summary: when you join the FBI, everybody on your team is so welcoming except for steve harrington. when your team is placed on an undercover case, you're partnered with the one person you can't stand. your ability to work together will be detrimental to the case to save as many lives as possible.
current word count: 35k
pairing: agent!steveharrington x femagent!reader
notes: i miss criminal minds and steve harrington so i put them together </3
warnings: no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, fake dating, forced proximity, some violence + graphic cases will be mentioned, core four <3, everybody is here, slowish burn, SO angsty, kind of mayfield!reader (she's adopted), will add more as i think of them
just discovered robbers and read the whole thing i have no words… hollywood and steve you need to sort this out… do it for me… can’t physically wait for the next part! 🫶🏻
this makes my heart want to explode!!! steve and hollywood are returning very soon <3
summary: When times get tough, Steve steps up.
pairing: agent!steveharrington x femagent!reader
word count: 9.1k (oops)
pairing: agent!steveharrington x femagent!reader
warnings: multi chapter steve harrington au, no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, fake dating, forced proximity, some violence + graphic cases will be mentioned, core four <3, everybody is here, slowish burn, SO angsty, kind of mayfield!reader (she's adopted)
chapter specific warnings: mentions of human trafficking, mentions of childhood trauma, oral (f receiving), fingering, cheating (?), steve is gonna piss yall off sorry
"Good morning, kiddo," Steve says to Max when she comes down the stairs into the kitchen. Her red hair is a mess on top of her head, and she's rubbing the sleep from her eyes with a dramatic yawn.
"Hey," she replies, opening the fridge.
"Where's Hollywood?"
"You know she hates when you call her that, right?" Max grabs the milk and lets the door slam.
"That's why I call her that," he replies absentmindedly, eyes focused on the eggs in front of him. "Do you want some?"
"I'm good." Max opts for cereal, claiming the one time she did accept eggs from Steve, they were too salty. " She didn't come down this morning?"
"Not that I've seen," Steve looks at the clock. It's nearly eleven a.m., and you're usually up and at 'em by eight. "Should we be worried?"
"What's today?" Max suddenly drops the cereal box, and it tips over, spilling cereal onto the counter.
"Christ, Max-" Steve tracks her as she rushes to the calendar on the fridge. "Slow down."
"Fuck," she groans, running a hand through her hair.
"What? What is it?" Steve is confused by the sudden panic from his partner's little sister.
"Today," Max sighs, looking at the date, "It's a hard day for her. Like... really hard."
"Okay..." Steve raises his eyebrows, waiting for the rest, with his hands on his hips.
"She didn't tell you?" she asks, and Steve shakes his head, turning the stove off.
"It's the anniversary of her bio dad getting arrested, and when they found her sister," Max says quietly, followed by a short pause, "It's also her birthday."
"Hold on," Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, trying to take in the new information. He had no clue that you and Max were adopted. "Back track, please."
"You didn't know about...? Fuck, she's gonna kill me," Max huffs, leaning against the counter. "She doesn't like to talk about it. And every year, she just kind of shuts down."
Things slowly click into place for Steve. All the times you've joked about childhood trauma and it being the reason for your eidetic memory, and the times you've shut him down for trying to dig deeper, begin to make a lot more sense.
"Should we, I don't know, do something? Check on her, maybe?" Steve asks.
"No offense, but I think you might be the last person she'd want to see," Max grabs her bowl of cereal and stalks off to her room.
He's with Max on that one, actually. It'd been a week since Steve had you quite literally wrapped around his fingers on the couch, and you barely had spent any time in a room together since.
The only time you'd actually seen each other was when Steve came back from his solo meeting with Henry, which was entirely uneventful. He sent Steve home with a bouquet of flowers for you after spending $300 on lunch at the most expensive restaurant in town.
Robin was in the midst of continuing chats with both Henry and his assistant, but things had kind of come to a plateau in terms of progress. Henry was unfortunately giving Grace time to heal after getting drugged at the luncheon.
Steve ponders for an hour debating whether he should check on you. When he finally goes to knock on your door, Max is stepping out.
"How is she?" he lowers his voice in case you can hear him through the door.
"Nearly catatonic," Max says. She's attempting to make a joke because today, for as long as she's lived, has been hard for her as well. Every year on this day, watching every joyous piece of her sister shed and break down to this unrecognizable version of herself is heartbreaking.
"I want to see her," Steve says, attempting to side-step Max.
"I don't think that's a good idea," Max stands her ground, blocking the door. "I don't think she'd want you to see her like that."
"Please," his plea is quiet. The idea of you suffering alone with the endless grief of today, on your birthday of all days, hurts him in a way he didn't know possible.
Max narrows her eyes at him and folds her arms, "What's going on between you two?"
"Nothing," he answers too quickly. "Nothing, Max. I just want to check on a friend."
"Your death wish," she holds her hands up in surrender and steps to the side. "Good luck. I'll start planning your funeral."
Steve twists the doorknob slowly after taking a deep breath and enters your room. Where the curtains are usually drawn and sunlight streams, they are closed, and the room is dark.
"Hollywood," Steve says quietly, approaching your bed. He can see the shape of your body under the duvet, but you don't move. He calls you by your name.
"Not now, Steve." Your voice is hoarse like you've been crying, and his heart shatters. "Please."
"It's almost one, you can't lie in bed all day," he says as he sits on the edge of the bed, resting his hand on your arm. You're facing the opposite wall, duvet pulled to your chin. "Let's go for a walk or go get lunch. You gotta be hungry by now."
"I want to stay here," you say quietly.
"Can I stay with you?" He asks.
He's trying so hard, treading so lightly, to get through to you. To do anything he can to make you feel better on what he can only imagine is the worst day of the year for you.
The silence is loud for a second too long, and he's about to give up when you finally breathe, "Okay."
Steve lifts the duvet and climbs into bed more slowly than necessary, trying to not to disturb the peace. He faces you even though your back is to him and hesitates for what feels like forever before reaching out to touch you.
His fingers trail up and down your back in a mindless pattern, just anything to let you know he's there.
You finally roll over to face him, your hands pressed together under your cheek against the pillow.
"Max told me," he whispers.
"I should've told you," you reply.
He shakes his head in response, "You didn't want to, and I respect that."
He reaches up, brushing your hair from your face, and you close your eyes. He rests his hand on your cheek, feeling damp skin from tears that you had been crying all morning.
You take his hand into yours, holding it against your chest. He squeezes your hand three times.
"I was six when my big sister went missing," you begin, "She was missing for a few months, and there was no trace of her. Eventually, I um... I kind of went missing, too."
Steve listens intently, giving you his full and undivided attention. He constantly strokes the back of your hand with his thumb, using his other hand to trace lines against your shoulder.
"My dad took me to some old cabin he found in the woods, said he had a surprise for my birthday. My sister was there." Your throat tightens. "She was already gone and had been for a while. She'd been missing for two months at that point."
"Some hikers happened to be passing by, heard me crying, and found me after my dad left for God knows what. He got arrested, and my mom was so heartbroken that she died." Your composure in telling the story is one he's rarely seen in anybody.
"I'm so sorry," he says quietly.
"It was probably for the best. She tried her hardest, but she wasn't the same after it all, so..." You take a deep breath, "Today just kind of is the most brutal reminder."
"If you want to stay in bed all day, I'll stay here with you. If you want to go for a walk, I'll go with you. If you want to drive to the mountains and scream at the edge of a cliff, I'm there. Whatever you need."
You look up at Steve, eyes glossy from your tears, and rest your forehead against his.
"Thank you," you whisper.
"Of course," he nods.
He doesn't stop you when you softly press your lips to his, your hands intertwined between your chests. If it's what you need, he'll give it to you.
You're fast asleep on his chest an hour later, but Steve can't find it in him to move you. His breathing has been synced with yours for as long as he can remember, his arms wrapped around you.
He'd managed to fall asleep for a bit as well and was surprised when he woke up to find you in the same position.
It's achingly intimate, yet he finds himself wishing you two could stay like that forever.
He traces the bridge of your nose with a featherlight touch of his pointer finger, then draws the line of your jaw, admiring how beautifully peaceful you look when you sleep.
Max enters the room some time later and stops in her tracks at the sight of you in his arms.
"What the fuck?" she mouths.
Steve draws an imaginary zipper across his lips, locks it, and then throws the key.
Max puts her hands on her hips, staring Steve down for a moment before throwing her hands up in defeat and exiting the room.
You hum lightly, stretching your limbs like a cat as you slowly come out of your sleep. The sun is starting to set, casting a pink glow across the room through the cracks of the curtains. Steve has been staring at the wall, watching it change colors, holding you close to his chest.
His heartbeat is the first thing you hear when you wake up.
"Hey," he says when you finally open your eyes.
"Hi," you look up at him, "Sorry."
You move to untangle your limbs, but he tightens his hold on you.
"Don't be sorry."
You let yourself settle against his chest again and take a deep breath, "Thank you."
"Always."
Steve convinces you to get out of bed for dinner. He offers to go get takeout, and you agree to wait for him in the living room rather than in bed.
Max is shocked to see you on the couch, but she happily takes a seat next to you. She leans into your side, resting her head on your shoulder.
"Hi, bear," you stroke her hair.
"You and Steve, then?" Max finally asks.
"I don't know what's happening," you admit.
"I really like him if it makes a difference," she tells you.
You've never kept a guy around that Max didn't like. One time, you stopped seeing a guy because Max didn't like his eyebrows.
"I know you do," you reply, a small smile tugging at your lips.
Steve was really good with Max. He was good with Dustin, too; it was just one of his many redeeming qualities. You could tell that Max was growing closer to Steve by the day; it was impossible not to with the three of you living together.
"Max, can you give me a hand?" Steve calls from the foyer.
"Yeah, just a sec," she calls back and then turns back to you, lowering her voice, "Just be careful, please. That's all I'm asking."
There's rustling in the kitchen and hushed whispers, but you find yourself zoning off into space, images from your childhood blurring your vision.
"Hungry?" Steve asks. entering the living room. "Don't say no, because I don't care, you're coming to eat."
He pulls you by your hands off the couch and leads you toward the kitchen. Right before you enter, he cover your eyes with your hands.
"Steve, what are you doing?" You stumble a bit with the sudden loss of vision, but he stabilizes you.
"Just trust me," he says, and you can hear his smile.
Trust him, you do. More than you should, it feels like sometimes.
"Ready?" He guides you to the barstool and sits you down, and you hear Max laughing.
"What are you guys plotting?" A laugh manages to work its way out.
Steve uncovers your eyes, and Max stands in front of you with a paper party hat on top of her head and a party blower in her mouth. Confetti is sprinkled messily on the counter where a birthday cake sits with a single 2 candle in the center.
"Happy birthday!" Max holds her arms in the air. You can tell a part of her is worried about the reaction it'll receive. "It was his idea, not mine. I told him you hate today."
You look up to Steve, who also dons a paper party hat on top of his head.
"It's just stuff from the market, so... no big deal," he's also trying to gauge your reaction.
Tears brim in your eyes unwillingly, and you cover them with your hands.
"No, no, it's okay," Steve wraps his arm around your shoulder, pulling you into his side, "If you hate it, we'll trash it."
"I told you," you hear Max whisper.
"No, I don't," you say, brushing your tears as you look up at him, "I don't, I promise. It's just really sweet. You didn't have to."
"I think you deserve to be celebrated," Steve brushes a stray tear away.
"You guys make me sick," Max fake gags and rounds the countertop to place a paper hat on top of your head, "But he's right."
Max kisses your cheek as Steve starts lighting the 2 candle on the cake, "This was the only candle left. So I guess you're two."
They sing you happy birthday, and you shed a few more silent tears with a smile on your face.
You, Max, and Steve sit around the island in the kitchen, eating Chinese takeout. You finish the night with the dry birthday cake from the supermarket that the three of you tear apart with forks right out of the packaging.
Max turns in for the night around midnight, and you and Steve stay up cleaning up the mess in the kitchen after a cake fight broke out.
"Steve?" You lean against the counter, throwing the kitchen towel over your shoulder.
"Hollywood?" He laughs, reaching to brush some icing from your cheek.
"This was maybe the best birthday I've ever had," you tell him. "Thank you."
"Anytime," he smiles, a deep feeling of accomplishment coming over him.
The only thing he cared about today was being there for you and doing anything he could to make you feel better. Seeing you smile and laugh and be out of bed was the best feeling in the world at the moment.
"You're a good friend," you tell him.
"Friend?" He snakes his arms around your waist, lifting you up onto the counter. He puts himself between your thighs, and your breath hitches.
"Yes, friend." You try to hide your smile. "I'm serious, Steve."
"You sound it," he lets the tip of his nose brush against yours, a small smirk on his lips.
"Steve," you scold him, resting your hands on his chest. "Max is home."
"She's asleep," he says, placing a slow kiss where your jaw meets your neck.
"Can we go to bed?" You push him back gently, and he scans your face with a quick nod.
He helps you off the counter and walks you to your room, your hand in his.
"Are you staying?" You ask.
"Lines, remember?" He replies.
"Right," you nod.
"Good night," he says, kissing your forehead before leaving for his room down the hall.
✩
Steve doesn't touch you for weeks.
You spend nearly every second of every day together, sitting on the couch, in the office doing case research, meals together, etc., but he constantly keeps his distance and his hands to himself.
Robin comes and goes with new messages between Danny and Henry. There's still a lull in progress on the case because Henry has yet to invite the Andersons to anything.
You half wish that he would just so you'd have a reason to touch him.
The landline rings, and you rush to answer it. You rarely get calls to the Anderson land line, but when you do, you always answer as such.
"Anderson residence."
"Hey, baby, it's me," Steve's voice is on the other line.
Steve had left earlier in the day to check on Dustin at home. He'd made it a weekly thing to check in on him if Dustin didn't stop by.
"Hi, honey." Your heart drops slightly, "Everything okay? Where are you? It's late."
Any call taken on the landline had to be taken as Danny and Grace, just in case anybody was listening.
"Don't freak out, everything's fine." His voice is soft, which is a warning enough that whatever he's about to say is going to freak you out, "My car broke down at the old house, and I was hoping you could come pick me up."
He's too calm, and whatever he's saying makes absolutely no sense. "Yeah, no problem. I'll leave now."
"Hey," he says before he hangs up.
"Yeah?"
"Love you," he tells you.
"Love you," you reply.
Saying it nearly knocks the air out of your lungs.
Once you hang up, you replay the phone call in your head.
Steve left to check on Dusin, so the old house must mean his house. A broken-down car could just be a means to get you out of the house.
Luckily for your memory, you can remember exactly where Steve's house is based on the one time that you went with Robin to drop him off after a Free Friday.
You grab the BMW keys and make the 25-minute drive to Steve's.
The lights are on when you get out of the car and make your way up the front porch steps. Before you can knock, Steve steps out and rests his hands on his hips with a sigh.
"Hey," he keeps his voice low.
"What? Steve, you're freaking me the fuck out," you look up at him, worry in your eyes.
"All of the kids are here," he starts, "I really need you to keep your cool, alright? Please?"
"What's going on?"
"They got busted smoking and drinking. Dustin called me, so I went to pick them up."
You release a breath of relief. That's not so bad. It could be worse. You did things like that as a teenager.
"Okay," you nod with a sigh of temporary relief. "I mean, that's not so bad, right?"
"They were at The Upside Down," he finally breaks the news.
"Henry's club?" Your heart skips the next few beats, and you feel like you might pass out.
"Breathe," he says, resting his hands on your arms, and you close your eyes for a moment. "I need you to stay calm."
"How the fuck am I supposed to be calm?" You somehow manage to keep your voice in a hushed whisper. "Steve, they can't ever go back there, you told them that, right?"
"It's a conversation that will need to be rehad in the morning," he says, "They're all pretty out of it."
You run your fingers through your hair and take a deep breath. "Did you call the others?"
"Jane asked me not to," he says. "They're all gonna crash here. I'll stay with them, but I just wanted you to know."
"Fucking Christ," you cover your face with your hands and ground yourself. "Do you want me to stay with you?"
"No, no, get some rest. I just didn't want you to find this out tomorrow. I'll handle them tonight, you can handle Max tomorrow." He tells you. "Please drive home safely."
You stay up practically the entire night on the off chance that Steve comes home with Max.
He finds you asleep on the couch and kneels down to wake you up as gently as possible.
You sit up with a gasp, and his hand is immediately in your hair to calm you down.
"Max is upstairs sleeping it off," he tells you quietly. "Robin just called on the walkie, and they're heading over for a debrief, so we need to get ready."
You look him up and down, and he looks exhausted, wearing the same clothes from yesterday, his hair a mess.
"Did you sleep?"
"Not really, you?"
"Barely," you reply, standing up from the couch.
Sitting in the saferoom feels like sitting in hell. Steve looks exhausted, you look exhausted, Robin looks exhausted. Eddie, Nancy, Hopper, and Joyce all look exhausted. It'd been a brutal night for everyone.
"Last night was eventful," Hopper finally says.
"Wheeler, Munson, you're up."
"We intercepted a few abductions last night at The Upside Down," Nancy starts. "We saw a few of Henry's scouts outside talking to some teenagers, and we acted quickly and managed to get them home safely."
Your chest feels like a weight is sitting on it. Knowing that all of your kids had been there last night.
"The issue is, they know we're on to them now," Eddie says, "They're going to be moving very carefully for the next month or two."
"Buckley," Hopper nods to Robin, and she stands, laying out folders in front of you and Steve.
"Huge development, I've been up all night sorting it out," Robin says, "Grace and Danny have been invited to Henry's beach house in Cape Cod because Henry has a 'job' for them. I think this is his final test of trust."
"Before what?" Steve asks.
"Before his auction next month," Robin answers. "Every year, he has an action for pieces in the gallery. He uses it as a cover for the girls. It's our last chance to save them."
"Okay," you sit up, opening the file, "What's our next move?"
"You tell us," Hopper folds his hands on the table, and all eyes are on you.
You review the first few pages of files and sigh. "We'll go to the beach house and see what happens from there."
"That's it?"
"What else can we do?" You don't mean to catch an attitude, but the lack of sleep is catching up to you. "We go to the beach house, we collect evidence, we move on to the auction next month. What else can we do?"
Steve kicks your shin gently under the table. Your eyes meet his, and he lifts his eyebrows in warning.
"Hollywood," Hopper's tone is sharp.
"No, why are you only asking me? Ask Steve. Or Nancy or Eddie. Why is it only on me to figure out our next move?" You stand up from the table, tossing the folder down onto the table. "We do what we've been doing."
You storm out of the safe room, running your fingers through your hair. with a sigh of frustration.
"Calm down," Steve's voice immediately lowers your heart rate as his presence surrounds you. His arms are around you, pulling your back into his chest. "You're fine. It's gonna be fine. We'll just keep doing what we've been doing."
You turn around, wrapping your arms around his torso. He cradles your head with one hand, running his fingers through your hair, "I shouldn't have snapped like that."
"He always puts a lot of pressure on you." Steve's voice is calm, and you close your eyes, listening to his heartbeat. "It's because he knows you're smart."
"I just don't know what else to do." Your voice wavers, and your composure threatens to split. "We're doing everything right, and it still feels like not enough."
He cups your cheeks, forcing you to look at him with tears in your eyes, "You said it yourself, we're doing everything right. It's all we can do, baby."
You let your head drop against his chest as the tears start flowing, "I just want it to be over."
Having his arms around you again after what feels like forever is the only thing you crave right now.
"I know," he nods, pulling you back into his chest.
✩
You and Steve fly to Henry's beach house in Cape Cod.
You two aren't the only couple there when you arrive. The wife whom Steve spoke to at the luncheon is there with her husband and the two brothers responsible for drugging you are also present.
Henry is waiting for you at the dock when you step off the boat. With one glance around, you're disgusted by the display of wealth. If anyone were going to have a house only accessible by boat on Cape Cod, it would be Henry.
"Oh, my dear Grace, I am so pleased you made it," Henry greets you with a kiss on each cheek and a smile wider than you've ever seen.
"We wouldn't miss it for the world," you reply, pitching your voice slightly higher. "Thank you so much for having us."
"So good to see you," Steve says, shaking Henry's hand.
"I will have Martin show you to your room," he gestures to the assistant, whose name you now finally know. "I can't wait to see you for dinner."
Different housemaids take your luggage off the boat, and Steve takes your hand in his as you follow Martin. His grip tightens slightly as you pass Matt and Nathan. They look away immediately when Steve looks at them.
"It's okay," you speak softly to him, brushing the back of his hand with your thumb. "Relax."
"It's not," he replies, his jaw tensing.
"Thank you, Martin," you tell him as you stop outside your room on the second floor.
"Of course, Mrs. Anderson. Always a pleasure," Martin unlocks the door and leaves you and Steve.
The housemaids put your luggage in the room and leave you be. Once you enter, you take a deep breath and look around the room. It's a huge suite overlooking the water with an en suite bathroom. A couch sits in front of a fireplace with beautiful woodwork. The curtains are drawn, and windows are open, a cool sea breeze making the air smell like salt.
One bed sits in the middle of the room.
"I'll take the couch," Steve says, watching the realization flicker in your eyes.
"Steve," you turn to him, and he shakes his head.
"It's fine."
The sun seems to change position in the sky more slowly than usual, and you and Steve have barely said a word to each other since you arrived. He unpacked your suitcases and then let himself get half lost in a book from the coffee table.
You, on the other hand, have been sitting in the chair in front of the window that overlooks the water. You've been watching every person who walks by carefully and with intent. Mostly housemaids pass by, preparing for the welcome dinner Henry is hosting.
You catch two new women arriving who greet the brothers. You always watch the woman that Steve is familiar with pass by with her husband in a heated argument that you can't quite hear.
Most importantly, Henry passes by with Martin, talking about their plans for after dinner. Something or another about taking all the guys to the mainland as per tradition.
"What do you think the job is that Henry apparently has for us?" You ask.
"I guess we'll figure it out before the weekend ends," he says, but his voice is so quiet you barely catch it.
"Everything okay?" You turn your body in the chair to face him.
"Dandy," he nods, keeping his attention on the book. His tone is flat, and his pointer finger taps the spine of the book in an almost impatient manner. It makes you tick.
"Can you fix your attitude?" You stand up from the chair and cross the room to stand in front of him. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing's wrong," he avoids your gaze, keeping his eyes on the book.
You grab the book from his hands and toss it onto the chair next to the couch. "Don't do that."
"Hey, what the hell, Hollywood?" He sits up, holding his hands up in frustration.
"What is your problem today?" You put your hands on your hips and stare down at him.
He leans back in the chair with a heavy breath and crosses his arms over his chest, not giving you an answer.
"So we're back to this then? Silence?" You scoff and roll your eyes, walking away from him, "You are such an asshole sometimes."
"Oh, I'm an asshole?" He's on his feet in an instant, trailing behind you.
"Do I need to repeat it?" You say.
"You are such a god damned brat sometimes, you know that?" He's in your space, and you whip around to face him.
"It is so hot and cold with you, I will never understand it." You put your finger on his chest. "I thought we were fine."
"We are fine," he drops his voice.
You drop your hand with another roll of your eyes, one he sees this time, and turn away from him. He grabs your wrist and pulls you back to his chest.
"Why do you do this, hm?" His nose is an inch from yours, his voice low.
"Do what?" Your words are sharp and concise. Your eyes never leave his, a power play at hand between the two of you.
"You're so... you. The lines-" He breathes. "I should stay away, I know I should, but you make it so fucking impossible."
"Lines are there for a reason."
"You and your fucking lines. I can't stand it," his free hand reaches up to cup your jaw.
"I know. You tell me all the time." You tilt your head up at him, narrowing your eyes slightly. The last time he said that, he had you riding his fingers approximately ten minutes later.
"You always have to have the last word," he sneers.
"I'll let you have it just this once," you poke the bear. He stays silent. "No, really, go ahead. Have the last word, you want it so bad-"
He cuts you off, bringing your lips to his. He usually waits for you to lean into him, but somebody needed to put you in your place.
He kisses you with hunger, his tongue wasting no time finding yours, pulling a gasp from you.
"You never know when to stop," he mutters against your lips, backing you toward the bed. "Too smart for your own good."
"We can't do this here," you tell him, as your knees hit the edge of the bed. You fall onto your back, and he's on top of you before you can take your next breath, his lips finding yours again. "We're working."
"I don't care," he pulls your bottom lip between his teeth, and the whine you let out is pitiful.
Heat is already pooling between your thighs when he uses his knee to part them, "It's a bad-"
"Bad idea, I know." He's leaving wet kisses from your jaw to your collarbone, placing himself right between your legs. The sundress you're wearing is riding up your thighs.
"Boundaries-"
"Already crossed them," he hums against the soft skin of your neck, inhaling your scent. You smell like sea salt and olive tree, and it has his cock twitching in his pants.
You have half the mind to fight with him when he trails his hand up your inner thigh, dipping under your dress. He tugs your panties aside, dragging his middle finger through your folds, and your breath hitches.
"Hm," the corner of his mouth twitches upward, "You are just a needy little thing, aren't you?"
"Shut up." Your cheeks are hot and flushed, and you hate that he has this effect on you.
"Oh, should I stop?" He circles your clit, and your eyes fight to flutter shut, but you're determined to hold his gaze.
"N-no, "is all you can muster up.
"That's what I thought," he laughs breathily and continues stroking the sensitive bundle of nerves.
Your lips part in a gasp that he swallows, never taking his eyes off yours. A soft moan escapes, and you hate how your body betrays you. You shouldn't want him as badly as you do.
"You look so pretty like this," he says, kissing the corner of your mouth as a whimper leaves your lips.
He slowly presses one finger into your heat, and your back arches off the bed, your chest becoming flush with his.
"I've been wanting to take this dress off you since we left this morning," he tells you, and you can only moan when he stretches you open with a second finger, immediately curling the digits.
"That window is wide open, so you may want to keep it down," he draws you into an open-mouth kiss as his fingers drag in and out of your cunt at an agonizingly slow pace.
"More," you finally manage to exhale.
"Ask nicely," he taunts, stopping the movement of his fingers. "I'm not the only one with an attitude today."
He has you right where he wants you, and he knows it. Your walls flutter around his fingers, and you release a shaky breath.
"Please."
"Fine," he kisses you once more, then fully removes his fingers, making you whimper at the emptiness. He sits back on his knees and looks you over once, his jaw ticking.
"You're being mean," you pout. You sit up, but his hand is on your chest, pushing you back down gently.
His fingers slide around your neck, untying the sundress you have on. Once it's untied, he easily tugs it off your body, leaving you in nothing but your underwear.
Instinctively, you cover your breasts with your hands, feeling exposed. It's not the first time he's touched you, but it's the first time he's seen so much of you, and a part of you feels hyperaware of it.
"You're such a pain in my ass," he mutters under his breath, leaning down to pepper kiss down the valley of your breasts. He lets you keep your hands where they are, not wanting to push his luck.
His fingers tuck into the waistband of your underwear, and he pulls them down your legs. Your thighs press together, and he rests his hands on your knees.
"You're so shy all of a sudden," he teases, "Had so much to say just a few minutes ago."
"Are you gonna keep talking or are you gonna make your mouth useful?" You find the confidence and let your knees drop.
The last word is always yours.
He grips your thighs, pulling you down the bed, letting himself fall into the mattress. He wastes no time; his tongue immediately is on your clit in long, lazy licks that have you breathless.
The pads of his fingers are pressed so deeply into the plush of your thighs, you're almost positive they'll bruise. Your hands are tangled in his hair, back off of the mattress, your breathy moans going straight out the window.
You somehow have a split second to hope nobody is near enough to hear, but you also can't find it in you to care that much. How could you when Steve's lips are wrapped around your clit, sucking with the most satisfying pressure?
He dips two fingers back into your dripping cunt, and you can't stop the sound that pulls from your throat. He pulls you closer to his face and drapes your legs over his shoulders, humming when your hips roll involuntarily. The vibrations tighten the thread already threatening to snap.
The stroke of his fingers and the way he just devours you like it's the first and last time he'll ever get to do so, has your vision blurring. He eats like he wants to, pleasures you like it's all he was put on this God-given earth to do.
He doesn't care that he's still fully clothed, cock hard and straining against his pants. He cares that he's finally tasting you, that he's knuckles deep in you, that he's the one who has you seeing stars.
The day he finally gets to bury his cock in you would be the best day of his life, should he ever get the privilege, but this is just enough for him for now.
"I'm- I'm gonna-" you lift your head to look at him, and he's already looked at you.
He pulls his fingers from you and drops his head, his tongue fucking into your pussy, his nose nudging your clit with every thrust of it. He watches your brows knit together, and you can feel him fucking smirk against your cunt.
"Baby, please," the pet name is off your lips before you can stop it, "Fuck, right there."
He pulls off your clit with a pop and stops moving his fingers, making you whine. He looks up at you, his face wet with your slick.
"I thought I was an asshole. I'm 'baby' now?" You glare at him, your fingers tightening in his hair. He just smirks at you. "Should I stop? I can stop."
"No," you lift your hips slightly, tugging him closer to your pussy. "Please."
Nobody has ever gone down on you like this.
Steve Harrington between your legs will be something you dream about for the rest of your life. He's ruined you for anybody else, and he hasn't even properly fucked you yet.
When Steve feels your walls clench around his tongue, he knows you're close. He replaces his tongue with his fingers once more and goes back to sucking on your clit.
He moans, feeling your walls tighten around his fingers, and you tighten your grip in his hair, pulling his face impossibly closer. The thread snaps, and your vision turns to stars as you turn your head, biting into the pillow to stifle the sounds ripping through your throat as your body shudders. He closes his eyes as your thighs shut around his head, a low moan in the deep of his throat resonating.
He'd stay right here forever if given the chance.
Steve continues the tantalizing stroke of his fingers until your legs stop shaking and your walls stop fluttering around them.
You're breathless, arm draped over your face, cheeks flushed. You tense when he drags his tongue through your folds, cleaning you up. He places a kiss on your mound when he's finished.
He kisses up your stomach and chest, stopping at your lips. He slowly uncovers your face, and you look up at him with tired eyes.
"Taste," he tells you.
Your brows furrow in confusion, unsure of what he means, until he lifts his fingers to your mouth, resting them against your lips.
You hesitate but gently take his hand into yours and pull his fingers into your mouth. His wedding band is cold against your tongue. You swirl your tongue around the digits, catching his eyes darken as he watches you.
"Perfect," he nods slowly, watching you intently. "See how good you taste?"
You let your teeth gently scrape his fingers when he pulls them from your lips.
He pulls his shirt over his head and hands it to you, and you tug it on sheepishly to cover up. You're not shy in the way your eyes scan the dark hair across his chest or the softness of his stomach.
You notice the bulge in his pants, and guilt washes over you. "Can I help?"
He shakes his head and pulls you to his chest, falling backward on the bed. You two face each other, faces inches apart.
"This has to be the last time," you say.
"I know," he nods.
You stare at each other in silence for a few moments.
"I have a problem," he finally says.
"Hm?" It's quiet, your brain barely forming full thoughts post orgasm.
"I'm really starting to care about you," he whispers.
You lift your head to look down at him and scan his face. His eyes are soft and stare at you with purpose. You let your finger trace the bridge of his nose as you think about what to say.
"I'm really starting to care about you, too," you reply at the same volume. The air feels thick, and your throat tightens.
"I think we both know that wasn't the last time," he tells you.
You don't have an answer for him because you know he's right.
There's something so undeniably irresistible about him, no matter how hard you try. No matter how irresponsible it is, you can't help it.
It's hard to reimagine the time just a few months ago when the two of you could barely stand in the same room together without getting into an argument.
"You can't stand me," you remind him.
"I can't," he agrees. "It only makes me want you more."
"Idiot," you roll your eyes and push off of his chest.
"Hey," he grabs your arm and pulls you to straddle him. Your bare cunt rests right atop his clothed cock. The friction makes you gasp. He moves to sit up, and you swallow the moan threatening to come out. You're dripping all over again.
"I can't stand you." He repeats, his hand finding itself in your hair. "I can't stand what a know-it-all you are. I can't stand how good you are at your job."
He kisses your jaw.
"I can't stand how good you are at being Grace."
He kisses your chin.
"I can't stand how you sound when you're about to cum."
His hand drops to your throat, thumb and pointer finger digging into your skin with just the right amount of pressure.
"I can't stand what a good sister you are. How brave you are. How good you are. How you make it entirely impossible to hate you when I want to so badly. Believe me, I tried."
"Are you done?" You murmur.
"You're gonna ruin me, you know that?" He nips your jaw. "You are ruining me."
He pulls you into another kiss that is so punishing it draws a whimper from you.
There's a knock on the door that makes you jump, "Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, dinner is in thirty minutes."
Steve groans, letting his head rest against your chest as he calls out, "Thank you, Martin!"
"I'm gonna shower," you tell him, climbing off his lap.
"Wait," he grabs your wrist and pulls you back for a kiss.
It's soft and quick, but it's enough to leave you wanting more.
✩
Steve and you sit across from the woman he mingled with at the luncheon and her husband, whose names you learn are Rich and Marianne.
They unfortunately seem like decent people, but you know, everyone sat at this table is some of the worst in the world.
The brothers, Matt and Nathan, are sitting closer to Henry and seem to be in a deeper conversation with him. The women who greeted them are at their sides, and you learn their names are Jenn and Samantha. You tuck every piece of information into deep corners of your mind, never to be forgotten.
Steve holds your hand on top of the table, ensuring to flash the expensive wedding bands wrapped around your fingers.
You'd gotten so used to wearing them, they'd become such an afterthought. A lot of times, it'd feel like they become a part of you.
"We've been friends with Henry since he joined the business," Marianne says, "Rich used to mentor him."
"Now he's outgrown me," Rich laughs, but there's a subtle bitterness laced through it. Jealousy.
"It is so nice to have a new face around," Marianne says, "Danny is such a lovely guy. When I heard what happened at the luncheon, I just felt so awful for you, Grace."
The sentence is a whole bunch of words and a whole lot of nothing.
You smile regardless, "Accidents happen. I don't blame anyone. Danny is just very overprotective sometimes, aren't you, honey?"
"It's impossible not to be with her, you get it, don't you, Rich?" Steve winks at Rich, and he laughs loudly.
"You could say that," he chortles.
You watch Marriane's smile falter just a smidge as Rich slinks his arm around her shoulders. She upholds the front of the happy couple more than he does.
"The thing about this business is it consumes you," Rich starts, lifting his wine glass. "It's impossible to not feel guilt."
You glance at Steve, who is listening intently to whatever story Rich is about to go on about. Knowing he has that conversation covered, you turn your focus to Henry, who is already looking at you.
You give him a slight nod of your head and a charming smile. He returns it, and you turn your focus back to Rich, but keep your ears on Henry's conversation.
It's taken years to master, but it's such a useful skill.
"Well, you two know the auction is coming up. Everyone is to present something worthy for me to sell. You'll get your cut, obviously. There's just one problem," Henry says.
"What is that?" Matt's voice is nervous.
"You two have been lacking." Henry's voice is sharp. "You lacked last year, too. You either up your game this year or you're done. The Andersons would be eager and thrilled to take your place."
"The Andersons?" Nathan says. "Henry, that's- respectfully- ridiculous."
"My Grace has a great eye. Her Daniel has business degrees you two couldn't even dream of. They're an unmatched duo. You two need to figure something out before you severely disappoint me." Henry stands from the table, but you make sure to not look. "I would hate for you to figure out what it looks like when I'm disappointed."
The women sat next to Nathan and Matt shift uncomfortably in their seats.
"It's my favorite part of the trip," Henry addresses the entire table.
"Thank God," Rich says, leaning back in his chair.
You look around at the other women, slightly confused.
"Oh, Grace," Henry says, "Every year to start the trip, I take the guys to the Mainland for a night out. Don't worry, Daniel won't be back too late."
You laugh lightly, looking to Steve, who has tightened his grip on your hand, "That sounds fun."
"Let's regroup in 30," Henry says.
Dinner is dismissed, and you and Steve find yourselves back in your room.
"I don't want to leave you," Steve says. He's been pacing for twenty minutes.
"I'll be fine, Steve. I'm going to get closer to Marrianne to see what she can give me."
"I don't like this one bit," he says, taking his hands in yours.
"Think of the intel you can get," you say quietly, as he kisses your knuckles.
He finally sighs and nods, running a hand through his hair.
"It'll be fine," you offer a reassuring smile.
Thirty minutes later, you're standing on the dock with the rest of the wives, sending their husbands off for a night on the Mainland, god, whatever that means.
"Have fun, okay?" You tell Steve as he rests his hands on your hips.
"Fun," he scoffs and dips his head to whisper in your ear, "Be safe. Please."
"You too," you nod and kiss his cheek.
He kisses you deeply, lifting you up off the ground slightly. When he sets you down, he kisses you quickly three times and then kisses your hand before Rich pulls him away to the boat.
Anxiety settles low in your chest as you wave him goodbye.
Marrianne invites you to the fire pit in the back for a glass of wine. She tells you she's not much of a fan of Samantha and Jenn, which makes you want to have a conversation with them as well.
"I'm trying to cut back on alcohol," you tell her when she offers you a second glass.
"Are you two trying?" She asks, and you nearly spit the water that you're drinking out.
You just shrug with a laugh, "We've talked about it. But we've only been married a few months."
"It's good to cut back early, though," she nods, taking a long sip.
"Do you have any kids?" You question.
"God no," she chuckles, "How could you in this line of business? I'd feel too guilty. But don't let that stop you. Many of Henry's buyers and sellers have kids."
"I guess you're right," you hum, twirling the plastic straw around the rim of your cup.
"You and Danny remind me so much of Rich and me when we were your age." She tells you, resting a hand on your arm. "The way you two look at each other, it's so beautiful."
"Oh, stop." You don't know what to say, so you just lean into her touch with a laugh.
"I mean it, watching you two together is so sweet. I just hope it lasts longer than Rich and I did." Her smile is honest; she doesn't mean any harm by her comment, but it lands strangely.
She notes the look on your face and takes your hand in hers.
"Honey, this business will rip your marriage apart. The only reason Rich and I are still together is that it'd be too hard to find someone else to put up with the secrets." She bursts into drunken laughter, and you laugh as well, but your heart is not in it. "Henry will make sure of it too, if he cares enough."
"What do you mean?" You tread carefully; she may be drunk, but she's been in the game long enough to know when to be cautious.
"He likes to test the trust of our relationships," she lowers her voice and looks around to make sure nobody's near.
"Test how?" You question.
"It's all a game to him," her smile drops, and sadness fills her eyes, "We were fine, Rich and me. Til we got into business with Henry."
You shake your head, "I think we'll be fine. Danny wouldn't."
"So did I," she stares at you with bloodshot eyes. "Take it as a warning, sweetheart."
You're unsure of who you're supposed to be playing. Grace is undoubtedly a part of you now, but there are times like these when you're unsure how to respond.
Marriane is clearly unhappy with her marriage and her husband's business with Henry, but feels too stuck to leave. You'd feel sorry for her if she didn't put herself in this situation.
When you look at her, you see a sad excuse of a middle-aged woman, drinking her sorrows away, regretting the life choices that put her in this house.
You keep her company for another hour or so, focusing on building her trust before turning in for the night.
Sitting in bed with a book becomes tiresome while you wait for Steve to come back. The clock is nearing three a.m and you're fighting the sleep that threatens to consume you.
A part of you can't wait for Steve to come back. You want to climb into bed with him and let him hold you like he had on your birthday. You feel eager to erase the lines you drew and fully let him in, no matter what the consequences are.
You tell yourself that it's the only way you'll get through the rest of the case. He's truly the only other person in the world who can comprehend the struggle of what you're going through.
You just wanted him, and knowing he felt the same way had your heart skipping beats.
He enters the room quietly, assuming you're sleeping a quarter past three in the morning.
"Hey," you shut the book and move to sit on the edge of the bed. "How did it go?"
He looks beyond tired in the lamplight. He keeps his head down, his hair no longer holding its style. You've always quite liked it when it's down and messy, especially in the mornings when he's just woken up.
He doesn't answer you, and your heart drops as he tosses his jacket on the back of the couch.
"What is it?" You stand up to approach him, "Did something happen?"
He shakes his head, avoiding your gaze. As you get closer, you smell the alcohol. Knowing that Henry and the other guys are probably responsible gets you a little heated, and you have to take a deep breath to calm yourself down.
"Let's get you to bed, yeah?" You reach for him, "We can talk about it tomorrow."
You're close enough to him now to catch a whiff of something else and immediately draw your hands back. It's not sea salt and olive tree, not your scent.
It's someone else's.
Your heart sinks as you look up at him. Really look up at him.
He's got red marks on his neck, not full-blown hickeys, but you can tell someone else's mouth has been on him. The faintest smudge of red lipstick is on his jaw, and you know it's because he tried rubbing it off.
He watches the realization land, and it makes his chest ache.
"I'm sorry," it's barely above a whisper.
Tears well in your eyes, as anger bubbles in your chest. Your fingers tremble slightly as you take a step backward.
"Why?"
Are you Grace, are you yourself? Either way, it fucking stings.
"Henry's final act of trust," he barely has the energy to explain exactly what happened, but he knows from this point forward, you're dissecting every sentence.
"It's fine."
You turn and walk back to the bed, pulling the duvet back.
"Don't do that," he says as he approaches you, and you turn quickly, holding your hand out to stop him.
"You did what you had to do. It's fine," you fist the duvet in your hands, avoiding eye contact.
You swallow the feelings of hurt and do what you do best, which is begin your emotional shut down so it doesn't hurt as bad.
"What was I supposed to do?" he pleads.
"I don't know, maybe act like a married fucking man?" You raise your voice slightly and then stop yourself.
Do you have a right to be mad? Grace and Danny are married, yes, but you and Steve are not. Steve was working and doing what he could to get intel on the extremely vital case you're on. You and Steve aren't even a couple at the end of the day.
You wish it didn't hurt as badly as it does.
"I'm sorry," he pleads as he reaches for you again, and you turn to look at him. The look in your eyes is enough to stop him in his tracks.
"Don't."
Is he Danny or is he himself?
He's sick to his stomach with the betrayal of what he's done. He can only imagine the ways this hurts you, no matter how hard you try to pretend it doesn't.
"We didn't... I mean, I didn't sleep with her," he attempts.
"Maybe you should've. Maybe it would've made it worth it," you crawl into bed and shut the lamp off, not giving him the chance to say anything else.
summary: The lines between you and Steve begin to blur.
pairing: agent!steveharrington x femagent!reader
word count: 7.9k
pairing: agent!steveharrington x femagent!reader
warnings: multi chapter steve harrington au, no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, fake dating, forced proximity, some violence + graphic cases will be mentioned, core four <3, everybody is here, slowish burn, SO angsty, kind of mayfield!reader (she's adopted)
chapter specific warnings: mentions of human trafficking, attempted SA (doesn't actually happen), mentions of vomiting, explicit content 18+, fingering, multiple orgasms, steve has a slightly rough touch (barely), steve cums in his pants lol, lmk if i missed any
Steve and you keep your distance over the next week. He goes back to missing dinner with you and Max, even though she asks why. He tells her he has work to catch up on.
"What happened between you?" Max presses.
"Nothing happened, Max." You reply.
"I just thought you guys were getting along better," She says.
"We are," you lie. She catches on, knowing you too well.
Every night, you fall asleep in a massive bed that feels so empty, and you can't help but wish he were lying next to you with his hand resting on your hip, brushing circles into your skin.
Every night, you're met with memories of his lips against yours, his tongue in your mouth, his kiss full of color.
And you hate yourself for how much you crave it.
"Hollywood, this is Robin, come in," the walkie-talkie sitting on your dresser sounds on, and you quickly walk over to get it.
"Go for Hollywood," you reply.
"I'm heading over to Basecamp for a debrief. Are you and Harrington around?" She asks. Basecamp meaning the Anderson Mansion, and debrief meaning she has new intel.
"Go for Harrington," Steve's voice sounds on the walkie, and your fingers flex around the device in your hand. "We're here."
You and Steve exit your rooms at the same time and awkwardly walk to the office to enter the saferoom. He pulls the copy of The Great Gatsby and holds the door open for you.
"How's Max?" Steve asks you as you sit in your respective chairs. "Haven't seen her all week."
"She's fine," you reply. "She stays at Hopper's a lot. She and Jane are getting close, I guess."
You felt a lot better about letting her be out of the house so much, knowing she was in the care of people who would never let her get hurt.
"Good, good." He nods his head and twirls a pen between his fingers.
The silence is loud for the next ten minutes while you wait for Robin's arrival.
She sets a stack of files on the counter and sits in the chair she would normally sit in at the office.
"Who pissed in your cereal?" She asks Steve, then turns toward you, "And yours?"
"Nobody," you sit up in your chair, "What do you have?"
You're antsy and eager to see what she has to give you. You've had no contact with Henry since your meeting last Thursday, and you know Robin has been busy at work setting things up for your next one.
"Grace and Danny are set to attend Henry's luncheon this Saturday at noon sharp. His goal in introducing you to their buyers is for you to get to know them and what their interests are," Robin shudders, "So that you can start scouting for them. I think this is your first step in earning his trust."
You read over the documents of their chat carefully while she keeps talking.
<Dealer001>: There's a club closer to downtown that Henry owns. A lot of the buyers hang around that area.
<DAndy>: It's a good pool, I'm assuming. Grace is personable. She'll make your buyers happy.
<Dealer001>: I do believe it.
"You two have some studying to do," Robin says.
"The luncheon is tomorrow," Steve says.
"Better get to reading, dingus," Robin stands up.
"What club is he talking about?" You ask.
"I did some digging, it's that new teen club called The Upside Down. It's for like 14-18-year-olds to hang out and dance. There's no alcohol there legally, obviously, but there have been reports of kids getting drugged every now and then." Robin explains, "Henry owns it."
"He owns a fucking teen club?" You sit up in your seat.
"He doesn't officially own it, but yeah, he owns it. Someone else bought it, but through my research, all signs point to him being the true owner." She crosses her arms.
You nod slowly, reading over a few more pages.
"He's testing us," you say. "He wants to see how we fare against his buyers. They're probably all sharks."
"Well, they haven't met us yet," Steve says, opening his copy of the files. "I'm gonna go on a run, but thanks for the debrief, Robin."
"Don't get hit by a car," she says as he exits the saferoom.
You release a deep breath when the door finally clicks shut.
"Alright, what the hell is going on? You two couldn't be more obvious," Robin looks down at you like a mother scolding her child.
"Do you swear it stays between us?" You ask.
"Pinky swear," she holds her pinky up, and you latch yours onto hers.
"We kissed." You say, and she stares at you blankly. "We kissed like... not as the Andersons."
"What?!" Her eyes widen, and she gasps. "I mean, you two kissing as the Andersons, I knew that was gonna happen. It was inevitable, no matter how hard you guys tried to prevent it. But what do you mean, not as the Andersons?!"
"We just- I don't know!" You tug at your hair and cover your face as your cheeks heat up, "We kissed at the gallery for the first time as Grace and Danny. And then we had just gotten back from meeting Henry, and we were just... talking. Then we were kissing. But I stopped it, because it was a mistake."
Robin laughs. Then laughs more. And more until she's bent over with her hands on her knees, wheezing.
"I'm sorry. It's just- you and Steve?! You two hate each other and have since you've met. This is just bananas!" Robin says through her laughter. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, I'll stop."
"I don't know what happened. It's been so awkward ever since, Rob, I don't know how to fix it," you sigh. "Things were going good. Like, it was getting normal, and I feel like I ruined it."
"Wait, what do you mean you ruined it?" Her eyes widen, "You kissed him?"
All you can do is cover your face to hide your shame. Not shame from kissing him, but shame from the fact that you can't stop thinking about it.
"Look, Steve is... Steve. He was such a player in high school, he had this whole 'King Steve' thing going on- whatever, it doesn't matter. My point is, you just have to let it go. Steve is only giving you space because he thinks that's what you want. You just have to act like things are normal, and they will be."
Robin's advice sits with you the entire day while you sit tucked away in the office upstairs, going over the files that Robin left with you.
Without meaning to, you fall asleep in the chair by the window. The sun is far past set when you wake up to a knock on the door.
"Come in," you say.
Max pokes her head through the door and then enters the room, "I was wondering where you were."
"How was your sleepover?" You ask, standing up from the chair. You stretch your tense limbs with a soft sigh.
"It was good. I was coming to grab you for dinner," Max says.
"Did you order in?" You ask.
"Steve cooked," she replies.
When you enter the kitchen, Steve stands at the stove with an apron tied around his waist. He's got a pair of tongs in his hand and a kitchen towel draped over his shoulder.
A kid you've never met before, rocking a mullet paired with a black eye, sits at the countertop.
"Hey, rise and shine, sleepyhead," Steve says. "This is Dustin. Dustin meet Hollywood."
"I'm Dustin," he holds his hand out.
"Nice to meet you," you say, shaking his hand.
"Hollywood?"
"It's kind of like a call sign." You shrug.
"So you two are really playing married?" Dustin asks, eyeing the rings on your finger.
"It's the weirdest thing ever," Max says as she picks a fry off the tray in front of Steve, earning a playful glare from him, "I don't know if Steve told you, but they absolutely can't stand each other."
"Max," you shoot her a look.
"Yeah, he shared his thoughts," Dustin laughs.
"We're having burgers tonight," Steve turns around, ignoring anything that was just said, and points to Dustin and Max, "You two can set the table."
A small smile tugs at your lips, and you cover your mouth with your hand.
Max and Dustin's laughter is cut short by a groan, but despite it, they begin grabbing dishes from the cabinets and carrying them to the dining room.
"That's Dustin, then?" You stand next to Steve at the stove, keeping your voice low. "He's a polite kid."
"That's him," he says with a small smile. "He's a handful, but I love him."
Dinner with Max, Dustin, and Steve is the most you've laughed in months. The way he and Steve banter is like nothing you've seen before. So much of them reminds you so much of you and Max.
It's also nice to see that Max has made a good friend like Dustin. You've only ever really met Lucas, so it's nice to see somebody new.
Seeing Steve with Dustin is seeing a whole new side to him. There's a different spirit to him when he's around someone he cares about.
Dustin, to Steve's surprise, asks to spend the night, so you make up one of the guest bedrooms for him, while he and Max wander off to the game room.
"Are you ready for tomorrow?" Steve's voice makes you jump. "Sorry."
"I think so," you say, turning your back to him as you finish scribbling the last of your notes later that night.
"Me too," he nods. There's no good response you can think of, so you just nod back and look at your notes. He watches you for a moment like he might have something else to say, but decides against it. "Good night."
The next morning, you're up early, rummaging through the closet trying to find something to wear to the luncheon. Your nerves are shot and already at one hundred, and the day hasn't even started. Nancy and Eddie got called to a local case since they couldn't be present at this one, so she had no time to help you with an outfit.
A knock raps at the bedroom door, and you call for them to come in loud enough that hopefully they hear it.
"Hey," Max sits in the middle of the closet.
"Hey, bear," you smile at her, "What's up? I thought you were going to Jane's today."
"She wanted to hang out with Mike," she says with a sigh.
"Mike is Nancy's brother, right?" You ask.
"They're kind of dating," Max replies.
"Like you and Lucas?"
"Yeah, I guess so," her cheeks flush red, and you smile.
"You don't think it's weird that I coincidentally made friends with all of your coworkers' kids?" Max asks.
You ponder for a moment, flipping through the rack, "I mean, a little. But you guys are all zoned to the same district, so maybe not? I really like that you've made friends with them. Their... keepers are good people."
"Their 'keepers'?" She snickers.
"I don't know," you laugh lightly, "Their guardians, I guess. The relationships are weird to me. Like Dustin and Steve, for one."
"That one is complicated," Max nods, "But did you know Jane was adopted like us?"
"No, I didn't."
"You should wear that one," Max says. "It's a luncheon, right?"
Your hand is on a black sleeveless mini dress with a slight V-neck. It looks shorter than you would prefer, but overall might be a good fit for the luncheon.
"Who told you it's a luncheon?" You quickly change into the dress.
"Steve."
"Steve isn't supposed to tell you things about the case," you huff.
Max stands to help zip up the back of the dress, "Steve isn't supposed to do a lot of things, like kiss my sister."
Your chest feels hot, "He told you about that?"
"No, but you just did," Max says with a smug smile. "Well, tell me more."
"We have to kiss sometimes because we're... married." You turn to face the mirror, smoothing the dress out. It's more fitted around your waist and loose around your thighs, which you like.
"Well, you're not married," Max stands behind you, looking at you in the mirror. "And you definitely didn't just kiss because you're married. I know my sister."
"Okay, fine," you huff. "We kissed outside of being the Andersons. Just once, and it was a mistake, and it won't happen again."
"It shouldn't happen again. Because if things get messy between you two, then they get messy with me and Dustin and the rest of the party." She crosses her arms. Yeah, she's your sister, alright. You may not share blood, but the traits you share are endless.
"I know," is all you say.
Steve is waiting for you downstairs at eleven a.m sharp. He looks good, and it pisses you off. You two somehow managed to match, wearing all black. He's wearing a loose-fitted short-sleeved black button-up tucked into black trousers and a belt.
"Ready?" He asks.
"Mhm," you nod, walking past him to the front door. He quickens his step to beat you to the door to open it.
He stops you from opening the car door, too. He slides the keys into your hand, "Wanna drive?"
You can't help the smile that tugs at your lips. "Fine."
You drive to Henry's house, following the directions that Steve had printed out that morning. He's kind of horrible at giving them, but you make it work.
His house is somehow bigger than yours, with so much land that you can't even see where it ends. The mansion sits atop a hill, with empty farmland stretching for acres.
Every inch of the land is gated. When you pull up to the gate, an armed guard is waiting in a security booth.
"Name?" He asks.
"Grace Anderson," you tell him.
"Him?" He leans down, looking past you and at Steve.
"Danny Anderson," Steve replies.
He checks his list over and then opens the gate for you.
"This is insane," Steve mutters as you drive up the driveway.
A large fountain sits in front of the house with some of the most intricate marbling you've ever seen. When you park, a man opens the door for you and Steve and takes the keys to valet it.
"Head right in," the man says.
Steve waits on the other side of the car with his hand extended for you to take. You both keep your sunglasses on as you walk through the house toward the backyard, guided by the multiple housemaids.
When you step into the backyard, you have to clench your jaw to keep it from hanging open. A gorgeous pool is the centerpiece of the backyard. There's a miniature version of the garden that sits in the gallery. Cocktail tables line the fence, more people than you expected scattered across the yard, drinks in their hands.
"Oh, look who made it," Henry greets you with a smile and a hug that you return gracefully, even though it makes you want to barf up the breakfast you didn't eat this morning. He shakes Steve's hand with a smile. "Aren't you two just absolutely darling?"
"Thanks for having us. Your home is beautiful." Steve says.
"Please make yourselves comfortable. Do mingle with as many people as possible, and let me know who you connect with. Lunch will be served within the next hour."
You and Steve grab a drink from the open outdoor bar, even though you have no intentions of drinking them. His hand never leaves yours.
He pulls you to a table, kind of toward the corner, so you can observe for a few minutes before diving in.
He pulls you into his side and leans down to press a kiss to your temple. His hand rests comfortably on your waist as he leans to talk quietly to you. You keep your eyes on everyone in the space while he speaks.
"What's our move?" He asks, his breath against your ear. "I'm thinking we go for the group of men at the table nearest the garden. They seem tipsy already, so they might be easy. The one in the middle is talking too much for the others' liking."
"I'm with you," you nod, grateful for the sunglasses that make it easy to stare.
He kisses your temple and then your cheek and then takes your hand to guide you over to the group of men.
"Ah, you must be the newbies Henry told us about," the man in the middle says, "My name is Jack."
He holds his hand out, and Steve shakes it, "Danny."
"You are?" He takes your hand, pressing a kiss to it that sends shivers down your spine.
"Grace," you answer with a smile that doesn't falter.
The other two men introduce themselves in the same slimy way that Jack did, as Nick and Peter. Three businessmen based out of New York City, all owning a string of clubs up and down Manhattan.
You and Steve smchooze the three men, telling them about your time at Yale and about Danny's wealthy parents, as well as about Danny's business that you're currently the CFO of.
You earn yourselves an invite to Jack's house in Martha's Vineyard by the end of the conversation, but you don't learn enough about their interests to scout for them.
Respectfully, everyone is standoffish toward you and Steve because you're newbies whom nobody has met before.
"This fucking sucks, we're getting nothing," Steve has you back at your table in the corner. His arms are around your waist, yours around his neck, and he's whispering in your ear. To anybody else, you just look like a couple who can't keep their hands off each other.
"It's okay. Maybe we should split? Let me try on my own and see what I can do," you tell him, and his hands tense for a moment.
He pulls back just for a moment to look down at you, "Absolutely not, I'm not sending you anywhere alone."
"I'll be fine. Keep eyes on me, I'll keep eyes on you," you tell him, "Go charm that wife over there." You nod to a woman standing alone in the garden.
He freezes for a moment, studying your face before he finally sighs, "Call for me if you need me."
Out of the corner of your eye, you see Henry standing in the entryway of the house, watching you.
Steve constantly having a hand on you has become second nature. It feels entirely natural when you stand on your toes to kiss him softly, and he returns it a bit more eagerly than you expected. You slide your hands to cup his cheeks and kiss him quickly three times, before tapping his cheek.
"I'll be fine. Go," you say quietly.
He leans down and presses a kiss to your cheek quickly, earning a laugh from you before he grabs his glass and heads off toward the woman in the corner.
You wait patiently, keeping eyes on Steve as he chats with the woman across the garden. He's so irritatingly good at his job that you have to fight the pool of jealousy threatening to settle in your chest.
Finally, somebody bites the bait.
A tall man who looks to be only a little older than you and Steve approaches. He's handsome, but not as handsome as the man you came with.
"First time?" He asks, setting his glass on the table.
"That obvious?" you laugh.
"I'd remember a face like that," he says, extending his hand. You give him a firm handshake. "What's your name?"
"Grace," you reply. It's beginning to feel more natural coming off your lips, but you don't think you'll ever get used to it.
"Nathan," he introduces himself. "What brings you to the Creel house?"
"Henry invited me," you answer. You use your shades to push your hair back so he can see your eyes. Keeping your eyes and smile soft, you push your weight to your right foot, just enough that your shoulder brushes his.
It's intentional, calculated, and it works.
Another man bites the bait and appears at your other side. You keep your posture straight and your shoulders back. You're not intimidated in the slightest.
"This is my business partner, Matthew," Nathan says.
"Grace," you extend your hand first, looking him in the eye.
"You can call me Matt," he says.
Looking between the two, you realize quickly that they're not just partners, they're brothers.
"Henry invited her," Nathan says.
A bell dings, and Henry now stands on the stairs overlooking the garden. "Let lunch be served."
From behind him, a line of women and a few men enter the backyard. They're all your age, if not younger.
Your fingers tense around the stem of your glass as you look across the yard at Steve. He still has his sunglasses on, so it's hard to read what he's feeling. From what you can see, he's not thrilled about the two men on either side of you.
Almost every guest immediately chooses people from the line and pulls them into conversations. They're all immediately touchy and slimy, and it makes you nauseous.
Just. Like. Sharks.
Nathan and Matthew stay at your side. You pull your sunglasses back over your eyes to hide how disgusted you are.
"She's a good one," Nathan nods to a redhead standing at the edge of the pool. Your jaw tenses, but you stay calm as she reminds you of your sister at home.
You down the glass in your hand. How could you get through the rest of this luncheon without at least a little liquid courage?
"What are your thoughts, Grace?" He asks.
"She's quite beautiful," you nod. You mean it.
"Should we pull her?" Matt looks to Nathan. "My brother has a thing for redheads."
"Brother?" You act surprised.
"You couldn't tell?" Nathan chuckles, leaning in closer. It's at this point that you know he's wrapped around your finger.
"Who here would you pull and for what? Give me the lay of the land," you smile, resting your hand on his arm.
"The redhead is nice, but she looks too frail for my liking," he says. "I like to have a bit of fun, I need someone who can keep up."
"I see," you nod. "What about her?"
A blonde woman stands with Jack from earlier.
"I like who I have in front of me," Matt says.
"Oh, I'm not- sorry... I'm not-" your words falter, and your vision blurs slightly.
"You feeling okay?" Nathan asks. You look up at him, the corners of his lips tugging upward.
It starts in your fingertips, creeping up your arms as they become heavy. Your time is short; that's all you know as you lay eyes on Steve across the lawn.
"Excuse me," you breathe out, pushing past Nathan. He grips your arm, and you pull away. "I need-"
"What do you need? Let us help." Nathan's hands are on your arms, holding you up as your balance gives and you stumble.
"My Danny-" your head feels so heavy as your vision grows blurrier. "Why would you- my Danny-"
Forming a coherent sentence is the most difficult thing in the world. All you know is you need Steve, but even in your impaired state, you know what to call him by.
"My Danny?" Nathan looks to Matt, his eyes wide. "Who is Danny?"
"Let go," you try to push him away. "Danny-"
"Get your hands off my wife," Steve's voice is distant behind you, but you feel his presence. Everything sounds so far away. He lands two clean punches, one for Nathan and one for Matt. The two are on the ground, blood trickling from their noses.
You manage to hold yourself upright until his arms are around your waist.
"If you ever touch my wife again, I will kill you with my bare hands, understand?" Steve seethes. "Say you understand!"
"What's going on?" Henry arrives at the sound of commotion.
"Grace- she-" Steve is breathless as he looks at you, worry etched into his face.
"Let's take this inside," Henry says after taking one look at you. "Now."
Matt and Nathan are quick to their feet. Henry's assistant hands each of them a handkerchief, and Steve has to practically carry you back inside.
"Grace is very important to me," Henry says to the brothers. His calmness is terrifying.
"We had no idea who she was," Matt exclaims. "I swear, Henry. I swear."
"Apologize to Daniel," Henry tells the two men.
"We're sorry. We had no idea she was married or that you were here or her importance-"
"Shut the fuck up," Steve cuts him off, pulling himself together to the best of his ability. "Henry, this is- I mean, I don't even have the words."
"I understand your frustration. I assure you it won't happen again." Henry says. "Our partnership is valuable to me, and I deeply apologize."
"I don't feel good," you slur. "Can we go home?"
"I know, baby. We'll go home." He pushes your hair from your face, his eyes on yours, trying to gauge how far gone you are. You can barely keep your eyes open.
"My assistant will reach out tomorrow. Get her home safely." Henry nods.
Henry's assistant helps Steve get you into the car. "She's going to vomit a lot, just a warning. Just keep her hydrated, she's going to have a hell of a hangover."
Steve buckles your seatbelt and presses a hand to your forehead when the assistant closes the door, "Steeeeve?"
"I'm here, baby, I'm here." He nods, his thumb brushing your cheek.
"I don't feel good," you repeat, this time quieter.
Everything is a blur, and the speed at which Steve drives down the driveway is breakneck. He reaches into the glove box, pulling out his walkie.
"Someone- anyone. We have a problem," Steve keeps one hand on the wheel.
"Go for Byers," Joyce's voice is staticky on the walkie.
"Hollywood's been drugged," he says frantically.
"Copy," Joyce says. "Meet at Basecamp."
"What happened to her?!" Max exclaims when Steve enters the house.
She had been sitting at the kitchen table, catching up on homework, when Steve carried you in bridal style. She's at your side in a split second.
"Max, go to your room," Steve pleads. She shouldn't have to see you like this. "She's gonna be fine."
Max, surprisingly, listens to Steve and disappears into her room. He carries you to your room and places you in your bed. "I feel sick."
He's quick to grab the bin and a towel from the bathroom just in time as you double over the edge of the bed, bile rising up your throat.
Steve pulls your hair into his hand, holding it back for you. "I'm here. I'm right here. Get it all out."
Tears stream down your face as you gasp for breath, letting your head finally drop against the pillow when you feel like you can't throw up anymore. It's been at least thirty minutes of continuous vomiting, and you've grown impossibly tired.
Steve gently cleans you up with the damp towel, taking in every distressed feature of yours. The feeling that settles deep in his chest when he tucks your hair behind your ear is near painful. One he hadn't felt in years, and it hits him so hard he nearly loses his breath.
You reach for his hand, your eyes fluttering shut, sleep coming over you, "Stay."
He squeezes your hand three times.
✩
Steve is asleep in a chair next to your bed when you finally wake up hours later. The lamp on the nightstand is dimly lit, but it's enough to send a sharp pain through your head. At this point, he had put one of his shirts on you just in case you threw up again to avoid ruining the dress you had on.
You groan softly, attempting to reach for the switch.
"Hey, hey," Steve shuts the lamp off quickly and kneels down next to the bed, "Lay back down. What do you need?"
"Water," you whisper, voice hoarse.
The only light left is from the moon, which shines in fragments through the sheer curtains. You can't help but notice how beautiful Steve looks in the soft glow.
He lifts the glass of water he had waiting on the nightstand and brings the straw to your lips. "How do you feel?"
You release a shaky breath, covering your face with your hands as you lean back onto the pillow, "God, I fucked up."
"What are you talking about?" He keeps his voice low, mindful of the migraine he's sure you're having.
You sniffle, trying to not cry, but the tears spill against your will, "I should've known. I'm sorry, Steve, I messed up today."
"Listen to me," he takes your wrists into his hands, pulling them from your face, "You didn't mess anything up. It's not your fault at all."
He gently wipes your tears from your cheeks and lets his thumbs linger.
"I almost blew it," he whispers.
"What do you mean?" There's a gaping hole in your memory, you realize.
"I didn't look at you for five minutes, and when I did, you were so out of it. You could barely walk, you could barely talk. I could've blown everything because they hurt you." His thumb brushes against your cheek. "I broke both of their noses."
"Was Henry mad?" you ask.
"Henry actually..." Steve ponders for a moment, shuffling through the memory, "He was really apologetic. He told the brothers that you were important to him."
Important to him? You've barely worked out a solid partnership, so what could make you so important to him?
"Did you really break their noses?" you question. A small smile tugs at his lips, and he nods.
"One punch each," he replies.
You sit up quicker than you should and sling your arms around Steve's neck, pulling him into a hug. The wave of dizziness passes as he pulls your chest flush with his, one arm around your waist, the other cradling the back of your head.
"Thank you," you whisper.
"Of course," he lets his eyes close, a breath of relief leaving his lips.
✩
The hangover is brutally lingering the next morning when you're sitting in the safe room with the rest of the team.
Joyce had brought in medics to figure out exactly what your drink was spiked with and to make sure it was nothing more serious than what it was.
They'd kindly set you up with an IV to rehydrate you after all of the vomiting you'd done.
"We've come to the decision to pull you two out," Joyce says.
"What?" You and Steve are in sync.
"Why?" Nancy is just as pissed.
"After yesterday's incident, it's what's best. What if it had been worse than a date rape drug? What if Steve had fully blown their cover? They could be dead," Hopper rises from his chair, commanding the calamity of the room.
Everyone silences.
"This case is not worth your lives," Joyce rises too.
"We can't just give up," you argue. "Do not take us off this case, please."
There's so much work to be done, and you and Steve had barely scratched the surface. You two could crack the case, you know it in your bones.
"We knew the risks coming in; we signed up for it. Let us finish this, please." You plead. Your head pounds when you stand up, and Robin grabs your arm to steady you as you sway.
"Henry likes us. He especially likes her. If there's any shot at saving the victims, it's with her." Steve nods his head toward you.
"If I may..." Robin pipes up. "I only saw it right before heading over here, but Henry is interested in a meeting with just Steve."
"What?" Joyce asks.
Robin was calculated in bringing this up in front of the entire team. Had she brought it up only in front of Joyce or Hopper, they'd shut the idea down, but she knew what she was doing.
"He understands that Grace may be wary of visiting the Creel house after what happened, so he wants to extend a personal apology to Danny."
"It could be a trap," Hopper says.
"It's not," Steve says. "Henry is borderline obsessed with Grace, and he wants to do whatever he can to keep us in his company."
"Steve is right," you say.
"Look at you two, working together," Eddie's smile is wide as he looks between you and Steve.
"I think Robin may be right. He might be developing some sort of infatuation with her, and we should be using that to our benefit, not dropping out of the case." Nancy finally says something, and you're grateful it's that.
"Henry was pissed that the brothers drugged her," Steve shakes his head, "He was calm, but he was too calm. It was kind of terrifying. What'd I give to know what happened to the brothers once we left."
"I am begging you," you insist, sitting back down, too tired to keep standing, "Please let us see this through."
✩
Steve keeps you company in the upstairs office that night, mindlessly flipping through one of the books from the shelf. He seems to be seeking your time a lot since you got home from the luncheon yesterday.
Two chairs sit in front of a large window overlooking the pool in the backyard. Steve occupies one, and you occupy the other. A table with two glasses of wine sits between you.
"Theoretically, where do you think he's keeping them?" Steve asks you.
"My guess is somewhere on that huge plot of land," you reply. You've been flipping back and forth between files you'd already looked over one million times. Reading between the lines had never felt so difficult in your life. "When is your meeting with him?"
"Robin is setting it up," he replies quietly. "How are you feeling?"
"Hangover is finally gone," you shut the folder with a deep breath. "I can't look at this anymore."
"Do you want to watch a movie?" He asks. You cross one leg over the other and lift your brows when you look at him. "What?"
"Steve, you don't have to babysit me." You set the file on the table next to you and stand up.
"I'm not," he says defensively.
"Ever since we got home from the luncheon, you've barely left my side," you cross your arms. He shakes his head, opening his mouth like he's going to say something, but then closes it. "You're asking me to watch a movie. When have you ever had any interest in watching a movie with me? Or spending any sort of time with me outside of work."
"Come on, that's not true," he stresses.
"Up until recently, I'm not sure I'd even consider us friends," you laugh, poking fun at him.
"So we're friends now?"
"You kind of saved my life a little, so I guess I owe you friendship," you reply.
You move to leave the office, and he stands, "Where are you going?"
"Are we watching a movie or not?"
Max had gone over to Jane's once again, feeling overwhelmed with the aftermath of yesterday, so you and Steve were in an empty house.
He made some popcorn and found some candy that Max had stashed, and laid everything out on the coffee table. You put on 10 Things I Hate About You and don't leave any room for him to complain.
"This is my favorite part," you say as Kat and Patrick run through the paintball field.
You hardly recognize, but you and Steve had been inching closer and closer throughout the movie.
"Come on, she can't forgive him after that," he exclaims, his hands out in frustration toward the television.
"Keep watching," you laugh at how engaged he is in the movie.
Eventually, your head is resting on his shoulder, and you let out a yawn.
"Don't give up on me now, it's almost over," he says, sitting up to look at you.
"I'm awake, I'm awake," you hum, sitting up.
"How are you feeling?" His eyes soften as he scans your features.
You let out a breathy laugh, "Steve, it's been over twenty-four hours, I'm fine. I promise."
"But like mentally? It's kind of traumatic, no?" he asks.
"No," you answer too quickly and then shake your head. "I mean, yes. Of course it is. But it's also not the worst thing I've gone through, I guess, so..."
"What happened?" he asks, softly. You can't help but love when he shifts to that soft tone of his.
"Can we not talk about it?"
"Why do you always shut me down when I ask you about it?"
"Why are you pressing me on it, Steve? It's not something I want to share. I want to leave it alone," you raise your voice at him. It happens unintentionally, and he's taken aback. You stand up, bringing your voice back down, "I'm going to bed."
Steve's hand wraps around your wrist, and he stops you, "Stay."
You release an agitated breath as you look down at him. He clenches his jaw, looking up at you.
"Let go," you breathe.
He stays still for a moment, then tugs you between his legs, where he sits on the edge of the couch.
"Steve," you bite.
He lets go of your wrist but doesn't say anything. He lets his hands trail up the sides of your bare thighs, stopping where your sleep shorts end.
Steve takes your wrist again, kissing the inside of it, "What are you doing?"
He looks up at you through his lashes, placing one more kiss on the inside of your wrist.
You gasp as he yanks you forward, pulling you into his lap, one leg on each side of his hips. Heat immediately pools between your legs, and you keep your hands pressed into the couch on either side of his head.
"I told you we can't," you whisper. He pushes your hair back with his hand, kissing up your neck and jaw, nipping at your skin here and there.
His hand wraps around your neck, fingers gripping your jaw gently, "It's a bad idea." He quotes you.
"Horrible," you nod, looking into his eyes.
"I can't help it," he confesses, "I can't stand you."
"I know," you nod again, "I can't stand you."
"I know," he laughs breathily, and you let your forehead rest against his.
"The lines are blurring," you say quietly, closing your eyes.
"So let them."
He waits just like he did the first night he kissed you, outside of being Grace and Danny. He waits for you to lean in and close the gap. He's fully aware of the imaginary lines you've drawn in your head and doesn't want to be the one to cross them. If they're crossed, it's because you cross them.
"Let them," he repeats.
You close the gap, pressing your lips to his as your hands find his hair. His grip on your jaw tightens ever so slightly, pulling you in for a deeper kiss. His tongue is delving into your mouth within the next second, swallowing the soft, needy whine that leaves your lips.
His hands find your waist, gripping your hips gently before sliding under your shirt. He's so delicate with you, like he's afraid that any wrong move will stop what's happening.
He cups your breasts into his hands, and you pull his hair slightly at the sudden pleasure shooting to your core. You're thankful you're not wearing a bra when he brushes his thumbs over the peak of your nipples. He whines this time.
"Let me touch you, please, baby," he whines against your lips, before peppering kisses to the corner of your mouth. He trails kisses down your neck, biting the plush of your breast through your shirt. You unintentionally (intentionally) grind your hips down, sighing at the press of the bulge in his sweats against your core.
"We- we shouldn't," is all you can say, "Bad idea."
"Horrible idea," he nods, but his hand is trailing up your thigh, pushing your sleep shorts to the side, thumb brushing over your clothed clit.
You whimper softly at the contact, cupping his cheeks, pulling his lips back to yours.
"This wet, and I've barely touched you," he mutters against your lips.
"Shut up," you tug his bottom lip between your teeth, a warning.
Maybe it's because you haven't been touched in nearly a year and a half, or maybe it's because Steve is so painfully attractive, or maybe it's the fact that you two have been faking a relationship. Whatever it is, it has you soaking through your panties.
He tugs your panties to the side, and his thumb quickly (maybe too quickly) finds your clit, rubbing circles into the sensitive nerves. Your forehead falls against his shoulder, breathy moans leaving your lips.
"Look at me," he says. When you don't, lost in the feeling of his thumb circling your clit faster, he tugs your hair into his free hand and pulls your head back to look at him.
The coil in your belly tightens, threatening to snap, and your fingers dig into his shoulders as he locks eyes with you.
"Close?" he hums, and you nod breathlessly. "Good."
"Fuck, Steve, just like that-" Your forehead is against his once more, your thighs tensing around his hips, your dripping cunt clenching around nothing.
You cry out, moaning loudly as your orgasm hits you like a tidal wave, consuming your entire being.
"That's it, baby. See how easy that was?" Steve cups your jaw, making you look at him again. "Look how pretty you are. So fucking pretty for me. So needy for me."
He dips one finger into your cunt, and you clench at the sudden feeling, "What are you doing?"
"You can give me one more, can't you? I know you can," his voice is low, looking at where his finger is disappearing into your dripping heat.
"Steve," you beg, sinking down onto his finger. "Please-"
"Just dripping for me. Soaked my sweats, look at you," his eyes are filled with hunger when he looks back up at your face. Sure enough, his sweats are soaked not only from your cum, but surely from his precum as well. The tent in his pants is so hard to ignore, and you reach to feel it, but he shakes his head no.
Cheeks flushed, glossy eyes, small red splotches where his teeth nipped your skin, you're the most beautiful thing he's seen in the world right now.
"I want to touch you," you moan. He dips another finger into you, and your head falls back at the burn of his fingers stretching you open. "Steve, please."
"Let me take care of you," he says, kissing your neck, sucking the sweet spot just below your ear. His other hand reaches back under your shirt, fondling your left breast. "You're so soft, baby. So soft and so fucking tight."
It feels slightly unfair that you've orgasmed once and haven't returned any sort of favor to him, not that he actually cares deep down. You using his fingers to get off is enough.
He curls his fingers upward, and your hips buck forward involuntarily. His fingers brush a spot in you nobody has touched, and every stroke of his fingers feels electric.
"Take what you need," he nods, looking up at you as you slowly roll your hips, the palm of his hand brushing against your clit, his fingers finding that same deep spot inside you. "That's it. You're doing so good, using my fingers to get off."
Your hips move up and down his fingers, and he shifts from looking at your face to looking at his fingers keep disappearing inside of you. Your head is back, eyes closed as you concentrate on chasing your second orgasm.
"Steve," your breath is ragged, your head falls back on his shoulder as you fuck yourself on his fingers.
"I can feel how close you are," he moans, feeling the walls of your cunt tighten around his fingers, "Keep going. You're so fucking pretty using me like this."
You pull his lips back to yours in a kiss that's sloppy and breathy as the coil in your lower belly tightens.
"I wanna see you when you cum," he pulls away from your kiss, cupping your jaw with a rougher touch than he's ever had, but you don't mind. His eyes on yours send you over the edge.
He curls his fingers with one last stroke, and your legs nearly give out, trembling through your second orgasm of the night. He keeps stroking his fingers until your walls stop fluttering around them, and you finally collapse against his chest, breathing heavily.
"Perfect," he murmurs against your hair, slowly pulling his fingers from you.
You pull back to look at him, his fingers glossy with your slick. He looks you dead in your face, pulling his fingers into his mouth, licking them clean. You stare at him silently for a second, your lips parted in surprise.
Then you lean forward and kiss him, your tongue immediately finding his to taste yourself on him with a quiet moan at the obscenity of it.
When you pull away, you look down at the mess you've made, and your cheeks flush once more, "I'm sorry."
"Don't be," he smiles a smile so genuine it makes your chest tighten. It's so rare to see him wear a smile that reaches his eyes. You don't take it for granted.
"Did you..." Your eyebrows knit together at the wet spot on his sweats. It could one hundred percent just be all of you, but something tells you it's not.
"Yeah," there's no shame or embarrassment. He laughs.
You laugh too.
"We can't do this again," you tell him, sliding off his lap, the high of your orgasm slowly fading as you realize what you've done, what line you just crossed.
"Don't do that," he says, taking your hand in his. "Please."
"Do what?"
"You shut down after something happens between us," he tells you.
"There's a science to this, Steve. We're walking on extremely thin ice, and we need to be careful," you pull your hand from his.
"Science? What science? What are you even talking about?" He's rambling now, trying to understand what you're talking about to the best of his ability.
"We can't stand each other," you gesture between you and him, "Us pretending to be married is fucking everything up. The lines are blurring, and we're forgetting what's real and what's not."
"Fuck the lines!" He blurts, "You can sit here and say that being the Andersons has shifted the chemistry in our brain, fine, I believe you. But I refuse to believe that you aren't feeling what I'm feeling."
You slowly stand, wrapping your arms around yourself, "I am."
"Okay," he stands too, towering over you.
"Steve," you can only find it in you to say his name.
"What?" he furrows his brows, the corners of his mouth twitching downward.
"I don't think it's us," you say honestly. "I think we're too roped into being them."
"Don't."
"This case will close, and we'll go back to disliking each other. Like it's always been."
"Hey, don't do that," he reaches for you, but you take a step back. "That's not true. You know it's not."
"It is."
You turn on your heel and make your way to your bedroom, leaving him standing there in the living room.
Your chest tightens, and you have to fight the tears that threaten to spill.
This has gone so incredibly south for the two of you.
warnings: multi chapter steve harrington au, no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, fake dating, forced proximity, some violence + graphic cases will be mentioned, core four <3, everybody is here, slowish burn, SO angsty, kind of mayfield!reader (she's adopted)
chapter specific warning: mentions of human trafficking
There had been a slight shift seemingly overnight.
When you woke up the next morning with the mess of files you had made cleaned up (and missing, you might add) as well as bundled up in a blanket, you knew something had shifted.
The smell of coffee draws your gaze to the kitchen, where Steve is standing with his back to you. His bare back. You watch the muscles in his shoulders move as he reaches for a mug from the shelf and have to force your stare away.
Max certainly hadn't been the one to tuck you in with a blanket, considering she had been staying at her friend's house. The only plausible answer was standing in the kitchen.
You pad over to the kitchen, adjusting the straps of your tank top, rubbing the sleep from your eyes all in one go.
"Hey, have you seen my-" You stop in your tracks, seeing your files spread out all over the countertop.
"Oh, hey," he glances at you, then pulls a second mug from the cabinet. "Sorry about that, I was just looking over your notes."
You take one of the pages into your hand, noticing that Steve's messy handwriting now accompanies yours.
"And adding your own? You have your own copies, you know?" You ask. "Did you sleep at all?"
He pours a mug and tops it with sugar and cream, stirring it with a spoon. You watch him decide it's not the right color and add a bit more cream. It turns a light tan, and he decides it's good enough before sliding it to you.
"Thank you," you eye the mug, noting it's exactly the way you take your coffee.
"I slept a bit, but I was going through your notes-"
"You didn't ask me if you could do that."
Another glance at the page, and you have to nearly squint to read his messy handwriting.
"I should've. But you were asleep, so..." he sips from his mug and then sets it on the counter, resting his palms against the edge. "This is good stuff, Hollywood. I mean... you've thought of everything."
"Well, it's kind of my job." You furrow your brows at him, taking a seat on the barstool. It's hard to accept the compliment coming from his lips when he usually prefers terms like "know-it-all" or "pretentious".
"Yes." He nods once. "Anyways, what I'm getting at is that I want to work together."
"That's what we already do, Steve." Or try to.
"I mean that-" he lets his head drop, taking a deep breath, and you once again watch the muscles tense in his shoulders before he looks up at you again. "I know I'm difficult, alright? But we have to win this case. You've thought of absolutely everything from theories to dialogue to what you make me for breakfast in the morning.
"We need to convince this guy that we're actually the disgusting humans you've painted us in your head. I want to sell it. We need to sell it."
"Joyce gave us the handbook. I'm just adding to it. These things have to be fleshed out. No cracks. No slip-ups." You tell him.
He has sleep in his eyes like he's still waking up. His hair isn't styled yet, and you find yourself loving how messy it is. You almost wish he'd let you run your fingers-
Stop.
Not this.
He hates you. And you hate him.
"We can do this." He says in almost a pleading manner.
"I know we can."
Your heart isn't in your reply. A part of you believes this could work, that everything will go according to plan, and you'll rescue the girls before anything worse can happen to them.
Then there's the part of you that believes that either you or Steve could slip up. Get a single minor detail wrong that derails the entire mission, putting you and the people you love in danger.
✩
The next few days are spent working more closely with Steve than you ever had before.
You were set to meet with Henry tomorrow. You'd been in several arguments over the past few days, three of them happening within the last hour.
"Danny just wouldn't say that," he says to you, his hands placed on his hips.
Today, he's wearing a pair of glasses that had you feeling slightly weak in the knees until he opened his arrogant mouth.
"Steve wouldn't say that. Danny would." You toss the folder to him, and he opens it to the page you had been fighting over.
"'I've got a fortune to withhold to support my wife. She's got expensive taste.' Blah blah blah. I get it. I just think it's a lame excuse for trafficking kids." His tone isn't one you enjoy, but one thing he never does with you is raise his voice.
"Well, why does anybody traffic kids, Steve? Money."
"Yeah." He stops like he had more to say, then rubs his chin, "Yeah. I guess you're right."
"I know," you smile, earning a glare from him as he plops back into his chair.
✩
"What's for dinner? Woah-" Max halts, seeing yours and Steve's mess all over the kitchen counter.
"Hey, kiddo." Steve looks up from the papers in front of him with a pen in his mouth.
"Hey, Steve. I asked Dustin if he wanted to swing by for dinner, but he seemed pretty pissed," Max tells him.
"Dustin?" You inquire.
"He's my friend from school. Steve is his-"
"Guardian of sorts."
"Wait, what?" This was news to you. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"To be fair, I only just found out," Steve puts his hands up in defense. He gives you a look as if I'll tell you later. You leave it for now.
"Steve, do you want to join us for dinner?" Max asks.
Steve ponders, looking over at you as he starts gathering the case files. "If it's cool with your sister."
"Of course it is," it comes out too quickly, but nobody seems to notice.
Steve assists by chopping the onions and garlic for a chicken dinner he saw on The Cooking Channel once. He doesn't exactly remember what it was or what it's called, but he remembers the "gist" of it, and that's enough for you and Max.
Max does her part by boiling the rice, and you're grateful she's so good at it. For some reason, whenever you do it, it either comes out crunchy or like mush.
You're in charge of the chicken, and Steve stands next to you, telling you what seasonings to add.
Cooking is something you're well-practiced in, and Max knows it, but you stand there and let him tell you anyway. His shoulder brushes yours every once in a while, and your fingers tighten around the knife you're using to cube the chicken each time. Steve absolutely notices, but keeps it to himself.
It took you a moment to realize, but both of your wedding bands are sitting on the edge of the kitchen sink next to each other. Something about the visual makes your heart unwillingly swim. Max catches it too, and a smile tugs at her lips. You shoot her a look that only makes her smile widen.
Steve and Max set the annoyingly large dining table while you finish the last touches, and then Steve helps you carry everything to the table.
"Should we toast to family?" Steve asks, raising his beer.
"Don't push it."
As he sets his glass down, the glimmer of his wedding band catches your eye. Yours was exactly where you left it on the edge of the kitchen sink, but he was quick to put his back on.
"This is nice, you know," Max says, pushing her empty plate away from her.
"What?" You ask.
"You two not hating each other," she says with a smile that reaches her eyes.
"Oh, we still hate each other," Steve says, but for once it sounds like he may actually be joking.
The three of you sat around the dinner table for another hour, just talking about anything and everything. Max and Steve get into an argument about whether the Midwest or the West Coast is better, to which Steve eventually yields.
It feels normal. Like maybe the three of you in a far-off parallel universe are actually a family.
Sleep is difficult to find after the three of you tag-team cleaning the kitchen. Your mind races a million miles an hour thinking about how you'll be meeting Henry tomorrow.
As you step into the kitchen around two a.m, you're surprised to find Steve sitting at the island in low lamplight, a few pages sprawled in front of him. He's shirtless again, with dark hair across his chest and down his soft stomach. You have to force your eyes away before he notices.
"What are you doing up?" he asks. His voice is low, thick with sleep, and your chest tightens.
"I could ask you the same thing." You reach for a glass that's just a few inches out of reach. Before you can move to climb onto the counter, Steve's presence fills your space. His chest is so close to your back that if you breathed any differently, he'd be pressed against you.
He reaches above you and retrieves the glass, handing it to you. In the process, your fingers brush his.
You brush some hair behind your ear nervously, clearing your throat as you move to the fridge to fill it up. He leans against the counter and watches you carefully.
"I was just going over the notes one last time," he says before admitting, "I'm nervous."
"Me too," you reply before taking a long sip of water.
"We'll be okay," he nods. "I just keep telling myself that."
Another moment of silence passes.
"So, you're a 'guardian of sorts'?" You say after a few beats.
"Dustin's a troubled kid, you know? When he found out we were all packing up and leaving Indiana, he didn't take it too well."
"'We?'" you tilt your head.
Steve takes a deep breath and folds his arms. It takes everything in you to keep eye contact.
"Joyce has another kid, Will. Nancy has a brother, Mike. Hopper has a kid named Jane. They're friends with Lucas and Dustin. They're all close friends. And they've been through some fucked up shit together, we couldn't just separate them all. It would've done more harm than good."
"Lucas Sinclair? Max's boyfriend?" Your jaw drops. "Why did nobody tell me?"
"I don't think any of us realized until recently that Max was making friends with our kids. But, if anything, it's a good thing. She doesn't have to keep anything a secret." He shrugs, like it's no big deal.
Our kids.
"I mean..." your words trail off as you process the information, "I guess it's nice she's surrounded by kids that understand our jobs."
"That's the best way to look at it," he nods. "The move was hard on all of them, but they've adjusted. Max will too with their help."
"How did you all end up here then? What happened to make you all move here at the same time and end up on the same team? It sounds impossible," you question.
He pauses like he's debating whether or not he should tell you. It happens for a split second, and you watch his microexpressions in the dim glow of the lamp.
"Story for another day, Hollywood," he tsks and then tucks the files back into the folder, "We've got a big day tomorrow. Should probably get some rest."
"Steve?" He turns to look at you, "Thanks for being so good to Max."
✩
"She's a good kid. You're doing a good job with her."
Nancy arrived in the morning to help you dissect the massive, fully stocked closet in the bedroom that was supposed to be shared by the Andersons. The closet, Grace's closet, was the size of your bedroom at your real home.
"How are things here? I'm surprised the house hasn't imploded yet," Nancy said, going through the hangers.
"Decent, I suppose," you say, from the other side of the closet, "I think we've accepted our lives and others depend on our ability to work together."
"That's good, I guess." Nancy pulls a flowy blue dress from the rack and turns around to show you, "What about this?"
"I don't know if a dress is too much. But then it feels like anything less isn't enough," you sigh and pull a pair of light wash jeans off the rack to show her.
"White feels wealthy," she says, and turns to only shuffle through white items of clothing. "I know you and Steve got off on the wrong foot, but he's not a bad guy. He's one of the few good ones, actually."
"I never did anything to him; he just decided to hate me right off the bat," you keep your back to her, finding a white button-up to pair with the jeans.
"He's a complex guy, I'll admit. I think you both just misunderstood each other," she turns with a pair of the most gorgeous black heels you've ever seen.
"Those are beautiful, oh my god," you meet her in the middle of the closet and take them from her hands.
"These with a simpler outfit like jeans and a white button could imply quiet luxury. Maybe the black purse with it," Nancy says.
"I think you're right," you nod.
She helps you with your makeup and hair, leaving you sitting in the mirror with your thoughts. She and Eddie had to go prepare to sit outside the gallery. Joyce, Hopper and Robin come over for an extremely brief meeting going over final details for your first official meeting of the unsub.
There's a rap at your door, and you stand up, gathering everything you need to put in your purse. "Come in."
Steve enters the room, and you have to do a double-take at him. He's wearing a pair of black trousers and a white T-shirt tucked in. He's got a cardigan draped around his shoulders, the sleeves tied around his chest. He's wearing loafers, and that's what sends you into laughter.
"Alright, alright," his jaw clenches, and you have to fight to keep your laughter in.
"No, you look good. Really, you do. Like you're on your way to class at Harvard," you pull the bag over your shoulder and cross the room.
Steve pauses, glances over you once, like he usually does in the office when you arrive. Ignoring him, you double-check that your wallet is filled only with pieces of your alias. Credit cards, IDs, and even an old student ID from Yale.
"Can you even walk in those things?" He tilts his head, eyeing the expensive heels you have on.
"Let's just hope we don't have to make a run for it on our first day, yeah?" You sling the purse over your shoulder.
Four cars sit in the driveway at the Anderson house, and Steve chooses the BMW to drive, one that is apparently a newer model of the one he drives he tells you. d
"Can I drive?" You ask.
"Danny drives," he says, opening the passenger door for you.
"It's not specified who drives," you reply.
"Why would the trophy wife drive?" The bite returns.
"Let's get one thing clear," you step into his space, "Grace has a degree from Yale and is the CFO of Danny's company. She's not a fucking trophy wife."
"Get in the car," his voice is low as you two stare each other down, sizing each other up. He's much taller than you, but that doesn't stop you from holding your own.
Just when you think you two might be heading in the direction of being cordial, you take three steps back.
"Asshole," you mutter before climbing into the car.
Nothing frustrates you more than the entire car ride spent in silence. The two of you had done so well in working together, coexisting in the same house, all for it to be thrown away.
He was one of the most impossible men you've ever encountered in your life. The switch of his mood was so unpredictable that it nearly gave you whiplash.
"We're early," Steve says when he parks the BMW outside the gallery. It was a nice, yet unsuspecting building. You'd never guess the horrors going on within the four walls. You spot the old van parked down the street, the one you know Nancy and Eddie are in.
"To be early is to be on time," you say, your eyes scanning the outside of the building.
"Let's give it five, then head in," he says. "Anything you want to go over before we go in?"
"Can you remember that you're supposed to actually like me, maybe?" Your tone is harsh, but it's the same one he's used to giving you.
"What's your problem today, hm?" He retorts, turning to face you.
"You've been a dick all morning. Actually, scratch that, you've been a dick since I got here, Steve-"
"It's not like you've been all that pleasant, either." He cuts you off.
"I didn't even do anything," you argue, "What switched overnight? I thought we were fine."
"We are fine."
He leaves it at that, not giving you time to respond. He gets out of the car and walks around the front of the car to open the door for you.
The two of you walk to the front of the gallery, where a man steps out, large and dressed in all black. This must be who Robin had been in contact with, Henry's assistant of sorts.
"Mr. and Mrs. Anderson, we're pleased to have you at the Creel Art Center." he bows his head in a polite greeting and then opens the door for you. "We appreciate your timely arrival."
"Thank you for having us," Steve answers. It's so him and so not. The way he switches into the persona of Danny is instantaneous. He's done his research, thank god.
"We're excited to explore a potential partnership," you say.
The man glances at you and then looks down at his pager, "He'll be down shortly. Feel free to take a look around."
Steve's hand finds your lower back and guides you to an eye-catching statue that sits directly in front of a large window, basking in the sunlight. It isn't one you recall being listed on his website.
It's a gorgeous statue, a crouching Venus, that much you know. There's no plaque detailing anything about its origin, but by the looks of it, it's ancient.
"It's nice," Steve says. You do your best not to tense at the way his thumb brushes circles into your back.
"It's a style that dates back to Roman times," you tell him.
"Very good."
The two of you turn around as your unsub, Henry Creel, walks down the marble stairs of the gallery. You don't realize it, but your hands are slightly shaking, adrenaline pumping through your veins, and you put on your best smile.
Steve slides his hand into yours, lacing your fingers together, squeezing three times, letting you know he's right there.
"I bought this at an auction fairly recently," he begins, circling the statue. Just the way he speaks makes your skin crawl. "Tell me, Grace. Do you believe this piece to be ancient?"
"I do," you answer confidently.
"The seller was selling it for a much lower price than what it's worth. But I have an eye for pieces like this. You see, this seller had somebody tell him that this piece wasn't ancient.
"Something unique about this painting is that it came with a provenance. Its history of ownership is documented for the past century, and every seller before him believed it was ancient. So why did this seller believe it not to be?"
Henry stops circling the statue and looks to you and Steve.
"I'm not sure," you say. "I knew right away that it's ancient. It looks either first or second century."
"Second." He nods with a smile that makes your skin crawl. "Because of my good eye, I paid $15,000. This piece here is worth a minimum of $300,000."
"You're a very lucky man," you tell him with a smile.
"You have a good eye, Mrs. Anderon." he steps toward you and lifts your hand into his, kissing the top of it. The urge to recoil is beyond anything you can comprehend. Steve's hand tenses around yours, and you brush the back of his hand with your thumb.
"I've always loved art. All kinds of it," you turn to Steve, "I've converted Danny into being an appreciater of the arts as well, right darling?"
"She tries, that's for sure," he laughs. "My eye isn't as good as hers."
"Don't be modest," you chastise him playfully.
He glances at Steve, then back at you, "A partnership between us might be valuable. I could use your eye."
"I believe that to be true," you nod, knowing he's not talking about the art.
"Surely you'll be of value as well, Daniel." Henry holds his hand out, and Steve shakes it. Steve's act as Danny doesn't falter; the smile stays plastered to his face.
"He will," you smile, resting your hand against Steve's chest, leaning into his side a bit more. Your hands stay laced between you. His thumb brushes circles into the back of your hand, either to soothe himself or to soothe you.
Henry looks behind you, surely at his assistant, before looking back at you, "I do hope you cleared your evening. I'd love to host you in the garden for wine."
"Oh, that's very kind of you," Steve says. "We'd love to."
You eye each piece as Henry leads you through the gallery. Some of them you recognize from the gallery's website; the ones you know are attached to the names of missing girls in your town. It makes you sick.
The garden is strikingly beautiful, tucked away behind the gallery. There's an assortment of flowers and greenery that is so vast, you're not sure how far it extends. A small pond sits directly in the middle, and in front of it, a table lined with glasses and an assortment of wine bottles.
Henry takes his seat, and Steve pulls out the chair for you before taking his. Steve takes your hand in his and rests your intertwined fingers in his lap.
"This is beautiful," you say honestly, and then turn to Steve. "We should do something like this at home."
"I spent years perfecting this garden," Henry uncorks a wine bottle and then pours glasses for the three of you. His assistant looms in the corner, you notice. You also pinpoint every potential exit in case of an emergency. "Tell me about you. Where did you meet? How long have you been together?"
You and Steve both go to speak at the same time, and he squeezes your hand. You both laugh it off, and you look to him to let him talk.
"We always knew each other from home, back in Connecticut, but never really shared the same friend group. Somehow, we both ended up at Yale, studying different things, but it was nice to have someone from home. We started hanging out, and finally, I asked her on a proper date."
"He proposed in a garden quite like this one, actually," you note as you look around, "Somewhere in Southern Italy."
"We only just eloped a few months ago, back to Italy. But it's been almost four years," Steve says.
"You two are young," Henry says. He leaves it at that. You dissect the tone and his microexpressions. He thinks you're too young to enter his line of business.
"I can assure you we're more than qualified," Steve beats you to it. He's always been good at reading people.
"And why are you interested in my line of business? Surely, you know the art we deal here is... special."
"We're aware," you lean back in your chair, crossing one leg over the other. You swirl the wine in the glass and then take a long sip, never breaking eye contact. "Why are you interested in your line of business?"
"There is nothing more beautiful than humanity, isn't that right? Especially within certain ages," Steve's grip tightens on your hand. "Humanity is the most delicate and destructive thing on the planet. What we do here proves that in and of itself."
Your blood boils, but you stay calm. That's his reasoning for trafficking humans? Not just humans, kids.
"Of course, the paychecks are nice as well." Henry says it with a laugh, like he's brushing off everything he just said. You and Steve laugh as well.
You spend another hour indulging in different wines that Henry presents to you. He walks you through each one, telling you where it's from and when it was bottled in extreme detail.
You're halfway through the gallery on your way out when Henry's assistant pulls him away.
"I do want to walk you out, just give me a moment to handle this. Do feel free to look around the gallery," he tells you before hastily walking away.
"Come on," Steve whispers.
"What?" You barely have time to answer before pulls you in the direction they walked.
"I wanna know what was so urgent," he says quietly, pulling you behind him. You have to somehow walk on your toes with your heels off the ground to avoid the clacking sound.
Steve grips your hips and pushes you gently into the wall, "There are cameras."
You look over his shoulder as his arms slide around your waist, "What are you doing?"
"Do you trust me?" He looks down at you, your faces inches apart.
Steve may be one of the most difficult men on the planet, and he may not like you very much, but at the end of the day, he wouldn't let anything happen to you. You know deep down that he'd never let you get hurt.
"I do," you reply.
You can hear Henry and the assistant's voice, whose name you wish you knew, echoing from down the hall. You're far enough that it would be a coincidence if they found you there, but luckily enough, sound carries through the gallery with ease so you can hear every word.
Steve pulls your body flush with his, keeping you caged against the wall. He buries your face in your neck, and his lips brush against your skin.
"Be my ears," he says quietly. The pads of his fingers dig into your waist, and he presses his lips to your neck, trailing kisses from your collarbone to your ear. A gasp leaves your lips as you clutch his shirt between your fingers.
"I don't care what his excuse is. He's had plenty of time," Henry sounds upset. You don't have to strain to hear him as much as you figured you would. "Tell him he needs to bring in something of value, or we're going to have a problem."
"He knows you're upset, sir," the assistant says, "He wants to scout the club for you. He thinks he can make it up to you."
"Club is off limits to him until further notice," Henry says, and the sound of footsteps approaches. "Warn him that he'll be replaced if he can't meet my demands."
"They're coming," you tell him quietly.
Steve wraps his fingers through your belt loops and pulls your hips into his. He peppers kisses from your collarbone all the way to your jaw. You slip back into the persona of Grace and let yourself giggle with each kiss.
He cups your jaw with one hand, and before you can react, his lips are on yours in a kiss so needy that it nearly makes your knees buckle. His lips move against yours, his tongue slipping into your mouth effortlessly. Your hands are in his hair, his are all over you, leaving you breathless. His lips are surprisingly soft, his kiss hungry like he'd been waiting for it all night.
If you didn't know any better, you'd believe he meant it.
"Find the Andersons for me," you vaguely hear, but your mind is so wrapped around Steve's mouth against yours that you barely process it.
"Apologies," the assistant says as he rounds the corner, "They're here."
You and Steve pull away from each other like two teenagers caught by their parents. "No, no. We're sorry."
You laugh nervously, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear, "We should head out."
Your cheeks burn not from embarrassment, because your intention was to get "caught", but from the heat pooling in your lower belly.
"Before you go," Henry appears as if out of thin air next to the assistant, "I'm hosting a client luncheon next week and would love it if you joined. I think you two should meet some of our buyers."
"We'd be honored," Steve says.
"I'll be lucky to have you," Henry nods. He shakes both of your hands one last time and walks you to the front of the gallery.
You and Steve descend the steps hand in hand, and just because you know Henry is watching, Steve presses a kiss to your head as you walk.
The car ride home is painfully silent, the air so thick you can feel it.
Max is gone when you and Steve arrive back at the house, a sticky note left on the fridge reading "Sleepover at Jane's. See you after school tomorrow. -Max"
"Good job today," Steve says, pulling two glasses from the cabinet. He drops a teabag into each and fills a kettle with water.
"You too," you say, opening your notebook to jot down things from the meeting.
Another silence befalls you.
"I'm sorry if I crossed a line-"
"No, not at all," you cut him off. "It's fine. We're married, remember?" You raise your hand, the light reflecting off your wedding band.
"Right," he nods and pours the steaming water into the mug and slides it over to you. "Honey?"
"Yeah?" You look up from your notebook.
"Do you want honey?" He slides the honey bottle to you, and your cheeks flush red, forgetting you don't have to be Grace right now. You swear you can see the corner of his lip threatening to tug into a smile.
"Thank you," you answer.
Steve rounds the corner and takes the seat next to you, his knee bumping yours. He looks over your shoulders are you scribble notes down.
"What are you feeling?" He asks, his brows furrowed. He's slightly leaning into you, trying to get a better read on your writing.
"I'm feeling like he gave us absolutely nothing," you huff, tossing the pen down.
"It's gonna take time for him to earn our trust. We're meeting buyers next week, that's a great thing. And..." he trails off, shaking his head, with a hand through his hair.
"And what?"
"He likes you." Steve says, and you roll your eyes, "He does. He thinks 'you have a good eye,' or whatever. He sees value in you."
"He sees it in you, too," you reply, "You have the business mindset of it all."
"He connected with you over the art," he says, looking at you. Your faces are once again too close for comfort. "How did you know that stuff anyway? Joyce's handbook doesn't say anything about Grace being an art lover."
You take a deep breath, propping your head up on your hand, your elbow resting on the counter, "Mine and Max's parents used to take us to the museum when they'd open new exhibits. Max never really cared for it, but I loved it. I studied a little bit of art history in school, too, so... yeah. Just me."
"How's your memory so good?" He asks. He's got sleep in his voice, exhausted from the long day.
You shrug and twirl the teaspoon around the mug, "Childhood trauma."
It's meant to be a joke, an honest one, but it doesn't earn a laugh.
"What do you mean?" His tone is soft, one he's never used with you before.
"We don't have to get into that," you laugh lightly, diverting your eyes from his.
"Hey," he says, his knee brushes yours once more.
"Hm?" You look back at him.
His eyes flicker down to your lips, and he's suddenly closer than before. You can feel his breath against your lips, but he waits. He waits for you to lean into him, not wanting to cross the imaginary line he drew for himself, one he already crossed once today.
The hesitation is dense. So many different feelings overwhelm you, and you know this is a mistake.
Steve is your coworker.
That you're currently forced to reside with at the moment in the same house as your sixteen year old sister. Not to mention, you two don't even like each other.
There was always the unspoken rule from the get-go: don't let the lines blur. And on the first day of pretending to be married, you're letting the lines blur.
But he's here in front of you, and his hands have been on you all day, and his lips were so soft... and he's your coworker.
The racing thoughts don't impede your mind long enough for you to consider the consequences when you close the gap between you, pressing your lips to his.
His hand is in your hair within a second, beckoning you closer to him. Your hands fist the shirt he's wearing for the second time today, and you pull him closer to you.
His tongue glides into your mouth, and you can't help but gasp at the feeling. It shouldn't feel as good as it does.
Steve's free hand slides up the outside of your thigh, pulling you to stand between his legs, where he sits on the barstool. Even sitting down, you're just as tall as he is.
He fights the urge to tease you about how much he knows you liked the kiss from earlier. He just focuses on you.
Your arms are around his neck as your mouths move together intoxicatingly.
"This is a bad idea," you mumble against his lips.
"Very bad idea," he agrees, tugging your bottom lip in between his teeth.
"We can't. We should stop," you breathlessly reply in between kisses.
He simply shakes his head, his head dipping to your neck, his teeth nipping at the soft skin.
"You smell so good," he mutters against your skin.
The air becomes hot, and you become painfully aware of your surroundings, suddenly pulling away. You cross your arms, leaning against the counter, looking at the ground.
He still has a hand on your waist, squeezing three times, to let you know he's there, a trait he's picked up over the day.
"We can't."
It's the last thing you say before you turn on your heel and disappear into your bedroom for the night.
summary: its been a month since you found out that smashingkeys69 is your coworker. you have been fucking at work ever since then, and today is not the exception.
warnings: SMUT +18 MDNI, no sexting in this one but maybe if you guys liked it i can keep it on a third part, biting, neck kissing, reader is not wearing a bra, moaning, nipple play, kissing (a lot), cursing, dirty talk, spit, a bit of hand job, fingering, a bit of manhandling if you squint, big dick keys, p in v, unprotected sex, size kink, praise kink, creampie, and semi public i guess.
w.c.: 2,3k
author's note: once again for my julsita and also sol that is leaving comments on my doc as i write this <3 i wanted to take the time to say thank you for how you guys received this idea not only here but also on twitter, if you're down for it and would like to read it i actually would enjoy making this a little series of random moments like this one or even about requests if you ever have one, thank you for reading!! AND ALSO its not usual of me to post so much okay i usually take long breaks between writing but i really liked this idea so
smashingkeys69: west in 3
you rolled your eyes at not only the attempt to speak in code, but also the fact that it had been a month since your little ran in outside the bathrooms and keys still insisted on using your old chat when you were at work, too paranoid of someone reading into your conversations.
your gaze found his over your computer screen and you gave a subtle nod, signaling him to go on.
you waited exactly two minutes before getting up and walking the same route he had, following a routine that was becoming all too familiar.
the door to the cleaning supply room had barely closed behind you before keys was on you. his grip on your hips felt tight as his fingers digged into the fabric of your pants, pinning you the the wood at your back and getting closer, connecting his lips to the sensitive spot below your ear in an almost sweet kiss just to bite it after.
“aw!” you hit his chest playfully, faking annoyance when in reality the feeling of his teeth sinking on your skin made you shiver.
“that’s for taking too long” his mouth went over to the opposite side of your neck, kissing that same spot, “and that’s for wearing this shirt” keys whispered against your jaw and tugged on the hem of the blue shirt you had on, your arms flew up and he instantly pulled it off and threw it to some place in the dark room that you’d probably struggle to find once you were done. “you know it’s my favorite. that’s why you put it on, didn’t you?”
“i had a rough night” you explained yourself, watching keys wet his lips before dropping his head to nibble at your free chest.
“mhm i wonder why” he teased, fully knowing he had been the reason you had gotten no sleep.
a short moan left your lips when you felt his tongue trace the path between your tits. “some asshole i work with decided to start messing with the code at three a.m.”
“sounds like he was just doing his work” keys managed to mumble against your skin, one of his hands left your hip and dragged over your stomach to cup one of your breasts while he started sucking on the other one.
“nah… he– wanted to rile me up” your own hands found their place on his hair, tugging on the strands when his tongue flicked your nipple.
“and did it work?” the sly grin in his voice told you he was probably smirking at your anger.
keys pressed himself against your thigh, looking for some friction. you decided to comply by moving your left hand down between your bodies, stopping over his obvious erection and rubbing it over his jeans, getting a whimper out of him. “his hand is on my tit right now and i can feel his dick is already hard, so i guess it did”
“good” his mouth left your chest and instead searched for yours, you fixated on it, noticing how it was already a bit swollen. keys traced your lips with the tip of his tongue before kissing you hard, grabbing the sides of your face.
your teeth clicked from the desperate kiss, and the way he always went for your top lip drove you insane. as you swirled your tongue around his you thought about how you’d never tell him no one has kissed you the way he does, sloppy and hot at the same time engulfing you in neediness.
as much as you would’ve loved to keep making out with keys, you pushed him off “we gotta be quick, there’s a meeting in fifteen” you pulled his shirt over his head quickly. you had already known about his happy trail before what you both called ‘the bathroom incident’ happened, but after you hooked up for the first time in that same room his chest hair became one of your favorite things about him.
“we are always quick and still get the job done” he answered, helping you undo the zip of his pants and pulling it down his legs along with his underwear, watching him kick them to the side as you brush your thumb over his tip, smearing the precum all over it. “wait” keys grabbed your wrist and stopped your movements. you looked at him confused, brows scrunched at the sudden halt. he raised your hand until the palm was under your chin, “spit” he ordered.
you saw gaze darken and his lips slightly part open as you angled your face downward, glancing up at him through your eyelashes and letting a string of spit fall on your hand. keys’ eyes never left yours while he released your wrist.
“go on” he nodded and you obeyed, gripping his dick on your spit covered hand and starting to stroke it slowly, his length hardened even more.
he let his forehead rest on your bare shoulder while you masturbated him, earning the most beautiful needy sounds from his mouth.
“fuck” keys whispered, hiding in your neck. he tried to shut himself up by sucking on it again.
“everyone’s probably already at the meeting” you quickened the pace of your strokes, “don’t hold back now”
“shit– i’m ready” he straightened up and pulled your pants down in one swift motion, not even bothering to undo the button. “i need you around me” he begged against your mouth.
“i am around you” you grabbed his dick at the base and made it slap against his own stomach once. keys groaned and closed his eyes for a second.
“you know i mean your pussy” he sneaked his hand under your panties and spread your folds, his thumb found your clit with ease and rubbed at it fast, adding pressure that brought stars to the back of your eyes. “you’re already so wet” he let his index finger inside of you without a warning, curling it and resting it there while he kept murmuring on your lips, “bet you’ve been thinking about this the whole morning”
a nod was all you could manage to give him, your hot breath mixing with his cold exhales.
“tell me what you want” keys asked, releasing you just to instead lock both of your arms above your head.
“i– i want you to fuck me” your body snapped forward, already missing his touch and feeling empty without his finger inside of you.
“ask nicely?”
“oh fuck you walter, you were just whining about how you wanted me around you” you spat at him impatiently.
he slammed your arms against the door and kissed you hungrily, you felt his grip on you falter when he tried to grab both of your wrists with one of his hands so he could lower the other towards his dick, your thighs pressed against each other in anticipation but not for long, being spread apart by his knee.
the drag of the bone on your already sensitive core made you light-headed in the best way possible. if you’d had more time, you would’ve pleasured yourself by riding his thigh until you came. but that wasn’t the case. so instead you hooked your leg on his waist, bringing him closer and moaning his name “keys” at the soft impact of his tip on you. he glid his shaft between your folds once, twice, soaking himself on your arousal before he freed your hands and grabbed your calf, moving it upwards to make space for himself.
he buried himself into you with patience, watching his cock disappear inside of you inch by inch. “shit” he grunted, halting his motion and watching your face. your eyes were closed and your mouth fell open with ragged breaths, getting used to the half of him.
“please– keep going” you said breathlessly without opening your eyes and keys met your wish by thrusting in to the hilt, a gasp choked on your throat. “oh god” you cried out, and hoped that you had been right and everyone had already headed out to the meeting room.
“fuck you’re so tight” keys held your waist firmly, keeping you up as you adjusted to the feeling of his dick spliting you open, still not familiar with his size no matter how many times he had been inside you. “tell me when i can move” he squeezed your flesh gently and you opened your eyes to look at him.
keys’ chest rose up and down rapidly, matching your own.
you rolled your hips before you could talk, “move” he went right at it, pulling out almost completely before he slammed right back in. the lazy rhythm was killing you both. thus, you pulled at his hair harshly and crashed your mouth into his, biting on his lower lip to show him you were fine. “faster keys” you talked, your lips brushed against his when you uttered the words. “you feel so good” his movements didn’t falter but you could tell by the look in his eyes that he was loving it, “filling me up like i was made for you, fucking me so well everytime”
he cooed at your praise and drove forward with growing urge, pounding into you over and over again. “you’ve got no idea what this does to me, taking my dick in your pussy whenever i want to” he pecked your lips, “teasing me all morning with that shirt just ‘cause you wanted me to fuck you in here” your vision got blurry and you were barely able to make out the features of his face, seeing just enough to hook two fingers on his teeth. his mouth closed around them and he sucked your digits, his speaking was distorted by the place you took up “y’gonna touch yourself with those?”
“‘m close” you didn’t answer to his question and didn’t move your fingers.
“i know you are– shit. i can feel you squeezing me” his hands racked up and hid under your boobs after giving a small slap to one of them. keys leaned back just enough to watch the spot where your bodies met, “you like it like that?”
“yes” your legs were about to give in but he fixed his grip on you to keep you steady, groaning at the angle change.
“yes what? i know you can give me more than that” he pressed on.
you whined and tried to form a coherent thought in your head, “i love it when you’re breaking me”
“you didnt get enough of me yesterday?”
“i never get enough of you fucking me”
keys’ mouth was on yours again before you could even think of saying something else, hands roaming freely all over your body like he had also been starving since your brief encounter the previous day. he settled on your ass and hoisted you higher against the door, going even deeper.
you broke the kiss gasping for air, “oh god–”
“touch yourself, use those fingers on you” he pleaded.
somehow, your fingers found their way to your cunt where your bodies entwined. you felt yourself swollen and started to tease your nub, the contrast in keys’ fast slams and your slow rubs was overstimulating soon sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head and making your entire body shake as you sensed your climax getting closer and closer.
“harder” your raw voice was asking for something that didn’t seem possible but that he managed to do with relentless and fast thrusts that made the door rattle.
“yes– fuck– open your eyes i want to see you” keys moaned, his movements getting sloppy as he too was close to his release.
“don’t stop, keys” you pleaded as if he ever would.
“say my name again” he demanded with a growl, “say my name while you cum on my dick”
“keys” you cried, nails clawing down his back, “‘m gonna cum”
“god yes– so perfect” both of your heads spun around, each frantic pound a step closer to your highs.
he kissed you urgently, swallowing your cries as your orgasm tore through you, your walls clenching around keys’ cock just as hard as your legs and arms did the same around his middle. you broke the kiss to scream his name, trembling against his sweat covered chest.
the way you were squeezing him broke keys as he buried himself deep one last time, his own release hitting hard and warm inside. his moans were more like whimpers as he spilled into you. “shit– baby, oh my fucking god” you were still too drunk on him to realize the nickname that escaped him.
for a moment, the only sounds in the tiny room were your heavy breathing and occasional low moans as you both came to.
finally, it was him who broke the silence. “y’now what could make this even better”
“shut up” you couldn’t believe he was already thinking about the next time when you could still feel his dick pulsing.
“a bed.” you rolled your eyes, “yours or mine what d’you think?”
you pushed yourself off of him, almost losing your balance once your feet hit the ground, but he caught you.
“i think you better start getting dressed and head out” you directed, looking for your own clothes. you knew you’d have trouble finding your shirt.
keys huffed and looked at you while he got dressed, walking over to your still naked frame less than a meter away just to place a sweet kiss on your shoulder and leave the room as if he hadn’t just made your heart skip a beat. you brushed it off and found the blue piece of fabric.
five minutes later you made your way into the meeting room and sat down right across from keys. he immediately nudged your leg with his feet, making you look at him.
he nodded to your phone and you took it in your hands, reading the notification on the screen.
smashingkeys69: text u tonight?
taglist: everyone here either commented on the first part asking for a second one, liked my taglist post or commented it, if you wish to be removed please just let me know <3
chapter summary: Ania and Bodhi face struggles in their relationship in the midst of the concern that Ania is going mad.
content warning: iron flame spoilers
note: the long awaited return of bodhi + ania. missed you all <3 also hit the wall by gracie abrahms is SO ania.
AO3 masterlist
fourteen | fifteen | sixteen | seventeen
The lake becomes a haven.
A place away from the main campus where the trees eat our whispers and keep them safe.
I even came here alone when Bodhi would leave for a drop. It was easier to be here alone than to be quiet around my squadmates.
They worry about me, and I don't blame them. I'm not the same person I was when I left for Athebyne. It's hard to spend a formative gap in your life with nobody who cares about you, and then find people who do this far into adulthood. It's reminiscent of my childhood at Riorson House before everything went to shit.
It isn't until Bodhi is attacked for a second time that I consider the daunting idea that we're being hunted. After the second time in the bathing chamber, he refuses to leave my side as often as he can. Much to his dismay, he's agreed to let me sleep alone, but mostly because I don't want anyone else seeing him leave my room or me his. He only agreed because Xaden had warded my door. Luckily, we've done a good job of keeping our relationship under wraps.
My first attack doesn't come until Violet is leaving to see Xaden for the first time since graduation.
Bodhi had just left me in the courtyard, sitting on one of the stone benches. He and Imogen decided to test a theory, and he needed to be present in case it actually happened. He promised he'd be right back, and then he'd walk me to my room. He'd been gone for longer than just five minutes, so I'm assuming that Varrish had shown up to search Violet.
I have one leg crossed over the other, toying with the lace of my boot, when I heard rustling in the bush behind me. Chills spread over my body because I knew myself to be alone out here, and Bodhi had not left that way. Before I can decide to get to my feet, I'm pulled backwards by my neck. I cry out as my head hits the ground, thankful it hits soil and not cobblestone, but it hurts nonetheless. I can't even see who's above me. I can only feel the rope tightening around my throat, the thread digging into my skin.
"Ania!" There's a roar in the distance, one I can only imagine belongs to my Red.
I try to pry my fingers between my skin and the rope, kicking my feet for purchase. A branch digs into my spine as he stumbles backward, pulling us into the bush. Branches scratch at my face, and air refuses to fill my lungs. The corners of my vision blur as I try to reach my hands to the face of the person above me. My movements are growing slower by the second, and my hands eventually drop to my sides.
Bodhi is going to be devastated to come and find my body here. He's going to blame himself for leaving me.
"Secrets die with those who keep them," The man whispers into my ear. I'm ready to close my eyes and give up.
"Get up and fight!" Gleigeal's voice rattles my eardrums, and if I had the ability, I'd gasp.
Power surges through my body, a shockwave of adrenaline following it. One hand wraps around the rope, the other around the person's wrist. My skin illuminates, and he cries out, pulling away as the temperature of my hands rapidly heats, practically melting his skin. The rope catches fire temporarily, and I yelp, yanking it from my throat.
I crawl to my feet just as he begins to beg for his life, and kick my heel into the center of his face. He falls backward, and I straddle him, throwing punch after punch until the skin of my knuckles splits and bruises.
"Ani! Ani, that's enough!" Bodhi's voice plays into my ears, and I feel his arms wrap under mine, pulling me backwards.
Once I'm to my feet, he pushes my hair back to examine the damage from the rope. I flinch from his touch, backing away from him with my hands out.
"Sunshine, it's just me." He steps toward me, and I shake my head, keeping my hands in front of me. Hurt flashes behind his eyes, but all I can do is gasp for the air that I'd been deprived of. "Please, Ani. Let me help."
"Ania-" Gleigeal is seconds from an apology, but I slam my shields shut. I don't want to hear it. Had I never been cut off in the first place, I would've been able to defend myself. I would have never been so close to death again.
He takes a moment to let me breathe, knowing that it's what I need, and checks on the assailant, who's lying lifelessly. "He's dead."
I don't feel remotely sorry for him, "Good." The first words off my lips are hoarse, and I scrunch my nose at the pain of speaking.
"I'm sorry," He says quietly as he approaches me. "I'm sorry, I thought it would be fine. Varrish showed up-"
"I don't care." I press the palms of my hands to my eyes to stop the flow of tears that threaten to spill. Once again, my suffering comes second to whatever the fuck Violet needed. "I don't care," I repeat.
"Let me walk you back." He halts his steps when I take another back. "Please, Ani."
"Just leave me." I turn away from him and get to my room as quickly as I can.
My bed is the only thing that can comfort me at the moment, as I collapse into it. Of course, I expected to be targeted. It was going to happen sooner or later, but the thing fueling my anger is that I was cut off, and Bodhi was nowhere to be seen. Helping Violet. It all comes down to her. Always.
Even to the person I'm supposed to be a priority to, I had been attacked because I was alone. And he was with her.
Attempting to stop the fiery rage growing within me, I allow myself to sit under an ice-cold shower. It's the middle of the night, and I doubt I'd have a second attempt on my life tonight. The anger threatens to consume me once more, and I feel as if I've stepped onto the sparring mat for the first time.
I don't bother to crawl out of bed the next day when I hear the first bell. My chain of command will have my ass for it later, but I'm past the point of caring. I'd rather face the punishment than see a single person within my squad today.
As I brush the tangles out of my damp hair, I catch a glimpse of the bruised and blistered skin around my neck. My nails dig into my palms, leaving crescent moons behind as I bite the inside of my cheek. My heart pounds, and I have to take ridiculously deep breaths to calm myself down.
To think I was past my anger issues.
There's a rap at my door, and I rub the sleep from my eyes as I sit up with a groan.
"Wake up," I whisper once I'm on my feet. I nudge the redhead gently until his eyes slowly blink open. "We can't be late again."
Declan, the twelve-year-old boy I share my room with, climbs from his bed and quickly dresses himself while I slip away to the bathroom to dress myself.
"You've done a good thing in trying to help that boy," Moira says to me. The gray-haired woman, closer to death than she'd like to admit, who had been charged with my care. She and her husband, Donal, had spent a hideous amount of hours ensuring I was well prepared to enter the riders quadrant, even though that wasn't for another five years. "However, Donal will be home from his monthly visit with King Tauri, and if he isn't at the proper standard, there is nothing that can be done for his benefit."
My stomach ties itself into a pretty knot as I stare her down. Despite my being only a quarter of her age, she was shrinking in size, shorter, it seemed, every time I saw her.
"He's only twelve. He just needs time." I say quietly.
Declan was a nosy boy, and I can't count on two hands the number of times I'd caught him with his ear pressed to the door.
"You were thirteen when you were brought to us, and within just two years, you are quite formidable. If you were thrown into the quadrant now, I would have zero doubt you'd be able to hold your own." The corners of her lips tug. "The King will be quite pleased when you are brought to meet him."
"Why would I be brought to meet the King?" My brows furrow, but before she can reply, Declan swings the door open.
"Get down to breakfast and be ready for training by noon." She barely glances at him before turning on her heel and swishing away.
"Be ready for training" was hardly something simple. It meant having all of our morning chores done and our bodies warmed up on the mat by the time the trainer got there. He was a mean, large man, whom we weren't even allowed to know the name of. We addressed him as "Sir" and nothing else.
Declan became my foster brother the day we both became orphans. The day I was ripped away from the people I considered family. It astounded me how much he had grown within the two years of living together. He had sprouted in height over the past couple of months and would likely be able to look me in the eye in just a few more.
"How much more time do you think I have?" Declan asked me as we awaited The Trainer. We stood centered on the mat with our hands folded behind our backs.
"What are you talking about?" I asked.
"You told Moira I need more time. How much longer do you think before I'm actually good at this? It's not exactly my forte." He said, keeping his eyes on the door.
"You should really stop eavesdropping. And 'forte'? You're getting kinda smart, huh?" I turned to look at him.
"Well, after you force me into the library every day, you shouldn't act surprised when I learn stuff." He smiled.
The Trainer entered the room, and we both fell silent, waiting for him to begin. I could tell today was different. I assumed he might've been in a bad mood by the way he was being a bit extra brutal in the way he threw his punches. He landed way more than usual, giving me a cracked nose and busted lip.
I was standing on the edge of the mat watching as he put Declan into a chokehold. He was always rougher with him, but today I could tell this was to test me. I'd interfered once, the first week we arrived. Declan was only nine, and I couldn't stand the way that The Trainer treated him. I learned my lesson quickly after The Trainer knocked me clean out.
My feet threatened to move against my will when Declan's eyes rolled to the back of his head.
"Sir, that's enough!" I yelled.
The doors to the gym swung open, and the Man of the House entered. I knew he'd be returning, I just didn't think it'd be this soon. Moira followed quietly behind him and stopped at his side when he reached the edge of the mat.
"That's enough!" I repeated. The Trainer threw Declan to the ground and threw punch after punch until his face was unrecognizable. "He's going to kill him!"
Donal and Moira ignored my pleas, and against my better judgment, I charged at The Trainer, wrapping my arms around his thick neck. Pulling every ounce of strength I had, I fell backwards, hoping to take him with me.
As if I were some ragdoll, he threw me over his shoulder and landed three hard hits to my face, leaving a metallic taste of blood in my mouth and making my head spin. The Trainer rose to his feet, not even a split in his knuckles, and left the room. I allowed myself to finally look at Declan, and my heart hit my feet.
"No," The single word fell out as a whisper.
I crawled to him and pulled his limp body into my arms. I didn't want to accept it, or even allow myself to think the thought, but deep down I knew it was true.
"Why?" I had attempted to scream it at the people in charge of our care, but it was barely loud enough for me to hear. Blood spilled from my lips, staining my sparring tunic a deep crimson.
"That boy was a weakness that we had to subdue. He wouldn't last a day in the quadrant. It was more beneficial to see him gone than waste any further resources." Donal had said. "He held you back. Now, I expect you to reach your full potential."
"Monsters. He was a child!" The scream that ripped through my throat left it raw for days.
Donal said nothing else, just turned on his heel and left the room.
"I'm sorry it had to be this way. I'll leave you to say goodbye." Moira said. A part of me wants to believe that she might've actually been sorry, but how could I when I looked down at Declan's sweet face? He'd been too good for the world. Too good to live in the aftermath of the Apostasy.
Declan's lifeless eyes stared up at me, leaving the most bitter taste in my mouth.
I'm buried under every pillow and blanket in my dorm when I awake to pounding on my door.
The memory of Declan sits heavily on my chest. I rarely think of him anymore, but every time I'm reminded of the brutal way he was taken from me, it lingers for days.
I'd been in such a deep sleep that I almost didn't decipher the fact that I'm not dreaming. I don't move because if it's my squad mates, maybe they'll leave if I don't answer. If it's anyone else, they can't get in anyway with the way Xaden intricately warded my room. If it's Bodhi, whom I have no interest in seeing, he'll come in regardless of whether I get up or not.
The sun seems high enough in the sky that it must be past lunch, and I've certainly missed Battle Brief and flight maneuvers. The hunger pains settling in my stomach tell me that I shouldn't have skipped breakfast, but I push them to the back of my mind. My head pounds, and I'm certain it has to do with Gleigeal trying to push his way through to speak with me. I'm surprised I've managed to keep him out this long.
"Ania, open up. I know you're in there." It's hard to tell through the door who it is, but I know it isn't Bodhi. He wouldn't call me Ania. Thankfully, whoever it is gives up, and I'm able to fall back asleep.
The door swings open a few hours later, and I don't move from under the blankets because I know who it is.
"Ania, get up," Bodhi snaps, pulling the blanket off me. Okay, maybe he would call me Ania. "What the hell are you doing?"
"I'm trying to sleep, what does it look like I'm doing?" I huff and roll onto my side to look at him. "Knock much?"
"You're pissed at me. Fine, I deserve it. But you don't get to do this." He gestures to my bed.
"I'm sick," I fake a cough.
"Riders don't get sick days. I had to beg Aetos not to punish you. Aetos of all fucking people. The last thing I want to do is ask him for favors."
There's a piercing pain that shoots through my skull so abruptly that it forces me to sit up onto my knees, clutching the sides of my head. Bodhi stands with his arms crossed, his broad frame taking up space in my room. He's unfazed.
"I am not a parent you can tune out when you wish not to speak." Gleigeal's voice is loud, clear, and stern in my head, and I clench my teeth to keep from crying out at the pain in my head. "There are times when I will grant you space; last night was not one of those times."
The ringing stops, followed by a deafening silence.
"So he finally got hold of you then?" Bodhi asks when I clench the sheets between my fingers.
"You know, if he never cut me off in the first place and if you weren't so worried about Violet, maybe last night wouldn't have happened." I snap at him.
"You were cut off because you used your power irresponsibly and almost killed yourself. I will admit that things could have been different, but in the end, there were lessons you needed to learn." Gleigeal says, and then his presence in my head is gone.
I groan in frustration and fall back against the headboard, tugging my hands through my hair. Insanity doesn't feel so unfamiliar anymore.
Ever since Resson, nothing within me has felt right. Maybe I am going mad.
I did bond my grandmother's dragon, something typically forbidden because insanity is an unfortunate and unrare consequence. Maybe I got two signets, but my mental state has not been at its best since the battle.
"I would know before you if you were going mad, and that is not the case. Do not speak such things into existence." Glegeal grumbles. "Your current attitude is unpleasant, and again, you're proving why you were cut off in the first place."
"I was an idiot to leave you alone. I should have walked you to your room before handling Violet. That's on me, and I'm sorry."
I shake my head in response.
He ponders for a moment, and it's the pause that I've been able to recognize my entire life. He's debating if he should say what he wants to say.
"I don't want to keep pressuring you to tell me if there's something wrong." He pauses again. "Ania, I can't keep watching you let this eat you alive."
Words don't find me.
"I know. Trust me, I know. It feels impossible to live with what we've been through, with what we know. But nothing hurts more than knowing you're hurting." He rests his hand on my knee, and I can see the conflict flicker behind his eyes. "All of this, the lies, the hiding, it's for a better cause-"
"The revolution," I cut him off.
"Yes, the revolution." He nods. His tone is one I hate, but I can't blame him. Nothing else matters when the state of survival depends on this, on us.
I'm silent again. It's hard to find the right thing to say to him at this moment.
"Thank you for talking to Dain," I finally say. It's the only thing I can think of. Anything else will likely drag this argument into days.
"You're welcome," he nods. "Violet helped, just so you know."
He'd do anything to get back on her good side at this point, that I'm sure of.
"Can you come for dinner, please?" he asks, taking my hand in his. "You need to eat."
I nod my head and crawl out of bed, my muscles stiff from being in bed all day. He crosses my room and grabs my clothes from the armoire, tossing them to me. As I dress, he leans against my desk and watches me closely. His eyes are scanning me, but it's hardly sexual; he's checking for injuries from my attack last night.
He steps toward me after I pull my tunic over my head, and his thumb traces near the raw skin across my throat. I flinch at the sting.
"This isn't rope burn, what is it?" he questions.
"I used my signet and the rope caught fire," I answer, tugging my jacket.
"You handled yourself, then," he says.
"He snuck up on me from behind and still lost," I reply, "The people in this quadrant should know I'm unmatched."
"Well, if anyone was gonna take Liam's number one spot, it was going to be you," Bodhi says, and it somehow draws a smile from me. I think it would've drawn a smile from Liam, too.
Liam and I used to constantly fight to be at the top of our class. We eventually settled on a tie; it was something we shared, he and I. Now he's gone. And it's solely mine. Gods, I miss him.
There are scattered moments where I'm hit with the weight of the pain I took from him in Resson. I can't explain it, nor can I get it to stop. It comes in waves so abrupt and heavy that it takes the air from my lungs, and I have to fight the panic attack that threatens to follow.
Bodhi and I sit in the corner of the dining hall, at a table just the two of us. I'm hardly hungry, but I nearly clear my plate just so I don't have to hear it from Bodhi.
"I need you to lock in- hey." Bodhi reaches across the table, tearing my gaze away from Sloan Mairi. She looks so much like Liam, I nearly get whiplash every time I see her. "I need you to lock in and start honing your signets. I need you ready in the event that everything goes to shit."
He keeps his voice low as I gently pull my hand from his. "I will when Gleigeal stops cutting me off."
"This isn't just a Gleigeal issue, Ani," he says, "I know things have been hard. Believe me, I know. But I need you ready because I refuse to relive what happened in Resson. I'm doing my best to help, but you have to let me. You're having trouble sorting through your feelings, but you have to let me help."
I don't want to have this conversation again, so I gently push my tray away and stand up, "I'm going to turn in for the night."
"Ania," he says my full name, and I ignore him as I try to exit the dining hall without any of my squadmates noticing.
"Cadet Allistair," I have one foot on the first step of the staircase leading back to my dorm, and I sigh, turning around to face my Wingleader.
"Dain," I address him, not caring for the consequences. He got Liam killed, whether it was intentional or not. I'm already in trouble; why not add to the blow?
"Bodhi already pleaded your case, but I want to know why you weren't in Battle Brief, maneuvers, or any other class today." Dain doesn't falter and does a ridiculously good job at putting on a wingleader voice. He'd never nail Xaden's, though.
"I'm sure he told you I was sick," I tell him.
"And I'm sure he told you that riders don't get sick days," he snaps.
Gods damn you, Bodhi.
"Look, Ania. I may never understand what you went through in Resson, but whatever it was, you have to push through. It won't be the last time you see battle. You can mope around, and I'll let it slide for today, but this is our life now. The world doesn't stop because of one battle. Push through and be at one hundred for the next." Dain either means what he says, or he's insanely desperate for Violet's forgiveness.
"Sir, yes, sir," I mutter under my breath. It's the same speech from Bodhi, just in different words.
"Mind your attitude with the wingleader," Gleigeal's low rumble echoes in my head, and I fight the audible sigh threatening to escape.
"Please. Just show up to class tomorrow," he says and turns on his heel before I can say anything else.
"You don't even like him," I tell Gleigeal.
"He's still your wingleader, and I don't approve of the consequences you almost received for ditching class like a child," he says.
"Maybe we should consider the factors that led to me skipping class." I bite back.
"I'm not doing this with you." The shields slam shut so loudly that it rattles my brain and causes me to wince.
Was skipping class necessary in the slightest? No. Did it make me feel better? No.
I'm aware that everyone around me has valid points, but the stubbornness inside me refuses to acknowledge it. Unexplicable rage runs through my body since Liam's death, since my near death, and I can't seem to shake it, no matter what I do. Gods, it seems like it took so much for me to learn to control my anger, and here I was back at square one. Nearly the same person I was when I arrived.
The stone is cold against my bare feet as I quietly stalk through the hallways of the quadrant. It's eerily quiet and dark, and leaves a sinking feeling in my chest. Not a single mage light is lit, and I have to use my fingertips for light. Gleigeal must've opened the channel just enough.
"Ania."
I turn around quickly, jumping slightly at the hushed whisper. There's a heavy feeling, the one you get when you know somebody is watching you.
Where was I going? Why can't I remember where I was going? Why am I out of my room?
"Ania."
It comes from the other direction this time, and I whip around. The air nearly leaves my lungs.
"Declan," I whisper.
He takes off running down the corridor, and I have to nearly sprint to keep up. The air is cold when we reach the courtyard, and I nearly trip over a lifted stone. Declan stands in the middle of the courtyard, older than the last time I'd seen him.
"Why are you here?" I ask quietly, as I approach him.
"I needed to tell you something," he tells me. His voice is deeper, like he's grown.
"Tell me," I step closer, holding my hand up for more light.
Gods, I've missed him. I hadn't seen him in so long; he's taller than I am now. We were supposed to be here together at some point.
"Think about the power," he tells me. He keeps his head down and won't look at me. I want to reach for him and hug him and apologize for leaving him with our foster parents.
"What power?" I ask.
He looks up, and I step back, realizing his eyes are rimmed red and the veins that sprout from his eyes leave me nauseous. This can't be happening. Why would he ever turn? Gods, no, this isn't real.
"No," I reach for him anyway.
"There is so much more than what your dragon can give you. If you just reach for it."
He grips my wrist and starts pulling me towards the ground. He is unexplainably strong. "Stop. Declan, stop!"
"It could be so simple. Don't you want to be with us, Ani?" His voice is deeper, not his own, and it frightens me. I look behind him and see my parents and Beckett all standing there, red-rimmed eyes and veins sprouting from their eyes. "Just reach for it, Ani."
Declan slams my hands into the ground, and the power that surges through me is overwhelming. The cry that tears through my chest turns into a scream as I try to pull away.
"Wake!"
I gasp for air, sitting up, my hands clutching my chest. I'm drenched in sweat, the air cold against my skin. My gaze shoots through the dark as I realize I'm not in my bed, I'm in the courtyard.
"Breathe," Gleigeal's voice is low in my head, but it makes me jump anyway. A rushing sound of footsteps rattles me to my core, and I brace for another assassination attempt, but I'm unable to move, frozen where I sit.
"Baby, what's going on?" Bodhi is at my side before I can even process it's him. He's shirtless, only in his sleep pants, barefoot. Sleep is in his eyes as he grips my wrists in his hands. "Why are you out here? Talk to me."
"Beckett-" I look around frantically, "He was here. He was here."
"There's nobody out here, baby," He cups my cheeks, pulling my focus to him and him only. "Come on, let's go back to bed."
He takes his time guiding me back to my room, his arm around my waist, keeping me tucked into his side. I can't help but look into the shadows of every corner we turn, expecting to see them all standing there, with that horrifying vacant stare in their eyes.
When we get there, he sits me on the edge of the bed and kneels in front of me, his hands resting gently on my thighs. "What happened, baby?"
"I don't know," I whisper truthfully. "I thought I was dreaming."
"About what?" His voice is so soft.
I don't want to tell him. Something about telling him I dreamed I was being turned venin doesn't sound pleasing, and I'm almost afraid of what he'd say.
"You can tell me," he takes my hands into his, kissing my knuckles. The gesture eases the anxiety in my chest.
The story of my time with Declan rolls off my tongue effortlessly. By the time I finish telling him about my dream, tears are flowing endlessly down my cheeks.
"Hey, hey. It's alright, my love. I'm here," he joins me on the bed, pulling me into his arms. His chest is pressed to mine, his breathing slow and steady. I try to match his breathing just to calm myself down.
"Bodhi," I whisper as I look at him.
He brushes my hair from my face, then uses his thumb to wipe any last falling tears, "Yeah?"
"What if I'm going mad?"
"You're not," he promises. "And you won't. I swear it."
He kisses me slowly, softly, like I might break if he did it any differently, his hands tangling in my hair.
cock warming with kurt and fem!reader. subby kurt. marvel rivals is its own warning lol. minors do not interact. also unprotected sex.. maybe don’t do that.
Kurt finally pulls into his moms driveway, much faster than he probably should, or at least for what is considered safe.
You smile at him “gonna play games when we go in?” and he turns to look at you, genuinely facing you for the first time since getting in the car earlier in the day.
He shrugs “yeah, you wanna join?” and exits the car, shutting the door with a soft click.
Kurt looks at you expectantly with his pretty doe eyes. He is so excited to share his interests with you, if he had a tail it’d be wagging.
You sigh and your smile widens as you ruffle his hair “you can teach me how to play, hm?”
He nods happily while opening the passenger side door for you like the gentleman(ish) that he is, or at least tries to be.
You take his hand and peel your legs from the leather seat, it’s summer in California and your body is a little too aware of it.
Your shorts ride up your thighs as you exit the car and Kurt does his best not to peek at the visible sliver of your panties.
He fails because much to his chagrin (or joy) he now knows they are pink and lacy.
Kurt is not subtle and he nearly chokes on his own spit, looking away like the sight burned him.
You just giggle and leave him be, practically prancing into his house while he trails behind you like a sad puppy.
Once in his bedroom, Kurt sets up his game and guides you over to watch. “Pull up a chair.” He advises but you have a better idea of where to sit.
Right in his lap.
You sit in Kurt’s lap, his soft sweatpants rubbing against your bare legs and his hands immediately find themselves on your waist.
He’s embarrassed how fast his cock already twitches at the innocent contact.
Kurt isn’t exactly inexperienced, he’s had sex with you before but he’s always sooo so sensitive.
“Rivals again?” You say like nothing is the matter even though you very much feel his erection pressing against you. He’s thankful you spare him the embarrassment
“Yes.” Kurt’s answer is strained and rushed, voice too breathy to be classed as innocent.
You settle into his body while he tries to focus on his game, he keeps dying and his teammates message how “trash” he is. Not knowing the poor guy is being teased within an inch of his life.
Kurt grips your hips tighter trying to stop you from moving too much. You lay your head back against his shoulder. “I have an idea.”
Oh great, Kurt thinks.
His head was too fuzzy already from the moment you sat down.
“Here.” You say as you stand from his body. Kurt feels oddly disappointed.
Kurt feels himself get impossibly dizzy. You start to pull your shorts off and his eyes widen.
“Oh. Oh fuck.” He stammers.
“Can I sit on it?” You bat your lashes.
He nods with his hands already shaking as he helps you fully pull off your shorts.
You smile at Kurt while he pulls his throbbing cock out of his grey sweatpants. Moving your panties to the side you slowly sink down onto his pretty cock.
Kurt throws his head back against his gaming chair, the seat creaks under you both.
His eyes screw shut “Oh. Holy shit.”
You know he’s already close, so pathetic but so cute. Once you settle, Kurt tries to play the game again. His dick throbs inside of your warm walls.
You don’t plan on moving, you want to let him play his game and at least attempt to teach you the game.
“So you main Spider-man?” You ask far too innocently for someone who’s got their boyfriends dick tucked inside of them.
Kurt nods, his lips quivering. “Y..Yeah, he's my favorite.” You already knew that but fuck it’s so adorable.
Your kurtie idolizing spider-man. “Shit. You keep jumping around. I bet your teammates hate trying to heal you, hm?” You laugh.
The sound causes your body to shake.“Oh fuck. Stop moving.” Kurt whines prettily, you oblige.
“Anywayyyy….” You trail off. “Oh, is that your teammate?” You ask, pointing at the screen. Kurt nods “Yeah.”
“I think I’d play as Gambit.” You say randomly.
Rambling has become second nature especially when trying to forget Kurt is buried deep inside of you. Don't move. Don't move.
Kurt breathes out shakily. His patience wears thin. “You.. Uh.. You can move.” Kurt says.
Thank God.
You turn to face him, his dick slipping back inside of your wet pussy. Kurt moans. Oh, he’s so pretty.
His cheeks are pink and his eyes shut like he’s afraid he’ll come instantly if he looks at you right now.
“Kurtie..” You whine breathily.
He finally opens his eyes and sees your gorgeous face. “Fuck uh.. baby, you’re so.. so.. pretty.” Kurt trembles.
You roll your hips, Kurt gasps. “Oh Kurt..” You breathe.
Kurt fucks up into you. He won’t last long at all. “It’s okay.. use me however you need.” He says almost like a plea.
You listen, starting to ride Kurt in his gaming chair. It creaks after every movement of your hips.
Kurt thanks everything holy that his mom is not home.
He whimpers, fucking you as best as he can. “M’ so close already.” Kurt cries.
You kiss him, your lip gloss transferring nicely to his own lips making them shiny and pink.
He reaches down to play with your clit. Kurt doesn’t want to come and you get no pleasure. You toss your head back, interlocking your fingers with his sweaty hair.
“P..Pull it.” Kurt moans again.
“Oh shit. Okay Kurtie” Your grip tightens in his hair. Lightly, you tug at his hair. That nearly sends poor Kurt over the edge immediately.
You gasp as your walls clench tight around his leaking dick.
“Oh. Oh. M’ gonna come.” Kurt thrusts roughly, messy and uncoordinated. You’re close too. Too close.
“Kurtie, come with me.” You moan.
He does just that. The desperate sound Kurt makes when he comes pushes you over the edge.
His cum shooting inside of you and filling you up. You clench around him as you orgasm.
“Baby, you did so good.” You softly take his cheek in your hand. You slowly stand from him.
You peck a kiss to his forehead
“You wanna come shower with me?” You ask. Kurt nods so fast he nearly faints.
summary: when you join the FBI, everybody on your team is so welcoming except for steve harrington. when your team is placed on an undercover case, you're partnered with the one person you can't stand. your ability to work together will be detrimental to the case to save as many lives as possible.
word count: 7.1k (a lot of story building sorry)
pairing: agent!steveharrington x femagent!reader
notes: i miss criminal minds and steve harrington so i put them together </3
warnings: no use of y/n, enemies to lovers, eventual smut, fake dating, forced proximity, some violence + graphic cases will be mentioned, core four <3, everybody is here, slowish burn, SO angsty, kind of mayfield!reader (she's adopted)
chapter specific warning: mentions of human trafficking
three months later
"You're up early," you say to Max as you pour yourself a glass of orange juice.
"Good morning," she replies, swinging open the fridge door, "Lucas is picking me up.
Lucas had been picking Max up for school every morning for the last two months, and nothing made you happier. She'd made her own group of friends, seemingly easy within a couple of weeks of starting her new school. But she had grown especially close to one Lucas Sinclair.
Max hurriedly packed herself a lunch just as you grabbed your bag off the back of the dining chair. You and Max had done well over the past few months, turning your small house into a home. The majority of everything was found or thrifted, including the dining table you found in an alleyway. Max and Lucas had been the ones to sand it and restain it, and it was as good as new.
"Heading out?" she asks, grabbing her backpack off the couch.
"I'll call when you're home if we're leaving town," you tell her. With a quick kiss on her head, you're off.
It had become routine now, as much as you hated leaving her here alone. Part of your job required leaving town more than you liked to admit. It's not that you didn't trust Max; she was the best kid anyone could ask for, you just didn't trust other people.
When you'd get called onto a case that was out of town, there was never any time to let her know you wouldn't be home when she got home. A lot of times it started with nothing but a note until you could get the landline setup.
It was your turn for coffee duty, so you were thankful when Robin met you in the parking lot to take a tray off your hands.
"What's the mood?" you ask.
"Peachy," she says, and you sigh, knowing she's being sarcastic. "There's something big happening. I think they might assign us to it."
"How do you know?" you ask.
"I overheard Hop and Joyce talking this morning," Robin says. "I think I heard something about kidnapping."
Your heart sinks, and you leave your coffee on your desk, not having the desire for it anymore. These cases, more than others, always left such a sour taste in your mouth, one that wouldn't have you eating til dinner. It just felt too close to home.
You and Robin set the trays in the middle of the table for everyone to grab as they enter. Everybody is just about right on time, Joyce and Hopper being the second to last ones to enter.
The chair next to Robin that you had sat in on your first day had become yours. Everybody else seemed to have claimed chairs as well, long before you got assigned to the team. There was always routine, never a need to switch it up.
"Rise and shine," Nancy says as she sits down. Jonathan peels the lid off her coffee and adds cream and sugar for her. The gesture is one he repeats every morning, and each time, your heart warms.
Steve enters the room and sits across from you, his eyes scanning you over once, like he always does.
"Do you have anything to say, Steve?" Robin asks nicely.
"Thanks," he nods to you, and that's that. His simple thanks for the coffee run.
Three months in to your time with the bureau, and he has not let up on his blatant hatred for you. Robin and the entire team really try to play peacemaker, but it works to no avail.
Three months and about a half a dozen cases working in the field together, and not a single thing had changed. You thought maybe after you proved yourself, case after case, that you're capable of being on the team, he'd let up but he never did. The one thing you're grateful for is that when in the field, he can set aside whatever disdain he has for you and work professionally. It's unfortunate to say, but the few times you've been partnered up, you've made a decent team.
Just when you think he's starting to tolerate your presence, he reminds you that he is one hundred percent not.
"Thank you, gorgeous." Eddie enters last with a pat on your head as he grabs the last coffee in the tray.
"Alright, let's settle in," Hopper stands up and turns the projector on. Everyone quiets and turns their attention to the front of the room, where Hopper has a stern look on his face.
"Our unsub is an art dealer that goes by the name of Henry Creel. He's a long-time dealer of fifteen years, and has recently been flagged for money laundering and other suspicious activity." Hopper clicks the remote, and a photo of a blonde-haired, blue-eyed man in a suit is walking up the steps of an unknown building.
"An art dealer?" Robin asks. "But I heard-"
"Pause." Joyce holds her hand up, and Robin quiets.
"Henry owns a gallery in D.C where he collects and deals pieces from all over the world. Anything from paintings to sculptures, he buys them from auctions and then resells them." Hopper continues, and the gears in your brain start slowly turning. "He hosts his own auctions once a month, but also has individual buyers come in every once in a while when it feels right."
"Right, so he's not just dealing art then," Nancy says, and Hopper nods.
"Correct."
"Drugs?" Eddie asks.
"Maybe," Hopper says, and then his gaze falls on you. "Here are some of his current pieces for sale."
The screen changes, and a list of a few paintings and sculptures comes up. Each listing starts at a minimum of $75,000.
"Jesus Christ," Steve mutters under his breath. "What kind of drugs are worth that much?"
Chatter erupts amongst the table, but you read carefully through the listings.
The first is what seems to be an abstract painting of blacks and blues, with streaks of white. The next is something so similar to a Monet that you think it might actually be one for a moment. They're all so different from each other. The next few listings are Greek-style statues that are gorgeous, you might add.
"Some collector," Jonathan says, folding his hands in his lap.
Hopper's eyes are still on you, watching every unspoken thought flash behind your eyes.
Drugs might be reasonable, but starting at $75,000 is just absurd unless it's fully a smuggling business. Money laundering is another option, but why call in a full team just for that?
VEast0985 | Bid starts at $75,000 | 8 offers
BMar0284 | Bid starts at $77,000 | 13 offers
CCun0682 | Bid starts at $75,000 | 10 offers
view more
Your brain works quickly, dissecting the listings. It comes quickly, and you straighten your poster when it finally hits.
"Something on your mind, Hollywood?" Hopper asks, and the room falls silent.
"They're not trafficking drugs." You say. "Well, maybe they are, but it's not their main push."
"Tell me more," Hopper tells you, leaning against the table. He knows the answer already; he just wants you to say it. Since you've joined, he's always made it a point to let your brain work to dissect things.
Everyone on your team was extremely smart, but Hopper made it a point to let everyone know that your IQ was 178, and that ranked you the smartest on your team. It's one of the main reasons he hired you.
"They're trafficking people. Mostly kids by the looks of it," you answer. "Letters of the names, kind of idiotic on their part. I'm assuming that's why they got flagged. Then combine it with birthdays."
"Hollywood is right as usual," Hopper says, and Robin pats you on the back.
"These are all people who have been reported missing in D.C over the past year." You add.
"How do you know?" Steve asks, there's no bite where you expect it, he's genuinely curious.
"Why do you ask these questions?" Jonathan asks with a laugh, earning a glare from Steve. "She's a freaking genius."
"You know her brain holds like all of the history of the world," Eddie adds, and Steve's eye twitches as he leans back in his chair.
"Victoria Eastman, a sixteen-year-old who went missing last month. Born in September of eighty five. Brenda Martin, fourteen years old, has been missing for six months, born in February of eighty four. And Chrissy Cunningham, an eighteen-year-old who was last seen on her college campus right before Christmas. Born in June of eighty two."
"I still don't get how she does it." Robin laughs lightly with a shake of her head.
"Eidetic memory," Joyce says, shooting a wink your way.
"So, the idiot lists their names and birthdates and didn't expect to get caught?" Steve asks, folding his arms over his chest. You have to tear your gaze away from the way his button-up tightens around his arms.
"My guess is his 'buyers' need to know as much as they can without a full giveaway. Their age at the bare minimum, and what they can get of their names. The age matters most, clearly." Nancy says.
"My question is, if you guys know that this guy has these kids locked up with intent to sell, why do you not just go to his gallery and arrest him?" Eddie asks.
"This case is delicate," Joyce stands up from her chair. "This man is extremely rich and powerful, and his buyers are too. This is a case that needs hard evidence and time to build it. Without enough of it, he could get off with a slap on the wrist."
"So what's our move?" Nancy sits up in her chair, pen ready in hand.
"We're going undercover as a unit," Hopper says.
"The goal here is to infiltrate Art's inner circle. Get as close as possible to him and his buyers. Get confessions, collect evidence, and build a case large enough to put him behind bars." Joyce says. "It won't be easy. And at first sight of failure, we abort and find another way."
"There's only one way for this to work." Hopper finally sits down, and everybody is more focused than you've ever seen.
This is your first undercover case. This is huge.
"We'll split into three units," Hopper starts.
"Respectfully, Hopper, you're out of your mind if you think that this is going to work," Steve is furiously pacing the office.
You sit quietly with one leg crossed over the other in front of his desk. Hopper is eerily still, following Steve's movements back and forth.
"I have to agree with him," you say. It's one of the first times you've agreed with him wholeheartedly on something since you got here.
"You agree with him?" Hopper repeats.
"You want us to fake a marriage. Do you hear how that sounds? We can't stand each other," Steve says from behind you. You don't dare turn around and look at him. "How does that possibly help the case? Our cover is going to be blown in record time."
"I don't know if it's possible for us to pass as a married couple," you tell him.
"You two bicker like a married couple," Hopper leans forward in his chair.
Steve stops in his tracks and then finally takes the seat next to you, heat radiating off of him.
"This is going to work, because it has to. There are lives on the line. You two need to set your differences aside and work together." His tone is one you've never heard, and to be quite frank, it scares you.
"Are you sure you can't send Nancy? Or Robin even?" You ask as kindly as possible. You're grateful for this opportunity, but you're not sure you can handle a fake marriage with Steve of all people. Maybe if it were Eddie. Or Jonathan, even.
"Great idea. Can't you send Eddie for this one?" He asks. "I can't work with her like this. She's a know-it-all, and pretentious-"
"I'm pretentious?!" You finally snap. "You're an arrogant piece of-"
"Agent Buckley is not a field agent. Agent Wheeler is on B Unit for finding and rescuing the girls with Agent Munson. There is no option B, C, or D. This is your assignment; you will deal with it." Hopper finally snaps, and it shuts you and Steve up quickly, before you can even begin to argue.
"You two need to meet Joyce in her office, now." He finally says after at least two minutes of silence.
Jim Hopper was not somebody you could argue with. It was surprising you'd made it this far with him in the first place.
"Yes, sir," it's a quiet answer as you stand up from your chair. Steve, seething, still holds the door open for you on your way out.
Joyce's office is directly next to Hoppers, and she's waiting outside as you and Steve approach.
"Come on in," she says with a smile on her face as she sits at her desk. "I know there are concerns with the case, but I'm here to walk you through everything."
The perfect media liaison she was, she always knew how to talk to people to ease their anxiety. She also made a brilliant case coordinator, so it's no surprise that this is what she and Hopper drew up.
"Joyce, there is just no way that we can pass as a married couple," you say honestly. "I say this genuinely. I wish we could, but we can't."
"The two of us work well with the rest of the team; the two of us will not work well alone," Steve says, folding his arms over his chest once more. It really pissed you off how blatantly attractive he was. It made it a tiny bit harder to return his hatred.
"You will, or you'll be on desk duty until the case is wrapped, which could be months or years." Joyce's smile is smug, knowing that she has you and Steve between a rock and a hard place.
Maybe desk duty wouldn't be so bad.
"This will work, because I'm giving you the handbook. You can't fail an open-book test." She reassures you.
Steve doesn't say anything, and neither do you. How bad could it really be? This is work. This is the job that you crawled on your hands and knees for, the one you've craved since you were a little girl. Now was your chance to help these girls in a way that your sister couldn't be helped.
This came down to professionalism, and if Steve couldn't do it, then at least you tried. At least Joyce and Hopper could see that you tried.
"I'll do it," you finally say after her staring with her big doe eyes. "If he will, I will."
"Really?" Steve's gaze snaps to you.
"I joined the FBI to help people, Steve. If pretending to be married to you helps these kids, then I'll do it." The words cut him where you can't see, and you swear his look softens as he turns to Joyce.
"Then I guess we're doing it," he nods.
"Perfect," Joyce smiles and pulls out a folder from her desk drawer. "You'll be going undercover as Mr. and Mrs. Danny and Grace Anderson. Low profile, quiet luxury, newlyweds. You, 'Grace', are a stay-at-home wife, and 'Danny' inherited his wealth from his parents' private equities, real old money type."
"The Andersons?" Steve reaches for the profile paper that Joyce hands him. She has IDs, passports, birth and wedding certificates, and house titles, all with Grace and Danny Anderson plastered all over them.
"As the Andersons, you are fully aware of what kind of 'art' Creel is actually dealing with. You're interested. You want to be involved. You want to stay rich. You're money hungry kids that just got handed mommy and daddy's fortune. That's your motive." Joyce tells him. "As we speak, Robin is working through the channels to get in contact with him as Danny, Steve."
Joyce slides a few documents to you, and your heart nearly skips a beat. Completely valid and legal documents with the alias, though every piece has your face. It's all so surreal to see.
"And how did we hear about Henry?" Steve asks a completely valid question.
"The FBI has had somebody on the inside for about three years now. Someone distant, who keeps a close eye. You are family friends with this person, Dr. Sam Owens. He is your in."
"This has been happening for years?" you ask, "So, we are the unit that finishes it then?"
"We are the unit that finishes it," Joyce repeats with a curt nod.
It's all so much information to take in; it makes your head spin. Having an entirely new identity, one that is attached to your least favorite part about your job, has you feeling nauseous.
"We are moving you both into a house-"
"Whoa, whoa, I can't. I have a-"
"Maxine will move with you. Her safety is a top priority for us, I promise you." Joyce extends her hand and rests it over yours, giving it a squeeze.
Max is going to live with you and Steve?! Your heart nearly sinks. Maybe this was a mistake.
"The house is very nice. Very old money. You two could live on opposite sides if you wanted. It will have round-the-clock security. And there is a safe room should anything go south at any moment." Joyce once again eases your anxiety.
"Over the next five days, we'll work together to nail your personas as the Andersons and take photos to create evidence of your life together. Plan for a move-in this weekend."
"So, we're doing this?" Steve looks to you for what seems like approval.
"We're doing this."
"I almost forgot," Joyce reaches into her drawer and pulls out two velvet boxes. She tosses one each to you and Steve.
A single silver band for him and a darling silver band for you, paired with an engagement ring you could only dream of receiving. It wasn't too flashy, but just big enough that you could tell it was expensive. The cut was one you'd dreamed of as a teenage girl, and you couldn't help but smile softly, despite the nerves of it all.
"Is this real?" You ask, watching Steve slide his band on.
"Of course it's real. Gotta play the part," Joyce shoots a wink as you timidly slide the rings onto your left ring finger.
"This is insane," Max drops her bags in the foyer of the large house.
"I know," you reply, staring up at the vaulted ceilings.
It was officially move-in day. It didn't take much convincing to get Max to agree to move in. She was just excited to have a house with a pool. She was aware it was temporary, but she was excited nonetheless.
"What did you tell your friends?" You asked. Now that it was finally happening, your nerves were shot.
"I never told them you were an agent. Just told them that you do desk work for some big shot politician in D.C," she reassures you. She knew the protector in you was starting to slightly panic.
"And our reason for suddenly moving?"
"Your new husband finally finished renovating the new house, and the other was temporary." She turns to face you, putting her hands on your cheeks. "It's going to be okay. I promise you."
"Nobody can know who we are or what we're doing. If they find us out-"
"They won't." She squishes your cheeks, "You are the best at your job. This will be over in no time."
"I love you," you finally cave with a smile.
Steve arrives thirty minutes later with Joyce and Hopper. Max was picked up by Lucas for what you assume is another date, despite Max swearing they're just friends. Joyce is holding a box full of picture frames, ones you can only imagine are the plethora of fake photoshoots you did over the past week.
"Jesus Christ, can you two just look at each other?" Hopper's hands are on his hips, and he's beyond frustrated with you and Steve.
"She's being difficult," Steve huffs, his hand finding its way around your waist once again. His fingers brush the bare skin showing from the open back of the wedding dress you have on, and it nearly makes you shiver.
"I'm not," your fingers tighten around the gorgeous bouquet of lilies as he pulls you into his side. "You're being difficult."
Steve clears his throat, and out of the corner of your eye, you see his head turn to you. You finally lift your chin to look up at him, your jaw clenching when your eyes finally meet.
"Good, that's good," Hopper says. "Now, look like you might actually like each other."
"I have tears in my eyes," Joyce sighs happily as she snaps photos with the camera. "This is too precious."
Your next movement comes unintentionally, one picked up from years of your younger sister having near uncontrollable hair. A strand of his ridiculously good hair has fallen out of place, and before you can stop yourself, you're reaching up to fix it.
His eyes soften barely, just enough that you swear you catch it. But maybe your eyes had played tricks on you. His fingers press into your hip lightly, a gesture so subtle you're not sure if he's aware he's doing it.
"Sorry," you whisper, before turning your gaze back to the camera.
"Don't be." His tone matches yours, but he doesn't face the camera. His gaze burns through you, and you have to stop yourself from tensing.
"Look at the happy couple," Eddie's voice echoes through the foyer. He immediately reaches into the box, pulling out the largest framed photo, one you're sure is meant for above the fireplace mantle.
"This house is insane," Robin says, stopping in the doorway to take it all in.
"Mr. and Mrs. Hollywood, check it out!" Eddie is in fits of laughter as he turns the frame toward Robin and the rest of the team as they enter.
Steve's hands find his hips, accompanied by a glare at your team as they all fall into fits of laughter, gathering around Eddie to examine the box of photos.
"Guys, come on," you groan, walking towards them to take the box. Eddie keeps the wedding portrait in his grip.
"I'm keeping this when this is all over," Eddie snickers, turning it to face himself.
"This is just too good, I'm sorry," Jonathan puts his hands on your shoulders, before pulling you into a half-hug. "I mean, what a shame you have to pretend to be married to this guy."
"Who would've thought you two of all people," Robin also puts an arm around you, "You're a trooper, because if I had to be married to that dingus-"
"That's enough," Hopper says, and the laughter dies.
Steve lifts his hand and gestures for you to bring the box, so you do. You two hadn't even had the chance to look through the frames that would soon decorate your new house.
He gently takes the box from your hands and sets it on top of another box.
"Listen up," Hopper's voice commands the room, "While this case is ongoing, office meetings will be cancelled until further notice. We'll meet here once a week in the safe room. But, we'll still communicate daily with these-" he reaches into the black case in front of him and pulls out walkie talkies, tossing one to each of you, "-We're all within radius. If something is urgent, we'll call the landline, or just show up."
"It is beyond vital that we keep our cover. One slip up, and it's over," Joyce says, "No more Free Friday drinking, no more group hangouts, unless it's here and it's clear."
Groans echo from the group at the loss of Free Fridays. It's dire that this works.
"If we lose this, we lose everything. Those girls will be lost forever, understand?" Hopper adds. "I need verbal confirmation."
"Yes, sir." Is nearly a choir coming from the team.
"Now, grab a box and help unpack." Hopper is the first to move; he and Joyce step into the backyard for a private conversation.
"No, you guys don't need to, really." Your hand is up in protest as Nancy reaches for a box.
"We're a team," she smiles, "We're here to help. I know this is probably a lot."
She isn't wrong.
When you thought of your first undercover case, you pictured hiding in the front seat of a car at three a.m, watching your unsub as they climb in and out of a window. Eventually, befriend them and infiltrate their small drug-dealing ring, partnering with the DEA to shatter it.
This was beyond anything you could've thought of. An entirely new identity, a fake marriage to someone you can't stand, and an ugly amount of wealth you wouldn't see in three lifetimes.
"Hey," Max startles you later that evening. The rest of the team has gone, and the sun is starting to set. You're standing in front of the fireplace, staring up at the portrait of you and Steve.
"Hey," you reply with a small smile. "How was it?"
"It was good," she nods, standing next to you with her arms crossed, "So that's Steve, huh?"
The photo isn't bad at all, you hate to admit. The white dress you had on was lent to you for the portraits by Joyce. You assume it must've been hers at one point but it suits you so well, hugs you in all of the right places. The veil crowning your head rests elegantly down your back and all the way to the floor.
Steve's hand is wrapped around your waist, and you're tucked into his side. His fingers are splayed against your hip, yours tightly wrapped around the bouquet in your hands.
The two of you are looking into each other's eyes, and if you didn't know any better, you'd be convinced.
"The Andersons, then?" Max asks, looking at you. "That's who we are now?"
"The Andersons," you repeat. "That's who me and Steve are now."
"You guys actually look married," she laughs. "I mean, that's insane. He's kind of a smoke show."
That earns a glare from you.
"Max, you are my number one priority. If at any point you want me to stop this, you tell me and I'm done."
"Joyce sat me down and explained everything earlier before I left. I know that this is top secret. People can't know we're related, I get it." She seems slightly irritated, and you're its because this a certainly a lot for a sixteen year old to take in.
Steve enters the room out of the corner of your eye, and you almost groan, forgetting that he lives here too.
"Sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt," he holds his hands up in defense, almost sensing the heat radiating off of you. "You must be Maxine."
"It's Max," she states.
"Max," he nods and holds his hand out, to which she shakes it. "I'll do my best to stay out of your way."
He turns on his heel, but you stop him, "We should probably talk."
"I agree," he nods. "Nice to meet you, Max."
Max gives you a small smile, then steps forward, lifting another staged photo of you and Steve out of the box haphazardly left next to the fireplace. You leave her to study them and follow Steve. You're still learning your way around the house, so you follow behind him, assuming he knows better than you.
It still won't click in your head just how massive this house is. You received a brief tour earlier, but there's still a lot to learn and memorize.
Steve holds the door open to what you assume is his room. He must've claimed it while you were unpacking your own. It's surprisingly not on the farthest end of the house from your room, but just down the hallway.
He has a few boxes scattered, but you were instructed to pack as lightly as possible, to leave as many personal belongings as you can behind. Your quaint pale yellow home was still there, holding so many of yours and Max's belongings.
There's a desk in the corner, a single frame on it. You walk towards it as Steve shuts the door behind you. You lift the frame and study it closely, your brows furrowing.
It's your team: Robin, Nancy, Steve, Eddie, and Jonathan. Your lips part slightly, noticing that they're younger, much younger. They look like teenagers.
"Go ahead, ask," Steve says from behind you.
"You guys knew each other before the FBI?" You turn to face him, the frame still in your hands.
"We went to high school together back in Indiana," he nods.
"Oh," is all you manage to say. How they all managed to end up here is beyond your understanding. You decide to save the many further questions for another day.
"You wanted to talk?" he asks, leaning against the door.
"It's seeming like we're going to meet the unsub as soon as this weekend," you say, "I just want to make sure we're ready."
Steve pushes his sleeves up to his elbows, then folds his arms over his chest, "Do you think we're not ready?"
"You don't think this is insane?" You lower your voice on the off chance that Max has decided to eavesdrop. It wouldn't be the first time.
"Of course it's insane," he laughs, "But it's what we signed up for."
Your eyes find the floor while you search for something to say, "You're right."
"Hey," he steps toward you, and you instinctively take a step back, something ingrained into you from a small age. You and Max's parents spent your entire life trying to unprogram it from you, but never could.
You watch Steve notice, but he doesn't say anything.
"We are more than prepared, I can assure you that," he says, keeping his distance, "We know the part we're playing. We're going to save those girls, okay?"
You nod once, failing to find words anymore. Before you stepped in here, there was probably a novel's worth of things you wanted to tell him, but it's all fled your mind.
"What's your name?" He asks.
"Grace Anne-Marie Anderson," you reply.
"That's an interesting middle name, where is it from?" he presses.
"My grandmother," you answer.
"When is your birthday?"
"January 23rd, 1977."
"When is my birthday? What's my name?"
"Daniel James Anderson. April 13th, 1997."
"Where are we from?" he takes another step forward, but this time, you don't move back.
"Connecticut," you say.
"Where."
"Mystic."
"Our wedding anniversary?" He questions.
"June 10th."
"Good," he nods, then steps away, the familiar bite returning, "Don't mess this up."
He strides to the door and opens it, gesturing for you to leave. You chew the inside of your cheek as you make way toward him.
"You're a real fucking prick, you know?" You make sure the shoulder check him on your way out.
A few days later, you're sitting on the couch, going through the box of framed photos of you and Steve that neither of you had bothered putting up.
Max had already rushed to school, nearly late with the new route from the new house. The weekend had passed, and you had spent the entirety of it going over case files, learning anything and everything you could about Henry Creel, and perfecting your persona as Grace.
"The team is heading in soon with an update," Steve says from behind you.
"Heard," you reply, barely sparing him a glance.
The past few days had been spent avoiding each other. He was more chatty with Max than he was with you, and that left you more bothered than expected. You'd take turns in the kitchen, staying out of each other's way when it came time for a meal. He often ate in his room, while you and Max ate in the dining room.
Max had offered him to join you twice, and he politely declined both times, claiming he had work to catch up on.
"He seems nice to me," she'd say when you'd complain about his tone.
"Yeah, he's nice to a lot of people. I'm not one of them," you'd reply.
"Why haven't you put those up yet?" He asks, plopping down on the couch next to you, annoyingly close, you might add.
"This is the first time I'm looking at them," you admit.
"Better get them placed before Joyce gets here," he says, lifting a frame out of the box.
"You could've placed them, too," you side glance at him. "They were sitting here all week."
The only picture that had been placed was the bigger one above the fireplace mantle because Eddie had taken it upon himself to hang it. The truth was, you just couldn't bear to look at the box of frames. Seeing you as someone else felt so out of body; it was something you were still trying to get used to.
"You said you were going to do it, so I left them for you to do," he leans back, looking at the photo.
"I did not say that," you defensively reply.
He laughs in reply, and it makes your blood boil.
"What's so funny, Agent Harrington?" You drop the frame on the cushion next to you, crossing your arms as you look at him in disbelief.
"Hopper was right," he says through another breathless laugh. You say nothing, waiting for him to elaborate. "We do bicker like a married couple."
Your eyes search his, trying to decipher if you should laugh or not. God, he's right, though. He reaches over you and grabs the frame from next to you, making your breath still.
"This is a good one," he says, staring at it. "We're pretty convincing."
You reach for another frame in the box and stare down at it. It's just another from the series of wedding photos. You bite your tongue that somehow feels like it's tied itself into a knot.
The one he holds nearly hurts to look at. It seems so real.
"What are you doing?" You ask as Robin appears at the bartop with the film camera Joyce had been using all week to capture your fake life with Steve.
Each day was spent ambushing you and Steve with this camera for candid shots of your lives together. You and the team were enjoying what you didn't realize was your last Free Friday for a while.
Steve's presence is felt before you see him. His shoulder brushes yours as he fills the space next to you at the bar. It sends a chill down your spine. He orders himself a beer and turns to face Robin when it's in hand.
"Say cheese," Robin says, "But make it real, don't forget."
You lift your cocktail glass off the counter and turn to face Robin. Steve's chest presses against your back, and your breath catches in your throat. All week had been spent taking these photos, but you never got used to having him be so comfortable touching you.
Robin tsks and drops the camera, "More convincing. I'm not buying it."
Steve doesn't say anything, you just feel his hand slide around your waist, causing your spine to straighten. His hand splays across your hipbone just barely under your shirt, something you'd felt several times this week, and his thumb brushes a circle into your skin. Your hand rests over his, your fingers instinctively lace together.
His chin rests on your shoulder, his nose pressed to your cheek, and you instinctively lean into his touch.
"Yes! Yes, that's it. Stay like that- wait- I forgot what button- hold on," Robin's struggle with the camera draws a laugh from both of you, causing you to further lean into Steve, his grip around you tightening.
"Jesus Christ, this new tech is killing me." The comment sends you into a full fit of laughter as the flash finally goes off, likely blinding anybody within a five-foot radius.
The second she drops the camera, Steve pulls away from you and walks back to the table without another word.
You down your drink.
"I'll put them away right now," you stand up and take the frame from his hand, nauseated at how authentic it looks.
If you showed it to anybody, they'd believe you'd been in love for years.
You toss it into the box with the rest and then lift it, carrying it around as you find places for every photo. Some are placed in the kitchen, some more in the living room.
The one from the bar is the last you can't seem to find a place for. You stare down at it, your knuckles turning white from how hard you're gripping the frame.
This is fine. It's more than fine. No, it's not.
The photo makes you sick.
Your laced fingers against your hipbone. Steve's tipsy smile pressed into your cheek, the genuine laughter you can hear through the photo. How loose and comfortable you are leaning into Steve's chest.
It's not Steve at all; it's the realization that you've never had a serious relationship in your life, and yet here you were with years of one shoved into a week of phony photos that look and feel real.
It's the job. You remind yourself as you pull the photo from the frame and stick it to the fridge with a magnet from Paris, to which you've never even actually visited.
The team arrives in intervals. Most of them were wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses, and Eddie was even wearing an oversized hoodie.
It's a strategy. You haven't even begun your work, but the practices to ensure everyone's safety have already started.
The saferoom hides behind a bookcase in the second office on the first floor. To open it, there's a specific first-edition copy of The Great Gatsby on the second-top shelf that is actually a lever.
Steve is somehow the last person to enter the saferoom despite now living just upstairs from it.
"Alright, everyone, settle in," Hopper says.
The table in the saferoom is nearly identical to the one at the office, and everyone assumes their usual seats.
"Robin, do you want to tell us your findings?" he asks.
"Well, I spent the entire week dissecting the gallery's website. He's got it protected like crazy, so it took some time, but I finally made it past his firewalls." Robin starts, immediately talking with her hands in the fast-paced manner she does when nervous. "Dr.Owens luckily has put in for you two as the Andersons, so he was expecting contact from you."
"What, like an email?" Steve asks.
"Not exactly," Robin's mouth twitches downward, "There are different layers to the gallery website. The contact portal can't be found by just accidentally clicking on something; you have to know where to look."
"And you know where to look," you say, offering a pleased smile.
"I've been talking with Henry's right hand for the past few days, arranging a meeting."
"A meeting, meaning?" Nancy questions, pulling the baseball cap off her head, freeing her curls.
"Well, he doesn't agree to meet with just anyone," Robin is quick to reply, "There's a sort of vetting process to it all. You know, to ensure that nobody is a snitch. We're very lucky to have Dr.Owens on the inside."
"And?" Eddie pries.
Robin pulls a file from her bag and spreads out at least twenty pages of documents.
"You two have a lot of studying to do," Robin says with a smile.
You and Steve stand from your seats to better view the pages on the table. You take one into your hands, your eyes scanning the page quickly.
<Dealer001> Mr. Creel is a very busy man.
<Dealer001> Dr. Owens has put in a good word.
<DAndy> We're very serious about our involvement. Our schedule is flexible.
<Dealer001> He has agreed to meet at the gallery.
<Dealer001> Thursday evening at 1800. Do not be late.
"We start Thursday," Hopper says. "You two need to study up and memorize every line of contact Robin has had with these people, understood?"
You glance at Steve, watching as his jaw clenches when he nods. You nod as well.
"Good job, Rob," Eddie smiles, patting her on the back.
"Eddie and Nancy will be undercover at the restaurant across the street. Jonathan will be nearby with his camera..."
Hopper trails off, detailing the rest of the points for Thursday. Your stomach insists on tying itself into several small knots.
"Alright," Joyce says as she stands. "Let's get to work."
You look to Steve, not for his approval, but for something else.
He gives you a curt nod and is the first to exit the saferoom.
That night, you fall asleep on the couch. Max had left for a sleepover with her friend Jane, and you had spent the rest of the night surrounded by the documents Robin had brought in.
Steve enters the kitchen for a glass of water, noting the lamp is still on, "Kind of late for you to be awake, hm?" When you don't answer, he finally fully looks over his shoulder. "Are you still pissed at me?"
He pads over from the kitchen, a hint of a smile on his lips as he finally lays eyes on you. He sets his glass of water down and gently picks up the files you have resting on your chest. His chest tightens when he sees you wearing nothing but a tank top with spaghetti straps.
He diverts his stare to the files, scanning over all of your handwritten notes. It bothers him how detailed you are, how every single line has your thoughts written out next ot it. With a sigh, he gathers the stack together and messily puts it back into the folder.
He looks at you again, a warm feeling subtly filling his chest that he tries to fight. You look so peaceful when you're not running your mouth off at him, calling him a prick or asshole or arrogant.
He's moving before he can stop himself, brushing a strand of hair from your face. Then he pulls the blanket off the back of the couch and drapes it over you, pulling it up to your chin, careful not to wake you.
He stares at you for another moment and then whispers to himself, "What the fuck am I doing?"
He snatches the folder, your folder, off the table and rushes back to his room with one final glance at the wedding portrait over the fireplace mantle.
