hello - welcome to moonstone and moonlight ~ my name is jasmine!
i write fics and blurbs for steve harrington mainly but i also write for bucky barnes, gator tillman, kurt kunkle, walters mckey and travis meacham (✿◠‿◠)
‧₊˚ 💌 ⋅ ☆ inbox always open for asks! fic requests and drabbles are currently closed. any requests sent to my inbox are deleted when requests are closed.
☀️ steve harrington summer sleepover event | masterlist
🍒 3k followers special
dividers
⋆. 𐙚 ˚ do not copy or repost my work as your own. i do not give permission for any of my work to be ran through ai. please kindly credit me if you take inspo from my work ⋆. 𐙚 ˚
⋆˚✿˖° DIVIDER CREDIT BELOW;-
dividers all created by me 🌙
(please credit me if you reuse any banners or dividers)
graphics and banners made by me. all images are taken from pinterest. credit to original owners.
how'd u like watching to all the boys I've loved before ? I remember Peter Kavinsky being the CRUSH globally during 2018 and whenever I rewatch it, I remember why lol
it was okay! definitely not my favourite rom com (i did watch love rosie earlier in the week which nothing can top imo) but i did like the story 💗 & omg yes i remember everyone obsessing over noah centineo, i never got the appeal but i think he has a beard now and now i get it 👀👀
thank you for the tags lovelies 💗 @thecreelhouse @keeryspullman @pr33tygirlavenue @oohgeminii @riddlersoupwrites @the-night-we-met-011 @cozymoonlight18 @djoatthe-disco
no pressure tags: @goldiwrites @tinfoileddd @xpeachsunsidex @graywrenhart @whispersoflost @djopuppy @djosnoopy @keer-y @spacejjunk @djocufics (sorry if you’ve already been tagged)
Summary: Last week, you had the pleasure of not knowing who Steve Harrington was. Now, you fantasize about brutally murdering him on the daily. Your job is hard enough, but he just had to make it worse by wrestling the last juice shot at the bodega out of your hand, forcing you to run around Tribeca at midnight to find another before your boss fires you.
As it turns out, your new arch nemesis is the only other human in the building (aside from the janitor) that spends more time in the office than at home due to his own overbearing boss. Mix together a broken wifi connection, an emergency deadline, plus one supply closet that doesn't have any cameras and you've got two burnt out assistants taking their frustrations out on each other in some…creative ways.
The torrid encounter reveals the perfect solution: set your bosses up with each other, get them laid, and free up your calendars.
But what happens when all this free time just leads to you and Steve colliding even more? Well…there's a certain four letter word on the tip of your tongues, but neither one of you will ever say it.
Warnings (18+ - MDNI): Corporate burnout, Drinking in the office, Mean!Steve, Bratty!Reader, Degradation, Brat Taming, Nipple play, Manhandling, Both Reader and Steve are touch starved, Fingering, Oral (M & F receiving), Unprotected p in v sex, Rough Sex, Semi-public sex (technically? I think lol), Forced orgasm (consensual), Steve rolling his eyes probably 20,000 times
Author's Notes: This chapter 1 of my submission for The Steve Harrington Summer Sleepover event hosted by @moonstoneandmoonlight and @graywrenhart !! Set It Up is the rom com that inspired this and the premise is virtually the same…but with a copious amount of shameless smut added 😏 I hope you enjoy! I'm open to starting a taglist, comment down below if you'd like to be added 🩵
You are not about to lose your job over cold pressed ginger and turmeric.
That's the mantra you keep repeating to yourself as you run down to the bodega at the corner after your boss discovered you forgot to restock her juice shots and told you that if she catches a cold due to a missed dose right before a huge pitch meeting with Emerald Fennell…well, the look she gave you had said enough.
Sorry, Vivienne. I was a little busy prepping the storyboards, running through the meeting materials with marketing, and booking all of Emerald's travel because apparently her assistant has the privilege of actually using her PTO…is what you'd wanted to say. In reality, you just nodded fervently and ran.
You are not about to lose your job over cold pressed ginger and turmeric!
The shrill bell at the front door rings as you storm into the store and make a beeline for the beverage fridge.
"Whoa…" The night cashier, Argyle, who knows you by name now due to how often you come in during his graveyard shift, raises his eyebrows at your entrance. "Everything good, muchacha?"
"I need a juice shot!" You wave your hands at him.
"Juice emergency, I got you." Argyle continues rambling. "You know I had a cousin once—"
"Fuck yes!" You interrupt him when you spot the fridge.
Apparently there is a god after all, because there is exactly one ginger tumeric shot left on the shelf. You're so focused on it, you don't even hear the bell ring from the door opening a second time. Or the footsteps running up behind you.
It's not until a large hand engulfs yours right as you grab the last juice shot that you realize you're about to have a problem.
"What the hell?" You turn to the owner of the appendage holding you and your juice shot hostage to find some douchebag in a Brooks Brothers suit with unusually voluminous chestnut hair and wild hazel eyes.
"I need this." He pulls your hand to his chest.
"Well, too bad." You try to yank your hand back but his strength is impressive. "I had it first!"
"Look, I promise you that tomorrow I'll buy you and your Bushwick hippie friends like ten more of these." His grip tightens. "But I need this or I'm gonna get fired."
You look down at your outfit, wondering why something more casual than his fucking tuxedo suddenly screamed 'Bushwick hippie'. "First of all, I live in East Village." You attempt to pull your hand away again, groaning in the struggle. "Second, you know this is basically assault, right? If I don't get this juice shot, I'm going to get fired and I will press charges."
The asshole actually laughs. "Good luck with that. You'll pay more in legal fees than any measly amount a court would give you for a slightly bruised wrist."
He uses his other hand to try to pry your fingers off the bottle. "What the actual fuck, man? Are you okay?"
"No, actually." He pauses and narrows his eyes. "I consistently work sixteen hour days reporting to an overbearing maniac and if I don't get him this juice shot he's going to make my life hell tomorrow."
You scoff. "Sixteen hours? That's cute." You grab his hand trying to open your fist and growl. "I've been in the office since six a.m. I'm running solely on red bull and vivanse right now. Do. not. fucking. mess. with. me."
The two of you continue to wring each other's arms in a battle of the fittest for the goddamn juice shot. Argyle watches from the counter with a blank expression, sipping his soda noisily.
"Okay," your opponent pants. "Everyone's got a price. Name yours."
"Oh for fucks sake, now you resort to bargaining?" You try to use your body weight to wriggle free by sinking to the floor, but this man apparently has a gorilla grip and ends up just falling on top of you.
"This is ridiculous!" He groans, scooching away on the floor and trying to get the small bottle free, dragging you with him by your hands since you refuse to let go.
"I'm being ridiculous? Really?" You huff and lunge to climb on top of him, straddling his waist. "I literally had my hand on it first!"
"And I need it more!" The guy throws his head back and puts all his arm strength into getting the bottle.
Unfortunately, it's enough to finally twist it out of your clammy hand. He lets out a chuckle of victory and pushes you off of him before jumping up.
You sit up on your knees. "Who the hell do you think you are, shithead?"
"Keep the change." The man tosses a ten dollar bill on the counter, Argyle just nodding in thanks, and he winks at you as he walks out the door. "I'm Steve Harrington. A.k.a the guy that just came out on top."
He smirks and flips the bottle in the air before catching it. You sit on the grimy floor of the shop with your eye twitching, suddenly thinking the most violent thoughts your sleep deprived mind has ever concocted.
As you sprint five blocks to the next closest store, you swear on your mother's life that you're going to find a way to destroy Steve Harrington. But first, you need to find another fucking juice shot.
In the next twenty four hours, you manage to learn three more things about Steve Harrington through LinkedIn. First, he's got the cringiest profile you think you've ever seen in your life, but that's not surprising. Second, he's originally from the middle of nowhere in Indiana which is slightly more surprising given that you thought Midwesterners were supposed to be nice and non-confrontational. The third and most surprising fun fact is that he works in the same building as you for some private equity firm.
That'll make your eventual revenge plan easier, though you don't have time to think about it much as work is crazier than usual that day. It occurs to you that if you barely have time to eat anything aside from protein bars, you're probably not going to be able to get any justice for the juice shot battle.
"I need to leave to catch my red eye." Vivienne marches out of her office holding her designer bag and somehow looking just as polished at ten p.m. as she did at seven this morning. "Alex is stopping by soon to drop off the first cut of Gone in the Night. You can leave after that."
"Sounds good." You offer her the warmest smile your fried brain can muster and watch your boss strut out of the office.
Hopefully Alex can make it soon, because getting home before eleven would be a new record. You decide to catch up on filing hard copies of archived footage while you wait.
With your headphones on, you fall into an efficient rhythm and let the stress of the day leave your mind. You become so in the zone that you don't hear the footsteps behind you.
You jump when someone pokes your shoulder (hard, you might add) and rip your headphones off. Your heart only races faster when you turn around and come face to face with none other than Steve Harrington.
"The fuck are you doing here?" You toss your headphones and the DVDs you were holding on the cart beside you before crossing your arms.
Steve holds up a plastic bag. "I told you I'd buy you ten more if I got the last juice shot."
"Oh how honest. That totally makes up for tackling me to the ground in a bodega." You frown and cross your arms. "How'd you even find me?"
His mouth twists into a smug grin that you want to slap off of him. "You didn't have your LinkedIn set to private viewing mode when you checked out my profile."
Your cheeks burn and you snatch the bag out of his hand. "You're the weirdo that gave yourself the dumb outro when you walked out of the store."
Steve follows you as you turn around to walk to the kitchen. "Look, I know I was being a little extra last night—"
"A little?" You scoff and open the fridge and angrily slap down each shot in the door shelf.
"…Maybe a lot." Steve chuckles. "I just had already fucked up enough yesterday, I couldn't take another hit. You're still here so clearly you didn't get into too much trouble."
You slam the fridge shut and glare at him. "Because I ran five blocks to see if the other store had them. Which you could have done, you know."
"I can't exactly run in my work clothes, unlike you." Steve gives you a once over, wrinkling his nose at your band T-shirt tucked into flowy linen pants.
"Jesus. You're such an asshole." You toss the plastic bag in the trash and put your hands on your hips. "You already stole my juice shot. You don't need to insult my clothes for a second time."
"I didn't insult them." He mirrors your stance and flicks his jacket back when he puts his hands on his hips. "I just implied they're on the more relaxed side."
"I'm sorry, did I ask?" You turn on your heel to walk back to the archive shelves and yell over your shoulder, "Feel free to leave."
"What? No thank you for the juice shots?"
You stop and slowly turn around to look at Steve, who's leaning against the counter completely unbothered. "Did you hit your head doing one too many keg stands at whatever frat house you crawled out of?" You take a couple steps toward him. "You ripped a juice shot out of my hand and you think buying a few more is a decent apology?"
He rolls his eyes and pushes off the counter. "I'm sorry…" He licks his lips and smiles. "…that you weren't quick enough to buy it before I got there."
You blink and hold out your hands, shaking your head, a million threats sitting on the tip of your tongue. You decide this dickhead isn't worth any more of your time and drop your hands.
"Steve Harrington, I wish you nothing but the absolute worst."
He shrugs and walks past you, but not before pausing when you're shoulder to shoulder to say, "Try not to lose too much sleep thinking about me, sweetheart."
You're left frozen and speechless yet again in the wake of Steve Harrington, unable to form a coherent thought as he winks at you and strolls out of your office.
For your own sanity, you vow not to give Steve anymore of your brain real estate. You then proceed to break it several times over the course of the week, as much as you hate to admit it.
You can't stop thinking about those hazel eyes that seem to be perpetually smirking, or how easily his large hands engulfed yours, or the low register of his voice in your ear when he breezily walked out of your office. It made you wonder what he might sound like in the bedroom…
No. Nope. You are not attracted to Steve Harrington. You don't like finance douchebags and certainly would never sleep with one. Objectively speaking, he's easy on the eyes. Doesn't mean you want to fuck his brains out. Clearly, this latest dry spell of yours is just making your intrusive thoughts go crazy.
The desperation to get laid only grew more desperate by the day. You were going on twenty seven months since you're last hook up. There had been a few half-assed attempts to sleep with guys from Hinge but you worked too late and missed every single one.
So tonight you plug away at the script coverage Vivienne was expecting in her inbox by midnight and keep telling yourself that you'll be able to go home and spend another lovely evening with your vibrator once it's done.
You wrap up the finishing touches at eleven forty five and sigh with relief as you open your email so you can get out of here.
Except your email won't load. You frown and hit the refresh button in your browser, only to now get an error message that there's no internet connection.
"No, no, no, no!" You run to the server room and sure enough, that stupid router has a blinking red light. You unplug it, count to thirty, and plug it back in. The red light comes back.
You're absolutely fucked. All the nearby shops that have wifi are closed, you won't make it back to your apartment in under fifteen minutes, and tech support definitely isn't available right now.
Then you remember that there's likely someone else still in the building at this hour. It's the last person you want to ask for help, but Vivienne's going to be checking her inbox in ten minutes. So you grab your laptop and run to the elevator.
HGS Capital's office sits higher up in the building on the thirty fourth floor. When the doors open, you step directly onto the firm's sleek marble floors and follow the noise of furious typing, as it's the only sound in an otherwise silent office.
Steve's brow is furrowed in concentration while he sits at his desk outside of a giant corner office. He looks up at the sound of your running and opens his mouth, but you beat him to the punch for once.
"My office's wifi just cut out and I need to submit this work to my boss in…" You glance at your phone screen. "Seven minutes! If you have a single decent bone in your body, can you please log me into your office's wifi?"
Something softens in Steve's gaze for a second. He sighs and holds out his hand for your laptop. He clicks around and types a bit before turning it back around on his desk to face you.
"It's g2g."
You blink and shake your head, trying to figure out why your laptop has got to go. "…What?"
He rolls his eyes and returns to his computer. "It's good to go."
"Jesus," you mutter.
You sit in one of the chairs in front of his desk and try not to look at the clock as you rapidly type up an email and attach the coverage for the five screenplays you read today. You hold your breath as you hit send and exhale once it goes through at eleven fifty eight.
"Did you get it done?" Steve asks without looking away from his screen.
"Yes." You notice then that the doofus still has his suit jacket and tie on. You wonder why he insists on being so dressed up even in an empty office at midnight. "Thank you."
"You're welcome." He clicks his mouse with a final flourish and swivels toward you. "Is all forgiven now for the bodega incident?"
You lean back in your chair. "Considering you still haven't actually uttered a real apology? No, you are not."
Steve laughs and pulls out two mugs from his desk drawer, setting them down with an emphatic thud before looking up at you. "I'm very sorry for rudely stealing your juice shot and inconveniencing you." He opens the cabinet behind him and pulls out a bottle of tequila with a bow on it. "Now will you have a drink with me to cope with the fact we're still in this godforsaken building in the middle of the night?"
This is the moment you should tell him to fuck off and go back to your office, but as you watch Steve loosen his tie and run a hand through his tousled hair, you can't find the strength to. There's something also about the gleam in his eyes everytime he throws you an annoying quip that for whatever reason also makes heat pool in your core. You decide you want to stick around and get to know the man behind the juice shot theivery.
"Sure. Why not?" You eye the bottle. "Where did that even come from though?"
He pours two drinks and hands you a mug. "Harrison throws away any bottle under two hundred dollars."
"Well," you raise your cup. "Happy to help you get rid of it."
The two of you take a large gulp at the same time, choking a bit on the burn of the liquor. You feel your shoulders relax a bit as the alcohol slows your nervous system.
Steve rubs his eyes. "God, I needed this."
"Sharing a drink with someone who hated you up until one minute ago?" You down the rest of your tequila and scrunch up your face, shaking away the brief discomfort.
"Oh, so you like me now?" He stares at you over the rim of his mug, his eyes dancing with humor.
"Now when did I say that?" You grab the bottle and pour yourself another drink. "You saving me tonight cancels out the events of last week. You're back in the zone of complete neutrality."
"Either way, it's nice to be promoted in one area of my life." Steve pours himself a hefty serving of tequila.
You know that feeling all too well. "How long have you been working as an assistant?"
"Three years." He takes a sip and shudders, whether from the alcohol or tenure as someone's glorified bitch, you don't know. "You?"
"About the same." You tilt your head. "I'm surprised we haven't crossed paths until now."
"We probably have." Steve shrugs and leans back, almost assessing you as he taps his chin. "We just didn't have a reason to notice each other until we happened to need the same juice shot."
You let out a humorless laugh, shifting a bit under his gaze. "Fair enough."
He downs his second drink and sets the mug on his desk before staring at you for a beat. "This is the first time I've had a drink with another human being in eight months."
"It's been ten months for me." You cover your mouth and hold back an embarassed giggle. "And the last time was at my cousin's bat mitzvah."
"Oh shit." He laughs and it's the first genuine one of his that you've witnessed. You involuntarily notice that he has a nice smile. "Guess you win. That's sad."
"Believe me, I know." You take another swig of tequila and look around. "I'm hungry."
Steve blinks. "What am I supposed to do about that?"
"This is an office isn't it?" You hold up your hand, palm to the ceiling, and give him a pointed look. When he just blinks again in response, you huff and drop your hand. "Don't tell me you finance freaks are too cheap to stock this place with snacks."
After some cajoling, Steve finally shows you to the supply closet where he keeps the snack inventory (because he refuses to let you mess up his freshly restocked kitchen). You bring the tequila too, and before you know it, you guys are sitting on two step stools, drunk and surrounded by various candy wrappers and chip bags. Surprisingly, you end up actually enjoying Steve's company as he relaxes a bit, taking his suit jacket off and rolling his sleeves up to his elbows in the process.
"Okay, name the weirdest thing you've ever been asked to do by your boss." Steve holds the bottle up to his lips and watches you with heavy lidded eyes.
You look up while unwrapping another peanut butter cup. "Make a bunch of fake TikTok accounts to leave hate comments on A24's page."
Steve snorts. "Why the fuck did she want you to do that?"
A grin spreads on your face as you take the bottle from him, your fingers brushing his briefly. "They poached Jacob Elordi from one of our projects, making him unavailable for filming."
"Oh god." Steve chuckles. "I'd hate to get on her bad side."
"She's even better at holding grudges than I am." You give him a knowing smile and pass him back the bottle. "Tell me the weirdest thing you've had to do."
"That's easy." He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees after taking a sip, setting the bottle on the floor. The corner of his mouth twitches upward. "He made me serve his divorce papers to his ex-wife."
You gasp. "No way."
"I'm serious." He laughs and rubs the back of his neck, a vein popping out as his muscles stretch. "It was like my fourth month in too."
"Wow." You blow out a breath and shake your head. "This round is probably yours. That's pretty weird."
"Yeah. My job really sucks sometimes."
"I love working for Vivienne, but I do miss things like going to parties that aren't for children and having sex." Steve's gaze sharpens at that, making you smirk. "Been awhile for you too, Harrington?"
"Maybe. But I've gone on a few dates with this girl I met on Tinder…" His mouth twists into a smug smile and he shrugs. "…and I'm pretty sure I can close on that soon."
You scowl. "Ew. Do not talk about a woman like she's a business deal."
He waves you off. "Marriage is a business deal."
"Jeez. How romantic."
"I'm very romantic actually." He huffs and stands up to put away some of the boxes you pulled off the shelves.
Watching Steve's arms reach up as and stretch the fabric of his shirt around his biceps has you pressing your thighs together. Fine, you're done pretending like this guy isn't attractive. He is, and you haven't been fucked in ages so the tequila puts an idea in your head. It's a bit of a long shot in case you've misread all the subtle glances he's given you, but you don't know when an opportunity like this will present itself again.
Maybe you also want to torment this asshole a bit too. "Sure you are. And I bet you're also amazing in bed."
Steve shoots you a glare. "Haven't had any complaints so far."
You stand up and step in front of him, leaning on the shelf. "Yeah right."
"What?" His arms drop from the shelf and he turns to face you. "Is it really that hard to believe?"
"Yes. You strike me as a bit self-centered." You roll your head back and forth, pretending like you're hesitant to elaborate. "I mean, it's hard not to consider the first impression you gave me."
"Christ." Steve puts his hands on his hips. "I thought you forgave me."
"It's forgiven, not forgotten." You let out an exaggerated sigh. "Point is, you don't seem like a generous person in or out of the bedroom."
Steve opens his mouth, then freezes. He leans back on his heels and crosses his arms, eyes narrowing as the wheels in his mind appear to turn.
After a beat of charged silence, his eyes rake up and down your body. "You asking me to prove it?"
His words give you the confidence to step towards him. "You'd love the chance to get in my pants, wouldn't you?"
Steve's eyes darken. "If it means shutting you up, yeah I would."
"You're such an asshole." Unlike earlier, your insult doesn't have any bite to it.
He notices this and chuckles before lowering his head so that he's eye level to you. "And you're a brat."
You suck in a breath and Steve raises his eyebrows, waiting for permission to accept your challenge. The anticipation tingles down your spine. You barely finish nodding before he crashes into you, his lips attacking yours in a frenzied kiss. The sudden contact that you've been so hungry for on top of the overpowering scent of his expensive cologne leaves you dizzy, making you grab onto Steve's neck for balance as he forces his tongue into your mouth. You can taste the smokiness of the tequila and remnants of the chocolate he'd eaten tonight when he deepens the kiss. Steve pulls your bottom lip between his teeth and bites down as his hands slide down to your ass, kneading the flesh there.
A moan escapes your lips and feeling Steve smile against them prompts you to pull away. "This still doesn't mean I like you."
Steve rolls his eyes and scoffs. "I'm heartbroken."
Before you can reply, he kisses you again and licks his way back into your mouth, his tongue massaging yours. You decide not to fight him (this time) and wrap your arms around his neck, arching your back into him. Steve chuckles in between kisses and grabs your hips, squeezing them as he slams your back into the closet door.
You yelp but kiss him harder in response. He groans as he yanks your blouse over your head and undoes the fly on your pants, letting them fall to the floor while he kisses down your neck, sucking hard on the skin there.
"Ah, Steve." You dig your fingernails into his biceps.
He licks the patch of skin he definitely just left a hickey on and pulls away to look at you as his hands glide up your torso and cup your breasts. You notice how big his hands are for the first time as he's manhandling you and melt into his touch, shutting your eyes.
You submitting to him even more pulls a hiss of approval from his lips. "Look at this sexy body you've been hiding under those pajamas you try to pass off as work clothes."
Your eyes snap open and your brow furrows, a scathing insult on the tip of your tongue that he blocks with another bruising kiss as he grinds into your half naked body.
Steve's hands snake around your back and unclasp your bra before he rips it off of you. His hands engulf your tits again as he trails sloppy kisses down your sternum, pushing them together to rub his face in between and pinching your nipples. He takes one of them in his mouth and lets out an obscene moan as he swirls his tongue around it, like something as simple as sucking on your tit was the best thing he'd done all day.
Then again, with how shitty his job is, maybe that's not an exaggeration.
He moves to the other nipple, making sure to give it the same attention. With the way he nips and laps at it, you're not sure anymore if this is for your pleasure or his.
Your hands fly to his head as he increases the pressure, your fingers threading through his hair. "Fuck, Steve…"
"Yeah?" He releases the stiff nub with a wet pop and slaps your tit as he stands back up. "This what you wanted? For me to fuck you like some desperate slut in a closet?"
"Fuck you." You grin and bite your lip. "I'm not the one that almost came in my pants just from sucking on a girl's tits."
Without warning, Steve shoves a hand under the waistband of your panties and parts your folds, smirking when he discovers just how wet you are.
"This pussy is telling me a different story, sweetheart." His lips are inches from yours, his hot breath fanning your skin as he slides two thick fingers inside you.
You cry out and press your forehead to his as he curls his fingers. "Oh my god…shit, right there."
"Yeah?" His fingers speed up as his thumb finds your clit. "Still think I can't make you come?"
Any snarkiness you had left in you evaporates as he brings you closer to your peak. You can't really argue when the slick, squelching noises of your cunt and frantic whimpers give you away. "Steve, please."
"Say it." His free hand reaches up and grips your hair, pinning your head in place against the door. "Admit that I know how to get you off, and maybe I'll let you."
"Fuck, yes! You know how to get me off," you pant. "I'm so close because you feel so good."
"I know." He laughs and withdraws his fingers from you, stepping backwards as he unbuttons his shirt.
The suddenly empty feeling almost brings tears to your eyes. "What the hell?"
Steve lets out an exaggerated sigh as he peels off his shirt. "I said maybe I'd let you come." He nods to you and starts unbuckling his belt. "Take off your panties."
You're too impatient to think about any potential embarassment from how easily he's able to boss you around. When you stand back up, Steve is now fully naked and stroking his impressively large cock. You swallow as you stare at it, your mouth watering as you wonder if that thing is even going to fit in you.
Steve tracks every movement you make, his pupils blown wide as he slowly fists himself. "Why don't you suck on it a little and get me ready for you?"
Weirdly enough, you see this as an opportunity to get back in control of the situation as you sink to your knees and grab hold of his shaft, his own hand falling away. You let a string of spit dribble onto the tip and slowly start working him in your hand, keeping your touch light and teasing.
You look up at him and bat your eyelashes. "You sure you're not gonna blow your load the second I put my mouth on it?"
His eyes flash with equal parts annoyance and amusement. He grabs your chin and shoves his thumb in your mouth. "Open."
The second your jaw drops, he pushes his cock past your lips and hits the back of your throat, making you gag on it. Steve grimaces a bit and starts to pull out, worried he went too far, but you grab both his ass cheeks and keep him in place as you begin bobbing your head.
"Fuck," Steve rasps and grabs your hair in a makeshift ponytail. "Knew that big mouth of yours was good for something."
You rake your fingernails down his skin and hollow your cheeks to increase the suction in retaliation. Steve grunts and props his free hand on the door for support. You release him briefly to lick the underside of his cock and take him back in your mouth all at once, moaning at the salty taste of pre-cum that leaks from his tip.
"Oh shit…" His hips stutter a bit and he pulls your hair to release himself from your mouth. "Get up."
You lick your lips and hold onto his shaft as you stand, continuing to jerk him off. "Getting close there, Harrington?"
"Shut up." He slaps your hand away and spins you around.
You plant both hands on the door as he kicks your feet apart and spreads your cheeks. The anticipation kills you as he rubs himself along your slit.
Then he pauses suddenly and you look over your shoulder, frowning. "What?"
He presses his mouth into a thin line. "I don't have a condom."
"We both just established that we haven't had sex in months, it's fine." You grind against him. "Just don't come inside me."
"Fuck, okay." He pushes into you and buries himself to the hilt in one go, barely giving you any time to adjust before he starts pounding into you. Your eyes roll back into your head as the burn from his stretch fades into heavenly pleasure. Steve laughs at the incoherent babbling tumbling from your lips. "You like that, huh? When I split you open like this with my dick?"
"Mmm yeah," you mewl. "Love how you're making me take it."
"Christ." Steve grabs your hips and slams into you with a brutal pace.
You feel his cock twitch inside you and snicker. "I don't think you're going to last much longer."
"Fuck you," Steve growls, but clearly you struck a nerve because one of his hands snakes around your front to frantically rub against your clit.
It may have been enough to push you over the edge if he'd had another minute, but you start meeting his thrusts and pushing back against him. That combined with your slick walls clenching around his cock force him to pull out before you come.
You giggle and turn around as he comes in his hand, his head leaning against his arm while hot ropes of his release coating your stomach. He pants and curses under his breath.
"Well, you gave it your best shot," you tease. "But is there somewhere I can file your supposed first complaint?"
Steve raises his head slowly, his eyes turning to slits. He bends over to the pile of clothes on the floor and picks up his tie.
When straightens back up, he motions you forward with two fingers. "Give me your wrists." He notes your furrowed brow and grabs your jaw. "I'm not going to ask twice."
You shiver and hold your hands out to him, watching carefully as he wraps the silk around your wrists and ties a knot. He then raises your arms up over your head and ties the other end of the fabric around the hook attached to the door.
Steve presses you against the wood and kisses you briefly, sucking on your tongue as he pulls away and works his way down your body with his lips, nipping and sucking on your skin. He sinks to the floor and starts licking some of his own cum off your stomach, smearing the rest of it around with his hands and painting you with it.
Then he moves lower, pressing his nose into your mound and breathing in as he lifts one of your trembling legs off the floor to hook your knee over his shoulder. You whine an inaudible plea as he turns his head to kiss up your inner thigh, pausing once his mouth is hovering inches away from where you need him most.
Steve looks up at you, a devious grin spreading on his swollen, red lips. "Last chance…sure you can handle this?"
You let out a shaky exhale and buck your hips forward. "Yes, please."
"Stay still and keep your eyes on me." He pins your hips to the door and maintains eye contact as he flattens his tongue to lick a broad stripe up your core.
Your brain short circuits when his lips close around your clit and suck on it. The blinding pleasure makes your head fall back as you let out a pornographic moan, but Steve pinches your ass, reminding you of his instructions.
The sight of him when you look back down wrecks you. All you can see is his mouth hungrily latching on to your cunt, but you feel the erratic way his tongue laps and swirls around your bundle of nerves as he maps out every inch of you.
"Fuck!" You cry out and gasp when he finds a particularly sensitive spot that's only ever been stimulated by your own hand.
Steve smiles against your wet folds and keeps his tongue there, putting all his attention on it and making your vision blur. He sucks and flicks harder, holding you in a death grip while your hands are bound above you so that all you can do is stand there and take it.
The coil in your stomach winds tighter and your chest heaves as Steve keeps pushing you closer to the edge. When that band finally snaps, your orgasm rips through you.
"Oh fuck…Steve, holy shit!" You continue shaking in Steve's arms, riding each wave of pleasure as best you can.
But Steve doesn't slow down. He moves away briefly from your clit and moans as he laps up the release dripping from your pussy. You're pinned to the wall so there's nowhere for you to go when he resumes flicking your clit with his tongue, this time shoving two fingers inside of you too.
Being at his mercy like this only turns you on more, a second orgasm already building off the aftershocks of your last one. His long fingers pump in and out of you in tandem with his tongue working your clit. You pant and tug on the confines of Steve's tie, your mind going completely blank as you come again, sweat dripping down your temple as Steve wrings every last drop from you.
Only when your trembling from the overstimulation does he slowly withdraw his fingers, giving your slit one final lick before standing. When you're face to face again, his expression has melted into something more akin to adoration, which makes your cheeks heat more than any of the other filthy things you'd done tonight.
Steve presses his lips against yours and holds you flush against him. "You did so good for me, sweetheart," he murmurs.
"Thanks." You giggle in between kisses, making him laugh too.
He reaches up and unties your wrists. "You okay?" He asks as he massages them in his hands.
"Yeah, I'm great." You look around at the mess you both made in this closet, grateful that there aren't any cameras in here. "We should probably get this cleaned up."
"Don't worry about it, I got it." He picks up your clothes and hands them to you.
"No, I want to help." You pull your bottom lip between your teeth. "I did kind of start it after all."
"Yeah, you did." His eyes twinkle as he looks you up and down, as if soaking in these last few moments he's ever going to see you naked, because you both know this was just a one time thing to blow off some steam. "But I finished it."
You decide to let him have the last word again, only because getting the release you so badly wanted is enough of a prize.
Despite it being almost two in the morning, Steve feels surprisingly at ease as he walks through the door to his apartment. Well, maybe it's not too surprising after the events that transpired in his office's supply closet. He grins to himself and heads straight to the bathroom to take a shower and wash away the last remnants of you.
When he steps back out into the hallway and turns toward his room, he jumps at the sight of his roommate blocking the way, standing in her pajamas with her arms crossed.
"Shit, Robin!" Steve grabs onto the towel wrapped around his waist to prevent it from falling. "Why are you still awake?"
"Your loud ass singing woke me up." Steve notices then her mussed up hair as she narrows her eyes. "Why were you even singing in the shower? You only do that when you're happy."
Steve's cheeks heat, not realizing he'd been so loud. "Well, guess I'm happy tonight." He gestures behind her. "Can I please go to my room?"
Robin pivots to make room but follows him. "What happened tonight?" She turns around to give him privacy while he changes into a t-shirt and pair of sleep pants.
"What do you mean? I just worked late." He tosses his towel in a hamper and climbs into bed.
"No shit." She turns back around and stands at the foot of his bed, her hands on her hips. "But you're normally miserable after work. Something clearly put you in a good mood. Did the Vineyard Vines website have a flash sale?"
"No." Steve rubs his temples.
"Did you finally get a brand deal on Linkedin?"
"No! Jesus, Rob, can I please—"
"Oh my god." Robin's face slowly breaks into a knowing smile. "You got laid, didn't you?"
Steve knows lying to her is pointless. She's not going to let him sleep until he throws her a bone. "It's really not that big of a deal."
"Aha!" Robin laughs and jumps onto his bed. "Did you hit up some random girl on Tinder? Do a little quick and dirty hook up on the way home?"
Steve crosses his arms and huffs. "It was with this girl that works in the same building as me. She works late too most nights."
"Whoa…you fucked someone at the office?" Robin throws her head back and cackles. "You absolute freak! Man, you really were horny."
"Yeah, sure. Can I please sleep now?"
"Hang on a second." She rolls her eyes like he's the one inconveniencing her. "Are you going to ask this girl out? Clearly you had a good time."
"What? No." Steve waves his hand and shakes his head. "It was just a one time thing. Besides, I'm taking Kristen to dinner tomorrow night."
"Ugh, you're still talking to her?" Robin wrinkles her nose. "She's horrible."
"No she's not!" Steve scoffs. "She's gorgeous and perfect wife material. She knits…how cute is that?"
Robin raises her eyebrows and gives him a flat look. "You're such a dingus." She climbs off his bed and walks to the door. "I have to be at the label early tomorrow for a budget meeting. Enjoy your dinner with bird brains."
"I will," Steve snaps and rolls on his side to turn off his bedside lamp. The last image in his head before falling asleep is your body writhing above him, cheeks flushed and mouth hanging open while you watch him eat you out. Part of him wonders if he'd actually be satisfied only doing that to you once in his life.
The warm, spring air tickles your skin as you step onto the city street the next morning and the smell of garbage is much more faint than usual. You look up and admire how blue the sky looks.
"It's beautiful out today," you say over your shoulder to Eddie as he locks the door to your apartment building.
His eyebrow quirks up, disappearing into his curly bangs. "Who are you and what have you done with my roommate?"
You laugh and shove his shoulder playfully. "I'm just enjoying the weather."
"You're never this chipper before coffee and bagels." He falls into step beside you as you guys walk to the deli on the corner. "It's freaking me out."
"I don't know what to tell you." You hold the door to the shop open for him as you guys get in line at the counter. "I'm just in a good mood today."
Eddie grabs the strap of his messenger bag in front of his chest and stares at you for a moment with pursed lips. After a moment, he snorts. "Oh, did you finally fuck someone last night or something?"
"Eddie!" You hiss and look around at all the witnesses around you. "…maybe."
"Hey, atta girl!" He claps you on the shoulder. "Who was the lucky fella?"
"Just some guy from work." You step up to the register and order your and Eddie's usual bagel sandwiches and iced coffees. You offer your card to the cashier since Eddie paid yesterday and step over to the pick up counter, assuming the conversation about your sex life has ended.
Eddie gives you a sideways glance and smirks. "So he dicked you down pretty good, huh?"
You punch his arm. "Can you not? We're in public."
"Please, it's New York City." He holds his hand out to all the people around you, their faces admittedly too buried in their phones to notice you guys. "They've heard worse. Now spill. You gonna see him again?"
"No way."
"Why? Having a fuck buddy in your office building is perfect for you."
"I don't like him enough to make this a regular thing." You grab your order when your name is called out, passing Eddie his latte before grabbing your own and following him back outside. "He's not my type."
Eddie grabs the bag and pulls out his breakfast sandwich. "He's not a tortured artist that's too much of a free spirit to remember your birthday?"
"Fuck off. That was one time." You snatch the bag from him and pause, before shrugging. "Okay two times."
"See?" Eddie holds his hands out and lifts his shoulders. "Maybe you should branch out a bit."
"Even so, I'm not going to do that with some snobby finance guy. There's gotta be a happy medium."
"We can't always help who we love, babe. Sometimes it chooses us." Eddie winks and turns down the street to walk toward the record label he works at. "Gotta go, those tracks aren't gonna mix themselves!"
You roll your eyes and keep walking towards the subway. You don't necessarily disagree that the fates often choose your soulmate for you, but there's no way in hell they've chosen Steve Harrington as yours.
By four p.m., your good mood has completely disappeared, replaced by the usual existential crisis making you question all your life's choices. Especially the one that led you to signing Vivienne's job offer letter.
Somehow your boss has managed to run you ragged from the other side of the country while she's in L.A. and has assigned you enough tasks to keep you chained to your desk until two in the morning. The lack of sleep from last night hits you harder as the evening approaches and you wonder what it would take to get Vivienne to chill out long enough for you to catch up on sleep.
You yawn and click through all the open tabs you've had open for days, trying to clean them out and get rid of some of the virtual clutter. When you get to the LinkedIn tab you still had open, Steve Harrington's ridiculous headshot stares back at you.
It's still hard to believe that this is the guy that had you so worked up and falling apart on his cock barely twelve hours ago. You smile at the memory, your good mood creeping back in.
Then an idea hits you.
You get up and speed walk to the elevators and ride up to the thirty fourth floor. HGS Capital is much more lively in the daylight, but most employees are packing up to head home for the day. You aren't surprised to find Steve still at his desk, once again immaculately dressed and plugging away at his work.
"Let's set them up," you say as soon as you step in front of his desk.
Steve's eyes snap up. He swivels in his chair, looking around before settling his gaze back on you. "Set who up?"
You check to make sure Harrison isn't in his office and lean in to whisper, "Our bosses!"
"Why would we do that?" Steve turns back to his computer, apparently already bored.
"Think about it…if they're dating, they'll be distracted and all happy being in love." You walk around the desk to face him. "We'd get a break."
Steve's eyes narrow. "Are you just looking for an excuse to talk to me so we hook up again?"
"Oh my god." You roll your eyes. "Will you get over yourself? No. That was a one time thing."
"Okay. Good, agreed." He glances back down at his computer screen. "Then that's the dumbest idea I've ever heard."
"What? Come on, worst case scenario—"
"They find out we meddled in their personal lives and fire us." Steve gives you a hard look. "I'm not about to let the last three years be for nothing just because you want to free up your calendar for open mic nights and drinking PBR on someone's rooftop terrace."
You twist your face into an annoyed but slightly amused expression. "Okay, your perception of what I do in my free time is wildly inaccurate but I digress." You bend over his desk and rest your elbows on the stack of paper beside his mouse. Steve makes a displeased face at the way you rustle up his files. "They wouldn't find out. We're good at our jobs and staying invisible."
He checks his watch and sighs before standing up. "I don't have time for this."
"Exactly!" You straighten up and hold out your hands. "That's the point!"
"No, I mean I have a date in ten minutes and I'll only have an hour before Harrison is back from his trainer." Steve grabs his wallet and keys. "I'm not going to help his love life when I could be focusing on mine."
"Think of it as an investment." You follow him to the elevators and get in with him. "You put in some time to help him, and get back all the time in the world to find yourself a Mrs. Harrington."
"That's not how that works." Steve nods towards the doors opening on your office's floor. "Now if you excuse me, I need to go DTR with this girl."
"I'm sorry…" You pause and step out into the hallway, trying decipher yet another strange saying of his. "You need to what?"
"Define the relationship." He sighs, as if that should have been obvious.
"You know not everything needs an acronym right?" you blurt out as the doors close, almost missing Steve flipping you off as he continues his descent to the lobby.
Steve marches out of the lobby, cursing as he realizes he's already five minutes late thanks to you. He swipes to unlock his phone and calls Kristen.
"Hello?"
He winces at her less than pleased tone. "Hey, beautiful. I'm so sorry but—"
"Let me guess," she deadpans. "You're running late."
"Only a few minutes! I'm really close to the restaurant." Steve picks up the pace as he walks down the street. "And I can't wait to see you."
"Listen, Steve…" She lets out a frustrated sigh. "I don't think this is going to work."
Steve halts on the sidewalk, making someone run into his back and cuss him out. "Because I'm running a little late?"
"Because you're already in a relationship with your job." Steve hears a door opening on the other line, like she's stepping outside. "I don't want to be with a guy who has to answer his boss' call within three rings and take me to dinner at five like old people so he can sneak back into work by six. Honestly, it's just sad."
"I—" Steve pinches the bridge of his nose. "Listen, I get it. But this is just temporary until I get promoted."
"And I'm supposed to just put up with it until then?" Kristen snorts in disbelief. "You're cute and all, Steve…but I'm just not interested in seeing you again if this is going to be the norm."
The line clicks and Steve's left there dumbstruck on the sidewalk. He's now back to square one on the relationship front and it dawns on him that what Kristen said, while a bit harsh, wasn't even necessarily unfair. Few women would probably put up with his schedule.
"Jesus christ," he mutters and turns back around to return to the office.
Steve takes the elevator up to your floor and heads to the back of the office, finding your desk tucked into a corner beside the large executive suite. You're wearing glasses and a headset, surrounded by clutter that makes his eye twitch a bit while you type and sip on a diet coke.
You hear him approach and turn to meet his eyes. "Back so soon?" You grimace with faux pity. "Is your relationship still undefined?"
"Don't." He holds up his palm to you and shakes his head. "I'll do it."
"Yay! This is going to be great, I promise." You clap and hold out your phone. "Put your number in. We'll find a time to meet and start planning."
"Whatever." Steve takes your phone and types his number in then sends a text to himself with your name. "But we're not doing that here. It's too easy to get caught."
You lift your shoulder and smirk as you take your phone back. "We didn't get caught last night."
Steve already regrets agreeing to this. Not just because he thinks the plan is moronic and bound to blow up in your faces. Truth be told, he can't stop thinking about the two of you colliding in that supply closet and fucking each others' brains out.
And he's starting to worry it's not going to remain a one time thing.
a/n: yet again thank you to @moonstoneandmoonlight & @graywrenhart for hosting this sleepover event!! i had to add in a smut chapter because who am i if not a connoisseur of smut?
masterlist
After the park you and Steve barely left each other’s side. You walked until your feet hurt, talked until your voices went soft, stopped for coffee that turned into lunch that turned into wandering the city like two people who had finally been allowed to breathe. Every time his fingers brushed yours it felt brand new. Every time he looked at you there was no more guilt, no more almost, no more someone else’s wedding hanging over either of you.
By the time night settled in, you were back at your apartment, still in the ivory dress and him still in the tux, both of you too reluctant to change and break whatever spell the day had cast.
The second the door clicked shut behind you, the air changed.
Steve’s hands found your waist like they’d been waiting all day for permission. He backed you against the wall in the entryway, mouth already on yours—hungry, deep, the kind of kiss that had been building since the dumpster and the tree and every millisecond in between. You made a soft, desperate sound against his lips and he swallowed it, pressing closer until the hard lines of his body aligned with yours.
“Fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, voice rough. “Been wanting to do this for weeks. Every time you looked at me in your damn office I wanted to bend you over the table.”
Your fingers fisted in his open collar, tugging him somehow closer. “Then why don’t you?”
Steve’s answering growl vibrated through both of you. He kissed you harder, one hand sliding up to cup the back of your neck, the other dragging down your side until he found the zipper of the dress. He didn’t pull it down yet. Just toyed with it while his mouth moved to your jaw, your throat, the sensitive spot just below your ear.
“Because I want to take my time,” he said against your skin, low and filthy. “Want to ruin this pretty little wedding dress while I make you come on my tongue. That okay with you, sweetheart?”
The words shot straight between your legs. You nodded, already breathless.
“Use your words.”
“Yes—god, yes—”
Steve finally dragged the zipper down in one slow pull. The dress loosened, slipped off one shoulder, then the other. He eased it down your body until it pooled at your feet in a soft ivory puddle, leaving you in just the delicate lace lingerie you’d put on that morning for an entirely different wedding.
His eyes darkened as he looked at you.
“Jesus Christ. Look at you.” He stepped back just enough to take it in, chest rising and falling hard. “All dressed up like you were gonna marry someone else while I was across town doing the same stupid thing. And the whole time this body was meant for me.”
He dropped to his knees right there in the hallway.
You barely had time to gasp before he hooked his fingers in the sides of your panties and dragged them down your legs. The second they were gone he nudged your thighs apart with his shoulders, settled between them, and looked up at you with pure intent.
“Hands in my hair,” he ordered quietly. “I want to feel it when you fall apart.”
You obeyed instantly, fingers sliding into the perfect strands that were already a mess from your earlier kissing. Steve leaned in and dragged his tongue through your folds in one long, filthy stroke that made your knees buckle. He caught your hips, held you steady against the wall, and did it again—slower this time, savoring.
“Fuck, you taste even better than I imagined,” he groaned against you. “Been thinking about this. About getting my mouth on you. About how wet you’d get for me.” Another deliberate lick, the flat of his tongue pressing firm against your clit. “You’re soaked already. That all for me?”
“Yes—” Your voice cracked. “Steve—”
“That’s it. Say my name while I eat this pretty cunt.”
He sealed his mouth over you and worked.
There was no teasing hesitation. Steve ate you like a man who had been starving, tongue circling your clit in tight, relentless patterns before dipping lower to fuck into you. The wet sounds of it filled the quiet apartment. Every time your hips tried to roll he pinned them harder to the wall, forcing you to take exactly what he gave.
“Stay still,” he growled, the vibration making you whimper. “I’m not done with you yet. Gonna make you come on my face first. Then maybe I’ll think about letting you have my cock.”
Your fingers tightened in his hair. “Please—god, your mouth—”
“Yeah? You like the way I use it?” He sucked hard on your clit and two of his fingers pushed inside you at the same time, curling immediately against that perfect spot. “Fuck, you’re tight. Clenching already. You gonna come for me like this? All pretty and desperate against the wall with my tongue in your cunt?”
You were shaking. The dual sensation of his fingers and mouth was devastating—skilled, relentless, exactly as good as he’d promised. Every filthy word that left his lips only pushed you higher.
“Steve—I’m close, I’m so close—”
“I know. I can feel it.” He looked up at you through his lashes, mouth shiny, fingers still working inside you. “Come on my tongue, baby. Let me taste it. Give it to me.”
The orgasm hit hard and sudden. Your thighs clamped around his head, a broken cry tearing out of you as you came, pulsing around his fingers while he licked you through every wave. He didn’t stop until you were trembling and oversensitive, only then pressing one last soft kiss to your clit and rising to his feet.
Steve kissed you deep, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, one hand still between your legs, fingers slow and possessive.
“That’s one,” he murmured against your mouth, voice dark with promise.
His free hand reached for his bow tie, tugging it the rest of the way off.
“Bedroom. Now.”
You barely made it three steps before Steve’s mouth was on yours again.
The tux jacket hit the floor in the hallway. His shirt followed somewhere near the bedroom door, buttons scattered. Your bra was unhooked and discarded without ceremony. By the time the backs of your knees hit the mattress you were both breathing hard, skin on skin, the last pieces of clothing kicked away in a messy trail behind you.
Steve guided you down onto the bed, following immediately, his body covering yours. The weight of him was perfect—solid, warm, overwhelming in the best way. You reached between you the second you could, fingers wrapping around his very well endowed cock, already thick and hard and leaking at the tip. You stroked once, twice, then started to shift down the bed, fully intending to get your mouth on him.
Steve caught your wrist and pinned it to the pillow above your head.
“No.”
The word was rough, almost strained.
“Steve—”
“Not this time.” He kissed you hard, nipping at your bottom lip. “I’ve waited forever to be inside you. I’m not waiting another second. I need you. Right fucking now.”
He grabbed the backs of your thighs and pushed them up, folding you nearly in half, knees toward your chest. The position left you completely open for him. You felt the thick head of his cock drag through your soaked folds once, twice, then he was pushing in—slow at first, letting you feel every inch as he stretched you open.
“Fuck—” The sound punched out of him when he bottomed out. “Jesus Christ. So tight. So wet for me still.”
You moaned, fingers digging into his shoulders as he filled you completely. The stretch was intense, perfect, exactly what you’d been aching for.
Steve didn’t give you long to adjust.
He pulled almost all the way out and thrust back in hard, setting a deep, relentless rhythm that had the headboard knocking softly against the wall. Every stroke hit so deep it stole your breath. His hips snapped against yours, the wet sound of it obscene in the quiet room.
“Look at you,” he growled, eyes locked on where he disappeared inside you. “Taking every inch like you were made for it. This cunt was made for my cock, wasn’t it?”
“Yes—god, yes—” Your voice broke on a particularly deep thrust. “Steve, you feel so good—”
“Yeah? You like it deep like this?” He adjusted the angle, pressing your legs higher, and the next thrust made your back arch off the bed. “Fuck, I can feel you clenching. Already trying to come on me again.”
You were. The constant deep pressure, the way he filled you so completely, the filthy praise—it was building fast.
Steve leaned down, still driving into you, and spoke right against your mouth.
“Been thinking about this every night. Fucking you stupid. Watching you take me. Listening to those pretty sounds you make when I’m buried inside you.” Another hard thrust. “You’re mine now. No more almosts. No more waiting. Just this. Just us.”
Your hands slid down his back, nails dragging lightly as he fucked you harder, deeper, the force of it making your breasts bounce with every stroke. The pleasure was sharp and overwhelming, coiling tight low in your belly.
“Steve—don’t stop—please don’t stop—”
“Not a chance.” His forehead dropped to yours, pace turning almost punishing. “Gonna fuck this tight little cunt until you come all over me. Then I’m gonna keep going. Fuck— you feel so fucking good.”
He shifted one hand between your bodies, thumb finding your clit, rubbing tight circles in time with his thrusts. The dual sensation ripped a broken moan from your throat.
“That’s it,” he groaned. “Let me feel it. Come on my cock, baby. Give it to me.”
The second orgasm crashed over you harder than the first—white-hot and shaking, your walls clamping down around him as you cried out his name. Steve fucked you through it without slowing, chasing his own pleasure now, hips snapping deep and erratic.
“Fuck—so good—gonna—fill you— up—”
He buried himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, cock pulsing as he came inside you, forehead pressed to yours, both of you trembling and gasping in the aftermath.
Steve didn’t pull out. He just stayed deep, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw as the aftershocks faded.
When he did pull out, he did so slowly, both of you hissing at the loss, then sat up and dragged you with him. His hands were already greedy again—sliding over your hips, squeezing the soft flesh of your ass, trailing up your sides like he couldn’t stand not touching you for even a second.
“Come here,” he murmured, voice dark and rough. “Want you to see what you look like when I fuck you.”
He guided you to the edge of the bed, right in front of the wide vanity mirror. The reflection showed everything: your flushed skin, the mess of your hair, the way his cock was still hard and glistening as he sat behind you. Steve settled on the edge of the mattress— feet planted on the floor— and pulled you back into his lap, your back to his chest, thighs spreading over his.
“Sink down on me,” he ordered against your ear. “Nice and slow. Watch.”
You reached between your bodies, lined him up, and lowered yourself. The stretch was different like this—deeper, fuller—and the second he bottomed out both of you groaned. In the mirror you could see every inch of him disappearing inside you, the way your pussy stretched around his thick cock. The faint outline of him in your stomach.
“Fuck, look at that,” Steve rasped, eyes locked on the reflection. His hands clamped onto your hips, holding you down. “Look how pretty you take me. Every single inch.”
He started moving—short, deep thrusts upward that punched the air from your lungs. One hand stayed locked on your hip, guiding the rhythm, while the other slid up your stomach to cup your breast, squeezing, thumb dragging over your nipple.
“That’s it. Bounce on my cock. Let me see those tits move.”
You did, rising and dropping, the wet slap of skin on skin filling the room. Steve’s mouth found the side of your neck, open and hungry, sucking marks into the sensitive skin while he drilled up into you. Every upward thrust hit so deep your mouth fell open. The mirror showed it all—his cock disappearing into you over and over, his hand kneading your breast, the way your stomach fluttered every time he bottomed out.
“Steve—oh my god—”
“Yeah. Watch yourself get fucked.” His other hand slid from your hip to your clit, rubbing tight, filthy circles. “Look how soaked you are. Dripping down my cock. You’re making such a mess for me.”
The dual stimulation was already too much. You were still sensitive from the first two orgasms and every deep stroke pushed you higher, sharper. Your thighs started to shake.
Steve noticed immediately.
“Already getting close again?” He nipped your earlobe, hips snapping up harder. “Good. I want another one. Want to feel this tight little cunt squeeze me while you watch yourself come.”
He fucked up into you relentlessly—deep, punishing strokes that forced broken sounds from your throat. Both hands were occupied— one rubbing fast, tight circles against your clit, the other one sliding up to lightly wrap around your throat so you had to keep looking at the mirror.
“Don’t look away,” he growled. “Watch what I do to you.”
The overstimulation hit hard. Every thrust felt too deep, too intense, pleasure tipping over into something almost unbearable. You were shaking, moaning nonstop, trying to lift off him but his arm locked around your waist and kept you impaled.
“Steve—it’s too much—I can’t—”
“Yes you can.” His voice was pure filth against your neck. “You’re gonna take it. Gonna keep taking this cock until you cum all over me. I can feel how close you are. You’re clenching so fucking hard.”
He doubled down—thumb rubbing your clit in fast, tight circles while he pounded up into you, the angle perfect and devastating. The wet sounds grew louder, filthier. Your whole body went tight.
“That’s it—come on, baby—fucking give it— to me—”
The orgasm ripped through you so hard your vision whited out. A gush of wetness sprayed around his cock as you came, squirting hard onto his lap and the edge of the mattress, thighs trembling violently. You cried out, head falling back against his shoulder, completely overwhelmed.
Steve didn’t stop.
He kept fucking you through it, drawing out every pulse, every messy splash, groaning filthy praise into your neck.
“Fuck yes—look at that. Soaking me. Such a good girl, squirting all over my cock. God, you’re perfect.”
Only when the last tremors faded and you were whimpering from the sensitivity did he finally slow, still buried deep, both arms wrapped tight around you as you both stared at the wrecked, beautiful mess in the mirror.
Steve’s breathing was still heavy against the back of your neck. He pressed a soft kiss there, then another, before carefully lifting you and turning you in his arms so you were facing him. His hands stroked up and down your back, gentle now.
“Hey,” he murmured, voice low and a little wrecked. “You need a break?”
You nodded immediately, forehead dropping against his collarbone. Your whole body felt loose and oversensitive, like every nerve was still humming.
“Yeah,” you admitted, the word coming out soft and slightly dazed. “I feel… completely fucked stupid. I just need a minute.”
Steve huffed a quiet, affectionate laugh and wrapped both arms around you, pulling you fully into his lap. He reached down, tugged the duvet up over both of your cooling bodies, and settled back against the headboard with you draped across his chest.
“Good,” he said, pressing a slow kiss to your hair. “I’ve got you. Just breathe for a second.”
You stayed like that for a while, skin to skin, his heartbeat steady under your ear. Every so often he tipped your chin up for another lazy kiss—soft, unhurried, nothing like the desperate ones from earlier. Just lips brushing, lingering, smiling against each other.
“I still can’t believe today actually happened,” you whispered between kisses. “This morning I was about to marry someone else. Now I’m somehow naked in bed with you and I can barely feel my legs.”
Steve’s chest shook with a quiet laugh. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes soft.
“Best plot twist of my life,” he said. “I kept thinking about you the whole time I was putting that tux on. Felt like I was walking toward the wrong future.” His thumb stroked your cheek. “Then Robin told me you were at city hall and I swear my heart stopped.”
You leaned into his touch. “I almost went through with it. I really did. I was so scared of wanting you and not being able to have you that I almost settled.”
“I know.” He kissed you again, slower this time. “I’m really glad your dad grew a conscious.”
You both laughed quietly, the sound warm in the dark room.
“I love you,” you said, the words easy now. “I know I already said it at the park, but… I love you. So much it still scares me a little.”
Steve’s arms tightened around you. He rested his forehead against yours.
“I love you too. More than I know what to do with.” Another soft kiss. “We’re gonna figure the rest out. The job, the families, all of it. But right now I just want to hold you and not let go for a while. That okay?”
“More than okay.”
You shifted so you were tucked more fully against him, head on his chest, one of his hands tracing idle patterns on your bare shoulder. The conversation drifted into quieter things—favorite parts of the day, how ridiculous it was that you’d both almost married other people on the same afternoon, soft teasing about how he still had a hickey forming on his neck from earlier. Every few sentences another slow kiss interrupted the words.
Your blinks started getting longer. The steady rhythm of his breathing and the warmth of his body were impossible to fight.
Steve noticed. He pulled the blanket higher around your shoulders and pressed his lips to your forehead, lingering there.
“Go to sleep, baby,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.”
You hummed something that might have been an “I love you” and let your eyes close completely, completely safe in his arms.
Steve kissed your forehead one more time, soft and certain.
summary: based on the wedding planner- you're desperately trying to land the biggest wedding of the season- the wheeler/harrington wedding. but when you flirt with death and then the man who SAVED you from certain death by dumpster? you're in for a real treat. how are you going to be able to plan the wedding for the man youre falling in love with?
w/c: 10.7k
warnings/tags: stancy, so much pining, angst, strangers to wedding planner to lovers, alcohol use, so much love
a/n: BIG shoutout to @moonstoneandmoonlight & @graywrenhart for hosting this steve harrington summer sleepover event! i am so honored to have been able to participate in this :)
masterlist // bonus chapter
You sat across from Nancy Wheeler in the sunlit corner booth of the upscale café, your leather portfolio open between you like a shield and a promise. Your boss’s voice still rang in your ears from that morning: “Land Nancy Wheeler and the whole firm will notice. High-profile journalist, tasteful wedding, you pull this off and you’re looking at a senior position.”
You’d dressed the part—tailored blouse tucked into a pencil skirt, heels sharp enough to make a statement but comfortable enough to chase vendors all day. You’d rehearsed your pitch until the words felt like muscle memory. But nothing prepared you for how sharp Nancy’s eyes were in person, how she listened with the same focused intensity she probably used in interviews that made politicians sweat.
She’d arrived exactly on time, offered a firm handshake, and ordered an oat milk latte without looking at the menu. You’d shown her mood boards, vendor lists, and a preliminary timeline that balanced her demanding career with the kind of wedding that felt like them. She’d nodded, asked smart questions about press access and privacy, and then—after only twenty minutes—she’d smiled, slow and genuine.
“I think you’re exactly what we need,” she said, reaching for the contract you’d already slid across the table. “David’s going to love your vision. He’s been so patient through all my deadlines and late nights. He keeps saying the wedding is the one thing that should feel like ours, not just another event.” Her cheeks flushed the faintest pink as she signed with a flourish. “He’s my calm in the storm. I don’t know what I’d do without him.”
You smiled back, professional and warm, even as your pulse kicked with quiet triumph. Nancy Wheeler. Signed. This was the client that would make your boss’s jaw drop. You were already drafting the email in your head.
The meeting wrapped with promises of a follow-up call next week to lock in florals and a venue walk-through. Nancy stood, gathering her bag. “Thank you. Really. I feel like I can actually breathe now.”
“You’re in good hands,” you assured her, meaning every word.
Outside, the afternoon sun hit warm on your shoulders. You stepped onto the sidewalk feeling ten feet tall, already pulling your phone out to text your boss the good news. Nancy Wheeler is officially ours. The words were still forming when your right heel caught.
A metallic clink. A sharp tug. You stumbled, catching yourself on a lamppost, and looked down. The delicate stiletto had wedged itself between the bars of a sidewalk grate, the thin heel trapped like a bear in a trap. You muttered a curse and bent to work it free, twisting your ankle at an awkward angle. The shoe wouldn’t budge.
Then you heard it.
A low, gathering rumble. Metal on pavement. Getting louder. Faster. You cursed yourself for wearing such strappy heels.
You looked up and your stomach dropped.
A massive construction dumpster—bright orange, easily the size of a small car—was rolling down the gentle incline of the street, picking up speed. Its wheels rattled, the heavy lid clanging. It was heading straight for you. Just momentum and bad luck.
“No—no, come on—” You yanked harder at your foot. The heel stayed stuck. Panic flooded your veins, hot and electric. The rumble became a roar. You could see the shadow swallowing the sidewalk, the glint of sunlight on the metal corner that would hit you first.
You squeezed your eyes shut, a scream caught in your throat—
Strong arms slammed around your waist from the side and yanked.
The world blurred. Your foot tore free of the shoe with a painful twist. You hit your head on the ground as you crashed backward into just as the dumpster thundered past, missing you by inches. The wind of it whipped your hair across your face. The crash of metal on metal as it hit the curb echoed like thunder.
For one suspended second, all you could hear was your own heartbeat and the harsh breathing of the person on top of you.
“Are you okay?” The voice was low, rough with adrenaline, right against your ear. “Jesus Christ, that was close.”
You were still pressed flush against him— pinned between the ground and his muscular body. His heart hammered against your chest. You could feel every inch of him— the hard plane of his chest, the corded strength in the arms that had just saved your life, the warmth of his skin seeping through his shirt into yours.
He gently pulled you to your feet, steadying you with hands that didn’t let go. And the world tilted for an entirely different reason.
He was beautiful.
Not in the polished, magazine way—something warmer, more devastating. His hair was perfect in that careless, wind-tousled way that made your fingers itch to touch it. A scatter of freckles dusted across his nose and cheeks like someone had flicked paint at him, softening the strong line of his jaw. His skin was tan, sun-kissed and glowing, and his arms—God, his arms—were tan and lean with muscle, the sleeves of his henley shoved up to reveal the kind of forearms that made your mouth go dry. Veins traced under the skin where he still held you.
Concern etched every line of his face as he looked you over, those freckles shifting when his brow furrowed. “Hey. Talk to me. Are you hurt?”
Your hands had landed on his chest without permission—palms flat over firm muscle, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breathing. He smelled like clean soap and hairspray and some woodsy cologne. The adrenaline still singing in your blood mixed with something hotter, something that made your stomach flip and your cheeks flush.
A shaky, breathless laugh escaped you. The words came out before you could stop them, flirtation riding the edge of pure relief and the dizzying awareness of how good he felt against you.
“My hero,” you managed, voice husky. “Do you always go around saving women from runaway dumpsters, or did I just get extremely lucky today?”
His mouth curved—slow, surprised, a little crooked. Those freckles danced with the smile. “First time for the dumpster,” he said, voice low and warm. “But I’m really glad I was here.” His thumbs brushed once, unconsciously, over your arms where he still held you. “You’re shaking.”
You were. From fear. From the crash of adrenaline. From the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing in the world right now. You opened your mouth to say something else—maybe ask his name, maybe actually suggest that coffee you suddenly wanted very badly—but the ground chose that moment to tilt.
The throb in your head, the leftover terror, the overwhelming closeness of this beautiful stranger—it all crashed together. Your vision tunneled at the edges. The world went soft and gray.
“I think I…” The words slurred. Your knees buckled.
His arms tightened instantly, catching you before you could fall. “Whoa—hey, easy. I’ve got you.” His voice dropped, urgent and soothing at once. One hand cradled the back of your head as he guided you down, but the darkness was already pulling you under, warm and heavy.
The last thing you felt was the solid safety of his chest and the faint, worried brush of his fingers against your cheek before everything went black.
─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───
You woke slowly, like surfacing from deep water. The first thing you registered was the soft, persistent beep of a heart monitor somewhere to your left and the faint, sweet smell of crayons and antiseptic. Your mouth was dry. Your ankle and head throbbed together with a dull, insistent ache. Everything felt slightly off-kilter, like the world had tilted a few degrees while you were out.
A children’s hospital. That much was obvious from the cheerful murals on the walls—cartoon animals in scrubs, rainbows arching over the doorframe, a big window letting in honeyed light that painted everything in soft pastels. You were in a private room, propped on crisp white pillows, a light blanket pulled up to your waist. Your bare foot was elevated on a pillow, wrapped in a soft brace. Someone had taken off your other shoe too.
Confusion prickled at the edges of your mind. The dumpster. The arms around you. That face—those freckles, that perfect hair—then nothing.
The door opened with a quiet click.
He stepped inside, and your stomach did a slow, warm flip.
He was in navy scrubs now, a white coat draped over his shoulders, a stethoscope looped around his neck. The coat somehow made the tan of his forearms even more noticeable where he’d pushed the sleeves up. His hair was still stupidly perfect, a little tousled like he’d run his hands through it. The freckles across his nose and cheeks stood out under the clinical lights, and when he saw you awake, his whole face softened into a smile that hit you right in the chest.
“Hey,” he said, voice low and warm, the same one that had been in your ear when he pulled you out of the way. “There she is. You gave me a pretty good scare back there.”
He crossed the room in a few easy strides, picking up the chart at the end of your bed like it was second nature. “I’m Dr. Steve. Peds. I was the one who… well, who caught you before the dumpster could. Brought you in here after you passed out on me. Nothing serious,” he added quickly, seeing the flicker of worry on your face. “Mild bump on the head, twisted ankle, dehydration from the adrenaline crash. You’ll be sore tomorrow, but you’re okay. I’ve got you on some fluids and pain meds if you need them.”
You managed a weak laugh, still a little foggy. “So you’re not just a professional dumpster-rescuer. You’re an actual doctor.”
Steve’s smile widened, a dimple flashing in one cheek. He leaned a hip against the side of your bed, close enough that you could smell that clean, woodsy scent again. “Guilty. I was actually heading to grab lunch when I saw you. Lucky timing, I guess.”
The way he looked at you—steady, warm, with that undercurrent of something brighter—made the hospital room feel smaller. You were hitting it off stupidly fast. The banter came easy, like you’d known each other longer than twenty minutes of insanity.
“You make a habit of sweeping women off their feet in the middle of the street, Dr.Steve?” you teased, voice still a little raspy.
He huffed a quiet laugh, eyes crinkling at the corners. “Only the ones whose shoes pick fights with sidewalk grates. And only when they flirt with me while they’re still catching their breath.” His gaze lingered on yours for a beat longer than necessary. “You were pretty smooth, by the way. Even while concussed.”
You felt heat creep up your neck, but you didn’t look away. The chemistry was immediate, crackling between you like static. Every time he shifted, you caught another detail—the way the stethoscope rested against his chest, the faint tan line on his wrist where a watch usually sat, the soft concern in his eyes that kept melting into something playful.
After a quick neuro check and confirming your ankle wasn’t broken, he helped you sit up. His hands were gentle but sure—one at your elbow, the other steadying your lower back as you swung your legs over the side of the bed. The contact sent a spark straight through you, the same electric awareness from when he’d held you on the sidewalk.
“You should probably take it easy tonight,” he said, but there was no real doctor-voice coldness in it. “If you’re feeling up to it, I can show you my office while we wait on the discharge paperwork. It’s quieter than the ER. Less… cartoon animals.”
You nodded, and he stayed close as you stood, letting you lean on him just a little. His arm stayed around your waist longer than strictly necessary as he guided you down the short hallway to a corner office with his name plate replaced by a child's drawing of 'Dr.Steve'.
The office was exactly what you’d expect and somehow more. Sunlight slanted through half-open blinds, catching on colorful crayon drawings taped to the walls—some signed To Dr. Steve, you’re my favorite in wobbly kid handwriting. A couple of framed photos sat on the desk— one of him with a group of laughing kids in a park, another with a woman who looked like his mom. Medical books lined one shelf, but there was also a well-worn baseball on the windowsill and a little potted succulent that looked like it was thriving under his care. The air smelled faintly like him—clean and warm—and something like the hand sanitizer they used everywhere, but softer.
You moved slowly around the space, fingertips brushing the edge of his desk, taking it all in. “This is… really nice. You can tell the kids love you.”
Steve leaned against the doorframe, watching you with that same easy smile. “They’re the best part of the job. Makes the hard days worth it.” His eyes followed you as you picked up a small framed drawing of a stick-figure doctor with a big red heart. “You’re welcome to sit if your ankle’s bothering you. Or… I can grab you something to drink. Water? Juice box? I’ve got the good ones with the straws.”
You laughed, the sound lighter now. The flirtation was easy, natural. “Juice box might be pushing it. But water would be great. And… thank you. Again. For everything.”
He pushed off the doorframe and stepped closer, handing you a bottle from a mini-fridge in the corner. His fingers brushed yours. Neither of you pulled away immediately.
“Anytime,” he said quietly. The air between you felt charged again, that same pull from the sidewalk.
Before either of you could say more, the door burst open.
“Oh my God—” Robin Buckley stood there, your assistant, looking like she’d run the whole way from the office. Her cheeks were flushed, curls wild, eyes wide with a mix of panic and pure relief. She was clutching her phone in one hand and a half-empty iced coffee in the other. “You scared the absolute shit out of me! I got the call from the hospital and I thought— I don’t even know what I thought, but it was bad. Are you okay? Is your foot okay? Do you need anything? I brought your backup flats from the office—”
She stopped mid-ramble when she noticed Steve standing there, her gaze flicking between the two of you. A slow, knowing grin started to form.
Steve straightened a little but didn’t move away from you. “She’s okay,” he said, voice warm. “Just a sprain and a mild concussion. I’m keeping an eye on her.”
Robin’s eyebrows shot up, but she recovered fast, stepping in to hug you carefully. “Thank God. Seriously. I was two seconds from calling your boss and telling her you got flattened by a trash can.” She pulled back, still fussing with your hair like a worried big sister. Then her eyes lit up with that classic Robin energy. “Okay, but hear me out—there’s that outdoor movie in the park tonight. The rom-com one? Starts at eight. You should come. Both of you.” She looked pointedly at Steve. “Doctor’s orders, right? Fresh air, low stress, good company. It’ll be fun. I’ll even bring snacks so you don’t have to move much.”
Steve glanced at you, that dimple flashing again, a spark of something hopeful in his eyes. He didn’t hesitate.
“Yeah,” he said, soft but sure. “I’d like that. If you’re up for it.”
The three of you stood there in his sunlit office—Robin still buzzing with relieved energy, you balanced between them with your wrapped ankle, Steve close enough that you could feel the warmth of him again—and for the first time since the grate and the dumpster and the blackout, the day felt like it was tilting toward something good.
Something that felt a lot like the start of more.
─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───
Robin bailed.
The text came in right as you were finishing up at the office, your ankle still wrapped but feeling better after a day of rest and Steve’s careful instructions.
Robin: Emergency!! I have to help my sisters boyfriends godmother bake an emergency birthday cake. I’m SO sorry. But you should still go!! Steve’s already on his way. Have fun you two 😉
You stared at the winky face for a long second, then laughed under your breath. Classic Robin. She’d been suspiciously enthusiastic about the plan earlier.
When you arrived at the park, the outdoor movie was already setting up—big inflatable screen glowing against the twilight sky, string lights crisscrossing between the trees, the smell of popcorn and fresh-cut grass in the cool evening air. People were spreading blankets on the lawn, couples claiming spots close to the screen, families with kids in folding chairs.
Steve was waiting near the entrance, hands in the pockets of a light jacket, that perfect hair catching the last of the sunset. He looked up when he saw you and smiled like he’d been hoping you’d still show.
“Robin texted me too,” he said as you approached, voice warm with a hint of amusement. “Something about a cake emergency. I figured we could still make it work… if you’re okay with it just being us.”
You were more than okay with it.
He offered his arm without making a big deal of it, and you took it, letting him steady you as you walked toward the quieter side of the park where the big oak tree stood. This had been your spot for as long as you came here—a thick, padded cushion nestled in the wide, low branch, string lights already woven through the leaves like someone had strung stars just for this. It gave you a perfect, slightly elevated view of the screen while keeping you tucked away from the main crowd. Private. Cozy. Yours.
Steve helped you up first, one strong hand at your waist, the other guiding your good foot onto the wide branch. His touch was steady and warm even through your jacket. Once you were settled on the cushion, he climbed up after you with easy grace, settling beside you close enough that your shoulders brushed when you both leaned back against the trunk.
For a while you just watched the opening credits roll, the park settling into that soft, anticipatory quiet. Then the conversation started—easy, unforced, the way it had been in his office.
Eventually you told him about the puzzling club you went to every other Thursday night.
“It started because of my mom,” you said, smiling at the memory. “When I was little she used to spread these giant jigsaw puzzles out on the dining room table every weekend. We’d work on them for hours—sometimes days. No TV, no distractions, just us and a thousand tiny pieces. She always said it was the best way to learn patience and how to see the bigger picture when everything feels scattered.” You glanced over at him. “I still go. Every other week. Same group of people, same folding tables in the community center basement. It’s kind of my reset button.”
Steve listened like he actually wanted to hear it, eyes soft in the glow from the string lights above you. “That’s really nice,” he said quietly. “You don'treally seem like the puzzle master type” He shrugged, a small, fond smile tugging at his mouth. “But I kind of get it.”
You talked more—about his worst stories from the hospital, the ridiculous things kids say when they’re hopped up on juice boxes and pain killers, the way the park looked in the fall when the leaves turned. No questions about whether either of you were seeing someone. It just… didn’t come up. The night felt like its own little bubble.
The movie played on in the background—some sweet, nostalgic rom-com with sweeping music and lingering glances. At one point the two leads found themselves at a small-town dance, the kind with a slow song that made everyone else in the scene fade away. On screen, the couple swayed together, foreheads almost touching, completely wrapped up in each other.
Steve was quiet for a beat. Then he turned to you, that dimple flashing.
“You know,” he said, voice low so it wouldn’t carry, “I’ve always thought slow dancing looks better in real life than in movies.”
Before you could answer, he reached over and took your hand—gentle, asking without words. His palm was warm and a little callused in the best way. He hopped down from the wide branch, helping you up with him, mindful of your wrapped ankle.
He pulled you in slowly, one hand settling lightly at your waist, the other still holding yours. You rested your free hand on his shoulder, feeling the solid warmth of him through his jacket. The music from the movie drifted up to you, soft and romantic, and you started to sway.
It was sweet. Uncomplicated. Romantic in the way that made your chest feel light. His thumb brushed once over the back of your hand. Your bodies stayed close but respectful, the way two people do when they’re still figuring each other out but really, really want to keep figuring. Every time the breeze moved the leaves, the string lights shifted and highlighted the freckles scattered across his cheeks. He smelled like clean cotton and that faint woodsy note you were already starting to associate with him.
Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The dance said enough—the way he looked at you, the way his hand flexed gently at your waist when you leaned in a little closer, the soft smile that never quite left his mouth.
When the song on screen faded into the next scene, he didn’t let go right away. Just held you there a second longer, eyes searching yours like he was memorizing something. Then he helped you sit back down, careful with your ankle, and settled beside you again. His hand stayed loosely linked with yours on the cushion between you for the rest of the movie.
The credits rolled. The park slowly emptied. Steve walked you to your car, his jacket draped over your shoulders because the night had gotten cooler and he’d noticed you shiver once. He opened your door for you, then paused.
“I had a really good time tonight,” he said, quiet and sincere. “Even with the cake emergency.”
You smiled up at him, heart doing that same flutter it had since the sidewalk. “Me too.”
“Text me when you get home? So I know your ankle survived the night.”
You promised you would.
As you drove away, the park lights fading in your rearview mirror, you caught yourself smiling at nothing. The memory of his hand in yours, the way he’d looked at you under those string lights, the easy rhythm of dancing with him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
Robin was going to lose her mind when you told her.
You met her for coffee the next morning before the dance lesson appointment Nancy had asked you to meet her at. She was already at the little corner table when you walked in, two oat milk lattes waiting, her curls pulled up in a messy bun and that knowing grin already on her face.
You barely sat down before it all came spilling out.
“I think he might be the one, Robin,” you said, voice low but glowing. Your cheeks were warm just thinking about it. “Last night was… God, it was perfect. The tree, the lights, the way he danced with me? It wasn’t even a real date and it still felt like the best one I’ve ever had. He’s funny and kind and he actually listened when I talked about my mom and the puzzles. And the way he looks at me…” You shook your head, smiling helplessly into your cup. “I don’t know. It just felt easy. Like I could see myself doing that again. A lot.”
Robin’s grin widened, eyes sparkling with pure delight. “I knew it. I knew the second I saw you two in his office. You were both doing that thing. The heart-eyes thing.” She reached across the table and squeezed your hand. “I’m so happy for you. You deserve someone who makes you gush like this. Steve seems like good people.”
You left the café floating, already mentally replaying the feel of his hand at your waist. By the time you pulled up to the dance studio, you were still smiling to yourself.
Nancy was already inside when you arrived, looking effortlessly chic in a flowy blouse and leggings, her planner open on a nearby bench. She waved you over with a bright smile.
“I’m so glad you could make it! David’s already here warming up. I want the first dance to feel natural, you know? He's not the best when it comes to dancing." She let out a giggle, "Come meet him.”
You followed her across the polished floor toward the tall figure stretching near the mirror wall, his back to you. Nancy’s voice was warm and proud.
“David, this is the wedding planner I was telling you about. She’s been incredible already.”
The man turned.
Your stomach dropped straight through the floor.
Steve.
Steve Harrington.
His eyes met yours and widened for half a second before he caught himself. The same perfect hair. The same freckles scattered across his nose and cheeks. The same warm tan skin and strong arms you’d had wrapped around you less than twenty-four hours ago. He was in a simple black t-shirt and joggers, looking unfairly good even in dance clothes.
For one suspended heartbeat the world went silent.
Then professional instinct kicked in. You forced your face into a polite, pleasant smile even as your brain screamed.
“Nice to meet you,” you said, extending your hand like you’d never felt those fingers laced with yours under fairy lights. “I’m really looking forward to helping make your day perfect.”
Steve’s grip was warm and familiar. He shook your hand once, firm but careful, his expression carefully neutral even though his eyes flicked over your face like he was checking if you were okay.
“Likewise,” he said, voice steady. “Nancy’s been raving about you.”
Nancy beamed between you, completely oblivious to the silent earthquake happening right in front of her. “Isn’t she the best? Okay, so the instructor wants us to run through the first part of the waltz. Would you mind dancing with David for a minute so I can see how the steps actually look with a partner? I’m terrible at visualizing without a visual.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs.
You nodded, because what else could you do? “Of course.”
The music started — soft, romantic, the same kind of melody that had played while you swayed together in the tree. Steve stepped in, one hand settling at your waist exactly where it had been last night, the other taking your hand. His palm was warm. Steady. The same hands that had pulled you out of danger and then held you like you were something precious.
You began to move.
The second you were close enough that Nancy couldn’t hear, your smile stayed fixed for her benefit but your voice dropped to a sharp, furious whisper.
“You lied to me.”
Steve’s jaw tightened. He kept the steps smooth, turning you gently so it still looked like a normal demonstration. “I didn’t lie.”
“You told me your name was Steve.”
“It is,” he said quietly, eyes flicking to Nancy for a split second before coming back to yours. “David’s my middle name. Everyone calls me David. I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think what?” Your voice stayed low, but the anger was real now, simmering under the surface. Your body stayed loose and graceful for Nancy’s sake, but your grip on his shoulder was tighter than it needed to be. “You didn’t think maybe you should mention that the woman you were slow-dancing with in a tree was planning your wedding?”
His hand flexed at your waist. “I didn’t know who you were. Do you know how many people have your first name? And then last night…” He swallowed, voice dropping even lower. “Last night was real. I wasn’t thinking about any of this. I was just thinking about you.”
You hated how that made something in your chest twist. You were furious — at the situation, at the lie by omission, at the fact that the man who’d made you feel like maybe this could be something was the same man Nancy had been gushing about as her rock, her calm in the storm, her fiancé.
You kept dancing. Kept smiling like everything was fine. But inside you were quietly seething, every turn making the betrayal sharper.
Steve’s eyes stayed on yours, guilty and conflicted and still warm in that same way that had undone you last night. “I’m sorry,” he murmured as the music swelled. “I should’ve said something. I just… didn’t know how.”
The song ended. You stepped back the second it was polite to do so, your smile still in place even though your pulse was racing for all the wrong reasons now.
Nancy clapped, delighted. “That looked beautiful! You two have great chemistry on the floor.”
You and Steve both froze for half a second.
Then he cleared his throat and looked away first.
You forced a laugh that sounded almost normal. “Just doing my job.”
But when your eyes met his again across the studio, the air between you crackled with everything unsaid.
Nancy was already pulling out her phone to check something, oblivious.
Steve’s gaze lingered on you, quiet and heavy with apology and something else you didn’t want to name.
You looked away first.
You called Robin the second you got to your car after the dance lesson. Your hands were still shaking.
“I can’t do this,” you said the moment she picked up. “I’m quitting. I’m calling Nancy tonight and telling her I have a conflict of interest or a family emergency or that I joined the fucking circus. I don’t care. I cannot keep planning this wedding. Steve? Dr.Steve? Is David. They're the same fucking person.”
Robin was quiet for two full seconds. Then—
“Absolutely not.”
“Robin—”
“No. Listen to me.” Her voice was firm in that way she only used when she was done being the fun best friend and had switched into serious mode. “This is the biggest client we’ve ever landed. Your boss is already talking about putting you on the senior track if this goes well. You do not get to throw that away because the groom happens to be the guy who made you feel butterflies under a tree. Suck it up. Be a big girl. Put on your professional face, finish the job, and then you can fall apart in my apartment with ice cream and terrible reality TV. But you are not walking away from this.”
You hated that she was right.
So you stayed.
The next few days were a special kind of torture.
Venue showing number one was a historic ballroom downtown. Nancy gushed over the crystal chandeliers while you and Steve stood three feet apart pretending the air between you wasn’t thick enough to choke on. Every time you had to address him as “David” your jaw clenched. Every time his hand brushed yours while reaching for a brochure the same spark from the park shot up your arm and you hated yourself for still feeling it.
Venue showing number two was a lakeside garden estate. Worse. Open air, golden light, romantic as hell. Nancy kept asking your opinion on ceremony arches while Steve watched you with that careful, unreadable expression that made your stomach twist. You answered every question with perfect professionalism and refused to meet his eyes for longer than two seconds.
By the third showing you were running on pure spite and coffee.
It was an old converted warehouse on the edge of town—exposed brick, high ceilings, industrial-chic that somehow still felt warm with the right lighting. You were mid-sentence explaining capacity and catering options when the heavy metal door at the far end of the space slammed open.
“There you are, baby.”
You froze.
Eddie Munson strode in like he owned the place, long hair half-tied back, rings glinting on every finger, a battered leather jacket thrown over a black band tee. He made a beeline straight for you, completely ignoring Nancy and Steve, and slid an arm around your waist like it belonged there.
“Missed you this morning,” he said, loud enough for the whole warehouse to hear, then leaned in and pressed a quick, deliberate kiss to your temple. “You ran out before I could even make you coffee.”
Your brain short-circuited for half a second.
Then pure survival instinct kicked in.
You forced a tight smile and leaned into him just enough to sell it. “Eddie. I didn’t think you were coming today.”
“Wouldn’t miss it.” His grin was pure chaos as he finally looked at Nancy and Steve, eyes sparkling with something sharp and amused. “Hi. Eddie Munson. Her fiancé.” He stuck out his free hand toward Steve like a challenge. “You must be the lucky guy. Congratulations, man.”
Steve’s polite smile didn’t reach his eyes. He shook Eddie’s hand with just a little too much force.
“David,” he said evenly. “Nice to meet you.”
Nancy blinked, clearly surprised but recovering fast with a warm smile. “Oh! I had no idea. Congratulations to you both as well.” She glanced between you and Eddie, then at Steve, sensing the sudden shift in temperature even if she didn’t understand it. “We were just looking at the space for the reception…”
Eddie kept his arm firmly around your waist, thumb stroking once over your hip in a way that felt both protective and deeply irritating. You were going to kill him later. Slowly. He was supposed to be back in Hawkins. What he was doing here? Of all places? You had no fucking idea.
“Looks nice,” Eddie said, glancing around with theatrical interest. “Very… exposed brick. Romantic. You into this industrial vibe, baby? I always figured you’d want something more girly. You know, like something in a castle or some cutesy shit.”
Steve’s jaw ticked.
You felt it.
“The warehouse has a lot of flexibility for lighting,” you said tightly, trying to steer everything back to business. “We can do string lights, uplighting, whatever the couple prefers—”
“Whatever she prefers, right?” Eddie cut in, looking at Steve with a lazy, pointed smile. “Since you’re the groom and all. Gotta make sure your bride’s happy. And your wedding planner too, I guess. She’s been working so hard on this. Barely has time for her own fiancé these days.”
Steve’s smile was pure ice. “She’s excellent at her job. We’re lucky to have her.”
“Oh I know.” Eddie’s fingers flexed against your side. “I’m the lucky one though.”
Nancy laughed a little awkwardly, clearly picking up on the weird undercurrent but choosing to ignore it. “Well, why don’t we keep looking around? I’d love to see the outdoor patio area…”
She started walking. You moved to follow, but Eddie kept his arm around you, forcing Steve to walk on your other side. The three of you moved through the space in a tense little triangle.
Every time Steve asked a quiet, professional question about logistics, Eddie answered for you with some overly confident comment. Every time Eddie made a joke or made some sarcastic comment— Steve’s answers got shorter and cooler. The passive aggression was so thick you could taste it.
You were pissed at both of them.
Pissed at Steve for being engaged to Nancy while looking at you like that.
Pissed at Eddie for showing up out of nowhere and claiming a relationship that didn’t exist just to… what? Stir the pot? Protect you? You hadn't spoken to him in years. You know your dad still spoke with him but he wouldn't be involved in this, right?
But most of all you were pissed at yourself for the tiny, traitorous part of you that noticed the way Steve’s eyes kept flicking to Eddie’s hand on your waist like he wanted to remove it.
By the time Nancy finally checked her phone and announced she had a call she needed to take outside, the air in the warehouse felt combustible.
Eddie waited until the door closed behind her before dropping the smile.
“Miss me?” he muttered under his breath.
You didn’t even look at him. Your voice was pure venom.
“We are going to have a very long conversation later.”
Steve stood a few feet away, arms crossed, watching the two of you with an expression that was equal parts jealous and carefully blank.
“Everything okay?” he asked, voice deceptively mild.
Eddie grinned again, all teeth this time. “Peachy. Just talking about our own wedding plans. You know how it is.”
Steve’s eyes met yours for one charged second.
You looked away first.
Nancy came back a minute later, oblivious and smiling, and the rest of the showing passed in a haze of forced professionalism and barely restrained tension that crackled every time Steve and Eddie were forced to stand near each other.
You had never wanted a venue tour to end more in your life.
─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───
Nancy left on a Monday morning for a week-long assignment in D.C. She hugged you both at the studio door, already half in work mode, and said, “I trust you two with everything. Just… don’t let David pick all white roses, okay? He’ll try.”
Steve had given her a soft smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes and promised they’d handle it.
And just like that, it was the two of you.
The first couple of days were still stiff. You kept everything strictly professional—emails, shared calendars, clipped conversations about linens and guest lists. But something shifted somewhere between the third seating-chart revision at 10 p.m. and the night you both ended up on the floor of the planning office surrounded by sample menus, laughing until your sides hurt over a caterer who had somehow misspelled “filet mignon” as “filet minion.”
After that, the edges softened.
You started talking like normal people. About stupid things at first—worst wedding disasters you’d witnessed, the ridiculous amount of tulle currently living in your storage closet, how neither of you could stand the sound of a violin being tuned. Then quieter things. Steve admitted he was terrified of public speaking and had already rewritten his vows four times. You told him about the first wedding you’d ever planned and how the bride’s veil had caught fire during the unity candle. You told him that Eddie wasn't really your fiancé. That your father is trying to force a fucked up arranged marriage. Steve's mask broke for a fraction of a second— showing relief instead of anger when Eddie was brought up. The stories got longer. The silences got easier. By Thursday you were finishing each other’s sentences over coffee and arguing about playlist order.
It felt dangerously close to friendship.
Friday afternoon you met at the florist’s for the final flower walkthrough. The shop was small and overflowing—buckets of peonies and garden roses and trailing eucalyptus everywhere, the air thick with sweet, green scent. Steve held the door for you out of habit now. You’d stopped flinching when his hand brushed your lower back as he guided you past a display of cascading orchids.
You were deep in debate over whether the centerpieces should be low and lush or tall and dramatic when the little bell over the door chimed again.
You looked up.
And the floor dropped out from under you.
Jake stood just inside the entrance, one hand resting on the small of the pretty brunette’s back. Her hand was curved protectively over a very obvious baby bump. She was laughing at something he’d said, face soft and glowing in that way only very happy, very pregnant women managed.
Jake’s eyes landed on you and the laugh died mid-breath.
For a second nobody moved.
Then the brunette noticed the sudden tension and glanced between the three of you, the color draining from her face.
“Jake?” she said quietly. “Everything okay?”
Steve, who had been examining a stem of a white rose, looked up at the shift in the air. His gaze flicked from your frozen expression to the couple by the door and back again. Something careful and assessing settled over his face.
Jake cleared his throat. “Yeah. Uh. Hey.” His eyes stayed on you. “Didn’t expect to run into you here.”
You felt Steve step half a pace closer without making it obvious.
“Jake,” you managed. Your voice came out flatter than you wanted. “Hi.”
The woman offered a polite, slightly terrified smile. “We were just looking at some arrangements for the baby shower.” She rested her hand more firmly on her stomach, the diamond on her left hand catching the light.
Steve’s voice was mild when he spoke, but there was steel underneath. “I’m Steve. We’re here for wedding flowers.” He didn’t specify whose. “Nice to meet you both.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed a fraction at the protective edge in Steve’s tone. “Yeah. Likewise.”
Another beat of heavy quiet. Lauren murmured something about checking the peonies and gently steered Jake toward the back of the shop. He went, but not before glancing at you one last time with an expression that was half apology, half something uglier.
The second they were out of earshot Steve turned fully toward you.
“You okay?” he asked quietly.
You stared at a bucket of blush garden roses like they held the secrets of the universe. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not.” He kept his voice low. “How do you know him?”
You let out a short, humorless breath. “That’s my ex-fiancé. Jake.” The name still tasted bitter. “We were together almost three years. Engaged for eight months. I came home early from a venue walkthrough one day and found him in our bed with her.” You tipped your chin toward where Lauren was now examining a display of baby’s breath, one hand still on her stomach. “She was his coworker. They’d been sleeping together for six months. He told me he was ‘in love for real this time’ and moved out the next week. They got married four months later. And now…” You gestured vaguely at the baby bump. “I guess they’re starting a family.”
Steve was quiet for a long moment. When you finally risked a glance at him, his jaw was tight and his eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them.
“He cheated on you,” he said, not a question.
“Yeah.”
“And left you for her.”
“Yeah.”
Steve exhaled slowly through his nose. “That’s fucked up.”
A startled little laugh escaped you. “Eloquent.”
“I’m serious.” He shifted so his body partially blocked the view of Jake and Lauren across the shop. “You didn’t deserve that. Anyone who does that to someone doesn’t deserve a second of your energy.”
You swallowed. The flowers suddenly smelled too strong. “It was a long time ago.”
“Doesn’t mean it doesn’t still hurt when you run into them.” His voice softened. “You don’t have to pretend it doesn’t.”
You looked at him then—really looked. At the freckles across his nose, the concerned furrow between his brows, the way he was standing just close enough that you could feel the steady warmth of him without it being overwhelming. Somewhere over the past week the sharp edges of your anger toward him had worn down into something more complicated. Something that felt a lot like friendship. And something else you were still refusing to name.
“Thank you,” you said quietly.
Steve’s expression gentled. “Anytime.”
Across the shop, Jake laughed at something Lauren said. The sound made your shoulders tighten automatically.
Steve noticed.
Without a word he reached past you, plucked a single stem of white peony from the nearest bucket, and held it out.
“For what it’s worth,” he said, “I think your taste in flowers is better than your taste in ex-fiancés.”
You took the peony. Your fingers brushed his.
For the first time all week, the smile you gave him was real.
─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───
You didn’t even make it all the way home before the first tear slipped free.
By the time you unlocked your apartment door the pressure behind your ribs had turned sharp and mean. Jake’s face. Lauren’s hand on that rounded stomach. The easy way they’d stood there like the last three years of your life had never happened. You dropped your bag, kicked off your shoes, and went straight for the bottle of whiskey on the top shelf of the fridge—the one you only ever opened when things got bad.
It got bad fast.
Two glasses in and the apartment felt too quiet. Three and the memories started replaying on a loop—walking in on them, the way Jake had looked at you like you were the inconvenience, the empty side of the bed for months afterward. Four glasses and you were on the floor of the living room with your phone in your hand, trying and failing to text Robin something coherent. The screen swam. Your thumbs wouldn’t cooperate.
You didn’t hear the knock the first time.
The second time it was louder, followed by Steve’s voice through the door, low and careful.
“Hey. It’s me. Robin called—said you weren’t answering and she was worried. Can you open up?”
You somehow made it to the door. The second it swung open Steve took one look at you—red eyes, whiskey glass still in your hand, mascara smudged—and the soft concern on his face deepened into something more urgent.
“Oh, sweetheart,” he murmured.
He stepped inside without waiting for an invitation, gently took the glass from your fingers, and set it on the counter. One warm hand came up to steady your elbow when you swayed.
“How much did you drink?”
“Enough,” you managed, the word thick. Then the tears started again, hot and sudden. “I saw them and it just—everything came back. I thought I was over it. I really thought I was. But I’m not. I’m still just… alone. And miserable. And I keep pretending I’m fine and I’m not. I fucking hate this.”
Steve didn’t try to fix it with empty words. He guided you to the couch, sat beside you, and let you fall apart against his shoulder. One of his hands rubbed slow circles between your shoulder blades while the other held a glass of water to your lips every so often, coaxing you to drink. You cried about Jake. About the way it had felt to be replaced so easily. About how planning other people’s forever made the quiet of your own apartment feel louder every single night. About how tired you were of being the strong one.
He listened to all of it. Never once looked impatient. Never once made you feel dramatic.
When the worst of the shaking stopped he helped you stand, walked you to the bathroom so you could wash your face, then steered you toward the bedroom. You were still in your work clothes. He found an oversized T-shirt in your drawer, turned around while you changed, then waited until you crawled under the covers before sitting on the edge of the mattress.
“I’m going to leave some water and Advil right here,” he said quietly, setting both on the nightstand. “Text me when you wake up, okay? Even if it’s just to tell me you’re alive.”
He stood. Took two steps toward the door.
Stopped.
For a long second he just stood there with his back to you, one hand braced on the doorframe. Then he turned around, walked back to the bed, and sank down onto the edge again. His eyes were darker than you’d ever seen them.
“I can’t leave like this,” he said, voice rough. “Not without saying it.”
Your stomach dropped.
Steve dragged a hand through his perfect hair, making it stick up in a way that should have looked ridiculous and somehow only made him look more wrecked. “I’m in love with you. I’ve been in love with you since the night in the park. Probably since the dumpster, if I’m being honest. This whole week—working with you, laughing with you—I keep falling harder. And I know the timing is shit. I know I’m engaged. I know I have no right. But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel this.”
The words landed like a physical blow. For one dizzy second you wanted nothing more than to reach for him. Instead you sat up against the headboard, heart slamming, and forced yourself to meet his eyes.
“Don’t,” you whispered. “Please don’t say that.”
“I already did.”
“Then take it back.” Your voice cracked. “I’m not going to be the other woman, Steve. I won’t do that to Nancy. She doesn’t deserve it. And neither do I. I’ve already been the girl who got left. I’m not going to be the girl who helps someone else do the leaving.”
Steve’s face twisted like the words physically hurt. He opened his mouth, closed it, then nodded once—slow and defeated.
“Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay.”
He stood again. This time he made it all the way to the door. His hand lingered on the knob for a second longer than necessary.
“Get some sleep,” he said without turning around. “I’ll check on you in the morning.”
The door clicked shut behind him.
You stared at the ceiling until the whiskey and the tears finally pulled you under, the ghost of his confession still sitting heavy in the middle of your chest.
─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───
Nancy showed up at your apartment the next afternoon looking pale and exhausted, still in her travel clothes. She didn’t even wait for you to offer coffee before the words spilled out.
“I don’t know if I’m still in love with him.”
You froze with the coffee pot in your hand.
Nancy sank onto your couch, elbows on her knees, staring at the floor. “I’ve been thinking about it the whole time I was gone. The wedding, the vows, the rest of our lives… and I keep waiting to feel that certainty I used to have. It’s just not there the way it used to be. And I don’t know what to do.”
Your heart was pounding so hard you were sure she could hear it. Every selfish part of you wanted to say Then don’t. Call it off. He’s in love with me and I’m in love with him and maybe this is the universe giving us a chance.
Instead you set the coffee pot down, sat beside her, and took her hand.
“Nancy. Look at me.”
She did.
“Steve is a good man,” you said, voice steady even though something inside you was cracking open. “He’s kind. He’s steady. You can't see the way he looks at you when you walk in a room. I’ve watched him these past weeks. He is all in. And people like that—people who love that hard and that consistently—don’t come around twice. Doubt is normal. Cold feet are normal. But throwing away a man like him because you’re scared of forever? That’s the kind of regret that doesn’t go away.”
You squeezed her hand tighter, forcing every ounce of conviction you didn’t fully feel into the words.
“Go through with the wedding. Choose him. Choose the life you’ve already started building. He’s worth it. And you’re going to be so happy once you’re on the other side of this fear. I really believe that.”
Nancy’s eyes filled. She pulled you into a tight hug and whispered, “Thank you. I needed to hear that from someone who isn’t him.”
You held her and smiled and hated yourself a little more with every second that passed.
─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───
Two days later you were at your dad’s house for your cousin’s birthday cookout. The backyard was full of aunts in folding chairs, uncles arguing about sports, little kids chasing each other with water guns, the smell of charcoal and sun-warmed grass. Your dad kept bringing it up to distant relatives that you weren't married yet— the horror settling on their faces.
You were standing by the dessert table nursing a soda when Eddie appeared at the edge of the yard.
He looked uncharacteristically nervous. Hair tied back, nice black button-down instead of a band tee, rings still on every finger but somehow more put together. The second your eyes met he started walking toward you like a man on a mission.
Conversation around you gradually quieted.
Eddie stopped a few feet away, swallowed hard, and dropped to one knee right there on the grass.
Your heart stopped.
“I’ve been thinking about this for weeks,” he said, voice carrying across the suddenly silent backyard. “But I’m done thinking. I love you. I’ve loved you longer than I should admit out loud. And I know the timing is messy and I know you’re scared and I know you’ve been hurt before—but I want to spend the rest of my life proving I’m not going anywhere. Marry me.”
He opened a small black box. A simple gold band with a dark stone sat inside.
Every relative was staring. Your dad’s face had gone soft with something that looked a lot like relief but with something knowing hidden underneath— like he expected this.
You could feel the weight of all those eyes. The quiet hope in your father’s expression. The ghost of Jake’s betrayal still sitting heavy in your chest. The knowledge that the man you actually wanted was currently planning a wedding with someone else because you had told his fiancée to go through with it.
Cynicism settled over you like a familiar coat.
Maybe this was as good as it got. Maybe safe and real and right in front of you was better than wanting someone you could never have.
Your dad stepped closer, voice low and thick. “Honey… it’s time. Let yourself be happy. Say yes.”
Eddie’s eyes never left yours. Waiting. Hopeful. Steady in a way you hadn’t expected.
You heard yourself speak before you fully decided.
“…Okay.”
A beat of stunned silence.
Then the backyard erupted in cheers and applause. Your aunts were crying. Your dad pulled you into a crushing hug. Eddie slipped the ring onto your finger with shaking hands and kissed your cheek like he couldn’t quite believe it had worked.
You smiled for the photos.
You laughed when your cousins started chanting for a toast.
And the entire time the new ring felt like a beautiful, heavy lie against your skin.
─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───
A week later—
City Hall, 2:47 p.m.
You stood in the small waiting area outside the clerk’s office in a simple ivory dress that didn’t feel like yours. Eddie was beside you in a black shirt and slacks, looking more nervous than you’d ever seen him. Your dad kept checking his watch.
Robin was across town handling the Wheeler-Harrington wedding so you wouldn’t have to. You’d handed everything over two days ago with a tight smile and a “You’ve got this.” You hadn’t let yourself think about the ballroom or the flowers or the man who was supposed to be standing at the end of that aisle.
The clerk called your names.
Eddie squeezed your hand. “Last chance to run,” he tried to joke. It came out soft.
You managed a thin smile. “Let’s just get it over with.”
Your dad stepped forward before either of you could move.
“No.”
The single word cut through the hallway. Everyone turned.
Your father looked older than usual, eyes glossy but steady. “I can’t let you do this, sweetheart. Not like this. Not because you’re scared or because I pushed or because it feels safer than wanting something bigger. You deserve an epic love story. The kind that knocks the wind out of you. Not- Not just doing this because you’re tired of being alone.”
Eddie stared at him for a long second. Then he let out a shaky breath and actually laughed—quiet and a little broken.
“He’s right,” Eddie said, turning to you. He took both of your hands. “You don’t look at me the way you look when you talk about him. And I care about you too much to let you settle for a backup plan. Even if the backup plan is me.”
The ring suddenly felt unbearable on your finger.
You slipped it off and pressed it into his palm. Eddie closed his fingers around it, kissed your forehead once, and stepped back.
Your dad wrapped an arm around your shoulders as the three of you walked out of city hall into the afternoon sun, the marriage license unsigned on the clerk’s desk behind you.
─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───
The Ballroom Venue, 2:47 p.m.
Steve stood in the small room just off the ceremony space, already in the tux, boutonnière pinned, heart hammering against his ribs. Guests were seated. Music was about to start. Nancy was on the other side of the door in her dress.
She slipped into the room without knocking, still holding her bouquet. For a moment they just looked at each other.
“I can’t do this,” Nancy said quietly.
Steve’s shoulders sagged with something that felt dangerously like relief.
“I know,” he answered.
Nancy let out a watery little laugh. “We’re really bad at this, huh?”
“The worst.” He stepped closer, gentle. “I care about you. So much. You’re one of my best friends. But I’m not in love with you the way a husband should be. And I don’t think you’re in love with me that way either. Not anymore.”
Nancy’s eyes filled, but she was nodding. “I’ve been trying to force it because it looked right on paper. Because everyone expected it. Because were good together. But good isn’t the same as right.”
Steve reached out and carefully took the bouquet from her hands, setting it on the side table.
“We can still walk out there and tell them together,” he said. “No blame. No big scene. Just… the truth.”
Nancy wiped under her eyes, careful of the makeup. “What about the planner? All the work she put in—”
“She’ll understand,” Steve said, and the way his voice softened on the words made Nancy look at him more closely. She didn’t ask. She just squeezed his hand once.
“Okay,” she whispered. “Let’s go be honest.”
They walked out of the room side by side, not as a bride and groom, but as two people who had finally stopped pretending. The string quartet faltered. Guests turned. Steve found Robin near the front and gave her a small, apologetic shake of his head.
Across the city, at almost the exact same moment, two almost-weddings quietly ended.
And somewhere in the middle of both of them, the same unspoken name sat heavy in two different chests.
─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───
Robin found Steve still in his tux, standing alone near the empty ceremony arch while the last confused guests filtered out.
She grabbed his arm, eyes wide and urgent.
“Holy shit—I can't believe you two did that. I have to tell you something important though. She went to city hall today. With Eddie. They were getting married. Like, for real this time. I didn’t know until an hour ago and I couldn’t reach her and I—”
Steve didn’t let her finish.
He was already running.
─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───
City hall was quiet when he burst through the doors. The clerk’s office was empty. The only people left in the hallway were Eddie Munson, slumped on a bench with his head in his hands, and your father sitting beside him looking equally gutted.
Steve skidded to a stop in front of them, breathing hard.
“Where is she?”
Eddie looked up. His eyes were red. He didn’t even look surprised to see Steve.
“Gone,” he said simply. “Wedding didn’t happen. Her dad stopped it. I stopped it. She left about twenty minutes ago. We don’t know where.”
Your father studied Steve for a long second, something knowing and almost gentle in his expression.
“You’re the one,” he said. Not a question.
Steve didn’t answer. He just dragged a hand through his hair, already turning for the door, mind racing.
Then it hit him.
The park.
The tree.
He was gone before either of them could say another word.
─── ⋆⭒˚.⋆✿⋆⭒˚.⋆ ───
You were already there.
Sitting on the wide branch of the old oak, knees pulled up, ivory dress wrinkled and dusty at the hem. You’d come straight from city hall without thinking, like the tree was the only place left that made sense.
You heard footsteps a second before you saw him.
Steve stepped into the little clearing beneath the tree, still in the tux, bow tie undone and hanging loose, chest rising and falling like he’d run the whole way. When his eyes found you, the relief that broke across his face was so raw it almost hurt to look at.
Neither of you spoke at first.
He climbed up carefully, the same way he had the night of the outdoor movie, and sat beside you on the cushioned branch. Close, but not touching. The air between you felt electric and fragile all at once.
“Robin told me you were at city hall,” he said quietly. “I went there. Your dad and Eddie… they told me what happened.”
You let out a shaky breath. “I couldn’t do it. Any of it.”
“Me neither.” Steve’s voice was rough. “Nancy and I called it off right before the ceremony. We both knew. We’ve known for a while.”
You finally looked at him. Really looked. The freckles. The perfect hair that was a mess for once. The way his eyes were shining.
“I’m in love with you,” you said. The words came out steady, even though your hands were trembling. “I’ve been in love with you since the hospital. Since you danced with me right here. I tried so hard not to be. I pushed you away and I told Nancy to marry you and I almost married someone else just so I wouldn’t have to want you. But I do. I love you. And there’s nothing holding me back anymore.”
Steve’s breath hitched.
He reached up and cradled your face with both hands, thumbs brushing under your eyes like he was afraid you might disappear.
“I’m in love with you too,” he said, voice breaking on the words. “So much it scares me. You’re it for me. You’re the only person I’ve ever looked at and thought, there you are. I don’t care how messy this has been. I don’t care about the timing or the almost-weddings or any of it. I just want you. However I can have you. For as long as you’ll let me.”
You leaned into his touch, eyes falling shut for a second as the weight of everything finally lifted.
When you opened them again, Steve was already leaning in.
The kiss was soft at first—careful, almost reverent—then deeper, all of the restraint and almosts and quiet longing pouring into it. His hands slid into your hair. Yours fisted in the lapels of his tux. The branch swayed gently beneath you, leaves rustling like the whole tree was exhaling with relief.
When you finally pulled apart, foreheads resting together, Steve let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh.
“Hi,” he whispered.
You smiled against his mouth, tears still clinging to your lashes.
“Hi.”
Nothing was standing between you anymore.
Just the two of you, the old oak tree, and the rest of whatever came next.
steve harrington had no control when it came to you. he had an insatiable hunger that he could not contain. he couldn’t get enough of you and honestly, he hoped he never did. sometimes, after a night tangled in the sheets with you—he found himself just laying in the still warm bed as though you perfume was holding him ransom and wondering when he became so defenceless. he was powerless when it came to you but honestly? he didn’t care—he was all yours.
gator tillman was your temporary fix. you called him when you were lonely and he called you when he felt like having a good time. the arrangement was meant to be causal but it never felt like it when he let you wake up in his tshirt. when he let you climb all over him in the backseat. when it became a regular thing. when a quick fix became something you started to miss. he’d tell you it was just for tonight but the way you knew that gator never meant it, not really.
you helped teacake through the dark. when teacake was in prison he felt sad and as thought he had lost his way. and when he was finally released—despite how nice it felt to finally be free—he still had his head hung in shame. because he had a criminal record and he felt people’s judgement. but then he met you and wow—he finally had someone would who do virtually anything for him. you’d carry him over fire and water if you could. you held him close and made him feel as though he wasn’t difficult to love. in fact, you showed him how easy it was to love and god, did teacake want to be loved. and so, even when the night was coming down—you both found a way through the dark.
keys wanted to be your last first kiss. being just friends with you was hard when all keys could wonder was whether you thought of him when you were alone, if your smile was because of him. he wanted to be your last everything because he was in deep. but he was afraid that if he told you, you’d run away. he told himself he should just wait for the right time or that maybe he was a fool for feeling so immensely about you. he eventually tells you because it was eating him alive and he was surprised to find you feel the same. and when you finally kiss—neither of you know it yet but it was your last first kiss with someone.
kurt found himself seeing you with your boyfriend and thinking "i wish that was me". kurt knew falling for your childhood best friend was an bad idea but he did it anyway. and now—he was watching this guy holding your hand at events and it would always feel as though a piece of him had died. kurt would constantly wonder why couldn’t you look at him like that? he had tried to tell you so many times but found he would freeze everytime, his tongue felt as though it was tied and the words would get trapped. it was beginning to tear him apart and he wished it was him instead slow dancing with you, wished it was him who you’d call to say goodnight instead. the worst part was? you didn’t see it—didn’t see the way kurt looked at you, you didn’t see the way he was breaking because of a simple kiss on your boyfriend’s cheek. and so, all kurt could do was imagine it him instead of your stupid boyfriend.
