Summary: Can you and Steve really start over after everything that happened?
Warnings: angst, established relationship, married couple, arguments, marriage issues, pregnancy, infertility issues, maternity, motherhood, emotional distress, smut, dirty talk, nsfw, unprotected p in v
English isn't my first language, so be understandable and gentle, thanks!
Word count: +20k
Author's note: So, here we go... we’ve finally reached the end of this story! 🥺 I honestly can't believe it's over, and I'm definitely feeling a little sad about it because I'm going to miss this couple so much! That being said, maybe I'll write some extra chapters about them in the future. I feel like there are still a few stories left to tell — like their first official date, for example! But for now, that's a wrap on this story. I really want to thank you all for all the love and amazing feedback. It seriously warms my heart knowing that you've loved this story just as much as I loved writing it. I truly hope you will be satisfied with the epilogue I wrote. Let me know what you think with a comment, your feedbacks are really important for me. And if you want to support me even more, reblog it. I'd really appreciate it. Now enjoy it and thanks for reading!
Masterlist
A week later, Steve was finally discharged from the hospital and you went home with him.
But “home” didn’t look exactly like it used to. Not yet.
Steve moved slowly through the house on crutches, his steps careful and uneven. The bandage at his temple remained a constant reminder of how close you had come to losing him.
Sometimes he reached instinctively for the wall or the back of a chair to steady himself, stubbornly trying to do more than he probably should. And every time, you found yourself hovering nearby, close enough to catch him if he slipped but careful not to make him feel like you didn't trust him.
But even though he hated being stuck in the house and feeling useless, he enjoyed having you around, all for himself.
After spending weeks apart, having you back in the house felt like breathing properly again. He seemed to find reassurance in your presence. He loved waking up and finding you beside him. Or hearing you move around the kitchen in the morning. He simply loved the comfort of knowing you were there.
The conversation about children stayed untouched. Not avoided, not denied — just… gently set aside, left somewhere between you, waiting. And while you tried to make peace with it — with your body, with what it meant — Steve stayed close and patient, without pushing or rushing you.
It wasn’t always easy, though.
Because the thought never truly left you, feeling it in small, unexpected moments. A woman passing by with a hand resting on her stomach. A baby crying softly somewhere nearby. A stroller rolling past. Each one was like a quiet reminder of something you couldn’t quite look at directly.
School wasn't any easier. You spent your days surrounded by children—laughing, arguing, running through hallway — and sometimes it hit you so suddenly you had to pause, just for a second, and take a breath before moving on.
But the worst moment was when someone you knew announced they were pregnant. Because before happiness could come, before excitement or congratulations, you felt a sharp drop in your stomach. A flash of jealousy so quick and ugly that it made you feel ashamed. For a split second, thoughts crossed your mind that you immediately wished you could take back. That they didn’t deserve it. That it should’ve been you instead. Then guilt followed just as quickly. You swallowed it all down, forcing a smile onto your lips. You congratulated them, asked questions you didn’t really want the answers to and nodded in all the right places as you listened to nursery plans, baby names and ultrasound stories.
And you got good at that.
But when you got home, where no one was watching, everything came out, quiet at first, then all at once. You cried in the shower where your tears mixed with the water, or laying on the bed with your face buried against the pillow.
But never in front of Steve.
He was still recovering from the accident and you didn’t want him to suffer even more and to make everything worse.
Again.
Sometimes, you caught him watching a father with his child after baseball practice or a family crossing the street together. His gaze lingered just a second too long, his expression almost nostalgic, making your chest tighten. Every time he noticed you looking at him, he smiled or squeezed your hand. Like he knew what you were thinking. Like he wanted to reassure you without saying it out loud. Sometimes it worked. Other times it didn’t, the thought still finding its way in.
Maybe one day he’ll realize it wasn’t enough.
That you weren’t.
And he’ll want more.
He’ll leave.
It crept in at the worst times. At the end of the day, when everything was finally quiet and there was nothing left to distract you. During Steve’s baseball practices. At night, when sleep wouldn’t come. Even when you were in his arms. In those moments, you stayed still, your face tucked into his chest, breathing him in like that alone could keep everything else at bay. Until the thought began to haunt you, waking you up in the morning.
Every day, before you even opened your eyes, your arm would move across the bed, reaching for his side — checking. Making sure he was still there. That the space beside you wasn’t empty. Or too cold. That he hadn’t gotten up and left. Not just the room. Not just the house.
But you.
Most mornings, your hand found him without effort. Sometimes he was still asleep, his breathing slow and even. Other times, he was already awake, looking at you with that soft, familiar smile that made something in your chest ease and forget all your worries. Some days, instead, you didn’t even have to reach for him. You woke up already tucked against him, his arm loosely wrapped around you, like even in his sleep he hadn’t let you drift too far.
Those mornings were easier.
But not all of them were.
Sometimes, when you brushed the sheets slowly, carefully, hoping to find him without having to look, there was nothing. His side of the bed was already cold. You gave it a second. Then another. Your fingers pressed a little more firmly into the mattress, like maybe you had just missed him. Like maybe he was still there and you just hadn’t reached far enough.
But he wasn’t.
You kept your eyes closed for a moment longer, your breath catching as you delayed the reality you already felt settling in. Then you slapped your eyes and saw the sheets already smoothed out, as if no one had slept there.
That was when the panic set in.
You’d sit up too quickly, your breath already unsteady, your thoughts racing ahead of you. And then you’d get out of bed, almost without thinking, your feet carrying you straight to the closet.
It had become a habit before you even realized it.
You’d pull the doors open and scan the space, your eyes moving over his things — his jackets, his shirts — checking, counting as you made sure they were still there. That he hadn’t taken them. But sometimes even that wasn't enough to reassure you. You’d turn and head for the stairs, taking them too fast, your hand brushing the wall to steady yourself as you went down two steps at a time, your chest tight, your pulse loud in your ears. Until you found him sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper spread open in front of him, a mug of coffee growing cold beside his elbow. Other times, he was stretched out on the couch, half paying attention to whatever was playing on television. His eyes would lift automatically and that familiar smile would appear. Easy. Familiar. Reassuring. Like everything was fine. And you would smile back, pretend you had just come down for something else.
You never told him anything but Steve noticed. Of course he did. He was good at noticing things about you. He just… didn’t say anything.
Until one Sunday morning, when you were standing in front of the closet again, your fingers still wrapped around the edge of the door as you let out a slow, quiet breath. Your eyes slipped closed for a second, your shoulders dropping just slightly as the tension eased out of you.
“What are you doing?”
His voice was close enough to make you flinch. Your eyes flew open. You turned quickly, your heart jumping into your throat, and found him standing in the doorway, staring at you. He must have just come up the stairs. His expression wasn’t accusing or angry. Just… confused, careful. In his hands there was a tray with breakfast.
Shame rushed through you, sudden and sharp. For a second, neither of you moved. You swallowed, your hand still resting against the closet door as if you hadn’t quite decided whether to close it or not.
“I—” you started, then stopped. Your voice caught, the excuse you were about to give dissolving before it could even take shape. You shook your head slightly, a breath leaving you that sounded thinner than you intended. “Nothing. I was just—”
Steve didn’t move. His eyes flicked past you, briefly, to the open closet. Then back to you.
“Checking if I’d left?”
The words cut in cleanly. Your breath caught. For a brief second, you thought — hoped — he might be joking. But there was nothing playful in his expression as his eyes held yours, steady, serious.
“Wha—what?” you stammered, even though the denial sounded weak the moment it left your lips.
Steve let out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He stepped forward carefully, crossing the room with slow, uneven steps before setting the tray down on your vanity fair in front of the bed. The porcelain clinked softly against the wood. The sound felt louder than it should have. Then he turned back to you. He hesitated for a fraction of a second — like he was deciding how far to push it.
“You really think I haven’t noticed?” he said, his tone flat, controlled in a way that made it sharper. “The way you reach for my side of the bed every morning before you even open your eyes. The way you practically run downstairs when I’m not there.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Or how relieved you look every time I walk back through the door after work?”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your mind scrambled for something — anything — to say, but there was nothing you could say. Because he was right. And the truth — the real reason behind it — felt too ugly, too fragile to put into words.
“I—” you tried again, your voice faltering, but it died there, unfinished.
Steve didn’t wait this time. “You still think I’m going to leave,” he said.
It wasn’t a question but a statement. The certainty in his voice made your chest tighten.
You didn't answer him but your silence did it.
He turned away from you, nodding, in disbelief, his back facing you as his hands settled on his hips. For a moment, he just stood there, looking up toward the ceiling like he was trying to steady himself, like he was holding something in.
You dropped your gaze. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower. Quieter. But if anything, it felt tired.
“I’ve told you — more than once,” he said slowly, “that I’m staying. That I’m not going anywhere.” A small pause. “I’ve never given you a reason to think I would. Even when I could have. Even when I was at my worst.”
You instantly knew he was talking about Kirsten. About that night. When he could have left and gone to her house. When he could have chosen something simpler. But he still didn’t.
“I didn't even think about it,” he added, almost under his breath.
You believed him.
And that made things even worse.
You swallowed hard.
“And still…” He stopped, exhaling through his nose before turning back to you. His eyes found yours again, something unsettled flickering behind them now. “Still it’s like you don’t believe me. Like you don’t trust me,” he went on, quieter now, but no less direct.
You flinched slightly at that, your fingers curling in on themselves.
“When…” He hesitated, just for a second, like he was debating whether to let it out or keep it in.
You could already feel that it was no good. That it would hurt you.
“When you’re the one who left.”
The words hung between you. Heavy. Painful.
Steve looked away for a moment, shaking his head faintly before letting out a breath that sounded more like frustration than anything else.
“I’m the one who should be checking that closet,” he said, his voice tightening despite himself. “Making sure your things are still there. Making sure you didn’t just—” He stopped, jaw clenching, the rest of the sentence catching somewhere in his throat. Then, more quietly, but still honestly. “I’m the one who should be wondering if you’re going to leave again. Not you.”
He was right. You knew that. But that didn't mean his words hurt any less. Your hands tightened together until your knuckles ached. You bit down on your lip, hard, trying to keep the tears from spilling.
His gaze dropped for a moment, then lifted back to you. “Do you really think I don’t have those thoughts too?” he went on, his voice less controlled, sharper now, stretched thin. “That I don’t wonder if I’m going to come home one day and you just… won’t be here anymore?”
The words hit you straight in the chest like a punch, knocking the air out of you.
“Or walk in and find you halfway down the stairs with your bags again?” he added. “Just like that day.”
You stayed silent.
Steve took a few steps toward you, his shoulders tense. “I’m scared every damn day,” he said, louder now, the frustration breaking through. “All the time.”
Your chest tightened as the words sank in.
“Do you know what I think about when I kiss you goodbye in the morning?” he continued, his voice rough, unsteady in a way that made it worse. “When I leave for work?” A short, humorless breath escaped him. “That it might be the last time.”
Your eyes filled with tears, burning you.
“The last time I get to hold you. The last time I get to kiss you.” He continued, swallowing hard. “And every single time, I just hope… it’s not.”
Silence followed, thick and suffocating.
He turned away again, dragging a hand over his face before lifting both arms briefly, resting them behind his head. He stayed like that for a second, staring ahead, jaw tight.
“But I still choose to trust you,” he said after a moment, quieter now. “I choose it. Every single day.” His arms dropped back to his sides as he turned to face you again. “I choose to believe that when I come home, you’ll still be here.”
You couldn’t breathe properly. Your throat was dry, sore.
He looked at you like he wanted to say more — like the words were there, right on the edge — but then something in his expression shifted. He stopped himself. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, his jaw tightening.
The silence stretched.
You pressed your lips together, unable to speak. Because he was right. About all of it.
Even after everything he had said, some stubborn part of your mind kept waiting for the moment he would finally decide he had had enough. Even when… when you had been the one to leave. The one who had packed a bag and walked out, breaking something between you that you were still trying to fix.
What was wrong with you?
The thought came sharp and merciless.Your throat tightened painfully. For a second, you almost felt angry at yourself, enough to want to shake yourself out of it.
Steve cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the silence.
“I need you to trust me too,” he said, more quietly now. Exhausted.
“Steve, I do trust you, it’s not—”
Your voice was so weak that you almost didn’t recognize it.
“Well, it doesn’t feel like it,” he cut in, not raising his voice, but not letting you finish either. He hesitated, like he wanted to keep going — like there was more sitting behind those words — but then he exhaled slowly and shook his head.
“Forget it. I just… went out to get breakfast,” he added, his tone changing, flattening, like he was forcing the conversation somewhere safer. “I got you those pastries you like. Thought I’d bring you them in bed. I just wanted to… surprise you.” A small pause. “That’s all.”
Your eyes closed for a second, the guilt settling heavier in your chest. When you opened them again, your gaze dropped to the tray on the table. You looked at it better this time — the coffee, still steaming faintly, the pastries neatly arranged like he had taken care choosing them, orange juice, eggs and bacon. There were all the things you loved to eat.
Steve followed your gaze. “You should drink the coffee before it gets cold,” he said. His tone cold, detached that it surprised you.
He turned before you could say anything else, moving toward the door with quick steps, without looking back at you.
For a second, you didn’t understand what was happening. Your body froze, your mind lagging behind as the sound of his steps carried down the stairs.
Then it hit you.
He was leaving.
Your throat tightened as you forced yourself to move, your legs finally responding as you rushed out of the room and down the stairs after him, still in your nightgown, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break through your chest.
“Steve!” You called his name with everything you had, your voice echoing through the house.
But he didn’t answer. He didn’t slow down either. He just kept going, one hand gripping the railing, as he moved fast, like he needed to get out before he changed his mind.
Panic surged through you.
“Steve, wait—!”
By the time you reached the bottom, he was already in front of the door.
“Wait — please, wait!” Your voice broke as you closed the last bit of distance and grabbed his arm, your fingers tightening around it, forcing him to stop. “Where — where are you going?”
He stilled under your touch, turning around to face you. His eyes were shining. “I need… some air,” he said, his voice low, steady in a way that felt final. “I’m going for a walk.”
You shook your head immediately, your grip tightening, your breath uneven. “No — please, stay. Let’s just — let’s talk, okay? Please.” Your voice trembled, the words stumbling over each other as the tears spilled freely now, warm against your skin. You didn’t even try to hide them.
Steve closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose like he was holding something in. “I already tried,” he said after a second, quieter now. “More than once. But you don't seem to hear me.”
You shook your head again, desperate. “I know. I know, I’m sorry, I just—”
“I don’t know what else to say,” he cut in, not harsh, but firm. Tired. Exasperated. “I don’t know… what else to do to make you believe me.” His jaw tightened and for a moment he looked away. “I’m tired,” he admitted, his voice cracking just slightly at the edges. “And… angry.” He swallowed hard and you saw his throat move. “That’s why I’m leaving. I don’t want to say something I might regret later.”
Or do something he might regret, you thought.
Your chest constricted painfully.
“Please, don’t go,” you whispered, shaking your head, your fingers curling tighter around his arm like you could keep him there if you just held on enough. “Please, don’t leave me.”
For a moment, his expression softened. He hated seeing you like that.
“I’m coming back, okay?” he said, softer now, like he knew exactly where your mind had gone. Like he needed to stop it before it spiraled. “I’m… I’m not leaving. I just —” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “I just need a minute… to clear my head. Be alone for a bit.”
Your grip loosened, but only slightly.
“I’ll be back,” he repeated, more gently this time. “And we’ll… talk later. Promise.”
Talk about what? You wondered.
Before you could say anything else, he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. It lingered just long enough to hurt. Then he pulled away. Carefully, he slipped his arm from your grasp. The loss of contact felt immediate. Cold.
You stood there as he opened the door and stepped outside. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Silence flooded immediately the space he left behind. Loud. Unbearable.
You didn’t move. You stayed there, right where he had left you, your hands hanging useless at your sides, your vision blurred with tears you didn’t even try to stop anymore. Your heart pounded unevenly as your gaze fixed on the closed door, like you expected it to open again any second. While upstairs, the coffee he had made for you was already growing cold.
His voice replayed in your mind, louder with every passing second.
I’ll be back.
You swallowed hard, your throat tight, your chest aching.
Would he?
-
You were lying on the couch in the living room, curled on your side, facing the TV, even though it was off.
You hadn’t moved from there since Steve left.
The clock was ticking but you didn’t know how much time had passed. Long enough for the sobs to stop and the tears on your cheeks to dry, leaving your skin tight, your body still, your mind heavy and hollow. Your breathing had evened out. The storm had burned itself out, leaving behind nothing but a quiet that felt too big for the room.
Silence settled around you. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
Then, suddenly you heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Your body reacted before your mind did. You pushed yourself up from the couch, your heart jumping as you turned toward the door just as it opened.
Steve stepped inside. His gaze lifted as he crossed the threshold, and it found yours immediately.
You stayed where you were. Even though every instinct in your body told you to run to him — to close the distance, to hold onto him, to make sure he was really there — you didn’t.
He closed the door behind him with a soft click and took a few steps forward.
“You’re here,” he said, his gaze fixed on yours.
You knew he didn’t mean just now. That you hadn’t left. That he hadn’t come back to an empty house.
You nodded, your throat tight. “And you are back.”
Something in his expression shifted — subtle, but there. He nodded once in return, like he was acknowledging something unspoken between you.
He knew exactly what you meant too.
He moved around the couch, with still his jacket on and sat down, leaving only a small space between you. For a moment, he just sat there. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, dragging a hand over his face before pressing his palms briefly against his eyes, like he was trying to steady himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “About before. I shouldn’t have… reacted like that.”
You hesitated for a second before sitting down beside him, careful and let out a slow breath.
“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “You — you were right.”
Steve turned his head to look at you.
You swallowed, your hands tightening together in your lap before you forced yourself to keep going. “I am… I am still scared. That you might leave one day.” Your voice wavered slightly, but you didn’t look away. “And I know I shouldn’t be. That it doesn’t make sense. You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you. Not once.”
A small pause.
“I’m the one who did that,” you added, quieter now. “I’m the one who left. I’m the one who… broke your trust.”
The admission sat between you, raw and unguarded. It hurt you to remind what you had done. But you needed to.
“And I’m sorry,” you said, your voice softer now. “For that. For everything.”
Steve didn’t interrupt and kept listening to you.
“But it’s not true that I don’t trust you,” you went on, shaking your head slightly, like you needed him to understand that part most of all. “It’s… me.”
That was harder to say.
Your gaze dropped for a second before lifting again.
“I don’t trust myself,” you admitted, the words catching slightly on the way out. “Because I don’t feel like I’m enough. Like I’m… lacking something. Like I’m not…” You exhaled shakily. “Not what you deserve.”
Your fingers twisted together again before you stilled them, forcing yourself to continue.
“And I know—” you added quickly, almost defensively, “I know you don’t see it that way. I know that’s not how you think. But I do. And it’s not something I can just switch off, Steve. It doesn’t work like that.”
Your voice softened, losing some of its tension.
“I need time,” you said. “To come to terms with it. With the fact that… it’s not my fault.” You swallowed. “And that it doesn’t make me less. Or… harder to love. I just… need time,” you repeated more quietly.
Then, after a small pause, you reached out, slowly, carefully, and rested your hand on his knee. Steve's gaze immediately dropped to where your hand rested. His eyes lingered there for a second before lifting back to yours.
“But I’m not going anywhere,” you said, meeting his eyes. There was no hesitation now, only quiet certainty. “I’m here. And I’m staying.”
Your fingers pressed slightly against his knee, grounding yourself in the moment.
“I almost lost you,” you went on, your voice softening further. “Twice.” Your throat tightened. “And the second time… I almost didn’t get you back at all. I don’t want that again,” you whispered, your eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
You held his gaze as Steve reached for your hand where it rested on his knee, lacing his fingers through yours and giving it a firm, grounding squeeze.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not going anywhere either, okay?” His gaze held yours, steady, intent. “I’ve seen what it’s like… living without you. And I didn’t like it. Not even a little.” A faint, humorless breath left him. “Worst week of my life, actually. And I’m not planning on going through that again.”
Your chest tightened, but this time it wasn’t fear.
“So yeah,” he went on, softer now, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles, “some mornings you might wake up and not find me in bed. Or downstairs. And some afternoons or nights, I might come home late.” A small pause. “But wherever I am, I’ll be thinking about you. And I’ll always come back.” His voice dipped slightly, more vulnerable now. “As long as you still want me to.”
You didn’t hesitate. “I will,” you said, your voice steady despite everything you were feeling. “And I’ll be here too. Waiting for you.” A small breath. “As long as you want me to be.”
Something softened in his expression. Then he smiled and lifted his free hand to your face, cupping your cheek gently before leaning in.
The kiss started soft. Careful. Like everything else between you had been these past weeks.
But as the seconds passed, some of the distance you had both been carrying seemed to melt away. You shifted closer without even thinking about it, your body moving toward his like it had been waiting for this. Your hands came up to his face as you kissed him back, deeper this time, more certain. The hesitation that had lingered between you began to slip, piece by piece.
You moved onto his lap, straddling him, your lips never quite leaving his. His hands found your waist, holding you there, tightly, like he needed to make sure you wouldn’t disappear.
The kiss grew hungrier, faster. His hands moved along your sides, firm, warm, sliding up your back, pulling you closer. Yours slipped into his hair, fingers curling, holding on as if that alone could keep him there. You felt him exhale against your lips, his forehead brushing yours for the briefest second before his mouth found yours again, more urgent this time.
He trailed slowly down your jaw, your neck, until it reached your shoulder. The strap of your nightgown had already slipped down your arm, giving him space, and he took it without hesitation. His lips pressed warm against your skin, lingering, then moving again — slower this time. Each touch sent a quiet shiver through you, your breath catching as he traced a path along your collarbone. You tipped your head back instinctively, giving him more room, your hands settling on his shoulders to steady yourself. For a moment, you just felt the warmth of his mouth, the roughness of his hands against your skin. And the solid presence of him beneath you.
He was already hard.
Your hips shifted almost unconsciously against him, drawn closer, and the contact made his breath hitch for a brief second. His hands tightened at your waist in response, grounding, firm, like he needed to keep you right where you were.
You threaded your fingers into his hair, gripping lightly, guiding him back to your lips. There was nothing hesitant left in the way you kissed him now. It wasn’t careful anymore — it was need, release, everything spilling over at once after being held back for too long.
You pushed his jacket off his shoulders, the fabric sliding down his arms as your hands moved over him, impatient. He let out a quiet breath against your mouth, helping you shrug it off the rest of the way without breaking the kiss for long.
Your nightgown had ridden up completely, forgotten, as you shifted in his lap, the fabric bunched at your waist. But you barely noticed it, too focused on him — on the way his touch felt after everything. After weeks without intimacy — without sex. The last time had been during that famous weekend that was supposed to be the last. Fortunately, it hadn’t been in the end. How could you have thought you could live without him? Without his touch? Thinking back now, it seemed almost impossible.
His hands slid lower along your thigh, slipping beneath the fabric of your nightgown, hesitating only for a fraction of a second — as if giving you time to pull away, to stop him.
You didn’t.
If anything, you leaned into him more, your hands tightening his face even more, your lips parting against his in a silent answer.
You weren’t pulling away anymore.
His hand started moving over you again, sliding under the hem, caressing the bare skin of your ass, gently, slowly, as if he wanted to savor the moment. Like he was relearning you — like he needed to feel every inch just to remind himself that you were real, that you hadn’t slipped away again.
You pressed closer instinctively, grinding down on his bulge in search of something more, something deeper. It wasn’t enough — none of it felt like enough after everything you had been through. The distance, the fear, the almost losing him.
You needed to feel him. Really feel him.
Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding on just as tightly, like you were afraid that if you let go, he might disappear.
“Steve… please,” you whispered against his lips as his hand moved closer to where you needed him most. But every time, when he was almost there, he pushed it away, teasing you.
He smirked, amused. “What’s it, babe?” He murmured, voice low. “Tell me what you need.”
You let out a soft, frustrated breath, your forehead resting briefly against his.
“Please,” you begged, desperate, unable to form a complete sentence.
Steve’s grin widened even further. He hesitated a few seconds, his hand tightening on your thigh, the other one on your hip, holding you in place as he watched you for a moment longer than necessary. Then finally, he gave in. His hand began to slide down along your core, feeling the wet spot that had already formed on your panties.
His touch was slow, deliberate, rubbing gentle circles over your clothed clit as heat pooled low in your belly. Your hands found his shoulders again, gripping for balance as you moved against him, hips rolling, chasing his touch. Steve increased the pressure and you moaned into his mouth as you kept grinding your soaked panties.
The other strap of your nightgown slipped from your shoulder, revealing your breasts. Steve groaned. As he kept caressing your core, he ran his other hand up your stomach and squeezed your tits, gently first, then hard. You moaned again, letting your head fall back.
But it still wasn’t enough. You wanted more.
“Steve… I need you… Please,” you begged him, almost crying.
“Yeah, babe? Where do you need me? I’m right here.”
His hand pressed down on you harder, while your fingers curled into his shirt even more, resting your forehead on his shoulder, panting. For a moment, you hesitated, swallowing slowly.
“Inside me.” Your voice lower than a whisper. “I need you inside me, Steve. Please.”
Steve stopped moving, taking his hands off of you. You whined at the loss of contact, missing him already. But before you could say anything, he pulled your nightgown over your head in a single motion and threw it somewhere behind you, leaving you half-naked.
His gaze dropped straight to your bare breasts, his eyes widening, hungry. He swallowed hard.
“God…” he breathed, almost to himself.
After few seconds, you found yourself lying on the couch, on your back with Steve on top of you. He hooked his fingers into your panties, tugging them quickly down your legs. You lifted your hips to help him, eager to be free of them.
Steve stood up, pushing his shirt up, revealing the trail of hair disappearing into his jeans. Then he took them off and his boxers in one smooth motion, letting them drop to the floor. His length slapped against him.
Both naked, he settled between your thighs, bringing you closer as you raised yourself on your elbows to see him better. His gaze traveled over your body spread open on the couch, lingering on your centre, shiny and swollen already.
“Fucking beautiful,” he said, looking back at you, a little smile on his lips. “And it’s all mine.”
Even though you were married and he had already seen you like that several times, you couldn't help but blush at his words.
He lay down on top of you and kissed you passionately, supporting himself on one arm, as he dragged his other hand through your slick folds, spreading yourself open. His fingers drew slow circles around your clit before dipping inside. Your body responded instantly, arching into him, hips rolling against his fingers. The wet sounds filled the room, mixed with your shaky breaths.
“You’re so wet, babe, and I barely did anything,” he murmured under his breath, holding his glistening fingers up to your lips.
You took them into your mouth and sucked, tasting yourself on them as Steve never took his eyes off you.
“So needy and desperate, aren’t you? And you really think you could live without me?”
You didn’t answer. Instead, a broken moan ripped from your throat as he rubbed his hand all over your entrance, spreading the wetness. Your hips moved towards him, looking for more. Then he grabbed himself and stroked it a few times, lubing himself up with your arousal. Your eyes fixed on him the entire time, biting your lip at the sight of his thick member. Even after so many years together you still hadn't gotten used to its size, capable of leaving you breathless and sore every time.
Steve moved closer to you, guiding his length through your folds, the tip nudging against your clit, teasing you. You threw your head back, a sigh escaped your lips.
Without warning, he drove into you with one, quick thrust, seating himself fully inside you. You gasped at the intrusion, arching your back as he stretched you open with a deep groan.
He started moving immediately, without giving you time to get used to it. You were so wet that he slid perfectly inside you all the way, meeting no resistance. The wet slaps of skin and your desperate moans filled the living room as he kept pounding into you at a brutal pace. Your hands ran down his hairy chest, his arms and then over his back, scratching him, digging your nails into him as he went deeper with each stroke.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him in tighter to you. His hand reached your clit, rubbing it as he kept fucking you harder. He thrusted in and out, relentlessly, quickly. His eyes stayed locked downward, fascinated by the sight of himself sliding in and out of you, dragging a creamy ring back and forth along his length.
“How — How can you think I can leave? That I can do without all this? Without you?" he asked after a while, his lips pressed to your ear.
There was no malice or bitterness in his voice, just honesty. You didn't respond, you couldn't. Partly out of shame, partly because Steve's movements prevented you from thinking or speaking clearly. Only half-formed words, moans escaped your mouth.
"Steve, I…"
"Yes, babe? Are you coming? I can feel you squeezing my cock. Come on, cum for me."
And you came, clenching around his cock and crying out his name. Steve followed you right away, coming inside you with a low, guttural groan as his release painted your walls. He gently collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.
-
About ten minutes later, you were lying on the couch, wearing only his shirt, curled slightly on your side with your head resting on Steve’s chest. Your fingers were still loosely intertwined with his, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He lay beside you in nothing but his boxers, one arm draped around you, absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm.
Everything felt… lighter now. Not just because of what had just happened between you, but because of everything that had come before it — your argument, the honesty, the way you had finally let yourselves say things out loud instead of carrying them alone.
It hadn’t fixed everything. You knew that. There were still cracks — fears that wouldn’t disappear overnight. Things you —especially you — would have to work through, slowly, patiently. But for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel impossible. It felt like something you could face together.
Steve shifted slightly beneath you, his fingers tightening around yours for a moment before he lifted your hand, turning it gently so your wedding band caught the light of the lamp.
“Give me your ring,” he said after a beat.
You barely noticed at first, still half lost in the quiet haze of the moment. Then you blinked, the words taking a second to fully register. You pushed yourself up slightly, one hand pressing against his chest as you looked down at him, your brows knitting together. “What?”
“Your ring,” he repeated, his voice calm but his gaze intense. “Give it to me, please.”
Confusion flickered across your face as you sat up properly, turning to face him.
“My ring? Why?” There was a trace of unease in your voice now, subtle but there. You instinctively curled your fingers slightly, as if protecting it without even realizing. You didn’t like taking it off. Not even when you had temporarily left Steve you had taken it off.
Steve pushed himself up into a seated position, resting against the couch armrest as he looked at you.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
You knew, instantly, that he wasn’t just talking about the ring. He was asking something bigger.
Did you trust me to stay?
Did you trust me not to leave?
Your throat tightened slightly, but you nodded without hesitation, swallowing. Your fingers hesitated for only a second more before you slipped the ring off and placed it in his hand.
It felt strange the moment it left your finger. Lighter. Wrong, almost.
Steve watched you for a second, then reached up and removed his own. For a brief moment, he held both rings in his palm, staring down at them — silent, thoughtful.
You shifted closer, kneeling on the couch in front of him now, your eyes fixed on his face, trying to understand what was happening but without success.
“What are you doing?” you asked softly.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward slightly and placed both rings on the couch between you.
Side by side.
You followed the movement with your eyes, your confusion deepening, your brow furrowing as you looked back up at him.
“Give me your hand,” Steve said softly.
You looked up at him, your confusion still written all over your face.
“Steve… will you tell me what you’re doing? I don’t—”
“We’re renewing our vows.”
You blinked, your eyes widening as you stared at him, even more lost than before.
“What?”
“Didn’t we say this was a new beginning?” he went on, his voice steady, certain. “For you, for me… for us.”
You nodded slowly, still trying to catch up.
“Then we need new promises,” he said. “Ones that actually fit us. Our way.”
Before you could say anything else, he reached for your hands again, holding them gently but firmly between his.
“Trust me,” he added, quieter this time.
There it was again.
That question beneath the words.
You swallowed and nodded. “I do.”
Steve took a slow breath, his thumbs brushing lightly over your knuckles as he gathered his thoughts. For a second, he looked almost nervous — but he didn’t look away.
“Do you take me to be yours again,” he began, his voice low but clear, “knowing that we don’t have everything figured out… that things might change, that life might not go the way we planned…”
Your breath caught in your throat.
“To have and to hold anyway,” he continued, “to stay instead of running, to try, even when it’s hard… to not walk away when things get complicated…”
Your eyes burned, but you didn’t blink.
“To love me for as long as we both want this… for as long as we keep choosing each other?”
Silence settled between you the moment he finished.
For a second, you couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe. Then you nodded — once, twice, again — your grip tightening around his hands.
“I do,” you said, your voice trembling but certain. “I do.”
Tears blurred your vision as you held onto him.
“Okay,” he murmured, a faint, relieved smile tugging at his lips. “Your turn.”
You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, your heart still racing as you repeated his words — slowly at first, then with more certainty, your voice finding its strength as you went. When you finished, Steve didn’t hesitate.
“I do,” he said immediately, like it was the easiest thing he had ever done. There was no doubt or uncertainty in his voice.
He reached for your ring, holding it carefully between his fingers before looking back up at you.
“Repeat after me,” he said softly.
You nodded.
“With this ring, I choose you.”
“With this ring, I choose you,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.
“I promise to love you, to be honest with you and to let you in, always.”
You repeated each word, your gaze never leaving his.
“I promise I won’t shut you out when I’m scared… to trust you, to stay… and to build whatever life we can — together.”
Your throat tightened, but you kept going, holding onto every word like it mattered more than anything.
“For as long as we both keep choosing each other.”
When you finished, his expression softened completely. Slowly—almost reverently— he slid the ring back onto your finger. The weight of it felt different now. Not heavier.
Stronger.
Your eyes dropped briefly to his ring, still resting between you on the couch. You picked it up carefully, turning it between your fingers before looking back at him.
“Your turn now,” you said softly, almost timidly.
He nodded.
“With this ring, I choose you,” you began.
He repeated it without hesitation.
“I promise to love you, to trust you, and to stay when things get hard — not because I have to, but because I want to.”
His voice was firm, certain.
“I promise to stay even when it would be easier to walk away… and to build whatever life we can— together.”
Your chest tightened.
“For as long as we both keep choosing each other.”
When he finished repeating, you took his hand and slid the ring back onto his finger, your touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Your fingers intertwined.
When you looked up again, he was already staring at you. Smiling. There was something lighter in his expression now. Softer. Hopeful. You smiled back, your eyes still shining.
“And now what?” you asked quietly.
A small, familiar spark returned to his gaze.
“Well,” he murmured, his voice dipping just slightly as his hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing softly along your cheeks, “now I get to kiss my wife.”
A flash of playfulness softened his features — something boyish and bright, as if he’d been counting down the seconds to this very moment. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, fueled by a quiet, steady confidence. Like he wasn’t asking — just finally claiming what had always been his.
And then he kissed you.
The force of it, the sudden pull of his hands, sent you tipping backward onto the couch, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as he followed you down without breaking the kiss, his body settling over yours.
You barely had time to react before your hands found him again — his shoulders, his hair — pulling him closer as if there was still distance left to close.
At first, the kiss was slow, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of care that felt almost reverent, like he was memorizing you all over again. Then it deepened, growing stronger, more urgent, the quiet tenderness giving way to something warmer, fuller, alive with everything you had both held back for too long.
Your fingers tightened in his hair, his grip on you firm but steady, keeping you anchored beneath him as if letting go wasn’t even an option anymore.
It wasn’t just a kiss.
But a promise.
A new beginning.
The first step into something new.
Together.
-
A week later, you started therapy.
It wasn’t an instant fix. Nothing about it was. But slowly — almost without noticing at first —something began to shift.
The mornings were the first to change.
You still reached for him sometimes when you woke up, your hand instinctively searching for the warmth of his side of the bed. But you no longer did it with that same sharp edge of panic or fear. You didn’t brace yourself before opening your eyes. You didn’t lie there, afraid of what you might — or might not — find.
And some mornings… you didn’t even have the chance to.
You woke up already wrapped in his arms, his body warm against yours, his hand resting at your waist like it had been there all night. Other times, you felt him pull you closer in his sleep, like even unconsciously he was making sure you were still there — still his, still within reach.
Those mornings were easier. Quieter. Because they didn’t leave space for doubt to creep in.
And when he wasn’t there, you didn’t rush. You didn’t run to the closet anymore to check if his clothes were still hanging where they belonged. You didn’t scan the house with your heart in your throat, waiting to confirm your worst fear. Instead, you breathed — once, twice. You reminded yourself — quietly, firmly — of everything he had told you. Of everything you had promised each other.
You chose to trust him.
And, slowly, you started trying to trust yourself too. To believe that you were enough. Not just because he said it, or because he loved you. But because you were.
-
Two months later, you came back from a weekend away with Robin and Nancy.
The moment you stepped into the house, you barely had time to set your bag down before Steve reached you, taking the suitcase from your hand and leaning in to kiss you softly.
“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips.
“I was gone only for two days,” you replied, smiling anyway.
“I know,” he said. “Two very long days.”
And then you noticed the expression on his face. He looked suspiciously satisfied, like he was waiting for you to figure something out.
Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What?” you asked, suspicious now. “What did you do?”
He feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest. “Wow. No trust at all?”
You gave him another look.
“Okay, maybe I did something,” he admitted, a grin slipping through.
“Please tell me you didn’t burn the kitchen down while I was gone.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “Firstly, rude. And secondly, it’s a good thing. A surprise. Promise.”
Then he extended his hand toward you.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to see it.”
You hesitated for only a second before taking it, letting him guide you inside and up the stairs.
He left your suitcase by the bedroom door without a second thought and kept going.
And that was when you realized where you were going.
Your steps slowed. Your grip on his hand tightened just slightly.
The further down the hallway you walked, the heavier your chest felt until you stopped, right in front of the door you almost never opened anymore.
Your throat went dry.
You hadn't stepped inside in months. Most days, you barely even looked at it when you passed. Sometimes you wished it wasn’t there at all. That the door could just… disappear.
“Steve… what are we doing?”
He turned back to you immediately, and whatever excitement had been on his face softened the second he saw yours. He stepped closer, taking both your hands this time, holding them gently but firmly.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Trust me. Okay?”
The words settled between you. Familiar now. Your eyes flickered to the door for a brief second, your chest tightening — then back to him. You swallowed hard and nodded.
“Okay.”
He smiled, just a little, then squeezed your hands.
“I need you to close your eyes,” he said. “And don’t open them. No matter what.”
A small flicker of hesitation crossed your face again. But this time, you didn’t let it take over.
“I’m trusting you,” you murmured.
“I know,” he said softly before closing your eyes.
You felt him let go of one of your hands, the other still firmly wrapped around his as he guided you forward. Then you heard the sound of the door opening. Your heartbeat picked up.
“Okay,” he said. “Come on. Just follow my voice.”
You did. Slowly. Carefully.
“Stop,” he said gently after a moment.
You stopped instantly, abruptly.
“Okay… you can open them.”
You inhaled deeply and opened your eyes.
At first, all you saw was him — standing in front of you, watching you carefully, almost nervously. Then your gaze shifted and everything else came into focus. You turned slowly, taking it in piece by piece.
Everything was different. But it wasn't what you had once imagined either.
The boxes were gone. The walls had been repainted in soft, warm colors that made the room feel brighter than you remembered.
There was no crib by the window. No changing table. No carefully planned corners for a life that hadn’t come. Instead, there were large canvases leaned against the far wall, waiting to be used. Shelves lined with paints, brushes, pencils and jars of color.
Your breath caught. Your hand rose instinctively to your mouth as your eyes began to sting.
It wasn’t a reminder of what you had lost anymore. Of what you couldn’t have. Steve had transformed it into something full of possibilities that didn’t hurt to look at. That didn’t whisper what if every time you passed by.
Behind you, Steve shifted slightly. When you didn’t speak right away, uncertainty crept in.
He cleared his throat. “Maybe I should’ve talked to you first,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I just… I thought it was a shame to leave it like that and not using it. And you always said you wished you had a space to paint, so I thought—”
He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair, suddenly unsure.
“I mean, you don’t have to use it if you don’t want to,” he added, softer now. “We can —”
You turned to him before he could finish the sentence and closed the distance in two quick steps, kissing him.
He froze for a second, clearly caught off guard — then melted into it, his hands coming up to steady you as he kissed you back. When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his, your breath uneven.
“It’s perfect,” you whispered. “I love it. And I love you.”
Your arms slipped around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.
“Thank you,” you murmured against him.
He held you just as tightly.
And over the following weeks, that room became yours.
You spent hours in there — painting, sitting, letting your thoughts settle into something quieter. Sometimes, you didn’t even realize how long you’d been there until the light changed. Steve would linger in the doorway now and then, leaning against the frame, watching you with that same soft expression—like he was witnessing something slowly come back to life.
Eventually, you even convinced him to sit for you. He complained about it at first. A lot. But he stayed.
And little by little, that room changed. From something that once held only absence, pain, sadness… to something filled with color.
And hope.
-
A few weeks later, Steve showed up with a camper that looked like it had lived several lives before you ever laid eyes on it. It was old, dented in places, the paint faded and uneven — but there was a spark in Steve’s eyes when he stood in front of it, one hand resting on the hood like he’d just found treasure.
“I know what you’re thinking but it has potential,” he said.
You raised an eyebrow. “It probably has tetanus.”
He grinned.
With Eddie’s help — and a lot more time, effort, and swearing than either of them would ever admit— they brought it back to life. By the time summer arrived and school let out, it was no longer falling apart.
With no schedules to follow and nowhere you had to be, you left. The road stretched out in front of you, endless and open. It felt… freeing.
You drove for hours with the windows down, music playing too loud, your hands resting somewhere on each other — your arm, your thigh, wherever you could reach — just to feel each other.
You made your way through the Rockies first, the air thinner, cooler, the silence deeper than anything you were used to. You hiked trails that left your legs aching and your lungs burning, but every time you stopped, every time you looked around, it felt worth it.
At night, you slept outside more often than not. Sometimes in the camper, sometimes in a tent, sometimes just wrapped in blankets under a sky so full of stars it didn’t feel real. There were moments when you lay side by side, not speaking, just looking up. And your thoughts didn’t spiral anymore.
At the Grand Canyon, you stood at the edge in silence, your shoulder pressed against his. His hand found yours without looking, fingers threading through yours like it was second nature.
“Hard to believe something like this just… exists,” you murmured.
Steve glanced at you instead of the view. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”
After that, you went to Yellowstone. Beautiful and unpredictable at the same time. One moment you were admiring the scenery, the next you were lost, soaked by unexpected rain, or arguing over a map you both insisted you knew how to read properly.
And then there was California.
Everything seemed to slow down there. The air was warmer, the days felt longer. The ocean stretched out endlessly in front of you, the sound of it constant.
Steve decided he was going to learn how to surf. In reality, he spent most of his time falling off the board while you sat on the beach laughing so hard your stomach hurt.
You played volleyball on the beach with strangers, drank overly sweet cocktails decorated with ridiculous little umbrellas, and watched the sun melt into the ocean more evenings than you could count.
During the day, Steve refused to wear sunscreen, even though you had told him he’d regret it.
And he did.
“This is your fault,” he muttered later, lying on his stomach, his skin flushed red while you tried not to laugh as you applied aloe.
“My fault?” you echoed, incredulous.
“You should’ve insisted harder.”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, your fingers gentler than your tone. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But you love me.”
You didn’t answer.
You didn’t need to as you both knew the answer.
Sometimes, you acted like kids — splashing each other in the water, chasing each other along the shore, collapsing into the sand, breathless and laughing.
Other times, things slowed down. Quieted.
You’d sit close together, his arm around your shoulders, your head resting against him, listening to the waves without feeling the need to fill the silence.
One night, long after the beach had emptied, you slipped into the ocean together, only in your underwear.
The cold hit you instantly, sharp enough to steal the air from your lungs. You gasped, instinctively reaching for him. His hands found you beneath the surface, firm on your hips, pulling you into him until there was no space left between your bodies. The water moved around you, waves brushing against your skin. You laughed quietly when one hit you harder than expected, your hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, pressing your chest against his, your breath mixing.
You started kissing — your lips touching, hesitant for half a second — and then it deepened instantly.
Hungry.
Your fingers slid into his hair, grabbing, pulling him closer as his hold on you tightened, one hand pressing firmly at your lower back, anchoring you against him while the ocean swayed around you. There was no teasing or slow build. Just want. Desire. Raw and immediate.
“I need you,” he muttered against your mouth.
“Then stop talking,” you shot back softly, breathless, your eyes fixed on his. “And show me how much you need me.”
That was all it took.
The kiss turned rougher, deeper. His hand shifted, gripping your hip harder, pulling a quiet sound from you that you couldn’t hold back. The ocean rocked around you, but neither of you paid attention anymore.
By the time you made it back to shore, you were both breathing harder than you should have been, your skin still wet, cooling in the night air. The moment your feet hit the sand, his mouth was on yours again, stronger this time, more urgent, more demanding. Your hands moved just as quickly, sliding over him, holding, pulling, needing to feel him.
You stumbled back together, barely coordinated, until the sand gave way beneath you and you fell, a soft breath leaving your lips as your back hit the ground. Steve followed immediately, catching himself just enough to not hurt you.
Sand clung to your skin, your legs wrapped around him without thinking, pressing into him like you couldn’t get close enough, like your body refused the idea of space between you.
His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, your neck, slower now — but not softer. Each touch leaving something behind, something you could feel spreading under your skin.
“You feel that?” he murmured against your skin, voice rough.
“Yes—”
Your head tipped back, breath catching, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he held you tighter, like he wasn’t planning to let you slip away again.
“Don’t — don’t stop,” you breathed against his mouth.
A quiet exhale left him, almost like a laugh, but darker.
“Never,” he replied, almost immediately.
When you finally came together, it felt inevitable. Natural. Like your bodies already knew the rhythm before you even found it. Every movement met, answered, matched. Your breath broke into uneven patterns, your fingers tightening, needing something solid as the rest of the world blurred into nothing but the sound of the ocean and the feeling of him.
His name left your lips without thought, barely more than a breath, your body reacting to every shift, every movement that pulled you further into him.
Afterward, you didn’t move. You stayed wrapped around each other, your skin still warm, your breathing slowly evening out as the night settled back around you. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer instinctively, like distance wasn’t something either of you could tolerate. Your fingers traced slow, absent lines over his chest, your cheek pressed there, listening to his heartbeat.
The waves kept coming and going, soft, constant.
And for once, there was nothing chasing you.
No doubt.
No fear.
No voice in the back of your mind asking what if.
-
When you came back from your trip and the new school year began, things felt different between you and Steve. Not all at once. Not in a way that erased everything that had happened. But the tension, the constant weight of fear and doubt — it had softened.
You still talked about children sometimes. About the future. About what you both wanted. But the summer spent together had reminded you of something important: you were happy. With Steve. With the life you had built together, even if it was only the two of you for now. But it was enough for now. So you decided to wait and to give yourselves time.
No deadlines.
No pressure.
No quiet panic about what should come next.
Just the two of you.
Or rather, the three of you.
Because shortly after you got a dog.
A golden retriever puppy, barely a few months old, all oversized paws and endless energy that you named King.
King made his loyalties very clear from the start. He followed you everywhere like your shadow. If you moved, he moved. If you stopped, he sat at your feet. At night, it became a problem. Every time you and Steve went to bed, King would jump up before either of you could stop him and curl up right on Steve’s side.
“You’ve got competition,” you teased one night, already half under the covers as Steve stood there, hands on his hips, staring at the dog sprawled comfortably across his pillow.
Steve scoffed. “Yeah, I can see.”
King didn’t move. If anything, he stretched and it took a solid minute of negotiating — firm voice, light pushing, and eventually bribery — before Steve managed to reclaim his spot. Even then, King would lie at the foot of the bed, eyes on you.
Steve pretended to be annoyed at him, almost jealous. Sometimes he even sounded like it. But you caught the way he looked at the dog when he thought you weren’t paying attention — soft, amused, completely gone. He loved him as much as you did.
Every evening, he took him out for walks, no matter how tired he was. You’d watch from the window sometimes as they crossed the yard — Steve throwing the ball, King sprinting after it like his life depended on it, ears flying, tail wagging wildly.
-
Not long after classes started, a position opened in the art department. A few days later, the principal called you into his office and offered it to you. Your first instinct was to say no.
The thought of being so close to children every day made something in your chest tighten again. Old fears, quieter now, but not completely gone, stirred under the surface.
What if it would hurt?
What if it was too much?
What if you couldn’t handle it after all?
But then you thought about the studio that Steve had set up for you. About the way your hands had found their way back to color, to creation. About the way you had slowly, carefully started building something new out of what you thought you had lost.
So when the principal asked for your answer a few days later, you said yes.
Steve was… impossibly proud.
The surprise party he organized was chaotic, loud, full of people you loved — and entirely overwhelming in the best way.
Your first day in the classroom felt different than you expected.
Not heavy.
Not painful.
Just… new.
There were moments of uncertainty, of course. Small pauses where you caught yourself observing, adjusting, learning where to stand, how to speak.
At one point, while you were leaning over a desk helping a child mix colors, you felt something shift in the room — a subtle change in attention. You looked up. Steve was standing by the door. He hadn’t said anything. Just… watching. A small smile already on his face.
One of the kids noticed him first. Then another. And suddenly the entire class had turned, voices rising all at once.
“Who is that?”
“Coach Harrington!”
“Is that your husband?”
“Are you gonna kiss him?”
Your face flushed instantly.
“Okay — alright — back to —” you tried, but it was too late.
“Ki-ss! Ki-ss! Ki-ss!”
You shot Steve a look — half warning, half embarrassed.
He only grinned and walked over, slow, deliberate, like he was enjoying this far too much. When he reached you, he leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to your cheek.
The class erupted.
You covered your face for a second, laughing despite yourself.
“Sorry,” he murmured near your ear, low enough that only you could hear. “Couldn’t help it.” Then, after a beat, softer. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
Your cheeks warmed even more, and you nudged him lightly, trying to regain some composure.
By the time the day ended and the last child had left, the classroom fell quiet. You stood there for a moment, taking it in—the scattered drawings, the faint smell of paint, the soft echo of a day that hadn’t hurt the way you feared it would.
If anything, it had felt… right.
A light knock pulled you from your thoughts.
You followed the sound.
Steve was leaning again against the doorframe, watching you with that same soft expression.
“So?” he asked.
You hesitated only a second.
“It was good,” you said.
He raised an eyebrow.
You smiled a little, shaking your head. “Okay… it was better than good.”
Something in his face eased. He stepped closer, his hand settling lightly at your waist.
“I knew it,” he said quietly.
You let out a small breath, glancing around the room one last time before looking back at him.
“I’m happy. Really happy,” you admitted.
It came out softer than you expected.
Steve’s thumb brushed gently against your side. “And I’m proud of you.”
You held his gaze for a second, then a small, knowing smile curved your lips. “Then maybe we should go home,” you said lightly, tilting your head just enough, “so you can show me how proud you are.”
Something shifted in his expression immediately — subtle, but unmistakable.
“Don’t say more,” he murmured, a hint of a grin breaking through.
“Come on,” you said, reaching for your bag.
He took it from you without a word, his other hand finding yours and you walked out together, turning off the lights behind you.
-
One evening, you were already home, waiting for Steve to be back. Dinner was ready, the table perfectly set. The kitchen still carried the warmth of what you had just cooked, and King lingered nearby, pacing in small, hopeful circles, his eyes fixed on the counter in case something might fall.
You glanced at the clock one more time.
Steve was late.
You furrowed your brow. Practice should have ended a while ago and he was rarely off schedule without a reason.
You dried your hands on a dish towel, trying not to let your thoughts drift too far ahead of you. But just as a flicker of concern began to settle in your chest, the sound of the front door opening cut through the silence.
Relief left your lips in a quiet breath before you could stop it. King reacted instantly, tail wagging as he rushed out of the kitchen, nails clicking against the floor as he ran to greet Steve.
“Hey, what happened? The kids wouldn’t let you go?” you called out, stepping out of the kitchen after the dog, still distracted as you wiped your hands.
“Hey,” Steve said.
Something in his tone — slight, uncertain — made you lift your gaze. At first, you didn’t notice anything different. Then your eyes caught it.
A small hand, barely visible, peeking out from behind his leg, fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his pants.
You slowed mid-step. Your mouth parted slightly, the words you had been about to say fading before they could form. Your gaze stayed fixed there, on that small hand, and on the hint of a face just barely visible behind him as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing. But you couldn’t quite see who it was.
You looked back up at Steve. “Oh,” you said, managing a small smile despite the confusion already building, “I see we have a guest.”
Steve lifted a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly, a nervous habit you knew too well. He smiled back—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was hesitation there. Almost… caution.
He glanced down behind him. Then, after a brief pause, he shifted slightly to the side.
And the child finally came into view.
You blinked. “Charlie?” you said, surprise softening your voice.
He stood half-hidden still, shoulders slightly hunched, his eyes flicked up briefly before dropping again like he wasn’t sure if he should be there at all.
You knew him. He was one of your students. And one of Steve’s athletes too. Quiet. Gentle. Polite. The kind of child who never demanded attention, who was always the last to leave, as if he had no hurry, or worse, nowhere to go.
“Good evening, Mrs. Harrington,” he said, his voice small, careful. His eyes lowered to his worn shoes, toes turned slightly inward.
King, meanwhile, had already approached him, tail wagging enthusiastically as he sniffed at him. Charlie flinched slightly at first but didn’t pull away. He just stood there, still, letting the dog investigate him like he didn’t quite know how to act.
You softened immediately at the sight.
“Hey,” you said gently, your voice shifting without you even thinking about it as you took a few little steps closer. “It’s okay, you don’t need to be afraid. He’s friendly. And… curious.”
Charlie gave a small nod, barely lifting his gaze.
You knew enough about his situation. In a town like Hawkins, people talked and everyone seemed to know everyone else's business. Over the years, you had heard various things about him. No father. A mother who was rarely home. And when she was, she often seemed lost in problems of her own and Charlie ended up spending many evenings alone.
Your attention flicked back to Steve again as he stepped closer to you. A thousand questions sat just behind your lips but you didn’t ask them. Not yet.
Steve cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he began, his voice low. “I should’ve called, but—”
He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, lingering just long enough to brush his lips near your ear.
“His mom didn’t show up,” he murmured quietly so that only you could hear. “We couldn’t reach her. And I couldn’t leave him there.”
He pulled back, his hand finding yours, fingers wrapping around it as he searched your face. Your eyes flicked briefly to Charlie, then back to Steve. You nodded, a small smile forming as you squeezed his hand lightly, reassuring him that it was all okay. You stepped away from Steve and moved toward Charlie, lowering yourself to his height so you wouldn’t tower over him.
“Hey,” you said softly. “You actually got here at the perfect time.”
He shifted slightly, hands clasped behind his back, weight moving from one foot to the other.
“I hope you’re hungry because dinner’s ready,” you continued, keeping your tone light. “And I made way too much food. Honestly, it’s a problem at this point.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “Think you could help us with that?”
Charlie nodded after a moment, still not quite meeting your eyes. You nodded back, as if sealing an agreement.
“Perfect,” you said gently. Then, glancing over your shoulder at Steve, “why don’t we go wash our hands while Steve… gets everything ready?”
Your eyes lingered on him just a second longer, enough for him to understand that what you were really giving him was time. He gave a small nod in return before going back to look at Charlie. You reached out carefully, giving him the chance to step back if he wanted to but he didn’t. Your fingers closed gently around his hand—small, a little cold—and you guided him toward the bathroom. Behind you, you heard Steve move, the faint sound of the phone being picked up echoing through the quiet house. As you walked, you could feel the slight tension in Charlie’s grip, the way he stayed close but cautious, like he wasn’t used to this kind of care.
When you stepped back into the kitchen, your eyes found Steve’s immediately. He shook his head, just slightly. Something in your chest dropped, but you didn’t let it show. You forced a small, easy smile for Charlie.
“Here we are,” you said lightly. “Go ahead, Charlie, sit here.”
You gestured to the chair between you and Steve. He moved toward it slowly, almost carefully, like he was afraid of getting something wrong. Steve took the seat across from you, while King had already settled at your side, tail brushing against your leg, eyes fixed on the table with quiet anticipation. He knew you well enough to expect something, even if he’d already eaten.
You looked at Charlie, searching for the right thing to say. Make yourself at home sat on the tip of your tongue — but it didn’t feel right. Not when you didn’t know what home meant for him.
“Take whatever you like, please” you said instead, softer.
He still didn’t move. His mouth was slightly open, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him. You followed it.
Dinner wasn’t anything special — just spaghetti with meatballs, fresh salad and warm garlic bread. The portions were the same you cooked every night for you and Steve, the kind that usually left leftovers for the next day. It was normal for you.
But not for him.
His eyes moved slowly from one dish to the next, taking everything in. There was something in his expression — something caught between hesitation and wonder. Like he didn’t quite believe it was real or that it was actually meant for him.
Your chest tightened and a thought slipped in before you could stop it.
When was the last time he ate like this?
Not just ate — but sat down at a table, with other people and warm food in front of him that he didn’t have to earn, or rush, or hide. Maybe he didn’t know what to do. Maybe he was just waiting to understand what was allowed. Waiting for someone to tell him it was okay.
You swallowed hard but didn’t ask questions. Instead, you reached forward and began serving him yourself, adding a bit of everything onto his plate. More than you normally would. More than he probably expected.
“There you go,” you said gently once you were done. “There’s more if you want, okay?”
He nodded faintly, his hands still resting in his lap for a moment longer.
You and Steve served yourselves next, exchanging a brief look across the table before your attention returned to Charlie.
He hadn’t touched the food yet.
Only when you both took your first bites did he finally move. At first, it was tentative. Slow. Careful. He picked at the food like he was testing it, like he wasn’t entirely sure it was really his to eat. Like he expected someone to stop him. But after a few bites, hunger took over and his movements changed — faster now, less careful. He ate quickly, almost urgently, like his body couldn’t afford to wait. A bit of sauce smeared at the corner of his mouth.
You had stopped mid-motion without realizing it, your fork suspended halfway to your mouth as you watched him. Something shifted inside you. It wasn’t discomfort. Or pity. It was something else — warm, but heavier than you expected. Something that settled low in your chest and stayed there, tightening your throat just slightly. You didn’t have a name for it but it made it harder to look away.
You loved your students. All of them. But this felt different. Seeing Charlie like that, so small in that chair, so quiet and guarded one moment and then suddenly… unfiltered. Unaware. There was something vulnerable about it. But also something incredibly real. And it stirred something in you that you didn’t quite recognize. Something close to affection — but deeper, instinctive, almost unfamiliar in its intensity.
You smiled, softly. Charlie caught it out of the corner of his eye and he slowed down almost immediately. The shift was instant — shoulders tightening again, movements becoming smaller, more controlled, like he had just remembered himself or as if he thought he had done something wrong. Your smile faded just enough. You looked down quickly, pretending to focus on your own plate, giving him privacy again.
Dinner moved forward like that. Quiet, mostly. You and Steve tried to make conversation — small questions, light comments, easy conversation — but you didn’t push. When Charlie answered, it was brief. Polite. Careful.
So you let the silence settle instead.
And strangely… it wasn’t uncomfortable.
It felt gentle.
Safe.
The kind of quiet that didn’t demand anything from anyone. The only sounds were the soft clink of cutlery, King’s tail occasionally brushing against the floor, and Charlie’s breathing slowly evening out as he ate.
And as you sat there, across from Steve, watching this small, fragile moment take shape at your table, you felt something shift inside you again.
Not sharp.
Not painful.
Just… something opening.
Something that felt, quietly, like the beginning of something you hadn’t planned — but somehow already cared about.
At some point, King started circling the table again, nails clicking softly against the floor as he moved from one chair to the next, hopeful and impatient in the way he always was. Then, without warning, he stopped beside Charlie and rested his chin on the boy’s leg. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Charlie froze instantly. His shoulders stiffened, his hand hovering mid-air, his whole body going still.
“It’s okay,” Steve said gently, his tone easy, reassuring. “You don’t have to be scared. It just means that he likes you.”
He reached over, picking up a small piece of leftover meat from his plate and holding it out toward him.
“Here,” he added. “You can give him this if you want. He’ll be your best friend for life after that.”
Charlie hesitated. He looked at Steve first, uncertain — then at you. You gave him a small nod, soft, encouraging. He took the piece of meat slowly, carefully, like even that small gesture required permission. Then he lowered his hand toward King, a little unsure.
King didn’t hesitate. He took it immediately, tail still wagging, clearly thrilled by the interaction and the food. Charlie watched him, something shifting in his expression. Then, almost cautiously, he lifted his other hand and rested it on the top of King’s head. He started petting him, slowly at first, light, almost testing. King leaned into it, happily, before licking his hand in response.
And just like that a small smile appeared on Charlie’s face. Barely there at first, like he didn’t quite know how to hold it. Then a quiet, surprised sound slipped out of him — something between a breath and a laugh.
You realized then that it was the first genuine smile you'd seen since Steve had brought him home.
A real smile.
The sight of it sent a rush of warmth through you so sudden it almost caught you off guard. You looked up, meeting Steve’s gaze across the table.
His expression had softened in exactly the same way.
Neither of you said anything. There was no need. Your smiles said more than a thousand words.
-
Darkness had settled outside the windows. The last traces of daylight had disappeared long ago, replaced by the quiet hum of crickets and the occasional headlights passing on the distant road. The clock in the kitchen kept ticking steadily forward, each passing minute making the silence feel heavier.
Steve had tried calling again. And again. But it had become clear no one was coming.
Hopper had been informed, and after a brief conversation, the three of you had come to the same conclusion. It was late, Charlie was safe where he was, and dragging him somewhere unfamiliar in the middle of the night would only make an already difficult situation worse.
Hopper promised he would start looking into things first thing in the morning. He'd check hospitals, talk to people, ask questions and figure out what had happened. But until then, the best place for Charlie was here. At your house.
You and Steve got the guest room ready together, moving quickly, instinctively falling into rhythm without needing to say anything. Clean sheets, an extra blanket, a small glass of water placed on the nightstand.
You found something for him to sleep in as well. One of the spare pajamas that had been left behind over the years after countless sleepovers. Dustin, Mike, Lucas and the others always seemed to forget something whenever they stayed over. The pajama shirt hung almost to Charlie's thighs and the sleeves fell past his wrists. It was obviously far too big for him, but it was clean, warm, and smelled faintly of laundry detergent.
When it was finally time to put him to bed, something shifted again — a different kind of uncertainty. You were suddenly aware of how unfamiliar this felt — not the presence of a child, not really. You and Steve were surrounded by them every day at school and you had even years of babysitting behind you.
But this was different.
This was your home.
And right now there was a child who was almost a stranger to you. Not one of your little friends, like Dustin, or a friend's kid you found yourself looking after for a night. Sure, he was your student, but you still knew little about him. He was a responsibility that didn’t have a clear boundary. You didn’t know what his routine looked like. Or if he had one at all. You didn’t know if someone usually tucked him in. If he was used to silence, or noise, or being left alone entirely. You didn't know what you could or couldn't do.
He wasn’t your son, after all.
And you weren’t his mother.
The thought made you hesitate. But not for long. Because he needed you, whether you were his mother or not.
You stepped closer to him. He had already slipped under the covers, lying stiffly on his back, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself there either. You reached down and gently pulled the blanket up a little higher, tucking it around him. Your movements were careful, slow. His eyes stayed fixed on you the entire time.
“I… uh,” you started, your voice quieter now. “Me and Steve — we’re just down the hall. First door on the left.” You offered a small smile. “If you need anything… anything at all, you can come get us. Or call.”
He just nodded.
You held his gaze for a moment longer, searching his expression, hoping he understood — not just the words, but what you meant.
That he wasn’t alone.
“Goodnight, Charlie,” you said gently. “Sweet dreams.”
Still no answer.
You smiled anyway, then turned toward the door. You had just opened it, one foot already out in the hallway, when his voice stopped you.
“Goodnight… Mrs. Harrington.”
You turned back, your eyes met his again. For a second, something caught in your chest. You smiled again at him. Part of you wanted to tell him to use your name. To make it easier, less formal. But you didn’t. It was too soon.
“Goodnight,” you simply said.
Then you stepped out and closed the door gently behind you, the quiet of the hallway wrapping around you almost immediately. You let out a slow breath, your shoulders dropping without you even realizing how tense they had been. It felt strange. Like you had just passed some kind of test you didn’t know you were taking.
-
By the time you reached your bedroom, the exhaustion of the evening had finally started catching up to you. You pushed the door open quietly.
Steve was standing beside the bed, halfway through changing out of his clothes. His shirt was already gone, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips while he tugged a clean T-shirt over his head. The moment he saw you, he stopped immediately.
“How is he?” he asked right away, concern already written all over his face. “Did he fall asleep?”
You shook your head as you closed the door softly behind you, your hand lingering on the handle for just a moment before you let it go.
“Not yet,” you said. “But he was fine... and I think he was tired too. After all, it was a busy evening... for all of us. I'm sure he'll fall asleep soon.”
Steve nodded slowly, eyes dropping for a second as he processed that, some of the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. Then his gaze lifted back to yours.
“And you?” he asked more carefully this time, his voice low.
There it was.
The real question.
Are you okay after all of this?
You leaned back lightly against the dresser, crossing your arms loosely over yourself as you thought about it.
“Honestly?” you said after a moment. “Better than I expected.”
“Are you sure?” He said, carefully.
You let out a small breath that almost turned into a laugh, but didn’t quite make it.
“I’m not gonna lie. It was… intense,” you admitted. “And a little overwhelming at first.” You paused for a moment before continuing. “When I saw him standing behind you, I think my brain completely stopped working for a second.”
That earned the faintest smile from Steve, though it disappeared quickly again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call first to warn you, but I didn’t really have the time or… a choice,” he said immediately.
You shook your head gently.
“Steve,” you said softly, “you weren’t going to leave him there all alone.”
His jaw tightened slightly at that.
You could still picture it clearly — Charlie patiently waiting at the baseball field long after everyone else had gone home, like he was already used to it. To being forgotten. The thought made something ache inside your chest all over again.
“You did the right thing. I would’ve done the same,” you told him.
“Yeah?” he asked softly.
You nodded.
“Of course.”
Steve looked at you for a long moment after that, something conflicted moving behind his eyes.
“When I showed up with him,” he admitted quietly, “I was scared you’d look at me and think I’d lost my mind.”
You frowned immediately.
“Steve—”
“No, I —” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling softly. “I was really scared… I didn’t know if this would… bring everything back up again.” His voice lowered on the last part.
Even now he hated talking about the pain you both had gone through. But you promised each other you'd be honest and tell each other everything, even when it wasn’t easy. You didn't want to repeat the same mistakes.
Your expression softened instantly. “You thought I was gonna fall apart again.”
He didn’t talk but his silence was answer enough. You pushed yourself away from the dresser and walked toward him slowly.
“I… I was scared, at first,” you admitted.
Steve’s face tightened slightly.
“But not because of Charlie,” you clarified quickly. “More because… I didn’t know how I was supposed to act. What he needed. Or what the right thing was.”
You stopped in front of him.
“But…” your voice softened, “I’m glad you brought him here.”
Steve’s eyes searched yours carefully, like he still wasn’t fully allowing himself to believe that.
“And he can stay as long as he needs to,” you said firmly. “Honestly, I’m more angry that nobody seems to even be looking for him.”
Something dark flickered briefly across Steve’s face at that.
“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “Me too.”
Silence settled between you for a moment. Then Steve looked at you again, softer this time.
“You were really good tonight,” he said suddenly.
You blinked.
“With him,” he added. His mouth lifted faintly at one corner. “The second you realized what was happening, you just… took over.” He shook his head a little, almost like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “You made him feel safe in, like, five minutes.”
Warmth spread slowly through your chest.
“So did you,” you replied quietly.
Steve huffed softly. “I mostly panicked internally.”
You laughed under your breath. “No,” you said, stepping closer. “You brought him home. You made sure he wasn’t alone tonight.”
Your eyes softened as you looked at him. “You’re a really good man, Steve Harrington.”
His gaze dropped briefly, almost shy despite all these years.
“And… You’d be an amazing father,” you added, gentler now.
Steve smiled automatically at that—but it faltered almost immediately after. You noticed it instantly. Like the words had caught somewhere inside him. Your head tilted slightly, knowing exactly what had happened.
“You can say it, you know,” you murmured.
His eyes lifted back to yours. For a second, he looked almost hesitant. Then finally, “You’d be an amazing mother too.”
A small smile pulled at your lips as you stepped even closer until your bodies nearly touched.
“Thanks,” you said quietly. “I’ll try to be.”
Your hand slid gently against his chest.
“One day. When we’re ready.”
Steve’s expression softened completely.
Relief.
Love.
Hope.
All at once.
His hands found your waist slowly, carefully, like he still wanted to make sure this was real.
“That sounds nice,” he admitted quietly.
You smiled.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You looked at each other for another moment before Steve finally pulled you fully against him. You melted into his arms immediately, your cheek pressing against his chest as his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close. His hand slid slowly up and down your back while the other rested protectively at the base of your spine. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear.
After a moment, you tilted your head back just enough to look at him again. “I love you,” you whispered.
Steve smiled. “I love you too.”
Then he leaned down and kissed you.
-
The next morning, you woke before the sun had fully risen. You blinked slowly against the soft morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in muted shades of blue. For a moment, you stayed still beneath the covers. The house sat wrapped in that quiet kind of silence that only existed in the earliest hours — before alarms, before life began moving again. Beside you, Steve was still asleep, sprawled on his stomach. One arm had somehow ended up stretched across your waist sometime during the night, heavy and warm over the blanket, his face half-buried into the pillow. His hair stuck up messily in every direction, lips slightly parted, completely unaware of the world.
You watched him for a few seconds, then your thoughts drifted to Charlie. You carefully slipped out from under Steve’s arm, moving slowly so you wouldn’t wake him. He stirred anyway, mumbling something incoherent under his breath before instinctively reaching toward the warm spot you had left. You smiled to yourself. Then quietly, you pulled something on and stepped into the hallway. Your feet slowed when you reached the guest room. Carefully, you opened the door just enough to peek inside.
Charlie was still asleep, curled under the blankets, one arm tucked awkwardly beneath the pillow, hair messy from sleep.
Relief moved through you instantly.
At some point during the night, he must have kicked the blankets halfway off himself and King had somehow managed to sneak in too, curled at the foot of the bed like some oversized guard dog, completely passed out.
You almost laughed.
Traitor.
You had checked on him more than once during the night. Each time half expecting him to be awake, scared, crying, confused. But every time, you had found him still sleeping.
Charlie’s face looked different asleep. Softer. Younger. Relaxed in a way you didn’t think you had ever seen him at school. He was just a little boy sleeping. Something in your chest tightened unexpectedly. You wondered when he had last slept somewhere without worrying. If he ever had.
You stepped inside just long enough to pull the blanket back over him. He shifted slightly but didn’t wake. King cracked one eye open, lifted his head lazily.
“You’re supposed to sleep in our room,” you whispered.
His tail thumped once against the mattress before he ignored you entirely. You shook your head, smiling faintly, and quietly slipped back out.
Downstairs, the house still smelled faintly of last night’s dinner. You started the coffee machine first. Then breakfast. You decided to make pancakes, hoping Charlie liked them. Without realizing it, you found yourself making more than usual.
By the time you were whisking batter, you heard some familiar footsteps behind you and after a moment, strong arms wrapped around your waist, making you smile immediately.
“Good morning to you too,” you said softly.
Steve leaned down, still half asleep, pressing his face against your shoulder, kissing it lazily.
“It’s Saturday and it’s early,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “Come back to bed.”
You smiled despite yourself.
“Don’t tempt me, Steve.”
A soft hum vibrated against your skin.
“You know I can’t help myself,” he murmured near your ear. “Especially when I know I can convince you.”
His hands settled against your hips, warm and familiar.
“Steve…”
“Mhm?”
“I’d like to remind you we’re not alone in the house.”
He kissed your shoulder again. “I checked,” he murmured. “He’s still sleeping.”
The admission caught you off guard for a second.
Of course he had checked too.
The thought alone made your chest tighten in the softest way.
You tilted your head back for only a moment, giving him space without even meaning to as his lips brushed your skin again. Then you caught yourself. Turning in his arms, you rested your hands against his chest to stop him.
“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t wake up any second,” you said gently. “And I’d rather avoid traumatizing him any more than life already has.”
Steve let out a quiet sigh — not annoyed. Amused.
His forehead dropped lightly against yours.
“Ok, you’re right. I’ll behave,” he said. “For now,” he added before kissing you. Soft. Slow.
When he pulled back, he exhaled quietly.
“I’m gonna call Hopper,” he said after a moment. “See if there’s any news.”
The mood shifted a little, reality settling back in.
You still nodded. Even though, deep down, you already feared the answer.
While Steve reached for the phone, you turned back toward the counter and started cooking. You needed something to do with your hands, something to stop your mind from spiraling.
You poured the first circle of batter into the pan, watching it spread slowly across the surface as the soft hiss filled the kitchen.
After a few seconds, Hopper answered. You could hear his voice through the receiver — agitated, fast — but none of the actual words reached you. You focused on the pancakes, the smell slowly filling the kitchen.
A small stack of pancakes had already begun to form on the plate beside the stove by the time you glanced over again. Steve’s expression had slowly changed as he listened to Hopper. His eyes met yours, your stomach tightening. You could tell before he even hung up.
“Still nothing?” you asked quietly, swallowing hard.
Steve shook his head. “Hopper checked their caravan,” he said carefully. “Nobody was there. And no one has seen her apparently.”
He paused, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “He said… Charlie can keep staying here, for now. If… we want, of course.”
You looked down at the batter absentmindedly as something twisted painfully in your chest. Not because you minded. God, you didn’t. But because no child should ever be left wondering why no one came. Then there was a part of you — the quiet, selfish one — that felt strangely relieved.
Your eyes slowly lifted to Steve’s.
“Yeah,” you agreed immediately. “Of course he can stay. As long as he needs it.”
“You sure?” he asked quietly.
Steve watched you for a second, like maybe he was still afraid of your answer. Like some part of him worried this would be too much.
“Steve,” you said gently. “I told you. I’m okay, really. And he needs us now. That’s all that matters.”
Something softened in his face. “You’re kinda amazing, you know that?”
You rolled your eyes lightly. “You brought home a child, Harrington. You are.”
“Yeah, and you just took over, making it feel normal.”
“I just made him dinner.”
“You made him feel safe. Welcome.”
You looked at him, your mouth slightly open. But before you could answer, soft footsteps interrupted you.
You both turned.
Charlie stood awkwardly near the kitchen entrance, hair sticking up everywhere. King stood proudly beside him like he had personally escorted him downstairs. Charlie hesitated when he noticed you both looking.
“Morning,” Steve said immediately, casual — gentle enough not to scare him off. “Did you sleep well, buddy?”
Charlie shifted his weight slightly. Then, he nodded, quickly.
“Good,” he said, softer than usual. “You hungry?”
Charlie looked up at you and after a moment, he nodded again.
Your heart nearly cracked open. “Well,” you said, turning back toward the stove, “perfect timing. You pointed toward the bowl on the counter. “Pancakes. They’re almost ready. And before Steve eats all of them, I suggest you sit down.”
Steve looked offended. “What? I didn’t…”
“You ate six last time.”
“Seven,” he corrected proudly. “It's not my fault if your pancakes are the best,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
And for the second time, you saw it. Small. Quick. Gone almost immediately. But there.
Another smile.
And somehow, standing there in your kitchen, with King circling his legs and Steve already pretending to argue over pancake rights, something shifted. You couldn’t explain it yet. Didn’t have words for it. But for the first time in a long while…
The house felt fuller.
Complete.
-
Since school was closed for the weekend, you had the day off and could do whatever you wanted. So after breakfast, Steve disappeared for a moment before returning with two baseball gloves and a ball in hand. He leaned casually against the kitchen counter, looking at Charlie.
“So,” he said, shrugging lightly, like the idea had just come to him, “since you’re here…”
Charlie looked up from where he sat beside King.
“Thought maybe we could get a little practice in.” Steve tossed one ball lightly into the air before catching it again. “Consider it private coaching.” A small grin tugged at his mouth. “But don’t tell the others, alright? Can’t have the team thinking I play favorites.”
Charlie hesitated, shoulders tightening slightly.
“You really don’t have to if you don’t feel like it,” you added gently, not wanting him to feel pressured.
Steve nodded immediately. “No pressure,” he said easily. “We can just throw the ball around for a bit. King will probably join and ruin everything anyway.”
As if on cue, King lifted his head and after a second, Charlie nodded.
Steve pointed at him with mock seriousness.
“That’s my guy.”
-
Outside, you settled onto the porch with your sketchbook, intending to draw. At least, that had been the plan. Instead, your pencil barely touched the page as you found yourself watching Steve and Charlie.
Steve crouched down to Charlie’s height, explaining something while the boy listened carefully, shoulders tense. At first, he nodded and answered only when Steve asked him something directly. But little by little, the nervousness began to fade.
And soon, he was laughing quietly when Steve intentionally exaggerated a missed catch, dramatically falling backward into the grass.
“You did that on purpose,” Charlie said before quickly going quiet again, almost surprised by his own voice.
Steve placed a hand over his chest. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
Another laugh escaped Charlie, his smile widened despite himself.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
Charlie looked… lighter. Like for a few hours, he had forgotten to be scared. And watching him — safe, laughing, free in a way you suspected he rarely got to be — stirred something unfamiliar and quiet inside your chest. And frightening in how natural it felt.
You didn’t quite know what to call it. Not yet. Affection, maybe. Or something dangerously close to love. And that scared you more than you wanted to admit. Because you knew what love could do and how quickly it could turn into grief. How suddenly happiness could become fear and loss. And letting yourself care this much felt dangerous.
But then Charlie laughed again — breathless this time, chasing after King while Steve pretended to complain dramatically about being ignored by his own player — and something inside you softened anyway.
So, just for now, you let yourself enjoy the moment. The sound of laughter drifting through the yard. The warmth of the sun on your skin. Steve’s voice somewhere in the background.
-
By evening, the kitchen smelled like flour, tomato sauce, and melted cheese.
You had decided on homemade pizza.
At first, Charlie hovered near the kitchen doorway again, uncertain, hands half-hidden inside the sleeves of Dustin’s oversized sweatshirt. King sat loyally beside him, tail sweeping lazily against the floor every few seconds like he had already decided Charlie belonged there.
“Come here,” you said gently, patting the stool beside you. “I need help decorating.”
Charlie hesitated, glancing briefly toward Steve like he needed confirmation he wouldn’t be in the way.
“You heard the boss,” Steve said, washing his hands at the sink. “No backing out now.”
Slowly, Charlie climbed onto the stool beside you. You handed him a small handful of shredded mozzarella while you spread tomato sauce over the dough.
“Okay,” you said softly. “You can put the cheese on.”
He watched your hands first, careful and observant, before pinching a small amount between his fingers and sprinkling it over the pizza with extreme concentration. At first he moved slowly, like he was afraid of doing something wrong. Then he paused.
“Like this?” he asked quietly, his voice almost a whisper.
You opened your mouth to answer, but Steve leaned over the counter first.
“That is way too much cheese,” he said with exaggerated seriousness.
Charlie froze immediately and you shot Steve a look.
“Ignore him,” you said, nudging Charlie lightly with your shoulder. “There’s no such thing as too much cheese.”
Steve looked personally offended.
“There absolutely is.”
“There isn’t.”
“There is. You just refuse to acknowledge basic pizza science.”
You rolled your eyes.
Beside you, Charlie let out the smallest laugh.
As the evening went on, Charlie relaxed little by little. He started helping more without asking. Passing ingredients. Carefully arranging pepperoni in uneven little circles. Sneaking extra cheese onto one side of the pizza when he thought Steve wasn’t looking.
King, meanwhile, had become completely and utterly attached to Charlie. The dog barely left his side. Every time Charlie moved, King followed. Every time Charlie sat down, King somehow ended up pressed against his leg like they had known each other forever. At one point, while you were reaching for plates, you noticed Charlie glance around carefully before lowering his hand beneath the counter. The second the piece of cheese slipped onto the floor, the dog appeared like magic and eat it. Charlie looked oddly proud of himself. Across the kitchen, Steve caught your eye just in time to see Charlie carefully slipping another tiny piece of pepperoni. Steve let out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms.
“Great,” he said, crossing his arms. “Now he likes you more than me too.”
Charlie startled slightly, cheeks reddening.
“I— sorry,” he mumbled immediately, hand pulling back like he’d done something wrong.
Steve’s expression softened at once. “Kid, I’m kidding,” he said gently.
Charlie glanced up uncertainly. “He switched teams years ago,” Steve continued, nodding toward the dog. “The second she started sneaking him food under the table, I lost all authority in this house.”
“Excuse me?” you said, pretending to sound offended as you slid the pizza onto a cutting board. “You spoil him just as much.”
Charlie looked between the two of you quietly. Then, almost absentmindedly, his hand dropped to scratch behind King’s ears. King immediately melted into the floor with complete devotion.
Charlie also started speaking more. Small things at first. How he liked baseball more than math. How he hated peas. How King reminded him of a dog he’d once wanted but never got. Nothing really big or life-changing but every sentence felt important to you. Like trust being handed over in pieces.
“You know,” Steve said eventually, leaning back in his chair after another bite of pizza, “I think this might actually be the best pizza we’ve ever made.”
You looked up from your plate and glanced first at Charlie, then at Steve. You smiled softly. He wasn’t talking about the food.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I think so too.” Then, after a beat, your eyes dropped back to Charlie. “I had an amazing helper.”
Steve pointed to himself immediately.
“Thank you,” he said, nodding once like it was obvious.
You looked at him flatly. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
Steve placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Wow,” he said, feigning heartbreak. “That’s actually cruel.”
You laughed quietly when the doorbell suddenly rang. The noise cut through the room so suddenly that all three of you looked up.
“Were we expecting someone?” Steve asked.
You slowly shook your head but but deep down, somehow, you already knew. You couldn’t explain how or why. Instinct, maybe. The feeling settled heavily in your stomach before either of you even moved.
Steve stood first. And you followed almost immediately, wiping your hands absentmindedly on a kitchen towel while Charlie remained seated at the table, one hand resting unconsciously against King’s fur.
When Steve opened the door, Hopper stood there. And beside him, there was a woman.
Her hair was messy, hastily tied back. There was fading makeup smudged beneath tired eyes and a bruise near her temple, yellowing at the edges. Her clothes smelled faintly of cigarettes and hospital disinfectant. She looked exhausted more than anything else. Worn down by life in a way that made it difficult to tell how old she actually was.
You didn't need an introduction to know who she was.
Charlie’s mother.
Your chest tightened instantly.
The woman swallowed hard, eyes flickering nervously past you into the house, searching.
Hopper exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“She got into a car accident yesterday,” he explained quietly, glancing between you and Steve. “Minor injuries but she ended up at the county hospital unconscious most of the night. She didn’t have any documents with her, so they didn’t know who she was.”
“Charlie,” she breathed out.
You turned.
Charlie stood a few feet behind you but he didn’t move. Not immediately. Then, slowly, carefully, he stepped forward. The woman’s eyes were fixed entirely on him. She crouched immediately despite the obvious stiffness in her body, one hand bracing against her knee. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached up.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she said quickly, voice cracking as she looked at him. “I’m so, so sorry. For everything.”
Her eyes filled immediately.
And the worst part was that she sounded genuine. Not cruel. Just… incapable. Like someone who loved her child but kept failing him anyway.
The guilt hit you before you could stop it. Because part of you had already judged her and decided what kind of mother she must be. Someone selfish. Someone reckless enough not to notice their child was gone. But now, standing there, seeing the bruising near her temple, the exhaustion written all over her face, she just looked overwhelmed. And broken.
She looked up at you and Steve then, eyes red-rimmed. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For taking care of him.”
“You don’t have to thank us,” Steve said gently. “He’s okay.”
“A little scared,” you admitted quietly. “But… he’s okay.”
The woman nodded like hearing that physically hurt.
Hopper stepped aside eventually, giving them space and quietly pulled Steve aside.
“I already talked to her,” he muttered low enough that Charlie couldn’t hear. “One more screw-up and I’m stepping in. I mean it. And I’ll be checking on her. Frequently.”
Steve simply nodded.
Eventually, Charlie disappeared upstairs to grab his things. When he came back down, King immediately stood, tail wagging, following him toward the door. Charlie wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck, while he started licking his face without hesitation.
“You know,” you said softly, crouching beside him, “you can come visit him whenever you want.”
Charlie looked up. “For real?”
“For real,” Steve said. “Pretty sure you’re his favorite now.”
King barked once like he agreed. A tiny smile pulled at Charlie’s mouth. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
You smiled despite the ache building in your throat. You reached up before thinking, smoothing his messy hair back for a second.
“You’re always welcome here, Charlie”, you said, the words slipping out naturally.
They were already halfway to Hopper's truck when Charlie suddenly turned around. You smile and lifted your hand immediately.
“Bye, Charlie. See you on Monday,” you said, your voice trembling.
He hesitated for a second before raising his own hand in return. Small. Shy. Your arms crossed instinctively over yourself. King moved forward as if ready to follow him but Steve caught his collar gently. “Easy, buddy.”
The dog whined softly.
After closing the door behind you, Steve’s hand found yours silently. Slowly. His fingers threaded through yours and squeezed. Tight. Like he was comforting you. Like maybe he was holding onto something too.
The house felt unbearably quiet.
That night, lying in bed, you broke. You cried silently at first. Trying not to. Trying to be reasonable. After all, you would still see him at school. And Steve would see him at baseball practice. Nothing had changed. And nothing would. Not really.
Except it had.
Because somehow, impossibly, one day had been enough to make the thought of not hearing his quiet voice in the kitchen hurt more than it should.
Behind you, Steve said nothing. He wrapped himself around you, one arm around your waist, the other pulling you closer until your back pressed firmly against his chest, holding you tightly and letting you cry.
After a long while, something warm touched your shoulder. At first, you thought it was your own tears. But then Steve buried his face more firmly against the back of your neck.
And you realized.
He was crying too. Silently. Or at least, he was trying to. The fabric of your nightgown was damp against your shoulder. You turned slowly in his arms. His eyes were red.
“Oh, Steve…”
His laugh came out shaky. “I know,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s stupid.”
“No,” you said immediately. “It isn’t,” you said, cupping his face, your forehead resting against his.
And somewhere in the quiet dark, holding each other like that, you both understood.
Seeing Charlie again at school would never be the same.
-
The next morning, you woke up early as usual but stayed where you were, tucked beneath the blankets while the soft gray light of early morning stretched across the bedroom. Beside you, Steve was still asleep, facing your side of the bed, hair sticking up in every direction, lips slightly parted as the faintest snore escaped him every few breaths.
You smiled despite yourself. Years ago, you probably would have found it annoying. Now, somehow, it had become comforting. Familiar. You turned onto your side, resting your head more comfortably against the pillow as you watched him sleep.
The night before replayed quietly in your mind.
Charlie leaving.
The silence afterward.
And the ache.
You and Steve had barely spoken once the house had gone quiet again. There hadn't really been words for it. Only a strange sense of loss neither of you had expected.
And it made no logical sense.
Because Charlie had only been with you for a day.
One day.
And yet it had been enough to love him as something more than just a student. His absence had settled over the house like something physical.
Eventually exhaustion had taken pity on both of you. But sleep hadn’t come easily. You had spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, thinking.
About Charlie.
About Steve.
About the future.
And somewhere between all those thoughts, something inside you had finally settled into place. Something that terrified and gave you hope at the same time. Because you had spent so long convinced that door had closed forever and that maybe some broken part of you would never recover enough to want it again.
But Charlie had changed something.
Beside you, Steve stirred. His nose scrunched slightly before he rolled onto his back, stretching with a groan and blinking against the morning light. Then he noticed you watching him, a sleepy smile pulled at his mouth immediately.
“Well,” he said, voice rough with sleep, “that’s either really romantic or really creepy.”
You laughed softly. “Good morning.”
“Morning, early bird.” He rubbed at his face before glancing toward the clock. “How long have you been awake?”
You hesitated. “A while.”
He studied you for a second and then something in his expression shifted, his smile fading just slightly. Like memory had finally caught up with him. He pushed himself up against the headboard, running a hand through his hair.
“How are you?” he asked carefully. “After… yesterday, I mean.”
You sighed and looked down at the blanket for a moment, considering the answer.
“Sad,” you admitted quietly. “I miss him.” Your throat tightened unexpectedly. “And… I’m worried.” You exhaled slowly. “I just really hope he’s okay, you know?”
Steve nodded immediately. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.” He looked down for a second. “I know we’ll see him tomorrow. At school. Practice and all that.” He hesitated. “But it doesn’t really feel —”
“The same,” you finished the sentence, your eyes meeting his. “Yeah, it doesn’t.”
For a few seconds neither of you said anything else. You looked at him and suddenly, the words you had been carrying all night felt too important to keep inside anymore.
“You know, yesterday…” you started quietly.
Steve immediately looked up.
You cleared your throat and continued. “Yesterday felt like —” You paused, choosing your words carefully.
His brow furrowed slightly. You looked down at your hands, swallowing.
“It felt like we were a family.”
The words settled softly between you. Steve stayed quiet, letting you continue.
“And I liked it. A lot,” you admitted, a small smile touching your lips. “And it… it made me realize something.”
Steve sat up a little straighter now, more careful. “What… what do you mean?”
You hesitated for a second, your fingers twisting nervously in the blanket and then, you finally looked him in the eyes. “I think I’m ready.”
His forehead creased. “Ready for what?”
Your heartbeat quickened. But strangely, you weren’t scared anymore.
“To be a mom,” you said softly.
The room fell completely silent. Steve blinked once, then twice, like he genuinely hadn’t expected those words.
You looked down briefly before continuing. “For a long time, I thought that part of my life was over.” You swallowed. “But taking care of Charlie yesterday felt... so natural. And good.”
A faint smile touched your lips as you remembered the previous day.
“I liked making him breakfast. Checking on him.” You let out a small breath. “Seeing him play baseball in the backyard with you.”
Your eyes found Steve's again.
“And… I want that.”
Steve still hadn’t spoken. You could practically see him trying to process your words.
“I want a family,” you finally admitted. “With you.”
Steve swallowed hard. The shine in his eyes made your chest ache. Slowly, his hand reached across the blankets until his fingers found yours.
“You sure?” he asked gently. “Because we don’t have to rush anything. We can wait if—”
You nodded immediately, squeezing his hand. “I’ve never been more sure.”
You took a deep breath.
“Maybe we can’t be what Charlie needs,” you said quietly. “But there are so many kids out there like him.” Your voice softened. “Kids who just… need someone. And we could be that for one of them. Give them a better life, you know.”
Your fingers tightened around Steve’s. You hesitated for a moment, then finally said it.
“I’d… I’d like to adopt, Steve.”
For a second, he just stared at you, completely still.
Your stomach twisted.
“Say something, please,” you whispered, suddenly nervous. “What… what do you think?”
He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a slow kiss against your knuckles.
“I think,” he said softly, voice rougher now, “every time I convince myself there’s no possible way I could love you more…” His thumb brushed gently over your hand. “You somehow give me another reason.”
Your eyes stung instantly, your breath caught. “Steve…”
“No, seriously.” He shook his head slightly. “You have no idea how much I love you right now.”
He leaned forward without hesitation, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him.
“And you’re going to be an incredible mom,” he whispered against your hair.
A watery laugh escaped you. You lifted your head just enough to look at him, smiling. “And you’re going to be the best dad.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His forehead rested gently against yours as his hand came up to cup your cheek.
“Let's do it. Let’s adopt.”
Tears threatened to spill. “Really?”
Steve let out a quiet laugh.
“Really.”
Steve kissed you, slowly, carefully. Like the moment deserved to be held onto for as long as possible.
-
Two years later
The afternoon sun spilled across the porch, warm against your bare legs as you sat in the wooden chair Steve had built for you the previous summer. A sketchbook rested on your lap, your pencil moving lazily across the page.
You weren't drawing anything in particular, just pieces of the moment unfolding in front of you.
The yard.
The dog.
And the baseball game currently unfolding across the grass.
King barked excitedly as he tore after the ball that had no intention of being caught by a dog. He missed it entirely, skidded through the lawn, and immediately tried again as though nothing had never happened. A boy sprinted after it, nearly tripping over his own feet before recovering at the last second.
You smiled to yourself.
"That one didn't count!" he shouted.
"It absolutely did," Steve called back.
The boy groaned dramatically while Steve looked entirely too pleased with himself. You laughed softly and shook your head.
Some things never changed.
The competitive streak Steve brought to absolutely everything was apparently hereditary. Or contagious. You still hadn't decided which.
Steve tossed the ball into the air before catching it again.
"Ready?"
The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“No. You’re cheating."
“I’m winning,” he said, throwing the ball anyway.
The boy managed to hit it this time, the crack of the bat echoing across the yard. His face lit up immediately.
It still amazed you sometimes.
The first time he had stepped into your house, every word had seemed dragged out of him. He had spoken cautiously, as though every sentence needed permission before leaving his mouth. Now he laughed loudly and argued confidently.
Steve grinned. “There you go! Nice job, buddy."
The kid turned toward the porch. "Mum! Did you see that?”
Mum
The word still caught you off guard sometimes. Not because it felt wrong, it was quite the opposite actually. It felt so natural now that it was hard to remember a time when it hadn't.
Your eyes met his.
Your son.
“I did," you called back. “That was a good hit, well done!”
The boy looked pleased with himself.
Your chest warmed.
You never would have imagined this.
You and steve hadn’t been parents yet.
And Charlie had still been someone else's child.
But then everything had changed.
Charlie had lost his mother only a few months after you and Steve had finally decided to adopt. The grief that followed and the months afterward hadn't been easy. There had been lawyers, court hearings, social workers and many questions. But eventually, after months of waiting, the judge had signed the papers and Charlie had finally come home. This time not as a guest.
But as your son.
And now you were finally a family. Not the one you had imagined years ago but the one that had been waiting for you instead.
A sudden movement pulled you from your thoughts. Your hand settled automatically over the curve of your stomach as you looked down, a smile spreading across your face.
Even now, months after finding out, part of you still couldn't quite believe it. After everything that had happened, after making peace with the possibility that it might never happen, life had found a way to surprise you again.
You felt another kick. This one stronger as if she was demanding attention.
You laughed under your breath. "Well, hello to you too."
A moment later you heard the familiar creak of the porch boards and Steve appeared beside your chair.
"You okay?"
You nodded and reached for his hand, placing it gently against the curve of your stomach. Right on cue, your daughter kicked again.
Steve’s face softened immediately. "There you are, princess,” he murmured, as though he were greeting someone already familiar.
You watched him for a moment. The man who had once brought home a scared little boy because he couldn't bear the thought of leaving him alone. The man who had become a father long before either of you realized it.
Out in the yard, Charlie was already growing impatient.
“Dad!”
The word made Steve glance up instantly. “Yeah?”
“Are we playing again or are you tired already?”
Steve looked back at you, looking deeply offended. “Did you hear that? No respect around here."
You laughed. "Go save your reputation, coach."
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading back toward the grass where Charlie was impatiently waiting for him, bat resting on one shoulder and King circling excitedly around both of them. The afternoon sunlight wrapped around the three of them as they disappeared into another argument about baseball. You rested a hand over your stomach and watched.
Your husband.
Your son.
The life and the family you were building together.
Years ago, you had thought some dreams were gone forever. That you would never be a mother. Now, surrounded by the people you loved most, you realized that sometimes life gave you a different ending than the one you had initially imagined.
And sometimes, somehow, it turned out even better.
i’m not ready for this to be over, but after an unhappy ending in my own life yesterday… i’m happy to have an escape for a while as i read this epilogue :’)
Summary: Can you and Steve really start over after everything that happened?
Warnings: angst, established relationship, married couple, arguments, marriage issues, pregnancy, infertility issues, maternity, motherhood, emotional distress, smut, dirty talk, nsfw, unprotected p in v
English isn't my first language, so be understandable and gentle, thanks!
Word count: +20k
Author's note: So, here we go... we’ve finally reached the end of this story! 🥺 I honestly can't believe it's over, and I'm definitely feeling a little sad about it because I'm going to miss this couple so much! That being said, maybe I'll write some extra chapters about them in the future. I feel like there are still a few stories left to tell — like their first official date, for example! But for now, that's a wrap on this story. I really want to thank you all for all the love and amazing feedback. It seriously warms my heart knowing that you've loved this story just as much as I loved writing it. I truly hope you will be satisfied with the epilogue I wrote. Let me know what you think with a comment, your feedbacks are really important for me. And if you want to support me even more, reblog it. I'd really appreciate it. Now enjoy it and thanks for reading!
Masterlist
A week later, Steve was finally discharged from the hospital and you went home with him.
But “home” didn’t look exactly like it used to. Not yet.
Steve moved slowly through the house on crutches, his steps careful and uneven. The bandage at his temple remained a constant reminder of how close you had come to losing him.
Sometimes he reached instinctively for the wall or the back of a chair to steady himself, stubbornly trying to do more than he probably should. And every time, you found yourself hovering nearby, close enough to catch him if he slipped but careful not to make him feel like you didn't trust him.
But even though he hated being stuck in the house and feeling useless, he enjoyed having you around, all for himself.
After spending weeks apart, having you back in the house felt like breathing properly again. He seemed to find reassurance in your presence. He loved waking up and finding you beside him. Or hearing you move around the kitchen in the morning. He simply loved the comfort of knowing you were there.
The conversation about children stayed untouched. Not avoided, not denied — just… gently set aside, left somewhere between you, waiting. And while you tried to make peace with it — with your body, with what it meant — Steve stayed close and patient, without pushing or rushing you.
It wasn’t always easy, though.
Because the thought never truly left you, feeling it in small, unexpected moments. A woman passing by with a hand resting on her stomach. A baby crying softly somewhere nearby. A stroller rolling past. Each one was like a quiet reminder of something you couldn’t quite look at directly.
School wasn't any easier. You spent your days surrounded by children—laughing, arguing, running through hallway — and sometimes it hit you so suddenly you had to pause, just for a second, and take a breath before moving on.
But the worst moment was when someone you knew announced they were pregnant. Because before happiness could come, before excitement or congratulations, you felt a sharp drop in your stomach. A flash of jealousy so quick and ugly that it made you feel ashamed. For a split second, thoughts crossed your mind that you immediately wished you could take back. That they didn’t deserve it. That it should’ve been you instead. Then guilt followed just as quickly. You swallowed it all down, forcing a smile onto your lips. You congratulated them, asked questions you didn’t really want the answers to and nodded in all the right places as you listened to nursery plans, baby names and ultrasound stories.
And you got good at that.
But when you got home, where no one was watching, everything came out, quiet at first, then all at once. You cried in the shower where your tears mixed with the water, or laying on the bed with your face buried against the pillow.
But never in front of Steve.
He was still recovering from the accident and you didn’t want him to suffer even more and to make everything worse.
Again.
Sometimes, you caught him watching a father with his child after baseball practice or a family crossing the street together. His gaze lingered just a second too long, his expression almost nostalgic, making your chest tighten. Every time he noticed you looking at him, he smiled or squeezed your hand. Like he knew what you were thinking. Like he wanted to reassure you without saying it out loud. Sometimes it worked. Other times it didn’t, the thought still finding its way in.
Maybe one day he’ll realize it wasn’t enough.
That you weren’t.
And he’ll want more.
He’ll leave.
It crept in at the worst times. At the end of the day, when everything was finally quiet and there was nothing left to distract you. During Steve’s baseball practices. At night, when sleep wouldn’t come. Even when you were in his arms. In those moments, you stayed still, your face tucked into his chest, breathing him in like that alone could keep everything else at bay. Until the thought began to haunt you, waking you up in the morning.
Every day, before you even opened your eyes, your arm would move across the bed, reaching for his side — checking. Making sure he was still there. That the space beside you wasn’t empty. Or too cold. That he hadn’t gotten up and left. Not just the room. Not just the house.
But you.
Most mornings, your hand found him without effort. Sometimes he was still asleep, his breathing slow and even. Other times, he was already awake, looking at you with that soft, familiar smile that made something in your chest ease and forget all your worries. Some days, instead, you didn’t even have to reach for him. You woke up already tucked against him, his arm loosely wrapped around you, like even in his sleep he hadn’t let you drift too far.
Those mornings were easier.
But not all of them were.
Sometimes, when you brushed the sheets slowly, carefully, hoping to find him without having to look, there was nothing. His side of the bed was already cold. You gave it a second. Then another. Your fingers pressed a little more firmly into the mattress, like maybe you had just missed him. Like maybe he was still there and you just hadn’t reached far enough.
But he wasn’t.
You kept your eyes closed for a moment longer, your breath catching as you delayed the reality you already felt settling in. Then you slapped your eyes and saw the sheets already smoothed out, as if no one had slept there.
That was when the panic set in.
You’d sit up too quickly, your breath already unsteady, your thoughts racing ahead of you. And then you’d get out of bed, almost without thinking, your feet carrying you straight to the closet.
It had become a habit before you even realized it.
You’d pull the doors open and scan the space, your eyes moving over his things — his jackets, his shirts — checking, counting as you made sure they were still there. That he hadn’t taken them. But sometimes even that wasn't enough to reassure you. You’d turn and head for the stairs, taking them too fast, your hand brushing the wall to steady yourself as you went down two steps at a time, your chest tight, your pulse loud in your ears. Until you found him sitting at the kitchen table with the newspaper spread open in front of him, a mug of coffee growing cold beside his elbow. Other times, he was stretched out on the couch, half paying attention to whatever was playing on television. His eyes would lift automatically and that familiar smile would appear. Easy. Familiar. Reassuring. Like everything was fine. And you would smile back, pretend you had just come down for something else.
You never told him anything but Steve noticed. Of course he did. He was good at noticing things about you. He just… didn’t say anything.
Until one Sunday morning, when you were standing in front of the closet again, your fingers still wrapped around the edge of the door as you let out a slow, quiet breath. Your eyes slipped closed for a second, your shoulders dropping just slightly as the tension eased out of you.
“What are you doing?”
His voice was close enough to make you flinch. Your eyes flew open. You turned quickly, your heart jumping into your throat, and found him standing in the doorway, staring at you. He must have just come up the stairs. His expression wasn’t accusing or angry. Just… confused, careful. In his hands there was a tray with breakfast.
Shame rushed through you, sudden and sharp. For a second, neither of you moved. You swallowed, your hand still resting against the closet door as if you hadn’t quite decided whether to close it or not.
“I—” you started, then stopped. Your voice caught, the excuse you were about to give dissolving before it could even take shape. You shook your head slightly, a breath leaving you that sounded thinner than you intended. “Nothing. I was just—”
Steve didn’t move. His eyes flicked past you, briefly, to the open closet. Then back to you.
“Checking if I’d left?”
The words cut in cleanly. Your breath caught. For a brief second, you thought — hoped — he might be joking. But there was nothing playful in his expression as his eyes held yours, steady, serious.
“Wha—what?” you stammered, even though the denial sounded weak the moment it left your lips.
Steve let out a short breath that almost sounded like a laugh, but it didn’t reach his eyes. He stepped forward carefully, crossing the room with slow, uneven steps before setting the tray down on your vanity fair in front of the bed. The porcelain clinked softly against the wood. The sound felt louder than it should have. Then he turned back to you. He hesitated for a fraction of a second — like he was deciding how far to push it.
“You really think I haven’t noticed?” he said, his tone flat, controlled in a way that made it sharper. “The way you reach for my side of the bed every morning before you even open your eyes. The way you practically run downstairs when I’m not there.” His jaw tightened slightly. “Or how relieved you look every time I walk back through the door after work?”
You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your mind scrambled for something — anything — to say, but there was nothing you could say. Because he was right. And the truth — the real reason behind it — felt too ugly, too fragile to put into words.
“I—” you tried again, your voice faltering, but it died there, unfinished.
Steve didn’t wait this time. “You still think I’m going to leave,” he said.
It wasn’t a question but a statement. The certainty in his voice made your chest tighten.
You didn't answer him but your silence did it.
He turned away from you, nodding, in disbelief, his back facing you as his hands settled on his hips. For a moment, he just stood there, looking up toward the ceiling like he was trying to steady himself, like he was holding something in.
You dropped your gaze. The silence stretched, thick and uncomfortable.
When he spoke again, his voice was lower. Quieter. But if anything, it felt tired.
“I’ve told you — more than once,” he said slowly, “that I’m staying. That I’m not going anywhere.” A small pause. “I’ve never given you a reason to think I would. Even when I could have. Even when I was at my worst.”
You instantly knew he was talking about Kirsten. About that night. When he could have left and gone to her house. When he could have chosen something simpler. But he still didn’t.
“I didn't even think about it,” he added, almost under his breath.
You believed him.
And that made things even worse.
You swallowed hard.
“And still…” He stopped, exhaling through his nose before turning back to you. His eyes found yours again, something unsettled flickering behind them now. “Still it’s like you don’t believe me. Like you don’t trust me,” he went on, quieter now, but no less direct.
You flinched slightly at that, your fingers curling in on themselves.
“When…” He hesitated, just for a second, like he was debating whether to let it out or keep it in.
You could already feel that it was no good. That it would hurt you.
“When you’re the one who left.”
The words hung between you. Heavy. Painful.
Steve looked away for a moment, shaking his head faintly before letting out a breath that sounded more like frustration than anything else.
“I’m the one who should be checking that closet,” he said, his voice tightening despite himself. “Making sure your things are still there. Making sure you didn’t just—” He stopped, jaw clenching, the rest of the sentence catching somewhere in his throat. Then, more quietly, but still honestly. “I’m the one who should be wondering if you’re going to leave again. Not you.”
He was right. You knew that. But that didn't mean his words hurt any less. Your hands tightened together until your knuckles ached. You bit down on your lip, hard, trying to keep the tears from spilling.
His gaze dropped for a moment, then lifted back to you. “Do you really think I don’t have those thoughts too?” he went on, his voice less controlled, sharper now, stretched thin. “That I don’t wonder if I’m going to come home one day and you just… won’t be here anymore?”
The words hit you straight in the chest like a punch, knocking the air out of you.
“Or walk in and find you halfway down the stairs with your bags again?” he added. “Just like that day.”
You stayed silent.
Steve took a few steps toward you, his shoulders tense. “I’m scared every damn day,” he said, louder now, the frustration breaking through. “All the time.”
Your chest tightened as the words sank in.
“Do you know what I think about when I kiss you goodbye in the morning?” he continued, his voice rough, unsteady in a way that made it worse. “When I leave for work?” A short, humorless breath escaped him. “That it might be the last time.”
Your eyes filled with tears, burning you.
“The last time I get to hold you. The last time I get to kiss you.” He continued, swallowing hard. “And every single time, I just hope… it’s not.”
Silence followed, thick and suffocating.
He turned away again, dragging a hand over his face before lifting both arms briefly, resting them behind his head. He stayed like that for a second, staring ahead, jaw tight.
“But I still choose to trust you,” he said after a moment, quieter now. “I choose it. Every single day.” His arms dropped back to his sides as he turned to face you again. “I choose to believe that when I come home, you’ll still be here.”
You couldn’t breathe properly. Your throat was dry, sore.
He looked at you like he wanted to say more — like the words were there, right on the edge — but then something in his expression shifted. He stopped himself. His mouth opened slightly, then closed again, his jaw tightening.
The silence stretched.
You pressed your lips together, unable to speak. Because he was right. About all of it.
Even after everything he had said, some stubborn part of your mind kept waiting for the moment he would finally decide he had had enough. Even when… when you had been the one to leave. The one who had packed a bag and walked out, breaking something between you that you were still trying to fix.
What was wrong with you?
The thought came sharp and merciless.Your throat tightened painfully. For a second, you almost felt angry at yourself, enough to want to shake yourself out of it.
Steve cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the silence.
“I need you to trust me too,” he said, more quietly now. Exhausted.
“Steve, I do trust you, it’s not—”
Your voice was so weak that you almost didn’t recognize it.
“Well, it doesn’t feel like it,” he cut in, not raising his voice, but not letting you finish either. He hesitated, like he wanted to keep going — like there was more sitting behind those words — but then he exhaled slowly and shook his head.
“Forget it. I just… went out to get breakfast,” he added, his tone changing, flattening, like he was forcing the conversation somewhere safer. “I got you those pastries you like. Thought I’d bring you them in bed. I just wanted to… surprise you.” A small pause. “That’s all.”
Your eyes closed for a second, the guilt settling heavier in your chest. When you opened them again, your gaze dropped to the tray on the table. You looked at it better this time — the coffee, still steaming faintly, the pastries neatly arranged like he had taken care choosing them, orange juice, eggs and bacon. There were all the things you loved to eat.
Steve followed your gaze. “You should drink the coffee before it gets cold,” he said. His tone cold, detached that it surprised you.
He turned before you could say anything else, moving toward the door with quick steps, without looking back at you.
For a second, you didn’t understand what was happening. Your body froze, your mind lagging behind as the sound of his steps carried down the stairs.
Then it hit you.
He was leaving.
Your throat tightened as you forced yourself to move, your legs finally responding as you rushed out of the room and down the stairs after him, still in your nightgown, your heart pounding so hard it felt like it might break through your chest.
“Steve!” You called his name with everything you had, your voice echoing through the house.
But he didn’t answer. He didn’t slow down either. He just kept going, one hand gripping the railing, as he moved fast, like he needed to get out before he changed his mind.
Panic surged through you.
“Steve, wait—!”
By the time you reached the bottom, he was already in front of the door.
“Wait — please, wait!” Your voice broke as you closed the last bit of distance and grabbed his arm, your fingers tightening around it, forcing him to stop. “Where — where are you going?”
He stilled under your touch, turning around to face you. His eyes were shining. “I need… some air,” he said, his voice low, steady in a way that felt final. “I’m going for a walk.”
You shook your head immediately, your grip tightening, your breath uneven. “No — please, stay. Let’s just — let’s talk, okay? Please.” Your voice trembled, the words stumbling over each other as the tears spilled freely now, warm against your skin. You didn’t even try to hide them.
Steve closed his eyes briefly, exhaling through his nose like he was holding something in. “I already tried,” he said after a second, quieter now. “More than once. But you don't seem to hear me.”
You shook your head again, desperate. “I know. I know, I’m sorry, I just—”
“I don’t know what else to say,” he cut in, not harsh, but firm. Tired. Exasperated. “I don’t know… what else to do to make you believe me.” His jaw tightened and for a moment he looked away. “I’m tired,” he admitted, his voice cracking just slightly at the edges. “And… angry.” He swallowed hard and you saw his throat move. “That’s why I’m leaving. I don’t want to say something I might regret later.”
Or do something he might regret, you thought.
Your chest constricted painfully.
“Please, don’t go,” you whispered, shaking your head, your fingers curling tighter around his arm like you could keep him there if you just held on enough. “Please, don’t leave me.”
For a moment, his expression softened. He hated seeing you like that.
“I’m coming back, okay?” he said, softer now, like he knew exactly where your mind had gone. Like he needed to stop it before it spiraled. “I’m… I’m not leaving. I just —” He exhaled, shaking his head slightly. “I just need a minute… to clear my head. Be alone for a bit.”
Your grip loosened, but only slightly.
“I’ll be back,” he repeated, more gently this time. “And we’ll… talk later. Promise.”
Talk about what? You wondered.
Before you could say anything else, he leaned in and pressed a light kiss to your forehead. It lingered just long enough to hurt. Then he pulled away. Carefully, he slipped his arm from your grasp. The loss of contact felt immediate. Cold.
You stood there as he opened the door and stepped outside. The door closed behind him with a soft click.
Silence flooded immediately the space he left behind. Loud. Unbearable.
You didn’t move. You stayed there, right where he had left you, your hands hanging useless at your sides, your vision blurred with tears you didn’t even try to stop anymore. Your heart pounded unevenly as your gaze fixed on the closed door, like you expected it to open again any second. While upstairs, the coffee he had made for you was already growing cold.
His voice replayed in your mind, louder with every passing second.
I’ll be back.
You swallowed hard, your throat tight, your chest aching.
Would he?
-
You were lying on the couch in the living room, curled on your side, facing the TV, even though it was off.
You hadn’t moved from there since Steve left.
The clock was ticking but you didn’t know how much time had passed. Long enough for the sobs to stop and the tears on your cheeks to dry, leaving your skin tight, your body still, your mind heavy and hollow. Your breathing had evened out. The storm had burned itself out, leaving behind nothing but a quiet that felt too big for the room.
Silence settled around you. Heavy. Uncomfortable.
Then, suddenly you heard the sound of a key turning in the lock. Your body reacted before your mind did. You pushed yourself up from the couch, your heart jumping as you turned toward the door just as it opened.
Steve stepped inside. His gaze lifted as he crossed the threshold, and it found yours immediately.
You stayed where you were. Even though every instinct in your body told you to run to him — to close the distance, to hold onto him, to make sure he was really there — you didn’t.
He closed the door behind him with a soft click and took a few steps forward.
“You’re here,” he said, his gaze fixed on yours.
You knew he didn’t mean just now. That you hadn’t left. That he hadn’t come back to an empty house.
You nodded, your throat tight. “And you are back.”
Something in his expression shifted — subtle, but there. He nodded once in return, like he was acknowledging something unspoken between you.
He knew exactly what you meant too.
He moved around the couch, with still his jacket on and sat down, leaving only a small space between you. For a moment, he just sat there. Then he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, dragging a hand over his face before pressing his palms briefly against his eyes, like he was trying to steady himself.
“I’m sorry,” he said quietly. “About before. I shouldn’t have… reacted like that.”
You hesitated for a second before sitting down beside him, careful and let out a slow breath.
“No,” you said softly, shaking your head. “You — you were right.”
Steve turned his head to look at you.
You swallowed, your hands tightening together in your lap before you forced yourself to keep going. “I am… I am still scared. That you might leave one day.” Your voice wavered slightly, but you didn’t look away. “And I know I shouldn’t be. That it doesn’t make sense. You’ve never given me a reason to doubt you. Not once.”
A small pause.
“I’m the one who did that,” you added, quieter now. “I’m the one who left. I’m the one who… broke your trust.”
The admission sat between you, raw and unguarded. It hurt you to remind what you had done. But you needed to.
“And I’m sorry,” you said, your voice softer now. “For that. For everything.”
Steve didn’t interrupt and kept listening to you.
“But it’s not true that I don’t trust you,” you went on, shaking your head slightly, like you needed him to understand that part most of all. “It’s… me.”
That was harder to say.
Your gaze dropped for a second before lifting again.
“I don’t trust myself,” you admitted, the words catching slightly on the way out. “Because I don’t feel like I’m enough. Like I’m… lacking something. Like I’m not…” You exhaled shakily. “Not what you deserve.”
Your fingers twisted together again before you stilled them, forcing yourself to continue.
“And I know—” you added quickly, almost defensively, “I know you don’t see it that way. I know that’s not how you think. But I do. And it’s not something I can just switch off, Steve. It doesn’t work like that.”
Your voice softened, losing some of its tension.
“I need time,” you said. “To come to terms with it. With the fact that… it’s not my fault.” You swallowed. “And that it doesn’t make me less. Or… harder to love. I just… need time,” you repeated more quietly.
Then, after a small pause, you reached out, slowly, carefully, and rested your hand on his knee. Steve's gaze immediately dropped to where your hand rested. His eyes lingered there for a second before lifting back to yours.
“But I’m not going anywhere,” you said, meeting his eyes. There was no hesitation now, only quiet certainty. “I’m here. And I’m staying.”
Your fingers pressed slightly against his knee, grounding yourself in the moment.
“I almost lost you,” you went on, your voice softening further. “Twice.” Your throat tightened. “And the second time… I almost didn’t get you back at all. I don’t want that again,” you whispered, your eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want to lose you again.”
You held his gaze as Steve reached for your hand where it rested on his knee, lacing his fingers through yours and giving it a firm, grounding squeeze.
“Good,” he said quietly. “Because I’m not going anywhere either, okay?” His gaze held yours, steady, intent. “I’ve seen what it’s like… living without you. And I didn’t like it. Not even a little.” A faint, humorless breath left him. “Worst week of my life, actually. And I’m not planning on going through that again.”
Your chest tightened, but this time it wasn’t fear.
“So yeah,” he went on, softer now, his thumb brushing absently over your knuckles, “some mornings you might wake up and not find me in bed. Or downstairs. And some afternoons or nights, I might come home late.” A small pause. “But wherever I am, I’ll be thinking about you. And I’ll always come back.” His voice dipped slightly, more vulnerable now. “As long as you still want me to.”
You didn’t hesitate. “I will,” you said, your voice steady despite everything you were feeling. “And I’ll be here too. Waiting for you.” A small breath. “As long as you want me to be.”
Something softened in his expression. Then he smiled and lifted his free hand to your face, cupping your cheek gently before leaning in.
The kiss started soft. Careful. Like everything else between you had been these past weeks.
But as the seconds passed, some of the distance you had both been carrying seemed to melt away. You shifted closer without even thinking about it, your body moving toward his like it had been waiting for this. Your hands came up to his face as you kissed him back, deeper this time, more certain. The hesitation that had lingered between you began to slip, piece by piece.
You moved onto his lap, straddling him, your lips never quite leaving his. His hands found your waist, holding you there, tightly, like he needed to make sure you wouldn’t disappear.
The kiss grew hungrier, faster. His hands moved along your sides, firm, warm, sliding up your back, pulling you closer. Yours slipped into his hair, fingers curling, holding on as if that alone could keep him there. You felt him exhale against your lips, his forehead brushing yours for the briefest second before his mouth found yours again, more urgent this time.
He trailed slowly down your jaw, your neck, until it reached your shoulder. The strap of your nightgown had already slipped down your arm, giving him space, and he took it without hesitation. His lips pressed warm against your skin, lingering, then moving again — slower this time. Each touch sent a quiet shiver through you, your breath catching as he traced a path along your collarbone. You tipped your head back instinctively, giving him more room, your hands settling on his shoulders to steady yourself. For a moment, you just felt the warmth of his mouth, the roughness of his hands against your skin. And the solid presence of him beneath you.
He was already hard.
Your hips shifted almost unconsciously against him, drawn closer, and the contact made his breath hitch for a brief second. His hands tightened at your waist in response, grounding, firm, like he needed to keep you right where you were.
You threaded your fingers into his hair, gripping lightly, guiding him back to your lips. There was nothing hesitant left in the way you kissed him now. It wasn’t careful anymore — it was need, release, everything spilling over at once after being held back for too long.
You pushed his jacket off his shoulders, the fabric sliding down his arms as your hands moved over him, impatient. He let out a quiet breath against your mouth, helping you shrug it off the rest of the way without breaking the kiss for long.
Your nightgown had ridden up completely, forgotten, as you shifted in his lap, the fabric bunched at your waist. But you barely noticed it, too focused on him — on the way his touch felt after everything. After weeks without intimacy — without sex. The last time had been during that famous weekend that was supposed to be the last. Fortunately, it hadn’t been in the end. How could you have thought you could live without him? Without his touch? Thinking back now, it seemed almost impossible.
His hands slid lower along your thigh, slipping beneath the fabric of your nightgown, hesitating only for a fraction of a second — as if giving you time to pull away, to stop him.
You didn’t.
If anything, you leaned into him more, your hands tightening his face even more, your lips parting against his in a silent answer.
You weren’t pulling away anymore.
His hand started moving over you again, sliding under the hem, caressing the bare skin of your ass, gently, slowly, as if he wanted to savor the moment. Like he was relearning you — like he needed to feel every inch just to remind himself that you were real, that you hadn’t slipped away again.
You pressed closer instinctively, grinding down on his bulge in search of something more, something deeper. It wasn’t enough — none of it felt like enough after everything you had been through. The distance, the fear, the almost losing him.
You needed to feel him. Really feel him.
Your fingers curled into his shirt, holding on just as tightly, like you were afraid that if you let go, he might disappear.
“Steve… please,” you whispered against his lips as his hand moved closer to where you needed him most. But every time, when he was almost there, he pushed it away, teasing you.
He smirked, amused. “What’s it, babe?” He murmured, voice low. “Tell me what you need.”
You let out a soft, frustrated breath, your forehead resting briefly against his.
“Please,” you begged, desperate, unable to form a complete sentence.
Steve’s grin widened even further. He hesitated a few seconds, his hand tightening on your thigh, the other one on your hip, holding you in place as he watched you for a moment longer than necessary. Then finally, he gave in. His hand began to slide down along your core, feeling the wet spot that had already formed on your panties.
His touch was slow, deliberate, rubbing gentle circles over your clothed clit as heat pooled low in your belly. Your hands found his shoulders again, gripping for balance as you moved against him, hips rolling, chasing his touch. Steve increased the pressure and you moaned into his mouth as you kept grinding your soaked panties.
The other strap of your nightgown slipped from your shoulder, revealing your breasts. Steve groaned. As he kept caressing your core, he ran his other hand up your stomach and squeezed your tits, gently first, then hard. You moaned again, letting your head fall back.
But it still wasn’t enough. You wanted more.
“Steve… I need you… Please,” you begged him, almost crying.
“Yeah, babe? Where do you need me? I’m right here.”
His hand pressed down on you harder, while your fingers curled into his shirt even more, resting your forehead on his shoulder, panting. For a moment, you hesitated, swallowing slowly.
“Inside me.” Your voice lower than a whisper. “I need you inside me, Steve. Please.”
Steve stopped moving, taking his hands off of you. You whined at the loss of contact, missing him already. But before you could say anything, he pulled your nightgown over your head in a single motion and threw it somewhere behind you, leaving you half-naked.
His gaze dropped straight to your bare breasts, his eyes widening, hungry. He swallowed hard.
“God…” he breathed, almost to himself.
After few seconds, you found yourself lying on the couch, on your back with Steve on top of you. He hooked his fingers into your panties, tugging them quickly down your legs. You lifted your hips to help him, eager to be free of them.
Steve stood up, pushing his shirt up, revealing the trail of hair disappearing into his jeans. Then he took them off and his boxers in one smooth motion, letting them drop to the floor. His length slapped against him.
Both naked, he settled between your thighs, bringing you closer as you raised yourself on your elbows to see him better. His gaze traveled over your body spread open on the couch, lingering on your centre, shiny and swollen already.
“Fucking beautiful,” he said, looking back at you, a little smile on his lips. “And it’s all mine.”
Even though you were married and he had already seen you like that several times, you couldn't help but blush at his words.
He lay down on top of you and kissed you passionately, supporting himself on one arm, as he dragged his other hand through your slick folds, spreading yourself open. His fingers drew slow circles around your clit before dipping inside. Your body responded instantly, arching into him, hips rolling against his fingers. The wet sounds filled the room, mixed with your shaky breaths.
“You’re so wet, babe, and I barely did anything,” he murmured under his breath, holding his glistening fingers up to your lips.
You took them into your mouth and sucked, tasting yourself on them as Steve never took his eyes off you.
“So needy and desperate, aren’t you? And you really think you could live without me?”
You didn’t answer. Instead, a broken moan ripped from your throat as he rubbed his hand all over your entrance, spreading the wetness. Your hips moved towards him, looking for more. Then he grabbed himself and stroked it a few times, lubing himself up with your arousal. Your eyes fixed on him the entire time, biting your lip at the sight of his thick member. Even after so many years together you still hadn't gotten used to its size, capable of leaving you breathless and sore every time.
Steve moved closer to you, guiding his length through your folds, the tip nudging against your clit, teasing you. You threw your head back, a sigh escaped your lips.
Without warning, he drove into you with one, quick thrust, seating himself fully inside you. You gasped at the intrusion, arching your back as he stretched you open with a deep groan.
He started moving immediately, without giving you time to get used to it. You were so wet that he slid perfectly inside you all the way, meeting no resistance. The wet slaps of skin and your desperate moans filled the living room as he kept pounding into you at a brutal pace. Your hands ran down his hairy chest, his arms and then over his back, scratching him, digging your nails into him as he went deeper with each stroke.
You wrapped your legs around his waist, trying to pull him in tighter to you. His hand reached your clit, rubbing it as he kept fucking you harder. He thrusted in and out, relentlessly, quickly. His eyes stayed locked downward, fascinated by the sight of himself sliding in and out of you, dragging a creamy ring back and forth along his length.
“How — How can you think I can leave? That I can do without all this? Without you?" he asked after a while, his lips pressed to your ear.
There was no malice or bitterness in his voice, just honesty. You didn't respond, you couldn't. Partly out of shame, partly because Steve's movements prevented you from thinking or speaking clearly. Only half-formed words, moans escaped your mouth.
"Steve, I…"
"Yes, babe? Are you coming? I can feel you squeezing my cock. Come on, cum for me."
And you came, clenching around his cock and crying out his name. Steve followed you right away, coming inside you with a low, guttural groan as his release painted your walls. He gently collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing hard, skin slick with sweat.
-
About ten minutes later, you were lying on the couch, wearing only his shirt, curled slightly on your side with your head resting on Steve’s chest. Your fingers were still loosely intertwined with his, your breathing slowly returning to normal. He lay beside you in nothing but his boxers, one arm draped around you, absentmindedly tracing slow patterns along your arm.
Everything felt… lighter now. Not just because of what had just happened between you, but because of everything that had come before it — your argument, the honesty, the way you had finally let yourselves say things out loud instead of carrying them alone.
It hadn’t fixed everything. You knew that. There were still cracks — fears that wouldn’t disappear overnight. Things you —especially you — would have to work through, slowly, patiently. But for the first time in a while, it didn’t feel impossible. It felt like something you could face together.
Steve shifted slightly beneath you, his fingers tightening around yours for a moment before he lifted your hand, turning it gently so your wedding band caught the light of the lamp.
“Give me your ring,” he said after a beat.
You barely noticed at first, still half lost in the quiet haze of the moment. Then you blinked, the words taking a second to fully register. You pushed yourself up slightly, one hand pressing against his chest as you looked down at him, your brows knitting together. “What?”
“Your ring,” he repeated, his voice calm but his gaze intense. “Give it to me, please.”
Confusion flickered across your face as you sat up properly, turning to face him.
“My ring? Why?” There was a trace of unease in your voice now, subtle but there. You instinctively curled your fingers slightly, as if protecting it without even realizing. You didn’t like taking it off. Not even when you had temporarily left Steve you had taken it off.
Steve pushed himself up into a seated position, resting against the couch armrest as he looked at you.
“Do you trust me?” he asked.
You knew, instantly, that he wasn’t just talking about the ring. He was asking something bigger.
Did you trust me to stay?
Did you trust me not to leave?
Your throat tightened slightly, but you nodded without hesitation, swallowing. Your fingers hesitated for only a second more before you slipped the ring off and placed it in his hand.
It felt strange the moment it left your finger. Lighter. Wrong, almost.
Steve watched you for a second, then reached up and removed his own. For a brief moment, he held both rings in his palm, staring down at them — silent, thoughtful.
You shifted closer, kneeling on the couch in front of him now, your eyes fixed on his face, trying to understand what was happening but without success.
“What are you doing?” you asked softly.
He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he leaned forward slightly and placed both rings on the couch between you.
Side by side.
You followed the movement with your eyes, your confusion deepening, your brow furrowing as you looked back up at him.
“Give me your hand,” Steve said softly.
You looked up at him, your confusion still written all over your face.
“Steve… will you tell me what you’re doing? I don’t—”
“We’re renewing our vows.”
You blinked, your eyes widening as you stared at him, even more lost than before.
“What?”
“Didn’t we say this was a new beginning?” he went on, his voice steady, certain. “For you, for me… for us.”
You nodded slowly, still trying to catch up.
“Then we need new promises,” he said. “Ones that actually fit us. Our way.”
Before you could say anything else, he reached for your hands again, holding them gently but firmly between his.
“Trust me,” he added, quieter this time.
There it was again.
That question beneath the words.
You swallowed and nodded. “I do.”
Steve took a slow breath, his thumbs brushing lightly over your knuckles as he gathered his thoughts. For a second, he looked almost nervous — but he didn’t look away.
“Do you take me to be yours again,” he began, his voice low but clear, “knowing that we don’t have everything figured out… that things might change, that life might not go the way we planned…”
Your breath caught in your throat.
“To have and to hold anyway,” he continued, “to stay instead of running, to try, even when it’s hard… to not walk away when things get complicated…”
Your eyes burned, but you didn’t blink.
“To love me for as long as we both want this… for as long as we keep choosing each other?”
Silence settled between you the moment he finished.
For a second, you couldn’t speak. You could barely breathe. Then you nodded — once, twice, again — your grip tightening around his hands.
“I do,” you said, your voice trembling but certain. “I do.”
Tears blurred your vision as you held onto him.
“Okay,” he murmured, a faint, relieved smile tugging at his lips. “Your turn.”
You took a shaky breath, trying to steady yourself, your heart still racing as you repeated his words — slowly at first, then with more certainty, your voice finding its strength as you went. When you finished, Steve didn’t hesitate.
“I do,” he said immediately, like it was the easiest thing he had ever done. There was no doubt or uncertainty in his voice.
He reached for your ring, holding it carefully between his fingers before looking back up at you.
“Repeat after me,” he said softly.
You nodded.
“With this ring, I choose you.”
“With this ring, I choose you,” you echoed, your voice barely above a whisper.
“I promise to love you, to be honest with you and to let you in, always.”
You repeated each word, your gaze never leaving his.
“I promise I won’t shut you out when I’m scared… to trust you, to stay… and to build whatever life we can — together.”
Your throat tightened, but you kept going, holding onto every word like it mattered more than anything.
“For as long as we both keep choosing each other.”
When you finished, his expression softened completely. Slowly—almost reverently— he slid the ring back onto your finger. The weight of it felt different now. Not heavier.
Stronger.
Your eyes dropped briefly to his ring, still resting between you on the couch. You picked it up carefully, turning it between your fingers before looking back at him.
“Your turn now,” you said softly, almost timidly.
He nodded.
“With this ring, I choose you,” you began.
He repeated it without hesitation.
“I promise to love you, to trust you, and to stay when things get hard — not because I have to, but because I want to.”
His voice was firm, certain.
“I promise to stay even when it would be easier to walk away… and to build whatever life we can— together.”
Your chest tightened.
“For as long as we both keep choosing each other.”
When he finished repeating, you took his hand and slid the ring back onto his finger, your touch lingering for a moment longer than necessary. Your fingers intertwined.
When you looked up again, he was already staring at you. Smiling. There was something lighter in his expression now. Softer. Hopeful. You smiled back, your eyes still shining.
“And now what?” you asked quietly.
A small, familiar spark returned to his gaze.
“Well,” he murmured, his voice dipping just slightly as his hands came up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing softly along your cheeks, “now I get to kiss my wife.”
A flash of playfulness softened his features — something boyish and bright, as if he’d been counting down the seconds to this very moment. A faint smirk tugged at his lips, fueled by a quiet, steady confidence. Like he wasn’t asking — just finally claiming what had always been his.
And then he kissed you.
The force of it, the sudden pull of his hands, sent you tipping backward onto the couch, a soft gasp slipping from your lips as he followed you down without breaking the kiss, his body settling over yours.
You barely had time to react before your hands found him again — his shoulders, his hair — pulling him closer as if there was still distance left to close.
At first, the kiss was slow, his mouth moving against yours with a kind of care that felt almost reverent, like he was memorizing you all over again. Then it deepened, growing stronger, more urgent, the quiet tenderness giving way to something warmer, fuller, alive with everything you had both held back for too long.
Your fingers tightened in his hair, his grip on you firm but steady, keeping you anchored beneath him as if letting go wasn’t even an option anymore.
It wasn’t just a kiss.
But a promise.
A new beginning.
The first step into something new.
Together.
-
A week later, you started therapy.
It wasn’t an instant fix. Nothing about it was. But slowly — almost without noticing at first —something began to shift.
The mornings were the first to change.
You still reached for him sometimes when you woke up, your hand instinctively searching for the warmth of his side of the bed. But you no longer did it with that same sharp edge of panic or fear. You didn’t brace yourself before opening your eyes. You didn’t lie there, afraid of what you might — or might not — find.
And some mornings… you didn’t even have the chance to.
You woke up already wrapped in his arms, his body warm against yours, his hand resting at your waist like it had been there all night. Other times, you felt him pull you closer in his sleep, like even unconsciously he was making sure you were still there — still his, still within reach.
Those mornings were easier. Quieter. Because they didn’t leave space for doubt to creep in.
And when he wasn’t there, you didn’t rush. You didn’t run to the closet anymore to check if his clothes were still hanging where they belonged. You didn’t scan the house with your heart in your throat, waiting to confirm your worst fear. Instead, you breathed — once, twice. You reminded yourself — quietly, firmly — of everything he had told you. Of everything you had promised each other.
You chose to trust him.
And, slowly, you started trying to trust yourself too. To believe that you were enough. Not just because he said it, or because he loved you. But because you were.
-
Two months later, you came back from a weekend away with Robin and Nancy.
The moment you stepped into the house, you barely had time to set your bag down before Steve reached you, taking the suitcase from your hand and leaning in to kiss you softly.
“I missed you,” he murmured against your lips.
“I was gone only for two days,” you replied, smiling anyway.
“I know,” he said. “Two very long days.”
And then you noticed the expression on his face. He looked suspiciously satisfied, like he was waiting for you to figure something out.
Your eyes narrowed slightly. “What?” you asked, suspicious now. “What did you do?”
He feigned offense, placing a hand over his chest. “Wow. No trust at all?”
You gave him another look.
“Okay, maybe I did something,” he admitted, a grin slipping through.
“Please tell me you didn’t burn the kitchen down while I was gone.”
He scoffed, shaking his head. “Firstly, rude. And secondly, it’s a good thing. A surprise. Promise.”
Then he extended his hand toward you.
“Come on,” he said. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to see it.”
You hesitated for only a second before taking it, letting him guide you inside and up the stairs.
He left your suitcase by the bedroom door without a second thought and kept going.
And that was when you realized where you were going.
Your steps slowed. Your grip on his hand tightened just slightly.
The further down the hallway you walked, the heavier your chest felt until you stopped, right in front of the door you almost never opened anymore.
Your throat went dry.
You hadn't stepped inside in months. Most days, you barely even looked at it when you passed. Sometimes you wished it wasn’t there at all. That the door could just… disappear.
“Steve… what are we doing?”
He turned back to you immediately, and whatever excitement had been on his face softened the second he saw yours. He stepped closer, taking both your hands this time, holding them gently but firmly.
“Hey,” he said quietly. “Trust me. Okay?”
The words settled between you. Familiar now. Your eyes flickered to the door for a brief second, your chest tightening — then back to him. You swallowed hard and nodded.
“Okay.”
He smiled, just a little, then squeezed your hands.
“I need you to close your eyes,” he said. “And don’t open them. No matter what.”
A small flicker of hesitation crossed your face again. But this time, you didn’t let it take over.
“I’m trusting you,” you murmured.
“I know,” he said softly before closing your eyes.
You felt him let go of one of your hands, the other still firmly wrapped around his as he guided you forward. Then you heard the sound of the door opening. Your heartbeat picked up.
“Okay,” he said. “Come on. Just follow my voice.”
You did. Slowly. Carefully.
“Stop,” he said gently after a moment.
You stopped instantly, abruptly.
“Okay… you can open them.”
You inhaled deeply and opened your eyes.
At first, all you saw was him — standing in front of you, watching you carefully, almost nervously. Then your gaze shifted and everything else came into focus. You turned slowly, taking it in piece by piece.
Everything was different. But it wasn't what you had once imagined either.
The boxes were gone. The walls had been repainted in soft, warm colors that made the room feel brighter than you remembered.
There was no crib by the window. No changing table. No carefully planned corners for a life that hadn’t come. Instead, there were large canvases leaned against the far wall, waiting to be used. Shelves lined with paints, brushes, pencils and jars of color.
Your breath caught. Your hand rose instinctively to your mouth as your eyes began to sting.
It wasn’t a reminder of what you had lost anymore. Of what you couldn’t have. Steve had transformed it into something full of possibilities that didn’t hurt to look at. That didn’t whisper what if every time you passed by.
Behind you, Steve shifted slightly. When you didn’t speak right away, uncertainty crept in.
He cleared his throat. “Maybe I should’ve talked to you first,” he said quickly, stepping closer. “I just… I thought it was a shame to leave it like that and not using it. And you always said you wished you had a space to paint, so I thought—”
He stopped himself, running a hand through his hair, suddenly unsure.
“I mean, you don’t have to use it if you don’t want to,” he added, softer now. “We can —”
You turned to him before he could finish the sentence and closed the distance in two quick steps, kissing him.
He froze for a second, clearly caught off guard — then melted into it, his hands coming up to steady you as he kissed you back. When you pulled away, your forehead rested against his, your breath uneven.
“It’s perfect,” you whispered. “I love it. And I love you.”
Your arms slipped around his neck, pulling him into a tight embrace.
“Thank you,” you murmured against him.
He held you just as tightly.
And over the following weeks, that room became yours.
You spent hours in there — painting, sitting, letting your thoughts settle into something quieter. Sometimes, you didn’t even realize how long you’d been there until the light changed. Steve would linger in the doorway now and then, leaning against the frame, watching you with that same soft expression—like he was witnessing something slowly come back to life.
Eventually, you even convinced him to sit for you. He complained about it at first. A lot. But he stayed.
And little by little, that room changed. From something that once held only absence, pain, sadness… to something filled with color.
And hope.
-
A few weeks later, Steve showed up with a camper that looked like it had lived several lives before you ever laid eyes on it. It was old, dented in places, the paint faded and uneven — but there was a spark in Steve’s eyes when he stood in front of it, one hand resting on the hood like he’d just found treasure.
“I know what you’re thinking but it has potential,” he said.
You raised an eyebrow. “It probably has tetanus.”
He grinned.
With Eddie’s help — and a lot more time, effort, and swearing than either of them would ever admit— they brought it back to life. By the time summer arrived and school let out, it was no longer falling apart.
With no schedules to follow and nowhere you had to be, you left. The road stretched out in front of you, endless and open. It felt… freeing.
You drove for hours with the windows down, music playing too loud, your hands resting somewhere on each other — your arm, your thigh, wherever you could reach — just to feel each other.
You made your way through the Rockies first, the air thinner, cooler, the silence deeper than anything you were used to. You hiked trails that left your legs aching and your lungs burning, but every time you stopped, every time you looked around, it felt worth it.
At night, you slept outside more often than not. Sometimes in the camper, sometimes in a tent, sometimes just wrapped in blankets under a sky so full of stars it didn’t feel real. There were moments when you lay side by side, not speaking, just looking up. And your thoughts didn’t spiral anymore.
At the Grand Canyon, you stood at the edge in silence, your shoulder pressed against his. His hand found yours without looking, fingers threading through yours like it was second nature.
“Hard to believe something like this just… exists,” you murmured.
Steve glanced at you instead of the view. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”
After that, you went to Yellowstone. Beautiful and unpredictable at the same time. One moment you were admiring the scenery, the next you were lost, soaked by unexpected rain, or arguing over a map you both insisted you knew how to read properly.
And then there was California.
Everything seemed to slow down there. The air was warmer, the days felt longer. The ocean stretched out endlessly in front of you, the sound of it constant.
Steve decided he was going to learn how to surf. In reality, he spent most of his time falling off the board while you sat on the beach laughing so hard your stomach hurt.
You played volleyball on the beach with strangers, drank overly sweet cocktails decorated with ridiculous little umbrellas, and watched the sun melt into the ocean more evenings than you could count.
During the day, Steve refused to wear sunscreen, even though you had told him he’d regret it.
And he did.
“This is your fault,” he muttered later, lying on his stomach, his skin flushed red while you tried not to laugh as you applied aloe.
“My fault?” you echoed, incredulous.
“You should’ve insisted harder.”
You shook your head, smiling despite yourself, your fingers gentler than your tone. “You’re impossible.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But you love me.”
You didn’t answer.
You didn’t need to as you both knew the answer.
Sometimes, you acted like kids — splashing each other in the water, chasing each other along the shore, collapsing into the sand, breathless and laughing.
Other times, things slowed down. Quieted.
You’d sit close together, his arm around your shoulders, your head resting against him, listening to the waves without feeling the need to fill the silence.
One night, long after the beach had emptied, you slipped into the ocean together, only in your underwear.
The cold hit you instantly, sharp enough to steal the air from your lungs. You gasped, instinctively reaching for him. His hands found you beneath the surface, firm on your hips, pulling you into him until there was no space left between your bodies. The water moved around you, waves brushing against your skin. You laughed quietly when one hit you harder than expected, your hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself, pressing your chest against his, your breath mixing.
You started kissing — your lips touching, hesitant for half a second — and then it deepened instantly.
Hungry.
Your fingers slid into his hair, grabbing, pulling him closer as his hold on you tightened, one hand pressing firmly at your lower back, anchoring you against him while the ocean swayed around you. There was no teasing or slow build. Just want. Desire. Raw and immediate.
“I need you,” he muttered against your mouth.
“Then stop talking,” you shot back softly, breathless, your eyes fixed on his. “And show me how much you need me.”
That was all it took.
The kiss turned rougher, deeper. His hand shifted, gripping your hip harder, pulling a quiet sound from you that you couldn’t hold back. The ocean rocked around you, but neither of you paid attention anymore.
By the time you made it back to shore, you were both breathing harder than you should have been, your skin still wet, cooling in the night air. The moment your feet hit the sand, his mouth was on yours again, stronger this time, more urgent, more demanding. Your hands moved just as quickly, sliding over him, holding, pulling, needing to feel him.
You stumbled back together, barely coordinated, until the sand gave way beneath you and you fell, a soft breath leaving your lips as your back hit the ground. Steve followed immediately, catching himself just enough to not hurt you.
Sand clung to your skin, your legs wrapped around him without thinking, pressing into him like you couldn’t get close enough, like your body refused the idea of space between you.
His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, your neck, slower now — but not softer. Each touch leaving something behind, something you could feel spreading under your skin.
“You feel that?” he murmured against your skin, voice rough.
“Yes—”
Your head tipped back, breath catching, your fingers digging into his shoulders as he held you tighter, like he wasn’t planning to let you slip away again.
“Don’t — don’t stop,” you breathed against his mouth.
A quiet exhale left him, almost like a laugh, but darker.
“Never,” he replied, almost immediately.
When you finally came together, it felt inevitable. Natural. Like your bodies already knew the rhythm before you even found it. Every movement met, answered, matched. Your breath broke into uneven patterns, your fingers tightening, needing something solid as the rest of the world blurred into nothing but the sound of the ocean and the feeling of him.
His name left your lips without thought, barely more than a breath, your body reacting to every shift, every movement that pulled you further into him.
Afterward, you didn’t move. You stayed wrapped around each other, your skin still warm, your breathing slowly evening out as the night settled back around you. His arm tightened around you, pulling you closer instinctively, like distance wasn’t something either of you could tolerate. Your fingers traced slow, absent lines over his chest, your cheek pressed there, listening to his heartbeat.
The waves kept coming and going, soft, constant.
And for once, there was nothing chasing you.
No doubt.
No fear.
No voice in the back of your mind asking what if.
-
When you came back from your trip and the new school year began, things felt different between you and Steve. Not all at once. Not in a way that erased everything that had happened. But the tension, the constant weight of fear and doubt — it had softened.
You still talked about children sometimes. About the future. About what you both wanted. But the summer spent together had reminded you of something important: you were happy. With Steve. With the life you had built together, even if it was only the two of you for now. But it was enough for now. So you decided to wait and to give yourselves time.
No deadlines.
No pressure.
No quiet panic about what should come next.
Just the two of you.
Or rather, the three of you.
Because shortly after you got a dog.
A golden retriever puppy, barely a few months old, all oversized paws and endless energy that you named King.
King made his loyalties very clear from the start. He followed you everywhere like your shadow. If you moved, he moved. If you stopped, he sat at your feet. At night, it became a problem. Every time you and Steve went to bed, King would jump up before either of you could stop him and curl up right on Steve’s side.
“You’ve got competition,” you teased one night, already half under the covers as Steve stood there, hands on his hips, staring at the dog sprawled comfortably across his pillow.
Steve scoffed. “Yeah, I can see.”
King didn’t move. If anything, he stretched and it took a solid minute of negotiating — firm voice, light pushing, and eventually bribery — before Steve managed to reclaim his spot. Even then, King would lie at the foot of the bed, eyes on you.
Steve pretended to be annoyed at him, almost jealous. Sometimes he even sounded like it. But you caught the way he looked at the dog when he thought you weren’t paying attention — soft, amused, completely gone. He loved him as much as you did.
Every evening, he took him out for walks, no matter how tired he was. You’d watch from the window sometimes as they crossed the yard — Steve throwing the ball, King sprinting after it like his life depended on it, ears flying, tail wagging wildly.
-
Not long after classes started, a position opened in the art department. A few days later, the principal called you into his office and offered it to you. Your first instinct was to say no.
The thought of being so close to children every day made something in your chest tighten again. Old fears, quieter now, but not completely gone, stirred under the surface.
What if it would hurt?
What if it was too much?
What if you couldn’t handle it after all?
But then you thought about the studio that Steve had set up for you. About the way your hands had found their way back to color, to creation. About the way you had slowly, carefully started building something new out of what you thought you had lost.
So when the principal asked for your answer a few days later, you said yes.
Steve was… impossibly proud.
The surprise party he organized was chaotic, loud, full of people you loved — and entirely overwhelming in the best way.
Your first day in the classroom felt different than you expected.
Not heavy.
Not painful.
Just… new.
There were moments of uncertainty, of course. Small pauses where you caught yourself observing, adjusting, learning where to stand, how to speak.
At one point, while you were leaning over a desk helping a child mix colors, you felt something shift in the room — a subtle change in attention. You looked up. Steve was standing by the door. He hadn’t said anything. Just… watching. A small smile already on his face.
One of the kids noticed him first. Then another. And suddenly the entire class had turned, voices rising all at once.
“Who is that?”
“Coach Harrington!”
“Is that your husband?”
“Are you gonna kiss him?”
Your face flushed instantly.
“Okay — alright — back to —” you tried, but it was too late.
“Ki-ss! Ki-ss! Ki-ss!”
You shot Steve a look — half warning, half embarrassed.
He only grinned and walked over, slow, deliberate, like he was enjoying this far too much. When he reached you, he leaned in and pressed a quick, soft kiss to your cheek.
The class erupted.
You covered your face for a second, laughing despite yourself.
“Sorry,” he murmured near your ear, low enough that only you could hear. “Couldn’t help it.” Then, after a beat, softer. “I’ll make it up to you later.”
Your cheeks warmed even more, and you nudged him lightly, trying to regain some composure.
By the time the day ended and the last child had left, the classroom fell quiet. You stood there for a moment, taking it in—the scattered drawings, the faint smell of paint, the soft echo of a day that hadn’t hurt the way you feared it would.
If anything, it had felt… right.
A light knock pulled you from your thoughts.
You followed the sound.
Steve was leaning again against the doorframe, watching you with that same soft expression.
“So?” he asked.
You hesitated only a second.
“It was good,” you said.
He raised an eyebrow.
You smiled a little, shaking your head. “Okay… it was better than good.”
Something in his face eased. He stepped closer, his hand settling lightly at your waist.
“I knew it,” he said quietly.
You let out a small breath, glancing around the room one last time before looking back at him.
“I’m happy. Really happy,” you admitted.
It came out softer than you expected.
Steve’s thumb brushed gently against your side. “And I’m proud of you.”
You held his gaze for a second, then a small, knowing smile curved your lips. “Then maybe we should go home,” you said lightly, tilting your head just enough, “so you can show me how proud you are.”
Something shifted in his expression immediately — subtle, but unmistakable.
“Don’t say more,” he murmured, a hint of a grin breaking through.
“Come on,” you said, reaching for your bag.
He took it from you without a word, his other hand finding yours and you walked out together, turning off the lights behind you.
-
One evening, you were already home, waiting for Steve to be back. Dinner was ready, the table perfectly set. The kitchen still carried the warmth of what you had just cooked, and King lingered nearby, pacing in small, hopeful circles, his eyes fixed on the counter in case something might fall.
You glanced at the clock one more time.
Steve was late.
You furrowed your brow. Practice should have ended a while ago and he was rarely off schedule without a reason.
You dried your hands on a dish towel, trying not to let your thoughts drift too far ahead of you. But just as a flicker of concern began to settle in your chest, the sound of the front door opening cut through the silence.
Relief left your lips in a quiet breath before you could stop it. King reacted instantly, tail wagging as he rushed out of the kitchen, nails clicking against the floor as he ran to greet Steve.
“Hey, what happened? The kids wouldn’t let you go?” you called out, stepping out of the kitchen after the dog, still distracted as you wiped your hands.
“Hey,” Steve said.
Something in his tone — slight, uncertain — made you lift your gaze. At first, you didn’t notice anything different. Then your eyes caught it.
A small hand, barely visible, peeking out from behind his leg, fingers curled lightly into the fabric of his pants.
You slowed mid-step. Your mouth parted slightly, the words you had been about to say fading before they could form. Your gaze stayed fixed there, on that small hand, and on the hint of a face just barely visible behind him as you tried to make sense of what you were seeing. But you couldn’t quite see who it was.
You looked back up at Steve. “Oh,” you said, managing a small smile despite the confusion already building, “I see we have a guest.”
Steve lifted a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it lightly, a nervous habit you knew too well. He smiled back—but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. There was hesitation there. Almost… caution.
He glanced down behind him. Then, after a brief pause, he shifted slightly to the side.
And the child finally came into view.
You blinked. “Charlie?” you said, surprise softening your voice.
He stood half-hidden still, shoulders slightly hunched, his eyes flicked up briefly before dropping again like he wasn’t sure if he should be there at all.
You knew him. He was one of your students. And one of Steve’s athletes too. Quiet. Gentle. Polite. The kind of child who never demanded attention, who was always the last to leave, as if he had no hurry, or worse, nowhere to go.
“Good evening, Mrs. Harrington,” he said, his voice small, careful. His eyes lowered to his worn shoes, toes turned slightly inward.
King, meanwhile, had already approached him, tail wagging enthusiastically as he sniffed at him. Charlie flinched slightly at first but didn’t pull away. He just stood there, still, letting the dog investigate him like he didn’t quite know how to act.
You softened immediately at the sight.
“Hey,” you said gently, your voice shifting without you even thinking about it as you took a few little steps closer. “It’s okay, you don’t need to be afraid. He’s friendly. And… curious.”
Charlie gave a small nod, barely lifting his gaze.
You knew enough about his situation. In a town like Hawkins, people talked and everyone seemed to know everyone else's business. Over the years, you had heard various things about him. No father. A mother who was rarely home. And when she was, she often seemed lost in problems of her own and Charlie ended up spending many evenings alone.
Your attention flicked back to Steve again as he stepped closer to you. A thousand questions sat just behind your lips but you didn’t ask them. Not yet.
Steve cleared his throat. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he began, his voice low. “I should’ve called, but—”
He leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek, lingering just long enough to brush his lips near your ear.
“His mom didn’t show up,” he murmured quietly so that only you could hear. “We couldn’t reach her. And I couldn’t leave him there.”
He pulled back, his hand finding yours, fingers wrapping around it as he searched your face. Your eyes flicked briefly to Charlie, then back to Steve. You nodded, a small smile forming as you squeezed his hand lightly, reassuring him that it was all okay. You stepped away from Steve and moved toward Charlie, lowering yourself to his height so you wouldn’t tower over him.
“Hey,” you said softly. “You actually got here at the perfect time.”
He shifted slightly, hands clasped behind his back, weight moving from one foot to the other.
“I hope you’re hungry because dinner’s ready,” you continued, keeping your tone light. “And I made way too much food. Honestly, it’s a problem at this point.” A small smile tugged at your lips. “Think you could help us with that?”
Charlie nodded after a moment, still not quite meeting your eyes. You nodded back, as if sealing an agreement.
“Perfect,” you said gently. Then, glancing over your shoulder at Steve, “why don’t we go wash our hands while Steve… gets everything ready?”
Your eyes lingered on him just a second longer, enough for him to understand that what you were really giving him was time. He gave a small nod in return before going back to look at Charlie. You reached out carefully, giving him the chance to step back if he wanted to but he didn’t. Your fingers closed gently around his hand—small, a little cold—and you guided him toward the bathroom. Behind you, you heard Steve move, the faint sound of the phone being picked up echoing through the quiet house. As you walked, you could feel the slight tension in Charlie’s grip, the way he stayed close but cautious, like he wasn’t used to this kind of care.
When you stepped back into the kitchen, your eyes found Steve’s immediately. He shook his head, just slightly. Something in your chest dropped, but you didn’t let it show. You forced a small, easy smile for Charlie.
“Here we are,” you said lightly. “Go ahead, Charlie, sit here.”
You gestured to the chair between you and Steve. He moved toward it slowly, almost carefully, like he was afraid of getting something wrong. Steve took the seat across from you, while King had already settled at your side, tail brushing against your leg, eyes fixed on the table with quiet anticipation. He knew you well enough to expect something, even if he’d already eaten.
You looked at Charlie, searching for the right thing to say. Make yourself at home sat on the tip of your tongue — but it didn’t feel right. Not when you didn’t know what home meant for him.
“Take whatever you like, please” you said instead, softer.
He still didn’t move. His mouth was slightly open, his gaze fixed on the table in front of him. You followed it.
Dinner wasn’t anything special — just spaghetti with meatballs, fresh salad and warm garlic bread. The portions were the same you cooked every night for you and Steve, the kind that usually left leftovers for the next day. It was normal for you.
But not for him.
His eyes moved slowly from one dish to the next, taking everything in. There was something in his expression — something caught between hesitation and wonder. Like he didn’t quite believe it was real or that it was actually meant for him.
Your chest tightened and a thought slipped in before you could stop it.
When was the last time he ate like this?
Not just ate — but sat down at a table, with other people and warm food in front of him that he didn’t have to earn, or rush, or hide. Maybe he didn’t know what to do. Maybe he was just waiting to understand what was allowed. Waiting for someone to tell him it was okay.
You swallowed hard but didn’t ask questions. Instead, you reached forward and began serving him yourself, adding a bit of everything onto his plate. More than you normally would. More than he probably expected.
“There you go,” you said gently once you were done. “There’s more if you want, okay?”
He nodded faintly, his hands still resting in his lap for a moment longer.
You and Steve served yourselves next, exchanging a brief look across the table before your attention returned to Charlie.
He hadn’t touched the food yet.
Only when you both took your first bites did he finally move. At first, it was tentative. Slow. Careful. He picked at the food like he was testing it, like he wasn’t entirely sure it was really his to eat. Like he expected someone to stop him. But after a few bites, hunger took over and his movements changed — faster now, less careful. He ate quickly, almost urgently, like his body couldn’t afford to wait. A bit of sauce smeared at the corner of his mouth.
You had stopped mid-motion without realizing it, your fork suspended halfway to your mouth as you watched him. Something shifted inside you. It wasn’t discomfort. Or pity. It was something else — warm, but heavier than you expected. Something that settled low in your chest and stayed there, tightening your throat just slightly. You didn’t have a name for it but it made it harder to look away.
You loved your students. All of them. But this felt different. Seeing Charlie like that, so small in that chair, so quiet and guarded one moment and then suddenly… unfiltered. Unaware. There was something vulnerable about it. But also something incredibly real. And it stirred something in you that you didn’t quite recognize. Something close to affection — but deeper, instinctive, almost unfamiliar in its intensity.
You smiled, softly. Charlie caught it out of the corner of his eye and he slowed down almost immediately. The shift was instant — shoulders tightening again, movements becoming smaller, more controlled, like he had just remembered himself or as if he thought he had done something wrong. Your smile faded just enough. You looked down quickly, pretending to focus on your own plate, giving him privacy again.
Dinner moved forward like that. Quiet, mostly. You and Steve tried to make conversation — small questions, light comments, easy conversation — but you didn’t push. When Charlie answered, it was brief. Polite. Careful.
So you let the silence settle instead.
And strangely… it wasn’t uncomfortable.
It felt gentle.
Safe.
The kind of quiet that didn’t demand anything from anyone. The only sounds were the soft clink of cutlery, King’s tail occasionally brushing against the floor, and Charlie’s breathing slowly evening out as he ate.
And as you sat there, across from Steve, watching this small, fragile moment take shape at your table, you felt something shift inside you again.
Not sharp.
Not painful.
Just… something opening.
Something that felt, quietly, like the beginning of something you hadn’t planned — but somehow already cared about.
At some point, King started circling the table again, nails clicking softly against the floor as he moved from one chair to the next, hopeful and impatient in the way he always was. Then, without warning, he stopped beside Charlie and rested his chin on the boy’s leg. Like he’d done it a hundred times before. Charlie froze instantly. His shoulders stiffened, his hand hovering mid-air, his whole body going still.
“It’s okay,” Steve said gently, his tone easy, reassuring. “You don’t have to be scared. It just means that he likes you.”
He reached over, picking up a small piece of leftover meat from his plate and holding it out toward him.
“Here,” he added. “You can give him this if you want. He’ll be your best friend for life after that.”
Charlie hesitated. He looked at Steve first, uncertain — then at you. You gave him a small nod, soft, encouraging. He took the piece of meat slowly, carefully, like even that small gesture required permission. Then he lowered his hand toward King, a little unsure.
King didn’t hesitate. He took it immediately, tail still wagging, clearly thrilled by the interaction and the food. Charlie watched him, something shifting in his expression. Then, almost cautiously, he lifted his other hand and rested it on the top of King’s head. He started petting him, slowly at first, light, almost testing. King leaned into it, happily, before licking his hand in response.
And just like that a small smile appeared on Charlie’s face. Barely there at first, like he didn’t quite know how to hold it. Then a quiet, surprised sound slipped out of him — something between a breath and a laugh.
You realized then that it was the first genuine smile you'd seen since Steve had brought him home.
A real smile.
The sight of it sent a rush of warmth through you so sudden it almost caught you off guard. You looked up, meeting Steve’s gaze across the table.
His expression had softened in exactly the same way.
Neither of you said anything. There was no need. Your smiles said more than a thousand words.
-
Darkness had settled outside the windows. The last traces of daylight had disappeared long ago, replaced by the quiet hum of crickets and the occasional headlights passing on the distant road. The clock in the kitchen kept ticking steadily forward, each passing minute making the silence feel heavier.
Steve had tried calling again. And again. But it had become clear no one was coming.
Hopper had been informed, and after a brief conversation, the three of you had come to the same conclusion. It was late, Charlie was safe where he was, and dragging him somewhere unfamiliar in the middle of the night would only make an already difficult situation worse.
Hopper promised he would start looking into things first thing in the morning. He'd check hospitals, talk to people, ask questions and figure out what had happened. But until then, the best place for Charlie was here. At your house.
You and Steve got the guest room ready together, moving quickly, instinctively falling into rhythm without needing to say anything. Clean sheets, an extra blanket, a small glass of water placed on the nightstand.
You found something for him to sleep in as well. One of the spare pajamas that had been left behind over the years after countless sleepovers. Dustin, Mike, Lucas and the others always seemed to forget something whenever they stayed over. The pajama shirt hung almost to Charlie's thighs and the sleeves fell past his wrists. It was obviously far too big for him, but it was clean, warm, and smelled faintly of laundry detergent.
When it was finally time to put him to bed, something shifted again — a different kind of uncertainty. You were suddenly aware of how unfamiliar this felt — not the presence of a child, not really. You and Steve were surrounded by them every day at school and you had even years of babysitting behind you.
But this was different.
This was your home.
And right now there was a child who was almost a stranger to you. Not one of your little friends, like Dustin, or a friend's kid you found yourself looking after for a night. Sure, he was your student, but you still knew little about him. He was a responsibility that didn’t have a clear boundary. You didn’t know what his routine looked like. Or if he had one at all. You didn’t know if someone usually tucked him in. If he was used to silence, or noise, or being left alone entirely. You didn't know what you could or couldn't do.
He wasn’t your son, after all.
And you weren’t his mother.
The thought made you hesitate. But not for long. Because he needed you, whether you were his mother or not.
You stepped closer to him. He had already slipped under the covers, lying stiffly on his back, like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself there either. You reached down and gently pulled the blanket up a little higher, tucking it around him. Your movements were careful, slow. His eyes stayed fixed on you the entire time.
“I… uh,” you started, your voice quieter now. “Me and Steve — we’re just down the hall. First door on the left.” You offered a small smile. “If you need anything… anything at all, you can come get us. Or call.”
He just nodded.
You held his gaze for a moment longer, searching his expression, hoping he understood — not just the words, but what you meant.
That he wasn’t alone.
“Goodnight, Charlie,” you said gently. “Sweet dreams.”
Still no answer.
You smiled anyway, then turned toward the door. You had just opened it, one foot already out in the hallway, when his voice stopped you.
“Goodnight… Mrs. Harrington.”
You turned back, your eyes met his again. For a second, something caught in your chest. You smiled again at him. Part of you wanted to tell him to use your name. To make it easier, less formal. But you didn’t. It was too soon.
“Goodnight,” you simply said.
Then you stepped out and closed the door gently behind you, the quiet of the hallway wrapping around you almost immediately. You let out a slow breath, your shoulders dropping without you even realizing how tense they had been. It felt strange. Like you had just passed some kind of test you didn’t know you were taking.
-
By the time you reached your bedroom, the exhaustion of the evening had finally started catching up to you. You pushed the door open quietly.
Steve was standing beside the bed, halfway through changing out of his clothes. His shirt was already gone, a pair of sweatpants hanging low on his hips while he tugged a clean T-shirt over his head. The moment he saw you, he stopped immediately.
“How is he?” he asked right away, concern already written all over his face. “Did he fall asleep?”
You shook your head as you closed the door softly behind you, your hand lingering on the handle for just a moment before you let it go.
“Not yet,” you said. “But he was fine... and I think he was tired too. After all, it was a busy evening... for all of us. I'm sure he'll fall asleep soon.”
Steve nodded slowly, eyes dropping for a second as he processed that, some of the tension visibly leaving his shoulders. Then his gaze lifted back to yours.
“And you?” he asked more carefully this time, his voice low.
There it was.
The real question.
Are you okay after all of this?
You leaned back lightly against the dresser, crossing your arms loosely over yourself as you thought about it.
“Honestly?” you said after a moment. “Better than I expected.”
“Are you sure?” He said, carefully.
You let out a small breath that almost turned into a laugh, but didn’t quite make it.
“I’m not gonna lie. It was… intense,” you admitted. “And a little overwhelming at first.” You paused for a moment before continuing. “When I saw him standing behind you, I think my brain completely stopped working for a second.”
That earned the faintest smile from Steve, though it disappeared quickly again.
“I’m sorry I didn’t call first to warn you, but I didn’t really have the time or… a choice,” he said immediately.
You shook your head gently.
“Steve,” you said softly, “you weren’t going to leave him there all alone.”
His jaw tightened slightly at that.
You could still picture it clearly — Charlie patiently waiting at the baseball field long after everyone else had gone home, like he was already used to it. To being forgotten. The thought made something ache inside your chest all over again.
“You did the right thing. I would’ve done the same,” you told him.
“Yeah?” he asked softly.
You nodded.
“Of course.”
Steve looked at you for a long moment after that, something conflicted moving behind his eyes.
“When I showed up with him,” he admitted quietly, “I was scared you’d look at me and think I’d lost my mind.”
You frowned immediately.
“Steve—”
“No, I —” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling softly. “I was really scared… I didn’t know if this would… bring everything back up again.” His voice lowered on the last part.
Even now he hated talking about the pain you both had gone through. But you promised each other you'd be honest and tell each other everything, even when it wasn’t easy. You didn't want to repeat the same mistakes.
Your expression softened instantly. “You thought I was gonna fall apart again.”
He didn’t talk but his silence was answer enough. You pushed yourself away from the dresser and walked toward him slowly.
“I… I was scared, at first,” you admitted.
Steve’s face tightened slightly.
“But not because of Charlie,” you clarified quickly. “More because… I didn’t know how I was supposed to act. What he needed. Or what the right thing was.”
You stopped in front of him.
“But…” your voice softened, “I’m glad you brought him here.”
Steve’s eyes searched yours carefully, like he still wasn’t fully allowing himself to believe that.
“And he can stay as long as he needs to,” you said firmly. “Honestly, I’m more angry that nobody seems to even be looking for him.”
Something dark flickered briefly across Steve’s face at that.
“Yeah,” he muttered quietly. “Me too.”
Silence settled between you for a moment. Then Steve looked at you again, softer this time.
“You were really good tonight,” he said suddenly.
You blinked.
“With him,” he added. His mouth lifted faintly at one corner. “The second you realized what was happening, you just… took over.” He shook his head a little, almost like he still couldn’t quite believe it. “You made him feel safe in, like, five minutes.”
Warmth spread slowly through your chest.
“So did you,” you replied quietly.
Steve huffed softly. “I mostly panicked internally.”
You laughed under your breath. “No,” you said, stepping closer. “You brought him home. You made sure he wasn’t alone tonight.”
Your eyes softened as you looked at him. “You’re a really good man, Steve Harrington.”
His gaze dropped briefly, almost shy despite all these years.
“And… You’d be an amazing father,” you added, gentler now.
Steve smiled automatically at that—but it faltered almost immediately after. You noticed it instantly. Like the words had caught somewhere inside him. Your head tilted slightly, knowing exactly what had happened.
“You can say it, you know,” you murmured.
His eyes lifted back to yours. For a second, he looked almost hesitant. Then finally, “You’d be an amazing mother too.”
A small smile pulled at your lips as you stepped even closer until your bodies nearly touched.
“Thanks,” you said quietly. “I’ll try to be.”
Your hand slid gently against his chest.
“One day. When we’re ready.”
Steve’s expression softened completely.
Relief.
Love.
Hope.
All at once.
His hands found your waist slowly, carefully, like he still wanted to make sure this was real.
“That sounds nice,” he admitted quietly.
You smiled.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
You looked at each other for another moment before Steve finally pulled you fully against him. You melted into his arms immediately, your cheek pressing against his chest as his arms wrapped tightly around you, holding you close. His hand slid slowly up and down your back while the other rested protectively at the base of your spine. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your ear.
After a moment, you tilted your head back just enough to look at him again. “I love you,” you whispered.
Steve smiled. “I love you too.”
Then he leaned down and kissed you.
-
The next morning, you woke before the sun had fully risen. You blinked slowly against the soft morning light filtered through the curtains, painting the room in muted shades of blue. For a moment, you stayed still beneath the covers. The house sat wrapped in that quiet kind of silence that only existed in the earliest hours — before alarms, before life began moving again. Beside you, Steve was still asleep, sprawled on his stomach. One arm had somehow ended up stretched across your waist sometime during the night, heavy and warm over the blanket, his face half-buried into the pillow. His hair stuck up messily in every direction, lips slightly parted, completely unaware of the world.
You watched him for a few seconds, then your thoughts drifted to Charlie. You carefully slipped out from under Steve’s arm, moving slowly so you wouldn’t wake him. He stirred anyway, mumbling something incoherent under his breath before instinctively reaching toward the warm spot you had left. You smiled to yourself. Then quietly, you pulled something on and stepped into the hallway. Your feet slowed when you reached the guest room. Carefully, you opened the door just enough to peek inside.
Charlie was still asleep, curled under the blankets, one arm tucked awkwardly beneath the pillow, hair messy from sleep.
Relief moved through you instantly.
At some point during the night, he must have kicked the blankets halfway off himself and King had somehow managed to sneak in too, curled at the foot of the bed like some oversized guard dog, completely passed out.
You almost laughed.
Traitor.
You had checked on him more than once during the night. Each time half expecting him to be awake, scared, crying, confused. But every time, you had found him still sleeping.
Charlie’s face looked different asleep. Softer. Younger. Relaxed in a way you didn’t think you had ever seen him at school. He was just a little boy sleeping. Something in your chest tightened unexpectedly. You wondered when he had last slept somewhere without worrying. If he ever had.
You stepped inside just long enough to pull the blanket back over him. He shifted slightly but didn’t wake. King cracked one eye open, lifted his head lazily.
“You’re supposed to sleep in our room,” you whispered.
His tail thumped once against the mattress before he ignored you entirely. You shook your head, smiling faintly, and quietly slipped back out.
Downstairs, the house still smelled faintly of last night’s dinner. You started the coffee machine first. Then breakfast. You decided to make pancakes, hoping Charlie liked them. Without realizing it, you found yourself making more than usual.
By the time you were whisking batter, you heard some familiar footsteps behind you and after a moment, strong arms wrapped around your waist, making you smile immediately.
“Good morning to you too,” you said softly.
Steve leaned down, still half asleep, pressing his face against your shoulder, kissing it lazily.
“It’s Saturday and it’s early,” he mumbled, voice rough with sleep. “Come back to bed.”
You smiled despite yourself.
“Don’t tempt me, Steve.”
A soft hum vibrated against your skin.
“You know I can’t help myself,” he murmured near your ear. “Especially when I know I can convince you.”
His hands settled against your hips, warm and familiar.
“Steve…”
“Mhm?”
“I’d like to remind you we’re not alone in the house.”
He kissed your shoulder again. “I checked,” he murmured. “He’s still sleeping.”
The admission caught you off guard for a second.
Of course he had checked too.
The thought alone made your chest tighten in the softest way.
You tilted your head back for only a moment, giving him space without even meaning to as his lips brushed your skin again. Then you caught yourself. Turning in his arms, you rested your hands against his chest to stop him.
“That doesn’t mean he couldn’t wake up any second,” you said gently. “And I’d rather avoid traumatizing him any more than life already has.”
Steve let out a quiet sigh — not annoyed. Amused.
His forehead dropped lightly against yours.
“Ok, you’re right. I’ll behave,” he said. “For now,” he added before kissing you. Soft. Slow.
When he pulled back, he exhaled quietly.
“I’m gonna call Hopper,” he said after a moment. “See if there’s any news.”
The mood shifted a little, reality settling back in.
You still nodded. Even though, deep down, you already feared the answer.
While Steve reached for the phone, you turned back toward the counter and started cooking. You needed something to do with your hands, something to stop your mind from spiraling.
You poured the first circle of batter into the pan, watching it spread slowly across the surface as the soft hiss filled the kitchen.
After a few seconds, Hopper answered. You could hear his voice through the receiver — agitated, fast — but none of the actual words reached you. You focused on the pancakes, the smell slowly filling the kitchen.
A small stack of pancakes had already begun to form on the plate beside the stove by the time you glanced over again. Steve’s expression had slowly changed as he listened to Hopper. His eyes met yours, your stomach tightening. You could tell before he even hung up.
“Still nothing?” you asked quietly, swallowing hard.
Steve shook his head. “Hopper checked their caravan,” he said carefully. “Nobody was there. And no one has seen her apparently.”
He paused, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “He said… Charlie can keep staying here, for now. If… we want, of course.”
You looked down at the batter absentmindedly as something twisted painfully in your chest. Not because you minded. God, you didn’t. But because no child should ever be left wondering why no one came. Then there was a part of you — the quiet, selfish one — that felt strangely relieved.
Your eyes slowly lifted to Steve’s.
“Yeah,” you agreed immediately. “Of course he can stay. As long as he needs it.”
“You sure?” he asked quietly.
Steve watched you for a second, like maybe he was still afraid of your answer. Like some part of him worried this would be too much.
“Steve,” you said gently. “I told you. I’m okay, really. And he needs us now. That’s all that matters.”
Something softened in his face. “You’re kinda amazing, you know that?”
You rolled your eyes lightly. “You brought home a child, Harrington. You are.”
“Yeah, and you just took over, making it feel normal.”
“I just made him dinner.”
“You made him feel safe. Welcome.”
You looked at him, your mouth slightly open. But before you could answer, soft footsteps interrupted you.
You both turned.
Charlie stood awkwardly near the kitchen entrance, hair sticking up everywhere. King stood proudly beside him like he had personally escorted him downstairs. Charlie hesitated when he noticed you both looking.
“Morning,” Steve said immediately, casual — gentle enough not to scare him off. “Did you sleep well, buddy?”
Charlie shifted his weight slightly. Then, he nodded, quickly.
“Good,” he said, softer than usual. “You hungry?”
Charlie looked up at you and after a moment, he nodded again.
Your heart nearly cracked open. “Well,” you said, turning back toward the stove, “perfect timing. You pointed toward the bowl on the counter. “Pancakes. They’re almost ready. And before Steve eats all of them, I suggest you sit down.”
Steve looked offended. “What? I didn’t…”
“You ate six last time.”
“Seven,” he corrected proudly. “It's not my fault if your pancakes are the best,” he said, shrugging his shoulders.
And for the second time, you saw it. Small. Quick. Gone almost immediately. But there.
Another smile.
And somehow, standing there in your kitchen, with King circling his legs and Steve already pretending to argue over pancake rights, something shifted. You couldn’t explain it yet. Didn’t have words for it. But for the first time in a long while…
The house felt fuller.
Complete.
-
Since school was closed for the weekend, you had the day off and could do whatever you wanted. So after breakfast, Steve disappeared for a moment before returning with two baseball gloves and a ball in hand. He leaned casually against the kitchen counter, looking at Charlie.
“So,” he said, shrugging lightly, like the idea had just come to him, “since you’re here…”
Charlie looked up from where he sat beside King.
“Thought maybe we could get a little practice in.” Steve tossed one ball lightly into the air before catching it again. “Consider it private coaching.” A small grin tugged at his mouth. “But don’t tell the others, alright? Can’t have the team thinking I play favorites.”
Charlie hesitated, shoulders tightening slightly.
“You really don’t have to if you don’t feel like it,” you added gently, not wanting him to feel pressured.
Steve nodded immediately. “No pressure,” he said easily. “We can just throw the ball around for a bit. King will probably join and ruin everything anyway.”
As if on cue, King lifted his head and after a second, Charlie nodded.
Steve pointed at him with mock seriousness.
“That’s my guy.”
-
Outside, you settled onto the porch with your sketchbook, intending to draw. At least, that had been the plan. Instead, your pencil barely touched the page as you found yourself watching Steve and Charlie.
Steve crouched down to Charlie’s height, explaining something while the boy listened carefully, shoulders tense. At first, he nodded and answered only when Steve asked him something directly. But little by little, the nervousness began to fade.
And soon, he was laughing quietly when Steve intentionally exaggerated a missed catch, dramatically falling backward into the grass.
“You did that on purpose,” Charlie said before quickly going quiet again, almost surprised by his own voice.
Steve placed a hand over his chest. “I have no idea what you're talking about.”
Another laugh escaped Charlie, his smile widened despite himself.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
Charlie looked… lighter. Like for a few hours, he had forgotten to be scared. And watching him — safe, laughing, free in a way you suspected he rarely got to be — stirred something unfamiliar and quiet inside your chest. And frightening in how natural it felt.
You didn’t quite know what to call it. Not yet. Affection, maybe. Or something dangerously close to love. And that scared you more than you wanted to admit. Because you knew what love could do and how quickly it could turn into grief. How suddenly happiness could become fear and loss. And letting yourself care this much felt dangerous.
But then Charlie laughed again — breathless this time, chasing after King while Steve pretended to complain dramatically about being ignored by his own player — and something inside you softened anyway.
So, just for now, you let yourself enjoy the moment. The sound of laughter drifting through the yard. The warmth of the sun on your skin. Steve’s voice somewhere in the background.
-
By evening, the kitchen smelled like flour, tomato sauce, and melted cheese.
You had decided on homemade pizza.
At first, Charlie hovered near the kitchen doorway again, uncertain, hands half-hidden inside the sleeves of Dustin’s oversized sweatshirt. King sat loyally beside him, tail sweeping lazily against the floor every few seconds like he had already decided Charlie belonged there.
“Come here,” you said gently, patting the stool beside you. “I need help decorating.”
Charlie hesitated, glancing briefly toward Steve like he needed confirmation he wouldn’t be in the way.
“You heard the boss,” Steve said, washing his hands at the sink. “No backing out now.”
Slowly, Charlie climbed onto the stool beside you. You handed him a small handful of shredded mozzarella while you spread tomato sauce over the dough.
“Okay,” you said softly. “You can put the cheese on.”
He watched your hands first, careful and observant, before pinching a small amount between his fingers and sprinkling it over the pizza with extreme concentration. At first he moved slowly, like he was afraid of doing something wrong. Then he paused.
“Like this?” he asked quietly, his voice almost a whisper.
You opened your mouth to answer, but Steve leaned over the counter first.
“That is way too much cheese,” he said with exaggerated seriousness.
Charlie froze immediately and you shot Steve a look.
“Ignore him,” you said, nudging Charlie lightly with your shoulder. “There’s no such thing as too much cheese.”
Steve looked personally offended.
“There absolutely is.”
“There isn’t.”
“There is. You just refuse to acknowledge basic pizza science.”
You rolled your eyes.
Beside you, Charlie let out the smallest laugh.
As the evening went on, Charlie relaxed little by little. He started helping more without asking. Passing ingredients. Carefully arranging pepperoni in uneven little circles. Sneaking extra cheese onto one side of the pizza when he thought Steve wasn’t looking.
King, meanwhile, had become completely and utterly attached to Charlie. The dog barely left his side. Every time Charlie moved, King followed. Every time Charlie sat down, King somehow ended up pressed against his leg like they had known each other forever. At one point, while you were reaching for plates, you noticed Charlie glance around carefully before lowering his hand beneath the counter. The second the piece of cheese slipped onto the floor, the dog appeared like magic and eat it. Charlie looked oddly proud of himself. Across the kitchen, Steve caught your eye just in time to see Charlie carefully slipping another tiny piece of pepperoni. Steve let out a dramatic sigh, crossing his arms.
“Great,” he said, crossing his arms. “Now he likes you more than me too.”
Charlie startled slightly, cheeks reddening.
“I— sorry,” he mumbled immediately, hand pulling back like he’d done something wrong.
Steve’s expression softened at once. “Kid, I’m kidding,” he said gently.
Charlie glanced up uncertainly. “He switched teams years ago,” Steve continued, nodding toward the dog. “The second she started sneaking him food under the table, I lost all authority in this house.”
“Excuse me?” you said, pretending to sound offended as you slid the pizza onto a cutting board. “You spoil him just as much.”
Charlie looked between the two of you quietly. Then, almost absentmindedly, his hand dropped to scratch behind King’s ears. King immediately melted into the floor with complete devotion.
Charlie also started speaking more. Small things at first. How he liked baseball more than math. How he hated peas. How King reminded him of a dog he’d once wanted but never got. Nothing really big or life-changing but every sentence felt important to you. Like trust being handed over in pieces.
“You know,” Steve said eventually, leaning back in his chair after another bite of pizza, “I think this might actually be the best pizza we’ve ever made.”
You looked up from your plate and glanced first at Charlie, then at Steve. You smiled softly. He wasn’t talking about the food.
“Yeah,” you said quietly. “I think so too.” Then, after a beat, your eyes dropped back to Charlie. “I had an amazing helper.”
Steve pointed to himself immediately.
“Thank you,” he said, nodding once like it was obvious.
You looked at him flatly. “I wasn’t talking about you.”
Steve placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Wow,” he said, feigning heartbreak. “That’s actually cruel.”
You laughed quietly when the doorbell suddenly rang. The noise cut through the room so suddenly that all three of you looked up.
“Were we expecting someone?” Steve asked.
You slowly shook your head but but deep down, somehow, you already knew. You couldn’t explain how or why. Instinct, maybe. The feeling settled heavily in your stomach before either of you even moved.
Steve stood first. And you followed almost immediately, wiping your hands absentmindedly on a kitchen towel while Charlie remained seated at the table, one hand resting unconsciously against King’s fur.
When Steve opened the door, Hopper stood there. And beside him, there was a woman.
Her hair was messy, hastily tied back. There was fading makeup smudged beneath tired eyes and a bruise near her temple, yellowing at the edges. Her clothes smelled faintly of cigarettes and hospital disinfectant. She looked exhausted more than anything else. Worn down by life in a way that made it difficult to tell how old she actually was.
You didn't need an introduction to know who she was.
Charlie’s mother.
Your chest tightened instantly.
The woman swallowed hard, eyes flickering nervously past you into the house, searching.
Hopper exhaled heavily, rubbing a hand over his jaw.
“She got into a car accident yesterday,” he explained quietly, glancing between you and Steve. “Minor injuries but she ended up at the county hospital unconscious most of the night. She didn’t have any documents with her, so they didn’t know who she was.”
“Charlie,” she breathed out.
You turned.
Charlie stood a few feet behind you but he didn’t move. Not immediately. Then, slowly, carefully, he stepped forward. The woman’s eyes were fixed entirely on him. She crouched immediately despite the obvious stiffness in her body, one hand bracing against her knee. Her fingers trembled slightly as she reached up.
“I’m sorry, baby,” she said quickly, voice cracking as she looked at him. “I’m so, so sorry. For everything.”
Her eyes filled immediately.
And the worst part was that she sounded genuine. Not cruel. Just… incapable. Like someone who loved her child but kept failing him anyway.
The guilt hit you before you could stop it. Because part of you had already judged her and decided what kind of mother she must be. Someone selfish. Someone reckless enough not to notice their child was gone. But now, standing there, seeing the bruising near her temple, the exhaustion written all over her face, she just looked overwhelmed. And broken.
She looked up at you and Steve then, eyes red-rimmed. “Thank you,” she said softly. “For taking care of him.”
“You don’t have to thank us,” Steve said gently. “He’s okay.”
“A little scared,” you admitted quietly. “But… he’s okay.”
The woman nodded like hearing that physically hurt.
Hopper stepped aside eventually, giving them space and quietly pulled Steve aside.
“I already talked to her,” he muttered low enough that Charlie couldn’t hear. “One more screw-up and I’m stepping in. I mean it. And I’ll be checking on her. Frequently.”
Steve simply nodded.
Eventually, Charlie disappeared upstairs to grab his things. When he came back down, King immediately stood, tail wagging, following him toward the door. Charlie wrapped his arms around the dog’s neck, while he started licking his face without hesitation.
“You know,” you said softly, crouching beside him, “you can come visit him whenever you want.”
Charlie looked up. “For real?”
“For real,” Steve said. “Pretty sure you’re his favorite now.”
King barked once like he agreed. A tiny smile pulled at Charlie’s mouth. “Thank you,” he said quietly.
You smiled despite the ache building in your throat. You reached up before thinking, smoothing his messy hair back for a second.
“You’re always welcome here, Charlie”, you said, the words slipping out naturally.
They were already halfway to Hopper's truck when Charlie suddenly turned around. You smile and lifted your hand immediately.
“Bye, Charlie. See you on Monday,” you said, your voice trembling.
He hesitated for a second before raising his own hand in return. Small. Shy. Your arms crossed instinctively over yourself. King moved forward as if ready to follow him but Steve caught his collar gently. “Easy, buddy.”
The dog whined softly.
After closing the door behind you, Steve’s hand found yours silently. Slowly. His fingers threaded through yours and squeezed. Tight. Like he was comforting you. Like maybe he was holding onto something too.
The house felt unbearably quiet.
That night, lying in bed, you broke. You cried silently at first. Trying not to. Trying to be reasonable. After all, you would still see him at school. And Steve would see him at baseball practice. Nothing had changed. And nothing would. Not really.
Except it had.
Because somehow, impossibly, one day had been enough to make the thought of not hearing his quiet voice in the kitchen hurt more than it should.
Behind you, Steve said nothing. He wrapped himself around you, one arm around your waist, the other pulling you closer until your back pressed firmly against his chest, holding you tightly and letting you cry.
After a long while, something warm touched your shoulder. At first, you thought it was your own tears. But then Steve buried his face more firmly against the back of your neck.
And you realized.
He was crying too. Silently. Or at least, he was trying to. The fabric of your nightgown was damp against your shoulder. You turned slowly in his arms. His eyes were red.
“Oh, Steve…”
His laugh came out shaky. “I know,” he whispered hoarsely. “It’s stupid.”
“No,” you said immediately. “It isn’t,” you said, cupping his face, your forehead resting against his.
And somewhere in the quiet dark, holding each other like that, you both understood.
Seeing Charlie again at school would never be the same.
-
The next morning, you woke up early as usual but stayed where you were, tucked beneath the blankets while the soft gray light of early morning stretched across the bedroom. Beside you, Steve was still asleep, facing your side of the bed, hair sticking up in every direction, lips slightly parted as the faintest snore escaped him every few breaths.
You smiled despite yourself. Years ago, you probably would have found it annoying. Now, somehow, it had become comforting. Familiar. You turned onto your side, resting your head more comfortably against the pillow as you watched him sleep.
The night before replayed quietly in your mind.
Charlie leaving.
The silence afterward.
And the ache.
You and Steve had barely spoken once the house had gone quiet again. There hadn't really been words for it. Only a strange sense of loss neither of you had expected.
And it made no logical sense.
Because Charlie had only been with you for a day.
One day.
And yet it had been enough to love him as something more than just a student. His absence had settled over the house like something physical.
Eventually exhaustion had taken pity on both of you. But sleep hadn’t come easily. You had spent most of the night staring at the ceiling, thinking.
About Charlie.
About Steve.
About the future.
And somewhere between all those thoughts, something inside you had finally settled into place. Something that terrified and gave you hope at the same time. Because you had spent so long convinced that door had closed forever and that maybe some broken part of you would never recover enough to want it again.
But Charlie had changed something.
Beside you, Steve stirred. His nose scrunched slightly before he rolled onto his back, stretching with a groan and blinking against the morning light. Then he noticed you watching him, a sleepy smile pulled at his mouth immediately.
“Well,” he said, voice rough with sleep, “that’s either really romantic or really creepy.”
You laughed softly. “Good morning.”
“Morning, early bird.” He rubbed at his face before glancing toward the clock. “How long have you been awake?”
You hesitated. “A while.”
He studied you for a second and then something in his expression shifted, his smile fading just slightly. Like memory had finally caught up with him. He pushed himself up against the headboard, running a hand through his hair.
“How are you?” he asked carefully. “After… yesterday, I mean.”
You sighed and looked down at the blanket for a moment, considering the answer.
“Sad,” you admitted quietly. “I miss him.” Your throat tightened unexpectedly. “And… I’m worried.” You exhaled slowly. “I just really hope he’s okay, you know?”
Steve nodded immediately. “Yeah,” he said softly. “Me too.” He looked down for a second. “I know we’ll see him tomorrow. At school. Practice and all that.” He hesitated. “But it doesn’t really feel —”
“The same,” you finished the sentence, your eyes meeting his. “Yeah, it doesn’t.”
For a few seconds neither of you said anything else. You looked at him and suddenly, the words you had been carrying all night felt too important to keep inside anymore.
“You know, yesterday…” you started quietly.
Steve immediately looked up.
You cleared your throat and continued. “Yesterday felt like —” You paused, choosing your words carefully.
His brow furrowed slightly. You looked down at your hands, swallowing.
“It felt like we were a family.”
The words settled softly between you. Steve stayed quiet, letting you continue.
“And I liked it. A lot,” you admitted, a small smile touching your lips. “And it… it made me realize something.”
Steve sat up a little straighter now, more careful. “What… what do you mean?”
You hesitated for a second, your fingers twisting nervously in the blanket and then, you finally looked him in the eyes. “I think I’m ready.”
His forehead creased. “Ready for what?”
Your heartbeat quickened. But strangely, you weren’t scared anymore.
“To be a mom,” you said softly.
The room fell completely silent. Steve blinked once, then twice, like he genuinely hadn’t expected those words.
You looked down briefly before continuing. “For a long time, I thought that part of my life was over.” You swallowed. “But taking care of Charlie yesterday felt... so natural. And good.”
A faint smile touched your lips as you remembered the previous day.
“I liked making him breakfast. Checking on him.” You let out a small breath. “Seeing him play baseball in the backyard with you.”
Your eyes found Steve's again.
“And… I want that.”
Steve still hadn’t spoken. You could practically see him trying to process your words.
“I want a family,” you finally admitted. “With you.”
Steve swallowed hard. The shine in his eyes made your chest ache. Slowly, his hand reached across the blankets until his fingers found yours.
“You sure?” he asked gently. “Because we don’t have to rush anything. We can wait if—”
You nodded immediately, squeezing his hand. “I’ve never been more sure.”
You took a deep breath.
“Maybe we can’t be what Charlie needs,” you said quietly. “But there are so many kids out there like him.” Your voice softened. “Kids who just… need someone. And we could be that for one of them. Give them a better life, you know.”
Your fingers tightened around Steve’s. You hesitated for a moment, then finally said it.
“I’d… I’d like to adopt, Steve.”
For a second, he just stared at you, completely still.
Your stomach twisted.
“Say something, please,” you whispered, suddenly nervous. “What… what do you think?”
He brought your hand to his lips, pressing a slow kiss against your knuckles.
“I think,” he said softly, voice rougher now, “every time I convince myself there’s no possible way I could love you more…” His thumb brushed gently over your hand. “You somehow give me another reason.”
Your eyes stung instantly, your breath caught. “Steve…”
“No, seriously.” He shook his head slightly. “You have no idea how much I love you right now.”
He leaned forward without hesitation, wrapping his arms around you and pulling you into him.
“And you’re going to be an incredible mom,” he whispered against your hair.
A watery laugh escaped you. You lifted your head just enough to look at him, smiling. “And you’re going to be the best dad.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
His forehead rested gently against yours as his hand came up to cup your cheek.
“Let's do it. Let’s adopt.”
Tears threatened to spill. “Really?”
Steve let out a quiet laugh.
“Really.”
Steve kissed you, slowly, carefully. Like the moment deserved to be held onto for as long as possible.
-
Two years later
The afternoon sun spilled across the porch, warm against your bare legs as you sat in the wooden chair Steve had built for you the previous summer. A sketchbook rested on your lap, your pencil moving lazily across the page.
You weren't drawing anything in particular, just pieces of the moment unfolding in front of you.
The yard.
The dog.
And the baseball game currently unfolding across the grass.
King barked excitedly as he tore after the ball that had no intention of being caught by a dog. He missed it entirely, skidded through the lawn, and immediately tried again as though nothing had never happened. A boy sprinted after it, nearly tripping over his own feet before recovering at the last second.
You smiled to yourself.
"That one didn't count!" he shouted.
"It absolutely did," Steve called back.
The boy groaned dramatically while Steve looked entirely too pleased with himself. You laughed softly and shook your head.
Some things never changed.
The competitive streak Steve brought to absolutely everything was apparently hereditary. Or contagious. You still hadn't decided which.
Steve tossed the ball into the air before catching it again.
"Ready?"
The boy narrowed his eyes suspiciously.
“No. You’re cheating."
“I’m winning,” he said, throwing the ball anyway.
The boy managed to hit it this time, the crack of the bat echoing across the yard. His face lit up immediately.
It still amazed you sometimes.
The first time he had stepped into your house, every word had seemed dragged out of him. He had spoken cautiously, as though every sentence needed permission before leaving his mouth. Now he laughed loudly and argued confidently.
Steve grinned. “There you go! Nice job, buddy."
The kid turned toward the porch. "Mum! Did you see that?”
Mum
The word still caught you off guard sometimes. Not because it felt wrong, it was quite the opposite actually. It felt so natural now that it was hard to remember a time when it hadn't.
Your eyes met his.
Your son.
“I did," you called back. “That was a good hit, well done!”
The boy looked pleased with himself.
Your chest warmed.
You never would have imagined this.
You and steve hadn’t been parents yet.
And Charlie had still been someone else's child.
But then everything had changed.
Charlie had lost his mother only a few months after you and Steve had finally decided to adopt. The grief that followed and the months afterward hadn't been easy. There had been lawyers, court hearings, social workers and many questions. But eventually, after months of waiting, the judge had signed the papers and Charlie had finally come home. This time not as a guest.
But as your son.
And now you were finally a family. Not the one you had imagined years ago but the one that had been waiting for you instead.
A sudden movement pulled you from your thoughts. Your hand settled automatically over the curve of your stomach as you looked down, a smile spreading across your face.
Even now, months after finding out, part of you still couldn't quite believe it. After everything that had happened, after making peace with the possibility that it might never happen, life had found a way to surprise you again.
You felt another kick. This one stronger as if she was demanding attention.
You laughed under your breath. "Well, hello to you too."
A moment later you heard the familiar creak of the porch boards and Steve appeared beside your chair.
"You okay?"
You nodded and reached for his hand, placing it gently against the curve of your stomach. Right on cue, your daughter kicked again.
Steve’s face softened immediately. "There you are, princess,” he murmured, as though he were greeting someone already familiar.
You watched him for a moment. The man who had once brought home a scared little boy because he couldn't bear the thought of leaving him alone. The man who had become a father long before either of you realized it.
Out in the yard, Charlie was already growing impatient.
“Dad!”
The word made Steve glance up instantly. “Yeah?”
“Are we playing again or are you tired already?”
Steve looked back at you, looking deeply offended. “Did you hear that? No respect around here."
You laughed. "Go save your reputation, coach."
He leaned down and pressed a kiss to your forehead before heading back toward the grass where Charlie was impatiently waiting for him, bat resting on one shoulder and King circling excitedly around both of them. The afternoon sunlight wrapped around the three of them as they disappeared into another argument about baseball. You rested a hand over your stomach and watched.
Your husband.
Your son.
The life and the family you were building together.
Years ago, you had thought some dreams were gone forever. That you would never be a mother. Now, surrounded by the people you loved most, you realized that sometimes life gave you a different ending than the one you had initially imagined.
And sometimes, somehow, it turned out even better.
pairing: travis ‘teacake’ meacham x single mom!reader
summary: you hadn’t slept with your boyfriend yet, yes you had been dating for a few months but you were honestly too scared. you hadn’t had sex since before your daughter was born, things were different and travis was gorgeous. but he’s also determined to show you just how beautiful you are to him
warnings/tags: smut, fluff, comfort, little bit of angst??, couple’s first time together, reader hasn’t had sex in a long time so she’s nervous af, oral (f receiving), body worship??, nipple play (like a smidge), creampie, p + v, unsafe sex, mention of having kids some day, travis has a big dick, squirting, beginning of the fic has some fluff with the kid, mention of breasts, vagina, etc, reader is insecure about her mom body and travis fucking loves it, description of said mom body, reader hates her body bad
wc: 6.9k
divider: x
a/n: this is my first time posting smut, i’m honestly so scared and spent so much time working on it. i hope it’s not horrible!! i’ve read this so many times i don’t think there’s any typos or mistakes but if there are yolo at this point. this is technically part 2 of this fic but can also be read as a stand alone. once again a huge thank you to my dear @bairdbesson for her help always always always.
likes, rb, replies etc are always encouraged🩷
It had been about three months since you started dating Travis, three months of giggles and butterflies in your stomach. You felt like a kid again, which was quite an achievement, considering most of your time together was spent with Lucy. Travis never complained; it never bothered him. He did things on your terms, and he understood that a mom would be busy a lot. So instead of trying to force you to just dump Lucy off at the nearest babysitter, he wanted her involved, he wanted to make your days easier in any way that he could. It meant more to you than he could ever imagine.
There was one thing you hadn't done with Travis yet, something that you were both terrified about and also dying to do. You hadn't slept with him.
Sex was a touchy subject, it had been over two years since you slept with anyone, the last person being Lucy's dad. You knew your body could look worse, but you weren't exactly happy with it, you were extra self conscious about showing it to Travis for the first time. Not to mention it was hard to have the alone time, you wanted to do it right, wanted both of you to be as loud and take as long as you want. Obviously, with a toddler in the apartment, things were a little tricky.
After putting Lucy to bed one night, you and Travis quickly move from cuddling and lazy kisses to full blown making out. Messy open mouthed kisses, as his tongue dominates yours, exploring your mouth. Your fingers tangle in his soft hair, tugging him towards you as if he can get any closer while you sit in his lap. His hand just began moving up your thigh when a loud wail comes from down the hall.
You pull away quickly, shifting off of Travis's lap so you can get off the couch.
He's up before you are, already turning on the light in the hallway as you stand behind him.
"I can get her—" you start to protest but your boyfriend gives you a quick kiss, smiling as he pulls away.
"You do enough honey pie…just give me five minutes and I'll be back." The warm light from the hallway casts a golden glow on his hair, "Then we can continue where we were." He says with a final wink before making his way to Lucy's room.
With a hesitant sigh, you sit back down on the couch. "Okay, okay." mumbling to yourself as you grab your phone off the arm of the couch. You weren't used to this kind of help, it made you a little antsy to not go and tend to every cry Lucy made.
You didn't want to get too comfortable just yet, not that you didn't trust Travis but you knew your daughter, and as helpful as he is he'd have to be a miracle worker to soothe her back to sleep in under five minutes on the first try.
"Hey Monkey Lu, what's the matter?" He coos. a soft smile curling up the ends of your lips as you hear him echo on the monitor.
"You look awfully scared, did you have a bad dream?" Travis keeps his voice soothing and light, you can hear the mattress creek as he picks her up.
Apparently your boyfriend is a miracle worker, in less than five minutes Lucy's cries stop, and the only thing you can hear are Travis's sweet whispers.
You quickly get lost on your phone, scrolling through post after post until a whispered "hey" catches your attention.
What you see when you look up should've made you roll your eyes and scold him, but instead you couldn't help but smile.
Travis stands in the entry way, the hall light casting a warm orange shine off his earring, his cheek gently resting on top of your daughter's messy bedhead as she snoozes on his chest.
"Sorry doll, we'll have to continue later." a sheepish grin resting on his face as he slowly makes his way to the couch.
You groan, playfully rolling your eyes. "If I had known my kid would've interrupted our makeouts this much, I never would’ve introduced you two."
A quick dramatic gasp leaves Travis's lips, looking at you with feign horror, "But look at her!"
"Look at me!" you pout, batting your eyelashes. His eyes move back and forth between you and your sleeping angel on his chest, this man was going to make your heart explode you just knew it.
Travis smiles down at you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders, pulling you close. "How can I say no to a mini you?"
You lay your head on his shoulder, brushing your fingers gently through Lucy's curls. You were always told she was your mini me, it made you feel proud, it actually made you appreciate your own features because you saw them differently now. It was also a bit of a relief that she didn't resemble her father, that was one face that you were happy to never have to see again.
The warmth from Travis engulfs your body as you sat there curled into him as best as you could, you take in every detail of his face as he watches whatever old sitcom played on the tv. His honey brown eyes you love so much, one of the first things you noticed about him, aside from his hair and the 'howdy' tattoo on his neck that always makes you giggle. His nose is prominent, easy to kiss, or boop with your finger as you love to do. He laughs softly over something on the tv, his face lighting up into a smile…that damn smile, the same one that makes your heart flutter every time you saw it. You couldn't believe he was yours, regardless of everything that you thought would've made him give up…he stays.
Slowly you lift your head, gently kissing his cheek, jaw, and then neck feeling the goosebumps form under your lips.
"What are you—?" He began, careful of moving too quickly and waking up Lucy.
"Shh…" you hush, continuing to kiss his jaw, each kiss lasting a little longer, a little more tongue playfully swiping at the stubble.
Travis sighs, "Okay okay…" pulling his arm away and getting up from the couch as you grin, "I'll put her back."
About a week later, you decide it was finally time. Despite feeling terrified, there was an opportunity for your friend to take Lucy overnight and you knew you to take advantage of a rare free night. So, you and Travis planned a proper date, which had become a rarity since he met Lucy. You didn't mention the sex part to him; you were honestly too nervous. In your mind, it was a given when you asked if he wanted to spend the night.
Travis had carefully picked the perfect restaurant, a nice neighborhood bistro that was the right balance of upscale enough to feel special, yet relaxed enough that it felt comfortable for both of you. All you had to do was be ready and dolled up for when he arrived at your door, and boy were you ever.
His jaw actually drops when you open the door, revealing the flowing sundress that perfectly hugs your body in all the right places, made of soft chiffon that fluttered with every movement. Perfect for a breezy spring evening like this.
“Wow…" he mutters, swallowing hard as he struggles to keep his gazing from lingering too long on your legs, which were accentuated by the dress and lit by the cotton candy sunset behind him. You could feel the heat rise to your chest as his eyes explore every nook and cranny of your figure.
"A good wow I hope?" you tease, giggling at how quickly he nodded.
"God, yes!" he blurts out, a wide grin spreading across his face.
Everything about the night was incredible, Travis couldn't keep his eyes or hands off you, and it really made you feel good about. His lips found the crook of your neck, sending a shiver through your body as you fumble with the key to unlock your door. You stumble inside, his strong hands gripping your waist and flipping you around so that his lips meet yours in a passionate kiss.
With a swift motion, he kicks the door shut with his foot, then gently guiding you backwards to the couch. As your calves brush against the soft cushions, you sink down with a gasp, overwhelmed by the sensation. Travis had pulled back, then kneels down between your legs, which you spread open eagerly. One of his large hands rests firmly on your thigh as his tongue explores your mouth hungrily, deepening the connection and causing a warmth between your thighs.
You instinctely knew where this was heading and for once, you desperately wanted the voice in your head to shut up. Your desire to be with him was overwhelming, you longed to sleep with him, to feel him close. God, how much you wanted that. Gently your hand lays flat on his chest, pushing just a little, as the two of you pull apart for air. Travis looks up at you, his pupils so blown his eyes almost look black. Your eyes drifting downward, they settle on his swollen lips, your lipstick leaving a smudge of color lingering at the corner of his mouth.
"C-can we go to the bedroom, please? If that's okay with you?" His voice sounds so small it makes your heart ache, like he's scared for some reason you'd say no.
You swallow hard, nodding. "Please…" you whisper faintly, feeling your stomach plummet to the floor. Travis cups your face with one hand, his thumb gently brushing a lock of your hair behind your ear before pressing his lips to yours again. This time, the kiss is so soft, so…chaste, like a fragile promise.
Gently, you take his hand, feeling the roughness of his palm as he responds with a tight squeeze before he gets up off the floor. You lead him into your room, where the bed seems to mock you, when was the last time this mattress was used for anything besides sleeping? Nervously, you begin to chew on your lip as Travis presses his lips into your neck, his fingers tugging cautiously at the silver zipper on your dress.
You think of all the women he's been with—whether they're around your age, younger, or even older. Most probably had little responsibility to anything besides themselves, working their various jobs. Their bodies remain otherwise flawless because they didn't grow a baby. No man had seen your naked body except doctors, which is a completely different situation.
Quickly, you turn to face Travis, your movement causing his hand to slip away from the zipper. Taking a deep, steadying breath, you look into his eyes, dark with hunger and desire. "Why don't you go into the bathroom…I, uh, need to get ready, okay?" you ask, aiming for a calm, seductive tone, disguising your nervousness and the urge to throw up all over your pretty dress.
His eyebrow arches slightly, eyes reflecting a glint of mischief. "Of course, baby. Whatever you need," he replies, his voice smooth and reassuring.
As soon as you heard the bathroom door click shut, you begin to scurry around your room, your heart beat pounding faster with each step. You quickly turn off the overhead light, and instead switching on a small bedside lamp that cast a dim glow that you were more comfortable with.
Your hands tremble as you wrestle with the zipper that ran vertically between your shoulder blades. The last thing you wanted was to call Travis back in just to unzip your dress, only to come up with some weak excuse for why he couldn't simply just take the dress off for you.
Your mind wandering to the thought of his warm, gentle hands sliding over your bare skin, lips pressing softly against the crook of your neck as he carefully eased the dress down your frame. You couldn't remember the last time a man's touch had made you feel so alive, the thought of Travis touching you like that, of him exploring your body with such reverence, made your desire flare and pool between your thighs.
God, you wanted him.
A deep breath you hadn't even realized you were holding, pushes out of your lungs. Your fingers successfully find the zipper, gripping it firmly. You sigh with relief as you feel it glide down, the metal teeth pulling apart.
Quickly, you push the dress down to the floor and step out of it, grabbing it like a wad of material and flinging it over the back of a nearby chair. Earlier, you had purposefully picked this matching lingerie set, it's simple but one of your favorites, almost always making you feel good about yourself. Your eyes catch sight of your reflection in the nearby mirror, it feels like someone knocked the air right out of you.
You look at yourself carefully, the stretch marks on your soft belly, the faint silver lines on your breasts, the way your thighs still lack the toned definition they once had, your belly still bears a slight roundness, which at this point you've unfortunately just accepted as your new normal. You hate it. You despise everything about it. The anger it sparks inside you makes your chest tighten, you hate yourself for feeling this way.
So instead of leaving the lingerie on for Travis, you peel it off, squeezing your eyes shut as you caught sight of your reflection in the full length mirror again, You grimace, God. you needed to get rid of this fucking thing. You felt disoriented, unsure of how to sit or lie down, how to pose casually enough for when you call your boyfriend to come back. The mirror seems to mock you, the distorted image of yourself making tears well in your eyes. This was not how you wanted the night to go, you just want to enjoy yourself without these intrusive thoughts loudly echoing in your mind.
As a last resort, you slide under the soft sheet of your bed, pulling it up over your chest, and flick off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness. You could feel the cold sweat glistening on your skin, your could hear the pound of your heart. "O-oh okay, I'm ready!" you call out faintly, wincing at the crack in your voice.
When the door swings open, a sudden rush of nerves makes your stomach tighten. The nightlight in the bathroom casting light on his strong frame. You could see he was only in boxers, the fabric clinging to his hips, highlighting the muscles in his thighs. Your eyes trace slowly upward, taking in his toned arms, his chest dusted with dark hair that was still visible. His presence was captivating, so much so that your gut twisted into a knot, a mixture of desire and anxiety.
Travis pauses and squints his eyes, trying to adjust to the sudden darkness of the room. "Honey pie?" he calls out softly, tilting his head as he looked around. "I can't even see the bed, where are you? Why ya hidin'?"
His voice sounds so sweet and caring, and you could just imagine the furrow of confusion creasing his brow. You open your mouth to respond, but no words came. Instead, a small, pathetic whimper slips out as you cover your face with your hands.
A soft click of a switch sounds nearby, and you know that Travis has found the switch for the lamp. A gentle light begins to spread across the room. His eyes immediately flicker toward you, noticing how you're tucked under the thin sheet, trying to hide. For a moment, he assumes you're doing this to tease him about what he's about to see. His gaze lingers on the shadowy outline of your naked body, and he can't help but salivate at the sight of your curves
"There's my baby…" he mutters softly, his voice husky and low, causing your thighs to squeeze together despite the slamming of your heart in your chest.
He stands over you, his hand gentle but steady as it reaches out to grab the edge of the sheet, slowly beginning to pull it down. You tighten your grip on the fabric, a rush of nerves flooding through you. "G-get the lamp," you stammer, your voice trembling as you kick yourself for the hesitation, noticing how his eyebrows knit together in confusion and concern.
"I wanna see you, sweetheart. You're teasin' me like crazy, hidin' under there," he murmurs softly, a playful smile lingering on his lips. Yet, his eyes, fill with tenderness, softening as he looks at your face, searching for some indication for how you're feeling.
Tears well in your eyes, shame tinting your cheeks and shadowing your features. "I-I thought I c-could do this…" your voice soft and cracking with each word.
You watch as Travis presses his lips into a deep frown, concern flickering in his eyes. "Do what, muffin?" he whispers, leaning over you, his hand lightly tracing the curve of your side.
Taking a deep breath, you try to blink the tears away before you speak again. "I got undressed…h-hid under the blanket…and now I-I'm too ashamed to show you.." you whisper, tears stream down your face as you clutch the frayed end of the sheet, unable to bear looking him in the eye.
"Ashamed of what?" Travis asks softly, tilting his head with a concerned frown. His brow furrows as he studies your trembling form, genuinely confused and scared he might have pushed you into something you didn't want.
Bringing your hands to your face, you take a shaky breath. "M-me…" you whimper, voice cracking as sobs wrack through your body. This was not how you wanted tonight to go, not at all. You thought you could handle this.
Travis's heart aches visibly as he looks at you, verging on the edge of tears just from hearing how harshly you feel about yourself. You were truly beautiful, he hadn't even seen you completely naked, yet he knew you were the only girl he could ever want.
He sits down on the edge of the bed, the mattress softly dips under his weight. His hand gently slides over the cool sheet and rests on your belly, warm and reassuring in his touch. To him, it feels like a simple, tender gesture until he notices the way your muscles tense beneath his fingertips.
"Oh sweetheart…" he coos, moving his hand from your stomach to gently hold your wrists. He lowers your hands so he can cup your cheek, his thumb carefully catching the tears that slide down your face.
A loud sob rattles out of you, wrenching through your body as you squeeze your eyes shut to block out the world. "I don't look like other girls. My body is disproportionate, my stomach isn't flat like it used to be…there's stretch marks, dips a-and-" struggling to speak through your crying. Your breath hitching, you gasp, unable to control your tears.
When you meet his gaze, you're taken aback by how large and glassy his eyes are, as if what you're saying is piercing his very soul, breaking his heart.
You take a deep, quivering breath and try to continue. "No one has seen me, like this since I got pregnant," you whisper, your voice hoarse. "And I know I don't look like all the other girls you've slept with." You pause to draw another shaky breath, locking eyes with him, "It's not pretty…like it used to be. My boobs are shot, my stomach is—" little whimpers and hiccups slip out as Travis briefly interrupts you with a delicate, lingering kiss against your lips. He pulls away just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
"Don't say those things about yourself, sweetheart. You're beautiful, absolutely, mind blowingly beautiful." He looks at you earnestly, each word leaving his mouth in a firm but careful tone, his eyes locking onto yours. He means every single word he says, not just saying it to make you happy but because he truly believes it. "You amaze me every day, you're the strongest person I know. You're stunning, the prettiest thing I've ever seen." His hand cups your cheek again, thumb brushing your skin, ensuring your eyes stay fixed on him. "I don't give a fuck what other girls look like. You're here right now, with me, and I am dying to show you just how beautiful you are, inside and out."
His words sit heavy on your chest, as you let out another sob, staring up at him while you try to blink away the tears.
Travis frowns, leaning over to softly kiss the tears away. "Sweet baby, your body has made and pushed out another human; that's nothing to be insecure about.". He presses kisses on each of your cheeks, then on your nose, and finally against your lips. "Lemme see, honey girl. I wanna remind you…"
His voice is calm and soothing, not pressuring or seductive, but soft and understanding. It makes you feel vulnerable, with an overwhelming warmth spreading in your core. Your hands instinctively find his soft, blonde hair, fingers tangling in the curls as you press your lips to his again. This one is different, its hungry, filled with want and need.
Travis gently breaks the kiss just as his hand reaches out to touch the smooth sheet. ""Is it okay?" he asks, voice still soft, waiting for your permission. Taking a deep, steadying, breath you nod, closing your eyes as you feel him delicately peel back the fabric.
"Oh baby," he mutters, in shock. For a second, a wave of panic rises within you and you momentarily panic. "Oh my God…oh my God…oh my God…" he moans…actually moans as his large hands touch your hips, then slide up your waist, over your belly, and settling on your breasts. He presses several kisses onto the valley of your chest before his eyes flash up to your face, "Open your eyes sweetheart."
When you do, his warm loving eyes lift, brimming with tender adoration, as if you're a cherished piece of art.
"Absolutely breathtaking." Travis whispers, a sweet smile spreading across his lips.
His knee nudges your legs apart as he lowers himself down. He groans when he sees how wet you are, pussy glistening in the dim light.
"Baby, when did you get this wet? Was it my words?" He asks, as his fingers massage into your plush thighs.
You smile shyly, slowly nodding as your hands go up to your face again, "That and when I was waiting for you…thinking about what you were gonna do to me when you saw me, and then I panicked."
Travis moves up again, his eyes are a mix of love, longing, and deep sadness. "Baby, I'm obsessed with you. I cant even begin to—fuck baby…"
His gaze wanders down your body, taking in every curve, every inch. You blush so hard that heat blossoms on your cheeks.
Travis chuckles, eyes twinkling with amusement as he leans down to kiss your cheek once more. "Turnin' all pretty and pink on me." he teases warmly, his voice a smooth whisper against your soft skin. The unexpected comment making you giggle, and he follows with a kiss on your nose, then your lips before effortlessly moving back down again.
"You were worried about your boobs? Babydoll, these are…" Pressing a slow, lingering kiss against each one, tongue swiping at your nipples, making you sigh. "Incredible, I'm comin' back here later."
Next, his hands gently touch your belly, fingertips softly caressing the supple skin as he traces the faint stretch marks that map your abdomen. He leaves sloppy open mouthed kisses across your plush flesh, warm and lingering. “This belly grew that beautiful baby," his words softly tremble, bringing tears to your eyes again. "This was her home." he whispers reverently, leaving one last tender kiss, before moving down between your legs.
Your breath hitches as you feel the heat of his breath hitting your core, sending shivers up your body. He bites his lip, jaw clenching tight, groaning softly as his eyes darken with lust.
"And this…this pretty pussy, fuck baby." He leans in, kissing the top of your mound right above your swollen clit. "This is not only the prettiest I've ever seen, but also the strongest." He coos, his thumbs gently caressing your inner thighs.
You feel yourself clench around nothing as you whine softly, he's right he’s truly making you feel beautiful…and undeniably horny.
"I get why someone got you pregnant, this addicting body." He smirks, eyes still locked on your dripping pussy.
You roll your eyes but can't hide a smile as you squint down at him, "Hey, don't get too crazy…not doing that for a while."
Travis lifts his head up quickly, eyes wide. "So you're saying it's in the cards?"
Giggling, you nudge him playfully with your knee. "We'll see how good you make me feel…"
He lowers his head back down, a devilish grin across his face. You can feel his nose lightly nudge against your clit, a soft whimper leaving your lips as you struggle to hold back, resisting the urge to buck your hips against his face.
His tongue drags slowly down your slick folds, exploring every crease with deliberate strokes before darting in and out of your opening. Your whines grow louder, a trembling emotion in the back of your throat as your hands tangle in his hair. He laps up the arousal that's seeping out of you and directly entering his mouth. He moans, lips vibrating against you as you feel him pull you closer.
"T-Trav..need more…" You whimper, and that seems to trigger a reaction inside him. His tongue moves faster, tasting and exploring as he works diligently. His spit and your fluids mingle, spreading all over his face before he takes your clit between his lips.
A passionate cry leaves your lungs, as your hips buck against his face. "S-so good…oh fuck…so good." You moan, your back arching off the mattress as his hands explore every inch of your body, warm and firm against your supple tits and belly. A reminder of his presence and intense obsession with you courses through the moment. Tears prickle at your lash line as the pressure rises in you, you swear you start to see stars.
Travis groans, his voice muffled as he whispers, "So sweet…so beautiful." He slides a finger inside, curling it just right to hit your most sensitive spot, causing you to moan so loud you're convinced the neighbors must have heard.
"Want another, baby?" He asks, tongue swirling around your clit fast enough to make you stop abruptly and gasp for breath.
"Please!" you cry out, nodding frantically as you feel a second thick finger stretch and fill you, the sensation intense and precise in all the right ways.
It doesn’t take long before you lose control, succumbing to his tongue, your body trembling and thighs quivering around his head. You cry out his name, feeling yourself clench around his fingers as you soak his chin and hand. Travis laps up every drop, drinking you down with loud greedy slurps as you writhe under him. He moans against your sensitive clit, the sound vibrating through you as he lick you clean, making you whimper and jolt through the aftershocks. You hadn't even noticed Travis had been rutting against the mattress this whole time.
Your body shivers as you pant breathlessly, coming down from your high, the rush gradually fading as your muscles relax. Travis moves back, but not before pressing a soft kiss against your clit before moving up. Your head rolls back against the pillow as he kisses up your body, burying his slick covered face against your belly and then chest.
He's painfully hard, feeling the way his cock strains against his boxers on your thigh but what he says next astonishes you.
"That was just day one baby, I don't wanna overwhelm you." he hums, "Wanna take it slow."
Your eyes fly open, looking at him in disbelief. "You're not gonna fuck me?"
He smirks, giving you a little wink, and then slots his lips firmly against yours, the warmth of his mouth making your belly flutter. You moan in to it, letting his tongue slip past your lips, tasting yourself on him. He pulls away suddenly, just as your fingers hook under the waistband of his boxers.
"We need to take it slow, its been so long, you're sensitive." Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his lips grazing your forehead.
You whine, crossing your arms tightly over your chest in a huff. You're touched by how sweet he is, considering the pain caused by the tent in his boxers, but you're also pissed off. The sexual frustration makes you want to scream. You need him desperately, craving the feeling of him deep inside you, stretching and filling your pussy completely.
The mattress shifts as Travis stands up, his feet shuffle across the carpet as he begins to walk toward the bathroom. Your hand quickly shoots out to catch his forearm, stopping him before he got out of your reach.
"No way, mister!" you call out, causing him to spin around, eyes wide in shock.
"Honey, it's been so long I don't want to—" he starts, but soon you cut him off.
You lean up on your elbows, breath shallow as the heat between your thighs screams for attention. "Travis," you say, trying to sound as calm as possible, but your voice wobbles. "I need you…I need you really, really bad." The words escape in a whimper, and tears start to gather in your eyes. You need him.
He freezes, expression softening into an empathetic look. Slowly, he reaches out to put a hand on your cheek. "I don't wanna hurt you, angel."
You wish you had a reply; you really wish you did, but you're desperate. "Travis…I. Need. You." pausing after each word, your eyes fixed on his. "And if you turn me down, you have one miserable night coming because if I wait one more second, I might explode."
With determination you shift on the bed, tucking your legs under yourself so you can kneel in front of him. You eyes grow wide and watery as you focus on him. They linger momentarily on the unmistakable outline of his cock against the stretched material of his boxers, then flick upward to meet his gaze.
"Travis…mama needs your cock, real bad." Sticking your lower lip out as you whisper a final plea. His wrist remains in your grasp as you gently guide it downward between your thighs, the air thickening with tension. A faint whine fills the room as you slide his finger through your soaked lips, "Need your thick cock.."
He shudders, eyelashes fluttering as he rubs the pad of his finger against your clit, you moan in a long exhale.
"Don't wanna hurt you." Travis mutters, you can see how conflicted he feels, your heart skips a beat.
You lazily ghost your lips over his neck, another whine leaving your lips, "You won't, you'll make me so happy…so full of you." you whisper seductively, as you nibble at the shell of his ear. "Unless you don't want that?" Pulling back just enough to look in his eyes, tilting your head to the side, pouting.
Travis shakes his head, swallowing hard. "No, no…I want that," he protests, desire flickering in his eyes. You lean closer to his neck, feeling the warmth of his sticky skin, and lightly drag your tongue over his pulse point, feeling it quicken.
Then laying back down, with a slow deliberate motion, your eyes never looking anywhere but at him. You spread your legs, looking at him with a playful smile. "Then take me…"
You weren't sure if you had ever seen a man pull his underwear off so quick, almost causing himself to stumble as he kicked them to the floor. You try not to giggle, biting your lip as you watch him crawl up the bed, toward you, his bare knee padding against the sheets.
His large cock rests against his stomach, you moan at the sight of his red tip dotted with precum that smears onto his happy trail with each movement. You bite your lip, hips bucking against air. "Oh fuck…I need you."
Grinning, Travis wraps his strong arm around you, his palm pressing steadily against your back as he pulls you closer. He takes his cock, sliding the tip through your slick folds, your juices smearing together on both of you. "Please…please…" you shudder, trembling under him as you grip onto his shoulders.
"Easy sweet thing, I got you." Travis coos, lips grazing over your skin as he leans down to drop a tender kiss to your forehead. His warm breath brushing softly against your skin as he slowly sinks into you.
You mewl, back arching as his thick cock stretches you. Each inch of him gliding against your walls just right as you gasp beneath him, gripping his shoulders. You moan sinfully as he stills for a moment, letting you adjust to the delicious stretch. "S-so big…need more." you sigh, nails scratching his back as you dig your heels into his waist, pulling him closer,
Travis chokes out a strangled groan, filling you to the hilt. He tightly grips onto the sheet, trying to keep the steady pace as he slow as possible he fucks into you. But you want more, you need more. "P-please…p-please hmmph Trav…need more." You cry pitifully, bucking your hips up against his.
He lets go of the sheet, finding your hand that had flopped next to your head. His fingers lace together with yours as he quickens the pace, grunting as his hips slam into yours. The wet sound of skin slapping fills the room, as Travis lets out a pleased hum. "Taking my cock so good baby…such a good girl…" he pants, squeezing your hand.
"S-so full," needy little whines leaving your parted lips with each thrust.
Travis nips at your neck, moving down to the skin by your collarbone, sucking on the sweet spot, and then running his tongue over it. "You're so tight…fuck." Pressing his forehead against yours, mouth hanging open, his breath ghosts over your lips.
You're stretching with each thrust, crying out while every grind of his hips catches his hair on your puffy clit. Pleasure pulsing quickly inside you, faster than it ever had before. "Travis, I-'gonna…fuck!"
The coil in your belly snaps, dissolving into toe curling pleasure. Eyes rolling back as your climax tears through your body. You tremble in his arms as your muscles tense, clinging to his back as your nails leave dents in his skin. His name rolls off your tongue in loud moans followed by a sharp gasp when you feel your release squirt out of you.
Travis digs his fingers into your hips, "Oh..my God..fuck." His babbles low and raspy, sending shivers down your spine. His eyes shut tightly, groaning in your ear, as your pussy clenches around him.
Once your haze fades a little, it dawns on you how quickly you came and a blush shrouds your face, "I'm…I-m sorry I came so f-fast, I just haven't done that in a while." you stutter, hiding your face in his neck.
Travis stops mid thrust, still deep inside you, holding off with a shaky breath. Eyes opening as he lifts his head up, gently rubbing his thumb against the spot he had been gripping.
"No, no, that's good baby, that's so good. I wanna make you feel good and that felt like you felt damn good." He chuckles, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder.
You pull away from his neck, still out of breath, face flushed. "You can finish in me." You whisper shyly and his eyes go wide.
"Ya sure?"
You nod, "I've been on the pill since Lucy, might as well make use of it."
Travis smashes his mouth into yours in a hungry, messy kiss, teeth clicking as his tongue swirls around yours. His thrusts begin again, rough, and sloppier than before, you can tell he's getting close.
Your fingers tangle in his hair tugging hard, feeling him snap his hips against yours. Panting out little whines every time his cock pulses against your sensitive g-spot, it feels intoxicating.
"You look so pretty…all fucked out…creaming all over me." Travis coos, looking down at where you're connected. Streaks of your cream coating his cock every time he draws back, you feel him twitching inside you.
"Wanna feel you cum in me," You whine softly, "Want you to fill me up…it's been so long Trav. Want you t'claim me."
The little pleads just egg him on, bringing him closer as he shudders out a broken moan, babbling your name as his hips lurch forwards, spilling inside of you with a low breathy growl. Some of his cum drips down his shaft, there's so much of it as he periodically jerks his hips, pushing more inside you just for it to spill back out.
You whimper, body trembling from the warmth as your mouth hangs open, "Fuck, Travis." feeling him smirk against your neck, a low groan rasping from his throat.
"So good, you took me so well, you were so good for me." his babble comes out a little hoarse as he comes down from his high. Breath uneven, his body limp, and boneless against you; making you feel safe.
"Evidently you needed some release too." You tease, twirling his hair around your fingers.
Travis's breath tickles your damp skin as he chuckles, a sigh leaving his lips. He pulls back just enough so he can look you in the eye, nose rubbing against yours. "You did so good for me honey pie." the gentle sound of his voice almost making you want to cry…again.
His lips slot against yours once more, weaving together slow tentative adoration as his hands explore your body. "Feel so good against me, feels so good to be inside you…feels so good to hold you."
Blinking away tears, you cup his face in your hand, "Thank you." you whisper, watching Travis smile wide. His thumbs rubbing up and down your ribs, holding you close to him like if he let go you'd disappear, and he can't have that happen.
The two of you stay in that deep embrace, Travis laying on top of you, head tucked under your chin in sweet contentment. Every few minutes he sprinkles kisses all over your jaw and collarbone, making you giggle.
Your eyelids gradually start to feel heavy under the warmth of his body, but you feel him start to stir. Whining as he pulls out, the emptiness aching more than the fullness did. Keeping your eyes shut you hear him pick his boxers up off the floor, followed by his feet padding against the carpet to head to the bathroom.
The next thing you know he's gently tapping your knee, making your eyes flutter open. He's standing over you with a lovesick smile on his face, a damp cool cloth held in his hand. Shining a sleepy smile, you spread your legs to let him clean you up. A whimper falls from your lips, making him freeze.
"I didn't hurt you did I?" He asks hesitantly, carefully searching your face for any sign of discomfort.
You smile, slowly blinking the sleepier you got. "No, no, its just been a long time and we…enjoyed ourselves a lot." Breaking out in a giggle, feeling so giddy it hammers in your chest and you love every bit of it.
Travis takes your hands and carefully pulls you up to a sitting position on the bed, picking up his t-shirt that was thrown on the floor earlier and slipping it over your head. The shirt was big and soft, wrapping your tired muscles in a sense of security.
You began to stand up, feeling your legs start to wobble once you put weight on them.
"Need my help?" He asks, arm instantly wrapping around your waist.
"I think I got it." Taking a small step as you slip out of his grasp, your legs feeling a little more like part of your body and a little less like jelly.
"But if you do need me-"
"You'll be the first to know." Turning to look over your shoulder before entering the bathroom, a smirk toying at your lips.
A soft sigh escapes your lips as you settle back into bed, pulling the cool sheets over your tired legs. Travis presses a tender kiss to the top of your head, lips lingering, as his arm instinctively pulls you closer.
You curl up comfortably against him, resting your head on his broad chest, the steady beat of his heart thumping in your ear.
"Thank you for being so good to me." you mumble, eyelids beginning to flutter, as the exhaustion begins to take over.
"Always." He whispers in return, his calloused fingers tracing soothing circles along your arm. The room is quiet and calm, the only sound is your shallow breath as Travis's warmth lulls you sleep.
pairing: steve harrington x reader x jonathan byers ٠࣪⭑ wc: 5.2k
summary: rooftop afterparty turns filthy when jonathan byers and steve harrington set their sights on you. one thing leads to another and you end up at their shared apartment, caught between them for a hot, messy night.
tags/warnings: 18+ ! MDNI ! smut, fem!reader, stonathan x reader, mmf threesome, polyamory, bisexual male characters, explicit sexual content, vaginal sex, oral sex, fingering, car fingering, public teasing, elevator makeout, creampie, unprotected sex, cum play, male/male kissing, male/male handjobs, alcohol use, slight exhibitionism, dirty talk, aftercare, established jonathan/steve friendship, sexual tension, friends to lovers, one night stand, consensual sex, fluffy smut
author's note: helloooo everyone !!!! been working on this fic for weeks and here it is :) it`s like the freakiest thing i've ever written but i've been yearning for these two since forever ... this fic is dedicated to my wife @djopuppy <3 enjoy !!!!
ao3
The city lights of New York City glitter like scattered diamonds against the night sky as you step out of a sleek black car. The premiere of Echoes in the Static still hums under your skin, an indie psychological thriller that left the festival crowd buzzing long after the credits rolled. You can still feel it in your bones: the flicker of the projector, the collective silence during the final hallway sequence, the way people sat frozen for half a second before applauding like they’d just woken up from a nightmare.
Your nightmare. Your film. Well, not technically yours. But your fingerprints are all over it. Every shadow, every ugly little pocket of darkness swallowing the corners of the frame. Every trembling light source. Every suffocating close-up. You spent months bleeding yourself dry over that cinematography, sleeping on editing room couches and living off cold brew and cigarettes while arguing with colorists at three in the morning.
And now your name sits there in the credits forever.
Tonight’s afterparty feels dangerous in the way success always does. Like if you let yourself enjoy it too much, something will come along and snatch it away.
The rooftop pulses with low conversation and expensive perfume. Jazz spills from a trio tucked near the far railing, all slow saxophone and lazy piano keys. String lights sway overhead in the warm spring wind, washing everyone gold and amber and beautiful enough to belong in movies themselves. Actors cluster near the bar pretending not to check whether photographers are catching their good angles. Producers laugh too loudly. Somebody from Variety is flirting with a costume designer beside a heater lamp.
You’re halfway through a glass of champagne when you spot him.
Jonathan Byers.
He’s standing near the elevator doors with his hands shoved awkwardly into his pockets, like he already regrets coming but is trying not to show it. Taller than you remember. Leaner, somehow. His hair’s longer now, curling slightly at the ends like he’s been too busy to cut it properly. Black button-down sleeves rolled to his elbows. Rings on his fingers you don’t remember him wearing before.
And Christ, he’s beautiful. Not in the polished Hollywood way everyone else here is beautiful. Jonathan looks real. Sharp edges and tired eyes and quiet intensity. The kind of man who notices things nobody else does. His eyes find yours across the terrace and immediately soften.
There it is. That shy little smile. You feel it low in your stomach before he’s even crossed the room.
“Hey,” he says once he reaches you, voice warm beneath the noise of the party. His gaze flickers over you like he’s trying not to stare and failing a little anyway. “Congratulations.”
You smile automatically, fingers tightening slightly around your champagne flute. “Thanks.”
“No, seriously.” He exhales a quiet laugh, shaking his head once. “The cinematography was insane. The hallway shots? Jesus. It felt like the walls were alive.”
You grin despite yourself. “That’s exactly what I wanted.”
“Yeah, well.” His gaze drifts over your face for half a second too long before he drags it away. “You nailed it.”
The compliment lands harder than it should. Maybe because Jonathan doesn’t bullshit people. Every word out of his mouth always sounds carefully chosen, like he means it or he wouldn’t say it at all.
“I didn’t know you’d be here,” you say, leaning one shoulder against the railing.
“Friend of a friend on lighting crew.” He rubs the back of his neck, visibly nervous now that the attention’s shifted onto him. “I wanted to see the final cut.”
“You liked it?”
“I think I’m gonna be thinking about it for weeks.”
Your laugh comes easier after that.
Conversation slips into place almost immediately, smooth and familiar. You talk lenses and lighting ratios and impossible shooting schedules. Jonathan tells you about a recent freelance photography gig shooting album covers for some post-punk band whose lead singer nearly set a couch on fire mid-shoot.
You tell him about the disaster of filming a subway sequence at four in the morning while the director had a nervous breakdown over continuity. Jonathan laughs quietly at that, eyes crinkling. God, his eyes. You notice the way they linger on your mouth when you talk. The way his fingers brush yours when he hands you a napkin. The way his voice lowers every time the conversation drifts away from work and toward something more personal.
“You look…” He pauses briefly, jaw tightening like he’s annoyed at himself for saying it out loud. “Really good tonight.”
Heat blooms through you instantly. “You clean up alright too, Jonathan.”
His ears go pink immediately. Cute. Dangerously cute.
“I’m gonna grab us another round,” he says eventually, lifting your empty champagne flute from your hand. His fingers linger for a second longer than necessary before he steps back. “Don’t disappear on me.”
“No promises.”
Jonathan gives you one last look before weaving toward the bar through the crowd.
And that’s when you notice him.
Steve Harrington.
He’s leaning against the polished bar like he owns the damn rooftop. Whiskey glass loose in one hand. Charcoal suit jacket pushed open. Tie abandoned entirely. Broad shoulders. Expensive watch. Stupidly perfect hair somehow surviving the wind. The kind of handsome that should honestly piss you off.
And the worst part? You know immediately that this is Steve. Not because you’ve met him before. You haven’t. But because Jonathan talks about him constantly.
Not in an obvious way. Jonathan would probably rather die than admit how often Steve’s name comes up in conversation. But over months of late-night phone calls and half-distracted conversations in editing suites and smoking outside bars after gigs, Steve Harrington has slowly become this weird recurring character in your life.
Steve said this. Steve did that. Steve burnt pasta again. Steve drove five hours to help him move apartments. Steve once started making dinner without asking, then left Jonathan a plate on the counter and didn’t mention it again.
Sometimes Jonathan talks about Steve like he’s infuriating. Sometimes like he’s family. Sometimes with this strange softness in his voice that always made you curious. And now here he is. Real.
Apparently it pisses Jonathan off that Steve exists tonight too, because the second Jonathan reaches the bar, Steve says something that makes Jonathan scowl immediately.
You can’t hear them from here, but their body language says enough. Steve’s grinning like an asshole. Jonathan’s glaring like he wants to throw him off the roof.
Interesting.
Steve notices you watching before Jonathan does. His eyes lock onto yours. And fuck. There’s something openly hungry in the way he looks at you. Not subtle. Not polite. Just immediate interest. Like he already knows exactly who you are.
Jonathan follows Steve’s gaze and catches you staring. He mutters something under his breath that makes Steve bark out a laugh.
Then both of them start heading back toward you.
Oh, this should be fun.
Steve reaches you first, naturally.
“Steve Harrington,” he says, extending a hand with an easy confidence that feels almost unfair. “Friend of this guy.” He jerks a thumb toward Jonathan without looking away from you.
You take his hand. Warm palm. Strong grip. “I gathered.”
“You say that like he talks about me too much.” Steve’s mouth curls into a grin immediately.
Jonathan nearly chokes on his drink. “Oh my God.”
Your eyebrows lift innocently. “Maybe a little.”
“Jesus Christ,” Jonathan mutters, rubbing a hand over his face. “Can we not do this?”
Steve looks delighted. “No, no, keep going. I’m invested now.”
You laugh into your glass while Jonathan glares at both of you like he regrets inviting himself into existence tonight.
The dynamic between them becomes obvious within minutes. They bicker constantly, but with the kind of rhythm only people deeply familiar with each other have. Steve interrupts Jonathan just to annoy him. Jonathan rolls his eyes so often it becomes almost affectionate.
And underneath it all, there’s something else. Something charged.
Steve touches Jonathan casually when he talks. Shoulder. Wrist. Lower back squeezing past him near the bar. Jonathan pretends to hate it every single time but never actually moves away.
You notice because of course you do. And judging by the way Steve catches you noticing, he knows you notice too.
The conversation loosens with every drink. Steve leans closer when he talks to you, knee brushing yours beneath the cocktail table. Jonathan gets quieter the drunker he gets, but somehow more intense too. His compliments stop sounding accidental.
“You shoot people in a way that feels intimate,” he tells you softly at one point, fingers tapping absently against the side of his glass. “Like the camera’s in love with them.”
Steve groans dramatically beside him, throwing his head back. “Jesus Christ, Byers. See? This is what I mean. You flirt like a nineteenth-century poet.”
Jonathan flips him off without missing a beat. “Eat shit Harrington.”
You laugh so hard champagne nearly comes out your nose.
And God, they’re both gorgeous. Steve all confidence and easy charm and restless hands. Jonathan all restraint and tension and eyes dark enough to drown in. The chemistry between the three of you thickens until it feels almost visible. Every glance lasts too long. Every touch lingers.
At some point Steve’s hand settles casually against the small of your back while Jonathan stands close enough that his shoulder brushes yours every few seconds. Neither of them moves away. Neither do you.
“You know,” you say eventually, tilting your head as you study them over the rim of your drink, “this is getting genuinely unfair.”
Steve smirks immediately, thumb still warm against your spine. “How so?”
“You’re both ridiculously attractive.”
Jonathan nearly chokes on his whiskey. Steve beams like he’s won something.
“I’m serious,” you continue, glancing between them. “I can’t decide which one of you I’d rather take with me.”
Silence.
Jonathan goes very still beside you. Steve’s expression changes instantly, not joking now. Something darker settling into his face.
Then slowly, casually, he says, “who says you have to choose?”
Jonathan stares at him. “Harrington.”
“What?” Steve shrugs, entirely too innocent. “I’m just saying. We’re all having a good time.”
“You are out of your fucking mind.”
“You telling me you haven’t thought about it?” Steve asks, one eyebrow lifting.
Jonathan opens his mouth. Closes it again.
Steve’s grin widens in real time. “Oh my God,” he says. “You have.”
“Shut up.”
You’re trying not to laugh now. Jonathan looks mortified. Steve looks thrilled.
Then Steve turns to you again, gaze dragging slowly over your face. “We could get outta here,” he says lightly, though his voice has gone rough around the edges. “Keep the night going somewhere less crowded.”
Your pulse skips. Jonathan watches you carefully from beside him. Not pushing. Just waiting.
“Only if you want to,” he says quietly. His voice is softer than Steve’s, steadier somehow, but it hits infinitely harder.
That does it. That careful softness in his voice. That look in Steve’s eyes. The electric tension stretching between all three of you like a wire seconds from snapping.
“Yeah,” you say.
Steve immediately pulls out his phone. “Holy shit. She said yes.”
“Don’t make it weird,” Jonathan mutters, already rubbing at his forehead.
“Dude you’re the one making it weird with this shy-nonchalant-mysteious thing going on, man.”
“Fuck you.”
“Hopefully later.”
“Harrington.”
You burst out laughing while Jonathan groans into his drink.
The ride down starts innocently enough. The rooftop elevator is almost empty this late into the night, all mirrored walls and dim golden lighting. The doors slide shut behind the three of you with a soft chime, sealing the noise of the party away instantly.
Silence settles. Heavy silence. The kind where everybody suddenly becomes hyperaware of breathing. Of hands. Of mouths.
Steve stands beside the control panel, phone still in hand after ordering the car. Jonathan’s near the back wall, whiskey-flushed and tense in a way that makes him look dangerously pretty.
And you’re standing between them. The elevator hums downward. Nobody speaks.
Steve breaks first, of course.
“Okay,” he says quietly, glancing between you and Jonathan. “I can’t do this.”
You barely have time to blink before he’s moving. One second there’s space between you. The next his hand is around your waist and his mouth crashes into yours hard enough to steal the air from your lungs. It’s not gentle. It’s heat and impatience.
You gasp against him and Steve takes advantage immediately, kissing you deeper with a rough little sound in his throat like he’s been thinking about this since the second he saw you across the rooftop. His body presses you lightly against the elevator wall. Big hands. Warm whiskey breath. The scrape of expensive suit fabric beneath your fingers.
“Fuck,” Steve murmurs against your mouth, almost laughing from disbelief. “Jesus Christ.”
You kiss him back harder. Somewhere beside you, Jonathan exhales shakily. You pull away from Steve just enough to look at him. Jonathan’s watching like he can’t decide whether to step in or lose his mind.
You make the decision for him. Your hand curls into the front of his shirt, tugging him forward.
Jonathan kisses completely differently. Slower at first. Tentative for all of half a second before restraint snaps clean in two. Then suddenly he’s kissing you like he’s starving. One hand cups your jaw carefully while the other grips your waist hard enough to wrinkle the fabric of your dress. He tastes like whiskey and nerves and something devastatingly soft underneath it all.
Steve stays pressed against your side the entire time. Watching. Breathing hard. His hand slides over your hip possessively while Jonathan kisses you deeper, and the feeling of both of them touching you at once nearly melts your fucking brain.
“Holy shit,” Steve mutters, voice low and wrecked.
Jonathan laughs quietly against your mouth, breathless. “You’re one to talk.”
Then Steve kisses you again. And somehow the three of you end up tangled together in the middle of the elevator, mouths colliding messily between laughter and heat and too much tension finally breaking loose. Steve’s hand cradles the back of your neck while Jonathan’s fingers curl around his wrist.
You feel the exact second the energy shifts. Subtle. Dangerous.
Your mouth parts from Steve’s just long enough to notice the way he’s looking at Jonathan now. Not joking. Not teasing. Something older lives there. Something buried deep. Jonathan sees it too.
The elevator keeps descending. Slowly, carefully, Steve reaches for him. Jonathan doesn’t pull away.
Their kiss starts softer than yours did. Almost hesitant. Then Steve grips Jonathan’s jaw and suddenly it turns hungry fast. Years of unresolved tension flare alive right in front of you. Jonathan makes this quiet wrecked sound into Steve’s mouth that feels almost too intimate to hear. Steve kisses him like he’s furious about how badly he wants him. Like he’s spent years pretending this didn’t exist.
Your back hits the elevator wall softly as you watch them lose themselves in each other for a few perfect seconds. Jonathan’s hand fists in Steve’s suit jacket. Steve’s thumb strokes across Jonathan’s cheekbone almost unconsciously. Beautiful. Achingly, terrifyingly beautiful.
The elevator dings.
The doors slide open with a soft mechanical whisper, spilling the three of you out into the cool marble lobby. Your lips are still tingling from the kiss, legs a little unsteady as Steve keeps one hand firm on your lower back and Jonathan stays close on your other side, his fingers brushing yours like he needs the contact to stay grounded.
The night air hits you the second you push through the glass doors onto the street.
The car Steve had already called is waiting at the curb. He doesn’t hesitate, just walks ahead like it’s the most natural thing in the world, opening the back door first and holding it there. “C’mon,” he says, glancing back at you both.
Jonathan goes in after a beat, still a little dazed, sliding into the far side of the backseat. You follow right after him, slipping into the middle, thighs pressed on either side as the space closes in around you.
Steve ducks in last, shutting the door behind him with a solid click, his hand briefly brushing your shoulder as he settles in on your other side.
The driver glances at you three through the rearview mirror. “Evening. Where to?”
Steve rattles off the address to their shared apartment in a casual tone, already leaning forward a little like he’s settling in for a chat. The car pulls smoothly into traffic.
You shift slightly in your seat, trying not to think too much about how little space there is between the three of you. That’s when your eyes catch the driver’s GPS screen. The route is already calculated. Ten minutes. It hits you almost annoyingly clearly.
Your dress has ridden up just enough that the cool leather seat kisses the backs of your thighs. Steve’s hand finds your knee immediately, innocent enough from the outside. Jonathan shoots him a warning look across you—sharp, dark brows drawn—but Steve just grins that easy, charming grin and starts talking.
“So, uh, how long you been driving nights in the city?” Steve asks the driver, voice light and conversational like he’s not currently sliding his palm higher up your thigh under the hem of your dress. “Must see some wild shit, right?”
The driver chuckles, launching into a story about a fare last week who tried to tip him in cryptocurrency. You barely hear it. Your heart is hammering against your ribs as Steve’s fingers trace slow, teasing circles on the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He’s subtle, barely moving, keeping his arm relaxed across the seat like he’s just resting it there. But every brush sends sparks straight to your core.
You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to keep your breathing even. Jonathan’s hand settles on your other thigh, possessive but still. He’s glaring at Steve again, a silent stop it in his eyes. But then his gaze drops to your face. Your parted lips, the flush creeping up your neck, and something shifts. His fingers tighten, then start moving too, mirroring Steve’s slow exploration but pressing a little firmer, higher.
Heat floods you. You’re already wet from the elevator, aching, and their hands are so close to where you need them. You shift in the seat, pressing your thighs together instinctively, but that only traps their fingers tighter against you.
Steve keeps talking, voice perfectly steady. “Yeah? Man, that’s crazy. I once got in an Uber where the driver was playing some loud ass classical music at like two in the morning. Didn’t even ask, just… went for it. Honestly kind of respected it.”
The driver laughs again, oblivious. Your hand grips the edge of the seat. Jonathan’s fingers slip under the edge of your panties first, brushing lightly over your slick folds. You stifle a gasp, turning it into a cough. Steve notices and smirks without looking at you, his own fingers joining, parting you gently and circling your clit with maddening softness.
“Everything okay back there?” the driver asks casually.
“Yeah, she’s fine,” Steve says smoothly, teasing a finger just inside you while he keeps eye contact in the mirror. “Long night, right babe?”
You swallow hard, throat dry. “Mhm. Just… tired.”
Jonathan leans in slightly, his fingers don’t stop. Two now, pressing deeper, curling just right while Steve focuses on your clit. The dual sensation is overwhelming. Steve’s thicker fingers, rougher calluses, Jonathan’s more precise, sensual strokes. You’re soaked, the wet sounds barely masked by the low hum of the engine and Steve’s endless chatter.
Steve turns his head toward you, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Hey, what was that shot you took at the bar earlier? The one with the orange twist? You liked that, right?” His voice is teasing, deliberately pushing you while his fingers move quicker. “Tell this kind driver how much you liked it.”
Your mouth opens, but only a shaky breath comes out. Pleasure coils tight in your belly, thighs trembling. Jonathan saves you, squeezing your thigh gently. “She liked the whiskey sour better,” he says calmly, voice low and steady.
Steve chuckles softly, but he doesn’t stop. Neither does Jonathan. Their hands work in tandem now. Steve rubbing firm circles on your swollen clit while Jonathan thrusts two fingers slowly in and out, curling against that spot that makes stars burst behind your eyes. You’re fighting every moan, nails digging into the leather seat, hips rocking minutely into their touch. The city lights streak past the windows in blurs of gold and red, but all you can focus on is the building pressure, the slick heat between your legs, the way both of them are rock hard against your sides. You can feel the outline of Steve’s erection pressing into your right thigh, Jonathan’s long length on your left.
By the time the car slows to a stop outside their building, you’re right on the edge, panting quietly through your nose. Steve pays and thanks the driver with a grin, then bolts out first, nearly tripping over the curb in his haste. Jonathan helps you out more gracefully, but his hand lingers on your waist, steadying you on shaky legs.
Steve is already at the building door, fumbling with his keys. They jingle loudly as he drops them once, twice, cursing under his breath. His cheeks are flushed, pants obviously tented. “Fuck—come on—”
Jonathan laughs, a low, warm sound that cuts through the night air. “Smooth, Harrington.” He steps forward, plucks the keys from Steve’s hands, and unlocks the door in one fluid motion. “Let’s get inside before you break something.”
The apartment is dimly lit by a single lamp when you all stumble in. Cozy, with a big sectional couch dominating the living room. Steve kicks the door shut behind you and immediately crowds you against the wall, mouth crashing into yours again. Jonathan presses in from the side, lips finding your neck, hands roaming.
But then Steve pulls back, breathing hard. “Bedroom. Mine.”
Jonathan’s hands pause on your hips. “No. My bed’s bigger.”
Steve groans. “Yours has those creepy horror posters everywhere. The one with the guy’s face melting? Not exactly mood-setting, man.”
Jonathan rolls his eyes, but there’s heat in them. “Your room smells like that cologne you drown yourself in and there’s that ugly picture of a car hanging on the wall. Who the fuck would have a framed photo of a car in first place?”
You laugh breathlessly between them, hands sliding up both their chests. “Living room,” you say breathlessly, grabbing Steve’s shirt and Jonathan’s wrist. “Couch. Right fucking now.”
Neither of them argues.
Steve let out a low chuckle, already shrugging off his jacket. “Bossy. I like it.”
Clothes come off in a messy, desperate rush. Steve’s jacket hits the floor. Your dress pools at your ankles. Jonathan yanks his shirt over his head, revealing that lean, beautifully toned torso. Steve’s fingers work his buttons open, exposing the dark hair on his chest and the tempting happy trail that disappears into his pants, inviting. When their erections spring free, your mouth waters—Steve’s is thick and heavy, flushed dark, while Jonathan’s is long, slightly curved, already leaking at the tip.
You don’t wait. You wrap a hand around each of them, stroking slowly, feeling the contrast in weight and texture.
“God,” you murmur, voice low and hungry. “So fucking hard…”
Steve groans, hips twitching into your fist. “You were so wet and beautiful in the car, baby. Couldn’t help myself.”
Jonathan leans in, kissing you slow and deep, tongue sliding against yours. “You looked so perfect.” he breathes against your lips.
Steve claims your mouth next, rougher, while Jonathan drops his head to suck on your nipple, teeth grazing just enough to make you moan. Their hands are everywhere. Steve’s thick fingers push back inside your soaked pussy, curling perfectly, while Jonathan’s thumb circles your swollen clit with devastating precision.
“Fuck—yes,” you gasp, head falling back. “Just like that—don’t stop.”
You stroke them faster, twisting your wrists, swiping your thumbs over their leaking heads. The sounds they make turn you on even more.
“Keep touching us like that,” Steve mutters against your neck, voice rough. “Your hands feel so fucking good.”
You glanced down, watching their free hands find each other. Steve wrapped his big hand around Jonathan’s erection, stroking him with slow, confident pumps focusing on the base while you worked on their heads. Jonathan did the same to Steve, twisting his wrist just right. The sight made you clench hard around Steve’s fingers.
“Shit, that’s so hot,” you breathed.
Steve kissed you hungrily, then turned his head to capture Jonathan’s mouth over your shoulder in a messy, heated kiss. You kept stroking them, thumbing over their leaking tips, while their fingers worked you open.
You dropped to your knees before they could stop you. You grin, breathless. “I want you both so bad… I can’t decide who to taste first.”
You sink to your knees between them, looking up with dark, eager eyes. You take Steve into your mouth first, stretching your lips wide around his thickness, then turn to Jonathan, taking him deeper, savoring the way his length curves against your tongue. You alternate between them, then press them close together, licking and sucking both erections at once in messy, filthy strokes.
Steve’s hand slides gently into your hair. “Fuck, baby… look at you. Such a greedy, perfect girl for us.”
Jonathan’s voice is rougher than usual. “You look so beautiful like this. Jesus.”
You hum around them, the vibration making both men groan. You keep going until they’re throbbing against your tongue, until their hips start twitching.
They pull you up before either of them finishes.
Jonathan lays you down on the couch first, spreading your thighs wide. He kisses his way down your body with aching reverence—stomach, hips, inner thighs—before his mouth finally finds your pussy. His tongue is broad and slow, licking long stripes through your folds before focusing on your clit. Two fingers slide inside you, curling just right.
You moan loudly, fingers threading through his hair. “Oh my god, Jonathan—”
Steve kneels beside you, kissing you deep and filthy. “Taste so sweet, don’t you, sweetheart? Let him make you come. I want to watch you fall apart.”
The orgasm crashes into you hard. Your back arches, thighs clamping around Jonathan’s head as you cry out, pulsing around his fingers. He doesn’t stop until you’re shaking and oversensitive, whimpering.
Then he positioned himself between your legs again, lining up. He pushed in slowly, inch by inch, stretching you perfectly.
“Fuck… you’re so tight,” he groaned, forehead pressed to yours. “You okay?”
“More,” you gasped, pulling him down to kiss you. “Fuck me, Jonathan. I need it.”
He started moving, deep rolling thrusts that hit every perfect spot. You moaned into his mouth, nails digging into his back.
After a while they switched. Steve flipped you onto your hands and knees, gripping your hips as he pushed inside. The stretch was bigger, deeper.
“Shit, baby,” he grunted. “You’re gripping me so fucking tight.”
You pushed back against him. “Harder, Steve. I can take it. Please.”
He did. One hand reaching around to rub your clit. Jonathan knelt in front of you, feeding you his cock. You sucked him eagerly, moaning around his length every time Steve thrust deep.
They leaned over you, kissing each other sloppily above your back, the wet sounds mixing with skin slapping and your muffled moans.
You came again hard, clenching around Steve’s erection while Jonathan’s length twitched on your tongue.
They moved you again, laying you on your side. Jonathan spooned you from behind, sliding back in with a low groan, kissing your neck and shoulder as he thrust deep and slow.
“You feel incredible,” he whispered against your skin. “So warm and wet. Taking me so well, baby.”
Steve faced you, kissing you deeply, his thick erection sliding against your clit with every movement until he couldn’t wait anymore. He pushed back inside you when Jonathan pulled out, rougher, gripping your ass.
“Come on, sweetheart,” Steve growled. “Give us another one. Let me feel you come on my cock.”
You were shaking, overstimulated and desperate. “I’m close—fuck, I’m so close—”
Jonathan reached between you, rubbing your already hypersensitive clit. “That’s it. Come for us, beautiful.”
You shattered again, crying out their names.
Finally, they put you on your back once more. Steve slid back inside you, groaning at how wet and open you were.
“Gonna fill you up, baby,” he panted, thrusting deep. “You want that? Want my cum deep in this pretty pussy?”
“Yes,” you moaned, nails digging into his shoulders. “Fill me up, Steve. Please.”
Jonathan stroked himself faster, leaning down to kiss you messily.
Steve came first, burying himself deep with a broken moan, flooding you with hot spurts. At the same time, Jonathan groaned, painting your breasts and stomach with thick ropes of cum.
The three of you collapsed together, breathing hard.
Steve kissed your forehead, then your lips, soft and sweet. “You were fucking incredible.”
Jonathan nuzzled into your neck from the other side. “You okay? We didn’t go too hard?”
“I’m perfect,” you whispered, smiling lazily. “I’ve never felt so good in my life.”
After a moment, gentle hands take care of you. Steve grabs a warm cloth and cleans you up carefully. Jonathan brings cold water from the fridge and makes you drink. Then they pull a soft blanket over all three of you on the big couch.
A couple of minutes later, Steve sat up slightly. “I’ll get her my shirt, wait” he said quietly.
Jonathan lifted his head. “Mine's softer. She should wear mine.”
Steve raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Yours is all wrinkled on the floor. Mine’s a nice dress shirt. It’ll be more comfortable for her right now.”
“It’s also stiffer,” Jonathan argued softly. “She needs something actually soft on her skin right now man.”
You let out a tired, amused laugh and tugged gently on both their arms. “You two are already fighting again… I kind of love it. But seriously, either shirt is fine. I just want to feel both of you close.”
Steve grinned. “See? She wants the nice shirt.”
Jonathan rolled his eyes but smiled. “She didn’t say that, but, man, whatever, Jesus… next time I’m picking first.”
“Next time?” you teased weakly, voice sleepy.
“Yeah,” they both answered at the same time, then looked at each other and chuckled.
Steve grabbed his button-down from the floor and helped you slip it on. It was big, warm, and still carried his scent. Jonathan tucked the blanket tighter around all three of you.
“Stay right here with us tonight,” Steve murmured, thumb stroking your cheek.
Jonathan pressed a soft kiss to your shoulder. “We’ve got you, baby. Get some sleep, yeah?”
Safe between their warm bodies, you drifted off with the taste of them still on your tongue.
author's note: i hope you enjoyed my fic ! If so, reblog, comment or share please 🫶🏻 it motivates me to write more !
pairing - travis “teacake” meacham x fem!reader wc- 4k
summary - travis “teacake” has been your dealer for awhile now, you’ve tried dropping hints for months but he never picks up on them. tonight you finally invite him inside to share.
c/w - smut! 18+, dealer!teacake, drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex, tit sucking, teacakes tip is pierced, porn w small plot
you’d been buying from teacake meacham for a few months now. every-time it was the same routine, it always started with a text to meet in some random discreet location. he’d pull up in his old burgandy sedan, the window already half-way down while some self help podcast played quietly on the speakers. teacake talked at a mile a minute the second you approached his car. he was always awkwardly chatty, the second you approached he would immediately launch into some random conversation like he couldn’t stand the silence that could potentially come. his yapping left you slightly bewildered and confused.
teacake was undeniably cute though. you’d been subtly flirting with him since he started selling to you, but he never seemed to pick up on it. you’d let your fingers linger on his, smile a little flirtier than necessary, tease him, and compliment him. but he’d always brush it off with some deflection and then dive into the next subject of conversation. sometimes you even tried to mention going to get food together or just a coffee if you picked up in the morning, but he either had to get to work or just said he wasn’t hungry. you started to assume he just wasn’t into you, he was your dealer after all.
tonight was different though. your car was in the shop at the same time that you needed a restock, so you asked teacake if he could show up to your place instead. it was a risky ask, but you trusted him enough, you’d seen enough of him to know he was mostly harmless.
the short and simple “omw” text came in almost an hour ago, and now you’re waiting for him to show up. standing on the front porch of your small house in the middle of some shabby suburban neighborhood.
the second his car arrived and the door opened, he was already talking. “hey. nice place, way nicer than i pictured- not that i pictured it, but- you know” he ran a hand through his hair to push it back. teacakes hair was long, and parted down the middle. he had dark roots and yellow-blonde waved hair, and he was wearing some faded white t shirt and black pants. he smelt of some cheap musky cologne and the typical familiar hint of weed.
you smiled as he approached “thanks.. thanks for coming all the way out here by the way, i appreciate it.”
“totally. of course.” he stepped up on your porch and pulled out two familiar bags. one halfway full of a pearly white powder, and one full of marijuana. “here you go. it’s uh.. on me tonight. consider it a house-call discount”
he seemed more fidgety than normal. maybe because of the setting. coming to your house was different than meeting in a dark parking lot, something about it felt intimate as you two stood on your porch out in the cold kansas night.
“on you? are you sure?” it took you off guard, you definitely looked surprised but pleased. you already had to pay for your car to get fixed, so you surely weren’t gonna turn down the opportunity for a free restock.
“totally sure. i mean, it’s not a big deal or anything… just felt like it. you’re one of my best customers.” he laughed a little embarrassed “that sounded like i have a lot of customers, i don’t. well, i do-“
you cut him off before he could ramble any more “i appreciate it, really.” you stood in silence for a few awkward seconds before you decided to take a chance. “do you wanna.. come in? maybe you could do it with me?” you figured since he was giving it to you for free, sharing with him was the least you could do.
his big brown eyes widened, they were full of shock before his brain caught up and he nodded a little too eagerly “yeah. yeah, sure.”
you nodded back and turned towards your front door to open it, letting him inside, and watching as he glanced around at everything in your home.
“cool place. smells nice.” he cleared his throat and gestured around the small living area “so where do we uh…” teacake couldn’t seem to find the right words to describe what was about to happen.
you pointed towards the couch “there is fine.” he sat down near you, a few inches apart on the two-seater couch. you could tell he was nervous, you hadn’t considered that he probably didn’t partake with his customers often. his palms kept rubbing against the top of his pants, you assumed he was sweating.
you both started with the weed, doing rips off a bong that was already sitting on your coffee table, taking turns. teacake lit the bong, and pulled it for you each time. you’d told him that you knew how to do it, obviously, but he insisted. after a while he leaned back against the couch cushions, looking way more relaxed than when he arrived. you shifted closer to him and leaned your head against the couch cushion as your eyes traveled down his side profile. he got prettier the more you looked at him, or maybe the higher you got. it was getting harder to ignore your attraction for him.
“what’s this, mm?” you gestured towards the side of his neck where a tattoo went vertically under his ear. it said “howdy”.
teacake’s body stilled as he swallowed hard, shrugging a bit dismissively. “oh. that? got it a bit ago, thought it was the funniest thing in the world. still kinda do, i guess.” he turned his head slightly towards you, letting you look closer at his soft marked up skin.
your fingers moved to brush the hair from his ear, fingers gently lingering on the warm skin of his tattoo. “it is funny.” a soft laugh left your lips “i like it.” you started to trace the letters as he remained still, gaze fixed on some random place across the room. teacake had been hoping for the past few months that he hadn’t been dreaming, he’d noticed subtle things that you’d do but told himself you wouldn’t be interested. couldn’t be interested in someone like him. he wasn’t sure if he believed that anymore now that your fingers were on his skin, but he still seemed completely oblivious in your eyes.
your fingers moved to travel through the hair on the nape of his neck “you have nice hair, teacake.” his hair was soft, and thick, you could’ve run your fingers through it all night.
he let out a soft laugh, it sounded flustered. “it’s just hair, kinda fried too, probably. you have nice hair too though, real nice. super….”
he was rambling again, as he did so often. you found it endearing if you were being honest. he seemed incapable of processing the compliment as anything other than bizarre. he wasn’t pulling away from where your fingers were toying with his hair, but he surely wasn’t leaning in like you’d want him to either.
“so uh- the coke? you wanna…?” he gestured towards the small bag sitting on your coffee table and you nodded. teacake made two small neat lines of the pearly powder on the table as you leaned down with one nostril plugged to inhale the powder. teacake was holding his breath, watching you, and briefly reached out to hold your hair back while you snorted a line. the feeling of his large hand gathering your hair made you shudder more than the effects of the line did. teacake watched you the entire time, whispering “woah” to himself, as he watched the way your pupils enlarged.
an immediate rush started to buzz in your skull as you leaned back and his hand left your hair. teacake took his line much faster than you did, all nervous energy as he quickly sat back up and blinked rapidly, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. everything seemed to feel sharper between the two of you, space closing without either of you even realizing it. you turned slightly towards him and your knee brushed against his thigh, he seemed jittery, leg bouncing up and down.
you watched him for a long minute as he took another line, then a grin plastered onto his face.
“you have really nice eyes. all big and brown.” your brain felt fuzzy, but your vision was tunneled on him and the way his lips parted after every compliment. on the way his eyes widened and how his long lashes curled when he’d look up. on the way he’d run a hand through his hair and you’d catch how it’d flex the muscles in his bicep. his hands were so veiny, they looked rough and calloused. his sideburns were so prominent. his hair was so pretty. everything about him stuck out more to you now, and it was getting harder and harder to not launch yourself on top of him and taste his skin.
he let out a huff of laughter, leaning back, all relaxed and his body pliant. you were certain he didn’t even notice how hard you were staring. “yeah? they’re just.. brown. kinda muddy.” he tilted his head towards you. “yours are nicer.” you weren’t sure if your mind was playing tricks on you, but you were certain you watched him lean in.
the conversation kept flowing. lightly, and slightly awkward. teacake seemed to get chattier as he got higher, his eyes wide in some sort of nervous excitement that was making you feel dizzy just from watching him. it felt like hours went by. you were laughing at everything he was saying, maintaining eye contact, moving closer, angling your body towards him and even biting on your bottom lip occasionally as he looked at you. but nothing seemed to register to him. it was infuriating and sexy at the same time. he was so clueless.
after he leaned back from taking another rip from the bong, your hand traveled to his arm, lightly brushing the skin of his forearm. your fingers delicately traced the soft skin. he had a large blue inked snake tattoo there, you knew what it meant, so you didn’t ask. but your fingers continued tracing the skin, tracing the shape and pattern where the skin was still slightly raised.
a full body shudder seemed to go through him at the gentle feeling on what he considered one of the worst parts of him. he tilted his head to look over at you. the second he saw your face, it seemed like everything clicked for him. everything finally made sense to him.
he angled his body towards you and slide a hand over to carefully rest on your waist, it hovered in the air for a long second before he finally made contact with your skin. “is this.. okay? am i getting this?”
“yeah, you’re getting it now.” you said softly, but you couldn’t hide the anticipation flooding through you. you’d wanted him for so long, wanted him to make a move or do something for so long. his hand on your hip felt like a live wire, and your veins were humming in response.
“alright. good. that’s good.” teacakes voice dropped, becoming more confident. it was more than clear to him now that you wanted him, that he was wanted by you. he saw it in the way your cheeks were pink, the way you kept shifting your thighs, the way you swallowed nervously every-time he looked at you. he was surely gonna give you everything you’d need now that he knew. he was a people pleaser after all.
teacake was the kind of guy who would do anything anybody asked of him, which is probably why he had this job in the first place. this specific scenario though? this was something teacake would gladly do without argument, he’d please you in any way you asked of him.
he leaned in and you watched his eyelids flutter shut before his lips connected to yours. it started soft, like he still wasn’t sure if he should be kissing you, but you kissed back immediately. melting against him as your hands came up to press flat on his chest. he let out a small surprised gasp sound as you did, and immediately matched your energy. the hand that was on your hip moved to your back, pulling you into him until you were shifting to straddle his lap. teacakes hands went straight back to your torso, spanning so much skin. his hands were large, covering most of your stomach as he gripped onto skin.
your mouth moved downwards, kissing down his jawline and the skin of his neck until you found the hollow of his throat. sucking softly on the skin there, your tongue soothing over skin that teeth would graze. his neck was so pretty, you bit down gently but hard enough to leave a mark. teacake seemed to jolt in response to your teeth sinking into his neck, his fingers roaming up from your hips to span your ribs and shift to grab onto your breasts. he moaned at the feeling.
“yeah.. jus like that. more, please.” his head fell back on the cushions, the long line of his pale throat completely exposed. covered in goosebumps and saliva from your open mouthed kisses.
his long fingers slid under your shirt, one hand pressing against your bare skin and sliding over your stomach and gripping at your hip. his other hand was moving all over your thigh, tracing your bare skin as his fingers would lightly graze the edge of your cotton shorts.
teacakes mouth searched for yours again with a small grin on his face. your hands moved back up to tangle in his blonde hair, gripping at the roots and grinding yourself down on his lap. the second your hips rolled against his, he was yanking your shirt over your head. movements clumsy because of how urgent they were. “sorry.. im just..” he cut himself off with a shake of his head as he moaned when you dragged over his aching bulge.
he pulled his own shirt off, and your eyes were immediately glazed over in desire. he was pale, and lean with a soft tummy and the most beautiful chest hair you’d ever seen. it was thick, and traveled from the hollow of his throat down to his sternum, leading all the way down to a cock you were certain was going to split you open based on how thick it felt through his pants.
his lips immediately found yours again, his tongue diving deeper into your mouth and the taste of him made your head spin. this time his lips traveled, moving down your jaw and chest until his kiss swollen pink lips began to move over the skin falling out of your bra. teacakes fingers worked quickly, unfastening your bra and pushing it it down so his mouth could latch onto one of your peaked nipples.
you felt your back arch, soundlessly begging for more of his attention. his sucking became tighter and hungrier, cheeks hollowing out. he groaned as your body responded to him, hands gripping your hips tightly to hold you steady on his lap, using his grip to roll your hips, grinding you against his throbbing cock.
he pulled back from your tit, lips glistening and eyes glassy as he stuttered over his words “need to be inside you, that.. that okay?”
you shook your head, fighting back a pleased smile as you pushed his head back down to your body. you had all the time in the world, what was the rush?
his mouth went back to your tits, tongue and lips working over your skin as he’d alternate from soft licks to desperate sucks. teacakes hands were sliding down from your hips to grip at your ass. you could feel how wet you were, soaking through the thin fabric and probably onto his pants too. his fingers moved to hook into your waistband, sliding his hand into the front of your shorts and exploring the heat. fingers sliding all over your soaked and messy pussy, thumb pressing firm on your clit to make you jolt in his lap before he shifted his weight to lay you down on the couch below him. it took no time for your shorts and panties to be pulled down your legs.
he let out a groan as soon as he saw how wet you were, pussy coated and clenching around the cold air. the insides of your thighs were slick as you squirmed. he gripped onto your hips and pulled your legs over shoulders, lowering his head to dive into you. his tongue was flat at first, slow broad strokes gathering every ounce before his nose began to rub against your clit. his hands left your hips to go in between your thighs, thumbs spreading you wide for him while his tongue began to flick back and forth. he was a mess. groaning repeatedly, shifting his hips on the couch to rut against the cushions. his tongue moved upwards, tracing patterns on your clit before he was flattening it hard and pressing it against you. he wasn’t all that coordinated, but man, he was eager.
you felt your entire body tremble, aching for release, back arching off the couch to press harder on his face. your hands were tugging on his hair, holding him there until he could only breathe in the scent of you. “fu-fuck, …oh! right there…. mmmph” his mouth was much more effective when he was nose deep in your pussy, and not rambling about any thought he’d come up with.
the second two of his long fingers slid into you, you broke. you were moaning his name loud and breathy, squirming as your orgasm crashed over you body, leaving you boneless and breathless on the couch.
he came up for air, panting, and he looked gorgeous. face covered in your cum. his chin, lips and nose were glistening in your arousal. as soon as the last of your trembling subsided, teacake pulled his fingers out of you and sat up, quickly moving to pull his pants down.
the second his thick cock was out you were mesmerized. long, girthy and veiny- but what caught your eye was the kings crown piercing right on the red head of his cock. you’d never been with a man who had a piercing there, and the sight was making you drool. you could imagine it. imagine the cold metal rubbing against you, reaching parts of you that you didn’t even know existed yet.
he looked wrecked, eyes pleading and wide “c’mon baby, lemme fuck you. lemme wreck this pussy, baby… just tell me how you want it.. tell me what you want me to do” teacakes hips rocked forward slowly, letting the tip of his cock circle against your clit and tease your entrance. the piercing caught on your clit for a second, rubbing in a pleasure filled pain that made you gasp as your eyes widened. the second his tip slipped in to part you, the cold metal rubbed against your walls and you both let out long moans that went on forever, eyes rolling back into your head.
your hips arched up, begging for more. you didn’t care how he was fucking you. you’d have done any position, as long as it meant his cock was gonna be in your tight walls, pulsing inside of you. “don’t- don’t care how.. just want you s’bad… tea-“
“travis.” he corrected softly. “ i want you to say my name when im in you, okay?” his eyes were a little vulnerable, open in a way you hadn’t seen before as he pushed forward again. stretching you deliciously.
“mhmmm, travis. okay.” you nodded frantically, brain scrambled and unable to think properly as his thick dick continued breaching you. the stretch was intense, bordering on pain as his cock slowly began to fill you entirely. his eyes were squeezed shut, jaw tight and clenched as he breathed through his nose.
his cock was buried deep inside you when he began withdrawing tentatively, but following with deeper and more confident thrusts. he leaned down and captured your lips, moaning into your mouth as his tongue mimicked the filthy rhythm of his hips. he was frantic, slightly clumsy, but completely consumed. his thrusts were becoming long and deep, hitting every sensitive spot inside of you. your hands reached up to tangle in his hair before cradling his cheek as he kissed you. travis leaned into the touch like a man starved before panting against your palm and pressing open mouthed kisses to the damp salty skin.
“feeling you.. all wrapped around me like this… god, you feel perfect.” the sensation of his piercing was like nothing you’d ever felt before, the cold metal dragging against your walls and stimulating every inch of your insides. pussy clenching around him as you felt the friction of the bead catch on spongy spots inside of you.
“travis..harder…harder.. i can take it.” you were breathlessly begging, your lower stomach full of a pleasure that would snap at any moment. shudders continuously ran through your body.
“shit- okay, anything you want.” his cock slammed into you then, jolting your body forward on the couch. you felt lightheaded, brain completely blank as he reached spots of you that left you babbling incoherently. your hands were digging into his back, nails close to piercing through the skin as he went harder and harder to chase his release.
travis was sweating, forehead pressing against yours as you both panted into eachothers mouths before he turned his head to the side to moan loudly. your mouth moved instantly, tongue darting out to trail on the tattoo on the side of his neck, tasting the sweet salty sweat that had gathered. the taste of him caused your release to crash over you, you gasped against his neck, biting down onto his skin to muffle the desperate sounds leaving your lips.
you expected your orgasm to induce his own, but it only made him go harder. thick hands angling your hips to shift his position, gripping onto your breasts that were bouncing frantically underneath him. his body was trembling, muscles coiled together tightly, sweat dampening his chest hair as his tummy rolled slightly against yours with every long stroke of his cock.
you were so sensitive, moaning uncontrollably as you guided his lips back to yours in a messy clash. his body stilled completely as your tongue fucked into his mouth, and he pulled out instantly to paint your stomach with hot white stripes of his cum. panting heavily as his chest was rising and falling, cum still shooting out of his cock while his hand stroked himself firmly to milk his cock dry. he was gripping your skin tightly with his opposite hand, steadying himself. you were both silent for awhile afterwards, catching your breath, before he broke the silence, inevitably.
“so that was-“ gaining a nervous edge to his voice again.
you interrupted him before he could say anything stupid. “do you want to.. i don’t know..we could rinse off? together?”
a goofy grin took place on his lips immediately “yeah? yeah. that sounds..” he quickly tried to compose himself, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, even though he was just destroying your pussy in ways you knew you wouldn’t find with anyone else “i mean yeah, that’s cool.”
he stood up, still beautifully naked on unsteady feet and offered his hands to help you up. his eyes were still raking over you. fucked out, hair messy, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. he was mesmerized.
“god.. you’re just so- lead the way” you smiled and blushed a little, walking towards the bathroom in the hall.
you stepped into the shower and under the water first, watching him step in behind you. the water beaded down his body, his hair darkening as he pushed it back.
he was so beautiful. too beautiful for his own good. your eyes moved further down, watching how the water caught in his chest hair and dripped down into his happy trail. it made your mouth water all over again. his hands settled on your hips gently, thumbs stroking your skin as he leaned into kiss your flushed cheeks, murmuring against your skin “y’know this is a lot better than just.. leaving”
“i know.” a soft smile played on your lips as he continued kissing your cheeks and began to help wash the his cum off of your torso. “i might just have to invite you to come in again sometime”
teacake grinned a little, huffing out a quiet laugh against your cheek before he teased “might have to keep giving you a discount.”
-
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for my fawn olive and ana bunny <3 love u so bad <3
♡ likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. thank uu ♡
pairing - travis “teacake” meacham x fem!reader wc- 4k
summary - travis “teacake” has been your dealer for awhile now, you’ve tried dropping hints for months but he never picks up on them. tonight you finally invite him inside to share.
c/w - smut! 18+, dealer!teacake, drug usage, unprotected sex, oral sex, tit sucking, teacakes tip is pierced, porn w small plot
you’d been buying from teacake meacham for a few months now. every-time it was the same routine, it always started with a text to meet in some random discreet location. he’d pull up in his old burgandy sedan, the window already half-way down while some self help podcast played quietly on the speakers. teacake talked at a mile a minute the second you approached his car. he was always awkwardly chatty, the second you approached he would immediately launch into some random conversation like he couldn’t stand the silence that could potentially come. his yapping left you slightly bewildered and confused.
teacake was undeniably cute though. you’d been subtly flirting with him since he started selling to you, but he never seemed to pick up on it. you’d let your fingers linger on his, smile a little flirtier than necessary, tease him, and compliment him. but he’d always brush it off with some deflection and then dive into the next subject of conversation. sometimes you even tried to mention going to get food together or just a coffee if you picked up in the morning, but he either had to get to work or just said he wasn’t hungry. you started to assume he just wasn’t into you, he was your dealer after all.
tonight was different though. your car was in the shop at the same time that you needed a restock, so you asked teacake if he could show up to your place instead. it was a risky ask, but you trusted him enough, you’d seen enough of him to know he was mostly harmless.
the short and simple “omw” text came in almost an hour ago, and now you’re waiting for him to show up. standing on the front porch of your small house in the middle of some shabby suburban neighborhood.
the second his car arrived and the door opened, he was already talking. “hey. nice place, way nicer than i pictured- not that i pictured it, but- you know” he ran a hand through his hair to push it back. teacakes hair was long, and parted down the middle. he had dark roots and yellow-blonde waved hair, and he was wearing some faded white t shirt and black pants. he smelt of some cheap musky cologne and the typical familiar hint of weed.
you smiled as he approached “thanks.. thanks for coming all the way out here by the way, i appreciate it.”
“totally. of course.” he stepped up on your porch and pulled out two familiar bags. one halfway full of a pearly white powder, and one full of marijuana. “here you go. it’s uh.. on me tonight. consider it a house-call discount”
he seemed more fidgety than normal. maybe because of the setting. coming to your house was different than meeting in a dark parking lot, something about it felt intimate as you two stood on your porch out in the cold kansas night.
“on you? are you sure?” it took you off guard, you definitely looked surprised but pleased. you already had to pay for your car to get fixed, so you surely weren’t gonna turn down the opportunity for a free restock.
“totally sure. i mean, it’s not a big deal or anything… just felt like it. you’re one of my best customers.” he laughed a little embarrassed “that sounded like i have a lot of customers, i don’t. well, i do-“
you cut him off before he could ramble any more “i appreciate it, really.” you stood in silence for a few awkward seconds before you decided to take a chance. “do you wanna.. come in? maybe you could do it with me?” you figured since he was giving it to you for free, sharing with him was the least you could do.
his big brown eyes widened, they were full of shock before his brain caught up and he nodded a little too eagerly “yeah. yeah, sure.”
you nodded back and turned towards your front door to open it, letting him inside, and watching as he glanced around at everything in your home.
“cool place. smells nice.” he cleared his throat and gestured around the small living area “so where do we uh…” teacake couldn’t seem to find the right words to describe what was about to happen.
you pointed towards the couch “there is fine.” he sat down near you, a few inches apart on the two-seater couch. you could tell he was nervous, you hadn’t considered that he probably didn’t partake with his customers often. his palms kept rubbing against the top of his pants, you assumed he was sweating.
you both started with the weed, doing rips off a bong that was already sitting on your coffee table, taking turns. teacake lit the bong, and pulled it for you each time. you’d told him that you knew how to do it, obviously, but he insisted. after a while he leaned back against the couch cushions, looking way more relaxed than when he arrived. you shifted closer to him and leaned your head against the couch cushion as your eyes traveled down his side profile. he got prettier the more you looked at him, or maybe the higher you got. it was getting harder to ignore your attraction for him.
“what’s this, mm?” you gestured towards the side of his neck where a tattoo went vertically under his ear. it said “howdy”.
teacake’s body stilled as he swallowed hard, shrugging a bit dismissively. “oh. that? got it a bit ago, thought it was the funniest thing in the world. still kinda do, i guess.” he turned his head slightly towards you, letting you look closer at his soft marked up skin.
your fingers moved to brush the hair from his ear, fingers gently lingering on the warm skin of his tattoo. “it is funny.” a soft laugh left your lips “i like it.” you started to trace the letters as he remained still, gaze fixed on some random place across the room. teacake had been hoping for the past few months that he hadn’t been dreaming, he’d noticed subtle things that you’d do but told himself you wouldn’t be interested. couldn’t be interested in someone like him. he wasn’t sure if he believed that anymore now that your fingers were on his skin, but he still seemed completely oblivious in your eyes.
your fingers moved to travel through the hair on the nape of his neck “you have nice hair, teacake.” his hair was soft, and thick, you could’ve run your fingers through it all night.
he let out a soft laugh, it sounded flustered. “it’s just hair, kinda fried too, probably. you have nice hair too though, real nice. super….”
he was rambling again, as he did so often. you found it endearing if you were being honest. he seemed incapable of processing the compliment as anything other than bizarre. he wasn’t pulling away from where your fingers were toying with his hair, but he surely wasn’t leaning in like you’d want him to either.
“so uh- the coke? you wanna…?” he gestured towards the small bag sitting on your coffee table and you nodded. teacake made two small neat lines of the pearly powder on the table as you leaned down with one nostril plugged to inhale the powder. teacake was holding his breath, watching you, and briefly reached out to hold your hair back while you snorted a line. the feeling of his large hand gathering your hair made you shudder more than the effects of the line did. teacake watched you the entire time, whispering “woah” to himself, as he watched the way your pupils enlarged.
an immediate rush started to buzz in your skull as you leaned back and his hand left your hair. teacake took his line much faster than you did, all nervous energy as he quickly sat back up and blinked rapidly, rubbing his nose with the back of his hand. everything seemed to feel sharper between the two of you, space closing without either of you even realizing it. you turned slightly towards him and your knee brushed against his thigh, he seemed jittery, leg bouncing up and down.
you watched him for a long minute as he took another line, then a grin plastered onto his face.
“you have really nice eyes. all big and brown.” your brain felt fuzzy, but your vision was tunneled on him and the way his lips parted after every compliment. on the way his eyes widened and how his long lashes curled when he’d look up. on the way he’d run a hand through his hair and you’d catch how it’d flex the muscles in his bicep. his hands were so veiny, they looked rough and calloused. his sideburns were so prominent. his hair was so pretty. everything about him stuck out more to you now, and it was getting harder and harder to not launch yourself on top of him and taste his skin.
he let out a huff of laughter, leaning back, all relaxed and his body pliant. you were certain he didn’t even notice how hard you were staring. “yeah? they’re just.. brown. kinda muddy.” he tilted his head towards you. “yours are nicer.” you weren’t sure if your mind was playing tricks on you, but you were certain you watched him lean in.
the conversation kept flowing. lightly, and slightly awkward. teacake seemed to get chattier as he got higher, his eyes wide in some sort of nervous excitement that was making you feel dizzy just from watching him. it felt like hours went by. you were laughing at everything he was saying, maintaining eye contact, moving closer, angling your body towards him and even biting on your bottom lip occasionally as he looked at you. but nothing seemed to register to him. it was infuriating and sexy at the same time. he was so clueless.
after he leaned back from taking another rip from the bong, your hand traveled to his arm, lightly brushing the skin of his forearm. your fingers delicately traced the soft skin. he had a large blue inked snake tattoo there, you knew what it meant, so you didn’t ask. but your fingers continued tracing the skin, tracing the shape and pattern where the skin was still slightly raised.
a full body shudder seemed to go through him at the gentle feeling on what he considered one of the worst parts of him. he tilted his head to look over at you. the second he saw your face, it seemed like everything clicked for him. everything finally made sense to him.
he angled his body towards you and slide a hand over to carefully rest on your waist, it hovered in the air for a long second before he finally made contact with your skin. “is this.. okay? am i getting this?”
“yeah, you’re getting it now.” you said softly, but you couldn’t hide the anticipation flooding through you. you’d wanted him for so long, wanted him to make a move or do something for so long. his hand on your hip felt like a live wire, and your veins were humming in response.
“alright. good. that’s good.” teacakes voice dropped, becoming more confident. it was more than clear to him now that you wanted him, that he was wanted by you. he saw it in the way your cheeks were pink, the way you kept shifting your thighs, the way you swallowed nervously every-time he looked at you. he was surely gonna give you everything you’d need now that he knew. he was a people pleaser after all.
teacake was the kind of guy who would do anything anybody asked of him, which is probably why he had this job in the first place. this specific scenario though? this was something teacake would gladly do without argument, he’d please you in any way you asked of him.
he leaned in and you watched his eyelids flutter shut before his lips connected to yours. it started soft, like he still wasn’t sure if he should be kissing you, but you kissed back immediately. melting against him as your hands came up to press flat on his chest. he let out a small surprised gasp sound as you did, and immediately matched your energy. the hand that was on your hip moved to your back, pulling you into him until you were shifting to straddle his lap. teacakes hands went straight back to your torso, spanning so much skin. his hands were large, covering most of your stomach as he gripped onto skin.
your mouth moved downwards, kissing down his jawline and the skin of his neck until you found the hollow of his throat. sucking softly on the skin there, your tongue soothing over skin that teeth would graze. his neck was so pretty, you bit down gently but hard enough to leave a mark. teacake seemed to jolt in response to your teeth sinking into his neck, his fingers roaming up from your hips to span your ribs and shift to grab onto your breasts. he moaned at the feeling.
“yeah.. jus like that. more, please.” his head fell back on the cushions, the long line of his pale throat completely exposed. covered in goosebumps and saliva from your open mouthed kisses.
his long fingers slid under your shirt, one hand pressing against your bare skin and sliding over your stomach and gripping at your hip. his other hand was moving all over your thigh, tracing your bare skin as his fingers would lightly graze the edge of your cotton shorts.
teacakes mouth searched for yours again with a small grin on his face. your hands moved back up to tangle in his blonde hair, gripping at the roots and grinding yourself down on his lap. the second your hips rolled against his, he was yanking your shirt over your head. movements clumsy because of how urgent they were. “sorry.. im just..” he cut himself off with a shake of his head as he moaned when you dragged over his aching bulge.
he pulled his own shirt off, and your eyes were immediately glazed over in desire. he was pale, and lean with a soft tummy and the most beautiful chest hair you’d ever seen. it was thick, and traveled from the hollow of his throat down to his sternum, leading all the way down to a cock you were certain was going to split you open based on how thick it felt through his pants.
his lips immediately found yours again, his tongue diving deeper into your mouth and the taste of him made your head spin. this time his lips traveled, moving down your jaw and chest until his kiss swollen pink lips began to move over the skin falling out of your bra. teacakes fingers worked quickly, unfastening your bra and pushing it it down so his mouth could latch onto one of your peaked nipples.
you felt your back arch, soundlessly begging for more of his attention. his sucking became tighter and hungrier, cheeks hollowing out. he groaned as your body responded to him, hands gripping your hips tightly to hold you steady on his lap, using his grip to roll your hips, grinding you against his throbbing cock.
he pulled back from your tit, lips glistening and eyes glassy as he stuttered over his words “need to be inside you, that.. that okay?”
you shook your head, fighting back a pleased smile as you pushed his head back down to your body. you had all the time in the world, what was the rush?
his mouth went back to your tits, tongue and lips working over your skin as he’d alternate from soft licks to desperate sucks. teacakes hands were sliding down from your hips to grip at your ass. you could feel how wet you were, soaking through the thin fabric and probably onto his pants too. his fingers moved to hook into your waistband, sliding his hand into the front of your shorts and exploring the heat. fingers sliding all over your soaked and messy pussy, thumb pressing firm on your clit to make you jolt in his lap before he shifted his weight to lay you down on the couch below him. it took no time for your shorts and panties to be pulled down your legs.
he let out a groan as soon as he saw how wet you were, pussy coated and clenching around the cold air. the insides of your thighs were slick as you squirmed. he gripped onto your hips and pulled your legs over shoulders, lowering his head to dive into you. his tongue was flat at first, slow broad strokes gathering every ounce before his nose began to rub against your clit. his hands left your hips to go in between your thighs, thumbs spreading you wide for him while his tongue began to flick back and forth. he was a mess. groaning repeatedly, shifting his hips on the couch to rut against the cushions. his tongue moved upwards, tracing patterns on your clit before he was flattening it hard and pressing it against you. he wasn’t all that coordinated, but man, he was eager.
you felt your entire body tremble, aching for release, back arching off the couch to press harder on his face. your hands were tugging on his hair, holding him there until he could only breathe in the scent of you. “fu-fuck, …oh! right there…. mmmph” his mouth was much more effective when he was nose deep in your pussy, and not rambling about any thought he’d come up with.
the second two of his long fingers slid into you, you broke. you were moaning his name loud and breathy, squirming as your orgasm crashed over you body, leaving you boneless and breathless on the couch.
he came up for air, panting, and he looked gorgeous. face covered in your cum. his chin, lips and nose were glistening in your arousal. as soon as the last of your trembling subsided, teacake pulled his fingers out of you and sat up, quickly moving to pull his pants down.
the second his thick cock was out you were mesmerized. long, girthy and veiny- but what caught your eye was the kings crown piercing right on the red head of his cock. you’d never been with a man who had a piercing there, and the sight was making you drool. you could imagine it. imagine the cold metal rubbing against you, reaching parts of you that you didn’t even know existed yet.
he looked wrecked, eyes pleading and wide “c’mon baby, lemme fuck you. lemme wreck this pussy, baby… just tell me how you want it.. tell me what you want me to do” teacakes hips rocked forward slowly, letting the tip of his cock circle against your clit and tease your entrance. the piercing caught on your clit for a second, rubbing in a pleasure filled pain that made you gasp as your eyes widened. the second his tip slipped in to part you, the cold metal rubbed against your walls and you both let out long moans that went on forever, eyes rolling back into your head.
your hips arched up, begging for more. you didn’t care how he was fucking you. you’d have done any position, as long as it meant his cock was gonna be in your tight walls, pulsing inside of you. “don’t- don’t care how.. just want you s’bad… tea-“
“travis.” he corrected softly. “ i want you to say my name when im in you, okay?” his eyes were a little vulnerable, open in a way you hadn’t seen before as he pushed forward again. stretching you deliciously.
“mhmmm, travis. okay.” you nodded frantically, brain scrambled and unable to think properly as his thick dick continued breaching you. the stretch was intense, bordering on pain as his cock slowly began to fill you entirely. his eyes were squeezed shut, jaw tight and clenched as he breathed through his nose.
his cock was buried deep inside you when he began withdrawing tentatively, but following with deeper and more confident thrusts. he leaned down and captured your lips, moaning into your mouth as his tongue mimicked the filthy rhythm of his hips. he was frantic, slightly clumsy, but completely consumed. his thrusts were becoming long and deep, hitting every sensitive spot inside of you. your hands reached up to tangle in his hair before cradling his cheek as he kissed you. travis leaned into the touch like a man starved before panting against your palm and pressing open mouthed kisses to the damp salty skin.
“feeling you.. all wrapped around me like this… god, you feel perfect.” the sensation of his piercing was like nothing you’d ever felt before, the cold metal dragging against your walls and stimulating every inch of your insides. pussy clenching around him as you felt the friction of the bead catch on spongy spots inside of you.
“travis..harder…harder.. i can take it.” you were breathlessly begging, your lower stomach full of a pleasure that would snap at any moment. shudders continuously ran through your body.
“shit- okay, anything you want.” his cock slammed into you then, jolting your body forward on the couch. you felt lightheaded, brain completely blank as he reached spots of you that left you babbling incoherently. your hands were digging into his back, nails close to piercing through the skin as he went harder and harder to chase his release.
travis was sweating, forehead pressing against yours as you both panted into eachothers mouths before he turned his head to the side to moan loudly. your mouth moved instantly, tongue darting out to trail on the tattoo on the side of his neck, tasting the sweet salty sweat that had gathered. the taste of him caused your release to crash over you, you gasped against his neck, biting down onto his skin to muffle the desperate sounds leaving your lips.
you expected your orgasm to induce his own, but it only made him go harder. thick hands angling your hips to shift his position, gripping onto your breasts that were bouncing frantically underneath him. his body was trembling, muscles coiled together tightly, sweat dampening his chest hair as his tummy rolled slightly against yours with every long stroke of his cock.
you were so sensitive, moaning uncontrollably as you guided his lips back to yours in a messy clash. his body stilled completely as your tongue fucked into his mouth, and he pulled out instantly to paint your stomach with hot white stripes of his cum. panting heavily as his chest was rising and falling, cum still shooting out of his cock while his hand stroked himself firmly to milk his cock dry. he was gripping your skin tightly with his opposite hand, steadying himself. you were both silent for awhile afterwards, catching your breath, before he broke the silence, inevitably.
“so that was-“ gaining a nervous edge to his voice again.
you interrupted him before he could say anything stupid. “do you want to.. i don’t know..we could rinse off? together?”
a goofy grin took place on his lips immediately “yeah? yeah. that sounds..” he quickly tried to compose himself, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible, even though he was just destroying your pussy in ways you knew you wouldn’t find with anyone else “i mean yeah, that’s cool.”
he stood up, still beautifully naked on unsteady feet and offered his hands to help you up. his eyes were still raking over you. fucked out, hair messy, cheeks flushed and lips swollen. he was mesmerized.
“god.. you’re just so- lead the way” you smiled and blushed a little, walking towards the bathroom in the hall.
you stepped into the shower and under the water first, watching him step in behind you. the water beaded down his body, his hair darkening as he pushed it back.
he was so beautiful. too beautiful for his own good. your eyes moved further down, watching how the water caught in his chest hair and dripped down into his happy trail. it made your mouth water all over again. his hands settled on your hips gently, thumbs stroking your skin as he leaned into kiss your flushed cheeks, murmuring against your skin “y’know this is a lot better than just.. leaving”
“i know.” a soft smile played on your lips as he continued kissing your cheeks and began to help wash the his cum off of your torso. “i might just have to invite you to come in again sometime”
teacake grinned a little, huffing out a quiet laugh against your cheek before he teased “might have to keep giving you a discount.”
-
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for my fawn olive and ana bunny <3 love u so bad <3
♡ likes, comments, and reblogs are appreciated. thank uu ♡
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your knees were pressed into the passenger seat of steves bmw during your drive home from the movie theatre. your body curling over the center console as your lips were locked around steves pulsing cock, face buried in his lap. “thaaats it, baby. oh fu- just like that.. such a good girl f’me” his large hand was tangled in your hair, guiding the rhythm as he fucked your mouth. steves cock thick and heavy on your tongue, stretching your lips open. you can feel how tense the muscles in his thighs are from where your hand grips it, propping yourself up. everytime you take him deep until the tip hits the back of your throat, tears prick in the corners of your eyes. you were gagging at the overwhelming size of him, but you didn’t care, it was overridden by the desire to please him. to take more of him. all of him.
“yeaah, gag on it. sound so fuckin pretty when you’re strugglin’ f’me” steves hips thrusted upwards in the drivers seat, and the car swerved slightly as he lost focus. you eased back, letting the slick length of his cock slide almost all the way out of your mouth before swirling your tongue around the swollen head. the precum beading at his tip smeared across your lips as you kissed it teasingly, the tangy taste only making you want it more. saliva dripped down your chin as your tongue traced a thick vein running down the length of his cock.
“teasing me now? you know what that does to me, you’re gonna make me wreck the damn car.” his head fell back against the head rest as he groaned. you began sucking on just the tip repeatedly, lapping your tongue on the sensitive spot just underneath until his entire body jolted. “tha- that’s the spot, right there, mmmph-“
“you like that, stevie?” your whisper was a teasing hot breath against his wet skin, and his cock twitched violently in response.
“talkin with your mouth full, baby? goddamn.. you’re sexy.” he bit down on his bottom lip to stifle a long moan. “yeah i fuckin like it. now stop playing and make me cum before i decide to pull over and fuck you properly.” his hand yanked on your hair, pushing your mouth back down to swallow his cock whole. he didn’t stop until the head of his cock bumped the back of your throat, your nose pressing into the dark hair at his base. he held you there while slowly grinding his hips into your face, fucking your face as you moaned and whimpered. precum was leaking steadily, coating your tongue in the taste of him. his hand readjusted to collect the stray pieces falling in your face, holding your hair back for you. one of your hands was stroking him smoothly and tightly in rhythm as he started to tremble under you. he pulled you back with the grip on your hair just enough before guiding you all the way back down, setting a slower pace while whispering “let me fuck that mouth, baby - mmm - such a messy girl, huh?” steves hand on the steering wheel was tight, eyes blown wide as he attempted to focus on driving the car and not on the wet heat of your mouth on his cock.
“so deep, baby. taking me soo deep. made for this, aren’t you? made to suck my dick.” you nodded eagerly, as best as you could with your mouth stretched wide and eyes squeezed shut. a small moan left your lips and it vibrated against his hard length, you felt the way he pulsed in your mouth in response. it was so hot. your throat convulsed with each thrust, struggling to accommodate the size of him. steve was huge. you loved it when he was fucking deep in your pussy, but when he fucked deep in your mouth, you felt all dazed and dumbed out, barely coherent enough to form a thought.
steves voice was getting all breathy. his soft pink lips were parted and his chest was heaving as he groaned “my little slut. so- s’fuckin pretty with my dick wrecking your throat. such a filthy mouth for such a pretty face.” the second steve hit a stop sign, his hips pressed upwards frantically in his seat, and you gagged as his cock hit deep into your throat. the head of his cock lodged deep, hitting your esophagus. you felt the first hot pulse, then the next, which was followed by many more. your mouth was sealed tight over his cock, cheeks hollowing out to drain him and suck him dry as his cum filled your throat. steves cum flooded your mouth and slid down your stretched throat, some of it bubbling out past your lips to mix with the spit and tears already slicking your chin. you gulped it down like you were starved for it. each swallow was a wet and audible gulp that proved just how thoroughly he’s claimed you.
steves hand came down to swipe his thumb through the cum dripping from your lips, pushing it back into your mouth. “you never waste a drop, do you?”
— ♡
any and all interactions are always appreciated. practice safe driving also lol ♡
Summary: When Steve wakes up, the truth finally surfaces. Is this the end of you… or a new beginning?
Warnings: angst, established relationship, married couple, arguments, marriage issues, pregnancy, infertility issues, maternity, motherhood, emotional distress, accident, injuries, alleged cheating, presumption of infidelity, divorce mentions
English isn't my first language, so be understandable and gentle, thanks!
Word count: +15k
Author's note: I hope you’re ready, because all your questions will finally be answered and everything will be revealed. Are you ready to find out? I definitely can’t wait to read your reactions and what you think. I really hope you love this chapter as much as the previous ones… if not more. Let me know what you think with a comment, your feedbacks are really important for me. And if you want to support me even more, reblog it. I'd really appreciate it. Now enjoy it and thanks for reading!
Two days after your conversation with Kirsten, the doctors told you the coma was no longer necessary and that they could begin reducing the sedatives.
They explained everything in careful, clinical terms — what it meant, how his body would respond, what to expect over the next few hours, the next few days. You listened, nodding when it felt appropriate, your eyes fixed on them as if you were following every word.
But you weren’t.
Because the only thing that truly registered, the only thing that stayed with you, was one simple fact.
Steve was going to wake up soon.
Aside from that news, your days didn’t change much. You still followed the same routine you had built for yourself since the accident.
You waited.
You sat by his bed, watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, listened to the steady rhythm of the machines. You spoke to him, quietly, filling the silence when it became too much. Other times, you just stayed there, your hand wrapped around his.
Somewhere along the way, everything had started to feel… suspended. Like time had paused, caught between what had been and what was supposed to happen next. The separation, your argument, the diagnosis — it all felt distant, almost unreal. There were moments when it barely seemed like it had happened at all.
And something almost ironic about it — cruelly so.
Just two weeks before, you had left him, walked out of your home and spent an entire week avoiding him, refusing to see him, to hear him out.
And now…
Now you spent every single day at his bedside, watching him breathe, sitting beside him for hours just to be close to him, taking care of him like nothing had ever happened. Like you had never left.
You had slipped back into your place so naturally it almost felt strange.
You were his wife again.
In a strange, unsettling way, the accident had restored something that had broken between you, forcing everything back into place.
But none of that was real. You knew it wasn’t. Because the moment Steve opened his eyes, reality would come rushing back in and everything you had been avoiding would still be there, waiting for you.
And that scared you.
The moment he woke up, there would be no more hiding from what came next.
It was a kind of contradiction. You couldn’t wait for Steve to regain consciousness but at the same time, a quiet fear lingered beneath it all — tight, persistent, suffocating.
At some point, you decided it was finally time to prepare a bag for him — clothes, basic things he would need when he woke up. Which meant going home. Your home. The same one you had left almost two weeks ago. The thought alone made your chest tighten.
When you parked in front of the house, your hands stayed on the steering wheel for a moment longer than necessary. Your eyes lifted slowly to the front door.
The memory came back so vividly it almost felt real. Steve standing just a few steps away from the car the day you had left, His chest rising and falling too fast, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. You could still see the confusion in his eyes and hear the pain in his voice as he begged you not to go. To stay.
You swallowed hard and blinked, forcing the image away. Then you exhaled, steadying yourself, and stepped out of the car. You unlocked the door and stepped inside.
For a split second, you expected to hear Steve’s voice calling your name from another room. The faint sound of movement upstairs. Or to feel his arms wrapping around you, welcoming you home after a long day.
Instead, there was nothing.
Just silence, settling around you immediately, heavy in a way that felt unfamiliar in a place that had never been quiet before.
You took a few steps forward, your gaze moving slowly around the living room. Everything looked exactly as you had left it.
Almost.
Your eyes caught on the coffee table — on the empty beer bottles scattered across it, a few more near the edge like they had been set down carelessly and forgotten.
Your chest tightened.
Steve wasn’t like that. He drank, sure, but occasionally. Never too much. Never like this.
It was the only real sign he had been there at all. Otherwise, the house felt untouched. As if he had simply been passing through it, existing in it without really living in it.
Your throat tightened slightly.
That place didn’t feel like home.
Not without him.
Because it had never really been about the walls.
It had always been him.
Now you felt out of place in it. Like an intruder.
You swallowed the thought down before it could settle too deeply and turned toward the stairs, taking them quickly, almost on instinct, until you reached the bedroom.
The door was still slightly open as if someone had left in a hurry, without bothering to close it first. You pushed it wider and stepped in, stopping almost immediately on the doorway.
Steve’s side of the bed was still unmade, the sheets wrinkled and half-pulled loose like they had been left in the middle of something. The books he had found were still scattered across the floor. On his nightstand, Eddie’s stash and a lighter sat exactly where he had left them.
Your side of the room was untouched. Your things — the one you hadn’t taken with you — were still there just as you had left it. Your chest tightened as the realization settled in. Steve hadn’t moved or packed anything away. He had left it all there. Like everything had been waiting for you to come back and press play again.
You swallowed and forced yourself to move. You bent down, picking up the books from the floor, stacking them one by one. You smoothed the sheets absentmindedly, straightening the bed just enough to make it look less abandoned. When you finished, you walked to the closet and pulled out one of Steve’s duffel bags, setting it on the bed.
For a moment, you just stood there, staring at it. Then you started packing — a few changes of clothes, toiletries. You folded each piece of clothing with care, placing it inside one by one, slowly.
Your mind pulled you back to two weeks earlier. When you had done the same thing — only faster, messier. Throwing your things into a suitcase, without stopping, too focused on leaving before he came back. Before he could stop you.
Your hand stopped for a second, your fingers tightening slightly around the fabric you were holding.
Coward, a little voice whispered into your mind.
You swallowed hard, your throat dry, sore.
It was true. You had chosen the easy way out by not giving him a chance to speak and decide.
Your grip softened.
And in doing so, you had hurt him anyway. Maybe more.
You brought the shirt to your chest, holding it there for a moment, your eyes closing briefly as you breathed him in. You lowered it slowly, smoothing it out before placing it in the bag with the rest.
If you had just talked to him from the beginning… Maybe things would have been different. And now maybe you wouldn't be in an empty house, silently packing a bag to take to your unconscious husband in the hospital.
You zipped the bag shut, the sound cutting through the silence of the room. You stood there for a second, your hand resting on top of it. Then you picked up the bag and walked out of the room, down the stairs, and toward the front door. Your hand lingered on the handle for just a moment before you opened it. As you stepped outside, you wondered if you would come back one day.
Or if that was another goodbye again.
—
The next day, the doctors stopped the last of the sedatives.
Now it was up to Steve.
They told you it could take hours. Maybe a couple of days.
The moment they said it, a silent countdown started in your mind. You found yourself checking the clock constantly, watching the minutes pass and counting the hours. It had become like a hobby by now. A boring, slow one.
Every time you looked at him, you wondered if that would be the moment in which his fingers would twitch. Or if his eyes would finally open. And as the hours passed, the anxiety that had been sitting quietly in your chest began to grow.
You needed him to wake up. To hear his voice. To see his big, brown eyes open and look at you. You needed to be sure that he was really okay. That he was still… him.
Even though the doctors had been reassuring, the bleeding had resolved and the fractures were healing well, they had also mentioned possible complications due to the head trauma. Cognitive ones as memory loss or speech issues.
You didn’t know which one scared you more.
And you hoped you would never have to find out.
—
As hours passed and you waited for Steve to wake up, you began to prepare yourself on what to say. How to say it. Because you knew that the moment he woke up, reality would follow. And everything you had left unfinished would still be there, waiting. You had a conversation to resume. Many things to discuss.
And Kirsten, of course.
Your jaw tightened slightly at the thought.
Despite everything, you hadn’t forgotten. You couldn’t. Even if part of you wanted to push it aside, just for a little longer.
Your mind had shifted from imagining them together — filling in the blanks with your worst assumptions — to replaying every single word Kirsten had said to you. Over and over again. Like a broken record. Since that conversation, you had gone through it countless times in your head, picking it apart, analyzing every detail, every pause, every expression.
Trying to understand what was real.
Trying to figure out what had been left unsaid.
Robin’s words echoed faintly in your mind.
Let him explain.
You exhaled quietly. Even though you had already spoken to her and knew what had happened that night, you would listen to Steve. To his version. He was the only one who could remove all doubts and clarify everything.
What if she had lied?
In the end, you didn’t know her and maybe that night something else had happened. Something she might not have told you. Something she might have left out. But you knew Steve. You knew him well enough to know when he was lying or not. So you would let him explain and you would listen. Really listen. All the way through. Without interruptions. Without shutting him out. Or walking away.
You owed him that. To yourself, too. And to your marriage.
Your gaze dropped to your joined hands, swallowing hard.
There were things you needed to say as well.
In the days you had spent there, sitting beside him, watching him fight through something you couldn’t see, something had shifted. You had had time to think and to replay everything. You had questioned your own choices. And some of them didn’t sit right anymore.
You had things to admit. Mistakes to own. And you had made decisions — new ones— that would change everything. Again.
Your grip on his hand tightened slightly.
“Wake up, Steve,” you murmured, your voice low, almost lost in the quiet of the room.
Because no matter what waited for you on the other side of that moment, you needed him there for it.
-
By the time evening settled outside the hospital windows, the room had dimmed into that quiet, bluish half-light that made everything feel suspended.
You were sitting beside Steve, a sheet of paper resting on your lap, a pencil moving slowly between your fingers as you worked on a sketch, trying to keep yourself busy.
You hadn’t left his side all day, refusing to go home. The doctors had warned you he would likely be confused, agitated and you didn't want to risk Steve waking up alone, while you weren't there. You wanted to be there for him — to soften that moment as much as possible.
Your gaze lifted toward him again, almost automatically. It had become a reflex at this point—checking, even when you didn’t realize you were doing it.
You sighed quietly.
He was the same as he had been all day — still, quiet. No changes yet.
Your eyes began to drop back to the paper when you saw it, freezing instantly.
His fingers had moved. Just slightly. So faint you weren’t even sure it had happened. Maybe you had imagined it, you thought.
You blinked, your breath catching. Your eyes quickly flicked to his.
They were closed.
Your gaze snapped back to his hand.
The fingers were still. Immobile.
Your heart started to beat faster, your grip tightening slightly around the pencil as doubt crept in. You had imagined it, you told yourself. You had to have. After all, you were exhausted. You hadn’t slept properly in days. And it wouldn’t have been the first time your mind played tricks on you.
You swallowed, forcing yourself to look again, and waited.
One.
Two.
Ten seconds.
Then you saw again.
A small, uncoordinated twitch of his fingers.
You blinked. Once. Twice.
His fingers kept moving.
It was real.
Your chair scraped loudly against the floor as you stood up too quickly, the sound barely registering. The paper and pencil slipped from your hands and fell onto the seat behind you as you moved closer to the bed, your eyes locked on him.
“Steve…” The name left your lips before you could stop it, barely more than a breath.
His eyelids fluttered. Slowly. Uncertainly. Like even that small movement required effort.
Your heart stuttered in your chest as you reached for his hand, wrapping your fingers around his, tightly, holding on. “Steve,” you repeated, your voice trembling now.
His eyes opened — just a fraction at first — then closed again almost immediately, like the light was too much. His brow furrowed faintly.
A second later, he tried again. This time they stayed open a little longer, unfocused. He blinked, slow and heavy, his gaze drifting across the room without really seeing it. Then his eyes widened and his breathing turned uneven, shallow, like his body was trying to catch up with something it didn’t understand yet.
“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice breaking despite your attempt to steady it. “It’s me. I’m here, Steve.”
Your hand tightened around his, careful not to hurt him, as your other one moved to his hair, brushing it back gently from his forehead, your touch careful, delicate.
His eyes finally found you, tilting his head slightly toward you and the tension in his features eased, just a little. He swallowed slowly.
You felt your chest tighten.
“You’re in the hospital,” you continued softly, forcing the words out through the emotion building in your throat. “You had an accident, but you’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”
You forced a small smile.
He didn’t respond. He just kept looking at you, his gaze fixed, almost searching. Like he was holding onto the only thing in the room that made any sense. Like if he looked away, even for a second, you might disappear. You couldn't even imagine how scared and confused he must feel.
A flicker of panic rose in your chest.
“Steve?” you said again, slower this time. “Can you hear me?”
No answer.
Your stomach dropped.
What if he didn’t recognize you?
The thought hit fast, sharp, stealing the air from your lungs as the doctors’ warnings echoed in your mind, again and again.
Consequences. Memory loss. Speech issues.
You swallowed hard, your grip softening unconsciously around his hand.
“I— I’m going to get someone,” you said quickly, the words rushing out, stumbling over each other as panic crept into your voice. “I’ll be right back, okay? I just need to call a doctor—”
You started to pull away but his hand tightened around yours. Not strongly. He had just woken up and was still weak, but still strong enough to stop you.
Your breath caught as your eyes dropped to where your hands were joined, then snapped back to his face.
His lips parted slightly, his throat working as he tried to speak. The sound that came out was low. Rough. Like it hurt.
“…don’t…”
The word barely made it past his lips. But it was there. Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made you dizzy.
He could speak.
You leaned closer immediately to hear better, your heart pounding.
“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to—”
He tried again, his breathing faltering, uneven.
“…go…”
Each word seemed to cost him effort.
“…please…”
Your chest tightened painfully as your eyes filled with tears, blurring your vision.
“…don’t… leave me.”
You pulled away from him. A shaky breath left your lips, something between a sob and a laugh, relief and emotion crashing together all at once. You shook your head quickly, your fingers tightening around his as if to reassure him.
“Hey—hey, no,” you said softly, your voice trembling despite your attempt to keep it steady. “I’m not leaving you. I’m right here.”
You leaned closer again, your thumb brushing gently over his knuckles.
“You’re okay,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “You’re okay.”
The fact that he could speak and reach for you was reassuring, easing some of the fear that had been building in your chest for days.
“I just need to tell them you’re awake, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”
His grip didn’t loosen immediately. His eyes stayed on you, wide, uncertain, like he didn’t trust your words. Not completely.
You smiled at him, forcing yourself to gently pull your hand free, slowly. Your fingers lingered for a second longer before you stepped back. “I’ll be right there,” you reassured him again.
You turned and moved quickly toward the door. “Nurse!” Your voice echoed down the hallway, sharper, urgent. “Nurse! My husband — he’s awake — I need a doctor! Can I get a doctor, please?”
Footsteps approached almost immediately. A nurse appeared at the end of the corridor, her pace quickening as you explained, words tumbling over each other. “He just woke up — he’s conscious, he’s talking—”
She nodded and turned without hesitation, hurrying off to call a doctor.
You turned back and walked quickly into the room, your eyes immediately finding him again. You crossed the space in a few quick steps and reached for his hand again, wrapping your fingers around his.
His gaze returned to you instantly.
“Hey! The doctor’s coming,” you said softly, your voice gentler now, steadier. “Everything will be okay.”
A few minutes later, the nurse returned, this time accompanied by a doctor. You instinctively stepped slightly to the side to give them space, though your hand remained wrapped around Steve’s, your fingers unwilling to let go completely.
The doctor approached calmly, offering Steve a small, reassuring smile before reaching into his coat pocket.
“Steve,” he said gently, “can you hear me?”
Steve’s eyes, heavy and slow, shifted from you to him. It took a moment, but he gave a faint nod.
“Good,” the doctor continued. He lifted a small penlight, bringing it up carefully. “I’m just going to check your eyes, okay? Follow the light for me.”
The beam moved slowly from side to side. Steve’s gaze followed, sluggish but responsive. The doctor watched closely, studying the movement, then repeated it once more before nodding to himself.
“Alright,” he said quietly, more to himself than to either of you. He lowered the light and straightened slightly. “You’re in the hospital,” he continued, voice calm and steady. “You were in an accident. You’ve been unconscious for a few days, but you’re safe now.”
Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to process the information.
The doctor watched him for a second, then reached for the chart at the foot of the bed, flipping it open.
“Do you remember what happened?” he asked. “The accident?”
Steve hesitated. You felt your breath catch in your throat without realizing it, your body going still beside him. His gaze drifted briefly, unfocused, like he was searching for something in his mind and coming up empty.
Then, slowly, he shook his head.
Your chest tightened. You forced yourself to swallow, keeping your expression steady even as something uneasy settled deep inside you.
The doctor gave a small, thoughtful nod, as if the answer didn’t surprise him, and made a quick note on the chart. Then he looked up. His gaze shifted — first to you, briefly — before returning to Steve.
“And do you recognize this woman?” he asked.
The question seemed to echo in the room as every muscle in your body went rigid, your eyes locking onto Steve’s face, searching for something — anything — that could answer that question.
Steve’s eyes found yours. His gaze lingered, quiet, intent, studying you. As if he was trying to understand something just out of reach.
You forced a small smile, encouraging, though it felt fragile, uncertain. You swallowed.
Seconds stretched as your heart pounded loudly in your ears, each beat sharper than the last.
Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he nodded.
Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made your knees weak. Air rushed back into your lungs as if you had been holding it the entire time.
“…my wife,” Steve managed, his voice rough, low, the words dragged out with effort. “She’s… my wife.”
Your breath left you in a quiet, unsteady exhale, something in your chest loosening all at once.
He remembered you. He knew who you were.
He was still your Steve.
The doctor gave a satisfied nod, jotting something down. “Good,” he said simply.
He closed the chart with a soft snap and looked back at Steve.“For today, I think that’s enough,” he continued. “We’ll run more tests tomorrow. For now, the most important thing is that you rest. Try not to tire yourself out.”
Steve gave the faintest nod, his eyelids already starting to droop again.
“You’ve been very lucky, Mr. Harrington,” the doctor added. Then he stepped back, exchanging a brief glance with you before he turned and made his way toward the door, the nurse following closely behind.
After a second, the door closed softly and the room fell quiet again.
For a moment, you didn’t move. A small part of you hesitated, suddenly aware that you were alone with him again. You weren’t sure what to do. How to act. Or what came next.
You swallowed slowly, then turned back toward him.
Steve was already looking at you.
You took a small step closer. Then another. Careful. Almost unsure.
“Hey…” you said softly, your voice quiet. “How do you feel?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes stayed on yours, steady despite the exhaustion behind them. Then they fluttered shut for a brief second — too long — before reopening abruptly, like he was checking that you were still there.
“…okay,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, each word slow, heavy. “Just… tired.”
The effort it took him to speak was evident in the way his breathing hitched slightly afterward.
You nodded gently, your expression softening. “Yeah,” you murmured. “That makes sense. You should try to get some sleep.”
He shook his head almost immediately, though the movement was weak, unsteady. His eyes were already half-closed.
“But… Don’t… want to.” The words came out uneven, dragged between breaths.
Your hand moved instinctively, brushing lightly over his forehead, fingers threading gently through his hair. “Hey,” you said softly, almost a whisper. “It’ll help. You heard the doctor — you need to rest.”
At your touch, some of the tension in his face eased a little. His eyes opened once more, slower this time, searching for you. “Will you… be here?” he asked, his voice quieter now, fragile. He swallowed after, like even that had taken effort. “When I wake up…”
The question lingered between you.
For a second, you didn’t answer. Your chest tightened, your gaze flickering over his face — taking him in like you were trying to memorize him, or maybe reassure yourself that he was really there. Your eyes filled with tears. Then you nodded.
“Of course.”
You hesitated for just a fraction of a second before adding, softer. “I’ll be here.”
His eyes stayed on you for another moment, like he was holding onto that answer, before the weight of exhaustion finally pulled him under. His grip loosened, the eyelids drooped and his breathing evened out again, slow and steady.
You remained where you were, your hand still resting lightly against him, your thumb absentmindedly brushing against his skin.
-
Sometime in the middle of the night, a strained sound pulled you out of sleep.
You were curled on your side on the small couch, one arm tucked under your head, the thin hospital blanket barely covering you. You frowned, still caught somewhere between sleep and waking, before it came again — low, uneven. A quiet groan. Your eyes snapped open when you realized where it was coming from.
You pushed yourself up immediately, the blanket slipping off as you crossed the room in a few quick steps, barefoot against the cold floor.
“Steve?”
He was exactly in the same position you had left him but something was wrong. He was restless. His eyes were still closed but his expression was tense, brows drawn together. His jaw was clenched, and his head moved faintly from side to side against the pillow, like he was trying to shake something off.
Another strained sound left his lips.
Your stomach dropped. “Hey… hey, it’s okay,” you said softly, reaching him, your hand settling on his arm. “Are you in pain? Do you need me to call someone?”
He gave you no response. The only sound in the room was his uneven breathing.
You leaned closer, your grip tightening slightly. “Steve?” you called again, a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
You shook him gently, not wanting to hurt him, and then suddenly you stopped.
It wasn’t pain.
He was having a nightmare.
You moved your hand to his shoulder, about to wake him when his lips parted, a broken sound slipping out.
“…no…”
You froze.
“…wait…”
Your breath caught.
“…Kirsten…”
The name hit you like a shock. Everything in you went still. Your fingers loosened against him as you just stared, your chest tightening, your breath suddenly shallow.
For a second, you weren’t sure you had heard it right. But the name lingered in the space between you. Clear enough. Heavy.
Steve’s head shifted once more against the pillow — then stilled. His face relaxed. His breathing evened out, slow, steady, like whatever had held him had finally let go.
As if nothing had happened.
You didn’t move for a second. You swallowed, your throat dry, your chest tight as something unsettled twisted deep inside you. Then, slowly, you stepped back, your hand slipping away from him. You returned to the couch and lay down again, staring at the ceiling, your body tense, your mind completely wide awake now. Every time you closed your eyes, you heard it.
Kirsten.
Over and over again.
You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn’t help.
What had he been dreaming about? Why her?
Your thoughts spiraled before you could stop them.
Had he been remembering the night he had spent with her? Which part?
Had it meant something?
Your stomach twisted, almost making you want to throw up. You swallowed, trying to get rid of the nausea. You felt hurt in a way you didn’t quite know how to name.
The name echoed again.
Kirsten.
Until, eventually, exhaustion pulled you under and you fell asleep.
-
Morning came quietly.
When you woke, it took you a moment to remember where you were. Your body felt stiff, your neck sore from the awkward angle you had slept in. The thin hospital light filtered through the curtains, pale and diffused, settling softly across the room. You blinked, still half-asleep, and turned onto your other side — the one facing Steve’s bed. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows to check on him.
He was still asleep.
His breathing was steady, his face relaxed, peaceful. You let yourself fall back against the couch with a quiet sigh, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before finally forcing yourself up.
You moved slowly, careful not to make noise, and reached for your bag. From it, you pulled out a change of clothes and your small toiletry pouch. Before heading to the bathroom, you glanced at him again. Only then did you slip inside and close the door softly behind you.
The cold water helped you to wake up completely. Then you brushed your teeth and changed into a pair of jeans and a white blouse, leaving the top buttons undone. You braided your hair with quick, practiced movements, your reflection staring back at you — pale, tired, like you had aged years in just a few days.
For a brief second, your mind betrayed you and Kirsten’s image appeared before you with her perfect hair and flawless make-up, put together in a way you didn’t feel right now. Your jaw tightened as Steve’s voice, whispering her name, echoed again in your mind.
Your stomach dropped.
Your gaze shifted back to your reflection. Then lower. To your body. A body that suddenly felt… wrong. Defective. While Kirsten was everything you didn’t feel like in that moment. Younger. Pretty. And probably fertile.
The thought landed sharp and heavy, tightening your throat.
Maybe Steve had seen it too that night. He must have looked at her and found her beautiful. Maybe he had seen something easier in her. Simpler. Someone who didn’t come with defects. Unlike you.
You swallowed.
Was that why he stayed?
Before you could spiral further, you reached for your makeup and started applying it with more focus than necessary. Controlled. Precise. Like it could fix something. Or at least hide it.
When you stepped back into the room, your eyes lifted instinctively to him.
Steve was awake, propped slightly against the pillows now, his posture still weak, shoulders slouched.
You froze for half a second. “Hey… you’re awake,” you said after a moment, a little too quickly, a hint of surprise slipping into your voice. You gave him a small smile.
He didn’t look away. “You’re here,” he said, like he wasn’t entirely sure of it. Like he needed to say it out loud to believe it.
Something in your chest shifted. You set your pouch down on the couch and moved closer, your your steps first quickly, then slower, more careful as you approached his bed.
“Yeah, of course I am. I just — I went to freshen up a bit,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom. “You know… look somewhat presentable. I haven’t exactly been at my best these —”
“You look beautiful.”
The words came without hesitation.
You blinked, caught off guard. Your mouth parted slightly, whatever you had been about to say dissolving before it could take shape. For a second, you just stood there, a little stunned — then a small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips.
There was a brief pause.
“Well…” you cleared your throat lightly, your gaze briefly dropping before lifting back to him. “You don’t look that bad yourself, all things considered.”
There was a hint of amusement in your tone, an attempt — gentle, careful — to ease the tension. But inside you the anxiety was eating you up.
You stopped beside the bed, suddenly aware of how close you were.
“How are you feeling?” you asked, softer now. “Did you sleep okay? Are you in pain?”
It felt strange standing there or talking to him after everything. Not in a bad way. Just strange as the last conversation you had shared still hovered somewhere between you, unspoken but present. Like an echo neither of you could quite shake.
And there was the distance too. Not physical. But more like you were both trying to find your footing without knowing where the ground was.
Steve hesitated. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he answered. “I’m… okay, I think,” he said, his voice still rough, low from disuse. “A little sore. But… I guess it could be worse.”
He shifted slightly against the pillows, the movement slow, careful. His eyes drifted briefly around the room, as if grounding himself. Then back to you.
“I—” he started, then paused, like he had to gather the energy for the question. “How long was I out?”
“A week.”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard. His lips parted slightly. “Oh.”
Then, he nodded faintly, his gaze dropping for a second as he processed it, shoulders sinking just a little deeper into the pillows.
For a moment, the room fell so quiet you could hear just your own breathing, your heartbeat loud in your ears.
You sat down on the chair beside his bed, leaving a careful distance between you.
It felt wrong. Being this close to him — in the same room, within reach — and not touching him. You kept your hands folded tightly in your lap, fingers laced together as if that alone could keep you still. Because part of you wanted to move closer. To reach for him. To take his hand, feel the warmth of his skin, reassure yourself that he was real.
But you didn’t and stayed where you were.
“Do you… remember anything?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now, more cautious. “About the accident, I mean.”
Steve lifted his gaze to you. For a second, he just looked at you — like he was trying to read something in your expression, something you weren’t saying. Then he shook his head.
“Not really,” he admitted. “I mean… it’s all kind of blurry. Pieces, maybe. But nothing that makes sense.”
You nodded faintly, though your mind had already moved ahead.
What else didn’t he remember?
Did he forget what had happened with Kirsten or the dream he had last night?
“I think I… had too much to drink,” he continued, slower now, as if choosing each word carefully. “The last thing I can clearly recall is being in the car and—”
He stopped. His expression shifted almost instantly. His eyes flickered, unfocused for a second, his face tightening, the color draining slightly from it as if something had just clicked into place.
You leaned forward in your seat without thinking. “Hey—hey, what is it?” you asked quickly, the edge of panic slipping into your voice. “Are you okay? Does something hurt?”
Steve blinked a few times, trying to steady himself, his breathing uneven for a moment. “No, I’m okay,” he said finally, though his voice came out rougher than before. “It’s just…Was anyone else hurt?”
The question caught you off guard.
You frowned slightly. “What?”
“The accident,” he clarified, his voice tense now, more awake than before. “Was there any victim? Anyone—”
“No,” you interrupted gently but firmly, shaking your head. “There were no victims.”
He went still. For a moment, he just stared at you, searching your face — making sure. Then his shoulders dropped, a quiet breath leaving him, relieved.
“Okay… okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, nodding faintly.
But you could see he was still tense. His gaze lowered briefly, his jaw tightening again as something else settled in.
“I just…” he started, then paused, swallowing. He dragged a hand over his face, slower this time. You could see it — the moment where he had to decide whether to say it or not. “I just remembered something,” he said finally, his voice lower now, heavier. “Something you should know.”
Your heart sank, even though you already knew what he was going to tell. Or at least, you thought you did.
Still, you didn’t say anything. You just nodded, giving him space to continue.
Steve dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, like he was trying to gather himself. Then his hand dropped, almost unconsciously, to his other one. His fingers closed around his ring finger, rubbing at the bare skin where his wedding band should have been. Back and forth.
“I…” His gaze slipped away from yours, fixing somewhere ahead of him, unfocused—like it was easier to look at nothing than at you. “I wasn’t alone.”
The words landed heavier coming from him, making everything more real.
“There was someone else in the car with me,” he went on, his voice uneven, low. “A woman.”
You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. Hearing it out loud from him made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. Final in a way you couldn’t undo.
You stayed still, silent and let him continue.
Let him explain, Robin’s voice echoed clearly in your mind.
“After… after our argument that night,” he continued, slower now, like he was piecing it together as he spoke, “I couldn’t go home. I just —” He shook his head faintly. “I didn’t want to be there. Not without you.” His eyes flickered briefly toward you, then dropped again almost immediately. “I needed to get out. To not think for a while. I was…” He exhaled sharply. “I was a mess. Angry. Tired. Everything at once. And I didn’t —” He swallowed, dragging in a breath, like even saying it out loud cost him something. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
You lowered your eyes to your hands, your fingers curling slightly into your palms.
“So I went to the Hideout,” he continued. “Just to have a drink. But… Instead, I ended up having a few.”
A humorless breath left him.
“And that’s where I met her.”
He let his head fall forward, his hands coming up to his face as if the memory itself was too much.
“She—” he started, then faltered. “She asked if she could sit.”
A brief silence stretched between you.
“I… I knew what she was really asking for. What she really wanted,” he admitted, dropping his gaze. “And I know that it’s not really an excuse but… I felt so alone.” His voice edged with something close to shame. He swallowed, eyes briefly closing. “I thought a little company wouldn't hurt. So I let her sit next to me.” A small pause, like even saying it felt wrong. “We started talking. And she… started flirting.”
His fingers tightened slightly against the bedsheet, the fabric wrinkling beneath his grip.
“I should’ve left,” he muttered. “I know that. I should’ve gotten up and walked away.” A pause. “But I didn’t. And I didn’t stop her,” he admitted, voice lower now.
Your breath caught quietly in your chest.
“I stayed. I kept drinking and she kept—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “We kept talking. She started touching my arm, laughing at everything I said. She… she listened to me like it actually mattered.”
You stayed still while a sharp, uncomfortable heat spread through you — jealousy, immediate and instinctive. The image formed before you could stop it: her sitting next to him, leaning in, smiling, touching him like she had any right to. And this time it felt so much worse. Because it wasn’t just something your mind had made up. It was real.
Your jaw tightened.
You didn’t like it. You didn’t like the idea of another woman sitting that close to your husband, touching him, thinking she could have him. Especially knowing he was married. It irritated you more than you wanted to admit, a quiet, persistent anger settling under your skin. Who she thought she was?
But she wasn’t the first to act like that.
Steve had always been the kind of guy girls noticed. The one they looked at a little longer than necessary. Even now that he was married. Women still flirted with him like it didn’t matter. Like the ring on his finger meant nothing — or worse, like it wasn’t even there.
You had seen it before and every time you had brushed it off, not at all worried. You knew Steve wasn’t interested. That he didn’t care about them. But this was different. Because this time… he had stayed. He had let her flirting.
In any other moment, you would’ve snapped and asked him why. Why he hadn’t walked away. Why he had stayed. But the questions died before they could reach your lips. Because you already knew the answer. Or at least part of it.
Your fingers pressed harder into your palms.
You had pushed him there. With your words. Your choices. The things you had said that night. You had told him to move on. To find someone else. And maybe in the end he had listened to you.
Steve dragged a hand through the bandage covering his hair, clearly unsettled now.
“And it felt good for a minute,” he exhaled, almost bitterly, dropping his gaze.
For a second, you forgot how to breathe. The words hit deeper than anything else. Your throat went dry, your pulse quickening as something fragile inside you shifted. You swallowed, slowly, painfully. You wanted to ask him what he meant. What kind of good. And how far it had gone. But the words wouldn’t come out. They stayed lodged in your chest, tangled with everything else you were feeling — jealousy, guilt, fear.
How good Kirsten had made him feel? Better than you?
“Everything you said that night kept… echoing in my head,” he added more quietly. “About moving on. About finding someone else.” He let out a short, humorless breath. “And I don’t know if I was trying to prove something, or just —” He hesitated. “Or just stop thinking about you for five minutes.” Another pause. “Maybe I just wanted to see if I could do it,” he admitted, voice rough now. “If you were actually right and I could… move on as you had said.”
His gaze dropped, sighing.
“It’s stupid. I know, ” he muttered. “But I wasn’t really thinking. Not clearly, at least.”
Silence fell again, heavier than before.
“I should’ve left,” he repeated under his breath. “But I didn’t.”
He swallowed.
“And then…” His voice faltered, uncertainty creeping back in. “I — she — we —”
Frustration flickered across his face as the memory slipped out of reach again.
“Jesus… I… I don’t remember,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s all messed up in my head.”
He let out a small, disbelieving breath, shaking his head. “I — I don’t even remember her name.” A hollow laugh slipped out, but there was no real amusement in it. “I swear, I don’t,” he added quickly, almost desperately, like he needed you to believe that. As if that detail changed anything. As if it made things better. “I don’t remember.”
He sounded wrecked.
Ashamed.
You couldn’t look at him. Your vision blurred as your eyes filled with tears, your focus dropping to your hands resting in your lap. For a second, you just sat there, breathing through the tightness in your chest. You squeezed your eyes, hard.
Then, barely above a whisper.
“Kirsten.”
Steve turned toward you, his brow furrowing. “What?”
You lifted your gaze to him, quickly brushing the tears from your cheeks with the back of your fingers. “Kirsten,” you said quietly. “The girl. That’s her name.”
A beat.
“Wait—” His confusion deepened, something sharper slipping in right after. “How… how do you know that?”
“She —” You cleared your throat and went on. “She came here. A few days ago. While you were still in a coma.” You paused, watching his reaction carefully. “She wanted to see how you were. And we… talked. She told me everything, Steve.”
Silence fell over the room.
For a second, Steve just stared at you, like he hadn’t fully understood. Then something in his expression shifted — confusion twisting into something closer to panic. He shook his head once. Then again. Faster.
“Wait—no, I— I don’t know what she told you, but I—” His voice stumbled over itself, his breathing picking up. “We didn’t— I mean—” He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair, careful around the bandage. “I swear to you, nothing happened. At least— I don’t think it did. I would remember that,” he added, almost to himself, his voice faltering.
His eyes searched yours, desperate now.
“My memories are messed up, okay? I told you, they’re not clear, but I wouldn’t—” He shook his head again, more forcefully this time. “I couldn’t. Not to you, not—” He broke off, frustrated, dragging a hand down his face. “I mean, yeah, maybe I— I might’ve flirted a little, I don’t know, I was drunk and pissed and not thinking straight, but I wouldn’t—”
He stopped, breath uneven, clearly spiraling, trying to fill in the gaps before they could turn into something worse.
You couldn’t help it.
A small smile tugged at your lips.
You tried to hide it, pressing them together, but it was there.
He was unraveling in front of you, so visibly shaken, so desperate to explain himself, to fix something he wasn’t even sure he had broken.
When you were the one who had broken everything.
It did something to you.
“Steve,” you said, a little gentler now, but still firmly.
But it seemed like he didn’t hear you.
“I didn’t do anything, I didn’t — I mean, I don’t think I did, I wouldn’t just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head again. “God, I sound like an idiot, I just— I need you to know that I would never—”
“Steve,” you repeated, louder this time.
He stopped, meeting your eyes.
“Stop,” you added. “I know everything.”
For a second, he didn’t move. Then his expression shifted — tight, uncertain, almost bracing for impact. His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, like he was already preparing for whatever version of the story he thought you had heard.
You could see in his face — the fear, the guilt, the way he was already punishing himself for something he wasn’t even sure he had done.
Your gaze dropped briefly, your fingers fidgeting restlessly in your lap. You drew in a slow breath, trying to keep the composure you had been holding onto since the beginning of this conversation. You glanced around briefly, your eyes unfocused as the memory of your conversation with Kirsten surfaced — clear, vivid, like it was happening all over again. You remembered every single word she had said, very detail.
You let yourself fall back into it as you told Steve everything.
-
You swallowed hard. “Sorry for what, exactly?” you asked after a moment, your voice firm, cold, already bracing yourself for the worst.
Kirsten’s gaze shifted between you and Steve, lingering on him for just a second longer. There was hesitation in her eyes, like she wasn’t sure where to begin or what to say. When she finally spoke, her voice was small, unsteady.
“The accident,” she said, her words catching in her throat. “I… I’m so, so sorry.”
You blinked, your brows furrowed.
Her composure broke almost immediately. A soft sob escaped her, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as if she could stop it. “I—I’m not very good at driving,” she went on, her voice trembling, uneven. “And it was raining… it was raining so hard. There was water everywhere. I could barely see the road and then —” She shook her head quickly, sighing, like the memory overwhelmed her. “Everything happened so fast.”
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue.
“I’m really sorry. Truly. It was my car. I was driving.” Her hand lifted slightly, gesturing toward Steve’s unconscious body on the bed. “This should’ve happened to me. Not to him.”
You frowned, confusion settling in, pushing past everything else.
Her words didn’t match the story you had been building in your head.
She let out a shaky breath, noticing your expression. “If I just… If I hadn’t offered him a ride, maybe he’d be fine right now,” she added, quieter now, guilt laced through every syllable. “It’s just that —”
You interrupted her, unable to hold it in any longer. “Wait — what?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. “I… I don’t understand. A ride? To where?”
Kirsten blinked, startled by your reaction.
“To you,” she said, more cautiously now. “He wanted to come back to you.”
You stared at her, your heart skipping a beat. The confusion only deepened, your mind struggling to keep up.
“To me?” You repeated, almost under your breath.
“We were both at the Hideout,” she continued, trying to explain, her words still uneven but clearer now. “We were talking. Drinking. And at some point he started telling me about you.”
You held her gaze, trying to keep up. She paused, studying your face as if to make sure you were following.
“He talked about a fight you had had earlier,” she said. “I probably shouldn’t say this but… he was a mess. He kept saying it wasn’t over. That you two still needed to talk. That he wasn’t going to let it end like that.” A faint, almost sad smile flickered across her lips. “He was… very determined. Drunk, yes, but determined.”
Your heart stuttered in your chest.
“At one point, he just stood up,” she went on. “He started looking for his keys, saying he had to go. To you.”
You felt you breath catch.
“But he wasn’t in any condition to drive,” she added quickly. “He was completely wasted. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. He was so set on it.” She paused, glancing down at the floor. “And I don’t know…” She started saying. “It was kind of… romantic, in a way. Maybe a little desperate, too. But… romantic. The way he talked about you. The fact that he wanted to get back to you no matter what.” Her voice softened. “He looked so heartbroken. And I don't know… I think I felt sorry for him.”
A quiet breath left her.
“So I offered to drive him,” she finished. “I figured… at least I could make sure he got there safely.” A faint, bitter exhale followed. “Besides,” she added, almost as an afterthought, “by then it was pretty clear I didn’t stand a chance anyway.”
Her gaze flickered back to Steve.
“And then… well.” She gestured lightly toward him, toward the hospital bed, the machines, the silence that surrounded him. “We — You know the rest.”
The room had fallen completely still after that, while your mind had been racing, trying to rearrange everything you thought you knew into something that made sense.
There was one thought that kept surfacing, louder than the rest.
You looked back at her. “He… Steve was coming to me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost fragile, even though you already knew the answer. But a part of you needed yet another confirmation. To be sure.
Kirsten nodded without hesitation.
“Yes.”
That single word settled deep inside your chest, echoing in your mind. If Steve was trying to come back to you, it meant that…
He hadn’t been going somewhere else. Not to her. Not to anyone.
You dropped your gaze for a moment, your thoughts shifting, narrowing, until only one question remained. The one that had been haunting you from the very beginning.
You swallowed slowly before asking. “So… you and Steve… nothing happened?” Your voice faltered slightly despite your effort to keep it steady. “At the bar. And after, in the car. It was just… a ride? That’s all?”
Kirsten nodded again, more firmly this time.
You felt like you could breathe again, as if you had been underwater until that moment and was only now resurfacing.
Kirsten let out a small sigh. “Look, I’ll be honest,” she said. “When I saw him sitting at the bar, alone, I thought…” She hesitated, a faint, embarrassed smile tugging at her lips. “I thought I’d give it a shot,” she admitted.
A brief pause.
“But I never really had a chance,” she added quickly.
You lifted your eyes to her again.
“Yeah, he was… polite,” she went on. “Charming. He listened to me, answered my questions. But when he started talking… he only talked about you.” She shook her head slightly. “And he wouldn’t stop.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I think I learned more about you than I did about him,” she added. “My wife this, my wife that… and always something good.”
Something in your chest tightened.
“Once we got in the car, he fell asleep almost immediately,” she added, a small, almost fond smile appearing despite everything. “Didn’t even make it five minutes.” She shook her head slightly. “But nothing else happened,” she said, more firmly now. “He didn’t even touch me. Not once.”
Her gaze held yours.
“You’re… very lucky,” she said quietly.
For a moment, you just stared at her. Then your eyes drifted to Steve, slowly. To the man lying in that hospital bed. The man who, even at his worst, even broken and drunk and hurting, had still chosen you. Even when it would have been so easy to let go, to give in, to choose something easier. Someone else. But he hadn’t. He had still tried to come back to you.
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, followed by a soft smile. You shook your head faintly.
“No,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.
You looked back at her.
“I’m the lucky one.”
-
A quiet settled in the room when you finished speaking.
Your eyes stayed fixed on Steve’s face, waiting for his reaction. You held your breath without even realizing it.
He didn’t speak right away. His gaze drifted slightly, watching everywhere and nothing at the same time, as he tried to process every word, to fit it somewhere inside what he remembered. His eyes flicked to you. Then, after a moment, he spoke. “So… nothing happened?” His voice low, careful as if he wasn’t still sure.
You shook your head slowly.
For a second, he just looked at you. Then his eyes closed, and a long breath left him — deep, shaky, like it had been trapped inside his chest for several minutes. His shoulders dropped as he sank back into the pillows, tension draining from his body, giving way to something softer. Relief. Pure, unfiltered relief. Like a weight had finally been lifted.
But it didn’t last.
His expression shifted again as his eyes opened, something heavier settling in their place, his gaze back on you.
“I’m sorry.”
You frowned immediately, blinking at him in confusion. “What? Steve, I just told you nothing happened—”
He shook his head, slower this time, certain. “Yes, it did.”
The firmness in his tone caught you off guard. There was no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. Just quiet conviction. He swallowed, his eyes dropping to the blanket, fingers brushing absentmindedly against the fabric.
“I still let her sit,” he said, his voice rougher now. “I knew what she wanted and I still— I didn’t stop it. I stayed. And I let her… flirt. And I…” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “I shouldn’t have. It was wrong.”
You didn’t speak. You weren’t sure you could.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, softer this time.
You swallowed, your eyes dropping to your hands as they twisted together in your lap. “It’s okay, Steve,” you said after a moment, your voice gentler. “Really. You don’t have to apologize.” A small pause. “I’m not even in the position… I mean… I was the one who told you to move on. To find —”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the chair.
“Yeah, but I never wanted that.” His voice cut through yours, sharper this time, tinged with frustration.
You looked up at him, surprised by his tone.
“And I don’t want it,” he added, more firmly, like he needed you to understand.
He dragged a hand through his hair, careful around the bandage, exhaling through his nose as he tried to steady himself. “I tried,” he went on after a moment, quieter now. “I tried to listen to you. To do what you said.” His gaze drifted somewhere ahead of him, unfocused. “To imagine it. Being with someone else. Seeing if I could feel something.” A small, bitter breath left him. “If it could be that simple.”
He let out a short, bitter breath.
“That’s why I talked to her,” he admitted. “At first, I thought… maybe.” He shook his head faintly. “But it wasn’t.”
Your chest tightened.
“But I couldn’t.” His gaze lifted, finding yours and holding it this time. “I was sitting there with her and all… all I could think about was you.” His voice softened, something raw slipping through. “About us. About how wrong everything felt. All of it. Being there, talking to her… even listening to her.” A small pause. “I didn’t want to be there. Not really. I wanted to be home. With you. I wanted to fix things. To talk to you. That’s all I wanted.”
The words settled between you, heavy and real.
“Being there with her…” he continued, slower now, like he was choosing each word carefully, “it just made everything clearer.”
You held his gaze, barely breathing.
“I don’t want her,” he said. “Or anyone else.”
Something in your chest cracked open.
“I don’t need to try or imagine,” he added, his voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing on him. “Because I have you.”
Your eyes filled before you could stop them.
“You’re the one I want,” he finished quietly. “No matter what.”
No matter if you could give him kids or not, you thought he wanted to say.
You couldn’t speak, your breath catching in your throat. You remembered Nancy and Robin’s words. When they had said exactly the same thing. But hearing Steve pronounce them was different. More real. It wasn't just the words of two friends trying to comfort you anymore.
Your throat tightened, emotions rising too fast, too overwhelming to put into words. You dropped your gaze for a second, blinking rapidly as tears blurred your vision.
“Everything I said that night at Nancy’s house…” he continued, softer now, his voice rough with emotion. “I meant it. Every word.”
You swallowed hard, looking back at him.
“I meant it when I said it wasn’t over,” he added. “Not for me. And I think —”
A soft knock interrupted him.
The door opened before either of you could react, and a nurse stepped inside, pushing a breakfast cart, her presence sudden and almost jarring against the intimacy of the moment. You both turned toward her at the same time.
“Good morning,” she said with a polite smile, her voice gentle, professional. “Time to eat.”
You straightened slightly, forcing a small smile in return, but you could feel it — that lingering weight between you, the conversation left hanging mid-air. When you looked back, Steve was already looking at you again.
“We need to talk,” he said under his breath, just for you.
You nodded quickly. “I know,” you whispered. “I need to talk to you too.”
For a second, it felt instinctive to reach for him and close the distance.
But you didn’t.
You stayed where you were, your hands still, your fingers curling slightly into your palms instead.
“Later, okay?” You added after a small pause.
His gaze lingered on yours for a second longer, searching for any trace of doubt. Then he gave a faint nod, his jaw tightening just slightly before his attention shifted back to the nurse — who had just asked him something neither of you had actually heard.
-
But later never seemed to come.
The moment you had promised each other kept slipping further away, pushed aside by one interruption after another.
Right after breakfast, they had taken Steve for a series of tests. You had watched as they wheeled him out of the room, his hand slipping from yours at the last second, his eyes lingering on you like he didn’t want to let go.
When he returned, the doctor followed with good news. Steve was responding well. The scans were clear and there were no signs of complications from the head trauma. He was officially out of danger. They would keep him a few more days, just to be sure, and then discharge him.
You hadn’t realized how tightly you had been holding your breath until that moment. It left you all at once, a quiet, shaky exhale as relief settled deep in your chest, loosening something that had been knotted there for days.
Not long after, the room had started to fill with visits — first one person, then two, then more. Word had spread and now everyone wanted to see Steve.
The energy in the room shifted completely. Where there had been tension and quiet before, there was Nancy’s calm voice, Robin’s unmistakable, relentless chatter and Dustin’s comments filling every corner of the space. Despite the bruises, the bandages, the lingering exhaustion, Steve seemed more like himself with every passing minute. He rolled his eyes at Dustin, muttered under his breath, pushed back weakly when the teasing got too much.
Dustin shook his head, arms crossed. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Can’t believe what?” Steve asked, already annoyed.
“That this is how you almost died,” Dustin said. “A car accident. Seriously, dude?”
Steve stared at him in disbelief. “I didn’t exactly plan it, Henderson.”
“Yeah, but you survived demogorgons and Vecna,” Dustin went on. “And then, boom! Seatbelt takes you out.”
“First of all, that’s not how seatbelts work! And secondly, that's not exactly how things went.”
“Still embarrassing,” Dustin muttered.
Steve let his head fall back against the pillow. “I’m not having this conversation.”
Everyone in the room burst out laughing, including you.
Anyone else, hearing words like demogorgons or Vecna, would have frowned in confusion.
But not you.
You knew exactly what they meant. Steve had told you everything about the Upside Down, not long after you had gotten together. At first, you had thought it was some elaborate story to scare you or make you laugh. But then El had shown you what she could do and suddenly, nothing had felt impossible anymore.
After that, things had started making sense — the way Steve had somehow become responsible for a group of kids, the looks they all exchanged sometimes, full of meaning you couldn’t quite grasp at the time, and their silences.
Your gaze drifted back to him. He was listening, nodding along, answering when he had to but every few seconds, his eyes found you again. Like a reflex. Like he couldn’t help it.
Sometimes your gazes locked for a second too long, something unspoken passing between you before you were the one to look away, your cheeks warming despite yourself. Other times, he was the one to break it, turning back to whoever was talking to him, forcing himself back into the conversation.
But you could tell he was waiting, watching for a moment alone with you. You had seen it more than once — him starting to say something when the room finally quieted, only for the door to open again, another voice cutting in, another interruption stealing the moment away.
Part of you was relieved for those interruptions. They gave you space and time to breathe, to think and to process everything that had already been said before adding more on top of it. Before addressing the conversation you had put on hold since before the accident.
When the room became too full and the noise too much, you slipped out quietly, using small excuses — coffee, water, fresh air. But more than once, you found yourself standing in front of the vending machines without taking anything, staring blankly at the rows of snacks as your mind replayed his words.
I want you. No matter what.
You leaned your shoulder against the cold wall, exhaling slowly, your arms crossing loosely over your chest.
Now that everything was clear — what had happened that night, what hadn’t — there was nothing left to question. No more misunderstandings to hide behind. No more reasons to put off the conversation you had left unfinished. The one you had been avoiding from the beginning.
You closed your eyes for a moment as the thought settled in your chest, quiet but undeniable.
The next conversation would matter.
And it would change everything once again.
Maybe it would be even the last.
-
The door clicked shut a few minutes past eight, and for the first time in hours, the room fell quiet.
You both exhaled almost at the same time, relieved, exhausted.
You were still sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, your shoulders relaxing, when Steve’s voice broke through. “I thought they’d never leave.”
A small laugh slipped past your lips, soft, almost whispered. “What can you do? You’re basically a celebrity right now. Everyone wants to see…” You tilted your head, a teasing glint in your eyes. “What was it they used to call you? King Steve?”
He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head against the pillow as he remembered his “glorious days” in high school. “Yeah… well, I don’t feel much like a king right now.” He hesitated. “Don’t think I ever really was.”
There was no bitterness in his voice. Just tired honesty.
You pushed yourself up from the couch and walked toward the bed, slow. You stopped just short of it, leaving that small, careful distance between you.
“It’s been a long day,” you said gently, smiling. “You must be exhausted. Do you want—”
“I want to talk.”
The words cut through yours, firm but not harsh. You stilled. For a second, you just looked at him, as if to understand whether he truly meant it.
And he did. You could see the determination in his eyes.
You took another step closer, your hand resting lightly on the edge of the mattress, fingers pressing into the fabric as if to steady yourself.
“Now?” you asked, your voice softer, uncertain. “Are you sure? It’s late. We could —”
Steve shook his head. “No.” His voice was calm, but resolute. “I need to do this now.”
He shifted slightly against the pillows, wincing almost imperceptibly before settling again. His gaze stayed on you, steady despite the exhaustion written all over him. “I need to know that this —” his hand lifted weakly, gesturing between the two of you “— that this isn’t just… temporary.”
You swallowed.
“I need to know what happens when I get out of here,” he added, his voice dipping, rougher now, choosing each word with care. “I mean between us,” he clarified, his voice quieter. His eyes flickered over your face, studying you, trying to find an answer. “You’ve been here all day, barely leaving my side. And we —” He stopped, exhaling shakily, his gaze dropping for a second. “It feels like before. Like nothing changed. Like nothing happened.”
Your fingers curled slightly against the mattress.
“And I don’t know if it… if it is real,” he admitted. “Or if you’re acting like that just because I’m here like this.” His jaw tensed slightly, swallowing. “Because you feel like you have to.”
Your heart pulled tight in your chest. You shook your head almost immediately, a small, instinctive motion. You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him it wasn’t true — that you really wanted to be there. For him. And not just because he was your husband.
But Steve didn’t give you the time to reply and the words caught in your throat.
“I don’t want to assume anything,” he went on, his gaze dropping briefly before finding yours again. “I don’t want to think we’re okay if we’re not.”
There was no accusation in his voice — just careful, restrained fear.
“So I need to know,” he said, more quietly now, the words slower, “if this… if you being here… means we’re not over.” His voice faltered slightly. “Not even for you.”
You swallowed.
“That you’re going to stay once I’m out of here,” he added, barely above a murmur. “Or if…” He swallowed, his throat working visibly. “If you’re just going to leave again.”
The words hung between you. Steve’s jaw tightened slightly, like even saying it out loud cost him something.
“Because I can’t do that again, I can’t lose you again,” he admitted, his voice stripped of everything but truth. “I need to know where we stand,” he finished, softer now. “Before I start hoping for something that isn’t there,” he added under his breath, almost more to himself than to you.
Your breath caught.
“Please,” he begged.
The word was barely a whisper, but it hit you harder than anything else he had said. The tears burned behind your eyes, threatening to spill. Seeing him like that — so open, so vulnerable — broke through every last defense you had left, any resistance still intact. You swallowed hard, still feeling the weight of his words pressing against your chest. Then you nodded slowly.
“Okay… let’s talk.”
You moved to the chair beside his bed, sitting down and turning slightly toward him. The distance between you was smaller now, but it felt heavier than it should have.
The room fell into silence.
You lifted your eyes to him, but dropped them almost immediately, your fingers fidgeting together in your lap as you searched for the right words.
You cleared your throat softly. “There’s something you should know first,” you said, your voice low, hesitant. “Something I didn’t tell you this morning.”
Steve didn’t speak. He just watched you, waiting. His expression tightened slightly, like he already knew he wasn’t going to like what came next.
You lowered your gaze again, drawing in a slow breath. “After I talked to Kirsten… that day…” You hesitated, your lips pressing together for a second. Then, without softening it — “I called a lawyer.”
Steve’s eyes widened, his grip tightening around the bedsheets, the confusion visible in his hands.
Your fingers curled tighter together as you forced yourself to keep going, rushing on before he could say anything. Before he could think the worst.
“I had already contacted him before the accident,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, a trace of embarrassment creeping in. “To start the divorce process,” you added after a brief moment of hesitation.
You knew that confessing it wouldn't help your position. If anything, it might make things worse. But it seemed right to you that he knew. It was the least you could do, especially after he had told you the truth that morning.
You looked up at him, almost cautiously, afraid of his reaction.
He didn’t say anything right away but you saw the shift in his expression, the hurt in his eyes before he could hide it. His gaze drifted away from you, landing somewhere across the room, unfocused, nodding, like he was just processing what you had said. Then a breath left him — something close to a dry, humorless laugh.
“Right,” he muttered. “Thought of everything, didn’t you?”
The tone was light, but not enough to hide the hurt underneath. Enough to make your guilt grow.
You closed your eyes briefly, shaking your head. “No… I didn’t,” you said, quickly, more firmly this time. “That’s exactly the point.”
When you opened your eyes again, you looked straight at him. “I thought I had everything figured out,” you went on, slower, more honest. “I thought I knew what I was doing. But I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking clearly. And I ignored many things. I ignored you. Your opinion. Your feelings. And it wasn’t right.”
Your hands shifted slightly against your knees, restless.
“That’s why I called the lawyer again,” you added, glancing away for a second before meeting his eyes again. “I told him to stop.”
Steve turned his head toward you sharply, caught off guard.
“What?” he asked, almost under his breath. “Stop?”
His grip on the sheets loosened slightly, though not completely. His eyes searched yours carefully.
“Really?”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I told him not to go through with it. Not to file anything.”
You let out a shaky breath, your eyes dropping for a moment before lifting back to his.
“I messed up, okay?” you said, your voice unsteady. “I know that. And I’m… I’m sorry.”
The words came out before you could stop them—and once they started, they didn’t stop. “I shouldn’t have done what I did,” you went on, faster now, like you needed to get it all out before you lost the nerve. “I shouldn’t have made that decision on my own. Without talking to you first. Without even… asking you what you wanted.”
Your gaze dropped again, this time longer as shame crept in, heavy and undeniable.
“I kept telling myself that I was doing the right thing,” you admitted, a faint, bitter edge slipping into your voice. “For you. For both of us.”
You let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “But clearly…” you gestured weakly between the two of you, your throat tightening, “that’s not what happened.”
You pushed yourself up from the chair then, unable to sit still anymore. You started pacing slowly beside his bed, your arms wrapping around yourself for a moment before dropping again.
“And the worst part is…” you went on, your voice quieter now, more honest, “it wasn’t even really about you.” You swallowed, hard. “I told myself, I told you that it was,” you said, turning slightly toward him. “But it wasn’t. Not completely, at least.” A pause. “I was just doing what I thought was right… for me.”
Your eyes stung, your vision blurring as you blinked quickly.
“Because I was scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. Your hands lifted, gesturing vaguely in front of you, restless. “Terrified, actually.”
You started moving again, slower this time.
“Scared that you’d stay with me… and then one day realize it was a mistake. That I was a mistake,” you said, each word heavier than the last. “And I didn’t want to be something you’d regret.”
Your arms crossed tighter over your chest, like you were trying to hold yourself together.
Steve shifted slightly on the bed.
Your words had hurt him.
“I could never—” he started, his voice low, tired, but you shook your head immediately, cutting him off before he could finish.
“You don’t know that, Steve,” you said gently, but firmly.
You sank back down onto the chair, your energy suddenly draining out of you all at once.
“And it’s okay. Because none of us do,” you continued, softer at first. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow… or in a year… or five.” Your voice started to pick up again, less steady now. "You could leave me one day,” you said, repeating Robin’s words, faster, more anxious. “You could stop loving me.” A small pause. “Or maybe I could be the one to change. To want something different.”
You let out a slow breath, closing your eyes for a brief moment before looking at him again.
“I don’t want that,” you added quickly before he could misunderstand your words. “Obviously. That’s not what I want at all.” Your lips pressed together briefly. “But it’s possible. Everything could happen.”
Silence stretched between you again, less sharp but just as heavy.
“I spent all this time…” you went on, quieter, steadier now, “focusing only on the worst possible outcome. On the idea that you’d end up unhappy. That you’d leave.” You shook your head faintly. “I never even considered the alternative,” you admitted. “That maybe you wouldn’t. That we might actually… be okay in the end.”
Your eyes softened slightly as you looked at him.
“That you might stay,” you finished.
The room fell silent. Steve sighed — a slow breath, exhausted. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with frustration. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this?” His eyes searched yours, trying to understand. “About what you were feeling. I would’ve told you that—”
You leaned back against the chair before he could finish, exhaustion washing over you all at once. Your head had started to ache somewhere along the way, a dull pressure building behind your eyes. You pressed your fingers to your temple, rubbing slowly.
“I told you, Steve. I was…” you exhaled, your voice faltering. “I was scared and… and a part of me didn't accept it at first. The diagnosis. I couldn’t believe it.”
You hesitated, your hand dropping back into your lap, fingers curling together.
“It…” you continued, your voice trembling now, thinner, like it might break at any moment. “It felt like it wiped everything out. Every certainty I had. Everything I thought I knew about us… about the future… was gone.” Your eyes filled with tears, your gaze slipping away from him. “I think… a part of me just… convinced itself that the only way we could keep being as happy as we were… was if we had kids,” you admitted, swallowing hard.
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.
“And when I found out that I might not be able to…” your voice cracked, breaking under the weight of it. “I thought that was it. Because I couldn’t give you the life we wanted anymore. And that we — I couldn’t make you happy anymore.”
More tears followed, quiet, unstoppable now.
“I thought that I wouldn’t be enough for you,” you whispered. “Not like that. Not in the long run. And that you’d get tired one day.”
“So I decided to leave you,” you went on, your lips trembling. “I thought… if I let you go first, if I stepped away… you’d still have time to realize that dream with someone else. To have what you’ve always wanted.”
You let out a shaky breath.
“I really thought I was doing the right thing,” you added, almost bitterly. “For you.” A pause. “I didn’t want you to sacrifice that life for me. But really… I was just trying to protect myself from the moment you’d realize I wasn’t enough.”
Silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. Steve looked at you, like he was trying to understand how you had carried all of that alone. Then he exhaled slowly.
“I didn’t fall in love with the idea of a family or... six little nuggets,” he started, his voice softer now, more careful. “I fell in love with you.” He shifted slightly against the pillows, wincing just a little, uncomfortable, but he didn’t stop. “I mean, yeah — I'd like to have them,” he admitted, more plainly. His gaze held yours. “But I want them with you,” he went on. “Before you, I didn’t even think about that stuff.” He let out a small breath. “You’re the reason I started wanting it in the first place. And I’m with you because I love you. For a hundred reasons that have nothing to do with…” He trailed off, hesitating for a second, searching for the right words. “…with whether you may be fertile or not.” The way he said it was a little awkward, a little unsure — but completely sincere.
A small, unexpected laugh slipped out of you through your tears, shaky but real. Steve’s expression softened just slightly at the sound of it.
“And anyway…” he added, a little more tentative now, like he was thinking out loud, “there are other ways.” He shrugged faintly, one hand shifting against the blanket. “We could adopt,” he said. “Or… I don’t know, there’s that thing—” he frowned slightly, trying to remember, one hand lifting before stopping halfway as if he remembered the bandages, then awkwardly scratching just beside them instead, careful, “what’s it called? I read about a technique somewhere. When they —” He gestured vaguely, frustrated with himself.“—when they, like… help with that. Medically.”
“IVF,” you said quietly, finishing the thought for him. “I’ve already looked into it,” you went on, your fingers twisted together in your lap, nails pressing lightly into your skin. “But it’s expensive, Steve. Really expensive. And we can’t afford that right now. Not with the mortgage, and everything else…” You shook your head faintly, your gaze dropping. “And it’s not even guaranteed to work.”
“And adoption…” you added, softer now. “I thought about it. I did. But I didn’t think it was something you’d want.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully, afraid of how they might sound once spoken out loud. “You always talked about having kids that looked like us. Your hair, my eyes… things like that.” A breath caught in your throat. “So I just assumed that… you wouldn’t want a child that —”
You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, something almost incredulous crossing his expression. “What?” he said, not sharply, but with quiet disbelief. “That they wouldn’t have my blood?”
He shook his head immediately, like the idea itself didn’t sit right with him.
“I don’t need that,” he said, more firmly now. “I don’t need them to look like me. Or to be… biologically mine.” He hesitated for a second, like he almost didn’t want to say it. “Look at me and Dustin,” he went on, his voice softening just a little. “We’re not related, but he’s—” he let out a small breath, searching for the right word. “He’s like my little brother. That’s not… less, just because we don’t share blood.”
Your eyes lifted to him.
“And my students,” he added after a second, quieter now. “Half the time I worry about them like they’re my own kids.” A faint, almost self-aware smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Probably more than I should.”
The smile faded as he looked back at you, more serious again.
“I don’t want some perfect little version of me,” he said. “Honestly, that sounds like a nightmare.” A brief pause. “That stuff… the hair, the eyes — it’s just something people say. A fantasy.” He drew in a slow breath. “What really matters is… What I want is a kid who’s healthy. Safe. Happy.” His voice softened, warming slightly despite everything. “Someone I can take to the park. Show how to play baseball when they’re ready.” A small shrug. “Or not baseball. Could be anything.”
Something in your chest tightened at the image.
“What I’m trying to say is…” he continued, his voice quieter, steadier. “We have options. We can adopt. We can try IVF, if that’s what you want.” He glanced down briefly, then back up at you. “I don’t care how much it costs. We can save, take a loan, whatever.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself picture it again. Not the version you used to imagine — the one where everything was easy, predictable, where the child looked like the two of you, shared your features. This time it was different, blurrier in some ways, less defined… but somehow still real.
You saw yourself and Steve side by side, a child between you. You couldn’t quite make out their face, couldn’t tell whose eyes they had — if they had either of yours at all. And for the first time, it didn’t matter. Because you were happy. And that was all that mattered.
Your chest tightened, something fragile and unfamiliar unfolding inside you.
Hope.
You hadn’t let yourself go there in weeks. Not since the day you had left him. Every time that image had tried to surface, you had pushed it away, shut it down before it could take shape. Like it wasn’t yours anymore. Like you didn’t have the right to want it.
But now… it didn’t feel impossible. Not the way it had before.
It could exist.
“Or…” Steve added, softer now, “we don’t do any of that.”
Your breath hitched slightly.
“We don’t have kids,” he said simply. “And that’s okay too.” He held your gaze then, fully, no hesitation or uncertainty left. “I mean it,” he went on. “I don’t need any of that.” His fingers loosened slightly in the sheets. “Whatever our family looks like, I want it to be with you.” A small pause. “I just want you,” he added. “That’s it. That’s the only thing I’m sure about.” He exhaled softly, almost like he was letting something go. “Everything else… It’s just extra.”
Tears kept falling, unstoppable now, slipping down your cheeks as if something inside you had finally given way. This time you let them come and run free.
“Even after all this?” you asked, your voice trembling, fragile. You swallowed, your throat tight. “You still want me?”
Steve didn’t hesitate. He nodded, his gaze steady despite the emotion shining in his eyes. “I think I’ve been pretty clear about that,” he said quietly.
He had. But part of you still needed to hear it again. Needed to be sure.
Steve’s expression shifted, something more serious settling in.
“What about you?” he went on, softer but no less certain. “What do you want?” He asked, his eyes holding yours, searching. “What happens to us when I get out of here?”
You hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands as they twisted together in your lap. You tried to steady your breathing, wiping your cheeks quickly, though the tears kept coming.
What do you want? The question echoed in your mind, louder than everything else.
“I… I don’t know if I want to adopt,” you admitted, your voice uneven. “And I don’t know if I want to try IVF. Not right now, at least.” You shook your head faintly, exhaling. “I think I need time to… to process everything first. To accept that I might not be able to have children of my own.” Your voice softened, quieter now. “I need to learn how to live with that before I can decide anything else.”
A small pause followed.
You still wanted kids. That hadn’t changed. Even when you had tried to convince yourself otherwise or told Steve the opposite. And now you knew that maybe, in some way, there was still a possibility. Not in the way you had imagined. Not the way you had planned so many times before. But still… a chance. A future. With him.
Just not yet.
First, you needed to heal.
And maybe, somewhere along the way, the two of you could find each other again.
You lifted your eyes back to him.
“But I’d like to figure it out with you,” you added, more firmly this time, even if your voice still trembled. “With you by my side. I want to see what our future looks like… together.” A faint, uncertain smile touched your lips. “At least as long as we both want one. What do you say?”
Steve’s eyes grew glassy, the emotion there no longer hidden. He let out a quiet breath, something in his shoulders easing, like he had been holding it in for too long. He nodded. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice rough, unsteady. “I’d like that a lot.”
You nodded too, almost instinctively, your chest tightening with something overwhelming and warm and disbelieving all at once. You tried to wipe your tears again, but they kept coming, slipping through your fingers.
“Hey…” Steve murmured, his voice softer now. He shifted slightly and extended his hand toward you, palm open. “Come here.”
You hesitated for a second, glancing at the bandages, the fading bruises along his skin. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you said quietly. “Your injuries—”
“I’ll be fine,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head faintly. Then, after a small pause, his voice softened even more. “It’ll hurt a lot more if you keep staying that far away. We’ve been apart long enough.” A faint hint of a smile tugged at his lips.
You knew he wasn’t just talking about the few steps between the chair and the bed. He was talking about all those days you had spent apart from each other. The distance you had created due to your stupid decisions. A distance that had almost cost you everything. A distance you weren't used to.
Since the moment you had met, you had never been this far from him for this long. Not like that. A few hours at most.
Something in your chest gave in completely, preventing you from arguing again. And you didn't even want to do it. You couldn’t. You needed him just as much.
Carefully, you stood and moved closer, climbing onto the bed with slow, cautious movements. You made sure to avoid the worst of his injuries, adjusting yourself until you could lie beside him without causing him pain. You settled on your side, resting your head against his chest, just over his heart. Your hand followed, splayed lightly against him as if to make sure he was real. His arm came around your waist almost immediately, holding you close, firm, like he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t.
When you had both settled, you exhaled at the same time.
The warmth of his skin against yours seeped in slowly at first, then all at once. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoed beneath your ear — strong, constant. It filled your senses, drowning out everything else. And just like that, something inside you unclenched. The tension that had been coiled in your body for days melted away, leaving behind a deep, heavy exhaustion you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel until that moment.
You closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting yourself sink into him completely, into the quiet rise and fall of his chest. You let his heartbeat lulling you into something softer, calmer.
“I thought I lost you,” you whispered after a while, your voice barely audible, trembling at the edges.
Steve’s hand moved slowly along your back, up and down in a soothing rhythm.
“I told you,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, “you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
A weak breath of a laugh left you, but it broke halfway through.
“I’m sorry,” you started, but the words caught in your throat.
Your body shook before you could stop it. The tears came harder this time, deeper. Not sharp or panicked like before, but something else entirely — something that had been building for too long.
Relief.
Because he was here. Alive.
And he was okay.
Because despite everything—everything you had done, everything you had almost destroyed—he was still choosing you.
And you were still there. With him.
You buried your face against him as the sobs finally broke free, quiet but uncontrollable, your fingers clutching lightly at his shirt.
You didn’t hold them back this time. You didn’t even try to. You just let go.
“I’m sorry,” you repeated, again and again, your voice muffled, uneven, like the words themselves weren’t enough to hold everything you felt.
Steve didn’t stop you. He just held you. His hand kept moving along your back, slow, steady, grounding. His other arm tightened slightly around you, anchoring you in place as you let it all out.
And for the first time in days, you stopped holding yourself together. You finally let go.
“Hey… hey,” he whispered softly, his lips brushing your hair again. “It’s okay.”
You cried into his chest, your body gradually easing with every breath, every quiet sob.
“We’re okay,” he murmured. “We’ll be fine.” His voice was firmer this time. It left no room for any doubt or uncertainty.
You clung to him a little tighter, your breathing slowly evening out, the weight inside your chest beginning to lift, little by little.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it.
And this time — you didn’t fight it.
And here we are, almost at the end of this story! I say 'almost' because… there will be an EPILOGUE! And then that’s really it, even though I’m having a hard time letting this series go. But all good things must come to an end, right? So let’s give it the ending it deserves! I can’t wait for you to read it, and don’t get too comfortable just yet, there are still tears ahead, so keep those tissues close.
Now returning to this last chapter... Did you really think I wouldn't give them a happy ending, or better another chance? I'm a total sucker for them. I was just messing with you, guys. Steve would never cheat on her! Sorry if I made you cry or sad in the last parts, it wasn't my intention (or maybe it was), but I wanted to keep some mystery until the end. I really hope that this chapter makes up for all my sins! Let me know what you think about it :)
Summary: When Steve wakes up, the truth finally surfaces. Is this the end of you… or a new beginning?
Warnings: angst, established relationship, married couple, arguments, marriage issues, pregnancy, infertility issues, maternity, motherhood, emotional distress, accident, injuries, alleged cheating, presumption of infidelity, divorce mentions
English isn't my first language, so be understandable and gentle, thanks!
Word count: +15k
Author's note: I hope you’re ready, because all your questions will finally be answered and everything will be revealed. Are you ready to find out? I definitely can’t wait to read your reactions and what you think. I really hope you love this chapter as much as the previous ones… if not more. Let me know what you think with a comment, your feedbacks are really important for me. And if you want to support me even more, reblog it. I'd really appreciate it. Now enjoy it and thanks for reading!
Two days after your conversation with Kirsten, the doctors told you the coma was no longer necessary and that they could begin reducing the sedatives.
They explained everything in careful, clinical terms — what it meant, how his body would respond, what to expect over the next few hours, the next few days. You listened, nodding when it felt appropriate, your eyes fixed on them as if you were following every word.
But you weren’t.
Because the only thing that truly registered, the only thing that stayed with you, was one simple fact.
Steve was going to wake up soon.
Aside from that news, your days didn’t change much. You still followed the same routine you had built for yourself since the accident.
You waited.
You sat by his bed, watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, listened to the steady rhythm of the machines. You spoke to him, quietly, filling the silence when it became too much. Other times, you just stayed there, your hand wrapped around his.
Somewhere along the way, everything had started to feel… suspended. Like time had paused, caught between what had been and what was supposed to happen next. The separation, your argument, the diagnosis — it all felt distant, almost unreal. There were moments when it barely seemed like it had happened at all.
And something almost ironic about it — cruelly so.
Just two weeks before, you had left him, walked out of your home and spent an entire week avoiding him, refusing to see him, to hear him out.
And now…
Now you spent every single day at his bedside, watching him breathe, sitting beside him for hours just to be close to him, taking care of him like nothing had ever happened. Like you had never left.
You had slipped back into your place so naturally it almost felt strange.
You were his wife again.
In a strange, unsettling way, the accident had restored something that had broken between you, forcing everything back into place.
But none of that was real. You knew it wasn’t. Because the moment Steve opened his eyes, reality would come rushing back in and everything you had been avoiding would still be there, waiting for you.
And that scared you.
The moment he woke up, there would be no more hiding from what came next.
It was a kind of contradiction. You couldn’t wait for Steve to regain consciousness but at the same time, a quiet fear lingered beneath it all — tight, persistent, suffocating.
At some point, you decided it was finally time to prepare a bag for him — clothes, basic things he would need when he woke up. Which meant going home. Your home. The same one you had left almost two weeks ago. The thought alone made your chest tighten.
When you parked in front of the house, your hands stayed on the steering wheel for a moment longer than necessary. Your eyes lifted slowly to the front door.
The memory came back so vividly it almost felt real. Steve standing just a few steps away from the car the day you had left, His chest rising and falling too fast, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. You could still see the confusion in his eyes and hear the pain in his voice as he begged you not to go. To stay.
You swallowed hard and blinked, forcing the image away. Then you exhaled, steadying yourself, and stepped out of the car. You unlocked the door and stepped inside.
For a split second, you expected to hear Steve’s voice calling your name from another room. The faint sound of movement upstairs. Or to feel his arms wrapping around you, welcoming you home after a long day.
Instead, there was nothing.
Just silence, settling around you immediately, heavy in a way that felt unfamiliar in a place that had never been quiet before.
You took a few steps forward, your gaze moving slowly around the living room. Everything looked exactly as you had left it.
Almost.
Your eyes caught on the coffee table — on the empty beer bottles scattered across it, a few more near the edge like they had been set down carelessly and forgotten.
Your chest tightened.
Steve wasn’t like that. He drank, sure, but occasionally. Never too much. Never like this.
It was the only real sign he had been there at all. Otherwise, the house felt untouched. As if he had simply been passing through it, existing in it without really living in it.
Your throat tightened slightly.
That place didn’t feel like home.
Not without him.
Because it had never really been about the walls.
It had always been him.
Now you felt out of place in it. Like an intruder.
You swallowed the thought down before it could settle too deeply and turned toward the stairs, taking them quickly, almost on instinct, until you reached the bedroom.
The door was still slightly open as if someone had left in a hurry, without bothering to close it first. You pushed it wider and stepped in, stopping almost immediately on the doorway.
Steve’s side of the bed was still unmade, the sheets wrinkled and half-pulled loose like they had been left in the middle of something. The books he had found were still scattered across the floor. On his nightstand, Eddie’s stash and a lighter sat exactly where he had left them.
Your side of the room was untouched. Your things — the one you hadn’t taken with you — were still there just as you had left it. Your chest tightened as the realization settled in. Steve hadn’t moved or packed anything away. He had left it all there. Like everything had been waiting for you to come back and press play again.
You swallowed and forced yourself to move. You bent down, picking up the books from the floor, stacking them one by one. You smoothed the sheets absentmindedly, straightening the bed just enough to make it look less abandoned. When you finished, you walked to the closet and pulled out one of Steve’s duffel bags, setting it on the bed.
For a moment, you just stood there, staring at it. Then you started packing — a few changes of clothes, toiletries. You folded each piece of clothing with care, placing it inside one by one, slowly.
Your mind pulled you back to two weeks earlier. When you had done the same thing — only faster, messier. Throwing your things into a suitcase, without stopping, too focused on leaving before he came back. Before he could stop you.
Your hand stopped for a second, your fingers tightening slightly around the fabric you were holding.
Coward, a little voice whispered into your mind.
You swallowed hard, your throat dry, sore.
It was true. You had chosen the easy way out by not giving him a chance to speak and decide.
Your grip softened.
And in doing so, you had hurt him anyway. Maybe more.
You brought the shirt to your chest, holding it there for a moment, your eyes closing briefly as you breathed him in. You lowered it slowly, smoothing it out before placing it in the bag with the rest.
If you had just talked to him from the beginning… Maybe things would have been different. And now maybe you wouldn't be in an empty house, silently packing a bag to take to your unconscious husband in the hospital.
You zipped the bag shut, the sound cutting through the silence of the room. You stood there for a second, your hand resting on top of it. Then you picked up the bag and walked out of the room, down the stairs, and toward the front door. Your hand lingered on the handle for just a moment before you opened it. As you stepped outside, you wondered if you would come back one day.
Or if that was another goodbye again.
—
The next day, the doctors stopped the last of the sedatives.
Now it was up to Steve.
They told you it could take hours. Maybe a couple of days.
The moment they said it, a silent countdown started in your mind. You found yourself checking the clock constantly, watching the minutes pass and counting the hours. It had become like a hobby by now. A boring, slow one.
Every time you looked at him, you wondered if that would be the moment in which his fingers would twitch. Or if his eyes would finally open. And as the hours passed, the anxiety that had been sitting quietly in your chest began to grow.
You needed him to wake up. To hear his voice. To see his big, brown eyes open and look at you. You needed to be sure that he was really okay. That he was still… him.
Even though the doctors had been reassuring, the bleeding had resolved and the fractures were healing well, they had also mentioned possible complications due to the head trauma. Cognitive ones as memory loss or speech issues.
You didn’t know which one scared you more.
And you hoped you would never have to find out.
—
As hours passed and you waited for Steve to wake up, you began to prepare yourself on what to say. How to say it. Because you knew that the moment he woke up, reality would follow. And everything you had left unfinished would still be there, waiting. You had a conversation to resume. Many things to discuss.
And Kirsten, of course.
Your jaw tightened slightly at the thought.
Despite everything, you hadn’t forgotten. You couldn’t. Even if part of you wanted to push it aside, just for a little longer.
Your mind had shifted from imagining them together — filling in the blanks with your worst assumptions — to replaying every single word Kirsten had said to you. Over and over again. Like a broken record. Since that conversation, you had gone through it countless times in your head, picking it apart, analyzing every detail, every pause, every expression.
Trying to understand what was real.
Trying to figure out what had been left unsaid.
Robin’s words echoed faintly in your mind.
Let him explain.
You exhaled quietly. Even though you had already spoken to her and knew what had happened that night, you would listen to Steve. To his version. He was the only one who could remove all doubts and clarify everything.
What if she had lied?
In the end, you didn’t know her and maybe that night something else had happened. Something she might not have told you. Something she might have left out. But you knew Steve. You knew him well enough to know when he was lying or not. So you would let him explain and you would listen. Really listen. All the way through. Without interruptions. Without shutting him out. Or walking away.
You owed him that. To yourself, too. And to your marriage.
Your gaze dropped to your joined hands, swallowing hard.
There were things you needed to say as well.
In the days you had spent there, sitting beside him, watching him fight through something you couldn’t see, something had shifted. You had had time to think and to replay everything. You had questioned your own choices. And some of them didn’t sit right anymore.
You had things to admit. Mistakes to own. And you had made decisions — new ones— that would change everything. Again.
Your grip on his hand tightened slightly.
“Wake up, Steve,” you murmured, your voice low, almost lost in the quiet of the room.
Because no matter what waited for you on the other side of that moment, you needed him there for it.
-
By the time evening settled outside the hospital windows, the room had dimmed into that quiet, bluish half-light that made everything feel suspended.
You were sitting beside Steve, a sheet of paper resting on your lap, a pencil moving slowly between your fingers as you worked on a sketch, trying to keep yourself busy.
You hadn’t left his side all day, refusing to go home. The doctors had warned you he would likely be confused, agitated and you didn't want to risk Steve waking up alone, while you weren't there. You wanted to be there for him — to soften that moment as much as possible.
Your gaze lifted toward him again, almost automatically. It had become a reflex at this point—checking, even when you didn’t realize you were doing it.
You sighed quietly.
He was the same as he had been all day — still, quiet. No changes yet.
Your eyes began to drop back to the paper when you saw it, freezing instantly.
His fingers had moved. Just slightly. So faint you weren’t even sure it had happened. Maybe you had imagined it, you thought.
You blinked, your breath catching. Your eyes quickly flicked to his.
They were closed.
Your gaze snapped back to his hand.
The fingers were still. Immobile.
Your heart started to beat faster, your grip tightening slightly around the pencil as doubt crept in. You had imagined it, you told yourself. You had to have. After all, you were exhausted. You hadn’t slept properly in days. And it wouldn’t have been the first time your mind played tricks on you.
You swallowed, forcing yourself to look again, and waited.
One.
Two.
Ten seconds.
Then you saw again.
A small, uncoordinated twitch of his fingers.
You blinked. Once. Twice.
His fingers kept moving.
It was real.
Your chair scraped loudly against the floor as you stood up too quickly, the sound barely registering. The paper and pencil slipped from your hands and fell onto the seat behind you as you moved closer to the bed, your eyes locked on him.
“Steve…” The name left your lips before you could stop it, barely more than a breath.
His eyelids fluttered. Slowly. Uncertainly. Like even that small movement required effort.
Your heart stuttered in your chest as you reached for his hand, wrapping your fingers around his, tightly, holding on. “Steve,” you repeated, your voice trembling now.
His eyes opened — just a fraction at first — then closed again almost immediately, like the light was too much. His brow furrowed faintly.
A second later, he tried again. This time they stayed open a little longer, unfocused. He blinked, slow and heavy, his gaze drifting across the room without really seeing it. Then his eyes widened and his breathing turned uneven, shallow, like his body was trying to catch up with something it didn’t understand yet.
“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice breaking despite your attempt to steady it. “It’s me. I’m here, Steve.”
Your hand tightened around his, careful not to hurt him, as your other one moved to his hair, brushing it back gently from his forehead, your touch careful, delicate.
His eyes finally found you, tilting his head slightly toward you and the tension in his features eased, just a little. He swallowed slowly.
You felt your chest tighten.
“You’re in the hospital,” you continued softly, forcing the words out through the emotion building in your throat. “You had an accident, but you’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”
You forced a small smile.
He didn’t respond. He just kept looking at you, his gaze fixed, almost searching. Like he was holding onto the only thing in the room that made any sense. Like if he looked away, even for a second, you might disappear. You couldn't even imagine how scared and confused he must feel.
A flicker of panic rose in your chest.
“Steve?” you said again, slower this time. “Can you hear me?”
No answer.
Your stomach dropped.
What if he didn’t recognize you?
The thought hit fast, sharp, stealing the air from your lungs as the doctors’ warnings echoed in your mind, again and again.
Consequences. Memory loss. Speech issues.
You swallowed hard, your grip softening unconsciously around his hand.
“I— I’m going to get someone,” you said quickly, the words rushing out, stumbling over each other as panic crept into your voice. “I’ll be right back, okay? I just need to call a doctor—”
You started to pull away but his hand tightened around yours. Not strongly. He had just woken up and was still weak, but still strong enough to stop you.
Your breath caught as your eyes dropped to where your hands were joined, then snapped back to his face.
His lips parted slightly, his throat working as he tried to speak. The sound that came out was low. Rough. Like it hurt.
“…don’t…”
The word barely made it past his lips. But it was there. Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made you dizzy.
He could speak.
You leaned closer immediately to hear better, your heart pounding.
“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to—”
He tried again, his breathing faltering, uneven.
“…go…”
Each word seemed to cost him effort.
“…please…”
Your chest tightened painfully as your eyes filled with tears, blurring your vision.
“…don’t… leave me.”
You pulled away from him. A shaky breath left your lips, something between a sob and a laugh, relief and emotion crashing together all at once. You shook your head quickly, your fingers tightening around his as if to reassure him.
“Hey—hey, no,” you said softly, your voice trembling despite your attempt to keep it steady. “I’m not leaving you. I’m right here.”
You leaned closer again, your thumb brushing gently over his knuckles.
“You’re okay,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “You’re okay.”
The fact that he could speak and reach for you was reassuring, easing some of the fear that had been building in your chest for days.
“I just need to tell them you’re awake, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”
His grip didn’t loosen immediately. His eyes stayed on you, wide, uncertain, like he didn’t trust your words. Not completely.
You smiled at him, forcing yourself to gently pull your hand free, slowly. Your fingers lingered for a second longer before you stepped back. “I’ll be right there,” you reassured him again.
You turned and moved quickly toward the door. “Nurse!” Your voice echoed down the hallway, sharper, urgent. “Nurse! My husband — he’s awake — I need a doctor! Can I get a doctor, please?”
Footsteps approached almost immediately. A nurse appeared at the end of the corridor, her pace quickening as you explained, words tumbling over each other. “He just woke up — he’s conscious, he’s talking—”
She nodded and turned without hesitation, hurrying off to call a doctor.
You turned back and walked quickly into the room, your eyes immediately finding him again. You crossed the space in a few quick steps and reached for his hand again, wrapping your fingers around his.
His gaze returned to you instantly.
“Hey! The doctor’s coming,” you said softly, your voice gentler now, steadier. “Everything will be okay.”
A few minutes later, the nurse returned, this time accompanied by a doctor. You instinctively stepped slightly to the side to give them space, though your hand remained wrapped around Steve’s, your fingers unwilling to let go completely.
The doctor approached calmly, offering Steve a small, reassuring smile before reaching into his coat pocket.
“Steve,” he said gently, “can you hear me?”
Steve’s eyes, heavy and slow, shifted from you to him. It took a moment, but he gave a faint nod.
“Good,” the doctor continued. He lifted a small penlight, bringing it up carefully. “I’m just going to check your eyes, okay? Follow the light for me.”
The beam moved slowly from side to side. Steve’s gaze followed, sluggish but responsive. The doctor watched closely, studying the movement, then repeated it once more before nodding to himself.
“Alright,” he said quietly, more to himself than to either of you. He lowered the light and straightened slightly. “You’re in the hospital,” he continued, voice calm and steady. “You were in an accident. You’ve been unconscious for a few days, but you’re safe now.”
Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to process the information.
The doctor watched him for a second, then reached for the chart at the foot of the bed, flipping it open.
“Do you remember what happened?” he asked. “The accident?”
Steve hesitated. You felt your breath catch in your throat without realizing it, your body going still beside him. His gaze drifted briefly, unfocused, like he was searching for something in his mind and coming up empty.
Then, slowly, he shook his head.
Your chest tightened. You forced yourself to swallow, keeping your expression steady even as something uneasy settled deep inside you.
The doctor gave a small, thoughtful nod, as if the answer didn’t surprise him, and made a quick note on the chart. Then he looked up. His gaze shifted — first to you, briefly — before returning to Steve.
“And do you recognize this woman?” he asked.
The question seemed to echo in the room as every muscle in your body went rigid, your eyes locking onto Steve’s face, searching for something — anything — that could answer that question.
Steve’s eyes found yours. His gaze lingered, quiet, intent, studying you. As if he was trying to understand something just out of reach.
You forced a small smile, encouraging, though it felt fragile, uncertain. You swallowed.
Seconds stretched as your heart pounded loudly in your ears, each beat sharper than the last.
Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he nodded.
Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made your knees weak. Air rushed back into your lungs as if you had been holding it the entire time.
“…my wife,” Steve managed, his voice rough, low, the words dragged out with effort. “She’s… my wife.”
Your breath left you in a quiet, unsteady exhale, something in your chest loosening all at once.
He remembered you. He knew who you were.
He was still your Steve.
The doctor gave a satisfied nod, jotting something down. “Good,” he said simply.
He closed the chart with a soft snap and looked back at Steve.“For today, I think that’s enough,” he continued. “We’ll run more tests tomorrow. For now, the most important thing is that you rest. Try not to tire yourself out.”
Steve gave the faintest nod, his eyelids already starting to droop again.
“You’ve been very lucky, Mr. Harrington,” the doctor added. Then he stepped back, exchanging a brief glance with you before he turned and made his way toward the door, the nurse following closely behind.
After a second, the door closed softly and the room fell quiet again.
For a moment, you didn’t move. A small part of you hesitated, suddenly aware that you were alone with him again. You weren’t sure what to do. How to act. Or what came next.
You swallowed slowly, then turned back toward him.
Steve was already looking at you.
You took a small step closer. Then another. Careful. Almost unsure.
“Hey…” you said softly, your voice quiet. “How do you feel?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes stayed on yours, steady despite the exhaustion behind them. Then they fluttered shut for a brief second — too long — before reopening abruptly, like he was checking that you were still there.
“…okay,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, each word slow, heavy. “Just… tired.”
The effort it took him to speak was evident in the way his breathing hitched slightly afterward.
You nodded gently, your expression softening. “Yeah,” you murmured. “That makes sense. You should try to get some sleep.”
He shook his head almost immediately, though the movement was weak, unsteady. His eyes were already half-closed.
“But… Don’t… want to.” The words came out uneven, dragged between breaths.
Your hand moved instinctively, brushing lightly over his forehead, fingers threading gently through his hair. “Hey,” you said softly, almost a whisper. “It’ll help. You heard the doctor — you need to rest.”
At your touch, some of the tension in his face eased a little. His eyes opened once more, slower this time, searching for you. “Will you… be here?” he asked, his voice quieter now, fragile. He swallowed after, like even that had taken effort. “When I wake up…”
The question lingered between you.
For a second, you didn’t answer. Your chest tightened, your gaze flickering over his face — taking him in like you were trying to memorize him, or maybe reassure yourself that he was really there. Your eyes filled with tears. Then you nodded.
“Of course.”
You hesitated for just a fraction of a second before adding, softer. “I’ll be here.”
His eyes stayed on you for another moment, like he was holding onto that answer, before the weight of exhaustion finally pulled him under. His grip loosened, the eyelids drooped and his breathing evened out again, slow and steady.
You remained where you were, your hand still resting lightly against him, your thumb absentmindedly brushing against his skin.
-
Sometime in the middle of the night, a strained sound pulled you out of sleep.
You were curled on your side on the small couch, one arm tucked under your head, the thin hospital blanket barely covering you. You frowned, still caught somewhere between sleep and waking, before it came again — low, uneven. A quiet groan. Your eyes snapped open when you realized where it was coming from.
You pushed yourself up immediately, the blanket slipping off as you crossed the room in a few quick steps, barefoot against the cold floor.
“Steve?”
He was exactly in the same position you had left him but something was wrong. He was restless. His eyes were still closed but his expression was tense, brows drawn together. His jaw was clenched, and his head moved faintly from side to side against the pillow, like he was trying to shake something off.
Another strained sound left his lips.
Your stomach dropped. “Hey… hey, it’s okay,” you said softly, reaching him, your hand settling on his arm. “Are you in pain? Do you need me to call someone?”
He gave you no response. The only sound in the room was his uneven breathing.
You leaned closer, your grip tightening slightly. “Steve?” you called again, a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
You shook him gently, not wanting to hurt him, and then suddenly you stopped.
It wasn’t pain.
He was having a nightmare.
You moved your hand to his shoulder, about to wake him when his lips parted, a broken sound slipping out.
“…no…”
You froze.
“…wait…”
Your breath caught.
“…Kirsten…”
The name hit you like a shock. Everything in you went still. Your fingers loosened against him as you just stared, your chest tightening, your breath suddenly shallow.
For a second, you weren’t sure you had heard it right. But the name lingered in the space between you. Clear enough. Heavy.
Steve’s head shifted once more against the pillow — then stilled. His face relaxed. His breathing evened out, slow, steady, like whatever had held him had finally let go.
As if nothing had happened.
You didn’t move for a second. You swallowed, your throat dry, your chest tight as something unsettled twisted deep inside you. Then, slowly, you stepped back, your hand slipping away from him. You returned to the couch and lay down again, staring at the ceiling, your body tense, your mind completely wide awake now. Every time you closed your eyes, you heard it.
Kirsten.
Over and over again.
You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn’t help.
What had he been dreaming about? Why her?
Your thoughts spiraled before you could stop them.
Had he been remembering the night he had spent with her? Which part?
Had it meant something?
Your stomach twisted, almost making you want to throw up. You swallowed, trying to get rid of the nausea. You felt hurt in a way you didn’t quite know how to name.
The name echoed again.
Kirsten.
Until, eventually, exhaustion pulled you under and you fell asleep.
-
Morning came quietly.
When you woke, it took you a moment to remember where you were. Your body felt stiff, your neck sore from the awkward angle you had slept in. The thin hospital light filtered through the curtains, pale and diffused, settling softly across the room. You blinked, still half-asleep, and turned onto your other side — the one facing Steve’s bed. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows to check on him.
He was still asleep.
His breathing was steady, his face relaxed, peaceful. You let yourself fall back against the couch with a quiet sigh, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before finally forcing yourself up.
You moved slowly, careful not to make noise, and reached for your bag. From it, you pulled out a change of clothes and your small toiletry pouch. Before heading to the bathroom, you glanced at him again. Only then did you slip inside and close the door softly behind you.
The cold water helped you to wake up completely. Then you brushed your teeth and changed into a pair of jeans and a white blouse, leaving the top buttons undone. You braided your hair with quick, practiced movements, your reflection staring back at you — pale, tired, like you had aged years in just a few days.
For a brief second, your mind betrayed you and Kirsten’s image appeared before you with her perfect hair and flawless make-up, put together in a way you didn’t feel right now. Your jaw tightened as Steve’s voice, whispering her name, echoed again in your mind.
Your stomach dropped.
Your gaze shifted back to your reflection. Then lower. To your body. A body that suddenly felt… wrong. Defective. While Kirsten was everything you didn’t feel like in that moment. Younger. Pretty. And probably fertile.
The thought landed sharp and heavy, tightening your throat.
Maybe Steve had seen it too that night. He must have looked at her and found her beautiful. Maybe he had seen something easier in her. Simpler. Someone who didn’t come with defects. Unlike you.
You swallowed.
Was that why he stayed?
Before you could spiral further, you reached for your makeup and started applying it with more focus than necessary. Controlled. Precise. Like it could fix something. Or at least hide it.
When you stepped back into the room, your eyes lifted instinctively to him.
Steve was awake, propped slightly against the pillows now, his posture still weak, shoulders slouched.
You froze for half a second. “Hey… you’re awake,” you said after a moment, a little too quickly, a hint of surprise slipping into your voice. You gave him a small smile.
He didn’t look away. “You’re here,” he said, like he wasn’t entirely sure of it. Like he needed to say it out loud to believe it.
Something in your chest shifted. You set your pouch down on the couch and moved closer, your your steps first quickly, then slower, more careful as you approached his bed.
“Yeah, of course I am. I just — I went to freshen up a bit,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom. “You know… look somewhat presentable. I haven’t exactly been at my best these —”
“You look beautiful.”
The words came without hesitation.
You blinked, caught off guard. Your mouth parted slightly, whatever you had been about to say dissolving before it could take shape. For a second, you just stood there, a little stunned — then a small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips.
There was a brief pause.
“Well…” you cleared your throat lightly, your gaze briefly dropping before lifting back to him. “You don’t look that bad yourself, all things considered.”
There was a hint of amusement in your tone, an attempt — gentle, careful — to ease the tension. But inside you the anxiety was eating you up.
You stopped beside the bed, suddenly aware of how close you were.
“How are you feeling?” you asked, softer now. “Did you sleep okay? Are you in pain?”
It felt strange standing there or talking to him after everything. Not in a bad way. Just strange as the last conversation you had shared still hovered somewhere between you, unspoken but present. Like an echo neither of you could quite shake.
And there was the distance too. Not physical. But more like you were both trying to find your footing without knowing where the ground was.
Steve hesitated. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he answered. “I’m… okay, I think,” he said, his voice still rough, low from disuse. “A little sore. But… I guess it could be worse.”
He shifted slightly against the pillows, the movement slow, careful. His eyes drifted briefly around the room, as if grounding himself. Then back to you.
“I—” he started, then paused, like he had to gather the energy for the question. “How long was I out?”
“A week.”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard. His lips parted slightly. “Oh.”
Then, he nodded faintly, his gaze dropping for a second as he processed it, shoulders sinking just a little deeper into the pillows.
For a moment, the room fell so quiet you could hear just your own breathing, your heartbeat loud in your ears.
You sat down on the chair beside his bed, leaving a careful distance between you.
It felt wrong. Being this close to him — in the same room, within reach — and not touching him. You kept your hands folded tightly in your lap, fingers laced together as if that alone could keep you still. Because part of you wanted to move closer. To reach for him. To take his hand, feel the warmth of his skin, reassure yourself that he was real.
But you didn’t and stayed where you were.
“Do you… remember anything?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now, more cautious. “About the accident, I mean.”
Steve lifted his gaze to you. For a second, he just looked at you — like he was trying to read something in your expression, something you weren’t saying. Then he shook his head.
“Not really,” he admitted. “I mean… it’s all kind of blurry. Pieces, maybe. But nothing that makes sense.”
You nodded faintly, though your mind had already moved ahead.
What else didn’t he remember?
Did he forget what had happened with Kirsten or the dream he had last night?
“I think I… had too much to drink,” he continued, slower now, as if choosing each word carefully. “The last thing I can clearly recall is being in the car and—”
He stopped. His expression shifted almost instantly. His eyes flickered, unfocused for a second, his face tightening, the color draining slightly from it as if something had just clicked into place.
You leaned forward in your seat without thinking. “Hey—hey, what is it?” you asked quickly, the edge of panic slipping into your voice. “Are you okay? Does something hurt?”
Steve blinked a few times, trying to steady himself, his breathing uneven for a moment. “No, I’m okay,” he said finally, though his voice came out rougher than before. “It’s just…Was anyone else hurt?”
The question caught you off guard.
You frowned slightly. “What?”
“The accident,” he clarified, his voice tense now, more awake than before. “Was there any victim? Anyone—”
“No,” you interrupted gently but firmly, shaking your head. “There were no victims.”
He went still. For a moment, he just stared at you, searching your face — making sure. Then his shoulders dropped, a quiet breath leaving him, relieved.
“Okay… okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, nodding faintly.
But you could see he was still tense. His gaze lowered briefly, his jaw tightening again as something else settled in.
“I just…” he started, then paused, swallowing. He dragged a hand over his face, slower this time. You could see it — the moment where he had to decide whether to say it or not. “I just remembered something,” he said finally, his voice lower now, heavier. “Something you should know.”
Your heart sank, even though you already knew what he was going to tell. Or at least, you thought you did.
Still, you didn’t say anything. You just nodded, giving him space to continue.
Steve dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, like he was trying to gather himself. Then his hand dropped, almost unconsciously, to his other one. His fingers closed around his ring finger, rubbing at the bare skin where his wedding band should have been. Back and forth.
“I…” His gaze slipped away from yours, fixing somewhere ahead of him, unfocused—like it was easier to look at nothing than at you. “I wasn’t alone.”
The words landed heavier coming from him, making everything more real.
“There was someone else in the car with me,” he went on, his voice uneven, low. “A woman.”
You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. Hearing it out loud from him made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. Final in a way you couldn’t undo.
You stayed still, silent and let him continue.
Let him explain, Robin’s voice echoed clearly in your mind.
“After… after our argument that night,” he continued, slower now, like he was piecing it together as he spoke, “I couldn’t go home. I just —” He shook his head faintly. “I didn’t want to be there. Not without you.” His eyes flickered briefly toward you, then dropped again almost immediately. “I needed to get out. To not think for a while. I was…” He exhaled sharply. “I was a mess. Angry. Tired. Everything at once. And I didn’t —” He swallowed, dragging in a breath, like even saying it out loud cost him something. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
You lowered your eyes to your hands, your fingers curling slightly into your palms.
“So I went to the Hideout,” he continued. “Just to have a drink. But… Instead, I ended up having a few.”
A humorless breath left him.
“And that’s where I met her.”
He let his head fall forward, his hands coming up to his face as if the memory itself was too much.
“She—” he started, then faltered. “She asked if she could sit.”
A brief silence stretched between you.
“I… I knew what she was really asking for. What she really wanted,” he admitted, dropping his gaze. “And I know that it’s not really an excuse but… I felt so alone.” His voice edged with something close to shame. He swallowed, eyes briefly closing. “I thought a little company wouldn't hurt. So I let her sit next to me.” A small pause, like even saying it felt wrong. “We started talking. And she… started flirting.”
His fingers tightened slightly against the bedsheet, the fabric wrinkling beneath his grip.
“I should’ve left,” he muttered. “I know that. I should’ve gotten up and walked away.” A pause. “But I didn’t. And I didn’t stop her,” he admitted, voice lower now.
Your breath caught quietly in your chest.
“I stayed. I kept drinking and she kept—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “We kept talking. She started touching my arm, laughing at everything I said. She… she listened to me like it actually mattered.”
You stayed still while a sharp, uncomfortable heat spread through you — jealousy, immediate and instinctive. The image formed before you could stop it: her sitting next to him, leaning in, smiling, touching him like she had any right to. And this time it felt so much worse. Because it wasn’t just something your mind had made up. It was real.
Your jaw tightened.
You didn’t like it. You didn’t like the idea of another woman sitting that close to your husband, touching him, thinking she could have him. Especially knowing he was married. It irritated you more than you wanted to admit, a quiet, persistent anger settling under your skin. Who she thought she was?
But she wasn’t the first to act like that.
Steve had always been the kind of guy girls noticed. The one they looked at a little longer than necessary. Even now that he was married. Women still flirted with him like it didn’t matter. Like the ring on his finger meant nothing — or worse, like it wasn’t even there.
You had seen it before and every time you had brushed it off, not at all worried. You knew Steve wasn’t interested. That he didn’t care about them. But this was different. Because this time… he had stayed. He had let her flirting.
In any other moment, you would’ve snapped and asked him why. Why he hadn’t walked away. Why he had stayed. But the questions died before they could reach your lips. Because you already knew the answer. Or at least part of it.
Your fingers pressed harder into your palms.
You had pushed him there. With your words. Your choices. The things you had said that night. You had told him to move on. To find someone else. And maybe in the end he had listened to you.
Steve dragged a hand through the bandage covering his hair, clearly unsettled now.
“And it felt good for a minute,” he exhaled, almost bitterly, dropping his gaze.
For a second, you forgot how to breathe. The words hit deeper than anything else. Your throat went dry, your pulse quickening as something fragile inside you shifted. You swallowed, slowly, painfully. You wanted to ask him what he meant. What kind of good. And how far it had gone. But the words wouldn’t come out. They stayed lodged in your chest, tangled with everything else you were feeling — jealousy, guilt, fear.
How good Kirsten had made him feel? Better than you?
“Everything you said that night kept… echoing in my head,” he added more quietly. “About moving on. About finding someone else.” He let out a short, humorless breath. “And I don’t know if I was trying to prove something, or just —” He hesitated. “Or just stop thinking about you for five minutes.” Another pause. “Maybe I just wanted to see if I could do it,” he admitted, voice rough now. “If you were actually right and I could… move on as you had said.”
His gaze dropped, sighing.
“It’s stupid. I know, ” he muttered. “But I wasn’t really thinking. Not clearly, at least.”
Silence fell again, heavier than before.
“I should’ve left,” he repeated under his breath. “But I didn’t.”
He swallowed.
“And then…” His voice faltered, uncertainty creeping back in. “I — she — we —”
Frustration flickered across his face as the memory slipped out of reach again.
“Jesus… I… I don’t remember,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s all messed up in my head.”
He let out a small, disbelieving breath, shaking his head. “I — I don’t even remember her name.” A hollow laugh slipped out, but there was no real amusement in it. “I swear, I don’t,” he added quickly, almost desperately, like he needed you to believe that. As if that detail changed anything. As if it made things better. “I don’t remember.”
He sounded wrecked.
Ashamed.
You couldn’t look at him. Your vision blurred as your eyes filled with tears, your focus dropping to your hands resting in your lap. For a second, you just sat there, breathing through the tightness in your chest. You squeezed your eyes, hard.
Then, barely above a whisper.
“Kirsten.”
Steve turned toward you, his brow furrowing. “What?”
You lifted your gaze to him, quickly brushing the tears from your cheeks with the back of your fingers. “Kirsten,” you said quietly. “The girl. That’s her name.”
A beat.
“Wait—” His confusion deepened, something sharper slipping in right after. “How… how do you know that?”
“She —” You cleared your throat and went on. “She came here. A few days ago. While you were still in a coma.” You paused, watching his reaction carefully. “She wanted to see how you were. And we… talked. She told me everything, Steve.”
Silence fell over the room.
For a second, Steve just stared at you, like he hadn’t fully understood. Then something in his expression shifted — confusion twisting into something closer to panic. He shook his head once. Then again. Faster.
“Wait—no, I— I don’t know what she told you, but I—” His voice stumbled over itself, his breathing picking up. “We didn’t— I mean—” He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair, careful around the bandage. “I swear to you, nothing happened. At least— I don’t think it did. I would remember that,” he added, almost to himself, his voice faltering.
His eyes searched yours, desperate now.
“My memories are messed up, okay? I told you, they’re not clear, but I wouldn’t—” He shook his head again, more forcefully this time. “I couldn’t. Not to you, not—” He broke off, frustrated, dragging a hand down his face. “I mean, yeah, maybe I— I might’ve flirted a little, I don’t know, I was drunk and pissed and not thinking straight, but I wouldn’t—”
He stopped, breath uneven, clearly spiraling, trying to fill in the gaps before they could turn into something worse.
You couldn’t help it.
A small smile tugged at your lips.
You tried to hide it, pressing them together, but it was there.
He was unraveling in front of you, so visibly shaken, so desperate to explain himself, to fix something he wasn’t even sure he had broken.
When you were the one who had broken everything.
It did something to you.
“Steve,” you said, a little gentler now, but still firmly.
But it seemed like he didn’t hear you.
“I didn’t do anything, I didn’t — I mean, I don’t think I did, I wouldn’t just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head again. “God, I sound like an idiot, I just— I need you to know that I would never—”
“Steve,” you repeated, louder this time.
He stopped, meeting your eyes.
“Stop,” you added. “I know everything.”
For a second, he didn’t move. Then his expression shifted — tight, uncertain, almost bracing for impact. His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, like he was already preparing for whatever version of the story he thought you had heard.
You could see in his face — the fear, the guilt, the way he was already punishing himself for something he wasn’t even sure he had done.
Your gaze dropped briefly, your fingers fidgeting restlessly in your lap. You drew in a slow breath, trying to keep the composure you had been holding onto since the beginning of this conversation. You glanced around briefly, your eyes unfocused as the memory of your conversation with Kirsten surfaced — clear, vivid, like it was happening all over again. You remembered every single word she had said, very detail.
You let yourself fall back into it as you told Steve everything.
-
You swallowed hard. “Sorry for what, exactly?” you asked after a moment, your voice firm, cold, already bracing yourself for the worst.
Kirsten’s gaze shifted between you and Steve, lingering on him for just a second longer. There was hesitation in her eyes, like she wasn’t sure where to begin or what to say. When she finally spoke, her voice was small, unsteady.
“The accident,” she said, her words catching in her throat. “I… I’m so, so sorry.”
You blinked, your brows furrowed.
Her composure broke almost immediately. A soft sob escaped her, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as if she could stop it. “I—I’m not very good at driving,” she went on, her voice trembling, uneven. “And it was raining… it was raining so hard. There was water everywhere. I could barely see the road and then —” She shook her head quickly, sighing, like the memory overwhelmed her. “Everything happened so fast.”
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue.
“I’m really sorry. Truly. It was my car. I was driving.” Her hand lifted slightly, gesturing toward Steve’s unconscious body on the bed. “This should’ve happened to me. Not to him.”
You frowned, confusion settling in, pushing past everything else.
Her words didn’t match the story you had been building in your head.
She let out a shaky breath, noticing your expression. “If I just… If I hadn’t offered him a ride, maybe he’d be fine right now,” she added, quieter now, guilt laced through every syllable. “It’s just that —”
You interrupted her, unable to hold it in any longer. “Wait — what?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. “I… I don’t understand. A ride? To where?”
Kirsten blinked, startled by your reaction.
“To you,” she said, more cautiously now. “He wanted to come back to you.”
You stared at her, your heart skipping a beat. The confusion only deepened, your mind struggling to keep up.
“To me?” You repeated, almost under your breath.
“We were both at the Hideout,” she continued, trying to explain, her words still uneven but clearer now. “We were talking. Drinking. And at some point he started telling me about you.”
You held her gaze, trying to keep up. She paused, studying your face as if to make sure you were following.
“He talked about a fight you had had earlier,” she said. “I probably shouldn’t say this but… he was a mess. He kept saying it wasn’t over. That you two still needed to talk. That he wasn’t going to let it end like that.” A faint, almost sad smile flickered across her lips. “He was… very determined. Drunk, yes, but determined.”
Your heart stuttered in your chest.
“At one point, he just stood up,” she went on. “He started looking for his keys, saying he had to go. To you.”
You felt you breath catch.
“But he wasn’t in any condition to drive,” she added quickly. “He was completely wasted. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. He was so set on it.” She paused, glancing down at the floor. “And I don’t know…” She started saying. “It was kind of… romantic, in a way. Maybe a little desperate, too. But… romantic. The way he talked about you. The fact that he wanted to get back to you no matter what.” Her voice softened. “He looked so heartbroken. And I don't know… I think I felt sorry for him.”
A quiet breath left her.
“So I offered to drive him,” she finished. “I figured… at least I could make sure he got there safely.” A faint, bitter exhale followed. “Besides,” she added, almost as an afterthought, “by then it was pretty clear I didn’t stand a chance anyway.”
Her gaze flickered back to Steve.
“And then… well.” She gestured lightly toward him, toward the hospital bed, the machines, the silence that surrounded him. “We — You know the rest.”
The room had fallen completely still after that, while your mind had been racing, trying to rearrange everything you thought you knew into something that made sense.
There was one thought that kept surfacing, louder than the rest.
You looked back at her. “He… Steve was coming to me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost fragile, even though you already knew the answer. But a part of you needed yet another confirmation. To be sure.
Kirsten nodded without hesitation.
“Yes.”
That single word settled deep inside your chest, echoing in your mind. If Steve was trying to come back to you, it meant that…
He hadn’t been going somewhere else. Not to her. Not to anyone.
You dropped your gaze for a moment, your thoughts shifting, narrowing, until only one question remained. The one that had been haunting you from the very beginning.
You swallowed slowly before asking. “So… you and Steve… nothing happened?” Your voice faltered slightly despite your effort to keep it steady. “At the bar. And after, in the car. It was just… a ride? That’s all?”
Kirsten nodded again, more firmly this time.
You felt like you could breathe again, as if you had been underwater until that moment and was only now resurfacing.
Kirsten let out a small sigh. “Look, I’ll be honest,” she said. “When I saw him sitting at the bar, alone, I thought…” She hesitated, a faint, embarrassed smile tugging at her lips. “I thought I’d give it a shot,” she admitted.
A brief pause.
“But I never really had a chance,” she added quickly.
You lifted your eyes to her again.
“Yeah, he was… polite,” she went on. “Charming. He listened to me, answered my questions. But when he started talking… he only talked about you.” She shook her head slightly. “And he wouldn’t stop.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I think I learned more about you than I did about him,” she added. “My wife this, my wife that… and always something good.”
Something in your chest tightened.
“Once we got in the car, he fell asleep almost immediately,” she added, a small, almost fond smile appearing despite everything. “Didn’t even make it five minutes.” She shook her head slightly. “But nothing else happened,” she said, more firmly now. “He didn’t even touch me. Not once.”
Her gaze held yours.
“You’re… very lucky,” she said quietly.
For a moment, you just stared at her. Then your eyes drifted to Steve, slowly. To the man lying in that hospital bed. The man who, even at his worst, even broken and drunk and hurting, had still chosen you. Even when it would have been so easy to let go, to give in, to choose something easier. Someone else. But he hadn’t. He had still tried to come back to you.
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, followed by a soft smile. You shook your head faintly.
“No,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.
You looked back at her.
“I’m the lucky one.”
-
A quiet settled in the room when you finished speaking.
Your eyes stayed fixed on Steve’s face, waiting for his reaction. You held your breath without even realizing it.
He didn’t speak right away. His gaze drifted slightly, watching everywhere and nothing at the same time, as he tried to process every word, to fit it somewhere inside what he remembered. His eyes flicked to you. Then, after a moment, he spoke. “So… nothing happened?” His voice low, careful as if he wasn’t still sure.
You shook your head slowly.
For a second, he just looked at you. Then his eyes closed, and a long breath left him — deep, shaky, like it had been trapped inside his chest for several minutes. His shoulders dropped as he sank back into the pillows, tension draining from his body, giving way to something softer. Relief. Pure, unfiltered relief. Like a weight had finally been lifted.
But it didn’t last.
His expression shifted again as his eyes opened, something heavier settling in their place, his gaze back on you.
“I’m sorry.”
You frowned immediately, blinking at him in confusion. “What? Steve, I just told you nothing happened—”
He shook his head, slower this time, certain. “Yes, it did.”
The firmness in his tone caught you off guard. There was no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. Just quiet conviction. He swallowed, his eyes dropping to the blanket, fingers brushing absentmindedly against the fabric.
“I still let her sit,” he said, his voice rougher now. “I knew what she wanted and I still— I didn’t stop it. I stayed. And I let her… flirt. And I…” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “I shouldn’t have. It was wrong.”
You didn’t speak. You weren’t sure you could.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, softer this time.
You swallowed, your eyes dropping to your hands as they twisted together in your lap. “It’s okay, Steve,” you said after a moment, your voice gentler. “Really. You don’t have to apologize.” A small pause. “I’m not even in the position… I mean… I was the one who told you to move on. To find —”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the chair.
“Yeah, but I never wanted that.” His voice cut through yours, sharper this time, tinged with frustration.
You looked up at him, surprised by his tone.
“And I don’t want it,” he added, more firmly, like he needed you to understand.
He dragged a hand through his hair, careful around the bandage, exhaling through his nose as he tried to steady himself. “I tried,” he went on after a moment, quieter now. “I tried to listen to you. To do what you said.” His gaze drifted somewhere ahead of him, unfocused. “To imagine it. Being with someone else. Seeing if I could feel something.” A small, bitter breath left him. “If it could be that simple.”
He let out a short, bitter breath.
“That’s why I talked to her,” he admitted. “At first, I thought… maybe.” He shook his head faintly. “But it wasn’t.”
Your chest tightened.
“But I couldn’t.” His gaze lifted, finding yours and holding it this time. “I was sitting there with her and all… all I could think about was you.” His voice softened, something raw slipping through. “About us. About how wrong everything felt. All of it. Being there, talking to her… even listening to her.” A small pause. “I didn’t want to be there. Not really. I wanted to be home. With you. I wanted to fix things. To talk to you. That’s all I wanted.”
The words settled between you, heavy and real.
“Being there with her…” he continued, slower now, like he was choosing each word carefully, “it just made everything clearer.”
You held his gaze, barely breathing.
“I don’t want her,” he said. “Or anyone else.”
Something in your chest cracked open.
“I don’t need to try or imagine,” he added, his voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing on him. “Because I have you.”
Your eyes filled before you could stop them.
“You’re the one I want,” he finished quietly. “No matter what.”
No matter if you could give him kids or not, you thought he wanted to say.
You couldn’t speak, your breath catching in your throat. You remembered Nancy and Robin’s words. When they had said exactly the same thing. But hearing Steve pronounce them was different. More real. It wasn't just the words of two friends trying to comfort you anymore.
Your throat tightened, emotions rising too fast, too overwhelming to put into words. You dropped your gaze for a second, blinking rapidly as tears blurred your vision.
“Everything I said that night at Nancy’s house…” he continued, softer now, his voice rough with emotion. “I meant it. Every word.”
You swallowed hard, looking back at him.
“I meant it when I said it wasn’t over,” he added. “Not for me. And I think —”
A soft knock interrupted him.
The door opened before either of you could react, and a nurse stepped inside, pushing a breakfast cart, her presence sudden and almost jarring against the intimacy of the moment. You both turned toward her at the same time.
“Good morning,” she said with a polite smile, her voice gentle, professional. “Time to eat.”
You straightened slightly, forcing a small smile in return, but you could feel it — that lingering weight between you, the conversation left hanging mid-air. When you looked back, Steve was already looking at you again.
“We need to talk,” he said under his breath, just for you.
You nodded quickly. “I know,” you whispered. “I need to talk to you too.”
For a second, it felt instinctive to reach for him and close the distance.
But you didn’t.
You stayed where you were, your hands still, your fingers curling slightly into your palms instead.
“Later, okay?” You added after a small pause.
His gaze lingered on yours for a second longer, searching for any trace of doubt. Then he gave a faint nod, his jaw tightening just slightly before his attention shifted back to the nurse — who had just asked him something neither of you had actually heard.
-
But later never seemed to come.
The moment you had promised each other kept slipping further away, pushed aside by one interruption after another.
Right after breakfast, they had taken Steve for a series of tests. You had watched as they wheeled him out of the room, his hand slipping from yours at the last second, his eyes lingering on you like he didn’t want to let go.
When he returned, the doctor followed with good news. Steve was responding well. The scans were clear and there were no signs of complications from the head trauma. He was officially out of danger. They would keep him a few more days, just to be sure, and then discharge him.
You hadn’t realized how tightly you had been holding your breath until that moment. It left you all at once, a quiet, shaky exhale as relief settled deep in your chest, loosening something that had been knotted there for days.
Not long after, the room had started to fill with visits — first one person, then two, then more. Word had spread and now everyone wanted to see Steve.
The energy in the room shifted completely. Where there had been tension and quiet before, there was Nancy’s calm voice, Robin’s unmistakable, relentless chatter and Dustin’s comments filling every corner of the space. Despite the bruises, the bandages, the lingering exhaustion, Steve seemed more like himself with every passing minute. He rolled his eyes at Dustin, muttered under his breath, pushed back weakly when the teasing got too much.
Dustin shook his head, arms crossed. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Can’t believe what?” Steve asked, already annoyed.
“That this is how you almost died,” Dustin said. “A car accident. Seriously, dude?”
Steve stared at him in disbelief. “I didn’t exactly plan it, Henderson.”
“Yeah, but you survived demogorgons and Vecna,” Dustin went on. “And then, boom! Seatbelt takes you out.”
“First of all, that’s not how seatbelts work! And secondly, that's not exactly how things went.”
“Still embarrassing,” Dustin muttered.
Steve let his head fall back against the pillow. “I’m not having this conversation.”
Everyone in the room burst out laughing, including you.
Anyone else, hearing words like demogorgons or Vecna, would have frowned in confusion.
But not you.
You knew exactly what they meant. Steve had told you everything about the Upside Down, not long after you had gotten together. At first, you had thought it was some elaborate story to scare you or make you laugh. But then El had shown you what she could do and suddenly, nothing had felt impossible anymore.
After that, things had started making sense — the way Steve had somehow become responsible for a group of kids, the looks they all exchanged sometimes, full of meaning you couldn’t quite grasp at the time, and their silences.
Your gaze drifted back to him. He was listening, nodding along, answering when he had to but every few seconds, his eyes found you again. Like a reflex. Like he couldn’t help it.
Sometimes your gazes locked for a second too long, something unspoken passing between you before you were the one to look away, your cheeks warming despite yourself. Other times, he was the one to break it, turning back to whoever was talking to him, forcing himself back into the conversation.
But you could tell he was waiting, watching for a moment alone with you. You had seen it more than once — him starting to say something when the room finally quieted, only for the door to open again, another voice cutting in, another interruption stealing the moment away.
Part of you was relieved for those interruptions. They gave you space and time to breathe, to think and to process everything that had already been said before adding more on top of it. Before addressing the conversation you had put on hold since before the accident.
When the room became too full and the noise too much, you slipped out quietly, using small excuses — coffee, water, fresh air. But more than once, you found yourself standing in front of the vending machines without taking anything, staring blankly at the rows of snacks as your mind replayed his words.
I want you. No matter what.
You leaned your shoulder against the cold wall, exhaling slowly, your arms crossing loosely over your chest.
Now that everything was clear — what had happened that night, what hadn’t — there was nothing left to question. No more misunderstandings to hide behind. No more reasons to put off the conversation you had left unfinished. The one you had been avoiding from the beginning.
You closed your eyes for a moment as the thought settled in your chest, quiet but undeniable.
The next conversation would matter.
And it would change everything once again.
Maybe it would be even the last.
-
The door clicked shut a few minutes past eight, and for the first time in hours, the room fell quiet.
You both exhaled almost at the same time, relieved, exhausted.
You were still sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, your shoulders relaxing, when Steve’s voice broke through. “I thought they’d never leave.”
A small laugh slipped past your lips, soft, almost whispered. “What can you do? You’re basically a celebrity right now. Everyone wants to see…” You tilted your head, a teasing glint in your eyes. “What was it they used to call you? King Steve?”
He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head against the pillow as he remembered his “glorious days” in high school. “Yeah… well, I don’t feel much like a king right now.” He hesitated. “Don’t think I ever really was.”
There was no bitterness in his voice. Just tired honesty.
You pushed yourself up from the couch and walked toward the bed, slow. You stopped just short of it, leaving that small, careful distance between you.
“It’s been a long day,” you said gently, smiling. “You must be exhausted. Do you want—”
“I want to talk.”
The words cut through yours, firm but not harsh. You stilled. For a second, you just looked at him, as if to understand whether he truly meant it.
And he did. You could see the determination in his eyes.
You took another step closer, your hand resting lightly on the edge of the mattress, fingers pressing into the fabric as if to steady yourself.
“Now?” you asked, your voice softer, uncertain. “Are you sure? It’s late. We could —”
Steve shook his head. “No.” His voice was calm, but resolute. “I need to do this now.”
He shifted slightly against the pillows, wincing almost imperceptibly before settling again. His gaze stayed on you, steady despite the exhaustion written all over him. “I need to know that this —” his hand lifted weakly, gesturing between the two of you “— that this isn’t just… temporary.”
You swallowed.
“I need to know what happens when I get out of here,” he added, his voice dipping, rougher now, choosing each word with care. “I mean between us,” he clarified, his voice quieter. His eyes flickered over your face, studying you, trying to find an answer. “You’ve been here all day, barely leaving my side. And we —” He stopped, exhaling shakily, his gaze dropping for a second. “It feels like before. Like nothing changed. Like nothing happened.”
Your fingers curled slightly against the mattress.
“And I don’t know if it… if it is real,” he admitted. “Or if you’re acting like that just because I’m here like this.” His jaw tensed slightly, swallowing. “Because you feel like you have to.”
Your heart pulled tight in your chest. You shook your head almost immediately, a small, instinctive motion. You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him it wasn’t true — that you really wanted to be there. For him. And not just because he was your husband.
But Steve didn’t give you the time to reply and the words caught in your throat.
“I don’t want to assume anything,” he went on, his gaze dropping briefly before finding yours again. “I don’t want to think we’re okay if we’re not.”
There was no accusation in his voice — just careful, restrained fear.
“So I need to know,” he said, more quietly now, the words slower, “if this… if you being here… means we’re not over.” His voice faltered slightly. “Not even for you.”
You swallowed.
“That you’re going to stay once I’m out of here,” he added, barely above a murmur. “Or if…” He swallowed, his throat working visibly. “If you’re just going to leave again.”
The words hung between you. Steve’s jaw tightened slightly, like even saying it out loud cost him something.
“Because I can’t do that again, I can’t lose you again,” he admitted, his voice stripped of everything but truth. “I need to know where we stand,” he finished, softer now. “Before I start hoping for something that isn’t there,” he added under his breath, almost more to himself than to you.
Your breath caught.
“Please,” he begged.
The word was barely a whisper, but it hit you harder than anything else he had said. The tears burned behind your eyes, threatening to spill. Seeing him like that — so open, so vulnerable — broke through every last defense you had left, any resistance still intact. You swallowed hard, still feeling the weight of his words pressing against your chest. Then you nodded slowly.
“Okay… let’s talk.”
You moved to the chair beside his bed, sitting down and turning slightly toward him. The distance between you was smaller now, but it felt heavier than it should have.
The room fell into silence.
You lifted your eyes to him, but dropped them almost immediately, your fingers fidgeting together in your lap as you searched for the right words.
You cleared your throat softly. “There’s something you should know first,” you said, your voice low, hesitant. “Something I didn’t tell you this morning.”
Steve didn’t speak. He just watched you, waiting. His expression tightened slightly, like he already knew he wasn’t going to like what came next.
You lowered your gaze again, drawing in a slow breath. “After I talked to Kirsten… that day…” You hesitated, your lips pressing together for a second. Then, without softening it — “I called a lawyer.”
Steve’s eyes widened, his grip tightening around the bedsheets, the confusion visible in his hands.
Your fingers curled tighter together as you forced yourself to keep going, rushing on before he could say anything. Before he could think the worst.
“I had already contacted him before the accident,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, a trace of embarrassment creeping in. “To start the divorce process,” you added after a brief moment of hesitation.
You knew that confessing it wouldn't help your position. If anything, it might make things worse. But it seemed right to you that he knew. It was the least you could do, especially after he had told you the truth that morning.
You looked up at him, almost cautiously, afraid of his reaction.
He didn’t say anything right away but you saw the shift in his expression, the hurt in his eyes before he could hide it. His gaze drifted away from you, landing somewhere across the room, unfocused, nodding, like he was just processing what you had said. Then a breath left him — something close to a dry, humorless laugh.
“Right,” he muttered. “Thought of everything, didn’t you?”
The tone was light, but not enough to hide the hurt underneath. Enough to make your guilt grow.
You closed your eyes briefly, shaking your head. “No… I didn’t,” you said, quickly, more firmly this time. “That’s exactly the point.”
When you opened your eyes again, you looked straight at him. “I thought I had everything figured out,” you went on, slower, more honest. “I thought I knew what I was doing. But I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking clearly. And I ignored many things. I ignored you. Your opinion. Your feelings. And it wasn’t right.”
Your hands shifted slightly against your knees, restless.
“That’s why I called the lawyer again,” you added, glancing away for a second before meeting his eyes again. “I told him to stop.”
Steve turned his head toward you sharply, caught off guard.
“What?” he asked, almost under his breath. “Stop?”
His grip on the sheets loosened slightly, though not completely. His eyes searched yours carefully.
“Really?”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I told him not to go through with it. Not to file anything.”
You let out a shaky breath, your eyes dropping for a moment before lifting back to his.
“I messed up, okay?” you said, your voice unsteady. “I know that. And I’m… I’m sorry.”
The words came out before you could stop them—and once they started, they didn’t stop. “I shouldn’t have done what I did,” you went on, faster now, like you needed to get it all out before you lost the nerve. “I shouldn’t have made that decision on my own. Without talking to you first. Without even… asking you what you wanted.”
Your gaze dropped again, this time longer as shame crept in, heavy and undeniable.
“I kept telling myself that I was doing the right thing,” you admitted, a faint, bitter edge slipping into your voice. “For you. For both of us.”
You let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “But clearly…” you gestured weakly between the two of you, your throat tightening, “that’s not what happened.”
You pushed yourself up from the chair then, unable to sit still anymore. You started pacing slowly beside his bed, your arms wrapping around yourself for a moment before dropping again.
“And the worst part is…” you went on, your voice quieter now, more honest, “it wasn’t even really about you.” You swallowed, hard. “I told myself, I told you that it was,” you said, turning slightly toward him. “But it wasn’t. Not completely, at least.” A pause. “I was just doing what I thought was right… for me.”
Your eyes stung, your vision blurring as you blinked quickly.
“Because I was scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. Your hands lifted, gesturing vaguely in front of you, restless. “Terrified, actually.”
You started moving again, slower this time.
“Scared that you’d stay with me… and then one day realize it was a mistake. That I was a mistake,” you said, each word heavier than the last. “And I didn’t want to be something you’d regret.”
Your arms crossed tighter over your chest, like you were trying to hold yourself together.
Steve shifted slightly on the bed.
Your words had hurt him.
“I could never—” he started, his voice low, tired, but you shook your head immediately, cutting him off before he could finish.
“You don’t know that, Steve,” you said gently, but firmly.
You sank back down onto the chair, your energy suddenly draining out of you all at once.
“And it’s okay. Because none of us do,” you continued, softer at first. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow… or in a year… or five.” Your voice started to pick up again, less steady now. "You could leave me one day,” you said, repeating Robin’s words, faster, more anxious. “You could stop loving me.” A small pause. “Or maybe I could be the one to change. To want something different.”
You let out a slow breath, closing your eyes for a brief moment before looking at him again.
“I don’t want that,” you added quickly before he could misunderstand your words. “Obviously. That’s not what I want at all.” Your lips pressed together briefly. “But it’s possible. Everything could happen.”
Silence stretched between you again, less sharp but just as heavy.
“I spent all this time…” you went on, quieter, steadier now, “focusing only on the worst possible outcome. On the idea that you’d end up unhappy. That you’d leave.” You shook your head faintly. “I never even considered the alternative,” you admitted. “That maybe you wouldn’t. That we might actually… be okay in the end.”
Your eyes softened slightly as you looked at him.
“That you might stay,” you finished.
The room fell silent. Steve sighed — a slow breath, exhausted. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with frustration. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this?” His eyes searched yours, trying to understand. “About what you were feeling. I would’ve told you that—”
You leaned back against the chair before he could finish, exhaustion washing over you all at once. Your head had started to ache somewhere along the way, a dull pressure building behind your eyes. You pressed your fingers to your temple, rubbing slowly.
“I told you, Steve. I was…” you exhaled, your voice faltering. “I was scared and… and a part of me didn't accept it at first. The diagnosis. I couldn’t believe it.”
You hesitated, your hand dropping back into your lap, fingers curling together.
“It…” you continued, your voice trembling now, thinner, like it might break at any moment. “It felt like it wiped everything out. Every certainty I had. Everything I thought I knew about us… about the future… was gone.” Your eyes filled with tears, your gaze slipping away from him. “I think… a part of me just… convinced itself that the only way we could keep being as happy as we were… was if we had kids,” you admitted, swallowing hard.
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.
“And when I found out that I might not be able to…” your voice cracked, breaking under the weight of it. “I thought that was it. Because I couldn’t give you the life we wanted anymore. And that we — I couldn’t make you happy anymore.”
More tears followed, quiet, unstoppable now.
“I thought that I wouldn’t be enough for you,” you whispered. “Not like that. Not in the long run. And that you’d get tired one day.”
“So I decided to leave you,” you went on, your lips trembling. “I thought… if I let you go first, if I stepped away… you’d still have time to realize that dream with someone else. To have what you’ve always wanted.”
You let out a shaky breath.
“I really thought I was doing the right thing,” you added, almost bitterly. “For you.” A pause. “I didn’t want you to sacrifice that life for me. But really… I was just trying to protect myself from the moment you’d realize I wasn’t enough.”
Silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. Steve looked at you, like he was trying to understand how you had carried all of that alone. Then he exhaled slowly.
“I didn’t fall in love with the idea of a family or... six little nuggets,” he started, his voice softer now, more careful. “I fell in love with you.” He shifted slightly against the pillows, wincing just a little, uncomfortable, but he didn’t stop. “I mean, yeah — I'd like to have them,” he admitted, more plainly. His gaze held yours. “But I want them with you,” he went on. “Before you, I didn’t even think about that stuff.” He let out a small breath. “You’re the reason I started wanting it in the first place. And I’m with you because I love you. For a hundred reasons that have nothing to do with…” He trailed off, hesitating for a second, searching for the right words. “…with whether you may be fertile or not.” The way he said it was a little awkward, a little unsure — but completely sincere.
A small, unexpected laugh slipped out of you through your tears, shaky but real. Steve’s expression softened just slightly at the sound of it.
“And anyway…” he added, a little more tentative now, like he was thinking out loud, “there are other ways.” He shrugged faintly, one hand shifting against the blanket. “We could adopt,” he said. “Or… I don’t know, there’s that thing—” he frowned slightly, trying to remember, one hand lifting before stopping halfway as if he remembered the bandages, then awkwardly scratching just beside them instead, careful, “what’s it called? I read about a technique somewhere. When they —” He gestured vaguely, frustrated with himself.“—when they, like… help with that. Medically.”
“IVF,” you said quietly, finishing the thought for him. “I’ve already looked into it,” you went on, your fingers twisted together in your lap, nails pressing lightly into your skin. “But it’s expensive, Steve. Really expensive. And we can’t afford that right now. Not with the mortgage, and everything else…” You shook your head faintly, your gaze dropping. “And it’s not even guaranteed to work.”
“And adoption…” you added, softer now. “I thought about it. I did. But I didn’t think it was something you’d want.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully, afraid of how they might sound once spoken out loud. “You always talked about having kids that looked like us. Your hair, my eyes… things like that.” A breath caught in your throat. “So I just assumed that… you wouldn’t want a child that —”
You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, something almost incredulous crossing his expression. “What?” he said, not sharply, but with quiet disbelief. “That they wouldn’t have my blood?”
He shook his head immediately, like the idea itself didn’t sit right with him.
“I don’t need that,” he said, more firmly now. “I don’t need them to look like me. Or to be… biologically mine.” He hesitated for a second, like he almost didn’t want to say it. “Look at me and Dustin,” he went on, his voice softening just a little. “We’re not related, but he’s—” he let out a small breath, searching for the right word. “He’s like my little brother. That’s not… less, just because we don’t share blood.”
Your eyes lifted to him.
“And my students,” he added after a second, quieter now. “Half the time I worry about them like they’re my own kids.” A faint, almost self-aware smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Probably more than I should.”
The smile faded as he looked back at you, more serious again.
“I don’t want some perfect little version of me,” he said. “Honestly, that sounds like a nightmare.” A brief pause. “That stuff… the hair, the eyes — it’s just something people say. A fantasy.” He drew in a slow breath. “What really matters is… What I want is a kid who’s healthy. Safe. Happy.” His voice softened, warming slightly despite everything. “Someone I can take to the park. Show how to play baseball when they’re ready.” A small shrug. “Or not baseball. Could be anything.”
Something in your chest tightened at the image.
“What I’m trying to say is…” he continued, his voice quieter, steadier. “We have options. We can adopt. We can try IVF, if that’s what you want.” He glanced down briefly, then back up at you. “I don’t care how much it costs. We can save, take a loan, whatever.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself picture it again. Not the version you used to imagine — the one where everything was easy, predictable, where the child looked like the two of you, shared your features. This time it was different, blurrier in some ways, less defined… but somehow still real.
You saw yourself and Steve side by side, a child between you. You couldn’t quite make out their face, couldn’t tell whose eyes they had — if they had either of yours at all. And for the first time, it didn’t matter. Because you were happy. And that was all that mattered.
Your chest tightened, something fragile and unfamiliar unfolding inside you.
Hope.
You hadn’t let yourself go there in weeks. Not since the day you had left him. Every time that image had tried to surface, you had pushed it away, shut it down before it could take shape. Like it wasn’t yours anymore. Like you didn’t have the right to want it.
But now… it didn’t feel impossible. Not the way it had before.
It could exist.
“Or…” Steve added, softer now, “we don’t do any of that.”
Your breath hitched slightly.
“We don’t have kids,” he said simply. “And that’s okay too.” He held your gaze then, fully, no hesitation or uncertainty left. “I mean it,” he went on. “I don’t need any of that.” His fingers loosened slightly in the sheets. “Whatever our family looks like, I want it to be with you.” A small pause. “I just want you,” he added. “That’s it. That’s the only thing I’m sure about.” He exhaled softly, almost like he was letting something go. “Everything else… It’s just extra.”
Tears kept falling, unstoppable now, slipping down your cheeks as if something inside you had finally given way. This time you let them come and run free.
“Even after all this?” you asked, your voice trembling, fragile. You swallowed, your throat tight. “You still want me?”
Steve didn’t hesitate. He nodded, his gaze steady despite the emotion shining in his eyes. “I think I’ve been pretty clear about that,” he said quietly.
He had. But part of you still needed to hear it again. Needed to be sure.
Steve’s expression shifted, something more serious settling in.
“What about you?” he went on, softer but no less certain. “What do you want?” He asked, his eyes holding yours, searching. “What happens to us when I get out of here?”
You hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands as they twisted together in your lap. You tried to steady your breathing, wiping your cheeks quickly, though the tears kept coming.
What do you want? The question echoed in your mind, louder than everything else.
“I… I don’t know if I want to adopt,” you admitted, your voice uneven. “And I don’t know if I want to try IVF. Not right now, at least.” You shook your head faintly, exhaling. “I think I need time to… to process everything first. To accept that I might not be able to have children of my own.” Your voice softened, quieter now. “I need to learn how to live with that before I can decide anything else.”
A small pause followed.
You still wanted kids. That hadn’t changed. Even when you had tried to convince yourself otherwise or told Steve the opposite. And now you knew that maybe, in some way, there was still a possibility. Not in the way you had imagined. Not the way you had planned so many times before. But still… a chance. A future. With him.
Just not yet.
First, you needed to heal.
And maybe, somewhere along the way, the two of you could find each other again.
You lifted your eyes back to him.
“But I’d like to figure it out with you,” you added, more firmly this time, even if your voice still trembled. “With you by my side. I want to see what our future looks like… together.” A faint, uncertain smile touched your lips. “At least as long as we both want one. What do you say?”
Steve’s eyes grew glassy, the emotion there no longer hidden. He let out a quiet breath, something in his shoulders easing, like he had been holding it in for too long. He nodded. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice rough, unsteady. “I’d like that a lot.”
You nodded too, almost instinctively, your chest tightening with something overwhelming and warm and disbelieving all at once. You tried to wipe your tears again, but they kept coming, slipping through your fingers.
“Hey…” Steve murmured, his voice softer now. He shifted slightly and extended his hand toward you, palm open. “Come here.”
You hesitated for a second, glancing at the bandages, the fading bruises along his skin. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you said quietly. “Your injuries—”
“I’ll be fine,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head faintly. Then, after a small pause, his voice softened even more. “It’ll hurt a lot more if you keep staying that far away. We’ve been apart long enough.” A faint hint of a smile tugged at his lips.
You knew he wasn’t just talking about the few steps between the chair and the bed. He was talking about all those days you had spent apart from each other. The distance you had created due to your stupid decisions. A distance that had almost cost you everything. A distance you weren't used to.
Since the moment you had met, you had never been this far from him for this long. Not like that. A few hours at most.
Something in your chest gave in completely, preventing you from arguing again. And you didn't even want to do it. You couldn’t. You needed him just as much.
Carefully, you stood and moved closer, climbing onto the bed with slow, cautious movements. You made sure to avoid the worst of his injuries, adjusting yourself until you could lie beside him without causing him pain. You settled on your side, resting your head against his chest, just over his heart. Your hand followed, splayed lightly against him as if to make sure he was real. His arm came around your waist almost immediately, holding you close, firm, like he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t.
When you had both settled, you exhaled at the same time.
The warmth of his skin against yours seeped in slowly at first, then all at once. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoed beneath your ear — strong, constant. It filled your senses, drowning out everything else. And just like that, something inside you unclenched. The tension that had been coiled in your body for days melted away, leaving behind a deep, heavy exhaustion you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel until that moment.
You closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting yourself sink into him completely, into the quiet rise and fall of his chest. You let his heartbeat lulling you into something softer, calmer.
“I thought I lost you,” you whispered after a while, your voice barely audible, trembling at the edges.
Steve’s hand moved slowly along your back, up and down in a soothing rhythm.
“I told you,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, “you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
A weak breath of a laugh left you, but it broke halfway through.
“I’m sorry,” you started, but the words caught in your throat.
Your body shook before you could stop it. The tears came harder this time, deeper. Not sharp or panicked like before, but something else entirely — something that had been building for too long.
Relief.
Because he was here. Alive.
And he was okay.
Because despite everything—everything you had done, everything you had almost destroyed—he was still choosing you.
And you were still there. With him.
You buried your face against him as the sobs finally broke free, quiet but uncontrollable, your fingers clutching lightly at his shirt.
You didn’t hold them back this time. You didn’t even try to. You just let go.
“I’m sorry,” you repeated, again and again, your voice muffled, uneven, like the words themselves weren’t enough to hold everything you felt.
Steve didn’t stop you. He just held you. His hand kept moving along your back, slow, steady, grounding. His other arm tightened slightly around you, anchoring you in place as you let it all out.
And for the first time in days, you stopped holding yourself together. You finally let go.
“Hey… hey,” he whispered softly, his lips brushing your hair again. “It’s okay.”
You cried into his chest, your body gradually easing with every breath, every quiet sob.
“We’re okay,” he murmured. “We’ll be fine.” His voice was firmer this time. It left no room for any doubt or uncertainty.
You clung to him a little tighter, your breathing slowly evening out, the weight inside your chest beginning to lift, little by little.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it.
And this time — you didn’t fight it.
And here we are, almost at the end of this story! I say 'almost' because… there will be an EPILOGUE! And then that’s really it, even though I’m having a hard time letting this series go. But all good things must come to an end, right? So let’s give it the ending it deserves! I can’t wait for you to read it, and don’t get too comfortable just yet, there are still tears ahead, so keep those tissues close.
Now returning to this last chapter... Did you really think I wouldn't give them a happy ending, or better another chance? I'm a total sucker for them. I was just messing with you, guys. Steve would never cheat on her! Sorry if I made you cry or sad in the last parts, it wasn't my intention (or maybe it was), but I wanted to keep some mystery until the end. I really hope that this chapter makes up for all my sins! Let me know what you think about it :)
I DONT EVEN CARE IF THE EPILOGUE MAKES ME CRY, THIS CHAPTER HAD ME SOBBING AS IS BUT IM SO HAPPY I COULD RUN LAPS AROUND THE NEAREST BUILDING BECAUSE THEYRE TOGETHER AND STEVE DIDNT CHEAT WE ARE SO UP!!!!! UP I SAY, UP!!!!! THIS SERIES IS SO SO SO SO SO BEAUTIFULLY WRITTEN EVERYONE PLEASEEEEE READ THIS
Summary: When Steve wakes up, the truth finally surfaces. Is this the end of you… or a new beginning?
Warnings: angst, established relationship, married couple, arguments, marriage issues, pregnancy, infertility issues, maternity, motherhood, emotional distress, accident, injuries, alleged cheating, presumption of infidelity, divorce mentions
English isn't my first language, so be understandable and gentle, thanks!
Word count: +15k
Author's note: I hope you’re ready, because all your questions will finally be answered and everything will be revealed. Are you ready to find out? I definitely can’t wait to read your reactions and what you think. I really hope you love this chapter as much as the previous ones… if not more. Let me know what you think with a comment, your feedbacks are really important for me. And if you want to support me even more, reblog it. I'd really appreciate it. Now enjoy it and thanks for reading!
Two days after your conversation with Kirsten, the doctors told you the coma was no longer necessary and that they could begin reducing the sedatives.
They explained everything in careful, clinical terms — what it meant, how his body would respond, what to expect over the next few hours, the next few days. You listened, nodding when it felt appropriate, your eyes fixed on them as if you were following every word.
But you weren’t.
Because the only thing that truly registered, the only thing that stayed with you, was one simple fact.
Steve was going to wake up soon.
Aside from that news, your days didn’t change much. You still followed the same routine you had built for yourself since the accident.
You waited.
You sat by his bed, watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, listened to the steady rhythm of the machines. You spoke to him, quietly, filling the silence when it became too much. Other times, you just stayed there, your hand wrapped around his.
Somewhere along the way, everything had started to feel… suspended. Like time had paused, caught between what had been and what was supposed to happen next. The separation, your argument, the diagnosis — it all felt distant, almost unreal. There were moments when it barely seemed like it had happened at all.
And something almost ironic about it — cruelly so.
Just two weeks before, you had left him, walked out of your home and spent an entire week avoiding him, refusing to see him, to hear him out.
And now…
Now you spent every single day at his bedside, watching him breathe, sitting beside him for hours just to be close to him, taking care of him like nothing had ever happened. Like you had never left.
You had slipped back into your place so naturally it almost felt strange.
You were his wife again.
In a strange, unsettling way, the accident had restored something that had broken between you, forcing everything back into place.
But none of that was real. You knew it wasn’t. Because the moment Steve opened his eyes, reality would come rushing back in and everything you had been avoiding would still be there, waiting for you.
And that scared you.
The moment he woke up, there would be no more hiding from what came next.
It was a kind of contradiction. You couldn’t wait for Steve to regain consciousness but at the same time, a quiet fear lingered beneath it all — tight, persistent, suffocating.
At some point, you decided it was finally time to prepare a bag for him — clothes, basic things he would need when he woke up. Which meant going home. Your home. The same one you had left almost two weeks ago. The thought alone made your chest tighten.
When you parked in front of the house, your hands stayed on the steering wheel for a moment longer than necessary. Your eyes lifted slowly to the front door.
The memory came back so vividly it almost felt real. Steve standing just a few steps away from the car the day you had left, His chest rising and falling too fast, like he couldn’t quite catch his breath. You could still see the confusion in his eyes and hear the pain in his voice as he begged you not to go. To stay.
You swallowed hard and blinked, forcing the image away. Then you exhaled, steadying yourself, and stepped out of the car. You unlocked the door and stepped inside.
For a split second, you expected to hear Steve’s voice calling your name from another room. The faint sound of movement upstairs. Or to feel his arms wrapping around you, welcoming you home after a long day.
Instead, there was nothing.
Just silence, settling around you immediately, heavy in a way that felt unfamiliar in a place that had never been quiet before.
You took a few steps forward, your gaze moving slowly around the living room. Everything looked exactly as you had left it.
Almost.
Your eyes caught on the coffee table — on the empty beer bottles scattered across it, a few more near the edge like they had been set down carelessly and forgotten.
Your chest tightened.
Steve wasn’t like that. He drank, sure, but occasionally. Never too much. Never like this.
It was the only real sign he had been there at all. Otherwise, the house felt untouched. As if he had simply been passing through it, existing in it without really living in it.
Your throat tightened slightly.
That place didn’t feel like home.
Not without him.
Because it had never really been about the walls.
It had always been him.
Now you felt out of place in it. Like an intruder.
You swallowed the thought down before it could settle too deeply and turned toward the stairs, taking them quickly, almost on instinct, until you reached the bedroom.
The door was still slightly open as if someone had left in a hurry, without bothering to close it first. You pushed it wider and stepped in, stopping almost immediately on the doorway.
Steve’s side of the bed was still unmade, the sheets wrinkled and half-pulled loose like they had been left in the middle of something. The books he had found were still scattered across the floor. On his nightstand, Eddie’s stash and a lighter sat exactly where he had left them.
Your side of the room was untouched. Your things — the one you hadn’t taken with you — were still there just as you had left it. Your chest tightened as the realization settled in. Steve hadn’t moved or packed anything away. He had left it all there. Like everything had been waiting for you to come back and press play again.
You swallowed and forced yourself to move. You bent down, picking up the books from the floor, stacking them one by one. You smoothed the sheets absentmindedly, straightening the bed just enough to make it look less abandoned. When you finished, you walked to the closet and pulled out one of Steve’s duffel bags, setting it on the bed.
For a moment, you just stood there, staring at it. Then you started packing — a few changes of clothes, toiletries. You folded each piece of clothing with care, placing it inside one by one, slowly.
Your mind pulled you back to two weeks earlier. When you had done the same thing — only faster, messier. Throwing your things into a suitcase, without stopping, too focused on leaving before he came back. Before he could stop you.
Your hand stopped for a second, your fingers tightening slightly around the fabric you were holding.
Coward, a little voice whispered into your mind.
You swallowed hard, your throat dry, sore.
It was true. You had chosen the easy way out by not giving him a chance to speak and decide.
Your grip softened.
And in doing so, you had hurt him anyway. Maybe more.
You brought the shirt to your chest, holding it there for a moment, your eyes closing briefly as you breathed him in. You lowered it slowly, smoothing it out before placing it in the bag with the rest.
If you had just talked to him from the beginning… Maybe things would have been different. And now maybe you wouldn't be in an empty house, silently packing a bag to take to your unconscious husband in the hospital.
You zipped the bag shut, the sound cutting through the silence of the room. You stood there for a second, your hand resting on top of it. Then you picked up the bag and walked out of the room, down the stairs, and toward the front door. Your hand lingered on the handle for just a moment before you opened it. As you stepped outside, you wondered if you would come back one day.
Or if that was another goodbye again.
—
The next day, the doctors stopped the last of the sedatives.
Now it was up to Steve.
They told you it could take hours. Maybe a couple of days.
The moment they said it, a silent countdown started in your mind. You found yourself checking the clock constantly, watching the minutes pass and counting the hours. It had become like a hobby by now. A boring, slow one.
Every time you looked at him, you wondered if that would be the moment in which his fingers would twitch. Or if his eyes would finally open. And as the hours passed, the anxiety that had been sitting quietly in your chest began to grow.
You needed him to wake up. To hear his voice. To see his big, brown eyes open and look at you. You needed to be sure that he was really okay. That he was still… him.
Even though the doctors had been reassuring, the bleeding had resolved and the fractures were healing well, they had also mentioned possible complications due to the head trauma. Cognitive ones as memory loss or speech issues.
You didn’t know which one scared you more.
And you hoped you would never have to find out.
—
As hours passed and you waited for Steve to wake up, you began to prepare yourself on what to say. How to say it. Because you knew that the moment he woke up, reality would follow. And everything you had left unfinished would still be there, waiting. You had a conversation to resume. Many things to discuss.
And Kirsten, of course.
Your jaw tightened slightly at the thought.
Despite everything, you hadn’t forgotten. You couldn’t. Even if part of you wanted to push it aside, just for a little longer.
Your mind had shifted from imagining them together — filling in the blanks with your worst assumptions — to replaying every single word Kirsten had said to you. Over and over again. Like a broken record. Since that conversation, you had gone through it countless times in your head, picking it apart, analyzing every detail, every pause, every expression.
Trying to understand what was real.
Trying to figure out what had been left unsaid.
Robin’s words echoed faintly in your mind.
Let him explain.
You exhaled quietly. Even though you had already spoken to her and knew what had happened that night, you would listen to Steve. To his version. He was the only one who could remove all doubts and clarify everything.
What if she had lied?
In the end, you didn’t know her and maybe that night something else had happened. Something she might not have told you. Something she might have left out. But you knew Steve. You knew him well enough to know when he was lying or not. So you would let him explain and you would listen. Really listen. All the way through. Without interruptions. Without shutting him out. Or walking away.
You owed him that. To yourself, too. And to your marriage.
Your gaze dropped to your joined hands, swallowing hard.
There were things you needed to say as well.
In the days you had spent there, sitting beside him, watching him fight through something you couldn’t see, something had shifted. You had had time to think and to replay everything. You had questioned your own choices. And some of them didn’t sit right anymore.
You had things to admit. Mistakes to own. And you had made decisions — new ones— that would change everything. Again.
Your grip on his hand tightened slightly.
“Wake up, Steve,” you murmured, your voice low, almost lost in the quiet of the room.
Because no matter what waited for you on the other side of that moment, you needed him there for it.
-
By the time evening settled outside the hospital windows, the room had dimmed into that quiet, bluish half-light that made everything feel suspended.
You were sitting beside Steve, a sheet of paper resting on your lap, a pencil moving slowly between your fingers as you worked on a sketch, trying to keep yourself busy.
You hadn’t left his side all day, refusing to go home. The doctors had warned you he would likely be confused, agitated and you didn't want to risk Steve waking up alone, while you weren't there. You wanted to be there for him — to soften that moment as much as possible.
Your gaze lifted toward him again, almost automatically. It had become a reflex at this point—checking, even when you didn’t realize you were doing it.
You sighed quietly.
He was the same as he had been all day — still, quiet. No changes yet.
Your eyes began to drop back to the paper when you saw it, freezing instantly.
His fingers had moved. Just slightly. So faint you weren’t even sure it had happened. Maybe you had imagined it, you thought.
You blinked, your breath catching. Your eyes quickly flicked to his.
They were closed.
Your gaze snapped back to his hand.
The fingers were still. Immobile.
Your heart started to beat faster, your grip tightening slightly around the pencil as doubt crept in. You had imagined it, you told yourself. You had to have. After all, you were exhausted. You hadn’t slept properly in days. And it wouldn’t have been the first time your mind played tricks on you.
You swallowed, forcing yourself to look again, and waited.
One.
Two.
Ten seconds.
Then you saw again.
A small, uncoordinated twitch of his fingers.
You blinked. Once. Twice.
His fingers kept moving.
It was real.
Your chair scraped loudly against the floor as you stood up too quickly, the sound barely registering. The paper and pencil slipped from your hands and fell onto the seat behind you as you moved closer to the bed, your eyes locked on him.
“Steve…” The name left your lips before you could stop it, barely more than a breath.
His eyelids fluttered. Slowly. Uncertainly. Like even that small movement required effort.
Your heart stuttered in your chest as you reached for his hand, wrapping your fingers around his, tightly, holding on. “Steve,” you repeated, your voice trembling now.
His eyes opened — just a fraction at first — then closed again almost immediately, like the light was too much. His brow furrowed faintly.
A second later, he tried again. This time they stayed open a little longer, unfocused. He blinked, slow and heavy, his gaze drifting across the room without really seeing it. Then his eyes widened and his breathing turned uneven, shallow, like his body was trying to catch up with something it didn’t understand yet.
“Hey… hey, it’s okay,” you said quickly, your voice breaking despite your attempt to steady it. “It’s me. I’m here, Steve.”
Your hand tightened around his, careful not to hurt him, as your other one moved to his hair, brushing it back gently from his forehead, your touch careful, delicate.
His eyes finally found you, tilting his head slightly toward you and the tension in his features eased, just a little. He swallowed slowly.
You felt your chest tighten.
“You’re in the hospital,” you continued softly, forcing the words out through the emotion building in your throat. “You had an accident, but you’re okay. You’re going to be okay.”
You forced a small smile.
He didn’t respond. He just kept looking at you, his gaze fixed, almost searching. Like he was holding onto the only thing in the room that made any sense. Like if he looked away, even for a second, you might disappear. You couldn't even imagine how scared and confused he must feel.
A flicker of panic rose in your chest.
“Steve?” you said again, slower this time. “Can you hear me?”
No answer.
Your stomach dropped.
What if he didn’t recognize you?
The thought hit fast, sharp, stealing the air from your lungs as the doctors’ warnings echoed in your mind, again and again.
Consequences. Memory loss. Speech issues.
You swallowed hard, your grip softening unconsciously around his hand.
“I— I’m going to get someone,” you said quickly, the words rushing out, stumbling over each other as panic crept into your voice. “I’ll be right back, okay? I just need to call a doctor—”
You started to pull away but his hand tightened around yours. Not strongly. He had just woken up and was still weak, but still strong enough to stop you.
Your breath caught as your eyes dropped to where your hands were joined, then snapped back to his face.
His lips parted slightly, his throat working as he tried to speak. The sound that came out was low. Rough. Like it hurt.
“…don’t…”
The word barely made it past his lips. But it was there. Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made you dizzy.
He could speak.
You leaned closer immediately to hear better, your heart pounding.
“Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to—”
He tried again, his breathing faltering, uneven.
“…go…”
Each word seemed to cost him effort.
“…please…”
Your chest tightened painfully as your eyes filled with tears, blurring your vision.
“…don’t… leave me.”
You pulled away from him. A shaky breath left your lips, something between a sob and a laugh, relief and emotion crashing together all at once. You shook your head quickly, your fingers tightening around his as if to reassure him.
“Hey—hey, no,” you said softly, your voice trembling despite your attempt to keep it steady. “I’m not leaving you. I’m right here.”
You leaned closer again, your thumb brushing gently over his knuckles.
“You’re okay,” you murmured, more to yourself than to him. “You’re okay.”
The fact that he could speak and reach for you was reassuring, easing some of the fear that had been building in your chest for days.
“I just need to tell them you’re awake, okay? I’ll be right back. I promise.”
His grip didn’t loosen immediately. His eyes stayed on you, wide, uncertain, like he didn’t trust your words. Not completely.
You smiled at him, forcing yourself to gently pull your hand free, slowly. Your fingers lingered for a second longer before you stepped back. “I’ll be right there,” you reassured him again.
You turned and moved quickly toward the door. “Nurse!” Your voice echoed down the hallway, sharper, urgent. “Nurse! My husband — he’s awake — I need a doctor! Can I get a doctor, please?”
Footsteps approached almost immediately. A nurse appeared at the end of the corridor, her pace quickening as you explained, words tumbling over each other. “He just woke up — he’s conscious, he’s talking—”
She nodded and turned without hesitation, hurrying off to call a doctor.
You turned back and walked quickly into the room, your eyes immediately finding him again. You crossed the space in a few quick steps and reached for his hand again, wrapping your fingers around his.
His gaze returned to you instantly.
“Hey! The doctor’s coming,” you said softly, your voice gentler now, steadier. “Everything will be okay.”
A few minutes later, the nurse returned, this time accompanied by a doctor. You instinctively stepped slightly to the side to give them space, though your hand remained wrapped around Steve’s, your fingers unwilling to let go completely.
The doctor approached calmly, offering Steve a small, reassuring smile before reaching into his coat pocket.
“Steve,” he said gently, “can you hear me?”
Steve’s eyes, heavy and slow, shifted from you to him. It took a moment, but he gave a faint nod.
“Good,” the doctor continued. He lifted a small penlight, bringing it up carefully. “I’m just going to check your eyes, okay? Follow the light for me.”
The beam moved slowly from side to side. Steve’s gaze followed, sluggish but responsive. The doctor watched closely, studying the movement, then repeated it once more before nodding to himself.
“Alright,” he said quietly, more to himself than to either of you. He lowered the light and straightened slightly. “You’re in the hospital,” he continued, voice calm and steady. “You were in an accident. You’ve been unconscious for a few days, but you’re safe now.”
Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, like he was trying to process the information.
The doctor watched him for a second, then reached for the chart at the foot of the bed, flipping it open.
“Do you remember what happened?” he asked. “The accident?”
Steve hesitated. You felt your breath catch in your throat without realizing it, your body going still beside him. His gaze drifted briefly, unfocused, like he was searching for something in his mind and coming up empty.
Then, slowly, he shook his head.
Your chest tightened. You forced yourself to swallow, keeping your expression steady even as something uneasy settled deep inside you.
The doctor gave a small, thoughtful nod, as if the answer didn’t surprise him, and made a quick note on the chart. Then he looked up. His gaze shifted — first to you, briefly — before returning to Steve.
“And do you recognize this woman?” he asked.
The question seemed to echo in the room as every muscle in your body went rigid, your eyes locking onto Steve’s face, searching for something — anything — that could answer that question.
Steve’s eyes found yours. His gaze lingered, quiet, intent, studying you. As if he was trying to understand something just out of reach.
You forced a small smile, encouraging, though it felt fragile, uncertain. You swallowed.
Seconds stretched as your heart pounded loudly in your ears, each beat sharper than the last.
Then, after what seemed like an eternity, he nodded.
Relief hit you so suddenly it almost made your knees weak. Air rushed back into your lungs as if you had been holding it the entire time.
“…my wife,” Steve managed, his voice rough, low, the words dragged out with effort. “She’s… my wife.”
Your breath left you in a quiet, unsteady exhale, something in your chest loosening all at once.
He remembered you. He knew who you were.
He was still your Steve.
The doctor gave a satisfied nod, jotting something down. “Good,” he said simply.
He closed the chart with a soft snap and looked back at Steve.“For today, I think that’s enough,” he continued. “We’ll run more tests tomorrow. For now, the most important thing is that you rest. Try not to tire yourself out.”
Steve gave the faintest nod, his eyelids already starting to droop again.
“You’ve been very lucky, Mr. Harrington,” the doctor added. Then he stepped back, exchanging a brief glance with you before he turned and made his way toward the door, the nurse following closely behind.
After a second, the door closed softly and the room fell quiet again.
For a moment, you didn’t move. A small part of you hesitated, suddenly aware that you were alone with him again. You weren’t sure what to do. How to act. Or what came next.
You swallowed slowly, then turned back toward him.
Steve was already looking at you.
You took a small step closer. Then another. Careful. Almost unsure.
“Hey…” you said softly, your voice quiet. “How do you feel?”
He didn’t answer immediately. His eyes stayed on yours, steady despite the exhaustion behind them. Then they fluttered shut for a brief second — too long — before reopening abruptly, like he was checking that you were still there.
“…okay,” he said at last, his voice barely above a whisper, each word slow, heavy. “Just… tired.”
The effort it took him to speak was evident in the way his breathing hitched slightly afterward.
You nodded gently, your expression softening. “Yeah,” you murmured. “That makes sense. You should try to get some sleep.”
He shook his head almost immediately, though the movement was weak, unsteady. His eyes were already half-closed.
“But… Don’t… want to.” The words came out uneven, dragged between breaths.
Your hand moved instinctively, brushing lightly over his forehead, fingers threading gently through his hair. “Hey,” you said softly, almost a whisper. “It’ll help. You heard the doctor — you need to rest.”
At your touch, some of the tension in his face eased a little. His eyes opened once more, slower this time, searching for you. “Will you… be here?” he asked, his voice quieter now, fragile. He swallowed after, like even that had taken effort. “When I wake up…”
The question lingered between you.
For a second, you didn’t answer. Your chest tightened, your gaze flickering over his face — taking him in like you were trying to memorize him, or maybe reassure yourself that he was really there. Your eyes filled with tears. Then you nodded.
“Of course.”
You hesitated for just a fraction of a second before adding, softer. “I’ll be here.”
His eyes stayed on you for another moment, like he was holding onto that answer, before the weight of exhaustion finally pulled him under. His grip loosened, the eyelids drooped and his breathing evened out again, slow and steady.
You remained where you were, your hand still resting lightly against him, your thumb absentmindedly brushing against his skin.
-
Sometime in the middle of the night, a strained sound pulled you out of sleep.
You were curled on your side on the small couch, one arm tucked under your head, the thin hospital blanket barely covering you. You frowned, still caught somewhere between sleep and waking, before it came again — low, uneven. A quiet groan. Your eyes snapped open when you realized where it was coming from.
You pushed yourself up immediately, the blanket slipping off as you crossed the room in a few quick steps, barefoot against the cold floor.
“Steve?”
He was exactly in the same position you had left him but something was wrong. He was restless. His eyes were still closed but his expression was tense, brows drawn together. His jaw was clenched, and his head moved faintly from side to side against the pillow, like he was trying to shake something off.
Another strained sound left his lips.
Your stomach dropped. “Hey… hey, it’s okay,” you said softly, reaching him, your hand settling on his arm. “Are you in pain? Do you need me to call someone?”
He gave you no response. The only sound in the room was his uneven breathing.
You leaned closer, your grip tightening slightly. “Steve?” you called again, a little louder this time.
Still nothing.
You shook him gently, not wanting to hurt him, and then suddenly you stopped.
It wasn’t pain.
He was having a nightmare.
You moved your hand to his shoulder, about to wake him when his lips parted, a broken sound slipping out.
“…no…”
You froze.
“…wait…”
Your breath caught.
“…Kirsten…”
The name hit you like a shock. Everything in you went still. Your fingers loosened against him as you just stared, your chest tightening, your breath suddenly shallow.
For a second, you weren’t sure you had heard it right. But the name lingered in the space between you. Clear enough. Heavy.
Steve’s head shifted once more against the pillow — then stilled. His face relaxed. His breathing evened out, slow, steady, like whatever had held him had finally let go.
As if nothing had happened.
You didn’t move for a second. You swallowed, your throat dry, your chest tight as something unsettled twisted deep inside you. Then, slowly, you stepped back, your hand slipping away from him. You returned to the couch and lay down again, staring at the ceiling, your body tense, your mind completely wide awake now. Every time you closed your eyes, you heard it.
Kirsten.
Over and over again.
You squeezed your eyes shut, but it didn’t help.
What had he been dreaming about? Why her?
Your thoughts spiraled before you could stop them.
Had he been remembering the night he had spent with her? Which part?
Had it meant something?
Your stomach twisted, almost making you want to throw up. You swallowed, trying to get rid of the nausea. You felt hurt in a way you didn’t quite know how to name.
The name echoed again.
Kirsten.
Until, eventually, exhaustion pulled you under and you fell asleep.
-
Morning came quietly.
When you woke, it took you a moment to remember where you were. Your body felt stiff, your neck sore from the awkward angle you had slept in. The thin hospital light filtered through the curtains, pale and diffused, settling softly across the room. You blinked, still half-asleep, and turned onto your other side — the one facing Steve’s bed. You pushed yourself up onto your elbows to check on him.
He was still asleep.
His breathing was steady, his face relaxed, peaceful. You let yourself fall back against the couch with a quiet sigh, staring at the ceiling for a few seconds before finally forcing yourself up.
You moved slowly, careful not to make noise, and reached for your bag. From it, you pulled out a change of clothes and your small toiletry pouch. Before heading to the bathroom, you glanced at him again. Only then did you slip inside and close the door softly behind you.
The cold water helped you to wake up completely. Then you brushed your teeth and changed into a pair of jeans and a white blouse, leaving the top buttons undone. You braided your hair with quick, practiced movements, your reflection staring back at you — pale, tired, like you had aged years in just a few days.
For a brief second, your mind betrayed you and Kirsten’s image appeared before you with her perfect hair and flawless make-up, put together in a way you didn’t feel right now. Your jaw tightened as Steve’s voice, whispering her name, echoed again in your mind.
Your stomach dropped.
Your gaze shifted back to your reflection. Then lower. To your body. A body that suddenly felt… wrong. Defective. While Kirsten was everything you didn’t feel like in that moment. Younger. Pretty. And probably fertile.
The thought landed sharp and heavy, tightening your throat.
Maybe Steve had seen it too that night. He must have looked at her and found her beautiful. Maybe he had seen something easier in her. Simpler. Someone who didn’t come with defects. Unlike you.
You swallowed.
Was that why he stayed?
Before you could spiral further, you reached for your makeup and started applying it with more focus than necessary. Controlled. Precise. Like it could fix something. Or at least hide it.
When you stepped back into the room, your eyes lifted instinctively to him.
Steve was awake, propped slightly against the pillows now, his posture still weak, shoulders slouched.
You froze for half a second. “Hey… you’re awake,” you said after a moment, a little too quickly, a hint of surprise slipping into your voice. You gave him a small smile.
He didn’t look away. “You’re here,” he said, like he wasn’t entirely sure of it. Like he needed to say it out loud to believe it.
Something in your chest shifted. You set your pouch down on the couch and moved closer, your your steps first quickly, then slower, more careful as you approached his bed.
“Yeah, of course I am. I just — I went to freshen up a bit,” you said, gesturing vaguely toward the bathroom. “You know… look somewhat presentable. I haven’t exactly been at my best these —”
“You look beautiful.”
The words came without hesitation.
You blinked, caught off guard. Your mouth parted slightly, whatever you had been about to say dissolving before it could take shape. For a second, you just stood there, a little stunned — then a small, involuntary smile tugged at your lips.
There was a brief pause.
“Well…” you cleared your throat lightly, your gaze briefly dropping before lifting back to him. “You don’t look that bad yourself, all things considered.”
There was a hint of amusement in your tone, an attempt — gentle, careful — to ease the tension. But inside you the anxiety was eating you up.
You stopped beside the bed, suddenly aware of how close you were.
“How are you feeling?” you asked, softer now. “Did you sleep okay? Are you in pain?”
It felt strange standing there or talking to him after everything. Not in a bad way. Just strange as the last conversation you had shared still hovered somewhere between you, unspoken but present. Like an echo neither of you could quite shake.
And there was the distance too. Not physical. But more like you were both trying to find your footing without knowing where the ground was.
Steve hesitated. His gaze lingered on you for a moment longer before he answered. “I’m… okay, I think,” he said, his voice still rough, low from disuse. “A little sore. But… I guess it could be worse.”
He shifted slightly against the pillows, the movement slow, careful. His eyes drifted briefly around the room, as if grounding himself. Then back to you.
“I—” he started, then paused, like he had to gather the energy for the question. “How long was I out?”
“A week.”
He blinked, clearly caught off guard. His lips parted slightly. “Oh.”
Then, he nodded faintly, his gaze dropping for a second as he processed it, shoulders sinking just a little deeper into the pillows.
For a moment, the room fell so quiet you could hear just your own breathing, your heartbeat loud in your ears.
You sat down on the chair beside his bed, leaving a careful distance between you.
It felt wrong. Being this close to him — in the same room, within reach — and not touching him. You kept your hands folded tightly in your lap, fingers laced together as if that alone could keep you still. Because part of you wanted to move closer. To reach for him. To take his hand, feel the warmth of his skin, reassure yourself that he was real.
But you didn’t and stayed where you were.
“Do you… remember anything?” you asked after a moment, your voice quieter now, more cautious. “About the accident, I mean.”
Steve lifted his gaze to you. For a second, he just looked at you — like he was trying to read something in your expression, something you weren’t saying. Then he shook his head.
“Not really,” he admitted. “I mean… it’s all kind of blurry. Pieces, maybe. But nothing that makes sense.”
You nodded faintly, though your mind had already moved ahead.
What else didn’t he remember?
Did he forget what had happened with Kirsten or the dream he had last night?
“I think I… had too much to drink,” he continued, slower now, as if choosing each word carefully. “The last thing I can clearly recall is being in the car and—”
He stopped. His expression shifted almost instantly. His eyes flickered, unfocused for a second, his face tightening, the color draining slightly from it as if something had just clicked into place.
You leaned forward in your seat without thinking. “Hey—hey, what is it?” you asked quickly, the edge of panic slipping into your voice. “Are you okay? Does something hurt?”
Steve blinked a few times, trying to steady himself, his breathing uneven for a moment. “No, I’m okay,” he said finally, though his voice came out rougher than before. “It’s just…Was anyone else hurt?”
The question caught you off guard.
You frowned slightly. “What?”
“The accident,” he clarified, his voice tense now, more awake than before. “Was there any victim? Anyone—”
“No,” you interrupted gently but firmly, shaking your head. “There were no victims.”
He went still. For a moment, he just stared at you, searching your face — making sure. Then his shoulders dropped, a quiet breath leaving him, relieved.
“Okay… okay,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, nodding faintly.
But you could see he was still tense. His gaze lowered briefly, his jaw tightening again as something else settled in.
“I just…” he started, then paused, swallowing. He dragged a hand over his face, slower this time. You could see it — the moment where he had to decide whether to say it or not. “I just remembered something,” he said finally, his voice lower now, heavier. “Something you should know.”
Your heart sank, even though you already knew what he was going to tell. Or at least, you thought you did.
Still, you didn’t say anything. You just nodded, giving him space to continue.
Steve dragged a hand down his face, exhaling slowly, like he was trying to gather himself. Then his hand dropped, almost unconsciously, to his other one. His fingers closed around his ring finger, rubbing at the bare skin where his wedding band should have been. Back and forth.
“I…” His gaze slipped away from yours, fixing somewhere ahead of him, unfocused—like it was easier to look at nothing than at you. “I wasn’t alone.”
The words landed heavier coming from him, making everything more real.
“There was someone else in the car with me,” he went on, his voice uneven, low. “A woman.”
You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. Hearing it out loud from him made it real in a way it hadn’t been before. Final in a way you couldn’t undo.
You stayed still, silent and let him continue.
Let him explain, Robin’s voice echoed clearly in your mind.
“After… after our argument that night,” he continued, slower now, like he was piecing it together as he spoke, “I couldn’t go home. I just —” He shook his head faintly. “I didn’t want to be there. Not without you.” His eyes flickered briefly toward you, then dropped again almost immediately. “I needed to get out. To not think for a while. I was…” He exhaled sharply. “I was a mess. Angry. Tired. Everything at once. And I didn’t —” He swallowed, dragging in a breath, like even saying it out loud cost him something. “I didn’t want to be alone.”
You lowered your eyes to your hands, your fingers curling slightly into your palms.
“So I went to the Hideout,” he continued. “Just to have a drink. But… Instead, I ended up having a few.”
A humorless breath left him.
“And that’s where I met her.”
He let his head fall forward, his hands coming up to his face as if the memory itself was too much.
“She—” he started, then faltered. “She asked if she could sit.”
A brief silence stretched between you.
“I… I knew what she was really asking for. What she really wanted,” he admitted, dropping his gaze. “And I know that it’s not really an excuse but… I felt so alone.” His voice edged with something close to shame. He swallowed, eyes briefly closing. “I thought a little company wouldn't hurt. So I let her sit next to me.” A small pause, like even saying it felt wrong. “We started talking. And she… started flirting.”
His fingers tightened slightly against the bedsheet, the fabric wrinkling beneath his grip.
“I should’ve left,” he muttered. “I know that. I should’ve gotten up and walked away.” A pause. “But I didn’t. And I didn’t stop her,” he admitted, voice lower now.
Your breath caught quietly in your chest.
“I stayed. I kept drinking and she kept—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “We kept talking. She started touching my arm, laughing at everything I said. She… she listened to me like it actually mattered.”
You stayed still while a sharp, uncomfortable heat spread through you — jealousy, immediate and instinctive. The image formed before you could stop it: her sitting next to him, leaning in, smiling, touching him like she had any right to. And this time it felt so much worse. Because it wasn’t just something your mind had made up. It was real.
Your jaw tightened.
You didn’t like it. You didn’t like the idea of another woman sitting that close to your husband, touching him, thinking she could have him. Especially knowing he was married. It irritated you more than you wanted to admit, a quiet, persistent anger settling under your skin. Who she thought she was?
But she wasn’t the first to act like that.
Steve had always been the kind of guy girls noticed. The one they looked at a little longer than necessary. Even now that he was married. Women still flirted with him like it didn’t matter. Like the ring on his finger meant nothing — or worse, like it wasn’t even there.
You had seen it before and every time you had brushed it off, not at all worried. You knew Steve wasn’t interested. That he didn’t care about them. But this was different. Because this time… he had stayed. He had let her flirting.
In any other moment, you would’ve snapped and asked him why. Why he hadn’t walked away. Why he had stayed. But the questions died before they could reach your lips. Because you already knew the answer. Or at least part of it.
Your fingers pressed harder into your palms.
You had pushed him there. With your words. Your choices. The things you had said that night. You had told him to move on. To find someone else. And maybe in the end he had listened to you.
Steve dragged a hand through the bandage covering his hair, clearly unsettled now.
“And it felt good for a minute,” he exhaled, almost bitterly, dropping his gaze.
For a second, you forgot how to breathe. The words hit deeper than anything else. Your throat went dry, your pulse quickening as something fragile inside you shifted. You swallowed, slowly, painfully. You wanted to ask him what he meant. What kind of good. And how far it had gone. But the words wouldn’t come out. They stayed lodged in your chest, tangled with everything else you were feeling — jealousy, guilt, fear.
How good Kirsten had made him feel? Better than you?
“Everything you said that night kept… echoing in my head,” he added more quietly. “About moving on. About finding someone else.” He let out a short, humorless breath. “And I don’t know if I was trying to prove something, or just —” He hesitated. “Or just stop thinking about you for five minutes.” Another pause. “Maybe I just wanted to see if I could do it,” he admitted, voice rough now. “If you were actually right and I could… move on as you had said.”
His gaze dropped, sighing.
“It’s stupid. I know, ” he muttered. “But I wasn’t really thinking. Not clearly, at least.”
Silence fell again, heavier than before.
“I should’ve left,” he repeated under his breath. “But I didn’t.”
He swallowed.
“And then…” His voice faltered, uncertainty creeping back in. “I — she — we —”
Frustration flickered across his face as the memory slipped out of reach again.
“Jesus… I… I don’t remember,” he muttered under his breath. “It’s all messed up in my head.”
He let out a small, disbelieving breath, shaking his head. “I — I don’t even remember her name.” A hollow laugh slipped out, but there was no real amusement in it. “I swear, I don’t,” he added quickly, almost desperately, like he needed you to believe that. As if that detail changed anything. As if it made things better. “I don’t remember.”
He sounded wrecked.
Ashamed.
You couldn’t look at him. Your vision blurred as your eyes filled with tears, your focus dropping to your hands resting in your lap. For a second, you just sat there, breathing through the tightness in your chest. You squeezed your eyes, hard.
Then, barely above a whisper.
“Kirsten.”
Steve turned toward you, his brow furrowing. “What?”
You lifted your gaze to him, quickly brushing the tears from your cheeks with the back of your fingers. “Kirsten,” you said quietly. “The girl. That’s her name.”
A beat.
“Wait—” His confusion deepened, something sharper slipping in right after. “How… how do you know that?”
“She —” You cleared your throat and went on. “She came here. A few days ago. While you were still in a coma.” You paused, watching his reaction carefully. “She wanted to see how you were. And we… talked. She told me everything, Steve.”
Silence fell over the room.
For a second, Steve just stared at you, like he hadn’t fully understood. Then something in his expression shifted — confusion twisting into something closer to panic. He shook his head once. Then again. Faster.
“Wait—no, I— I don’t know what she told you, but I—” His voice stumbled over itself, his breathing picking up. “We didn’t— I mean—” He swallowed hard, running a hand through his hair, careful around the bandage. “I swear to you, nothing happened. At least— I don’t think it did. I would remember that,” he added, almost to himself, his voice faltering.
His eyes searched yours, desperate now.
“My memories are messed up, okay? I told you, they’re not clear, but I wouldn’t—” He shook his head again, more forcefully this time. “I couldn’t. Not to you, not—” He broke off, frustrated, dragging a hand down his face. “I mean, yeah, maybe I— I might’ve flirted a little, I don’t know, I was drunk and pissed and not thinking straight, but I wouldn’t—”
He stopped, breath uneven, clearly spiraling, trying to fill in the gaps before they could turn into something worse.
You couldn’t help it.
A small smile tugged at your lips.
You tried to hide it, pressing them together, but it was there.
He was unraveling in front of you, so visibly shaken, so desperate to explain himself, to fix something he wasn’t even sure he had broken.
When you were the one who had broken everything.
It did something to you.
“Steve,” you said, a little gentler now, but still firmly.
But it seemed like he didn’t hear you.
“I didn’t do anything, I didn’t — I mean, I don’t think I did, I wouldn’t just—” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head again. “God, I sound like an idiot, I just— I need you to know that I would never—”
“Steve,” you repeated, louder this time.
He stopped, meeting your eyes.
“Stop,” you added. “I know everything.”
For a second, he didn’t move. Then his expression shifted — tight, uncertain, almost bracing for impact. His shoulders tensed, his jaw clenched, like he was already preparing for whatever version of the story he thought you had heard.
You could see in his face — the fear, the guilt, the way he was already punishing himself for something he wasn’t even sure he had done.
Your gaze dropped briefly, your fingers fidgeting restlessly in your lap. You drew in a slow breath, trying to keep the composure you had been holding onto since the beginning of this conversation. You glanced around briefly, your eyes unfocused as the memory of your conversation with Kirsten surfaced — clear, vivid, like it was happening all over again. You remembered every single word she had said, very detail.
You let yourself fall back into it as you told Steve everything.
-
You swallowed hard. “Sorry for what, exactly?” you asked after a moment, your voice firm, cold, already bracing yourself for the worst.
Kirsten’s gaze shifted between you and Steve, lingering on him for just a second longer. There was hesitation in her eyes, like she wasn’t sure where to begin or what to say. When she finally spoke, her voice was small, unsteady.
“The accident,” she said, her words catching in her throat. “I… I’m so, so sorry.”
You blinked, your brows furrowed.
Her composure broke almost immediately. A soft sob escaped her, her hand flying up to cover her mouth as if she could stop it. “I—I’m not very good at driving,” she went on, her voice trembling, uneven. “And it was raining… it was raining so hard. There was water everywhere. I could barely see the road and then —” She shook her head quickly, sighing, like the memory overwhelmed her. “Everything happened so fast.”
She swallowed hard, forcing herself to continue.
“I’m really sorry. Truly. It was my car. I was driving.” Her hand lifted slightly, gesturing toward Steve’s unconscious body on the bed. “This should’ve happened to me. Not to him.”
You frowned, confusion settling in, pushing past everything else.
Her words didn’t match the story you had been building in your head.
She let out a shaky breath, noticing your expression. “If I just… If I hadn’t offered him a ride, maybe he’d be fine right now,” she added, quieter now, guilt laced through every syllable. “It’s just that —”
You interrupted her, unable to hold it in any longer. “Wait — what?” you asked, your voice sharper than intended. “I… I don’t understand. A ride? To where?”
Kirsten blinked, startled by your reaction.
“To you,” she said, more cautiously now. “He wanted to come back to you.”
You stared at her, your heart skipping a beat. The confusion only deepened, your mind struggling to keep up.
“To me?” You repeated, almost under your breath.
“We were both at the Hideout,” she continued, trying to explain, her words still uneven but clearer now. “We were talking. Drinking. And at some point he started telling me about you.”
You held her gaze, trying to keep up. She paused, studying your face as if to make sure you were following.
“He talked about a fight you had had earlier,” she said. “I probably shouldn’t say this but… he was a mess. He kept saying it wasn’t over. That you two still needed to talk. That he wasn’t going to let it end like that.” A faint, almost sad smile flickered across her lips. “He was… very determined. Drunk, yes, but determined.”
Your heart stuttered in your chest.
“At one point, he just stood up,” she went on. “He started looking for his keys, saying he had to go. To you.”
You felt you breath catch.
“But he wasn’t in any condition to drive,” she added quickly. “He was completely wasted. I tried to stop him, but he wouldn’t listen. He was so set on it.” She paused, glancing down at the floor. “And I don’t know…” She started saying. “It was kind of… romantic, in a way. Maybe a little desperate, too. But… romantic. The way he talked about you. The fact that he wanted to get back to you no matter what.” Her voice softened. “He looked so heartbroken. And I don't know… I think I felt sorry for him.”
A quiet breath left her.
“So I offered to drive him,” she finished. “I figured… at least I could make sure he got there safely.” A faint, bitter exhale followed. “Besides,” she added, almost as an afterthought, “by then it was pretty clear I didn’t stand a chance anyway.”
Her gaze flickered back to Steve.
“And then… well.” She gestured lightly toward him, toward the hospital bed, the machines, the silence that surrounded him. “We — You know the rest.”
The room had fallen completely still after that, while your mind had been racing, trying to rearrange everything you thought you knew into something that made sense.
There was one thought that kept surfacing, louder than the rest.
You looked back at her. “He… Steve was coming to me?” you asked, your voice quieter now, almost fragile, even though you already knew the answer. But a part of you needed yet another confirmation. To be sure.
Kirsten nodded without hesitation.
“Yes.”
That single word settled deep inside your chest, echoing in your mind. If Steve was trying to come back to you, it meant that…
He hadn’t been going somewhere else. Not to her. Not to anyone.
You dropped your gaze for a moment, your thoughts shifting, narrowing, until only one question remained. The one that had been haunting you from the very beginning.
You swallowed slowly before asking. “So… you and Steve… nothing happened?” Your voice faltered slightly despite your effort to keep it steady. “At the bar. And after, in the car. It was just… a ride? That’s all?”
Kirsten nodded again, more firmly this time.
You felt like you could breathe again, as if you had been underwater until that moment and was only now resurfacing.
Kirsten let out a small sigh. “Look, I’ll be honest,” she said. “When I saw him sitting at the bar, alone, I thought…” She hesitated, a faint, embarrassed smile tugging at her lips. “I thought I’d give it a shot,” she admitted.
A brief pause.
“But I never really had a chance,” she added quickly.
You lifted your eyes to her again.
“Yeah, he was… polite,” she went on. “Charming. He listened to me, answered my questions. But when he started talking… he only talked about you.” She shook her head slightly. “And he wouldn’t stop.” A faint smile tugged at her lips. “I think I learned more about you than I did about him,” she added. “My wife this, my wife that… and always something good.”
Something in your chest tightened.
“Once we got in the car, he fell asleep almost immediately,” she added, a small, almost fond smile appearing despite everything. “Didn’t even make it five minutes.” She shook her head slightly. “But nothing else happened,” she said, more firmly now. “He didn’t even touch me. Not once.”
Her gaze held yours.
“You’re… very lucky,” she said quietly.
For a moment, you just stared at her. Then your eyes drifted to Steve, slowly. To the man lying in that hospital bed. The man who, even at his worst, even broken and drunk and hurting, had still chosen you. Even when it would have been so easy to let go, to give in, to choose something easier. Someone else. But he hadn’t. He had still tried to come back to you.
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, followed by a soft smile. You shook your head faintly.
“No,” you said, your voice thick with emotion.
You looked back at her.
“I’m the lucky one.”
-
A quiet settled in the room when you finished speaking.
Your eyes stayed fixed on Steve’s face, waiting for his reaction. You held your breath without even realizing it.
He didn’t speak right away. His gaze drifted slightly, watching everywhere and nothing at the same time, as he tried to process every word, to fit it somewhere inside what he remembered. His eyes flicked to you. Then, after a moment, he spoke. “So… nothing happened?” His voice low, careful as if he wasn’t still sure.
You shook your head slowly.
For a second, he just looked at you. Then his eyes closed, and a long breath left him — deep, shaky, like it had been trapped inside his chest for several minutes. His shoulders dropped as he sank back into the pillows, tension draining from his body, giving way to something softer. Relief. Pure, unfiltered relief. Like a weight had finally been lifted.
But it didn’t last.
His expression shifted again as his eyes opened, something heavier settling in their place, his gaze back on you.
“I’m sorry.”
You frowned immediately, blinking at him in confusion. “What? Steve, I just told you nothing happened—”
He shook his head, slower this time, certain. “Yes, it did.”
The firmness in his tone caught you off guard. There was no hesitation in his voice. No uncertainty. Just quiet conviction. He swallowed, his eyes dropping to the blanket, fingers brushing absentmindedly against the fabric.
“I still let her sit,” he said, his voice rougher now. “I knew what she wanted and I still— I didn’t stop it. I stayed. And I let her… flirt. And I…” He trailed off, jaw tightening. “I shouldn’t have. It was wrong.”
You didn’t speak. You weren’t sure you could.
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, softer this time.
You swallowed, your eyes dropping to your hands as they twisted together in your lap. “It’s okay, Steve,” you said after a moment, your voice gentler. “Really. You don’t have to apologize.” A small pause. “I’m not even in the position… I mean… I was the one who told you to move on. To find —”
Your fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the chair.
“Yeah, but I never wanted that.” His voice cut through yours, sharper this time, tinged with frustration.
You looked up at him, surprised by his tone.
“And I don’t want it,” he added, more firmly, like he needed you to understand.
He dragged a hand through his hair, careful around the bandage, exhaling through his nose as he tried to steady himself. “I tried,” he went on after a moment, quieter now. “I tried to listen to you. To do what you said.” His gaze drifted somewhere ahead of him, unfocused. “To imagine it. Being with someone else. Seeing if I could feel something.” A small, bitter breath left him. “If it could be that simple.”
He let out a short, bitter breath.
“That’s why I talked to her,” he admitted. “At first, I thought… maybe.” He shook his head faintly. “But it wasn’t.”
Your chest tightened.
“But I couldn’t.” His gaze lifted, finding yours and holding it this time. “I was sitting there with her and all… all I could think about was you.” His voice softened, something raw slipping through. “About us. About how wrong everything felt. All of it. Being there, talking to her… even listening to her.” A small pause. “I didn’t want to be there. Not really. I wanted to be home. With you. I wanted to fix things. To talk to you. That’s all I wanted.”
The words settled between you, heavy and real.
“Being there with her…” he continued, slower now, like he was choosing each word carefully, “it just made everything clearer.”
You held his gaze, barely breathing.
“I don’t want her,” he said. “Or anyone else.”
Something in your chest cracked open.
“I don’t need to try or imagine,” he added, his voice steady despite the exhaustion weighing on him. “Because I have you.”
Your eyes filled before you could stop them.
“You’re the one I want,” he finished quietly. “No matter what.”
No matter if you could give him kids or not, you thought he wanted to say.
You couldn’t speak, your breath catching in your throat. You remembered Nancy and Robin’s words. When they had said exactly the same thing. But hearing Steve pronounce them was different. More real. It wasn't just the words of two friends trying to comfort you anymore.
Your throat tightened, emotions rising too fast, too overwhelming to put into words. You dropped your gaze for a second, blinking rapidly as tears blurred your vision.
“Everything I said that night at Nancy’s house…” he continued, softer now, his voice rough with emotion. “I meant it. Every word.”
You swallowed hard, looking back at him.
“I meant it when I said it wasn’t over,” he added. “Not for me. And I think —”
A soft knock interrupted him.
The door opened before either of you could react, and a nurse stepped inside, pushing a breakfast cart, her presence sudden and almost jarring against the intimacy of the moment. You both turned toward her at the same time.
“Good morning,” she said with a polite smile, her voice gentle, professional. “Time to eat.”
You straightened slightly, forcing a small smile in return, but you could feel it — that lingering weight between you, the conversation left hanging mid-air. When you looked back, Steve was already looking at you again.
“We need to talk,” he said under his breath, just for you.
You nodded quickly. “I know,” you whispered. “I need to talk to you too.”
For a second, it felt instinctive to reach for him and close the distance.
But you didn’t.
You stayed where you were, your hands still, your fingers curling slightly into your palms instead.
“Later, okay?” You added after a small pause.
His gaze lingered on yours for a second longer, searching for any trace of doubt. Then he gave a faint nod, his jaw tightening just slightly before his attention shifted back to the nurse — who had just asked him something neither of you had actually heard.
-
But later never seemed to come.
The moment you had promised each other kept slipping further away, pushed aside by one interruption after another.
Right after breakfast, they had taken Steve for a series of tests. You had watched as they wheeled him out of the room, his hand slipping from yours at the last second, his eyes lingering on you like he didn’t want to let go.
When he returned, the doctor followed with good news. Steve was responding well. The scans were clear and there were no signs of complications from the head trauma. He was officially out of danger. They would keep him a few more days, just to be sure, and then discharge him.
You hadn’t realized how tightly you had been holding your breath until that moment. It left you all at once, a quiet, shaky exhale as relief settled deep in your chest, loosening something that had been knotted there for days.
Not long after, the room had started to fill with visits — first one person, then two, then more. Word had spread and now everyone wanted to see Steve.
The energy in the room shifted completely. Where there had been tension and quiet before, there was Nancy’s calm voice, Robin’s unmistakable, relentless chatter and Dustin’s comments filling every corner of the space. Despite the bruises, the bandages, the lingering exhaustion, Steve seemed more like himself with every passing minute. He rolled his eyes at Dustin, muttered under his breath, pushed back weakly when the teasing got too much.
Dustin shook his head, arms crossed. “I still can’t believe it.”
“Can’t believe what?” Steve asked, already annoyed.
“That this is how you almost died,” Dustin said. “A car accident. Seriously, dude?”
Steve stared at him in disbelief. “I didn’t exactly plan it, Henderson.”
“Yeah, but you survived demogorgons and Vecna,” Dustin went on. “And then, boom! Seatbelt takes you out.”
“First of all, that’s not how seatbelts work! And secondly, that's not exactly how things went.”
“Still embarrassing,” Dustin muttered.
Steve let his head fall back against the pillow. “I’m not having this conversation.”
Everyone in the room burst out laughing, including you.
Anyone else, hearing words like demogorgons or Vecna, would have frowned in confusion.
But not you.
You knew exactly what they meant. Steve had told you everything about the Upside Down, not long after you had gotten together. At first, you had thought it was some elaborate story to scare you or make you laugh. But then El had shown you what she could do and suddenly, nothing had felt impossible anymore.
After that, things had started making sense — the way Steve had somehow become responsible for a group of kids, the looks they all exchanged sometimes, full of meaning you couldn’t quite grasp at the time, and their silences.
Your gaze drifted back to him. He was listening, nodding along, answering when he had to but every few seconds, his eyes found you again. Like a reflex. Like he couldn’t help it.
Sometimes your gazes locked for a second too long, something unspoken passing between you before you were the one to look away, your cheeks warming despite yourself. Other times, he was the one to break it, turning back to whoever was talking to him, forcing himself back into the conversation.
But you could tell he was waiting, watching for a moment alone with you. You had seen it more than once — him starting to say something when the room finally quieted, only for the door to open again, another voice cutting in, another interruption stealing the moment away.
Part of you was relieved for those interruptions. They gave you space and time to breathe, to think and to process everything that had already been said before adding more on top of it. Before addressing the conversation you had put on hold since before the accident.
When the room became too full and the noise too much, you slipped out quietly, using small excuses — coffee, water, fresh air. But more than once, you found yourself standing in front of the vending machines without taking anything, staring blankly at the rows of snacks as your mind replayed his words.
I want you. No matter what.
You leaned your shoulder against the cold wall, exhaling slowly, your arms crossing loosely over your chest.
Now that everything was clear — what had happened that night, what hadn’t — there was nothing left to question. No more misunderstandings to hide behind. No more reasons to put off the conversation you had left unfinished. The one you had been avoiding from the beginning.
You closed your eyes for a moment as the thought settled in your chest, quiet but undeniable.
The next conversation would matter.
And it would change everything once again.
Maybe it would be even the last.
-
The door clicked shut a few minutes past eight, and for the first time in hours, the room fell quiet.
You both exhaled almost at the same time, relieved, exhausted.
You were still sitting on the couch, legs tucked beneath you, your shoulders relaxing, when Steve’s voice broke through. “I thought they’d never leave.”
A small laugh slipped past your lips, soft, almost whispered. “What can you do? You’re basically a celebrity right now. Everyone wants to see…” You tilted your head, a teasing glint in your eyes. “What was it they used to call you? King Steve?”
He huffed out a quiet laugh, shaking his head against the pillow as he remembered his “glorious days” in high school. “Yeah… well, I don’t feel much like a king right now.” He hesitated. “Don’t think I ever really was.”
There was no bitterness in his voice. Just tired honesty.
You pushed yourself up from the couch and walked toward the bed, slow. You stopped just short of it, leaving that small, careful distance between you.
“It’s been a long day,” you said gently, smiling. “You must be exhausted. Do you want—”
“I want to talk.”
The words cut through yours, firm but not harsh. You stilled. For a second, you just looked at him, as if to understand whether he truly meant it.
And he did. You could see the determination in his eyes.
You took another step closer, your hand resting lightly on the edge of the mattress, fingers pressing into the fabric as if to steady yourself.
“Now?” you asked, your voice softer, uncertain. “Are you sure? It’s late. We could —”
Steve shook his head. “No.” His voice was calm, but resolute. “I need to do this now.”
He shifted slightly against the pillows, wincing almost imperceptibly before settling again. His gaze stayed on you, steady despite the exhaustion written all over him. “I need to know that this —” his hand lifted weakly, gesturing between the two of you “— that this isn’t just… temporary.”
You swallowed.
“I need to know what happens when I get out of here,” he added, his voice dipping, rougher now, choosing each word with care. “I mean between us,” he clarified, his voice quieter. His eyes flickered over your face, studying you, trying to find an answer. “You’ve been here all day, barely leaving my side. And we —” He stopped, exhaling shakily, his gaze dropping for a second. “It feels like before. Like nothing changed. Like nothing happened.”
Your fingers curled slightly against the mattress.
“And I don’t know if it… if it is real,” he admitted. “Or if you’re acting like that just because I’m here like this.” His jaw tensed slightly, swallowing. “Because you feel like you have to.”
Your heart pulled tight in your chest. You shook your head almost immediately, a small, instinctive motion. You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him it wasn’t true — that you really wanted to be there. For him. And not just because he was your husband.
But Steve didn’t give you the time to reply and the words caught in your throat.
“I don’t want to assume anything,” he went on, his gaze dropping briefly before finding yours again. “I don’t want to think we’re okay if we’re not.”
There was no accusation in his voice — just careful, restrained fear.
“So I need to know,” he said, more quietly now, the words slower, “if this… if you being here… means we’re not over.” His voice faltered slightly. “Not even for you.”
You swallowed.
“That you’re going to stay once I’m out of here,” he added, barely above a murmur. “Or if…” He swallowed, his throat working visibly. “If you’re just going to leave again.”
The words hung between you. Steve’s jaw tightened slightly, like even saying it out loud cost him something.
“Because I can’t do that again, I can’t lose you again,” he admitted, his voice stripped of everything but truth. “I need to know where we stand,” he finished, softer now. “Before I start hoping for something that isn’t there,” he added under his breath, almost more to himself than to you.
Your breath caught.
“Please,” he begged.
The word was barely a whisper, but it hit you harder than anything else he had said. The tears burned behind your eyes, threatening to spill. Seeing him like that — so open, so vulnerable — broke through every last defense you had left, any resistance still intact. You swallowed hard, still feeling the weight of his words pressing against your chest. Then you nodded slowly.
“Okay… let’s talk.”
You moved to the chair beside his bed, sitting down and turning slightly toward him. The distance between you was smaller now, but it felt heavier than it should have.
The room fell into silence.
You lifted your eyes to him, but dropped them almost immediately, your fingers fidgeting together in your lap as you searched for the right words.
You cleared your throat softly. “There’s something you should know first,” you said, your voice low, hesitant. “Something I didn’t tell you this morning.”
Steve didn’t speak. He just watched you, waiting. His expression tightened slightly, like he already knew he wasn’t going to like what came next.
You lowered your gaze again, drawing in a slow breath. “After I talked to Kirsten… that day…” You hesitated, your lips pressing together for a second. Then, without softening it — “I called a lawyer.”
Steve’s eyes widened, his grip tightening around the bedsheets, the confusion visible in his hands.
Your fingers curled tighter together as you forced yourself to keep going, rushing on before he could say anything. Before he could think the worst.
“I had already contacted him before the accident,” you admitted, your voice quieter now, a trace of embarrassment creeping in. “To start the divorce process,” you added after a brief moment of hesitation.
You knew that confessing it wouldn't help your position. If anything, it might make things worse. But it seemed right to you that he knew. It was the least you could do, especially after he had told you the truth that morning.
You looked up at him, almost cautiously, afraid of his reaction.
He didn’t say anything right away but you saw the shift in his expression, the hurt in his eyes before he could hide it. His gaze drifted away from you, landing somewhere across the room, unfocused, nodding, like he was just processing what you had said. Then a breath left him — something close to a dry, humorless laugh.
“Right,” he muttered. “Thought of everything, didn’t you?”
The tone was light, but not enough to hide the hurt underneath. Enough to make your guilt grow.
You closed your eyes briefly, shaking your head. “No… I didn’t,” you said, quickly, more firmly this time. “That’s exactly the point.”
When you opened your eyes again, you looked straight at him. “I thought I had everything figured out,” you went on, slower, more honest. “I thought I knew what I was doing. But I didn’t. I wasn’t thinking clearly. And I ignored many things. I ignored you. Your opinion. Your feelings. And it wasn’t right.”
Your hands shifted slightly against your knees, restless.
“That’s why I called the lawyer again,” you added, glancing away for a second before meeting his eyes again. “I told him to stop.”
Steve turned his head toward you sharply, caught off guard.
“What?” he asked, almost under his breath. “Stop?”
His grip on the sheets loosened slightly, though not completely. His eyes searched yours carefully.
“Really?”
You nodded slowly. “Yeah,” you said softly. “I told him not to go through with it. Not to file anything.”
You let out a shaky breath, your eyes dropping for a moment before lifting back to his.
“I messed up, okay?” you said, your voice unsteady. “I know that. And I’m… I’m sorry.”
The words came out before you could stop them—and once they started, they didn’t stop. “I shouldn’t have done what I did,” you went on, faster now, like you needed to get it all out before you lost the nerve. “I shouldn’t have made that decision on my own. Without talking to you first. Without even… asking you what you wanted.”
Your gaze dropped again, this time longer as shame crept in, heavy and undeniable.
“I kept telling myself that I was doing the right thing,” you admitted, a faint, bitter edge slipping into your voice. “For you. For both of us.”
You let out a quiet, humorless laugh, shaking your head. “But clearly…” you gestured weakly between the two of you, your throat tightening, “that’s not what happened.”
You pushed yourself up from the chair then, unable to sit still anymore. You started pacing slowly beside his bed, your arms wrapping around yourself for a moment before dropping again.
“And the worst part is…” you went on, your voice quieter now, more honest, “it wasn’t even really about you.” You swallowed, hard. “I told myself, I told you that it was,” you said, turning slightly toward him. “But it wasn’t. Not completely, at least.” A pause. “I was just doing what I thought was right… for me.”
Your eyes stung, your vision blurring as you blinked quickly.
“Because I was scared,” you admitted, your voice breaking slightly. Your hands lifted, gesturing vaguely in front of you, restless. “Terrified, actually.”
You started moving again, slower this time.
“Scared that you’d stay with me… and then one day realize it was a mistake. That I was a mistake,” you said, each word heavier than the last. “And I didn’t want to be something you’d regret.”
Your arms crossed tighter over your chest, like you were trying to hold yourself together.
Steve shifted slightly on the bed.
Your words had hurt him.
“I could never—” he started, his voice low, tired, but you shook your head immediately, cutting him off before he could finish.
“You don’t know that, Steve,” you said gently, but firmly.
You sank back down onto the chair, your energy suddenly draining out of you all at once.
“And it’s okay. Because none of us do,” you continued, softer at first. “I don’t know what’s going to happen tomorrow… or in a year… or five.” Your voice started to pick up again, less steady now. "You could leave me one day,” you said, repeating Robin’s words, faster, more anxious. “You could stop loving me.” A small pause. “Or maybe I could be the one to change. To want something different.”
You let out a slow breath, closing your eyes for a brief moment before looking at him again.
“I don’t want that,” you added quickly before he could misunderstand your words. “Obviously. That’s not what I want at all.” Your lips pressed together briefly. “But it’s possible. Everything could happen.”
Silence stretched between you again, less sharp but just as heavy.
“I spent all this time…” you went on, quieter, steadier now, “focusing only on the worst possible outcome. On the idea that you’d end up unhappy. That you’d leave.” You shook your head faintly. “I never even considered the alternative,” you admitted. “That maybe you wouldn’t. That we might actually… be okay in the end.”
Your eyes softened slightly as you looked at him.
“That you might stay,” you finished.
The room fell silent. Steve sighed — a slow breath, exhausted. “Why didn’t you tell me?” he asked, his voice soft but edged with frustration. “Why didn’t you talk to me about this?” His eyes searched yours, trying to understand. “About what you were feeling. I would’ve told you that—”
You leaned back against the chair before he could finish, exhaustion washing over you all at once. Your head had started to ache somewhere along the way, a dull pressure building behind your eyes. You pressed your fingers to your temple, rubbing slowly.
“I told you, Steve. I was…” you exhaled, your voice faltering. “I was scared and… and a part of me didn't accept it at first. The diagnosis. I couldn’t believe it.”
You hesitated, your hand dropping back into your lap, fingers curling together.
“It…” you continued, your voice trembling now, thinner, like it might break at any moment. “It felt like it wiped everything out. Every certainty I had. Everything I thought I knew about us… about the future… was gone.” Your eyes filled with tears, your gaze slipping away from him. “I think… a part of me just… convinced itself that the only way we could keep being as happy as we were… was if we had kids,” you admitted, swallowing hard.
A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it.
“And when I found out that I might not be able to…” your voice cracked, breaking under the weight of it. “I thought that was it. Because I couldn’t give you the life we wanted anymore. And that we — I couldn’t make you happy anymore.”
More tears followed, quiet, unstoppable now.
“I thought that I wouldn’t be enough for you,” you whispered. “Not like that. Not in the long run. And that you’d get tired one day.”
“So I decided to leave you,” you went on, your lips trembling. “I thought… if I let you go first, if I stepped away… you’d still have time to realize that dream with someone else. To have what you’ve always wanted.”
You let out a shaky breath.
“I really thought I was doing the right thing,” you added, almost bitterly. “For you.” A pause. “I didn’t want you to sacrifice that life for me. But really… I was just trying to protect myself from the moment you’d realize I wasn’t enough.”
Silence settled over the room, thick and heavy. For a few seconds, neither of you spoke. Steve looked at you, like he was trying to understand how you had carried all of that alone. Then he exhaled slowly.
“I didn’t fall in love with the idea of a family or... six little nuggets,” he started, his voice softer now, more careful. “I fell in love with you.” He shifted slightly against the pillows, wincing just a little, uncomfortable, but he didn’t stop. “I mean, yeah — I'd like to have them,” he admitted, more plainly. His gaze held yours. “But I want them with you,” he went on. “Before you, I didn’t even think about that stuff.” He let out a small breath. “You’re the reason I started wanting it in the first place. And I’m with you because I love you. For a hundred reasons that have nothing to do with…” He trailed off, hesitating for a second, searching for the right words. “…with whether you may be fertile or not.” The way he said it was a little awkward, a little unsure — but completely sincere.
A small, unexpected laugh slipped out of you through your tears, shaky but real. Steve’s expression softened just slightly at the sound of it.
“And anyway…” he added, a little more tentative now, like he was thinking out loud, “there are other ways.” He shrugged faintly, one hand shifting against the blanket. “We could adopt,” he said. “Or… I don’t know, there’s that thing—” he frowned slightly, trying to remember, one hand lifting before stopping halfway as if he remembered the bandages, then awkwardly scratching just beside them instead, careful, “what’s it called? I read about a technique somewhere. When they —” He gestured vaguely, frustrated with himself.“—when they, like… help with that. Medically.”
“IVF,” you said quietly, finishing the thought for him. “I’ve already looked into it,” you went on, your fingers twisted together in your lap, nails pressing lightly into your skin. “But it’s expensive, Steve. Really expensive. And we can’t afford that right now. Not with the mortgage, and everything else…” You shook your head faintly, your gaze dropping. “And it’s not even guaranteed to work.”
“And adoption…” you added, softer now. “I thought about it. I did. But I didn’t think it was something you’d want.” You hesitated, choosing your words carefully, afraid of how they might sound once spoken out loud. “You always talked about having kids that looked like us. Your hair, my eyes… things like that.” A breath caught in your throat. “So I just assumed that… you wouldn’t want a child that —”
You trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.
Steve’s brow furrowed slightly, something almost incredulous crossing his expression. “What?” he said, not sharply, but with quiet disbelief. “That they wouldn’t have my blood?”
He shook his head immediately, like the idea itself didn’t sit right with him.
“I don’t need that,” he said, more firmly now. “I don’t need them to look like me. Or to be… biologically mine.” He hesitated for a second, like he almost didn’t want to say it. “Look at me and Dustin,” he went on, his voice softening just a little. “We’re not related, but he’s—” he let out a small breath, searching for the right word. “He’s like my little brother. That’s not… less, just because we don’t share blood.”
Your eyes lifted to him.
“And my students,” he added after a second, quieter now. “Half the time I worry about them like they’re my own kids.” A faint, almost self-aware smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Probably more than I should.”
The smile faded as he looked back at you, more serious again.
“I don’t want some perfect little version of me,” he said. “Honestly, that sounds like a nightmare.” A brief pause. “That stuff… the hair, the eyes — it’s just something people say. A fantasy.” He drew in a slow breath. “What really matters is… What I want is a kid who’s healthy. Safe. Happy.” His voice softened, warming slightly despite everything. “Someone I can take to the park. Show how to play baseball when they’re ready.” A small shrug. “Or not baseball. Could be anything.”
Something in your chest tightened at the image.
“What I’m trying to say is…” he continued, his voice quieter, steadier. “We have options. We can adopt. We can try IVF, if that’s what you want.” He glanced down briefly, then back up at you. “I don’t care how much it costs. We can save, take a loan, whatever.”
For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself picture it again. Not the version you used to imagine — the one where everything was easy, predictable, where the child looked like the two of you, shared your features. This time it was different, blurrier in some ways, less defined… but somehow still real.
You saw yourself and Steve side by side, a child between you. You couldn’t quite make out their face, couldn’t tell whose eyes they had — if they had either of yours at all. And for the first time, it didn’t matter. Because you were happy. And that was all that mattered.
Your chest tightened, something fragile and unfamiliar unfolding inside you.
Hope.
You hadn’t let yourself go there in weeks. Not since the day you had left him. Every time that image had tried to surface, you had pushed it away, shut it down before it could take shape. Like it wasn’t yours anymore. Like you didn’t have the right to want it.
But now… it didn’t feel impossible. Not the way it had before.
It could exist.
“Or…” Steve added, softer now, “we don’t do any of that.”
Your breath hitched slightly.
“We don’t have kids,” he said simply. “And that’s okay too.” He held your gaze then, fully, no hesitation or uncertainty left. “I mean it,” he went on. “I don’t need any of that.” His fingers loosened slightly in the sheets. “Whatever our family looks like, I want it to be with you.” A small pause. “I just want you,” he added. “That’s it. That’s the only thing I’m sure about.” He exhaled softly, almost like he was letting something go. “Everything else… It’s just extra.”
Tears kept falling, unstoppable now, slipping down your cheeks as if something inside you had finally given way. This time you let them come and run free.
“Even after all this?” you asked, your voice trembling, fragile. You swallowed, your throat tight. “You still want me?”
Steve didn’t hesitate. He nodded, his gaze steady despite the emotion shining in his eyes. “I think I’ve been pretty clear about that,” he said quietly.
He had. But part of you still needed to hear it again. Needed to be sure.
Steve’s expression shifted, something more serious settling in.
“What about you?” he went on, softer but no less certain. “What do you want?” He asked, his eyes holding yours, searching. “What happens to us when I get out of here?”
You hesitated, your gaze dropping to your hands as they twisted together in your lap. You tried to steady your breathing, wiping your cheeks quickly, though the tears kept coming.
What do you want? The question echoed in your mind, louder than everything else.
“I… I don’t know if I want to adopt,” you admitted, your voice uneven. “And I don’t know if I want to try IVF. Not right now, at least.” You shook your head faintly, exhaling. “I think I need time to… to process everything first. To accept that I might not be able to have children of my own.” Your voice softened, quieter now. “I need to learn how to live with that before I can decide anything else.”
A small pause followed.
You still wanted kids. That hadn’t changed. Even when you had tried to convince yourself otherwise or told Steve the opposite. And now you knew that maybe, in some way, there was still a possibility. Not in the way you had imagined. Not the way you had planned so many times before. But still… a chance. A future. With him.
Just not yet.
First, you needed to heal.
And maybe, somewhere along the way, the two of you could find each other again.
You lifted your eyes back to him.
“But I’d like to figure it out with you,” you added, more firmly this time, even if your voice still trembled. “With you by my side. I want to see what our future looks like… together.” A faint, uncertain smile touched your lips. “At least as long as we both want one. What do you say?”
Steve’s eyes grew glassy, the emotion there no longer hidden. He let out a quiet breath, something in his shoulders easing, like he had been holding it in for too long. He nodded. “I’d like that,” he said, his voice rough, unsteady. “I’d like that a lot.”
You nodded too, almost instinctively, your chest tightening with something overwhelming and warm and disbelieving all at once. You tried to wipe your tears again, but they kept coming, slipping through your fingers.
“Hey…” Steve murmured, his voice softer now. He shifted slightly and extended his hand toward you, palm open. “Come here.”
You hesitated for a second, glancing at the bandages, the fading bruises along his skin. “I don’t want to hurt you,” you said quietly. “Your injuries—”
“I’ll be fine,” he interrupted gently, shaking his head faintly. Then, after a small pause, his voice softened even more. “It’ll hurt a lot more if you keep staying that far away. We’ve been apart long enough.” A faint hint of a smile tugged at his lips.
You knew he wasn’t just talking about the few steps between the chair and the bed. He was talking about all those days you had spent apart from each other. The distance you had created due to your stupid decisions. A distance that had almost cost you everything. A distance you weren't used to.
Since the moment you had met, you had never been this far from him for this long. Not like that. A few hours at most.
Something in your chest gave in completely, preventing you from arguing again. And you didn't even want to do it. You couldn’t. You needed him just as much.
Carefully, you stood and moved closer, climbing onto the bed with slow, cautious movements. You made sure to avoid the worst of his injuries, adjusting yourself until you could lie beside him without causing him pain. You settled on your side, resting your head against his chest, just over his heart. Your hand followed, splayed lightly against him as if to make sure he was real. His arm came around your waist almost immediately, holding you close, firm, like he was afraid you might slip away if he didn’t.
When you had both settled, you exhaled at the same time.
The warmth of his skin against yours seeped in slowly at first, then all at once. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat echoed beneath your ear — strong, constant. It filled your senses, drowning out everything else. And just like that, something inside you unclenched. The tension that had been coiled in your body for days melted away, leaving behind a deep, heavy exhaustion you hadn’t allowed yourself to feel until that moment.
You closed your eyes, breathing him in, letting yourself sink into him completely, into the quiet rise and fall of his chest. You let his heartbeat lulling you into something softer, calmer.
“I thought I lost you,” you whispered after a while, your voice barely audible, trembling at the edges.
Steve’s hand moved slowly along your back, up and down in a soothing rhythm.
“I told you,” he murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head, “you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”
A weak breath of a laugh left you, but it broke halfway through.
“I’m sorry,” you started, but the words caught in your throat.
Your body shook before you could stop it. The tears came harder this time, deeper. Not sharp or panicked like before, but something else entirely — something that had been building for too long.
Relief.
Because he was here. Alive.
And he was okay.
Because despite everything—everything you had done, everything you had almost destroyed—he was still choosing you.
And you were still there. With him.
You buried your face against him as the sobs finally broke free, quiet but uncontrollable, your fingers clutching lightly at his shirt.
You didn’t hold them back this time. You didn’t even try to. You just let go.
“I’m sorry,” you repeated, again and again, your voice muffled, uneven, like the words themselves weren’t enough to hold everything you felt.
Steve didn’t stop you. He just held you. His hand kept moving along your back, slow, steady, grounding. His other arm tightened slightly around you, anchoring you in place as you let it all out.
And for the first time in days, you stopped holding yourself together. You finally let go.
“Hey… hey,” he whispered softly, his lips brushing your hair again. “It’s okay.”
You cried into his chest, your body gradually easing with every breath, every quiet sob.
“We’re okay,” he murmured. “We’ll be fine.” His voice was firmer this time. It left no room for any doubt or uncertainty.
You clung to him a little tighter, your breathing slowly evening out, the weight inside your chest beginning to lift, little by little.
For the first time in what felt like forever, you let yourself believe it.
And this time — you didn’t fight it.
And here we are, almost at the end of this story! I say 'almost' because… there will be an EPILOGUE! And then that’s really it, even though I’m having a hard time letting this series go. But all good things must come to an end, right? So let’s give it the ending it deserves! I can’t wait for you to read it, and don’t get too comfortable just yet, there are still tears ahead, so keep those tissues close.
Now returning to this last chapter... Did you really think I wouldn't give them a happy ending, or better another chance? I'm a total sucker for them. I was just messing with you, guys. Steve would never cheat on her! Sorry if I made you cry or sad in the last parts, it wasn't my intention (or maybe it was), but I wanted to keep some mystery until the end. I really hope that this chapter makes up for all my sins! Let me know what you think about it :)
older!neighbor!widower! steve x fem!reader - a slow burn series of blurbs and one shots | modern au!
🎶All I really want is you, what would you do? Laying in the rain with you, middle of June🎶
summary: In between summer days, when the sun barely touches the sky, when no one else is awake, you start to fall in love.
this series takes place over the course of one summer and is told in the form of blurbs and one shots of your run in’s with your handsome neighbor.
warnings: 18+ for my blog and smut in later parts of the story. age gap: reader is 30 and steve is 42, drinking, smoking (steve smokes cigars), mentions of death (peep the widower), steve is not a dad in this one. sorry to my jenny crew.
SERIES PLAYLIST // Steve & Bandit sketch 🧡
Welcome to the neighborhood
Fancy meeting you here
Mr. fix it
Good morning & good night
Whiskey & cigars
I don’t know you, but I want to
Bad idea
Red, white, & boom
Ask me what I’m thinking about
Baby, I’m yours
Heaven knows you better (Epilogue)
bonus blurbs:
First camping trip with Steve at Starved Rock 18+
How Steve treats you on your birthday 18+
Trying a new position 18+
Fire pit cuddling
Steve and Orange Colored Sky Eddie FT call by @carolmunson
artoflovingf1 writes 𓂃✍︎ maya getting married on valentines day has inspired this one shot!! So beautiful 🥹🥹
♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
THE MORNING OF the wedding begins in soft chaos, someone is blasting a nostalgic playlist from a tiny speaker on the vanity. There are curling irons heating, champagne flutes half-finished, white garment bags hanging like ghosts against the wall.
You are kneeling on the carpet in front of Maya, her mother is doing touch ups to her daughters dress and you are fastening the delicate strap of her shoe because her hands are shaking too badly to do it herself.
“Tell me I’m not insane,” she whispers.
“You’re absolutely insane,” you say calmly. “But not about this.”
She exhales, a watery laugh breaking free.
You’ve known her long enough to recognize every micro-expression — the tight jaw when she’s scared, the restless fingers when she’s overthinking. You take her hands in yours and squeeze firmly.
“Look at me,” you say softly.
She does.
“You are not walking toward a cliff. You are walking toward a person who loves you.”
Her eyes fill immediately. “You always make it sound simple.”
“It is simple,” you reply. “It’s just big.”
Outside the conservatory windows, February frost clings delicately to the glass, but inside the venue everything glows. White roses trail down the aisle. Velvet ribbons in deep her favourite green twist around the backs of chairs. Candles flicker in gold votives like captured stars.
It looks like Valentine’s Day, yes — but restrained.. Romantic without being loud, Very her, Very fitting. Loud, intimate love, with a lowkey setting.
♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
Joe arrives just before the ceremony.
He adjusts the collar of his suit jacket as he steps into the warmth of the glass atrium. Natalia moans at him for keeping his wooly hat on, but February is cold in New York, he makes a joke and then takes it off, putting it into his jacket pocket neatly. The air smells faintly like roses and citrus polish. Music hums low in the background. The room is already filling with familiar faces.
Finn claps him on the back. “You look like you’re about to propose to someone.”
Joe snorts. “It’s a wedding. That’s the theme.”
Gaten leans in conspiratorially. “You know she’s going to be here, right?”
Joe pretends not to understand. “Who?”
Caleb grins. “Don’t do that. We’ve all seen it.”
Joe rolls his eyes, but his pulse betrays him. Because yes, he knows you’re here. And yes. He has thought about it more than he should have.
Joe has known of you for years, Maya’s best friend. The mysterious one. The private one.
He’s heard your name in passing. Seen you at premieres. Shared a few polite conversations, but nothing huge, especially being out of a relationship, his eyes would wander a lot longer on you than they should have, he never felt you noticed him, why would you? He would think, there was no reason for you to linger on the thought of him, but little did he know.
Tonight feels different, you’re not background. You’re electricity.
♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
The ceremony begins, The music swells gently, and everyone rises.
Joe turns instinctively when the doors open. And there you are.
You step forward first, alone, steady. The deep red of your dress is richer in the sunlight, almost like liquid silk. It skims your frame perfectly, elegant but not showy. Your hair is pinned back loosely, a few strands brushing your collarbone.
You don’t scan the room for attention. You focus forward, And something about that — the composure, the quiet gravity — makes Joe’s chest tighten.
Then Maya appears behind you, radiant and trembling. You reach back without looking, your hand finding hers automatically. Joe notices the instinct in that. The wordless reassurance.
He wonders what it would feel like to have you reach for him like that.
During the vows, he tries not to stare. He obviously fails.
Every time Maya laughs through tears, your expression softens. Every time her voice wobbles, you step closer. You don’t cry loudly. You don’t draw focus.
You are a constant. Joe cannot stop thinking about how he’s never actually tried to know you beyond small talk, He remembers wrap parties where you slipped out early. He remembers trying to catch your eye across crowded rooms and never quite managing it. He remembers wondering if you disliked him. He wondered if you ever wondered about him, too.
♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
The reception blooms into warmth as evening settles.
Fairy lights flicker on above the tables. The candles burn lower. Champagne flows more freely. Laughter grows louder.
Joe is mid-conversation with Charlie when he hears you laugh from across the room, It cuts clean through everything. He looks up without meaning to.
You’re standing near the bar with Sadie and Natalia, gesturing animatedly as you tell a story. Your smile is wide, unguarded. Someone says something that makes you tilt your head back, and Joe feels something unfair pull low in his stomach.
“You’re gone,” Finn says beside him.
“I’m not gone.”
“You’re fully gone.”
Joe exhales sharply. “I don’t even know her.”
Caleb raises a brow. “That sounds like a solvable problem.”
♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
Your maid of honour speech comes just after dessert. You stand slowly, smoothing your palms down the fabric of your dress. The room quiets almost immediately.
Joe leans forward without realizing it.
You don’t use notes. You absolutely don’t need them.
“I met her when she was eighteen,” you begin, your voice steady but warm. “She was dramatic and brilliant and convinced that she would either win an Oscar or disappear into the woods.”
The room laughs and Maya hides her face.
You continue, your words painting stories — cramped apartments, auditions gone wrong, heartbreak, ambition. You speak about who she was before anyone was watching. “Your parents always made me feel like part of the family, you always felt like the sister i am so lucky to have and Uma and Ethan, thank you for blessing me with your wonderful, chaotic, beautiful soul of a daughter.”
Your eyes pool with tears but you make sure they don’t fall, “Maya, you’re making it increasingly difficult for me to stay the cool and chill one in our friendship right now, because wow— you look so beautiful and i feel like balling my eyes out.” The crowd laugh at your comment.
Then your tone shifts, softer. “She deserves a love that feels safe,” you say. “A love that does not require shrinking. A love that chooses her on the ordinary days.”
Joe swallows. Because the way you say it doesn’t sound theoretical, It sounds lived. When you finish, the applause is immediate and loud.
Joe claps — but more than that, he stares.
He realizes, with uncomfortable clarity, that he has underestimated you.
♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
He finds you outside later.
The cold air hits him sharply when he steps through the doors.
You’re leaning against the railing of the terrace, guiltily holding a cigarette in between your fingers with your other arm folded loosely. Your breath fogs in the night air.
“You disappear a lot,” he says gently.
You turn, surprised, then soften when you recognize him. “I recharge,” you reply. “Big rooms are… a lot.”
He nods. “Same.”
You smile faintly. “You hide it better.”
There’s a beat of quiet.
“Your speech,” he says. “It was… beautiful. Honest.”
You shrug slightly. “She’s honest, and also beautiful, It felt wrong not to be.”
He hesitates. “I always thought you didn’t like me.”
Your brows knit together immediately. “What? Why?”
“You never stayed long enough to talk.”
Your lips part slightly in realization. “My intention was never to avoid you,” you say carefully. “I just didn’t know how to stand near you without feeling obvious.”
His heartbeat stutters. “Obvious how?”
You hesitate — then decide not to retreat. “You’re easy with people,” you admit. “Charming. Warm. It’s intimidating.”
He lets out a soft, disbelieving laugh. “You intimidate me.”
Your eyes lift sharply. “I do not.”
“You do,” he insists gently. “You’re observant. You don’t perform. You actually see people. Maya has talked about you nearly every say since i met her all those years ago, you’re calm and kind and very pretty, so yeah intimidating.”
The air between you shifts, Quieter, Closer.
“Why didn’t you ever say anything?” you ask softly.
“Because you matter to her,” he replies. “And I didn’t want to risk making things complicated.”
The honesty lands heavy between you. Inside, the music changes — slower now. He offers his hand.
“Dance with me.”
You look at it. Then at him. Then you place your hand in his.
The dance floor glows gold. You walk in with Joe to see Maya is barefoot, laughing with her love and her friends. Finn is dramatically dipping Sadie for no reason. Gaten and Caleb are giggling about something ridiculous.
Joe’s hand settles at your waist, careful at first. Yours rest on his shoulders.
“You’re shaking,” he murmurs.
“You make me nervous,” you confess quietly.
His grip tightens slightly — not possessive, just certain. “I don’t want you to be nervous.”
“I don’t think I mind it,” you admit.
Your eyes lock. And something unspoken settles into place.
♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡ 𓍯𓂃𓏧♡
The bouquet toss is absolute chaos. You try to step aside, Maya deliberately aims and the flowers collide with Joe’s chest. The entire room erupts.
He looks down at the roses, then at you. “Well,” he says slowly, stepping closer, “that feels intentional.”
“Do you believe in signs?” you ask.
“Only the ones I want to.”
“And do you want to?”
His answer isn’t verbal.
He closes the distance slowly, giving you space to retreat.
You don’t. The kiss is not rushed, It is careful. Intentional.
His hand slides to the small of your back. Yours curl into his jacket. The room fades into noise and candlelight and cheering.
When you pull away, breathless, the entire wedding is losing its mind.
You laugh, half mortified, half glowing.
“This happened at her wedding,” you whisper.
He brushes his thumb lightly along your waist.“Seems right,” he says. “It’s Valentine’s Day.”
You laughs, “just because its valentines day doesn’t mean you should get any ideas, Keery.” She muses.
And for the first time at one of these events —
You don’t feel like leaving early. You feel like staying. With him.
𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: coach!steve harrington x teacher!reader
𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: it’s a bright, joyful day with flowers and laughter everywhere… only coach steve is crying. six-year-old eli parker is determined to find out why.
𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: wedding, afterparty, a very observant child's pov, heartaching fluff and cuteness, light angst bc steve is crying happy tears!, a brief cameo ;), post-s5 (2.8k)
𝐚/𝐧: part of my teacher!steve series. eli is one of steve's students and the flower boy for their ceremony. you can read pt.1 here, though it's not necessary for this fic | first dance song
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
Coach Steve is crying.
Eli knows this because Coach Steve’s shoulders are doing that shaky thing they do when someone’s crying but trying really, really hard not to let it show.
He’s seen it before. Once when Jeremy Miller scraped his knee badly in P.E. and tried to act tough, and once when his mama stood very still at the sink for a long time when she thought Eli had gone to bed.
Eli noticed right away, because Coach Steve is usually loud.
Even when he’s serious, he’s loud. His whistle is loud. His laugh is loud. When he cheers during kickball, you can hear him from all the way across the field, even if the wind is blowing.
So when Coach Steve suddenly isn’t loud at all, Eli pays attention.
It’s not like when kids cry at school. There’s no screaming. No teacher rushing over with tissues saying, It’s okay, it’s okay.
Coach Steve’s crying is smaller than that. Almost invisible. Just that little shake in his shoulders, like he’s cold, even though the room is warm and full of people and music and shiny lights.
The party is loud.
Eli stands near the edge of the dance floor, holding a plastic cup of juice with both hands so it doesn’t spill. It tastes like apples, but also a little like flowers, which is weird. Everything here smells like flowers. Eli thinks maybe the smell sneaked into the juice when nobody was looking.
He’s supposed to be staying where his mama can see him.
He is doing that.
Mostly.
He’s watching you and Coach Steve dance.
This is the ‘first dance.’
Eli knows that because earlier, someone with a microphone said, “Alright everyone, if we could have your attention for the couple’s first dance,” and suddenly all the grown-ups stopped talking and turned their heads at the same time.
Coach Steve’s hands are around your back. Yours are on his shoulders, and then one moves up to touch his cheek. Eli can see your mouth move, but he can’t hear the words over the music. Whatever it is, it makes Coach Steve close his eyes.
Eli tilts his head, frowning.
Coach Steve’s face is doing something strange. He’s smiling, but his mouth looks tight, like he’s forcing it to stay there. The corners wobble a little. It reminds Eli of picture day at school, when you have to smile for too long and your cheeks start to hurt, but you’re not allowed to stop yet.
Eli thinks back to earlier.
Earlier, when everything still made sense.
When there were flowers everywhere. Some on the ground, some tied to the chairs, and some way up high on a big curvy thing his mom called an ‘arch.’ There were so many flowers that Eli even got to throw some on purpose and not get in trouble. They were soft and squishy and pink and white and yellow, and they smelled like the fancy soap his Nana keeps in her bathroom.
Eli’s job was to walk down the long, long carpet and throw petals from a small basket. Not all at once—mama told him that—but just tiny little handfuls.
“Walk, baby. Don’t run,” she whispered.
And Eli nodded seriously, because that was clearly a Very Important Rule, and Eli is good at following Very Important Rules.
He walked. Mostly straight. One petal stuck to his shoe, and he thought about stopping to pick it off but decided it was probably okay to leave it there.
People smiled at him a lot. Grown-ups he didn’t know kept telling him he was doing a great job, which made Eli feel good.
When he got all the way down to the arch, a man with long, curly brown hair crouched down, eyes wide and sparkling, and stuck out his fist for Eli to bump.
“Nailed it, little man! You're an absolute legend!” he whispered, grinning so big Eli thought his cheeks might pop. Eli didn’t know who he was—or why his hair was so long—but being called a legend sounded pretty cool, so he bumped his fist against the man's and said, “Thanks!”
Coach Steve was standing under the arch, too.
He wasn’t wearing his PE shorts, or his whistle, or his sneakers. He had on a black suit, fancy and important-looking. His hair was all shiny and brushed back, but a few pieces still stuck up the way they always do, which made Eli feel better. Like Coach Steve was still Coach Steve, just dressed weird.
"C'mere buddy, high five," he smiled, bending down so Eli could slap the biggest high five he can manage.
And then you walked in.
All the grown-ups in the room suddenly stood up, so Eli had to get on his tiptoes to see.
You were wearing a white dress that looked like it was made out of clouds, with tiny flower shapes sewn along the bottom—just like the petals Eli threw, except these were the kind you weren’t supposed to step on.
When Coach Steve saw you, it was like his whole body forgot how to work right.
His eyes got really big, all round and shiny like glass marbles, and his mouth fell open a bit. Eli noticed his chest rising and falling faster than usual, his hands shaking slightly at his sides.
Then the smile came.
It started small, almost shy, but it kept growing, stretching wider and wider until it filled his whole face. It squished his eyes, making tiny, wrinkly lines at the corners.
Eli couldn’t stop staring.
It was the funniest, strangest, happiest face he's ever seen. Coach Steve has never smiled like that before.
Only now, after the dance, that smile is gone.
The slow song ends.
Everyone claps. Someone whistles. Someone yells, happy and loud.
Coach Steve doesn’t clap.
He just pulls you closer.
Eli sees your hands come up to Coach Steve’s face again, thumbs brushing carefully under his eyes. You say something that Eli still can’t hear, and Coach Steve nods.
Then you both quietly back away from the dance floor.
Eli waits a second. Looks around.
Everyone is busy again—talking, laughing, fixing dresses, getting more colorful drinks. His mom is chatting with Miss Collins from art class. A few people start dancing to a different, faster song. Nobody noticed you and Coach Steve leaving.
Well.
Nobody except Eli.
He carefully puts his apple juice on the nearest table, then pauses.
Someone needs to watch it. You can’t just leave juice.
So he looks around until he finds the tall man with the long, curly hair. The one who keeps laughing too loud and waving his arms around.
“Um, excuse me, mister?” Eli says, poking his back. “Can you watch my juice? Make sure no one drinks it?”
The man turns, blinks down at Eli, and follows his little finger to the cup.
He grins wide, crouching down to Eli's height, “You got it, flower boss. I’ll guard it with my life.”
Eli feels pretty sure his juice will be safe.
So he nods, satisfied, and tiptoes after you into the hallway.
He tells himself he’s not following. That would be nosy, and being nosy is rude.
He’s just… going the same way. That’s all.
The hallway outside the party is quieter. The music sounds far away now, like it’s playing underwater.
Eli follows the soft click-click sounds of your shoes, moving the way Coach Steve taught him during blindfolded tag—small, sneaky steps. Like a ninja.
You and Coach Steve go through a door at the very end of the hall, and Eli manages to slip inside before it closes all the way.
The room inside feels soft.
Soft like blankets, it reminds him of bedtime. There are lamps instead of bright ceiling lights, and moonlight slips in through the windows, making pale blue squares on the floor. Flowers are everywhere, but it's not messy like before. These are in tall vases, standing still.
You sit down on a long, fluffy couch in the corner of the room. Coach Steve sits next to you.
You pull him into your arms, holding him close. You pat his back, smoothing his hair the way Eli’s mom does when he can’t fall asleep and asks for just one more bedtime story. Coach Steve has his face pressed into your neck, his back turned to Eli, but Eli can still hear it: a shaky breath that sounds wet, like a sniff he didn’t mean to make.
Coach Steve’s shoulders are trembling, more than before.
Eli goes very still.
This is the part he doesn't understand.
Coach Steve just got married. Eli knows that’s supposed to be a good thing. People cheered. Someone yelled woo! really loud. There’s a giant cake waiting on a table just outside this room, and cake means you’re celebrating something. Cake means happy.
But then Coach Steve lets out another sniff, and Eli’s chest feels tight with worry.
He takes a tiny step closer.
“Coach Steve?” he asks, very quiet.
Your head snaps up.
Coach Steve spins around fast, wiping his face quickly with the back of his hand.
“Hey, buddy,” he says. He makes a wet sound that’s kind of like a laugh, but not really. “You... you okay?”
“I’m okay,” Eli nods. “Are you okay?”
Coach Steve pauses, blinking a few times. Then he nods too. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.”
For the first time ever, Eli thinks Coach Steve might not be telling the truth.
So he looks over at you instead. You smile at him and gently gesture him over, patting the spot next to you on the couch. Eli shuffles closer, then carefully climbs up, using both hands to pull himself onto the cushions, one knee first, then the other. The couch is tall, and his feet dangle over the floor.
He leans closer to you, whispering so only you can hear. “Why is Coach Steve sad?”
Your smile goes soft. “He’s not sad, honey. He’s just… really happy.”
Eli frowns, scrunching up his eyebrows. That doesn’t make sense at all.
“Then why is he crying?”
Beside you, Coach Steve lets out a quiet huff of air—half a laugh, half a sniffle, like his body can’t decide which one to do.
You rub Coach Steve’s arm while you think. “Sometimes,” you say slowly, “when grown-ups feel too much of something good all at once, their bodies don’t know where to put it. So it comes out as tears.”
Eli tilts his head, still not convinced.
Your purse your lips, trying again. “It’s like… it’s like when you’ve been waiting for something for a really long time. You imagine it a lot. And then when it actually happens, all these big feelings—happy, sad, scared, excited—they all show up at the same time.”
Eli thinks about this very hard.
“Like... when you have to wait to open all your Christmas presents?” he asks.
Coach Steve laughs from behind you. “Yeah, Eli,” he says. “Exactly like that.”
Eli peeks around you to look at Coach Steve’s face. His eyes are still shiny, but now the corners crinkle the way they usually do when he smiles.
“You waited a long time?” Eli asks quietly.
Coach Steve swallows, then takes a deep breath. “Yeah, buddy. I did.”
Eli’s not sure what to say next.
So he does the best thing he can think of.
He hops off the couch and walks over to Coach Steve, wrapping his arms around him as tight as he can.
A full-body squeeze, the kind Eli likes best.
Coach Steve laughs and hugs him back just as tight.
Then, without warning, he scoops Eli up by the middle, hoisting him high into the air.
Eli kicks his legs and flings his arms out like Superman, squealing so loud it bounces off the walls. After being quiet all day, after holding in all the noise at the wedding, it feels amazing—like a huge balloon bursting inside him, full of giggles and shouts.
Coach Steve laughs too, gently lowering him back onto his lap. Eli wiggles a little, trying to catch his breath.
“Hey, Eli,” Coach Steve says, still smiling. “You think your parents would be mad if we took you home with us?”
You gasp and tap Coach Steve on the chest. “Steve!”
Eli blinks, thinking it over. “Maybe. But I have to bring my dog. She can’t sleep without me. And my toothbrush. Oh, and snacks.” He squints between you and Coach Steve, doubtful. “Do you have snacks in your house?”
Coach Steve laughs—a big, real, Coach-Steve laugh, the kind that shakes his shoulders and makes his eyes crinkle. The tears are gone now.
Eli smiles too. He doesn’t think what he said was very funny, but he likes that Coach Steve isn’t crying anymore.
“Hey, Eli?” Coach Steve says, reaching out to ruffle Eli’s hair.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks for helping out today. You were awesome.”
“I know,” Eli says, because that part is true. He walked slowly down the aisle. He didn’t run. Mostly.
Coach Steve nods, letting out another soft laugh.
Eli fidgets with the hem of his shirt. There’s something else he’s been thinking about since earlier. Something important. He has to get the words exactly right.
“Coach Steve?”
“Yeah, buddy.”
“Is today the... hardest day?”
Coach Steve frowns a little, tilting his head. “What do you mean?”
“You said… when you were standing under the big arsh. The one with all the flowers and stuff? You said, ‘I choose you, even on the hardest days.’”
Eli looks up at him. “Is today the hardest day?”
Coach Steve goes very quiet. His eyes blink slowly, lashes dark and clumped together. He takes a deep breath and gently pushes Eli’s hair back from his forehead.
“No,” he says softly. “Today’s a really, really good day.”
“But you cried.”
Coach Steve smiles a little. “Yeah. I did.”
Eli waits. Crying always means something went wrong. He’s still trying to figure out why this doesn’t fit the rule he knows.
“Hard doesn’t always mean bad,” Coach Steve says, rubbing slow circles on Eli's back. “Sometimes it just means… a lot.”
“A lot of what?”
"A lot of..." Coach Steve thinks for a second. “You know when you’re holding something really heavy? You love it a lot, and you don’t want to let go, but sometimes... your arms can get a little tired.”
Eli thinks about the big bag of P.E. stuff they have to carry after class, the one that’s almost as big as he is. Coach Steve always lifts it like it weighs nothing at all.
“Uh-huh,” he says.
Coach Steve nods. “Some days are hard because you’re tired. Or nervous. Or because you want to do something really well, and you’re not sure you can.”
Eli thinks back to walking down the long white carpet earlier, holding the basket of petals. Remembering not to run. Remembering not to step on your dress. That was hard.
“But you still do it,” Coach Steve says. “Because it matters to you.”
Eli chews on that for a second.
“So… hard days aren’t always bad?”
“Nope. Not at all.”
“They’re just… days?”
“Yeah. Just days.” Coach Steve glances over at you, and Eli watches both of you smile at each other. “And when you get married to someone, you choose them on all those days. The easy ones and the hard ones.”
You smile grows wider as you lean over to kiss Coach Steve on the cheek. He turns his head and kisses you back.
Right on the mouth.
Eli’s eyes go wide.
This has happened once before, back under the arch, when all the talking and serious grown-up stuff was over and everyone started cheering.
He was not okay with it when it happened, but there were too many people around, and mama said it was rude to say that word out loud, so he stayed quiet.
But now—
“Ew!” he blurts.
You both laugh and pull apart.
Coach Steve shakes his head, grinning. “You think that’s gross, huh? Just you wait, buddy.”
Eli’s not sure what that means, so he ignores it.
Instead, he snuggles a little deeper into Coach Steve's lap, pressing his face against the crinkly fabric of his white shirt. He dangles his feet off the edge, tapping them against Coach Steve's legs.
With all his questions answered (for now), Eli is happy. Warm, a little sleepy, he feels like the time he finished that 300-piece puzzle, all by himself—when he slid the last one in and sat there for a bit, staring at the picture, not wanting to do anything else.
He looks up between the two of you. At your pretty dress, at your hair, a little looser than how it was at the wedding but still very beautiful. At Coach Steve’s smile, big and easy again, the way it’s supposed to be. His eyes catch the moonlight from the window, sparkling like tiny pools of melted chocolate.
Speaking of which, Eli’s just remembered something extremely important.
“Can we go do the cake now?”
And the laugh that bursts from you and Coach Steve is the kind that makes Eli giggle too, just from being squished right in the middle of it.
pairing: coach!steve harrington x teacher!reader
summary: your extremely professional relationship with coach steve may be under investigation by one (1) very observant six-year-old.
warnings: pure fluff, slightly suggestive, steve is just absolutely smitten, secret relationship, children being adorable, mention of marriage, post-s5 (2.3k)
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
Little Eli Parker is zooming down the hallway on a Very, Very Important Mission.
Six years old, sandy curls bouncing wildly with every step, he's panting hard through the wide gap between his two front teeth. One of the Velcro straps on his sneaker has come undone, flapping wildly as he skids to a stop just outside your classroom door.
5B
He doesn’t come all the way in. Just peeks around the frame, fingers gripping the edge as he rocks back and forth on his heels.
You pause mid-sentence, lowering the book you’ve been reading aloud. A few students crane their necks to look.
Eli’s bright blue mesh pinnie hangs crooked over his T-shirt, smudged with chalk dust and tiny white handprints—making it very clear which class he’s just sprinted away from. His cheeks are flushed, chest heaving like he’d forgotten the ‘no running in the halls’ rule until the very last second.
“Hey, Eli,” you call out gently. “You okay, honey?”
He sucks in a much-needed breath, eyes wide. “Um… miss you haveta come with me. Coach Steve says you need to!”
You tilt your head. “Coach Steve?”
He nods solemnly. “He said it’s a ‘mer-gency.’”
A ripple of whispers spreads through your fifth-grade classroom.
You blink, already pushing your chair back. “Did he say what kind of emergency?”
Eli shakes his head, serious as anything. “No. He just said we need to hurry.”
Your stomach gives a small, uneasy flip.
Eli isn’t the type to exaggerate. He’s sweet, careful. Reminds everyone when it’s time to line up after recess and always volunteers to erase the board without being asked. He's the sort of kid teachers trust without thinking twice.
If he’s the messenger, it’s because of something important.
“Alright, everyone,” you call to the class. “Keep reading quietly. I’ll be right back.”
A chorus of shuffling follows as you reach for your cardigan.
“Hurry, hurry,” Eli bounces on his heels, voice small but insistent.
Before you can answer, he reaches for your hand. His grip is tiny, warm, a little sticky—surprisingly strong. You find yourself getting dragged by his bouncy, determined steps, weaving past rows of lockers, dodging a cluster of kids heading to recess. He zigzags through the main hallway, past the water fountain, the art room, taking the shortcut through the library until you arrive at the wide, double doors leading into the gym.
The moment you push them open, chaos erupts.
Bright rubber dodgeballs zing through the air. Sneakers squeak across the glossy, lacquered floor. Laughter and triumphant shrieks ricochet off the walls, punctuated by the occasional, “Yes! Got you!” from victorious first graders.
Coach Steve's leaned casually against the far wall, clipboard tucked under one arm, whistle hanging loose around his neck. He’s sipping from a blue ceramic mug that reads World’s Best Teacher in chipped white lettering.
Only five months into the job, yet he’s already something of a legend here at Hawkins Elementary. The younger kids adore him—dodgeball days and ridiculous warm-up games where he pretends to be a shark, stalking the gym with dramatic dun-dun noises until they’re all shrieking with laughter. Older kids trust him in quieter ways, lingering after sex ed to ask questions they’re not brave enough to bring home.
Despite the nerves you remember from his first day, Steve has settled into teaching like it’s been waiting for him all along.
Right now, though, he’s fully in coach mode. Brow furrowed, stance wide, eyes tracking the game like it’s a championship match instead of a bunch of kids still learning how to throw straight.
“Out of bounds! That one doesn’t count.”
“Woah—no head shots, Jacob! C’mon, we talked about that.”
“You okay, Alex? I got you. Here, try it like this. Yeah, there ya go bud!”
Eli, who had been clutching your hand the entire walk across school, suddenly lets go and races toward his favorite teacher.
“Coach Steve! I did it! I got her!”
Steve looks up. Sees you.
And the grin that breaks across his face is so immediate, so fond, it'd be enough to give you both away if anyone was paying the tiniest bit of attention.
“Hey!” he laughs, stepping forward. “Nice work, buddy. Thanks for the help.”
You watch, eyes narrowed in confusion as he ruffles Eli’s curls and slaps a high five against his tiny palm.
Eli puffs up with pride and pivots to sprint back to the game.
“Whoa—hang on, pal.”
Steve drops to his knees, setting the clipboard aside as he reaches for the loose strap on Eli’s shoe. He fastens it with careful, practiced fingers, giving it a quick tug to make sure it’ll hold.
Your stomach melts a little at the sight of him crouched like that: focused, patient, so gentle with this kid who’s staring at him like he hung the moon.
“There we go, champ,” he grins, giving Eli's sneaker a little pat. “Good as new. Now go have fun, alright? Your team missed you.”
Eli nods hard, then rockets back into the game without another word.
Steve straightens and finally turns to you, eyes warm, smile soft—and just a touch guilty.
“Mr. Harrington,” you say, crossing your arms carefully, “what exactly is the emergency you pulled me out of class for?”
His mouth quirks sheepishly, hands slipping into his pockets.
“Well, I just…” He steps closer, dropping his voice. “Haven’t seen you all morning. I missed you.”
You blink.
“You—” A breathy laugh slips out before you can stop it. “You sent poor Eli to fetch me because you missed me?”
He nods like it’s the most logical thing in the world. “Yeah. He's my fastest kid.”
“No, that's not the...” you trail off, turning your head, failing completely to hide your smile.
Steve steps closer, angling the clipboard between you so that, to anyone looking in, it would look like you’re addressing some very concerning issues with the class roster.
Well, except for the part where his eyes are glued to your face.
There’s this soft intensity in his gaze that makes your breath hitch, just by holding it. You find yourself staring back, unable to look away, appreciating the faint creases around his temples, how they deepen with his smile, the plush curve of his bottom lip and the rounded apples of his cheeks as they get pushed upward.
“That’s better,” he murmurs, voice all deep and honey-warm. “Just needed to look at you for a second.”
You shake your head, cheeks warming despite yourself.
There’s a reason you’ve been keeping this thing with Steve a secret.
You both realized, pretty early on, that acting normal in a building full of nosy children and nosier adults was a losing battle. You had to learn to bend with it, catching tiny, fleeting moments in the spaces between, holding onto each one as tightly as you can.
It wasn’t perfect. Mrs. Kline, the school secretary, has definitely noticed the two of you laughing a little too freely by the copier. One of your students will occasionally squint at you during silent reading time, wondering why a tiny scrap of paper left on your table at lunch leaves you grinning for the rest of the day.
Still, you make it work.
A shared coffee in the teachers’ lounge before the morning bell. Standing side-by-side near the parking lot fence as the buses roll in. A granola bar tucked under your desk with a note folded impossibly small.
you look beautiful today ◡̈
He repeats the message to you now, even as you roll your eyes and try to look away.
“Seriously, I mean it," he murmurs, tracing your face with his eyes—the slope of your nose, the curve of your cheek—before lingering, unmistakably, on your mouth. “Want to kiss you so bad right now.”
You snort, nudging the sleeve of his sweatshirt with a finger. It’s soft, heather-gray, the Hawkins Elementary mascot faint and cracked across the chest.
“That’s deeply unprofessional of you, Mr. Harrington.”
He groans under his breath, brow creasing as he tips his head back. “God, I love it when you say it like that. Say it one more time?”
“Jesus—Steve!” you hiss, half-laughing, eyes darting toward the gym floor like the kids might suddenly develop super-hearing over the screech of sneakers and flying dodgeballs.
Instead of stepping back, he leans in closer, lips parted in that familiar half-pout, eyes full of mock agony. “Can’t help it, honey. You’re fucking killing me over here.”
“Language,” you warn him, simply out of pure habit.
He smirks, lips twitching.
From the far end of the gym, a group of kids cheer triumphantly, “Yes! Coach Steve! We won!”
You both jump back like you’ve been caught doing something much worse than grinning at each other like idiots.
“Uh—great! Great job, gang!” Steve calls, clapping his hands. “Let's get all the balls in the cart and then grab some water, yeah? Five-minute break.”
Then he leans back in, brows raised. “See? Total professional. I’m telling you.”
You shake your head. “You’re unbelievable.”
You’re still smiling when he pivots, glancing over his shoulder to make sure no one’s paying attention. Satisfied, he turns back to you, brows drawn into a hopeful, pleading slant.
"C'mon," he murmurs, lifting the clipboard up like a partition. "I’ll get another game going. The kids won’t even notice. Just you... me...” He gestures between you, then toward the double doors leading outside. “Five minutes?”
You press your lips together, schooling your expression back into something stern. “Steve Harrington. I am not fucking you behind the school gym.”
"Language!" He gasps, mimicking your tone. “And jeez, who said anything about that? I was just gonna, you know, have a very professional conversation with you… about teaching.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Oh, c’mon, bab—"
“Coach Steve?”
Both of your heads snap down at the same time.
Eli stands there, chin tipped up, hands clasped neatly behind his back like he’s been waiting for his turn to speak. He’s rocking gently on his heels, eyes bright with curiosity as he looks between the two of you.
“Heyyy, buddy!” Steve laughs nervously, voice jumping up an octave. “What’s up? You okay?”
Eli nods.
Then, completely matter-of-fact, he asks:
“Coach Steve, when you marry her, can I come?”
Steve chokes on absolutely nothing.
“When—what?”
“When you get married,” Eli repeats patiently, like Steve’s just being a little slow today. “I wanna come.”
Steve squats down so fast he almost drops the clipboard.
“Eli,” he says carefully, “why do you think we’re getting married?”
Eli shrugs, unfazed. “’Cause you’re prac-tis married.”
“Practice… practice married?”
“Yeah. Like my Auntie Jen and her friend Mark at Thanksgiving.”
Steve blinks. “Okay, and what's... why do you think we’re practice married?”
Eli doesn’t hesitate. He points toward the front of the gym, in the general direction of your classroom. “’Cause you always wait for her outside her door.”
Steve opens his mouth. Closes it.
“And you bring her coffee. But you don’t bring us coffee.”
“Well,” Steve murmurs faintly, “that’s ‘cause you’re six.”
Eli shrugs again. “And you talk to her really soft. Like this,” he cups his hand around his mouth to demonstrate, whispering loudly. “Also, you always save her a chair at ass-em-blee.”
Steve rubs a hand down his face, glancing up at you before looking back at Eli. “That’s, uh… very observant of you, buddy.”
Eli isn’t done.
“And you make funny faces at her in the hallway. Oh! And you fixed her pencil sharpener. And, and, there was one time you looked at her, and you didn’t look away for one... two... three...” He glances down at his fingers and starts counting under his breath. “five... six... seven... eigh—”
“Okay!” Steve laughs loudly, holding up his hands. “Okay, buddy, I get it. That’s... that’s a long time.”
Eli nods, clearly pleased with himself. “Auntie Jen and Mark, they used to go everywhere together. And Mark fixed all the stuff around her house. Then later they got married for real.”
He looks between the two of you, satisfied.
“So. I think you’re practice married.”
You bite the inside of your cheek and crouch beside Steve. “Well... I think that’s a pretty solid theory, Eli.”
“Mm-hm, thanks,” he nods confidently. Then he spins back to Steve. “So, when you do the real one, can I come? I’m really good at sitting still. And my mom says when people get married they always eat cake. I love cake.” He spreads his arms wide. “Auntie Jen’s was this big!”
Steve presses his lips together, letting out a short, incredulous snort. “You know what, pal? Sure. Whe—if we get married, you’re more than welcome to come. And we’ll get the biggest cake we can find, okay?”
Eli beams. “Okay!”
He starts to run back to the group, then skids to a stop and turns around.
“Hey, Coach Steve?”
“Yeah?”
“You should ask her nicely,” Eli says, serious as anything. “With flowers. Mark did that.”
And then he’s gone.
Steve stays crouched, staring after him, jaw slack.
“…Did a six-year-old just give me relationship advice?”
“Mm, seems like it.”
He stands slowly, running a hand through his hair, eyes still following Eli as he rejoins the others.
“You think he spotted it before we did?” he asks quietly. “Back when... you know, we were still trying to figure out what we were doing?”
You smile. “Probably way before then.”
Steve's still distracted when you put your hand on his shoulder, quickly checking to see that no one’s watching before pressing a soft, fleeting kiss to his cheek.
He blinks, stunned. “Wha—no, wait, shit—”
He reaches for you a full second too late; you’re already headed for the door.
“Language. Have a good rest of your class, Mr. Harrington.”
Steve watches you go, hand frozen at his cheek.
Across the gym, Eli spots you and waves enthusiastically, completely unaware of just how accurate his little theory was.
The proof?
A small velvet box, tucked away in Steve’s bedside drawer, waiting patiently for the right moment.
. * ✦ . ˚ ✦ .
Summary: Your boyfriend Travis Meacham can't seem to help himself when it comes to you. No matter the place, he needs to taste you, and this time it just so happens to be in a dressing room.
Pairing: Travis Meacham x fem!reader
Word count: 2k
Warnings: 18+, very much NSFW!! SMUT!! Fingering, cunnalingus, orgasm, squirting if you squint, brief overstimulation, Teacake is a living boyfriend and loves to please and take care of you, praise and rambles if you use a magnifying glass.
A/N: I couldn't get munch Teacake out of my mind, so I fear this is the result... Thank you all for reading, as always!! Please let me know what you think, or if I missed anything! :]
18+
“Tea, no, stop-” you choke out, with a soft moan, as his hands slip further up your skirt as you are trying to look at yourself in the dressing room mirror. You were here trying on new clothes for the warmer weather coming up, purely because Travis loved to spoil you. To him you could never have too much, clothes, makeup, shoes, movies, anything you wanted, you had. It just happened that sometimes, he got a little carried away..
“Come on cupcake, please?” he whines, high in his throat. Grabbing your hips below the smooth fabric, and pulling you back from the mirror and closer to where he was sitting on the bench in the corner. It always went this way, Travis would take you out for something, and suddenly he can’t keep his hands, mouth, or anything else of his to himself. The space grows smaller as he turns you around, your eyes roaming over him as you glance down in his direction. Immediately noticing the way a tent was forming in his light washed jeans.
“Teacake, I said no.. We did this the last date we had too. We can’t do something every time we are out in public just because you get the urge.” You add with a reluctant sigh, one that doesn’t go unnoticed by Travis. Where your patience was growing thin rapidly, and showing in the length of the nickname you used for him. Though his hands were once again trailing higher, pushing the material of the skirt up with them.
“Sugar please? Pretty please? I wanna show you this new trick I learned..” he trails off, sliding between you and his previously preoccupied space on the bench. His knees hit the floor with a quiet thud, instantly his lips are trailing alternating kisses further up your legs. Starting with one kiss on the left knee, then to the right, then to the left thigh, and to the right. All before he spins you around suddenly, plopping you carefully onto the bench.
“Travis.” you try and say firmly, knowing that normally pulls him from his clouded mind, but something about this time he didn’t stop. “Travis, we can’t do this here.” you exhale, as his kisses trail higher, moving slowly to the inner parts of your thighs. He leans back, just enough to flick his gaze at you pleadingly, evoking a whimper from you.
“I will be quick, promise.” he says, his breath already panting with need. Where his fingers flex against your hips, resting near the bunched up skirt. You reach down towards the skirt, glancing quickly at the dressing room door which you knew was locked, so you don’t know why you checked. Once you were certain in your mental answer that the door was locked, your fingers pulled the fabric of the skirt up to rest across your stomach.
“Quick, that’s it. Nothing more, got it?” you say with raised brows. Though Travis doesn’t even speak his response at first, feeling the strain in his pants twitch. With his fingers flying forward to push your panties to the side.
“Yes Ma’am.” he says low, gravely, before diving forward instantly to lick up your slit firmly. He never messed around when it came to this, eating you, pleasing you, nothing ever stopped him from wanting to be anything less than good for you.
Almost immediately your head falls back against the thing wall paneling behind you, the dull pain not even registering as Travis’ tongue works at you. His hands kneading along your thighs, gripping them roughly, attempting to hold you still. While your body instinctively pushes away from him, even if you didn’t want it to. Sometimes Travis would go too hard, too fast, and overwhelm you.
His eyes are closed, they always are, as he tries and just drift away in your taste. How his tongue is sliding between your folds, savoring the way you glide across his tongue. He hums, sending vibrations through your lower half as he moves further down, with a plan now, sliding his tongue into your entrance. Licking all around your walls, as far as his tongue could reach, nudging your clit with his nose. As his tongue moved, so did the angle of his face, flicking the tip of his nose across your bundle of nerves lightly, accidentally teasingly.
“T-Tea-” you moan weakly, trying to be quiet, hoping it would be able to stay that way. Though, before you could get out another syllable, he lets his left hand slide from your thigh as he leans back onto his heels and his eyes open. Travis’ chin and upper lip are covered in a mixture of his saliva and your slick. As he looks up at you, his pupils are already blown wide, drifting down to where his left hand now had his middle and ring finger were pushing slowly into you.
“Good? Am I doing good?” he asks breathlessly, cocking his head like an innocent puppy as he begins to pump his fingers slowly. Letting the mixed liquids ease them in and out of you, curling his digits at the knuckle in a curling motion.
“G-Good-” you stutter, your body jolting as he presses the pads of his fingers against the plush cushion of your g-spot, causing you to lurch forward slightly. “V-Very good-” you moan weakly, bringing your hands up to thread through his grown-out blonde locks. You scratch lightly at his scalp, pulling a groan from him as he launches himself back into you.
Pressing his tongue flat against your clit as his fingers continue to pump in and out, along with his curling motion, you knew this wouldn't last long. His tongue swirls around the hood of your clit a few times, letting his saliva cover you. Before he lets his eye drift back closed blissfully, adding suction as his hollows his cheeks, his plump lips enclosing your clit like an internal symphony hitting its crescendo.
You notice the internal feeling growing tighter, growing louder, as your eyelids drift closed as well. Unable to focus on anything except the little things all growing and working together to build you up to your blissful peak. Right before you’re able to come tipping over the edge, Travis leans back onto his heels once more, edging you.
“Am I doing good still? I told you I learned a new trick, it’s the suction thing in case you couldn’t tell! I learned if I hollow out my cheeks then it intensifies the suction effect like that toy you like to use-” he begins a ramble, and any other time you would let him, yet right now was not that time.
“Will you please shut-” you begin, pushing his head back down to where you were throbbing for him. Borderline smothering him in your desperate need for relief, but he wouldn’t mind, he would see it as a happy death.
Though he resumes his work, licking over your clit with small kitten licks once, twice, before adding that suction once more. Luckily, you never fully came down as his fingers continued to work at you.
It doesn’t take too much longer before Travis feels your walls clench tightly around his fingers, knowing that meant you were teetering on the edge of bliss. He continues to coax the moans falling from your lips, using his tongue along with the suction on your clit. The flicking motion, teetering you from bliss to that crash you were so desperately seeking. His fingers pressing against your g-spot with a practiced ease.
He continues to work at you, knowing you better than you know yourself at this point. Where he ficks his tongue just right along the tip of your clit. The sudden intensity feels so teasing on your bundle, to the point it sends the volcano erupting. Tumbling over the edge, you feel a liquid burst from where Travis’ face was buried, as your walls pull at the flesh of his fingers.
“F-Fuck Tea-” you moan, the pleasure rushing through every crevice of your body. While your orgasm pushes through you, Travis continues his motions. The fingers slowly come to a stop, but continue their movements long enough to guide you back down from your high. He lets his cheeks and mouth fall slack, before lapping up and down your slickened folds once more. He never let any drop go to waste, and he sure wasn’t starting now.
Even if he was trying to take care of his girl, he was beginning to overstimulate you, yet you couldn’t bring yourself to have him stop. Still spent from your orgasm, your chest heaves for air, as Travis slowly slips back into his pleasing headspace.
His left hand finds your thigh again, using the other he had still there to keep you open for him. As his long and slow licks turn back into quicker ones, burying his tongue inside you once more. Travis was determined to clean you from the inside out, or have you reach the point of orgasming again, whichever came first.
His mouth grew more insistent, his tongue sliding from entering you, up your slit and towards your clit. Letting his tongue drag up your nerved bundle from underneath, flicking it as he pulled away, all to repeat the motion over again. At this point you weren’t sticky from your orgasm anymore, it was all slippery and drenched from his saliva.
You had quickly reached your bliss previously, causing the overstimulation to kick in, as Travis tried to get you worked up once more. Your hands which have been threaded into his hair tug it firmly. Though your body shakes and he fights against you, moaning at the pull of his hair.
“Travis, o-off-” you plead, your voice shot. Sliding your feet down from where he has had them lifted in the air, and to rest against his shoulders and move him back. When his brain got cloudy with desperation to please you, then he could be blindsighted by everything else.
Briefly his eyes open to look up at your face, seeing your face twist and contort at his actions has him scooting back at an instant.
‘I’m sorry, so sorry sugar-” he says immediately. Leaning back he lets you take a second to breathe, finally not feeling the pins and needles which come with overstimulation. “I am so sorry, I-I just like hearing you and making you feel good, you know that right? I would never ever ever ever want to hurt you, in any way, shape, or form.” he begins in a spiral.
“You’re okay Tea, I promise,” you speak softly, leaning forward and letting the skirt fall back to its rightful place. Trailing your fingers from his hair and down to cup his cheeks, bending yourself to kiss him lovingly. He melts into the kiss with a smile, his hands adjusting from your thighs to come up and cup your own cheeks. After you each part from the kiss, Travis licks his lips, and as far around his mouth as possible, and you were able to taste yourself on his lips.
“God, I love you,” he says gruffly, stripping his flannel from around his hips. Taking the plaid fabric in his hands, he wipes his chin from your mixed fluids, then swipes a dry part up your legs and through your folds lightly, maneuvering your panties back into place. He was always going to find a way to clean you up afterwards, he loved taking care of you.
Finally, he was satisfied with how you were cleaned up, or as well as you could be in this dressing room. Before he lastly takes the shirt and wipes the floor clean from your excitement.
“There we go, my sweet girl,” Travis says as he stands with a slight stretch. “Now, let’s get that skirt bought, since clearly it’s yours now. We can also get anything else you want. Though I especially think that yellow sundress was beautiful on you too.” he continues with a playful wink. Guiding you to stand as he tucks the flannel under his arm, allowing you to steady yourself on still shaky legs. “Now come on, let’s get going before I end up ruining that skirt entirely.” he adds with a low chuckle, buried deep in his throat. You knew today was going to be a long day.
