bells

23 annoying fangirl

[fullofdelusionx]

I've Got You, Both Of You

Pairing: Joe Keery x You

W/C: 18.4k

Summary: The last thing you expect four weeks after giving birth is to be cheated on but when your friend group come together to help out, things start to take shape again. 3am wake up calls, bedtime routines and milestones are no longer something you have to do alone.

The silence was what got to you the most. Not the crying at 3am or the endless pile of laundry multiplying in the corner of every room. Not even the ache that still lingered through your body a month after giving birth, it was the silence.

For 6 years, your life had always been loud. Loud arguments, loud apologies, loud promises that things would be different this time. You'd met your now ex shortly after moving to New York. You were young, hopeful, and stubborn enough to believe love could fix almost anything, and for a while, you thought it had. The relationship had never been stable, your friends had pointed it out countless times over the years, usually after another breakup.

"You deserve better" "He keeps doing the same thing" "Why do you always take him back?"

The answer was always simple, because you loved him, or maybe because you loved the version of him he became for a few weeks after every fight. The version who brought flowers home, who kissed your forehead before going to work, who made you believe the bad times were finally behind you but the cycle would soon start again.

By your sixth year together, you were exhausted, but you also found out you were pregnant, and with that news somehow, for a little while, things actually seemed different. He would come to appointments, you spoke about names, he painted the nursery, he even held your hand during labour. For one moment, you thought maybe becoming parents had changed him, till 4 weeks after your son was born. You walked into your apartment and found another woman standing in your kitchen. You could still remember every detail. You had taken Jacob for his one month check up and to grab some groceries, you came home and saw the half finished wine glasses on the side, the panic on her face, the guilt on his and the baby carrier hanging from your shoulder while your newborn slept peacefully on your chest through the moment your entire relationship shattered.

You didn't scream, you didn't cry, you didn't throw anything, you simply looked at him and realised you were officially done. 6 years, finished. Within hours, his belongings were packed into trash bags and sitting outside the apartment door. He begged, he apologised, he promised but you'd heard it all before. This time, you closed the door and you never opened it again.

The first few weeks afterwards blurred together. Constant routine of feedings, diaper changes, cleaning bottles, changing his clothes, no sleep and repeat. You barely left the apartment, your phone buzzed constantly with texts from friends, missed calls, voicemails. All of them checking in and asking if you were okay, wanting to see Jacob, and why you'd disappeared. You answered one or two, but most of them were left on read because the truth was you weren't okay. You were tired, so unbelievably tired. You looked in the mirror and barely recognised yourself most days. Your hair was constantly tied up, greasy and looking almost matted. Dark circles lived beneath your eyes which you swore grew by the day. Your body felt foreign, all the excess skin, the stretch marks, you wasn't use to it. Your apartment looked like a tornado had passed through it on the best of days. Some days you forgot to eat until late afternoon and other days you remembered and simply didn't have the energy.

Meanwhile, your ex had vanished. Not a visit, not a phone call, not a text asking about his son, nothing. At first, you kept expecting him to show up but then you stopped expecting anything at all. That somehow hurt worse.

One rainy Thursday afternoon, Jacob finally fell asleep after nearly an hour of fussing. You carefully lowered him into his bassinet that was next to you in the living room, held your breath, waited, and when he stayed asleep, you sank onto the couch with a groan. The apartment was dim, illuminated only by the gap in the curtains and the TV. Your phone buzzed against the coffee table and you ignored it, just like you usually did. It buzzed again, and again, and again. With a sigh, you reached over. 3 missed calls and 6 texts all from Becca.

Becca had been your friend for years. One of the first people you'd met after moving to New York. She was persistent, loyal and completely incapable of taking a hint when she thought someone needed help. A new message appeared as you started at the screen.

Becca If you don't answer me, I'm coming over.

Becca And yes, that was a threat.

Becca Can't keep me from seeing my best friend and my mini best friend any longer

For the first time in weeks, a tiny smile tugged at your lips, then your phone rang. Becca. You considered ignoring it, instead, you answered.

"Hello?"

There was a dramatic gasp from the other end, "Oh my god she answers!".

You rolled your eyes, "Hi Becca".

"No, absolutely not. We're not doing that. I've been worried sick about you both"

Your gaze drifted toward the bassinet where your son slept peacefully, "I'm fine".

"You sound terrible, I won't lie"

"Thanks"

"You know what I mean" And you did. Becca sighed, "Can I come over?".

Part of you wanted to say no, the other part, the lonely part, wanted someone, anyone, to walk through that front door. After a long pause, you finally answered, "Okay".

Becca didn't hesitate, "Good. Be there in 20", then the call ended. You stared at the screen for a moment before setting it down. 20 minutes. 20 minutes until someone finally stepped back into your life. 20 minutes turned into 15. You barely had enough time to wipe your face before a knock sounded at the apartment door.

When you opened it, Becca immediately frowned, "Oh..."

You hated that look. The one people got when they saw you and realised you weren't actually doing okay.

"Hi" you mumbled.

Becca stepped inside, carrying two coffee cups and a paper bag, "You look awful".

A laugh escaped you despite yourself, "Good to see you too".

"I'm serious"

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the TV. Jacob was asleep in the bassinet beside the couch, blissfully unaware of everything. Becca set the drinks down then she looked at you properly. The oversized sweatshirt, messy hair, dark circles, the clear top of your adult nappy poking through the top of your sweatpants. The way you seemed to be holding yourself together through sheer stubbornness, "Oh, honey".

That was all it took, and the tears came instantly. One second you were standing there and the next you were sobbing into her shoulder. Becca wrapped her arms around you without hesitation as months of emotions came pouring out. You told her everything, you'd been holding so much in that it all just spilled as soon as you started. About Jack, finding him cheating, kicking him out, how he hadn't come to see Jacob once, you cried harder when you said that. Then came how much you hated your body right now, how every stretch mark felt like another reminder of everything that had happened, none of your clothes fit, how you hadn't slept properly in months, the apartment feeling impossible to keep on top of, and finally "I just feel like I'm failing". The words came out broken.

Becca immediately pulled back, "No".

You shook your head, "I am".

"No, you're not"

"Becca..."

"You're keeping a tiny human alive by yourself after being cheated on 4 weeks postpartum. You're exhausted, heartbroken and running on no sleep. That's not failing" Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks and Becca squeezed your hand, "That's surviving". For a long moment neither of you spoke, then she glanced toward the sleeping baby, "Okay".

You sniffed, "Okay what?"

"Okay, here's what's happening, you're going to bed".

"What?"

"Bed"

"I can't just-"

"Yes, you can"

"The baby's asleep now but he'll wake up soon"

"I know how bottles work. I looked after my nieces and nephews"

"Becca-"

"Go. Now"

You stared at her, she stared back and eventually you lost. An hour later your head hit the pillow. For the first time in what felt like forever, you slept, like really slept. No half awake dozing off, or listening out for every tiny noise, just slept like the past few months never happened.

When you finally woke up, sunlight was pouring through the bedroom window and for a second you panicked. Jacob. How long had you been asleep? You shot upright before hearing his noises from the other room, your heart immediately calmed. Slowly, you got out of bed and wandered toward the doorway then stopped. The apartment looked completely different. Not perfect, or from some magazine article, but clean. The dishes were gone, laundry had been folded, empty bottles had been washed and in the steriliser, trash had been taken out, you could have cried. All whilst Jacob laid happily in his swing while Becca made faces at him from the couch.

She looked up, "Oh, sleeping beauty rises". You immediately burst into tears, again. "Oh, come on" Becca groaned affectionately.

"You cleaned"

"Little bit"

"You cleaned everything" You laughed through tears, then cried harder.

Becca stood and hugged you, "You don't have to thank me at all".

"Thank you"

She rolled her eyes and you looked around once more, noticing several grocery bags lined neatly along the kitchen counter, "You bought groceries?".

"I ordered groceries"

"You didn't have to do that"

"You had half a carton of VERY expired milk, ketchup and a questionable lettuce"

You wiped your eyes. At this point crying felt like your full time hobby.

Becca pointed toward the bathroom, "Right. Go shower".

You blinked, "What?".

"Go shower. Wash your hair. Put on clean clothes"

You looked down at yourself, she wasn't wrong, it was needed.

"I'll stay here. Look after him"

"You don't have to"

"I know I don't, but I'm going to"

The simple response made your chest ache because she genuinely didn't have to do any of this, yet she had done, all day, with no complaints.

An hour later, after the longest shower of your life, you stepped back into the living room feeling almost human again. Fresh clothes, clean hair, a full stomach thanks to the sandwich Becca and forced into you. For the first time in months, your shoulders didn't feel quite so heavy.

Becca grinned, "Tomorrow we're going to lunch. Our treat".

"We? Our? Becca..." You groaned.

She ignored you, "I've already arranged it".

"Of course you have"

"It's just everyone. You're fine"

Everyone. Your small little friend group. A few who had become family over the years. All which you hadn't seen properly since you came home with Jacob. The people you had accidentally shut out.

You glanced toward your sleeping son, then back to Becca, "I don't know".

"You need it"

"I'll probably spend the entire lunch talking about baby poop"

"Then we'll talk about baby poop"

You laughed. The first one that didn't feel forced. And surprisingly, the idea didn't sound terrible the more you thought about it. Getting out, seeing people, feeling like yourself again even if it's for a few hours. "Okay" you finally said.

Becca's face lit up, "Yeah?".

"Yeah"

She smiled, "Good".

You shook your head, "You planned this before even asking me, didn't you? I didn't have a choice".

"Absolutely I did. And so you don't have to relive the entire thing, I will tell them if you want. Everything that's happened, I can't have you crying again, we'll get you better".

You just smiled and nodded. And despite everything that had happened over the last few months, for the first time in a very long while, you found yourself actually looking forward to tomorrow, but that was all night dependant...and well, the night wasn't perfect. Jacob still woke every few hours demanding a bottle with the determination only babies seemed to have for their own schedule, but somehow it felt different. The apartment wasn't suffocatingly messy anymore, and when morning came, you realised something strange. You hadn't woken up crying for the first time in months. You just laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling while Jacob laid staring from the bedside crib at you. You still felt heavily tired, but today it just felt somewhat manageable.

The walk to the brunch place wasn't far. A cool breeze drifted through the street while Jacob slept peacefully beneath the hood of the pram. Your stomach twisted the closer you got because it had been so long since you'd seen everyone that part of you was worried it would be awkward and that you'd somehow forgotten how to be around people. But when you reached the restaurant, through the front window you could already see them. Everybody waiting. The second you stepped through the door, conversations stopped, every head turned and immediately you were met with the kindest smiles imaginable. The sort that carried concern, relief, affection and understanding all at once. Your eyes instantly started stinging, "Oh no" you muttered to yourself.

Becca was already standing and before you could say anything, she wrapped her arms around you and hugged you tightly, "I'm so glad you came" followed by everyone else pulling you into warm embraces and giving Jacob a fuss. There wasn't one question or one awkward comment. Just genuine happiness that you were there. By the time you finally reached your seat, your eyes were already suspiciously glossy, Becca gently took the pram from you, "I've got him, you sit". You sat down and the familiar chatter you missed filled the table along with the smell of coffee, the sound of cutlery and the comforting normality of it all. You looked around, at your friends, your family. People who had spent years building a life beside you and never stopped checking in despite you disappearing, and suddenly the emotional dam within you broke, "Oh for god's sake" you laughed through tears, "I swear it's the hormones". Immediately everyone started smiling sympathetically. "I'm sorry" you said, wiping your face.

"No you're not" Sam said.

You laughed again while tears continued falling, "It's embarrassing".

"It isn't" Amanda said gently.

"It kind of is"

"You've cried three times in front of me this week" Becca pointed out from beside the pram.

"Only three? That's pretty good for me"

"Actually four"

"Great"

That earned a round of laughter from the table and the tension eased instantly. You rubbed at your eyes again, "Sorry".

"No apologising" Wes said.

"Yeah" Adam added, "We're implementing a no apology policy".

"That's not a thing"

"It is now"

Across the table, Joe had been quietly watching. Not judging or pitying, just watching to make sure you're okay. When your eyes finally met his, he offered a small smile, the kind that always seemed to calm people down. You attempted to return it even though your lip was wobbling, and Joe reached across the table, his hand settling gently over yours. The simple gesture nearly setting you off again, "Hey".

You swallowed hard, "Hey".

"Everything's gonna be okay you know?"

The words weren't dramatic or in the form of some grand speech, but they made you feel steady. Your eyes filled again, "Oh my god".

"See?" Joe laughed, "I can't say anything".

Everyone else joined in laughing with him. You covered your face, "I hate all of you".

"No you don't" Poppy said.

"No" you admitted, "I really don't".

Joe squeezed your hand gently, "You know where we all are".

You nodded.

"If you need help, call"

Another nod.

"If you need someone to hold him while you sleep, call"

You glanced toward the pram where Becca was gently rocking Jacob without a second thought.

"If you need groceries"

"Call"

"If you need food"

"Let me guess, call"

"If you need company"

"Call"

The lump in your throat that grew by the second became impossible to ignore. Because for months you'd convinced yourself you were alone, that asking for help would make you a burden and that everyone had their own lives to worry about, yet here they all were. Showing up again and again, waiting patiently for you to let them in.

You looked around the table once more. At Becca making silly faces towards Jacob, Adam and Wes arguing over something, Amanda and Sam already discussing what everyone should order, Poppy reaching over to hand you a napkin before you could even ask, at Joe, still sitting opposite, offering a reassuring smile. And for the first time since everything happened with Jack, you didn't feel abandoned, or alone, just loved. The realisation of it all made fresh tears roll down your cheeks and a groan escaped the entire table, "Oh, come on" Wes complained dramatically. You burst out laughing, and this time, when everyone laughed with you, it felt a little easier to breathe.

You were so determined not to spend the entire brunch talking about yourself. The support had been nice, more than nice, but the last thing you wanted was for the whole gathering to become some kind of intervention. So after answering a few questions and assuring everyone that yes, you were eating again, and yes, you had actually slept for more than two consecutive hours, you quickly waved a hand, "Enough about me please".

Becca raised an eyebrow.

"No, seriously" you laughed, "My life is currently bottles, diapers, myself included, and trying to remember whether I've brushed my teeth. Someone tell me something interesting".

Thankfully, everyone seemed happy to move on. Poppy immediately launched into a story about work that had the entire table laughing within minutes. Amanda followed with updates from her own life, sharing stories about coworkers, terrible meetings, and a recent disaster involving coffee and a very expensive laptop. You found yourself smiling more and more. It felt normal. For a little while you could just sit there and listen and not think about Jack, or bills, or sleepless nights. Eventually the conversation shifted toward the boys, you glanced between Joe, Sam, Wes and Adam.

"So" you said, "What have you lot been doing?".

Sam groaned dramatically, "Sleeping. A lot of it".

"That's literally it right now" Adam agreed.

Wes nodded, "We just finished tour".

"You say that like it was easy" Joe laughed.

"I think I slept for about 12 hours straight the first day back" Sam called.

"12?" Wes scoffed, "Amateur".

The group laughed and the conversation drifted toward stories from the road, crowds, travel, funny backstage moments and the exhaustion that came with weeks of performing. You listened quietly, genuinely enjoying hearing about something completely different from your own life.

"And now?" you asked.

Joe shrugged, "Rest, then eventually start writing again".

"Eventually?" Sam repeated, "You'll be texting ideas at 3am within a week".

"You aren't wrong. They've got to go somewhere"

You smiled into your coffee. It was strange, a year ago, this kind of conversation would've felt completely normal but now it felt like hearing stories from another world. Tour buses and concerts seemed impossibly far away from bottles and baby wipes. And as if reading your thoughts, a small noise came from the pram beside the table. Everyone instantly gathered to  look over as Jacob stretched, made an adorable sleepy face then settled right back down. The entire table collectively melted.

"Oh my god" Amanda whispered.

"He looks just like you" Poppy agreed.

"He's lucky he's cute" Becca added.

Joe leaned slightly to peek into the pram, the sight immediately softened his expression. And without thinking, you smiled, "You know" you said casually, "Jacob's first concert is definitely going to be one of yours".

Joe blinked, "What?"

You shrugged.

"I mean, obviously. How else is he going to believe the stories about how much of a fun life his uncles live?"

The table erupted instantly.

"Aww, Joe's going to cry" "Oh that's adorable" "Why is that actually really sweet"

Joe looked genuinely caught off guard. His cheeks turning slightly pink, "Seriously?".

"Yeah!" You looked over at Jacob, "Seems only fair".

Joe laughed quietly, "I feel weirdly honored by that".

"You should"

"I'll take that responsibility very seriously when it finally happens"

"You better"

"Little man deserves a good and memorable first concert"

"Exactly, so no pressure. From either of us"

Everyone laughed again. Joe shook his head, still smiling. He glanced toward Jacob sleeping peacefully, the expression on his face was unexpectedly fond, like he'd already decided he would protect this kid with his life. Honestly, most of your friends seemed to feel that way. Maybe you weren't doing this alone, maybe you never had been. 

The brunch stretched on for another hour before people gradually began gathering jackets, paying bills and making plans for the next time everyone would meet. For once, you didn't feel desperate to rush home. You actually felt... lighter. As everyone started saying their goodbyes, you stood with Jacob's pram beside you while the group slowly filtered out onto the sidewalk.

Amanda hugged you first, "Text me if you need literally anything, please"

"I will"

"You won't"

"I'll try" You laughed and hugged her tighter.

One by one everyone said goodbye until eventually it was just you, Becca, Joe, and a sleeping Jacob. Becca immediately crouched beside the pram, "Look at him".

"He slept through most of brunch which I'm glad" you silently huff.

Becca stood and turned to you, "Are you okay?".

You knew what she was really asking. Would you be okay alone tonight? Would the apartment feel overwhelming again? Would you disappear for another few weeks?

You smiled softly, "I'll be okay".

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Today's really helped"

She studied you for a second before nodding, "Alright", then she pointed at you, "But I'm coming over the day after tomorrow".

You laughed, "I don't doubt you for one minute".

Becca pulled you into another hug, "I'm serious. Call me if you need anything between now and then, no matter the time".

"I know"

"And eat, drink water".

"Okay mom"

"Sleep when he sleeps"

You groaned, "That one is impossible".

She laughed and kissed your cheek, finally stepping back, "Love you".

"Love you too"

A few moments later she disappeared down the street, leaving you standing beside Joe, he looked down at the pram, "Want some help getting home?".

You smiled, "You don't have to".

"I know I don't but I want to"

The exact same words Becca had used yesterday and something warm settled in your chest, "That'd be nice".

"No problem" And just like that, the two of you started the walk back. The journey wasn't long and Jacob remained asleep the entire time. Joe pushed the pram alongside you while the two of you walked at an easy pace, "I can't wait to see articles online tomorrow about how I have a kid now".

"Still happening huh? Fame really hasn't died down?"

"God no, worse if you ask me. I can't go get coffee without bumping into someone or someone taking a picture"

You always did feel sorry for him in that regard, unable to somewhat go out and live a normal life without anyone judging or criticising him. Nothing more was bought up about it, they just continued to walk and it was surprisingly comfortable. Talking about random things like the weather, movies, some restaurant they just passed, it was nice. By the time you reached your apartment building, you found yourself smiling more than you had in months. "Home sweet home" Joe announced and you rolled your eyes in response.

He held the front door open while you stepped inside, helping to carry the pram up the small flight of steps without even asking, "Joe".

"What?"

"You don't need to carry that"

"I know I don't" You shook your head at his stubborness.

When you unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside, a small sense of relief washed over you. For the first time in a long time, coming home didn't fill you with dread. The place was tidy, warm, feeling actually lived in and somewhere you didn't feel ashamed of bringing somebody else in to.

Joe wheeled the pram inside, "Wow".

You looked over, "What?"

"It looks nice. I haven't been over in a while"

You laughed, "Thanks to Becca".

"Remind me never to get on her bad side"

"Smart decision"

A few minutes later Jacob finally began stirring, right on cue. You glanced at the clock, "Food time".

Joe nodded, "Do you uh, need help?".

"I'll be okay, thank you though. You guys have done enough for me"

You moved automatically now and didn't think about what came next. Bottle, boiling water, formula, cooling, all a familiar routine. Joe appeared in the kitchen next to you, "What are you doing?".

"Making us coffee"

"You don't know where anything is"

"It's not the biggest place in the world, I am sure I can find things"

A few minutes later, Joe appeared in the living area where you had Jacob nestled against your chest, holding two cups of coffee. Jacob was already focused entirely on his bottle, his tiny hands curled around your fingers whilst he drank. Joe sat beside you on the sofa watching with genuine fascination. "You know" he said quietly, "I don't think I'll ever get over how small babies are".

You looked down, "He feels huge now".

"That's because you're with him every day. Last time I saw him he was like two days old" Joe shook his head, "He's tiny".

A laugh escaped you, Joe's soft side in full force. Jacob finished eating surprisingly quickly, then after a short burp and a brief protest about being moved, he settled into his moses basket and, miraculously stayed asleep.

You both stared, "Did we just witness a miracle?" Joe whispered.

"Don't say it too loud otherwise when he wakes, you'll be the one putting him down"

"Sorry" Joe immediately lowered his voice, "My mistake".

The apartment fell quiet, just the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional noise from outside drifting through the windows. You curled your hands around your coffee mug and for once, there wasn't anything demanding your attention. No bottles to be made, no diapers to change, no laundry waiting to be done, just living in a peaceful moment and Joe sitting comfortably beside you.

After a while he glanced over, "How are you really doing? Just us".

You considered it honestly. A few weeks ago the answer would've been terrible, and a few days ago probably not much better but now...you looked toward Jacob sleeping peacefully and around your apartment, "Tired, but coping somewhat. Didn't picture doing this all by myself so I'm still figuring things out, but better".

He nodded, "Yeah?"

"Yeah" And for the first time, you actually meant it.

Joe smiled into his coffee, "Good. You know, I've been worried about you".

The admission of it caught you off guard. You looked over, Joe was staring down into his mug, almost embarrassed he'd said it, "You have?".

"Of course" Joe looked up, "We all were".

You nodded slowly. Sitting there on the sofa, coffee growing cold in your hands while Jacob slept peacefully nearby, you realised how much you'd missed this. Not just the friendship or the company but just simply having someone there who wasn't asking anything from you, and wanted to sit beside you to make sure you were okay.

As the afternoon went on and the sunlight started to slip down into somewhat of a sunset, conversation drifted back to easier things for a while, mainly Jacob as Joe was curious. The fact that Jacob somehow managed to sleep through almost anything when out in public, yet seemed to possess a sixth sense for knowing the exact moment you sat down to relax at home.

Joe found that particularly amusing, "He waits until you're comfortable?"

"Every single time. Worse on a night"

"That's actually kind of impressive"

"You have him for 24 hours and get back to me on that"

Joe laughed into his coffee, the sound settling warmly through the apartment. You were staring into your mug when Joe spoke, "What happened with Jack? If I can ask...".

The question wasn't nosy, or him being judgmental which is what you kind of thought it would be, but he gave you room to answer or not. A few weeks ago you would've shut down immediately but today felt different. You looked toward Jacob's basket to see him still sound asleep, "I caught him cheating".

The words came out surprisingly easily, and Joe's expression immediately changed just as easily. It was more disappointed than shocked, I mean as much as your friends didn't like him, he still became part of the group at times on social occassions.

"When?"

"4 weeks after Jacob was born"

Joe blinked, the disappointment turning into disbelief, "Jesus..."

A humorless laugh escaped you, "Yeah".

For a moment, Joe just sat there, processing the answer that you gave him.

Then quietly asked, "How did you find out?"

The memory didn't hurt quite as sharply today, but it still hurt, just not enough to stop you talking. "I'd taken Jacob out for a check up appointment. When I came home there was another woman in the apartment". Joe swore softly under his breath, you couldn't even blame him. Looking back, the whole thing sounded ridiculous like something from a bad movie. "I remember thinking I'd walked into the wrong apartment for a second"

Joe shook his head slowly, "Your kidding?".

"No" You let out another small laugh, "I genuinely checked the apartment number".

His face somehow managed to look even sadder because that was probably the most heartbreaking part. Not the cheating, but the confusion and the complete inability to comprehend what you were seeing.

"I packed his stuff that same hour"

Joe looked up, "Seriously?"

"Yep"

"No second chance?"

"None" The answer came instantly.

Joe stared at you for a second, then nodded "Good. I'm sorry it happened". He leaned back against the sofa, "But I'm glad you didn't stay with him. You deserved better before Jacob". His gaze shifted briefly toward the sleeping baby, "You definitely deserved better after".

You looked away, focusing on the coffee mug in your hands, "He hasn't even seen him since he's been gone".

Joe went still, "What?".

Your voice came out quieter this time, "He hasn't seen him". The words hurt more than talking about the cheating. "He hasn't called, hasn't visited, nothing".

Joe's jaw tightened and the apartment suddenly felt very quiet, the only sound was Jacob's soft breathing nearby. Joe looked toward the basket, then back at you. His expression was impossible to miss. Anger. Not at you, but the situation, Jack, at someone choosing not to show up for their child. You found yourself rushing to soften it, "I mean, maybe it's for the best".

Joe immediately shook his head, "No. It's probably for the best that he's not around if he's going to hurt you".

You stared at him, "But that's not the same thing".

He glanced toward Jacob again, "Every kid deserves someone who wants to be there".

The words settled heavily between you, because they were true, painfully true. You'd spent months trying to convince yourself it didn't matter because Jacob was too young to know and that you could make up for it somehow.

Joe seemed to understand exactly what you were thinking, "You know what I see?".

You frowned, "What?".

He pointed toward the Moses basket, "I see a little guy who's got a mom that loves him more than anything". Your eyes immediately burned and Joe continued before you could interrupt, "I see someone who gets up every two hours to feed him, I see someone who's exhausted but still doing everything she can to provide the best life for him".

The tears were definitely coming back now.

"I'm serious" He smiled softly, "From where I'm sitting, he's doing pretty well".

You looked away before he could see how emotional that made you, but unfortunately, Joe had known you long enough to notice anyway. A laugh escaped him, "Here we go again".

"Oh shut up" You wiped at your eyes.

The afternoon somehow started to slip away from you. One minute you and Joe were sitting on the sofa talking, the next Jacob was waking up, announcing his presence with a series of increasingly dramatic noises. "Uh oh" Joe said. You laughed, followed by another diaper chanage and a bottle. And then, for the first time all day, Jacob was actually awake enough to interact with the world, or at least stare at it very seriously. Joe ended up sitting on the floor while Jacob laid on a play mat between you. The sight alone nearly made you laugh. A grown man who had performed in front of thousands of people sitting on your living room rug making ridiculous noises at a 10 week old. The funniest part? Jacob seemed fascinated by him.

"Oh, so he likes you" You smile.

Joe looked offended, "Of course he likes me. Why wouldn't he?".

Jacob chose that exact moment to let out a happy little smile. Joe immediately pointed, "There, see!" followed by a huge grin.  The playtime continued until Jacob yawned which meant you knew what was coming. The evening fussiness, the refusal to sleep despite desperately needing sleep, the same battle you fought almost every night. Except tonight it never came, because after another bottle, Joe casually lifted him into his arms, "I've got him".

You watched from the sofa while he paced slowly around the living room. Talking quietly, rocking gently, and not even five minutes later, Jacob's eyes drifted shut and you couldn't believe the sight in front you, "He never does that...".

"What, sleep?"

"In 5 minutes"

Joe glanced at the sleeping baby, then back at you, "Maybe he likes my stories?".

"What stories?"

"I was telling him about Adam losing his suitcase in Mexico"

You laughed, "Thrilling".

"Well apparently so!" Carefully, Joe lowered Jacob into his cot, he barely stirred and the apartment felt at peace. Both of you just watching him sleep, then eventually Joe checked his phone, he sighed dramatically, "I should probably head home". Your face fell slightly before you could stop it, and Joe noticed immediately. "I'll see you again soon, promise" The smile he gave you was gentle.

Still, it was hard because today had been the first day in months that hadn't felt overwhelmingly lonely. The apartment was dim now, evening settling outside the windows, you walked Joe over to the door as he grabbed his jacket, "Thank you for today".

He shook his head, "You don't need to thank me".

"Yes, I do"

"You really don't. It's what friends are for"

The words caught slightly in your throat, "Today was..." You searched for the right phrase, "I really needed today".

Joe's expression softened, "You deserve days like this".

You looked down for a second before meeting his eyes again. The gratitude felt impossible to put into words. Not just for today, but for everything, checking in, showing up, helping with Jacob, helping carry some of the weight of everything without ever making you feel guilty for needing it.

Your eyes drifted toward the living room where Jacob slept peacefully, then back to Joe, "We're lucky".

Joe smiled, "You don't have to-"

"No" You cut him off softly, "We are, Jacob and I".

Something flickered across Joe's face, a mixture of warmth and emotion.

"You, Becca, everyone" You swallowed, "We're really lucky to have people like you".

The apartment suddenly felt very still. Joe's smile was smaller now but more genuine, reaching his eyes as he stared at you, "I think we're pretty lucky too".

"Yeah?"

"Yeah"

Your chest tightened, enough to remind you how long it had been since someone had made you feel valued and not like a burden. Joe stepped forward and pulled you into a hug and without thinking, you hugged him back immediately. You felt so safe, it was the kind of hug that said you're not doing this alone. When he finally pulled away, he smiled, "Text me if you need anything".

You laughed, "You've said".

A moment later he was gone. The apartment door clicked shut behind him and for the first time, the silence didn't feel so overwhelming. You wandered back into the living room and watch Jacob fast asleep through the monitor, the rise and fall of his chest immediately soothing you. You sat down on the sofa, pulling a blanket around yourself and caught up on some TV you had been meaning to do for weeks.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Joe.

Joe Made it home

Joe Tell Jacob I expect him at his first concert

You He's already your biggest fan

The next few months passed far quicker than you expected. Somehow, life found a rhythm. Not a perfect one but a good one. Jacob grew every single day that it felt impossible sometimes. One minute he was a tiny newborn who fit against your chest, and the next he was sitting up with support, grabbing anything within reach and babbling endlessly about absolutely nothing with next to no naps throughout the day. 6 months old. You still couldn't quite believe you survived 6 months. Some days were still hard. There were moments you caught your reflection and still struggled with the changes pregnancy had left behind like the softer stomach, the stretch marks, the body that felt different from the one you had before, but this time the hatred wasn't there, not like it had been because everytime you looked at Jacob, smiling up at you with those chubby cheeks, it became harder to resent the body that had brought him into the world.

You were learning, slowly, to be kinder to yourself and thankfully, you weren't doing it alone. The friend group became a constant with weekly dinners, weekend lunches, movie nights, coffee hangs. Your apartment somehow became everyone's unofficial meeting place. Not that you minded, it was easier whilst you got Jacob ready for the day instead of stressing you would be late showing up everywhere. Your apartment was full of laughter again, full of life, and Joe? Well, Joe somehow became one of the biggest part of your routine whilst he was still home and not out travelling. Every few days there'd be a knock on the door, sometimes with coffee, sometimes with food, sometimes with absolutely no reason whatsoever. He'd simply show up and announce go take a shower, or go nap, to which you usually responded with a glare than did exactly what he suggested. Not because he told you to, but you trusted him enough to leave Jacob in his hands, and whenever you came back, Jacob was the happiest baby you had ever seen. Usually laughing and becoming increasingly obsessed with Joe.

It soon became a running joke. The second Joe walked through the door, Jacob's entire face lit up. "Why don't you do that with me! That's rude!" you told him one afternoon. Joe looked very pleased with himself as Jacob wouldn't take his eyes off him. Today was another one of those afternoons, sunlight covered the apartment while Jacob sat in his highchair looking extremely confused about life. A bowl of baby food sat on the tray with Joe sat beside him armed with a tiny spoon and too much confidence, "I feel pressured to do this right".

"You should. You're feeding him his first taste of real food".

Joe looked at Jacob, Jacob looked at Joe, then immediately tried to eat the spoon.

You burst out laughing, "Good start".

Joe was laughing too, "I think he's a natural".

For the next 10 minutes, the two of them somehow made weaning look like the world's messiest activity. Food ended up everywhere. Jacob's face, Jacob's bib, Joe's shirt, the tray, the floor, possibly the ceiling, you genuinely weren't sure, you were just the cameraman today.

Eventually you handed Joe a cloth, "You've got carrot on your face".

"What?"

"Your cheek" Joe wiped the wrong side, "The other one". He wiped his forehead and you laughed harder, "How do you function independently?".

"I don't"

"That really explains a lot"

Jacob squealed happily, clearly enjoying the chaos. The sight of them together made something warm settle in your chest because Joe never looked like he was helping out of obligation. He genuinely enjoyed being here, enjoyed being around Jacob, and Jacob absolutely adored him.

As if sensing your thoughts, you smiled, "You know...".

Joe glanced up, "What?"

"You're really good with him"

His expression softened as he looked down at Jacob who was now attempting to grab Joe's fingers.

"I like him. He's a cool little guy"

You watched them together for a moment, then casually asked, "So are you seeing anyone?".

The question seemed to surprise him, but he laughed, "No. Haven't for a while".

"Really?"

"Really"

You frowned slightly and he leaned back slightly, "I think life just got busy". His gaze drifted toward Jacob, "Touring, making music, acting, everything else" He shrugged, "Guess I never met the right person".

The answer felt strangely honest, very truthful, and you found yourself asking the next question before thinking too much about it, "What about kids?".

Joe's eyes immediately moved back to Jacob who was now happily banging a spoon against the tray. The smile that appeared was impossible to miss, "Yeah i'd love kids". The answer came without any hesitation.

Something about that made your chest tighten unexpectedly, "Yeah?".

"Absolutely" Joe laughed quietly, "I always have".

You looked at him, then at Jacob, then back at him, "You'd be a good dad".

Joe blinked, clearly caught off guard, but smiled, "Thanks".

You meant it. Every word. Because over the last few months you'd watched him show up over and over again without being asked and without expecting anything, and just because he cared. And before you could say anything else, a knock sounded at the apartment door. 3 sharp knocks. Both of you looked up, Jacob immediately stopped hitting his spoon and the apartment fell silent.

Joe frowned, "Expecting someone?"

"No"

The knock came again, but louder this time and suddenly your stomach suddenly twisted. The group always texted first, nobody just turned up unless it was Joe, not after everything that happened. A strange feeling settled heavily in your chest and Joe must've noticed because he was already standing before you were because concern replaced the easy smile he'd worn moments ago, "Let me get it".

You swallowed as another knock echoed through the apartment, and suddenly you weren't sure you wanted to know who was standing on the other side of that door.

The moment you heard the voice through the door, your blood ran cold, "Can I just talk to her?".

Every muscle in your body locked. No. No. No.

For months, nothing. Not a text, a phone call, a birthday card, not a single attempt to see his son, and now he was standing outside your apartment. Jacob squealed happily beside you, completely unaware of the sudden storm that had swept through the room.

Your eyes immediately found Joe's as he was already looking back at you from the doorway, the colour draining from your face. You slowly shook your head. You didn't want this. You didn't want to see him. You didn't want to hear excuses. You didn't want apologies. You had fought too hard to get back to where you were now.

Joe nodded immediately with no questions asked. He turned back toward the door, "You need to leave".

There was a pause, "What?"

"She doesn't want to talk to you"

Jack scoffed from the other side, "That's not your decision".

"No" Joe replied calmly, "It's hers and she's said no".

Your hands tightened around the edge of the highchair as Jacob continued banging his spoon happily. The contrast felt surreal.

Then Joe spoke again, "You need to leave".

"I just want to talk"

"No"

"I deserve-"

"No" For the first time, Joe's voice carried an edge you'd never heard before, in a protective kind of way.

You could hear Jack's frustration growing, "That's my son in there".

Something dark flashed across Joe's face. The kind of anger that came from months of watching someone you cared about suffer, "Your son?".

The apartment suddenly felt very quiet. Jack didn't respond and Joe laughed once, "Interesting". You'd never seen him angry before. "Because from what I've heard, you've had months to be his father".

Joe continued, "Months. You didn't call, you didn't visit, you didn't show up, and now you decide to turn up at her door?"

"Stay out of it"

"No" The response was immediate, "Not a chance".

You could hear Jack shifting outside growing more irritated, "This has nothing to do with you".

Joe glanced over his shoulder at you and Jacob. At the life that had been rebuilt inside these walls, then he looked back at the door, "It does when I watched her pick herself up after what you did to her. I've been here almost everyday and you've what?". The words hit you unexpectedly because he was right, Joe had watched you. He'd seen the exhaustion, the crying, the loneliness, the days you barely functioned. "I've watched her do every feed, every sleepless night, raise him by herself".

The apartment blurred slightly, tears forming at his words.

"And now she's finally happy. So no, you don't get to show up here and demand anything".

A long pause followed, then Jack finally spoke. "What if I want to see him?"

You stopped breathing and Joe's expression didn't change. "Then you should've thought about that 6 months ago, have fun in court trying"

Jack swore. Loudly. Your entire body tensed and immediately Joe stepped slightly in front of the doorway as some form of barrier between your apartment and the chaos unfolding outside.

"You can't stop me" Jack raised his voice.

"No" Joe nodded, "But she can"

Then Jack tried one last time, "Tell her I just want 5 minutes".

Joe looked back at you, you shook your head again. You didn't owe him that. Not today, not ever. Not after everything.

"She said no"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously" The door shut. Hard. The lock sliding into place, and just like that it was over. A few muffled words echoed from the hallway before eventually fading into nothing. Joe stood there for a moment listening in to make sure he was actually gone, only when he was satisfied did he finally turn around.

Your eyes were already full of tears because truthfully, the entire thing had shaken you. Joe crossed the room immediately, "Hey".

You laughed shakily, "Of course today was going well". A watery laugh escaped you as Jacob chose that exact moment to squeal and throw his spoon onto the floor. Both of you looked at him, he looked extremely pleased with himself. The ridiculousness of it broke the tension instantly. A laugh escaped Joe, then one escaped you and soon the three of you were laughing. Joe picked up the spoon and Jacob immediately threw it again.

"You know" Joe said, watching it hit the floor. "I think he might be a menace".

"Definitely a menace, and it's not from me"

Joe looked over at you as the concern hadn't completely left his eyes, "You okay?".

You thought about it honestly. A few months ago, Jack showing up would've destroyed you. Today? Today felt different because you weren't alone anymore. You looked around your apartment, at the toys, the photos, the life you'd built, Jacob, Joe still standing there making sure you were alright.

You smiled softly, "Yeah".

Joe's shoulders visibly relaxed, "Good".

That night, after Joe left, the apartment felt quiet again. Jacob was asleep in his crib after a surprisingly easy bedtime, and you sat curled up on the sofa with a blanket over your legs, staring at a movie you weren't really watching. Your mind kept drifting back to the front door, Jack, his voice, the audacity of him showing up. At first you'd thought it had upset you because you still loved him, but the longer you sat there, the more you realised that wasn't it at all. You weren't heartbroken or longing for him. You were angry. For years you'd spent so much energy being sad. Sad he cheated, sad he left, sad Jacob didn't have the father you'd imagined, sad that things hadn't worked out. But now? Now you were angry. Angry he'd missed every sleepless night, every bottle, every doctor's appointment, every milestone. Angry he'd walked away from his son and then somehow expected to be welcomed back. For the first time, you weren't grieving the relationship. You were seeing it clearly.

The friend group found out the next morning. You'd barely finished your coffee before your phone exploded. Joe had mentioned it in the group chat.

Joe Jack showed up at her apartment yesterday.

That was all it took. Your phone became unusable.

Amanda HE DID WHAT?

Adam Absolutely not

Sam Address please. I just wanna talk.

Wes Sam no

Sam Sam yes

Poppy Is she okay??

Becca I'M ON MY WAY

Becca Actually 10 minutes because I can't find my keys.

The concern only got more ridiculous from there. Amanda arrived two days later with enough food to feed a family of 6. Adam checked your front door lock. Wes bought Jacob a stuffed dinosaur for emotional support, the dinosaur was almost as big as Jacob. And somehow the most ridiculous thing of all was the creation of a new group chat.

The title? Jacob Appreciation Society. The sole purpose? Photos. Hundreds of them. Sleeping, eating, laughing, wearing funky hats, looking confused, holding a banana. The group was obsessed, particularly Joe, which led to a very specific problem.

A week later, you were in the kitchen, Jacob on your hip when you heard a familiar knock, then the door opening, "Ooo, who is it Jacob?".

Without a single word being exchanged, you turned, Joe was kicking off his shoes and immediately made a beeline for Jacob. The routine had become second nature. You didn't even think about it anymore. Meanwhile Jacob had spotted Joe, the reaction was immediate. His entire face lit up and a delighted squeal echoed through the apartment.

"Oh wow. Someone has their big boy voice on today" You heard Joe laugh. Another squeal, you smiled to yourself.

With coffee mugs in hand freshly made, you walked back into the living room. Joe was already sitting on the floor and Jacob was trying to climb directly into his lap.

You handed him his coffee. He took one sip before complimenting it like he does everytime. The warmth that settled in your chest felt far too familiar these days. Before you could think about it too much, your phone buzzed.

Becca On my way!

You Door's open. Joe's here.

10 minutes later, Becca walked inside without knocking. "Hello-" She stopped. The scene in front of her clearly wasn't helping. Joe was carrying Jacob around the apartment with one arm, coffee in the other hand talking absolute nonsense to him.

"And this is the kitchen". Jacob giggled. "A very important room. Mama makes your food in here". More giggling.

Becca slowly looked at you, then at Joe, then back at you, "...No".

"What?" You were straight out confused.

"You two"

You groaned and Joe looked confused, "What about us?".

Becca stared at him, at Jacob in his arms, then at you holding his coffee mug because he'd handed it off while adjusting Jacob, then at the fact he was currently wearing one of the spare burp cloths over his shoulder because Jacob had spit up on him earlier.

Her eyes widened, "It's all very...homey" she gestured with her hands, "You know you're basically co-parenting at this point, right?".

Silence. Complete silence. Joe dropped the burp cloth, "What?"

You looked horrified, "No!"

"You so are"

"We aren't"

Joe shook his head immediately, "I'm not co-parenting"

"You know where the diapers are. You know his bedtime routine. You know what bottles he likes"

Joe opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, "...that's still different".

The room fell silent. Becca looked between everyone in the room, then settled on Jacob who was currently sitting happily on Joe's hip like he'd lived there his entire life, "Oh, this is cute".

You buried your face in your hands, Joe looked equally horrified.

"We're friends"

"Best friends"

Becca laughed so hard she had to sit down. Neither of you were willing to admit it and the worst part? Nobody had a good explanation for why Jacob immediately started crying the second Joe handed him back, and why he instantly stopped when Joe picked him up again.

A few weeks after Becca's relentless teasing, life settled back into its usual rhythm. Jacob continued growing at an alarming rate. You continued pretending not to notice how much easier parenting felt when you had an entire army of people helping you and Joe continued showing up every few days like clockwork. Some mornings it was coffee, some afternoons it was lunch, some evenings he'd sit on your living room floor building towers out of soft blocks while Jacob destroyed them immediately. It was normal now which was probably why the news hit harder than you expected.

The whole group was at dinner when Joe mentioned it casually, "I've been offered something".

The table looked up.

"What kind of something?" Adam asked.

Joe shrugged, "A film project".

You smiled, "That's amazing".

"It is"

Something about the way he said it made you glance over. Joe wasn't smiling, at least not fully.

"What's wrong with it? Why don't you seem all in?" Becca asked.

Everyone immediately turned toward him, Joe rubbed the back of his neck, "It's long".

"How long?" Becca asked

"Few months. 4 to 5"

You just stared at him, "A few months?"

Joe nodded. Your smile stayed in place, mostly.

"That's incredible!" Amanda beamed.

"It is" He genuinely meant that.

"You deserve it" and you meant it when you said it. This was good news, a huge opportunity, something he'd worked incredibly hard for. So why did your chest suddenly feel weird?

The rest of the table quickly launched into questions. When? Where? What would he be doing?

You listened, smiled, joined the conversation, but a small part of you kept thinking the same thing. A few months of no visits, help with Jacob, no Joe. The realisation was uncomfortable and you didn't like how uncomfortable.

Later that night, after everyone had gone their seperate ways, you found yourself standing in the kitchen cleaning bottles. Joe came back to yours with you and Jacob, helped put him to sleep and was helping put things away after you in the kitchen. The two of you moving around each other with the ease that came from doing it a hundred times before.

"You're quiet tonight"

You glanced up, "So are you"

"Yeah..I guess you're not wrong"

You dried your hands, "So, when do you leave?"

Joe hesitated, "Couple of weeks"

The answer hit harder than it should have and you immediately hated that, "That's soon",

"Yeah..."

The apartment felt strangely heavy, silence broken by Jacob waking up and babbling through the monitor, you put the towel down, "I should go check on him", and Joe just nodded.

The moment passed, life moved on, but the thought remained. Days went by, Joe hadn't been round since the night of dinner, the mention of meetings and industry bits that need sorting before he left. You understood, it was his job at the end of the day, but then Jacob got sick.

Properly sick. Not just a cold or teething. Sick. It started with a fever, then came the crying non-stop, the clinginess, the refusal to eat, you spent the entire day worrying, the entire evening worrying and by 3am, after almost being up for 36 hours, you were exhausted. Jacob was burning up against your chest, enough to scare you and make every parental fear you've ever had come rushing to you at once. You'd already spoken to the doctor, you knew what to watch for and you knew he was likely okay but logic wasn't helping because this was your baby, and he was hurting.

Tears stung your eyes as you sat in the dark living room with Jacob whimpering softly against your shoulder. You felt completely helpless. Without even thinking, you grabbed your phone and called Joe. The second it started ringing you regretted it. It was 3am, what were you doing? He was probably asleep. You should hang up.

Then the call connected immediately, "Hey, what's up?" His voice sounded tired but instantly concerned at the same time.

"Sorry for calling"

"What happened?"

You looked down at Jacob, tears spilling again, "He's sick and I don't know what else to do so I just called"

"I'm coming over"

Your head snapped up, "What?"

"I'm coming over"

"Joe-"

"I'm already getting dressed"

"You don't have to"

"I'll be there soon" The call ended.

10 minutes later there was a knock at the door. You opened it to Joe standing there in a hoodie and baseball cap, clearly having left his apartment as quickly as humanly possible. The second he saw your face his expression softened, "Oh".

That was enough, the tears finally spilled over. You laughed through them immediately, "I'm sorry".

"Don't apologise"

"I woke you up"

"I don't care"

You stepped aside and Joe walked straight inside. His attention immediately shifting to Jacob, laying in his moses basket all red cheeked, sleepy and miserable. Joe's face fell, "Oh buddy...". The gentleness in his voice nearly made you cry harder. For the next hour, neither of you slept. Joe made coffee, you rocked Jacob, then Joe took over so you could sit down, you took him back and Joe sat beside you. There were no grand gestures, or solutions to anything, it was just the support and having someone there.

Around 5am Jacob finally fell asleep, dosed up on medicine, the worst of the night seemingly behind you. You sat on the sofa looking completly exhausted, "Thank you".

Joe looked over, "You don't have to thank me"

"You were here in like 10 minutes"

A small smile appeared, "Traffic was good"

You laughed, "I hope so for that time of day"

You looked down at Jacob, back to Joe sitting there awake still making sure both of you were okay. A thought crossed your mind that was a little harder to ignore than before that you never thought would be on your mind at all. It wasn't because you needed him, you knew now that you could do this by yourself, but because somewhere along the way, he had become one of your favourite parts of life, and looking at him at 5am, half asleep after dropping everything the second you called, you had the feeling that maybe this wasn't as one sided as you thought.

A few weeks after that night when Jacob got sick, something shifted. It wasn't all at once, you didn't wake up one morning suddenly head over heels in love, it happened so slowly that you barely noticed it. At first it was just gratitude, the fact he'd shown up at 3am without hesitation, then it was noticing how naturally he fit into your life. How he'd arrive and automatically pick Jacob up, how he'd remember doctor's appointments, how he knew which stuffed toy Jacob wanted when he was tired. And somewhere along the way, you stopped looking forward to Joe visiting because you needed help. You started looking forward to it because it was Joe. The apartment felt brighter when he was in it, you found yourself smiling when his name appeared on your phone and seeing him with Jacob made your heart do things you were trying very hard not to think about, which was why the leaving dinner was proving to be a challenge.

The restaurant was busy and warm when you arrived. You'd actually made an effort which was something you hadn't done for a long time. Not because of Joe, definitely not because of Joe. You'd spent 10 minutes arguing with yourself in the mirror about that fact. The result was a dress you hadn't worn in over a year and your hair down instead of permanently tied back. You felt good, confident, even with your mom belly and chest. Jacob looked infinitely cooler than everyone else in the room, the checkerboard dungarees Joe had bought him fit perfectly combined with the tiny Vans on his feet, he looked like the world's coolest kid.

The second you arrived, Joe spotted him. He immediately crouched down beside the pram and Jacob's entire face lit up. The reaction made everyone laugh, "He doesn't even greet us like that" Wes complained.

"Because you're not me" Joe replied. The confidence was insufferable but unfortunately, he was right.

Dinner was genuinely going wonderful. Great food, stories, laughter, the entire table seemed determined to make the most of the evening. Luckily Jacob somehow managed to sleep through most of it with his pram tucked beside the table while conversations flowed around him. Occasionally he'd stir but Joe would immediately check on him and then he'd settle again.

At some point during dessert, Becca raised her glass, looking directly at Joe, "We're all incredibly proud of you as you know because we tell you everytime we see you. You're going to do great and we can't wait for you to come back home already".

Joe smiled at her words, slightly embarrassed which only encouraged her further, "We're also annoyed you're leaving, because that means you're going to miss little man's first birthday...".

The smile and embarassment vanished instantly and the entire table went quiet. Joe blinked, then looked toward the pram at Jacob who was peacefully asleep, then towards you. The realisation hit him visibly. Your chest tightened at his reaction, because somehow it genuinely hadn't occurred to him that he wouldn't be here. Not because he didn't care, but because he had become to used to being there and watching him grow, the thought of missing something important hadn't crossed his mind.

"Oh no" Sam laughed, "Look at his face".

Joe ignored him, still staring between you and Jacob. "You'll be gone?" you asked quietly.

Joe looked genuinely upset, "I...I think so". The answer seemed to bother him more than anyone else, but a moment later he shook his head, "No" He sat forward, "I'll be there".

Becca laughed, "You're going to teleport home mid shoot?"

"I'll figure it out" The determination in his voice surprised everyone, including you. "I'll make sure I'm there. I don't care what I have to do, count me in".

Something in your chest melted completely, because he meant it, every word. There wasn't a single trace of obligation in his voice, just certainty. You smiled softly at him, "Jacob would love that".

Joe returned the smile, "He better"

"He definitely will"

The conversation eventually moved on, but your heart never quite settled afterward.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter, the kind you'd come to love but eventually the restaurant staff began clearing tables bringing the night to a close. One by one people stood with hugs, promises to text and promises not to disappear. Joe accepted every goodbye with a smile, trying very hard not to make it emotional and failing slightly. When your turn came, you were standing beside Jacob's pram. Everyone else was slowly making their way toward the door and for a second it was just you and him. Joe glanced down at Jacob who was still asleep, then back at you. A smile tugged at his mouth, "I'll come round tomorrow".

Your heart skipped, "Yeah, okay"

He nodded, "I want to see him awake before I leave"

You smiled, "He'll be happy about that"

Joe laughed quietly, "Good". There was a pause after, one that felt strangely difficult. Tomorrow, then he'd be gone. You knew it wasn't forever, but it was a while. Joe must have sensed it too because his smile softened, "I'll see you tomorrow".

You nodded, trying very hard not to let your emotions show, "See you tomorrow". Joe reached down, gently squeezed your shoulder and followed everyone else out of the restaurant. Leaving you standing beside a sleeping Jacob watching him disappear through the doors and for the first time since you'd known he was leaving, the reality of it truly hit. Tomorrow would be the last time you'd see him for months and that thought hurt far more than you wanted to admit.

The walk home felt much quieter than the evening itself. Jacob slept the entire way curled up beneath a blanket in his pram while the city lights reflected off the sidewalks. You should have been happy, the dinner had been wonderful, everyone had laughed, Joe was excited about the opportunity and everything was good. So why did your chest feel so heavy? You already knew the answer, you just weren't ready to say it out loud.

The next morning arrived far too quickly. Jacob, unfortunately, had no respect for emotion and woke up bright and early. By 10am you'd already been up for hours. He'd eaten his breakfast pancakes, had playtime, had a bottle, had half a banana that somehow ended everywhere except his mouth, it was a normal life. It was when the door knocked which made everything feel less normal, your stomach flipping. Jacob squealed because apparently he had recognised the knock too. "To say you're my child, you are one heck of a traitor Jacob", followed by another squeal. You opened the door to see Joe stood there holding a paper bag and coffees, "Morning" He held up the bag, "Coffee and pastries".

You smiled, "Come in".

Jacob's reaction was immediate. The second Joe stepped inside, tiny arms wiggled upwards demanding attention. Joe laughed, "Well good morning to you too!". Within seconds he had Jacob balanced comfortably on his hip like he always did.

The morning passed far too quickly and you found yourself trying to memorise it all. The sound of Joe laughing, the way Jacob kept stealing his baseball cap, the sight of them sitting on the floor together surrounded by toys. The ordinary little moments that had somehow become important.

Around lunchtime, Jacob finally started rubbing his eyes. "Is it time for somebody's nap?" You stared down at him from the floor.

Joe nodded, "I think so"

Together you got Jacob settled down after a cuddle and a short walk round the apartment, and within minutes he was asleep. Joe carefully lowered him into the crib, he soon rolled over and stayed asleep. The two of you practically tiptoed out and immediately celebrated in the kitchen.

"Professional parenting if I say so myself" Joe chuckled.

"We deserve medals"

"And the rest"

The words slipped out so naturally that neither of you noticed them at first, until you both did followed by a brief moment of silence and then laughter. The tension disappearing.

A couple of hours later the apartment looked exactly how it always did when Jacob napped. Peaceful and comfortable. You and Joe sat on the sofa, coffee mugs in hand, finally eating the pastries he had bought with him. You'd sat in this place together countless times before but today felt different, there was some form of countdown attached to it.

Eventually Joe glanced at the clock and your stomach sank immediately, "Already?"

Joe followed your gaze, "Yeah I'm afraid so"

You hated how disappointed you sounded.

His expression softened slightly, "Hey, it's not forever".

"I know"

"You sound unconvinced"

Because you were. Joe had become part of your life in a way you hadn't expected. Part of Jacob's life too, and the thought of months without him felt strange. The apartment would be quieter, lonelier, you had gotten used to him being there, maybe too used to it.

Joe seemed to be having a similar thought, his eyes drifting towards the hallway where Jacob was sleeping, "I'll miss him".

You smiled softly , "He'll miss you too"

Joe laughed, "You think so?"

"He literally waits by the door some mornings for you I swear. If not he plays with that giraffe teddy you bought him. Told you he's your number one fan"

Joe looked absurdly pleased by that, followed by guilt and sadness all in the space of 5 seconds. You watched the whole thing happen, and it somehow it made you love him even more. Damn it.

Eventually, there was no avoiding it. Joe stood and grabbed his jacket. The familiar sight suddenly felt awful. You walked him to the door, the two of you standing there, neither wanting to make the goodbye bigger than it needed to be.

"You'll call?" Joe asked.

"You mean when Jacob wants to show you every spoon he finds?"

"Exactly that"

You laughed, "Then yes"

"Good"

"I'll send photos"

"You'd better"

"Thousands"

"I expect nothing less"

Joe smiled, the one that always made your heart behave strangely, "Take care of yourself".

You swallowed, "Yeah, you too"

His eyes lingered for a moment like there was something else he wanted to say. Something both of you weren't ready for. He stepped forward, pulling you into a hug, this time lasting a little longer than usual. Long enough for you to realise exactly how much you were going to miss him and long enough for Joe to realise he wasn't particularly eager to let go either.

When you finally pulled apart, neither of you acknowledged it because acknowledging it would mean asking questions neither of you were ready to answer.

Joe smiled again, then stepped into the hallway, "See you soon". You nodded, "See you soon". And this time, as you watched him disappear around the corner, you knew something with absolute certainty. You weren't just going to miss your best friend, you were going to miss the person who had quietly become one of the most important people in your life. As terrifying as the realisation was, it wasn't something you wanted to run from.

The first few weeks without Joe were strange. You still had everyone else surrounding you for support and help where needed, but there was a noticable gap where Joe usually sat. You hated how much you noticed it.

Thankfully, the friend group seemed determined not to let you spiral. Becca appeared every other day like clockwork after work, most Saturdays became group days out for lunches, bbq's, days at Becca's, the kind of things that filled your calendar and kept loneliness from settling in. And Jacob certainly wasn't letting you sit around feeling sorry for yourself because at 9 months old he'd discovered movement and apparently decided to make up for lost time. The child was everywhere. Everywhere. One minute he'd be on the playmat, the next he'd somehow be halfway across the apartment attempting to pull himself upright using furniture he definitely shouldn't be climbing.

You spent most of your day saying

"Jacob" "No" "Jacob" "Get down" "Don't do that Jacob"

One of the evenings you found yourself sitting on the floor surrounded by pieces of baby gate that you were trying to construct together to try contain him into one room. Screws sat on your lap, a screwdriver between your teeth, and a very determined baby attempting to eat the instruction booklet, "Absolutely not Jacob, don't do that".

Jacob giggled, then crawled away at remarkable speed back towards your phone which sat propped against the coffee table with Joe's face filling the screen watching the entire disaster unfold.

"This is entertaining"

"It isn't"

"It is from here" Joe laughed, "You've put that piece on backwards".

You looked down, "...oh"

"How did you even manage that?"

"I don't know. I don't even know how you figured that out from there"

Jacob immediately pulled himself up using your shoulder and Joe's face softened instantly, "I can't believe how well he can move now, he'll be running after us soon" Jacob recognised his voice immediately, a huge smile spreading across his face. The reaction happened every single time no matter how many video calls they had. It never got old.

After another 20 minutes of struggling, swearing quietly under your breath, and rereading instructions you'd already read four times, one of the gates finally clicked into place, "Thank fuck".

Joe applauded dramatically, and Jacob smacked the gate. Testing its ability then looked furious that he couldn't get through. But eventually bedtime arrived and thankfully, Jacob was exhausted enough to go down without much protest. By the time you'd finished cleaning bottles and  picking toys up off the floor, it was almost 9pm.

You settled onto the sofa with your phone, Joe was still there leaning against a headboard somewhere in London looking noticeably tired.

You checked the time, "Joe"

"What?"

"It's like 2am for you"

"So?"

"Go to sleep"

He laughed, "No"

"Seriously"

"I'm fine"

"You have work"

Yet still, neither of you hung up. The conversation drifted naturally like the way it always did. Joe talked about filming, the long days, the strange locations, the endless waiting around between scenes. You told him about Jacob trying to climb literally everything, the fact he'd recently discovered how funny it was to throw food, group hangouts, just normal things.

Then eventually Joe asked, "So, has the birthday planning started?"

Your face immediately brightened, "Oh my GOD I'm in my element. The theme is amazing I can't wait".

"The theme is ridiculous" Joe laughed, "My first rodeo?"

You nodded proudly, "My first rodeo"

He shook his head, "I can't believe this is happening"

"Neither can I". The realisation hit every time you thought about it. One year. Your tiny newborn was almost one. "Becca offered her place".

Joe nodded, "You doing it in the garden?"

"Yeah, hopefully we get lucky with the weather"

"That'll be perfect"

It really was. Her place had space, grass, room for decorations, guests, movement, you could already picture it. Tiny cowboy hats, good food, music, Jacob crawling around trying to steal everyone's attention.

Then your thoughts drifted elsewhere, towards the future, the thing you'd been trying not to think about. "I'd really love somewhere with a garden one day".

Joe looked up, "What, a house?"

"Just somewhere with outdoor space" You glanced around your apartment, "I want him to have room and be able to play outside, build forts, kick a ball, get muddy" Joe listened quietly, "I just can't do it yet".

His expression softened.

You continued, "I've got to go back to work at the end of the year when my work's maternity benefit ends and I couldn't think of anything worse right now". The reality felt heavier every time you said it aloud.

"And childcare?"

You laughed a tired laugh, "Don't even". Because childcare costs were terrifying. Rent existed still, life was getting more expensive and suddenly every decision regarding anything revolved around another little person. For a moment you stared down at your hands trying not to feel overwhelmed.

Then Joe spoke, "You'll figure it out"

You smiled weakly, "Hopefully. Single parent life isn't for the weak"

"No it's not, which is why you'll figure it out" His voice was calm and certain in a way that you'll never forget. Joe was watching you with that same expression he'd worn so many times over the last year, the one that always seemed to say he believed in you more than you believed in yourself.

Eventually you glanced at the clock again after what felt like spacing out for hours, "You need to go to bed"

He groaned dramatically, "I don't want to go to sleep".

You laughed, "You're 34. You sound like a 9 year old. Go to bed".

Joe smile, but he didn't look annoyed. If anything, he looked reluctant like he genuinely didn't want the conversation to end, "Fine".

"Thank you"

"It was nice talking to you"

The simple statement made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

You smiled. For a moment neither of you said goodbye, neither seeming particularly eager to hang up. Even in different countries, with different time zones and thousands of miles apart, it still felt exactly like sitting together on your sofa after Jacob had gone to sleep.

Eventually Joe smiled, "Give him a hug from me".

"I will"

"And tell him I miss him loads"

You laughed, "He misses you too".

The grin that appeared on Joe's face was impossible to miss, then finally the call ended. The screen went dark and the apartment became quiet again. But as you sat there on the sofa, smiling to yourself like an idiot, one thing had become impossible to ignore. You weren't just counting down to Jacob's birthday anymore, you were counting down until Joe came home.

Three months passed faster than you thought was possible somehow. One minute Joe had been leaving for London, and the next, summer had arrived in full force with Jacob was almost 1. You still couldn't wrap your head around it. Every time somebody said it out loud you felt slightly emotional because it felt impossible because months ago you had been sitting in a dark apartment, exhausted, heartbroken, terrified and completely convinced you were failing. Now? Now Jacob was healthy, happy, crawling at alarming speeds, pulling himself up on furniture every chance he got and surrounded by people who loved him. A lot could change in a year.

The week before the party arrived, suddenly everything became real. The catering had been ordered, cake had been ordered, decorations had arrived, the tiny cowboy outfit hanging in Jacob's wardrobe nearly made you cry every time you saw it.

Most evenings were spent at Becca's house finalising plans with her garden becoming party headquarters. One afternoon you sat outside at her patio table surrounded by boxes of balloons, banners and party bags. Becca looked around, then looked at you, "I think we've lost our minds".

You laughed, "A little".

"A little?" She picked up a packet containing thirty miniature cowboy hats, "There's 30 hats here".

"They're cute" You couldn't stop smiling. The excitement kept bubbling up inside you, followed immediately by panic which followed immediately by excitement again.

"You okay?" Becca asked.

You glanced up, "Yeah".

The lie was terrible. She immediately narrowed her eyes, "You thinking about Joe?".

You groaned because she wasn't wrong. Not entirely. The closer the party got, the more you found yourself checking your phone and replaying that conversation from months ago where he said he'd be here, he'd sounded so certain. Yet since then? No updates or confirmation on anything.

Every time you spoke, the subject somehow never came up and you refused to ask because you didn't want to sound disappointed if he couldn't make it. Becca immediately picked up on all of that, "You know you could just ask him"

"No"

"Why?"

"Because...I just can't"

"He's literally paid for 80% of this party probably, and none of us had a choice in it. He wouldn't not come and see it"

You just nodded, I guess she was right.

The truth was that things had only gotten harder over the last couple months. Your feelings hadn't disappeared, if anything they'd grown. Every FaceTime, photo, late night conversation, video of Jacob taking his first steps whilst holding onto something, every moment Joe wanted to be included in. It all added up, until one day you found yourself staring at your phone after hanging up and realising you were completely, hopelessly in love with your best friend which was deeply inconvenient. Especially because you had no intention of doing anything about it. You'd worked too hard rebuilding your life to risk losing one of the most important people in it. So instead you did what any reasonable person would do, you ignored the problem to the very best of your ability.

Three nights before the party, you sat on your apartment floor surrounded by wrapping paper with Jacob crawling directly through the middle of it all whilst simultaneously trying to sort out extra party supplies whilst stopping him from chewing on cardboard. It was a loosing battle.

Your phone buzzed on the table, Joe. You smiled before you could stop yourself. The FaceTime connected, his face appeared looking tired, hair slicked back which you assume is from filming.

"Hey"

"Hey"

Jacob instantly abandoned everything, the second he heard Joe's voice he spun around and climbed onto your lap.

Joe laughed, "There's my favourite man, hi buddy".

The next 10 minutes consisted entirely of Joe talking to Jacob as usual, you barely got a word in but eventually got distracted by a balloon bobbing at the other side of the room and crawled away.

Joe finally looked back at you, "How's party planning?"

You groaned dramatically, "Please don't. I have cowboy themed stress. Do you know how many times i've said howdy at somebody and not hello this week?"

Joe laughed, "Sounds serious"

"It is serious" You held up a tiny bandana, "I own 20 of these".

Joe completely lost it, his laughter echoed through your apartment. And for a moment, everything felt normal again like he wasn't thousands of miles away and he'd still be showing up with coffee tomorrow morning.

Joe glanced away from the camera, then back like he was thinking about something. Your heart and mind racing at lightning speed, "How's the birthday girl doing?".

You blinked, "Birthday girl?"

"You"

You laughed, "It's Jacob's birthday, not mine. Are you that much of a friend?"

"It's your anniversary too" Joe smiled softly, "One year".

Your chest tightened because he was right. A year of being a mom, year of surviving, year of becoming somebody entirely different. Then Joe quietly added, "You've done a pretty incredible job".

The praise hit harder than it should have because it came from him. He'd seen it all. The ugly parts, difficult parts, the moments nobody else saw.

"Thanks..." you wasn't sure what else to say. "You've been there for most of it too, you deserve to celebrate also".

Joe smiled, there was something in his expression you couldn't quite place. Something fond, something that made looking at him difficult till Jacob returned and smacked the phone screen with his hand. The moment vanished with both of you laughing, and neither of you mentioning it again. But after the call ended, sitting alone in your apartment while Jacob crawled around your feet, one thought kept repeating itself.

Three days. Three days until Jacob's birthday. And you still had absolutely no idea whether Joe was coming home.

The thing that surprised you most wasn't that Jack hadn't shown up again. It was how little you cared. A year ago, that realisation would've broken your heart. Now? It barely registered.

After the day he'd shown up at your apartment and Joe had practically escorted him out of your life, Jack disappeared again. No calls, no texts, not even anyone in his family contacted you, but the silence was familiar now. Disappointing for Jacob but not surprising. You'd stopped expecting anything from him months ago. Maybe that was why, when Jacob's birthday invitations went out, you decided to send one anyway. Not because you wanted him there or you thought he'd come but because one day, if Jacob ever asked, you wanted to know you'd tried. That nobody could say you kept his father away.

So one evening, after staring at your phone for 10 minutes, you sent a simple message.

Jacob's first birthday party is next Saturday. You're welcome to come if you'd like.

That was it. No emotion or expectations. Just an invitation. A few hours later, your phone buzzed followed by a disbelieving laugh from yourself.

Can't make it. Have plans with Laura.

That was the entire message. No apology. No asking about Jacob. No asking what time the party was. Nothing.

Of course that was the response. You didn't even know who Laura was. Girlfriend? The woman he'd cheated with? Someone else entirely? You honestly couldn't bring yourself to care enough to figure it out. The ridiculousness outweighed any hurt. After a full year of missing absolutely everything, he was choosing not to attend his son's first birthday because he had plans. Amazing.

You sat there for another minute, took a screenshot, opened the group chat and sent it. No context. Just the screenshot.

Amanda ARE YOU KIDDING ME

Sam WHAT?????

Wes No way.

Adam That's actually unbelievable

Poppy oh i cba

Becca I need everyone to remain calm

Thirty seconds later

Becca I AM NOT CALM

You snorted so loudly that Jacob looked up from the floor.

Amanda Laura?

Sam Who the hell is Laura?

Wes Not the point, Sam.

Sam It's a little bit the point.

Adam And his excuse is plans?

The messages continued pouring in. Everyone somehow becoming more offended than you were which honestly felt a little validating because for a second you'd wondered if maybe you were overreacting.

Your phone buzzed again. A private message from Joe.

Joe You okay?

You looked across the room. Jacob was sitting surrounded by toys attempting to put a block in his mouth. Completely oblivious, happy, safe, loved.

You I think I'm more annoyed than upset

Joe That's probably healthy

A smile tugged at your lips because it was. Before you'd have cried, wondered what was wrong with you, why you weren't enough, why your little family wasn't enough. Now? Now you were mostly just embarrassed for him because who misses their son's first birthday? Who gets invited despite everything and still chooses not to show up? That wasn't your failure. It was his.

Joe For what it's worth. Jacob won't remember who didn't show up. He'll look at photos of who did.

You stared at the words. Because when you pictured Jacob's birthday, you didn't picture Jack. Not even a little. You pictured Becca hanging decorations, Amanda fussing over the cake, Sam and Adam arguing over something ridiculous, Poppy taking a hundred photos, Wes carrying boxes and hopefully Joe walking through the gate.

You You're getting emotional in your old age

Joe Don't tell anyone

Whatever happened, Jacob's first birthday was going to be full of people who genuinely loved him. That was what mattered.

The morning of the party was chaos. The good kind. The kind you'd secretly hoped for when you started planning all of this months ago. Becca's garden had been transformed overnight. Balloons swayed gently in the warm summer breeze, cowboy themed decorations hung from fences, some hay bales had somehow appeared from somewhere, Sam claimed he'd found them but nobody was quite sure about that one. And somehow, despite weeks of worrying, the weather was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold. Just sunshine. You couldn't have ordered a better day if you'd tried. Most importantly, Jacob was having the time of his life. His tiny cowboy outfit had become the star attraction. A little denim shirt, tiny cowboy boots, his bandana, a hat he'd only kept on for 5 minutes before throwing it across the garden.

Everyone adored him. He spent the entire afternoon crawling from person to person accepting snacks, demanding attention and attempting to walk wherever he could grab on to something or someone. You couldn't stop smiling. Everywhere you looked there were people you loved. Friends and their partners, family, children, people talking, laughing, taking photos, celebrating, it felt surreal.

You found yourself standing near the drinks table for a moment just taking everything in and trying to remember it because days like this didn't happen often. Jacob would only have a first birthday once. The only thing missing was Joe. You checked your phone again and again but nothing. Your stomach twisted slightly at the thought but then you immediately scolded yourself. He definitely would have tried, and you knew he'd tried. It's work. You weren't angry, just disappointed, mostly for Jacob because Joe had wanted to be here with him so badly. Every now and then your eyes drifted toward the garden gate trying not to hope but failing.

"Smile"

You looked up, Amanda was holding her phone.

"What?"

"You're doing the thing"

"What thing?"

"The staring dramatically into the distance thing where you're thinking too hard" You rolled your eyes. "He's probably coming".

"He probably isn't" you turned back toward the party, trying to focus on what was actually in front of you. Jacob. Today was about Jacob.

A little while later everyone gathered near the tables. Food was being passed around, music drifted through the garden, Jacob was on the grass crawling around between everyone's feet living his best life. You were talking to Becca about cake timing when it happened. At first you didn't notice, just a sudden burst of noise behind you followed by a scream. Not a crying scream, an excited scream. The kind Jacob only made when something genuinely thrilled him. The entire garden seemed to turn, you looked over your shoulder and standing there was Joe. A huge backpack slung over one shoulder and holding a gift bag so absurdly large it looked bigger than the birthday boy himself sitting beside the gate. He looked exhausted, like he'd travelled forever but he was smiling, crouching down onto one knee waiting for Jacob.

The little boy was practically shrieking. Hands slapping excitedly against the grass, trying desperately to get moving faster.

"Joe!" Wes yelled.

The entire party erupted, but Joe wasn't looking at anyone else. Just Jacob, "Hey buddy!"

Your heart immediately melted. Jacob was moving as fast as humanly possible, which wasn't particularly fast but it was the effort that counted. Joe laughed as he held his arms open, "C'mon".

Everyone watched because the determination on Jacob's face was incredible. Half crawl, half wobble. Then finally, he reached Joe. The second he did, Joe scooped him up and Jacob immediately buried his face into his shoulder.

The entire garden collectively made the same noise, "Awwww".

Becca was already crying and Amanda wasn't far behind. Joe stood up with Jacob balanced comfortably on his hip looking exactly like where he belonged like he'd never been gone at all. Only then did he finally look up and find you. For a moment everything else disappeared. Joe smiled, and suddenly you couldn't breathe properly. Because he came, he actually came. For Jacob, for this, for you, and judging by the way everyone was looking between the two of you, you weren't doing a particularly good job of hiding how much that meant.

"Oh my god" You heard Becca mutter beside you but you didn't look away from Joe. Around the garden, several members of the friend group were trying, and failing, not to smile. Apparently everyone could see it, everyone except the two people involved. Meanwhile Joe remained completely oblivious, too busy listening to Jacob babble excitedly in his ear. As if trying to tell him every single thing that had happened over the last few months.

Joe nodded seriously, "Really?", Jacob babbled louder, "No way!", more babbling, "That's crazy".

The entire conversation was nonsense yet somehow they both seemed completely invested. Watching them together, standing in the middle of a garden full of people you loved, on a beautiful summer afternoon celebrating your son's first birthday, you couldn't remember the last time you'd felt this happy, grateful or lucky.

By the time the cake smash was over, Jacob was covered head to toe in frosting. Literally everywhere. At one point you'd found icing inside his ear and decided it was best not to ask questions. The second he'd been placed in front of the cake he looked confused, which turned to curiousity, then completely committed to destruction. Everyone had descended on him with phones immediately. The poor kid couldn't move without 6 different cameras documenting it.

"Look this way!" "Jacob!" "Buddy!" "Smile!"

He ignored everyone, instead choosing to repeatedly slap the cake with both hands which somehow made for even better photos. You couldn't stop laughing, especially when Joe ended up with frosting on his shirt after trying to stop Jacob from launching a handful across the garden.

"You did that to yourself" you said across from him.

"I was helping"

"You were encouraging him"

Joe looked down at Jacob and Jacob looked back. The two of them sharing a suspiciously similar expression, "Okay maybe a little".

The photos continued all afternoon. Family photos, friend photos, group photos, photos of Jacob, photos with Jacob. At one point Amanda physically dragged you and Joe together because apparently there weren't enough photos. You hadn't missed the look Becca gave her nor the look Amanda gave back. Neither of them were subtle. Joe remained blissfully unaware, or pretended to be. You honestly couldn't tell anymore.

The funniest part was Jacob, because after Joe arrived, he basically refused to acknowledge anybody else. The child had made his decision that Joe was his person for the day. Every time somebody picked him up, he'd immediately start looking around for Joe. If Joe disappeared for more than 5 minutes, Jacob would crawl after him. When Adam attempted to hold him? Immediate protest. When Wes tried? Same result. Even Becca only got about 3 minutes before Jacob was craning his neck looking elsewhere.

"Okay" Becca handed him back eventually, "I'm slightly offended".

The second Joe took him, Jacob relaxed, settling comfortably against his chest. Joe looked unbearably pleased and Jacob chose that exact moment to pat Joe's cheek affectionately.

As the sun slowly began dipping lower in the sky, guests started leaving. Family members hugged you goodbye, friends headed home, children were rounded up, leftover food was packed away. The noise gradually faded until eventually only your core group remained. You stood looking around Becca's garden now slightly messier and feeling unexpectedly emotional. One year. One whole year.

Jacob had finally crashed as they cleaned, completely exhausted and fast asleep against Joe's shoulder with his tiny cowboy boots still on and his hat still missing somewhere in the garden.

Joe gently adjusted him while everyone started clearing tables, and he glanced toward you, "I drove so we can put everything in there" nodding towards the mountain of party supplies.

You laughed, "There is so much stuff, you sure?"

"Yeah" A smile, "It'll save you carrying all of this and him home".

You smiled, "Thank you".

Eventually Becca clapped her hands together, "Right". Everyone looked over, "You three are leaving".

"What?" You questioned.

"No" Joe was just as confused.

You gestured around, "There's still stuff".

"There isn't"

"There is"

"There isn't"

You narrowed your eyes and Becca narrowed hers right back, then she pointed toward the gate, "Go home".

"Becca-"

"Nope" She pointed again, "You've been up since god knows what time and hosted a party all day"

"That's true"

"Your child is unconscious"

You glanced at Jacob who was still asleep on Joe.

Becca folded her arms, "I've got this". The rest of the group immediately nodded.

"We've got it" Adam corrected.

You looked around at all of them, your chest tightened because a year ago you felt completely alone. And now? You had this. These people, this family you'd somehow built. Then Joe gently grabbed your shoulder, "Come on".

You looked up, his smile was soft, "You need to leave before this turns into a whole thing".

"Go" "Leave" "Goodbye" "Love you"

You laughed despite yourself and Joe guided you towards the gate with Jacob sleeping peacefully against his chest and your friends waving dramatically behind you. Becca shooting the most obvious wink in human history. You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly hurt yet somehow, being beside Joe in the warm evening air while your son slept safely in his arms, your heart felt incredibly full.

The party was over. Jacob's first birthday had been perfect. And as you glanced over at Joe carrying him towards the car like it was the most natural thing in the world, you couldn't help thinking that this might end up being one of your favourite memories ever.

The second you walked through the apartment door, the exhaustion of the day finally started catching up with you. Not bad exhaustion, the kind that came after a genuinely happy day. Joe carried Jacob inside while you stayed outside for another trip to the car, then another, then one more because apparently your son had received enough presents to supply an entire daycare. By the time you finally nudged the apartment door shut with your foot, arms full of gift bags and decorations, you could already hear giggling coming from the living room.

You dumped everything on the kitchen counter, Tomorrow's problem then kicked off your shoes and followed the sound. Joe was sitting on the sofa with Jacob standing between his knees, wobbling dramatically while holding onto his hands. Both of them deep in conversation, or at least Jacob seemed convinced they were.

"Bababa mmm"

"No way"

"Lalalalala!"

"Seriously?"

A huge laugh, another babble.

Joe nodded thoughtfully, "I agree".

Jacob squealed.

You leaned against the doorway watching them. Your heart doing that annoying thing it did whenever the two of them were together.

Joe eventually looked up, "Hi".

You smiled, "What's the discussion?"

Joe glanced at Jacob, "Apparently today was a success"

"Wawawawa"

"Exactly, see"

The bedtime routine started shortly after. Jacob was still running entirely on excitement and birthday cake which meant he was somehow exhausted and hyperactive at the same time.

Joe stood up, "I'll help".

"You don't have to"

"I know I don't, but i'd like too" The familiar answer made you smile.

He helped get Jacob changed, helped find the missing pajama top he chucked and nobody could locate which somehow ended up beneath the sofa then followed you both into the nursery. Joe handed Jacob over, you settled into the rocking chair with his bottle already made. Jacob immediately snuggled into your chest, his eyelids heavy and his hand holding onto your shirt. Joe leaned quietly against the doorway watching, not wanting to disrupt. The bottle disappeared surprisingly quickly followed by a few sleepy blinks, a small burp, a yawn and within moments Jacob was asleep. Completely gone.

You couldn't help laughing, "That was easy".

Joe grinned, "He's exhausted".

"He's not the only one"

Together, you carefully lowered him into his crib. Jacob didn't even stir, the birthday excitement had finally catching up to him. You switched on the night light then quietly pulled the door closed behind you.

Back in the living room, you immediately collapsed onto the sofa. Joe laughed, "Comfortable?".

"Maybe"

"You look comfortable"

"I may never move again"

"You unfortunately have too"

A dramatic groan escaped you and Joe shook his head, "Coffee?"

You looked up immediately, "Please".

"Thought so" A few minutes later he returned carrying two mugs. The familiar smell filling the apartment. The baby monitor sat between you both on the coffee table with Jacob sleeping peacefully on the screen. The apartment was quiet. Quiet for the first time all day. No music, no guests, no chaos. It was nice. Joe handed you your mug, you wrapped both hands around it enjoying the warmth. For a few moments neither of you spoke, then before he could say anything, the words slipped out. "Thank you, like really thank you". His expression immediately shifted. You glanced toward the monitor, then back at him, "Thank you for coming. Thank you for all that you did for the party, for me, for him".

Joe opened his mouth but you continued, "I'm serious" Your throat tightened unexpectedly, "He spent the entire day looking for you".

Joe's eyes immediately flickered toward the monitor too. You laughed softly, "And then when you showed, he nearly launched himself across the garden".

Joe smiled, a small one. The kind that never quite reached full strength because he was trying to hide how much something meant to him.

"You didn't have to come all this way"

"I wanted to"

You looked down at your coffee trying to find the right words, "He adores you". The smile disappeared slightly, "He's the luckiest little boy in the world".

Joe immediately shook his head, "No"

"He is when he has people like you in his life"

"No" Your eyes met his, "That's all you. His dad doesn't show up" You shrugged slightly, "His dad doesn't call, but you do" You smiled sadly, "Every day".

Joe swallowed, looking down into his coffee.

You weren't trying to make him emotional, you were simply telling the truth. Something you weren't sure you'd ever said out loud before, "You've been there for everything and I'm glad if it's not his own dad, he has a male figure like you in his life".

Joe's jaw tightened slightly, the praise clearly making him uncomfortable. Not because he didn't like hearing it because he genuinely didn't think he deserved it. You reached across resting your hand lightly on his arm, "Thank you for loving him like he was your own".

Joe froze, your own words making your eyes immediately filled because you meant every word. He stared between the floor and the baby monitor for a while, his eyes looking glassy which immediately made yours worse. Then he smiled, "How could I not?".

Your heart absolutely shattered, in the best possible way, because there wasn't a single ounce of hesitation in his voice. And as the image of Jacob sleeping peacefully flickered softly on the monitor between you, something settled inside your chest. Something that felt like certainty. Nothing about romance, not even about the future, just the fact whatever happened next, Jacob would always know what it felt like to be loved. And sitting beside you on the sofa, coffee in hand after one very perfect birthday, was one of the biggest reasons why.

Suddenly, the emotions of the entire day and this conversation seemed to hit you all at once, tears slipping from you.

"Oh god no, no tears today" Joe laughed weakly.

"I'm sorry"

"No more crying"

"I can't help it"

Then before you could think better of it, you set your coffee mug down on the table. Joe barely had time to react before you leaned across the sofa and wrapped your arms around him. Immediately he hugged you back as you told him "Thank you" again. It was the kind of hug you'd shared countless times before but this one held on a little longer, neither of you in a hurry to let go. You buried your face against his shoulder, "Thank you".

Joe's arms tightened slightly, "You don't have to keep thanking me".

"I do, I will for a long time"

His chin rested briefly against your hair, "You don't owe me anything".

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him, "I appreciate you so much".

Joe's expression softened and for a second neither of you moved, neither of you looked away. You were suddenly very aware of how close he was, of how many times you'd imagined what it might feel like if- before your brain had a chance to catch up, you leaned forward and kissed him.

The moment it happened, time seemed to stop, and your brain immediately caught up. Oh God. You'd kissed your best friend.

You pulled back instantly, eyes wide and horrified, "Oh my god". Joe stared at you, equally stunned, "I didn-". You covered your face, "Oh my god". A nervous laugh escaped you, "I'm so sorry, I don't know why I did that".

Another apology immediately followed, "I'm sorry". Then another, "Really sorry".

You were halfway through another apology when Joe finally shook his head, a laugh escaping him, "Would you stop apologising?".

"What?"

"Seriously, stop" His smile was almost disbelieving, "You have got to stop apologising".

You stared at him completely lost. Joe looked at you for another second then slowly reached up brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture made your heart stop, "You really have no idea, do you?".

Your stomach flipped "Joe..."

The smile that appeared was equal parts fond and nervous, then he leaned forward and kissed you. This time there was no surprise. The kiss was gentle at first like he was giving you every opportunity to pull away. The hell you were. Instead, your hand found his shoulder and when he smiled against your lips, you couldn't help smiling too.

When the kiss finally broke, neither of you moved very far. Both laughing slightly from nerves, from relief, from how long it had taken. You buried your face in your hands from embarrassment, he laughed and gently pulled your hands away looking at you like you were something he'd been afraid to reach for, "I've wanted to do that for ages".

Your heart nearly stopped, "You have? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because" His eyes drifted briefly toward the baby monitor, "You had enough going on".

The answer was so typically Joe that it almost made you cry again. Instead you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around you immediately like it belonged there. For the first time in a very long time, the future didn't feel scary. It felt exciting. The best parts of your life had already been sitting beside you on that sofa all along.

He reached out again, his hand cupping the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you towards him. When his lips meet yours this time, it is twice as heavy, twice as desperate. It isn't a question anymore, now more of an answer. He kissed you with a force that pushed you backwards into the cushions of the sofa. You gasped against his mouth, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss, one arm wrapping around your waist to haul you closer.

You responded straight away, your hands finding his shoulders again, pulling him down to you. His kisses became frantic, messy and perfect all in one. He moved his mouth from your lips to your jaw, trailing down your neck, arching your back in response to him. You couldn't tell if the room was spinning, or if it was the overwhelming realisation that this was actually happening.

"We should sleep" he muttered against your neck a few moments later, knowing the time was getting on.

"Yeah, we should. Are you uh, staying?"

"If you'll have me?"

A smile was all he needed. And after a long day of happiness, you both ended up moments later just enjoying each other's presence in the space of your bed. No sex, no kissing, just the sound of the monitor next to you and each other's breathing.

The first thing the next morning you became aware of was a voice. A soft, sleepy, amused voice. You frowned slightly against your pillow still half asleep, hearing it again. His voice. You smiled before your eyes had even opened.

The memories from the night before came flooding back immediately. The sofa, coffee, conversations, the kiss, or several kisses actually. The fact that somewhere between laughing and talking afterwards, you'd both eventually ended up in your bed and simply fallen asleep. The thought alone made you smile into your pillow.

Then another voice reached you, a much smaller one. An excited babble. Your eyes finally opened to see the sunlight filtering softly through, it felt like the whole world was at peace. You rolled onto your side to look at the baby monitor, Joe standing beside Jacob's crib, topless and in yesterday's jeans, hair sticking up slightly from sleep, leaning over the side talking quietly to Jacob. Jacob was standing, holding onto the rails absolutely delighted with the fact he's woken up to Joe.

"Wawawawa"

Joe nodded seriously, "No way, I had that dream too!"

Jacob laughed. "Bababa"

"Really?"

Another squeal. You couldn't help smiling. For several moments you simply watched, not wanting to interrupt because it was one of those little moments, the kind you'd want to remember forever. Then it happened.

"Dada"

You blinked at the monitor. Joe stood there frozen next to him, and Jacob was grinning.

"Dada!"

Your eyebrows immediately shot upward, on the monitor Joe looked equally surprised, "What did you say Jacob?".

Jacob bounced excitedly, "Dada!".

The room fell silent, then Joe laughed. A genuine surprised laugh, "Did you just call me dada?".

Jacob practically shrieked with excitement, "DADA!" Another laugh. Then "Dada dada dada dada".

You sat upright, completely awake now, part of you didn't know what to think. Because on one hand your heart was melting. On the other, the tiny traitor hadn't even said mama yet, and  apparently he'd decided Joe was getting dada. Good to know where everyone's loyalties lay.You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. Curiosity eventually won. You climbed out of bed and quietly made your way down the hallway, the nursery door sat slightly open. You stopped outside, peeking in. Joe hadn't noticed you yet, he was still beside the crib with Jacob standing proudly inside, "Dada!"

Joe laughed again, "You can't just say that".

Jacob thought this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, "Dada!".

"Buddy..."

More laughter, "Dada".

You honestly couldn't tell which one of them looked happier. The floor creaked beneath your foot as you adjusted your step. Joe looked up, immediately smiling, "Morning".

A smile appeared before you could stop it, "Morning".

Joe glanced toward Jacob, "Mama's here look!"

Jacob turned to look at you, then immediately looked back at Joe, "Dada!"

You stared, Joe burst out laughing, "No Jacob, mama's here".

"Dada"

You placed a hand over your chest, "Wow. After all I put myself through for you kid".

Joe was struggling not to laugh, "That's rough".

"Dada", Joe laughed harder.

Eventually you stepped fully into the room standing beside them watching Jacob grin at both of you. You looked toward Joe, then toward Jacob and back again, "I hope you know you don't have to encourage that".

Joe's smile softened slightly immediately understanding what you meant. The joking had faded, "I know". Joe would never try to replace anyone, even after everything. He glanced back toward Jacob, then at you. "If it makes you uncomfortable, I don't have to play along".

The answer from you came honestly and without hesitation, "No" You smiled softly, "As long as you're okay with it".

Something shifted in Joe's expression. Surprised mixed with emotion because he knew what you were really saying. Not that Jacob thought he was his father, because at one year old, Jacob didn't understand titles. What he understood was love, consistency, who showed up for him, who stayed and whether he meant to or not, Joe had become one of those people.

You looked down at Jacob still holding onto the crib, "Dada".

Joe laughed quietly. The sound almost emotional, then reached down and scooped him up. Jacob immediately settling against him happy and content. Your heart swelled so much it almost hurt because standing there in the nursery doorway, watching the man you loved holding the little boy you loved most in the world, you suddenly imagined for the first time in a very long time, a future and wondering if you'd be okay. But you already were.

Joe had to fly back a few days later, but the few weeks passed surprisingly quickly. Not because you didn't miss Joe, you absolutely did, so did Jacob. Days were filled with confused looks toward the apartment door every time a knock sounded somewhere in the building. A lot of dada, FaceTime calls, Joe making ridiculous noises through a phone screen to keep a one year old entertained. But this time felt different, the anxiety wasn't there because you knew he wasn't leaving, he was coming back to you.

Then one Thursday afternoon your phone buzzed as you was folding laundry on the floor of Jacob's nursery as he played in his crib.

Joe Landed.

A smile immediately spread across your face.

You Welcome home :)

Joe Can I come see my favorite little guy?

You Sure. I'm sure Mr Martin from across the hall really wants to see you too

Joe I was talking about Jacob.

You Liar.

Less than an hour later there was a knock at your door. Jacob looked up immediately, his head turning toward the sound. You laughed, "Oh my god, how do you do that?" The child somehow knew. You picked him up and walked towards the door, opening it to see Joe stood there smiling. Hair slightly longer than before and looking tired from travel.

"Where are your bags?"

"Dropped them at home"

"Haven't you just landed?"

"Speed" Joe shrugged. "I wanted to see you" and he looked at Jacob, "And him".

Jacob had already tried to climb out of your arms and towards Joe, "DADA".

Joe laughed instantly, "Hi buddy, I missed you" grabbing him from you. The apartment somehow started feeling complete again.

That evening, after dinner and playtime and enough laughter to make your cheeks hurt, Jacob finally surrendered to sleep. By the time you returned to the living room, Joe was sitting on the sofa exactly where he'd sat a hundred times before but things felt different. You sat beside him, enjoying the quiet for a while till eventually Joe spoke, "I've been thinking".

You immediately laughed, "Okay..."

His smile appeared, "What do you want?"

You blinked, "What?"

Joe looked at you, "The future"

You thought about it, then smiled, "A garden"

Joe laughed, "I'm serious"

"So am I" You smiled, "I want somewhere bigger. Eventually a place big enough with extra room for Jacob, maybe outside of the city, maybe a dog". Joe immediately nodded, "Good choice"

Then your expression softened, "I just want Jacob to grow up happy".

Joe smiled, "That's already happening"

Your eyes drifted toward the baby monitor. The little boy who had changed your entire world. Then you looked back at Joe, "I want stability".

For so long you'd lived without it and Joe understood immediately, "You deserve that".

You smiled, "What about you?"

Joe leaned back slightly thinking, "Honestly?". You nodded. He looked toward the hallway, towards the nursery, then back at you and smiled, "This. Not exactly this apartment".

You laughed, "Good"

"No offense"

"Only a little taken"

He grinned, "I mean..." His eyes met yours. "I like having people to come home to. Especially you and Jacob".

Joe had spent years traveling, working, living out of suitcases, different hotel rooms, just always moving. It made sense.

"I don't know exactly what everything looks like yet" he admitted. "But I know I want you both in it. If you'll have me" Joe smiled nervously.

"As a package deal?"

He laughed, "Definitely a package deal". Joe reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers, "We take it one day at a time".

You nodded, "One day at a time"

"I'll do everything I can to give him the best life possible, and you" Joe smiled and squeezed your hand gently, "And I do know one thing".

"What?"

His eyes drifted toward the monitor again, at the child who'd unknowingly changed both of your lives, "I'm not going anywhere".

And for the first time since moving to New York all those years ago, you believed him completely. Not because he promised or because he said the perfect thing, but because he'd already spent the last year proving it time and time again. Loving both of you without ever asking for recognition for it.

You leaned against him, his arm immediately wrapping around your shoulders and together you sat there on the sofa watching the baby monitor. Talking quietly about houses, gardens, dogs, birthdays and all the little things that make up a life. The future still wasn't fully written. There would be challenges, questions, messy moments just like any family. But as the night stretched on around you, one thing felt certain. This was love.

He pulled you in tighter as you spoke, placing a kiss on the top of your head, "I've got you, both of you".

[whosscruffylooking]

Open Arms Masterlist

steve harrington x fem!reader

In 1980s Hawkins, Indiana, you and Steve Harrington have been inseparable since childhood, sharing everything—except the truth about your feelings for each other. As the shadow of the Upside Down grows, Steve struggles to balance his relationship with Nancy Wheeler and his unspoken love for you, his best friend. Through dangerous encounters and memories that refuse to fade, the line between friendship and something more blurs. But in a world where nothing is certain, can you and Steve finally face the truth, or will timing and fear keep you apart forever? If you would like to be added to the taglist please enter your username into this form.

character guide

~1983~

(One Shot) Open Arms Part I Part II

~1984~

chapter one chapter two chapter three chapter four chapter five chapter six

~1985~

chapter seven chapter eight chapter nine chapter ten chapter eleven chapter twelve chapter thirteen chapter fourteen chapter fifteen chapter sixteen

~1986~

chapter seventeen chapter eighteen chapter nineteen chapter twenty chapter twenty one chapter twenty two chapter twenty three chapter twenty four chapter twenty five chapter twenty six chapter twenty seven chapter twenty eight chapter twenty nine

[boredmadamoiselle]

New beginnings

Epilogue of End of Beginning (read part 4 HERE)

Pairing: Husband!Steve Harrington x wife!reader

Summary: Can you and Steve really start over after everything that happened?

Warnings: angst, established relationship, married couple, arguments, marriage issues, pregnancy, infertility issues, maternity, motherhood, emotional distress, smut, dirty talk, nsfw, unprotected p in v

English isn't my first language, so be understandable and gentle, thanks!

Word count: +20k

Author's note: So, here we go... we’ve finally reached the end of this story! 🥺 I honestly can't believe it's over, and I'm definitely feeling a little sad about it because I'm going to miss this couple so much! That being said, maybe I'll write some extra chapters about them in the future. I feel like there are still a few stories left to tell — like their first official date, for example! But for now, that's a wrap on this story. I really want to thank you all for all the love and amazing feedback. It seriously warms my heart knowing that you've loved this story just as much as I loved writing it. I truly hope you will be satisfied with the epilogue I wrote. Let me know what you think with a comment, your feedbacks are really important for me. And if you want to support me even more, reblog it. I'd really appreciate it. Now enjoy it and thanks for reading!

Masterlist

A week later, Steve was finally discharged from the hospital and you went home with him.

But “home” didn’t look exactly like it used to. Not yet.

Steve moved slowly through the house on crutches, his steps careful and uneven. The bandage at his temple remained a constant reminder of how close you had come to losing him. Sometimes he reached instinctively for the wall or the back of a chair to steady himself, stubbornly trying to do more than he probably should. And every time, you found yourself hovering nearby, close enough to catch him if he slipped but careful not to make him feel like you didn't trust him.

But even though he hated being stuck in the house and feeling useless, he enjoyed having you around, all for himself. After spending weeks apart, having you back in the house felt like breathing properly again. He seemed to find reassurance in your presence. He loved waking up and finding you beside him. Or hearing you move around the kitchen in the morning. He simply loved the comfort of knowing you were there.

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

It wasn’t always easy, though.

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

And you got good at that.

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

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

Again. 

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

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

That you weren’t. 

And he’ll want more.

He’ll leave.

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

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

But you. 

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

Those mornings were easier.

But not all of them were.

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

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

That was when the panic set in.

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?”

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

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

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

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

“Checking if I’d left?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You believed him. 

And that made things even worse. 

You swallowed hard.

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

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

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

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

“When you’re the one who left.”

The words hung between you. Heavy. Painful. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

You stayed silent. 

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

Your chest tightened as the words sank in.

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

Your eyes filled with tears, burning you. 

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

Silence followed, thick and suffocating.

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

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

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

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

The silence stretched.

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

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

What was wrong with you?

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

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

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

“Steve, I do trust you, it’s not—” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then it hit you.

He was leaving.

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

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

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

Panic surged through you.

“Steve, wait—!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Or do something he might regret, you thought. 

Your chest constricted painfully.

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

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

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

Your grip loosened, but only slightly.

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

Talk about what? You wondered. 

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

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

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

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

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

I’ll be back. 

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

Would he?

-

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

You hadn’t moved from there since Steve left.

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

Silence settled around you. Heavy. Uncomfortable. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knew exactly what you meant too. 

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

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

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

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

Steve turned his head to look at you.

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

A small pause.

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

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

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

Steve didn’t interrupt and kept listening to you. 

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

That was harder to say.

Your gaze dropped for a second before lifting again.

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

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

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

Your voice softened, losing some of its tension.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He was already hard. 

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t.

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

You weren’t pulling away anymore.

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

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

You needed to feel him. Really feel him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“God…” he breathed, almost to himself.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Steve, I…"

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

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

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

Did you trust me to stay?

Did you trust me not to leave?

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

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

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

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

“What are you doing?” you asked softly.

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

Side by side.

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

“Give me your hand,” Steve said softly.

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

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

“We’re renewing our vows.”

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

“What?”

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

You nodded slowly, still trying to catch up.

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

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

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

There it was again.

That question beneath the words.

You swallowed and nodded. “I do.”

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

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

Your breath caught in your throat.

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

Your eyes burned, but you didn’t blink.

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

Silence settled between you the moment he finished.

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

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

Tears blurred your vision as you held onto him. 

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

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

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

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

“Repeat after me,” he said softly.

You nodded.

“With this ring, I choose you.”

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

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

You repeated each word, your gaze never leaving his.

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

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

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

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

Stronger.

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

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

He nodded.

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

He repeated it without hesitation.

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

His voice was firm, certain.

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

Your chest tightened.

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

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

“And now what?” you asked quietly.

A small, familiar spark returned to his gaze.

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

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

And then he kissed you.

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

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

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

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

It wasn’t just a kiss.

But a promise.

A new beginning.

The first step into something new.

Together.

-

A week later, you started therapy.

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

The mornings were the first to change.

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

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

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

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

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

You chose to trust him.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You gave him another look.

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

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

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

Then he extended his hand toward you.

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

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

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

And that was when you realized where you were going. 

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

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

Your throat went dry.

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

“Steve… what are we doing?”

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

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

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

“Okay.”

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

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

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

“I’m trusting you,” you murmured. 

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

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

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

You did. Slowly. Carefully.

“Stop,” he said gently after a moment.

You stopped instantly, abruptly. 

“Okay… you can open them.”

You inhaled deeply and opened your eyes. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you murmured against him.

He held you just as tightly.

And over the following weeks, that room became yours.

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

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

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

And hope. 

-

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

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

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

He grinned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then there was California.

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

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

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

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

And he did.

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

“My fault?” you echoed, incredulous.

“You should’ve insisted harder.”

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

“Yeah,” he said. “But you love me.”

You didn’t answer.

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

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

Other times, things slowed down. Quieted.

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

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

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

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

Hungry.

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

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

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

That was all it took.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yes—”

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

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

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

“Never,” he replied, almost immediately.

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

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

The waves kept coming and going, soft, constant. 

And for once, there was nothing chasing you.

No doubt.

No fear.

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

-

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

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

No deadlines.

No pressure. 

No quiet panic about what should come next.

Just the two of you.

Or rather, the three of you.

Because shortly after you got a dog.

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

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

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

Steve scoffed. “Yeah, I can see.”

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

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

-

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

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

What if it would hurt?

What if it was too much?

What if you couldn’t handle it after all?

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

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

Steve was… impossibly proud.

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

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

Not heavy.

Not painful.

Just… new.

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

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

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

Your face flushed instantly.

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

“Ki-ss! Ki-ss! Ki-ss!”

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

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

The class erupted.

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

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

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

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

If anything, it had felt… right.

A light knock pulled you from your thoughts.

You followed the sound. 

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

“So?” he asked.

You hesitated only a second.

“It was good,” you said.

He raised an eyebrow.

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

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

“I knew it,” he said quietly.

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

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

It came out softer than you expected.

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

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

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

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

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

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

-

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

You glanced at the clock one more time. 

Steve was late.

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

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

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

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

“Hey,” Steve said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And the child finally came into view.

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

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

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

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

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

You softened immediately at the sight.

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

Charlie gave a small nod, barely lifting his gaze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But not for him.

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

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

When was the last time he ate like this?

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

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

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

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

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

He hadn’t touched the food yet.

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

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

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

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

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

So you let the silence settle instead. 

And strangely… it wasn’t uncomfortable.

It felt gentle.

Safe.

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

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

Not sharp.

Not painful.

Just… something opening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A real smile. 

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

His expression had softened in exactly the same way.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

But this was different.

This was your home.

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

He wasn’t your son, after all. 

And you weren’t his mother. 

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

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

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

He just nodded.

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

That he wasn’t alone. 

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

Still no answer.

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

“Goodnight… Mrs. Harrington.”

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

“Goodnight,” you simply said.

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

-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There it was.

The real question.

Are you okay after all of this?

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

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

“Are you sure?” He said, carefully. 

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

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

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

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

You shook your head gently.

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

His jaw tightened slightly at that.

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

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

“Yeah?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

“Of course.”

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

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

You frowned immediately. 

“Steve—”

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

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

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

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

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

Steve’s face tightened slightly.

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

You stopped in front of him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked.

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

Warmth spread slowly through your chest.

“So did you,” you replied quietly.

Steve huffed softly. “I mostly panicked internally.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your hand slid gently against his chest.

“One day. When we’re ready.”

Steve’s expression softened completely.

Relief. Love. Hope.

All at once.

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

“That sounds nice,” he admitted quietly.

You smiled.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

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

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

Steve smiled. “I love you too.”

Then he leaned down and kissed you.

-

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

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

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

Relief moved through you instantly.

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

You almost laughed.

Traitor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You smiled despite yourself.

“Don’t tempt me, Steve.”

A soft hum vibrated against your skin.

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

His hands settled against your hips, warm and familiar.

“Steve…”

“Mhm?”

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

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

The admission caught you off guard for a second. 

Of course he had checked too. 

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

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

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

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

His forehead dropped lightly against yours.

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

When he pulled back, he exhaled quietly. 

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

The mood shifted a little, reality settling back in. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes slowly lifted to Steve’s.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I just made him dinner.”

“You made him feel safe. Welcome.”

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

You both turned.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ate six last time.”

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

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

Another smile.

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

The house felt fuller.

Complete. 

-

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

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

Charlie looked up from where he sat beside King.

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

Charlie hesitated, shoulders tightening slightly.

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

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

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

Steve pointed at him with mock seriousness.

“That’s my guy.”

-

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

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

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

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

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

Another laugh escaped Charlie, his smile widened despite himself.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

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

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

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

-

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

You had decided on homemade pizza.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie froze immediately and you shot Steve a look.

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

Steve looked personally offended.

“There absolutely is.”

“There isn’t.”

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

You rolled your eyes.

Beside you, Charlie let out the smallest laugh.

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

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

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

Charlie startled slightly, cheeks reddening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Steve pointed to himself immediately.

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

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

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

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

“Were we expecting someone?” Steve asked.

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

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

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

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

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

Charlie’s mother.

Your chest tightened instantly.

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

Hopper exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his jaw.

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

“Charlie,” she breathed out.

You turned.

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

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

Her eyes filled immediately.

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

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

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

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

The woman nodded like hearing that physically hurt.

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

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

Steve simply nodded.

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

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

Charlie looked up. “For real?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The dog whined softly. 

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

The house felt unbearably quiet.

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

Except it had.

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

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

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

And you realized.

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

“Oh, Steve…”

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

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

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

Seeing Charlie again at school would never be the same.

-

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

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

The night before replayed quietly in your mind.

Charlie leaving.

The silence afterward.

And the ache.

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

And it made no logical sense.

Because Charlie had only been with you for a day.

One day.

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

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

About Charlie.

About Steve.

About the future.

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

But Charlie had changed something.

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

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

You laughed softly. “Good morning.”

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

You hesitated. “A while.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You know, yesterday…” you started quietly.

Steve immediately looked up.

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

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

“It felt like we were a family.”

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

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

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

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

His forehead creased. “Ready for what?”

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

“To be a mom,” you said softly.

The room fell completely silent. Steve blinked once, then twice, like he genuinely hadn’t expected those words.

You looked down briefly before continuing. “For a long time, I thought that part of my life was over.” You swallowed. “But taking care of Charlie yesterday felt... so natural. And good.”

A faint smile touched your lips as you remembered the previous day. 

“I liked making him breakfast. Checking on him.” You let out a small breath. “Seeing him play baseball in the backyard with you.”

Your eyes found Steve's again.

“And… I want that.”

Steve still hadn’t spoken. You could practically see him trying to process your words. 

“I want a family,” you finally admitted. “With you.”

Steve swallowed hard. The shine in his eyes made your chest ache. Slowly, his hand reached across the blankets until his fingers found yours.

“You sure?” he asked gently. “Because we don’t have to rush anything. We can wait if—”

You nodded immediately, squeezing his hand. “I’ve never been more sure.”

You took a deep breath. 

“Maybe we can’t be what Charlie needs,” you said quietly. “But there are so many kids out there like him.” Your voice softened. “Kids who just… need someone. And we could be that for one of them. Give them a better life, you know.” 

Your fingers tightened around Steve’s. You hesitated for a moment, then finally said it.

“I’d… I’d like to adopt, Steve.”

For a second, he just stared at you, completely still. 

Your stomach twisted.

“Say something, please,” you whispered, suddenly nervous. “What… what do you think?”

He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a slow kiss against your knuckles.

“I think,” he said softly, voice rougher now, “every time I convince myself there’s no possible way I could love you more…” His thumb brushed gently over your hand. “You somehow give me another reason.”

Your eyes stung instantly, your breath caught. “Steve…”

“No, seriously.” He shook his head slightly. “You have no idea how much I love you right now.”

He leaned forward without hesitation, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him.

“And you’re going to be an incredible mom,” he whispered against your hair.

A watery laugh escaped you. You lifted your head just enough to look at him, smiling. “And you’re going to be the best dad.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

His forehead rested gently against yours as his hand came up to cup your cheek.

“Let's do it. Let’s adopt.” 

Tears threatened to spill. “Really?”

Steve let out a quiet laugh.

“Really.”

Steve kissed you, slowly, carefully. Like the moment deserved to be held onto for as long as possible.

-

Two years later

The afternoon sun spilled across the porch, warm against your bare legs as you sat in the wooden chair Steve had built for you the previous summer. A sketchbook rested on your lap, your pencil moving lazily across the page.

You weren't drawing anything in particular, just pieces of the moment unfolding in front of you.

The yard.

The dog. 

And the baseball game currently unfolding across the grass.

King barked excitedly as he tore after the ball that had no intention of being caught by a dog. He missed it entirely, skidded through the lawn, and immediately tried again as though nothing had never happened. A boy sprinted after it, nearly tripping over his own feet before recovering at the last second.

You smiled to yourself.

"That one didn't count!" he shouted.

"It absolutely did," Steve called back.

The boy groaned dramatically while Steve looked entirely too pleased with himself. You laughed softly and shook your head.

Some things never changed.

The competitive streak Steve brought to absolutely everything was apparently hereditary. Or contagious. You still hadn't decided which.

Steve tossed the ball into the air before catching it again.

"Ready?"

The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously.

“No. You’re cheating."

“I’m winning,” he said, throwing the ball anyway. 

The boy managed to hit it this time, the crack of the bat echoing across the yard. His face lit up immediately. 

It still amazed you sometimes.

The first time he had stepped into your house, every word had seemed dragged out of him. He had spoken cautiously, as though every sentence needed permission before leaving his mouth. Now he laughed loudly and argued confidently. 

Steve grinned. “There you go! Nice job, buddy."

The kid turned toward the porch. "Mum! Did you see that?”

Mum

The word still caught you off guard sometimes. Not because it felt wrong, it was quite the opposite actually. It felt so natural now that it was hard to remember a time when it hadn't.

Your eyes met his. 

Your son. 

“I did," you called back. “That was a good hit, well done!”

The boy looked pleased with himself.

Your chest warmed.

You never would have imagined this. 

You and steve hadn’t been parents yet.

And Charlie had still been someone else's child. 

But then everything had changed.

Charlie had lost his mother only a few months after you and Steve had finally decided to adopt. The grief that followed and the months afterward hadn't been easy. There had been lawyers, court hearings, social workers and many questions. But eventually, after months of waiting, the judge had signed the papers and Charlie had finally come home. This time not as a guest. 

But as your son. 

And now you were finally a family. Not the one you had imagined years ago but the one that had been waiting for you instead.

A sudden movement pulled you from your thoughts. Your hand settled automatically over the curve of your stomach as you looked down, a smile spreading across your face.  Even now, months after finding out, part of you still couldn't quite believe it. After everything that had happened, after making peace with the possibility that it might never happen, life had found a way to surprise you again. 

You felt another kick. This one stronger as if she was demanding attention.

You laughed under your breath. "Well, hello to you too."

A moment later you heard the familiar creak of the porch boards and Steve appeared beside your chair.

"You okay?"

You nodded and reached for his hand, placing it gently against the curve of your stomach. Right on cue, your daughter kicked again.

Steve’s face softened immediately. "There you are, princess,” he murmured, as though he were greeting someone already familiar. 

You watched him for a moment. The man who had once brought home a scared little boy because he couldn't bear the thought of leaving him alone. The man who had become a father long before either of you realized it.

Out in the yard, Charlie was already growing impatient.

“Dad!” 

The word made Steve glance up instantly. “Yeah?” 

“Are we playing again or are you tired already?”

Steve looked back at you, looking deeply offended. “Did you hear that? No respect around here."

You laughed. "Go save your reputation, coach."

He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading back toward the grass where Charlie was impatiently waiting for him, bat resting on one shoulder and King circling excitedly  around both of them. The afternoon sunlight wrapped around the three of them as they disappeared into another argument about baseball. You rested a hand over your stomach and watched.

Your husband.

Your son. 

The life and the family you were building together. 

Years ago, you had thought some dreams were gone forever. That you would never be a mother. Now, surrounded by the people you loved most, you realized that sometimes life gave you a different ending than the one you had initially imagined. 

And sometimes, somehow, it turned out even better.

THE END

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[ouchbaby]

𝚜𝚞𝚖𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 : It's your birthday, something that you don't really like. Despite this, you are obliged to attend the party organized by your friend Robin. During the party, you realize that one of the guests is none other than Steve Harrington, the weirdo who keeps making advances toward you, which makes things quite awkward. However, everything takes an unexpected turn when you wake up the next morning with him in your bed…with a hangover and a memory gap.

𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚒𝚗𝚐 — Sunshine! Dorky! Steve × Grumpy! Birthday Girl! reader. afab! [no use of y/n!]

𝚠𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐 — rated 18+ (mentions of sex, swear words, some angst, fluff), there is always consent between Steve x reader. afab! ! — the two of you aren't exactly friends, your connection to him was high school and robin buckley. you're not really a fan of him.

𝚠𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚜 — 6.790

𝚎𝚡𝚌𝚎𝚛𝚙𝚝 :

"Good morning, sleeping beauty."

"Why am I half-naked in my bed with you, Steve ?" you ask bluntly, not wanting to waste any time. Why is he here ?

I hope you will enjoy reading it. Especially if you love it, don't let it flop.

a/n : i’ve been trying to improve my writing a bit… idk if this draft is any good (?) just think of it as a practice run.

[masterlist] — 💛

“Who invited him ?” you ask in a loud voice. Your longtime friend, Robin, is standing by your side. She seems completely absorbed in a marbled muffin. You prefer them.

She answers you, almost choking with the muffin in her mouth. She doesn’t meet your gaze when she says, “Who ?”

You shoot Robin an annoyed look. Your eyes return to the front of you. The man is standing there, clearly disoriented. It’s as if he’s searching for you in the living room. A slow sigh escapes your lips. You tap Robin on the shoulder, she immediately turns toward you — an expression of confusion and irritation appears on her face. “Don’t hit me like that —”

“Steve Harrington is here, in my house, at my birthday party — what is he doing here !?” You ask the question with a serious expression — without the slightest hint of amusement. Your friend, on the other hand, is grinning widely as she looks at Steve from across the room. Clearly happy to see her best friend — a guy you don’t like at all. You don’t like him.

Robin doesn't answer you, she remains silent. In fact, she just raises her hand and shouts at the top of her lungs, “Steve ! We're here !” Oh well, she's decided to become your enemy now.

When Steve spots Robin in the distance, it’s impossible not to roll your eyes. He starts walking toward you. The thought of having to talk to him makes you feel sick — you really don’t want to speak to him, not at all, because he’s just…

“Where’s the birthday girl ?” Awkward.

You're right in front of him — is he blind or what ?

Steve is now standing in front of the two of you. There's no smile from you directed at him, you'd rather look over at your other friends. They're hanging out, lying all over the couches and on top of them. They seem to be enjoying the party much more than you are, even though it's your birthday. It's funny.

“The birthday girl is here !” You hear Robin say just before she tugs on your elbow to pull you toward her. That’s clever. You were just starting to drift away from them. More specifically, Ambre. One of your friend — who just adopted a puppy. Talking about the little puppy’s behavior would have been both cute and entertaining, as opposed to the awkward situation with this young man — Steve. He seems to be watching you now with eyes sparkling with shades of brown and green. The shimmering hue.

It’s clear that you love sparkling looks — they reflect enthusiasm and joy. That’s why your home is decorated with garlands and glitter. The pink theme is everywhere, with balloons scattered all over the place, sometimes forming shapes of flamingos — you’re a huge fan. If you had the chance to become an animal, it would undoubtedly be this one — the pink flamingo.

Robin deserves an award for the decorations, the pastries, the music playing in the background. This gesture of hers perfectly captures your personality and your outfit for the day — your short, dark pink dress. Your birthday dress — understated. A birthday you don’t like. You hate it, mostly because of Steve now.

Robin, you can only express your gratitude to her, even if you don't like your birthday. Unfortunately, right now, you're feeling resentful toward her for inviting Steve.

He tries to talk to you, but you’re lost in your own world and don’t catch what he’s saying.

You frown as you watch your friend Ambre, sitting on the couch next to Thomas — a childhood friend. They seem lost in their own world, completely absorbed in each other. You wish they would let you in on it, so you could escape this disastrous encounter.

You turn to the person who seems much more engaged in the conversation than you are and say, “What ?”

The poor boy was so captivated by his story that you interrupted him. Steve looks both puzzled and irritated. Too bad. You felt Robin’s foot brush against yours, which made you want to reciprocate by touching her foot — a hard tap. Right in front of you, Steve had stopped talking, the big talker had gone silent. Now he’s looking at you with wide eyes, completely taken aback and at a loss for words.

“I — I was talking to you about… um, I just said happy birthday to you.” Steve, stammering a few words, explains the situation, his eyes shifting hesitantly from you to Robin. He looks embarrassed. You look at him with a neutral expression — without even a hint of a smile — before saying, “Thank you.”

You can hear him clear his throat, Steve doesn't seem too happy with your answer. In fact, he's no longer looking at you. Instead, he turns to Robin, searching for clues as to what he might say to you — he's nervously biting his lower lip.

It’s true that was cold of you. However, that guy is really boring, he’s nothing like the kind of man you’re into. He’s Robin’s friend — not yours.

In an atmosphere of heavy silence, punctuated by the lounge’s background music and the surrounding conversations, you spot Robin, who seems to be whispering silent words to Steve. The moment you set your eyes on him, he immediately catches your gaze — his Adam’s apple bobbing — before turning to take a look over his shoulder.

At that very moment, you notice that one of his arms is hidden behind his back. He’s hiding something, isn’t he ? He’s trying to hide something. And in fact, there really is a very large thing hidden behind him. No — please.

Another throat-clearing sound is heard, and Steve keeps his gaze fixed on you with intense focus. He then casts a discreet glance at your friend, before offering you a friendly smile. It is, indeed, a handsome smile. It must work on some women — but you’re not one of them.

His arm, hidden behind his back, moves slowly. You watch this movement intently, until you are enveloped by a wave of pale pink petals.

A huge bouquet of Gerbera daisies — your favorites — it’s really big.

It was like those boys in high school, with the gifts they gave their girlfriends, which often made you envious of such love — of that kind of greatness. You remain silent, your youthful features betraying no emotion. Steve looks at you.

“Happy birthday again — I — I know these are your favorites… I mean, I don’t know, like I’ve been stalking your life or something — no, no —” These beautiful flowers, offered by his hand, captivate your eyes in a sort of trance. Beside you, Robin’s persistent cough prompts Steve to continue his disastrous explanation, “— I know you like Gerbera daisies, because Robin told me… so I got them for your birthday.” He finishes.

Gerbera Daisy.

In your hand, you hold the bouquet, savoring and breathing in the delightful fragrance wafting from the flowers. With wonder, you breathe in deeply while holding the bouquet close to your chest, admiring these beautiful flowers up close.

As you look up — your nose buried in those pink flowers — you spot Steve, hands on his hips, watching you intently as you handle his gift. Steve seems a little anxious. He’s just like those boys. Girls accept with a kiss on the cheek. Yet you don’t even give him a smile. Instead, you lift your head and catch Robin’s gaze, she’s already staring at you. They seem eager for a reaction from you. They’ll have to wait. You're not one of those girls.

Enjoying the suspense, you turn your attention back to the bouquet you’re holding.

As you lock eyes with Steve, you whisper softly, “They are indeed my favorites… thank you.” 

Steve's smile is beaming, his white teeth glistening under the room's lights. Despite the urge to smile back at him, you hold back. I don't love you — have you forgot ?

That's just thoughtful of him, that's all.

Harrington, beaming with joy, scans the room before turning his gaze back to you and Robin, a smile playing on his lips — though it won’t last long.

“And… is that it ?” You ask the question with a look on your face that shows dissatisfaction. It’s an act.

Immediately after you speak, two pairs of eyes turn toward you. However, you only notice Steve’s eyes — he looks particularly discouraged.

You really like these flowers, it’s a sweet gesture, they suit you. Still, since it’s Steve — that guy who likes to flirt with you before getting embarrassed when you don’t respond — you would have preferred a more meaningful gift. Something more special. Flowers are a bit too ordinary. Such a Romeo cliché. A high school thing.

It’s clear that if you’d wanted to, you could have bought it yourself. It’s really very easy.

It’s worth noting that when a boy gives a girl flowers, it’s often a sign that he wants to ask her out — like those boys.

Typical of Steve.

One of your eyebrows raises as you size Steve up from head to toe. He seems hesitant, struggling to find the right words, while casting several anxious glances at Robin. His hands sink into his front pockets, betraying a certain discomfort.

“I — I thought you’d just want flowers… Robin told me you like simple things… so…” You keep looking at him with a questioning expression. Stay strong. You’re aware of your mischievousness, Robin loves to point it out to you.

That’s why you feel a hand grab your forearm before pulling you back. “Wait, Steve, we’re coming back !” Suddenly, Robin’s voice rings out. Steve shoots your friend a look accompanied by a smile that reflects just as much confusion as her expression. Meanwhile, you walk away from him, letting Robin lead you toward your kitchen. This smells like a novel.

In the kitchen, Robin lets go of your arm, you take a step back, the bouquet still in your hand and a look on your face that remains hopelessly devoid of emotion. “You know, you’re really unbearable. He’s trying to do the right thing, and you’re treating him as if he’d spit in your bowl of cereal — just look at the huge bouquet he gave you.”

You roll your eyes. “I treat him just like all the other guys who hit on me but whom I have no interest in dating. Can I just stay single ?” you ask, shaking your head. She needs to get your point.

Robin frowns and steps away. “You seemed to be enjoying yourself with Elijah last Friday — and he’s a guy.”

“A guy who isn’t awkward and thinks he’s a pro at seduction. Ugh — I don’t like Steve, okay ?… I think he’s odd, like a weirdo, and Elijah isn’t a weirdo — he’s thoughtful and respectful !” You share your story with Robin, she watches you closely, her eyes searching yours. Your eyes sometimes drift away to rest on the white kitchen walls or the brown wooden floor. You’re not lying… are you ?

Elijah was nothing more than a one-night stand. After four months without sex, you just wanted to get lucky with a man. Elijah happened to be in the right place at the right time. He was the perfect remedy for you. These days, you don’t even talk to each other anymore. It was just a hookup.

Robin looks at the bouquet of flowers and then gives you a sad look. “Steve really put his heart into choosing a gift for you that was both beautiful and meaningful… I simply suggested he get you your favorite flowers, since he doesn’t know you very well and that bothered him a lot. If I hadn’t cut him off from his extravagant ideas, he might have gotten you a bigger gift.” She concludes by glancing over her shoulder, scanning the open doorway to the kitchen. It offers a perfect view of the living room, where Steve is standing.

You’re watching him closely now. Now that you’ve heard what Robin told you, you seem a little more empathetic. Steve is standing in the middle of the living room, his hands now buried in the back pockets of his pants, while a girl is talking to him right in front of him. It’s your older cousin — she’s four years older than you. Steve doesn’t seem to be paying attention.

His engagement in the conversation seems limited, he prefers to look around. His eyes, with their strange hue, scan the room until they meet yours. Your eyes have changed their opinion of him. You watch him from afar, from that other room — the kitchen. The music still plays in the background, mingling with the voices, you choose to keep staring at him. Don’t look away. Steve keeps staring at you, too. His eyes seem full of questions, his eyebrows now furrowed.

You turn your gaze back to Robin.

You finally give her a warm smile before saying, “I’ll think about it.” You say simply, then bury your nose in the many Gerbera daisies. As you walk past her, you think about heading to your room on the first floor to put the bouquet in a vase — one that was previously filled with old roses.

The look Robin gave you was more intense than the last one. She seemed pleased with your answer. Still, for you, this isn’t exactly confirmation either. You don’t know if Steve really deserves your respect… you’ll see how the evening goes. If things go well, if Steve’s behavior is tolerable over the next few hours, maybe your opinion of him will change. Maybe.

The evening went by quietly, filled with chatter — as everyone eagerly awaited the cake and the unwrapping of gifts. You spent the whole time by Robin’s side, talking with other people you knew. They explained how they’d had to keep quiet about the party. Robin had threatened them if they revealed that your best friend — Robin — was throwing a birthday party for you without your knowledge. You laughed, then played some games in the living room and in your garden, late into the night. The laughter and glances were shared and radiant.

Just as you’d predicted, Steve was always right by your side whenever Robin was near you. Sometimes he would get caught up in a conversation with a guy, then move closer to the two of you — speaking only to Robin. It made you uncomfortable. Strangely, he didn’t speak to you directly — his eyes remained fixed on Robin, painfully avoiding yours. He was ignoring you — that’s not how those boys usually act. They liked those girls.

Steve took it literally. He sadly realized how much you disliked him.

Okay, you must have done something to make him suddenly lose interest in you on your birthday. Your birthday, of all days. You’re clearly meant to be the center of attention.

You were all drunk, downing one red cup after another. Some of your acquaintances offered you a taste of a bottle of full-bodied wine, while others simply handed you a cup as soon as you finished one. And so, as you got drunker and drunker, you realized just how much you missed Steve’s gaze — immensely.

Then, out of nowhere, it happened. Your dependency.

At one point, you were standing by the crackling fire — a bright orange-red glow in your living room — talking with Robin, your best friend from kindergarten — Celine — and her boyfriend. Steve was there too, he smelled wonderful. You took advantage of the moment, especially with the alcohol coursing through your veins. Your body had decided to position you next to him, close — very close, in fact.

You could hear his steady breathing, his undoubtedly expensive cologne was enough to drive you crazy. Your eyes had met his profile, he was facing you out of the corner of your eye. Every chance you got, you studied his nose as you raised your drink to your lips — as an excuse, just to look at him. Okay, Steve has always been hot, it’s no secret… everyone knows it, confirms it — just like you. 

You had quietly inhaled his scent, enjoying the smell, while Celine told how difficult her medical studies were — how excessive they were in some ways, she said. Yet, she went on, it was still addictive to pursue them. You were somewhere else. Far from her study problems. Far from medicine.

You caught another glimpse of Steve’s profile as he was now talking to Celine, his hands in his pockets, still looking a bit nonchalant — you wondered if he’d had a drink before coming over. This man wasn’t the Steve you knew. He was more of a young man, knowing how to use his sex appeal — or for once — meanwhile, Celine couldn’t stop laughing at what Steve was telling her. Her boyfriend kept shooting her irritated looks, as if he were scolding her. Yet no one scolded you for your naughty glances at Steve — at his nose, his expressive lips, his eyelashes, his neck.

Maybe it’s also because of your drunken side — it’s starting to take over as the minutes go by.

You admit that, after a few more drinks, you found yourself staring at Steve more and more intently. He was talking to Robin — your eyes were on him — he was laughing, eating some of your favorite muffins that were out in the kitchen, but your eyes were strangely fixated on his fingers. The ones he was bringing to his lips, licking them, putting them in his mouth. It’s a little too… addictive?

You also found yourself blushing strangely when his eyes, glazed over from alcohol — just like yours — fleetingly glanced your way. Your discreet silhouette. You felt like you were in the spotlight. The fear that he might know what your thoughts were conjuring up — all that filth. It was your way of speaking, just your eyes doing the talking. Did he figure it out at some point?

You were actually ashamed of it. Can he know that when he was sitting on the armchair chatting away, a bottle of alcohol in his hand, his legs spread apart, your eyes kept awkwardly drifting to his crotch and perverse thoughts were crossing your mind ? At that very moment, you realized just how imposing he was — it must be big.

At one point, you were playing with several of the guests, while Robin watched from the sidelines. It was a game called Twister, several of you were already on the white mat, standing on the circles arranged in vertical columns starting with red, blue, yellow and green. You had one foot on the second-to-last blue circle and were trying to hold onto a higher blue circle with one hand. Your position wasn’t exactly comfortable, you were trying to keep your balance and you were also laughing with your other friends at their ridiculous positions.

Everyone had too much alcohol in their system — red eyes, high-pitched laughter. Steve was playing too, he must have ended up facing you, legs spread apart — you had to look away. You tried desperately to shake off this sudden obsession with staring at his crotch, but luckily for you, Steve wasn’t looking at you. No, he was laughing, talking with others — with Robin, too. Not you.

She liked to tease him about his skills at this game. You learned from their banter that he used to play this game a lot as a kid. You smiled at that — a little too quickly. Your smile quickly faded when you realized there were others watching.

They were all having fun. You were stuck, unable to join in the fun without thinking about him. Just too close.

However, despite all that — the chatter and laughter, the festive atmosphere — your cheeks still flushed red, knowing that Steve was standing close to you. You close your eyes and take a deep breath through your nose, one of your acquaintances steps up beside you. From where you’re standing, you hear the laughter and comments about his posture, then it’s Steve’s turn.

Robin had just spun the wheel for him — as usual — since the game began. She was actually doing it for both of you. The black arrow landed on the right hand, he has to go stand on a red circle right next to you. You feel him move, you also feel his body getting closer to you, you lower your head, unable to bear the position the two of you are in right now. Steve lowers himself until you feel his arms brush against your side. Okay — the position isn’t that bad after all.

You could hear some of the girls complimenting him, Steve just laughs it off and takes the opportunity to crack a few jokes here and there. Deep down, you hate yourself for laughing at what he said. Steve is funny.

The worst part is, you believed him, even as you kept laughing at what he was saying and turned your head to look in Steve’s direction. He did the same, like a magnet, your eyes meeting for a few seconds, him looking at you intently until your cheeks burned, you lowered your head, too embarrassed, suddenly, under his intense gaze. The only intense look Steve gave you today, after the gift.

Then, for a moment, you felt Steve’s arm slide underneath you — at your belly. His arm came to rest against the side of your belly, you shivered at his touch, not having been ready to feel his huge hand on you. 

Because of that, you heard Robin shout, “Hey !! You’re cheating, Steve ! He’s cheating !”

All eyes turned to the two of you, you looked over at Robin. She was glaring at Steve. “He lost ! You lost, Steve !” she kept saying. You could hear Steve’s hoarse laughter — it tickled one of your ears. You blushed even more.

“We help each other out. There’s no cheating — my arm was hurting. Just for a second, Rob.” Steve says. You hear his voice echoing beside you, you don’t dare meet his gaze. Your face is down again, eyes fixed on the playmat. After that, you hear Robin’s exasperated sigh and the others’ laughter as they make fun of the situation.

One of the girls — the one running the game — says with a hint of amusement in her voice, “If you don’t take your arm off her waist, it’s game over for both of you.” At that, you immediately turn your attention to the girl — it’s your cousin again. Her eyes are fixed on where Steve’s hand is resting on your waist. Can’t she just let go ? Why are you saying that ?

You hear Steve clear his throat, then his arm slips away from your waist. He says in a melodramatic voice, “My apologies.” His big hand is no longer on your waist. What a shame.

The evening then continued with your birthday celebration. The cake, which Robin had brought you while you were sitting at the table eating — eager for your cake. It glowed with the candles forming the numbers of your age — 24. They all sang in unison. When the cake was placed in front of you, you blew out the candles while making a wish. You then felt something land on your head, slightly cold, you lifted your face and saw Steve. He gave you a mischievous smile as he finished placing the tiara, which you could tell was there when you felt it with your hand afterward. A tiara — everything you’d ever wanted to wear since you were a little girl.

You whispered a “Thank you” to him, albeit timidly, without really bothering to see if he had heard it.

After that, the gifts came out. Along with jokes about your age and gifts that brought back childhood memories. All of this until the evening ended in a black hole of loud music and nostalgia about your teenage years.

The black hole consumed your memories and your senses until you opened your eyes — the atmosphere had changed.

You yawn, the hangover gradually setting in — a headache washes over you like a thunderbolt. You try to pull the blanket up over yourself. It shields you from the morning chill. Who’s the idiot who left the balcony door open ? It wasn’t me.

With this sudden irritation, you grumble into your pillow before turning over to face the other side of your room. With your eyes closed, you taste the flavor in your mouth, the bitterness hits you right away. Disgusted, you squint your eyes and make a mental note that you need to go brush your teeth. But then again, no one else is here to smell your morning breath.

For a moment, you burrow deep into the blankets, wrapping your arms tightly around yourself. The cold becomes a little too unbearable, until you feel the bare skin of your body extending beyond your arms. You feel the bare skin of your belly beneath the palm of one of your hands, the sudden sensation of nakedness at your chest, which is pressed against the mattress.

Realizing all this, you furrow your brow and reach down below you. All you can feel are your panties — all your clothes are gone. You’re half-naked.

You suddenly open your eyes, the sight that greets you makes you gasp aloud. You freeze. Petrified.

In front of you lies a man on his back. He still seems to be asleep, wearing the same clothes as the day before, except for his sweatshirt, which is missing and has been replaced by a white T-shirt. The exposed skin on his arms is covered in mountains of moles. His hair is tangled, his hands are clenched into fists on his stomach. Steve is in your bed.

Your headache is getting worse, it’s getting stronger. You prop yourself up on your hands and lower your head to look at your bare breasts. You don’t take a second to wrap yourself in your blanket, pulling it a little too hard as you struggle, which causes Steve’s body to move. His weight is on it. He doesn’t react, he seems to be in a deep sleep. You're panicking.

For a moment, you must have moved closer to Steve, to his body, to check if he was really asleep. The thought of leaving to get dressed crossed your mind. He absolutely must not wake up — especially not to see you like this. And how did you end up like this ? Did Steve do something to you ? Did the two of you…

Questions flood your mind as you continue to gaze at Steve’s peaceful, sleeping face.

As you realize how close you are to him, you take the opportunity to lose yourself in his features — his nose, the freckles on it, the moles on his face, the stubble from a recently shaved mustache. He is handsome, it’s true.

He’s breathing calmly — evenly. His breath brushes against your face, his lips are parted. It tickles your chin. You study his hair, too — dark brown, even though it’s tousled, it looks just as perfect as when he takes care of it. You keep watching him. Your eyes rest on those lips, you linger there a little too long until you realize something. It burns — your face burns, especially your eyelids. There’s a change in the air.

Lifting your eyes, you meet Steve’s gaze, he’s looking at you intently, yet he doesn’t seem taken aback by your approach. You stand there a little too long for your liking until he utters the following words. The husky tone of his morning voice sends a thrill through your body,

“Good morning, sleeping beauty.”

“Why am I half-naked in my bed with you, Steve ?” you ask bluntly, not wanting to waste any time. Why is he here ?

Steve gives you a confused look before glancing around, as if it were obvious, “Hello — and first of all, you undressed in front of me, and second of all, you didn’t want me to leave.”

“You sure can hold your liquor…” You conclude with a bored look — it’s back. The alcohol no longer courses through your veins. You still widen your eyes, realizing exactly what he just said, “Wait — I undressed in front of you? How —” you begin to stammer. At the same time, you sit up to look around — your bedroom, which is a mess. You can see your tiara somewhere on the floor, mixed in with yesterday’s clothes, your red cup too.

Your eyes meet Steve’s again, you swallow before asking in a soft, cautious voice, “Did you fuck me?”

The red flush on Steve’s cheeks makes you want to throw up, he quickly starts saying, “We didn’t do anything. Nothing.” He explains. His embarrassed, shy eyes study your face before looking back at yours — your eyes are narrowed.

You clear your throat, accepting what he just said. You didn’t have sex, that’s a fact. Steve is in your bed, yesterday, you wanted him and you undressed, since you still wanted him. It’s simple. No sex. No misunderstanding. No kiss. Did you want to kiss him ?

You feel a weight on your shoulders, your eyes drift to your hand, which is holding the blanket in place over your chest, clutching it as if for protection. You slowly lift your gaze to look down at Steve’s still-reclining body, he’s now staring at the ceiling. Eyes closed. He still looks asleep. But that doesn’t stop you from asking the following question.

“I took my clothes off… why ? Did I do something embarrassing ?” you ask, slightly alarmed. You look at Steve, who is now looking at you with one eye, he gives you a half-smile before looking back at the ceiling, his hands still clasped over his stomach.

The silence. It's scary.

“You gave me a striptease...” He finally replies. You gasp in horror at this image of yourself, then decide to pull the blankets over you — you curl up in a ball. You keep repeating “no no no!”, you refuse to accept what he just said. This image of you, drunk and lost in a fantasy.

“No ! That’s horrible ! I haven’t sunk that low… tell me that’s all I did.” You try to ask, though you’re afraid of his answer. You’re still hiding from his view. 

You hear him sigh, you feel the mattress shift beneath you, as if he’s getting comfortable before he speaks — it scares you. “You also tried to kiss me — no, actually, you told me you hated yourself for treating me like a weirdo and a lousy flirt, that I was the funniest guy you’d ever met… you also explained that you really wanted to kiss me as a way of saying sorry, but I didn’t accept it, even though you kept clinging to my clothes. You said I smelled good…”

You freeze the moment he finishes speaking, you’re completely screwed. So it was true after all. Everything you thought yesterday was just you. Alcohol is no joke, not at all. You remember having feelings for Steve yesterday, which was unusual for you — you admit that — but the idea of throwing yourself at him, wanting to kiss him, and undressing in front of him… why did you undress ?

“What happened next ? I mean… when I took my clothes off… can you explain it to me ?” you ask cautiously, shyly. You can tell, though, that his answer is going to make you blush more and more, you feel like the biggest idiot in the world.

“About that — yeah, hmm, to be honest, you undressed in front of me, because at first you wanted me to take off your dress, then you turned around and told me you didn’t need any help, and that I should just watch…” Steve replies, his voice faltering on certain words. Shame. You close your eyes, the shame and embarrassment having reached their peak in your thoughts.

There’s a long silence between the two of you, you can hear Steve’s breathing, your own and the wind coming from your balcony. You’re still hidden from him — he can’t see your flushed face.

You can hear the few trees rustling in the wind. You sigh and decide to move under the blanket, crawling until you reach Steve. Once you’re next to him, you lift your head from under the blanket and are met by Steve’s face, he’s already looking at you intently — as if he’d already sensed your approach. You’re close to each other, right next to one another.

You hear him clear his throat, glance at your hand resting on his chest — which you’d placed there to help you pull yourself up so you could speak to him face-to-face, up close — and it doesn’t seem to bother you. “Did you dare to look ?” you ask in a low voice.

You try to ignore the scent beneath your palm, his heart is beating fast — just like yours. It’s pounding.

Steve glances at your nose before saying, in a voice as low and hoarse as yours, “No.”

With that reply, you give him a little smile before saying, “Thank you.”

Steve gives you a confused look, you tap your fingers on his torso, watching him intently. A sense of calm hangs between the two of you, you don’t seem embarrassed anymore. After all, he must love you. He does love you.

Maybe the alcohol did something to you — a spell, perhaps. Something that made Steve Harrington seem much more attractive than your previous encounters, one year at Family Video, the next at WSQK.

Steve is a fine-looking young man today — he’s always been attractive, you were just too stubborn to admit it. He exuded confidence last night, which you loved. That’s what you like in a man. Alcohol claimed two victims at your birthday party. You and the man you keep staring at — he’s doing the same.

Steve gives you a flat smile before looking over your makeshift shelter of blankets. “Are you going to… you’re going to stay here.” You shoot him a narrow-eyed look before nodding — your feverish state returning just like last night.

“I’m sorry.” you say suddenly, your voice a little lower. You see Steve’s eyes widen slightly before he narrows them and furrows his brow. He looks confused. “It’s hard for a girl like me to admit… but I realized just how much of a normal guy you are, Steve — not some weirdo from Hawkins at all… I made so many mistakes ignoring your advances that yesterday — I… I realized you weren’t so bad after all.”

Steve looks around, his lips moving silently, no words coming out, as if he’s searching for the right ones to answer you.

“Are you serious ? I mean… are you okay ? Are you drunk again ?” He starts saying this, looking at you, studying your face — your eyes still fixed on him.

Steve props himself up on one elbow to lean forward and face you more clearly. You’re lying on your stomach, he continues, “Do you have a fever ?” His big hand rests on your forehead — it’s cold, comforting — and you immediately pull away, shaking your head, denying the accusation.

“I’m fine.” You’re lying. You’re hungover, obviously — a pounding headache, a dry mouth ever since you woke up. Still, you know how to choose your words right now. You’re being completely honest about what you’ve admitted. He doesn’t seem to get it, though. Get it, Steve.

His hand finds yours — which had been resting on his torso — after it had slipped onto the mattress when he shifted to face you. He takes it and squeezes it before looking you straight in the eyes, you look right back at him. “I think you need something to help with your hangover.” You roll your eyes. You don’t need anything — just him.

Steve is sitting down now. He sounded so confident when he said that that you fell silent, simply looking at him, not trying to argue with what he had said.

Steve may be right after all. Maybe it was the alcohol that put a spell on you, made you lose your head last night with him. Steve is right.

“You’re right.” you say simply, your voice now back to its normal volume. You’ve forgotten about your hoarse voice from this morning.

The breeze from the balcony tickles the top of your head, Steve gives you a friendly look. He’s already getting up from the bed. Your breathing quickens, you keep watching him as he moves away. You aren’t thinking straight, you just let it happen. He hasn’t left the bed yet — but you know very clearly that he’s going to leave. You have to stop him.

You hear the birds chirping outside, then the wind rustling above your head, Steve’s smile, his kind eyes. You lose all self-control, your heart beats faster than usual. You sit up and cup Steve’s face in your hands. You feel his cold lips against your warm ones.

It's just a simple kiss. Quick.

Steve pulls away immediately. He gives you a strange look before staring again at your slightly damp lips, you continue to hold his head in your suddenly weak hands. Your hands don't hold the blanket around your chest.

You feel the breeze sweeping through the room brush against your bare nipples and your bare back, but you pay it no mind — you keep staring intently into Steve’s eyes. He seems to be studying yours in particular. Your eyes return to his closed lips. “Do you accept my apology, Steve ?” you ask, pleading and weak. It’s not the alcohol, no. It’s you, your sober decision.

You want to be like those girls with those boys who are in love with them — the flowers and the kiss on the lips.

Steve’s lips curve upward before dropping back down, you can sense his hesitation, even as you look up to find his eyes already studying yours. Doesn’t he like it ? Isn’t this what he was looking for ? The kiss wasn’t good…

He doesn’t glance at your bare chest, at your nipples, which have hardened from a shiver. A cold shiver from the wind, his fault. You thank him. You want him to look, too.

You open your mouth to ask another question, to pour out your troubles, but his lips part as well, his deep voice beats you to it, “What did you put in your drinks yesterday ?” he asks, a laugh escaping his lips as they curve upward — a playful, teasing smile. A beautiful smile.

Your eyes now light up at the sight of his positive change in behavior toward you. You roll your eyes and say, “Nothing at all.” There it is again — your sullen tone, your pouting face. Steve recognizes you because of that.

Suddenly, you feel one of his hands brush against the back of your neck before moving up to stroke your hair at the back of your head. You can still see a mix of amusement and confusion cross Steve’s face — especially in his eyes, with the faint, youthful wrinkles around them. You give him a smile, he sees it, then returns it — his teeth gleaming.

“You agree…” You whisper, the question hanging in the air between the two of you. He agrees.

The young man standing in front of you — the one who’s been interested in you for months now, your best friend’s friend, a former weirdo — looks you straight in the eye and says, “Maybe.”

His expression remains neutral, though you get the impression that a faint hint of amusement flits across his face — his eyes and lips.

Your eyes narrow, you repeat his own words, “Maybe ?” His hand reaches up behind your head to gather your loose hair — tousled from sleep — and you take the opportunity to move closer to him. Steve doesn’t pull away.

“Yeah — maybe.” Steve gives the same answer again. He’s teasing you, you can tell from his voice. The right corner of his mouth turns up — he’s smiling at you. You’ll quickly realize he’s just teasing you. With that, you see no problem in bringing your lips closer to Steve’s, brushing them against his, your warm breaths mingling. It tickles your chin.

“So maybe.” you repeat. That’s all. Steve nods, his eyes fixed on your lips as they brush against his. You lick your lower lip, before he closes the gap between you.

You are the girl of the boy with the flowers. Gerbera daisies.

────────────────────

💛

[djodesk]

Between The Bar

summary: Steve’s a bouncer, you’re a bartender, and you’re absolutely not into each other. It’s flirting, it’s harmless fun.

tags: 90s au, painful flirting, steve is desperate, hints at steves past suffering (cuz i love angst), inspired off this lil thought, writing in present tense again kinda nervous

wc: 1.9k

Bad Rabbits Bar, June 1994

Indianapolis, not too far but not too close to home. It’s a three hour stretch from Hawkins, sometimes four if the traffic is especially bad. It was far enough for Steve to escape. From a comfortable distance. 

Steve wasn’t escaping Hawkins. No, he was just letting go of the past, preventing himself from being stuck in it. He didn’t need to stay in Hawkins, if anything, he needed to leave. He should’ve left years before he did.

But all the kids had graduated, gone off to college, grown up. His friends had left the town before him. There were no more babysitting or monster-hunting paths he could take.

The only path he had left to take had the brown marker sign that said “Leaving Hawkins, come again soon!”

And Steve took it. 

And found himself wound up in the biggest city in Indiana.

He scored a decent apartment, not too nice, but a lot nicer compared to the others he’d seen (because the Harrington name still sticks with some of the big business guys outside of Hawkins.)

He scored a job as a bouncer after he found a weird mix of a bar and nightclub in the downtown area of the city.

A popular spot near a hotel, it was a plain sports bar during the day. Leather booths and wood tables against the wall, neon signs shaped like the beer logos hung up, stools at the polished wood counter with a few box TVs sitting in the corners playing reruns or the current sport seasons game.

In the later hours they’d open up the stretch of empty floor to become the dance floor, lights would reflect off the cheap disco ball that was strung up from the ceiling, and every once in a while, they’d hire an actually good DJ. Whoever built the place clearly had the idea for it to be a nightclub only, but the current owner wanted both a flashy techno nightclub and sports bar at the same time.

That’s why everyone loved it so much, painful, but you could get the best of both worlds if you wanted. It was cheap, next to a hotel, and a tourist spot in one of the biggest cities in the country. Plus, if you paid extra bucks, you could get a private show from the go-go dancers.

For Steve, decent pay, decent job. Nights could be boring, but there would always be kids with fake IDs who liked to argue, drunk girls batting their eyelashes in attempts to get in, rich business men with wallets filled with hundred dollar bills, office workers looking for somewhere to destress, pissed off or ecstatic sports fans, all kinds of patrons would show up.

At least the regulars at the bar were nice. Or quiet.

It wasn’t exciting to talk about, it wasn’t the dream, but it was a job. It was easy. 

And after going through a four year streak of hell that blended into his teenage years and early adulthood, Steve needed easy.

He was perfectly fine with the job of checking IDs and dealing with intoxicated people. It was dull work, but it wasn’t all bad.

Especially once you showed up not long after he was hired.

Thursday night is always boring. There’s only a few patrons sitting at the bar, most people are in bed or on their way to it, the old box TV on the counter is playing an episode of The X-Files (Marty always asks you to switch it to Fox Network or he’ll go on a rant about “hiding from the truth”.) and you pretend to not be interested in it. 

This quiet and stale atmosphere compared to the chaos of Friday night lights always makes it feel like the clock hands are stuck moving through syrup. Basically, Thursday nights are slow.

You wash, wipe, and put away glasses while mindlessly staring at the TV, you’ve seen this episode before, Scully and Mulder are stuck in a research station in Alaska with scientists and everyone's losing their minds, you know what happens. They’ve replayed this episode too many times.

Knuckles rap against the counter in a familiar pattern.

Knock. Knock. Beat. Knock.

You can’t help the smile that creeps up on your face, you turn around and you’re met with who it always is.

“You being good?” Steve teases, his crossed arms sitting on the counter. His arms flex against the short sleeve of his black shirt, his biceps all on display.

“Depends. Is your shift over or do I have to tell you no drinking on the job again?” You shoot with a smirk, your feet are already slowly turning in the direction of the mini fridges. 

“Uh-uh. I’m off the clock.” He uncrosses his arms and holds out his hands, drumming them on the table.

You've figured out what Steve’s choice of drink would be after his shifts by his body language and tone of voice. He’s hard to read, kind of a closed book, but at least you’ve cracked the code in what beer he likes.

Tonight he’s tired, not exhausted, just a bit tired. It’s been a boring night, he’s not looking for anything to wake him up.

You turn and grab a bottle of Budweiser and set it down in front of him. Instead of using the opener mounted to the bar counter, you let him do the honors and hand him a spare bottle opener.

“Oh, thank you.” He sighs out like he just had a heavy bag removed off his back. “Any guys try slipping you their numbers tonight?” 

“Nope.” You pop the p as you copy his original sitting position and lean your crossed arms against the counter. “Any girls try to flirt their way into here tonight?

“Nope.” He copies your cadence, “Uneventful tonight. What?” Steve notices how

“Nothing, I just heard a woman talking about the really sexy brunette bouncer she tried to talk to.” You shrugged, taking a coaster and spinning it under your finger.

“Well, there’s a lot of women who come here, I don’t pay attention.”

Steve is a statue when he’s at the door, you’ve seen it. He doesn’t talk, doesn’t really move around, he’ll rock back and forth on his feet if he’s really bored. He’s an animatronic, he takes your ID, checks it, gives it back, and lets you in. 

“You don’t pay attention to the pretty women that are right in front of your face?” You pout at him.

“The only pretty woman I pay attention to is you.” Steve tilts his head to the side, that stupid cocky smile on his face means he’s telling himself still got it, Harrington.

You roll your eyes and fake a gag, you gotta crush his spirit from time to time. Keep him humble.

“Real smooth mister.” You push yourself up and the bar counter, “Buy me a drink first.”

“When does your shift end?” He shoots back and you have to keep yourself from rolling your eyes again.

“Midnight.” You grimace and throw your head back. Three hours. Three more fucking hours. You don’t know how many more times you can handle hearing The X Files theme song tonight.

“Have you had your smoke break yet?” Steve’s question pulls you out of your tiny moment of misery, your head snaps back up.

Marty is too focused on Scully and Mulder pointing guns at each other on the TV, but you tell him his next drink will be on the house if he keeps watch of the bar and doesn’t touch anything.

The brick wall of the bar is cool on your skin, the old light on the side of the building is yellowed and occasionally flickering, little bugs are circling it.

Steve’s already lighting your cigarette before you can even reach for the lighter in your pocket. His cig is laying unlit in the corner of his mouth, he always lights yours first for you.

“You think I’ll get in trouble if I close an hour early?”

“No, it’s not like Jerry’s here to see it happen.” Steve struggles with the lighter for a minute, he can’t seem to get it to spark fully with the wind blowing it out. “Everything alright?” He’s trying to shift the focus to you, he’s getting more and more embarrassed with the lighter not fucking working.

“Mm. Just bored, no one’s here.” You sigh, blowing out smoke while you let your head fall back against the wall. Steve is finally able to get an actual flame out.

“I’m here.” He juts out his bottom lip and shrugs before he matches your position. You just smile and close your eyes for a minute.

You’re tired, he’s tired. There’s not much to talk about. But the quiet is nice, the wind on your face is nice, Steve’s presence is nice.

You can hear Steve’s feet shift in the gravel but you don’t think much of it, you let yourself take a moment before opening your eyes again.

When you do, Steve’s turned around facing the wall, his cigarette has been replaced with a pen cap, he’s got a napkin pressed against it and a pen- the pen from your apron, must’ve slipped it out while you weren’t looking, he’s writing something down.

“Maybe, I can make up for all the missed numbers tonight.” He hands you the napkin, there’s a small tear in it from the ragged wall. 

“You’re gonna play the stranger who slips me his number tonight?”

“Stranger?”

“Co-worker.” You correct.

“Well, ow. I thought we were friends.” He puts the cap back on your pen, and slips in back into the front pocket of your apron. Your stomach sucks in a tiny bit at the feeling of his hand against it through the fabric.

“I don’t know anything about you!” You laugh.

“Yes you do, I talk to you all the time!” 

“You talk to me on my smoke breaks or when you stop by after your shift.” 

“Well, my name is Steve, I just turned 27, I work as a bouncer, and my favorite flavor of ice cream is butterscotch.” That last part was a lie, Steve couldn’t stomach that flavor anymore, not after that summer. God, when was the last time he ate ice cream? “Nice to meet you, what’s your name?” He gave you a shit eating grin and stuck his hand out.

You couldn’t help smiling again, you ignored his hand.

“I think you’re drunk, you should go home.” You stomp out your cigarette and make your way towards the back door, the napkin with his number is still in your hand.

You hear Steve scoff and when you face towards him again his hands are on his hips.

“Go home, Steven.” You groan as you open the door.

“Look! We’re on a full first name basis already!”

You turn around and stare at him, you lean your body slack against the doorframe, your hand is lazily holding onto the knob.

“Go home.” You give him a tired smile. You’re enjoying his company, you feel bad telling him to go. There’s something in you that’s trying to tug back at you telling him to go.

“Fine.” He says defeated, the same tired smile on his face, but he won’t let up “But give me a call when you get home, let me know you’re safe, ‘kay?” He’s slowly beginning to walk backwards, his car is already parked in the back lot. 

“Yeah I will, I will. ‘Kay?” You tease as you mock his voice, “Goodnight Steve.”

You spin around after he says it back and close the door behind you, you stare at the number on the napkin. You make a mental note to yourself and fold it before shoving it in your back pocket where your wallet is.

You’ll close up early tonight.

thanks for reading! lemme know what you thought! <3

[loveshotzz]

The Steve Harrington Summer Time Spectacular (Leighanne’s version)

steve harrington x fem!reader one shot

summary: You and Steve have been tip toeing around the inevitable for months now, and it’s starting to feel impossible to fight off anymore.

wc: 3.8k

warnings: 18+, coworkers to friends to lovers, season four family video steve, big dick steve, semi public just the tip smut, unprotected, dry humping, fingering fem!receiving, crop top steve!!

authors note: this is my submission for @jamdoughnutmagician fun Summer Steve Spectacular. It started off as something else and morphed into this. I hope you enjoy :) you can thank @thinkingth0ts for the crop top idea, so that’s her fault.

The mid July sunset burns orange behind the trees that shroud the Harrington’s back yard, reflecting gold along the still water of the pool. Puddles of chlorine fill in the grooves of white cement that surrounds it, dark patches from bare feet turning it a light grey. Your wet thighs stick together on the cushioned seat of the metal pool chair underneath you, the cover up you’d slipped on over your damp suit landing shorter than it looked on the rack.

Nerves fizzle and pop like sparklers in your chest waiting for Steve to come back outside, the subtle shift between the two of you the past few weeks becoming palpable. It had started to build months ago on your first day at Family video, bubbling at the surface now with nowhere else to go despite how much you fought against it. The line between banter and flirting getting muddled with every drive home after work that turned into talking about everything and nothing at the same time in your driveway. Hazel eyes always staring at your mouth a little too long until you disappeared through your front door just like the stars in the purple early morning sky.

The cracks had started to become visible in the mental dam you’d built to fight off the inevitable. Watching them grow deeper by the day, threatening to crumble the wall as water seeps out of the jagged edges. It had been an hour since everyone had left all smiles, sunburnt and happy. And an hour after Steve’s eyes lingered on yours hopeful and dark when Nancy offered you a ride home with the others. A silent exchange setting off the kind of internal battle that tugged your bottom lip harshly between your teeth. Declining her against your best judgement under the guise of helping him clean up, he even smoothed the excuse out by chiming in with his own offer to drop you off later.

Now you were alone together without the bubble of work and friends, or the nagging need to get inside. There were no time constraints, no obstacles. It scares you and exhilarates you at the same time. The sliding glass door catches your attention and the butterflies that burrow in your stomach too as Steve finally slips back outside.

“Hey, this uh, I have a weird question.” His warm honey-like voice breaks through the silence of the evening settling around you with a concerned furrow of his eyebrows wrinkling his forehead.

“What is —“ your words get off along with your train of thought as your eyes land on the white sleeveless shirt that lands in the middle of his thick happy trail.

His freshly tanned skin practically glows against the bright cotton, dark chest hair peeking out of the lingering wet patches that turn translucent. The cherry red swim trunks he’s worn all day still cling to parts of his thighs, and it takes every ounce of will power to clear the tight ball of want in your throat.

”What - what is it?”

He sighs loudly, irritation exhaling from his lungs as he cards a big hand through his dark thick highlighted hair.

“Robin said she saw a bald spot on her way out, and I’ve just spent the last 15 minutes in the bathroom trying to find it.” He scratches the back of his neck, cheeks blooming pink, seemingly oblivious to the hungry way your body hums.

The motion pulls the already short bottom hem of his shirt up, revealing more dark coarse hair and a collection of freckles and moles you’d never seen before. It makes you wonder how many more there are, the discovery bringing your thighs together in a tight squeeze.

”…A bald spot?” You snort, trying to hold in your laugh when he shoots a glare in your direction.

”It’s not funny, I’m too young for this. I’ve barely hit my prime!” He huffs in clear distress pulling out the two seater chair across from you. Flopping down on the hard navy cushions, he snatches one of the last pieces of watermelon from the bowl on the glass table.

”I’m still waiting for the question part of this.” You tease, enjoying the way he squirms, popping the fruit into his mouth avoiding your gaze. It’s impossible not to notice the way the sweet juice coats his full pink lips or the wide spread of his legs.

“I can’t believe I’m asking this, but, will you just — will you check for me?”

The thought of your hands in Steve’s hair sets off another round of firecrackers in your blood, and now it’s your turn to squirm.

”You want me to check for a non-existent bald spot?”

There’s no fight to hide your giggle this time desperately trying to ignore the growing heat in your cheeks.

”Why would she lie to me about that?” He argues, his hand searching the back of his head again.

”Because it’s Robin.” You dead pan like it’s obvious, because it should be obvious.

”Will you just come check, please?” Steve practically whines, exasperated. “If you’re right I’ll give you permission to black mail me for life.”

“Fine.” You huff with fake annoyance, rolling your eyes without much bite since it’s accompanied by a soft smile curving up the edges of your lips.

“Thank you, you don’t understand. This is a recurring nightmare of mine.” He sighs, freckled shoulders relaxing as he spreads his hairy legs even more to make room for you, the crimson fabric straining against them.

“A bit dramatic, don’t you think, Harrington?” You tease, trying to drown out the loud thumping of your heart as you push yourself up.

His eyes trace along the short hem of your sheer cover up as you make your way towards him. They linger where the damp material of your suit hugs your hips before making a path up to your chest, darkening like the sky catching the way your nipples pebble underneath their attention. Steve’s jaw tightens, throat bobbing as he finally meets your gaze from under his lashes when you stop just short of the space between his legs.

This time, your heart stops completely.

“My hair is something to be dramatic about.” He scoffs, leaning forward with a devilish flash of his teeth.

A small gasp escapes from between your lips feeling his long fingers curve around the back of your thighs, hands spreading wide gripping the soft fat of them.

“Need you a little bit closer, though, there’s no way you’ll find it from there.”

He wastes no time tugging you to him, closing the small space with ease, like he’s done this a million times before. For the first time, Steve’s reputation has jealousy roiling in your gut. You say his name with a breathless laugh which earns you a lopsided grin, hands finding a new home on the tops of his shoulders. He squeezes at the soft dough of your thighs in response, the pad of his thumb swiping dangerously close to the curve of your ass.

“Where am I looking?” You smirk, trying to give off a semblance of self control but the crack in your voice gives you away when his thumb catches the material of your suit this time.

”She wasn’t very specific, so I think you’ll need a better angle.” He hums, licking his pink lips with eyes that wander your body like they're overwhelmed, unsure of where to look first.

”A bett —“

You yelp when he pulls you onto his lap in one quick motion, your knees landing on the scratchy chair cushion bracketing either side of his hips.

”This is starting to feel an awful lot like a ploy, Steve.” The accusation comes out around a breathless giggle, back bowing on its own as both his hands spread wide wandering up your spine.

“Not a ploy, I’m just an opportunist.” He murmurs against your sternum, the tip of his sharp nose a ghost. Inhaling the chlorine and sunscreen still lingering on your skin, he squeezes at your sides like he wants to drown in it. You’re not sure you’ve ever felt this wanted.

Your fingers twist the cotton of his shirt, as you bite back the moan that tries to escape, hips hovering dangerously low above his lap, not giving in quite yet.

“Well, are you going to let me do my job?” You try to tease, but the needy way your body responds to him nudging the bottom swell of your right breast with his nose takes all the bite from it. “I thought this was urgent.”

”Mmm, you’re right.” He huffs, nipping at the sensitive skin just above your ribs through your cover up. “I’m sorry honey, I get distracted easily.”

Honey sends goosebumps pebbling against your hot skin, with a jolt of matching heat to your core. You try your best to seem unphased when he pulls away, but you aren’t sure what’s worse, his hungry touch or his full attention. Steve’s gaze flicks down to where you hover above his lap, a cocky smirk playing on his lips as his hands find their way back to your hips giving them a squeeze,

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” You laugh, biting the inside of your cheek. Trailing your fingers up his neck, you let them slide into the still damp hair at the nape of it, giving it a gentle tug bringing his eyes back to yours. “Now let me take a look.”

You don’t miss the way they glaze over, the amber inside of them melting into black. Or the way his body shifts underneath you searching for the kind of more that’s thickened the air so much the past few days it’s suffocated you both into this position.

”She made a gesture to the back of my head.” He finally gives, clearing his throat, trying to wrangle the little self control he has left.

“Hmm…” You murmur, letting your fingers dig into the thickness of the former king of Hawkins claim to fame. Something girls a few years ago would’ve fought you for.

A deep groan rumbles from his chest when you scratch lightly at his scalp, relishing in the silk softness of it. Steve leans his head forward, burying his face in the crook of your neck while you search the thickest part at the crown, letting the blond highlights float between your fingers.

“Jesus, why does that feel so good?” He almost whimpers, hot breath fanning against your collar bone.

”Again, this feels like a ploy.” You giggle, quickly realizing that your assumption about Robin was right. But you refuse to shut down the self indulgent part of your brain, continuing to play with his hair anyway.

He shakes his head, taking another deep breath inhaling the sun still lingering on your skin despite the night fully blanketing whatever light was left of the day. Crickets chirp loudly in the distance, mixing with the heavy breaths filled with anticipation of whatever was about to happen next.

”Find anything?”

His voice comes out low next to your ear, the tip of his nose nudging the sensitive spot behind it making your fingers falter for a moment, feeling his knowing smile spread wide across your skin.

“Yep, and it’s big too.”

“Wait — seriously?!”

Steve grips your hips, pulling back quickly with the kind of horrified look on his face that makes it impossible to keep up the ruse. It quickly melts into annoyance at the fit of giggles that bubble out of you because of it.

”Ha, ha, ha. Really funny. Hilarious, actually.” He grumbles, red dusting his cheeks with a roll of his eyes.

“I told you Stevie, you’re an easy target.” You tease in a condescendingly sweet voice, patting his chest with open palms.

“Easy, huh?” He arches a brow, something mischievous dancing in his eyes that has your teeth digging into the fat of your bottom lip.

“Mmhmm.” You hum, leaning forward nose brushing with his, letting your hands slide up his chest to his broad shoulders. “Really easy.”

The smug flash of white teeth you get in response has your body buzzing, that blurred line being completely erased as he pulls you flush onto his lap. Both of you moan at the contact, hot breath fanning against open mouths at the feel of each other like this. The wet bathing suits leave little to the imagination and he’s somehow even bigger than the stories led on.

”Steve.” You whimper, eyes rolling back at the first grind of your hips against him, fingers curling into his hair to try to anchor yourself somehow.

”Look who’s easy now.” He smirks, top lip catching against your bottom lifting his hips up just enough for you to gasp.

“Shut up, Harrington.” You grin into his mouth breathlessly before doing what you’ve both wanted for so long, closing the space.

Eyes fluttering closed, Steve takes control of the kiss like he’s gone over this a thousand times in his head. With one arm wrapped around the small of your back, he pulls you closer while the other has his hand curved around the back of your neck. Licking into your mouth with easy permission, you can taste the watermelon on his tongue, earning a deep moan from your chest.

You let your lips get so greedy you think they might bruise, but he meets you with equal enthusiasm, teeth scraping together ever so often from the force of it. Steve starts to guide your hips, dragging your heat along the hard length of him, groaning into the kiss at the easy glide.

“So wet already.” He murmurs against your jaw, pulling away to catch his breath trailing kisses down to your neck. “Knew you were perfect.”

His words have you shuddering on top of him, your lips spreading over his restrained cock that somehow grows even harder between your legs. The tip catches against your clit with just the right amount of pressure to have your back arch. He grunts at that before leaning back, pulling your cover up over your head. Letting his mouth devour the soft flesh of your breasts, he tugs your suit down more watching them spill out from the top with hungry eyes.

“Oh my god.” The last word comes out in a whimper feeling of him sucking a bruise into the swell of one, licking it better after he’s pleased with it.

”I’ve wanted you for so fucking long.” He confesses, licking up your neck, punctuating his sentence with a harsh grip dragging you over his length like you don’t believe him. “God, those little dresses you wear to work.”

Steve groans at the thought of it, before kissing your smiling lips, earning you a curve of his own. You keep it a secret that you’d picked all of them out for him, even when you told yourself you didn’t.

”Remind me to never wear them again, then.” You breathe against his mouth, taking your turn to nip at his jaw, fingers curling under his shirt tugging it off tossing it with the sheer fabric on the ground.

”Not funny.”

Grabbing your chin between his fingers, he brings you back to him, dark eyes swallowing you whole in their abyss. The pad of his thumb traces the curve of your bottom lip before biting it playfully with a roll of his hips. He admires the way your jaw goes slack, eye brows furrowing, rolling your hips searching for more.

”Steve — we can’t.” You whine, feeling the way his hand on your back starts a determined path down between your legs. Contradicting yourself, you spread them wider.

“We can't, what?” He whispers just barely audible over the hum of the cicadas, fingers hooking into the soaked nylon fabric of your swim suit, moaning at the slick he’s met with brushing along your seam.

“Fuck, baby.”

The endearment sends another wave of arousal to your core, coating his fingers even more as he lazily collects all of it on the pads of them. Pressing his thumb against your bundle of nerves, one side of his mouth ticks up at the breathless way you say his name and tug at his hair because of it.

“This is a bad idea.” You finally manage, pressing your forehead against his chasing his touch with hungry hips. “Plus your neighbors.”

“What about them?” He whispers with a gruff voice, middle finger teasing, circling your fluttering entrance waiting for your answer.

”I - uh — oh god.” Your hips stutter at his thumb’s returning pressure to your clit, while the tip of his middle finger barely pushes in. “They’re gonna see us.”

”No they won’t.” He says cooly, starting to rub light circles on the oversensitive bundle of nerves. His hand grips your neck tighter, relishing in the way your body reacts with every swipe. “They’re on vacation too.”

”How do you know?” You manage to argue, hands sliding down his chest where they curl into the coarse hair peppered there.

Giving it a gentle tug, you know he can feel the way you squeeze around him watching his lashes flutter.

”They go every year, and the other house next door is for sale.” Stealing another kiss, he pushes one more knuckle in swallowing your moan. “We’re alone.”

”That doesn’t mean any — oh fuck, Steve.”

He pushes his middle finger the rest of the way in, your walls welcoming the stretch trying their best to get him to go deeper. Now, it’s your turn to eat his moan that rumbles loud, vibrating from his chest.

“Tell me what you want, honey.” He breathes hot against your lips, pulling his finger almost all of the way out, before sliding it back into your heat with even more ease than before, cock twitching against your thigh.

“Not - not all the way. Need you to take me on a date first.” You murmur, tugging at the elastic band of his trunks.

Nodding eagerly, it’s all he needs to add another finger, stretching you open in a way that has your head toss back. His lips waste no time taking advantage of your exposed neck, licking a path to the sensitive spot behind your ear. He nips at it playfully before sucking hard enough to earn what he knows is going to be his favorite sound, immediately doing it again.

You hands move quickly to even the playing field, shoving his shorts down as you lick into his mouth. He groans, the deep sound rumbling from his chest when your hand wraps around him giving a squeeze. The heavy weight of it sends your mind reeling, squirming against him.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington.” You smile against his mouth, starting to slowly pump him.

“Yeah? You like it?” He murmurs, licking at your top lip, the beginnings of a grin playing at the edges of his mouth.

“Don’t let it go to your head.”

Swiping your thumb over the sensitive tip, you collect what’s yours using it to help guide you hand, relishing in the shudder that pulses through him.

Cursing under his breath, he comes back to with fingers that start to work you relentlessly. Your cheeks warm at the lewd sounds of your arousal but it only seems to spur him on more. His hips lift with every pump and squeeze of your hand at the same time yours roll against his. The motion brings you near to what you really want, his cock getting dangerously close to where his fingers work you.

“So god damn soft baby, so tight. I bet you feel so fucking good.” He says through gritted teeth, pushing himself close enough for the tip of him to catch your clit.

“Oh my god Steve.” You shudder on top of him needing more. So much more.

“Let me just feel you, don’t you want that? God I want it so bad.” His hips lift higher, and the full length of him slides through your slick fold.

The moans that spill out of both of you at the contact are loud enough that you're thankful his neighbors are on vacation. At least you hope they are.

“Oh fuck - honey.” He practically whines, doing it again, dark eyes flicking between your legs to watch.

“You - you feel so good.” You breathe against his mouth.

Setting your full weight on the thickness of his cock, he slips his fingers out, your walls that desperately try to suck him back in. He puts them to work, focusing on your clit watching you rock your hips against the length of him over and over.

“Wanna see you cum like this.” He says, brows forming a deep V tugging his full bottom lip between his teeth watching you take what you want.

“I’m so close.” Your response comes out in a whimper, the coil inside of your tightening, threatening to give.

“You’re so damn pretty — god baby, give it to me. Please.” Steve begs, rolling his hips meeting yours with the kind of fervor that catches his tip where you want him most.

“Steve!” You shudder, sinking down on him just enough to feel the first stretch, your body humming begging you to give it more.

“Oh fuck, oh god.” He whines, squeezing the back of your neck, desperately trying to regain control when he slips back out nudging your clit again.

Steve twitches between your legs, growing impossibly harder with every swipe through your folds. Your arousal coats him so much that his swim suit grows damp all over again where you sit perched on his big lap. He finds just the right rhythm and pressure against your clit that has your eyes hitting the back of your head, your demise imminent.

“I’m gonna - I’m gonna cum.” You moan against his mouth, rolling your hips chasing the high.

“Yeah?” He grunts, twitching again letting you know he’s close too. “Let me have it.”

All you can manage is a nod, face crumpling as stars start to burst in bright colors behind your eyelids. Your body trembles as your orgasm rips through you, coming out in unintelligible babbling especially when you feel him spill all over you.

The noise that claws its way out of his throat is animalistic, throwing his head back against the chair. He shivers underneath you, both of your hips moving lazily chasing the high and relishing in the feel of your consequences between your legs.

“Jesus, honey.” He huffs out a laugh, running a hand through his sweat curled hair before they both land on your curves giving them a squeeze. “Thought you just wanted to help me clean up.”

“You’re an ass.” You giggle shoving his chest with an out of breath smile. “I’m too tired now. Sorry.”

“That’s okay, my room’s clean anyway.” Steve wiggles his eyebrows, rolling his hips one last time smirking at the small gasp it earns him.

“You gotta take me on a date first, this was a lapse of judgment.” You tease, tugging your bottom lip between your teeth.

“What are you doing now?” He smiles, too smooth for his own good.

[fullofdelusionx]

I've Got You, Both Of You

Pairing: Joe Keery x You

W/C: 18.4k

Summary: The last thing you expect four weeks after giving birth is to be cheated on but when your friend group come together to help out, things start to take shape again. 3am wake up calls, bedtime routines and milestones are no longer something you have to do alone.

The silence was what got to you the most. Not the crying at 3am or the endless pile of laundry multiplying in the corner of every room. Not even the ache that still lingered through your body a month after giving birth, it was the silence.

For 6 years, your life had always been loud. Loud arguments, loud apologies, loud promises that things would be different this time. You'd met your now ex shortly after moving to New York. You were young, hopeful, and stubborn enough to believe love could fix almost anything, and for a while, you thought it had. The relationship had never been stable, your friends had pointed it out countless times over the years, usually after another breakup.

"You deserve better" "He keeps doing the same thing" "Why do you always take him back?"

The answer was always simple, because you loved him, or maybe because you loved the version of him he became for a few weeks after every fight. The version who brought flowers home, who kissed your forehead before going to work, who made you believe the bad times were finally behind you but the cycle would soon start again.

By your sixth year together, you were exhausted, but you also found out you were pregnant, and with that news somehow, for a little while, things actually seemed different. He would come to appointments, you spoke about names, he painted the nursery, he even held your hand during labour. For one moment, you thought maybe becoming parents had changed him, till 4 weeks after your son was born. You walked into your apartment and found another woman standing in your kitchen. You could still remember every detail. You had taken Jacob for his one month check up and to grab some groceries, you came home and saw the half finished wine glasses on the side, the panic on her face, the guilt on his and the baby carrier hanging from your shoulder while your newborn slept peacefully on your chest through the moment your entire relationship shattered.

You didn't scream, you didn't cry, you didn't throw anything, you simply looked at him and realised you were officially done. 6 years, finished. Within hours, his belongings were packed into trash bags and sitting outside the apartment door. He begged, he apologised, he promised but you'd heard it all before. This time, you closed the door and you never opened it again.

The first few weeks afterwards blurred together. Constant routine of feedings, diaper changes, cleaning bottles, changing his clothes, no sleep and repeat. You barely left the apartment, your phone buzzed constantly with texts from friends, missed calls, voicemails. All of them checking in and asking if you were okay, wanting to see Jacob, and why you'd disappeared. You answered one or two, but most of them were left on read because the truth was you weren't okay. You were tired, so unbelievably tired. You looked in the mirror and barely recognised yourself most days. Your hair was constantly tied up, greasy and looking almost matted. Dark circles lived beneath your eyes which you swore grew by the day. Your body felt foreign, all the excess skin, the stretch marks, you wasn't use to it. Your apartment looked like a tornado had passed through it on the best of days. Some days you forgot to eat until late afternoon and other days you remembered and simply didn't have the energy.

Meanwhile, your ex had vanished. Not a visit, not a phone call, not a text asking about his son, nothing. At first, you kept expecting him to show up but then you stopped expecting anything at all. That somehow hurt worse.

One rainy Thursday afternoon, Jacob finally fell asleep after nearly an hour of fussing. You carefully lowered him into his bassinet that was next to you in the living room, held your breath, waited, and when he stayed asleep, you sank onto the couch with a groan. The apartment was dim, illuminated only by the gap in the curtains and the TV. Your phone buzzed against the coffee table and you ignored it, just like you usually did. It buzzed again, and again, and again. With a sigh, you reached over. 3 missed calls and 6 texts all from Becca.

Becca had been your friend for years. One of the first people you'd met after moving to New York. She was persistent, loyal and completely incapable of taking a hint when she thought someone needed help. A new message appeared as you started at the screen.

Becca If you don't answer me, I'm coming over.

Becca And yes, that was a threat.

Becca Can't keep me from seeing my best friend and my mini best friend any longer

For the first time in weeks, a tiny smile tugged at your lips, then your phone rang. Becca. You considered ignoring it, instead, you answered.

"Hello?"

There was a dramatic gasp from the other end, "Oh my god she answers!".

You rolled your eyes, "Hi Becca".

"No, absolutely not. We're not doing that. I've been worried sick about you both"

Your gaze drifted toward the bassinet where your son slept peacefully, "I'm fine".

"You sound terrible, I won't lie"

"Thanks"

"You know what I mean" And you did. Becca sighed, "Can I come over?".

Part of you wanted to say no, the other part, the lonely part, wanted someone, anyone, to walk through that front door. After a long pause, you finally answered, "Okay".

Becca didn't hesitate, "Good. Be there in 20", then the call ended. You stared at the screen for a moment before setting it down. 20 minutes. 20 minutes until someone finally stepped back into your life. 20 minutes turned into 15. You barely had enough time to wipe your face before a knock sounded at the apartment door.

When you opened it, Becca immediately frowned, "Oh..."

You hated that look. The one people got when they saw you and realised you weren't actually doing okay.

"Hi" you mumbled.

Becca stepped inside, carrying two coffee cups and a paper bag, "You look awful".

A laugh escaped you despite yourself, "Good to see you too".

"I'm serious"

The apartment was quiet except for the soft hum of the TV. Jacob was asleep in the bassinet beside the couch, blissfully unaware of everything. Becca set the drinks down then she looked at you properly. The oversized sweatshirt, messy hair, dark circles, the clear top of your adult nappy poking through the top of your sweatpants. The way you seemed to be holding yourself together through sheer stubbornness, "Oh, honey".

That was all it took, and the tears came instantly. One second you were standing there and the next you were sobbing into her shoulder. Becca wrapped her arms around you without hesitation as months of emotions came pouring out. You told her everything, you'd been holding so much in that it all just spilled as soon as you started. About Jack, finding him cheating, kicking him out, how he hadn't come to see Jacob once, you cried harder when you said that. Then came how much you hated your body right now, how every stretch mark felt like another reminder of everything that had happened, none of your clothes fit, how you hadn't slept properly in months, the apartment feeling impossible to keep on top of, and finally "I just feel like I'm failing". The words came out broken.

Becca immediately pulled back, "No".

You shook your head, "I am".

"No, you're not"

"Becca..."

"You're keeping a tiny human alive by yourself after being cheated on 4 weeks postpartum. You're exhausted, heartbroken and running on no sleep. That's not failing" Fresh tears slipped down your cheeks and Becca squeezed your hand, "That's surviving". For a long moment neither of you spoke, then she glanced toward the sleeping baby, "Okay".

You sniffed, "Okay what?"

"Okay, here's what's happening, you're going to bed".

"What?"

"Bed"

"I can't just-"

"Yes, you can"

"The baby's asleep now but he'll wake up soon"

"I know how bottles work. I looked after my nieces and nephews"

"Becca-"

"Go. Now"

You stared at her, she stared back and eventually you lost. An hour later your head hit the pillow. For the first time in what felt like forever, you slept, like really slept. No half awake dozing off, or listening out for every tiny noise, just slept like the past few months never happened.

When you finally woke up, sunlight was pouring through the bedroom window and for a second you panicked. Jacob. How long had you been asleep? You shot upright before hearing his noises from the other room, your heart immediately calmed. Slowly, you got out of bed and wandered toward the doorway then stopped. The apartment looked completely different. Not perfect, or from some magazine article, but clean. The dishes were gone, laundry had been folded, empty bottles had been washed and in the steriliser, trash had been taken out, you could have cried. All whilst Jacob laid happily in his swing while Becca made faces at him from the couch.

She looked up, "Oh, sleeping beauty rises". You immediately burst into tears, again. "Oh, come on" Becca groaned affectionately.

"You cleaned"

"Little bit"

"You cleaned everything" You laughed through tears, then cried harder.

Becca stood and hugged you, "You don't have to thank me at all".

"Thank you"

She rolled her eyes and you looked around once more, noticing several grocery bags lined neatly along the kitchen counter, "You bought groceries?".

"I ordered groceries"

"You didn't have to do that"

"You had half a carton of VERY expired milk, ketchup and a questionable lettuce"

You wiped your eyes. At this point crying felt like your full time hobby.

Becca pointed toward the bathroom, "Right. Go shower".

You blinked, "What?".

"Go shower. Wash your hair. Put on clean clothes"

You looked down at yourself, she wasn't wrong, it was needed.

"I'll stay here. Look after him"

"You don't have to"

"I know I don't, but I'm going to"

The simple response made your chest ache because she genuinely didn't have to do any of this, yet she had done, all day, with no complaints.

An hour later, after the longest shower of your life, you stepped back into the living room feeling almost human again. Fresh clothes, clean hair, a full stomach thanks to the sandwich Becca and forced into you. For the first time in months, your shoulders didn't feel quite so heavy.

Becca grinned, "Tomorrow we're going to lunch. Our treat".

"We? Our? Becca..." You groaned.

She ignored you, "I've already arranged it".

"Of course you have"

"It's just everyone. You're fine"

Everyone. Your small little friend group. A few who had become family over the years. All which you hadn't seen properly since you came home with Jacob. The people you had accidentally shut out.

You glanced toward your sleeping son, then back to Becca, "I don't know".

"You need it"

"I'll probably spend the entire lunch talking about baby poop"

"Then we'll talk about baby poop"

You laughed. The first one that didn't feel forced. And surprisingly, the idea didn't sound terrible the more you thought about it. Getting out, seeing people, feeling like yourself again even if it's for a few hours. "Okay" you finally said.

Becca's face lit up, "Yeah?".

"Yeah"

She smiled, "Good".

You shook your head, "You planned this before even asking me, didn't you? I didn't have a choice".

"Absolutely I did. And so you don't have to relive the entire thing, I will tell them if you want. Everything that's happened, I can't have you crying again, we'll get you better".

You just smiled and nodded. And despite everything that had happened over the last few months, for the first time in a very long while, you found yourself actually looking forward to tomorrow, but that was all night dependant...and well, the night wasn't perfect. Jacob still woke every few hours demanding a bottle with the determination only babies seemed to have for their own schedule, but somehow it felt different. The apartment wasn't suffocatingly messy anymore, and when morning came, you realised something strange. You hadn't woken up crying for the first time in months. You just laid there for a moment, staring at the ceiling while Jacob laid staring from the bedside crib at you. You still felt heavily tired, but today it just felt somewhat manageable.

The walk to the brunch place wasn't far. A cool breeze drifted through the street while Jacob slept peacefully beneath the hood of the pram. Your stomach twisted the closer you got because it had been so long since you'd seen everyone that part of you was worried it would be awkward and that you'd somehow forgotten how to be around people. But when you reached the restaurant, through the front window you could already see them. Everybody waiting. The second you stepped through the door, conversations stopped, every head turned and immediately you were met with the kindest smiles imaginable. The sort that carried concern, relief, affection and understanding all at once. Your eyes instantly started stinging, "Oh no" you muttered to yourself.

Becca was already standing and before you could say anything, she wrapped her arms around you and hugged you tightly, "I'm so glad you came" followed by everyone else pulling you into warm embraces and giving Jacob a fuss. There wasn't one question or one awkward comment. Just genuine happiness that you were there. By the time you finally reached your seat, your eyes were already suspiciously glossy, Becca gently took the pram from you, "I've got him, you sit". You sat down and the familiar chatter you missed filled the table along with the smell of coffee, the sound of cutlery and the comforting normality of it all. You looked around, at your friends, your family. People who had spent years building a life beside you and never stopped checking in despite you disappearing, and suddenly the emotional dam within you broke, "Oh for god's sake" you laughed through tears, "I swear it's the hormones". Immediately everyone started smiling sympathetically. "I'm sorry" you said, wiping your face.

"No you're not" Sam said.

You laughed again while tears continued falling, "It's embarrassing".

"It isn't" Amanda said gently.

"It kind of is"

"You've cried three times in front of me this week" Becca pointed out from beside the pram.

"Only three? That's pretty good for me"

"Actually four"

"Great"

That earned a round of laughter from the table and the tension eased instantly. You rubbed at your eyes again, "Sorry".

"No apologising" Wes said.

"Yeah" Adam added, "We're implementing a no apology policy".

"That's not a thing"

"It is now"

Across the table, Joe had been quietly watching. Not judging or pitying, just watching to make sure you're okay. When your eyes finally met his, he offered a small smile, the kind that always seemed to calm people down. You attempted to return it even though your lip was wobbling, and Joe reached across the table, his hand settling gently over yours. The simple gesture nearly setting you off again, "Hey".

You swallowed hard, "Hey".

"Everything's gonna be okay you know?"

The words weren't dramatic or in the form of some grand speech, but they made you feel steady. Your eyes filled again, "Oh my god".

"See?" Joe laughed, "I can't say anything".

Everyone else joined in laughing with him. You covered your face, "I hate all of you".

"No you don't" Poppy said.

"No" you admitted, "I really don't".

Joe squeezed your hand gently, "You know where we all are".

You nodded.

"If you need help, call"

Another nod.

"If you need someone to hold him while you sleep, call"

You glanced toward the pram where Becca was gently rocking Jacob without a second thought.

"If you need groceries"

"Call"

"If you need food"

"Let me guess, call"

"If you need company"

"Call"

The lump in your throat that grew by the second became impossible to ignore. Because for months you'd convinced yourself you were alone, that asking for help would make you a burden and that everyone had their own lives to worry about, yet here they all were. Showing up again and again, waiting patiently for you to let them in.

You looked around the table once more. At Becca making silly faces towards Jacob, Adam and Wes arguing over something, Amanda and Sam already discussing what everyone should order, Poppy reaching over to hand you a napkin before you could even ask, at Joe, still sitting opposite, offering a reassuring smile. And for the first time since everything happened with Jack, you didn't feel abandoned, or alone, just loved. The realisation of it all made fresh tears roll down your cheeks and a groan escaped the entire table, "Oh, come on" Wes complained dramatically. You burst out laughing, and this time, when everyone laughed with you, it felt a little easier to breathe.

You were so determined not to spend the entire brunch talking about yourself. The support had been nice, more than nice, but the last thing you wanted was for the whole gathering to become some kind of intervention. So after answering a few questions and assuring everyone that yes, you were eating again, and yes, you had actually slept for more than two consecutive hours, you quickly waved a hand, "Enough about me please".

Becca raised an eyebrow.

"No, seriously" you laughed, "My life is currently bottles, diapers, myself included, and trying to remember whether I've brushed my teeth. Someone tell me something interesting".

Thankfully, everyone seemed happy to move on. Poppy immediately launched into a story about work that had the entire table laughing within minutes. Amanda followed with updates from her own life, sharing stories about coworkers, terrible meetings, and a recent disaster involving coffee and a very expensive laptop. You found yourself smiling more and more. It felt normal. For a little while you could just sit there and listen and not think about Jack, or bills, or sleepless nights. Eventually the conversation shifted toward the boys, you glanced between Joe, Sam, Wes and Adam.

"So" you said, "What have you lot been doing?".

Sam groaned dramatically, "Sleeping. A lot of it".

"That's literally it right now" Adam agreed.

Wes nodded, "We just finished tour".

"You say that like it was easy" Joe laughed.

"I think I slept for about 12 hours straight the first day back" Sam called.

"12?" Wes scoffed, "Amateur".

The group laughed and the conversation drifted toward stories from the road, crowds, travel, funny backstage moments and the exhaustion that came with weeks of performing. You listened quietly, genuinely enjoying hearing about something completely different from your own life.

"And now?" you asked.

Joe shrugged, "Rest, then eventually start writing again".

"Eventually?" Sam repeated, "You'll be texting ideas at 3am within a week".

"You aren't wrong. They've got to go somewhere"

You smiled into your coffee. It was strange, a year ago, this kind of conversation would've felt completely normal but now it felt like hearing stories from another world. Tour buses and concerts seemed impossibly far away from bottles and baby wipes. And as if reading your thoughts, a small noise came from the pram beside the table. Everyone instantly gathered to  look over as Jacob stretched, made an adorable sleepy face then settled right back down. The entire table collectively melted.

"Oh my god" Amanda whispered.

"He looks just like you" Poppy agreed.

"He's lucky he's cute" Becca added.

Joe leaned slightly to peek into the pram, the sight immediately softened his expression. And without thinking, you smiled, "You know" you said casually, "Jacob's first concert is definitely going to be one of yours".

Joe blinked, "What?"

You shrugged.

"I mean, obviously. How else is he going to believe the stories about how much of a fun life his uncles live?"

The table erupted instantly.

"Aww, Joe's going to cry" "Oh that's adorable" "Why is that actually really sweet"

Joe looked genuinely caught off guard. His cheeks turning slightly pink, "Seriously?".

"Yeah!" You looked over at Jacob, "Seems only fair".

Joe laughed quietly, "I feel weirdly honored by that".

"You should"

"I'll take that responsibility very seriously when it finally happens"

"You better"

"Little man deserves a good and memorable first concert"

"Exactly, so no pressure. From either of us"

Everyone laughed again. Joe shook his head, still smiling. He glanced toward Jacob sleeping peacefully, the expression on his face was unexpectedly fond, like he'd already decided he would protect this kid with his life. Honestly, most of your friends seemed to feel that way. Maybe you weren't doing this alone, maybe you never had been. 

The brunch stretched on for another hour before people gradually began gathering jackets, paying bills and making plans for the next time everyone would meet. For once, you didn't feel desperate to rush home. You actually felt... lighter. As everyone started saying their goodbyes, you stood with Jacob's pram beside you while the group slowly filtered out onto the sidewalk.

Amanda hugged you first, "Text me if you need literally anything, please"

"I will"

"You won't"

"I'll try" You laughed and hugged her tighter.

One by one everyone said goodbye until eventually it was just you, Becca, Joe, and a sleeping Jacob. Becca immediately crouched beside the pram, "Look at him".

"He slept through most of brunch which I'm glad" you silently huff.

Becca stood and turned to you, "Are you okay?".

You knew what she was really asking. Would you be okay alone tonight? Would the apartment feel overwhelming again? Would you disappear for another few weeks?

You smiled softly, "I'll be okay".

"You sure?"

"Yeah. Today's really helped"

She studied you for a second before nodding, "Alright", then she pointed at you, "But I'm coming over the day after tomorrow".

You laughed, "I don't doubt you for one minute".

Becca pulled you into another hug, "I'm serious. Call me if you need anything between now and then, no matter the time".

"I know"

"And eat, drink water".

"Okay mom"

"Sleep when he sleeps"

You groaned, "That one is impossible".

She laughed and kissed your cheek, finally stepping back, "Love you".

"Love you too"

A few moments later she disappeared down the street, leaving you standing beside Joe, he looked down at the pram, "Want some help getting home?".

You smiled, "You don't have to".

"I know I don't but I want to"

The exact same words Becca had used yesterday and something warm settled in your chest, "That'd be nice".

"No problem" And just like that, the two of you started the walk back. The journey wasn't long and Jacob remained asleep the entire time. Joe pushed the pram alongside you while the two of you walked at an easy pace, "I can't wait to see articles online tomorrow about how I have a kid now".

"Still happening huh? Fame really hasn't died down?"

"God no, worse if you ask me. I can't go get coffee without bumping into someone or someone taking a picture"

You always did feel sorry for him in that regard, unable to somewhat go out and live a normal life without anyone judging or criticising him. Nothing more was bought up about it, they just continued to walk and it was surprisingly comfortable. Talking about random things like the weather, movies, some restaurant they just passed, it was nice. By the time you reached your apartment building, you found yourself smiling more than you had in months. "Home sweet home" Joe announced and you rolled your eyes in response.

He held the front door open while you stepped inside, helping to carry the pram up the small flight of steps without even asking, "Joe".

"What?"

"You don't need to carry that"

"I know I don't" You shook your head at his stubborness.

When you unlocked the apartment door and stepped inside, a small sense of relief washed over you. For the first time in a long time, coming home didn't fill you with dread. The place was tidy, warm, feeling actually lived in and somewhere you didn't feel ashamed of bringing somebody else in to.

Joe wheeled the pram inside, "Wow".

You looked over, "What?"

"It looks nice. I haven't been over in a while"

You laughed, "Thanks to Becca".

"Remind me never to get on her bad side"

"Smart decision"

A few minutes later Jacob finally began stirring, right on cue. You glanced at the clock, "Food time".

Joe nodded, "Do you uh, need help?".

"I'll be okay, thank you though. You guys have done enough for me"

You moved automatically now and didn't think about what came next. Bottle, boiling water, formula, cooling, all a familiar routine. Joe appeared in the kitchen next to you, "What are you doing?".

"Making us coffee"

"You don't know where anything is"

"It's not the biggest place in the world, I am sure I can find things"

A few minutes later, Joe appeared in the living area where you had Jacob nestled against your chest, holding two cups of coffee. Jacob was already focused entirely on his bottle, his tiny hands curled around your fingers whilst he drank. Joe sat beside you on the sofa watching with genuine fascination. "You know" he said quietly, "I don't think I'll ever get over how small babies are".

You looked down, "He feels huge now".

"That's because you're with him every day. Last time I saw him he was like two days old" Joe shook his head, "He's tiny".

A laugh escaped you, Joe's soft side in full force. Jacob finished eating surprisingly quickly, then after a short burp and a brief protest about being moved, he settled into his moses basket and, miraculously stayed asleep.

You both stared, "Did we just witness a miracle?" Joe whispered.

"Don't say it too loud otherwise when he wakes, you'll be the one putting him down"

"Sorry" Joe immediately lowered his voice, "My mistake".

The apartment fell quiet, just the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional noise from outside drifting through the windows. You curled your hands around your coffee mug and for once, there wasn't anything demanding your attention. No bottles to be made, no diapers to change, no laundry waiting to be done, just living in a peaceful moment and Joe sitting comfortably beside you.

After a while he glanced over, "How are you really doing? Just us".

You considered it honestly. A few weeks ago the answer would've been terrible, and a few days ago probably not much better but now...you looked toward Jacob sleeping peacefully and around your apartment, "Tired, but coping somewhat. Didn't picture doing this all by myself so I'm still figuring things out, but better".

He nodded, "Yeah?"

"Yeah" And for the first time, you actually meant it.

Joe smiled into his coffee, "Good. You know, I've been worried about you".

The admission of it caught you off guard. You looked over, Joe was staring down into his mug, almost embarrassed he'd said it, "You have?".

"Of course" Joe looked up, "We all were".

You nodded slowly. Sitting there on the sofa, coffee growing cold in your hands while Jacob slept peacefully nearby, you realised how much you'd missed this. Not just the friendship or the company but just simply having someone there who wasn't asking anything from you, and wanted to sit beside you to make sure you were okay.

As the afternoon went on and the sunlight started to slip down into somewhat of a sunset, conversation drifted back to easier things for a while, mainly Jacob as Joe was curious. The fact that Jacob somehow managed to sleep through almost anything when out in public, yet seemed to possess a sixth sense for knowing the exact moment you sat down to relax at home.

Joe found that particularly amusing, "He waits until you're comfortable?"

"Every single time. Worse on a night"

"That's actually kind of impressive"

"You have him for 24 hours and get back to me on that"

Joe laughed into his coffee, the sound settling warmly through the apartment. You were staring into your mug when Joe spoke, "What happened with Jack? If I can ask...".

The question wasn't nosy, or him being judgmental which is what you kind of thought it would be, but he gave you room to answer or not. A few weeks ago you would've shut down immediately but today felt different. You looked toward Jacob's basket to see him still sound asleep, "I caught him cheating".

The words came out surprisingly easily, and Joe's expression immediately changed just as easily. It was more disappointed than shocked, I mean as much as your friends didn't like him, he still became part of the group at times on social occassions.

"When?"

"4 weeks after Jacob was born"

Joe blinked, the disappointment turning into disbelief, "Jesus..."

A humorless laugh escaped you, "Yeah".

For a moment, Joe just sat there, processing the answer that you gave him.

Then quietly asked, "How did you find out?"

The memory didn't hurt quite as sharply today, but it still hurt, just not enough to stop you talking. "I'd taken Jacob out for a check up appointment. When I came home there was another woman in the apartment". Joe swore softly under his breath, you couldn't even blame him. Looking back, the whole thing sounded ridiculous like something from a bad movie. "I remember thinking I'd walked into the wrong apartment for a second"

Joe shook his head slowly, "Your kidding?".

"No" You let out another small laugh, "I genuinely checked the apartment number".

His face somehow managed to look even sadder because that was probably the most heartbreaking part. Not the cheating, but the confusion and the complete inability to comprehend what you were seeing.

"I packed his stuff that same hour"

Joe looked up, "Seriously?"

"Yep"

"No second chance?"

"None" The answer came instantly.

Joe stared at you for a second, then nodded "Good. I'm sorry it happened". He leaned back against the sofa, "But I'm glad you didn't stay with him. You deserved better before Jacob". His gaze shifted briefly toward the sleeping baby, "You definitely deserved better after".

You looked away, focusing on the coffee mug in your hands, "He hasn't even seen him since he's been gone".

Joe went still, "What?".

Your voice came out quieter this time, "He hasn't seen him". The words hurt more than talking about the cheating. "He hasn't called, hasn't visited, nothing".

Joe's jaw tightened and the apartment suddenly felt very quiet, the only sound was Jacob's soft breathing nearby. Joe looked toward the basket, then back at you. His expression was impossible to miss. Anger. Not at you, but the situation, Jack, at someone choosing not to show up for their child. You found yourself rushing to soften it, "I mean, maybe it's for the best".

Joe immediately shook his head, "No. It's probably for the best that he's not around if he's going to hurt you".

You stared at him, "But that's not the same thing".

He glanced toward Jacob again, "Every kid deserves someone who wants to be there".

The words settled heavily between you, because they were true, painfully true. You'd spent months trying to convince yourself it didn't matter because Jacob was too young to know and that you could make up for it somehow.

Joe seemed to understand exactly what you were thinking, "You know what I see?".

You frowned, "What?".

He pointed toward the Moses basket, "I see a little guy who's got a mom that loves him more than anything". Your eyes immediately burned and Joe continued before you could interrupt, "I see someone who gets up every two hours to feed him, I see someone who's exhausted but still doing everything she can to provide the best life for him".

The tears were definitely coming back now.

"I'm serious" He smiled softly, "From where I'm sitting, he's doing pretty well".

You looked away before he could see how emotional that made you, but unfortunately, Joe had known you long enough to notice anyway. A laugh escaped him, "Here we go again".

"Oh shut up" You wiped at your eyes.

The afternoon somehow started to slip away from you. One minute you and Joe were sitting on the sofa talking, the next Jacob was waking up, announcing his presence with a series of increasingly dramatic noises. "Uh oh" Joe said. You laughed, followed by another diaper chanage and a bottle. And then, for the first time all day, Jacob was actually awake enough to interact with the world, or at least stare at it very seriously. Joe ended up sitting on the floor while Jacob laid on a play mat between you. The sight alone nearly made you laugh. A grown man who had performed in front of thousands of people sitting on your living room rug making ridiculous noises at a 10 week old. The funniest part? Jacob seemed fascinated by him.

"Oh, so he likes you" You smile.

Joe looked offended, "Of course he likes me. Why wouldn't he?".

Jacob chose that exact moment to let out a happy little smile. Joe immediately pointed, "There, see!" followed by a huge grin.  The playtime continued until Jacob yawned which meant you knew what was coming. The evening fussiness, the refusal to sleep despite desperately needing sleep, the same battle you fought almost every night. Except tonight it never came, because after another bottle, Joe casually lifted him into his arms, "I've got him".

You watched from the sofa while he paced slowly around the living room. Talking quietly, rocking gently, and not even five minutes later, Jacob's eyes drifted shut and you couldn't believe the sight in front you, "He never does that...".

"What, sleep?"

"In 5 minutes"

Joe glanced at the sleeping baby, then back at you, "Maybe he likes my stories?".

"What stories?"

"I was telling him about Adam losing his suitcase in Mexico"

You laughed, "Thrilling".

"Well apparently so!" Carefully, Joe lowered Jacob into his cot, he barely stirred and the apartment felt at peace. Both of you just watching him sleep, then eventually Joe checked his phone, he sighed dramatically, "I should probably head home". Your face fell slightly before you could stop it, and Joe noticed immediately. "I'll see you again soon, promise" The smile he gave you was gentle.

Still, it was hard because today had been the first day in months that hadn't felt overwhelmingly lonely. The apartment was dim now, evening settling outside the windows, you walked Joe over to the door as he grabbed his jacket, "Thank you for today".

He shook his head, "You don't need to thank me".

"Yes, I do"

"You really don't. It's what friends are for"

The words caught slightly in your throat, "Today was..." You searched for the right phrase, "I really needed today".

Joe's expression softened, "You deserve days like this".

You looked down for a second before meeting his eyes again. The gratitude felt impossible to put into words. Not just for today, but for everything, checking in, showing up, helping with Jacob, helping carry some of the weight of everything without ever making you feel guilty for needing it.

Your eyes drifted toward the living room where Jacob slept peacefully, then back to Joe, "We're lucky".

Joe smiled, "You don't have to-"

"No" You cut him off softly, "We are, Jacob and I".

Something flickered across Joe's face, a mixture of warmth and emotion.

"You, Becca, everyone" You swallowed, "We're really lucky to have people like you".

The apartment suddenly felt very still. Joe's smile was smaller now but more genuine, reaching his eyes as he stared at you, "I think we're pretty lucky too".

"Yeah?"

"Yeah"

Your chest tightened, enough to remind you how long it had been since someone had made you feel valued and not like a burden. Joe stepped forward and pulled you into a hug and without thinking, you hugged him back immediately. You felt so safe, it was the kind of hug that said you're not doing this alone. When he finally pulled away, he smiled, "Text me if you need anything".

You laughed, "You've said".

A moment later he was gone. The apartment door clicked shut behind him and for the first time, the silence didn't feel so overwhelming. You wandered back into the living room and watch Jacob fast asleep through the monitor, the rise and fall of his chest immediately soothing you. You sat down on the sofa, pulling a blanket around yourself and caught up on some TV you had been meaning to do for weeks.

Your phone buzzed with a message from Joe.

Joe Made it home

Joe Tell Jacob I expect him at his first concert

You He's already your biggest fan

The next few months passed far quicker than you expected. Somehow, life found a rhythm. Not a perfect one but a good one. Jacob grew every single day that it felt impossible sometimes. One minute he was a tiny newborn who fit against your chest, and the next he was sitting up with support, grabbing anything within reach and babbling endlessly about absolutely nothing with next to no naps throughout the day. 6 months old. You still couldn't quite believe you survived 6 months. Some days were still hard. There were moments you caught your reflection and still struggled with the changes pregnancy had left behind like the softer stomach, the stretch marks, the body that felt different from the one you had before, but this time the hatred wasn't there, not like it had been because everytime you looked at Jacob, smiling up at you with those chubby cheeks, it became harder to resent the body that had brought him into the world.

You were learning, slowly, to be kinder to yourself and thankfully, you weren't doing it alone. The friend group became a constant with weekly dinners, weekend lunches, movie nights, coffee hangs. Your apartment somehow became everyone's unofficial meeting place. Not that you minded, it was easier whilst you got Jacob ready for the day instead of stressing you would be late showing up everywhere. Your apartment was full of laughter again, full of life, and Joe? Well, Joe somehow became one of the biggest part of your routine whilst he was still home and not out travelling. Every few days there'd be a knock on the door, sometimes with coffee, sometimes with food, sometimes with absolutely no reason whatsoever. He'd simply show up and announce go take a shower, or go nap, to which you usually responded with a glare than did exactly what he suggested. Not because he told you to, but you trusted him enough to leave Jacob in his hands, and whenever you came back, Jacob was the happiest baby you had ever seen. Usually laughing and becoming increasingly obsessed with Joe.

It soon became a running joke. The second Joe walked through the door, Jacob's entire face lit up. "Why don't you do that with me! That's rude!" you told him one afternoon. Joe looked very pleased with himself as Jacob wouldn't take his eyes off him. Today was another one of those afternoons, sunlight covered the apartment while Jacob sat in his highchair looking extremely confused about life. A bowl of baby food sat on the tray with Joe sat beside him armed with a tiny spoon and too much confidence, "I feel pressured to do this right".

"You should. You're feeding him his first taste of real food".

Joe looked at Jacob, Jacob looked at Joe, then immediately tried to eat the spoon.

You burst out laughing, "Good start".

Joe was laughing too, "I think he's a natural".

For the next 10 minutes, the two of them somehow made weaning look like the world's messiest activity. Food ended up everywhere. Jacob's face, Jacob's bib, Joe's shirt, the tray, the floor, possibly the ceiling, you genuinely weren't sure, you were just the cameraman today.

Eventually you handed Joe a cloth, "You've got carrot on your face".

"What?"

"Your cheek" Joe wiped the wrong side, "The other one". He wiped his forehead and you laughed harder, "How do you function independently?".

"I don't"

"That really explains a lot"

Jacob squealed happily, clearly enjoying the chaos. The sight of them together made something warm settle in your chest because Joe never looked like he was helping out of obligation. He genuinely enjoyed being here, enjoyed being around Jacob, and Jacob absolutely adored him.

As if sensing your thoughts, you smiled, "You know...".

Joe glanced up, "What?"

"You're really good with him"

His expression softened as he looked down at Jacob who was now attempting to grab Joe's fingers.

"I like him. He's a cool little guy"

You watched them together for a moment, then casually asked, "So are you seeing anyone?".

The question seemed to surprise him, but he laughed, "No. Haven't for a while".

"Really?"

"Really"

You frowned slightly and he leaned back slightly, "I think life just got busy". His gaze drifted toward Jacob, "Touring, making music, acting, everything else" He shrugged, "Guess I never met the right person".

The answer felt strangely honest, very truthful, and you found yourself asking the next question before thinking too much about it, "What about kids?".

Joe's eyes immediately moved back to Jacob who was now happily banging a spoon against the tray. The smile that appeared was impossible to miss, "Yeah i'd love kids". The answer came without any hesitation.

Something about that made your chest tighten unexpectedly, "Yeah?".

"Absolutely" Joe laughed quietly, "I always have".

You looked at him, then at Jacob, then back at him, "You'd be a good dad".

Joe blinked, clearly caught off guard, but smiled, "Thanks".

You meant it. Every word. Because over the last few months you'd watched him show up over and over again without being asked and without expecting anything, and just because he cared. And before you could say anything else, a knock sounded at the apartment door. 3 sharp knocks. Both of you looked up, Jacob immediately stopped hitting his spoon and the apartment fell silent.

Joe frowned, "Expecting someone?"

"No"

The knock came again, but louder this time and suddenly your stomach suddenly twisted. The group always texted first, nobody just turned up unless it was Joe, not after everything that happened. A strange feeling settled heavily in your chest and Joe must've noticed because he was already standing before you were because concern replaced the easy smile he'd worn moments ago, "Let me get it".

You swallowed as another knock echoed through the apartment, and suddenly you weren't sure you wanted to know who was standing on the other side of that door.

The moment you heard the voice through the door, your blood ran cold, "Can I just talk to her?".

Every muscle in your body locked. No. No. No.

For months, nothing. Not a text, a phone call, a birthday card, not a single attempt to see his son, and now he was standing outside your apartment. Jacob squealed happily beside you, completely unaware of the sudden storm that had swept through the room.

Your eyes immediately found Joe's as he was already looking back at you from the doorway, the colour draining from your face. You slowly shook your head. You didn't want this. You didn't want to see him. You didn't want to hear excuses. You didn't want apologies. You had fought too hard to get back to where you were now.

Joe nodded immediately with no questions asked. He turned back toward the door, "You need to leave".

There was a pause, "What?"

"She doesn't want to talk to you"

Jack scoffed from the other side, "That's not your decision".

"No" Joe replied calmly, "It's hers and she's said no".

Your hands tightened around the edge of the highchair as Jacob continued banging his spoon happily. The contrast felt surreal.

Then Joe spoke again, "You need to leave".

"I just want to talk"

"No"

"I deserve-"

"No" For the first time, Joe's voice carried an edge you'd never heard before, in a protective kind of way.

You could hear Jack's frustration growing, "That's my son in there".

Something dark flashed across Joe's face. The kind of anger that came from months of watching someone you cared about suffer, "Your son?".

The apartment suddenly felt very quiet. Jack didn't respond and Joe laughed once, "Interesting". You'd never seen him angry before. "Because from what I've heard, you've had months to be his father".

Joe continued, "Months. You didn't call, you didn't visit, you didn't show up, and now you decide to turn up at her door?"

"Stay out of it"

"No" The response was immediate, "Not a chance".

You could hear Jack shifting outside growing more irritated, "This has nothing to do with you".

Joe glanced over his shoulder at you and Jacob. At the life that had been rebuilt inside these walls, then he looked back at the door, "It does when I watched her pick herself up after what you did to her. I've been here almost everyday and you've what?". The words hit you unexpectedly because he was right, Joe had watched you. He'd seen the exhaustion, the crying, the loneliness, the days you barely functioned. "I've watched her do every feed, every sleepless night, raise him by herself".

The apartment blurred slightly, tears forming at his words.

"And now she's finally happy. So no, you don't get to show up here and demand anything".

A long pause followed, then Jack finally spoke. "What if I want to see him?"

You stopped breathing and Joe's expression didn't change. "Then you should've thought about that 6 months ago, have fun in court trying"

Jack swore. Loudly. Your entire body tensed and immediately Joe stepped slightly in front of the doorway as some form of barrier between your apartment and the chaos unfolding outside.

"You can't stop me" Jack raised his voice.

"No" Joe nodded, "But she can"

Then Jack tried one last time, "Tell her I just want 5 minutes".

Joe looked back at you, you shook your head again. You didn't owe him that. Not today, not ever. Not after everything.

"She said no"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah, seriously" The door shut. Hard. The lock sliding into place, and just like that it was over. A few muffled words echoed from the hallway before eventually fading into nothing. Joe stood there for a moment listening in to make sure he was actually gone, only when he was satisfied did he finally turn around.

Your eyes were already full of tears because truthfully, the entire thing had shaken you. Joe crossed the room immediately, "Hey".

You laughed shakily, "Of course today was going well". A watery laugh escaped you as Jacob chose that exact moment to squeal and throw his spoon onto the floor. Both of you looked at him, he looked extremely pleased with himself. The ridiculousness of it broke the tension instantly. A laugh escaped Joe, then one escaped you and soon the three of you were laughing. Joe picked up the spoon and Jacob immediately threw it again.

"You know" Joe said, watching it hit the floor. "I think he might be a menace".

"Definitely a menace, and it's not from me"

Joe looked over at you as the concern hadn't completely left his eyes, "You okay?".

You thought about it honestly. A few months ago, Jack showing up would've destroyed you. Today? Today felt different because you weren't alone anymore. You looked around your apartment, at the toys, the photos, the life you'd built, Jacob, Joe still standing there making sure you were alright.

You smiled softly, "Yeah".

Joe's shoulders visibly relaxed, "Good".

That night, after Joe left, the apartment felt quiet again. Jacob was asleep in his crib after a surprisingly easy bedtime, and you sat curled up on the sofa with a blanket over your legs, staring at a movie you weren't really watching. Your mind kept drifting back to the front door, Jack, his voice, the audacity of him showing up. At first you'd thought it had upset you because you still loved him, but the longer you sat there, the more you realised that wasn't it at all. You weren't heartbroken or longing for him. You were angry. For years you'd spent so much energy being sad. Sad he cheated, sad he left, sad Jacob didn't have the father you'd imagined, sad that things hadn't worked out. But now? Now you were angry. Angry he'd missed every sleepless night, every bottle, every doctor's appointment, every milestone. Angry he'd walked away from his son and then somehow expected to be welcomed back. For the first time, you weren't grieving the relationship. You were seeing it clearly.

The friend group found out the next morning. You'd barely finished your coffee before your phone exploded. Joe had mentioned it in the group chat.

Joe Jack showed up at her apartment yesterday.

That was all it took. Your phone became unusable.

Amanda HE DID WHAT?

Adam Absolutely not

Sam Address please. I just wanna talk.

Wes Sam no

Sam Sam yes

Poppy Is she okay??

Becca I'M ON MY WAY

Becca Actually 10 minutes because I can't find my keys.

The concern only got more ridiculous from there. Amanda arrived two days later with enough food to feed a family of 6. Adam checked your front door lock. Wes bought Jacob a stuffed dinosaur for emotional support, the dinosaur was almost as big as Jacob. And somehow the most ridiculous thing of all was the creation of a new group chat.

The title? Jacob Appreciation Society. The sole purpose? Photos. Hundreds of them. Sleeping, eating, laughing, wearing funky hats, looking confused, holding a banana. The group was obsessed, particularly Joe, which led to a very specific problem.

A week later, you were in the kitchen, Jacob on your hip when you heard a familiar knock, then the door opening, "Ooo, who is it Jacob?".

Without a single word being exchanged, you turned, Joe was kicking off his shoes and immediately made a beeline for Jacob. The routine had become second nature. You didn't even think about it anymore. Meanwhile Jacob had spotted Joe, the reaction was immediate. His entire face lit up and a delighted squeal echoed through the apartment.

"Oh wow. Someone has their big boy voice on today" You heard Joe laugh. Another squeal, you smiled to yourself.

With coffee mugs in hand freshly made, you walked back into the living room. Joe was already sitting on the floor and Jacob was trying to climb directly into his lap.

You handed him his coffee. He took one sip before complimenting it like he does everytime. The warmth that settled in your chest felt far too familiar these days. Before you could think about it too much, your phone buzzed.

Becca On my way!

You Door's open. Joe's here.

10 minutes later, Becca walked inside without knocking. "Hello-" She stopped. The scene in front of her clearly wasn't helping. Joe was carrying Jacob around the apartment with one arm, coffee in the other hand talking absolute nonsense to him.

"And this is the kitchen". Jacob giggled. "A very important room. Mama makes your food in here". More giggling.

Becca slowly looked at you, then at Joe, then back at you, "...No".

"What?" You were straight out confused.

"You two"

You groaned and Joe looked confused, "What about us?".

Becca stared at him, at Jacob in his arms, then at you holding his coffee mug because he'd handed it off while adjusting Jacob, then at the fact he was currently wearing one of the spare burp cloths over his shoulder because Jacob had spit up on him earlier.

Her eyes widened, "It's all very...homey" she gestured with her hands, "You know you're basically co-parenting at this point, right?".

Silence. Complete silence. Joe dropped the burp cloth, "What?"

You looked horrified, "No!"

"You so are"

"We aren't"

Joe shook his head immediately, "I'm not co-parenting"

"You know where the diapers are. You know his bedtime routine. You know what bottles he likes"

Joe opened his mouth, closed it, opened it again, "...that's still different".

The room fell silent. Becca looked between everyone in the room, then settled on Jacob who was currently sitting happily on Joe's hip like he'd lived there his entire life, "Oh, this is cute".

You buried your face in your hands, Joe looked equally horrified.

"We're friends"

"Best friends"

Becca laughed so hard she had to sit down. Neither of you were willing to admit it and the worst part? Nobody had a good explanation for why Jacob immediately started crying the second Joe handed him back, and why he instantly stopped when Joe picked him up again.

A few weeks after Becca's relentless teasing, life settled back into its usual rhythm. Jacob continued growing at an alarming rate. You continued pretending not to notice how much easier parenting felt when you had an entire army of people helping you and Joe continued showing up every few days like clockwork. Some mornings it was coffee, some afternoons it was lunch, some evenings he'd sit on your living room floor building towers out of soft blocks while Jacob destroyed them immediately. It was normal now which was probably why the news hit harder than you expected.

The whole group was at dinner when Joe mentioned it casually, "I've been offered something".

The table looked up.

"What kind of something?" Adam asked.

Joe shrugged, "A film project".

You smiled, "That's amazing".

"It is"

Something about the way he said it made you glance over. Joe wasn't smiling, at least not fully.

"What's wrong with it? Why don't you seem all in?" Becca asked.

Everyone immediately turned toward him, Joe rubbed the back of his neck, "It's long".

"How long?" Becca asked

"Few months. 4 to 5"

You just stared at him, "A few months?"

Joe nodded. Your smile stayed in place, mostly.

"That's incredible!" Amanda beamed.

"It is" He genuinely meant that.

"You deserve it" and you meant it when you said it. This was good news, a huge opportunity, something he'd worked incredibly hard for. So why did your chest suddenly feel weird?

The rest of the table quickly launched into questions. When? Where? What would he be doing?

You listened, smiled, joined the conversation, but a small part of you kept thinking the same thing. A few months of no visits, help with Jacob, no Joe. The realisation was uncomfortable and you didn't like how uncomfortable.

Later that night, after everyone had gone their seperate ways, you found yourself standing in the kitchen cleaning bottles. Joe came back to yours with you and Jacob, helped put him to sleep and was helping put things away after you in the kitchen. The two of you moving around each other with the ease that came from doing it a hundred times before.

"You're quiet tonight"

You glanced up, "So are you"

"Yeah..I guess you're not wrong"

You dried your hands, "So, when do you leave?"

Joe hesitated, "Couple of weeks"

The answer hit harder than it should have and you immediately hated that, "That's soon",

"Yeah..."

The apartment felt strangely heavy, silence broken by Jacob waking up and babbling through the monitor, you put the towel down, "I should go check on him", and Joe just nodded.

The moment passed, life moved on, but the thought remained. Days went by, Joe hadn't been round since the night of dinner, the mention of meetings and industry bits that need sorting before he left. You understood, it was his job at the end of the day, but then Jacob got sick.

Properly sick. Not just a cold or teething. Sick. It started with a fever, then came the crying non-stop, the clinginess, the refusal to eat, you spent the entire day worrying, the entire evening worrying and by 3am, after almost being up for 36 hours, you were exhausted. Jacob was burning up against your chest, enough to scare you and make every parental fear you've ever had come rushing to you at once. You'd already spoken to the doctor, you knew what to watch for and you knew he was likely okay but logic wasn't helping because this was your baby, and he was hurting.

Tears stung your eyes as you sat in the dark living room with Jacob whimpering softly against your shoulder. You felt completely helpless. Without even thinking, you grabbed your phone and called Joe. The second it started ringing you regretted it. It was 3am, what were you doing? He was probably asleep. You should hang up.

Then the call connected immediately, "Hey, what's up?" His voice sounded tired but instantly concerned at the same time.

"Sorry for calling"

"What happened?"

You looked down at Jacob, tears spilling again, "He's sick and I don't know what else to do so I just called"

"I'm coming over"

Your head snapped up, "What?"

"I'm coming over"

"Joe-"

"I'm already getting dressed"

"You don't have to"

"I'll be there soon" The call ended.

10 minutes later there was a knock at the door. You opened it to Joe standing there in a hoodie and baseball cap, clearly having left his apartment as quickly as humanly possible. The second he saw your face his expression softened, "Oh".

That was enough, the tears finally spilled over. You laughed through them immediately, "I'm sorry".

"Don't apologise"

"I woke you up"

"I don't care"

You stepped aside and Joe walked straight inside. His attention immediately shifting to Jacob, laying in his moses basket all red cheeked, sleepy and miserable. Joe's face fell, "Oh buddy...". The gentleness in his voice nearly made you cry harder. For the next hour, neither of you slept. Joe made coffee, you rocked Jacob, then Joe took over so you could sit down, you took him back and Joe sat beside you. There were no grand gestures, or solutions to anything, it was just the support and having someone there.

Around 5am Jacob finally fell asleep, dosed up on medicine, the worst of the night seemingly behind you. You sat on the sofa looking completly exhausted, "Thank you".

Joe looked over, "You don't have to thank me"

"You were here in like 10 minutes"

A small smile appeared, "Traffic was good"

You laughed, "I hope so for that time of day"

You looked down at Jacob, back to Joe sitting there awake still making sure both of you were okay. A thought crossed your mind that was a little harder to ignore than before that you never thought would be on your mind at all. It wasn't because you needed him, you knew now that you could do this by yourself, but because somewhere along the way, he had become one of your favourite parts of life, and looking at him at 5am, half asleep after dropping everything the second you called, you had the feeling that maybe this wasn't as one sided as you thought.

A few weeks after that night when Jacob got sick, something shifted. It wasn't all at once, you didn't wake up one morning suddenly head over heels in love, it happened so slowly that you barely noticed it. At first it was just gratitude, the fact he'd shown up at 3am without hesitation, then it was noticing how naturally he fit into your life. How he'd arrive and automatically pick Jacob up, how he'd remember doctor's appointments, how he knew which stuffed toy Jacob wanted when he was tired. And somewhere along the way, you stopped looking forward to Joe visiting because you needed help. You started looking forward to it because it was Joe. The apartment felt brighter when he was in it, you found yourself smiling when his name appeared on your phone and seeing him with Jacob made your heart do things you were trying very hard not to think about, which was why the leaving dinner was proving to be a challenge.

The restaurant was busy and warm when you arrived. You'd actually made an effort which was something you hadn't done for a long time. Not because of Joe, definitely not because of Joe. You'd spent 10 minutes arguing with yourself in the mirror about that fact. The result was a dress you hadn't worn in over a year and your hair down instead of permanently tied back. You felt good, confident, even with your mom belly and chest. Jacob looked infinitely cooler than everyone else in the room, the checkerboard dungarees Joe had bought him fit perfectly combined with the tiny Vans on his feet, he looked like the world's coolest kid.

The second you arrived, Joe spotted him. He immediately crouched down beside the pram and Jacob's entire face lit up. The reaction made everyone laugh, "He doesn't even greet us like that" Wes complained.

"Because you're not me" Joe replied. The confidence was insufferable but unfortunately, he was right.

Dinner was genuinely going wonderful. Great food, stories, laughter, the entire table seemed determined to make the most of the evening. Luckily Jacob somehow managed to sleep through most of it with his pram tucked beside the table while conversations flowed around him. Occasionally he'd stir but Joe would immediately check on him and then he'd settle again.

At some point during dessert, Becca raised her glass, looking directly at Joe, "We're all incredibly proud of you as you know because we tell you everytime we see you. You're going to do great and we can't wait for you to come back home already".

Joe smiled at her words, slightly embarrassed which only encouraged her further, "We're also annoyed you're leaving, because that means you're going to miss little man's first birthday...".

The smile and embarassment vanished instantly and the entire table went quiet. Joe blinked, then looked toward the pram at Jacob who was peacefully asleep, then towards you. The realisation hit him visibly. Your chest tightened at his reaction, because somehow it genuinely hadn't occurred to him that he wouldn't be here. Not because he didn't care, but because he had become to used to being there and watching him grow, the thought of missing something important hadn't crossed his mind.

"Oh no" Sam laughed, "Look at his face".

Joe ignored him, still staring between you and Jacob. "You'll be gone?" you asked quietly.

Joe looked genuinely upset, "I...I think so". The answer seemed to bother him more than anyone else, but a moment later he shook his head, "No" He sat forward, "I'll be there".

Becca laughed, "You're going to teleport home mid shoot?"

"I'll figure it out" The determination in his voice surprised everyone, including you. "I'll make sure I'm there. I don't care what I have to do, count me in".

Something in your chest melted completely, because he meant it, every word. There wasn't a single trace of obligation in his voice, just certainty. You smiled softly at him, "Jacob would love that".

Joe returned the smile, "He better"

"He definitely will"

The conversation eventually moved on, but your heart never quite settled afterward.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of laughter, the kind you'd come to love but eventually the restaurant staff began clearing tables bringing the night to a close. One by one people stood with hugs, promises to text and promises not to disappear. Joe accepted every goodbye with a smile, trying very hard not to make it emotional and failing slightly. When your turn came, you were standing beside Jacob's pram. Everyone else was slowly making their way toward the door and for a second it was just you and him. Joe glanced down at Jacob who was still asleep, then back at you. A smile tugged at his mouth, "I'll come round tomorrow".

Your heart skipped, "Yeah, okay"

He nodded, "I want to see him awake before I leave"

You smiled, "He'll be happy about that"

Joe laughed quietly, "Good". There was a pause after, one that felt strangely difficult. Tomorrow, then he'd be gone. You knew it wasn't forever, but it was a while. Joe must have sensed it too because his smile softened, "I'll see you tomorrow".

You nodded, trying very hard not to let your emotions show, "See you tomorrow". Joe reached down, gently squeezed your shoulder and followed everyone else out of the restaurant. Leaving you standing beside a sleeping Jacob watching him disappear through the doors and for the first time since you'd known he was leaving, the reality of it truly hit. Tomorrow would be the last time you'd see him for months and that thought hurt far more than you wanted to admit.

The walk home felt much quieter than the evening itself. Jacob slept the entire way curled up beneath a blanket in his pram while the city lights reflected off the sidewalks. You should have been happy, the dinner had been wonderful, everyone had laughed, Joe was excited about the opportunity and everything was good. So why did your chest feel so heavy? You already knew the answer, you just weren't ready to say it out loud.

The next morning arrived far too quickly. Jacob, unfortunately, had no respect for emotion and woke up bright and early. By 10am you'd already been up for hours. He'd eaten his breakfast pancakes, had playtime, had a bottle, had half a banana that somehow ended everywhere except his mouth, it was a normal life. It was when the door knocked which made everything feel less normal, your stomach flipping. Jacob squealed because apparently he had recognised the knock too. "To say you're my child, you are one heck of a traitor Jacob", followed by another squeal. You opened the door to see Joe stood there holding a paper bag and coffees, "Morning" He held up the bag, "Coffee and pastries".

You smiled, "Come in".

Jacob's reaction was immediate. The second Joe stepped inside, tiny arms wiggled upwards demanding attention. Joe laughed, "Well good morning to you too!". Within seconds he had Jacob balanced comfortably on his hip like he always did.

The morning passed far too quickly and you found yourself trying to memorise it all. The sound of Joe laughing, the way Jacob kept stealing his baseball cap, the sight of them sitting on the floor together surrounded by toys. The ordinary little moments that had somehow become important.

Around lunchtime, Jacob finally started rubbing his eyes. "Is it time for somebody's nap?" You stared down at him from the floor.

Joe nodded, "I think so"

Together you got Jacob settled down after a cuddle and a short walk round the apartment, and within minutes he was asleep. Joe carefully lowered him into the crib, he soon rolled over and stayed asleep. The two of you practically tiptoed out and immediately celebrated in the kitchen.

"Professional parenting if I say so myself" Joe chuckled.

"We deserve medals"

"And the rest"

The words slipped out so naturally that neither of you noticed them at first, until you both did followed by a brief moment of silence and then laughter. The tension disappearing.

A couple of hours later the apartment looked exactly how it always did when Jacob napped. Peaceful and comfortable. You and Joe sat on the sofa, coffee mugs in hand, finally eating the pastries he had bought with him. You'd sat in this place together countless times before but today felt different, there was some form of countdown attached to it.

Eventually Joe glanced at the clock and your stomach sank immediately, "Already?"

Joe followed your gaze, "Yeah I'm afraid so"

You hated how disappointed you sounded.

His expression softened slightly, "Hey, it's not forever".

"I know"

"You sound unconvinced"

Because you were. Joe had become part of your life in a way you hadn't expected. Part of Jacob's life too, and the thought of months without him felt strange. The apartment would be quieter, lonelier, you had gotten used to him being there, maybe too used to it.

Joe seemed to be having a similar thought, his eyes drifting towards the hallway where Jacob was sleeping, "I'll miss him".

You smiled softly , "He'll miss you too"

Joe laughed, "You think so?"

"He literally waits by the door some mornings for you I swear. If not he plays with that giraffe teddy you bought him. Told you he's your number one fan"

Joe looked absurdly pleased by that, followed by guilt and sadness all in the space of 5 seconds. You watched the whole thing happen, and it somehow it made you love him even more. Damn it.

Eventually, there was no avoiding it. Joe stood and grabbed his jacket. The familiar sight suddenly felt awful. You walked him to the door, the two of you standing there, neither wanting to make the goodbye bigger than it needed to be.

"You'll call?" Joe asked.

"You mean when Jacob wants to show you every spoon he finds?"

"Exactly that"

You laughed, "Then yes"

"Good"

"I'll send photos"

"You'd better"

"Thousands"

"I expect nothing less"

Joe smiled, the one that always made your heart behave strangely, "Take care of yourself".

You swallowed, "Yeah, you too"

His eyes lingered for a moment like there was something else he wanted to say. Something both of you weren't ready for. He stepped forward, pulling you into a hug, this time lasting a little longer than usual. Long enough for you to realise exactly how much you were going to miss him and long enough for Joe to realise he wasn't particularly eager to let go either.

When you finally pulled apart, neither of you acknowledged it because acknowledging it would mean asking questions neither of you were ready to answer.

Joe smiled again, then stepped into the hallway, "See you soon". You nodded, "See you soon". And this time, as you watched him disappear around the corner, you knew something with absolute certainty. You weren't just going to miss your best friend, you were going to miss the person who had quietly become one of the most important people in your life. As terrifying as the realisation was, it wasn't something you wanted to run from.

The first few weeks without Joe were strange. You still had everyone else surrounding you for support and help where needed, but there was a noticable gap where Joe usually sat. You hated how much you noticed it.

Thankfully, the friend group seemed determined not to let you spiral. Becca appeared every other day like clockwork after work, most Saturdays became group days out for lunches, bbq's, days at Becca's, the kind of things that filled your calendar and kept loneliness from settling in. And Jacob certainly wasn't letting you sit around feeling sorry for yourself because at 9 months old he'd discovered movement and apparently decided to make up for lost time. The child was everywhere. Everywhere. One minute he'd be on the playmat, the next he'd somehow be halfway across the apartment attempting to pull himself upright using furniture he definitely shouldn't be climbing.

You spent most of your day saying

"Jacob" "No" "Jacob" "Get down" "Don't do that Jacob"

One of the evenings you found yourself sitting on the floor surrounded by pieces of baby gate that you were trying to construct together to try contain him into one room. Screws sat on your lap, a screwdriver between your teeth, and a very determined baby attempting to eat the instruction booklet, "Absolutely not Jacob, don't do that".

Jacob giggled, then crawled away at remarkable speed back towards your phone which sat propped against the coffee table with Joe's face filling the screen watching the entire disaster unfold.

"This is entertaining"

"It isn't"

"It is from here" Joe laughed, "You've put that piece on backwards".

You looked down, "...oh"

"How did you even manage that?"

"I don't know. I don't even know how you figured that out from there"

Jacob immediately pulled himself up using your shoulder and Joe's face softened instantly, "I can't believe how well he can move now, he'll be running after us soon" Jacob recognised his voice immediately, a huge smile spreading across his face. The reaction happened every single time no matter how many video calls they had. It never got old.

After another 20 minutes of struggling, swearing quietly under your breath, and rereading instructions you'd already read four times, one of the gates finally clicked into place, "Thank fuck".

Joe applauded dramatically, and Jacob smacked the gate. Testing its ability then looked furious that he couldn't get through. But eventually bedtime arrived and thankfully, Jacob was exhausted enough to go down without much protest. By the time you'd finished cleaning bottles and  picking toys up off the floor, it was almost 9pm.

You settled onto the sofa with your phone, Joe was still there leaning against a headboard somewhere in London looking noticeably tired.

You checked the time, "Joe"

"What?"

"It's like 2am for you"

"So?"

"Go to sleep"

He laughed, "No"

"Seriously"

"I'm fine"

"You have work"

Yet still, neither of you hung up. The conversation drifted naturally like the way it always did. Joe talked about filming, the long days, the strange locations, the endless waiting around between scenes. You told him about Jacob trying to climb literally everything, the fact he'd recently discovered how funny it was to throw food, group hangouts, just normal things.

Then eventually Joe asked, "So, has the birthday planning started?"

Your face immediately brightened, "Oh my GOD I'm in my element. The theme is amazing I can't wait".

"The theme is ridiculous" Joe laughed, "My first rodeo?"

You nodded proudly, "My first rodeo"

He shook his head, "I can't believe this is happening"

"Neither can I". The realisation hit every time you thought about it. One year. Your tiny newborn was almost one. "Becca offered her place".

Joe nodded, "You doing it in the garden?"

"Yeah, hopefully we get lucky with the weather"

"That'll be perfect"

It really was. Her place had space, grass, room for decorations, guests, movement, you could already picture it. Tiny cowboy hats, good food, music, Jacob crawling around trying to steal everyone's attention.

Then your thoughts drifted elsewhere, towards the future, the thing you'd been trying not to think about. "I'd really love somewhere with a garden one day".

Joe looked up, "What, a house?"

"Just somewhere with outdoor space" You glanced around your apartment, "I want him to have room and be able to play outside, build forts, kick a ball, get muddy" Joe listened quietly, "I just can't do it yet".

His expression softened.

You continued, "I've got to go back to work at the end of the year when my work's maternity benefit ends and I couldn't think of anything worse right now". The reality felt heavier every time you said it aloud.

"And childcare?"

You laughed a tired laugh, "Don't even". Because childcare costs were terrifying. Rent existed still, life was getting more expensive and suddenly every decision regarding anything revolved around another little person. For a moment you stared down at your hands trying not to feel overwhelmed.

Then Joe spoke, "You'll figure it out"

You smiled weakly, "Hopefully. Single parent life isn't for the weak"

"No it's not, which is why you'll figure it out" His voice was calm and certain in a way that you'll never forget. Joe was watching you with that same expression he'd worn so many times over the last year, the one that always seemed to say he believed in you more than you believed in yourself.

Eventually you glanced at the clock again after what felt like spacing out for hours, "You need to go to bed"

He groaned dramatically, "I don't want to go to sleep".

You laughed, "You're 34. You sound like a 9 year old. Go to bed".

Joe smile, but he didn't look annoyed. If anything, he looked reluctant like he genuinely didn't want the conversation to end, "Fine".

"Thank you"

"It was nice talking to you"

The simple statement made your chest tighten unexpectedly.

You smiled. For a moment neither of you said goodbye, neither seeming particularly eager to hang up. Even in different countries, with different time zones and thousands of miles apart, it still felt exactly like sitting together on your sofa after Jacob had gone to sleep.

Eventually Joe smiled, "Give him a hug from me".

"I will"

"And tell him I miss him loads"

You laughed, "He misses you too".

The grin that appeared on Joe's face was impossible to miss, then finally the call ended. The screen went dark and the apartment became quiet again. But as you sat there on the sofa, smiling to yourself like an idiot, one thing had become impossible to ignore. You weren't just counting down to Jacob's birthday anymore, you were counting down until Joe came home.

Three months passed faster than you thought was possible somehow. One minute Joe had been leaving for London, and the next, summer had arrived in full force with Jacob was almost 1. You still couldn't wrap your head around it. Every time somebody said it out loud you felt slightly emotional because it felt impossible because months ago you had been sitting in a dark apartment, exhausted, heartbroken, terrified and completely convinced you were failing. Now? Now Jacob was healthy, happy, crawling at alarming speeds, pulling himself up on furniture every chance he got and surrounded by people who loved him. A lot could change in a year.

The week before the party arrived, suddenly everything became real. The catering had been ordered, cake had been ordered, decorations had arrived, the tiny cowboy outfit hanging in Jacob's wardrobe nearly made you cry every time you saw it.

Most evenings were spent at Becca's house finalising plans with her garden becoming party headquarters. One afternoon you sat outside at her patio table surrounded by boxes of balloons, banners and party bags. Becca looked around, then looked at you, "I think we've lost our minds".

You laughed, "A little".

"A little?" She picked up a packet containing thirty miniature cowboy hats, "There's 30 hats here".

"They're cute" You couldn't stop smiling. The excitement kept bubbling up inside you, followed immediately by panic which followed immediately by excitement again.

"You okay?" Becca asked.

You glanced up, "Yeah".

The lie was terrible. She immediately narrowed her eyes, "You thinking about Joe?".

You groaned because she wasn't wrong. Not entirely. The closer the party got, the more you found yourself checking your phone and replaying that conversation from months ago where he said he'd be here, he'd sounded so certain. Yet since then? No updates or confirmation on anything.

Every time you spoke, the subject somehow never came up and you refused to ask because you didn't want to sound disappointed if he couldn't make it. Becca immediately picked up on all of that, "You know you could just ask him"

"No"

"Why?"

"Because...I just can't"

"He's literally paid for 80% of this party probably, and none of us had a choice in it. He wouldn't not come and see it"

You just nodded, I guess she was right.

The truth was that things had only gotten harder over the last couple months. Your feelings hadn't disappeared, if anything they'd grown. Every FaceTime, photo, late night conversation, video of Jacob taking his first steps whilst holding onto something, every moment Joe wanted to be included in. It all added up, until one day you found yourself staring at your phone after hanging up and realising you were completely, hopelessly in love with your best friend which was deeply inconvenient. Especially because you had no intention of doing anything about it. You'd worked too hard rebuilding your life to risk losing one of the most important people in it. So instead you did what any reasonable person would do, you ignored the problem to the very best of your ability.

Three nights before the party, you sat on your apartment floor surrounded by wrapping paper with Jacob crawling directly through the middle of it all whilst simultaneously trying to sort out extra party supplies whilst stopping him from chewing on cardboard. It was a loosing battle.

Your phone buzzed on the table, Joe. You smiled before you could stop yourself. The FaceTime connected, his face appeared looking tired, hair slicked back which you assume is from filming.

"Hey"

"Hey"

Jacob instantly abandoned everything, the second he heard Joe's voice he spun around and climbed onto your lap.

Joe laughed, "There's my favourite man, hi buddy".

The next 10 minutes consisted entirely of Joe talking to Jacob as usual, you barely got a word in but eventually got distracted by a balloon bobbing at the other side of the room and crawled away.

Joe finally looked back at you, "How's party planning?"

You groaned dramatically, "Please don't. I have cowboy themed stress. Do you know how many times i've said howdy at somebody and not hello this week?"

Joe laughed, "Sounds serious"

"It is serious" You held up a tiny bandana, "I own 20 of these".

Joe completely lost it, his laughter echoed through your apartment. And for a moment, everything felt normal again like he wasn't thousands of miles away and he'd still be showing up with coffee tomorrow morning.

Joe glanced away from the camera, then back like he was thinking about something. Your heart and mind racing at lightning speed, "How's the birthday girl doing?".

You blinked, "Birthday girl?"

"You"

You laughed, "It's Jacob's birthday, not mine. Are you that much of a friend?"

"It's your anniversary too" Joe smiled softly, "One year".

Your chest tightened because he was right. A year of being a mom, year of surviving, year of becoming somebody entirely different. Then Joe quietly added, "You've done a pretty incredible job".

The praise hit harder than it should have because it came from him. He'd seen it all. The ugly parts, difficult parts, the moments nobody else saw.

"Thanks..." you wasn't sure what else to say. "You've been there for most of it too, you deserve to celebrate also".

Joe smiled, there was something in his expression you couldn't quite place. Something fond, something that made looking at him difficult till Jacob returned and smacked the phone screen with his hand. The moment vanished with both of you laughing, and neither of you mentioning it again. But after the call ended, sitting alone in your apartment while Jacob crawled around your feet, one thought kept repeating itself.

Three days. Three days until Jacob's birthday. And you still had absolutely no idea whether Joe was coming home.

The thing that surprised you most wasn't that Jack hadn't shown up again. It was how little you cared. A year ago, that realisation would've broken your heart. Now? It barely registered.

After the day he'd shown up at your apartment and Joe had practically escorted him out of your life, Jack disappeared again. No calls, no texts, not even anyone in his family contacted you, but the silence was familiar now. Disappointing for Jacob but not surprising. You'd stopped expecting anything from him months ago. Maybe that was why, when Jacob's birthday invitations went out, you decided to send one anyway. Not because you wanted him there or you thought he'd come but because one day, if Jacob ever asked, you wanted to know you'd tried. That nobody could say you kept his father away.

So one evening, after staring at your phone for 10 minutes, you sent a simple message.

Jacob's first birthday party is next Saturday. You're welcome to come if you'd like.

That was it. No emotion or expectations. Just an invitation. A few hours later, your phone buzzed followed by a disbelieving laugh from yourself.

Can't make it. Have plans with Laura.

That was the entire message. No apology. No asking about Jacob. No asking what time the party was. Nothing.

Of course that was the response. You didn't even know who Laura was. Girlfriend? The woman he'd cheated with? Someone else entirely? You honestly couldn't bring yourself to care enough to figure it out. The ridiculousness outweighed any hurt. After a full year of missing absolutely everything, he was choosing not to attend his son's first birthday because he had plans. Amazing.

You sat there for another minute, took a screenshot, opened the group chat and sent it. No context. Just the screenshot.

Amanda ARE YOU KIDDING ME

Sam WHAT?????

Wes No way.

Adam That's actually unbelievable

Poppy oh i cba

Becca I need everyone to remain calm

Thirty seconds later

Becca I AM NOT CALM

You snorted so loudly that Jacob looked up from the floor.

Amanda Laura?

Sam Who the hell is Laura?

Wes Not the point, Sam.

Sam It's a little bit the point.

Adam And his excuse is plans?

The messages continued pouring in. Everyone somehow becoming more offended than you were which honestly felt a little validating because for a second you'd wondered if maybe you were overreacting.

Your phone buzzed again. A private message from Joe.

Joe You okay?

You looked across the room. Jacob was sitting surrounded by toys attempting to put a block in his mouth. Completely oblivious, happy, safe, loved.

You I think I'm more annoyed than upset

Joe That's probably healthy

A smile tugged at your lips because it was. Before you'd have cried, wondered what was wrong with you, why you weren't enough, why your little family wasn't enough. Now? Now you were mostly just embarrassed for him because who misses their son's first birthday? Who gets invited despite everything and still chooses not to show up? That wasn't your failure. It was his.

Joe For what it's worth. Jacob won't remember who didn't show up. He'll look at photos of who did.

You stared at the words. Because when you pictured Jacob's birthday, you didn't picture Jack. Not even a little. You pictured Becca hanging decorations, Amanda fussing over the cake, Sam and Adam arguing over something ridiculous, Poppy taking a hundred photos, Wes carrying boxes and hopefully Joe walking through the gate.

You You're getting emotional in your old age

Joe Don't tell anyone

Whatever happened, Jacob's first birthday was going to be full of people who genuinely loved him. That was what mattered.

The morning of the party was chaos. The good kind. The kind you'd secretly hoped for when you started planning all of this months ago. Becca's garden had been transformed overnight. Balloons swayed gently in the warm summer breeze, cowboy themed decorations hung from fences, some hay bales had somehow appeared from somewhere, Sam claimed he'd found them but nobody was quite sure about that one. And somehow, despite weeks of worrying, the weather was perfect. Not too hot, not too cold. Just sunshine. You couldn't have ordered a better day if you'd tried. Most importantly, Jacob was having the time of his life. His tiny cowboy outfit had become the star attraction. A little denim shirt, tiny cowboy boots, his bandana, a hat he'd only kept on for 5 minutes before throwing it across the garden.

Everyone adored him. He spent the entire afternoon crawling from person to person accepting snacks, demanding attention and attempting to walk wherever he could grab on to something or someone. You couldn't stop smiling. Everywhere you looked there were people you loved. Friends and their partners, family, children, people talking, laughing, taking photos, celebrating, it felt surreal.

You found yourself standing near the drinks table for a moment just taking everything in and trying to remember it because days like this didn't happen often. Jacob would only have a first birthday once. The only thing missing was Joe. You checked your phone again and again but nothing. Your stomach twisted slightly at the thought but then you immediately scolded yourself. He definitely would have tried, and you knew he'd tried. It's work. You weren't angry, just disappointed, mostly for Jacob because Joe had wanted to be here with him so badly. Every now and then your eyes drifted toward the garden gate trying not to hope but failing.

"Smile"

You looked up, Amanda was holding her phone.

"What?"

"You're doing the thing"

"What thing?"

"The staring dramatically into the distance thing where you're thinking too hard" You rolled your eyes. "He's probably coming".

"He probably isn't" you turned back toward the party, trying to focus on what was actually in front of you. Jacob. Today was about Jacob.

A little while later everyone gathered near the tables. Food was being passed around, music drifted through the garden, Jacob was on the grass crawling around between everyone's feet living his best life. You were talking to Becca about cake timing when it happened. At first you didn't notice, just a sudden burst of noise behind you followed by a scream. Not a crying scream, an excited scream. The kind Jacob only made when something genuinely thrilled him. The entire garden seemed to turn, you looked over your shoulder and standing there was Joe. A huge backpack slung over one shoulder and holding a gift bag so absurdly large it looked bigger than the birthday boy himself sitting beside the gate. He looked exhausted, like he'd travelled forever but he was smiling, crouching down onto one knee waiting for Jacob.

The little boy was practically shrieking. Hands slapping excitedly against the grass, trying desperately to get moving faster.

"Joe!" Wes yelled.

The entire party erupted, but Joe wasn't looking at anyone else. Just Jacob, "Hey buddy!"

Your heart immediately melted. Jacob was moving as fast as humanly possible, which wasn't particularly fast but it was the effort that counted. Joe laughed as he held his arms open, "C'mon".

Everyone watched because the determination on Jacob's face was incredible. Half crawl, half wobble. Then finally, he reached Joe. The second he did, Joe scooped him up and Jacob immediately buried his face into his shoulder.

The entire garden collectively made the same noise, "Awwww".

Becca was already crying and Amanda wasn't far behind. Joe stood up with Jacob balanced comfortably on his hip looking exactly like where he belonged like he'd never been gone at all. Only then did he finally look up and find you. For a moment everything else disappeared. Joe smiled, and suddenly you couldn't breathe properly. Because he came, he actually came. For Jacob, for this, for you, and judging by the way everyone was looking between the two of you, you weren't doing a particularly good job of hiding how much that meant.

"Oh my god" You heard Becca mutter beside you but you didn't look away from Joe. Around the garden, several members of the friend group were trying, and failing, not to smile. Apparently everyone could see it, everyone except the two people involved. Meanwhile Joe remained completely oblivious, too busy listening to Jacob babble excitedly in his ear. As if trying to tell him every single thing that had happened over the last few months.

Joe nodded seriously, "Really?", Jacob babbled louder, "No way!", more babbling, "That's crazy".

The entire conversation was nonsense yet somehow they both seemed completely invested. Watching them together, standing in the middle of a garden full of people you loved, on a beautiful summer afternoon celebrating your son's first birthday, you couldn't remember the last time you'd felt this happy, grateful or lucky.

By the time the cake smash was over, Jacob was covered head to toe in frosting. Literally everywhere. At one point you'd found icing inside his ear and decided it was best not to ask questions. The second he'd been placed in front of the cake he looked confused, which turned to curiousity, then completely committed to destruction. Everyone had descended on him with phones immediately. The poor kid couldn't move without 6 different cameras documenting it.

"Look this way!" "Jacob!" "Buddy!" "Smile!"

He ignored everyone, instead choosing to repeatedly slap the cake with both hands which somehow made for even better photos. You couldn't stop laughing, especially when Joe ended up with frosting on his shirt after trying to stop Jacob from launching a handful across the garden.

"You did that to yourself" you said across from him.

"I was helping"

"You were encouraging him"

Joe looked down at Jacob and Jacob looked back. The two of them sharing a suspiciously similar expression, "Okay maybe a little".

The photos continued all afternoon. Family photos, friend photos, group photos, photos of Jacob, photos with Jacob. At one point Amanda physically dragged you and Joe together because apparently there weren't enough photos. You hadn't missed the look Becca gave her nor the look Amanda gave back. Neither of them were subtle. Joe remained blissfully unaware, or pretended to be. You honestly couldn't tell anymore.

The funniest part was Jacob, because after Joe arrived, he basically refused to acknowledge anybody else. The child had made his decision that Joe was his person for the day. Every time somebody picked him up, he'd immediately start looking around for Joe. If Joe disappeared for more than 5 minutes, Jacob would crawl after him. When Adam attempted to hold him? Immediate protest. When Wes tried? Same result. Even Becca only got about 3 minutes before Jacob was craning his neck looking elsewhere.

"Okay" Becca handed him back eventually, "I'm slightly offended".

The second Joe took him, Jacob relaxed, settling comfortably against his chest. Joe looked unbearably pleased and Jacob chose that exact moment to pat Joe's cheek affectionately.

As the sun slowly began dipping lower in the sky, guests started leaving. Family members hugged you goodbye, friends headed home, children were rounded up, leftover food was packed away. The noise gradually faded until eventually only your core group remained. You stood looking around Becca's garden now slightly messier and feeling unexpectedly emotional. One year. One whole year.

Jacob had finally crashed as they cleaned, completely exhausted and fast asleep against Joe's shoulder with his tiny cowboy boots still on and his hat still missing somewhere in the garden.

Joe gently adjusted him while everyone started clearing tables, and he glanced toward you, "I drove so we can put everything in there" nodding towards the mountain of party supplies.

You laughed, "There is so much stuff, you sure?"

"Yeah" A smile, "It'll save you carrying all of this and him home".

You smiled, "Thank you".

Eventually Becca clapped her hands together, "Right". Everyone looked over, "You three are leaving".

"What?" You questioned.

"No" Joe was just as confused.

You gestured around, "There's still stuff".

"There isn't"

"There is"

"There isn't"

You narrowed your eyes and Becca narrowed hers right back, then she pointed toward the gate, "Go home".

"Becca-"

"Nope" She pointed again, "You've been up since god knows what time and hosted a party all day"

"That's true"

"Your child is unconscious"

You glanced at Jacob who was still asleep on Joe.

Becca folded her arms, "I've got this". The rest of the group immediately nodded.

"We've got it" Adam corrected.

You looked around at all of them, your chest tightened because a year ago you felt completely alone. And now? You had this. These people, this family you'd somehow built. Then Joe gently grabbed your shoulder, "Come on".

You looked up, his smile was soft, "You need to leave before this turns into a whole thing".

"Go" "Leave" "Goodbye" "Love you"

You laughed despite yourself and Joe guided you towards the gate with Jacob sleeping peacefully against his chest and your friends waving dramatically behind you. Becca shooting the most obvious wink in human history. You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly hurt yet somehow, being beside Joe in the warm evening air while your son slept safely in his arms, your heart felt incredibly full.

The party was over. Jacob's first birthday had been perfect. And as you glanced over at Joe carrying him towards the car like it was the most natural thing in the world, you couldn't help thinking that this might end up being one of your favourite memories ever.

The second you walked through the apartment door, the exhaustion of the day finally started catching up with you. Not bad exhaustion, the kind that came after a genuinely happy day. Joe carried Jacob inside while you stayed outside for another trip to the car, then another, then one more because apparently your son had received enough presents to supply an entire daycare. By the time you finally nudged the apartment door shut with your foot, arms full of gift bags and decorations, you could already hear giggling coming from the living room.

You dumped everything on the kitchen counter, Tomorrow's problem then kicked off your shoes and followed the sound. Joe was sitting on the sofa with Jacob standing between his knees, wobbling dramatically while holding onto his hands. Both of them deep in conversation, or at least Jacob seemed convinced they were.

"Bababa mmm"

"No way"

"Lalalalala!"

"Seriously?"

A huge laugh, another babble.

Joe nodded thoughtfully, "I agree".

Jacob squealed.

You leaned against the doorway watching them. Your heart doing that annoying thing it did whenever the two of them were together.

Joe eventually looked up, "Hi".

You smiled, "What's the discussion?"

Joe glanced at Jacob, "Apparently today was a success"

"Wawawawa"

"Exactly, see"

The bedtime routine started shortly after. Jacob was still running entirely on excitement and birthday cake which meant he was somehow exhausted and hyperactive at the same time.

Joe stood up, "I'll help".

"You don't have to"

"I know I don't, but i'd like too" The familiar answer made you smile.

He helped get Jacob changed, helped find the missing pajama top he chucked and nobody could locate which somehow ended up beneath the sofa then followed you both into the nursery. Joe handed Jacob over, you settled into the rocking chair with his bottle already made. Jacob immediately snuggled into your chest, his eyelids heavy and his hand holding onto your shirt. Joe leaned quietly against the doorway watching, not wanting to disrupt. The bottle disappeared surprisingly quickly followed by a few sleepy blinks, a small burp, a yawn and within moments Jacob was asleep. Completely gone.

You couldn't help laughing, "That was easy".

Joe grinned, "He's exhausted".

"He's not the only one"

Together, you carefully lowered him into his crib. Jacob didn't even stir, the birthday excitement had finally catching up to him. You switched on the night light then quietly pulled the door closed behind you.

Back in the living room, you immediately collapsed onto the sofa. Joe laughed, "Comfortable?".

"Maybe"

"You look comfortable"

"I may never move again"

"You unfortunately have too"

A dramatic groan escaped you and Joe shook his head, "Coffee?"

You looked up immediately, "Please".

"Thought so" A few minutes later he returned carrying two mugs. The familiar smell filling the apartment. The baby monitor sat between you both on the coffee table with Jacob sleeping peacefully on the screen. The apartment was quiet. Quiet for the first time all day. No music, no guests, no chaos. It was nice. Joe handed you your mug, you wrapped both hands around it enjoying the warmth. For a few moments neither of you spoke, then before he could say anything, the words slipped out. "Thank you, like really thank you". His expression immediately shifted. You glanced toward the monitor, then back at him, "Thank you for coming. Thank you for all that you did for the party, for me, for him".

Joe opened his mouth but you continued, "I'm serious" Your throat tightened unexpectedly, "He spent the entire day looking for you".

Joe's eyes immediately flickered toward the monitor too. You laughed softly, "And then when you showed, he nearly launched himself across the garden".

Joe smiled, a small one. The kind that never quite reached full strength because he was trying to hide how much something meant to him.

"You didn't have to come all this way"

"I wanted to"

You looked down at your coffee trying to find the right words, "He adores you". The smile disappeared slightly, "He's the luckiest little boy in the world".

Joe immediately shook his head, "No"

"He is when he has people like you in his life"

"No" Your eyes met his, "That's all you. His dad doesn't show up" You shrugged slightly, "His dad doesn't call, but you do" You smiled sadly, "Every day".

Joe swallowed, looking down into his coffee.

You weren't trying to make him emotional, you were simply telling the truth. Something you weren't sure you'd ever said out loud before, "You've been there for everything and I'm glad if it's not his own dad, he has a male figure like you in his life".

Joe's jaw tightened slightly, the praise clearly making him uncomfortable. Not because he didn't like hearing it because he genuinely didn't think he deserved it. You reached across resting your hand lightly on his arm, "Thank you for loving him like he was your own".

Joe froze, your own words making your eyes immediately filled because you meant every word. He stared between the floor and the baby monitor for a while, his eyes looking glassy which immediately made yours worse. Then he smiled, "How could I not?".

Your heart absolutely shattered, in the best possible way, because there wasn't a single ounce of hesitation in his voice. And as the image of Jacob sleeping peacefully flickered softly on the monitor between you, something settled inside your chest. Something that felt like certainty. Nothing about romance, not even about the future, just the fact whatever happened next, Jacob would always know what it felt like to be loved. And sitting beside you on the sofa, coffee in hand after one very perfect birthday, was one of the biggest reasons why.

Suddenly, the emotions of the entire day and this conversation seemed to hit you all at once, tears slipping from you.

"Oh god no, no tears today" Joe laughed weakly.

"I'm sorry"

"No more crying"

"I can't help it"

Then before you could think better of it, you set your coffee mug down on the table. Joe barely had time to react before you leaned across the sofa and wrapped your arms around him. Immediately he hugged you back as you told him "Thank you" again. It was the kind of hug you'd shared countless times before but this one held on a little longer, neither of you in a hurry to let go. You buried your face against his shoulder, "Thank you".

Joe's arms tightened slightly, "You don't have to keep thanking me".

"I do, I will for a long time"

His chin rested briefly against your hair, "You don't owe me anything".

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look at him, "I appreciate you so much".

Joe's expression softened and for a second neither of you moved, neither of you looked away. You were suddenly very aware of how close he was, of how many times you'd imagined what it might feel like if- before your brain had a chance to catch up, you leaned forward and kissed him.

The moment it happened, time seemed to stop, and your brain immediately caught up. Oh God. You'd kissed your best friend.

You pulled back instantly, eyes wide and horrified, "Oh my god". Joe stared at you, equally stunned, "I didn-". You covered your face, "Oh my god". A nervous laugh escaped you, "I'm so sorry, I don't know why I did that".

Another apology immediately followed, "I'm sorry". Then another, "Really sorry".

You were halfway through another apology when Joe finally shook his head, a laugh escaping him, "Would you stop apologising?".

"What?"

"Seriously, stop" His smile was almost disbelieving, "You have got to stop apologising".

You stared at him completely lost. Joe looked at you for another second then slowly reached up brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. The gesture made your heart stop, "You really have no idea, do you?".

Your stomach flipped "Joe..."

The smile that appeared was equal parts fond and nervous, then he leaned forward and kissed you. This time there was no surprise. The kiss was gentle at first like he was giving you every opportunity to pull away. The hell you were. Instead, your hand found his shoulder and when he smiled against your lips, you couldn't help smiling too.

When the kiss finally broke, neither of you moved very far. Both laughing slightly from nerves, from relief, from how long it had taken. You buried your face in your hands from embarrassment, he laughed and gently pulled your hands away looking at you like you were something he'd been afraid to reach for, "I've wanted to do that for ages".

Your heart nearly stopped, "You have? Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because" His eyes drifted briefly toward the baby monitor, "You had enough going on".

The answer was so typically Joe that it almost made you cry again. Instead you smiled, leaning your head against his shoulder and he wrapped an arm around you immediately like it belonged there. For the first time in a very long time, the future didn't feel scary. It felt exciting. The best parts of your life had already been sitting beside you on that sofa all along.

He reached out again, his hand cupping the back of your head, fingers tangling in your hair, pulling you towards him. When his lips meet yours this time, it is twice as heavy, twice as desperate. It isn't a question anymore, now more of an answer. He kissed you with a force that pushed you backwards into the cushions of the sofa. You gasped against his mouth, taking the opportunity to deepen the kiss, one arm wrapping around your waist to haul you closer.

You responded straight away, your hands finding his shoulders again, pulling him down to you. His kisses became frantic, messy and perfect all in one. He moved his mouth from your lips to your jaw, trailing down your neck, arching your back in response to him. You couldn't tell if the room was spinning, or if it was the overwhelming realisation that this was actually happening.

"We should sleep" he muttered against your neck a few moments later, knowing the time was getting on.

"Yeah, we should. Are you uh, staying?"

"If you'll have me?"

A smile was all he needed. And after a long day of happiness, you both ended up moments later just enjoying each other's presence in the space of your bed. No sex, no kissing, just the sound of the monitor next to you and each other's breathing.

The first thing the next morning you became aware of was a voice. A soft, sleepy, amused voice. You frowned slightly against your pillow still half asleep, hearing it again. His voice. You smiled before your eyes had even opened.

The memories from the night before came flooding back immediately. The sofa, coffee, conversations, the kiss, or several kisses actually. The fact that somewhere between laughing and talking afterwards, you'd both eventually ended up in your bed and simply fallen asleep. The thought alone made you smile into your pillow.

Then another voice reached you, a much smaller one. An excited babble. Your eyes finally opened to see the sunlight filtering softly through, it felt like the whole world was at peace. You rolled onto your side to look at the baby monitor, Joe standing beside Jacob's crib, topless and in yesterday's jeans, hair sticking up slightly from sleep, leaning over the side talking quietly to Jacob. Jacob was standing, holding onto the rails absolutely delighted with the fact he's woken up to Joe.

"Wawawawa"

Joe nodded seriously, "No way, I had that dream too!"

Jacob laughed. "Bababa"

"Really?"

Another squeal. You couldn't help smiling. For several moments you simply watched, not wanting to interrupt because it was one of those little moments, the kind you'd want to remember forever. Then it happened.

"Dada"

You blinked at the monitor. Joe stood there frozen next to him, and Jacob was grinning.

"Dada!"

Your eyebrows immediately shot upward, on the monitor Joe looked equally surprised, "What did you say Jacob?".

Jacob bounced excitedly, "Dada!".

The room fell silent, then Joe laughed. A genuine surprised laugh, "Did you just call me dada?".

Jacob practically shrieked with excitement, "DADA!" Another laugh. Then "Dada dada dada dada".

You sat upright, completely awake now, part of you didn't know what to think. Because on one hand your heart was melting. On the other, the tiny traitor hadn't even said mama yet, and  apparently he'd decided Joe was getting dada. Good to know where everyone's loyalties lay.You shook your head, laughing despite yourself. Curiosity eventually won. You climbed out of bed and quietly made your way down the hallway, the nursery door sat slightly open. You stopped outside, peeking in. Joe hadn't noticed you yet, he was still beside the crib with Jacob standing proudly inside, "Dada!"

Joe laughed again, "You can't just say that".

Jacob thought this was the funniest thing he'd ever heard, "Dada!".

"Buddy..."

More laughter, "Dada".

You honestly couldn't tell which one of them looked happier. The floor creaked beneath your foot as you adjusted your step. Joe looked up, immediately smiling, "Morning".

A smile appeared before you could stop it, "Morning".

Joe glanced toward Jacob, "Mama's here look!"

Jacob turned to look at you, then immediately looked back at Joe, "Dada!"

You stared, Joe burst out laughing, "No Jacob, mama's here".

"Dada"

You placed a hand over your chest, "Wow. After all I put myself through for you kid".

Joe was struggling not to laugh, "That's rough".

"Dada", Joe laughed harder.

Eventually you stepped fully into the room standing beside them watching Jacob grin at both of you. You looked toward Joe, then toward Jacob and back again, "I hope you know you don't have to encourage that".

Joe's smile softened slightly immediately understanding what you meant. The joking had faded, "I know". Joe would never try to replace anyone, even after everything. He glanced back toward Jacob, then at you. "If it makes you uncomfortable, I don't have to play along".

The answer from you came honestly and without hesitation, "No" You smiled softly, "As long as you're okay with it".

Something shifted in Joe's expression. Surprised mixed with emotion because he knew what you were really saying. Not that Jacob thought he was his father, because at one year old, Jacob didn't understand titles. What he understood was love, consistency, who showed up for him, who stayed and whether he meant to or not, Joe had become one of those people.

You looked down at Jacob still holding onto the crib, "Dada".

Joe laughed quietly. The sound almost emotional, then reached down and scooped him up. Jacob immediately settling against him happy and content. Your heart swelled so much it almost hurt because standing there in the nursery doorway, watching the man you loved holding the little boy you loved most in the world, you suddenly imagined for the first time in a very long time, a future and wondering if you'd be okay. But you already were.

Joe had to fly back a few days later, but the few weeks passed surprisingly quickly. Not because you didn't miss Joe, you absolutely did, so did Jacob. Days were filled with confused looks toward the apartment door every time a knock sounded somewhere in the building. A lot of dada, FaceTime calls, Joe making ridiculous noises through a phone screen to keep a one year old entertained. But this time felt different, the anxiety wasn't there because you knew he wasn't leaving, he was coming back to you.

Then one Thursday afternoon your phone buzzed as you was folding laundry on the floor of Jacob's nursery as he played in his crib.

Joe Landed.

A smile immediately spread across your face.

You Welcome home :)

Joe Can I come see my favorite little guy?

You Sure. I'm sure Mr Martin from across the hall really wants to see you too

Joe I was talking about Jacob.

You Liar.

Less than an hour later there was a knock at your door. Jacob looked up immediately, his head turning toward the sound. You laughed, "Oh my god, how do you do that?" The child somehow knew. You picked him up and walked towards the door, opening it to see Joe stood there smiling. Hair slightly longer than before and looking tired from travel.

"Where are your bags?"

"Dropped them at home"

"Haven't you just landed?"

"Speed" Joe shrugged. "I wanted to see you" and he looked at Jacob, "And him".

Jacob had already tried to climb out of your arms and towards Joe, "DADA".

Joe laughed instantly, "Hi buddy, I missed you" grabbing him from you. The apartment somehow started feeling complete again.

That evening, after dinner and playtime and enough laughter to make your cheeks hurt, Jacob finally surrendered to sleep. By the time you returned to the living room, Joe was sitting on the sofa exactly where he'd sat a hundred times before but things felt different. You sat beside him, enjoying the quiet for a while till eventually Joe spoke, "I've been thinking".

You immediately laughed, "Okay..."

His smile appeared, "What do you want?"

You blinked, "What?"

Joe looked at you, "The future"

You thought about it, then smiled, "A garden"

Joe laughed, "I'm serious"

"So am I" You smiled, "I want somewhere bigger. Eventually a place big enough with extra room for Jacob, maybe outside of the city, maybe a dog". Joe immediately nodded, "Good choice"

Then your expression softened, "I just want Jacob to grow up happy".

Joe smiled, "That's already happening"

Your eyes drifted toward the baby monitor. The little boy who had changed your entire world. Then you looked back at Joe, "I want stability".

For so long you'd lived without it and Joe understood immediately, "You deserve that".

You smiled, "What about you?"

Joe leaned back slightly thinking, "Honestly?". You nodded. He looked toward the hallway, towards the nursery, then back at you and smiled, "This. Not exactly this apartment".

You laughed, "Good"

"No offense"

"Only a little taken"

He grinned, "I mean..." His eyes met yours. "I like having people to come home to. Especially you and Jacob".

Joe had spent years traveling, working, living out of suitcases, different hotel rooms, just always moving. It made sense.

"I don't know exactly what everything looks like yet" he admitted. "But I know I want you both in it. If you'll have me" Joe smiled nervously.

"As a package deal?"

He laughed, "Definitely a package deal". Joe reached for your hand, intertwining your fingers, "We take it one day at a time".

You nodded, "One day at a time"

"I'll do everything I can to give him the best life possible, and you" Joe smiled and squeezed your hand gently, "And I do know one thing".

"What?"

His eyes drifted toward the monitor again, at the child who'd unknowingly changed both of your lives, "I'm not going anywhere".

And for the first time since moving to New York all those years ago, you believed him completely. Not because he promised or because he said the perfect thing, but because he'd already spent the last year proving it time and time again. Loving both of you without ever asking for recognition for it.

You leaned against him, his arm immediately wrapping around your shoulders and together you sat there on the sofa watching the baby monitor. Talking quietly about houses, gardens, dogs, birthdays and all the little things that make up a life. The future still wasn't fully written. There would be challenges, questions, messy moments just like any family. But as the night stretched on around you, one thing felt certain. This was love.

He pulled you in tighter as you spoke, placing a kiss on the top of your head, "I've got you, both of you".

[djolemodel]

okay so this is my first request ever (yay 😇), i’m typically a silent reader. okay. to the point. could you do one where reader has the biggest puppy eyes ever—and isn’t even aware that she has them? steve’s never able to say no (obviously). and the group always teases him, but he can’t bring himself to stop.

sorry if this lacks detail, but you should get the idea?? if not, that’s okay. thank you!! 🥹✌️

PUPPY EYED LOVER

Steve Harrington x fem!reader

WORD COUNT: 1.7K

NIA'S NOTES: Thank you for this request!! I have my exam tomorrow. I need all the luck I can get honestly 🤞🤞 I'll feedback to you guys as soon as I come out of the exam how it went. Enjoy my lovelies!! 💕

Having a boyfriend that couldn’t help but give into you was something that you put to good use, mostly because it would get a reaction out of other people. Watching the helpless look wash over his face was something that you soaked in every time. You could ask him for anything, and he would say yes immediately, not needing a second to think about it. Your favourite part about it was watching everyone roll their eyes and gag.

For a boy that was known as ‘king Steve’ in high school, he was definitely everything but what people expected of him. Whatever defences he had up crumbled down whenever he simply looked at you, and he got shit from it all the time, constantly being mocked when he was caught off guard.

You’ve never worked out why he can never say no to you, and you know that he has never been like this with anyone else. If anyone else asked him for something, he would probably laugh at them and roll his eyes. People would ask you if he was desperate, but he has been like this since day one of dating him, and you never thought to ask him about it.

The mall was getting quieter, people scattered around to do their last-minute shop before heading home. You’re walking out of the movie theatre with Steve by your side, a large popcorn box in your hands as you munched on them. You had asked him if you could get popcorn, and he went up to the front to ask for a large popcorn box. He knew that you wouldn’t finish it, but anyone that knew him knows that he loves to spoil you.

Robin, Jonathan and Nancy are trailing behind you, still laughing at the movie that you just watched. It had been a tie between you and the others on what movie you wanted to watch, and the final vote that came from Steve was your movie suggestion, of course.

He rests his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the mall. “What did you think of the movie, baby?” He asks, stealing a handful of popcorn from your box and tilting his head back, eating them all at once.

You hum, glancing around like you’re really thinking about it. “I really liked it. What did you think of it?”

A slightly concerned look appears on his face, and he almost wants to laugh at how awful the movie was, but for the sake of you, he doesn’t. “It was quite funny. Good movie.”

You squint at him before laughing. “Wait, really? I was only kidding, I hated it. I think that was the worst suggestion I’ve ever had. Never let me pick a movie.”

He stares at you, more confused than ever. “Oh, right. I mean, it was funny because it was so bad.”

“Okay, Steve.” You laugh, shaking your head before stuffing popcorn in your mouth.

The others catch up with you and fall into a conversation, mostly filled with Robin unable to talk with how much she was laughing. Steve’s hand stays on your lower back, gently rubbing up and down, a gesture that he does without even thinking about it.

You pause mid-step, inches away from the stairs leading to the exit, and you glance up at Steve. “Could we take the elevator? My legs are hurting.” You say innocently with a sweet smile and your big eyes.

“Yeah, of course we can.” He nods, already making his way over to the lift.

“Oh Jesus. The stairs are right here. Can you not walk up a few steps?” Robin asks with a groan, earning a grin from you.

“If her legs hurt, then the elevator would be the best option.” Steve says, pressing the button.

Robin rolls her eyes, already making her way up. “I’m taking the stairs, have fun waiting.”

“Suit yourself.” Jonathan shrugs, following behind Robin with Nancy who’s clearly trying not to laugh.

He turns to you, shrugging. “Don’t know what’s got them so irritated.”

You just laugh, stepping into the elevator with him beside you. The elevator goes up slowly, giving him time to turn to you, gently grabbing your jaw and pulling you in for a sweet, slow kiss. He sighs against you, slipping his hand behind him onto the wall to steady himself.

“You taste like salted caramel.” He grins.

“I am eating salted caramel popcorn, so I’d hope so.” You laugh, leaning your weight against him.

His fingers trail down your arm, and his voice almost comes out in a whine. “I can’t wait to get back home.”

You raise your eyebrows. “Why is that?”

“Why would I not want to get back home?” He sighs, resting his forehead against yours. “I’ve missed you.”

“Steve, baby, you’ve been with me all day. Practically attached to my hip unless you physically haven’t been able to come along with me.” You say with an amused laugh.

“You know what I mean.” He mumbles.

“I don’t, but okay.” You shake your head, huffing out another laugh.

His hand comes back up to the side of your face. “I like being around you.”

“I know.” You hum. “You’ve been very affectionate all day.”

“Am I not always?” He asks.

You blink at him. “Good point.”

The elevator dings and the doors open, the others already waiting at the door, looking impatient. You slip your free hand into his, clutching the popcorn box against your chest as you walk over to the exit.

“Would you like me to carry that for you?” He asks.

“Yes please.” You nod, and he effortlessly takes it from you between his fingers.

Robin fake gags, causing him to roll his eyes. “You two are disgustingly cute, I hate it.” She says, but there’s no real hatred in her tone.

“Who’s driving us back home?” Nancy asks, pushing the exit door open.

“I can.” Jonathan says.

“I also can.” You add.

Robin’s eyes immediately flick to Steve, waiting for his response. “Just say no for once. I will smile for the rest of my life.” She says, dragging her hand down her face.

“It saves me from driving everyone around for hours, actually. I’ll happily let her drive us all home.” Jonathan shrugs.

Steve glances at Robin. “Well, wasn’t that easy?” He says, shooting her a glare.

Robin groans, walking through the exit.

“You’re so easy, Steve.” Robin teases.

“She’s not wrong. I don’t think I ever hear you say no.” Nancy adds, raising her eyebrows.

“No.” Steve says simply.

The group shoot him a look, and you can’t help but laugh.

“Don’t join in with them too.” Steve groans at you, though he only pulls you closer to himself.

“They aren’t wrong, Steve.” You whisper.

“Maybe not, but what’s the problem with it?” He asks you.

Robin gasps comically, sarcastically. “No way. He finally admits it. We must broadcast this to the world.”

“Could you just stop talking for a minute?” Steve shoots back and turns to look at you.

“I don’t have a problem with it.” You say with a sweet smile.

“I’m glad that someone doesn’t.” He rolls his eyes, leading you over to the car.

You slip into the driver’s seat, adjusting the seat to your height whilst Steve gets into the passenger seat, and the group slide into the back. Steve slides a cassette tape into a player to play in the background to fill up the noise, which definitely wasn’t going to be necessary. You drive out of the parking lot and start to drive to everyone’s houses.

They’re relentlessly teasing Steve in the back, dragging out his inability to say no for as long as they could, which you found hilarious. He had nothing else to say to shoot back at them, so he groaned and listened to them.

“You’re completely hopeless, dude.” Jonathan laughs.

“Steve, would you be the sweetest and turn this song off? I hate it.” Robin mocks, and you keep your focus on the road, physically holding yourself back from laughing.

Steve huffs, tilting his head back against the headrest. “You’re relentless.”

“You make me want to barf every time you do that weird squeaky voice.” Robin laughs.

“I thought I was the only one that noticed that.” Nancy adds.

He rolls his eyes. “You’re making things up now.”

“No, no.” Robin shakes her head. “Once I noticed it, it’s now the only thing I can notice.”

“Can I do anything without you commentating on my life?” He asks, turning his head to look back at the group, earning a shrug from them all.

Once you dropped everyone back off at their homes, you watch the tension leave Steve’s shoulders, and he huffs out a breath. You park outside of your house, turning the engine off and looking at Steve with a slightly empathetic look.

“That was an interesting drive.” You whisper.

“I was so close to stepping out of the car.” He groans.

“I think it’s cute that you always say yes to me.” You say with a sweet smile before stepping out of the car, walking up to the door.

Steve jogs behind you, his body pressed tightly against yours as you search for your keys. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his arms around your torso. You unlock the door, stepping inside and slipping your shoes off. As soon as his are off, he carefully backs you against the wall, his lips brushing along your neck.

“Steve!” You laugh, pulling him closer.

“Hm?” He says, acting completely oblivious as he presses kisses along your neck.

“I haven’t even taken my coat off yet.” You whisper.

“Don’t need to.” He mumbles.

Your hands slip through his hair. “I also need to prepare dinner.”

“Just give me a sec, baby.” He murmurs, settling his hands on your hips and settling his head on your shoulder.

“What happened to you always saying yes to me?” You ask with a laugh, and he perks his head up.

“Right.” He nods.

“I’m only kidding. It can wait.” You say with a sweet smile, and he grins, pressing his lips to yours, humming.

Even though Steve knew that the group were going to give him shit for life because of this, he could never contain himself. He was too far into it now, he would never get himself to stop.

Thank you for reading!! 💕 Liking and reblogging is very much appreciated!! 💕 This is the first time in weeks that I've been able to sit for a while and write something without getting distracted. Exam tomorrow, woop woop

[harringtonsdiary]

don't kiss and tell masterlist

steve harrington x reader fanfiction | fratboy!steve | platonic!stobin (i promise) | mentions of cheating (but it's not real cheating) | mean!steve, playboy!steve | sort of friends to enemies to fwb to lovers | slowish burn | angst | hurt ... eventual comfort words: 212k summary: When you find out your college roommate/friend robin buckley's boyfriend, steve harrington— who you thought beat all stereotypical frat boy odds— is cheating on her, you find it hard to understand why she still wants to be with him. But there is more than meets the eye. You aren't sure if you want to be roped into it.

Teaser Rules/Playlist Chapter one Chapter two Chapter three Chapter four Chapter five Chapter six Chapter seven Chapter eight Chapter nine Chapter ten Chapter eleven Chapter twelve Chapter thirteen Chapter fourteen Chapter fifteen Chapter sixteen Chapter seventeen chapter eighteen epilogue

[andvys]

The edges of your soul (I haven't seen yet) ⭐︎ S.H.

⭐︎ Warnings: 18+ mdni! post apocalypse, character death, angst, mean!steve, grumpy!steve x sunshine!reader, blood, wounds -- all the gory stuff, smut in the future chapters, hurt/comfort

⭐︎ Pairing: Grumpy!Steve Harrington x sunshine(fem)!reader

⭐︎ Summary: Everything he once knew, is gone, dead and buried, burned to the ground and turned into ash. All he has known is loss, death and pain, he despised this world, until it brought you to him -- the sunshine he had long forgotten. Light he will follow till the very end.

⭐︎ In collaboration with @hellfire--cult

⭐︎

Prologue ☀︎ When the sun hits, she'll be waiting

Chapter one ☀︎ Welcome and Goodbye

Chapter two ☀︎ Can you see right through me?

Chapter three ☀︎ You’re the greatest thing we’ve lost

Chapter four ☀︎ While I'm alone and blue as can be

Chapter five ☀︎ Watching cityscapes turn to dust

Chapter six ☀︎ The killing time. Unwillingly mine.

Chapter seven ☀︎ Fall back into place. Fall back...

Chapter eight ☀︎ Dead-eyed. Dead weight.

Chapter nine ☀︎ Pull the trigger on the gun I gave you when we met

Chapter ten ☀︎ Turn me into something tragic, just for you, I let it happen

Chapter eleven ☀︎ And I'll fear no evil because I'm blind to it all

Chapter twelve ☀︎ You’re a bandit like me. Eyes full of stars

Chapter thirteen ☀︎ Then this heart would break and fall as twice as far

Chapter fourteen ☀︎ The devil in your eyes, won't deny the lies you've sold

Chapter fifteen ☀︎ Every print I left upon the track has led me here

Chapter sixteen ☀︎ One day I am gonna grow wings...

Chapter seventeen ☀︎ Now I'm racing for what to do, all roads lead me right back to you

Chapter eighteen ☀︎ I'll give you all that I can, as long as you'll wait for me there

Chapter nineteen ☀︎ When you’re lying between my legs, it doesn’t matter

Chapter twenty ☀︎ If you can't survive, just try

Chapter twenty one ☀︎ Look into my eyes and baby, whisper

Chapter twenty two ☀︎ If anyone could’ve saved me, it would’ve been you

Chapter twenty three ☀︎ We could be safer, just for one day

Chapter twenty four ☀︎ God loves you, but not enough to save you

Chapter twenty five ☀︎ Can you, can you find me?

[morninglesss]

disparate youth, pt. 8

Steve Harrington x f!reader // part one // part two // part three // part four // part five // part six // part seven // part eight // COMPLETE

NSFW/MDNI

Outer Banks, summer 1995. Steve’s parents are celebrating their thirty year anniversary with a week of parties, photos, and perfect appearances. Steve shows up out of obligation - and brings you as his “girlfriend” for survival. IT’S THE VOW RENEWAL! The Harringtons give with one hand, and take away with the other. Steve comes to a number of realisations. We finally (finally!) earn the NSFW tag.

This is the final part of the story. Thank you for taking beach!Steve into your hearts as much as you have. He deserves the absolute world. 🌊

word count: 12.6k

The officiant’s voice carries easily across the terrace.

It’s a different quality to yesterday’s rehearsal - the same words, roughly, but weighted differently now that there are flowers and an audience and his mother dressed in an ivory gown standing at the arch with her hands in his father’s. The afternoon light has turned amber, flooding the terrace in gold, and everything it touches - the white chairs, the pale blue flowers, his mother’s dress - looks luminous. Steve is aware of it the way he’s aware of most beautiful things - at a slight remove, appreciating it without quite being inside it.

Your hand is in his.

Not for show. Not for anyone watching. Just there, your fingers threaded through his, your thumb moving in a slow gentle arc across the back of his hand the way it has been since you sat down. He’d reached for you before the officiant had even begun, or you’d reached for him - he genuinely can’t remember which, and it doesn’t matter, it’s just where his hand is now and where he intends it to stay.

He watches his parents at the arch.

Danny, in his navy suit, carries the ease of a man who has thought about and rehearsed this and knows it rote - but underneath the ease, there’s something Steve doesn’t see often. Something genuine. His father is looking at Annabeth the way Steve has only ever seen him look at things he truly values - not with a sense of possession, but with the quiet certainty of a man who chose well all those years ago and has never once doubted it.

Steve knows about the others. Has known for years - his father’s absences explained as work, his mother’s tennis schedule that ran long into the afternoons. Both of them, over the years, careful and discreet and never threatening the thing they’d built. He used to find it impossible to reconcile. He’s not sure he’s fully managed it even now. But watching his father look at his mother like that - with that particular certainty - he thinks that maybe the vow they’re actually renewing today isn’t the one about fidelity. It’s the older one. The one they made before any of the rest of it. The one that says - you, above everyone and everything. Still you.

He doesn’t know if that’s really enough. He’s not sure it’s his place to decide.

And Annabeth - his mother, precise and composed in everything she does - has tears in her eyes. Not dramatic. Just there, caught in the afternoon light, a fact she apparently isn’t trying to manage away.

He looks at her for a moment. His mother, who has disappointed him in so many specific ways, who has loved him in all the ways she knows how, even when it wasn’t quite what he needed. Standing at an arch threaded with pale blue flowers, crying at her own vow renewal, thirty years in.

Something in him shifts - not forgiveness exactly, and not resolution either. Just the ache of something complicated, finally allowed to be exactly that.

Your hand tightens slightly in his.

He looks at you.

You’re watching the arch too, but you glance at him at exactly the same moment he looks at you - and it’s different to every other time this week. It isn’t the managed look of two performers checking in on each other during an act. It’s something much steadier than that. Something that knows what it is now.

He doesn’t look away.

Neither do you.

The officiant’s voice continues somewhere up ahead, and none of it touches him. There’s just your hand in his and your eyes on his and the clearest, simplest thought he’s had all week inside his head - ‘Just her. In whatever way she’ll give me. That’s all.’

Beside him, Edith sits with the stillness of a woman who has attended a great many ceremonies and knows how to be present in one. Her handbag is on her lap, both small hands folded over it, her pearls catching the afternoon light. He’s been aware of her since they sat down - not intrusively, just the way you’re aware of warmth. She hasn’t said anything, hasn’t needed to. She’s just there, beside him, in the way she’s always been there; quietly, completely, without condition. He thinks about the buttermints she’d pressed into his palm before they’d taken their seats, her shaky, spindly hand finding his, and he feels something tighten in his throat.

Across the aisle, Grandma Rose sits between Juliane and Lucy, a champagne flute already in hand despite the ceremony being mid-flow and the bar supposedly not open until afterward. She’s watching Danny and Annabeth with what appears to be genuine pleasure - and he believes it, actually. Whatever she is, she loves her daughter, that much has always been true. But he finds he can’t look at her for long today. The warmth on her face for Annabeth and the blade she’d dressed as a compliment last night exist in the same woman, and he can’t quite make them fit together yet.

The officiant’s voice rises slightly as he reaches the vows themselves, the words repeated simultaneously by his parents.

I choose you. Again. Freely and knowingly, with everything I now know that I didn’t know then.

He feels you shift beside him, just slightly. Feels the quality of your attention change.

He doesn’t look at you this time.

He just holds your hand, and listens, and lets it be whatever it is.

****************

Their table is tucked to the right of the room, close enough to the terrace doors that the evening air comes through in cool occasional drifts, far enough from the band that the noise doesn’t build the way it would closer in. His mom’s doing - he’d noticed it when he found the table plan pinned to a board outside the dining room. Not the hearing - she doesn’t know about that. But she knows about the migraines, knows what a long evening of noise and bright light can do, and she’d put the family table somewhere quieter without saying a word about it.

It’s the most mom thing she’s done all week. Possibly ever.

You find your seat, glance at the place settings, and move yours to his left without a word. Just a small practical rearrangement, placing yourself on his deaf side, and he watches you do it and feels something he’s been feeling all week but has no clean language for yet.

Lucy drops into the chair across from him with the energy of someone who has been cooped up all day and is now very ready to cut loose.

“Okay,” she says, already reaching for the wine. “Now the serious part’s over.” She fills her glass, then fills yours without being asked, raising it across the table. “To Uncle Danny and Aunt Annabeth. Thirty long years. You’d get less for murder.”

“Lucy, please!” Juliane chastises, from two seats down.

“I mean it with love,” Lucy says, entirely unapologetically.

A waiter arrives and fills Steve’s glass. He takes a drink, grinning the whole time.

Lucy sets her glass down and leans back in her chair. “Steve, your dad cried.”

“Probably just the lights - ”

“No Steve, full tears. Right at the end, during the vows. I saw it.” She points at him with her glass. “You’ve got it too, by the way. The Harrington crying gene. Don’t think I didn’t notice at Christmas.”

“I did not cry at Christmas.”

“Steve.” Lucy gives him a look of patient, fond exasperation. “The Folgers ad.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Reaches for his wine once more.

“That ad,” he says, with great dignity, “was objectively moving. It’s about a son coming home. It’s about family. Anyone with a functioning heart would -”

“You had to leave the room. You were making noises only dogs could hear.”

“- I needed a glass of water.”

“You came back with red eyes, Steve.”

“I… allergies.”

Across the table, Rick snorts in a way that might be agreement and might be him trying very hard not to laugh. Juliane has given up entirely and is looking at the ceiling.

You make that sound beside him - the pure laugh when something surprises you - and he feels it the way he always does now, hot and bright, illuminating something inside him.

“Steve’s right,” you say to Lucy, when you’ve recovered. “It was a really cute ad.”

“Thank you,” he sighs, relieved. “Finally. Someone with taste.”

“I cried at it too,” you add.

The look on Lucy’s face is one of pure delight. “Oh, you two are made for each other.”

He doesn’t answer that. Neither do you. But he feels the back of your hand brush his under the table, and he turns his palm over for you without thinking about it.

Lucy leans back in her chair, surveying the room with the satisfied expression of someone who has been looking forward to this part of the evening all week. “Alright, we’ve got dinner before the speeches start. Dad, you look dangerously sober.”

Rick, to his credit, holds out his glass immediately.

The meal unfolds around them - courses arriving, conversation moving across the table with the easy momentum of people who have known each other long enough not to need much effort. Danny’s friend Andrew tells stories about their early years in college that has the table in pieces. Juliane retaliates with stories of her and Annabeth’s teenage years that have everyone split between surprise and hilarity - Andrew’s wife covering her mouth, Rick laughing until his eyes water, Lucy demanding specifics that Juliane refuses to provide on the grounds of family dignity.

Steve eats, and drinks, and laughs more than he expected to.

At some point - between the second course and the third, the band having settled into something low and easy in the background - you lean slightly toward him.

“Did you hear The Hawk is doing a special screening next month?” you say, close enough that it stays between you. “Some Like It Hot. One night only.”

He turns toward you. “You’re kidding.”

“Saw it in the Hawkins Post before we left.” You reach for your wine, topping up your glasses. “I’ve never actually seen it.”

He stares at you. “You’ve never seen Some Like It Hot?”

“I’ve never seen Some Like It Hot.”

“That’s -” he shakes his head. “That’s genuinely concerning.”

“Is it? Is this because you worked in a video store and now you feel like you can look down on my movie taste?”

“No - it’s just a classic. It’s one of the great -” he stops himself. “Okay. We’re going.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Are we?”

“Yes. Non-negotiable. I’m not letting you continue to exist without having seen Some Like It Hot.” He picks up his wine glass. “I’ll drive. We can get food after.”

You look at him for a moment, and the look on your face is one he’s going to be thinking about for a long time.

“Alright,” you say. “Deal.”

A Friday night at The Hawk. Food after. The most ordinary plan in the world, made at a white linen table at his parents’ vow renewal, and it does something to him that he couldn’t explain if he tried - the simple, solid fact of it. Something to go home to. Something new to go home for. Something dangerously close to a date.

He looks at you properly then. The blue dress in the candlelight. Your hair loose over one shoulder. The completely natural, completely devastating way you’ve just assumed a future that involves both of you in it, side by side, back in Hawkins, as though it’s already decided.

Because it is, he thinks. It already is.

He leans in toward you, his mouth close to your ear. “You look beautiful.”

Just that. Plain and direct, because he’s so tired of being cautious. He can feel the warmth of you, the scent of your perfume, and he stays close for a second longer than the words require.

You go still beside him.

He pulls back just enough to see your face. The small catch in your expression - surprise, or something adjacent to it - before it settles into something he’s been watching develop all week, something that has no performance in it at all.

“Thank you,” you say. Quiet. Like you mean considerably more than the two words.

His eyes hold yours.

Then your hand comes up and your fingers find his face - warm, your thumb tracing slow from his cheekbone to the corner of his mouth and back. He feels it everywhere, the way he feels everything you do now. Your eyes move across his face like you’re reading something, taking stock of something, and he lets you, because there’s nothing in him right now that wants to hide.

Your hand shifts to the back of his neck, fingers pressing once, warm and deliberate, before you let go. You hold his gaze a moment longer. Then you reach for your water, and the table carries on around you both.

He exhales - long and slow, like something he’s been holding for days has just been given somewhere to go.

Across the table, Lucy is demonstrating something to her father using two forks and a bread roll. Juliane is shaking her head. Andrew and his wife are laughing.

Steve looks at all of them - his family, imperfect and loud and completely themselves - and feels, for the first time all week, something close to at ease.

****************

The first dance is announced just as the last of the dessert plates are cleared.

The band shifts register - something warmer, slower, the room gathering itself around the edges of the dance floor as Danny takes Annabeth’s hand and leads her out. They move well together, the choreography of people who have been doing this together for over thirty years, and the room watches with the fond attention of people who have been invited to witness something real.

Steve watches too, from the edge of the floor.

His father says something into his mother’s ear that makes her laugh - properly, surprised out of it - and he thinks, there it is. That’s the thing underneath all the management and the logistics and the thirty years of careful appearances. That laugh. His father still making his mother laugh like that, after all this time, after everything.

It’s complicated, loving his parents.

He’s starting to think that might just be what love looks like, sometimes. Complicated. Imperfect. Still there.

The song ends to warm applause. Danny makes a small bow, Annabeth shakes her head at him with the loving exasperation of someone who has been doing that for thirty years too, and then Danny is crossing the room toward Edith’s table, hand extended, the soft smile he reserves for his mother alone.

Edith takes his hand and allows herself to be led to the floor.

Steve looks around for his mother.

She’s being approached by someone - a distant cousin of Danny’s, affable and well-meaning, his hand already extended. Annabeth turns. Sees him. And then her eyes find Steve, standing at the edge of the floor, and something blossoms across her face that he doesn’t have a name for.

She says something to the cousin, declining his offer with a smile, and crosses to her son instead.

He hadn’t expected that. He’s not sure why he hadn’t expected it, but he hadn’t.

“Dance with me, Steven,” she says, her hand held out towards him. Not a question, and not something he’d ever say no to even if it was.

She takes his hand and he leads her onto the floor and he is acutely, almost painfully aware of every set of eyes in the room. His father’s friends. His cousins. Andrew and his wife. Lucy, probably already storing this away for later. All of them watching Annabeth Harrington walk past someone else to get to her son.

He doesn’t know what to do with that yet. He’s not sure he’ll know for a while.

The band moves into the opening bars of What a Wonderful World and he puts his hand at his mother’s waist and they start to move, and he is - what is he? Grateful, maybe. Self-conscious. Terrified of doing something wrong now that she’s given him this. Trying not to hold on too tight.

They find their footing. She’s a good dancer - he’d forgotten that, or never quite registered it fully. He vaguely remembers her mentioning classes she’d taken with Juliane when they were girls. She holds herself well, and leads slightly even when she’s following, which doesn’t surprise him.

“Are you having a nice time, Mom?”

She thinks about it - really thinks, which isn’t quite what he expected. Annabeth Harrington is not usually a woman who needs a moment to find her answer.

“Very much,” she smiles. “More than I thought I would, actually.” She pauses, smiling past his shoulder to someone in the crowd. “I’m always so worried about the details that most of the time I forget to -” she stops. Looks up at him. “Well. To really be in it.”

“You’re in it tonight,” he says. “I can tell.”

She meets his eyes. Something in her expression shifts - not dramatically, just a small, quiet movement, like a door opening a fraction.

“I am,” she says. Then, after a moment, she asks “and are you?”

He thinks about the beach last night. The dunes. The morning. Your hand in his during the ceremony. The cinema plan. The fingers at his cheekbone, the corner of his mouth, the back of his neck.

“Yeah,” he smiles, bashful. “I think I actually am.”

She nods, like that settles something. They turn with the music - the singer’s voice filling the room, rich and serene - and for a while neither of them speaks. Just moving together, mother and son, two people who have a great deal of history and have chosen, tonight, to let it rest.

He notices, somewhere in the middle of the second verse, that her posture has changed. Not dramatically - she’ll never be anything other than composed, it’s too deeply engrained in her - but there’s something fractionally softer in it. The careful management of herself, ever present, ever vigilant, given just the smallest amount of the evening off.

He doesn’t comment on it. He just holds it.

Then her hand leaves his shoulder, and she reaches up and touches his temple. Gently. Two fingers, barely any pressure, the way you’d touch something delicate. The place where the migraines live. The place she’s watched him press his own fingers to all week when he thought no one was looking.

She was looking.

“Mom, it’s -”

“Shh.” Not unkind. Just quiet.

Her fingers move to his forehead, brushing his hair back the way she used to when he was small and running a fever and she’d lay beside him in his bed in the dark.

He’d forgotten she did that. He hadn’t known he’d forgotten until just now.

Her eyes are glittering.

“My bright shining boy,” she whispers. Softly. Like something surfacing from a very long time ago. “That’s what I used to call you. Do you remember?”

He doesn’t trust his voice entirely. “I- I think so,” is all he manages.

She looks at him - really looks at him, in the way she so rarely does, the inventory she usually performs replaced by something more open, more undefended - and he sees it. The love that’s always been there, imperfectly expressed, poorly demonstrated, genuinely felt. All of it.

“I don’t always -” she starts. Swallows. Starts again. “I know I’m not always -”

“Mom.” He shakes his head slightly, and squeezes the hand he’s still holding. “It’s okay.”

She presses her lips together. Nods once. Drops her hand from his head and straightens, the composure returning like a tide coming back in, smooth and inevitable. But her eyes are still bright, and she doesn’t look away from him.

“I do love you, Steven,” she says. Quietly. Making sure. “More than I could ever tell you.”

He holds her a little tighter, stumbling over his steps.

“I know,” he says, pressing a kiss to her cheek. “I love you too.”

She nods. Something in her settles.

They finish the dance.

When the song ends he looks across the room and finds you immediately - still at the table, your chin in your hand, watching him. When your eyes meet his across the crowded floor, you mouth something at him.

He can’t quite make it out from here. But you’re smiling, and your eyes are doing the thing they do when you’re trying not to cry, and that’s more than enough.

****************

The floor opens up.

Annabeth finds her husband and watches as Danny leads Edith back to her seat with great ceremony - she accepts his arm with the dignity of a queen being escorted from the throne - and then someone calls out for September and the band obliges immediately, the opening notes landing like a starting pistol. The room surges forward.

Steve finds you again before he’s quite decided to look for you. You’re already on your feet, pulled up by Lucy, who has apparently decided that the formal portion of the evening is over and the fun portion has begun and nobody is sitting down anymore.

“Come on,” you say, already reaching for him.

He lets himself be pulled.

What follows is not, strictly speaking, elegant. It’s September at a Harrington party with an open bar and a band that knows what it’s doing, which means it’s loud and warm and chaotic, and the dance floor fills up fast with people who’ve been behaving themselves all evening and are done with all that now. Lucy claims the most space of anyone, moving with the complete unselfconsciousness of someone who has never once cared about how she looks dancing. Rick, to Steve’s genuine surprise, is excellent. Juliane stays at the edge of the floor and claps along, which is somehow exactly right for her.

And you - you dance the way you do most things. Fully, without performing it, your whole body in it. Loose and easy and occasionally silly, pulling faces at him when he pulls faces at you, the tight careful quality of the week falling away in increments with every bar of the song.

He spins you once, badly, and you nearly take out a distant cousin, and you both laugh hard enough that he has to stop dancing for a second just to recover.

It’s… good. It’s genuinely, unexpectedly good. He can feel the buzz of the champagne in his blood and the music in his feet and you close enough to catch if you spin wrong again, and for the length of two songs he stops thinking about anything else at all.

The band finishes the second number to a round of applause and launches into something slower to let people catch their breath. The floor shuffles and reorganises - some people drifting back to tables, others pulling partners in closer, the natural ebb of a dance floor finding its rhythm. Groups have formed across the room: his father’s contingent loud out on the terrace, a cluster of cousins commandeering a few tables, the older relatives gravitating toward each other the way they always do.

He’s about to lean toward you - to say he’s going to get some air, his right ear starting to ring faintly at the edges - when Lucy materialises at your elbow with the focused energy of someone who has identified her next mission.

“You,” she says, pointing at you. “Bar. Now. I need a partner in crime and Dad has already said no.”

You look at Steve.

He smiles. Nods. Go.

You let Lucy pull you away, glancing back at him once over your shoulder, and he watches you go with the feeling of someone watching something good move temporarily out of reach.

Then he turns and finds the spiral staircase in the corner of the dining room.

****************

The staircase is narrow and iron and winds up in a tight curve to the mezzanine above. The noise of the reception below softens as he climbs, not disappearing but changing quality - the band becoming something you feel more than hear, the voices blurring into a general warm hum. At the top, there’s a small lounge bar, low lit, barely a handful of people in quiet conversation. A couple at the far end sharing something that looks like an argument conducted in whispers. A man Steve doesn’t recognise nursing a scotch at the bar.

He gets a club soda from the bartender and crosses to the far end where the floor to ceiling windows stand open onto the small balcony.

The night air finds him immediately - cool and salt-edged, the breeze coming off the ocean somewhere beyond the manicured gardens below. He exhales. Rolls his shoulders. Lets the quiet soak up the residual chaos from downstairs.

Below him, the main terrace stretches out - strung with lights, the outdoor bar busy, a cluster of men with cigars gathered near the far railing. He can see the glow of the tips in the dark. Hears parts of the low rumble of conversation, the register of men who have known each other a lifetime and are comfortable talking with no need for holding back.

He recognises his father’s laugh before he sees him in the group.

He leans on the balcony rail. Looks out at the gardens rather than down. He’s not listening, exactly. He’s just… here. Getting some air. Letting his ears and his head rest.

He’s not really listening.

And then, cutting through the conversation, he hears his name.

****************

He doesn’t move from it. He stays perfectly still.

- always was, remember? Even as a kid -

He can’t catch it all. His bad ear loses the thread at the edges, fills in gaps with silence. But he gets enough. Enough to know the outline of what’s being said before the words fully reach him.

- thought he’d grow out of it -

- the teaching thing, I mean, Jesus, Danny -

Laughter. Low and easy and entirely at his expense.

He knows about this conversation. Has always known this conversation existed somewhere, in rooms he wasn’t in, at tables he wasn’t at. He’d just never stood above one before and listened to it happen in real time.

- popular kid, always was, just never quite -

- yeah -

- coulda been -

- uh huh -

- shoulda been -

The specific sort of eloquence from men who understand each other without needing to finish sentences. The shared vocabulary of a disappointment that is so well-established it doesn’t need articulating any deeper.

His father says something he can’t catch. The group laughs around him.

- at least he’s got the girl now, finally -

- oh sure, for now -

His hands grip harder against the balcony rail.

- you know how it goes with the kid, always the same story -

- remember the Wheeler girl, Ted’s eldest? -

- thought that was going to be something -

- and then, what about the girl he brought to Edith’s birthday, the hell was that all about -

More booming laughter. Andrew’s voice prominent in it. Andrew, who’d shaken his hand tonight, called him son, laughed at the right moments over dinner. Andrew who has apparently been having this conversation with his dad for years.

- I mean what does that tell you? -

- tells you plenty -

His father’s laugh. Familiar. Easy. Not pushing back, not redirecting, just there. Present in it. One of the boys.

- not the smartest, though -

- lazy, ain’t that it? -

- always too distracted, especially senior year -

Something in Steve’s chest goes heavy in a way that is worse than pain.

He’s heard his father’s silence on this before - the absence of the word dyslexia in the Harrington house, the careful management of every assessment and appointment, the way Danny could look at his son’s struggles and find a way to frame them as choices. As failures of will rather than differences of wiring. He’s spent his whole life understanding, on some level, that his father finds him easier to love at a distance.

But this?

Listening to his father laugh along while his friends dismantle him, piece by piece, over cigars on a terrace - the teaching, the relationships, the whole accumulated evidence of a man who never quite became what was expected of him - and not saying a word in his defence. Not one word.

- I mean at this point you have to wonder -

Someone says it. He doesn’t catch whose voice.

- the pool boy’s boy, am I right -

- oh yeah, Annie’s favourite pool boy -

- y’never saw that guy after ‘66, Danny. Maybe little Stevie’s the reason! -

The laughter that follows is the particular laughter of a joke that has been told many times before. A well-worn groove. His father’s laugh in the middle of it, helpless with it, thirty years of this particular cruelty made comfortable by repetition.

The pool boy’s boy.

Because he’s such a failure - so thoroughly, comprehensively not a Harrington - that the only explanation must be that he isn’t one. That somewhere in the gap between who Danny Harrington is and who his son turned out to be, there must be another man. Someone lesser. Someone more like Steve.

He looks at the dark gardens. The neat hedges. The lights strung along the terrace below, warm and festive, his parents’ perfect evening still assembling itself around the joke.

He should go downstairs, but his feet won’t cooperate.

And then the laughter stops.

Not gradually, but all of a sudden. The immediate silence of people who have realised they’ve been caught out.

He looks down.

You’ve stepped out from behind the screening plants at the edge of the terrace.

You’re standing in the light from the string of bulbs overhead, and the blue dress and the set of your jaw and the quality of your stillness tell him everything - you’ve been there long enough. You heard it. All of it, or enough of it that the difference doesn’t matter.

Danny’s friends have gone very quiet.

“Oh, don’t stop on my account.” Your voice is pleasant. Dangerously pleasant, the register he’s heard before, in the dunes, when the fury was at its coldest. “Please. Carry on.”

None of them say a word.

You look at Danny’s group of friends for exactly one second - the look of someone who has taken full stock of a situation and found everyone in it utterly lacking - and then you turn to Danny.

Just Danny.

“Is this how you always let people talk about your son?”

Danny’s chin lifts slightly. The automatic response of a man who has never been spoken to like this by someone he’s categorised as unimportant. “Now, sweetheart -”

“Don’t.” The word is quiet and final. “I’ve been here a week. I’ve sat in your house and watched your family and I’ve been very patient, but I am done with being patient.” Your eyes don’t move from his. “When was the last time you had a real conversation with him? Not about his job, or money, and not about what you think he should be doing differently. A real one, about him.”

Danny’s jaw tightens. “I don’t think you’ve known my son long enough to -”

“I’ve known your son long enough to know that he flew eight hundred miles to be here because you asked him to. That he shows up, every time, despite -” you gesture briefly at the group, at the terrace, at the whole evening “ - all this. That he sat through your rehearsal dinner last night and smiled his way through things that would have broken most people.” You pause. “How long have you known him?”

The question swallows up the silence.

One of the friends shifts. Someone’s cigar tip glows and fades.

Danny’s expression has moved through surprise into something harder. “I think you need to be careful about speaking on things you don’t understand. Steve’s life, our family -”

“- I understand that you just laughed at a joke about your son not being yours,” you say. Still controlled. Still precise. But underneath it now something that has heat to it, something that has been building all week, since the rehearsal, since the dinner, since every small casual diminishment she’s sat through and endured on Steve’s behalf. “I understand that nobody here” - the glance again, brief and withering - “said a word to stop it. I understand that you do this, Danny. Regularly. And he knows you do it, and he shows up anyway, because you’re his dad and he loves you. Which is considerably more than you deserve.”

Danny draws himself up to his full height, shoulders back, chest barrelled. The posture of a man who is used to being the authority in every room he enters and has just found the authority challenged in front of witnesses.

“You’re way out of line -” his voice has dropped now, the authority in it sharpening into something less pleasant. “You’ve been around five minutes. You don’t know him, you don’t know this family, and frankly I don’t know what Steve’s told you but -”

“He’s a really, really great teacher.” You state it plainly, clear enough for even his father to understand. The fury in your voice has found its centre now, quiet and absolute. “He teaches because he’s extraordinary at it, because those kids need someone exactly like him, because he chose something that matters over something that would’ve impressed you. And you’ve let your friends mock him for it for years. You’ve let them make your son the punchline of their jokes.”

You take one step forward.

“Do you know what he’s like? Do you know anything about who he actually is, or do you just fill in the blanks because it’s easier than paying attention?”

His father says nothing.

The silence from him is different now. Not the comfortable silence of a man among friends. Something else. Something that has the quality of a man looking at something he’d rather not see clearly.

“Steve is - he is the best person I know. He shows up for people. Completely, without being asked, without keeping score. He pays attention - to the things that matter, to the people who matter - in a way most people never manage.” Something in your voice shifts, raw at the edges now, emotion seeping through. “He makes people feel like they’re worth paying attention to. Do you have any idea how rare that is? Do you have any idea what that’s worth?”

You look at Danny directly.

“Maybe he’s not who you wanted him to be. Maybe his life doesn’t look the way you imagined it would. But who he actually is - right now, today - is someone I would choose, every single time, over every version of him you think you wanted.” Your voice drops, but doesn’t soften. “And I love him for exactly that. All of it. Every part of it you’ve spent thirty years being disappointed by.”

The terrace is completely silent.

You hold Danny’s gaze, long enough that he has to look away first - and then you turn and walk back inside without another word.

Steve doesn’t breathe.

He watches you go - the blue dress disappearing through the terrace doors, the sound of your heels fading - and feels something give way in him. Not break. Give way. The way a fist unclenches after holding on for too long.

I love him for exactly that.

Said to his father. In front of his father’s friends. Not offered to Steve carefully in the dark on a beach with an exit route built in. Just stated. Plainly. As though it were simply, obviously true and she couldn’t imagine why anyone would think otherwise.

He’s been looking for something all week. All year. Longer than that, maybe - the approval, the recognition, the sense of being chosen by the people who were supposed to choose him first. He’s been looking for it in this family, at these tables, in these rooms, his whole life.

It’s been standing next to him the whole time, at Christmas markets and school fairs, Tigers games and dinners with Robin. She’s been right there with him.

Below, trapped amongst the awkward silence of the men on the terrace, Danny looks up.

Their eyes meet.

Steve has spent his whole life trying to read his father’s face - looking for approval in it, for recognition, for some sign that the gap between them was smaller than it felt. He’s gotten good at it, the way you get good at things you’ve had to practice since childhood. He can read Danny Harrington the way he can read a room, or a student who’s struggling, or weather coming in from the horizon.

What he sees now he’s never seen before.

Not guilt exactly, and not quite remorse. Something quieter and harder than either of those - he sees a man who has just heard someone else say plainly what he has never found a way to say himself, and who is old enough and honest enough, in this single moment, to know it.

Steve holds it.

Then he turns and goes back through the doors, past the quiet bar, and down the spiral staircase two steps at a time, diving into the blur of a reception in full flow.

His one thought, his only thought:

Find her.

****************

The noise of the reception hits him like a brick wall.

He’d forgotten, in the quiet of the mezzanine, how loud it was down here.

The band has found its peak and is staying there - the bass coming up through the floor, through his shoes, into the soles of his feet - and the room has stopped being a room full of people at a party and become something closer to a single organism, hot and rhythmic and completely self-absorbed. Bodies everywhere. The heat of them. The smell of alcohol and perfume and a hundred expensive suits and the electricity of a crowd that has drunk enough and danced enough that it has forgotten to be careful.

He pushes into it.

His one good ear protests immediately - the volume at this level more like pressure than sound, something that sits behind the eye and builds - and the movement around him is constant and unpredictable, eddies and currents in the crowd that have their own logic and don’t care about his. He’s taller than a lot of the people here and it still doesn’t help. The light is low and strobing slightly with the band’s rhythm and the floor is packed three deep in every direction.

He keeps moving. Keeps scanning. He can’t find you.

He pushes further in, past a cluster of cousins, past Andrew’s wife talking to someone he doesn’t recognise, past a gap in the crowd that closes again before he can use it. The band is driving something with a strong backbeat that has the whole floor moving, and he moves against the flow of it, shoulder first, excusing himself through gaps that aren’t quite wide enough -

There.

On the far side of the floor. You’re pushing through from the other direction, your head up, scanning the same way he is, and even from here he can see it - the tightness in your expression, the energy rolling off you, the blue dress moving through the crowd with purpose.

He raises his hand.

You don’t see it yet.

And then Lucy materialises at your shoulder - appearing from nowhere the way she always does, two drinks in hand, already talking, already trying to pull you away from the floor and into something else. He watches your attention snap to her. Watches as you take one of the drinks automatically, the same way you’ve been all week, polite and present despite everything that’s happened.

His heart drops.

He knows what normally happens here. He knows how this goes with Lucy - she’s warm and funny and completely impossible to disengage from once she’s decided you’re her person for the next five minutes, and you’ve been accommodating her all week, because that’s who you are. You show up. You stay. You don’t make things difficult.

And normally he’d accept it. Normally he’d lower his hand and find somewhere to wait and tell himself there’d be another moment, a better moment, and the moment would pass and he’d be fine because he’s always fine, he’s spent his whole life being fine about things that really aren’t fine at all.

His hand stays up.

Because he is so done with that. He is so completely, comprehensively done with letting the moment pass. He watched you stand on a terrace and say things to his father that he has never had the courage to say for himself, and he is not lowering his hand, and he is not finding somewhere to wait, and he is not going to be fine about this.

He keeps his hand up and his eyes on you and he waits.

And then you look past her.

You find him across the crowded floor - not searching anymore, just landing, like you just knew where to find him - and your expression does something he can feel from twenty feet away. The anger, the shock, the champagne haze, all of it is still there, but underneath it there’s something that has been building since the movie, since the dunes, since the bedroom, since this morning on the pillow with your hand in his.

Lucy is still talking.

You hand her back the drink you haven’t touched.

He watches you say something to her - brief, not unkind, but firm - and then you’re moving. Through the gap between two couples, around the edge of a group that doesn’t part quickly enough, your eyes fixed on him the whole time.

He moves toward you.

It takes longer than it should. The floor is too full, the bodies too many, someone stops him with a hand on his arm and a question he doesn’t catch and he answers without knowing what he said but he keeps moving.

And then the crowd shifts, the bodies part just enough, and you’re there.

Right there. Close enough that he can see your face properly - cheeks flushed, bright-eyed, still burning with whatever happened on the terrace - and he’s close enough that you can see his.

You look at each other.

Then, at exactly the same moment -

“Hopper.”

The former chief’s name lands between you and you both start laughing - startled, bright, the laugh of two people who didn’t plan that and can’t quite believe it - and then his hand finds yours and your fingers close around his and you’re moving, weaving back through the crowd toward the exit, not running but close, the party carrying on around you completely indifferent to the fact that you’re, finally, leaving it behind.

The night air meets them at the door.

****************

The cab is silent the whole way. Not awkwardly so, just the silence of two people sitting with something that has outgrown words. His hand is in yours on the seat between you, neither of you looking at the other - your fingers, his thumb, the side of your knee against his, every point of contact registering with an acuity that has nothing to do with the wine.

He looks out his window. The coast road in the dark, the occasional light from a house set back from the water, the pale line of the ocean visible between gaps in the buildings and dunes. He’s been on this road every day this week and the journey has never felt this short.

He doesn’t want to arrive yet.

He wants another minute of this - of your hand in his and the dark outside and the held-breath quality of a moment that knows what’s coming and is letting it build. He wants to stay in the almost of it for just another minute, the way he’s been staying in almosts all week, except that this one is different. This one he’s going to step into. This one is going to happen.

The driver takes the final turn. The chaos and club’s lights have long since disappeared behind them.

The cab pulls up to the dark house and they’re through the front door before it’s fully driven away.

No lights. No conversation. Just the two of them moving through the familiar house in the dark, and something has shifted in the silence between them - not the taut held-breath quiet of the cab ride, but something that has made a decision without quite saying so.

He follows you upstairs.

The bedroom door closes behind them and they’re both moving immediately - no pause, no standing in the middle of the room trying to work out what comes next. He knows what comes next. They’re done with the house, done with the week, done with the whole careful choreography of it, and the knowledge of that is its own kind of energy, purposeful and forward-moving and slightly giddy at the edges.

“Suitcases are on top of the wardrobe,” you say, reaching behind you for the fastenings at the back of your dress. “Can you -?”

“Yeah.” He crosses to you. The blue dress is a strapless gown, his mother’s vision down to the last detail - laced and buttoned up the back, small careful loops that someone, Lucy or Juliane probably, spent considerable time on this afternoon. He finds the top of the lacing and works it loose, one loop at a time. His fingers are steady. The room is quiet except for the two of them, the soft sounds of a house that has been emptied of everyone else for the evening.

“Gran danced to everything tonight,” he says, to the back of your head. “I don’t think she sat down once.”

“She told me earlier she’s been dancing since she was four.” You’re watching him in the mirror, your eyes on his every time he glances up from where his hands are working your dress open. “Said it’s the only form of exercise she’s ever respected.”

He huffs softly. “That sounds like something she’d say.”

He moves to the row of small buttons beneath the lacing. They’re small and fiddly and clearly designed by someone who didn’t have to undo them at the end of a long night, and he works through them carefully, one by one.

“Mom was something tonight, by the way.”

“She really was.” Your voice is warm with it. “She looked happy. Genuinely.”

“Yeah.” He finds the last button. “More like herself than I’ve seen in a while.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “The dance with you. I was watching from the table and I nearly -”

“Don’t.” He says it warmly, his hands going still at your back. “You were already trying not to cry. I could see you from across the room.”

“I was not - I was emotional on your behalf, that’s completely different -”

“That’s still crying.”

“It’s adjacent to crying -”

He’s smiling now, properly, and so are you - he can see it in the mirror. The last button gives and he steps back.

You reach for his t-shirt - the soft grey one, worn thin at the collar, hanging over the back of the chair - and pull it over your head before you let the dress fall. It pools on the floor and you step out of it, draping it over the chair, and you’re already moving toward the wardrobe in his t-shirt and your underwear before the fabric has finished settling, still in your good earrings, completely unbothered.

Something about the sight of you does something to him that he doesn’t try to contain.

“Do you know where the box for your cufflinks went?” you ask him, opening a drawer. “The velvet one.”

“Nightstand. Left side.” He shrugs out of his jacket and shirt, dismantling the evening piece by piece. He finds an old Tigers vest in the open drawer and drags it over his head. The dress pants follow, replaced by a pair of cotton pyjama pants. The relief of being back in his own clothes again, his own skin, the performance of the week finally fully shed - is considerable.

You’ve found the cufflink box and set it on the dresser, scooping up the small gold pieces he’d taken from his cuffs and stowing them away carefully. You’re opening another drawer, the one with your fresh underwear, emptying the drawer into your case with the focused energy of someone who has already decided what comes next even if they haven’t said it yet.

“We’ll take the hire car back to the airport,” you say, as you work through the drawers. “First light, once you’re safe to drive. I’ll call before we leave and check the times of the flights to Indianapolis. I’m sure we can swap our tickets for an earlier flight.”

He looks at you across the room.

“You sound as keen to get back to Hawkins as I feel,” he says.

You glance up, something in your expression caught between amused and certain.

“Maybe.”

“Thought so.” Fond. Completely, helplessly fond.

You look up from the drawer, catching his expression, and something in yours softens in response - just for a second, just enough - before you go back to what you’re doing.

He’s laughing now, quietly, and the room feels lighter than it has in days - the wine and champagne still warm in him, the week finally behind them instead of ahead, and you here, in his t-shirt and almost nothing else, packing up ready to leave with him.

“I need to tell you something,” you say, while you fold and pack. “About what happened tonight. Out on the terrace.”

“Okay.”

“Your dad and I had a… I…”. You stop what you’re doing, whatever your hands have been busy with. “I confronted him,” you say. Still to the drawer, but differently now - the efficient packing energy still there but something underneath it, a current running through the words. “On the terrace. Him and his friends.”

He keeps his face neutral. “Yeah?”

“They were - ” you stop talking and take a breath, a little reset. “I went out for some air and I heard them. Through the plants.” You pick up the small pile you’d been folding and put it in your case. “They were talking about you.”

“What were they saying?”

You look at him then - properly, across the room - and the look on your face tells him everything about what you heard before you say another word.

“Horrible things.” Quiet. “About your job. Your relationships. The way you -” You shake your head. “The way you’ve turned out, like you’re some kind of disappointment that needs explaining away. Like you’re a running joke they’ve all agreed on.” Something tightens in your jaw. “And your dad was just - he was laughing along, Steve. He wasn’t pushing back, he wasn’t telling them to stop, he was just - there. In it. Like it was nothing.”

He doesn’t say anything.

“And then one of them - Andrew, I think, or someone next to him - said something about you not being -” Another stop, another exhale. “There’s a joke they have, about your mom. That you’re ‘the pool boy’s boy’. Do you know about that?”

“I know about it,” he says, flat.

You look at him. “He laughed, Steve. Your dad laughed.”

“Yeah. Sounds like him.”

Something in your expression shifts - the anger still there but something more complicated moving underneath it now, something that looks like it might be grief on his behalf. “How long has that been going on?”

“Long time.” He folds something and adds it to his case.

You press your lips together. Turn back to the case, pick something up, put it down again. “So I stepped out,” you say. “From behind the plants. And I told him - I told them -”

You make a short, sharp sound.

“Oh god.” You turn to look at him fully. “Did I cause a scene? At your parents’ vow renewal? Steve, if I’ve made things worse for you…”

“No,” he says, firm. “He deserved it.”

“But your mom, and the family, and -”

“He deserved it.”

You hold his gaze for a moment. “What do you mean, he deserved it? How do you -” Something crosses your face. “Steve. What did you hear?”

“I was on the balcony,” he says. “The one above the terrace. I went up for some quiet away from the band, and I could hear them below me.”

Your expression does several things in quick succession.

“You were there, the whole time?”

“I was there before you were.” He pauses. “I heard the joke. I heard what they were saying about my relationships, the teaching, all of it.” He swallows, throat suddenly dry. “And then I heard you.”

“All of it?” you whisper.

“Everything that mattered.”

The room goes quiet.

You’re standing at the chest of drawers, your case open on the floor beside you, something half-folded in your hands. He’s by the wardrobe, his own case at his feet. Neither of you moves for a moment.

Then he crosses to you.

No hesitation. No careful approach. Just him, crossing the room, his hands finding your face - both of them, palms warm against your cheeks, thumbs at the corners of your jaw - and you look up at him and whatever you find in his expression makes the thing in your hands fall somewhere without you noticing. The half-packed cases and the open wardrobe and the cast-off finery of the evening all fall away.

“So you heard -” you start.

“I heard you tell him that you love me,” he says. “For who I actually am.”

Your mouth closes.

He watches something happen in your eyes - the nerves arriving, the expression of someone who has said something true to a whole group of people and is only now having to say it to the one person it was actually for. Your throat moves. You open your mouth again and nothing comes out.

He doesn’t wait.

“And I need you to know, that I - I am so in love with you,” he says. Plain. Certain. The words he’s been carrying all week finally said out loud, finally given somewhere to go. “I have been for - I don’t know how long. Long enough that I stopped noticing it was happening. Long enough that this week nearly broke me, being this close to you and not being able to -”

He stops himself.

Your eyes are very bright, glittering in the light coming from the bedside lamps.

He watches it happen - the recognition moving across your face. Like something finally being called by its right name.

You nod.

Small. Certain. Your hands come up and find his wrists, not pulling his hands away, just holding on.

“Same,” you say. Your voice comes out smaller than usual, stripped of its usual steadiness. “Me too. I have - for a while, I just -” you shake your head slightly, still looking at him. “Same.”

That’s all.

It’s everything.

And then you kiss him.

The first kiss is soft.

Just that - his hands still holding your face, your hands wrapped around his wrists, the two of you finally, simply here. He can feel your breath against his lips, and the slight tremor in you that has nothing to do with cold.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

The tenderness is still there - he can feel it, the weight of what was just said still warm between you. But underneath it something else is surfacing, something that has been building since the harbour wall, since the boutique, since a recliner on the beach and his hand on your thigh and every careful, managed, almost of the week.

He can see it in your face. He suspects you can see it in his.

You have been so careful.

You have been so endlessly, exhaustingly careful - with the rules, with the lines, with the talking points and the agreed boundaries and the gentle choreography of two people trying very hard not to break something before they really understood what it was.

He is done being careful. And he can tell, from the way you’re looking at him, that you are too.

Your hands move from his wrists to his shoulders - not pulling him in yet, just resting there - and the room feels crystalline, frozen, before you pull him back to your lips and this kiss is nothing like the first one.

His hands slide from your face into your hair and you slip your hands down his chest to find the bottom of his vest, pulling it up, and he breaks the kiss long enough for it to come off over his head and then his mouth finds yours again before it hits the floor. Your hands spread flat against his chest - warm, certain, the same hands that have been finding him all week - and he walks you back the single step until the chest of drawers is behind you and there’s nowhere left to go.

His hands find the bottom of his shirt you’re wearing.

You lift your arms.

It joins the vest somewhere on the floor and then his hands are on you - finally, properly, without a blanket between you or an audience ten feet away or any of the careful management of the week - and you make a sound against his mouth that he feels all the way down.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

“Yeah?” he asks. Low. Making sure.

You look at him - really look, the directness that has been undoing him all week - and something in your expression is certain and warm and done with waiting.

“Yeah,” you say. “Definitely yeah.”

His hands find your waist. Your hips. The soft skin inside your thighs, and you shift closer to him, and he can feel how much you mean it.

“I’ve thought about this,” you say, against his jaw, while his fingers slip through your folds. Almost conversational, except for the slight unevenness in your breath. “About you. Like this.”

He goes very still. “Yeah?”

“Mm.” Your mouth at his throat now. “More than I should have, probably. You’re not meant to think about your friends the ways I’ve been thinking about you.”

“How long?”

You pull back slightly, enough to look at him. The ghost of a smile. “Long enough that it’s embarrassing.”

He kisses you again before he says too much.

Your hands find the waistband of his pyjama pants. You push them down - not all the way, just enough, letting them rest just under the curve of his ass - and then you wrap your hand around his cock and he bites back a moan that is entirely involuntary and not remotely dignified.

You go still.

He opens his eyes.

You’re looking at him with an expression that is equal parts appreciation and barely suppressed amusement.

“Okay,” you say. “Wow.”

“Okay?”

“I knew.” You tilt your head slightly. “Rumours travel, even in Hawkins.”

He stares at you. “There are rumours about -”

“Steve.”

“About my -”

“Steve.” You squeeze once, lightly, which effectively ends his ability to form sentences. “I’ve seen you in sweatpants - the whole town has. I knew. I just -”

You glance down at the gap between your fingers and thumb, then at he sheer amount of him that your hand can’t hold. Then you glance back up, the amusement giving way to something more genuine. “I was not fully prepared.”

He looks at you for a long moment, a heady mix of pride and lust and adoration burning under his skin.

“I will never,” he says, with great seriousness, “ever, let you live that down.”

“I know,” you say. “Worth it.”

His fingers find your waistband and he slides your underwear down your legs. You step out of them without breaking eye contact, which does something major to his ability to think clearly.

And then there’s nothing left between you.

He kisses you again - deeper this time, his hands moving over you with none of the restraint of the week - and you turn around in his arms, your back to his chest, and he feels you press back into him deliberately, unambiguously, and that’s all the direction he needs.

You brace your hands against the chest of drawers and he’s behind you, his fingers scratching down your back before his hands settle on your hips. He leans over you, covers you, mouths at your shoulder blades and up to the back of your neck, taking his time tasting your skin even as you grind your ass against his cock and make these little whimpers that he knows will embed themselves into his memory.

He takes himself in hand, slicking his thumb over the tip with every pass of it, biting his lip to muffle the whine in his throat when you step your legs further apart and arch your back, tilting your hips just right, exposing yourself completely to him.

God, he thinks, you’re so fucking beautiful.

There’s so much he wants to do. His mind races with the possibilities. He wants to drop to his knees and worship at your cunt, he wants to lay you down and cover every inch of you with kisses, he wants to pull you into his lap and just sit there with you grinding down on him until -

- you push back on him again, slick and hot and eager, and the look on your face as you glance over your shoulder tells him the time for thinking is over.

He guides himself against you, teasing you as much as he can cope with, gliding himself between your sopping lips, back and forth, over and over, soaking up the slick heat of you as you grind yourself against him.

“Y-you’re so… you’re so wet…”, he grunts out, biting down so hard on his lip he’s sure he’s drawn blood.

“It’s your fault. Been like this since I saw you in that suit -”

“Yeah, seriously?”

“I was thi - thinking about this…”

“When? Tell me.”

You push back harder, and he does whimper this time. “D-dinner. When you said I - when you said I was beautiful…”

“Fucking… jesus…”

He can’t speak, can’t think anymore. He lines himself up and pushes into you slowly, watching with rapt attention as you take him in, inch by inch.

You drop your head, a long exhale leaving you, your fingers curling against the top of the chest of drawers. He stills - one hand gripping your hip, the other spread flat across your back - giving you a moment, giving himself one too, because the feel of you is extraordinary and he is trying very hard not to embarrass himself in the first thirty seconds.

“Okay?” he bites out, once he’s fully sheathed inside you and frozen to the spot.

“Y-yeah, more than,” you whisper, breathless. “You can move.”

He moves.

It builds fast - the angle of it, the sounds you’re making, the way you push back to meet him - and his hands grip tighter and his mouth finds the back of your neck again and he can feel everything, the heat of you, the specific give of you around him, and it’s almost too much, it’s been almost too much since the moment you wrapped your hand around him and looked up at him with that expression.

At some point - he couldn’t say exactly when - your knees buckle slightly and he catches you, and it seems easier, more natural, to go down to the floor together than to stay standing. The rug comes up to meet them, your hands bracing against it, and he’s behind you still, finding the angle again, and it’s good, it’s so fucking good, the sounds you’re making are going to ruin him permanently -

He gets perhaps four thrusts in before he feels it.

The rug, which has felt far thicker and softer under his feet this week than it currently feels under his knees. And then, immediately, with the clarity of someone whose brain has just caught up with his body -

Her knees. Her arms.

He stops.

“Steve -” You look back at him over your shoulder, flushed, breathing hard, your expression making absolutely clear that stopping was not on your agenda.

“Rug burn,” he says, like it should be obvious. “Your knees.” He lifts one of his own by way of demonstration, the skin already a little pink from friction. “I can feel the weave pattern and I’ve only been down here thirty seconds.”

He feels you flutter around him. He tries very hard to focus on the matter at hand.

“I don’t care about the rug Steve -”

“I care about the rug. Mostly what it’s doing to your-”

You push back, figuratively as well as literally. “Steven Harrington, I swear to god -”

“Bed,” he says. “I’m taking us to bed.”

He pulls back and gets an arm under you - not graceful, not even remotely - and somehow manages to get you both up off the floor, across the room and onto the bed in a combination of movements that involve his elbow hitting the wrong place and you grabbing the edge of mattress to stop momentum sending you flying over the other side.

You end up on your back, hair everywhere, looking up at him with an expression that contains multitudes.

“Smooth, Harrington,” you say, plumping a pillow beneath you.

“Always have been,” he agrees.

And then neither of you is laughing anymore.

****************

He takes his time.

He’s been taking his time all week - careful, managed, always half-aware of even when it wasn’t a performance - but this is entirely different.

He starts slow. Deliberately. His weight on his forearms either side of you, close enough that he can see your face properly - really see it, the way he hasn’t been able to all week without it meaning something he wasn’t ready to name yet. Your hair spread across the pillow. Your eyes on his, steady and open and entirely genuine. He pushes into you and watches your face change.

It’s - it’s a lot. The intimacy of it, face to face, nothing between them, your legs wrapping around him and drawing him in and your hands finding his back. He drops his forehead to yours for a moment, just breathing, just existing in the fact of it.

“There you are,” you say softly, and he laughs - surprised out of it, warm - and then he starts to move properly and the laughing stops.

It builds slowly this time. Not the urgency of the floor, not the overwhelming heat of it - something steadier, deeper, more chosen. He learns what makes you close your eyes and what makes you keep them open and what makes you pull him closer when he’d already thought there was no closer left to go. Your hands move over him - his shoulders, his back, the nape of his neck - like you’re learning him too, like you have time now and intend to use it.

He kisses you between movements. Your mouth, your jaw, the curve of your throat. Feels you arch up into him in response, your fingers pressing into his back.

“Steve -”

“I know,” he says. “Let me take care of you.”

He keeps taking his time, even when he draws himself out of you, even when you protest the loss.

His mouth finds its way down your throat, your collarbone, the soft skin of your breasts - taking each one in turn, his tongue tracing slow circles around your nipples until you’re squirming beneath him and pulling at his hair with more impatience than he’s going to reward. Lower, his mouth dragging down your stomach, your hips lifting toward him before he’s even got there.

He settles between your thighs.

“Steve -” His name again, already unsteady.

“I know,” he says, against the inside of your thigh. “Give me a minute.”

He takes considerably more than a minute.

He learns you the way he’s been wanting to learn you all week - the unique geography of you, what makes your breath stutter and what makes your hips roll and what makes you clap a hand over your own mouth to muffle the desperate, pleading sounds you’re making. He works you with his mouth and his tongue and his fingers until you’re shaking, dragging his tongue from your hole to your clit and back until your thighs are trembling either side of his head and your hand in his hair has gone from guiding to gripping, until you say his name three times in quick succession in a way that tells him you’re close.

He backs off, ignoring the curse of protest you hiss out, studiously avoiding the tilt of your hips as you try to tempt him back to where you most want him.

“Steve, c’mon, I’m close…”

“I know, honey, I know,” he murmurs into the crease of your hip, kissing a trail over your stomach before he works his way back down.

He does it again. Brings you right to the edge of it, plunging his tongue inside you while his thumb and finger teases your sensitive, swollen clit, and then eases back, his mouth soft and loose against your inner thigh while you gasp and writhe above him and tell him, in some detail, exactly what you think of this approach.

“I know,” he says, pleasantly. “One more time, you’ve got this.”

“Steve - ”

“Just once more,” he says again, and goes back to work.

The third time he doesn’t back off.

He gives you everything - fingers curling inside you to find the soft spot that makes your back arch clean off the bed, his mouth working you over in the way he’s worked out you need, relentless and focused and entirely committed to the task - and you come apart slowly and then all at once, your thighs closing around his head, your hand fisting in his hair, your whole body shuddering through it as you cry out.

And right in the middle of it - unstoppable, raw, wrenched out of you because you simply cannot not say it -

“I love you, Steve, I -”

Broken and certain at the same time. Your voice catching on the last syllable, the words spilling out of you in the wreckage of everything else.

He feels it everywhere.

In his chest. In his throat. In the base of his spine. He kisses you through the last of it, feels you come down slowly, your hand loosening in his hair, your breathing beginning to even out.

Then he kisses his way back up your body - your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your breast, your throat - and when he settles between your thighs properly and pushes into you again you’re still oversensitive, still trembling slightly, and the sound you make is something he is going to carry with him for the rest of his life.

He tries to pace himself.

He genuinely, sincerely tries.

But you’re warm and you’re so fucking wet around him, and you’re looking up at him with your hair everywhere and your lips swollen and your eyes dark, and you wrap your legs around him and pull him deeper into you, and he feels you clenching around his dick and you’re still saying his name - quietly now, just a breath of it on each exhale - and there is simply nothing he can do to stop himself.

He lets the pleasure that’s been haunting him since that shower the first morning, the pleasure he’s been edging closer to every single day, the pleasure that’s been slowly driving him crazy all week until this exact moment, he lets it tear right through him.

His face presses into your neck, his whole body shuddering, your arms coming up around his shoulders and holding on while the room goes white at the edges and he thinks, with complete and helpless conviction, that he has never in his life felt less alone than he does right now.

After, he doesn’t move immediately.

He stays close. His weight mostly shifted to the side, but still pressed against you, his face at your shoulder, one hand spread warm across your stomach. Your fingers are moving through his hair, slow and absent, the same rhythm as the migraine afternoon earlier in the week, except that everything is somehow different now and yet still the same.

You’re quiet for a while. The good kind of quiet. The kind that doesn’t need filling.

He turns his head to press his lips to your shoulder. Your collarbone. The curve of your throat. Slow and undemanding - just because he can now, just because there’s nothing stopping him anymore.

You make a soft sound and turn toward him, and he meets you there, and the kiss is soft and gentle and perfectly yours.

“I love you,” he says, against your mouth. Properly. Out loud. To your face. “I should have said it back straight away. I just -”

“I know,” you soothe. Your hand at his jaw, your thumb tracing the line of it. “I know you do.”

He exhales, relief washing over him.

You kiss him again. Then again. Small, warm, lazy with it - the kind of kissing that has nowhere else to be.

His hand moves over you - your waist, your hip, the warm skin of your side - and you let him, and it’s different to every other touch of the week. Not performing closeness, not managing it, not wondering if it’s allowed. Just his hand, just you, just this.

“We have the whole house to ourselves,” you say eventually, into the comfortable dark between you. Something in your voice - thoughtful, the smile underneath it.

He lifts his head slightly, squinting as he tries to focus on you. “We do.”

“All night.”

“All night,” he confirms.

You look at him. Your smile properly present now, warm and wicked and yours.

“That’s a lot of rooms to work through,” you ponder.

He looks at you for a long moment, brain catching up, desire licking up his spine once more. “Give me twenty minutes.”

“Twelve.”

“Eighteen.”

“Fifteen minutes, Steve, and that’s my final offer.”

He drops his face back to your shoulder, laughing properly, and you laugh with him, and the house is quiet around you and the night is entirely yours and he thinks - not for the first time, but more clearly than ever before - that this is it. This is the thing he didn’t know he was looking for.

****************

Later, much later, with the sky beginning to lighten at the edges - dressed in each other's shorts and vests, whatever they pulled together from the bedroom floor - they find their way down to the beach.

The hire car is already loaded, their cases in the trunk, everything they’re taking home to Hawkins packed and ready. The green dress and the blue dress hang side by side in the wardrobe upstairs, the suits beside them. They left them without making it a big thing. It felt right.

They go to the beach without discussing it. Just the two of them, barefoot, following the path through the dunes the way they’ve been following it all week. The sand is cool now, the heat of the previous day long gone, the tide further out than usual, the beach wider and quieter and completely, entirely empty.

They find a spot in the dunes, close to the line of the marram grass scattered through the sand. They sit close, his arm around you, your head at his shoulder, facing the horizon where the sky is doing something extraordinary - the darkness thinning at the edges, the first pale suggestion of colour beginning to bleed through.

Neither of them speaks for a while, the silence broken only by the distant squawk of gulls somewhere beyond.

He looks at the horizon. Feels the cool air coming in off the water, the soft stillness of the world before it wakes up, your body warm against his side.

“We should probably sleep at some point,” you think out loud, your hand rubbing up and down his bare forearm.

“I’ll sleep on the plane. You can sleep in the car on the way to the airport.”

Neither of you moves.

The sky keeps changing - the colour deepening now, rose and gold beginning to edge up from the horizon, the stars fading one by one at the edges. The ocean catches it first, the water going from dark to something warm and gleaming, and the beach slowly, gradually, fills with light.

He thinks about the week. All of it - his parents, the performance, the rehearsal and the dinner and the dunes and the bedroom and everything that came after. The whole long, complicated, exhausting, necessary week.

He thinks about Hawkins. About The Hawk on a Friday night. About the early flight home with you beside him, the whole of Indiana waiting at the other end.

He thinks about the words he said in that bedroom - finally, out loud, to your face - and what it felt like to say it and mean it and have it received and returned to him, fully and equally.

Your hand finds his in the cool morning air, your head dropping to his shoulder.

He holds on, and presses a kiss to your hair.

The sun comes up.

[luveline]

𝐳𝐨𝐦𝐛𝐢𝐞 𝐚𝐩𝐨𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐲𝐩𝐬𝐞 𝐚𝐮 {¬ºཀ°}¬ 𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐯𝐞 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧

reluctant allies to lovers. fics are sometimes non-sequential. requests for the zombie au are open for any time in their relationship

all in one place newest to oldest all in one place written order

on the road

you rescue steve at the end of the world you try to convince steve to turn back you and steve try to navigate without a compass steve saves you from a zombie you and steve hide from a storm steve cuddles you to keep you warm outdoors you try to cheer steve up steve goes out to find your meds steve clings to you after an injury steve trains you in hand to hand combat steve looks after you when you’re depressed steve gets you a present when you’re sad steve gets food poisoning steve realises he’s got big feelings for you you get your period you’re attacked by a lone survivor steve kisses you for the first time you and steve get stuck in a taco truck you and steve meet an okapi you and steve trade secrets you and steve find a lake to bathe in you and steve run from scavengers you get hypothermia steve panics when food is in short supply you spend a day in bed hiding from the snow steve comforts you when you’re exhausted

at The College Community

steve finds robin and you join The College you and steve get your own room you comfort steve after he almost dies on a run steve thinks about the future and having kids you and steve make up after an argument you celebrate steve’s birthday you and steve after a first time you and steve think about before the college you get taken, steve won’t rest til he finds you you realise you can trust steve’s friends steve comforts you after a nightmare you comfort steve after a nightmare steve comforts you after a worse nightmare steve confesses how scared he is of losing you you start to feel like you’re not good enough for steve steve fights to keep you safe when the north fence falls steve knows how he wants to spend a quiet morning

after The College falls

you make your way back to steve steve tends your wounds you take care of steve after he sprains his knee you and steve get back to basics you and steve get into a fight steve almost gets bitten you, steve and robin go on a quest for soap steve takes care of you when you catch a cold you go for a walk and give steve palpitations you meet a curly haired stranger steve is jealous of you and eddie you and steve settle into your new jobs you and steve reunite after morning duties you reunite after a few days apart you bring steve some gifts steve continues to be jealous of eddie steve draws you all the time steve discovers he’s far-sighted steve comforts you through panic you have a dream too good to be true steve brings up getting married a friend comes to mega camp

saving Robin

a last day of normalcy

[thecruxchronicles]

♡ Joe Keery / Djo Two Worlds One Choice- Masterlist ♡

Chapter 1 — The Library Chapter 2 — The Moment He Turned Back Chapter 3 — Art, Armor, and the Almost Moment Chapter 4 — The Kiss Chapter 5- Electric Lady Chapter 6- The Line We Didn't Cross Chapter 7-Halfway to Something Chapter 8- Rooftop Mornings Chapter 9- Figure you out Chapter 10- Half Life Chapter 11- The Point Of No Return Chapter 12- Mutual Future Chapter 13- Change Chapter 14-Back On You Chapter 15- On and On Chapter 16- End Of Beginning Chapter 17- Awake Chapter 18- The Space Between Screens Chapter 19- Keep Me In Your Orbit Chapter 20- Star Chart Chapter 21- Chateau Chapter 22- Half In The Bubble Half In The Noise Chapter 23- Sunlight, Paper, and Him Chapter 24- Caught in Your Reverb Chapter 25- The Moment Bends Sideways Chapter 26- Fool Chapter 27- For You

Chapter 28- Potion

STAY TUNED

Please let me know if you want to be added to the tag-list 🖤

[thecreelhouse]

always ready to be left out in the cold

Paring: Steve Harrington x Reader

Summary: Getting stuck with Steve in the van on crawl nights fucking sucks. Getting stranded in a snowstorm, forced to cuddle up next to the one person you cannot stand, all to share warmth and hopefully survive the night? You’re almost certain you’d rather freeze to death. Almost.

WC: 18k+

Includes: bitchy idiots to lovers. one bed & forced proximity tropes. hurt/comfort. angst w/ some fluff to balance it out. language. steve’s trauma. reader’s trust issues. smut- heavy petting, humping, oral (f receiving), PiV sex, dirty talk. reader has no descriptions beyond breasts & vagina, and she/her pronouns. fic takes place in the winter, pre s5. prob some inaccuracies re: treating hypothermia; everything I researched was conflicting with other info, so for the sake of the fic, pretend any errors work lmao. lmk if I forgot any tags. // MDNI 18+ as always with my fics, please respect that.

A/N: Said I wasn’t gonna even try to write a van fic, the fandom has enough, and then this idea slapped itself permanently into my brain after vol. 1, and unfortunately took me months to finish. So... sorry if you’re sick of the van fics, but here’s one more 😅 title is a lyric from hard - hayley williams, and the fic is loosely (very loosely lol) inspired by the song itself. dividers by @/cursed-carmine

‎♪ always ready for the piano to fall / always ready to be left out in the cold / armor’s heavy, never suited me at all / but it’s the devil I know ♬

This has to be the worst night for a crawl yet.

Much to your dismay, you're stuck with Steve in the van tonight.

Dustin's sick with the flu, Will is still restricted from ever leaving Joyce's sight at this point, and you were more knowledgeable on telemetry tracking than Jonathan.

Leaving you- alone- with your least favorite person, for the rest of the night.

Yeah, lucky you.

This isn't the first time you've been paired up with him, nor would it be the last, you're certain. However, tonight's forecast called for snow and plummeting temps; accurate as ever as the evening grew near, with grey-white clouds blanketing the skies, flurries fluffing up by the minute.

You tried warning the others about the weather, understanding that crawls were usually non-negotiable, keeping flexible to the military's burn schedules, unbeknownst to them.

It still had to happen; any chance to find and defeat Vecna is a chance to end this nightmare, once and for all.

And that's never your call to make.

Creaking the passenger side door open, the first greeting that hits you is a miffed grumble, "Jesus, took you long enough."

"Yeah, hi to you too, Steve," you deadpan, careful to climb in backwards, kicking as much snow off your boots as you can before shutting the door.

He gives you a once-over, poorly stifling an ill-fitted chuckle.

Rolling your eyes, you glare over at him. "What?"

"You look like that kid from A Christmas Story with all those layers."

"Ha-ha, very funny." You struggle to cross your arms, puffed up and padded down with your winter coat.

"There's heat in the van, y'know." Glancing over his shoulder, he throws a thumb to the back of the van. "That box of stuff is back there, too, but… kinda just a waste of space, don't you think?"

"Oh, for the love of—" you crawl between the front seats, shoving Steve's shoulder in the process. Reaching the medium-sized cardboard box, you drag a well-loved and worn blanket out. "We've been over this, Steve."

"We get it, your circulation sucks, or whatever. I don't see how that's anyone else's problem."

"If I have to put up with you leaving all those goddamn Boppers wrappers around, you can deal with the emergency box." Holding a hand up, you add, "Which, is for everyone, by the way."

"Yeah, well, a sleeping bag's a little much. And extra socks? A sweatshirt? C'mon—"

"Last week Dustin was glad I packed that sweatshirt when it dropped to 40 degrees at night," you settle in the back, unlocking the wheel on the ceiling. "Because you refused to shut your window."

Exasperated, he throws his arms up. "The cold keeps me awake! Sue me!" Steve turns around, lip curled upward in disgust. "Also it's gross you just… leave socks for other people to use."

"They're new and I wash them if they get used! I wash everything in here, you fucking mor—"

"Hey, guys, you good to go?" Robin's voice through the tinny speaker of the walkie disrupts the insults you had on standby for Steve.

Glaring at Steve while he reflects his own sharp stare, you respond, "As good as we're gonna get."

There's no room for Steve to bite back; you're already tugging the headphones over your ears, focused as you fidget with the knobs. Your main concern isn't him, it's tracking Hopper to keep this as successful and safe of a crawl as possible.

Steve's gaze lingers, but it softens, deflates into one of dejection. You feel his eyes on you, but ignore it, thinking he's still trying to hold out on the sign of animosity; it's not that.

Despondency plagues him whenever you're around, and he resorts to cynicism, trapped in its ugly cycle. You hate him, why should he play nice in return?

It's easier to allow bitterness to keep distance between the two of you. Easier to forget how you and Steve were just in reach of something more.

Until you just… left. 

 Friendship break-ups are sometimes harder than romantic ones.

No one ever talks about that weird gap, suspended between acquaintances and beyond, falling into potential friendship, drifting back off into something bitter, a bond you only shared, tip-toeing along a jagged edge.

You'd drift in, drift out.

Grew close, just enough for hope to thrive, only to push him away.

In, out.

All while longing for something more, desperate to ride out a wave that drifts back and builds momentum, only to crash ashore into nothing.

So you cough up water, take a few deep breaths, and dive back in again.

Turns out, that shit gets exhausting over time. Especially when you discover a grim truth, hidden from the start.

When you're not treading water to stay afloat, it's swimming through a naval minefield in murky waters; drift into one, and you're blasted into overthinking what went wrong, what stopped the bond from blooming. And all it takes is one 'what if?' to shift course and bump into one these mines, ruining your day completely.

What if you hadn't moved away after Starcourt's explosive demise, deciding on a fresh start by leaving this nightmare of a town behind?

What if you and Steve were able to become more, if not stay friends, and he had just been honest about the Upside Down from the beginning?

What if you allowed that friendship to swell into something more? Standing him up on a date that could've changed everything; a wave ready to ride out naturally, only to retreat. Withdraw like the ocean before returning full force as a tsunami; why follow the tide out just to trap yourself in the path of imminent destruction?

If you stayed… would it have been worth it?

The two of you were star-crossed; Steve was still hung up on Nancy when you discovered your feelings for him. When he moved on, you found someone else. It almost turned into a sad, little game; when one was ready, the other had been redirected elsewhere.

It was even pitiful, the way you two barely had a friendship to build on, because one wasn't ready, and the other got tired of waiting.

Wash. Rinse. Repeat.

Your time outside of Hawkins brought you steps away from turning fully into stone; get hurt enough times, you refuse welcoming anyone and everyone in so easily. One too many soured relationships had you settled on the idea that maybe you just weren't meant to share love like that.

That hurt transforms your body as a shield for your heart, ribs hardening into steel cages as an added last line of defense; you were one heartbreak away from adding electric barbed wire for good measure.

No one would get in again. Not if you could help it. Not like that.

Coming home wasn't an easy choice, but it was the only one that felt right. Your friends were still here, who you loved as family— bonded through unholy tragedies rather than blood, still family all the same; you had to check on them. You couldn't leave them hanging again.

Because your first thought upon hearing of the destruction, was what if any of them died?

Then you return to find out the worst what if came true: someone among the group died; Eddie's gone. And Max? Well… she's closer to a tragic ending than most of you.

You suffocated yourself in distractions, helping your parents to pack up and move out, promising you wouldn't be too far behind, that you needed to check on your friends immediately.

Unfortunately, coming home right before the town went into quarantine was not part of the plan.

Time away had you forget how downright stubborn Steve could be if he set his mind to something, and all he wanted was to break your walls down, at least to find common ground.

That was still far too much give, and not enough take for you. They're not uncharted waters, you just know you're not meant to navigate them, and know damn well Steve would just stand by and watch you sink.

Those what ifs of your past resurfaced, pulling you under, taunting you to open your mouth when there was nowhere to breathe.

The last place you needed to drown in emotions you couldn't afford was in a town under quarantine. Locked in, fenced off from the rest of the world, with someone you barely had a chance to build a friendship with. Someone you always yearned for more with, yet royally fucked up any chances with.

That more, those chances, they're thousands of meters below a rough, choppy surface, down to the pitch-black depths of the abyssal zone; it's just not in reach, and you've protected your heart this long, you didn't need all that effort to go to waste within a impulsive dive, head first into what would certainly make your heart implode.

You can only tread water for so long, though.

"Hop's going as slow as possible tonight, so we don't have to speed, alright?"

Steve only shoves an aggressive thumbs up over his head, tongue prodding into the side of his cheek.

"I mean, it'll pick up if he hitches a ride on a military truck for a while, but—"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Don't go fast unless necessary." He grumbles under his breath, "I'm not stupid."

And that stings, because you genuinely weren't insinuating that. In fact, you're certain you've never insinuated that before.

"Steve, I wasn't trying to—"

"Don't." His shoulders tense up, grumbling out, "Unless it's about this crawl, I don't wanna talk. You focus on your job, I'll focus on mine."

His flat tone and curt demeanor makes your stomach churn. Nights like these where you're forced together have you longing for the past. Before you knew of the Upside Down, before he was trapped in a bunker below Starcourt, before you left like a goddamn coward.

Ever since you returned to Hawkins, it's like he resents you for protecting yourself. Your peace. Your sanity.

What the hell was the point of continuing to stick around, pour your heart into a friendship that only opened if you brought the crowbar?

Despite the mutual loathing, you and Steve make a pretty solid team when kept strictly to business.

Keeping up with a telemetry tracker while stuck in a snow storm is tricky, to say the least. Neither of you have a problem blaming the other for what's outside of your control, though.

"Jesus, Steve, slow down." It's hard to sit upright as he keeps his speed— a speed that normally wouldn't be a problem, if it weren't for the slick roads. You hiss under your breath,"Fucking lead-foot."

He hears you, snapping back, "You wanna drive? Huh?" His eyes stay fixated on the road. The windshield becomes more obstructed as the snow gains momentum, falling heavily onto every surface within reach. "By all means, be my guest."

"God, you're such a bitch."

"Me?! Have you ever heard yourself talk for even, like, five seconds?" Steve's tempted to turn around to shout at you, but he keeps whatever cool he has left— which isn't much— and continues driving safely. "You're so fucking rude, and- god- you're so annoying, so fucking annoying."

"That's bold, coming from a pain in the ass like you…" you grumble, trailing off as the signal on the tracker drops; Hopper stopped moving. "Steve. Steve!"

"What?! Christ, can't you shut up—"

"Stop!"

"How come I have to stop, but you can keep bitching and moaning—"

"I meant the van, asshole!"

Steve slams on the brakes, hoping to skid to a stop, but the van keeps moving.

Gliding. Coasting. The van's skating on the slick road, completely out of control.

You throw the headphones aside, scrambling to the front to peer around Steve's seat. "Dude, what the fuck?!"

"Shit, shit, shit!"

Steve's death grip wraps around the wheel, knuckles turning white; he's ready to turn it toward the shoulder to get off the road, but you grab his arm and hold him in place. Eyes darting to the floor, you see his foot is still weighed down on the brake pedal.

"Wait— watch it! Harrington, keep the wheel straight!" Voice trembling from the frenzy. Steve's about to slam his foot down onto the brake when you panic, "Fuck, get your foot off the brake!"

Despite sliding, you don't spin. Snowfall rushes around the van, limiting visibility to just a few feet ahead. Even as the van slows, it fishtails. Steve frantically switches into low gear, breaths heavy and jagged as he releases control.

His right arm shoots out, bridging between the seats to brace himself and create a barrier to hold you back. Alarmed, he shouts, "Stay down!"

You don't move in time before impact, but you're projected into his arm with force, restraining you from hurtling over the seats and into the dashboard. The van's wheels rumble as it veers off the road, the ditch finally slowing you down to a halt.

Adrenaline rushing, you pant as you're frozen against his arm, processing that absolute disaster.

"Shit…" Steve gasps, trying to catch his breath. "… You okay?" Scanning over your figure, unable to find immediate concern beyond the fear on your expression, his shoulders begin to relax.

"Uh-huh," you rasp out, glancing up at him. "You?"

He nods firmly and swallows. "M'okay."

Static harshly shoves into the van, with Robin's voice following close behind.

She drones out, "Angry Lovebirds, do you copy? Hellooooo? Where the hell did you two go?"

You cringe at the code name, wishing you could shrink on the spot and disappear.

"Why the hell does she still call us that?" Steve gripes, running his hands over his face. "We've never— I don't even—"

Her voice drops to a mutter and cuts Steve off, asking as if the others aren't on the same channel, "Please tell me you two didn't kill each other."

"Oh my god," Steve rolls his eyes with a groan, head falling back against the seat.

In reluctant favor of answering Robin, you leave the warmth of Steve's side to grab the walkie. You curse yourself inwardly at the misplaced feelings.

Thumb jabbing in the talk button, you exhale a winded response, "We're good, we, uh…" Your eyes meet Steve's before darting away. "We hit black ice, though."

"Shit! Can you make it back safely?" She adds, "We were trying to get a hold of you guys, 'cus we had to call off the crawl. It didn't work out."

So the two of you slid on black ice… for nothing.

Fantastic.

"Um, hang— h- hold on." Turning to Steve, you noticed smoke rising on the other side from the van's hood. "Oh, fuck."

Steve jerks his head up, jumping into action. He kills the engine, immediately cutting off the warmth from the janky heater. Throwing his jacket on, he flings the driver's side door open and jumps out. Snowfall drifts sideways from the wind, and he winces as it pelts into his face.

"Guys?" Nancy's voice takes over now, concerned with the delay. "What's the status on the van?"

"Uh- well, it's actually—" You forget to release the talk button, shouting after Steve. "Wait! I'm coming with!"

Releasing it, a booming voice immediately floods through the speaker. "What the hell is going on out there?"

Hopper.

Oh, boy.

Meanwhile, Steve stands firm, shouting over the brutal, howling wind, "No, you're staying put!" He bites back on his own shivers, already creeping down his spine as he slams the door shut.

Well, can't say you didn't try.

Flicking your thumb against the talk button, your explanation comes to life with nervous laughter. "Hop! Hi. Soooooo… we're stuck in a ditch."

You can just imagine the drawn out sigh he lets out before responding, pinching the bridge of his nose, and all.

"Okay, where are you exactly?"

The glass of the back door window is freezing as you try to peek out. You huff your breath onto the glass, rubbing your sleeve against it to clear it up. It barely helps, with snow and frost beginning to coat it completely outside.

You squint through the narrow opening between patches of snow, gaze landing on the landmark in the near distance.

Groaning, you punch the talk button with your thumb. "The fuckin' cemetery."

"Language."

"Hey, I'm an adult! Last thing on my mind right now is censoring myself," you grumble into the walkie.

"How the hell did you two end up out there? That's not where I was in the Upside Down."

So, not only did the van throw you and Steve around like rag dolls on a failed crawl, but the tracker was off.

Way off.

"I- I don't know."

A frustrated shout cuts through the whistling squall outside. The van rocks as Steve kicks the bumper, cursing wildly at the shoddy engine.

"I thought you said you could handle tracking?"

Your blood begins to boil. Now's not the time for some trivial debate, not when you're possibly stranded in what's shaping up to be one of the worst snow storms Hawkins has seen yet.

There's no chance to respond when another voice, congested and hoarse, cuts in. "She can, she's actually good at this."

Dustin Henderson is a goddamn good egg, even while battling the flu.

You wish Hopper could see the smug grin on your face right now.

"I personally think Hop lost the tracker—" silence cuts in for a second, returning with Hopper scolding him; they have to be fighting over the damn walkie. "Watch it, kid. I didn't lose shit."

You slam your thumb down onto the talk button within another pause, mocking back, "Hey, Hopper? Language."

Another pause draws itself out, and eventually Robin returns with an exasperated huff. "You and Steve did nothing wrong. Hopper definitely lost the tracker."

"I didn't lose the fucking—"

The talk button is released on her end, abruptly interrupting Hopper's rant.

"Anyway… we're not that far from the station, right?"

"Five miles an hour in that van might take way longer, but you're not making it here on foot in this weather. It's not safe."

Woven into the wind is a muffled "son of a bitch!". The hood slams shut, jostling the van before Steve yanks the van door open, gracelessly stumbling inside.

Snow sticks to his hair, his clothes, slowly melting to leave him like a freezing, wet dog.

"This is fu- fuck, it's cold—!". Steve huffs out a mirthless chuckle, appearing nowhere near amused. "S'fucking ridiculous." His teeth chatter as he gripes, eyes falling on you, then to the walkie. "Give m- me that."

Steve's hand brushes against yours as he snatches the walkie from you, frigid and stiff. It takes a few tries to hit the talk button and hold it in successfully.

"Can anyone come get us? The van's f- fucked." With his jaw this tight, he's about to crush his teeth to dust. For a second, his eyes flicker to you, and you swear there's a flash of something genuine within the hazel. "Leaving the engine run is a d- disaster waiting to happen, so we can't use the h- heat."

There's silence on the other end; lack of an instant answer usually never fares well for any of you.

Scouring through the emergency box, you pick out a small, rolled towel, handing it over to Steve. For once, he doesn't look at you like you're nuts for keeping the damn box stocked.

He accepts it with a trembling hand, murmuring a both grateful yet defeated "Thanks".

"It's too dangerous for anyone to drive out, and way too dangerous for you two to try walking back. The nearest tunnel is at least a mile out from you, give or take on where you two ended up exactly in the cemetery."

Steve exhales roughly through his red, wind-bitten nose, handing the walkie back to you. "You t- take it. M'too pissed off to be nice ri- right now."

Nodding solemnly, you grab it back, responding to everyone. "Okay. We'll just… tough it out. I got some stuff to stay warm, so we should be okay for a few hours at least." Sighing, you glance up at Steve, laying out the now damp towel on the dashboard. "But the second it's safe enough, someone needs to come get us."

Hopper presses the talk button early, releasing a weary sigh first. "We'll try when we can."

That's not good enough, not for you, and not for Steve; the two of you cannot be stranded here overnight.

Together.

Alone.

"No, you'll do it when you can. I warned y'all the weather would be shit. You get us out of this mess the moment this storm slows down. Got it?"

A lengthy pause begins to irritate you the longer the seconds pass.

"Yeah, kid. I got it."

In defeat, you chuck the walkie aside, swallowing down the urge to scream.

It's no use to be angry now; best to bury those emotions and redirect that energy into something useful. Like helping Steve.

Even if he doesn't really deserve your help to begin with.

"Okay, Harrington, here's what's gonna happen." He turns slowly, heavy-lidded with fatigue settling into his expression. "I think the clothes in here are your size—"

"How the hell do y- you know what size clothes I wear?"

Would it kill him to be nice? Or quiet? For just five fucking seconds?

"To keep this shit on hand if we need it, and you're welcome, by the way." You toss a t-shirt with the radio's logo on it, wool socks, and sweatpants his way. "There's a reason I asked everyone what their sizes were months ago."

Steve catches it all, just barely, but he's left dumbfounded. Through chattering teeth, he snaps, "Wh- why the hell do I want these?"

"Are you kidding me? Dude, you can't stay in those clothes. You're gonna get hypothermia."

"Whatever," he starts peeling off his clothes, and you take that as a cue to turn around. A faint comment slips under his breath, "It'd be better than being stuck here."

It's still audible enough to you, clear enough to sting. You feel like a damn fool for thinking Steve was finally presenting something other than hatred, for once.

"You're not the only one who doesn't wanna be stuck here." Rubbing your eyes, you sigh.

There's no way you can last the night in here without killing one another; it's too long to put up with his bullshit.

Unless…

There might be one shred of hope left. And okay, sure, it's more a thin, fraying thread that could lead to nothing, but you won't know until you try.

You bundle yourself back up, zipping up your jacket, winding the scarf around your neck tightly, tugging your hat over your head. Steve notices when you're slipping your hands into a pair of mittens.

"Hey, whoa—" Now comfortably changed, he clambers to the back, a little too close for comfort. "No. What are you doing? You're not going out there."

But you ignore his concern, if it's even real to begin with. "That gas station's still down the road, right?"

"Maybe? I don't— that's not—" Frazzled, he stumbles over his thoughts. "You're not walking down there in the snow." His fingers fight against stiffness, winding around your wrist shielded under your coat. "You need to be safe."

"Why? So you don't get the blame if something bad happens?" Irritated, you yank your hand back. "Just… wait here. I'll be quick."

"Quick? Yeah, right. It's not that close by foot." Steve, still stiff from the cold, clumsily shoves in front of you to block the back doors. "Your circulation sucks, remember?"

His attempted smartass comment fails miserably as concern seeps through the cracks of his tone.

"And you said it wasn't your problem," you retort, shoving him aside. "Look, it's right down the road. Maybe we'll be lucky and they'll have coffee, or something hot. We both could use something like that right now—"

"You brought your thermos! I haven't seen you use it once." He runs a hand through his damp hair, sighing. "And even if they did have coffee, it'd be ice cold by the time you got back."

"Oh, you watching my every move now, Harrington?" Your voice drops low, dry, sick of this conversation. "That's precious."

He doesn't react, only argues, "What if it's closed?"

Your eyes dart away from him, faltering. "T- there's a pay phone outside," you really thought it'd be easier to shake him. "I can call someone to get us out—"

"No. Now you're just being ridiculous." One hand perches on his hip, while the other waves wildly as he speaks. "Who the hell's coming out after curfew? Especially in this?"

You shrug, shrinking into yourself with a weak lie. "… I might know a guy?"

"Cut the shit, what's out there that's worth freezing to death for, huh?"

"I'm trying to leave you the fuck alone, Steve!" Seething, the explosion silences Steve, guilt and shame softening his expression. "I'm not thrilled to be stranded here with you either, but I was willing to play nice! I was willing to get along, but you don't want that, and that—" You bite back tears, ones born of anger, maybe even a hint of rage. "That's fine. Just trying to make it easier for us both, give some space."

"Wh… what?" He's dumbfounded. "When I said I didn't want to be stuck here, that wasn't about you—"

"Oh, please. Like I buy that for a fucking second."

"I wish you would!" He exclaims, voice fracturing with panic. "You really think I want you to freeze to death 'cause we can't get along? That's the last thing I'd want."

"Yeah, well…" your hand lingers over the handle, glaring back at him, returning the jagged comment to sender. "It'd be better than being stuck here."

It's tempting to tack on "with you" at the end, but you bite your tongue. You're not even sure if you'd mean that.

Eyes set forward, you miss his sullen, wounded stare, etched into his features when you exit the van. You're plunging head first into regret once your boots hit the snow. Instead of swallowing your pride and climbing right back in, you feign indifference as you slam the doors shut without looking back.

The doors never reopen, and he never calls for you; it's clear how much of a relief the space is for both of you.

If you tell yourself enough times that it's better than being stuck in that doomed ice box on wheels with Steve all night, maybe you'll begin believing it.

Before the Upside Down, before losing his friends, losing Nancy, losing the cheap crown on his head in his fall from grace— Steve could fall asleep with ease. His head could hit the pillow and he'd be out.

The typical high school blues were enough to send any teenager into stress-induced sleep loss, but the Upside Down's daunting reminder that the fight was only dormant, forced full blown insomnia to become his closest friend.

Exhaustion would lead him to eventually sleep, but he'd fight it off as long as he could; you can only handle the bloodcurdling screams and cries of your friends dying in your dreams so many times before giving up on sleep completely.

Every creak in his house on nights home alone— loneliness all too common in that house— had him holding his breath, waiting for sudden movements to echo out again. Every light bulb, flickering on its way out for good, froze him in fear of who, or what, lay in wait on the other side. And if a detail, no matter how small, is enough to keep him from sleep, that's an open invitation for his mind to spiral.

Tonight, trying to rest in the van, he notices a gap; it's thin and barely noticeable, between the flimsy plywood floorboards underneath the shag carpet. Steve feels it every time he tosses and turns; it always digs into his left hip, slightly uneven from the other board it should be snug against.

He flips to the right, but no, that feels wrong; he's not a right side sleeper. That changed after '84, and he's not exactly sure why, but he sleeps better on the left side.

And on his back? He doesn't even dare, not after a sleep paralysis episode after those fucking bats attacked him. That one and only episode he felt pinned to the bed, like a bat was choking him all over again. His scars ached for hours after, the one around his throat singed through his skin like some god-awful, hellish rope-burn.

So, yeah, Steve can't sleep, clearly not from the cold; turns out, that sleeping bag of yours was a good idea. He won't outright admit that though. Or, how your emergency box actually was, and continues to be, useful.

He tries to rest, flip-flops between sides to get comfortable, but the minutes you're gone only accumulate in his mind to a concerning degree, like the heavy snowfall outside. Every second that ticks past is a second too long without you.

By car, the gas station is a few minutes away. By foot, in weather like this, bundled up in excessive layers? Shit, even he'd struggle to move quickly. He'd definitely get sick, too.

Time passes, snow builds, and Steve continues to overthink. Eventually, he wonders, Am I really that fucking awful to be stranded in the snow with?

What the answer would be to you, he already knows. You think he doesn't give a fuck, and it's not like he's done much to prove otherwise.

To you, Steve's fears to let you go out into the cold were only linked to the clear concept of: if you got hurt, he'd be to blame.

To Steve, though, it goes beyond blame; he's scared, now rueful, that he didn't fight harder to make you stay, because the thought of losing you more than he already had terrifies him.

The possibilities of what could go wrong were endless: you, losing your way, disoriented from the blizzard. What if you froze to death out there? Or got caught being out past curfew? Though, Steve's pretty sure the military doesn't give a fuck about two idiots stranded in the snow.

The wind howls and whistles, whipping around the van as the snow falls diagonally. Every now and then, he opens each door to slam it again, shaking off the snow outside; there's too much buildup to keep an eye out for you.

He checks his watch; you left about an hour ago. The footprints that trailed behind you are now covered over with fresh snow.

Steve's tempted to radio everyone at the station— assuming they stayed in for the night with the storm— but that means admitting he didn't stop you. He didn't protect you.

You're your own person, though. You don't need to be babied, or protected.

Sure doesn't stop Steve's protective side from caring about you.

It's not like anyone could come out to rescue either of you in the first place. But if you're gone and he says nothing, he'd never forgive himself if you got sick. Or worse.

Jesus, what if you're already freezing to death?

In the midst of internal panic, a thud! with fierce force slams against the van outside. Steve jolts upright, startled enough that it clears his damn sinuses while his heart races.

There's another thump, with a few more to follow, inching towards the passenger side door. It flings open, snow sprinkling in as you flop forward, face against the seat.

"Jesus Christ," is all Steve can manage to say, because he's grateful to see you, alive, but also, you're such a fucking idiot.

You crawl into the van, collapsing onto the floor. "'Idn't wanna get th'carpet wet," you mumble through your teeth, jaw rigid, struggling to close the door as the handle slips through your weak grip.

"C'mon, sit up for me." Steve guides you into the seat while you struggle, clumsy like you're intoxicated, yet your limbs are stiff. Under your freezing wet clothes, he can feel you shiver, practically vibrating uncontrollably.

When you're settled up right, he shoots an arm between the seat and wall, barely managing to grab the door handle and slam it shut.

"Ow… S'loud," you groan.

"Shit, sorry." He drags the box over, rummaging through it haphazardly. A pair of sweats and a sweater lay at the bottom, warm and ready to wear. He lays them aside, leaning over the seat to unzip your coat.

"D- damn, a'least flirt with me first," you slur, lips a muted shade from their normal lively color.

It's a joke, but not an invite for playful banter; Steve bites his tongue, quickly helping you out of your coat. He unwinds your scarf and tugs your hat off, dropping all of them to the driver side's floor.

Your clothes are soaked underneath, too. Though you're still pretty covered, he can see how strained your muscles are from stiffening.

Steve peels your puffy vest, hoodie, and sweater off next— Jesus, he forgot how layered you were. And it still didn't help.

"You're an idiot, you know that?" The fondness in his tone sneaks through the disapproval. When the air hits your skin, damp and frigid, gasp, face twisting from discomfort; it feels like sharp needles prickling along your arms.

"M'fine," yet you look far from it— hair tangled and soaked, frozen in spots, skin dull of its usual shine and shade, lids weighed down like you're drunk and sleepy, even a little puffy.

Funny how concerned you were of him getting hypothermia earlier, when you're already there.

And by funny, it's fucking scary, because there's no way to get you to a hospital tonight.

Really, he doesn't think it's that severe, but at any stage, hypothermia's nothing to fuck with; you're still suffering no matter what, and he hates to see you in pain.

Hates that he just admitted that to himself, too.

"Bullshit," he contends as he pulls another small towel from the box— seriously? You thought of everything with this box.

He'll thank you later. Maybe even apologize for being such a dick about it if it saves your asses.

Steve lays the towel over your head, gently tousling your hair against the fabric to help it dry. You shiver violently, "Hey, the sooner you get changed, the sooner you'll feel better."

"Said m'fine," you grit your teeth, attempting to shove him away, but your arms are still weak and stiff. "Jus' put the heat on."

"We can't run the engine, remember?" Steve throws the towel onto the driver's seat; that's a problem for future him. "C'mon, you can't stay in your clothes."

The moment the words leave his lips, he cringes, waiting for you to snidely remark, insinuate he's a pervert, but you're quiet.

Yeah, you're worse than he thought.

"I'm gonna help, okay?" There's no protest from you. He reaches down to the hem of your shirt, tugging up, but pausing before it passes your belly button. "This alright?"

"M'yeah, s'kay."

If you weren't tumbling into a life threatening condition, he'd poke fun at how wasted you sound.

Steve's perceptive, keeping an eye on your reaction, ensuring he's not hurting you. Prioritizing your safety doesn't make the reveal of you, half naked, any easier to deal with.

Shirt thrown to the side, Steve scrunches his eyes shut, scolds himself internally to behave, don't be a creep. He leans from behind the seat, over you to unbutton your jeans— Jesus Christ, why the fuck did you wear jeans? They're practically painted onto your form after all the ice and snow sunk into the denim.

He sucks in a breath, "Uh… can you get them off yourself?"

"S'okay, jus' leave 'em like this."

"It's really not," he sighs, climbing between the front seats and sliding down to the floor before you. The space is limited, incredibly limited, and he's contorting in a way he's never folded before, just to fit here. And for you, of all people.

He finds the chair's lever, shoving it back as far as it can go, though not much of a difference exists.

"Okay, c'mon, boots first."

Steve undresses you with care, tries not to notice the position you're both in, how close his face is to your core. How he's imagined on lonely, late nights, him kneeling for you, while he strokes himself, cock twitching as always while wondering what you taste like.

Every last ounce of self control is gathered up to keep his composure. You're in your underwear. Nothing else.

And your underwear? Yeah. That's wet, too; bra sticking flush to your chest, nipples peaked enough to reveal their shape through the fabric. He dares to take a lower peek when your eyes flutter shut as you sigh— out of concern, not pleasure, he reminds himself— and the fabric against your core is damp, hugging to the shape of your puffy lips.

He scrunches his eyes shut, runs a hand down over his mouth as he thinks … fuck me.

You shiver and twitch and whimper as the near-numbness finally settles into fucking freezing. It shatters whatever trance Steve was falling into.

"Honey," he frowns at himself immediately, because where the fuck did that come from? "You need to warm up."

There's no way to suggest sharing heat without sounding like a total pervert. Every choice of words could definitely be taken as suggestive, at best.

At worst? Steve's coming off as Hawkins' biggest douche-bag.

"Don't wanna," you whine, petulant and pained.

"It's this or freeze to death," he forces himself to deadpan, afraid of coming off as too concerned.

"You'd— bet that'd make y'happy."

He's not sure if he should file that comment under the usual banter the two of you have, or something worse.

"It wouldn't." Steve crawls up, hands gripping the sides of your seat as he tries respecting your space— the little bit left, at least. And still, he stumbles, catching himself right before he headbutts you. "Shit. Ah— shit, I- I'm sorry."

If he makes eye contact with you right now, it is game over. The whine you just released, though likely in pain, doesn't help his already wound-up, touch-starved thoughts.

"Okay. Okay," he sighs, more to himself, finding his balance again. "C'mon, we're gonna use that sleeping bag of yours to stay warm."

You're slow, painfully, agonizingly, moving at a snail's pace, while Steve moves you out of the seat. He's patient, cautious, already trying to press his body against yours to share warmth from the moment you begin trembling.

"Slow, take it easy," he guides you to the carpet while he murmurs softly. It's a miracle you make it to the back safely, considering how frozen stiff your joints are. "Doing okay?"

That's a dumb fucking question.

"Other th- than my t- t- tits freezing off, m'f- fine."

When you flash a curl of a smirk, just the tiniest one, Steve still feels relief. It's a speck of relief, but he'll gladly accept.

About to sit from your kneeling position, he grabs your hips to stop you. Steve clears his throat, awkwardly releasing you.

"Sorry, just, uh… your, uh… the—" he nods vaguely to your chest, eyes lingering for a second too long, wondering how soft you'd feel. By the time he peels his eyes away to drift lower, he gulps. "Those need to come off."

"Wh- why?" You pout, body violently trembling the longer you go without warmth.

"Just work with me, okay? Dry clothes aren't gonna warm you up enough on their own." He huffs, kneeling near you. "M'not trying anything funny, I promise."

Leaning close, Steve's face is near yours while his hands reach around your torso. His fingers skate up your cold skin, bringing about his own shivers, finding your bra clasp and unhooking it.

Poorly strangling a gasp, it still manages to slip past your lips, and he's almost certain it's because you're in pain. Nothing else.

But it sure sounds like it stems from another source.

Hovering his touch, he halts, eyes wide as they dart to meet yours. "Did I hurt you?"

"N- no, just co- c- cold." Teeth chattering, you grab onto his shoulders weakly as he removes your underwear. He bites back the urge to yelp from how bone chilling your touch is.

You hold your balance against him while shifting onto one knee, then the other, to step out of the soaked garment. "'Vry'thing hurts."

He hears you, knows you're hurting, but your panties, soaked and bunched up in his grip, make his cock twitch. The fabric is nowhere near his face, but your scent is dizzying; he wonders if they're only soaked from the snow, or yourself, too.

What stands between him and dirty thoughts is your fragile state; you need help, not him as… some horny creep.

Steve pushes past the tempting thoughts, for your sake.

"I know," he murmurs, heart aching, wishing he could take that pain away instantly. "It's gonna be okay, promise."

He guides you into the sleeping bag, eyes off and away from your figure out of respect. When you're settled, he rips his clothes off, save for his boxer briefs. One glance down his body and he's reminded how scarred he still is. He falters, swallowing thickly; what if you notice them? What if you're disgusted by him?

That's not like you, though; you've never been shallow like that.

Your teeth clatter together so loudly, it breaks him from those looming insecurities. With a deep breath, he finally slides in next to you.

Steve zips the sleeping bag up, arms hooking around your torso to pull you flush against him. He weaves his legs between yours, careful not to press his thigh against your core. He has to throw his thoughts as far away from you as possible; the last thing either of you need is a poorly timed hard-on.

He thinks of the time he broke his arm in sixth grade, falling off the seesaw at recess. Tries focusing on the concept of race cars and the specific tires they use. Forces himself to wonder how broccoli grows, or if it really matters to separate the dark garments from the lights when doing laundry.

That tangled trail of curiosity leads him to wonder what life outside of Hawkins must be like these days, and if they're forgotten to the rest of the world.

The last one's bleak, so he redirects to thinking about aquariums, and if fish sleep— they sleep, right?

God, he really wished he paid more attention in school. Did they even talk about any of this stuff? What the hell does he care if race cars use specific tires?

Whatever.

It's a challenge to keep his thoughts on a steady path away from you, because every time you breathe, your bare chest pushes against his, and that's— no. Just no.

The plush of your breasts squish up against him, nipples poking through his chest hair and into him like an accusing finger, shaming him for fighting off a natural response to a naked figure entwined with his own.

Doesn't make it any easier that your breaths are shallow, because logically, he knows it's because you're freezing. But every so often, you make these faint gasps as you shiver that sound closer to pleasure than pain.

That's not the case, and he feels guilty for letting his mind wander that far.

Okay, focus. Think about… concrete. Sure. That. Must be fascinating to pour that shit for sidewalks and—

"How come your underw- wear is on but not mine?"

Well, that's not fucking helping when you just out right ask it like that.

Steve's face burns up, rushing out, "Didn't wanna make you uncomfortable."

Your heart is pounding so viciously, he can feel the thumping against his own body.

Which, yeah— you have hypothermia. Of course your heart is working overtime. Just from that. Only that.

He reaches outside the bag to throw a worn, knitted blanket over your bodies, hoping for extra warmth while he's zipping the bag back up.

"Please tell me this shit is helping," he murmurs, fighting the urge to gently rub your back; this isn't supposed to be some kind of cute, intimate moment. And rubbing to create heat isn't helpful for hypothermia.

He doesn't remember why, just that it's unsafe for a situation like this.

"S'helpin'," you shudder against his skin, face tucked into the curve of his neck. Your lips brush against one of his sensitive spots, and he gulps, praying you don't notice. "I sh- shouldn't have lef-f- ft."

Steve doesn't scold you, but he doesn't disagree. "I really wish you didn't." He shivers, nowhere near as violently as you have, but exchanging body heat with someone in this state isn't all rainbows and sunshine. "I wish I didn't let you go. I should've gone with you, or had you stay here while I went out."

The words ache with more desperation than he intends.

"I'm a b- bi- big girl, s'my choice," your body involuntarily twitches, rutting into his bulge.

"A- ah—" Steve manages to swallow down the breathy moan before it can fill the van.

"Sor- sorry. Did I h- hurt you?"

He's quick to shush you, gently, rushing out, "I'm fine." One hand wanders to your head, delicately threading your damp hair through his fingers. "How are you feeling?"

"Fu- fucking cold."

"No shit," Steve dryly retorts. "You have hypothermia, dumbass."

You hum out what he thinks was a shaky hum. "Surprised y'even kn-know anything about i- it."

"At least something good came from me being a Boy Scout for one year," he snorts. "That, and I know how to start a fire... which, not very helpful while snowed into a van. Don't know much more than that."

You don't respond. Whenever he's shared something personal of his past, even just a passing comment, you groan and fuss about "learning Harrington lore against your will". The lack of that snarky response is just another sign of how unwell you're feeling.

Shifting cautiously, your arms bend slowly, snaking between the two of you. Steve's breath hitches, wondering what the fuck you're doing.

Your hands travel north, both to his relief and disappointment, cupping over your chest. "M'sorry, m- my tits hurt." And sure enough, the attention is brought to your stiff nipples, harder than minutes ago, brushing up against him through the gaps between your fingers.

Steve doesn't have the chance to panic, not when he fails to stifle a chuckle before it slips out. That comment was the last thing he expected to leave your lips.

"Be n- n- nice!"

"Sorry, sorry!" He relaxes against you again, tries not to dwell on how much of your figure he can feel against his. "Are you getting any warmer?"

"Why? You h- hate this?" Your tone is dry, but he can feel the curve of your smirk against his neck. "Want me to go back outside?"

The lighthearted energy drains quickly; Steve feels his heart drop just at the mere thought of you enduring the blizzard.

Like a fucking fool.

"Don't joke about that," he mutters, daring to speak aloud, "I thought you were dead."

The shrill, whistling wind draws out the lapse in conversation.

"… Didn't th- think you c- cared."

"I do, it's just—" Steve huffs, pausing. "We can talk about it when you're feeling better. Deal?" You nod slowly, sighing. "Do you think you could sit up? Just for a few seconds?"

You were feeling warmer, still cold, still aching, but nowhere near the severity you felt before your return. "Um… I g- guess?"

"Just hang tight okay? Where's your thermos?"

"S'up by th'cup h- holder," you nod to the front. As soon as Steve moves, you begin to harshly shiver again.

He's quick to snatch it, unscrewing the top to pour out whatever you had inside into it. The warm aroma hits him head on. "Hot cocoa? Damn, if I knew that, I woulda' stole some."

"You could h- have some f'ya' want."

"Maybe later, but you need to drink something warm." Steve slides a hand under your back, arm curling around to lift you upright. He tries to ignore the sleeping bag falling off your chest, leaving you exposed. "C'mon, just a few sips."

"N- no, m'cold, wanna get back in."

"I know, honey, I'm sorry." There it is again, a slip up without warning. Like it's natural, familiar.

You manage to sit up, resting against a crate on the shelf behind you. Reaching a shaky hand out, Steve gently pushes it aside. "I got you, try to keep still for me."

He eases the mug top to your lips, cautiously tilting it while you sip on the hot cocoa. It's slow, but Steve's relieved you're not at the severe stage, where you wouldn't be able to drink anything at all. "That's it, a little more… s'good for me."

Oh god. He's one step away from praising you with a 'good girl, and now is not the time or place for that.

"Promise it'll help," he assures, feeling horrible for dragging you out of the warm cocoon of the sleeping bag. Yet he's desperate to try everything, anything, as long as it brings your temperature back up.

You finish off the mug with a gasp. Steve takes it away, watching as that muted tone in your lips begin to fade. It's subtle, but it's a change for the better, nonetheless. A step in the right direction.

"Can't say th- that shit to me," you pant, forcing an airy, uneasy laugh. "I'm gonna start thinkin' y- you're— you like me, or something."

Oh, if only you knew.

"C'mere," Steve murmurs as he gently brings you close. Guiding you back into the sleeping bag, he slides in cautiously next to you, zipping it shut around the two of you. "Don't make this weird, okay?"

"Make wh- what weird?"

Arms winding around your waist, he reels you in, body flush against your own. It's like every goosebump on your skin brushing up along his he can feel. Every shiver runs out of you and into him, like an electrical current.

The gasp that leaves your lips is unexpected and sharp. "Fu— fuck, Steve, m'so c- c- cold."

"I know, sweetheart." He tangles his legs between yours, large hand reaching up to cradle the back of your head. You bury your face into his shoulder, shivering violently. "Just stay close to me."

"M'tryin'," you whimper as your hips shift closer. If Steve didn't know any better, he'd think you were trying to rock your hips against him, as if you're aching for relief, release.

The airy, shattered, "oh, god", sure doesn't help his imagination either. His cock twitches again.

"You're okay," he reassures, not just for you, but for his filthy mind to chill the fuck out. When you roll your hips again, he seizes them, grip tightening to end the attempt. "Don't— hey." You huff as he firmly holds you in place. "Hey, listen to me. No sudden movements."

"S- sorry, jus'thought friction would help," your teeth chatter as you force you words through them. "… Oh my god. Wait. Oh my god, no, wait."

You sound mortified.

"What?" Steve defaults to panic once more. "What's wrong?"

"I- I swear to go- god I didn't mean it like that." You untangle yourself from him, limbs haphazardly knocking into his own with the limited space in the bag. "I just— friction causes he- heat, and I didn't— I wasn't tr- tr- trying to—"

He nervously chuckles, not at you, just— well, shit. How should anyone react in a situation like this?

"S'okay, you're okay." The reassurance seems to help; you relax against him once more, still trembling from the cold in your bones, though. "Can't warm you up too quickly, it could make you feel worse."

"Well that's fu- fucking stupid."

He chuckles, taunting, "You're starting to sound more like yourself again." It's much more endearing than he wanted to sound.

There's no response, just your steady breaths in spite of your jitters. You hum, winding your embrace around his torso, burying your face into his neck again.

Steve's about to lose it; you've got to stop resting your lips on his skin.

Talk about something else. Anything.

"Hey… thanks for helping earlier," he mumbles. You lean back to meet his stare with a perplexed one of your own.

"Hm? Wi- with what?"

"The black ice," he clarifies. "I panicked and blanked out, forgot how to handle it. I could've fucked up real bad… could've wrapped us around a tree, or something."

"We still ended up in a ditch—"

"Alive. It sucks, being stranded in the storm sucks, but we're alive, thanks to you."

You shake your head, cuddling closer to him, still shivering, still unable to shake the cold. It's not warm in the van anymore, but it'd be more tolerable if you weren't recovering.

"You know how to dr- drive this damn t- thing," you quip, shuddering and clinging closer to Steve. "S'like a fuckin' boat."

Steve laughs heartily, tightening his embrace around you. "Guess we make a pretty good team."

"When we're n- not trying to ki- kill each other."

Emboldened, Steve's lips brush against the top of your head; it's not quite a kiss, but it's enough to be noticed. Enough to mean something. They linger as he takes a deep breath, voice rumbling low against your scalp.

"… We don't have to fight all the time," he suggests, fingers skating along the length of your spine. You arch your back, pushing the hardened peaks of your nipples against his chest. He swallows down a moan. "We don't have to hate each other."

"S'jus'easier," you slur, though, he's not sure it's from the cold.

"Yeah? Why's that?" Face still buried into his shoulder, you shake your head. "No, c'mon," he hopes the low, gentle rasp in his voice is enticing. "You can tell me."

It's quiet for a moment, swirling gusts of wind providing filler noise among your shallow breaths.

"'Cus liking you means letting you in," you're shuddering as the van sways, wind strong enough to sneak into the drafty vehicle. "Letting you in m- me- means this is real, and that's just a set up to be let down— be a let down to you, eventually."

He has to be hallucinating from the cold. Or maybe you're still delirious. There's no way you just said that.

"… What?"

Because since when do you care about letting him down?

"You've been hurt enough, I didn't want to add to that hurt." Steve feels you shift with a whimper, has to swallow back the cocky remark he'd make if you felt better. "Your heart's always g- gonna be elsewhere, anyway."

Steve would do anything— hike through this blizzard, move mountains, face a swarm of demo-bats— if it meant he could use a time machine, return to the moment things shattered before they could flourish. He'd do anything to fix it all.

"Even when it was elsewhere, it—" Your trembling brings him to a pause, a reminder how real this all is. After hoping for so long that you'd return, dwelling too much on the anger of you just… leaving, fleeing so quietly, so abruptly— you're here, in his arms. "You were always in it, but I didn't want hurt you, either."

And look where that got the two of you.

Steve's stunned into silence by your confession, tumbling out in unstoppable waves.

You trail off with a huff, tensing up; Steve's unsure if the cold's at fault, or if teasing went too far. "It's hard to… to trust. It scares the hell out of me."

"Scares me too, but look at you. You're trusting now."

"It was that or freeze to death, Harrington."

"Still chose to trust me after everything between us." His voice softens, moving on autopilot— courtesy of his heart— as he cradles the side of your face. His cheeks grow warm as he whispers your name, just loud enough to be heard over the howling winds outside. "Thank you. For trusting me."

The pads of your fingers press into his skin as you tighten your hold around him. "Thanks for not letting me die."

We're not out of the woods, yet, he thinks. But you should be able to keep warm now.

"I used to hate that you couldn't relate to what Robin and I went through last summer," Steve's got no reason to hide this anymore. "Truth is, I was relieved you called out sick that day."

An aching warmth bleeds through his chest with the confession, one that he hopes is enough to warm you up, even a little.

Or, maybe that's just because Steve's bare chest is pressed up against yours, still generating heat like a human furnace for you.

"I still have nightmares, and I—" He chokes up, arms tightening around you. You return the squeeze with reassurance, leaving patience and silence for him. "Sometimes, in them, they're hurting you, too… and I- I can't do anything but watch."

It feels like is heart is caving in all over again; he had done so well ignoring the hurt, but now…

Now he realizes he only bottled it up, shelved it away for darker times.

And dark times have arrived; here you both are, trapped in a goddamn, broken down, radio station van in the middle of a blizzard.

"Then you just… you left. You stood me up. You were gone not even a month later. We were finally getting close—"

"And I f- fucked it up." A sigh rumbles out of Steve; he doesn't agree or disagree, just… acknowledges it. "This is gonna sound so dumb, but I felt… guilty, for calling out that day. I should've been th—"

"No. I mean it. It's a relief you never went through that shit. And then in the spring…" Except, you came back. Right after the destruction, but you came back. Colder, yet braver than you left. "I get it. I don't blame you for leaving. You were scared." He swallows thickly. "… But so was I."

Scared is an understatement.

He's feared for his life before, the year prior, and before that. He was scared for Nancy, hell, even Jonathan, the night they tried to trap the Demogorgon in the Byers' home.

He was terrified in the junkyard, plastering on a brave face for the kids. No way in hell would he let them down; he was gonna succeed or die trying— to Steve, no other choices existed.

He was convinced he'd die down in that cursed bunker with Robin, and if it weren't Erica and Dustin— two children— that anticipated fate would've played out to truth.

And the Mind Flayer— Jesus Christ— that fuckin'… thing. A grotesque terror on monstrous legs; too many damn legs, arms, everything, if you ask Steve. He can't think too hard about what exactly it was made up of, who specifically turned essentially into human jam and—

Yeah. No. He really can't stomach it. Just like the nightmares of losing you leave him shaken for the rest of the waking day.

Most nights, Steve has to double, sometimes triple check the locks on the doors before he goes to sleep. He latches all the windows. Sometimes unlatches just to re-latch, jiggling the window's frame, just to be certain it's closed. Every room, every hallway, holds a night-light's subtle glow for peace of mind.

Peace of mind from what, exactly? A Demogorgon? Demodogs? The Mind Flayer? The Russian guards, and flayed former classmates? All this time later, he hasn't been able to pinpoint which exactly he wants peace from the most. They're all equally fucked up, all royally fucked him up.

Steve knows his efforts are not enough to stave off these fears forever. They never are.

And Vecna? He's still processing that. After all, it hasn't even been one year since it all happened.

Less than one year since Eddie died, slowly killing Dustin with each day that passes without him; the more Steve tries to be there for the kid, the more he's pushed away. It's taking a toll on Steve, trying to be mindful of Dustin's grieving, trying to remind this kid he's not alone.

Less than one year since Max technically, in clinical terms, died, for over a minute; even a second considered dead is way too fucking long, and for a kid her age? Too damn soon. If it weren't for El reviving her, the party would be in shambles— yet they're on the verge of crumbling while Max is in a coma, anyway.

If anything happened to any of these kids, it'd devastate the rest of them. It'd devastate anyone in this little, yet forever growing, found family Steve's tripped and fallen into years ago.

And you.

You— he can't even stomach the idea of your safety being threatened. It only circles back to the nightmares he still has of you. He fears one of these days losing you will come true, and… and—

It hits him like a nuclear missile, dead on.

He didn't want you to leave earlier, to go out into the storm, because he was afraid one of his greatest fears, losing you, again, would come true. This chance to fix everything, at least make peace with what never came to be, has been right in front of you both for months since you got home.

Instead, it's been spent stuck in a cycle of hate, giving and taking sharp glares and words only dripping in venom.

So much wasted time—

"Steve?"

Reality settles in around him again, eyes focusing on you, remorse taking hold of every thought crossing his mind.

Unexpectedly, even to him, Steve blurts out, "I'm sorry." When your brows furrow, the remorse floods out. "I- I'm sorry for not being honest from the start—"

"You were trying to protect me, I get that now." He feels the tension dissolve out of you. "I'm sorry too." Your voice trembles, not from the cold this time. "Can we… start over?"

A smug smirk curls along his face. "Um… we can, but it'd be pretty awkward to start over like this."

"Oh my god, Steve."

"What? I'm just saying!" He chuckles with a shrug. "When we met, I had strawberry ice cream stains on my shirt, and I got, like, maybe three hours of sleep the night before. This seems incredibly different, considering we're both naked."

"You're not the one fully naked." You stifle laughter, rolling your eyes.

"Oh, what, I'm sorry— did you want me to be blunt instead? Because I am really fucking sorry if I get hard." Flustered, he rambles as you blink up at him, wide-eyed. "Seriously, you keep rubbing against me like that and it's- I'm— fuck."

Your hips are rolling into him again as the corners of your lips gradually quirk upward. "Okay," you say simply, not matching your devious smile.

"… Okay?" Steve scoffs.

"I mean… it's not like you're the only one struggling here," you admit, brash and certain. "Can't tell you how wet I've been since you started holding me."

"Oh, trust me. I know." Steve bounces back, stifling a smug chuckle. "Felt it the whole time."

Mortification contorts its way into your face. You hide again, head falling forward to rest on his shoulder.

"Hey, nuh-uh, no hiding. I thought it was hot." His fingers trail down your spine, sweeping to your side. He rests his hand over the curve of your hip, drawing slow circles into your skin with his thumb. "… Still do."

A shrill, piercing whistle whirls past the van, leading in a wave of howling wind, rocking the van. The instant jostle nudges you against him completely, It taunts you and Steve as you dance around you feelings.

The van's frame sways and creaks as the blizzard continues. You shift, trying to get comfortable, until your thigh presses against Steve's bulge and he hisses under his breath.

"Fuck, shit, fuck—"

Yeah. He's hard.

He tangles himself into you, thick thigh flexing against your slick heat. All carnal desires aside, he's sure fucking relieved to feel some part of you completely warm.

Thinking of being warm, and staying that way, leads him to speaking unfiltered. "Might not be the worse way to keep each other from freezing to death."

"Uh-huh…" you sound breathy, the last of your animosity towards Steve long disintegrated by now. "S'good idea." A shiver down your spine sends your hips bucking forward; Steve's curious if it from the cold or not. "S- sorry, m'sorry, I keep—"

Steve shushes you delicately. "Don't be sorry, take what you need."

Your thighs tighten around his, clit throbbing against him. Arousal builds onto his bare skin the more you drag your cunt against him.

"Just go slow, okay?" His reminder is tender, faces close enough to touch, breaths picking up speed. "Slow, slow, sweetheart. I'm not going anywhere."

"Yeah but—" your fingers hook under his waistband teasingly, breaths growing shallower. "Want you n- now—"

Steve grabs your hands, pulling them up within eyesight. He needs you clear-headed. "Hey, I mean it. We gotta be smart about this."

He doesn't expect you to frown, ego visibly wounded in your expression; what did you hear out of what he said?

"We don't have to do anything if you're not into it."

"No, no, I'm—" Steve puffs his cheeks out, exhaling quickly. His arms rope you back in, pressing up against him with a gasp. "You were freezing to death less than an hour ago—"

"Not to death."

"Only 'cause you came back before it was too late." And that he kept you stable, but he's not seeking recognition for that. His hands rise to cradle your cheeks, forcing you to look him in the eye. "Last thing we need is your heart over-exerting itself."

"But you're the one who suggested—" you collect your thoughts with a deep breath. "You're sending mixed signals, Steve. Do you want this or not?"

"I do, but I want you safe and warm. So, let me take care of you, alright?"

"Okay…" Steve looks down as you trail off, noticing your mood shift. Concern draws your brows together, tugs your lips downward and hushes your voice to a whisper. A cold finger traces the scar around his neck, and he gulps. "When did this happen?"

He was dreading this, grateful you'd been so delirious while recovering that you didn't notice the freshly healed skin, taut and pink— now a little purple from the cold, he's sure; this kind of weather always promises to emphasize souvenirs of the past.

"Last year," he trembles; the more he focuses on trying to breathe steadily, the more he shakes. "… Bats."

"The same that…" He hears you hesitate, holding that one, brutal truth on the tip of your tongue, only to soften it for both of your sake. "Same ones that… that attacked Eddie?"

"Yeah, I guess." Steve shakes his head, "I don't know how I survived and he didn't." His voice drops, laden with guilt. "Kinda fucked up if you ask me."

"Do they hurt?" You ask so tenderly, sincerity woven within your words. It pricks hot tears in Steve's eyes, ones he blinks away quickly.

No one ever really asks Steve if he's okay. Not like this. Not when it comes to the Upside Down.

"Yeah," he croaks out. "Sometimes, yeah." Unprompted, he adds, "Not as much as the headaches, though."

"How often do you get them?" You ask, but Steve only shrugs. It's not enough to quell your concern. "Steve…"

He doesn't need you to know just how bad it gets sometimes. The warning signs leading up to a flare— like how his neck aches and stiffens, how his vision doubles, and the ringing in his ears only grows louder.

Steve doesn't want to worry you, or anyone, of the throbbing, consistent pain; how similar it feels to being cracked in the skull with a fist, something he's experienced more than once— one time too many. The agonizing throbbing that morphs into pounding, and sometimes he can feel it behind his left eye, like it's still swollen shut.

Sounds become unbearably sharp and jagged to his brain. Too much light enrages him. They're more than just headaches, he knows that. Yet he bottles it all up, because emotionally, he can't afford to not be okay. He has to show up for everyone else.

Acknowledging him, you hum softly; he's grateful you've never been one to push him too far on a subject he'd rather avoid. "Should I, um—" you clear your throat awkwardly, "avoid them? The scars, I mean."

Not like this one's much easier to talk about.

Steve's shoulder's tighten while his breath hitches, sharp and obvious and shit, he wishes he caught that in time. That wish strengthens when you grimace.

"I'm sorry. That's— I'm not trying to be rude, just wasn't sure since sometimes they hurt—"

"S'okay," he relaxes after a deep breath. "Don't worry about 'em."

You hum, tracing the one along his neck with your finger. The warmth left in the wake of your touch is another reminder he's safe with you.

It's when your fingertips trail up to his face, palm caressing his cheek before resting there, that his heart skips a beat. And when you gingerly sweep your thumb against his cheekbone, his breath hitches.

"Whenever your headaches start… you'll tell me, right?"

When that simple question, loaded with empathy and laced with tenderness, leaves your lips, something within Steve breaks.

"It's… it's okay, I can handle it on my own."

For the first time, those words aren't convincing enough to lie to himself.

"Steve," you whisper, head shaking as the color of your irises bore into the hazel of his. "You don't have to handle anything on your own."

It's so direct, so honest— how can he even respond to that?

There's so much to say— how he'd always put the kids before himself, no questions asked. How he wants to do his part and keep everyone safe, during crawls and beyond. How his trauma, chronic and relentless, stays bottled up and shelved away, only to have manifested into a physical curse on every nerve ending in his entire being— and he still keeps it hidden away.

The past you narrowly escaped while he was beaten to hell and back, that's not yours to carry, it's his.

"I won't let you handle it alone," you whisper, challenging his unspoken thoughts. "Not anymore."

Feelings for you that he forcefully sunk long ago, rush to the surface and consume Steve. It's overwhelming, and words aren't enough; he surges forward, his lips finding yours while you squeak with surprise.

Steve breaks away, presses his lips to your jaw, kisses down your neck while his hands caress the shape of your figure. His touch is gentle, yet sturdy. Firm, yet sweet.

You bite back a moan, teeth pinning your bottom lip down, but you still shiver. He knows he's making you feel good. If you won't say it, he certainly feels it in the way you grab him, anywhere you can find purchase; his hips, his arms, his back, leaving behind little divots from your finger tips, dug into his skin.

He moves lower, one hand pausing on your breast, kneading it tenderly, kissing down your chest to pause at the other side. His lips gently lingering against the sensitive, pebbled peak is all it takes to begin unraveling you.

The gasp that slips out is one beyond what Steve's dreams could even imagine. His cock kicks as he flicks his tongue on your nipple.

"Shit, Steve…"

He sucks softly, a distinct pop! filling the confined space when he pulls back. He looks up with a thread of spit tethering him to your skin, and you look wrecked already.

He can't even wrap his mind around how devastatingly fucked out you'll look when he's through with you.

"Coulda' kept each other warm all this time," Steve breathes, kissing across the valley between your breasts to the other side. His tongue flits out, lazily teasing your nipple while tweaking and pinching the other. "You just had to be stubborn, huh?"

"Only 'cause you- you— a- ah, fuck…" your hips roll up into his, cunt grazing against his clothed cock, sticky and warm and slick and god… if you weren't so fragile right now, Steve would love to ruin you immediately.

If, you know, you were into that.

His cock twitches as his mind drifts, curious as to what the hell you're even into, and if he'll be lucky enough to have more chances to find out.

The two of you just have to survive this night first.

"'Cause I what?" He should be a little softer, a little kinder, but the edge is returning, and only because of your wanton, needy squirming. "Finish the sentence."

You gasp as Steve nudges his knee between your legs, parting them to flex his thigh against your cunt. You're soaked enough to glide yourself effortlessly against him.

Except, Steve grabs your hips, hovering above you while pinning them in place.

"Finish. The. Sentence."

You clamp your legs tight around the one against your core, but he plants his hands on your thighs, pushing them apart to admire your glistening cunt.

"I wouldn't h- have left if you weren't so m- mean!"

"Yet you're a mess right now." He withdraws, only to use his thumbs to part your folds. "Look at you, dripping and pretending like you're not into this."

Steve licks his lips, one thumb casually gliding up from your hole through your folds, resting lightly over your clit. You jolt from even the slight pressure.

"Bet you were this wet before you left."

Your brows knit together. "I wasn't."

"No?" He taunts you, pad of his thumb circling your clit, so close to where you want him, yet so deliberately distant. "Hm… you sure?" Your hips twitch while you gasp, inflating his ego as he simpers. "Seemed like earlier you were pretty fuckin' soaked."

"From t- the snow!" The more flustered you become, the more Steve's confidence grows, bordering onto being cocky. "Jesus, I was outside in a blizzard, in case you forgot."

Steve laughs. He laughs; it's cruel and runs straight to your throbbing clit, adjacent to his teasing touch.

"I don't think so, sweetheart." With a smug grin, he adds, "Doubt the snow would make you smell this damn good either."

"Steve!" You gasp, taken aback. The line's almost tacky, straight out of a bad porno, but Jesus Christ, he can't help himself around you.

"In fact—" he reaches out of the bag, retrieving the garment in question. Reservations long buried under the snow, he brings the pair to his face, eyes rolling back as he huffs in your scent. A guttural groan tears through him, while you're left speechless. "Been wanting to do that all fuckin' night."

Jaw hanging ajar, you whisper, "Holy shit, Harrington."

The smug expression falters, "Too much?"

"No," you breathe out, "fuck, no."

Relief revives his smirk. "Good. I'm far from done with you."

Trailing wet, painfully paced kisses down your body, Steve begins unzipping the sleeping bag; he'd rather not suffocate in that while going down on you. If anything keeps him from breathing tonight, he prays it's only your slick cunt smothering his face.

He's gentle, mindful, caressing your sides slowly to keep you warm. It softens the mean streak he just held out for your sake.

Parting your legs, he glances up to you. "Doing okay?" His lips drag along the plush of your left thigh, gentle, pointed kisses trailing closer to your core. His strong grip digs into your thighs before switching to the right one. "Need to hear you, honey."

"Mhm, yeah, I'm—" Steve parts your slit, moaning softly as he takes you in. "M'good. Promise."

"Good," he husks, leaving a chaste, open mouth kiss over your core. "Don't wanna neglect this pretty pussy."

You huff with an affectionate eye roll. "Swear to god, Steve, if anyone else said shit like this to me, I'd leave instantly."

"So what you're saying is…" Steve's lips linger on your folds, tongue teasingly flitting out, barely meeting your clit. Your legs twitch while you whimper. "I'm the exception?"

"D- don't let it get to your head, Har—" Sharply, you gasp as he spreads your core apart with his thumbs, only to spit on your puffy clit. "Fuck."

He leans in, mouth working languidly as his lips meet your glistening slit. It's already written in stone that the taste of anyone else won't ever compare; you've effortlessly wrecked him.

And he's already ruined you with each drag of his tongue, leading to your clit to suckle tenderly. He looks up, hoping to see you slowly unravel, and he does; your eyes roll back in time while you clench around nothing, rolling your hips to chase his tongue.

The soft sounds from his mouth cause you to throb, feeling every hum and groan, hearing him lave at your arousal. Hooded stare weighed down with lust, he continues watching you fall apart on his tongue.

Steve's moans tremble through you, with gravelly murmurs in between; every oh shit, and fuck, and little praise in between is enough to roll waves of heat through you. He must be able to feel it.

"See? You just needed to get warmed up." Your hips jolt against his mouth as he laps at your clit, while a thick finger circles your hole. He grins smugly. "Be good for me, and I'll keep you warm."

Your clit throbs against his tongue, and Steve moans. It's almost as pornographic as the sound he let out minutes before. His arms hook around your thighs, tugging you flush against his mouth.

"Is this all it takes to shut you up?"

Though drained and still trembling, your fingers tangle through his hair, pulling to trap his mouth against your pussy. He notices the light pressure in your grasp, mindful of his mention of headaches earlier.

"I dunno, I- I should be asking you the same damn thing."

The switch is subtle, tiny, but it's enough to send Steve's eyes rolling back into his head, whimpering as he bucks into the floor of the van.

"Oh…" you grin deviously. "You're into that, huh?"

The ounce of power, that microscopic switch, falls apart instantly as Steve leans back. Warmth withdraws along with him, your hands fall away, and all pleasure ceases. He slides two fingers up the edge of your folds, spreading them apart to spit directly onto your clit; you twitch and gasp.

"Hey!" Exasperated, you yelp, "Why'd you stop?!"

Steve doesn't answer, only runs his hands along the back of your thighs, gently nudging your legs to fold closer to yourself. He reaches your hips, pushing up to throw a nearby blanket underneath your back.

"What— what are you—" His mouth is back on you, tongue delving into your slit, running around your clit before puckering his lips. "Ohmyfuckinggod— Steve—"

You gasp when he mouths sloppily at your cunt, making out with it, taking his time to explore this part of you he's already dreamed so much of.

This part, this sweet, tight, hot part of you that he's fucked his fist to the thought of almost every night since you've moved home.

Not even his wildest dreams could've conceived what you really taste like. Your scent. How soft you are. And pretty, so goddamn pretty.

And as your hardened personality thaws out, the real you— the one Steve's always pined over— finally melts through.

He's missed you. So, so much.

The obscene sounds, all of the slurping and suckling to make you fall apart, fill the van. Walls clenching around his fingers as they barely enter you, your body sucks him in greedily.

"Jesus Christ," Steve breathes, getting sloppier as you get louder. He angles his fingers differently, and with the way he's got you positioned, you're blindsided by an orgasm shattering through you.

"Oh my god, oh my god—" he brushes up against your sweet spot, triggering your legs to shake around his head. "Fuck!"

Your high's barely over as he kisses your inner thighs, eyeing up your puffy, dripping folds.

"Got one more in you?" His lips and chin glisten with your essence in the low light. You nod breathlessly, hand over your chest as it rises and falls rapidly. His demeanor softens. "Hey, look at me."

Dazed, your eyes flutter open. They lock with his, full of concern.

"Should we stop?" You shake your head, but the silent conformation isn't enough. "Need you to say it if you want it," there's a flash of dull pain as he nips at your inner thigh, kissing away the sting immediately. His hand pulls away, leaving you empty and needy.

"I- I want it."

"Want… what?"

Exasperated, you whine while throwing your head back, "Oh my god, Steve."

"C'mon, you can tell me." He begins taunting you, "Usually you have no problem running that mouth of yours."

"You're so fucking insufferable sometimes, I sw- swear to god." The tremble in your voice is more from aftershocks than the cold.

Even when you were nice, you had an edge, and he missed that, too.

Steve crawls over you, nose nudging against your own. His fingers feather and tease along your slit, retreating as you buck your hips to chase his touch.

"There she is," chuckling, he slips a finger back into you, leaning down to murmur against your lips, "There's my girl."

As you gasp, he takes the chance to kiss you, really kiss you this time. Your back arches while he pumps into your slick heat. Lips parted against your own, slotted together, tasting yourself on his tongue while he licks into your mouth— it's all so goddamn dizzying for the both of you.

You break apart when you palm him over his boxers, rendering Steve speechless for a moment.

"Who knew that'd shut you up so easily too," you snicker, giving a gentle squeeze to his bulge, eliciting a sweet gasp from him. "Fuck, Steve. You're…"

Cheeks heating up to a rosy pink, he freezes, eyes darting down between your bodies, then back to you. "What? What's wrong?"

"Nothing! Nothing's wrong. I- I just…" Keeping an airy touch, you trace a finger along his cock. He whines pathetically, head falling forward onto your shoulder. To muffle his sounds, he mouths at your skin. "You're so… big."

He sighs; yeah, he should've expected that.

"It's not a bad thing! No part of you is bad!" You're tumbling into a nervous ramble. "That stuff doesn't matter anyway, y'know, size and whatever. I just- I don't know—" you clear your throat with an awkward laugh, rushing out, "Idon'tknowifyou'llfit."

Steve blinks as the words sink in.

Oh.

"Hey, shh, s'okay," he chuckles softly, confidence flowing back. "We can try, if you want. But there's no pressure."

"I wanna, I really want to, it's— I'm— you—"

He cuts you off with a kiss. There's a soft hum reeled out of you, shaping his lips into a smirk against your own. It's short and sweet, resting his forehead on yours as you break apart.

"One step at a time, okay?"

He's back between your legs as before, allowing you both to relax as he tries to take this slow, almost at a lazy pace, but that lasts all of five seconds.

Because one more taste of you, and Steve's a fucking goner.

Steve juts his face into your cunt, tapering his tongue to fuck into you as you're grinding onto his face. He grants your wordless wish, sinking a finger into you again. In search of that sweet, sacred spot, he curls it, grazing somewhere inside that makes hips rock with desperation while you cry out.

"Harder," he grunts into your core, the rumble of his order going straight to your clit without direct touch. He yanks you closer to his face— as if it's even possible at this point— and his gaze travels away from you, rolling to the back of his head, groaning as you're the only taste on his tongue. In way too deep to speak, he just hums with satisfaction, laced with an air of praise.

Licking into you, the strong bridge of his nose nudges against your clit as it throbs. You buck forward accidentally, but he happily accepts, burying his face between your thighs. He slides another finger into you and smirks as your legs begin to quiver.

"Steve…" You cover your mouth, but he yanks your hand away, while leaning back to spit onto your cunt again.

In between flits and laves of his tongue, he husks, "Wanna hear you again." The vibrations of his gravelly voice are what send you to the edge, but his tender encouragement is what seals the deal. "It's just us, honey. C'mon," he coaxes. "Lemme hear those pretty sounds you make."

Steve works overtime, meticulous in the speed he pumps his fingers, while your essence drips down his hand. The curls and flattening of his tongue between your folds, lapping up every drop you have to offer. Eventually rubbing his nose against your clit while he both tongue and finger fucks you simultaneously.

Bliss rolls through your body, luring out whimpers of his name and babbles of praise.

"Steve—" you gasp, back arching up as your tangled fingers anchor him to you. "Fu- oh my god, fuck—!"

You tremble, you gush, you unravel at the seams, and he'd keep doing this, and only this, all night if you'd let him. Watching you fade into such a fucked out state has his cock throbbing, sandwiched between himself and the van's floor.

Steve feels sticky; that much he expected. But… his boxers are damp, tacky against his skin, along with his tummy, where the tip of his cock lay snug under the waistband.

Oh, no.

"So, uh…" he kisses your core, smirking as it clenches around nothing. Kissing your thigh, he peers up through his lashes at you. "… How hard is it to wash cum out of a sleeping bag?"

Dazed, you're still smiling, dopey and giddy and sighing, "Mmm, dunno. Can't be that difficult—" your eyes pop open before you study Steve, still between your legs. "… Why?"

"No reason, really, just— I'm just curious—"

"Steve."

"M'yeah?" His eyes shift away for a second, guilty.

"Were you— oh my god."

"What?!"

A taunting, victorious smirk comes to life. "Did you hump the fucking floor?"

"Well, when you put it like that…" Steve cringes, blushing intensely. "Kinda?" Your playful stare narrows down at him. "It's not like I was trying to! It just— I— you—" he groans, burying his face into the plush of your inner thigh.

The embarrassment's worth it to hear your laugh, genuine and breathy woven into your comedown. "Better on the damn bag than the actual rug."

He could fall asleep here, so cozy and warm between your legs. You card your fingers through his soft hair, gingerly scraping along his scalp, earning his content hum.

Steve lifts his head to be met with your longing stare, soft, weary smile. It's impossible to hide his own smile. "What?"

"Come back up," you shoot out grabby hands. "M'cold."

"Oh," he snorts, crawling back into your arms. "Is that all I'm good for?"

"Nah, your tongue is pretty great, too."

Rolling his eyes, a smile peeks out as he zips the bag back up, cuddling close to you. Your leg swings over his hip and he reels you in. Fatigue settles in, and it's not long before you're drifting off.

You're not cold anymore, with most symptoms finally fading or completely dissipated; he figures it's safe to sleep. Hell, he could use the rest, too.

It's not until the first, faint snore, that he realizes his goddamn, sticky boxers are still on, and he doesn't have the heart to move you.

A little discomfort is worth it if you're safe and sound in his arms, but… Jesus Christ, this is going to be one long fucking nap.

Steve's unsure when the two of you shifted in your sleep, but with the limited space in the bag, you've ended up spooning him.

It's… kinda nice. He's never been the little spoon before, not with anyone he's ever cuddled with.

By some higher power or sheer, dumb luck, you're warm— fucking finally. You're clinging onto him from behind and nuzzling your face into the crook of his neck.

Steve's breath hitches when your lips graze his neck. He chokes back a whine as you brush your soft figure against his back.

He gently murmurs your name into the dark while your arms tighten around his torso. You hum in return, soft and content.

Splaying out your fingers, they creep down his body, teasing around the waistband, dipping just below the elastic of his briefs.

"Mm—" Steve bites back some kind of pathetic sound. "Baby, what're'y'doin'?"

The pet name blooms heat under your cheeks. He hears you hum, feels you shrug. Your fingers sink a little lower, brushing up against the head of his cock.

"S'okay?"

"It- yeah, but—" Steve gasps when your thumb sweeps over the slit on his tip, still tacky from when he came in his boxers earlier. Now, on top of that, arousal weeps his slit on command by your touch.

"But?"

Your hand begins to retreat, until Steve grabs it, shoving it toward the base of his cock. His hips buck into your palm, groan rumbling deep from his throat.

Whether it's because Steve's been touch starved, or just really, really into you (both. it's totally both), your fingertips tracing down his shaft cause him to twitch.

He can feel himself pulsate into your palm as your grip winds around him. You only pump once, twice, three times, and he's quick to begin unraveling.

"I'm not gonna last if you keep doing that," Steve whines, bucking into your fist. "I can't— ah… f- fuck—" he grumbles, forcing out, "I— dammit, I can't afford to come in my pants again. I only have one pair!"

"Then take 'em off," you giggle. "Need you in me."

Any other circumstance, Steve would allow the teasing to drag on, but he can't take any more tension. He flips over to lean above you, switching positions; you're the little spoon now, and you're flustered from the sudden change.

As you roll to your left side, you lean on your elbow to prop yourself up. Steve hastily plucks a condom from his wallet, still in the crumpled, damp jeans he discarded earlier and within reach.

You keep your legs bent as Steve settles behind you, backside on full display to him. Glancing over your shoulder, you've got a perfect view of him, already reveling in the way he's struggling to keep himself together while rolling the condom down his length.

Hand at the thick base of his cock, he drags the ruddy tip between your folds, teasing your clit before catching at your entrance. He repeats the taunting motion, smirk building with each whimper and whine you set free. One last drag through your slick slit, Steve rests the head at your entrance, pushing in only a little bit.

"Still okay?" He asks, eyes flitting to yours. One might think he sounds groggy from a nap, but he's just pussy drunk already.

"Yeah, mhm," your breathy reply makes his cock kick in his hand and against you. "Ju- just go slow, okay?"'

Steve leans down, planting his lips on your forehead. "Promise I will."

And he does; inch by inch, he slides into you, stretching you out to a limit you've never reached before. In awe, he watches himself disappear inside of you, breath hitching the further he goes.

"Fuck— fuck, you're—" his eyes roll back, twitching against your tight, warm walls. Hips tilting, you push your ass back to help him ease in. All it does is make Steve a total wreck. Pathetically, he strains out through bated breath, "…Might need a minute."

"Yeah?" The teasing edge he secretly loves so much is returning; a sign you're feeling more like yourself. "You look like you could use ten."

"Keep it up," he huffs, "you're gonna need a few days 'til you can walk again."

Steve's hips reel back, dragging out torturously slow as you banter on. He leisurely slides back in, stretching you out. Again, he pulls out, even slower this time.

"We talkin' business days? 'Cause tomorrow's the weekend, and I'd love to not be in recovery—" He slams into you, bottoming out in one thrust. "— Christ, Steve! What the—"

Fully retreating, his shaft caresses your silky, slick walls. Fingers wrapping around the base of his cock, he teasingly glides the tip of his cock through your folds, dipping into your entrance.

With each push back, he pulls out; your desire is only met with taunting, dangling bliss just in reach.

"You done talking logistics yet?"

Though your jaw falls open to quip back, only a gasp tumbles out. With another snap of his hips against yours, he fills you again.

That stretch isn't dizzying on one end only; Steve has to gulp down steady breaths to relax. He's wanted this, wanted you, for years now.

No way is he fucking this up now with a pitifully swift finish.

"N'you were worried you couldn't take me," he patronizes, yet your walls clenching around him mercilessly wipe the smug grin off his face. "Jesus fuckin' christ."

"Maybe you can't take me," you dare to challenge him. The teasing ignites something deep within, and, well, you're the one who started a fire you most likely can't extinguish.

Steve lifts the leg closest to him to rest it against his torso. You roll a little more onto your back as he straddles your leg against the floor; similar to missionary, but the angle hits so sinfully as he sinks back in. 

Then, without mercy, void of warning, he relentlessly pounds into you.

Already at a loss for words, all you have to offer are sharp gasps. The plush of your body bounces with each of his thrusts, enticing his grip of one hand to dig into your hip.

What he doesn't expect is your hand to glide down your form, conforming to your curves until your fingertips brush over his knuckles.

Steve's breath hitches, hips stuttering with a faltering pace. Hesitantly, he laces his fingers between yours, and to his surprise, your grip doesn't falter.

It tightens.

Just like the choke-hold his feelings for you have on his heart.

"Don't get sappy on me now," Steve teases, fighting off his own emotions. His eyes flicker down to your hands intertwined, cock twitching inside you when you tighten your hold on him.

The gesture is small, but his heart flutters; what's meaningful to Steve is something you're probably not even thinking twice about. He rolls his hips against you, slow and deep, hoping to distract from his feelings.

"Wouldn't dr— oh!" You gasp, eyes rolling back as he hits the spot that makes you weak. He hears you murmur his name, strung together with expletives under your breath. "W- wouldn't dream of it."

Fog blankets the windows as each thrust rocks the van on its frame. Sweat beads at your brow, and there's relief found in the sight. You feel so warm, only reminding him mere hours ago you were freezing to death.

But you're here, underneath him, closer than he ever imagined to be outside of his dreams. You're here, warm, coherent, safe.

Safe because of him. Alive, because you chose to trust him.

That plucks at his heartstrings, too.

"Steve?"

Your voice is breathy, but concern is laced throughout, tugging him back into the present. He locks eyes with you, but you're blurry. He registers your hand extending to rest on his cheek, instinctively leaning into your tender touch.

"Hey, slow down," you swipe your thumb across his cheek, and it glides against his skin with ease. Too much ease. "Baby, stop for a second. You're crying."

Baby.

Anytime he's been called that, it never felt right. But hearing it from your lips is a whole different story.

Wait, did you say he was crying?

"Sorry, I…" he trails off, glancing away and kissing your palm, panting heavily against it. "M'okay."

"Steve—"

"No, I swear. I'm just—" he shudders out a breath, one with relief. "I'm glad you're okay."

"So much for not getting sappy," you tease, but when Steve only halfheartedly smiles, you fall back into the energy he has. "Hey, I'm not going anywhere. I'm okay."

"I know." He nods, hair flopping in his face. "I know, I know that. I know."

Maybe if he repeats it enough, he'll believe it.

"St—"

He cuts you off abruptly with a kiss, insatiably slotting his lips against yours. His tongue runs along your bottom lip, silently pleading for more. When you oblige, parting your kiss-swollen, wind-bitten lips, he groans, thrusting without warning into you again.

You break the kiss reluctantly, grabbing his face. "Steve. You should—"

"I'm fine, I mean it," he whispers against your lips, sloppily rocking into you. "I'm okay. Promise."

And, really, he is, he just didn't think those emotions would sucker punch him right now.

You gasp again as he hits your sweet spot, eyes falling out of focus into a dazed stare. "M'gonna cum," you rasp out, staving off a strangled moan. "Steve, I'm— I—"

He unsheathes himself from you, and it pains him to do so, whimpering as the chill of the air around erases your warmth. He glances down to your cunt, watching it clench around nothing.

"Why'd you do that?" You're breathless as you manage to ask, and the heartbroken look on your face almost tempts Steve to give in. Instead, he runs a finger through your folds, dripping and enticing as his touch drags over your throbbing clit. "Oh my god, this is the second time tonight you've done that!"

"M'not letting you finish that easy," he teases.

You whine, tossing your head back against the worn pillow, now damp with sweat. He restrains himself from splitting you open again, ignoring how needy his cock is, throbbing, red, and leaking at the tip.

"Up," he orders, throwing the sleeping bag off your tangled forms. Eager for more, you sit up, a little too quickly for his liking. Immediately his tone softens with concern, "Okay, wait. Careful, slow— Don't need you passing out."

Steve's hand finds your cheek, lips planting on yours, kissing you so sweetly. He smiles against your lips before he rolls a blanket up while nodding to the carpet. "You okay on your knees?"

"Okay?" You climb onto all fours, teasing, "I'm pretty fuckin' great on my knees."

Steve shakes his head, though his smile doesn't fade, "Jesus Christ, and I had the bad lines?" He places the blanket under your tummy, hiking your hips up with the extra support. "That help?"

It's a small gesture, one he probably doesn't think twice about, but it sure sticks with you anyway. "Uh-huh." You wiggle your ass, impatiently eager to be filled again.

His large hands slide over the curve of your backside, squeezing and kneading the doughy flesh. Your core glistens with arousal, practically begging for indulgence.

And Steve? He's in a trance, mouth on you for the third time tonight; he can't get enough of you. No one has ever tasted like you. No one's ever felt as soft as you, been as soaked as you. No one sounds like you, or shows the tiny yet impactful levels of intimacy you do with him.

No one's like you. No one could even compare.

"Fuck…" he lowly sighs out, nose nudging between your folds. "Didn't think you'd get this wet again."

"I—" You cut yourself off with a strangled gasp as Steve's tongue flits out, curling at your entrance, but not quite dipping in. "Hhhohmygod."

Thick fingers drag through your folds as he pulls back, teasing in circles around your throbbing clit, never touching it directly. You push your ass back, but he grips your hip firmly, holding you still.

"Steve," you whine.

"I know, I know," he murmurs, leaning in to suck crudely on your clit, one final time. Lining up with your entrance, one hand roams to your hips, the other, guiding himself into you. "Gonna take real good care of you, honey."

You're already clenching with a gasp. "Can't be saying— a- ah!" Steve nudges the tip into you, barely past the head's flare when you whine out. Sinking in, the delicious stretch lures you both under its spell. "S- sayin' sweet shit to me like th- that."

"I mean it," he groans, eyes rolling back as your tight heat envelopes him again. "Every damn time, too."

"What, this isn't a h- heat of the moment kinda th- thing?"

"Not even close, sweetheart." He digs his grip into the plush of your ass, slowly entering you again. Hypnotized, he watches himself disappear inside of you with each thrust. "Jesus Christ… suckin' me right in."

You nudge back into him. Steve chokes on his breath as your ass slams into him. "I- I need more."

"Yeah?" Thumbs on your lower back circle softly on your skin. He watches the goosebumps rise with satisfaction. "How do we ask for more?"

"Jesus fuckin'—" irked, you grumble. You slump against the pillows beneath you, whining, "Please."

"Please… what?"

"Steve, I s- swear to god—"

"Go ahead," he juts his chin out, smirk strong as he feels a power trip within reach. He wishes you could see how smug he is from there. In a slow retreat, he drags himself out of you, leaving you empty, cold, miserable. "Keep up the attitude, we'll see what happens."

"You're such a—" Steve slams back into you, knocking a cry from your lungs. His cock kicks against your tightening walls. "Oh, fuck…" You clap a hand over your mouth, but Steve yanks it away.

He pins that arm behind your back, thrusting hard and deep.

"Such a what?"

"Nothing. Sh- shut up an' fuck me already." When he doesn't move, you breathe out reluctantly, "… please?"

Steve snaps his hips against your ass, bottoming out within you. The sudden stretch shoves a cry out from the back of your throat.

"Aw, see?” He drags himself out, tauntingly slow. “Not so hard to ask for what you need, huh?" He thrusts again, sinking in to the hilt, "Thaaaaaat's my girl." He moans, rumbling deeply as he fills and stretches you all over again.

 The condescending comment should be that, only that, but instead your breath hitches. It's one that unexpectedly makes Steve's heart jump, his stomach flip; he wonders if you feel the same. 

"I… Yours?"

 Though you can't see him in this position, Steve's eyes flicker away, tongue darting out the corner of his mouth as he tries focusing on fucking you instead.

"Mhm, if…" He groans when your free hand reaches between your thighs, underneath you both to grip his balls and massage them. "Oh, shit, honey… s- so good…"

Fatigue still rests heavy in your limbs, and even with the pillow supporting underneath, you begin to sag down to the floor. It's not much help that you're not holding your own balance anymore.

"Hang on, I got ya'." It's such a basic phrase handled with care, passion coupling with his actions; a strong arm winds around your waist as his thrusts slow. He hoists you back into his lap, kneeling back on his heels while you're sat back onto him.

He moves again, and you cry out from the new angle, feeling him even deeper than moments before. It's almost toointense; your trembling legs are a sign of that.

"Hey, hey, shhh," Steve kisses your neck softly, leading up to your jaw. "Need a minute?" You shake your head, breaths rapid and shallow. "Wanna stop?"

"God, no," you nearly sob, tightly clenching around his cock, almost to keep him inside you. 

"Okay, okay." He kisses your cheek, lips lingering against you as he demands gently, "Tell me what you need."

"Y- you."

Steve chuckles, nuzzling his nose against your jawbone, unable to keep his lips off of you. If this is the only time he has you, he wants to kiss every inch he can reach.

"I'm right here."

Your lips part, but your breath is taken away with each thrust; you can only manage a nod while you whine and gasp.

The smell of sex hanging heavy above you both, the plap plap plap of skin slapping on skin, filling the van alongside your filthy moans; the two of you could put a porn studio to goddamn shame.

And then, there's the mouth on Steve among all of this.

"This pussy all mine?" His head falls back with a throaty groan, hips twitching off-key as embers smolder low in his belly, a fire that's always been easy to build off of.

It's only fair to match his energy.

"Dunno…" You turn your head as he leans over your shoulder, holding you flush against him while relentlessly, sloppily fucking into you. "This cock all mine, Harrington?" You burst into giggles among the breathy sighs. "Got me saying the dumbest shit, that's h- how much I like you."

He doesn't just twitch inside of you, he kicks, with little room to move within your tight walls. The whimper that pairs is one too delicious to ever imagine once, just once.

No, he'll never get enough of you. Not now. Not ever.

"S'all yours, honey," his nose prods into your cheekbone when he kisses the round, soft side of your grin. Huffing and puffing, thrusting into you relentlessly, he adds, "M'all yours."

Steve drives his cock deep within your cunt, dizzy as the stretch barely lets up. The fingers gripped around your chin ease up, two teasing at your bottom lip, tracing it softly. You're so fucked out already, it doesn't register what he's trying to accomplish. Not until he pushes them past your lips. That's when you take him in.

Even just two fingers are thick enough to softly gag you, while your tongue licks and laves at his digits. Warm and wet, you leave him a wreck as he quietly imagines fucking your mouth instead.

God, he hopes this isn't a one time fling; he wants you like this all the time.

"Fuck, you're unreal."

You try and fail to whimper his name around his fingers, drooling onto yourself and his hand.

Steve's fingers slip away, hands sliding down your neck. He loosely holds, gives a gentle squeeze, pushing you right up to the edge. You lean into his palm, tightening around him as you give into trust. His thumb caresses the side of your neck

"St- Steve, m'gonna— I—" his other hand finds your clit, coaxing you to fall into bliss with a steady, tender touch.

"C'mon, come for me," he husks in your ear while his own thrusts stutter, cock pulsing as he follows you into a shared high. He slurs out, "Thas'it. Fu- fuck—"

He spills into you, and you gush around him, yet it's so much more than that. There's a closeness you've craved, finally satiated as you're intertwined and losing yourselves in well-overdue bliss.

Trying to anchor yourselves to one another, there's desperate grasping in tandem with sounds rooted in indulgence. You've got your arm curled behind to tangle your fingers through his hair. Steve's greedily planting his fingerprints everywhere he can reach, digging pressure into every muscle and curve. You pull, he squeezes; the two of you claim one another through frantically passionate touches.

Beyond the lust, this is what you've always longed for with Steve; even if it didn't pan out the way either of you wanted, maybe it was needed to all fall into place.

Wrapped around one another, sweat still drying, smell of sex finally fading, the two of you revel in the afterglow together. Any walls— built with years of spite, grudges, and loss— between you have been demolished.

That doesn't ease Steve's nerves, though.

"Would you…" Steve trails off as self doubt's choke hold tightens on his heart. You lift your head, chin resting on his chest as your eyes find his.

All animosity in your gaze vanishes; he never thought he'd see the day.

"Would you wanna, uh, go out?" Like he didn't just rail you into oblivion, shyness creeps in. He braces himself for rejection, and maybe this question should've waited until after you're dug out from the snow. "Like, on a date, I mean."

Eager, you tease, "Promise I won't stand you up this time."

"Not like you can leave town this time anyway."

Though you scoff, it's playful. There's a smile he never imagined he'd see again, paired perfectly with your sincere laughter that reassures him.

The light in your eyes that radiates a soothing warmth, like spring sunshine on his skin, is back.

"Not sure I'd leave if I even had the chance," you admit. "Not without you."

And the sincerity in those words, it comforts him. Grounds him. For once, just once, the two of you could have something stable, constant, that isn't a threat to your lives.

There's a comfortable silence between you; the blizzard's howling gusts don't sound so lonely and hollow anymore.

"Might be smart to get dressed before the morning." Steve grimaces, reaching between his legs to slide the condom off. "… and clean up first."

"You would ruin the moment with something like that," you groan as he ties it off, sliding an arm out of the sleeping bag to throw it into a small trash bin nearby. "Besides, we're warm and cozy, and—" he smirks, reaching for the zipper next while you whine. "Ugh, no, c'mon— don't open it!"

Steve shrugs, amused. "Then you can explain to whoever ends up rescuing us why we're naked in the middle of a—"

"Okay, okay!" You grumble, stretching over Steve to zip the bag open. Begrudgingly, you shimmy out, rushing to grab the emergency box for clothes.

Despite your protests, Steve helps you get dressed as you grumble over the soreness, no longer numb from the cold. With teamwork and grace, you're back in warm, dry clothes, and Steve follows suit. He helps you back into the sleeping bag, snuggling up next to you once zipped up.

It's effortless, though mindful, how you tangle yourselves around one another. Your leg is thrown over his thigh while you rest on your side. He faces you, slotting his leg between yours and reeling you into his embrace. You tuck your head under his chin, inviting him to kiss the top of your head— and he does.

"We're taking the weekend off," you murmur. It's not a question, it's a firm statement. "No crawls. Not unless they're absolutely certain we're ending this."

"No crawls," Steve agrees, chuckling softly into you hair. "Stay over this weekend? I know it's not the most ideal first date location, but we don't really have the greatest options right now, and—"

"Okay."

"Oh." He pauses, relieved there was no hesitancy from you. "Okay. Yeah. We'll do that."

This might take some getting used to, the whole not being at each other's throats all the time thing. He can't complain, in fact, it's a welcomed change.

"The others can wait, we got catching up to do," you nuzzle your face into his neck, voice vibrating against his throat. "And we'll be dry this time."

He hums with a chuckle low in his throat. "Not sure you could say that for yourself, but sure, okay."

"Steve."

The two of you are too wrapped up in one another to notice the snow finally slowing to something serene, teasing back and forth like you used to. This banter without venom, it's natural now, and he hopes it stays. He hopes you stay. By the way you're so at ease in his embrace, Steve knows you will. 

And he will, too.

[emqqx]

"Not his first choice" pt 2

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Joe Keery x reader ⋆⭒˚.⋆ pt1

english is not my language please be kind and sorry if i wrote wrong :) requests are open if you want!

summary: after days of silence, Steve shows up ready to fight for you

warnings: Angst, emotional hurt/comfort, best friends to lovers

The silence lasted nineteen days.

Nineteen days of learning how to exist in the negative space Steve had left behind.

 You’d perfected the art of avoidance, taking the long route to the grocery store so you wouldn’t drive past Family Video, keeping your curtains drawn when you heard engines that sounded even remotely like his BMW, deleting voicemails before you could hear his voice crack on the words “I miss you.”

But the house still felt haunted by him, the dent in your couch where he always sat, the extra-large hoodie he’d left months ago that still smelled like his cologne and the cinnamon gum he chewed when he was anxious, the passenger seat of your own car felt wrong without his ridiculous commentary about other drivers.

Robin had come by twice more after that first night. The second time she brought ice cream and didn’t push, just sat with you on the floor watching old reruns until you fell asleep with your head on her shoulder, she never said “I told you so.”, she just squeezed your hand and whispered, “He’s a dingus, but he’s your dingus. Take the time you need.” and you are grateful for her

On day nineteen, the doorbell rang at 7:42 p.m.

You knew it was him before you even looked, something in the rhythm of the knock…three quick taps, then two slower ones. The same pattern he’d used since you were teenagers when he’d show up after a bad shift or a nightmare about the Upside Down.

Your heart slammed against your ribs as you walked to the door, you didn’t open it right away, you just leaned your back against the wood and closed your eyes.

“I know you’re there,” Steve said softly from the other side. “I can see your shadow under the door.”

You let out a shaky breath but still didn’t move.

“I brought reinforcements,” he continued, his voice sounded raw, like he’d been rehearsing this for days. “Two strawberry milkshakes, with extra whipped cream on yours, curly fries with that spicy seasoning you like and…I rented that stupid horror movie we were supposed to see the night I canceled for the mall. The one with the clown that you said looked like my hair on a bad day.”

A pathetic little laugh escaped you despite everything and he heard it, you could tell by the way his tone lifted slightly. “Please y/n, just five minutes. If you want me to leave after that, I will. I swear.”

You waited another ten seconds, then opened the door.

Steve looked… wrecked in the most Steve way possible. His hair was flatter than usual, like he’d run his hands through it too many times, there were shadows under his eyes and he wore the gray Henley you’d once told him made him look annoyingly good, and he was holding the promised milkshakes and greasy bag like they were peace offerings at a diplomatic summit.

He stared at you like you might vanish if he blinked “Hi,” he whispered.

You stepped back wordlessly, letting him inside. He moved carefully, like the house was made of glass now, he set everything on the coffee table then he stood there in the middle of your living room, hands shoved deep in his jacket pockets, looking everywhere but directly at you for a moment.

“I broke up with Amanda the night I left your porch,” he said, jumping straight into it, no small talk. “Drove there at like midnight and told her it was over. She threw a shoe at me, called me a few names I probably deserved but mostly she just looked… tired, like she’d known it was coming.”

You sat on the couch, pulling a pillow into your lap like armor. Steve hesitated, then sat on the opposite end, leaving a big gap between you.

“I kept replaying that party,” he continued, voice low. “The way Amanda went after you, the way I froze and the way you looked at me like I’d stabbed you.” His throat worked. “I hate myself for that look… I still see it when I close my eyes.”

You didn’t say anything and he didn’t rush you.

“I was scared,” he admitted. “Scared of being alone again, scared of messing up another relationship. Amanda seemed… easy, like she had her shit together and maybe some of that would rub off on me but… she wasn’t you. She never could be and instead of realizing that, I tried to shove you into a smaller box so I could keep both. That was fucked up.”

He finally looked at you fully and his eyes were glassy.

“You’ve been my person since we were kids fighting demodogs and figuring out who we wanted to be. You’re the only one who’s seen all the ugly parts of me and stayed anyway. The failed athlete, the shitty boyfriend, the guy who still has nightmares, the guy who doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing half the time but pretends he does because King Steve died and left this mess behind but lately… I’ve been realizing it’s more than that. It’s always been more than that.”

Steve shifted closer on the couch, voice cracking as he rubbed his face roughly.

“And I made you feel like you were too much, like you were the problem. God, I’m so sorry… I’m so fucking sorry.”

The tears came then, hot and fast down your cheeks. Steve looked devastated.

“Can I…” He gestured helplessly toward you. “Please?”

You nodded once and he moved instantly, sliding across the couch and pulling you into his chest. 

His arms wrapped around you so tightly it almost hurt, but it was the best kind of hurt. The kind that said I’m here. I’m not letting go. I choose you.

You sobbed into his shirt. All the weeks of hurt poured out, every cruel comment from Amanda, every canceled plan, every apologetic look instead of defense. Steve held you through it, murmuring apologies and soft words of love into your hair, rubbing your back, pressing kisses to the top of your head.

When the worst of it passed, you stayed curled against him, his heartbeat steady and fast under your ear.

“I don’t want to lose you,” you whispered. “But I can’t go back to feeling like I’m optional.”

“You’re not,” he said fiercely. “You never were. I was just an idiot who needed to get hit by a truck to see it.” He pulled back enough to cup your face, thumbs brushing away tears. “I’m choosing you, every day, starting now. No more balancing, no more letting anyone talk to you like that. If someone has a problem with how close we are, they can get the hell out of our lives.”

You searched his eyes. “You really mean that?”

“I’ve never meant anything more.” He rested his forehead against yours. “I love you y/n… not just in the best friend way, not just the ‘you’re my person’ way Robin teases me about. I’m in love with you… I think I have been for years and I was too stupid to see it until I almost lost you for good.”

Your breath caught.

“When I’m with you, the world feels quieter, better. You make me laugh at the dumbest things, you know exactly how I like my coffee and that I still get nervous before parent-teacher conferences even though the kids aren’t even mine. You make me want to be better, not for some polished image, but because you deserve the best version of me. I don’t want to figure this out later. I want this, I want us, together. If you’ll have me.”

“I love you too,” you whispered finally, voice breaking. “I think I always have. It hurt so much because it wasn’t just losing my best friend…It was losing the person I wanted everything with.”

Steve’s eyes shone. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you said, laughing wetly. “I’m in love with you, Steve, even when you’re being a dingus.”

He laughed, it was a real, beautiful sound and then he kissed you.

It wasn’t rushed, it was soft at first, tentative, like he was afraid you might pull away. Then you kissed him back, fingers threading into his hair, and it deepened.

 Years of unspoken feelings poured out, every late-night drive, every shared milkshake, every moment you’d been too scared to name. When you broke apart, foreheads pressed together, Steve wore that big, crinkly-eyed smile you loved so much.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that for so long,” he breathed.

“Me too.”

He kissed you again, slower, then pulled you fully into his lap, wrapping the blanket around both of you. The milkshakes melted, the fries went cold and the movie was forgotten.

 For hours you talked, really talked. About the fears you’d carried, how close you’d come to losing each other, what this new “us” would look like.

 Steve promised no more shrinking you to fit anyone else’s comfort. You promised to call him out when he slipped. You laughed about Robin’s inevitable “I told you so” face. You cried a little more and the both of you  kissed until your lips were swollen and your hearts felt full.

Eventually Steve put the movie on anyway and it started with your head in his lap, his fingers carding gently through your hair, but soon you were curled into his side, his arm around you, tracing patterns on your shoulder. Every time you glanced up, he was already looking at you with open adoration that made your stomach flip.

Halfway through, he paused the movie.

“I meant what I said earlier,” he said quietly. “You’re mine now and I’m yours. No take-backs. Passenger princess with full romantic privileges. Best friend, boyfriend, all of it.”

You touched his cheek. “Boyfriend, huh?”

“If you want.” His smile turned shy. “I’m all in, whatever you’ll give me.”

“I want all of it,” you whispered. “ Everything.”

Steve’s grin was blinding and he kissed you again, deeper, pulling you closer until there was no space left. 

When you broke apart, breathless, he rested his chin on your head.

“I’m never letting anyone make you feel small again, especially not me. You’re my girl now”

You fell asleep during the third act, wrapped up in him, the blanket, and the familiar scent of home, only now it felt complete.

When you woke hours later, the TV was off and Steve was still there half-asleep, arms locked around you like he feared you’d disappear.

“Still here,” he mumbled when you stirred.

You smiled in the dark, pressing a kiss to his jaw. “Good. Don’t leave.”

“Never,” he promised, tilting his head for a slow, lazy kiss and you believed him.

For the first time in weeks, the room didn’t feel too small. It felt exactly right, warm, safe, and full of possibility.

Steve Harrington was your person, and now, finally, he was your boyfriend too.

This time, he was going to prove it every single day, starting with breakfast in bed tomorrow, movie marathons every weekend, and a lifetime of choosing you first.

Taglist: @deviousfaye @watercolorskyy @l33nlikeacholo @ophirei @ahead-fullofdreams @strangewormwerewolf @princesscherryblossom15 @skkeletonns @lizardpumpkin @amy-brooklyn99 @unclejeezysblog @middle-of-the-earth @deeplightblue @charlston-chews @idontread4 @beelzebzb @jesschalamet @scarletjule

[xpeachsunsidex]

hiii a request for Harrington household!

idk if this has been requested already but:

one of the older kids (boy ot girl), one of their friends hits on reader? or maybe a dad from daycare or something!

wanna see if Steve would agree and then get angry that the friend/man is flirting with his wife

write it however you like! and how you think Steve (and kids maybe) would react!

Summary: Steve knows you’re gorgeous, but it doesn’t stop him from being all pouty when other men (and one bold teenager) who aren’t him flirt with you.

WC: 4.7k

Warnings & What to Expect: hargrove!fem!reader, jealous & possessive Steve (in a healthy way), men/ teenager flirting with reader (which reader pointedly ignores), protective husband trope, kids teasing Steve for being down bad for reader.

Harrington Household Masterlist

currently writing this series based on requests, so if you have any ideas - please feel free to send them my way 🫶🏻

Main Masterlist If Interested

Peach’s Note: hiii anon!! what a fun request!! i included that, but also added in some other flirting scenarios. also kind of added part of this request. hope you enjoy lovie 🩷

tysm to everyone showing love on my works - it means the world. requests are open! feel free to send anything Steve or Gator Tillman related and I can certainly try my best 🫡

need a man like steve to call me gorgeous ⤵️

“Damn, you’re looking fine, Mrs. Harrington,” a voice calls out from the living room as you make your way down the stairs.

Your eyes widen at the words; left hand pausing mid air while attempting to put your last earring in since your toddler is being firmly held up with your right hand - propping her up on your hip.

You’re completely caught off guard from what the teenager sitting on the couch next to your oldest son just said to you.

There’s a collective intake of breath around the lower level of the house - all eyes flashing to Steve for his reaction, who’s frozen by the front door - looking like he’s absolutely ready to strangle the kid.

Your eldest boy looks horrified at his friend’s comment while your oldest girl who’s sitting at the kitchen island working on homework looks disgusted. Your ten year old twins who are lounging on the living room floor pause the board game they’re playing - sensing the sudden tension in the room.

Your four year old boy who was trailing the stairs behind you slams into your legs- not expecting you to have stopped. It causes you to stumble as you’re still two steps above the floor.

You panic instantly, worried about face planting with your youngest babe in your hands - but Steve’s there in a heartbeat, hands slithering around your waist to steady you. The movement forces you into his chest, lone earring clattering to the floor and your boy falls to his butt behind you.

“You alright, baby?” Steve murmurs gently by the shell of your ear, and you nod slightly - pressing your lips to his in a sweet kiss of thanks.

Your boy that’s fallen on the stairs starts crying at the impact, and Steve carefully lets go of you to scoop him up into his arms.

“Why are you crying buddy? You’re the one who nearly steamrolled into Mommy,” Steve teases lightly, thumbs already brushing away his boy’s tears.

“That scared you, huh?” You ask him tenderly, rubbing at his back - knowing he’s physically fine, just startled.

He sniffles and nods, hiding his face in his daddy’s neck.

Your middle girl pushes herself off the floor, comes over and grabs the earring you dropped, “Do you want me to put this in for you?”

“That would be great, babe, thanks,” you smile at her, and she climbs the stairs to stand behind you - securing the piece of jewelry in place.

She steps back before grinning, “You look beautiful, Mommy.”

“She always does, doesn’t she?” Steve agrees, pressing a kiss to your jaw.

Your girl nods before hugging you from behind, “Do you have to go tonight?”

You pat her hands that are linked around your middle, “We shouldn’t be out too late, sweetheart.”

You and Steve were headed to Hawkins High for a banquet that the graduating class of ‘85 was hosting. You’d honestly rather stay in and spend time with your babes, but with Steve being a teacher at the middle school, it was expected that he be in attendance.

Steve looks particularly handsome in his dress pants that hug his legs perfectly, paired with a white long sleeve button up and black tie wrapped loosely around the neckline. If you were alone, you wouldn’t have let him leave the house without getting a taste of the skin that’s exposed at his neck.

You’re practically drooling over him, and the reality of the moment comes crashing back when your oldest boy’s friend stands up from the couch, hands tucked into his pockets and compliments your appearance again.

“I mean really, that dress is killer on you,” he smirks, and Steve’s mouth drops open at the audacity.

You put a hand on Steve’s shoulder, trying to ground him - reminding him not to make any rash decisions.

Steve clears his throat, “I’m sorry, what did you just say about my wife?”

You bite your lip in amusement, because he’s defending your honor against a hormonal teenager that can’t get his emotions in check.

At Steve’s voice, the kid looks a bit meek, but not lacking total confidence when he says, “Like you look great, Mrs. H, stunning even.”

Steve turns to you with a baffled expression before whispering, “Is he serious right now?”

You huff out a disbelieving laugh, “Steve, he’s a child.”

“Bullsh-,” he cuts himself off, remembering the two littles in both of your arms, “He’s seventeen. He’s old enough to know what he’s saying, baby,” he grumbles quietly.

His eyes flick over to the boy - standing there awkwardly now, since it’s obvious that you’re purposefully avoiding his praises, “Ought to teach him a lesson about how to treat women since his parents clearly haven’t done it.”

But Steve doesn’t need to do that, because your oldest boy is already on it, “Dude, are you, are you flirting with my mom?”

“No! No, definitely not,” but the way he’s spluttering the words proves otherwise.

“You totally were,” your girl calls out from the kitchen.

Your twins start giggling at the absurdity of it, and Steve watches proudly as his son reams into his friend.

“That’s my mom, man. Have some respect,” he chides angrily, folding his arms across his chest.

The boy’s mouth flounders, embarrassed now at being called out, “Uh, sorry Mrs. H, Mr. H. I’m just, yeah, I’m gonna go.”

He scrabbles for the exit, leaving the rest of you stunned at the ridiculousness of what just happened.

“Great choice in friends,” Steve quips, raising his eyebrows at your boy.

Your boy defends himself, “How was I supposed to know he was going to say that? You do look really pretty, by the way, Mom.”

You smile, “Thanks, hun.”

“Seriously though, don’t think I want you inviting him back over here,” Steve mumbles, and you laugh lightly before pressing a kiss to his cheek.

With your free hand, you reach up to brush back some of the strands of hair fighting to fall into his eyes, “No need to be all pouty about it, baby.”

“I’m not being pouty, I just don’t need a bunch of teenage boys thinking it’s okay to hit on you,” he says with a frown still on his face.

You smile fondly at him, swiping your thumb over the creases that his drawn in eyebrows are making.

“Whatever you say, babe,” you tease, before walking into the kitchen.

Steve falls quiet as his eyes wander the expanse of your legs as you move, appreciating the view of the tight dress hugging your curves.

“Dad,” your oldest scolds when he realizes what Steve’s doing.

“What?” Steve snaps out of it, recognizing that he’s been caught, “Don’t give me that look. I’m allowed to check out my wife.”

You hand your toddler off to your oldest girl, who puts up a brief fight at you letting her go. You watch your girl bounce and console her younger sister easily - effectively distracting her.

“Are you sure you and your brother got this? The babysitter said she was free tonight,” you ask again, wanting to double check.

The plan was never to purposefully have children with such large age gaps.

Steve’s plan was to always have six if you’d let him, but yours was to take it one at a time before deciding if you wanted more since you had once been unsure about children. When you had your oldest though, you immediately knew you wanted another when you took one look at him - at seeing this perfect little being that you and your husband had created together.

Then your eldest girl came next, and you were pretty sure two was enough - but life happens, and years later your twins came along with the rest of the littles; and soon six Harrington children were filling up the space in your home and the crevices in your heart.

People often joked that the age gap meant free babysitting services - which never failed to make you frustrated for your oldest two, because that was definitely not their responsibility.

You were grateful however, that you had children who loved their siblings deeply. It meant that sometimes your teenagers wanted to take care of the younger babes for you without you having to ask.

“We’ve got it, Mom,” your oldest boy confirms, who’s now holding your youngest boy after taking him from Steve.

Steve catches the emotion clouding your eyes at seeing them together and curls you into his chest - giving you a tight squeeze of affection.

“See, baby? Told you they’d be fine,” Steve hugs you closely, before steering you towards the door - trying to get you out before you change your mind about leaving them. You hug the twins goodbye, pressing a kiss to each of their heads.

“Call us if you need-,” you start, but are interrupted by your oldest girl.

“Anything, we know. Now go, before she starts throwing a hissy fit about you two leaving,” she jokes, stroking softly at her sister's hair.

You finish saying goodbye to all of your kids, and Steve starts tugging your hand to pull you into the night air.

“Really, if you need anything, call,” Steve echoes your previous words.

Once you’re settled in Steve’s truck, you watch as your babes wave to you through the front window, and you lean over the middle console to place a hand lovingly on Steve’s knee.

“God, how did we get so lucky, Steve?” You wonder out loud.

“You mean how did I get so lucky? Shit baby, have you looked in the mirror today?” He says playfully, grabbing your hand that rests on his knee to bring it to his lips.

“Steve,” you smile warmly, feeling the familiar flush of heat creep up your neck.

“Kinda just wanna rip that dress off you and skip this damn thing,” he kisses the palm of your hand, before littering kisses up the span of your arm.

“That would be a lot more fun,” you hum out, savoring the feeling of his lips on your skin.

Steve turns to face you, “Don’t threaten me with a good time, honey.”

He drops his head into the crook of your neck, gently nipping at the skin there and you whimper at the touch.

“Probably shouldn’t be on the verge of making out when our kids are still watching,” you tease, eyes cutting to the window to see the oldest two trying to shield the eyes of your youngest ones.

You cup Steve’s chin, tilting his head so he can look at the sight, which makes laughter spill from those pretty pink lips of his.

“You’re right, we should probably go park down the street first before making out,” he smiles coyly at you.

You push lightly in jest at him, “Just start the car, babe.”

Steve places one last kiss at the sweet spot below your ear before backing out the driveway, “Yes, ma’am.”

The banquet was in full swing, and you and Steve were currently taking a break from the buzz of constant socializing when you make eye contact with Tommy Hagan from across the gym.

“Oh, god,” you mumble under your breath.

Neither of you had seen him since senior year, as Steve had cut off contact with the guy completely, but heard that he left Hawkins and dropped Carol Perkins along the way.

Tommy immediately grins wickedly, before stalking closer to you and Steve.

“What’s wrong, honey?” Steve inquires, arm tightening around your waist.

Your hand that’s hooked around his bicep grips a little tighter, “Incoming.”

Steve follows your gaze and groans in annoyance - doesn’t want to have to deal with the onslaught of surface level questions Tommy will have.

“Harrington! Good to see you, man. What’s it been, like twenty years since graduation? And Hargrove, looking good as always,” Tommy sends a wink your way.

You smile tightly, pressing yourself closer to your husband - uncomfortable with the way Tommy’s eyes drag up and down your figure.

“Hey, Tommy. Yeah, it’s been a while,” Steve forces a small smile, hand that’s on your hip holding you a bit more protectively.

“Didn’t realize the two of you were together,” Tommy notices the way Steve’s arm tucks you towards him.

You hum in acknowledgment, before flashing your left hand at him, allowing him to see the rock next to the wedding band that rests on your ring finger.

“Oh shit, so you’re like together, together,” Tommy’s eyes widened.

The phrase makes you want to laugh, because not only have you been married for seventeen years, but you’ve got six children at home to show for the life you’ve built together.

“Mhmm,” you nod politely, and Steve can’t help but place a possessive kiss to your temple at seeing the way Tommy’s eyes linger on you.

They catch up briefly - jobs, sports, reminiscing about high school. The topic of kids doesn’t come up, which isn’t surprising because Tommy has been droning on and on about his bachelor lifestyle in Indianapolis.

There’s a sudden commotion as a few of Steve’s previous students run up to him; in high school now themselves and are at the event to get volunteer hours with their clubs.

“Uh, sorry to interrupt Coach Steve, but Ms. Kelley asked us to move some tables and we could use help,” one of the boys asks.

It’s clear Steve’s fighting an internal battle, doesn’t want to say no to the kids but also doesn’t want to leave you alone.

“You good, honey?” Steve checks with you.

Tommy answers for you, “She’ll be fine, man. I’ll keep her company.”

Which is exactly what Steve doesn’t want. He ignores the comment, staring intently at you.

“Go help, babe. I’ll be okay,” you assure him, lifting your hand to cup his jaw - thumb brushing delicately against his cheek.

His eyes close briefly at the touch, still hesitating - not sure what to do.

“Come on, don’t leave them hanging, Stevie,” Tommy throws the nickname in as a jab - knew that Steve hated it in high school; which he still does, unless you’re the one saying it.

Steve’s decidedly ticked off with Tommy and makes a point to shut him up by kissing you. He leans forward to slot his lips with yours, pulling you to him by clasping his hands behind your lower back.

You instantly wrap your arms around his neck, enjoying the feel of him pressing his mouth eagerly to yours which makes your head fizzy - bubbles of want pooling in your stomach.

“I’ll be right back, baby,” he breathes out, nose nudging yours, kisses you one last time before going to help the high schoolers.

Tommy stands there a little awkwardly, and you hoped maybe he’d scram after that public display of affection, but he seems to be like a roach you can’t squash.

You watch Steve hopelessly from across the room, desperate for him to come back to you quickly - tired of making small talk with Tommy.

“You and Harrington are pretty serious then?” Tommy wonders.

“Yep,” you reply, tone clipped.

“But I mean, you know he was never the settle down type of guy, right?” Tommy goads, referring to the “King Steve” era.

You huff a breath of irritation - hating that people still put Steve in a box when they know nothing about him anymore, “He was never like that, Tommy. He just needed the right person to love him.”

Tommy barks a laugh, “And that’s you?”

You narrow your eyes into slits at him, blood starting to boil at his flippancy, “Why don’t you ask my six children?”

He chokes on his drink, inhaling it wrong at the shock of that information, “And you’re sure they’re all his?”

“Oh my god, you’re still a pig you know that?” You lash out, turning to storm away, but he follows you.

“Come on, didn’t mean it like that, princess,” he calls out, and you freeze at the name he once taunted you with.

You whip around and seethe, “Do not, ever, call me that again.”

Tommy raises his hands up, “Woah, just trying to make conversation. No need to be so defensive.”

You glare at him, arms crossed, breathing angrily.

“I’m sorry, really. I guess I’m just a little envious," he shrugs.

“Envious?” You ask in disbelief.

“I mean, yeah. Being honest with you, I totally had a thing for you in high school. I just never acted on it because of you know, Billy,” he trails off before continuing, “And seeing you here with my old best friend of all people, guess it just shocked the hell out of me.”

He actually kind of looks bummed out, which makes you feel just a tiny bit guilty - but then he instantly ruins it when he takes advantage of your quietness.

Tommy steps forward, “Don’t you ever think about it?”

“Think about what?” You inquire, confusion lacing your tone.

“Me and you?” He asks smugly, obviously out of touch with reality.

“No, I don’t. I’m happily married,” you refute.

“Sure, but like don’t you ever get bored?” He tries to get you to crack.

You grit your teeth, “Steve loves me, and I love him. What are you not getting about that?”

Tommy steps into your personal bubble, hand sliding down your arm, grabbing onto your wrist, “You know, if I had the balls to ask you out back then, things would’ve been different.”

Your jaw drops at his gall, “They would not be, now let go of me.”

“Admit it, Hargrove. I could’ve made you just as happy,” he replies cockily, and you just about slap him in the face for that when you thankfully feel Steve’s arm snake around your shoulder.

“It’s Harrington, now get your hands off my wife,” Steve roughly bites out, thoroughly done with Tommy’s gross behavior after watching him stalk you from across the gym.

Tommy drops your arm swiftly, “Just making sure she was okay, man.”

“No, you were trying to make a move on a married woman, real classy,” Steve snorts in aggravation.

Steve doesn’t give Tommy the opportunity to reply, simply guides you away - heading straight for the exit sign.

“Wait, Steve, don’t you have to be here?” You ask, trying to get him to stop.

“Don’t care. Not letting you stay anywhere near that pathetic creep any longer,” Steve breathes out sharply through his nose.

He shoves the doors open, hightailing it out of the school, and you’re struggling to keep up in your high heels.

“Babe, slow down, please,” you plead, clutching onto his arm.

Steve notices you’re straggling behind, and he makes the split decision to haul you up in his arms.

He crouches slightly, swiftly brings his left arm up and under your thighs, while his right arm secures itself around your back.

Your arms scramble for purchase around his neck at the sudden movement, “What’s going on in that head of yours, handsome?”

“Shouldn’t have left you alone,” he fumes.

You understand then that he’s blaming himself, “Steve, it’s not your fault.”

“He put his hands on you,” Steve grates out, holding you closer to him.

Your legs sway in the air as he furiously makes his way through the parking lot to get to the car. You hate seeing him upset, but can’t lie that it doesn’t turn you on with how territorial of you he’s being.

One of your hands moves to card through the back of his hair, “You don’t need to be jealous, baby.”

“Oh, I’m jealous all right. But I’m more pissed off that he thought it was okay to touch you, and livid with myself for leaving you with him,” his breathing is erratic from how upset he is.

“Then make it up to me, we don’t have to be home for another hour,” you remind him, tucking your head into the junction of his collarbone.

That’s how you found yourself curled up next to him in a booth at Mel’s Diner, the place you used to frequent when you were still just dating.

You were sharing your favorite - breakfast food for dinner, chatting about Steve’s summer baseball league he was coaching. Your legs are pulled up sideways on the leather seat, and Steve has a hand hooked under the back of your knees.

You were letting him vent to you - loved that you had the privilege of being his safe space to do so, when you’re interrupted by one of the fathers of the children that your son goes to Pre-K with.

He’s a single dad, and you can’t deny that he would boldly flirt with you when your paths crossed - which you were always honest with Steve about.

“Hey! It’s so good to see you outside of day care pickup,” he says enthusiastically, seemingly to purposefully ignore Steve.

Steve swallows harshly, picking up on the fact that this must be the guy who’s trying to weasel his way in between your marriage.

“Um, yeah. Good to see you too. This is my husband, Steve,” you introduce him, and the guy visibly deflates at that, even though he already knew you were married.

“Right, you’re the husband,” he trails off, avoiding eye contact.

Steve rolls his eyes, “Of seventeen years.”

You softly hit him with your elbow, because you don’t want things to be weird when you see the man at your son's school.

“Anyways, you look beautiful, by the way,” the guy tries, even though Steve’s right there.

“Oh, thanks,” you reply cordially, trying not to be rude but also are a little irked that he’s blatantly making a move in front of your man.

Steve clears his throat and makes it obvious he wants him to leave, “We’re kinda in the middle of something.”

“Sorry, my bad. Nice to meet you, man. See you later, beautiful,” he bids you goodbye arrogantly.

Steve’s got a sulky look on his face as he watches the guy leave.

Your lips pull in an amused smile, “What’s wrong, Stevie?”

He groans at the teasing, turns back to you and drops his head into the crook of your neck.

“Baby, you realize that was the third time,” he whines.

You giggle lightly at the feel of his lips on your skin, “Third time for what?”

“The third time you’ve been hit on in one day by someone that wasn’t me,” he grumbles.

“And none of them mattered, because they weren’t you,” you remind him, gently playing with the wedding band on his hand.

Steve sighs in frustration, “Did you see the nerve of that guy though? It’s like I wasn’t even sitting here.”

“Steve,” you say calmly, “I don’t even remember his name, honey.”

He pulls his head up, “Really?”

Your hand comes up to fiddle with his tie, and you yank him closer to you, “Only got eyes for you, baby.”

Steve’s eyes drop from your eyes to your lips, tongue flicking out to wet them, desperate to get you out of the public view to be able to ravish you.

You have the same idea - glancing down at the watch on your wrist before asking, “We still have twenty minutes. Wanna go makeout in your truck?”

“God, yes,” Steve breathes out excitedly, throwing down a wad of cash and nearly trips over his own feet as he books it out the diner with you on his heels.

When you get back home, you find your children spread out on the living room floor, back to playing the board game.

Your toddler is sleeping though - curled up in the lap of her ten year old brother, while his twin has her head resting against your oldest girl's stretched out legs. Your oldest is staring intently at the game - determining his next move, and your four year old is the only one with enough energy to get up and throw himself at you.

You swing him up easily, kissing his cheek, “Hey, buddy. Missed you.”

He mutters out a reply, and as you and Steve move into the room, your children clock Steve’s attitude right away.

“Dad, why do you look grumpy?” your ten year old boy asks him quietly, not wanting to wake up his sister.

Steve looks offended at the comment, “I do not look grumpy.”

“You do,” your oldest chimes in, before scratching his head - still deciding what to do about the game.

“Well apparently, Mom’s got more than just teenage admirers,” Steve says, looking over at his oldest son.

“I swear I didn’t know he had a crush on Mom,” your boy groans.

“Dad, I feel like you should’ve already known that. Mom’s gorgeous,” your eldest girl says it like a well known fact, fingers working on braiding her sisters hair.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” you smile, a little shy at all the compliments you’ve been receiving from your children today.

“I know Mom’s gorgeous, believe me,” Steve smiles, then mumbles something about that being the reason there’s six of them.

“Ugh, Dad, that’s revolting,” your eldest girl complains.

“Why’s Daddy revolting?” Your middle girl asks curiously, blinking sleepily from her spot.

Your oldest boy laughs, “He’s not revolting, he’s just in love with Mom.”

Your children continue to poke fun at their father when you join them on the floor, and you can tell Steve’s mood lifts at the lighthearted atmosphere.

You’re resting against Steve’s bare chest later that night in bed, fingers trailing through the coarse hair there when he finally asks you what’s been bugging him all evening.

“You sure you don’t get bored?” Steve asks you with a trace of worry behind his eyes.

Your lips part in shock, “You heard that?”

“Tommy’s voice carries, unfortunately,” Steve gripes.

You’re about to respond, when your door slowly creaks open, and it’s your youngest babe - clattering in with your high heels on her tiny feet that you’d kicked off in the hallway earlier.

You giggle affectionately at watching her stumble in - hands planting on the floor to catch herself from falling.

“What are you doing out of bed, sweet girl?” You ask her.

You had to get her a floor bed since she was actively climbing out of her crib once she learned how to, which meant she frequently found her way to your room in the evening.

“Mommy, shoes,” she pushes herself back up, smiling cheekily at you.

“Wow baby, you look beautiful in Mommy’s shoes,” you coo at her, sliding off the bed to pick her up - the high heels stay hooked on her toes, dangling from the edges.

She points to them, “Daddy, shoes.”

Steve gets up to join the two of you, “Gorgeous baby, just like your Mama.”

She starts babbling, trying so hard to form full sentences and your heart squeezes at the sight of Steve nodding along, gazing adoringly at her.

You slip your free arm around his naked back, traveling your arm up and down the warm skin in assurance, “Could never be bored with the life we have, Steve.”

Steve leans his forehead against yours, “Thank god, gorgeous.”

There’s a gentle knock that interrupts you, turning to see your oldest, who looks a little guilty.

“Hey, Dad?” He says.

“Yeah, bud?” Steve replies.

Your boy shifts his feet, “I just wanted to apologize for before. I don’t wanna be friends with anyone who’s going to be disrespectful towards you and Mom’s relationship, so he won’t be coming over again.”

You smile sweetly at your boy, knowing he’s got a heart that’s just like his dad’s.

Pride washes over Steve’s face, “That means a lot to me. Thanks, bud.”

“Even though it’s a little crazy that you were jealous over a literal teenager,” he ribs his dad, and it makes you cover your mouth in amusement at the witty remark.

Steve scoffs in jest, “Great, I’m being targeted in my own home.”

“Only because we love you,” you hug him with your toddler squished in the middle, and Steve rests his head against your own.

Your oldest bids the two of you goodnight, and you let yourself melt into Steve’s arms - thankful for a love that still warrants petty jealousy and soft declarations of assurances that you’ll forever be each other’s.

Taglist: I’ve gotten some requests to get a tag list going for this series, so if you’re interested lmk in the comments section or message me!

Divider credits to @pixopix

[hexyissy]

the girl next door (is not a grandma)

moodboard

pairing: joe keery x reader

summary: joe thinks his new neighbor is a grandma

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐬

part 1

part 2

part 3

part 4

part 5

more...

𝑑𝑟𝑎𝑏𝑏𝑙𝑒𝑠

joe gets jealous when your customer tries to flirt with you

more...

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