love," he assures with a softness that's reserved for you alone. "This isn't easy for either of us. What matters is that we do it together."

"Together," you mumble in agreement, nodding as you keep your face pressed against him. He huffs out what's almost a laugh, letting you take your time in extracting yourself from him. Once you're standing tall again, chin lifted and eyes regaining their confidence, he squeezes your hand once more.

"Where do we go from here?" is all Din asks, gaze fixed on you.

"Home, I suppose," is your airy response as you stare at the little house you can now call yours. Din feels his heart thump in his chest at your declaration of home, of sharing something like that with him. He breathes deeply, steadying himself against the onslaught of emotions that are thrown at him by those simple words.

"I always had a home in the covert," he says, shifting uneasily on his feet. It's rare for him to divulge anything too personal, even this far into your relationship. You look at him earnestly, the breeze settling around the two of you as you watch Grogu chase frogs out of the corner of your eye.

"Even when I was… an apostate," Din continues, "then it was about finding a way back to that home. But it was always there - always something to fall back on. You…?" He doesn't continue, just stares at you through the slit of his helmet and you know he's giving you an out. You know he won't force you to talk about your past, about where you came from or what you left behind.

"I think it was about… finding one," you say eventually. "I never - I didn't a home to fall back to. But I wanted one, even when I couldn't really admit that to myself." You turn back towards your house - your home, now. One that you would share with your family. "Didn't think I'd ever actually get one, though," you add quietly, a confession whispered so softly Din almost doesn't hear it.