Heaven Can Wait
Pairing: Soft!Dark! Biker!Steve Rogers x Fem!Reader
Word Count: 10.5k (sorry!!!)
Summary: Forced to work for the leader of the local motorcycle club, you quickly learned no good deed goes unpunished. Biker AU
Warnings: 18+ ONLY, Minors DNI. Noncon (rape), noncon touching, dubcon touching, smut (praise kink, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, innocence kink), violence (drunk bar fights), angst (trauma, hurt/comfort, loss of virginity, rape recovery), angst with a happy ending, references to alcohol and drunk behavior, implied age gap (reader is in her 20s), Steve being a complete asshole at first.
Note: This is my final submission for @stargazingfangirl18 's 5k Soft Dark Challenge. I posted this idea and she seemed to like it, so now it is a reality! Siri, I hope you like this! Congrats again for the 5k ruin panties! Here's to 5k more!
I used the following prompts: You catch the eye of someone dangerous, “This far out, no one will hear you scream,” praise kink, bad boy kink.
Thank you to @river-soul who gave me the title for this fic!
My Masterlist
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Murky grey water stained your fingernails and pooled in the pruney divots of your cramped hands. It had taken a few hours to scrub the layers of grime off the floor, but you were nearly done. Of course, nothing in your life was ever easy. You couldn’t even celebrate something as small as a finished chore when Steve walked down the hall, his mud caked boots ruining hours of work.
“The boys will come by later,” Steve grumbled without even looking at you and slammed the front door behind him.
You have a soft heart, and that’s not always a good thing, your mother once told you when you were a child. A litter of kittens was born near your house, but it appeared they’d been abandoned far too young. With no idea how to care for them, they died, and you spent the afternoon crying in your mother’s arms as she consoled you as best she could.
Her words echoed in your head, and they were never more true.
You held back tears as you tossed the scrubber into the bucket of dirty water and sat down, giving your tired knees a break.
Luck was rarely on your side, much less so when you happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time several weeks before.
Housekeeping at a small motel wasn’t the most glamorous job, but it paid well enough to support you while you took online classes at one of the community colleges in the city. The motel was also a ten minute walk from the rundown apartment you shared with a roommate. It wasn’t the best side of town, but you didn’t have a car and the walk wasn’t long. Still, nights were always more tense, and when you heard an anguished groan coming from a drug store parking lot, you regretted not accepting a ride home from the janitor.
Two men were fighting, but it was difficult to see. The only sources of light came from the flickering orange glow of the street lamp and the sickly green light from the store. Still, you could see enough. One of the men was about your age, and despite his smaller stature, you saw him pummel the other man into a bloody mess.
You gasped, and the assailant looked at you with wide eyes. For a man who nearly killed someone else with his bare fists, there was something guileless about him. It threw you off. So much so, you weren’t prepared for the tidal wave of misfortunes headed directly towards you.
The first misfortune was seeing that harmless looking boyish face. Next, when the police arrived, they asked for a statement, which you gave.
It was just dark enough in the parking lot that you didn’t notice the patches that adorned the man’s jacket, or else you would have kept your mouth shut.
When the victim regained consciousness, he pressed charges, and you were asked to testify. You did.
It was the right thing to do.
You didn’t realize you hadn’t just poked the hornet’s nest; you set it on fire.
Peter Parker was the youngest member of the Avengers, a branch of the notorious biker club that ran along these parts.
It was always ambiguous what they did, but it wasn’t on the right side of the law, and people knew to stay out of their business. Regardless, they had money, and their lawyer, Andy Barber, was one of the best. Peter was let go on a technicality and the case never went to trial.
Shortly after the whole ordeal was dismissed, the chaos started.
It was tolerable at first. A random call in the middle of the night, a note left for you at work with a scribbled message telling you to watch out. Other than restless nights, you went by unharmed-- no one had approached you, and no one had hurt those around you.
Things only escalated from there.
The motel you worked at was robbed with a crude ‘A’ carved into the front desk, the Avengers’ calling card. It wasn’t a secret why they were targeting you, so your manager fired you if only to protect himself and his staff.
The police either didn’t know what to do or were paid for their indifference; any attempts at contacting them were met with harrowing silence.
Days were drawn out as you applied for jobs with no success and were running on nearly no energy from stress and lack of sleep.
The vague threats stopped for a week, and you hoped they got bored of terrorizing you.
No such compassion was sent your way.
You came home from a promising job interview, but you didn’t even need to enter the apartment to know whatever game they were playing wasn’t going to stop.
The front door was kicked in, the frame splintered where the latch tore through. Glass from the shattered windows and wood chips littered the floor.
Dread almost made you leave, not wanting to see the inside of the apartment. But you had no choice, and upon walking through the door, you gasped. Bookshelves were upturned, furniture destroyed, personal possessions broken and scattered about.
Your room was in a similar state-- broken picture frames, ripped up clothes and bedding. Luckily, your roommate’s bedroom was unscathed. You were relieved initially, but blanched when the implication sank in.
They knew which room was yours.
“You just had to fucking say something,” your roommate hissed when she came home to red and blue lights bouncing off the apartment complex. She cried when she saw the state of the living room.
“Danielle, I-” you started.
“Save it. Just get the fuck out.”
Not wanting to cause her any more grief, you nodded and left. Staying with anyone you knew would mean risking their safety, and you couldn’t do that. You didn’t have much in your savings, but you sold what little possessions you had left and stayed in a motel on the other side of town.
You prayed they’d lose interest.
A rock was thrown through the motel window, shattering the glass and your hopes for any peace. You woke up with a jolt, ice running through your veins, heart racing.
The rock had a note tied to it.
Scribbled across the folded paper was an address. Your sister’s. She lived in the city-- close enough to harm if they so wished.
Panicked, you ran out of the motel room and winced when you felt a shard of glass embed itself into your foot.
Standing outside was a man, and you realized just how hollow any hope of escape truly was. You never stood a chance.
The blinding light of the motorcycle headlight obscured his features, but you knew who he was.
Steve Rogers, leader of the Avengers.
“What do you want from me,” you asked, voice raspy from the weeks of accumulated anxiety.
“I have a deal for you. You work for me, and we’ll leave that sweet sister of yours alone.”
“And if I don’t accept?”
“She wouldn’t be the first person I killed.”
His eyes were cold, empty.
At least he gave you the illusion of choice. .
You were terrified of him at first, but he largely ignored you as long as you stayed out of his way. It was easy to fall into a predictable, if not lonely routine.
Steve made you his housekeeper and “let” you stay in the small guest room as payment for your work, leaving you entirely financially dependent on him.
His house was old but rather far from the other houses from his street. Prior to you working there, it was a complete mess-- empty liquor bottles and various food wrappers strewn about, scuff marks and dirt caked floors, layers of dust on unused surfaces.
It was a stark contrast to his bedroom, which was remarkably organized-- bed always made, the few mementos he had were always perfectly in place. Even his clothes were neatly folded or hung. You didn’t understand the discrepancy until he and the rest of the Avengers stumbled in, piss drunk after their usual bar closed for the night. They tossed beer cans on the floor, yelled at each other, and moved about with little regard for both the house and for themselves until they passed out and left the next morning or afternoon.
It took you a week alone to get the rest of the house in order, if only because every other day, the core group of his gang would come in to undo a lot of your progress.
And if things got too easy for you, Steve made work for you.
With a heavy sigh, you moved the bucket to the trail of muddy footprints and got started cleaning again.
***
The air from the dryer enveloped you in comforting warmth as you unloaded the last load of laundry for the evening, looking forward to calling it early for the night. Maybe you’d study for your upcoming literature exam.
Of course, Steve never made things easy for you, and as you were folding the last few shirts, the front door opened with enough force to shake the house.
You inwardly groaned.
It wasn’t too late into the evening, and you only heard one set of footprints, so maybe Steve was alone. You also hadn’t heard his motorcycle or any others, so Sam must’ve dropped him off with his truck. He’d do that occasionally.
You quickly folded the last bit of laundry when he stumbled past you, holding a half empty bottle of whiskey.
You didn’t know if he could make it up the stairs and rushed out to help him, draping one of his heavy arms across your shoulders.
“What are you doing?” He grumbled and shot you a mildly irritated look when he noticed you.
“Helping you up,” you strained when he put more of his weight on you, as if to prove a point. You could barely hear his dark chuckle but you certainly felt the deep vibrations from his chest. He simply moved his arm off your shoulder and continued walking up with relative ease.
“S’not the first time I’ve been drunk, girl.”
Sighing a little, you grabbed the basket of folded laundry, and followed him up. You wanted to put away his clothes and be done with the day.
The bed creaked when Steve sat down to untie his boots. He peered at you curiously when you set the basket on the opposite end. Once his boots were off, you grabbed them and headed towards his closet.
“Left side-”
“Bottom row,” you murmured.
“Observant little thing, aren’t you,” he said after another swig of whiskey.
“You’re just very consistent and organized. At least, in your room,” you froze after saying the last part, unsure whether or not he’d take umbrage with your words.
The laugh that followed was even more unnerving.
“Fair enough,” he said and placed the bottle on the nightstand with a thud. “Got tired of cleaning up after the others.”
“I feel like there were easier ways to hire a maid,” you sighed and retrieved the basket, gauging his response. He only smirked at you, oddly playful, and you wondered if he was always so easy going when he was drunk.
Without another word, Steve began to shed the worn leather jacket followed by the tight white shirt he wore underneath, and you immediately focused your gaze on the floor, missing the amused gleam in his eyes at your apparent bashfulness. You hoped he couldn’t feel the heat that bloomed across your skin at the sliver of his stomach you managed to see before looking away. While you could assume Steve was built based on stature alone, you weren’t prepared to see the cords and bundles of muscles that framed his body.
Slowly, you put his clothes away, trying to ignore him as best you could. He would probably pass out soon and with any luck, he’d forget about the whole interaction.
“Easier, sure, but this is so much more fun,” you heard him whisper in your ear, his hot breath tickling your ear, and you shrieked in surprise.
The house was old and creaky. How a large man like himself managed to walk across the aging wooden floorboards, drunk out of his mind without making a single sound was impressive, though you were too shocked to really dwell on it.
Instinctually, you moved away from the direction of his voice but a strong arm wrapped around your waist and turned you so you could face him. The movement threw you off so you placed your hands on his chest to steady yourself, immediately removing them when you felt taught muscle and coarse hair beneath your palms.
His blue eyes peered at you inquisitive, searching. You felt like you were burning under his gaze.
“You’re a pretty thing, aren’t you,” he nearly whispered as the hand splayed on your lower back wandered to your side where he ran it up your body slowly, just narrowly missing your breast. You could smell the whiskey on his breath which mingled with the scent of leather and wood that always seemed to follow him.
“Steve…” you nearly whimpered.
“You know, when the kid told me some idiot was ballsy enough to press charges and some bigger idiot was even more ballsy to corroborate the story, I was expecting some dumbass suburban soccer mom who didn’t know any better. Woulda been easy enough to scare off,” Steve hummed the last part and his hand rested on your neck, teasing your pulse point with a rough thumb.
“I was surprised to see you at first. Oh so sweet, oh so naive,” he cupped your face where stroked the ball of your cheek with alarming gentleness. “Made sense though. You probably didn’t even know what you were getting into.”
“I didn’t,” you said so softly, as though you were afraid any loud noises would set him off.
He held your gaze a little longer, before laughing a little, the smirk on his lips never quite reaching his eyes. He let you go and returned to his bed where he grabbed his jacket.
“Leave the rest of the laundry here. I can put it away.”
You nodded and quickly left his room.
Things changed slightly from there. While Steve wasn’t necessarily nicer to you, something difficult to gauge to begin with given how little he interacted with you prior, he did stop making messes just for you to clean up. It was a small olive branch, but one that made living with him less hostile. With that, you weren’t as skittish being seen, and you had more time to get to know both him and his friends.
They’d congregate at Steve’s place at all hours of the day or night, watching a football game, shouting over each other, and other drunken nonsense. You mostly stayed away, but one night, Steve asked you to bring him a beer when you walked by to do the laundry, and from there, they often asked you to do the same.
They weren’t awful otherwise. None of them tried to touch you, and some were even polite.
Bucky was Steve’s best friend and practically his brother. He was relatively mild mannered though snippy at times, especially towards Sam, another close friend. Sam was charming and treated you like a person. On a Sunday afternoon, you were removing bottle caps from several beers when he saw you and offered to help.
“Steve’s not that bad, he… he’s been through a lot,” he told you as he gathered a few bottles.
“He threatened to kill my sister,” you murmured.
Sam sighed, “yeah he doesn’t always mean what he says.”
Occasionally, you’d see Thor, a surprisingly boisterous man with a thundering laugh who always thanked you when you’d hand him a cold beer.
Then there was Peter.
You avoided Peter at all costs at first, unsure if he held a grudge. But in time, it seemed like he was by far the most docile out of the group.
“Sorry about… this whole thing. I wanted to drop it but Steve wasn’t having it,” he sheepishly told you when he cornered you one evening.
“Oh, uh, it's okay,” you sputtered out, not trusting him initially.
Over the weeks, he proved himself to be genuine in his original statement, being the only one who went out of his way to keep you company.
“Who are the new guys?” You asked Peter one night. As usual, the main gang stumbled in drunk-- Bucky, Sam, Thor, and Peter. But with them were two faces you hadn’t seen before.
“Rumlow and Rollins,” Peter scoffed. “I’d stay away from those two.”
“They’re not your friends?”
“Nah, they’re from a different club. We’re mostly friendly with one another and our territory overlaps a little so it’s best to keep the peace.”
“What makes them so bad?”
“I just don’t trust ‘em is all,” Peter mumbled.
You weren’t about to argue with him and stayed even more out of the way when they were over, though it was inevitable they’d find you.
“Oh what have we here?” You heard a voice call behind you as you transferred a load of laundry from the washer to the dryer. You jumped a little at the sudden sound and looked over your shoulder where Rumlow leaned against the doorframe. “You must be the help Steve mentioned a while back,” he mused.
He took a step forward and you took one back, trying to keep as much distance between you as was possible. Unfortunately, the laundry room was little more than a storage closet and your back hit the wall, coaxing a small whimper out of you. You didn’t fail to notice how the sound seemed to light up his eyes in viscous curiosity.
“I gotta say, I wasn't expecting you to be so… cute.” He did little to hide the contempt in his voice.
He made no effort to hide how he purposefully dragged his eyes over your body. You wore practical clothes-- leggings and loose shirts or sweaters. It didn’t seem to stop him from appreciating what he could see anyway.
“Gotta hand it to you, it was kinda brave to stand up against one of Steve’s,” Rumlow continued to get closer.
“She didn’t know who we were.” You heard Peter and sighed with relief. Rumlow turned around. “Come on, leave her alone, she’s just trying to work.”
“You sweet on her?” Rumlow smirked.
“I just don’t get off scaring girls,” Peter stood his ground but you could see the worried glint in his expression.
Peter was strong. Far stronger than he looked, but Rumlow was seasoned and nearly twice as big.
“Come on, we’re just having fun, right girlie?” Rumlow looked back at you, daring you to object.
“Yeah, it’s okay Peter,” you pleaded quietly, not wanting things to get out of hand.
Rumlow nodded and left the small room, bumping into Peter’s shoulder as he walked past him.
“I hate that man,” Peter mumbled once he was clear. He got closer to make sure you were okay. “He hurt you at all?”
“No, I’m fine,” you assured with a small smile. “Thank you.”
It was a tender moment, something you hadn’t experienced in awhile.
“What’s going on here?”
You heard Steve and your eyes snapped to where he was standing in the hallway.
“Rumlow was being a dick,” Peter said and walked out of the laundry room. “She’s fine though.”
You watched Peter disappear, leaving you with Steve. The look he gave you was difficult to read. His brows were furrowed slightly. While he didn’t look angry, he still looked bothered.
“Is there something wrong?” You asked.
He shook his head, face relaxing into something neutral.
“No, it’s fine,” he sighed and left you alone with your racing thoughts.
***
Steve was in the garage, working on his bike, which gave you time to clean his room. It was almost always immaculately clean, but you still liked to give it a dust over. Gingerly, you brushed the duster over the various surfaces in his room. It was easy since he had so few mementos on display. The only notable thing was a picture frame that was always face down.
You shouldn’t have looked, but curiosity got the best of you and you lifted it up. A photo of a beautiful woman stared back at you. Her eyes were serious but kind, and she carried herself with a measure of confidence, as though she could command a room the moment she walked in.
“Didn’t anyone tell you it’s not polite to snoop around?”
You jumped a little. You figured you’d be able to hear Steve in time to put the photo back, but you could never underestimate how quiet he could be when he tried.
“I’m so sorry,” you quickly put the frame down, making sure to handle it with care. “I was just curious, but that’s no excuse and-”
“Relax, sweetheart,” you heard Steve as he neared you.
You couldn’t relax, not when you still didn’t trust him, and you quickly gathered the duster to leave when he stopped you with a heavy hand on your shoulder.
“Do you drink at all?” He asked.
You looked at him, confused.
“I… not really,” you said.
“Have a glass with me.” He walked out of the room and nodded towards the door for you to follow him.
Frozen in fear, you weren’t sure if this was some ploy. He glanced at you when he saw you hadn’t moved and chuckled slightly.
“I swear, I’m not gonna hurt you.”
You followed him to the living room where he poured some amber liquid into a glass and handed it to you before pouring himself significantly more.
“Sit.”
You did.
“So obedient,” he smirked, almost in something akin to appreciation.
“Is there something wrong?” You asked, trying and failing to sound confident. You only grew more panicked when he sat next to you, the outside of his thighs pressing against yours.
“You really are a skittish little thing,” he mused as he brought the glass to his lips. “Drink.”
You remained quiet, not sure how to react, so you took a sip from your cup. You winced as the liquor burned your throat. Wanting to get away sooner, you downed the entire thing with a wince.
“The boys think I’m going too hard on you,” Steve mumbled after swallowing a good swig of whiskey. “Peter especially, but the kid’s got a soft heart.”
“He doesn’t seem like he’d be in this world,” you said, starting to feel lightheaded.
“And what world does he fit into?”
“Something nicer.”
Steve didn’t respond and you were afraid you upset him. Before you could look over, you felt calloused knuckles brush your cheek and you jumped a little.
“So sweet,” Steve murmured.
Heat bloomed under the skin on your face at the comment.
“Would you have really killed my sister if I didn’t come with you?” You sputtered out, wanting the silence to end. Perhaps that was the wrong question to ask, but it had been weighing on your mind since your small conversation with Sam. The liquor wasn’t helping you make better choices, either.
Steve smirked a little, lazy, amused.
“No.”
“So were you lying about killing anyone?”
Steve sighed and poured himself more whiskey before grabbing your glass and giving you a little as well.
“No, I’ve done that,” his voice was low, quiet. “Did a couple tours overseas,” he said. “Former military. Army.”
Steve’s not that bad, he’s been through a lot, Sam’s words echoed through your head.
“I’m sorry,” you said quietly.
“It’s where Bucky and I met Sam, so it wasn’t completely bad.”
“You knew Bucky before?”
“I've known him since we were kids.”
You nodded but didn’t say anything else. You wanted to ask about the woman in the picture, but given you’d never seen her around, you had to assume something bad happened.
“Peggy,” he said as if reading your mind.
“What?”
“The photo. Her name is Peggy. She was my fiance.”
You could hear the longing in his voice and the pain woven through it.
“What happened?” You asked. “You don’t have to say, not if you don’t want to,” you quickly added on.
He glanced at you, his eyes soft. You weren’t used to seeing him so vulnerable. It made the rough outlines of his face disappear, and he looked wildly different, younger almost.
“Got shipped overseas. Saw things no one should have to see, did things no one should have to do. I came back and I wasn’t the same,” he sighed. “I got angry a lot, didn’t want to get help for it, drank myself away.”
As if to prove a point, Steve finished his glass and grabbed yours, which had remained untouched since he poured you another drink. He drank that too. He placed both glasses on the coffee table.
“If you think I drink a lot now, I cut back considerably. Didn’t do that until after she left though. She couldn’t take it anymore. Couldn’t watch me destroy myself.”
“Is there any way you could rekindle things?” You asked.
“No. She’s moved on. Has a nice little family now. I’d be an ass if I came in and ruined all that. ‘Sides, I’m not much better than I was before.”
“I’m sorry,” you offered after a small pause.
“It’s not your fault,” he mused. “But thanks for sharing a drink with me.”
He left the glasses on the coffee table and walked upstairs to his bedroom.
***
After that night, Steve seemed to teeter on the edge of being kind and cold.
There were soft moments, where he’d help you fold laundry or dry dishes as you washed them, asking you questions about yourself-- what was your childhood like, do you have any dreams about where you’d like to go in life, what sort of music you liked.
“You wanted to be a dentist?” He nearly laughed, leaning against the counter as you wiped it down. “What kind of kid wants to be a dentist?”
“I dunno, I always liked teeth, I guess,” you shrugged.
He shot you a perplexed look before shaking his head in amused disbelief.
“What changed your mind?”
“I hate spit,” you smiled.
“Yeah, I guess that would be a complication there.”
Comfortable silence filled the space, something you appreciated about him. If he had nothing to say, he didn’t try to make noise for the sake of it.
“What about you?” You inquired. “What did you want to be when you were a kid.”
“A soldier,” he said with no hesitation, but there was a hint of something melancholic in his voice.
“Oh.” You knew how that story ended. “Did you want to do anything after?”
He thought for a moment.
“I don’t know,” he said but you weren’t convinced. You didn’t pressure him, though, and just enjoyed the silent understanding between you two.
In time, you realized he longed for a life where he could just settle down, but his self-destructive tendencies would never allow it.
You used to avoid him when he came home from doing God knows what, but after seeing him wash a rather deep cut in the kitchen sink, you helped patch him up. Afterwards, he’d ask for your help if he saw you, but never bothered you if you weren’t around.
So you began to greet him when he came home.
There was something oddly domestic about the whole arrangement.
He touched you more, too. At first, it was a hand on your shoulder as he passed by, cupping your face as you tended to his wounds. But when he was drunk, he’d occasionally press you against the wall, his hands on your hips, his lips ghosting over yours, tempted but never indulging himself.
Rounded eyes would trace his features, and you could hear the low growl rumbling from his chest as he did the same. If he wanted to do more, you would have let him. He never did.
But then there was the coldness.
You never knew what sparked his moods and compelled him to be so distant, but there were days where he wanted nothing to do with you. He’d ignore you when you’d ask about his day, dismiss you if you tried to help him.
In time, you learned how to navigate him, though the constant changes kept you on edge. Still, he planted a seed of longing within you in the way he’d look at you, like you were something precious to him. It made you feel wanted.
Part of you knew it was foolish to believe Steve would ever want you beyond curious lust. You were never more convinced than when you heard the loud bang of his motorcycle falling onto the dirt driveway.
The noise brought you to the living room, where you saw him as he stumbled onto the couch. Even drunk and swaying, he still managed to look intimidating.
He'd come home tipsy many times, but never as drunk as he was, and he’d never driven himself home-- Sam or Bucky usually gave him a ride those nights.
But you knew what today was. It was the anniversary of the day he and Peggy got engaged.
He hardly acknowledged you as you began to assess any damage, prodding at his body to feel for tender spots. How he’d managed to ride a motorcycle home without hurting himself or others was beyond you.
“Steve, you can’t drive while drunk,” you sighed when you found he was unscathed.
“Why do you care?” He murmured, whiskey heavy eyes lazily looking at you.
“Because I do, and this isn’t good for you. Or anyone.”
“You know all about good, don’t you?”
Ignoring his comment, you went to unlace his boots, if only to make him more comfortable.
“So good,” he nealy slurred. “Too good for me.”
All too suddenly, Steve grabbed you and pulled you into his lap where your knees were planted on both sides of his hips.
“Steve-” you squeaked when you felt his lips press against yours.
“Fuck, you don’t even know what those doe eyes do to me,” he growled.
You couldn’t stifle a sweet gasp when his hands roamed your body with near hungry desire.
“Bet you never even fucked a man before,” he cupped a breast and your breath hitched. You shook your head and tried to push at his chest.
One of his hands lowered until it brushed against your core, and you let out a strangled moan.
“I don’t know why that does it for me,” he murmured as he continued to stroke you through your leggings. “Never really cared for the innocent ones. Peggy was commanding, could silence a whole room with a single look. I bet you couldn’t even flag down a waiter.”
Pressure boiled in your core, and you stopped trying to push him away when it became apparent he wasn’t going to let you go. Slowly, you started rocking your hips into his hand.
When he noticed you were responding, he moved his other hand under your shirt where he cupped your breast, rolling a nipple between his fingers. You gasped and looked at him. His eyes were closed, concentrated as he brought you closer to release.
A soft moan escaped your lips, and his eyes snapped open, bloodshot and focused on your lust blown gaze.
His hands stopped moving.
You made a sound, mourning the loss of pleasure, and he pulled away, all but shoving you out of his lap. With a thud, you stumbled onto the floor where you pushed yourself back, further from him, trembling.
“Fuck,” he hissed.
“Steve?”
He studied you, a storm in his eyes, and you weren’t quite sure what he was thinking.
“You’re not Peggy. Didn’t know why I thought I could replace her with someone so weak.”
You were stunned at how quickly he’d changed. Tears began to well in your eyes but you were too overwhelmed to get up.
Steve paused for a moment, something flashing in his eyes, before cursing under his breath.
“It ain’t happening again, sorry,” he grumbled and walked away.
As soon as you heard his door slam shut, you ran to your room and sank to the floor.
***
Steve didn’t talk to you after that. It felt like the first couple weeks you started living there, a complete stranger.
The silence was unnerving, and you weren’t sure if he felt uncomfortable because of that night. Wanting to get closure, you approached him as he worked on his bike in the garage. You hoped whatever anger he might have felt was gone, and the man you’d come to know over the weeks would return.
“Steve?” You called out.
He ignored you.
“I just wanted to clear the air about what happened.”
You heard him sigh and he tossed his wrench onto his workbench with a loud clunk.
“Nothing happened,” he nearly sneered at you.
While he could be dismissive before, he was never quite mean about it. The vitriol in his voice had you backing away.
“I haven’t been laid in awhile and you felt easy.”
Your heart dropped, heavy at his confession.
“You were always playing house with me, hovering over me like a puppy. Figured I could fuck you and get it out of my system,” he said while he grabbed a greasy towel and wiped his hands before tossing it at you where you fumbled catching it.
He didn’t look at you when he took a drink from his water bottle.
“I have work to do,” he picked up the wrench.
You stayed away from him after that.
***
A few weeks passed without so much a word from Steve.
Peter noticed the tension. You were sure they all did, given you stayed in your room when they were over.
“Is everything okay?” Peter asked you one day when he managed to see you.
You nodded, but it was apparent he wasn’t convinced. He didn’t press you, though.
***
Steve was out for the night. Based on his mood earlier, you knew he likely wouldn’t be out until the next morning, if not afternoon. You didn’t mind, though. You quite liked having the house to yourself where you didn’t feel his heavy presence looming over you. It gave you time to think and study in peace.
You were deep into making flashcards for your Anthropology class when you heard a noise coming from the garage.
With a sigh, you tossed the index cards onto your bed and went downstairs.
While you knew any kindness or compassion was wasted on him, you still felt compelled to help him when he was lost in a drunken haze. Perhaps that made you a fool. Or perhaps you felt you could bring back the best in him, which definitely made you a fool.
Knowing it was a bad idea, you still wandered to the garage and sighed as you opened the door.
A figure was shuffling around, oblivious to you.
“Steve?” You called.
He turned around and you felt the hairs on your arms and neck raise.
Rumlow stared back at you, viscous gleam in his eyes.
“Oh what do we have here?” He smirked and slowly walked towards you. “Haven’t you heard? Curiosity killed the cat.”
You backed up inside the house and tried to close the door but he wedged himself in the frame before you could.
With too much ease, he shoved you to the floor where you pushed yourself back before trying to run to the front door.
He was on you before you could get into the living room.
“What do you want?” You whimpered when you felt him put more of his weight on you, pressing you into the discolored linoleum kitchen floor.
“I was just gonna steal some cash from the stash Rogers keeps back there. Didn’t think you were home,” he said as he grabbed your wrists, stopping you from trying to push him off. “But now that you’ve seen me…”
“I won’t say anything, just please let me go,” you pleaded.
“Oh kitten, I know you won’t talk,” he hummed before he ripped your shirt down the middle. “Because if you do, I’ll come find you.”
You began to wiggle out of his hold, your breathing hitched, but he had you pinned under him.
“And when I find you, you’ll think back to this moment and realize I was going easy on you.”
You released a high pitched wail as loud as you could muster when he ripped your leggings off.
“Make all the noise you want, kitten. This far out, no one will hear you scream.”
***
Runlow left a few hours ago but you couldn’t peel yourself off the floor. Your gaze was trained on the ceiling above, imagining shapes in the aged paint.
Steve could’ve come back at any moment, and you didn’t want him to find you. With the rest of your strength, you pulled yourself up, wincing at the pain in your limbs and core and trying not to gag at the sticky feeling between your thighs. You limped to the bathroom where you removed your shredded clothes.
Your skin was already starting to discolor, and there were dark splotches along your neck where Rumlow sucked a few bruises and even bit you in several places, some of which drew blood. Your lip was split and you saw the start of what would be a bruised cheekbone.
You didn’t remember the shower, only that you took one until the water ran cold.
You didn’t remember getting into bed either, only that you gathered your tattered clothes and put them in a plastic bag to take to the garbage.
Sleep never came to you that night. You found yourself staring at the window as the dark blue sky eventually turned a deep shade of purple, and then pink.
The nearest drugstore was about a thirty minute walk. You knew it opened early, and you needed Plan B.
So you pulled on fresh clothes-- long sleeves to hide the bruises on your arms, and a scarf to hide your neck. Luckily, it was late autumn, and it wouldn’t look suspicious to be so covered.
Luckily.
You felt a rusted, sardonic laugh bubble from inside you, hoarse from all the screaming. All of this, because you wanted to do the right thing.
The drugstore was the one you witnessed Peter damn near kill another man. You stood in the same place you stood that night, but everything looked different now that your perspective changed.
Peter was a friend now, someone good you could trust. Standing in the very lot that landed you in your predicament, you couldn’t help but wonder if he was actually good, or if he appeared good because the company he kept was worse.
A single lit candle looks like the sun when darkness was all that was known before.
It did little to dwell on it. It did little to dwell on anything.
The house was empty when you came back, but that was for the best.
You took the first dose of the contraceptive, and crawled back into bed.
***
Steve didn’t notice anything out of place when he came home. Despite it being close to noon, he didn’t see you around, but why would he? He made damn sure you’d avoid him.
He never intended to get close to you, never intended to act on any of the things he felt. He couldn’t stop himself though. Your eyes beckoned him in closer with the docile glow that seemed to radiate from you, like a moth to a flame. You emitted warmth, light, and goodness. The dark in him wanted you, and he wasn’t sure if it was because he wanted to bask in your light or snuff it out.
What scared him most was that you wanted him back.
So he stayed away.
But in your naivety, you sought him out and he indulged himself from time to time.
It wasn’t until he nearly fucked you on the couch that he realized he needed to stop. You deserved better, far better than he could ever give you, and he wanted you to see that.
So it wasn’t unusual for you to keep your distance.
But when he didn’t see or hear from you in a few days, he became concerned.
***
Knocking on your door woke you up.
“It’s me,” you heard Peter call.
Or course. Steve wouldn’t care to look for you.
“It’s open,” you said.
Peter walked into the room, but you remained on your bed, turned away from him, knowing the bruise on your cheek and your scabbed lip would cause suspicion.
“Uh, hey. I haven’t seen you around. No one has. You okay?” He asked, cautious in his delivery.
“Yeah, I’m just tired, that's all.”
The desk creaked, and you assumed he leaned against it.
“You can talk to me, you know,” he encouraged.
“I know, I’m just tired though,” you repeated.
You heard Peter grunt softly and he breathed out, ready to leave when you heard him kick something, which toppled over.
“Shit, sorry, I-” When you didn’t hear anything else, you turned and looked.
The small trash bin was on its side, some of its contents spilling onto the floor, one of which was the box of Plan B you had yet to throw away. You hadn’t left your room enough to get to it.
Peter stared at the box, brows furrowed, before he glanced at you. His eyes widened when he saw your face and neck.
“Oh God, what happened?” Peter gasped before ticking his jaw. “Did Steve do that?”
“No!” You said emphatically. “I’m fine… just…”
You tried to hold back the tears but couldn’t.
“Hey, hey hey,” he nearly cooed as he walked towards you but you flinched away and he stopped. “Please, tell me who did that to you?”
You swallowed, but it did nothing for the lump in your throat.
“Rumlow… nearly a week ago,” you whispered.
You glanced at Peter, and the sweet boyish face you’d come to know was replaced with something harsh in his fury. There, that was the man you saw in the parking lot so long ago.
“We gotta tell Steve,” his voice was low, guttural.
“No!” You nearly shouted. “Please don’t tell. I don’t want anyone knowing, just… let it go, please.”
When he didn’t respond, you felt tears stream down your face.
“Please,” you begged.
His face softened at your weeping form, and with no idea how to handle the situation, he reluctantly nodded.
***
Steve and the others were at their usual bar. The place was on the busier side, the regulars scattered about. The occasional clang of pool balls hitting each other rang out, adding to the noise of shouting matches and raucous laughter.
It wasn’t uncommon to see members of different clubs there, some friendly, some not. It was an unspoken rule that the bar was neutral ground, so most kept to themselves or played nice.
So when Steve saw Rumlow approach them, he thought nothing of it.
He didn’t notice the way Peter nearly raised his hackles at the other man.
“Slow night?” Rumlow asked with a lazy smirk.
“Just relaxing,” Bucky said and gulped down his beer.
“Right right,” the other man dismissed. “Say, you gonna watch the game this Sunday?”
No one particularly liked having Rumlow around, but it was beneficial for them to stay friendly, even if it meant putting up with him.
“Yeah, might have some of the boys over,” Steve sighed.
“Kinda miss that cute little maid of yours,” Rumlow chuckled and Steve didn’t like the way he referred to you. There was something sinister in the way he licked his lips.
He was willing to let it go, but Peter nearly launched himself at the older man, landing a hard punch to the jaw.
“Woah what the fuck?” Bucky immediately got up and pulled him away.
“What the hell, Parker?” Rumlow spat as he rubbed his jaw.
The bar went silent.
“Y’all know the rules, if you’re gonna fight, take it outside,” the bartender yelled.
“Get your toddler under control,” Rumlow sneered at Steve before heading outside. “Or meet me outside, and we can settle this like men.”
Steve pulled Peter away from the group.
“Kid, what the fuck?” He scolded.
“Nothing, just… fuck that guy,” Peter grumbled.
“Come on, man, what’s going on? You can’t just attack him. None of us like him, but you know the rules.”
Peter gritted his teeth and nodded.
“What’s with the attitude?” Steve sighed before saying your name. He saw Peter’s expression change slightly, from unbridled rage to something softer. “This about her?”
Peter opened his mouth to say something but didn’t.
“Look, I figured you were sweet on her, but you can’t attack people who talk about her,” Steve sighed.
The younger man snapped his head towards him.
“It’s not that at all.”
“Then what is it?”
Steve saw the conflict wash over his face before he shook his head, regret flickering through his features.
“Rumlow raped her,” Peter admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.
Steve’s heart nearly stopped.
“What?”
“A couple weeks ago. Found some Plan B in her trashcan. It’s why she hasn’t been around much. She asked me not to tell anyone, but that smug motherfucker brought her up-”
Steve walked away before he could finish.
Rumlow was in the parking lot, cursing at Rollins and a few of his men.
“You put that kid in time out?” Rumlow shouted when he noticed the blonde stalking his way. His eyes widened slightly when he realized Steve’s pace never let up.
Without missing a beat, Steve’s fist collided with Rumlow’s cheek, sending him to the ground.
Steve didn’t hold back as he wailed on him, feeling his knuckles split open from pounding against the other man’s teeth. It did little to slow him down.
“Hey hey,” Sam and Bucky went to pull Steve off but he snapped his head towards them before they could get near.
“Stay the fuck away,” he roared.
Before anyone could stop him, he got off of Rumlow and dragged him further away. Vaguely, Steve heard more arguing and punching, his men and Rumlow’s likely fighting each other off.
“You raped her?” Steve hissed so no one else could hear.
Rumlow smirked, stretching the torn patches of skin on his lips, bloodied saliva coating his teeth red.
“So the little bitch told you after all?” He taunted. “Tight little pussy, that one has.”
Steve punched him, but Rumlow clumsily dodged.
“She cried so sweetly the entire time,” he continued, and Steve swung again, which Runlow barely stepped out of the way. “Didn’t stop her from moaning like a slut when she came, though.”
He was tackled to the ground immediately after, where Steve didn’t hold back the barrage of punches against his face and chest.
He wanted to kill Rumlow and would have if the red and blue glow of impending police cruisers didn’t stop him. By the time Steve pulled away, Rumlow was unconscious, his face barely recognizable.
***
Steve still felt raw anger pulsating through him when he came home. Knowing what had happened under his roof while he was nowhere around to stop it had him hating himself as much as he did Rumlow.
“Fuck,” he yelled and hit the kitchen table hard enough to splinter some of the wood. He grabbed a bottle of whiskey, but before he could take a swig, he threw it against a wall where it shattered, trails of liquor running down the discolored wallpaper.
“Steve?” He heard you call out.
The noise had tipped you off, and you were terrified, unsure if Rumlow had come back. But then you heard Steve yell.
You were never more relieved to see him, though you still weren’t sure what state of mind he was in.
He looked at you, and the rage immediately disappeared as he took in your frightened expression.
“You’re hurt,” you said.
Steve’s knuckles were cut open and bleeding, as was his lip.
You grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and approached him wearily, unsure if he’d let you near him. He did, and you gestured for him to sit down at the table.
After everything he did and said to you, you still wanted to help him. His heart felt heavy.
No words were exchanged as you cleaned his hands. He was eerily calm, not even flinching when you dabbed an alcohol soaked cotton ball on his knuckles.
You never asked how he got injured, not after he refused to answer you the dozens of times you asked before.
“Peter told me about Rumlow,” Steve muttered, breaking the silence.
You felt panic rising in your chest, and you stared at a stain on the table. You were about to get up and return to your room, where you felt at least a little safe, but Steve’s voice took you out of your thoughts.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” Steve asked, nearly begging.
“I don’t know,” you breathed, still avoiding his gaze.
You felt his fingers gently push your chin up so you could look him in the eye. He looked at you so delicately, silently urging you to tell him the truth.
“I… I didn’t think you’d care,” you said after a small pause, your eyes looking off to the side as you tried to blink away tears.
Steve dropped his hand and you lowered your head and peered at him through the veil of your eyelashes.
A mixture of horror and remorse was etched into his features, from his furrowed brows to his slightly agape mouth. He ran a hand over his face and across his beard before shaking his head and standing up.
“Steve, where are you going?” You asked, panicked.
“Finishing what I started,” he said as he headed towards the front door.
You rushed after him frantically. Your legs felt like they were weighed down with ice, but you stumbled towards him with all your energy.
“No, no, please!” You called and it seemed to fall upon deaf ears. It wasn’t until you grabbed his arm that he stopped and turned towards you. “I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me.”
“No one’s getting hurt because of you, they’re getting hurt because of what he did,” he growled and nearly had the door open.
“Please, just… stay here,” you begged.
His eyes softened as they roamed over your form.
“I don’t like being here alone,” you choked out.
Steve felt a lump in his throat at your confession.
Of course you didn’t like being at his house alone. No one was there to protect you.
The dam you built over the weeks to hold back all you felt broke. The emotional toll came down on you, a deluge of grief. Feelings you couldn’t process finally came out as you looked down and began to cry.
You shuddered a little when you felt Steve wrap his arms around you, but felt him relax when you melted into his embrace.
“I’ll stay,” his voice was tender, soft.
You sat next to him on the couch, and he didn’t ask you any questions, just reminded you of his presence by occasionally stroking your arm or urging you to rest your head against his shoulder.
“I was wrong,” he said.
“What?”
“When I called you weak. You’re not.”
You felt the sting of fresh tears pricking the corners of your swollen eyes.
“Compassion takes a lot of strength,” he said. “More than people like me ever give credit for.”
***
Things were a bit awkward at first-- Steve wasn’t sure how to navigate around you, but in time, he found you just wanted to be treated like before.
No one talked about Rumlow. You didn’t know where he was, only that Steve assured you he’d never hurt you again. It was a good enough answer for you.
He was home more often, too, rarely keeping you alone unless he had to leave. Even then, he asked Peter to come over and keep you company.
Steve was kinder with you, much like how he was when he wanted to be sweet. The soft gazes he used to give you returned, far more delicate this time around, and it made your heart flutter. You weren’t sure how to handle it.
With every every airy beat was a cold aftershock.
In time, however, you began to open up to him. While you never went into detail about that night, you told him what had happened, and you could see the array of anger and guilt flash across his features as you spoke.
Shortly after, Steve told you he found a different house and he was moving. He never gave you permission to leave his service, so you assumed your arrangement would remain the same.
“How have things been?” Peter asked when he saw you taping closed a box of newspaper wrapped plates.
“Just a lot of packing,” you answered.
“Do you like the new house?”
You thought about it for a moment. It was definitely not what you expected Steve to get, but that didn’t mean it was bad. You liked it.
“It’s nice. A lot more modern than this one. It’s closer to other people, though, so I was a little surprised Steve picked it.”
“You know why, right?”
You furrowed your brows.
“No, but he never really seemed to like this one.”
“He didn’t want you staying here because...”
Your breath hitched.
“Oh, I… I’m sure that’s not why,” you sputtered. “I feel like he wouldn’t keep me around as a maid if that’s all it was.”
Peter smiled at you, knowing but warm.
“He loves you, you know.”
“What?” You squeaked.
“I don’t know if it’s love yet, but it could be. But I know he cares about you a lot.”
“I- Peter, I don’t think that’s it.”
He didn’t say anything else, not wanting to make you feel uncomfortable.
Over the next few days, you thought about what he said. It made your heart race, but you weren’t sure if it was fear or desire. Perhaps a mixture of both.
***
The new house was about the same size as the last one, but didn’t creak nearly as much. Steve pointed you towards one of the guest rooms and said you could stay there. Though you had few possessions left, you still wanted to unpack and get settled, exhausted from the move.
But before you could open a box, Steve stopped by.
“You don’t have to stay here,” he said.
When you didn’t respond, he continued.
“If you want to leave, you can.”
He didn’t say anything else before he walked off, leaving you with a choice, the first real one you had in a very long time.
Nightfall came and you couldn’t sleep, the possibilities running through your head.
Freedom was so close, but what did that even mean anymore? The world you knew was gone. It changed, because you changed, and you didn’t know if you wanted to be back in it.
So you had to make a choice, and with all the confidence you had left, you got up.
With delicate care, you opened the door so the hinges wouldn’t squeak. Your footsteps were quiet as you made your way across the room. Steve's light snores let you know he was still sleeping, so you gently brushed a hand across his face.
His eyes snapped open and immediately focused on you.
"Is something wrong?" He asked, confusion lacing his sleep heavy voice, before sitting up. The thin bed sheet pooled at his hips, exposing his muscular chest. You could practically feel the heat rolling off of him.
You hesitated, unsure how to move forward without making him uncomfortable, but you thought about what Peter said and remembered the way Steve would look at you.
Slowly, you crawled onto the bed where you straddled his knees, keeping a little distance between you two.
Steve's breath hitched, and he moved his hands up before letting them fall back into his sides.
Trembling slightly, you cupped his face and felt your heart flutter at the soft sigh he released as he closed his eyes. Your thumb ran over his lip and you felt him run his fingers along your knee.
You leaned forward slowly and paused to give him a moment to back away if he wanted to. He didn't and instead closed the gap where his chapped lips brushed against your soft ones.
He kissed you with a measured, delicate touch, like he was afraid you'd run away.
When you pulled away, you saw the storm in his blue eyes, a battle between succumbing to his desires or doing what he felt was right.
"I-" he started before pausing. "I don't know if this is good for you."
You laughed softly much to his surprise.
"I don’t want to be defined by the bad things that have happened to me," you said. "I want this, Steve."
He nodded slightly, his hands finding their way to your hips where he pulled you closer. You could feel his hardening length brush your core through the sheets and layers of clothes, and you both gasped a little.
He pressed another kiss to your lips before whispering against them.
"Tell me if you want to stop and I will."
You nodded and he kissed you again, his hands wandering up your body. He lifted the oversized shirt and didn’t suppress the sigh upon seeing so much of you for the first time.
Hesitantly, he touched you, his fingers trailing over your soft skin before giving you another kiss.
Before you could register it, you were laying down under him, and he gently parted your legs so he could rest between them. You swallowed the gasp at the feeling of his hard length on your thigh and he stopped.
“Are you okay?” He asked.
“Yes,” you said and smiled at him, pulling him down to kiss him, which he readily accepted.
He broke away only to trail kisses down your neck to your chest where he ran a tongue around a nipple. You moaned a little and you felt Steve hum in satisfaction. He gave the other nipple the same amount of attention before travelling downward.
When he reached your panty glad core, he tugged them off gently, gauging your reaction. When you didn’t stop him, he parted your thighs before resting them on his shoulders. You felt his lips press against the soft skin at the apex of your thighs before you felt his tongue swirl around your clit.
You arched your back and moaned.
He took his time with you, starting slow, letting you get used to the feeling.
He flicked the tip of his tongue against the sensitive bud before a calloused finger pulled the hood of your clit back and sucked it in his mouth.
Your back bowed as you felt the band within you pull tighter and tighter.
A thick finger prodded your entrance and pushed inside, and you keened at the feeling. He moved it slowly within you before adding another, stretching your walls. He hit something within you that made your entire body pulse.
Another hard suck, and it snapped, the tension in your body relaxing all at once, a flood of bliss flowing through you as you clenched his fingers in waves. You didn’t even hear the moan you let out, but Steve did, and he wanted nothing more than to bring that sound out of you again.
When you came down from your high, Steve crawled back up your body, capturing your lips in a kiss, swallowing every sweet sigh.
“You did so good for me,” he whispered. You felt your core tremble at his praise.
He ran the head of his cock through your folds, and you gasped. He gathered your slick, preparing himself before positioning himself at your entrance.
“You ready?” He asked you and you nodded.
Slowly, he pushed inside and stopped when you made a pained noise.
“Keep going,” you whimpered and he obliged.
Soon, his entire length was in you, and gasped when he bottomed out.
“Taking me so well,” he murmured as he peppered kisses along your jaw and neck. “Let me know when you want me to move.”
He stayed in you, patient, letting your walls get used to his thick length. When the ache dulled out to a mild throbbing you nodded at him.
Slowly, he moved his hips.
You gasped at the feeling of his cock moving through your silken walls with ease, having prepared you so thoroughly for him. His head bumped against the same spot his fingers had moments before, and it had your toes curling at the feeling. You rolled your hips to meet his.
“Can I go faster?” He asked between strained grunts. His hair was in his face, a few strands stuck to the beads of sweat on his forehead. He looked beautiful like that.
“Please,” you mewled and he didn’t hold back the full bodied groan at your pleas.
“Let me know if it’s too hard,” he whispered into your ear as his thrusts got deeper.
You saw stars in the way he was pounding into you, hard enough to entice and always on the precipice of too much but never venturing past it.
Soon, you felt that band within you pull taught once more, and a few more thrusts had you falling over the edge, your pussy fluttering around his thick cock as you let out another sonorous moan.
“Fuck,” he groaned when he felt you clenching his cock, the sweet sounds you made urging him to completion.
“Please cum inside me,” you asked him when you felt him leave.
He didn’t need to be asked again when he pushed his length into your overwrought core.
Warmth flooded you, and you gasped a little bit. It felt right.
Both of you were out of breath and he stayed inside you. A satisfied smile graced his lips and he kissed you once more.
You sniffled a little, tears pooling in your eyes.
Steve cupped your face and you nearly laughed at the panicked look in his eyes.
“Did I-”
“No,” you assured him and smiled. “That was amazing. I just wish…”
You paused.
“I wish… the first time was like that.”
He looked at you with so much tenderness and adoration, you felt your heart skip a few beats.
“As far as I’m concerned, this was your first time,” he said, doubtless in his words.
You nodded, feeling a few tears roll down your face, and he leaned down to kiss them away.
You didn’t know what the future held, where you were going, how this would end. You didn’t care. As Steve held you in his arms, you drifted into a peaceful sleep, one you hadn’t had in a long time.
***
Note: Ahhh what a long journey! Thank you to everyone for sticking with me! I know this was a longer read!
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I don't have the words to describe to you my hatred and disgust for Rumlow.
This was so exciting from beginning to end! Being a good samaritan gets you stalked by the local biker gang, huh?
I laughed so hard when Steve said she probably couldn't flag down a waiter!!! Peter was a surprisingly good guy considering our introduction to him.
That ending though. I'm so proud of her, and Steve finally got his happy ending. This was tragic and beautiful and I'm so happy you shared it with us.
I love your comments so much 😭
Thank you so much for reading!!
I loved the waiter comment too lol. Everytime I'm at a restaurant, I can never flag down a waiter lol.
I made Peter a soft little bean and Rumlow the literal worst. I felt bad for doing what I did to the reader, but I'm an angst monster 😬. Plus, I wanted to make s character who was strong in ways that are often overlooked.
Steve started off like an ass but he just wanted some lovin' and didn't think he deserved it 🥺
Thank you so much for reading and sharing your thoughts 💜
