✦summary: You know Steve doesn't see you like that. You know because you asked him, and he said no. So it's not really fair, that he'd reject you and keep making you love him after, is it. ✦
✦warnings/tags: steve rogers x female!reader, modern!au, no use of y/n, pining, rejection (at the start, off page, and steve's a liar about it), no description of reader (pictures for aesthetic only), fluff, angst, love confessions, some plot to get to all that porn, feral level smut, (dry humping, teasing, making steve lose control, fingering, light spanking, praise kink, manhandling, big dick steve, squriting, p in v sex, creampie, breeding kink, soft!dom steve), soft!steveoutside of smut✦
✦wc: 10.9k✦
✦Author's Note: this one hit ME too hard bc i based it on real life too much. oops. all the better for the horny ig. Enjoy!✦
You’re not looking for him in the crowd. And if anyone says you are, they’re a big, fat liar.
Active scanning is not looking. It’s a part of the job, to see who’s here. What kind of interviews you’re going to be able to get, who’s already closing in on who, who’s snuggled up and gossiping and might not notice you eavesdropping. If you’re smart about this—and you always are—you’re going to walk away from tonight with a comment from Secretary Ross, Pepper Potts, or even an Avenger themselves.
But not him.
You have no interest in walking away with a comment from him.
“They’re here.” Your coworker Stacy bumps your shoulders, her eyes wide and fixed across the room. “Holy shit, they’re actually here-“
“It’s their fundraiser.” You mutter, keeping your attention on a senator bumbling about near the drinks. “It would be crazy if they weren’t here.”
“Yeah, but- It’s all of them. I’ve never seen all of them-“
“Yes, you have.”
Stacy glares at you. “Well, not so close.”
You glance over, pointedly only looking at their feet. “They’re not that close.”
“I could touch one.” Stacy breathes, and you snort.
“You should go try that.”
That earns you another glare, and a smack on the arm. And you deserve it, but you just laugh and look back to your target. The tipsy, red-eyed senator who’s going to have a few more drinks, and tells you all about that bill congress is trying to pass about the Enhanced. You’ve read it three times, and it’s a disgusting invasion of privacy, but those documents were off the record. If you can get a Senator, talking about how he wants to force all superheroes to either be sterilized or record their sex lives-
Stacy pinches your arm, and you squeak so loudly it echoes off the domed, ballroom ceiling. Some attention darts in your direction, but everyone quickly loses interest when they realize it’s nothing all that interesting. Your face is burning as you smooth your dress, and it doesn’t stop burning. It feels like someone is tending to the hot embarrassment, fluttering in your tummy and restless in your fingers. Like someone is looking right through you, monitoring you, watching you-
“He’s looking at you.” Stacy hisses in your ear, buzzing with so much excitement you’re sure she’s about to turn into glitter and explode like fireworks, and you’re going to throttle her.
“He is now, because you,” you shove her shoulder. It doesn’t do anything to stamp out her thrill at your worst nightmare. “Fucking made him notice-“
“No, he was looking before-“
“No, he wasn’t-“
“Yes, he was-“
“No, he wasn’t-“
“Who wasn’t what.”
You freeze, and Stacy looks over your head with a fawning, dazed expression. You’re going to kill her. You’re going to cut her up into tiny pieces and burn them all in separate furnaces, and then you’re going to steal her dog and make it forget all about her, and marry her husband and make her cute little kid your Cinderella as bloodline punishment-
“Hi, Mr. Captain Sir.” She giggles, looking back down to you with a wide-eyed it’s him expression.
I’m going to kill you. You mouth. She doesn’t seem all that bothered by the threat.
“Uh- Hi. You don’t have to-“ You hear him shift on his feet behind you. “Steve is alright.”
You can picture him rubbing the back of his neck, trying to look smaller. More humble and approachable, when he’s a modern walking Hercules. A better version, who doesn’t kill his wife and kids. Who gets you drinks and tries to be your friend and is so stupidly polite and kind and you hate him, you hate him so much-
He says your name. You plaster on the widest, most plastic and sickly sweet smile you can manage. You want him to feel like you’re a bit of plastic that’s stuck between his teeth. To give up talking to you, because it’s not fair.
Steve’s just as handsome as the last time you saw him. And the time before that. And the time before that. If anything, he’s more handsome. You don’t know how he does it, changing absolutely nothing about his appearance and looking hotter every time you get eyes on him. His hair is styled the same as always, but it looks so soft. You could run your fingers through it and it would probably feel like a cloud. His stupid, sharp jawline is slack as you glare up at him, and he’s so tall it makes you dizzy, and he’s fixing you with that puppy look that makes you feel like you’re important to him.
And you’re not. You know you’re not.
You went down that road once. You tried to be important to him, and he said no. And he’s Steve, so he was sweet and perfectly kind about it, and still wanted to be your friend, and you’d thought you were already over it so you’d said yes.
You thought you could just be his friend. He hadn’t made anything weird. Neither of you had ever even brought up your failed attempt to ask him out again. And at the time, you’d thought you were over it.
But Steve is Steve. And he’s got some titanic hold over your heart that’s left finger marks dug in through the landscape. There’s a depression over the cavity of your chest, and your ribs have molded to fit it, and now it’s far too late to go back. You only know how to have feelings for him. You’ve tried to get over it. To ignore it. To forcibly re-mold your love into something platonic, or clawed your way through some relationships in the hope they’d help you move on.
They don’t. They won’t. Nothing can.
The big stupid boy-scout standing over you owns you completely, and you can’t even tell him without making it a problem.
Your new strategy had been to ignore him. Stacy ruined that.
She thinks he secretly has feelings for you. You tune her out every time she starts to crow and preach about it, because you know your heart is going to take it as gospel and not parody, and you can’t afford false faith. All you have is what’s grounded between your fingers.
Steve’s right here. He’s smiling at you, all pretty and nice, and you have to smile back or else it will make him feel bad. He’s got a drink in his massive hand for you. You’ve had a million wet dreams about that hand around your throat or cupping your pussy.
You’re aching thinking about it. In an ideal world, this would be the part where you ran without looking back.
In an ideal world, you’d be standing on his arm right now, instead of all stiff and weird in front of him.
You need to get a fucking grip.
“Hi.” You say, and it’s sounds lame and idiotic and pathetic-
Steve’s face splits into a big, happy smile. “Hi. How’s the night going for you, do you have your victim picked out?”
You scowl. “It’s not- They’re not victims-“
“You treat them like they’re victims.” His grin widens. “Sometimes I feel like I should be saving them.”
“They’re all fine. It’s not like I’m drugging them or something.”
Steve’s brows raise. “That makes me think you are drugging them.”
“Nuh uh.” You stick out your tongue, and he laughs under his breath.
“One day you’re gonna say something that actually gets you in trouble, you know.” He holds out the drink he brought you.
It’s your favorite. It’s always your favorite.
You told him what your favorite drink was, the very first time you attended one of these parties. He’s never forgotten since, and it makes you love and hate him all the more.
“I don’t think I will.” You mumble, both trying and desperately failing not to brush his fingers. His skin is warm. He’s warm. He’s like a walking furnace, and you’d like to just bury your face in his pecs and breathe him in and-
“Kid, you already have.”
Steve looks at you like you’re the only thing in the room. His eyes are sparkling, and in the background you think Natasha Romanoff is circling like a shark, trying to get his attention, but if he notices he pretends he doesn’t. He just looks at you and calls you kid, and the word plummets like a cold stone into your gut.
Kid. That’s all you are to him. Kid.
“But if I got in trouble, you’d save me.” You take a long sip of your drink, and you like to torture yourself.
With his presence. His closeness.
How fast he nods. How certainly he answers.
“’Course I would. Already saving you by pretending I don’t see you getting all those Senators drunk.”
You laugh softly, but the sound hurts. When you look over your shoulder, Stacy’s abandoned you for the food table. You catch her eye, and she shoots you an excited thumbs up. She probably thinks this is going great.
“Are you feeling alright?” Steve says suddenly, and he sounds like he really, really cares. “You been looking kind of sick- Not that you look bad- You look good, uh- Really good, but-“
“I’m fine.” You turn back to Steve, and you wonder if he can see it.
The pain, leaking down like a toxin from your eyes. Everything kind of blurry. You’d throw up, if you didn’t think he’d take care of you after.
“Everything’s fine.”
Steve’s lips twitch. You’re not sure he believes you.
But it doesn’t really matter anyway. You’re not his to get an answer out of. He decided that.
And you’re just doing exactly what Steve wants, all the time.
“You do look nice.” He mumbles, taking a sip of his own drink, as if it could even do anything to him.
You smile, and there it is again. The shameful, unrelenting heat in your stomach. “Thanks.”
I dressed up for you.
“I think he’s in looove with you.” Stacy says, spinning around in her chair. You flip her off, not looking up from your computer.
“Is the printer out of paper still?”
“I don’t know, you print everything for me.” She pokes your chair with her foot. “Pay attention to me, I said Steve’s in love with you-“
“No, he’s not.”
“Yes, he is.”
“No, he’s not-“
“Yes, he is-“
“Is this the same thing you were fighting about last time?” Steve’s voice comes from over your shoulder, and you freeze. “Or is that just… How you two talk.”
Stacy looks awfully fucking pleased with herself for a dead woman. “It’s the same fight as last time.”
“Oh.” He pauses. You can hear his concern, and it makes you want to vomit. “Is everything okay?”
“Mhm.” Stacy beams. “Hi, Steve.”
You glance up, and Steve looks properly bemused and adorable about her whole demeanor. It makes you want to hold his face and kiss the tiny, pouting frown off his lips. You smack yourself internally. Get it together.
“Hi, Stacy.”
She almost glows. “You remember my name?”
“Yeah.” He glances down at you. “I try to remember most people’s names.”
Stacy swoons. “Of course you do.”
Steve blinks, and you clear your throat.
“What are you doing here?”
“Uh-“ He rubs the back of his neck, giving you a small smile. “Lunch, remember? We planned it last week.”
Oh. You did do that. “I told you to wait outside, my boss is going to try to interview you-“
“Oh, she already did.” He laughs. “But I’m here for you, not a front page.”
You flush, and Stacy giggles like she’s watching TV.
“So…” Steve shrugs. “Lunch?”
Right. Lunch.
“How’d you even get in the building.” You grumble, grabbing your jacket as you stand. He shrugs sheepishly.
“I took a photo with the guards.”
“Steve, I told you to stop doing that-“
“It made them really happy, okay? And I went through all the metal detectors, same as everyone else-“
“I know, but you hate taking the photos, you can tell them no.”
Steve frowns. “It’s not that big an inconvenience for me-“
“But you hate it.”
“I don’t hate it-“
“Steven Rogers.”
You glare at him, arms crossed over your chest. Steve sighs, slumping like a scolded child.
“I don’t love them.” He mumbles, and you nod.
“Next time, tell them no.”
“But then I can’t come upstairs.”
You shrug, starting at the door, your shoulder bumping against his. “You can text me. Like you’re supposed to-“
“Or I can just do the photos-“
“No-“
“Bye, guys.” Stacy calls from behind you, and you look her with wide eyes. You’d forgotten she was there.
“Um… Bye.” You wave awkwardly, and she grins.
He’s here for you. She mouths, and you roll your eyes.
No hope. It just makes everything else harder.
If Steve wanted you, he’d say something. And you’re a big girl. You can handle just being his friend, because he won’t leave you alone long enough for you to properly avoid him. You can handle it.
His hand finds your lower back, when he opens the door for you. You almost trip over your feet from the dizzying touch.
You can’t handle this at all.
The most annoying part about having undying feelings for Steve Rogers is that it’s Steve Rogers. Captain America. Golden Boy Number One. Mr. Perfect Specimen.
You’re in love with the little blond boy with abs and a dopey smile and sweet blue eyes. You’re obsessed with Mr. Muscles. You lose sleep over the guy who looks like he could crush you in a headlock then kiss you to sleep after.
Incredibly original. Groundbreaking, even. The love of your life is the masculine celebrity who’s respectful and kind. Never before heard of stuff. You’re really shattering glass ceilings with that one.
You want to shoot yourself in the face.
It’s impossible to avoid even thinking about him, when he’s everywhere. You go out to the corner store, and he’s on the little TV mounted in the corner. Avengers brand yogurts line the grocery store, and you glare at Strawberries and Cream and Justice until your head hurts. He told you about that. He was pretty proud of how all the proceeds were going to charities.
“It’s a stupid name, though.” You’d said, and he’d shrugged.
“Tony says the name doesn’t matter, as long as it’s got our faces on it. Apparently that’s what people are buying for.”
He’d frowned at that, and you’d given him an affectionate smile. He hates the glory of all of this. You know he does, and you’d told him gently you’re sure people will also buy for charity.
You’d been lying through your teeth, though. When you grab the yogurt and shamefully shove it into your basket, it’s not for cancer research or orphans or to save the bees. It’s because Steve’s face is smiling at you from the plastic, and you’re no better than the fangirls who get all doe-eyed over his every breath.
Not that you’re much better about that, either.
“I could give you an interview.” Steve offers on day, when you’d been complaining to him about slow news. “It can be about whatever you want-“
“I don’t want your pity journalism, Steven.”
He frowns. “It’s not pity. I’m trying to help you.”
You shrug, wrapping your arms around your stomach. “Well, I can’t accept your help.”
“Why not-“
“It’s unethical.”
“I… don’t think that’s true-“
“Well, I didn’t earn it.”
“You don’t have to earn it.” He says, all earnest and sweet and kind, and you want to die. “You work hard, I know you work hard, and if this can help you- Here, we can do it right now-“
“I don’t have questions ready.” You cut in quickly. Flatly.
Steve just shrugs. “Make some up. I know you can.”
You wish he’d stop believing in you. It makes your heart flutter.
“I have nothing I want to ask you.” You mumble hopelessly, and he frowns.
“I don’t believe that.”
“Why not?”
“Because you always have something to ask me. To ask anyone.”
You flush, turning to the side to avoid his gaze. “Maybe I just know everything about you,” you mutter, and he snorts.
“No. You don’t.”
That gets your attention. You snap your head in his direction, and he smiles at you. Like he already knows he won.
“There she is-“
“Shut up.” You lean across the table, and his smile widens. “What don’t I know about you.”
“A lot.”
“Like what-“
“You have to ask me to find out.”
You narrow your eyes. He keeps fucking smiling.
“You suck.” You grumble.
He shrugs. “I know you think that.”
You’re both leaning across the table. If you reached up, just an inch, you’d be able to trace the line of his nose. He’s so handsome. It’s unfair, and you can feel a smile tugging at your lips in response to his.
“I’m going to punch you in the face-“
“I’d like to see you try, kid.”
Kid.
You lean back, ice water feeling like it was poured through your veins. Steve notices the shift. He frowns, but you don’t give him the chance to question it. You just push on.
“I need a napkin.” You mutter., leaning back into your seat. “To write questions.”
“Yeah. Right.” He rubs the back of his neck. Opens his mouth, then closes it again, shaking his head slightly. “I’ll go get that for you.”
Of course he will.
And when he’s talking to the waitress—paper and a pen in his hand—she twirls her hair and giggles. Same as you would, if you got to know him where he didn’t know you. Where he might just find you pretty, and give you a chance, because you were friends first and you think that’s where you all went wrong.
This all might’ve been easier, if he really was just a celebrity crush. If you loved him because he was Captain America and not Steve. Your Steve. Who brings you back two pens in case you don’t like the first, and shares his food with you while you gloss through the interview—feeling little detached from your own body, like he’s a million miles away—and touches your lower back again when you finally leave lunch.
You might’ve gotten to touch him more, if he didn’t mean something to you.
But you wouldn’t trade knowing him for the world.
And that just makes it all hurt even more.
Steve’s been trying to get you out with his team for years. You’ve said no, over and over and over. You don’t need to feel even more mortal than you already are. Don’t need the reminder that he probably rejected you because you’re not even a quarter of what he and his friends are.
Not that you think Steve would think you’re any less because you’re not enhanced. You know he wouldn’t.
Consciously.
But that doesn’t change the reality of it. He wouldn’t want you, when he’s surrounded by other Gods, like he himself, far more worthy of his attention. You can be mean and sharp, but you don’t have the cool, collected, deadly beauty of Black Window. And you’ve heard the rumors about them.
You’ve heard all the rumors. About Steve with everyone, because people like to talk. There isn’t a pair of people on the Avengers that the public hasn’t theorized about secretly dating.
And you know none of it’s true. Steve’s told you himself.
But that doesn’t make it hurt any less, when you think about him with someone else more worthy. Someone he wants.
Which is why you didn’t want to do this. And Steve had always respected that—because he’s perfect, and he respects everything—so you’d thought you’d never have to. He asks. You say no. He doesn’t push it, or demand to know why. He waits months before asking again, and you know he only does that because he thinks you’re just too busy to go out the other times. That you’re saying no because you simply don’t have the energy, and not because the idea makes you feel itchy. And you don’t want to tell him. You like that he asks you. It makes you feel important.
But you still kept saying no.
Until Stacy overheard him ask you, and said yes for you. And Steve beamed, and you couldn’t stand to burst the delicate little bubble of his joy, and now you’re here.
Huddled in the corner of a bar with the fucking Avengers all around you. Hawkeye and Thor are throwing darts in the corner. Hulk, Black Widow, and Falcon are playing pool. The Vision is eating onion rings, and everything feels like a very, very bizarre dream.
Steve hasn’t left your side since you got here. It’s been the only anchor you have. You’d been able to hide in his shadow and duck under his arm, avoiding pressing questions and conversations you don’t really want to have. It’s not too weird for him to bring a civilian friend, at least. None of them have commented on it, besides throwing you passing looks. Steve mentioned that they all do it, from time to time.
But you’re the only one here right now. And if you could, you’d sew your hand into Steve’s so he couldn’t leave you alone.
And that’s always a little true. You want that all the time.
More than usual right now. But all the time.
“I’m going to get drinks.” He mutters, and you grab his bicep like a scared child.
“Wait- I’ll come with you-“
“Don’t worry, I’ve got it.” He grins down at you, patting your head like you’re a dog or something. “You don’t have to stand up.”
You want to shout at him that this isn’t about him being a gentleman, it’s about him not leaving your sight. But you’re weak. And pathetic. So you just nod, and Steve smiles at you before walking away.
You try to hide in the shadows, avoiding any attention. It doesn’t work.
“You’re the journalist.” A cool, lazy voice cuts through the air, and you look up to find Tony Stark standing over your table.
“I’m a journalist-“
“No. You’re Roger’s journalist.” Stark drawls, sliding into the booth. You stiffen, but don’t dare to move away.
That’ll make it seem even more obvious, when Steve comes back and you don’t inch away from him.
“I understand what he’s been going on about.” Stark continues, looking you up and down slowly. “Didn’t know they made them like you anymore.”
Your eyes narrow. “Like me?”
“Mhm.” Stark smirks, and you raise your chin.
“What am I like, Mr. Stark?”
He chuckles, leaning back. “Little spitfire, aren’t you-“
“Only to people who deserve it.”
That makes him laugh louder. Everything feels more and more like a fever dream by the second.
You look out to the bar, trying to find Steve. Internally begging him to come back. He’s by the bar, your drink already in his hand. It’s the same one you always get. He’s holding it close to his chest, like it’s something priceless.
There’s a woman standing next to him. Just another random girl, in a tiny dress with some pretty good makeup, giggling and batting her lashes at him.
And Steve’s entertaining her. smiling at her.
The same way he smiles at you.
You don’t want to be here. You didn’t want to be here. You don’t want to see how it’s not even the Avengers that he’d want more than you, it’s everyone else. She’s getting the same attention you try to drown yourself in, but you’re not the one who might go home with him. His grin is a little tighter with her, because he’s probably restrained and trying to play his cards right. She looks like she’s talking sweet, and he’d probably want that more than you, poking and mocking him all the time. He’s a God. He’ll say he’s not but he is, and what kind of god would want to be worshipped by someone who shows love with insults and eye rolls.
There’s a tight feeling, around your throat like rope. Your eyes are burning, and the world is blurring, and you don’t want to see this. You can’t see this.
You tried to be his friend. You really tried.
But you can’t.
“What’s wrong with you?” Stark asks, and you look over to find him watching with a strange expression.
“Nothing.” You clear your throat, fumbling for your bag. “I just- Remembered something. That I have to go do.”
You glance over to Steve again. He’s laughing at something she’s saying without shaking his head and tipping his head back, without looking away from her. Like he does with you.
“Right now.” You mumble. “I have to go do it right now.”
Stark hums, tapping his fingers on the table. “Right now, huh.”
“Yep.” You stand up, and he gives you an almost amused look.
“What is it? If it’s so urgent.”
“Stuff.” You snip.
Stark chuckles, shaking his head. “Jesus, he’s batting in a whole other sport with you.”
“What the fuck does that mean-“
“Nothing.” Stark smirks again. Like he knows something. “Go on. I’ll tell Cap you had stuff.”
You scan over his relaxed features, and he just keeps grinning, lazy and unworried. You could get an answer out of him, if you tried.
But you look up, back to Steve. And he’s grabbing his own drink from the bar. Still chatting with the girl. If he brings her back to the table, you’re going to vomit.
You have to go now.
“Thanks.” You mutter, giving Stark a tight grin. “Have a good night.”
And Stark laughs, as you turn away.
“Oh. I’m sure I will.”
You avoid Steve for a week.
Properly avoid him.
He calls ten times, just the night you leave the bar. He texts almost every hour for the days after that, and you mute him. If you look at the messages, you’re going to respond to them. If you respond to them, he’ll convincing you to talk to him. If you talk to him, or see him, or even stand near him, you’re never going to get over him.
You’re going cold turkey on him, like he’s a drug.
To you, he is. And you need to get clean. You need to move on.
Steve doesn’t come into the building to steal you for lunch, but he calls you every day. Your fingers fidget, still trying to pick up the phone.
You don’t know how you manage not to, but you do. When you ask the guards downstairs, they say he’s walked through the door and walked back out five times. You force yourself not to think about it, and somehow manage to do that too. And you’re going to be able to do this. You’re finally going to move on.
Moving on means moving. Not staying in the same little pit, waiting for his sun to change its path and shine on you. You have to climb out, and find a new place to be. Someone new to want.
You’ve done this part before. The whole dance of downloading the apps and going on the dates and telling yourself you want them, even though they aren’t Steve. But this time is going to be different. If you tell yourself that enough, it will feel more and more true.
There’s a guy you’ve been chatting with all week, and he seems sweet. He compliments you, and he was polite when you met for coffee, and he’s far from bad to look at. And it’s not like you’re going to marry him. You just need someone to be close to you that isn’t Steve.
And maybe this guy—you can’t really remember his name, but you’ll learn it—is blond haired and blue eyes and broadly built. Maybe you swiped through photo after photo, looking for a phantom of him, but that’s nobody business expect yours, and your pillow’s. It knows better than anyone that there’s only one way you can fake it.
Which is exactly what this game is. Faking it until you make it. Until you’re over Steve, and there’s never any temptation to look back.
You dress up, telling your brain you’re going on a date with Steve himself so you put in all the effort. Another thing that’s nobody’s business. You’re doing what you need to, and it’s going to get you over him. You’ve got lashes and glossy lips and heels that are going to hurt in the morning, and this guy doesn’t seem strong enough to carry you like Steve would, but that’s where you need to shut your brain up. There’s not going to be anyone who’s like Steve. This guy looks like him enough to get you out the door, but it’s not him, and that’s okay. That’s good. It’s going to help you move on. You’ve got your jacket, and your purse, and you’re going to do this and move on-
You yank the door open, and freeze.
Steve stares at you, hands his pockets, mouth hanging open.
This is usually the part where one of you says hi, but you can’t remember how to speak. He’s here. Why is he here. He’s been giving you space, because he’s amazing and polite, and it had been so much easier to pretend it was just because he didn’t care when he wasn’t right in front of you. Looking like you’d just punched him in the face, all pale with sagging shoulders and sad, dull eyes. As if he’s lost sleep.
He scans over you. Over your revealing outfit and makeover. His throat bobs, and you could swear he slouches further. When he meets your gaze, he doesn’t smile. It makes you want to cry.
“Steve-“
“You’ve been avoiding me.” He mutters, the words thick and low. “And- I’m not here to fight about it. I didn’t think you were going to open the door, I didn’t- I wasn’t going to bother you. Just- Never mind.”
You blink. “I- What are you-“
“You got a date?” He nods to your outfit, and something in his pockets shift. He’s fisting his hands.
“Um-“ You glance to his pockets again, then back to his weighted gaze. “Yeah. I do.”
“With whom.”
Shit. You still can’t remember. “Someone I met on an app. Steve, what are you-“
“On an app.” He echoes, the words sounding hollow. He chuckles under his breath. “You know, Stark made me try those once.”
You swallow. You don’t want to hear about his dating life. “How did that go.”
“Bad. And I tried, I just…” He trails off, shaking his head, and you think you can feel his stare burrowing into your heart, shaping it even further in his name.
This is exactly what you were trying to avoid. Seeing him makes you love him more, think about him more, need him more. He’s got a gravity over you, and he doesn’t know it, and why is he here.
“Is he nice.”
Steve’s voice is low. Pained. You don’t understand the question.
“Who?”
“Your date.” He grunts. “Is he nice to you.”
“Oh.” You forgot about that part. “Yeah.”
“Good.”
Neither of you speak for a second. Steve stares at you so hard our head spins, and you can’t look him in the eyes.
“What did I do?”
His voice breaks suddenly, and you feel the crack in your ribs. It yanks your gaze up, and you’ve never seen him so sad. Frustrated and annoyed, sure. Tense, all the time. But never just… Sad. Defeated. Like even he isn’t sure what to do. It feels wrong. Like the world is bleeding together and caving over itself.
“You didn’t do anything-“
“I must have.” He scans over your features, his own so openly aching. “You’ve never been mad at me before, and- Now you’re-“
He waves to your outfit, and you frown.
“It’s just a date-“
“Just a date.” He mutters under his breath, and your mouth falls open.
“I’m allowed to date, Steven-“
“I know you are!” His voice raises for a second, but he quickly pushes it back down. “I- I know, but that’s not- Why are you avoiding me?”
He’s pleading. It’s almost bleeding out of his voice, staining all over you, and you wrap an arm around your stomach like you can stop yourself from bleeding back. This isn’t fair. Steve’s not stupid. He can’t have just forgotten your mistake of expressing your feelings, he’s not nearly oblivious to be unable to put two and two together, and he certainly can’t be dense enough to not tie together that you’re avoiding him, and going on a date. You don’t go on dates. You’re usually too busy trying to steal some love from his shadow.
Yet here he is. Looking at you like he really doesn’t understand. Being so nice about it, when it’s clearly been bothering him. No demanding to understand. No shouting about how hurt he was. Just pleading.
Because he’s golden and perfect. All respectful, like you’re just another lady to him.
Like you’re not worth enough for him to fight a little dirtier for.
A lump is pressing up your throat. It’s a battle to hold his gaze.
“Why do you think I’ve been avoiding you.” You mutter, and he shakes his head.
“I don’t know, that’s why I’m asking.” Steve rubs his face, working his jaw. “I can’t fix it if you don’t tell me what I did-“
“Steve-“
“And I’ll fix it, whatever I did, I’ll fix it-“
“You can’t fix it!” You shout.
He stumbles back like you slapped him, and tears burn at your eyes.
“You- You can’t fix it, Steve.” You whisper, staring down at his shoes. “Just- Stop.”
“Stop what?” He rasps. “I- I know I messed something up, but-“
“Stop being so nice to me.”
He’s silent for a moment. You don’t even know how to justify that one. It sounds pathetic to your ears.
“I... I’d rather not.” He mutters, and you sigh.
“Then please leave me alone.” The words hurt, but you push them out like an apple lodged in your throat. “I- I tried, okay? I really tried, but I can’t.”
“Can’t-“
“Can’t be your friend.” You whisper. The tears burn on your cheeks. “I can’t be your friend, Steve, it’s too hard. I- I-“
You sniff, and Steve rasps your name. You have to shake your head. He can’t talk right now. It’s already too hard.
“I love you.” You say, barely a breath. It doesn’t matter. He’ll hear anyway. “I love you too much, and- It’s not your fault that you don’t- That it’s not the same. But please.” You shift on your feet, hugging yourself tight. “I- I need space.”
Steve doesn’t say anything. There isn’t anything he could say to make it better, not anymore. But something in you still fractures, when he just steps to the side. Giving you a path out.
Letting you go.
You think it’s hope. The hope that one day he might feel the same, the dream that you’d tried so hard not to feed, but tended to bloom on its own. That one day he’d look at you and realize he made a mistake.
But he steps to the side. And that’s all it’s ever going to be.
A dream.
You bow your head and shuffle past him, face burning and skin crawling with shame. You’re going to go on this date and pretend like everything is fine, if you can even make it out of the hallway without breaking down. Your knees are wobbly and tears are coming faster than you can wipe away, but you just need to get out. Out of this hallway with its suffocating air.
Away from Steve, and your heart, broken at his feet.
You’ll get over it. You’ll get over it. It’s hard to breathe right now but you’ll get over it-
“God- Screw it.”
A strong hand wraps around your wrist. It takes you by such surprise you don’t even think to fight.
Steve spins your around, grabbing your jaw and picking you up in a single movement. You gasp as his lips slam over yours, sudden and demanding. He kisses you like he doesn’t know he’s already got a claim on you. Like he’s trying to brand your lips with a bruising, hungry desire. All you can do is breathlessly kiss him back, scraping at his shoulders and trying to keep up with what’s happening. Steve tastes a little like honey and salt, and you’re sure he ate something earlier but you don’t really care what. His hair is just as soft as you thought, and you’re being crushed under the force of him but it’s intoxicating and exhilarating and you feel like you’re being remade-
It’s over. Just as fast as it started. Steve stumbles back, fumbling with his hands like they’re still trying to reach you against his will. He braces them on his hips, staring at you with wide eyes.
You gape at him, trying to catch your breath. You reach up to brush your own lips, trying to make sure the tingly feeling there is real. Maybe press it deeper in, until you can feel it forever.
Steve clears his throat. You blink at him through the slowly drying tears, not really sure what’s happening.
Neither of you dare to speak. Or move. You’re breathing shallowly, like anything too big is going to tip the whole world over, and it will all slip through your fingers.
He takes an uncertain step forward, and you should take one back.
But you’ve never been all that good at moving away from him before. You have no interest in learning that skill now.
This time, you grab him at the same time he grabs you. You stumble into each other, uncoordinated and desperate, unbothered by bumping noses and smushed limbs. You just need to be close to him. To feel him as much as possible, as fast as possible.
He’s never been a drug. You’d been getting a secondary high, but this-
This is a hit.
And you need to have more.
You grab at his collar, pressing up to meet his every kiss, and you’re quickly making out with teeth and tongue in the middle of the hallway. Steve’s arm wraps around your ass, lifting you effortlessly off your feet, and you moan into his mouth.
He trips as he walks back into the apartment, and you end up pressed against the wall at least three more times before you make it through the door. Every time Steve slams you back, devoting all his attention to kissing you until you’re drooling and sloppy and just trying to push further into his open mouth. At one point he slots his knee between your thighs, and you start to shamelessly grind down as he sucks your lower lip between his teeth.
You giggle, dazed and sore with overflowing need for him. He kicks the door closed behind you, and you think you’re going to end up riding his thigh against the wall, but he starts down the hall. To your bedroom.
He makes it about five steps before you rake your nail through his hair and start kissing over his jaw. Steve moans into your ear, lagging a little sideways, and you shriek as you both topple down onto the couch.
It takes you a second to catch your breath, and that’s all Steve needs to get the upper hand. He grabs your jaw, tipping your head back as he starts to suck and nip at your neck. You squeak, grabbing his head, and he moans against your skin. His knee pushes back between your thighs, and this angle is even better than before. You can’t help the roll of your hips, down onto the muscle of his thick leg.
“St- Steve-“ You voice is high, and he hums, licking up your throat before making out with a soft spot under your jaw. “Jesus fucking- God-“
“I know.” He mutters, dragging his hand down your thigh and grabbing under your knee. He squeezes gently, hiking it up to your chest, pushing his knee down even harder than before.
“Fuck- You-“ You gasp, your pussy clenching around nothing as your clit gets rubbed through his jeans, through your panties.
At this angle, you’re almost exposed to him. Your dress pooling around your tummy, the wet spot on your underwear growing bigger and bigger. You grasp at the skirt, trying to tug it down a little. It’s one thing to be riding his knee, another for him to see you.
Steve grabs your wrist, pushing the fabric further down than it had been before. Your eyes almost cross when he starts to rub his knee back and forth, the pressure overwhelming and perfect. You didn’t think you could cum like this, but there’s a familiar pressure building up in your stomach, and you have to bite your tongue to stop a wanton moan from escaping your lips.
He sits up to look at you, and you’re sure it’s a shameful, lewd sight. Your makeup smudged, your hair ruined, a picture of depravity and sin as you chase pleasure on his leg. This isn’t the kind of thing you thought he’d be into. He’s too perfect, too good, and maybe you’ve wanted to be put in a headlock and manhandled and used, but Steve’s all about honor. You’d been so sure that, even if you got to have him, it would be lovely, vanilla sex that was filled with such emotion it would make up for the simpleness.
But that’s not what you see in Steve’s eyes. They’re hooded and black with lust. His jaw is clenched as he watches you, and he pushes your leg further up with a gentle squeeze.
“Oh-“ You gasp, trying to reach up to grab him.
Steve grabs your second wrist without letting go of the first. Holds him in one hand, and leans over you as he pins them both over your head. Your mouth falls open, breathing fast and needy.
His own chest is heaving. He looks down to his knee against your core, and a deep sound rumbles from his chest. You’re wound so tight you’re certain you could snap, sudden and fast like a rubber band. You strain against Steve’s hold, and his attention snaps back up.
“You’re good, doll.” He coos. “Relax for me.”
You blink at him, shaking your head. You can’t stop grinding against him, but you need him close. Need to be under the pressure of his body, to feel like there’s nothing else in the world.
Steve picks up the speed of his knee, almost drilling it down into your cunt without touching you at all. You gape, head lolling to the side, and he grunts.
“Look at me.”
His voice is deep. Not a suggestion. An order.
You blink up at him, almost drooling, and he leans down until his lips are ghosting over yours.
“I don’t want space.” He mutters. “I want you.”
You swallow, still rubbing your pussy up into his knee. “You- You can’t just-“
“Shh.” He pushes further down, until it feels like he’s almost inside of you. You snap your mouth shut. “Is that all I did?”
“Wha- Oh-“
He drags his knee in slow circles, and you make an incoherent, starved sound. Steve doesn’t even break a sweat.
“You and me.” He mutters, studying your every expression. “That’s it. That’s what was gonna make me lose you.”
“You- You didn’t lose me-“
“Almost did.” He squeezes your knee. “You walked.”
You glare up at him. “You let me-“
“No, I didn’t.”
Steve’s lips slam back over yours, and you can’t really argue with that. Your eyes flutter as you give into the kiss, your body sparking with a million, delighted nerves. Steve groans against your lips, fucking his knee against your core, and he’s hitting your clit just right, the fabric soaked and filled with rough friction.
Your back arches off the couch as you cum, and Steve lets go of your wrists. You grab his face, trying to pull his lips closer, and he wraps around your back, holding you up. Your toes curl, body shaking as the pressure becomes sensitive, your pussy gushing and clenching around nothing.
Steve rubs your spine, kissing along your shoulder, up your neck, over your cheeks. You hum softly, floating down and tucked into his arms. He leans back against the couch, taking you with him. You slump over his chest, burying your face in his neck as his hand slips under your dress. Thick, calloused finger pads gently graze your hips and waist, and you squirm.
“I- I didn’t want to ruin something.” He murmurs in your ear, and you pause.
“Ruin…”
“Us.” Steve’s face presses into the curve of your neck, warm breath tickling your skin. “You were my friend, we work in a lotta the same places, and I just- I didn’t want to risk that.”
You swallow, leaning back and waiting until he meets your glossy, sad gaze. You take his face between your hands, and he covers them with his own.
“I was willing to risk it.” You whisper, and he sighs.
“I know. But-“ He looks away, words choked and low. “I thought it was a crush. That you’d get over.”
You laugh weakly. “Well, it wasn’t.”
“I know.” He sighs. “Mine wasn’t either.”
You lips part with a sharp breath, and Steve looks back to you with nervous, hopeful eyes.
“I love you.” He squeezes both your hands, guiding them to his lips. “It is the same. So- Tell me that fixes it. Please.”
It does.
Just as fast as they’d shattered, your dreams weave themselves back together. They’re clearer than before. More colorful. It’s no longer like looking through a mist, or watching a reflection in the water. When you touch Steve, he doesn’t ripple away. And that’s more than enough.
You lean down and kiss him. It’s slower than the other kisses. Steve grabs your hips, but lets you press his head down. You wrap your arms around his neck, tracing his lips with your tongue, and he hums in content. Drags you further forward in his lap.
Something thick and hard presses right against you, and you almost go limp. Like your body is already trying to get ready to take it. To take Steve’s cock that can’t be as large as it feels, straining against his jeans and twitching when you drag yourself slowly back and forth.
“Hey.” Steve grunts, grabbing your hips firmly. You hope he’s holding tight enough to leave a bruise. “Easy.”
You snort, leaning back to give him a pointed look. “Easy?”
“Yeah, that’s what I-“
“I just came on your knee.”
His ears turn a little pink, and he coughs. “I, uh- Fair.”
“Mhm.” You hum, smiling smugly, and you take all the strength in your jelly legs and grind right now onto his clothed cock.
Steve hisses, his fingers digging into your soft skin. “Jesus- Baby-“
You brace your arms on either side of his head, dragging back and forth as slow as you can. Steve’s eyes flutter, his tongue darting over his lips as he watches you move on him. His muscles flex with the effort not to grab you.
You’d very much like to see him give up.
“Does that feel good?” You whisper, making your voice sweet and innocent.
Steve grunts. You’re going to have handprints on your body in the morning. The thought just makes you move faster.
“I don’t want to go slow, Stevie.” You purr, and his chest heaves under you. “I want you to fuck me. Pleeease.”
You whine dramatically, thrusting forward, and Steve’s face drops against your chest.
“Jesus, woman.” He lips graze over your breast, and you moan. “Come on, ‘s not playing fair-“
“Don’t wanna play fair.” You hum, slowly reaching between your bodies. “Wasn’t fair how you turned me down.”
“’M sorry about that-“
“You should be.” You kiss under his ear. “Hurt my feelings.”
“Thought-“ He grunts as you palm his balls through his jeans. “Thought I was helping-“
“You weren’t.”
“I got that now-“
“But you know what would make it better?” You lean back up, holding Steve’s gaze with a lazy smile.
He nods quickly, and you giggle, wiggling down onto his bulge.
“Fucking me.”
Steve looks down, and a rumble echoes through his chest when he sees it.
You’d peeled off your ruined underwear without him noticing. Leaving your bare, sweet and soaked pussy pressed against him. You moan, watching him as you grind down, and he’s so close to snapping. You can see it in the tension of his jaw, feel how his fingers keep twitching on your hips. You smile at him, licking your lips, and that dark look flashes over his features. The same one from earlier, that had him overtaking you like a storm.
Steve’s a good boy. A sweet boy.
He also doesn’t like things that he can’t account for. Used to pick fights in alleys as a kid, always wanted to be the person everyone looked to for help.
You’re sure that, between the two of you, you can let him have a little fun without compromising his moral compass.
He has to, if you’re begging him for it. Not very chivalrous, to ignore a lady in need.
“Pleaseee.” You whine again, ghosting your lips over his. “Fuck me, Stevie, fuck me until I can’t walk-“
He mutters your name under his breath, and you just pout at him.
“Make me yours, make me cry, fuck-“ You throw your head back, the teasing him going straight to your own core. “God, fucking- Please, Steve-“
That does it. The explicit, wet cry of his name seems to snap something in Steve’s resolve, and he’s on you in a blur of hands and lips. Grabbing a fistful of your ass before hauling you up his chest, kissing you breathless as he stands. He keeps carrying like you weigh nothing, and you want to be trapped in his arms forever.
“Steve- Shit-“ Your jaw drops he tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “Fuck, slow down-“
“You said you didn’t want to slow down.” He reminds you in a deceptively soothing voice, big hands rubbing on the back of your thighs. “Said you didn’t wanna play fair.”
“I- Um- Ooooh-“
You drop your head against Steve’s shoulder, biting at his shirt as thick, strong fingers tease the lips of your pussy.
“Wet fuckin’ pussy.” He muses, spreading you open so the cold air hits your cunt. “Knew you got soaked for me, princess. Didn’t know it was this bad.”
“You- You-“ He needs to stop humiliating you and touching you at the same time. It makes you feel like you’re burning alive in the best way possible. “You knew?” You squeak, and Steve chuckles.
“Always knew. Told you, thought it was a crush.”
You try to twist and glare at him. “And you didn’t tell me-“
“Like you would’ve wanted me to tell you I could smell how badly you wanted my cock.” Steve smacks your ass with a scoff, and you flop right back over his shoulder.
“Fuck-“ You whimper. He’s right. You can barely even stand that right now. “Steve, please- Please-“
You’re not even sure what you’re begging for anymore. Mercy, maybe. More mocking attention. Anything he can fucking give you, because you feel like you’re about to explode.
Steve spanks you again, this time on the other cheek, and you moan.
“’Course you like that.” He mutters. “Dirty girl, testing me every fucking day.”
He drags his thumb through the mess between your legs, and your pussy clenches, trying to drag him in. He laughs, pushing down for half a second before dragging down to your clit and rubbing in quick, tight circle. You gasp, pushing uselessly at his back, already overstimulated and still needing more.
“Felt that.” Steve flicks your clit, and your whole body shakes. “Greedy, princess. You’ve been waitin’ this long, you can hold it a little longer.”
“Ca- Can’t-“ You gasp, pressing your cheek against the broad muscle of his back. “Can’t, Steve- Can’t wait-“
“Yeah, you can.” He grunts. “Christ, you’re dripping all over my hand. Going to take me no problem, aren’t you, baby.”
He’s playing with your clit like it’s just a little button for his whims, and you have to bite your inner cheek to stop yourself from falling apart all over his hand.
“Steve- I- I’m going to- Oh my god-“
Steve slaps right over your pussy, the wet sound echoing in your ears as he shoves those two fingers right into your pussy. He finds your G-spot in a second, crooking his fingers and dragging them over your sensitive walls. You cum with a cry of his name, sudden and harsh. White dancing at your vision, your body seizing up as Steve dumps you down onto the soft mattress.
He presses his wrist further, folding your body up. You grab his neck for an anchor, and he kisses your wrist as he slides a third finger into your dripping mess of a pussy.
“Getting you ready.” He mutters, wiping some hair from your face. “It’s okay, babydoll, you’re doin’ real good.”
You whimper, the orgasm still shaking through you. You’re struggling to breathe when Steve finally pulls his hand away, and the loss makes you whimper.
Steve laughs softly, leaning down to kiss you all sweet and loving, like you haven’t been turned to a puddle under his hands.
“Breathe.” He murmurs, squeezing your breast gently, and you take a loud, stuttering gasp. Steve kisses your nose, smiling like he’s being offered ice cream, and you watch him in a starry-eyed daze.
You hear the click of his belt, and as much as you’d like to reach down and feel him, you can barely manage to hold onto his shoulders right now. Steve pulls slowly up with one last chaste kiss on your lips, and your breath hitches in your throat.
He’s massive. That’s the kind of dick you’ve only seen in cartoons, because even the porn industry can’t replicate it. You’re not sure how he gets around so easily in his tight suit, with that fucking horse cock acting like a third leg. Thick and veined, already beading with pre-cum as he strokes it slowly in his hand, a sheepish expression on his face.
“I was… Endowed.” He mumbles, ears red. “Before the serum. Then…”
He nods to his cock, and you laugh breathlessly.
“Jesus, Steve-“
“It won’t hurt you.” He says quickly. “I know there are those rumors ‘bout be being a virgin, but-“ He sighs, pouting slightly. “God forbid a man tell Tony Stark he doesn’t want to talk about his sex life, suddenly he’s never even touched a boob-“
“Dude.” You smile up at him, and he cuts himself off. “Look me in the eyes and tell me if I still think you’re a virgin after that.”
You tilt your head to the hallway, but Steve just frowns.
“Dude?”
“Um-“
“Don’t call me dude when I’m about to fuck you.” He grumbles, and you’d laugh at him if that didn’t make your heart skip. e
“Sorry, sir.”
You say it half to mock him, half to test something.
Steve’s jaw ticks, and his already rock-hard cock twitches in his hands. You giggle as his eyes narrow, and you’re still laughing as he prowls over you, that dark, hungry look back on his face.
“You think something’s funny?” He grunts, and you shake your head.
“No, sir.”
Steve groans, dropping his face between your breasts.
“Gonna be the death of me.” He mutters under his breath, and you’re still laughing softly.
“Sorry.”
“No, you’re not.”
You laugh again, because you’re really not. It’s hilarious, and he’s adorable, and this is going to yield some fantastic results.
Steve assesses you like you’re a mission to be accomplished. And you know him.
He never does anything halfway.
“Alright, princess.” He mutters, tapping the head of his cock on your clit. “Open.”
You squeak, still giggling, and spread your legs slowly.
The last laugh is pushed from your chest as Steve slowly starts to sink himself into your heat. Your mouth falls uselessly open as you bow off the bed, your body almost unable to rationalize how full you are.
Steve splits you open, his cock slowly driving through you and hitting spots you didn’t even know you had. He grinds slowly down into your pussy, bullying you further open, and you think he’s found a button inside you that just makes you a limp, sensitive fuck-doll, because you whine out his name but it takes everything you have.
“I know.” He grunts, the tip of his cock pressing into your cervix. “You’re taking it, baby, there you go.”
“Steveee-“
“Feels good, doesn’t it.” He presses at sweet kiss to your lips as he bottoms out. His fingers lace slowly through yours, and you nod.
You’ve never had so many pleasure points being hit at once. Steve’s still got a hand on your breast, rolling your nipple between his fingers as you try to breath around him. He’s patient. You don’t want him to be.
“More.” You push out, and he raises his brows.
“Sweetheart-“
“More.” You roll up into him, moaning loudly as he hits even deeper. “Fuck me, Steve- Mmm-“
He kisses you, passionate and messy, and you almost scream in satisfaction as he starts to move.
He’s unrushed. Completely in control of you, and aware of it. His dick pulls almost all the way out before slowly pushing back in, the torturous pace making you feel like a live wire.
“Yeah, that’s it.” He coos, pressing a sweet kiss to your lips. “Pretty girl, you like being stuffed up with my cock, don’t you.”
“Ye- Yes-“ You tip your head back into the pillows, your free hand grasping at the sheets. “Yes- Oh my god, yes-“
Steve’s started to grind against your g-spot whenever he hits it, letting his thickness press and drag over the sensitive, gooey spot until you’re moaning and writhing around him.
“Feel that, don’t you.” He mutters, pushing in a little harder than last time. “Feel my dick inside you, baby, feels so good, doesn’t-“
“So good.” You babble, but who can blame you. “So good, Steve, you’re so-“
Your words turn into a broken moan as Steve drives back into you, and he’s going harder and harder every time. Still pulling almost fully out slowly, letting your arousal gather and drip down your thighs and ass, but then slamming back into you so hard it makes you think the world is shaking.
A breathy sound escapes your lips, maybe a plea, and Steve moves your tangled hands between your bodies, pressing you down into the mattress as he rises up for a better angle.
“You’re so fuckin’ wet.” He growls, pounding into your cunt like he owns it. “If I’d know you wanted me this bad I woulda had you all over this city.”
You whine, squeezing around him. Steve chuckles.
“Oh, you like that. Like the idea of being my good little cockslut, letting me play with you wherever I want.”
Big, steady hands press your knees up, letting Steve hit even deeper than before. A strange, tight feeling is building in your gut, but it feels good. All of this feels so good. You’re spent and cockdrunk, but you feel used in the best possible way. The filth Steve is drawling in your ears makes your brain go all quiet. You’re just a happy, humming bundle of pleasure, Steve’s massive body draped over yours, and you’d probably do anything he wanted, if he just fucked you like this after.
“You were made for me.” He groans, lips wandering all over your face as his cock drills into you. “I’m gonna take such good care of you, baby, swear it, just sing for me, come on-“
You moan, long and loud. Steve grins, kissing under your ear.
“Good girl.” He coos. “There you go, just like that. Come on, doll, I know you’re getting close.”
You are. You’ve been close the whole time, but this feels more and more different by the second. There are wet, sinful sounds filling the room as your skin slaps together, and Steve’s breath is hot in your ear as he starts to lose a little control of himself.
He moans when you start mindlessly humping up to meet him, forcing his cock into the tightest spot into you that makes everything all colorful and hazy. You gasp softly, chasing up from a little more, and Steve wraps and arm around your back.
“Fuck- Fuck- You feel so good,” he groans your name in your ear. “So good, it’s- Christ-“
That strange pressure in your tummy is going to burst. It feels like Steve is driving right against it, daring it come undone.
“Steve.” You breathe out. “Steve- I- I’m gonna-“
He growls, deep in his chest and rolling through you. Steve grabs you and wrestles you down into the mattress, pushing your legs up to your chest and fucking you fast and brutal.
It’s a sight above you. Steve, panting and moaning as your pussy sucks him in, glistening arousal shining all over his cock when he pulls out and smearing on your tummy. Your tight walls are starting to contract, and he doubles over, groaning your name as his thrust become shallow and unmeasured.
Tears start to stream down your face. Steve looks at you like you’re an angel, fucking you like you’re just a toy, and you can’t even remember how to tell him how good it feels.
“Steve…” You wiggle below him, crying out as he just fucks you hard. “Steve- Ooooooh-“
Your eyes roll back, the tears burning on your cheeks from the impossible to handle pleasure. Steve leans down and kisses them off your cheeks, the softness in such contrast with how he’s turning you into a bundle of nerves and tears.
“My pretty girl.” He mutters, kissing your lips sweetly. “Close. We’re so close. You can make it. Make it for me.”
You nod, almost hypnotized into agreeing. And Steve’s abusing that spot inside of you. Sensitive and overwhelming, making your toes curl and eyes cross.
“Steve- I- I can’t-“
“Yes, you can.” Not a suggestion. Steve’s thumb finds your clit, rubbing it back and forth as he ruts into you. “Come for me, now.”
The command rolls through you, and that pressure bursts. Heat washes over you, making you bow off the bed as a funny, wet feeling gushes out between your thighs. Steve groans, slamming his mouth back over yours, groaning your name as you start to milk his cock.
“Fuck,” he groans, and you wrap your arms tight around his neck. Tight enough to strangle him, if he was a normal man. But Steve just splays his hand possessively over your back and moans against your lips, driving home into your cunt as his release rippling through him.
It’s almost as good as your own orgasm. You’re tucked into a shaking, flexing heat of muscle, his deep voice moaning your name in your ear, his cock still thrusting and twitching inside you. Over, and over, and over-
You can barely breathe in the best way. You’ve never had a man cum so much. It starts just hot and sticky, then it’s drooling out, down your ass and onto the sheets. You can feel it in your throat, almost taste it, and even after Steve pulls out it’s everywhere. Painting your pussy creamy and white, branding your abdomen, your tits, your thighs.
Steve stares down at you with a gaping mouth as you both come down from the high. You laugh, hoarse and breathy.
“Woah.”
“Shit.” Steve mutters, grabbing at the remainder of the clean sheets and wiping them over your body. “I- I didn’t- I usually pull out, you just-“
“Steve-“
“We need to get you in the shower, it’s everywhere-“
“Steve-“
“I’m so sorry-“
“Steven.” You smack his shoulder, and he stops dead.
You’re already bridal style in his arms, naked and covered in his cum, some of it dripping all over the floor. You’re going to need to hire a cleaner. Or invest in really, really big buckets that you’ll keep next to the bed.
“Does that happen every time?”
He swallows, and nods.
“Uh- Not that much.” He mumbles. “But yeah.”
Pride glows in your chest. You get the most of him. “Okay.”
Steve blinks. “Okay?”
You nod, and he shakes his head.
“I ruined your room-“
“I liked it.”
He stares. You smile.
Steve rolls his eyes, and presses a kiss to your brow.
“You’re impossible.” He mutters, and you giggle.
“Yeah, but you love me. And you can’t take it back now, you already said it-“
He grabs your chin, turning it so he can fully capture your lips.
“I do love you.” He mutters against your lips. “And no one could make me take it back if they tried.”
You smile. You have no plans to do that.
Steve is somehow more than you ever dreamed. And there’s no way you’re letting him go now.
✦End note: this was so fun for me to write i love a puppy dog man. i hope you enjoyed it!✦
✦If you like this story, please reblog, share, or leave a comment! <3✦
✦Buy me a coffee!☕️ (and get early access!)✦
✦Taglist (Fill out this form to be added!)✦
sorry thinking about having to sit in steve’s lap during group car rides because robin gets her license and can’t afford anything but a beater volkswagon that doesn’t fit everyone inside of it
maybe the road gets bumpy or your jostling because eddie said something that made you laugh. and steve is in literal purgatory hell because he can smell your natural scent mixing with your perfume and it’s killing him!! he’s fighting off his boner like this life depends on it :(
you keep leaning back to whisper inside jokes into his ear and the way your breath feels on his face gives him goosebumps. thank god it’s dark in the car because he’s certainly embarrassingly red by now
all his senses are honed in on you: the way your laugh sounds, the way you smell, the skin of your arm touching the skin of his and if he lets himself, he can see a bit of your cleavage over your shoulder and oh no. oh god. the dreadful boner
you can feel it almost immediately against your ass. normally, with any other guy and in any other circumstance, you might’ve been offended. but with steve, you’d almost hoped for it when you decided it was his lap you wanted to sit on tonight
the others don’t notice you shift in his lap to face him better, still not straddling but capable of looking him in the eye. he’s looking at you like you’re about to tear him a new asshole— wet, hazel eyes glaring up at you
you throw an arm lazily over his shoulder, threading a hand through his hair and he lets out a whimper so quiet that even you could barely hear it over the sound of the engine
“it’s okay, stevie,” you murmur low in his ear. he shivers
“i’m—sorry—i don’t know why—“
“hey. it’s okay.”
he nods at your reassurance, trance-like, mouth slightly agape. He breathes, “I just—don’t want you to think—“
“do you think about me like this all the time, steve?” you murmur with your head tilted inches from his face
“no! no— i—“
“do you think about what i look like underneath my clothes when you touch yourself at night?” you ask him this right into the shell of his ear, “all alone and pent up?”
“ohmygod—“ he almost moans
“we’re here!” robin announces from the front seat. the engine cuts and the cabin lights turn on and steve is snatched very suddenly from his hypnosis; his cheeks a very bright crimson
“c’mon,” you smile sweetly but squeeze his shoulder in a way that says: this isn’t over
⭐︎ warnings: nsfw, smut, college au, banter, alcohol, second chance, friends to strangers to lovers, angst, miscommunication, arguments, fluff, public sex, fingering, finger sucking, dry humping, names: "good girl" "baby"
⭐︎ word count: 14.5k
⭐︎ a/n: its finally out... thank you to the readers who are supporting my dirtbag series! dedicated to my best steve girlies who watched me slave over this: @blowingbarnes @tw1sters @epiphanyrogers
synopsis:
Years of drift had turned you and Steve Rogers into strangers. Now being in college, he was the dirtbag guitarist in a rising band, and you were the quiet girl buried in her books. You figured your friendship was over—until he discovered you were the secret pen behind his rival band's greatest hits. Suddenly, Steve is miraculously crawling back.
← main masterlist | steve's playlist | dirtbag marvel series | bucky's story ➜
You remember it as clear as day.
Steve’s voice—which was much higher than yours back then—squealing excitedly about how he was going to become the lead guitarist in the biggest rock band to ever exist. After school, he’d always invite you over to play Guitar Hero with him and his other best friend, Bucky.
“This game blows,” little Bucky would spit, sliding the guitar strap off and setting the toy down impatiently. “I’m not even havin’ fun.”
“Don’t be like that in front of the missus, Buck!” Steve would stammer, embarrassed by how his friend was overreacting in front of you.
It was always cute how easy it was for him to get flustered whenever you were near.
“Just… just let her play the guitar, then.”
Bucky would roll his eyes, annoyed by how easily smitten Steve was, and hand you the plastic neck. “Fine. When your mom buys the drum kit, that’s when I’ll play.”
And the minute Sarah bought the drums, and the microphone next, it was over for the three of you. You and Bucky were at Steve’s house every day, practically joined at the hip. You would take the mic, Steve would take the guitar, and Bucky would go crazy on the drums.
Their passion for music was exhilarating, and it naturally rubbed off on you. Although your younger self didn’t understand the significance of music at the time, all you knew was that it felt and sounded good.
It was loud, jumpy, and extremely fucking catchy.
It was ultimately you, Steve and Bucky.
One day in high school, Steve was sitting at the edge of your bed again, idly picking out the chords of a secondhand Strat to the tune of Wake Me Up When September Ends. You were at your desk, writing in your notebook and humming quietly to yourself.
“You know,” Steve had spoken up suddenly, “you’ve got a pretty voice.”
You smiled, your eyes never leaving the page. “I know. You tell me this every time.”
“Oh?” Steve hummed, stopping his picking and setting the guitar down. “Conceited much?”
You only chuckled, shaking your head. “Well, when you remind me every single day, I start to believe it.”
Steve shifted on the mattress, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He watched the smooth movement of your pen and the way you’d chew on your lip every time you wrote an interesting line—one you would never share with the class.
“You’re always filling those pages,” he pointed out, nodding toward the notebook. “Is it more of your poetry? Or just… thoughts?”
You shrugged, a bit shy about it. “A bit of both, I guess. Just whatever’s in my head.”
Steve let out a low hum. You expected him to pick his Stratocaster back up and start strumming again, but he didn’t. His blue eyes brightened with an idea as he scooted closer.
“You’ve got the voice, and you’ve clearly got the rhymes. Why don’t you try writing some songs?”
You let out a laugh before you could stop yourself. Steve was always quick with a compliment, but he had never suggested something like this before.
“Very funny, Stevie.”
“What?” he frowned slightly, though his eyes were still bright. “I’m being serious. You could totally pump out some great songs.” He leaned back, folding his arms over his chest with a smug smile. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll be the one writing the greatest hits for my band.”
“Your upcoming band?” you finally swiveled in your chair to look at him, a brow arched in amusement. “You mean the one that’s currently just you and Bucky?”
“Hey! The right guitarist and bassist will come to us soon enough,” he countered. “Just you watch.”
You rolled your eyes playfully, turning back to your desk to hide the heat in your cheeks. “No, Steve. I don’t have the talent for that. I’m not exactly musically inclined like you and Bucky.”
Steve shrugged casually, pressing on. “You never know if you don’t try.”
You knew exactly where this was going.
After years of friendship, you knew Steve was obsessed with people reaching their ‘full potential.’ He was a person who craved creativity and expression; you were someone who craved comfort and familiarity.
As much as you loved to read and write and sing, you knew you’d never find a stable career on talent alone.
“I’m fine right here,” you muttered, picking up your pen and trying to find your place in your notebook. “Writing poems is one thing. Putting them to music and letting people hear them is a different thing entirely.”
You hoped he’d sense your discomfort and drop it, but he didn’t.
“That’s the problem,” Steve said, dropping his playful tone with a sigh. “You always choose to be comfortable. You’re always hidin’ behind these books… or burying yourself in homework. You need to actually put yourself out there for once.”
You felt a prickle of annoyance under your skin. Rather than sounding like a best friend, he started sounding like a father. You laughed awkwardly, trying to diffuse the tension building up inside you.
“Okay, okay, I get it. Professor Rogers has spoken. Can we stop now?”
“Come on, listen to me for once,” Steve pressured, his persistence only fueling your irritation. “You’re going to spend your whole life studying things other people did instead of doing something for yourself. Don’t you want more than just…” he gestured to the stacks of books and papers cluttering your room, “…this?”
You always knew Steve meant well, but you hated how easily he could make your world feel small.
“Don’t talk to me like that, Steve—”
“You’re incredibly talented!” Steve let out an incredulous laugh. “I’m just looking out for you, sweetheart. I hate to see all that talent wasted on something meaningless—”
“Meaningless?” you scoffed, finally spinning your chair around and standing up to face him. “Are you kidding? I work hard to secure my future! I do it because I want to. You don’t ever hear me talking about how… about how…”
You paused, clenching your fists at your sides before you said something you’d regret. But Steve kept biting. He stood up, and with the massive growthspurt he had in high school, it was his turn to look down at you.
Making you feel small yet again.
“About what?” he challenged.
You clenched your jaw, thinking you’d get away without screwing it all up, but as you lifted your eyes to meet his—condescending and belitting—the words slipped out anyway.
“About how you’re chasing an unrealistic fantasy!” you snapped cruelly. “I’m working for a future, Steve. A real one. While you and Bucky are just… playing around in a garage, making noise and calling it a career!”
Steve’s face fell.
The eyes that had been narrowing down at you widened in shock, and his shoulders dropped the minute your words began to echo back in the room. In all your years of knowing him, you had never seen him look like that, and the realization that you were the cause made you desperate to turn back time, but it was all too late.
“Steve… I—”
“This is what you’ve thought?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper. “All this time… while you were over at my place, or me sitting here on your bed, listening to me play… you thought it was just noise?”
Christ.
You had attacked the one thing he loved most.
What kind of friend were you?
“Steve…” your voice cracked. You reached out, your fingers hovering near his sleeve, but he took a sudden step back. “I—I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it like that. You just kept pushing me… and I—”
“No,” Steve scoffed, stepping completely out of your reach. He picked up his Stratocaster, leaving nothing but a dent on your bedsheets where the guitar had rested. “I think you meant exactly what you said.”
He didn’t look at you again as he headed for the door.
“I’ll see you around.”
Then the door shut coldly.
Years had passed, and that was the last time you had ever truly spoken to Steve.
You had tried reaching out through texts and emails, you would even shown up at his house and waited outside his classrooms, but he never extended a hand back. He would give you a quick, dismissive side glance before walking the other way. You even tried talking to Bucky, but he would only scratch the back of his neck awkwardly and make some excuse for him.
It wasn’t entirely your fault, anyway. Right?
Steve had pushed you, and you had finally stood up for yourself. He owed you an apology just as much as you owed him one. But after all those failed attempts to resolve things, you decided to leave the ball in his court.
Now that you’re in college, the ball is still in his court.
Unmoved.
You missed Steve dearly.
He was your only true friend growing up, and now that you’d fallen apart, there was an empty space in your heart reserved just for him.
You thought by now you’d finally gotten over the broken friendship, but how could you? You both went to the same college, and his band’s gig posters were plastered on every wall on campus.
“CIVIL WAR” was splayed across the top in a spray painted design. Underneath was a grainy photo of the band; even through the blurry print, you could pick out Steve right in the center, screaming into the microphone. His hair was shaved at the sides and shaggy at the top, and stubble traced the line of his chiseled jaw.
He also looked like he had been working out.
He looked incredible, and it only made your heart ache for him more.
Below the photo, a message was scrawled in a bold font that was clearly written by Bucky.
Leave your heart at the door and come rock with us at Shield Dive this Friday. Doors open at 9, good fucking music at 10.
“You goin’?” a familiar voice asked from your left.
You lifted your head, clutching your book to your chest at the sight of him. Bucky stood there with a stack of papers in his hands—more posters for the band, you assumed.
“Oh,” you breathed, forcing the kind of polite smile you’d give any other stranger. Because that’s what Bucky was to you now. A total stranger.
“No. It’s… uh, it’s not my place,” you said lightly, followed by a chuckle that sounded more like a sigh. “I’m sure you guys will sound great. You always do. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
You ducked your head, ready to end the awkward encounter, but Bucky spoke up before you could walk away completely.
“He would want you there, you know.”
You froze, but you didn’t turn around completely. You knew exactly who he was referring to, but you couldn’t let yourself believe it. If Steve really wanted you at his shows, why hadn’t he ever reached back out?
You could only look over your shoulder and give Bucky a sad, tight smile—a silent thank you for the pitiful attempt at making you feel better, though it only made you feel worse.
“No, he wouldn’t.”
It was an hour before their set at Shield Dive, and the bar was already packed—more crowded than they’d ever seen it. The small band originally scheduled to open had canceled at the last minute, and a new group had stepped in to take their place.
“Christ,” Natasha muttered, peeking past the curtains with her bass strapped to her side. “It’s a full house.” She turned to Steve with a grin. “Bet you didn’t expect that tonight, Rogers.”
Steve crossed his arms, his jaw tensing as he held back a snarky reply. He certainly hadn’t expected their rivals, F.R.I.D.A.Y., to be the ones opening for them. His pride was too strong to admit his confusion; why was a band with more hits than Civil War performing as an opener?
He was starting to think Tony Stark—the lead singer and guitarist—was doing it just to mess with them.
Sam, sensing Steve’s irritation, clapped a comforting hand on Steve's shoulder. “You good, man?”
Bucky was watching silently. He knew his best friend well enough not to even ask.
Whatever Steve was feeling, Bucky was likely feeling it, too. But Steve was the bandleader—the last thing he needed to do was lose his cool in front of the others.
“Just peachy,” Steve finally replied.
He uncrossed his arms and pried his eyes away from the curtain, where Stark and his crew were setting up on the stage that was supposed to be theirs.
“We’re just going to have to play better than they do,” Steve told the group. “If half these people came for F.R.I.D.A.Y., then we’re going to be the reason they stay.”
“I know all of you folks are stoked to hear Civil War,” Tony Stark’s voice rang through the microphone, pulling Steve’s attention back to the gap in the curtain where Nat stood.
“But my gang and I have a couple of songs we want to run through for you first—” before Tony could even finish the sentence, the crowd erupted into a roar that did nothing to soothe the irritation building in the pit of Steve’s stomach.
Tony grinned smugly, his designer sunglasses reflecting the harsh stage lights. Steve scoffed under his breath. Who the hell wears sunglasses indoors?
“Covers for now. We want to keep it simple for you guys before the real show starts,” Tony said, putting a condescending emphasis on the word real. “War Machine, AC/DC—” The crowd cheered. “Spiders, System of a Down—” Groups of girls screamed Peter’s name at the top of their lungs. “And of course, Iron Man. Black Sabbath—”
The entire dive bar started to shake from the volume of people cheering and stomping their feet.
The opening chords of War Machine began to rip through Shield Dive, and the crowd went feral immediately. It was loud and as much as Steve hated to admit it, they sounded incredible. Peter Parker moved with an experienced precision that didn’t seem possible for someone who looked like he belonged at a high school prom and nowhere near a dive bar.
“I don’t get it,” Steve mumbled grumpily, his arms locked tight over his broad chest. “How does a kid like Parker end up with that crowd? He’s a prodigy. Why is he hanging out with old fucks like Rhodey and Vision?”
The audience was eating it up.
Every single person in the shitty dive bar was tucked firmly under Tony Stark’s thumb. It wasn’t just that they sounded great, it was the principle of it. Why was someone like Tony Stark—who had enough of his mommy and daddy’s money to buy the venue—playing an opening set of covers right before theirs?
Bucky stood just behind Steve, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed in a perfect mirror of his best friend. As he watched Peter, he chewed on his toothpick, his jaw clenching as he listened to every hit of the snare.
“Kid’s alright,” Bucky mumbled. “Still not as good as me, though.”
The rest of the setlist finally was nearing its end, and as they finished Iron Man, the crowd kept roaring for more. Steve clicked his tongue and turned back to the rest of the group, grabbing the neck of his guitar.
“They’re wrapping up,” he said. “Come on. We’re up next—”
“But before we let you go—we’ve got one more!”
Steve snapped his head back toward the stage. Tony was still standing dead center, the feedback from the speakers catching his loud, snarky voice and throwing it across the room.
Steve’s hand tightened on the neck of his guitar. Are you fucking kidding me?
They were already over their time.
“We’ve got a song for you folks—a special one! Because it hasn’t even been released yet,” Tony smiled, peering cockishly through his sunglasses as the crowd began to cheer again. “And we’re going to be performing it for the very first time here tonight—with you guys!”
The dive bar went ballistic. Steve was already losing his cool after finding out F.R.I.D.A.Y. was performing, and now with Stark and his goons going way past their scheduled showtime to debut a brand new song—Steve felt like his head was going to explode.
“A new song?” Bucky’s brows furrowed, giving Steve a look.
Peter started with the rapid fire snare snapping, building up to a crescendo that only Dave Grohl could fucking do with Everlong, which only built the hype of the crowd even more.
Rhodey’s melody guitar was haunting, and the moment Tony stepped up to the microphone and sang the opening verse to the crowd, Steve knew he was cooked.
The beginning verse, the chorus—it was all incredible. If it wasn’t Peter’s drumming or Tony’s voice that sold the song, then it was Vision’s bass solo that would sell them out. It’s rare for a song to be a hit based on a bassline, but when you have a catchy Deacon or McVie style groove, you’re going to get pretty fucking far.
It was, without a question, the best song Steve had ever heard.
It was the kind of song that changed a band’s career overnight—the kind of song he’d been trying to write his entire life.
Everyone under the roof knew it. Hell, even his own band behind him knew they couldn’t compete with that. The only way someone could successfully follow an opening like this was if they were Bowie performing right after Queen at Live Aid in '85.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Bucky breathed next to him, watching them with a frustrated frown. “They’re good.”
By the time the song ended, Steve was already feeling deeply discouraged. The crowd was loud, Steve couldn’t even hear his own thoughts cursing Tony out.
Tony caught his breath, wiping a stray strand of hair out of his face as he smiled into the mic. He waited for the cheering to die down just enough to be heard, that smug, infuriating grin plastered on his stubbled chin.
“Wow,” he drawed. “Didn’t expect you guys to enjoy it that much—but who the hell am I kidding? Who wouldn’t like that song?”
Steve gritted his teeth. That smug asshole.
“But we can’t take all the credit for that masterpiece. We had a little help from a brilliant new talent—a dear friend of mine who’s goin’ to be running this town before long.”
Tony pulled the microphone from the stand and stepped toward the edge of the stage.
“She couldn’t be here tonight, but I still want to shout her out with the credit she deserves. Let’s hear it for the writer behind the music!”
And the moment Tony said your name, the world and all its sounds came to a sudden halt.
Steve no longer heard the screaming of the crowd or Tony’s aggravating voice.
All he could hear was the echo of that name.
Your name.
“Steve.”
You.
“Are you okay?”
You had started writing songs? Since when?
“Steve, we’re up—”
And out of all the artists you could’ve written for, you’d been writing for his biggest rivals?
“Steve!” Bucky’s voice cut sharply against Steve’s thoughts. “Come on. Get your head in the game, man. We’re live in—”
“Bucky,” Steve turned to his friend, his eyes wide with disbelief. “Did you not hear what Tony just said? He said her name—”
“I know,” Bucky interrupted, his face tense as he frowned. “I heard him, which fucking blows, but there’s nothing we can do about it right now.” He motioned past the curtains to where F.R.I.D.A.Y. was clearing their gear. “Right now, we have a show to perform. And we need our leader up stage and center with a clear head.”
Steve clenched his jaw. He had everything but a clear head. There were a thousand things he wanted to say—likely the exact same things Bucky was already thinking.
But his best friend was right. They had a show to put on.
“You’re right,” Steve finally sighed, nodding to himself to try and amp his energy up. “Let’s go.”
And the show they performed after F.R.I.D.A.Y. was a disaster.
It was the start of a new week, and since this morning, you’ve had an uneasy feeling in your gut.
Maybe it was the stress of all the upcoming assignments and exams that were lined up for you, but those usual anxieties have always felt familiar. This feeling was different.
You were alone in the quiet library, keeping your head down as you buried yourself in a stack of textbooks. Occasionally, you’d lift your gaze to check the clock hanging in the center of the room—but what you didn’t expect to find waiting for you was a pair of familiar blue eyes.
Steve.
Catching his eyes across campus wasn’t unusual, yet it always made your heart skip a beat—as if it were trying to reach out to him. You looked away, as you always did, and by now he’d usually look away too or already be gone, off doing his own thing. That was the end of it.
But as you glanced up again, expecting to see the empty space where he had just been standing, your heart let out another slow and painful thump.
Steve wasn’t gone. And he wasn’t looking away.
You looked away again, waited a good five seconds this time, then dared to look back up.
He was walking straight for your table, his stride purposeful with his worn messenger bag slung lazily over his shoulder. His expression was completely unreadable. You felt your breath hitch as your heart began thumping nervously.
Maybe he’s just looking for a book, you tried to convince yourself. Maybe there’s a textbook he needs for a lecture right behind me.
Your grip on your pencil tightened, and you scribbled something at the edge of the paper to make yourself look productive, waiting for the sound of his footsteps to pass. Instead, the shadow of a broad frame eclipsed the light hanging over your table.
Steve stopped directly in front of you, his presence taking over your every sense.
“I need to talk to you,” he said firmly, not even bothering to use an inside voice for the library.
It was the first time he had spoken to you directly in years, and this was the first thing he had to say? Not a simple “hello,” or “it’s been a while,” or even a “how are you?”
With his not-so-quiet voice filling the silence of the library, students who were already mildly agitated by his sudden eruption began snapping their heads toward him.
You shifted awkwardly in your seat, still avoiding eye contact. You could feel the heat of the embarrassment crawling up your neck from the collective stares of the students—and from him.
“Not now, Steve,” you whispered.
Steve didn’t move a muscle. If anything, he seemed to plant his feet firmer against the carpet.
“No,” he said, his voice still loud enough to grate on the nerves of the surrounding students. “I think we should really talk.”
You couldn’t risk seeing whatever expression was on his face—whether it was guilt, pity, or that stubborn righteousness he always carried. You just flipped a page of your notes, the paper crinkling loudly.
“I’m busy studying, Steve,” you muttered dismissively. “Some other time.”
The wooden chair in front of you was pulled back suddenly, scraping against the carpet, and the empty space was abruptly filled by Steve’s large presence. He sat down across from you, dropping his messenger bag onto the desk with a heavy thud to catch your attention. He didn’t pull out a single book or a laptop. He just sat there, looking like a no-good dirtbag completely out of place in a library filled with students actually trying to get work done.
“Okay. Fine.” He rested his elbows on the desk, cupping his chin in one hand. “I’ll wait, then.”
The sheer audacity of Steve Grant Rogers made your skin prickle.
You tried to be the bigger person by ignoring him entirely, focusing on the work in front of you—but how could you when you could feel his gaze piercing through you the entire time?
Curious, you lifted your head to give him a wary glance, and he caught it immediately, flashing a smile.
That ‘all-good,’ charming Mr. American smile of his.
With an exhausted sigh, you quickly shoved your chair back to get up and make yourself busy. Steve’s eyes followed you, one brow raised curiously.
“Where are you going?”
“Need to find a reference book,” you mumbled, walking off toward the tower of bookshelves before giving him a chance to respond.
You heard the groan of Steve’s chair as he pushed himself up to chase after you. You turned a corner, then another, putting rows of dusty encyclopedias between you. All you needed was a second to breathe—a second to stop your hands from shaking. Finding yourself in an empty aisle, you thought you had finally lost him. With a relieved sigh, you began browsing the shelves for a book you actually needed for an assignment.
You reached for a thick, leather-bound volume on the top shelf, straining on your tippy toes until your calves ached. Just as your fingertips brushed the spine, a large hand reached over your shoulder, hooking the book and pulling it down to help you.
You let out a relieved sigh, dropping back onto your heels. “Thanks—”
But when you turned to take it, Steve was standing right in front of you, holding the book high above his head and well out of your reach.
“I need to talk to you,” he repeated, having the decency to be at least a little bit quieter this time.
“Steve,” you sighed, reaching up for the book. “I’m really not looking forward to talking right now—”
“I don’t care,” he cut in with that look he always got when he was being stubborn.
He leaned over you, pinning you against the shelf as the book dangled in his hand. The height difference only reminded you of the night he’d looked down at you in your own bedroom—making you feel small all over again.
“I’m not giving you this book back until you talk to me.”
You scoffed in disbelief, a bitter smile straining at his audacity. “Are you being serious right now?”
When you realized he was, you shook your head and tried to push past him. “Fine. Keep it, then—”
Steve stepped to the side, blocking your exit. He pinned one arm to the shelf, his tatted forearm cutting off your path and blocking your view.
“I heard the set that F.R.I.D.A.Y. played at Shield Dive,” he said, his voice dropping. “I heard the song. Your song.”
You felt your heart drop.
In all the times Steve had performed, it had never once occurred to you that his band would cross paths with F.R.I.D.A.Y. And what did he mean, playing at Shield Dive? You’d secretly supported Civil War from the sidelines—a bittersweet loyalty to Steve and Bucky—but even you knew that Tony’s band wouldn't usually bother with a shitty dive bar.
You tried to keep your face blank, but your shaky voice betrayed you.
“I don’t… I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stammered.
Steve didn’t buy it for a second. It had been years since he’d spoken to you, sure, but he still knew exactly what you looked like when you were lying.
He stepped closer, the tips of his boots nearly touching your shoes. He was so close now that you were certain if he stood still long enough, he’d be able to hear your heart beat.
“Please don’t lie to me.”
“Get out of my way, Steve,” you tried to move past him once more, your voice tight. “I need to study.”
But Steve stepped in front of you again, closing you in. He let out a deep exhale, as if he were carefully pondering every word, terrified of screwing this up even more than he already had.
“Look—I know you and I got off on the wrong foot years ago,” he said gently, his gaze softening as he caught your eye. “And I’m sorry I haven’t reached out. I just...” He paused, looking hesitant, before forcing a small, bittersweet smile. “But you’re making music now? That’s… that’s incredible.”
You bit your lip, feeling apprehensive.
“Steve…”
“I’m really happy for you,” he said softly—so soft it sounded solemn. “I always knew you had a secret talent for that sort of thing—that song they played sounded amazing. The fact that you’re actually pursuing it… that’s really special.”
He took another shaky breath and let it out. “I’m happy for you,” he repeated, almost as if he were trying to convince himself.
You blinked at him, completely caught off guard. You had spent all this time bracing yourself for the “I told you so,” or the condescending “Why didn’t you listen to me?” that you were sure he’d eventually throw in your face.
But it never came.
The strain in Steve’s voice gave you a glimpse into what he was truly feeling—and it resonated so sharply with your own heart, it hurt. It was a mirror of your own grief for the friendship, along with a hollow longing for each other’s presence again.
The vulnerability in his blue eyes made your shoulders ease just slightly, your tone softening.
“Thank you,” you admitted. “I didn’t think it was something I’d actually get into, but…”
Under Steve’s gaze, it was easy to trail off and feel sheepish. You wanted to open up to him, to thank him for finding your new talent, but a small, deep part of you wasn’t ready to let your walls down just yet. He had broken no-contact for the first time in years, and it was only after discovering you were writing songs for F.R.I.D.A.Y.
There had to be something more to this than a simple “I’m happy for you.”
But still, your heart missed him—and in this moment, your heart won.
“What is it that you wanted to talk about?” you questioned softly.
Steve looked down at you, his thumb tracing the edge of the book’s spine. There was so much he wanted to demand— a thousand questions clawing at his throat. He wanted to know why you were writing for Tony Stark, of all people. He wanted to know when you’d started, and if you were doing it just to spite him after he’d encouraged you to write songs in the past.
And a part of him, the selfish part that still felt like he owned a piece of your heart, wanted to ask if you’d ever write a song for him.
But the longer he looked at you, the clawing in his throat stopped and the words died.
You were looking up at him with such wide eyed, innocent trust. It was the look he remembered from high school; those were the very eyes he had wanted to protect and never see sad again. It was the very face he’d wanted to smother in kisses the moment he realized he loved you.
But he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t ruin this fragile moment of peace by making it about himself.
Steve bit his lip, his jaw tightening as he forced his gaze away from yours. He let out a breath that sounded more like defeat than a sigh.
“I’m just proud of you,” he said, voice strained and barely above a whisper. “That’s all.”
You stood there, stunned, because that wasn’t what you had expected at all.
That’s all?
Before you could press him, Steve simply lowered the book and pressed it gently into your hands. His fingers lingered against yours for a second, and you wanted nothing more than to drop the book and interlock your fingers with his.
But he pulled away.
“I’ll see you around,” Steve murmured.
He turned on his heel and walked down the aisle, rounding the corner and disappearing without looking back.
Later that day, Steve found himself sitting in his living room with Bucky over. It seemed like it was just yesterday the three of you were here, playing Guitar Hero together.
“So,” Bucky said, handing Steve a beer before plopping onto the couch next to him. “How’d it go?”
Steve brought the open bottle to his lips, staring blankly at the TV screen. “With what?”
Bucky smacked his lips. “You know what.”
Steve knew exactly what he was talking about, yet his mind was still stuck on you. After the gig at Shield Dive, he’d told Bucky he was going to talk to you in hopes of convincing you to write for Civil War instead—but God, what kind of person was he? To show up in your life after years of one-sided silence and demand something like that?
He felt like the lowest of the low for even considering it.
“Come on,” Bucky nudged his shoulder, impatient. “Well? What did she say? Did you apologize to her and then ask her like we discussed?”
Steve ran a hand through his hair. He knew Bucky wouldn’t let him live this down. Just to get him off his back, he let out a sigh and lied.
“I did, yeah.”
“And?” Bucky prodded.
“She… she said yes,” Steve swallowed, looking down at the condensation building up on his beer bottle. “She’ll write some songs for us.”
Bucky blinked, not expecting those words to come so smoothly out of his friend’s mouth.
“She said yes?” he repeated, huffing out a breath of disbelief before his grin widened. “Well, would you look at that? Your girl’s still got a soft spot for you.”
That one sentence made Steve feel ten times worse.
“Yeah,” Steve mumbled. “I guess she does.”
He took a long, slow swallow of his beer. He had always been a terrible liar, his face usually gave him away before he even finished a sentence, but Bucky was so blinded by the hope of having brand new music that he hadn’t even noticed the way Steve’s hand was shaking.
The guilt was already starting to eat at him. He hadn’t even apologized for abandoning you for all those years. He’d never apologized for belittling your dreams or making you feel small.
Worse, he had just used your name to buy himself some peace with Bucky and the band.
“This is great news, man,” Bucky cheered, swinging a drink back with a grin. “Who knows—maybe we’ll all start hanging out again, just like the good ol’ days.”
Steve chewed at his bottom lip, his thumb mindlessly swiping over the condensation on the bottle. Every word Bucky said felt like another shovel of dirt on the hole he was digging for himself.
He knew he had to make it up to you, but the problem was, he didn’t even know where to start.
As the week went on, Steve found himself drawn to the library more and more each day.
He would linger near the bookshelves, trying to catch even a quick glimpse of you. He knew the library—in all its quiet and the scent of old paper and ink—had always been your favorite place. It was the only place he felt he could still find a trace of you.
He tried his best to look busy, picking up random books he had zero interest in and flipping through the pages just to kill time, hoping you’d walk by.
The students nearby, actually hunched over their midterms, gave him judgmental stares. A man like Steve Rogers—the notorious lead singer of a screaming band, covered in tattoos and wearing ripped clothes—looked like nothing but trouble in a place meant for focus.
He knew what they thought of him, but he didn’t care. He was too busy scanning every passing face, his heart jumping every time the library doors creaked open, but slumping when it wasn’t you walking through them.
Just as he was about to give up and leave, the doors pushed open once more and in you came—looking as overworked as ever, hauling a bag on your back that was nearly bigger than you were.
You made your way to an empty desk, settling in. You spread your literature and notebooks across the surface until your work had claimed nearly every square inch of the tabletop.
Steve had to bite back a smile. Despite the years of silence between you, you were still the same raging geek he remembered. He shook off his grin and walked over, stopping in front of your desk just as he had the day before.
“Can I sit here?” he asked, catching your attention. He gestured vaguely to the open chair. “I need to study for an exam and this…” He looked around at the dozen or so empty spaces nearby, then right back at you. “…is the only table available.”
You blinked. “Uh—”
But before you could even think about denying him, Steve pulled the chair out and sat down right in front of you.
Steve pulled a worn, spiral bound notebook from his bag, the edges fraying and the cover covered in stickers and faded sharpie doodles. As he flipped through the pages, you caught flashes of messy lyrics and sketches.
Your heart ached a little.
You always remembered how much Steve loved to draw.
“I’m pretty bad when it comes to the whole studying thing,” he admitted, keeping his focus on a cluttered page. “I get distracted. My mind wanders.”
He lifted his head to look at you, the tips of his ears turning a faint pink.
“And since you’re… you know, actually good at all of that,” he gestured vaguely toward your organized textbooks and highlighters, “I figured maybe if I sat here, I’d be more motivated. Seeing you work might rub off on me.”
It was a blatant excuse, and you both knew it.
The library was nearly empty. There were at least three other tables that wouldn’t have involved him invading your personal space. But the fact that he’d found you again— that he’d taken this specific opportunity to be near you—made your heart ache for him.
With Steve in your presence, you always found yourself letting your heart win.
“Motivated?”
“Yeah,” he murmured, leaning forward just an inch, his tatted arm resting on the edge of the desk. “I figured I could use a good influence. It’s been a while since I had one of those.”
You shook your head, keeping your eyes down, focused on your own notebook. “Easy for you to say.”
Steve tilted his head. “What do you mean?”
“Just feels like I’m getting the bad end of the bargain,” you said, looking at him through your lashes. “With you being a bad influence and all...”
Steve blinked, taken off guard by your words.
The taunt felt nostalgic—a sweet reminder of how you used to tease him for being a bad influence back when you were growing up, even though you still stuck by his side every single day.
Steve couldn’t help but smile. Despite the years and the silence between you, teasing you back still felt as familiar as breathing.
“So, me merely existing is the bad end of the bargain?” Steve grinned. “It could be a lot worse, sweetheart. I could have my guitar right now, playing Wonderwall again while you’re trying to study.”
“Oh, God,” you cringed. The sweetheart nickname didn’t even register as a surprise because of how naturally it rolled off his tongue. “That was the worst.”
“The worst?” Steve playfully scoffed, looking mildly offended. “That was your favorite song!”
You chuckled. He was still the same old Steve you remembered—so easily wound up whenever you made a comment about his music. “Only because I found your singing out of tune endearing.”
“Out of tune?” Steve repeated in disbelief, his eyes widening. “After all those years of me singing that to you... you thought I was out of tune?”
At his dramatic reaction, you couldn’t help it— a laugh escaped you, loud enough to fill the silence of the library. Your hand flew to your mouth as students and staff snapped their heads toward the noise with annoyed glares. One of them pressed a finger to their lips and let out a sharp ssshhh!
Steve was smiling so hard his cheeks actually started to hurt.
Your laugh—soft and smooth as it had always been—sent a familiar flutter through his chest. It had been so long since he’d heard it, and the sound made him want to stick by your side like glue.
“You might’ve thought that then,” Steve teased, “but I sound a lot better now.”
You didn’t doubt it for a second— you’d heard his growth firsthand from the sidelines. “Oh, yeah?”
He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest tight enough that his muscles bulged against the fabric of his shirt. You swallowed hard trying not to look.
“Yeah,” he grinned proudly. “You’re just gonna have to see for yourself one day.”
You giggled again, finding it charming that he was completely oblivious to the fact that you actively listened to his music secretly. “I’ll take your word for it.”
Steve’s expression shifted, the teasing smirk fading into something much fonder. Watching the way your face scrunched up as you chuckled made his heart weak, and he blurted out the next thought before he could stop himself.
“I missed you.”
Your laughter slowly faded, and Steve mentally cursed himself.
Fuck.
Did I just screw this up?
But then you reached for your pencil, fidgeting with it as you avoided eye contact. The warmth flooding your face told him everything he needed to know. It was every tell tale sign that you were flustered, and relief washed over him when he realized he hadn’t ruined it.
“We should… study,” you mumbled, busying yourself by shifting through your pages.
Steve’s smile returned, softer this time. He uncrossed his arms and adjusted himself in his seat, leaning back in.
“Right. Study.”
Since that day, you found yourself at the same table every afternoon with Steve sitting right across from you.
As the days passed, you started looking forward to these ‘study dates’—even making an effort to look more presentable. It reminded you of back in high school when Steve hit a sudden growth spurt, your tiny childhood crush had exploded into something much bigger, and you’d started wearing skirts and dresses to school just to impress him.
But just like back then, Steve didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he was doing his best to ignore it, keeping his gaze respectfully on yours rather than on your legs or the way your dresses accentuated your cleavage.
He told you that his scores had greatly improved since you started studying together, but you called bullshit. Every time you were together, you spent most of your time exchanging glances and cracking jokes, trying not to laugh or make noise.
“You know, Bucky’s been hell-bent on writing a song about this one girl on campus,” Steve spoke quietly, jotting something down in his notebook. “Some angsty love song that’ll probably get us in trouble when we perform on game day.”
Having spent so much time on the sidelines, you were the observant type—it didn’t take two brain cells to figure out that Bucky had the hots for the most popular girl in school.
“That’s really cute,” you murmured, leaning your chin on your hand as you watched Steve’s pen move. “He must really like her if he’s willing to put it all into a song.”
Steve’s jaw clenched just slightly, the guilt gnawing at him again. He forced a stiff nod and looked back down at his notebook.
“It’s not cute. It’s a distraction,” Steve explained quietly. “His mind has been elsewhere lately when he should be focusing on the band. We have a reputation to keep up, and he’s…” Steve chewed on the inside of his cheek, realizing how contradictory he sounded. “…busy pining.”
You couldn’t help but let out a small, huffed laugh. “Hey, that’s a little unfair, don’t you think?”
Steve looked up, his smirk returning as he caught your expression. He leaned forward, that familiar teasing light back in his eyes. “How so?”
“Because,” you said, leaning in and holding his stare, “instead of being with the band and practicing, you’ve been here. Every single afternoon. With me.”
Steve’s breath hitched.
The library felt deafeningly quiet after your words. They seemed innocent enough on the surface, but there was something in the way you held his gaze that made the moment feel impure. His eyes dropped to your lips—which you’d applied a generous amount of gloss to, and how could he not notice?— for a split second before snapping back to your eyes.
“Yeah, well…” he said, gesturing vaguely to the books between you. “I’m also studying, remember? So… not entirely a distraction. I’m being productive.”
“Right,” you teased, your eyes still locked on his. “Very productive.”
The silence between you grew tense with everything neither of you was brave enough to say.
You watched his eyes flicker down to your lips again, and for a second, you could’ve sworn you saw his gaze snap down to the curve of your chest pressing against the fabric of your dress.
He looked up quickly, his tongue darting out to wet his bottom lip as if he were suddenly parched.
You felt like you desperately needed an escape route—anything to free yourself from the tension before you said or did something you would regret.
“I… I need to find a book for my, uh, lit assignment,” you stammered, standing abruptly and smoothing the skirt of your dress. “Excuse me.”
With your face burning, you fled into the maze of the stacks, desperate to put some distance between yourself and Steve. Finding sanctuary behind the empty Self-Help and Health section, you pressed your forehead against one of the wooden ledges and let out a long, shaky breath.
Fuck. Pull yourself together.
You couldn’t believe that after years of silence, you were back to sitting across from Steve every day, secretly pining for him.
Growing up, you’d always known Steve was handsome, but now, as an adult, he had become the kind of man who made you feel something much deeper—something undeniably… sensual.
And you couldn’t help but wonder if Steve was feeling the same way.
You paced the empty aisle, biting your thumb nail as thoughts raced through your mind.
Hey, Steve. How about instead of studying at the library, you come back to my place and we study in my room like we did in high school?
No. That sounded too desperate.
Hey, Steve. After our study session, you want to grab lunch?
Hey, Steve. When we’re done here, how about you play 'Wonderwall' for me again and prove me wrong?
“You okay?” Steve asked suddenly.
You jumped, having not even realized he’d approached you until he was standing right in front of you. “Oh! Sorry. I—uh… I was just trying to find a book—”
You quickly reached for the shelf next to you, yanking one out to prove your point.
Steve blinked at the cover, his surprised expression slowly melting into a grin.
“A Comprehensive Guide to Sexual Wellness and Libido,” he read aloud. “Interesting assignment for a literature class.”
Your eyes went wide, and your face felt as hot as a furnace. You quickly flipped the book around to glance at the cover yourself, mentally cursing your own stupidity.
“Shit,” you hissed under your breath.
Steve chuckled as he stepped closer, plucking the book from your fingers and gently sliding it back into the empty space on the shelf.
“Seriously,” he prodded softly, his eyes finding yours. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing’s wrong,” you dismissed quickly, your gaze dropping to your hands as you began fiddling with the hem of your skirt.
He followed your movement, taking in the way your fingers fidgeted. It immediately pulled him back to high school—to those nights spent lying close together on the grass in his backyard, counting stars while you nervously picked at the threads of the picnic blanket.
“No?” Steve drawled, his voice like velvet.
He reached out, his hand catching yours and catching you off guard. He moved slowly, interlocking his fingers with yours as if he were savoring the sensation, making up for every second of the years he'd lost holding your hand in his.
“Then why are you fidgeting, sweetheart?”
Sweetheart.
It wasn’t the first time he’d called you that since you’d started talking again, yet the nickname suddenly sounded different. It no longer felt like the casual shorthand of a childhood friend.
It felt like a name you’d give to someone you loved.
To someone you wanted.
“There has to be something on your mind,” Steve murmured, his voice dropping even lower.
His free hand came up, his fingers light as he caressed your jawline. With his thumb, he gently hooked your chin, tilting your face up until you had no choice but to meet his eyes.
“I know that look.”
You swallowed hard, your throat suddenly dry. “There’s nothing on my mind.”
Steve tilted his head, his expression almost patronizing as he saw right through the lie. “Is that so?”
His thumb smoothed over the glossy shine of your bottom lip, making your breath hitch. “Because there are a lot of things on mine.”
You didn’t trust yourself to speak. Your mind was too busy trying to steady your racing heartbeat to form actual words.
“Thoughts of you... suddenly wearing these pretty dresses and makeup,” Steve hummed, his eyes dark with appreciation as he took you in. “Clothes you didn’t wear before. Tell me—are you wearing them for me?”
A slow exhale left your lips as you looked up at him through your lashes. “And if I was?”
A low groan rumbled deep in Steve’s chest. All those years growing up with you, he’d always thought of you as the innocent girl-next-door, the one with her nose perpetually stuck in a book. He never imagined that years later, he’d find you like this— admitting that you’d been wearing these short dresses just for him.
And him only.
“If you were…” Steve began, his hand that wasn’t cupping your jaw traveling slowly down. His palm traced the fabric of your dress, resting at your hip. “Then that would make me so fucking happy—because after all these years, you still know that you’re my girl.”
Steve gave your hip a soft, appreciative squeeze before sliding his hand further down, his fingers brushing against your thigh as he played with the hem of your skirt.
“My best girl.”
He hooked his fingers under the fabric, slowly bunching the material upward. You felt the cool library air hit your skin for only a split second before his warm palm replaced it, pressing firmly against the bare skin of your thigh.
“Steve…”
He leaned down, his nose nuzzling the top of your head as he breathed you in, his hand sliding higher up your thigh beneath the dress, roaming freely.
“Fuck,” he groaned against your hair. “I missed you.”
Both his hands settled at your waist now, planting you firmly in place as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your temple.
“I missed you too, Stevie,” you breathed, the name coming out so vulnerable it was nearly a whimper. “So much.”
Steve felt his heart thump at the familiar nickname. Stevie. He’s been called that countless of times by his close friends, but every time you said it, always stirred something warm in his chest.
And when you said it like that, breathless and nearly pleading, it made him want to do unspeakable things to you.
“You’re just asking for it now, aren’t you?” Steve growled.
With his hands firm on your hips, he spun you around, making you gasp softly as he pressed you against the bookshelf. “Turn around. And stay quiet.”
You didn’t even have time to think before his broad chest was pinning you from behind.
A sharp gasp escaped you as he hooked his fingers under your hem and hiked the dress up, exposing the cotton of your panties before pressing himself firmly against the curve of your ass.
“Steve—!” your face went hot at the feel of him. “You’re…”
“Hard?” Steve finished for you. He gave his hips a slow, deep rock against you, letting you feel the heavy length of him straining against his jeans. “I know, baby. But how can I not be? Not when you’re wearing a dress like this.”
He rocked against you, slow and deliberate, his hands roaming freely over your body and bunching the fabric of your skirt into his palms. His hands were so warm, so large, you couldn’t believe that after all the years you’d spent imagining those calloused fingers on your skin, you were finally being handled like this in the middle of a library.
“Fuck,” you whimpered.
A high pitched whine escaped you when his right hand palmed your cunt through your panties underneath your skirt, his fingers adding pressure as he made circles over your clit.
It didn’t take long for you to get wet with the way he’s handling you.
“Oh—! Steve—!”
“Quiet,” he growled, his other palm coming up to muffle your cries. “You wouldn’t want to get us in trouble now, would you?”
You shook your head. “Mmphh.”
With his hand still clamped over your mouth, he gave your cheeks a squeeze as he peered over you from behind. “Will you be a good girl?”
You nodded.
The way Steve’s cock was suffocating in his jeans felt like pure torture.
Everything about this could make him bust in his pants right then and there—having his childhood ex-best friend, a good girl with her perfect grades and her books, pushed up against the shelf and being touched by a loser like him was filthy.
It was wrong, and yet, it was everything he had ever wanted.
“That’s it,” he cooed, “my good girl.”
His fingers toyed with the waistband of your panties before sliding down to find you, his fingers pressing against your wet folds. Steve shuddered, his breathing turning heavy at the warm and slick contact.
“Fuck,” he groaned into your hair. “You’re so wet.”
A broken, muffled sound escaped you against his palm as he pushed a finger against your tight entrance. At the same time, he kept up the heavy grind of his hips against your ass, dry humping you through the rough denim of his jeans.
You mewled against his mouth and Steve chuckled darkly, pushing his finger past your tight entrance letting himself sink into your warm, tight cunt.
It was exactly how he imagined it— you felt incredible from just his finger alone, and with how tight you were squeezing him, he could only imagine how great it would feel with his dick instead.
“Mmph!” you groaned, rocking your hips back against his hand, inviting him in deeper.
The movements of your hips desperately moving for more was enough to make him go mad.
“Desperate little thing,” Steve panted, his grip on your mouth tightening as he felt you tremble. “Moving your hips like that for just my fingers—” he ground the heavy length of his cock against you harder. “I should just pull it out, push these panties to the side, and fuck you right here in the middle of the library.”
“Ah—mmph, Steve… p-please…”
Steve added another finger, the stretch making your knees go weak. You cried out against his palm when his thumb found your clit, pressing down and rubbing to match his fingers thrusting in and out of you.
“That’s it,” he growled against your ear. “Goood fuckin’ girl.”
You gripped the edge of the bookshelf, the wood digging into your palms as your legs finally gave out.
Steve caught you, his chest pinning you even harder against the shelf and making it shake.
“God,” he moaned. “Shit—feels so good, baby.”
His cock throbbed and twitched against the denim, the friction pushing him closer and closer to cumming.
His mind addled with lust, he shifted his hand from your mouth, sliding his index and middle fingers between your lips instead.
With half lidded, heavy eyes, he looked down at you. Blonde strands of hair fell messily over his forehead as he stared at the way you sucked on his fingers to stay quiet, your shimmery lip gloss coating his skin.
“Pretty,” he breathed, feeling himself getting close just from looking at you, “so pretty—God, you’ve always been so beautiful.”
Your cunt clenched around his fingers. Knowing that Steve needed you this badly—even after all this time, in every way that you had always needed him—was enough to make you cum.
“Steevie, mmph—” you whined around the fingers sitting vulgarly in your mouth, “gonna… cum—”
Steve’s heart leaped at your words. His cock was straining, leaking a desperate amount of precum against his jeans as he rutted against you like a helpless dog.
He should have been in control, but your whines and the way you clamped down around his fingers— warm and impossibly tight—made it hard for him to keep it.
He was going to make sure he came with you, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.
“Good girl,” he praised with a rasp.
He rocked his hips against yours, making your chest thud against the shelf, the books rattling. “Fuck, I need to feel you, baby. I need you to cum for me—”
Steve’s voice broke as his pace turned frantic. His hips moved an uneven and messy motion, humping you faster and harder until his entire body suddenly went rigid—his hips locking tight against yours as he finally let himself spill in his pants.
Thick, hot ropes of cum flooded the front of his jeans, his cock pulsing. You could feel the warmth against your back, and you let out a sharp gasp as he rocked his hips one last time —letting the mess soak into denim and against the fabric of your skirt.
He buried his nose into the crook of your neck as he fought the urge to cry out a moan. You mewled against his fingers, your knees shaking as you fell apart.
“Steve…” you let out a breath of disbelief. “I can’t believe we just did that.”
“Fucking hell…” Steve cursed, trying to catch his breath.
He slowly withdrew his fingers, the slick squelch echoing in the quiet aisle.
“That was—”
The words died in his throat at the distinct sound of footsteps went near the aisle.
You both scrambled to pull away, faces flaming with adrenaline and embarrassment. Steve moved with frantic shaky hands to smooth down your skirt and try to adjust the heavy, damp bulge in his pants.
He let out a breathless, low chuckle, shaking his head as he looked down at the mess he’d made of himself—and of you.
“Close.”
Since that day in the library, you and Steve had been drawn to each other like moths to a flame.
What started as quiet ‘study’ sessions evolved into sneaking away from lectures and into empty music rooms, until finally, he ended up right back where you two had first started.
Your bedroom.
Ever since that heated afternoon against the bookshelf, Steve had grown bolder. He let his fingers run through your hair, staring into your eyes longer than any friend ever should, and his hands were constantly finding excuses to touch you— even if it was just playing with the fraying wool of your cardigan.
To anyone else, it looked exactly like dating.
And that was the problem.
If Steve wanted a clean start with you, he wanted to do it right. But nothing about this felt… right.
Being back in your room felt like a second chance he never thought he’d get, and as much as he craved every minute with you, guilt was beginning to churn in his gut. Bucky and the rest of the band had been breathing down his neck about the new song Steve promised you were writing for them. And as the days went on, their impatience only grew.
buck🥁: hanging out with her again and still no song?
buck🥁: and here you were, talking to me about ‘distractions’
Steve ignored his friend’s text, quickly switching it to silent.
You pushed back from your desk chair, trudging over to where he laid sprawled across your bed, papers and books scattered everywhere.
He smiled as you approached, haphazardly swiping the papers aside to make space just for you.
“Done studying already?”
“Could hardly call it that,” you sighed tiredly, throwing yourself onto the bed and letting the mattress sink. “It’s hard to focus when it’s raining outside. It makes me feel sleepy.”
Steve’s eyes softened at the sight of you. Back then, every time you were burnt out from studying, you always sought comfort in his arms.
“Need a hug?” he raised his arms up, offering you a spot against his chest. You smiled tiredly, crawling over to him so you could tuck your head under his chin. He pulled you in close, resting his cheek against the top of your head.
He was happy to know that, despite how much had changed between you lately, this stayed exactly the same.
Without thinking, he tilted his head down to press a soft kiss to your forehead, and that only made you nuzzle deeper into his chest. Steve smelled exactly the same as he always had—masculine, with a clean hint of aftershave and the faint scent of leather.
“What’s on your mind, my darling girl?” he asked with a hand rubbing up and down your back.
“I feel so overworked,” you sighed against his chest, your voice muffled by his band tee. “I’ve got all these assignments piled up—and Tony won’t stop bugging me about this new song he wants me to write.”
You could feel Steve stiffen slightly at your words.
“Is that so?”
You hesitated before answering. “… Yeah.”
When Steve had first found out you were writing songs for F.R.I.D.A.Y., you had been ready for the interrogation.
You were waiting for the moment he would pester you about it—asking when you’d started writing and why you’d chosen that band specifically—but he never brought it up. Even after days of hanging out again, the subject remained untouched, a big elephant in the room.
Steve stayed quiet for a long second, and this time, it was your turn to press.
You lifted your head from his chest to look at him. “What’s on your mind?”
His hands fidgeted with the fabric of your shirt—a nervous habit you remembered from years ago—and you couldn’t help the anxiety rising in your chest.
“Can I… can I ask you a question?” he murmured, sounding uncharacteristically uncertain.
You inhaled deeply, bracing yourself for the worst. “Of course. Anything.”
“Did you start writing music…” his hand paused its restless roaming against your back, and he finally looked down to meet your eyes. “… because of me?”
You blinked, the question catching you completely off guard.
“Uh, yeah, actually,” you admitted softly. “I started writing after we… um—you know.” You looked back down at his chest, feeling suddenly sheepish. “After we stopped talking.”
Stopped talking.
Steve’s breath hitched, the guilt in his gut burning an even deeper hole. You continued before he could find the words to interrupt.
“Whenever I’m feeling down, the writing just comes freely,” you explained. “It’s like I have all these thoughts running through my mind and I have no idea how to say them out loud, so I put them on paper. When we stopped being friends, there were a lot of things I wanted to say to you—but… how could I, when you didn’t want to hear me out?”
You let out a soft, hollow laugh that had nothing to do with humor. The sound made Steve’s heart ache.
“I’m—”
“I just thought,” you cut him off, your fingers tracing a pattern on his shirt, “if I never got to say it to you in person, then at least I could write about it and keep it with me forever.”
Fuck.
What kind of person was he? To have caused you the kind of heartbreak that hurt so badly you had to resort to writing music just to survive it?
He didn’t even want to know if you had given those specific songs to Tony—because, truthfully, he didn’t care. He didn’t care who you were writing for anymore, because the only thing he could focus on, the only thing that mattered, was you.
And now that he finally had you back, he was never going to let you go again.
“Hey,” he cooed gently, one warm hand coming up to tilt your chin. “Look at me.”
You looked up, and Steve felt like the lowest scum on earth at the sight of your pained expression. You looked like you were on the verge of tears just from the recollection of the memory alone, and he hated it. He hated himself for being the reason behind that look.
“I’m… fuck. I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered, his voice shaky as he tucked a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “God—I can’t believe I let my own pride get in the way of us. Fuck. I’m such an idiot.”
He pulled you closer, his arms wrapping around you so tight that it made you gasp against his chest.
“I wanted to reach out—I promise you,” he admitted, his lips pressed against your temple as he breathed every word. “Every single day, I would pick up the phone, or I’d walk halfway to your house… and then I’d stop. I was so scared of what you’d think of me—that I was just some…” he grimaced at the thought, “some no-life loser wasting his days on a Fender.”
He let out a short, breathy laugh, trying to lighten the mood, but he was still hurt.
“But hearing that you were writing music… it made me really, really happy, you know?”
You smiled sadly, searching his face. “Really?”
“Really.”
The two of you stared at each other for a long moment, the only sounds were your guys breathing, matching heartbeats, and the soft thump of rain droplets against your window.
He was close enough to lean down and press a kiss to your lips—close enough to finally say the words he’d been wanting to say to you for a long time.
I love you.
But instead, you cleared your throat and pulled away. You sat up on the bed, wiping at your eyes as if trying to shake away the unshed tears.
“I should… I should probably get back to studying,” you said quickly, scrambling off the mattress. The bed rustled with each movement, and Steve’s phone slid off the edge, hitting the floor screen first with a thud. “Ah, sorry!”
Steve cleared his throat, sitting up and adjusting himself as he tried to find his composure. He reached down for the phone too.
“It’s fine—”
But you were already halfway there, picking it up before he had the chance.
“Oh, good,” you smiled, turning it over to check the glass. “It didn’t crack—”
As you went to hand the phone back to him, the screen lit up. Right there in the center of the display, the message from Bucky sat in plain sight, catching your eye before Steve could grab it.
buck🥁: hanging out with her again and still no song?
buck🥁: and here you were, talking to me about ‘distractions’
“Still… no song?” You read the words outloud, your voice small and hollow.
You glanced up at Steve, the blood completely drained from your face. Your heart felt like it had dropped straight into your stomach, yet you managed a fragile, disbelieving smile. “Steve… what is this?”
Steve’s heart plummeted. He snatched the phone from your grasp, his thumbs flying as he frantically swiped at the notifications—but it was useless. It was already too late. You had seen every word Bucky had sent.
“I-it’s nothing, I swear!” He couldn’t even look you in the eye as he swiped away at the messages, trying to get rid of them. “Buck’s just being—”
“Is this what this is, Steve?” your voice shook, rising in anger. “You were just trying to get me to write a song for you?”
You had walked straight into Steve’s trap. Every tear that threatened to spill out from being vulnerable with him just a second ago were now streaming down your cheeks in a hot, angry rush.
You felt like an absolute idiot—but then again, hadn’t you been one this entire time?
Steve scrambled off the bed, taking a desperate step toward you. He reached out, his fingers brushing your arm, but you slapped his hand away.
“I can’t… I can’t believe you,” you choked out, your voice breaking. “This entire time… I thought you actually wanted to be my friend again. I thought you actually cared about me—”
“No, please,” he begged, his own voice cracking as he looked at you with eyes full of panic. “Please—just listen to me. It’s not like that. It’s not like that at all! Everything I said to you earlier, the things we did—”
“The things we did…” You shuddered, a sudden, violent wave of nausea rolling through you that made you feel like you were going to throw up.
You had let him touch you, handle you, and defile you in your safest place—among the very bookshelves where you usually found peace. You had given him all of that, thinking it was a reconnection, only to find out he had one goal and one goal only— to get a song out of you.
A hand flew to your face, fingers tangling in your hair as you paced the room in a frantic panic, refusing to even glance in his direction. “I’m an idiot… I’m such a fucking idiot…”
“Please—” Steve reached out once more, his voice a desperate rasp, and you snapped your head around to glare at him.
“I can’t believe I was stupid enough to think you actually wanted to be with me again—that you actually missed me, missed us,” you spat. “But the second you find out I’m writing for your rivals, you… you what? Try to get in my fucking pants just so you can be some one-hit wonder?”
Steve flinched. Every word that came out of your mouth was a knife digging into his chest—and he knew he deserved every bit of it. He wanted to explain, to grovel and beg for a second of your time, but you wouldn’t let him.
“You have to believe me,” he pleaded desperately. “I would never do anything to hurt you—not like that. Fuck. Please, sweetheart. Just hear me out—”
Sweetheart.
Hearing the nickname now made you physically ill.
“Get out.”
Panic flared in Steve’s chest, his eyes going wide as he took another step, trying to bridge the gap between you. “Please, don’t do this—”
“Get out of my house, Steve!”
The world went dark for him. A constant, deafening ringing filled his ears, and the look of pure betrayal on your face made him want to die. He was so frozen, so eerily still in his shock, that he didn’t even resist when you grabbed his arm and began dragging him toward the front door.
He had the strength to stay rooted to the spot, to remain completely unmoved, but he was so mentally broken that his body simply let itself get dragged by you.
He let it happen.
It might have been the last time he’d ever feel your touch again.
He didn't even realize he was standing on the porch until the rain began to pour, soaking through his shirt in seconds. You gave him one hard, final shove. He nearly stumbled down the stairs, the sudden loss of balance forcing him to snap out of his fucked up daze just in time to catch himself.
Just as you were about to slam the door in his face, he spun around and yelled for your attention.
“Wait!”
And to his surprise, you actually did.
You held the door open and glared at him through the downpour, but at least you were still there.
A small, stubborn part of you still wanted to hear him, even if he didn’t deserve a single second of your time. Your mind was screaming at you to shut the door, but your heart had always been a traitor for Steve.
“What?” you shouted over the rain.
Steve stood there, drenched from head to toe, while you remained perfectly dry save for the tears streaming down your face.
“I lied to Bucky!” he shouted, squinting against the rain. “After we found out you were writing for Tony, I told the band you were going to write for us—just to get them off my back.”
He paused, bracing himself for the sound of the door slamming. But when it didn’t come, he pressed on, determined.
“But I promise you—I promise you with everything I have—I never wanted a song out of you. Every word I said, everything I did with you... I meant every single fucking second of it.”
He swallowed hard, the rain masking the fact that he was crying, too.
“I don’t care about the song. I don’t care what the band thinks, or the rivalry with Tony. I just… I walked up to you in that library because I realized all I wanted was to be in the same room as you again. I wanted to be near you when you smiled. I wanted to see the way you stick your tongue out when you're taking notes, or how your leg shakes when you’re deep in a book. I missed that. I missed everything about you.”
Your hand tightened around the doorknob.
Your mind screamed at you to shut him out, to give him a taste of the silence he had fed you years ago. But you couldn’t move.
“I’ve spent every day of the last few years hating myself for what I did to you,” he continued, his voice desperate and raspy. “And I hate myself even more for the way you're looking at me right now. If I could turn back time, if I could just apologize for being an idiot the first time around, I wouldn’t be out here in the rain, begging for the unforgivable. I’d be in there,” he pointed to the inside of your house, “on your bed, playing my guitar while you laughed at me for being out of tune.”
Rain drenched his face, his vision blurring as he struggled to keep his eyes open just to look at you.
He sucked in a deep, shaky breath, his heart laid bare on his sleeve as he poured out the words he prayed you would believe.
“I love you,” he confessed, breathless and desperate. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. From the day you beat me in Guitar Hero to the morning we walked to high school together for the first time. I loved you even when you told me my music was just noise. I thought I’d finally moved on, but the second I saw you sitting in that library, I fell in love all over again.”
When you stayed quiet, your expression still shattered, he took a hesitant step back onto the porch. He extended a trembling hand toward you, a silent plea for permission, for a sign that he hadn’t lost you for good again.
“Please,” he pleaded sadly. “Please believe me. Please tell me you love me, too.”
You just stared at him, your brows furrowing as your expression shifted slightly.
For a fleeting, desperate second, Steve swore he saw a flicker of forgiveness in your eyes.
He held his breath as he waited for you to reach for him. But instead, you took a slow step back from the doorframe, your hand shaking as you began to pull the door shut.
“Goodbye, Steve.”
Days passed, and for most of them, you stayed buried in bed, skipping classes and ignoring your study sessions.
You found yourself back in the same headspace you had been years ago, after the first time Steve broke your heart. Your nose was buried deep in your journal, filling pages with sloppy, incoherent prose.
You wrote down anything and everything that crossed your mind, no matter how little sense it made—anything to numb the hollow ache Steve had left in your chest once more.
Steve had been blowing up your phone and showing up at your door, but every attempt at reaching out went unanswered. Tony was also blowing up your email, pestering you about the new song you were supposed to be releasing, but those emails sat unread, too.
Your world was a blur of gray silence. But as a college student, you couldn’t afford to waste your tuition sulking forever.
Today, you got rid of the flowy dresses you picked specifically for Steve and instead wore something that well expressed how you were feeling on the inside. You dragged yourself to campus with a heavy weight on your shoulders, up until you finally made it to the front doors of the library.
A figure near the events board caught your eye, and this time, it wasn’t Steve.
Bucky stood there with a red marker in his hand, drawing a massive X across the Civil War poster he’d put up only a few days ago. He must have sensed you watching, because he turned to glance at you.
“Hi, Bucky,” you greeted him awkwardly.
He looked you up and down, taking in your miserable state, and sucked in a sharp breath. He looked guilty, and you wouldn’t have been surprised if Steve had already explained everything to him.
They were best friends, after all.
To save yourself from the mounting tension, you gestured to the poster. “What happened to your guys’ gig this weekend?”
Bucky looked back at the crossed out flyer, a forced, lopsided smile tugging at his mouth. “Cancelled. Steve… uh, he hasn’t been feeling well.”
So much for avoiding the awkwardness.
“I see,” was all you could manage.
Your hand tightened on the strap of your bag. Just as you were about to dismiss yourself and retreat into the familiar sanctuary of the library, Bucky stopped you.
“Wait. I… about everything with you and Steve,” he started, his eyes apologetic. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to break whatever you guys had going on. I…” He looked down at his scuffed Converse and sighed, clearly struggling with the words. “I just hate seeing the two of you like this.”
You didn’t know what to say. You weren’t even sure there was anything left to say. Instead, you just forced a tight, hollow smile and turned away.
“Take care of yourself, Bucky.”
After a long study session that felt agonizingly lonely without Steve’s presence beside you, you began the trek back home in the dark.
Walking alone at night should have made you alert, but your mind was too clouded with thoughts of Steve to pay attention to your surroundings. Your blood ran cold when a voice—deep and unmistakably male—shouted from behind you, making every hair on your arms stand up in sudden fear.
“Wait!”
You snapped your head over your shoulder, panic flaring until you realized it was just Steve. The sharp spike of fear began to subside, replaced instantly by a heavy, soul-crushing exhaustion.
You turned back around, quickening your pace to put distance between you and the man who had broken your heart.
“I don’t want to talk, Steve,” you said, your voice remarkably steady despite the way your hands were shaking inside your pockets. “I’m tired. Just... go home.”
But he didn’t. You heard the scuff of his boots against the concrete as he lunged into a run, closing the gap until he was hovering just behind you.
“Please,” he rasped, his hand catching your shoulder. “I’ve been trying to find you all week. I’ve gone to every building, the library, your house… just please.”
You finally turned around, seeing his face clearly for the first time in days. Under the pale moonlight, he looked like a wreck—perhaps even more so than you. Dark circles bruised the skin beneath his eyes, his hair was a wild mess, and a thick layer of stubble shadowed his jaw.
He seemed to be thinking the same of you; the moment his eyes met yours, his breath hitched. A soft, broken sigh escaped him as he extended his arm toward you.
In his hand, held out like a peace offering, was a slim plastic case. It was a burnt CD, the silver surface catching the dim glow of the streetlights. Across the front, in his unmistakable, messy scrawl, were three words.
My best girl.
Your brows furrowed as you looked at him again. “Is this a new song for Civil War?”
“It’s not for the band,” he huffed, his lungs burning as his eyes searched yours.
He took a hesitant step closer, the CD trembling slightly in his grip as he waited for you to take it.
“I’m not the best at writing...” his voice sounded fractured and worn thin. “I usually let Sam handle the lyrics. It probably won’t sound half as good as the things you write, but it’s for you. Every word, every line—it’s all for you.”
He had written a song?
For you?
You hesitated, caught between the urge to snatch the disc and the instinct to push him away again. But as your gaze locked with his, you knew it was a lost cause. Your heart wouldn’t let you leave him standing there like that.
As you reached for the case, your fingers grazed his for a slow second. Your warm touch sent a jolt through Steve, leaving his heart racing so violently he felt as if it were trying to escape his chest just to get closer to you.
“I don’t know what to say—”
“Don’t say anything. You don’t even have to speak to me after this,” he confessed, though he regretted the idea the minute they left his mouth. “Just… please. Listen to it.”
With a heavy heart, you let out a long sigh, refusing to meet his eyes again for fear you’d say something you’d regret.
“I’ll listen to it,” you said, your voice low and cautious. “But this doesn’t mean we’re on good terms again.”
The words stung, but Steve had expected you to shut him out completely. As badly as he wanted to pull you into his arms and beg for a real chance, he decided to take this small victory for now.
“I know,” he said, a sad, fragile smile ghosting over his lips. It was the kind of look that made your heart ache despite your better judgment. “Thank you.”
He lingered for a moment, his fingers twitching at his sides as if he wanted to reach out and tuck a stray hair behind your ear, but he caught himself. He knew he’d lost that right. Instead, he took a step back, finally giving you the space you were silently demanding.
“Just… use the good headphones,” he added with a self-deprecating huff. “The acoustics in the garage aren’t exactly professional grade.”
You managed a small, involuntary chuckle despite yourself. “Fine.”
The sound made Steve’s smile brighten.
Another small victory.
“Good,” he murmured, quickly shoving his hands into his denim pockets before he did something stupid with them—like reach for your hand or pull you in for a kiss. “Good.” He repeated.
The conversation was clearly over, but Steve couldn’t bring himself to leave.
Even standing there in tense silence, just having you in his line of sight was enough to make him want to stay. But he couldn’t hold onto the moment for long, as you had already turned away, heading back toward your house without a second glance.
“Goodnight, Steve.”
Steve watched you go, his voice quiet and vulnerable as you moved out of his reach once more.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
Once you were back in the solitude of your bedroom, you flicked on your bedside lamp, inviting in a warm glow.
You reached under the bed and pulled out the old CD player Steve had gifted you back in middle school—a machine he’d spent his entire savings at the time just to see you smile. And as promised, you plugged in your best headphones to listen.
With shaky hands, you inserted the CD into the disk slot, and the machine whirrled softly until you heard the sharp intake of Steve’s breath.
Then, the acoustic guitar started to play.
The strumming was soft, melodic, and gentle. It was a song that would never go on Civil War’s setlist, or even considered being played in a dingy dive bar. It was too fragile, too sacred. The arrangement felt like it belonged in a cathedral, with echoing chords that carried the same ethereal, pained yearning of a Buckley track.
Then, Steve started to sing.
You had always known he had a beautiful voice, but on stage, he usually buried it under layers of grit and distortion to match the band’s frantic energy.
Here, there was nowhere to hide. His voice was steady but heavy with so much emotion, singing in a low, resonant register that vibrated right through the headphones and into your skull and down your heart.
The song was a masterpiece of us.
It was filled with melodic shifts that he knew you loved, and lyrical metaphors that referenced books you’d always mention growing up. Who would’ve thought that someone like Steve Rogers—a notorious dirtbag in a band just as dirty as him— was capable of writing a song full of pained and yearning like this.
By the time the song ended, you hadn’t even realized you had been crying.
first time writing steve rogers on his own guys... kinda nervous... thank you for taking the time to read my work and i hope you guys enjoyed it!
I do not have a tag list. to get notified for fic updates, please follow @notify-superbassbuck and turn on notifications.
warnings: MDNI, steve transforms into a literal wolf, NO a/b/o dynamics, PTSD, mentions of grief, minor character death (off-page), reader is a little stupid, minor injury, slowburn, forced proximity, strangers-to-friends-to-lovers, grumpy x sunshine dynamic, use of a petname (bunny), semi-public nudity, unprotected sex, rough sex, p in v, biting/marking, hair pulling, dacryphilia if you squint, BDE steve
author's note: this was going to be set in the same world as belong to you but i changed my mind. 💗 also i was live laugh loving this when i wrote the outline but now i lowkey hate it! 🥰 i don't even know what happened but one second i thought i was onto something, and the next, i found that i had lost the plot. but at least now it's out of my head! #mybad. @superbassbuck mrs. werewolf herself, this is for you.
The Pacific Northwest was known for its lush forests. It was what Steve Rogers had been banking on when he’d moved there abruptly. It was what he’d hoped for when he’d set about the lumber yard a couple towns over from where he’d decided to set up. No one had asked him too many questions. He’d just taken what he’d needed and gone. Anything else he’d acquired had been found at estate sales or made on his own. He had no one to rely on but himself, after all.
He’d grown used to the distant rush of water that cut through the forest, the whistle of wind through the trees. The chirping of the birds that went silent when a storm was about to pass through. The woods had infinite sounds for him to listen to, his hearing much better than it had used to be. It was a complex orchestra, one that couldn’t be accurately repeated. Each day there was a slightly different melody.
Perhaps if the forest didn’t play music, Steve would feel the walls of solitude pressing in on him more forcefully. But when the window was open late on a warm night, and all he could hear were noisy crickets and hooting owls, he could almost forget about the lack of another human body beside him, like there used to be. Almost.
The loneliness was penance for what he’d done, and he’d serve his sentence willingly. He didn’t deserve forgiveness. Steve Rogers might have been a good man, once, but he believed that good man had died when she had. There just hadn’t been a body. Only a lonely ghost, destined to haunt a tiny cabin in a far-off spot in a forest people didn’t venture into all too often. But it was better that way.
Steve felt that the forest responded to him in a way it might not if he had been a regular man. But there was nothing regular about him, not anymore. The leaves seemed to sigh when he walked under them, the moss seemed to curl tighter to logs and trunks. The tiniest animals didn’t skitter through the underbrush quite so much as they did when he wasn’t hunting as a creature. The forest had folded him into its great, green embrace, and welcomed him.
He was lucky that people didn’t tend to travel so deeply that they came upon him. It happened sometimes—some hikers just believed that they had a natural compass as an extra sense—and he'd reluctantly help them back to a path that would take them far away again. Three years in the woods had worn away at his social skills, yes, but Steve had been more than ready to adopt a more standoffish persona. He couldn’t take care to be too friendly lest people thought it an invitation to wind their way back to his home, to poke their noses in where they didn’t belong.
He remained blunt, to the point. He’d turn away, broad shoulders brushing tree branches, without so much as a goodbye. His rifle would bump against his back as he walked. His general appearance, rugged in every sense of the word from the flannel shirts to the dirty boots, the hair he’d grown out to match the beard, along with his hulking height and stature, was another helpful deterrent.
Despite his coldness to humans, he wasn’t an outright savage. He’d take the time to free animals from the gruesome traps some hunters would set up, saving them from the rusty snap of metal jaws. And Steve was also a very, very good shot. If an animal was beyond saving, he wouldn’t miss, and he’d make their suffering end as cleanly as he could. Inhumane traps like that would be taken apart and disposed of. They had no place in what he’d come to know as his forest.
The smaller creatures, mice and birds, might not have feared him, but the larger ones certainly did. Whether he liked it or not, Steve was king of the forest, a mantle that weighed on his shoulders like cement blocks. So, he’d spend his time in his cabin whittling figurines or reading one of the same four paperbacks that had survived the journey, so yellowed and worn that they looked decades old. He’d hunt and fish and lay in the dark, swim in the lake in the summer months. But always, he was alone, with nothing but his own cruel memory as company.
You very much loved your job. Being a freelance photographer had always been your dream, your work just good enough to pay your bills. You were still coming into your own. Engagements and gender reveals were your biggest money makers, but you thought you liked street photography the best. You even had a decent following on social media, with people inquiring about booking your services enough that you got to travel over to the neighbouring states pretty frequently.
But your portfolio was starting to look a little bare, a little boring, of late. Street photography was more difficult when you kept venturing into small towns without so much as a city square. Big cities just weren’t in your budget right now, especially not when you’d just signed a six month lease on an apartment that really shouldn’t have cost as much as it did, but the string of business you had on the docket was all in the same area, and you’d figured—why not?
You hadn’t been in town very long, but you’d already surmised that people much preferred outdoor activities here rather than cheese and wine tastings, upscale clubs, and hot yoga. No, it was much more down-to-earth here. There were three separate tackle and bait shops, multiple sporting goods stores, and grills and lawn mowers lined the outside of the hardware store like trophies.
It wasn’t necessarily your vibe—you’d never been the type of girl to enjoy hiking, let alone running—but it was interesting, that was for sure. On your first day there, you’d seen four separate men wearing the same exact plaid shirt. Your online following was a larger total than the town’s census. But in a town this small, it wasn’t too long before you heard something that piqued your interest, just a little bit.
You’d been in the town’s most popular coffee shop, snuggled into the blue and orange booth in the corner. The amenities might have been basic, but they still knew how to foam up a latte, so you weren’t complaining. Editing photos was a more tedious task, but it was something you enjoyed the rhythm of. Usually you had headphones with you, but you’d forgotten to charge them, so you listened to the idle chatter around you, instead.
“Jacoby swore it was the size of a brown bear. Said it looked him right in the eye, too. But it took him back to the path like it knew he was lost.”
“Huh, surprised it didn’t take a chunk out of him first.”
“I don’t know, I’ve heard about this wolf before. Seems sort of friendly, even though it’s always alone. Not the first time I’ve heard of a hiker being brought back to the trail like that.”
You dialled into the conversation when you heard about this wolf. Your finger slowed on your trackpad as you listened to the men at the table across from yours.
“Leave it to Jacoby to get himself lost like that. Ain’t his dad a hunter? He should know directions by now.”
You grimaced at your screen. You’d much rather hear of this benevolent creature than how much of an idiot this Jacoby guy was. One of the men laughed. “Yeah, well, you could hand Jacoby a map and a compass and he still wouldn’t know how to find his own ass.”
It looked like that was the end of the story. You sipped the dregs of your latte, the stoneware mug still warm in your hand. This set of photos needed to be complete to send to the client by tomorrow, and you weren’t going to get any of it done by listening to small town gossip. But then…
“Anyway, I thought there were no wolves around here. Foxes and coyotes, yeah, but not wolves.”
“Well, like I said, every time I’ve heard about it, hikers have said it’s by itself. Must not have a pack or something.” A pause, and then a chuckle. “Hey, maybe it’s just the big, bad, wolf.”
Suddenly the perfect shot seared itself in your mind with a clarity you couldn’t even hope to capture with the perfect focus on your lens. A beautiful wolf, maybe pure black or white, staring directly into the camera. Maybe it would be standing on a big boulder, looking regal. Sunlight would dapple its fur, and moss and ivy would be crawling up the trees around it…
You’d certainly never taken a photo like that before. But wouldn’t it be stunning in your portfolio? You didn’t even think about it that long, your mind already made up. That would be the photograph of a lifetime, and you were going to be the artist.
You almost shut your laptop in your excitement, wanting to get up at that exact moment and go venturing out into the woods. But your equipment was at home, and you really did need to finish editing.
You’d mostly tuned the men out, an exhilarating hum in your bones as you kept working on your edits. You weren’t really listening when they continued on to say, “D’you think that guy who lives out there’s ever encountered it?”
“Nah, probably not. He would’ve shot it by now, don't you think?”
“Eh, I guess. My uncle met him once. Scary son of a bitch. Maybe the wolf hasn’t crossed him ‘cause it knows it would get stuffed and put on display. That dude’s probably into taxidermy and all that shit.”
All you really paid attention to was that there was a man living in the woods, and he’d probably be the perfect person to ask about this wolf. It sounded like a brilliant plan. And if he did turn out to be some sort of creep, you had pepper spray somewhere in an old purse. You’d be just fine. Besides, all artists had to take risks at least once in their careers, right?
A more practical person might have stopped at one of the many sporting goods stores and gotten some things to prepare, like appropriate shoes, perhaps a backpack and compass, a sturdy water bottle, and pants with enough pockets to keep essential items like a flashlight or satellite phone on hand.
Yes, a more practical person just might do that.
You, however, were much more of a ‘fly-by-the-seat-of-your-pants’ type of girl. You didn’t know where this man in the woods was located, nor the wolf, but you figured that you’d just go with whoever you found first. Surely it wouldn’t be that hard to find the man, at least. Couldn’t you just look to the sky and find smoke curling from a chimney or something? It was a bit muggy out for late spring, so you selected your favourite white dress from the closet. You braided your hair to keep it out of your face. Then you gathered up your car keys, your camera bag, and your hopes and dreams, and headed out.
Your cellphone dictated the directions to you. It was a decent drive outside town limits, halfway up a hill, but eventually your tires crunched over the gravel of a very small parking area. A sign that really needed to be repainted was tacked to one of the trees. ‘Silverlake Woods Hiking Trail A’ was inscribed on the board in faded white paint. You supposed there must be hiking trails B and C somewhere too, but A sounded like a good first step.
The sun was still high in the sky as your shoes scuffed stray gravel onto the path. You were absolutely sure, as you navigated the dips and curves of the trail, listening to the cheerful birdsong, that you’d find some sort of success. At the very least, you’d be able to practice taking nature shots.
Steve was very used to the familiar sounds of the forest. He might not have known what day of the week it was, but he could tell the time of day based on the sounds. There was a rabbit snuffling around the undergrowth a little ways away. He could hear its body moving, slow hops as it searched for something to eat. He could tell without seeing it. As it was, Steve was laying on his back in the minuscule kitchenette trying to fix the sink. Water had been smacking him in the forehead in a slow drip for the last ten minutes. Living in seclusion like this, he’d gotten pretty good at fixing problems when they came up. He only ventured into town for things once or twice a year, under strict emergency.
The wrench clicked every time he twisted it, the sound blending in with all the others he could hear—the birds, the rabbit, the leaves brushing together in the breeze. The snap of a twig…
He smelled you at the same moment he heard the twig. Floral, but manufactured, not natural. Perfume. Under it, something clean and powdery. Deodorant, maybe. His whole body went stiff. The water was dripping more sluggishly now, and he didn’t even flinch at the next bead of it that landed and slid sideways down his temple and into his hair.
The scent of you underneath the products you used was softer, sweeter, but not too much. Not in an overwhelming way. More like the flavour of strawberry cream. He could taste it in the back of his throat.
As alarming as it was to Steve that someone was getting close to his territory, he was more concerned that you seemed to be alone. He couldn’t smell anyone else. Sure, there were plenty of women in town that were seasoned hikers. But usually he’d smell bug spray, along with rations carried along in a backpack. He’d hear the buzz of a walkie talkie or the murmur of a partner. Surely you weren’t just ambling along without the proper preparations. You were still on one of the paths, Steve thought, since his cabin was a decent way off from any of them. Realistically, you should pass right by him. But still, he was tense as he listened to your distant footsteps, and the occasional click of something he couldn’t quite name.
You were finding yourself to be quite delighted by the forest. Maybe sandals hadn’t been the right footwear—there were a surprising number of fallen logs and broken branches about—but the paths were pretty easy to navigate in broad daylight. Well, maybe that was a bit of a stretch, because the sun wasn’t as strong as it could have been. The trees were all thick with leaves, blocking out the sun for the most part unless you happened upon a clearing. The lack of light made the forest cooler than you’d imagined as well, the trees acting as a never-ending awning.
Your camera bumped against your sternum as you moved. You’d gotten some nice shots already, wild berry bushes and pretty birds that you’d passed by on your walk. Still no sign of the wolf or the man, but you weren’t worried. You hummed a little tune as you continued on. A flash of brown and white in your periphery had you turning your head to the side, squinting through a thicket of bushes.
A deer nibbled daintily on a leaf, its ears twitching as it kept a constant scan for danger. Quietly, you adjusted the lens of your camera and zoomed in as much as you could without sacrificing clarity. The click of the shutter made the deer glance your way, but it didn’t deem you as a threat. You looked at the photo and frowned. It was a little too far to be a great shot.
Carefully, you stepped off the path and onto the wild grass. It tickled your ankles as you navigated around the bushes. You just wanted to get a bit closer. The deer kept eating its lunch, unperturbed. You kept stopping every few feet to take more photos. You wondered if you could get close enough to let it sniff you. Maybe you could get a shot of its glossy eyes, its soft snout. Maybe it would even let you feed it.
It felt like a scene from a fairytale. The deer would go still every time your steps were too loud, but it hadn’t decided to run from your approaching figure, not yet. You hunched your shoulders inwards, trying to appear smaller, less scary. You were close enough now to extend a hand.
But this wasn’t a fairytale. Fairytales wouldn’t have your foot catching on a tree root as you took another step, wrenching your ankle and sending you down to the forest floor, hard.
The shriek of pain was distinctively human, not animal. “Fuck,” Steve muttered under his breath. He laid under the sink for a second longer. He hadn’t even seen you yet, but he’d already decided you’d be possibly the stupidest hiker he’d ever have the displeasure of meeting.
He could still hear you rustling about in the underbrush, but he let your scent guide him as he ambled out of the cabin’s safety. You were far enough that you wouldn’t have seen the cabin, but he knew you’d stepped off the trail.
He saw the white of your dress first and almost choked on his breath. He hadn’t seen a woman in a sundress in… Well, it had been a long time. But he couldn’t appreciate the sight of you, because what idiot thought that was appropriate to wear out in the wilderness?
You were sitting with your knees close to your chest, your hands fluttering around one of your ankles. Steve did a double take at your choice of footwear. Sandals with so many straps, they might as well have been made solely of string. Something glinted in the grass beside you. Your scent was a little more cloying now—well, the perfume was—but he was close enough to pick up other things, too. The faintest hint of coffee, something more chemically like air freshener. You were quite a pitiful thing.
He crossed his arms over his chest, stopping a few feet from you. Alright, it was time to get your sorry ass up and out of here before night fell. The walk back would take you at least an hour. “Are you okay?” He asked, voice gruff after days of silence.
When you turned your head to look up at him, only just noticing that he’d arrived, Steve felt a jolt down his spine. You might have been the dumbest person around, but God…
You were beautiful.
It had been years since he’d been around people socially, but even still, he didn’t think he’d ever seen a girl as pretty as you. Except… Well, he didn’t want to dwell on her right now. He should focus on getting you out of here, not the shape of your eyes or the way loose strands of your hair fell in wisps around your face.
“I don’t know…” You said, looking down and extending your foot a little, wincing as you did. “I fell and twisted my ankle pretty bad.”
If you were afraid, you didn’t show it. He couldn’t detect any traces of fear from you, not the acrid tang of it at the back of his throat, nor the sound of an elevated heartbeat. “Can you stand?” He made no move to help you.
Your fingers tangled in the grass before you pushed yourself upwards, wobbling when you did. You took one limping step forward, towards him—not what he wanted—before you let out a hiss of pain. “I don’t think I can walk on it. It hurts too much.”
Already, Steve could see that it was beginning to swell. He bit his tongue. Even if he helped you back to the main road, supporting your weight, you probably wouldn’t be able to drive. And it was going to get dark soon, at least here in the forest. The trees blocked out so much light that it would seem like nighttime before long. He had a decision to make, and he wasn’t pleased about it, not one bit.
It was time to see how stupid you actually were.
“I can wrap it for you, if you let me help you back to my cabin.” Even though he was offering help, his tone was short, more of a bark than a sincere offer.
But you only smiled at him, expression sunny enough to make up for the fading light. “Oh, would you? That would be great, thanks. Oh, could you just grab my camera for me? I dropped it when I fell, but I think it’s okay.” You pointed at the grass. That must have been the glinting object he’d seen.
He stepped closer to you to pick up the camera, and you took it from him gratefully, slipping the strap over your neck. You really weren’t afraid at all. It was like you had no sense for danger. He could be a murderer for all you knew, bringing you back to a cabin fitted with a dungeon to keep you in. But here you were, optimistic as anything. You made him think of a dumb bunny, one who would be so focused on a delicious patch of foliage that it wouldn’t notice the predator standing right behind it with its teeth bared. But there was nothing Steve could do about it now, as he slipped an arm around your waist to help you walk. He did his best to ignore how thin and flimsy the fabric of your dress was as you limped alongside him. It would have been easier to just hoist you up in his arms—you were tiny, compared to him—but that was a line he refused to cross.
There might have been no path to Steve’s cabin, but he knew the way so well, he could remember exactly when to sidestep hidden holes dug by animals or tricky thickets that could have caught on your dress. “So, you must be the guy that lives here, right? What’s your name?” You asked, staring up at him quizzically.
He avoided your gaze. He didn’t want to be friendly with you. He wanted to send you on your way, as soon as possible. He didn’t answer, hoping you’d drop it. But you poked at his side with nimble fingers, as if he was a good friend. “I’ll tell you mine first,” you added, taking his silence as him playing coy.
He was about to refute it, to tell you that he didn’t care what your name was, because he’d never see you again once he sent you packing, but you said it anyway, and it stuck to his brain like wet paper. Like your name was important. It didn’t matter, he thought, trying to dismiss it. But still, it echoed like a sweet song in his ears. “So, yours?” That time he did make the mistake of looking down at you, catching you batting your lashes and flashing him a toothy grin.
“It’s Steve,” he said, teeth gritted.
“Steve,” you repeated. “It’s nice to meet you.”
He held back a snort of disbelief. You might have told him your name, but you were still very much a dumb bunny to him. You let out a soft gasp then, looking forward. The cabin was in view.
It was nothing special, Steve thought. It was made from trees he’d cut himself, which he thought was evident. The roof was uneven, the shingles varying shades of brown. The door had a gap at the bottom, which let in bugs in the summer, and bits of snow in the winter. The water tank was tucked away at the back. The chimney jutted out like an unseemly splinter. But it was home, as dishevelled as it was.
The wind whistled, blowing your hair across your face and rattling the trees. Steve could taste it then, the impending storm. And when it stormed, the paths in and around the forest tended to flood. His arm around you tightened in frustration. You were now probably going to be stuck here for the next twenty-four hours.
“Wait, stop…” You halted as you said it, letting go of Steve and grabbing at your camera. “The lighting’s not great, but… I can fix it in post. I need to capture this.”
You held your camera up, adjusting the settings, before snapping a few photos. He watched you with a slight grimace. He didn’t particularly like that you were capturing his private space on camera, but he doubted you’d share them around. You’d probably look at them later and decide that it was an ugly little house not worth remembering. When you were satisfied, you let the camera hang against your chest again and snaked your arm back around Steve, allowing him to lead you to the door.
It swung open with ease, and you were already in the matchbox living room. The ceilings were a little low. Steve maybe had six inches between him and the light fixture, a yellow tinted shade that did nothing to brighten up the room and everything to sallow it. The couch was really a futon of checkered red and cream. The side table was little more than a slant of wood fitted over an empty barrel. There was no television, just a hand crank radio. Puzzles that had never been completed were in their boxes, shoved onto the first two shelves of the scratched bookcase. The rug was an old throw blanket. Steve didn’t even have a table and chairs, the space was so small.
He deposited you on the futon and took the three steps down the tiniest hallway in the world, to the bathroom that resembled the size of one you’d find in an airplane. The first aid kit was a battered green tin that he’d hung on the door, which he grabbed now in one big hand. Its contents clattered together as he walked back to you. You’d scooted yourself to one corner of the futon and swung both of your legs up onto the other end.
“Those shoes look like deathtraps.” He muttered, flicking open the tin’s clasps and settling it on the side table.
“But they’re cute.” You said, admiring your impractical footwear.
“The wildlife doesn’t really give a crap about ‘cute’. Take it off.”
You did as ordered, reaching to start undoing what seemed to be a very complicated series of twists and loops. Once the sorry excuse for a shoe was gone from your foot, Steve’s hands hovered over your ankle. “May I?”
You nodded. “Go ahead.”
He was gentle as he assessed the damage. It was probably a sprain. Definitely swollen, but it wasn’t the worst injury he’d seen. Still, it would probably do you well to keep the pressure off. It wasn’t long before he was wrapping your ankle, his movements methodical and practiced. He was no stranger to injury. It had taken him quite awhile to adjust to living out here, and he still suffered the forest’s bite on occasion. When he finished with you, he closed the tin. “Feel alright?”
You wiggled your toes in answer. “Better, I think. Thanks.”
Upon standing, Steve chanced a glance outside. It was already much darker, but the storm clouds over head had certainly hastened the day’s end. He was sure he’d hear rain falling in the next hour. “Look, uh,” he turned to face you, scratching at the back of his neck, “you’re probably going to be stuck here overnight. Storms like this tend to wash out the paths.”
And then, because he couldn’t resist: “Do you not check the weather before journeying out into the wild? Well, no, I guess not… Not if you’d also wear such ridiculous clothes to come out here.”
It was mean, but he’d been meaner to other hikers. And it didn’t seem to have any effect on you, anyway. “It was sunny when I left,” you said brightly. You seemed to be totally at peace with staying in a stranger’s home overnight. He wondered if you’d also hit your head when you’d fallen.
“I’m going to make something to eat,” he said begrudgingly. It was a bit early, but he needed to be away from you for a minute. Even if ‘being away’ meant standing ten feet to the left, in the kitchen. “It’s not gonna be anything fancy though.” He warned, eyeing you.
You only smiled. “That’s okay. I’ve had my fair share of gas station hot dogs. Can’t be worse than that!” And then you became wildly interested in your camera, going through the photos you’d taken.
Steve could only shake his head at your delusional nature and duck through the archway and into the kitchen.
It really was nothing fancy. Chicken soup, the kind that came from a can. Steve had stocked up the last time he’d been anywhere close to a store. Heating it on the stove had taken less time than he’d hoped for, and then he was sitting beside you on the futon. It was almost comical, really. You, a tiny bird of a girl, sitting primly next to him, a bear of a man. His bowl looked more like a cup in his hands.
You’d both sat in silence for the first few minutes, but it wasn’t long before you started babbling away. He had a feeling that you were something of a talker. “You must know these woods like that back of your hand, right?”
He glanced at you sidelong. “Yes.”
You wriggled in your seat like you were an excited puppy. If you weren’t careful, you were going to be wearing your dinner on your dress. “Okay, so tell me this: I keep hearing about this lone wolf that lives around here. Have you ever seen it? Is it true?”
Steve’s spoon tapped against the side of the bowl when his hand jerked in surprise. He felt his shoulders go stiff as soon as you’d said wolf. “I’ve never seen it,” he said carefully. It was technically true.
“Hmm,” you hummed, food forgotten. “You’ve never seen it, but you’ve heard of it?”
He was irritated that you seemed so enthralled. “Not really. Don’t interact with people much.”
“Oh, really?” Your eyes were wide, dumbfounded. “Well, I’ve heard that its sort of become like a symbol of safety for the hikers in town. Apparently whenever someone gets lost here, the wolf finds them and leads them back to the trails. Isn’t that cool?”
The wolf wasn’t a hero. It was a killer. He was a killer. “You know that wolves are dangerous wild animals, not cute puppies, right?”
You shrugged, an easy smile on your face. “I know. But this wolf can’t be all bad. Otherwise, it would have taken a few chunks out of the hikers, don’t you think? I wonder why it doesn’t have a pack. It’s sort of sad.” You tapped your spoon against your mouth in thought. “Anyway, that’s why I came out here. I wanted to find it and take its photo. I’ve never done wildlife photography before.”
At this, Steve couldn’t help the incredulous look he gave you. “So, you just decided to come out here with no preparations, no knowledge of the forest, and full intentions to come face to face with an animal that could and would kill you if given the chance? Did you even tell anyone you were doing this?”
You shook your head with a frown. “Well, no. I’m new to town. Who would I tell?”
“Are you stupid? If that wasn’t bad enough, you’re sitting next to a total stranger. I could murder you, you know, and you’re acting like you don’t even care. Do you have a death wish?”
“…I have pepper spray.” You patted around at your hip and pulled a spray can shorter than your spoon out of your pocket.
Oh my God, Steve thought. I’ve officially seen it all. He put his empty bowl on the side table and grabbed yours from you in one swift movement. Then he grabbed both of your wrists together in one big hand. He shook you, anger sparking in his eyes. “Your self-preservation skills are shit. Look how easy it would be for me to hurt you.” He plucked the spray can from your grasp and let it roll across the rug. He was waiting for fear to enter the equation, but you continued to look at him openly.
“If you were going to do that, you would have by now.” You sounded disgustingly earnest. He let go of your wrists like he’d been burned, and you gestured to your bandaged ankle. “I mean, look. I’m in a vulnerable state and I don’t know my way around, but you brought me here, wrapped my foot, and made me dinner. Why would I be scared?”
“Unbelievable.” Steve stood from the couch, rubbing a hand over his beard.
You blinked at him owlishly. “Can I have my bowl back, please? I wasn’t finished.”
It took everything he had not to fling it at you before he stalked off to his bedroom, the door rattling on his hinges after he shut it behind him.
You quite liked the cabin. It was tiny, but it was charming. You especially liked the little wooden figurines dotted around the place, no bigger than your hand. You’d already spotted a bear, a fox, and a deer. You assumed Steve had made them himself. No internet was definitely a choice that you yourself would never make, but you supposed it was probably quite freeing not to fall victim to doom scrolling or silly online dramas. You settled back on the futon once you’d finished eating, looking through your photos again. Some were a little too blurry and out of focus for your taste, but others had great potential. Three birds on a branch, mid-song. Some of the faraway shots of the deer were pretty stunning. Different flowers and berries you’d seen, things you didn’t know the name of. You would bet that Steve did. Maybe you could ask him about them in the morning. Maybe you could convince him to tell you the best trails to take to put yourself in the wolf's path.
You tugged the afghan blanket from the back of the couch over your legs, tucking its ends under your thighs as you got more comfortable. your ankle didn’t hurt too badly when you were sitting still. You were sure you'd be fine to drive tomorrow. the softest patter of rain started to ping off the roof. The window behind the couch only showed pitch black and your reflection. Your braids had become loose and dishevelled, so you removed the elastics keeping them together and shook out your hair, settling deeper into the checkered cushion.
You didn’t remember falling asleep, but you must have, because when you opened your eyes, pale gray light filtered through the window. But it wasn’t the window you’d been looking through the night before. This was a different one, because you weren’t in the living room anymore. Instead, you were sitting up, your fingers finding a coverlet in dark green over a bed that looked like it had been hand made. The wood was polished and clean, but you’d never seen a headboard with such beautiful carvings. You traced your fingertip over the swirling design. You were in Steve’s room. a heavy jacket hung on the back of the door. The closet was just a pole suspended onto one of the walls, the clothing sparse. Other than that, the room was empty, which was probably for the better, because you were pretty sure that if you leaned to the right a little more, you’d be able to touch the wall. The cabin really was tiny, just big enough to maneuver around but not enough to have more than one person living in it. Steve was taking the bachelor life up to the next level, you thought. He must have carried you in here sometime last night.
You stretched your arms over your head and yawned before carefully rotating your ankle, assessing the pain. It still hurt, but it didn’t feel nearly as bad as it had when you’d first fallen. Your dress was rumpled when you stood. Your walk was less of a hop this morning as you gingerly put your weight on your foot. Your steps were quiet enough that you were able to make it to the living room without disturbing Steve.
He looked uncomfortable there on the futon, curled up. He was far too big to sleep there, and you thought the angle at which he’d stuffed himself onto it would probably give him a sore neck at the very least. Even in sleep, he wore a perpetual frown, his brows drawn close, but it was more lax than you’d seen during his waking hours. After he’d stomped off to his room, you hadn’t seen him for the rest of the night. But now, you looked at his unruly mop of hair, his scruffy beard. His shoulders stretched the dark gray cotton of his t-shirt. He might have looked a little more like a beast than a man, but you thought he was handsome anyway. His lashes were long, longer than yours. His eyes were closed now, but their stormy blue shade when he’d been glaring at you yesterday reminded you of a tumultuous sea.
A floorboard creaked under your next step, and those stormy eyes fluttered open, his frown deepening. He focused on you immediately, heaving himself to sitting. “How’s the ankle?” His voice was rough with sleep as he rubbed at his neck.
“’S’okay,” you held it up for emphasis, balancing on your good foot. “I think I’ll be fine.” You looked around the small space. “Did you really sleep out here?”
He stared at the floor. “…Yeah.”
“I could have stayed out here. I’m smaller than you. Probably would have been more comfortable in your own bed.”
He shrugged, discomfort passing across his face. “Not right to take the bed when a woman’s got nowhere else to sleep.”
You were surprised by his old-fashioned chivalry. Contrary to what he’d said, you weren’t stupid. You knew you were a stray interloper in his home, and that he’d already done much more than he needed to. It was one thing to patch you up, but to feed you and let you sleep in his bed, too?
“Well, thanks. That was sweet of you.”
He grunted noncommittally before standing. You swore you heard his joints pop when he stretched. “It stopped raining a little after one in the morning. If you’re lucky, the bigger paths shouldn't be too bad.” He picked up your sandals by their long laces and held them out to you.
You were a little taken aback by his haste to get going, but you laced up your shoes anyway. “You don’t happen to have a dirt bike stashed away or something, do you?” It would certainly make the trek back faster, at least.
“No.” he said, voice dry.
Steve turned for the door and pulled it open without a second glance, and you scooped your camera up from the side table before following. You emerged into the weak sunlight, the grass wet on your toes as you trailed behind him. “Watch for branches and roots,” he tossed the warning over his shoulder. “And holes in the ground.”
You did your best to put your feet where he did. His boots left impressions on the grass. You couldn’t move all that fast lest you upset your ankle, but eventually, you made it back onto the path. It was a bit muddy from the rain, but you guessed the narrower ones were worse. “I’ll walk you about halfway, but then you’re on your own. Just because I know some of the forks in the path could be blocked off by fallen trees.”
It had taken everything in Steve to not just pick you up and carry you to your car. His strides were twice as long as yours, and you kept getting distracted, wanting to take pictures of fat dew drops on the leaves, or moss that looked “much greener than it did yesterday”. It was infuriating.
But finally, he got you to where he felt confident you could make it back. He’d been assessing your movements the entire time, and while you were still limping a little bit, it had turned out to be a less severe strain than he’d thought. When he’d stopped, letting you walk ahead, it had taken you a minute to notice he wasn’t following along anymore. You’d stopped short and turned back to look at him curiously. “Oh, are we halfway?”
“Yes,” he’d said gruffly. “don’t get distracted. Go back to your car and drive home. Got it?” He didn’t care if he was being bossy—he still thought you’d been out of your mind to come out here dressed like that in the first place.
You’d given him a half-smile and a thumbs up. “Okay.”
He stayed right there on the path and watched you until you were almost out of sight, but then…
“Hey!” Steve barked your name. You froze where you’d crouched down to snap a quick photo of something, caught. “Go back to your damned car!”
Another, more sheepish smile was directed his way before you stood and walked on. The white of your dress disappeared into the trees and Steve shook his head. Silly little bunny of a girl. At least he wasn’t likely to see you again.
He saw you again.
Steve was actually astounded that you’d remembered how to get to his cabin. When he’d smelled you that time, he’d just stepped out of the shower. His bathroom window had been open to let out the steam, a dark towel wrapped around his waist, water droplets spilling from his hair. He thought he’d imagined your scent. He stopped in front of his fogged up mirror and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, trying to confirm that he was wrong, that all he could smell was the forest.
But no, it was your sweet scent wafting through the air.
He all but forgot about the state he was in when he stalked through the cabin to the front door, wrenching it open. And there you were in shorts and a flowy tank top, your camera looped around your neck like the last time. You waved as you picked your way though the grass, and he caught sight of what looked to be platform sneakers on your feet. “What are you doing here?”
“I told you, I’m looking for that wolf. But I thought I’d come and say hello first.”
You didn’t bat an eye as you raked your gaze up and down his form and Steve was suddenly very aware of his lack of clothing. “Go home.” He bit out.
“No way! I was just stopping by for a quick visit. Then I’ll go check out one of the other trails and see what I can find. I know there’s supposed to be a waterfall and an outlook somewhere around here. If I can’t find the wolf, I’ll settle for those today. Can I come in? I’m a little thirsty.” You had the audacity to give him a hopeful look.
“I don’t want you here.” He couldn’t keep tiptoeing around his rule. It wasn’t safe for humans to be around him, and certainly not one that lacked self-preservation skills in a way he’d never seen before.
“Please? I forgot my water bottle in the car.” You folded you hands together like you were praying.
Didn’t you get it? He didn’t mean he wasn't feeling social today. He meant he didn’t want to see you ever. “No. Get lost.”
“But I—”
“Listen, because I’m only gonna say it once: I’m not looking for and I don’t need a friend. So, stop coming by here, don’t ask me to come in or for a tour or to look for this damned wolf. Am I clear?”
“Well, someone clearly got up on the wrong side of the bed today. Fine, I’ll leave you alone. I was gonna show you some of the shots I took, but I guess it can wait.”
I guess it can wait. Steve was incensed. There would be no waiting. He had just told you never to come back. “You dumb bunny. I’m a great show with my crossbow. I don’t think you want to find yourself in my crosshairs. Do you get it now? Stay off my damned property and go back to your car and drive your ass back to town.”
You put your hands up in a defensive gesture, though your expression didn’t seem to beget any true understanding of his threat. “Okay, I hear you.”
But did you, though?
You finally turned and walked a few steps. He knew you were going to do exactly what you said and go trekking around a forest that you didn’t know and obviously weren’t capable of navigating well, but Steve didn’t want to put himself in your proximity anymore than he had to. He needed you to take the hint and go. But… “Hold on.”
You stopped, looking over your shoulder with what could only be described as a devious smile. He disappeared into the cabin for a second before returning to the door. “Take this. I don’t want to see you here again.”
He tossed a bottle of water in your direction, and you caught it, just barely. “Thank you, Steve. Have a good day! Oh, and your towel is slipping.”
You’d already turned away started walking back into the forest when he clutched at his towel, feeling his face heat with a mixture of embarrassment and anger. He supposed he should feel lucky that he’d been able to scent you, because he had a feeling that you would have just invited yourself in, otherwise. He probably shouldn’t have helped you, that first time.
Like an unwelcome stray, you kept coming back. Any hope Steve had had that you would grow bored of your quest and go back to town, keep doing whatever sort of photography you tended to specialize in, dwindled upon his third encounter with you. Your attire was still as ridiculous as always: plaid shorts and a thin tank top, but at least you’d had the common sense to bring your own water this time. And he could smell sunscreen on your skin, for once. But you’d ambled up to the cabin yet again, this time while he’d been clearing some creepers from around the door.
When he’d paused, shears squeaking in protest, and looked at you over his shoulder, you’d grinned and said, “So, no wolf yet, but I think I’m getting the hang of the paths now! I only fell in a blackberry bush once this time.” That explained the purplish smudges on your shirt and your legs.
“As opposed to…?”
Your smile turned sheepish. “I may or may not have become quite familiar with the types of berries that grow around here last time. Anyway, do you want to see the photos I took this time around? I got the cutest shots of a mother fox and her babies.”
Steve straightened, wiping his brow with the back of his hand and pushing his hair back from his damp temples. “Think I told you before, bunny, that I’m not interested in what you’re here for and I don’t care to look.”
You shrugged, unbothered. “Oh, I’ll win you over soon enough, Steve. I don’t know how you haven’t gone crazy out here all by yourself yet.”
He shifted on his feet. “The silence can be nice.”
“Well yes, it can be, sometimes. But all the time? I think I would have given all the trees names and personalities by now, if I was you.”
And from then on, he kept seeing you against his will, a couple of times a week. You always had a cheery disposition, even if you were scratched to hell and dusty from crawling through bushes. Even if you had twigs in your hair and cuts on your palms. Even if you’d upset a hornet’s nest and ran like hell, banging frantically on the cabin’s door to be let in.
Steve had continued to try and get you to leave him alone, trying for mean, threatening, and even downright douchey, but every single attempt had been futile. Eventually, as he’d disinfected one of the stings on your arm, he’d just muttered, “If you’re gonna keep coming around here, can you at least dress for it? No more of whatever this is,” he gestured to your skirt, which seemed to be entirely made of lace and frills, and your boots which were definitely more fashion than fortitude.
You made a face. “But all the hiking gear is so ugly.”
“So you’d rather be fashionable and dead than safe and alive?”
You let out an exaggerated sigh. “Ugh, fine. I’ll go to the store and get the same things that literally everyone in town has.”
And you did. That was really the surprising part—that for once, you’d listened. Anything else Steve had to say had fallen on deaf ears. Sure, a lot of what you showed up in was pink, as if the colour would make it less ugly somehow, and you’d replaced the laces of your new boots with literal lace, but at least you were wearing pants that covered your bare legs and you’d picked up a bag, albeit small, and put some honest to god equipment in it.
It was a strange thing, to realize that he was getting used to you. Though Steve still never greeted you in a way that screamed ‘friendly’, he had come to expect your scent in the air, the first sign that you were coming, and then your steps, still clumsy, through the underbrush. You had still been unsuccessful in your quest, and Steve planned to keep it that way. As far as he was concerned, you’d never get a photo of the wolf. But you hadn’t let it deter you. He was beginning to realize that despite your ditzy, lackadaisical nature, you were also quite resilient. He had absolutely no idea how he’d be able to convince you to stop trampling through the forest during the colder months. He had no desire to fish you out of the frozen lake or pull you from a snowdrift.
But despite you pushing your way into his life, interrupting his solitary confinement, Steve did begin to enjoy your visits. He’d never make it known lest you try to bridge the perilous gap of friendship even more ferociously, but it wasn’t the worst thing in the world when you announced yourself. Especially when you brought food.
The thing was, Steve was very used to his diet by now. He’d stock up on canned food once or twice a year from the general store furthest from town, but the rest of his food stores consisted of things he’d hunted and prepped himself. Like he’d told you, he was very good with his crossbow. And it helped to know what plants were edible around here. You likely hadn’t noticed the very meager garden around back—you’d never been able to explore around his cabin too much, because he knew you were there. You hadn’t seen the tiny cross with his late wife’s name staked into the ground, either.
But there you were one of those times, standing in a patch of sunlight and holding a pale purple box in your hands. He could smell its contents even before you opened it. “There’s this bakery that just opened up in town called Furiously Good Eats and their specialty item today was cherry pie.” You looked Steve up and down. “Probably been a while since you’ve had one of those, huh?”
“If you think food is gonna get me to like you…” but he stepped aside anyway, and you flounced right in, beelining for the kitchen and its single butcher’s block counter, where you placed the box with flourish.
You scoffed as you popped open the lid. “Please, you already like me. I’m very loveable, you know.”
“Uh-huh,” He pulled out two plates.
“It’s true. Voted ‘Most Loveable’ in my senior year of high school.” The knife you chose to use was really for cutting meat, but Steve found himself lacking any sorts of dainty pastry utensils.
Cherry filling oozed out onto the plate when you handed it to him, and you sucked your finger into your mouth thoughtfully. “Don’t suppose you have any ice cream, do you?”
At his blank look, you turned back to the pie and cut off your own slice. You both stayed standing in the kitchen, balancing your plates in one hand and forks in the other. The first bite flooded Steve’s tastebuds like nothing he’d experienced in recent years.
It was, in no uncertain terms, the perfect pie. The crust was flaky and light, the filling tart and sweet at the same time. But you were right—vanilla ice cream probably would have been a great pairing. Still, Steve wolfed down the rest of his piece in three bites and then looked hungrily at yours as you took more dainty, slow ones. Wordlessly, you slid the box closer to him. “The rest is yours,” you said, covering your mouth with a hand as you chewed. “I’m just sampling the goods.”
He was already cutting a second slice before you’d finished speaking.
The bakery deliveries, as delicious as they were, were something of a bittersweet phenomenon to Steve. All the things you’d brought so far happened to be exactly the types of desserts he liked, and he had no idea how you’d figured him out so easily without him having to say anything. But they also all reminded him of his wife. He could picture her in their first apartment together, though the memory seemed to have a fuzzy vignette over it now. He remembered her nimble fingers rolling out dough, or dusting cake with powdered sugar. He remembered how she’d laugh and slap his hand away when he tried to sneak a cookie from a cooling batch. It was hard not to associate all the things you’d bring him with her. He just couldn’t override those memories with ones of you. Not even when you’d brought eclairs and eaten yours so messily that you’d smeared cream on your nose and a little bit in your hair. As much as it was a nice gesture, it made Steve want to shut you out again. He hadn’t yet, and he couldn’t figure out why. There was no future here, not for you. You’d get tired of the woods eventually. You’d make friends in town at some point. There really wouldn’t be a reason to keep visiting him—he certainly hadn’t gone out of his way to be hospitable to you. He’d tried to drive you out.
But the fact of the matter was, he had come out here, uprooted his life and moved into the wilderness, because he didn’t think he deserved companionship. Not anymore, not after what happened, what he did. And he would probably do it again. He didn’t trust himself to get close to anybody, lest he put them directly in harm’s way. In his way. But he’d been allowing himself this small, selfish act, to let you into his cabin and into his life like you were one single flower, blooming in the sun amidst dead, blackened weeds. And now he wasn’t sure if he could pluck you from your bed of grass and tear your petals away without hurting himself in the process. Maybe that was part of his penance, to take a good thing and sully it. To not get to enjoy things for too long. Why should he enjoy something when his wife couldn’t luxuriate in anything? No sun on her skin, no taste of cherry pie.
And though all those thoughts kept churning through his head like a choppy river, every time you skipped through the grass to the cabin, you’d smile at him and chatter away, and he’d let you stay a little longer, and he’d begrudgingly ask you questions that would keep you talking endlessly. And for a single second, he’d almost forget.
The wolf was very elusive, you thought. You wondered if it was more nocturnal than you’d originally imagined. You’d believed that it must come out during the day, must have built a home somewhere near one of the paths, because how else would it lead so many hikers back when they’d lost their way? But now you’d exhausted every single one. It had been weeks of searching in between your regular photography sessions with clients, and you’d still seen no sign of it.
You didn’t mind that much, not one to let frustrations get the better of you. And really, you thought it would have been worse to see it right away and come back with a crappy shot. Instead, you’d used the time to practice your wildlife photography, figure out the best way to edit and enhance each one to bring out the best parts of the picture. And you’d taken plenty of photos of other animals, in the meantime.
But your favourite animal to photograph was Steve. He didn’t know, you were sure. He never wanted to look at your photos anyway. But your camera was now full of candid shots of him, as well. The ones you’d take before announcing yourself were good. You had one of him in profile, looking up at the sky. Another of him chopping wood. Another where the leaves had made different shadows across his brow, but the sun had still picked out the precise blue of his eyes. You had one of him standing in his kitchen with his back to you, and you’d traced the shape of his shoulders with your finger afterward, when you’d uploaded it to your computer. Yes, you had many, many photos of him that you’d taken somewhat in secret. You’d taken pictures of his wooden figurines too, random things in his cabin, to disguise the obvious sounds of your camera’s shutter going off, and he’d become so used to the sound and your idle photography that he’d stopped looking at you sharply every time he heard it. It was what made it so easy to sneakily take pictures of him.
You remembered what you’d thought the first day. Steve really was handsome. You assumed that he had to know that fact, but you’d shied away from saying it, in case he took it badly. You were usually free with compliments, something you’d learned to get comfortable with after having many clients that were insecure in front of the camera. It would take nothing at all for you to tell him, but you knew that you’d already pushed his boundaries a lot since coming to know him. So instead, you’d just admire his broad frame, his strong hands, and a mouth that seemed allergic to smiling.
You still neglected to check the weather. That was something you only did when you had an outdoor shoot planned with paying clients. You had to ensure that conditions were good for those meetings, but otherwise, you tended to just look out the window upon waking up and then see where the rest of the day took you. You didn’t mind a little rain every now and then. The only person consistently annoyed by your lack of planning ahead was Steve. You’d had to stay twice more in his cabin overnight since the first time. The summer storms were ramping up, but they never seemed to come when all the weather warnings predicted, in your defence. You thought it was fun, actually. You’d mentioned as much to Steve, had told him it felt like camping. You’d asked him if he could build a fire outside for the full experience, but he’d declined with a look of annoyance. It was no bother, because the next time, you bugged him until he set up his fireplace, and then pulled a bag of marshmallows and some skewers out of your bag and had a delightful time playacting what you believed a real camping experience to be.
You still enjoyed the comforts of your apartment, of course. You couldn’t imagine roughing it every single day like Steve did, nor did you want to try it. You liked waking up and making coffee with your fancy coffee maker. You liked flopping back into the white, puffy comforter on your bed and turning on a movie, the projector on your ceiling painting the wall with rom-coms. You liked standing in front of your stove and poking at an omelette with your spatula, music playing from your phone. You wondered if Steve had ever liked those sorts of things too, or if the great outdoors had always held the appeal over how most of the modern world liked to live. You could sort of picture it, if you tried. Him standing in your kitchen, which was small, but looked huge compared to his. He’d be able to sleep on your leather couch with much more space than his own futon. You thought about how a picture would look if he stood in front of the windows in your living room, the floor to ceiling view of the town below. One of your espresso cups would look absolutely ridiculous in his big hands.
You didn’t think he’d agree if you invited him back with you. You’d thought about it a few times, considered asking him in a teasing, lighthearted way to come back to town with you and help you pick out more practical hiking things like he’d wanted you to get. You would sweeten the deal with cannolis from the bakery. But you had a feeling he’d say no. You were friends, despite his protests, but you didn’t want to push in a way that made him shut down. It had already been a bit of a journey to get to the point you were at now. You didn’t want to do anything to ruin it. You knew that your positive attitude could only get you so far. But maybe one day, you’d be able to offer, and you’d feel confident that he would say yes, and lock up his cabin, and fold himself into your little car. And then you’d get that picture of him at your window. Yes, you thought. One day, you would.
So far, your visits, by the grace of some higher force, hadn’t coincided with Steve’s transformations. They’d been close, a couple of days before at most, and Steve knew he was acting much moodier and more combative on those days than usual, but you still took it in stride, visited for a little while, and then left.
The moon’s cycle acted like an hourglass. Steve could see the grains of sand slipping through like blinking stars every single night. He felt the most like his old self on a new moon, the beguiling white eye in the sky hidden from view. But as that eye began to slowly open from a crescent to a half circle, closer to a full, round ball of light, Steve would feel the need to change wanting to burst through his skin. He had a little bit of control over it, just barely, but it was easier to throw himself to the moon’s mercy and get it over with when she demanded it, rather than try to plan ahead.
The primal need to hunt, to rip and tear and shred, to run until he couldn’t anymore, was what he tried to bury the most. Especially when you were around. He knew what it could look like if someone got too close. He knew it disturbingly well. And he’d woken up countless nights since meeting you, his skin dripping with sweat, his lungs feeling like they’d burst, the image of you torn to pieces dissolving in his head like sugar in water, but they’d be there all the same. Peggy had morphed into you some time ago. Instead of a horrible memory, it was a potential future, one he’d been trying to prevent. It was the reason he had been so adamant at keeping you away, at first. He didn’t believe he was able to be rehabilitated. And he didn’t want to risk your life trying to figure it out. But he’d been convincing himself that it was fine to let you get close when the moon was at rest. He’d already thought of an easy lie to tell if you came by when his transformation was near—he’d tell you he was going to go hunting deeper in the forest for a few days, that he wouldn’t be home. He would convince you that you would not enjoy tagging along. But he hadn’t had to spin that lie yet, and he’d let you drift closer and closer as the summer drew to a close.
He was not expecting to see you when the moon next cast its weary gaze on him. Your visits were usually every three or four days, spaced apart between your work and appointments. You’d never visited back-to-back before. Steve had let his guard down, awaiting the change with a patience that felt alien, the relief that you wouldn’t be returning until well after in the back of his mind.
The panic that kickstarted his pulse when he scented you could have sent him into cardiac arrest. He’d only seen you two days ago—he should have been safe for another two, he’d predicted. The comedown wasn’t as bad as it used to be, especially when he offered himself to the moon right when it was full, rather than trying to put it off. He knew without a doubt that his transformation would be that night. He’d been scenting the air all day, tasting rain. He knew the forest would go silent with the first clap of thunder that night, and he’d be free to weave through the trees with no obstacles.
But there was your scent, as clear as if it was a visible thing in the air. And he could smell chocolate, too. With frustration, he felt his body quiver. Of course, being ravenous for the hunt was not the only thing he felt hungry for, most times. And a beautiful human woman being in his proximity would serve no purpose other than to make him hungrier.
His backpack was half-assembled by the door, leaning against the panelling. He usually packed light and stowed the bag somewhere safe for him to circle back to near the transformation’s end. He tried to rein in his panic as you got closer. He had no idea what his face was doing when he opened the door and stared at you from the threshold. He was trying for his usual irritation, but he didn’t think he was quite achieving it. “What are you doing here? I saw you the day before last.”
You smiled, holding up what he’d come to know as one of the bakery’s trademark lilac pastry boxes. “I know, but I passed by their window on the way home from an appointment today and I just couldn’t resist. Chocolate and strawberry filled croissants.”
You were wearing jeans and a t-shirt and surprisingly sensible shoes today. He was silently thankful, because he wasn’t sure if he could have handled you in one of your strappy sundresses today of all days. The forest had already gone quiet with the promise of an impending storm. You were close enough now that your scent was almost overpowering. It made him want to sink his teeth into your skin. What was worse was that he didn’t know if he wanted to inflict pleasure or pain. “Its going to storm.” He said.
It was both a reprimand to you, and a bleak reminder to him. A storm, like all others, meant the paths would flood. And that meant you were staying. Tonight of all nights, that was more or less a death sentence. But you, none the wiser, stopped in front of him and pried the box open, holding the lid up so that he could take a croissant. “That’s okay. The futon and I are becoming pretty good friends.”
With another stab of panic, Steve wished he could send you away. But like mother nature herself could feel his rising anguish, the sky opened up and the downpour hit in the blink of an eye, and you snapped the box closed and scurried past him into the cabin like a mouse going back to its hole in the wall.
“You should be proud of me—I started packing pajamas in my bag for moments like this.” You said, letting your backpack slide to the floor next to his. “Oh, are you going somewhere?”
Through gritted teeth, he bit out, “I was planning to go hunting. And you wouldn’t need to pack pajamas if you would just check the damn weather report.”
But like always, you only shrugged and sat down on the futon, before patting the space beside you. “Do you want a croissant or not, because I didn’t eat lunch and I have no qualms about having yours too.”
Sitting next to you would be too much temptation right now, so instead he just leaned over the back of the couch and snatched his from the box, his forearm brushing the sleeve of your shirt. He shuddered at the contact, as small as it was, and retreated to the kitchen. He ate over the sink, crumbs falling into the basin, staring stormily out the window at the pelting rain.
If you were going to be here tonight, he needed to go out as soon as possible without you catching on.
There was no way around it: Steve was on edge. There was no telling if tonight would be the night that he’d lose what little control he had and add another life to his ledger. He just had to hold on long enough to get far away from you. His plan was to turn in early, to convince you to do the same, and then sneak out when you were asleep. Ridiculous to have to sneak out of his own home, but it was all he could think to do.
He’d been fighting the urge to pace between the kitchen and living space, too aware of your presence, too aware that you might ask questions about why he was more tense than usual. But so far, you’d just been playing around with your camera. “Oh, I brought my laptop with me this time, too. I know you don’t have wi-fi but at least I can edit some of my stuff tonight.” You reached over the back of the couch and dug around in your bag for a moment before pulling out a slim silver laptop, most of its surface covered in stickers. You looked over at him as it booted up. “Do you ever miss it?”
“Miss what?” he sounded brisk, distracted.
“The internet. And cable. That sort of stuff.”
“I have my radio.”
You made a face, one he saw out of the corner of his eye. “Yeah, but I’ve heard the one station you tend to pick up around here, and I think I’d rather sit in total silence than listen to that.” You paused then, and he heard the stroke of your fingers on your keyboard as you typed in your password. “Or have you been an outdoorsy type since you were a little kid?”
“I used to be a movie critic, actually,” Steve said absently, frowning at the weather outside. He wanted it to get dark already.
“What, really?”
The surprise in your voice was what made him realize what he’d just revealed about himself. Shit. He’d been pretty good at redirecting conversation to have you focused on mostly talking about yourself. He hadn’t given you that many details on his adult life. Almost all of his memories had been tied to her. “Yes.” He didn’t say anything else, hoping you’d drop the subject.
“What was your favourite?”
“My favourite what?”
“Your favourite movie, silly. I assume that you had to start somewhere, right?”
He paused for a long moment, debating on if he should make you drop it or not. He was already agitated as it was. But he decided on a scrubbed down version of the truth. “Star Wars.”
He saw a look of excitement and disbelief pass over your face. It might have been the wrong thing to say. “A New Hope, specifically. None of the current crap.”
“It’s not crap!” you said, indignant, but he had the sinking feeling that you were more thrilled than upset. “The Force Awakens was awesome.” Then you were babbling on in defence of it.
It was almost enough to settle Steve’s nerves. Almost. But then you waved an arm and it wafted your scent into his orbit again, and he had to hold his breath and close his eyes until the need to overwhelm your space had passed. He tuned back in to you saying, “Next time I’ll download some of them and we can watch together. Bet it’s been a long time since you’ve seen any of them.”
It had been a long time. Not since before he’d become what he now was. He’d seen them enough times growing up that he could recall the story backwards and forwards. He could remember every little detail, could play it on the backs of his eyelids at night when he couldn’t sleep. Could remember the exact cadences of some line deliveries. But they’d always been movies he’d watched alone, never with anyone else, never with Peggy either. As he was feeling right now, it spelled a recipe for disaster. He’d just want to bury his head against your neck and leave marks there instead of pay attention to a plot that had kept his attention for years, upon every rewatch.
He looked outside again. The barest edges of the sky that he could see above the treeline were just beginning to darken. All he had to do was try and wait it out. He really hoped that he could. He didn’t want to know the exact shade of your blood.
If Steve had waited just a little bit longer, he might have managed it. As soon as it had been reasonable, he’d feigned sleepiness and gone straight to his bedroom, even though the urge to transform felt like an itch under his skin. He’d also lied about a headache to keep you from asking him too many questions. Even with the door closed, your scent burned his lungs like you were laying right beside him. He wanted to rip into you so very badly that he’d torn at his comforter with how tightly he’d been gripping it.
Steve had laid there in agony while he’d waited for you to fall asleep. He’d heard you power down your laptop, tiptoe into the bathroom to change, and then softly step back to the futon. He’d heard the rustle of your clothes and the afghan and the creak of the wooden frame as you’d gotten comfortable. He had listened for your breathing, heard it deepen eventually, each puff of air getting slower and more even.
He should have waited longer, made sure. But instead, he’d crossed through the cabin and grabbed the strap of his backpack. He had made sure to be as quiet as he could, but something must have been just loud enough to rouse you.
It would be something he’d wonder about later. But he heard a mumbled, sleep-thickened, “Steve? Where are you going?”
His shoulders went tight under his t-shirt. The room was dark, but he could still see you sitting up, your hair already a mess from snuggling down into the cushion, as you looked at him from over the back of the couch. “Just… out.”
“Out where?” Oh, no. You were waking up too quickly, too aware of him. “Did it stop raining?”
It had, a while ago. So much for this big storm he’d expected. He definitely could have turned you away earlier. But it was too late for that now. He felt the change coming in a ripple under his skin, like a rising tide.
He bit down hard on his lip before saying, “I forgot to check a trap earlier. I’m going now.”
It was another lie, but it was all he could think of.
Usually, you went with whatever he said, but something had alerted to you, made you realize it was different this time. “Are you okay?”
“Fine.”
“Are you sure? Maybe I should come with you.”
At that, he stood straight up, almost crushing the doorknob in his hand. “No. you don’t need to do that. And you don’t know your way around. You’d only hinder me.”
But you were pushing yourself to stand. He caught the long outline of your bare legs, the afghan huddled around your shoulders. He needed to go, now. “Okay, maybe I don’t know the way perfectly yet, but I don’t know, I just… I don’t think you should go out in the dark, alone. What if you get hurt or something? Shouldn’t I come with you so I can get help if that happens?”
“It’s fine, bunny. I’ve been alone long before you and I’ll be alone again.”
You rounded the side of the futon and stopped in front of him. “But you don’t have to be alone. I’m right here.”
“Drop it.”
You tilted your head, chin up, defiant. He’d never seen you wear that expression before. It was a terrible time for you to trot it out. “No.”
He was just going to have to leave you here, then. He could outrun you. It wouldn’t be hard. It was just a matter of how far he could get before it happened.
Steve turned away from you, swinging his bag onto his shoulders, and wrenched open the door. Your fingers were gentle on his arm when you touched him, but you may as well have stabbed at him with a hot poker, with the way he whirled on you, teeth bared, and roared in your face, “Leave it!”
He could feel it in his spine first—he always did. Opening the door had let in a spill of moonlight, and he was standing right in it. He was bounding off in a dead sprint immediately. He just had to go. He had to go, he had to go, he had to go.
You knew that Steve was in great shape, but you were still caught off guard by how swift he was.
He’d been acting erratic ever since you’d shown up today. He’d always been a little cold towards you, even on the best days, but it was something you liked about him. Despite his coldness, you always felt warm when you were with him. It was why you kept coming back. And when you’d passed by the bakery, you’d thought of him. It was hard not to. He’d never told you if he enjoyed any of the things you brought for him to try, but you knew that he did. The speed at which he scarfed food down was always impressive. And if Steve really didn’t like your company, you were sure he could have made good on his threat and met you at the door with his crossbow, but he never had. Despite what he might think, you and he were friends, and if he thought that screaming in your face would change it, he was wrong. Instead, you’d had the steadily rising feeling that something was wrong. You just didn’t know what. When he’d gone to bed early, talking about a headache, you’d thought that maybe that was all it had been. You’d had a migraine or two before, and it had always sucked immensely, especially without any over the counter medicine, of which he had none. But deep down, you’d had a feeling that it was something more. He hadn’t gotten near you the entire time you’d been there. And sure, Steve was the kind of guy who kept a healthy distance between you, but not so much that he wouldn’t even sit on the same couch as you.
The way he’d just torn out of the cabin confirmed that yes, something was definitely wrong. As much as you annoyed him sometimes, Steve had never gotten in your face like that. There’d been some sort of animalistic fear in his eyes, something you’d never seen from him before, and then he’d twisted from your light touch like he’d been burned.
He was already a blur in the moonlight by the time you’d started to follow. It wasn’t even something you’d consciously decided on, but before you knew it, the slick grass was tickling your bare feet. The air was clean and cold in your lungs as you raced after him. It was pure luck that you didn’t trip over any stray tree roots, though wet leaves caressed you as you blew past. You were lucky that he came to a stop fairly quickly, or you would have lost him. You’d only been chasing after him for a couple of minutes before he flung his backpack against a tree with a solid thwack! and fell to his hands and knees.
With the way his body was heaving, you thought he was going to throw up. You stayed about ten feet away, wanting to comfort him but keeping your distance, just in case. If you’d had the presence of mind to grab your own bag, you would have been able to use your satellite phone to call for help.
What happened next was something you didn’t think you’d ever be able to believe if you hadn’t seen it yourself.
With a great shudder, right under the moon’s spotlight, the back of Steve’s shirt ripped in a jagged line down the back. His muscles rippled with effort. And then right before your very eyes, he stopped being Steve.
He became a wolf, instead.
Dark fur sprouted so quickly, it seemed to happen in a blink. A strangled cry from his throat became a guttural, tortured howl. The sound of it seemed to echo through the entire forest. A flock of birds erupted into the sky in fear. When you looked away from them and back to the forest floor, your eyes met that of a snarling beast’s.
He bared his teeth at you, canines glinting. He was a study in shades of black, as dark as it was. The moon might have provided some light, but he was awash in night. So, this was why you’d never been able to stumble upon the wolf. You’d been sharing pastries with him the whole time, instead.
A growl started low in his throat. You saw his tail—he had a tail!—swish once, agitated. He hadn’t come any closer yet. You got the feeling he was trying to scare you off. He was going to be disappointed.
You sank to the ground, ignoring the wet seeping through your pajamas. You held both hands out. “It’s okay. I’m not afraid. It’s okay.”
He tossed his head, snapped at the air. You stifled a laugh at the absurdity of it. You had a feeling he was displeased. But still, you stared each other down. Slowly, you noticed the fur that had been standing on end around his shoulders had started to go flat. He dug the claws of his front paws into the earth with a whine, tossing his head again, and then he prowled forward. He kept his head bowed, ears flattened against his skull. He stopped in front of you a little ways away, but close enough that you could just about feel his breath, warm compared to the chill in the air.
You weren’t running away. Stupid bunny, stupid girl. He wanted you to be afraid, to finally realize what he’d been telling you all along: that he was dangerous, a wild animal. That he had the capacity to hurt, to maim, to kill. But the insatiable urge to tear you limb from limb, confusingly, wasn’t there. He thought that getting closer to you might make you come to your senses. But when he stopped in front of you, tail tucked, a whimper escaping his jaws, you only lifted a steady hand and touched his fur, right at the side of his neck.
Tonight was the first time someone had touched him in years.
You’d done it before, when you’d tried to stop him from leaving. And you were doing it again now, ignoring the fact that he was no longer a human, only an animal.
He’d touched you, the first time he’d met you. When he’d wrapped your ankle, carried you to bed. But he’d refrained after that. And it had all been above board, had been born out of necessity, not want. But now, you stared at him, unblinking, and softly stroked at his fur like it was the most natural thing in the world. It made him want to weep.
He leaned into the touch, another quiet whine escaping his throat as your fingers moved. But you couldn’t stay out here all night. And he needed to run, to hunt, to satisfy the bloodthirsty urge that had usually surfaced by now. He stood, shaking your hand off, and walked past you, flicking you with his tail, before looking over his shoulder to see if you were coming. But you stayed put. Another flick didn’t do anything to spur you forward. Were you really not getting the memo? He padded back to you and nosed at your ribs, but it only served to make you giggle.
With an exasperated huff, he walked to the edge of the small clearing you were in and looked back again, letting out another whine.
You’d brought your knees up to your chest, your arms encircling them. “I’m not going back to the cabin without you. And I have a feeling you’ll leave me there as soon as I get to the door. I’m staying.”
Of course you’d say that. He shouldn’t have been that surprised, since you hadn’t run screaming bloody murder upon seeing his transformation. He had half a mind to grab your shirt between his teeth and pull, forcing you to move unless you wanted it to rip, but he had a feeling that you’d just let it happen. It seemed you were at an impasse. He could already imagine the headache he’d have tomorrow when he was human again, the number of questions you’d lob his way. He also had a feeling that he’d never get rid of you, now. You were too curious to learn this about him and simply move on.
He could have left you there and gone about his usual routine, but he couldn’t bear the thought of you stumbling through the dark on your own back to the cabin. Worse, you might try to follow him. So instead, he came back to you and sat by your side, and you stroked his fur again, in the shared silence of the woods.
It didn’t take very long for your eyelids to grow heavy. The grass was still damp, but you curled up on it anyway. You fell asleep right there on the forest floor. He curled around you, unable to stand the idea of you shivering and cold, pressing his body against your back.
He hadn’t smelled any fear on you before, not when he’d yelled in your face, not when he’d ran away, and not when he’d become a wolf right in front of you. He couldn’t smell it now. You just settled more, and he let himself breathe in your scent. It hadn’t triggered him to tear you apart, not like he’d been so sure it would. Not like his first night as a wolf. It was a strange thing. He didn’t want to think about it, to imagine that his fears had all been in his head. They couldn’t be, or he would still have a wife. He wouldn’t be here with you. But all he felt at that precise moment was the need to protect you, to keep you in his sight. To keep you warm and safe under the open night sky.
It was only you, him, and the clear white moon. It was foreign to have no anxieties on a night like this, and they hadn’t left him, not completely. But he rested his head on his paws, keeping his eyes open and his ears alert, and let himself believe, just for a little while, that things might work out.
When you woke up, it was to sunlight streaming across your face, and birdsong. Eyes still closed, you frowned, your nose wrinkling. You shifted your arm and felt grass coming away with it. Lifting your head a little, you opened your eyes and took in the hundreds of shades of green surrounding you. You’d slept outside.
You’d slept outside, because…
You remembered at the same time that you became aware of warmth at your back and over your waist. You glanced down your body and saw the corded muscle of Steve’s arm, loose over your hip, his palm spanning your stomach. The warmth you felt was him, pressed to your spine. He stirred when you shifted.
He was human again, already? You looked up at the sky. Well, the moon was gone, so you supposed it made sense. But what did you know about wolves? Or werewolves, for that matter? You started to turn to face him but stopped short at the first glimpse of his legs, never mind his torso. Right. He was completely naked.
He seemed to realize it at the same time as you, his arm disappearing from you. “There’s extra clothes in my backpack, if you go get them,” he muttered, not meeting your eyes.
You crawled away on your hands and knees to the bag, still where it had landed when he’d thrown it, and pulled out pants and a shirt before closing your eyes and blindly shoving them in his direction. You listened to the rustle of fabrics and the zip of his fly before he said, “I’m decent.”
Peeling your eyes open, you gave him a once over. He was still the same Steve that you’d gotten used to. Still tall and broad, hair dishevelled and long—though yours probably didn’t look much better—a familiar worried frown on his face. He held out a hand to you, which you took, and he pulled you up. “I think it’s time we had a conversation.” He stooped to pick up his bag before turning and striding away, not waiting for you.
Who would have thought he’d be more chivalrous as a wolf?
At least you followed this time, picking your way through the grass. He kept an eye on you in case you slipped. It was a wonder that you didn’t have any cuts across the soles of your feet. For once, you were staying quiet. He wondered if you were marvelling at the sequence of events, too, or if you were just thinking up questions to bombard him with. Knowing you, it was probably the latter.
With the cabin in sight, he ushered you in ahead of him. “Why don’t you go take a shower?” he offered, closing the door behind him. “Water takes a bit to heat up, but you slept on the ground all night.”
“Okay. That sounds like a good idea.” You shuffled off after grabbing your bag and disappeared into the bathroom.
Steve let out a long sigh at your departure. He stood in the kitchen, hands resting heavily on the counter, and let his head hang down as he gathered his thoughts. What exactly could he tell you? The basics, he supposed. But then also, maybe to finally scare you straight, he’d tell you what had happened the first time. Explain to you why he lived out here in the first place. Tell you that while you might have survived last night, that didn’t mean there was any guarantee to survive future transformations. He could still rip you to shreds.
He must have been standing there awhile, lost in his own head, because it felt like it had only been a few minutes before he heard the bathroom door creak open, followed by your footsteps on the wood. The aroma you brought with you was a dizzying blend of your own and his. You had used his soap. Your scent would be all over his towel, too. You were dressed now in what you’d worn yesterday, but he just wanted to pull you close and nuzzle against the hollow of your throat, breathe you in, lick your skin. Instead, he cleared his throat and leaned against the counter. You mirrored him, pressing your back against his old fridge. It was only a little bit taller than you were.
“So… you’re the wolf I’ve been hearing so much about,” you finally said, your arms crossed. You tilted your head as you looked him up and down. “And you let me go on a wild goose chase trying to find you.”
You weren’t upset. Rather, your eyes were alight with interest.
He ran a hand through his hair. “Well, I couldn’t exactly just tell you, could I?”
“I guess not,” you shrugged, “but maybe you could have pretended to lay some bait out or something. You didn’t have to tell me it was you.”
“Well, if I had my way, you never would have found out. I was waiting for you to get bored and give up. I didn’t think I’d ever have to tell you.”
“Why is that?”
He waited for you to answer your own question with the obvious: it was dangerous. But instead, you only gazed at him, waiting for his answer.
So, he gave it to you.
Steve didn’t want to go into too much detail, but he thought he still managed to paint a pretty vivid picture. The truth was that yes, he had always been an outdoorsy type. He’d grown up hunting and fishing and hiking. He was familiar with the forests near where he’d used to live. He’d go on weekends alone or with friends. Peggy would never come. It just wasn’t her thing. She was more of a night in type of girl, and Steve had respected that. They both had their own hobbies that they could do alone.
Only one of his solo trips had gone badly. He still didn’t know exactly what had transpired, the events still muddied in his mind. He’d set up a tent like always. Slept for a bit. Been woken up by a noise. He didn’t usually camp in spots that other campers did. He preferred going off the beaten path. That had proven to be a mistake.
An animal attack. He had thought at first it was a bear, smelling the food he’d brought along. But it hadn’t been a bear. He’d never gotten a clear look, but he’d lost a lot of blood and been disoriented as hell when he’d come to. He’d dragged himself to a ranger’s hut and been taken to the hospital. Even the doctors hadn’t been sure. He’d been tested for rabies, amongst other things, and everything had come back clean. He was out in a couple of days.
Steve hadn’t even noticed anything was particularly wrong, at first. But the following month, when he’d decided to brave the outdoors again, Peggy had insisted on coming too. She was afraid of him going alone, after last time.
And so, they’d gone together, and Steve had ignored the itch of agitation in his gut, in his bones. He’d ignored the pull of going even deeper into the forest.
The transformation had taken him by so much surprise, he’d lost sight of what happened until the next morning, when he was human again.
He’d awoken with dried blood crusted on his skin and in his hair. Blood that wasn’t his. Blood that was Peggy’s.
She hadn’t been so lucky to survive such a vicious attack. And Steve had been so in denial, so confused, that he’d held her long after her body had gone cold. It had taken him a very long time to realize that he’d been her attacker.
He didn’t even remember spinning the lie, stammering it out to the rangers, then the officers, then the coroner. That he’d left her there to go hunting, come back to her dead. It was some sort of self-preservation instinct, he thought. And he couldn’t very well say that he had turned into a wild animal and done it himself. He would have been sent to a psychiatric facility. And then what would have happened if he transformed again? And again, and again, and again?
Instead, he’d very quietly packed up his life, moved a few states over, cutting off any friends and family, and built his own prison far away from people, where he couldn’t hurt them. And it had worked.
You listened to his explanation with a hand against your throat, taking it all in. He waited for your eyes to shutter, for you to make your way past him and out the door, to tell him you were going to report him for murder.
But you didn’t seem to grasp that he was giving you a very good reason to run away. When he finished talking, you stayed quiet, like you were mulling it over. Then, slowly, you unfolded your arms from yourself and leaned across the small space between you. Your hands came to rest on his arms. “Thank you for telling me, because I know it wasn’t easy.” He’d never heard you sound so hushed, so serious before.
Here it was, he thought, you’d tell him you understood and that you would stay away. But instead of that, you said, “But you didn’t hurt me. Things might have changed, Steve. You’ve been here by yourself for three years. That’s dozens of transformations. I know your first one was traumatic, but you didn’t know what was happening to you. You do now.”
“That was a fluke,” he said stubbornly. He wished you wouldn’t look at him so empathetically. “I don’t know what happened last night. It’s the first time I haven’t gone hunting as a wolf. I just couldn’t… I couldn’t leave you there on your own.”
“You could have,” you argued, though you were still completely calm. “You could have left me there. But you stayed and you didn’t hurt me. I’ve trusted you from day one, Steve. You’re not going to hurt me. I can stay away from you if you really want me to during full moons, but I think it would be better for you to get used to being around someone when the time comes.”
“Bunny, it’s not that simple. We can’t predict that it’s all gonna be fine from now on. I’m not willing to risk it.”
You sighed, leaning closer. For a horrible moment, he thought you were going to hug him. “I get why you chose to live this way. It’s noble. But I don’t believe that you’re a danger. At least not like you were your first time. I think you’ve had the time out here alone to learn who you are now, and how to handle it.” You were careful, considering, when you added, “How do you know without a doubt that you were the one that hurt Peggy? What if you’d been defending her? Isn’t that a possibility?”
He didn’t have an answer for you, even though you seemed very sure. It made him ache, your unwavering faith. If he hadn’t scared you off last night, hadn’t scared you off now, he didn’t think that anything would. Not until it was too late.
And even though he wanted you to be safe, he couldn’t control what you did. If you wanted to keep showing up after all he’d said, there wasn’t anything he could do to stop you. He’d just have to hope that eventually, you woke up and realized what you were risking by putting yourself in his path.
You started looking at the weather after that. But probably not in the way Steve had wanted. Rather, you were steering yourself toward him in ways that he couldn’t easily prevent. That meant showing up for every bad storm and staying the night and being there, refusing to leave when the full moon was going to be on display. You’d stuck with him for two more transformations. You’d let him leave when he’d wanted to, curling up in his bed with the curtain open to let the moonlight in, and trusted that he wouldn’t come back and tear you limb from limb. And he’d shuffle home in the morning, surprised to see you untouched under his comforter, editing your photos on your laptop. Because falling in love meant sticking by someone even when the odds were stacked against them, even if it was foolish.
Steve’s cabin really wasn’t meant for two people. Some days, it wasn’t even meant for someone of Steve’s size. But you’d started to add your own touches with each visit. Jars of wildflowers. On the nightstand, one of the windowsills, the side table. A shoddy wreath made of twigs, which you’d put on the door. It hung crookedly. The place had long since started to smell like you, as well. And as much as he hated to admit it to himself, Steve had started to miss you quite desperately when you weren’t there, despite the danger. A bit of his old self had come back, by letting you in. He wasn’t so blunt. Wasn’t irritated when you dropped in. He’d started keeping things there for you at your request, like tea blends and a change of clothes.
You’d also grown very comfortable touching him. It was the only reason, selfish as it was, that he hadn’t pushed harder to make you leave. If he didn’t greet you at the door, if he was instead sitting on the futon carving a figurine, you’d lean over the back of it, resting your chin on his shoulder to watch for a minute before moving on to deposit whatever you’d brought with you. If he was at the stove, your fingers would clutch at the back of his shirt while you peered around him to see what he was making. You’d put your feet in his lap if you sat together, push at his arm when you laughed, trail your fingers over him if you were walking past. It was intoxicating. Little by little, he’d started to rely on you, to expect you to show up. He’d started to make space for you. It had become a vastly slippery slope, and Steve no longer had any footholds to stop himself from plummeting. He had also begun to find that he didn’t want to. Maybe it was time to bask in the free fall, instead.
Fall had arrived by now, but there were still a few days in mid-September that reached high temperatures by the afternoon. One such day had you floating through the door along with a sweet, warm breeze, and a sparkle in your eye that could only mean trouble.
“Steve, how do you feel about swimming?” you asked, but in an air that was much too casual to really be casual.
He glanced at you sidelong. “I could take it or leave it. Why…?”
“Well, it’s just that it’s going to get too cold to swim soon, and that great big lake isn’t too far from here… I know how to get there from the trails now. Do you wanna come with me?” You picked at invisible lint on your dress. Your trail-inappropriate attire made sense now. The red sundress screamed summertime.
“Bunny, I don’t have anything to swim in.” Steve said honestly, spreading his hands in apology. It was true. A swimsuit had been the absolute last thing on his mind when he’d been fleeing his old life. And any times in the past that had had him braving the lake had been when there was no one around to see him in other only other one he had: that of the birthday suit.
“That’s okay. You don’t need one.”
And now the gleam in your eyes made sense. “If you’re suggesting skinny dipping…” he began with a shake of his head. There was no way on god’s green earth that he would be able to handle you naked. Even less so if he was also naked.
You laughed then. “Aw, Steve, you’re so cute. No, you can wear shorts or your underwear or something. C’mon, please? It’ll be just us. I haven’t gone swimming in so long.”
Your pout should have been illegal. He may have been a literal dog once a month, but you put any semblance of puppy eyes he might have been capable of to shame. “Okay, fine.”
You clapped your hands together, bouncing up and down. “I’ll even leave my camera here, if you’re feeling shy. Wouldn’t want to make you blush,” you said with an exaggerated wink.
It was a fifteen minute walk from the cabin to the far side of the lake. The other side was far enough away that the small set of lake houses wouldn’t be able to spot you. It didn’t really matter, anyway. No one seemed to be on the water today.
You wasted no time at all unzipping your knee-high boots and pulling your dress up over your head, revealing a red and white bikini. Maybe Steve should have said no. He’d seen a lot of you on display before, in your other outfits, but he suddenly felt like he was being lecherous when he stared at you too long. He snapped his jaw shut, glad that you hadn’t seen his open mouth. He could have caught flies, the way he’d been gaping at you. You stared at him expectantly until he kicked off his own shoes and tugged at his shirt, before turning your back to him and tiptoeing your way down to the water’s edge.
His hands paused on the waistband of his shorts while he watched you wade in, until you looked back at him cheekily. “Hurry up!”
And hurry up, he did. He tugged his shorts down as quick as he could, then all but ran into the water. He didn’t want you to see he was beginning to sport a hard-on just from looking at you.
As soon as he was waist deep, you grinned and splashed a big wave of water at him with the back of your hand. “Okay, now come and get me,” you laughed, bobbing away through the water. You weren’t quite deep enough to start swimming yet.
“You want me to chase you?”
“Mhm. You might be faster on land but are you really faster on water?” The mischievous twinkle in your eye was back, and all Steve could do was allow himself to be snared in your web.
He let you take the lead for a little while. You seemed to take great satisfaction in letting him get almost close enough, his fingers skimming your arm, before you’d kick away and cut through the water with a shriek of laughter. It was a sound he still wasn’t quite used to hearing. Even less so, his own laugh, booming across the open space.
When he grew tired of chasing though, he surged forward with a strong push. It was very, very easy to scoop you into his arms while you giggled, your hands on his shoulders as you half-heartedly squirmed away, but he held you fast. His arms locked around your waist, holding you to him. You were slippery, but not so much that he couldn’t keep a firm grasp on you. You relented by tangling your fingers together at the nape of his neck. If he wasn’t careful, he was going to get an eyeful of your chest. Not that he minded much.
“Don’t tell me you were going easy on me that whole time,” You were smiling when you complained.
“Okay. I wasn’t going easy on you the whole time.” He repeated it with a grin of his own.
It made you smile impossibly wider. He startled as you ran one of your hands over the back of his head, fingers through his hair. “Oh, I just knew that you were hiding a movie star smile. Very swoon worthy. And you’ve been keeping it a secret under all this facial hair.”
Your other hand came to his face, turning his jaw this way and that, and he let you. “You want me to shave it off?”
“No!” you said too quickly. “Maybe tidy it up a little, but no. don’t get rid of it. I like the rugged look.”
Steve raised his eyebrows at you. You were being honest—he could tell by the look on your face. It was strange to hear such a compliment. Before he’d been changed, he’d always kept to a more clean-cut sort of look. “And your hair, too. Keep it like this. You look very handsome.” Your fingers combed through the strands again.
Steve was suddenly very aware of your body being pressed against his. He shifted his arms, so that one of his hands covered the expanse of your back, your skin hot beneath his fingers. It took no effort for him to hold you like this, your feet nowhere near the sandy bottom of the lake. He’d always been strong, but his transformation had made him even stronger. “Steve?”
“Mmm?” He’d been looking at your mouth already when you’d said his name, saw your tongue move for the st, your teeth graze your lower lip for the v.
He wanted to kiss you. So badly it hurt like a bullet ricocheting between each of his ribs. He didn’t get to do that. He didn’t deserve you. You were too good, too pure, to full of joy to be sullied by his history. He could love you and not do anything about it, he thought. He could love you and continue to see you live. Your fingers brushed the nape of his neck. “Steve?” you said his name again, and his eyes finally flickered up to yours. “Did you hear what I said?”
You’d said something other than his name? Now he was lost in your eyes. You seemed to see right through him. He might have called you stupid in the past, might have been callous and tried and push you away, but he knew you were more emotionally sensitive than you let on. You might not have done a very good job being concerned for your own well being, but you were pretty great about caring about his. “Sorry, what did you say?”
“It’s my turn to try to catch you now.” But the way you said it made him wonder if you’d actually asked him something else.
It was just as well, he thought. He should put distance between you. He needed to, before he did something that both of you might regret.
The next full moon was coming. It was bringing cold weather right alongside it. Steve knew that snow wouldn’t be far behind, and he also knew that it would get to a point where it really would be impossible for you to get out here, no matter how badly you wanted to. He’d have to make his one and only trip to the general store soon to stock up. He kept a running list throughout the year, and he’d learned from previous years up here what he would need more of, and what he could do without. He’d explained a little bit of his system to you already, when you’d sweetly asked if there was anything you could get for him that wasn’t available at the store that might be easier to find in town.
It was going to be hard to lose out on seeing you. He found himself entertaining your idea of getting him a satellite phone, too.
The day before he was due to shift, you came by like you had been. You had a jacket on for once. Hell must have frozen over already for you to be wearing one. But as much as Steve was happy to see you, some internal part of him lighting up like a sparkler, he thought that this was really a moon cycle you should have missed out on.
He’d already felt more agitated this time than he had the last few. He didn’t know if it was residual feelings over the upcoming loss of your regular presence, or something else. But he could feel it making the tendons in his hands and jaw jump. He felt it with the way the hair on his arms stood up at the faintest touch of your skin against his. “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stick around for this one, bunny.”
You looked at him, puzzled. You’d just started to untie your shoes after following him in. Wind battered against the door. “Why? Is something different this time?”
“I don’t know.” He was fidgeting in the kitchen’s archway. “Yes, something is.”
“Well, all the more reason to stay. I want to help you figure it out.” You put a hand on his arm.
The contact burned. He stepped back from you instantly. You didn’t miss the reaction, and it made your frown deepen. “Tell me what’s going on.”
Steve touched his fingertips to his temples. “I’m worried I’m gonna hurt you. I feel really… wound up. I can’t explain it. Like anything could set me off. You should go, seriously.” He said the last part more firmly.
“I’m not going.” You said, equally firm.
“Bunny. I’m telling you that it’s not a good idea. You said you’d go if I asked. I’m asking.”
“No. You’re scared because you’re confused. That’s not a good reason. I’m here to help you, Steve.”
“Stop coming so close.” He bit out. You’d been taking very miniscule steps towards him, and he’d been matching them by moving backward. But he was about to run out of space. You weren’t even particularly close at the moment, but your scent was catching in the back of his throat like honey.
The realization came over him like a lightbulb turning on.
Lust. That was what was making him act out of order. He wanted to be all over you, which meant you had to go. Steve wanted to be on you, around you, inside you on a regular basis—he was sure that one of the things he’d gained after being bitten was an insane sex drive—but he’d always made do with his hand and a fantasy. Now, the fantasy was standing in front of him in a flimsy shirt and jeans that detailed every curve.
You held a hand up like you were trying to get close to a cornered, frightened animal, which in a way, you were. “Steve, it’s gonna be fine.”
“No, it’s not. You need to go. Would you just listen to me for once?”
“Can you just think rationally for a second? You’ve been completely fine the last few times.”
“God, you’re not listening.” He raked a hand through his hair, wanting to pace, to move, to go to you, to make you leave, to pull you close. “You’re driving me fuckin’ crazy, bunny.” He growled, exasperated.
You took another step. Your smell was all around him now. In his bones, in his skin. His lungs, his heart, his brain. It was too much. Especially with the way you looked at him, all soft eyes and compassion.
“God damn you.” he muttered, before any semblance of holding back withered away. He could no longer help himself when he closed the distance with one step of his long legs, pulling you into a kiss so fierce, it could have had teeth and claws of it’s own.
A tiny part of him felt guilty when he put his hands on your face, tilting your head up to his. In a perfect world, he would have asked your permission. Steve expected you to try and pull away at any second, to smack him and run away. But he also clung to you more tightly, pushing his tongue between your lips, eager to taste you, eager to claim.
It was the shock of his life to realize that you were eager, not repulsed. You jumped—literally—to meet him, your legs fitting around his waist like you’d been formed with him in mind. His hands slid from your face to the backs of your thighs.
He groaned into your mouth as your fingers scrabbled at the collar of his shirt, pulling so hard that he felt the back of it cutting into his neck. This was what he had wanted since before you knew the truth about him. It was a tiny, self-sacrificing reason as to why he’d wanted to push you away. Because you were a storm cloud he knew he wouldn’t mind chasing, if given the chance, in search of rain. And he didn’t think he was allowed rain.
You were intent on proving him wrong. Between scattered kisses, your mouth a bruise on his, you murmured, “Take me to your room now.”
He obeyed, walking blindly through the kitchen and down the tiny hall, careful not to bump your head on the ceiling. He’d had to pause right before the door, unwilling to let go of your for even a second to open it. It was even more difficult with you trailing kisses down one side of his neck, raking your nails across the other side. he hadn’t taken you for a biter, but he was pretty sure he’d find marks on his skin later.
The only reason he didn’t throw you down on the bed was because he didn’t want to break it, or you. But as soon as your back hit the dark green comforter, his hands were roaming across every inch of you. Your shirt was gone in a flurry of fabric. You actually ripped his collar in your haste to pull it over his head. Steve’s scalp stung from you tugging at his hair. Every time he nipped at your collarbone, laving his tongue over the bite afterwards, you’d pull on the strands and sigh. “More.” you moaned, tipping your head back as much as you could.
You needn’t have asked. For every bite you’d given him, Steve marked you with two. Your throat was already beginning to bloom with darker marks, like a haphazard necklace in the shape of his teeth. Even though Steve had fantasized about you many times, he’d never pictured taking you like this. His fingers pushed your bra strap off one shoulder. “Can I…” his lips brushed the curve of your breast.
“Why are you even asking? The answer is yes.” And before he could even do anything about it, you were reaching back behind you and unclasping it, flinging it away from your body like it was contaminated.
You were suddenly half-bare before him, and Steve couldn’t even stop to admire you. Later, he promised. Later, I’ll take my time. Right now, he couldn’t. Right now, he just had to feel every inch of you until he forget everything in the world except your taste and touch and scent.
Your sharp squeal changed to a whimper when he bit down gently on one of your nipples before smoothing his tongue over it and sucking, massaging your other breast with one of his large hands. “Oh, god,” you breathed. Your fingers had a vicelike grip on his hair, and he didn’t care.
Your other hand patted at his chest before travelling down his abdomen. It made him shiver. He’d never put on a belt, so you went straight to work on the button of his jeans. He did the same for you, peeling yours down by their belt loops. One popped loose from its stitching in his haste, before he was kicking is own off.
Your panties were soaked through at the center. The baby pink fabric did nothing to hide it at all, especially not when you parted your legs, biting your lip as you looked at him.
“Are you—”
You cut him off by pulling at the waistband of his boxers. “Don’t even think about asking me if I’m sure. I’ve been waiting for you to make a move for months.”
You weren’t shy at all about sticking your hand down the front and squeezing the base of his cock. “Do me now. Don’t make me wait anymore.”
“Jesus Christ, bunny.”
He almost saw nirvana just from the feeling of your hand around him. “Steve.”
“Fuck, okay.”
It seemed his shirt wasn’t the only thing that had finished being useful, because your panties met the same fate. He quite literally tore them from your hips. You both heard the soft rip of the fabric. You squeezed your hand around him again and he took a shuddering breath before cupping your pussy. His thumb rolled a lazy circle around your clit, just so he could see you squirm. Your legs jumped when you whined. “Now. Now, now, now. Please.”
His boxers were gone a second later, and he replaced your hand with his own, rubbing some of your slick over his cock. You only watched, your bottom lip red and plump between your teeth. “Are you really sure?” He asked—he couldn’t help it, even as he rubbed the head of his cock over your folds.
You sat up on your elbows then. “Do I need to be on top?” You said it like it was a threat, but really it sounded like a gift.
“Maybe next time.”
You had likely had some sort of retort on the tip of your tongue, but it dissolved into one loud, long groan, your eyes squeezing shut, as he pushed in. He’d only done the tip and already you were pulsing around him in a way that had him white-knuckling the bedspread next to your hip. “Not there yet,” He grunted, pushing deeper.
“Oh god, oh god, oh god,” You were chanting with your head thrown back, like you really were praying to a higher being.
Bottoming out was bliss like Steve had never felt before in his life. You were squeezing around him like you planned to keep him there for good. He pulled out nice and slow, relishing in the easy slide, before slamming back in so forcefully you jolted up the bed a little.
And then you were off to the races. His hips snapped against yours while his teeth landed on your neck. Your nails were ten tiny brands in his shoulders. He just wanted more of you, all of you. More of your noises, more of your reactions, your legs tight on his waist. He wanted to sear himself into your skin and it seemed like you were trying to do the same. You couldn’t stop touching him. Your hands kept moving from his shoulders to his ribs to his neck, like you couldn’t decide where to hold on, like you’d lost the ability to form an opinion.
But still, Steve wanted more.
He slowed down enough to pry your legs from him. He glanced up only to see confusion overtaking ecstasy. He supposed he was about to see how flexible you were.
He pulled out with a wet pop!, his cock smacking against his stomach. Your wetness was dripping off him and onto the bed. You whined out his name with a petulant look. “Why did you—”
“Trying something.”
He pulled your legs up to your chest before having you put your hands under your knees to keep them up, to keep you open. His dick twitched at the sight of you spread apart for him. He wanted to devour you. But he wanted to be inside you more. “Hold on for me, bunny. Atta girl.” Your eyes filled with tears when he entered you a second time. “Feels good?” He was panting, breath fanning across your mouth.
“S—so good, Steve.”
If he’d thought he was deep before, he’d been wrong. Now his cock was kissing your cervix with every thrust, and you couldn’t contain any of the noises you were making. You were loud, unashamed, and gorgeous. The tears in your eyes spilled, sliding down your temples, but he caught one on his tongue before it went too far. He couldn’t help it. He wanted everything you had to offer. You couldn’t hold onto him, folded in half as you were, and he cradled your face with one hand, the other holding him up. You tilted your cheek into his palm, nuzzling like a kitten.
It was that, and that alone, that had him saying, “I’m gonna come.” He had you in a position that exposed you to him completely, but it was the tenderness of your eyes that really did him in.
“Together?” you breathed.
“Mhm, together.”
It was with reluctance that he stopped touching your face to rub furious circles on your clit. You came a split second before he did, clenching down on him for all he was worth, and then he was spilling into you with a force he’d never known. Each squeeze from you sent another wave from him until you were both breathing so heavily, he thought one of you might pass out. He only stopped thumbing at your clit when you dropped one of your legs to weakly bat at his hand, and he settled it across your stomach, pressing down. You let out a small, choked cry. “Oh, fuck.”
“You’re so full.”
“Yeah…” There was no longer a thought behind those eyes of yours. “So full. So good.”
It made Steve smile, to see you so fucked out. He’d done that. He’d made you feel so good that you couldn’t even think anymore. And to think he’d wanted to turn you away for safety’s sake. He no longer felt any of the agitation that he had before, even as he looked at the uneven chain of hickeys across your throat. He’d definitely left impressions of his teeth in a couple of spots.
He kept his hand on your belly for a moment longer before pulling back and out. His cum spilled out of you in a steady drip. At least he finally had a use for his ripped shirt. He was gentle as he wiped you clean, then dropped it over the side of the bed. He could have gone again, he was sure, but you were clearly done for now. Instead, he settled next to you, pulling you close, curling around you like he’d done when he’d been a wolf. You both stared at the ceiling.
Finally, you’d returned to yourself enough that you murmured, “See? You didn’t hurt me. You need to trust yourself. Because I trust you.” Your speech was slurred.
But it was the first time Steve was convinced that maybe you had a point.
It was still hard for Steve to believe that you weren’t in any danger around him, but it was easier than he’d thought, too.
You talked about it at length the first couple of days after you’d slept together. You hadn’t really wanted to leave, and he hadn’t wanted you to. You were amazed that he’d never sought out any others like him. Neither of you believed that the wolf attack had been a normal wolf. There had to be more people suffering from his same problem. You thought that maybe it was time he tried. “I don’t even know where to look,” he admitted finally.
It was late at night, the window in the bedroom just slightly cracked open. You were both laying facing each other, his hand a gentle graze up and down your spine. Your fingers drummed against his chest. “I’m not suggesting you go right away, but maybe you need to go back to that forest. The one where you were bitten. That’s where it all started. If not there, then one near it. We know for sure that wolves like you were around at one point.” You smoothed your hand over his heart when you looked at him through your lashes. “I know that it might be traumatic for you. And I won’t come if you don’t want me to. But I think that’s the best place to start.”
He settled against his pillow and tucked you closer, your head fitting under his chin. “Maybe in the spring.”
He wasn’t ready to face it yet. And the harsh weather was going to be rolling in to stay soon, anyway. But maybe in the spring, he’d have wrestled with the idea for long enough to feel good about it. Your nose brushed against his throat, and you placed a kiss against his skin a moment later. “Whatever you decide, you know I’m with you every step of the way.”
It took a little persuading from you, but Steve agreed to come to town with you. Not just the edge of it, or the road just off the main one where the general store was. But right into town, where you lived and worked the most frequently. And he wasn’t just going for fun, either. It was a date.
He’d felt nervous like a teenager again. You’d come to get him, but he’d met you at the lot where you usually parked, not wanting you to venture all the way into the forest. You were wearing a dress he’d never seen before, this one an ocean blue slip of silk, peeking out under a wool coat. The bitter temperatures had already fallen into effect. Your hair fell in loose waves around your face, coming free from its clip. He suddenly felt very underdressed in his plaid button up and jeans, but they were the nicest of his clothes. He only got more nervous as you drove. “Should I have cleaned up more?” He asked, watching you.
Your tongue stuck out of the corner of your mouth as you frowned at the rearview mirror—you were trying to execute a somewhat dicey parallel park. But your eyes flicked to him for a brief moment, one of your hands leaving the wheel to touch his leg. “I told you never to shave the beard. I like the rugged look, remember? My wolfman.” That was accompanied with a sweet smile, and he felt a rush of heat not only to his face, but to his groin, too.
Once you were satisfied with your parking job, you turned to him, leaning across the console. Your fingertips danced over his jaw when you kissed him. “You ready to go in?”
The restaurant you had parked in front of was a study of dim lighting. He could see it through the window—the hanging lamps were made of mason jars. It was now or never, he supposed. “Yes. Let’s go.”
Steve was surprised it was going so well. There’d been a bit of fumbling around with the wine menu—he hadn’t had a drink in years—but the rest of it had been fairly simple, no over the top dishes in sight. And it hadn’t been too busy, either. The waiter kept to the shadows, only passing by your table once during the meal. And through the whole thing you’d kept your easy smile, your foot brushing against one of Steve’s ankles. The lighting might have been dim, but it didn’t dull the sparkle in your eyes.
As much as Steve was relieved that this outing hadn’t been a total disaster—a small part of him had been afraid you only worked together because of the seclusion—he didn’t feel ready to venture into town at will, not yet. He said as much to you when you asked. He wasn’t ready to abandon the cabin, either, even though it really was too small for both of you and didn’t have half the amenities he knew you’d prefer.
You looked at him over the table, your plate empty, and rested your knife and fork neatly across its surface. “Why don’t we compromise?”
He didn’t know what you meant, not right away. But after eating, you took him by the hand and got in the car. You drove him all the way through the town’s center before turning off one of the side roads. You drove for twenty minutes. It was the complete opposite side of town that you’d come from, the side he was most familiar with. The road itself was pretty bumpy, unpaved. But you stopped eventually at a circular driveway.
At first, Steve thought you were just taking him to the edge of town because you thought he’d be more comfortable there. But you got out and rounded the car to his side, until he climbed out to join you. You pulled him a little ways away, to a cluster of trees. “I’m not saying that it’s the perfect solution, but…”
You trailed off. That was when he saw, under the shade of some evergreens, a small stone cottage. It was bigger than his cabin all the way around, with rounded windows. Lavender and ivy had begun to creep up one of its sides. The pathway up to it was made of tiny pebbles. The lawn needed work. But the cottage was big enough for two without being overwhelming. It was far away from people, trees surrounding it. No, it wasn’t perfect. But Steve was moved by it all the same.
His stunned silence made you ramble. “I’m not saying this is the one, but I went looking around. There’re a few places like this one around here. Some are newer, some need a lot of TLC. But they have what we’d both want in a place.” You pulled your coat tighter around yourself. “It’s just a thought,” you added quickly. “I’m not trying to move too fast.”
He pulled you closer by your hips and kissed your forehead, then your mouth. “You can move as fast as you like, bunny. I’m with you.”
Winter had not splintered your relationship like Steve had feared, though it had been a real bitch to try and clear enough snow to let you through the forest and to the cabin. It was what made him finally unearth his rusty blue truck from where he’d hidden it under tarps and dead branches on a different trail. He’d been surprised it still worked. But it was easier for him to drive down to yours, to brave the town and stay at your apartment with you, than it was for you to come to him. And he found he didn’t mind staying in town so much when you were wrapped around him like a blanket. It was infinitely better when you’d come home after a shoot, shaking snow from your hair and your clothes and your boots, and he’d have dinner ready. Something simple, but less so than what he’d ever been able to put together at the cabin. And you’d eat on the couch, then tear his clothes off. Sometimes you didn’t even make it to the bed. Once, he was pretty sure the bakery across the street had seen you pressed against the window.
But afterwards, you would cuddle up against him in your bed, and put Star Wars on the projector, and you’d always fall asleep by the time the Millennium Falcon came into play.
By the following fall, you’d said goodbye to that apartment. You were waking up next to him in the countryside in an old farmhouse. It was half an hour from town, with wide open fields on either side, and a forest beyond. It needed a lot of work, but you’d revelled in taking all the before shots of it. The coffee table was blanketed by paint swatches. It was probably going to take a few years to finish. Steve had kept the cabin, though he really only stayed there in the summer months, now. He was still looking for answers about what had happened. But he hadn’t had a single accident. None of his transformations had recreated what had happened with Peggy. He was beginning to wonder if your theory was right.
He was just glad to be able to wake up next to you every morning and not have to feel fear and dread that he was going to hurt you. It was still in the back of his mind—it always would be, he suspected—but each passing day made him feel less and less afraid.
The part of the farmhouse you’d started on first, after getting the roof fixed, was the living room. The stone fireplace had been a joint effort to repair, but it fit in nicely with the burnt orange shade of the walls, the big leather couch, the cozy rug. The mantel was cut from a poplar tree, shaped by Steve and stained by you. One of his wooden figurines claimed the space on top. And right above it, in a simple black frame, was one of your photographs.
You’d gotten the picture you’d gone into the forest for. A wolf, your wolf with watchful eyes and a gleaming coat, standing on an overhang overlooking the lake. You’d decided not to put it in your portfolio.
☆ when one of Steve and y/n’s daughters wakes up from a bad dream, they’re there to reassure her she’s safe.
trigger warnings: none!
dad!steve x mom!reader
Steve was half asleep when he heard it.
A small, broken sound down the hall, soft crying that sharpened into something panicked. He was out of bed before his brain fully caught up, feet already moving, heart already racing.
“Lily?” he called quietly as he pushed her door open.
She was sitting up in bed, blankets kicked aside, cheeks wet, chest hitching like she couldn’t catch her breath. The second she saw him, her face crumpled.
“Daddy.”
That was it. He crossed the room in two strides and scooped her up, pulling her against his chest like it was instinct, like his body knew what to do before he did.
“Hey, hey” he murmured, brushing her hair back with his hand. “I’ve got you baby, What happened?”
She buried her face in his shoulder. “I had a bad dream” she cried. “There was a monster and it was running behind me.”
Steve kissed the top of her head, slow and steady, rocking her gently. “there are no monsters, sweetheart” he said softly. “Not here. Not ever. You’re safe, okay?”
She sniffled, nodding a little, fingers gripping the front of his shirt.
He was smoothing her hair when he heard a quiet shift behind him. Steve glanced over his shoulder and saw you standing in the doorway, wrapped in his old hoodie, eyes heavy with sleep and something else. Something tender.
You didn’t say anything at first. Just watched.
Then Lily lifted her head, spotted you, and reached out immediately. “Mommy.”
Steve loosened his hold as you stepped closer, sitting on the edge of the bed and pulling her gently into the crook of your neck. Lily curled into you, still hiccuping, but calmer now.
Steve stayed close, his hand never leaving his daughter’s hair.
“It’s okay, sweetheart” you whispered, voice low and soothing. “It was just a bad dream, you’re okay”
You kissed Lily’s head, lingering, and Steve felt something warm and tight settle in his chest as he watched the two of you together.
Lily’s breathing slowly evened out between you, her grip on your hoodie loosening as the fear faded.
Steve leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her hair. “See?” he murmured. “Mom and Dad are right here.”
You both stayed there for a few minutes, the room dim and still, you eased Lily back down, pulling the blankets up around her shoulders, her breathing slowed until it evened out completely. Steve watched her chest rise and fall, waited until her fingers relaxed and her face smoothed back into sleep.
Only then did he carefully stand, reaching for your hand without looking. You squeezed back, just as quietly, and followed him out, pulling the door almost all the way shut.
They moved back down the hall quietly, the house settling again once Lily’s door was closed.
Steve shut their bedroom door with care and climbed back into bed, tugging you with him without a word. You went easily, curling into his side like it was muscle memory. He wrapped an arm around you and pulled you close, your back pressed to his chest.
His fingers slid into your hair, slow and absent, the way he always did when he was thinking too hard.
You let out a quiet breath. “I hate it when she cries like that” you murmured. “It just… gets me, right here.” You pressed your hand to your chest.
“I know” he said softly. His hand stilled for a second, then kept moving, gentle. “Me too.”
You shifted closer, like you needed the reassurance as much as Lily had. “She looked so scared.”
Steve tightened his arm around you, pulling you in until there wasn’t even a sliver of space left. His fingers kept moving through your hair, slow and grounding.
“Yeah” he said quietly. “She was. But she’s safe.”
He pressed a kiss to the back of your head. “That’s the part that matters. She woke up scared, and we were there. She didn’t have to be alone in it.”
You swallowed, nodding against his chest. “I just wish I could take it away. The dreams. The fear. All of it.”
“I know” he murmured. “I wish that too.” He shifted slightly so his forehead rested against the side of your head.
You went quiet for a moment, listening to the steady rhythm of his breathing, the familiar weight of his arm around you. It slowed your thoughts, softened the tightness in your chest.
“She’s gonna wake up tomorrow and barely remember it” he added gently. “What she’ll remember is that she called for us and we came.”
You let out a slow breath at that, your shoulders finally easing as his words settled in.
“You’re right” you murmured.
Steve smiled into your hair, the kind of small, tired smile that only came out in moments like this. He shifted just enough to press a soft kiss to your cheek, then another, lingering like he was grounding both of you back in the quiet of the room.
“Hey” he whispered, nudging his nose against your skin until you turned slightly toward him. He kissed your cheek again, gentle and unhurried. “You’re doing great. With them. With everything.”
You huffed a quiet, almost embarrassed laugh. “We’re just… figuring it out as we go.”
“Yeah” he said softly. “But we’re doing it together.”
His arm tightened around you, protective and warm, and he pressed one more kiss to your cheek before murmuring, “I love you, so much.”
You smiled, eyes heavy now, your hand settling over his where it rested against your stomach. “I love you too.”
Steve rested his chin against your head again, fingers still playing lazily with your hair until your breathing evened out. The house stayed quiet. Three girls slept safely down the hall. And wrapped in each other, it finally felt okay to let the night pass.
[steve harrington x reader fanfiction, kind of enemies to friends to lovers, idiots how don’t know how to talk to each other, slow burn, tension, mutual pining, forced proximity, no upside down, little angst, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, happy ending]
warnings: drinking, smoking, weed, violence, blood.
w.c: 11k
synopsis: You and Steve Harrington have never exactly gotten along. Something about his stupid hair and his irritating confidence has a way of getting under your skin that makes it impossible. Unfortunately for both of you, he’s not only your coworker at Family Video — now you’re also part of the same friend group. And when Robin suggests a getaway to the Wheelers’ lake cabin — after a party that doesn’t exactly go as planned — avoiding Steve Harrington, and whatever it is that keeps happening between the two of you, suddenly becomes a lot harder than it should be.
a/n: okay, this is HUGE, but I hope you like it.
[masterlist] part 2
part 1
It was one of those suffocating summer afternoons in Hawkins, the kind where the air felt thick enough to chew. The ancient air conditioner at Family Video rattled like it was fighting for its life with every breath, pushing out lukewarm air that barely reached the counter.
You had turned the radio up just a little louder than necessary. Plastic VHS cases snapped shut one after another in your hands as you dropped them into the cart with annoyance.
Two aisles over on your left Steve Harrington was working his daily charm offensive. He leaned casually against the edge of a shelf, green vest stretched over a white t-shirt that did absolutely nothing to hide the fact that he knew exactly how he looked in it. His smile was easy—practiced. You could practically see all the years of rehearsal behind it. The blonde in front of him laughed at something he said, fingers brushing over his bicep.
You hated how easy it was, how one smile and a tilt of his head made girls melt like ice cream on the pavement.
Though lately, your favorite part of the job had been watching that smile falter—watching him scramble when a girl mentioned her boyfriend, or worse, told him his movie recommendations sucked in a gentle way and then asked for you or Robin instead.
But today wasn’t one of those days.
Today he was winning.
You gripped the metal handle of the cart and pushed it down the aisle, humming along to “Start Me Up” by The Rolling Stones that was playing through the speakers. Something upbeat, just the right thing to match the annoyingly confident smile on your face as you got closer to them.
And with one smooth move, you let the cart knock into the edge of the shelf just hard enough to make the entire row tremble. You hid your smile as a cascade of VHS tapes toppled from the other side. Steve cursed and the blonde let out a sharp yelp as the plastic cases clattered against the tile.
You took exactly two seconds before rounding the corner. Steve stood there blinking, a copy of Dirty Dancing at his feet, the blonde staring at the mess in shock. You widened your eyes, pressing a hand dramatically to your chest.
“Oh my God,” you gasped, sugar-sweet. “I’m so so sorry.”
Steve stared at you in disbelief while you kneeled to pick up a tape that had landed near his nikes. He crouched beside you, gathering the fallen cases with visible irritation.
“You good, Harrington?” you asked lightly.
“Fantastic,” he said flatly.
The blonde shifted awkwardly. “I, um… I should go.”
And just like that, she was gone.
You stood, placing the tapes back in his arms with infuriating care.
“Guess gravity’s not really on your side today,” you said with a smile.
You turned away before he could answer, grabbing the cart and pushing it out of the aisle. The metal wheels rattled over the tile as you moved toward the next shelf, already reaching for another stack of tapes like the whole thing had been nothing more than a minor workplace accident.
A few seconds later, you heard footsteps catching up to you.
“You did that on purpose,” Steve’s voice came from just over your shoulder as he dumped the remaining tapes into the cart.
“As if I don’t have better things to do, Harrington.”
“Clearly you don’t.”
“In case you hadn’t noticed,” you said, lifting a case and sliding it back onto the shelf, “I’m working. Can’t say the same about you.”
“I was working,” he shot back immediately.
You finally turned just enough to see him out of the corner of your eye. His hands had landed on his hips, elbows out, vest slightly crooked from crouching to pick up the tapes. His expression was somewhere between annoyed and wounded pride.
Which, if you were being honest, was extremely satisfying.
“Yeah, doing a great job trying not to stare at her boobs. Real proud of you, champ,” you said with false pride as you plucked a tape from his hand before he could react and stocked it yourself.
Steve shot you an annoyed look while you continued lining the tapes back onto the shelf like nothing had happened.
You couldn’t even remember when these little sabotages had started.
Somewhere along the way it had simply… become routine.
Something neither of you acknowledged out loud, and something neither of you seemed willing to stop.
You just remembered the countless times some cute guy in a leather jacket wandered up to the counter asking you about a movie you loved—only for Steve to suddenly appear at your side. He’d smile at the customer, slide the tape across the counter, ring up the price before you could finish explaining anything and wave the guy goodbye. And every single time you’d smack his shoulder as you walked away.
At first it had started with stupid little things.
Calling each other’s name with exaggerated urgency just to ask for help getting a snack stuck in the old vending machine in the break room. Asking painfully obvious questions the exact moment the other one was having a slightly too interesting conversation with a costumer:
“What aisle are comedies in again?”
“What time do we close?”
“What’s the difference between VHS and Betamax?”
Things that were so obviously fake that customers sometimes looked back and forth between the two of you, clearly wondering what the hell was going on.
Over time those innocent interruptions escalated into something more. Something competitive. Each of you pushing a little further just to see how much it would take before the other snapped, which required Robin to step in more than once before things got out of hand.
But the real problem was that it didn’t stay inside the store.
At some point Robin had begun inviting you to movie nights at Steve’s place, or late nights near the lake with Nancy, Jonathan, and Eddie usually bringing cheap beer and good weed.
You and Eddie had gotten along almost immediately, probably because you’d both spent most of high school being comfortably labeled as freaks. And because the two of you had stumbled out of The Hideout drunk together more times than anyone else in that group.
Even with all the time spent around the same people, you and Steve never actually got along.
The only way the two of you seemed capable of interacting was through this strange, borderline hostile back-and-forth where the winner was whoever irritated the other one first.
The bell above the door of Family Video rang cheerfully and brightly as Robin walked in, weaving her way through the aisles toward the two of you.
“What’s new?” she asked casually. Stopping when she noticed Steve’s posture—arms crossed over his chest, jaw tight, clearly done pretending to help with the tapes you kept stealing out of his hands while you restocked tapes calmly like the picture of innocence.
A slow grin spread across her face. “Oh,” she leaned against the end of the shelf, “she got you good, huh?”
“Nothing out of the usual,” you said with a shrug.
“So what was it this time?” she asked, clearly enjoying herself. “Did you convince him the horror aisle was haunted again?”
Steve groaned under his breath, dragging a hand down his face. You smiled slightly as you grabbed another tape from the cart.
“No,” you said, “but that one was a classic.”
Your confession made Robin snort, the sound sharp and sudden, while Steve immediately stepped closer.
“So you admit it was planned,” Steve said, grabbing the tape you were about to reach for and sliding it onto the shelf before you could take it.
“I didn’t say anything,” you replied, rolling your eyes as you pushed the cart farther down the aisle. If he wanted a full confession from you, he’d have to try harder than that.
“You’re unbelievable,” Steve muttered behind you, running a hand through his hair.
“Well,” Robin clapped her hands once, “while you two continue… whatever this is,” she said disappearing briefly into the break room and came back already pulling her vest on. “I have the best weekend plan literally within your reach.”
You and Steve both looked at her.
“All you have to do,” Robin continued dramatically, “is say yes.”
Both of you followed her while she leaned against the counter.
“Weekend at the Wheelers’ lake cabin.”
You were listening now.
“And why exactly would I want to spend an entire weekend trapped with her?” Steve asked, pointing in your direction as you scoffed.
“Well, dingus,” Robin said, strolling over, “because this weekend is supposed to be the hottest one of the summer, and I convinced Nancy—using my pretty persuasive eyes to let us use the cabin.”
She grabbed a random tape from the counter and turned it over in her hands while she kept talking.
“The only downside,” she continued, “is that Friday we’re going to this huge party. So we’re all probably going to be incredibly hungover by the time we wake up on Saturday morning,” Robin shrugged. “But nothing a swim in the lake can’t fix.”
She tossed the tape back onto the counter.
“We stay at the cabin the whole weekend,” she added. “Then we drive back Monday night and show up to work Tuesday like responsible adults.”
When she ended her rambling, the store fell quiet.
You bit your lower lip, the offer was… extremely tempting.
Apparently Steve thought the same thing, because you glanced up and met his eyes for half a second. Just long enough to notice he was already looking at you.
“Sounds great… except we have jobs. Remember?” you said tugging lightly at the edge of your green vest. “And I’m pretty sure Keith isn’t going to believe we all caught the same mysterious flu again.”
“Babe,” Robin said casually, “everything is handled.”
Which made you sigh with relief until you heard her say:
“I promised Keith I’d give him your number.”
“You what?!” Your head snapped toward her so fast your neck almost cracked.
Next to you, Steve let out a laugh, a full helpless laugh like he’d just heard the funniest thing in the world.
“I am not going on a date with Keith,” you said, planting your hands on your hips.
“Yeah,” Steve said, still grinning, “let’s show a little mercy here. The poor Keith couldn’t handle her.”
“And you could?” you shot back those words before you could stop them, stepping closer just enough that Steve had to look down slightly to keep eye contact.
For a moment he didn’t say anything. You watched his throat bob as he swallowed, his eyes widening just a fraction. That alone made the corner of your mouth lift.
“Hey, weirdos!” Robin cut in loudly. “Can we return to the conversation?”
Once she had both your attention again, she sighed dramatically.
“Relax. You’re obviously not going on a date with Keith,” she waved a hand dismissively, “I’m just giving him the wrong number. And honestly, I doubt he’ll complain too much considering the guy can barely look you in the eye.”
And with that, your weekend plans were officially secured.
Over the next few days, the heat settled over Hawkins like a heavy blanket. The kind that made the air feel slow and sticky, like the town itself was melting under the sun. Most people spent their afternoons crammed into the community pool or hiding inside their blessedly air-conditioned homes with a good movie.
Which, unfortunately for you, meant Family Video was packed.
By the fifth indecisive customer of the day—someone who refused to let go of either your arm or Robin’s until they were absolutely certain about their rental—you were starting to feel the exhaustion settle deep in your bones.
Still, Robin managed to make the shifts enjoyable, she really had a talent for turning even the worst customers into some kind of inside joke by the time they walked out the door.
And your routine of bothering Steve?
Still just as effective.
Well…mostly.
There were occasional slip-ups when Steve managed to get ahead of you, throwing out some perfectly timed comment that wiped the smug smile right off your face.
But the thing that annoyed you the most that week, aside from Steve himself, was the fact that your beloved, old car had died again.
Now Eddie had it, claiming he could fix whatever was wrong with it if you just “gave him a couple days and didn’t ask too many questions.” Which meant you’d spent the remains of the week walking under the blazing Hawkins summer sun.
Robin had practically begged you over the phone to let her and Steve pick you up in Harrington’s stupidly perfect beemer but you refused immediately and everytime she brought it up.
That's how Friday finally rolled around.
Outside, the sky had turned its usual soft shades of orange and pink, the golden hour spilling lazily across the empty parking lot. It had been a normal afternoon on a normal day.
Until something genuinely strange happened.
A girl walked into the store. Bright smile and even brighter hair, sun-kissed skin from too many pool days and a tiny tank top that practically screamed summer vacation. She wandered lazily through the aisles before eventually approaching the counter with two tapes in hand.
You leaned casually against a nearby shelf, pretending to reorganize the horror section while Steve stood behind the counter, looking mildly bored.
“Hi,” she said brightly, sliding the tapes across the counter.
“Hey,” Steve replied, offering his usual polite customer smile.
She lifted one of the tapes between two fingers, tilting it toward him with a playful smile.
“Is this one any good?”
It was Top Gun.
Classic bait.
You turned back to the cart, reorganizing the stack of VHS tapes while bracing yourself for whatever ridiculous line Steve was about to deliver this time.
Steve glanced at the cover and simply said. “It’s fine.”
You paused mid-movement, a tape hovering halfway to the shelf. That was… unusually short. The girl seemed to think so too.
“Just fine?” she asked, her smile widening. “Do you think it’s a good movie to watch alone tonight?”
Steve shrugged lightly, “It’s popular. You’ll have a good time.”
Your brow furrowed slightly as you slid the tape into place. Normally this was the part where Steve leaned against the counter, cracked a stupid joke and turned the whole interaction into a five-minute conversation.
Instead he rang the tapes up.
“That’ll be $3.50.”
The girl blinked, clearly recalculating. “Oh. Right.”
She paid, took the bag, and lingered for a moment like she expected something else to happen.
Nothing did.
The bell chimed as she left, and the silence that followed settled heavily across the store.
You slowly turned, walking toward the counter leaving the cart behind.
“What bug bit you?”
Steve looked up from the register. “What?”
“Harrington,” you said, leaning against the counter now, “you just ignored a perfectly good flirt.”
“I didn’t ignore her,” he muttered, a small huff escaping him.
“You gave her a two-word movie review.”
“She asked if it was good.”
“And you said fine.”
Steve grabbed the receipt roll and shoved it back into the drawer.
“Maybe I didn’t feel like talking.”
You studied him for a second. That didn’t sound like him either.
“Huh,” you murmured.
And with that, you simply walked away.
The rest of the closing shift passed quietly. Steve was strangely evasive but still helping without complaint—rewinding returns and organizing the last of the tapes scattered around the store. Which, somehow, made the whole thing feel even stranger.
The lights clicked off one aisle at a time as Steve locked the front door.
You slung your bag over your shoulder.
“Well,” you said, like you had every day that week, “see you next time.”
Steve looked at you like you’d just said something ridiculous.
“You’re not walking home alone.”
You frowned. “That’s what I’ve been doing all week.”
“Not tonight.”
“It’s like fifteen minutes.”
Steve was already grabbing his keys. “Get in the car.”
The sudden authority in his voice made you cross your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him.
He sighed. “You said your car’s dead.”
“And?”
“And it’s late.”
You studied him for a moment, trying to decide if this was another one of your strange competitive standoffs.
But he wasn’t smirking, he was just waiting.
And honestly? You were tired, all you wanted was to get home, take a shower, maybe squeeze in a quick nap if you had time, and get ready for the party later. So you rolled your eyes and walked toward the car.
“Fine, but if you try to kidnap me I’m telling everyone you cried during The NeverEnding Story.”
Steve scoffed, though the corner of his mouth twitched. “I did not cry.”
“You absolutely did.”
The car ride was… weird.
Duran Duran played softly through the radio while you kept shifting in your seat, trying to find a comfortable position that didn’t make you feel weirdly aware of everything.
This was Steve Harrington’s car.
The car.
Shiny and recognizable to every pair of eyes in this town. The same one you’d heard girls in high school talk about like it was some kind of mythical creature. But it was just a car and you didn’t know why your body felt so tense sitting in it now.
It wasn’t a big deal, it was just a car ride. Still, you stared out the window, focusing on the passing houses.
Just as your shoulders finally started to relax, a quick, light tap against your thigh made your whole body tense again. You turned your head slowly, like in those horror movies where the girl stupidly decides to look straight into a dark alley.
“Where to?” Steve asked, eyes still on the road.
“Sorry?” you said, slightly dazed.
“Your house,” he clarified. “Where is it?”
Right. Steve Harrington had never been anywhere near your neighborhood. It wasn’t a bad neighborhood. You loved your house, you were proud of the life your mom had built with years of hard work but it definitely wasn’t the kind of place Steve usually drove through.
“Just take this street on the right,” you said, trying to sound calmer than you felt. Steve nodded.
“If you don’t like the music you can grab another cassette,” he added quietly, tilting his head toward the glove compartment.
“Oh—yeah. Sure.”
You leaned forward and opened it, pulling out a small stack of tapes not because the music was bad, it was okay, but you needed something else to focus on besides the way your heart had stuttered at that brief touch.
Your attention shifted immediately to the labels, and you couldn’t help the small smile that appeared when you recognized one of the names.
“Steve Harrington listens to Black Sabbath?” you asked, glancing at him with amusement.
“Don’t make it weird,” he warned.
“Oh, don’t mind me,” you said, “I just never took you for an Ozzy connoisseur.”
“Eddie left it in my car,” he said with a lazy shrug.
“And?” you asked, turning in your seat to look at him properly now.
Steve hesitated for half a second.
Then a small, almost shy smile appeared.
“It’s kinda good,” he tapped the steering wheel lightly, “good driving music.”
“You bet.” you said sliding the cassette in and turned the volume up just as the famous riff of Paranoid filled the car.
After that, the ride felt easier. Neither of you spoke much beyond the occasional direction, but the atmosphere inside the car had shifted completely.
And you couldn’t help stealing a few glances at Steve, watching him tap his fingers along to the music like he’d known it for years, the tension slowly leaving his shoulders, something calmer settling in his eyes.
It felt oddly surreal.
When the beemer finally parked in front of your house, you stepped out calmly.
“Thanks,” you said.
Steve just nodded, offering a small smile.
You turned and walked toward your front door, feeling his gaze on your back the whole way. Only once you stepped inside and closed the door did you lean against it, letting out a slow breath. The sound of his car pulling away echoed through the quiet street, and only then did your heart calm down.
Well.
Not completely.
But enough.
You had the house to yourself, so you let the hot water run until the tension finally melted out of your muscles. Later, with a small snack in your stomach, you collapsed onto your bed and allowed yourself a quick nap.
Moments later you woke up to the sound of the doorbell. Robin and Nancy had arrived and within minutes your bedroom floor was covered in discarded clothes.
Robin was sprawled across your bed like a starfish while Nancy sat cross-legged beside her, watching you dig through your closet for the third time.
“I don’t understand why you own so many clothes,” Robin said, staring at the ceiling.
“Don’t be mean,” Nancy said with a warm smile, “we’ll make it on time.”
You’d never really had friendships like this before, being an outcast your entire life made it difficult but along the way you started to make these friendships that meant the world to you. And a small part of you realized you liked this ritual—getting ready, chat and gossip, more than the party itself.
When you finally turned around, Nancy smiled.
“That’s actually perfect.”
Robin lifted her head, her eyes widened and she let out a loud whistle.
“Well, well. Who are you trying to impress?”
You glanced down at the black dress that hugged your curves just right, adjusting the thick studded belt around your hips as you pulled on your knee-high boots.
“It’s not a big deal.”
“No, babe,” Robin said immediately. “It is a big deal. You look hot!”
Robin tilted her head dramatically. “If I were a guy and didn’t completely lose my mind when you walked into the room, I’d seriously consider getting my eyesight checked.”
“You have a girlfriend, you know?” you said with a grin.
“Yeah,” Robin said, pointing lazily at Nancy. “She’s the one drooling over you right now.”
“I am not drooling,” Nancy said, rolling her eyes as she stood up. Then she glanced at you again. “…but you do look hot.”
Nancy had been a surprise. Everyone in Hawkins thought they knew Nancy Wheeler, the ambitious girl, the smart one. The one who famously broke Steve Harrington’s heart one Halloween, dated Jonathan Byers for a while, and eventually ended up with Robin. That last part, however, was only known by the small circle you somehow ended up becoming part of.
And the more you got to know Nancy, the more you realized she was far more complicated than people thought which was probably why the two of you got along so well.
While you finished your makeup at the mirror you felt Robin step up behind you.
“So… are we not gonna talk about it?”
“Talk about what?” you asked, focused on perfecting your eyeliner.
“You and Steve.”
Your hand paused for half a second.
“There is no ‘me and Steve,’” you said firmly.
“See?” Robin grinned. “Right there. You two can’t stop having this weird thing.”
“Robin…” Nancy warned.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you said, turning around to face her.
“Oh, come on!” Robin groaned dramatically. “You two are constantly at each other’s throats.” You opened your mouth and she pointed at you. “Don’t deny it.”
You sighed. “I’m not denying it. But that’s all it is. We’re coworkers,” then you casually added, “besides, is not like that all the time, for example he drove me home today.”
You grabbed your leather jacket from the coat rack, when you turned around again Nancy and Robin were staring at you.
“What?” you asked.
“Steve Harrington drove you home?” Nancy tilted her head smiling.
Robin sat down instantly.
“Wait, wait. We’re talking about The Steve? Steve ‘the hair’ Harrington? My once sworn enemy?”
You shrugged. Robin’s expression went from surprise to confusion and back to surprise again.
“Oh my god,” she laughed. “Nancy was right. You two really—”
“There’s no we,” you said quickly.
“Right,” Robin said, grinning like she absolutely did not believe you.
Nancy grabbed her purse from the bed, shaking her head fondly.
“Come on,” she said. “If we don’t leave now we’re going to arrive when everyone’s already drunk.”
Robin jumped up dramatically. “Oh please, that’s the best time to arrive.”
“You say that every time,” you add.
“And every time I’m right.”
You rolled your eyes and flicked the lights off as the three of you made your way down the hallway.
The night air outside felt cooler than it had all day, the kind of late summer warmth that still clung to the pavement but no longer made the air unbearable. Somewhere in the distance you could already hear faint music drifting through the neighborhood.
Robin tossed herself into the passenger seat of Nancy’s car while you slid into the back.
“So,” Robin said immediately, twisting around in her seat. “Just to be clear.”
You groaned. “Robin—”
“You do not like Steve Harrington.”
“I do not like Steve Harrington.”
Nancy started the engine, trying very hard not to smile.
“Well, that's a shame,” Robin said. A beat passed, then she added, “Because he’s definitely going to the party tonight.”
You leaned your head back against the seat.
Great.
Nancy pulled out of the driveway and the car rolled down the quiet Hawkins streets, passing dark houses, glowing porch lights and the occasional group of teenagers walking in the same direction you were headed. The closer you got, the louder the music became.
By the time Nancy parked a few blocks away, you could already hear the bass thumping through the humid night air. Cars lined both sides of the street. The front lawn was crowded with people and the windows of the house glowed with flashing colored lights.
Robin let out a delighted laugh. “Oh yeah,” she said, “this is gonna be a mess.”
You followed them up the driveway, gravel crunching under your boots while the sound of music, laughter and shouting grew louder with every step.
The front door stood wide open, someone inside cheered, beer bottles clinked together. And the moment you stepped through the doorway the heat hit you with force.
The whole house was packed with bodies, the air thick and warm, heavy with the smell of cheap beer, cigarette smoke and something underneath it all that was definitely weed. Colored lights flickered across the living room walls while “Pour Some Sugar On Me” blasted through the speakers loud enough to make the windows vibrate.
Robin immediately grabbed your wrist.
“Kitchen,” she declared, “I need alcohol before I deal with this many people.”
Nancy laughed as Robin dragged the two of you through the crowd, weaving past groups of dancing bodies and people shouting over the music. By the time you pushed into the kitchen, the air smelled even stronger like beer and smoke.
And that’s when you spotted them.
Eddie Munson was leaning against the counter with a red cup in one hand, gesturing wildly as he talked while Jonathan Byers stood beside him looking mildly amused. Eddie spotted you first.
“Look who finally decided to show up,” he said, grinning.
Robin pointed accusingly at him. “You started without us.”
“I have faith you’d catch up,” Eddie replied lazily.
Jonathan lifted his cup slightly in greeting. “Hey.”
You slid up to the counter, grabbing one of the bottles scattered across it and passing it to Robin. “How long have you been here?”
“Long enough to know this party’s gonna turn into total chaos in ten minutes,” Eddie said.
Robin poured whatever was in the bottle into three plastic cups without asking.
“Perfect,” she said brightly. “Cheers to that.”
The three of you clinked cups while Nancy shook her head fondly. Eddie stepped a little closer to you, a crooked smile pulling at his mouth.
“Still causing trouble?” he said.
“Just enough to keep things interesting,” you shot back with a wink.
“Oh, it reached us alright,” Eddie said, jerking his thumb toward Jonathan. “Me and Byers here have heard some pretty interesting things about you.”
Jonathan tried to hide his smile behind his cup as he took a sip, which made you raise an eyebrow.
“Where’s Steve?” Robin’s voice suddenly cut in. Something in you tensed the moment you heard his name, your body going instinctively on alert.
Eddie shrugged easily. “Don’t worry, Robs,” he said, “he’ll find you,” his eyes flicked toward you when he said it.
Somewhere in the living room the song ended, replaced almost immediately by the roaring engine opening of “Girls, Girls, Girls” by Mötley Crüe that made the crowd erupted.
Robin’s head snapped toward the sound.
“Oh absolutely not,” she said, putting her cup down.
Before anyone could react she grabbed Nancy’s hand again and turned to you.
“Dance floor. Now.”
“Robin—”
Too late.
She was already dragging both of you back toward the living room.
The crowd had grown thicker, bodies moving under flashing lights while people shouted along to the lyrics. You took a long drink from your cup as Robin spun Nancy dramatically before pulling you straight into the chaos too.
You laughed despite yourself, the alcohol warming your chest while the music vibrated through the floor under your boots. A moment later Jonatahn and Eddie appeared beside you again, slipping through the crowd.
“Party favors,” Eddie said casually, pulling out a half-rolled joint.
Robin whooped. “Now we’re talking, Munson.”
The five of you formed a loose circle while Eddie lit it, shielding the flame with his hand. Smoke curled into the humid air. He took the first drag before passing it to Jonatahn, then Robin, Nancy, and finally you.
The music pounded through the room, people shouting the lyrics while the lights flickered across moving bodies. The five of you moved to the rhythm—half dancing, half bumping into each other in the middle of the crowded living room.
You took a slow drag, closing your eyes for a moment, holding the smoke before letting it curl from your lips.
Your head already felt lighter. Warmer.
Somewhere nearby Robin was screaming the chorus while trying to spin Nancy again. You laughed and in the middle of the movement, you bumped into someone.
“Oh—sorry,” you said quickly, turning around.
The guy you’d collided with was tall and very handsome, when you looked at him he was already smiling like he’d been expecting it. He winked at you in that effortless party-boy way that said don’t worry about it.
You laughed softly and smiled back looking at him as you lifted the joint to your lips for another drag when a hand reached in and pulled it right out of your mouth.
You blinked, turning instinctively, your gaze following the hand.
And found yourself staring straight at Steve Harrington.
For a second, everything else seemed to blur around him.
The flashing lights caught in his hair, messy and pushed back like he’d been running his hands through it all night—and somehow it still looked perfect. The sleeves of his jacket were rolled slightly, a red cup dangling loosely from his fingers while the other hand held the joint he’d just stolen from you.
His eyes moved slowly over your face, lingering a second too long. Then he took a drag and exhaled the smoke in your direction.
The same warm feeling that had unsettled you during the drive home flared again between your ribs, sudden and irritating. You could have easily blamed it on the alcohol or the weed, but you knew that wasn’t it.
Something about Steve Harrington had a way of getting under your skin lately, like a splinter you couldn’t quite pull out no matter how hard you tried.
So you did what you did best and ignored it, turning away and letting the music pull you back into the moment as you swayed beside Robin. She smiled and squeezed your waist playfully while you rested your hands on Nancy’s shoulders, grinning at her as the three of you moved together with the rhythm.
But even after a while, you could still feel those hazel eyes wandering over your body while you spun Jonathan around.
After that, the party only seemed to spiral further into chaos.
At some point the group began to scatter. Jonathan slipped outside to talk with his friend Argyle, the one everyone had mentioned had just arrived from California a few days ago. Nancy followed them not long after, weaving through the crowd with a quick wave in your direction.
That left Robin, Eddie, Steve and you somewhere in the middle of the living room.
The room felt warmer now. Your head pleasantly light after finishing the joint. Eddie and you were both laughing about something stupid he’d said while you shook your heads, Robin half-dancing and half-bothering Steve beside you.
Every so often a girl would drift too close to him, one in particular with big hair and an even bigger lack of subtlety, trying to slide into his space and dance with him but Steve barely acknowledged her and you told yourself you didn’t notice.
The music kept pounding through the floor, more bodies packed tight together under the flickering lights in a messy, drunken rhythm. More than once, while dancing you felt a hand brush the small of your back.
You didn’t bother turning around. In a house this packed it could’ve been anyone. Accidental touches were inevitable when people were crammed this close together, shoulders bumping, arms colliding, bodies moving to the same beat.
Still, each time it happened, a shiver was sent down your spine.
Eventually you decided you needed a drink—something stronger than whatever was left in your cup and, more importantly, a moment away from the strange tension coiling in the pit of your stomach.
So you slipped out of the crowd and made your way back to the kitchen.
The difference in noise was immediate. The music still thumped through the walls but it felt slightly muffled here, replaced by the clink of bottles and the hum of conversations.
The counter was a disaster of empty cups and half-finished drinks. Beer didn’t sound appealing anymore, so instead you reached for the sink, turning the faucet and filling a plastic cup with cold water. You drank it all in one go, feeling the coolness sliding down your throat.
“Easy there, princess,“ a deep voice came right beside your ear.
You rolled your eyes immediately, already recognizing it.
To your right—far too close, comfortably invading your personal space stood Billy Hargrove, wearing that same predatory smile like he’d been waiting for the moment you’d end up alone. Getting close to Max meant occasionally running into her stepbrother, and Billy had developed an unfortunate habit of invading your space every single time.
“Relax, Hargrove,” you said, setting the empty cup down on the counter and stepping away from the sink. “It’s just water. Not trying to break any of your drinking records.”
His eyes dragged slowly over you, shameless.
“Shame,” he murmured, “thought a girl like you would be more fun.”
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” you said with mock sympathy, pouting for a second before your expression went flat again. You refilled your cup with water before turning back to look him straight in the eyes.
“Now get out of my way,” you said as you moved past him, ready to head back toward the living room where the noise and bodies of the party would swallow you again.
But just as you passed him, his hand shot out, closing his fingers around your wrist. Hard.
“Hey,” Billy said lazily, stepping closer behind you. “Where’s the rush?”
Your jaw tightened. “I’m not interested.”
You tried to pull your hand free and his grip tightened. For a moment the noise of the party seemed to dull behind the rushing in your ears.
“I didn’t ask,” Billy replied.
Your patience snapped. You twisted your wrist trying to break his hold.
“Let. Go.” you said firmly.
A few people in the kitchen had started to glance over now, sensing the shift in tone but that only made Billy lean closer, his voice dropping.
“You know,” he said, “most freaks like you would be a little nicer about the attention.”
“Most girls probably don’t have you grabbing them like that.”
You twisted your arm sharply, managing to slip from his grip for a second before pushing through the crowd toward the back door where the music spilled out into the yard.
The cool air hit your face the second you stepped outside.
People were still dancing out here too—clusters of bodies under cheap string lights, someone blasting music from a pair of speakers on the porch.
You barely made it halfway down the steps before you heard boots behind you.
“Hey!” Billy called.
You didn’t stop, you didn’t even turn around. You kept moving toward the edge of the yard but Billy grabbed your wrist again with much more force.
“Seriously, take a fucking hint!” you snapped, turning toward him.
He yanked you closer, and the sudden movement made the cup of water tip over completely, spilling down the front of your dress. The cold water soaking through the fabric made you gasp.
“Alright, sweetheart,” he said, his voice dropping. “Thought a slut like you would be easier. But I like a challenge.”
Your heart slammed against your ribs. Even through the anger burning in your chest, a small part of you pricked with fear—he was a lot bigger than you.
That still didn’t stop your hand from starting to lift, ready to swing at his face.
And just as you were about to, a figure stepped between you, shoving Billy back.
And even with his back turned, you would’ve recognized Steve Harrington anywhere. You hadn’t even seen him come outside but there he was, standing between the two of you.
Billy slowed to a stop, amused.
“Well look at that,” he said. “Pretty boy decided to grow a backbone.”
Steve didn’t say anything at first, his jaw was tight, shoulders tense in a way you’d never seen before.
“Back off.”
Billy scoffed. “Relax, Harrington. We were just talking.”
“Didn’t look like it.”
Billy tilted his head slightly, eyes flicking toward you for half a second before returning to Steve.
“You her boyfriend now?”
“Does it matter?”
“Then mind your own business,” Billy smirked, grabbing Steve by the collar of his shirt before shoving him back.
The next moment happened so fast you almost missed it.
Billy laughed—and Steve, without saying another word, punched him. His fist connected hard with Billy’s jaw, snapping his head to the side.
Gasps erupted around the yard.
Billy stumbled back a step and then he smiled satisfied.
“Oh, you’re dead.” He swung before lunging forward and driving his fist straight into Steve’s face, sending him staggering backward.
Chaos exploded instantly. People shouting. Someone in the background yelling “holy shit!”
Billy lunged forward again but two arms suddenly grabbed him from behind.
“Whoa, whoa—Hargrove!” Eddie shouted, hauling him back. Tommy Hagan jumped in beside him, grabbing Billy’s other arm.
“Chill the hell out!”
Across from them Jonathan was already pulling Steve away as he tried to move forward again.
“Steve—dude, stop!”
“Let go—!” Steve shouted.
“That pussy must be real good for you to defend that freak, Stevie!” Billy shouted with a grin. This was exactly what Billy lived for and Steve was giving it to him for free.
“You’re not helping, Billy boy!” Eddie said, pulling him back harder while Steve tried to wrench himself free from Jonathan again.
Nancy rushed toward you first, worry written all over her face.
“Are you okay?” she said.
Robin appeared half a second later, grabbing your shoulders and scanning your face like she was checking for injuries.
“Did he touch you?” she asked quickly.
You shook your head. You could barely hear them, still trying to process the sudden explosion of everything.
Your eyes were locked on Steve across the yard. He was still glaring at Billy like he might still break free and swing again. Blood on his lip, chest rising and falling heavily as Jonathan kept a firm grip on his arms.
Billy tore himself free from Eddie and Tommy H’s grip and wiped a bit of blood from the corner of his mouth.
Then he laughed pointing at Steve.
“This isn’t over, Harrington,” he said before glancing in your direction. “See you next time, sweetheart.”
Billy disappeared back into the crowd, Tommy following close behind.
Jonathan finally released Steve while Eddie stepped closer, scanning Steve’s face checking the damage. You could barely process what had just happened. The whole thing had exploded so fast. You didn’t know how to approach him—whether to thank him or scold him for getting involved in the first place—but what you did know was that you had never meant for him to end up hurt because of you.
Beside you, Nancy and Robin were talking quickly, trying to calm the situation down.
For the first time Steve looked at you, and you could clearly see the result of the fight, his face smeared with blood, a thin line running from the corner of his lip. His hair, usually annoyingly perfect, was a mess now, pushed out of place from the fight. But it was his eyes that caught you off guard, burning with something you couldn’t quite recognize.
Before you could say anything, Steve turned away and started walking back toward the house.
Your feet followed him instinctively, and you only realized what you were doing when a hand suddenly grabbed your arm. The grip was much softer, nothing like Billy’s, but you still tensed before turning around.
“Where are you going?” Robin asked with concern.
“I’ll be back in a minute,” you said, trying to sound reassuring but Robin didn’t look convinced, her eyes scanned you again, searching for any sign that you might be hurt.
“I’m fine, Robs,” you added, offering her a small forced smile.
It took her a second, but eventually she let go.
You pushed your way back inside the house. The living room was still packed with bodies, music blasting, people dancing like nothing had happened. Like there hadn’t just been a fight outside. You pushed through the crowd, bumping shoulders and muttering quick apologies as you searched for Steve.
He wasn’t anywhere. For a moment you wondered if he’d already left. Maybe he didn’t want to deal with it tonight.
Maybe he didn’t want to deal with you.
When you stepped outside your eyes immediately searched for Steve’s car—but it wasn’t there. You muttered a frustrated curse under your breath, and just as you were about to turn back toward the party, you thought you spotted a familiar figure walking away down the street and. Without thinking, you ran after him.
“Harrington!” you shouted, hoping he’d stop. He didn't. You cursed again under your breath and after half a block you finally caught up to him, grabbing his arm to stop him.
“Steve, I swear to God—” you started, slightly out of breath.
The moment he turned toward you, your stomach twisted. He looked like a complete mess. A bruise already forming along his cheekbone.
“Fuck…Harrington,” you muttered, stepping closer.
Steve immediately pulled away from you.
“Get off,” he said. You were about to protest, but Steve cut you off immediately. “Now’s not a good time for you to start something.”
And for some reason that stung more than the dull throbbing in your wrist. Maybe because you hadn’t even been planning to start a fight this time. Still, instead of stepping back, you moved closer again.
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?" You said, the words coming out sharper than you meant them to, like you were trying to fight the small, unpleasant sting his words had left behind.
“I’m fine,” he said, trying to sound tough, but something in his tone gave him away—and you weren’t about to give in, so you moved closer again.
“Let me see,” you said, reaching toward his face. Steve immediately leaned away.
“I said drop it,” he said, annoyed.
“It’s bleeding.”
“I’ve had worse.”
“That’s not really the point.”
He scoffed under his breath and ran a hand through his hair, wincing slightly as if the movement had pulled at something sore.
For a moment neither of you said anything.
The music from the party carried faintly down the street, distant now. Out here it was quieter—just the hum of streetlights and the occasional laugh drifting from the house behind you. Steve looked like he wanted to keep walking and you had the sudden, uncomfortable feeling that if you let him go now, the moment would disappear along with him.
“You shouldn’t have done that,” you said.
“Done what?” His head snapped toward you.
“That,” you gestured vaguely behind you, toward the party. “Getting into a fight with Billy.”
Steve stared at you like he couldn’t decide if you were serious. “Right,” he said after a second. “Next time I’ll just let him drag you around.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
You crossed your arms, irritation flaring. “I didn’t ask you to get involved.”
The words came out sharper than you expected. Steve looked away first, jaw tightening. For a second you wondered if you’d actually hurt his feelings, which felt… ridiculous, considering he was the one standing there with a split lip and a forming bruise across his cheek.
Still, the thought made something twist uncomfortably in your chest.
“Look, I’m just saying you didn’t have to do that,” you said, a little calmer.
“Well somebody had to.” he said, a little too quickly, like the words had slipped out before he’d had time to think about them.
You frowned slightly. “Why?”
Steve froze. Not dramatically. Just a small pause, like his brain had hit a wall it hadn’t planned for.
“Why what?”
“Why did you do it?” you asked again.
For a moment he didn’t say anything, then he let out a quiet laugh that didn’t sound amused at all.
“Jesus, you’re unbelievable.”
“That’s not an answer, Steve.”
Steve looked at you again, really looked this time, like he was trying to figure something out. Or maybe deciding if the conversation was even worth having. Eventually he exhaled slowly and gestured vaguely down the street.
“Look, my house is like two blocks that way,” he muttered.
You blinked, you were definitely not expecting those words to come out of his mouth.
“What?” you asked, wondering if you just had heard him wrong.
“If you’re gonna keep staring at my face like that,” he added, clearly annoyed, “you might as well help fix it.”
For a second you just stood there.
“You’re inviting me over?” you asked.
Steve immediately grimaced. “I’m not inviting you,” he said quickly, “you followed me.”
“That’s not—.”
“Close enough.”
Despite yourself, you felt the corner of your mouth twitch and Steve noticed.
“Don’t,” he warned.
“Don’t what?” you asked, tilting your head.
“Whatever that is,” he said, gesturing vaguely toward your face.
“You’re the one asking for my help,” you couldn’t help it now, a smug smile slipped onto your lips.
“I said so you could stop staring at me like I’m about to bleed out,” he said, trying to sound indifferent.
“Technically you are bleeding,” you pointed out.
He rolled his eyes and shoved his hands into the pockets of his jacket, looking down at the ground for a moment.
“Are you coming or not?”
You hesitated for half a second. Not because you didn’t want to go. But because a small voice in the back of your head was suddenly very aware of the fact that you were about to walk to Steve Harrington’s house alone with him at night.
Which felt like a terrible idea.
For reasons you couldn’t quite explain.
“Okay,” you said, “walk fast.”
Steve glanced sideways at you when you said that but didn’t comment. Still, he picked up his pace slightly. You fell into step beside him.
For a while neither of you spoke.
The farther you got from the party, the quieter the street became. The bass of the music faded into nothing, replaced by the soft hum of streetlights and the distant sound of a car somewhere far away.
The cold had started to settle into your skin now. You wrapped your arms around yourself in a half-hearted attempt to warm up. The damp fabric of your dress clung uncomfortably to you with every step, making the whole walk feel even more awkward than it already was. You tried not to think about it, but the chill still made your shoulders tense.
Another block passed in silence before Steve finally slowed down as a familiar driveway came into view. Steve’s car sat parked near the garage, the only one there. The house behind it was dark. No lights in the living room. None in the kitchen. Not even the faint glow of a lamp upstairs.
You stopped for half a second, taking it in. For a house that big, it looked strangely empty.
Steve didn’t seem to notice your hesitation as he walked up the driveway and pulled his keys from his pocket. You followed a few steps behind.
Robin had mentioned his house before. Usually as a joke. Something about how Steve basically lived alone half the time because his parents were always gone on some business trip— conferences, meetings. “Important Harrington adult stuff,” she had called it once, rolling her eyes.
At the time you had laughed but standing here now, the joke didn’t feel quite as funny.
Steve unlocked the front door and pushed it open. The house greeted you with the same stillness as the outside.
Dark.
Silent.
Empty.
He stepped inside first, flicking on the hallway light.
You hesitated only a second before stepping in after him.
And just like that, the cold night air was replaced by the quiet cold of Steve Harrington’s empty house.
The hallway light hummed softly overhead, casting a warm glow over polished floors and framed pictures along the walls. The place was big and painfully tidy in the way houses tended to be when no one was really living in them.
Steve kicked the door closed the rest of the way with his heel and tossed his keys onto a small table by the entrance. He walked a few steps into the house before realizing you hadn’t followed.
When he turned back, you were still standing near the door, arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The sight of shoulders trembling slightly made Steve frowned. His eyes dropped briefly to the front of your dress, the fabric still damp and clinging to you.
For a second it looked like he was about to say something but instead he just sighed quietly and rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
“Wait here,” he muttered.
Before you could ask what he meant, he disappeared down the hallway and up the stairs.
You stayed where you were, listening as the faint creak of floorboards carried through the house. A door opened somewhere upstairs, then closed again. Something shifted, and his footsteps echoed softly in the distance.
The place felt too quiet, like the whole house was holding its breath.
A moment later Steve reappeared. He had taken off his jacket and was holding something in his hands. Without a word, he walked back toward you and held them out. A t-shirt and a pair of sport shorts. You blinked, looking from the clothes to him.
“For the record,” Steve said, already turning away, “you’re dripping on the floor.”
You looked down just to see a small dark spot had already started to form on the hardwood beneath your boots.
“Right,” you muttered.
“Bathroom’s up there,” he said, jerking his head vaguely toward the stairs as he started walking toward the kitchen. “Try not to flood the place.”
On another day you would have flipped him off, but at this point you were too cold to argue and far more interested in getting out of that damn dress, so you sighed and headed up the stairs toward the bathroom.
Once inside the bathroom, you kicked off your boots and quickly undressed, letting the damp dress slip to the floor. You stepped out of it and reached for the t-shirt.
It was an old gray gym shirt, the kind they gave out in high school P.E., the faded green letters proudly spelling out Hawkins High School across the front.
You wondered how many times he must have worn it. You remembered passing through the gym doors once or twice and catching glimpses of him inside. His hair a little longer back then, that crooked grin on his face while Tommy H. said something stupid that made Steve laugh, the sound echoing across the gym.
You remembered simply walking past him without stopping, while he tipped his head back and took a slow drink from his water bottle.
You didn’t realize you were gripping the shirt until you snapped yourself out of the thought with a small frown. What were you thinking? With a huff, you pulled the t-shirt over your head. You quickly grabbed the green shorts and were about to put them on when a soft knock sounded on the door.
“Everything alright in there?” Steve’s voice came from the other side.
That's when it hit you.
You were standing in your underwear in the bathroom of the most insufferable guy from your high school years. Heat rushed to your cheeks before you could stop it. This was definitely not how you had imagined the night ending.
You hurried to pull on the shorts, stumbling slightly in the process and bumping your hip against the sink. The dull thud made you suck in a quick breath before straightening quickly and opening the door.
Steve was leaning against the doorframe, one arm braced above him, looking at you with those stupid hazel eyes. He had changed into something more comfortable—sweatpants and a blue polo—and you caught yourself staring a second too long.
You quickly forced your gaze back to his face. Despite the dried blood, you caught the ghost of what looked like a smile forming on his lips before it disappeared again.
“Come in,” you said, stepping aside while Steve brushed past you into the bathroom.
“Sit,” you ordered, pointing at the toilet. To your mild surprise, he actually listened, lowering himself onto the lid while watching you expectantly.
“Where’s your first aid kit?” you asked.
“Down there,” he said, nodding toward the cabinet beneath the sink.
You immediately turned around, crouched down and opened the cabinet. A small plastic box sat toward the back, half hidden behind a stack of neatly folded towels. You grabbed it and stood up, setting it on the edge of the sink. You could feel Steve watching your every move, the weight of his gaze warm against the back of your neck, but you kept your attention on the task.
You flipped the lid open and started digging through the contents—some gauze, a few cotton pads, antiseptic wipes and a small bottle of something that smelled aggressively medicinal.
“Lean forward,” you said, grabbing a cotton pad.
“You really don’t have to—I was just—” Steve started quickly, stumbling over the words.
“Do you want help or not?” you said, glancing at him over your shoulder.
“Bossy,” he muttered, leaning forward
“Bleeding,” you shot back, soaking the cotton with antiseptic before turning toward him, stepping closer.
Up close, the damage looked worse. The bruise along his cheekbone had already darkened, the skin beginning to swell, and the cut at the corner of his lip was still slowly bleeding.
“Hold still,” you said.
You reached up and gently tilted his chin toward the light. You could feel his body going still at your touch. Your fingers were cold from the antiseptic bottle, and you felt the warmth of his skin almost immediately. You focused on the cut, carefully pressing the cotton against the corner of his mouth.
“Jesus—” Steve hissed under his breath.
“Relax,” you muttered, “that means it’s working.”
He gave you a look. You ignored it and kept cleaning the blood from his lip, reaching for another piece of cotton before dabbing gently at the cut again. Up this close you could see things you hadn’t noticed before like the small moles scattered across his face, the way his eyelashes cast small shadows against his cheeks and the way he was watching you now instead of the mirror.
“You’re staring,” he said suddenly and your hand paused for half a second.
“No I’m not, “ you denied quickly, “I’m just doing damage control.”
“Yeah,” he said quietly, ”sure.”
You frowned and dabbed the cut again, a little harder than necessary.
“What the—”
“If you keep talking it’s going to hurt a lot more than you think,” you warned.
Steve huffed out a quiet breath but didn’t argue. You pulled your hand back to grab another piece of cotton when his gaze suddenly dropped and his expression changed.
You followed his line of sight automatically and felt a small knot tighten in your throat with anger.
The skin around your wrist had already begun to darken where Billy’s fingers had wrapped around it earlier, faint bruises forming beneath the surface.
Before you could say anything, Steve reached out and took your hand. His fingers closed gently around your wrist, like the movement had happened before he’d fully thought it through. His brows pulled together slightly as he turned your arm under the bathroom light, studying the forming bruises with quiet concentration.
You hated that look. You hated when people looked at you like you were something fragile. You hated that your body always betrayed how easily it was to leave a mark on you. And you hated even more that you could see the concern slipping through his expression when his jaw tightened.
For a second you thought about yanking your hand back out of pure reflex, but the way his thumb hovered over the bruising— careful, almost hesitant, made you pause.
“That’s going to bruise,” he muttered quietly.
You shrugged like it didn’t matter. Like the dull ache running up your arm was nothing.
“It’s a wrist, Harrington,” you said, “I’m pretty sure I’ll survive.”
For a moment he didn’t answer. His thumb brushed lightly along the edge of the bruise again, as if checking how bad it was.
His eyes flicked up to yours for a second. There was something there — something sharper than annoyance — before his gaze dropped back to your wrist.
You immediately pulled your hand back.
“I said I’m fine,” you snapped, a little too quickly.
Steve lifted his hands in surrender, leaning back slightly.
“Alright,” he said.
But the look on his face made it clear he didn’t believe you for a second. You glanced at him again and that’s when you noticed how one of his hands was red.
You grabbed it before he could hide it.
His knuckles were scraped raw, the skin split in two places where Billy’s face had apparently made contact. Some dried blood had already crusted along the cuts.
“Did you punch a wall too,” you said, turning his hand slightly under the light, “or was Billy’s face just that hard?”
Steve huffed. “Funny.”
The swelling had already started.
You cleared your throat and turned back toward the counter, pretending to focus on the first aid kit instead of the strange tight feeling sitting somewhere in your chest.
Your fingers rummaged through the plastic box. Antiseptic wipes, band-aids but no more cotton pads. You frowned and checked again anyway. Nothing.
“You’re out.”
He blinked.
“What?”
“Cotton, genius.”
Steve leaned back slightly against the sink and exhaled.
“Think there’s more in my room.”
The words came out casually, but the way he didn’t quite look at you when he said it made the suggestion feel oddly less casual.
It was strange.
Normally Steve would’ve just rolled his eyes at you and moved on with his life. That was your usual rhythm at work: sarcasm, annoyance, and the unspoken agreement that neither of you cared much about the other. That’s how things usually were between you two. He never let it show if something actually got to him.
But this Steve felt different.
Bruised.
Quiet.
Letting you take care of him.
You weren’t used to that version of him. And the realization made something in your chest feel uncomfortably soft.
You snapped the lid of the first aid kit shut.
“Fine,” you said.
Steve pushed himself off the toilet and stepped into the hallway, holding the door open for you.
You followed him down the short hallway in silence.
When he pushed open the door to his bedroom, you paused for half a second before stepping inside.
The room looked exactly like you imagined it would. Clean, like the rest of the house. But something about it made it clear it was the only room that was actually lived in.
Your eyes wandered across the room. There were a few posters on the walls, which were covered in the ugliest wallpaper you’d ever seen in your life. Nothing like your own room, which was practically drowning in posters.
Despite the moonlight spilling through the window and bathing everything in a pale blue glow, the room felt strangely warm.
You hadn’t expected that.
Your eyes drifted to the wall beside his desk where a collection of photos had been pinned up.
Steve had already moved away from you, rummaging through one of his drawers for more cotton, but you couldn’t help glancing through them.
On the right, you spotted a picture of him and Robin wearing those ridiculous sailor uniforms from Scoops Ahoy. Steve looked serious while Robin made a silly face that made you smile faintly. Back then you didn’t even know them yet, but even from the photo you could already tell what their dynamic was like.
Dustin appeared in another photo—much younger, unmistakably a kid. Completely different from the angsty but fun teenager you knew now, though the smile was exactly the same. Steve stood beside him, leaning against his car.
There was another picture of the kids Mike, Jane, Lucas, Max, Will and Dustin crammed together on a couch, all asleep in positions that looked deeply uncomfortable, yet the photo carried an undeniable warmth.
Your gaze drifted to another photo, two figures standing with their backs to the camera, looking out over a lake. You recognized them as Jonathan and Steve.
It still seemed strange to you how well they got along now, considering they shared an ex-girlfriend. Maybe that was exactly what had brought them together in the first place.
But still they were so different. You knew Jonathan from high school, quiet, withdrawn, the kind of person who preferred staying invisible. While Steve, on the other hand, had once been the king of Hawkins High.
Your eyes shifted to another picture.
Nancy.
In the photo her hair was longer, and she was smiling shyly while Steve leaned slightly toward her, his head tilted in her direction with an easy grin.
You swallowed, that had clearly been taken when they were still together.
That was the type of girl Steve liked.
Slim, soft-looking, feminine—nothing like you.
You weren’t jealous of Nancy. You and Nancy were just… different. Nancy had changed since then, now she was tougher, sharper and comfortable in her true form but even so, you knew you were nothing alike.
You’d always had your armor—chains, leather jackets, dark eyeliner. You made yourself sharp. A rough edge carefully constructed to keep people at a distance, or that's what you thought.
You were never the type of girl you saw Steve flirting with.
You closed your eyes for a moment, trying to shove the thought away.
When you opened them again, another photo caught your attention.
A recent polaroid.
Eddie and Steve stood in the middle of the frame. Eddie was grinning widely, one arm thrown around Steve’s shoulders while Steve looked mildly annoyed, though the corner of his mouth betrayed him curling upward.
But what made you pause was the arm sticking into the side of the photo.
Someone flipping them off.
A wrist decorated with bracelets and rings.
Your bracelets, your rings.
That was your arm.
And in the photo, Steve’s middle finger was raised right back at you.
A strange warmth spread through your still-cold body.
You hadn’t expected that. Honestly, you hadn’t expected to find anything in his room that suggested you’d somehow made your way into his life at all—even if it had mostly been because of Robin, Eddie, and Max, and now Nancy, Jonathan, and the kids.
But the ghost of your presence there, however small, made your heart beat slightly unevenly.
“Here,” Steve’s voice cut through your thoughts.
You turned around, confused for a second, until you saw the pack of cotton he was holding out to you.
Right. That’s why you were here.
You took it without a word while Steve sat down on the edge of the bed and held out his hand again.
You sat beside him, the mattress dipped slightly under your weight. Neither of you commented on how close you were sitting. Or how your knee brushed lightly against his thigh.
You poured antiseptic onto the cotton, took his hand again, and carefully pressed it against the cuts on his knuckles.
His fingers flexed slightly in yours.
You pretended not to notice.
“Hold still,” you muttered.
“I am holding still.”
“You’re moving.”
“I’m breathing.”
You rolled your eyes but finished cleaning the cuts.
“You know,” he said after a moment, “most people say something when someone gets punched for them.”
You snorted.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
“Yeah,” he said. “You’ve mentioned that.”
“There.”
You finally let go of his hand and leaned back against the headboard without really thinking about it.
The adrenaline from earlier had finally started draining out of your system, leaving nothing but exhaustion behind. Everything had happened so fast that only now did you realize you were actually allowing yourself to close your eyes and breathe.
Steve shifted beside you, lying back on the bed and staring up at the ceiling. Even with a little space between you, you could still feel the warmth of his body.
“You’re still an idiot,” you muttered, opening your eyes again.
“Yeah,” he said after a second, “probably.”
The honesty of it caught you slightly off guard and you let out a quiet laugh. Despite everything, neither of you moved. Neither of you had the energy left to keep arguing.
Silence stretched between you.
Your eyes felt heavier than they had a minute ago. You told yourself you were just gonna rest them. Just for a second.
Across the bed, Steve finally looked away from the ceiling and turned his head toward you.
Your head had tilted slightly to the side, your shoulders had relaxed and your breathing had slowed.
“Unbelievable,” he murmured.
But instead of waking you, he leaned back fully against the pillows.
The room fell quiet again.
A few minutes later, his eyes closed too, and just as sleep started to pull him under, he could’ve sworn he heard a soft, sleepy “thanks” slip from your lips.
And just like that, the long, cruel night finally caught up with both of you.
Hi! Could you please do one where teen reader has no friends and due to her being younger, she’s a bit disconnected from the team. They all think she has friends and is busy like a normal teenager so that’s why they never reach out but they’ve also never taken to time to see that she doesn’t actually have friends.
Teen Reader x Avengers Family!
Empty Weekends
Avengers & Fem!Teen!Reader
[A/N] It's Bank Holiday Monday and it's boiling 🥵 Has anyone got any fun plans? My bestie's coming over soon and tonight we're playing Blood on the Clocktower again, I can't wait 🥳 This request was so cute, thanks my lovely ❤️ Hope you like it!
You’re packing up your gym bag when you first overhear them talking. “Movie starts at eight so I figured we could get food at six then walk over?”
“Sounds good,” Hope replies. “Did you invite Carol?”
Your heart sinks as you watch the two of them, hoping that they’ll look over, that they’ll realise. Natasha said all the girls – all of them surely included you? Neither of them even glances at you as they grab their own stuff and head out of the gym. It stings more than you’d care to admit as you slowly stand up, wiping some sweat from your forehead. Natasha had been training with you all day and hadn’t asked you once about a movie, or even told you she had plans that evening.
As you head towards the entrance you spot Tony and Sam talking, “Most of the girls are going out so I thought we could watch a movie here,” Sam says. “Rest of the team, get some snacks, maybe some beer, just chill.”
“Sounds good, I’ll send out a text,” Tony says.
Rest of the team? Surely that must include you. You linger in the doorway, waiting for one of them to say something to you. Tony’s eyes land on you and you smile, but all he does is reach over and ruffle your hair, “Have a good weekend kid. See you on Monday.”
Sam smiles at you too, “Yeah, have a good one kid.”
You visibly wilt but neither of them notices, both clearly eager to start their evening. Maybe they’re under the assumption you’ve been invited out with Natasha and the girls. Maybe they were only planning to invite people actually living in the compound, though you know Tony has his own place. Perhaps it’s your age but you’re only a few years younger than Kate, you could go watch an R-Rated movie with them…
As you head through the compound it feels like everyone’s getting ready to do something fun. Everyone except for you. You pause by the kitchen, seeing Wanda making herself a snack which she often does after training. Kate is sitting on the kitchen counter talking to her, along with Yelena. You wait for one of them to look over, to invite you to join them, but when Yelena does eventually notice you she just smiles and waves, “See you Monday, kid! Don’t get into too much trouble!”
Officially dismissed, you head for the exit, knowing exactly what format the evening, and the rest of the weekend, will now take. Your Mom will be out; she’s usually out most evenings. Your Dad had taken off years ago, you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d seen him. No one will ask you to hang out. No one will make plans with you. You’ll watch reruns of Judge Judy whilst eating whatever food your Mom left for you in the fridge, then head to bed and play on your old Nintendo DS that was just about still clinging on for dear life. You’d got it cheap at a second-hand stall a few years ago because you couldn’t afford a Nintendo Switch. There was no point buying an XBOX or a PlayStation because the only TV in the house was in the living room, and was so ancient that the cables probably wouldn’t be a match.
You have five dollars that you’d found in the park when you’d gone for that walk last week. That might get you a couple of decent snacks to make your evening slightly better. As you head through the reception you hear a burst of laughter behind you, and you have to blink back sudden tears.
You’d joined the Avengers earlier this year, after it had been discovered you could turn invisible. All you’d done was sneak into your school to get the test answers so you’d be prepared for the following day when it had suddenly turned into a whole government problem. You’d been terrified they’d lock you away indefinitely but they’d eventually handed you over to the Avengers, deciding it would be easier for them if they made you the Avengers’ problem. There’d been a long discussion but they’d ultimately agreed you weren’t dangerous, that you could continue living with your Mom, but you’d begin your training at the compound. No more school for you, Tony had hired a tutor to come in to keep you on top of your studies, but most of your time was now dedicated to intensive Avengers training.
Not having to go to school anymore was a major bonus – you’d never really made any friends there. When you’d joined the Avengers you’d been pleased by how kind they were to you, and you’d thought you’d finally found your ‘tribe’ so to speak. Months had gone by though and none of them had ever invited you to Avengers events, to hangouts, to anything outside of training.
You’ve taken just a few steps out of the compound when you stop. Suddenly you can’t stomach the thought of going home. Of sitting alone in that empty apartment with reheated leftovers from last night, wondering whether your Mom will come home tonight or whether she’ll stay at someone else’s house, not sure which is worse. You think of the Friday that she did come home, so drunk she could barely stand, how she’d woken you up by sitting on the edge of your bed, “You’ll always be a loser.” Her voice had been slurred, continuing with her monologue as you pretended to be asleep. “It’s why your Dad left. He knew as well. Your teenage years are for sneaking out, for having some fun… And all you do is sit in this apartment.”
Her hand had patted your head, and you’d burrowed under the covers, trying even harder to pretend you were asleep. It hadn’t stopped her though – her voice had carried beneath your duvet, continuously calling you a loser, a loner, saying you were wasting your teenage years. By morning she’d forgotten. She got to forget and you’d have to remember them for the rest of your life.
Whilst her words had been cruel, some of them hadn’t been untrue. Every weekend does look exactly the same. You never go anywhere or do anything. There are no friends for you to hang out with. What’s the point in ‘sneaking out’? Your Mom would’ve even notice and it’s not like you have anyone to cause mischief with. Nobody likes you. Nobody looks out for you. You’re completely alone in the world.
Before you even realise what you’re doing you turn on your heel and storm back into the compound, throwing your gym bag against the wall, and heading straight to the kitchen. More of the Avengers are gathered there now, some having a drink, some a snack, some just congregating as they all joke and banter, ready for the weekend ahead. All of them excited, none of them lonely or left out.
Steve spots you first, giving you a soft smile, “Hey kid. Did you forget something?”
“No, you guys forgot me!” You shout at the very top of your voice. Usually soft-spoken, it makes everyone pause their conversations to look at you. Normally you’d be embarrassed but the words spill out of your mouth before you can even process what you’re saying, “I like movies! I like hanging out and going for walks and playing games and I know I’m a little young but I’d probably like drinking too and I like- I like all of you! But none of you like me and I don’t get why I’m not your friend or why I’m not invited to any group activities or- Or-”
You’re finally cut off by Wanda putting an arm around your shoulders, and you burst into noisy tears. She shoots a look at the other Avengers, before leading you out of the kitchen, “It’s okay Sweetheart, let’s go somewhere a little quieter and you can tell me, okay?”
You sob as she leads you towards one of the smaller meeting rooms, used mainly for one to one’s and performance reviews. “I just- All I- I just want you to be my friend.”
“I am your friend.”
“So am I,” Yelena says, having followed you both from the kitchen. She closes the door behind her as the three of you sit in the meeting room. “What’s going on?”
“I’m so lonely,” You sniffle, letting Wanda stroke her fingers over your head. “I don’t wanna go home and sit by myself-”
“We thought you’d be out with friends,” Wanda says. “Or that you’d have plans with your parents-”
“It’s just me and my Mom, and she hates me.”
“Oh no, I’m sure she doesn’t,” Yelena says. “How could anyone hate someone as funny and considerate and resilient as you?”
“No, she does, she called me a loser and I am, I’m a fucking loser, I never go anywhere or do anything, and you guys can sense it too which is why you never invite me anywhere-”
“Slow down, slow down,” Wanda encourages, as you hiccup and choke on your words as you try to force them past your tears. “We just thought you’d get bored hanging around with a bunch of adults. We didn’t realise you were feeling so lonely.”
“Of course you can come to the movie,” Yelena says. “It is girl’s night after all.”
Your bottom lip trembles, “I- I can’t. I don’t even have any money.”
“Then I’ll pay for you,” Wanda says. “Have whatever you want at dinner, and I’ll cover your movie ticket too.”
“And you can sit by me and I’ll get us popcorn to share,” Yelena says. “And those strawberry laces, those are so good.”
“The others won’t want me there after I just yelled like that,” You sniffle.
“No one will care honey, I promise,” Wanda says. “Everyone loves you, I mean… I thought you realised you were our baby.”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re all pretty protective of you,” Yelena says. “We’ve tried to give you space ‘cos you know, you’re a teenager and you’re probably way too cool for us to be fussing over you all the time-”
“Hey, is she okay?” Natasha asks, appearing in the doorway. “I got you a glass of water.”
“See,” Yelena says with a grin. “We all think the world of you.”
“Y/N’s joining us for dinner and the movie,” Wanda says.
“Oh, awesome!” Natasha says, putting your water down on the table and smiling. “You can sit next to me-”
“She’s sitting by me!” Yelena says.
“Well she has two sides and I’m sitting on the other one!”
Wanda pats your shoulder, “See? We are your friends, I promise. And now we know, we’ll invite you to more things. We didn’t mean to make so many assumptions.”
“You promise you don’t just feel sorry for me?” You ask.
“No way, you’re like the coolest person ever,” Natasha says. “You’re so young and yet you’re already such a great asset to the team. We’ll have you out on the field in no time. You’re gonna be one of the strongest Avengers, just wait.”
You let them continue comforting you, basking in their attention and praise. Yelena gently wipes at the tears on your cheeks, whilst Natasha encourages you to drink your water. Wanda keeps her arm around you the entire time, and you can finally feel that protectiveness that they were talking about. The weekend still stretches ahead of you, feeling never ending, but for tonight at least, you have plans. You have friends. You’re not alone anymore. Maybe you never will be again.
robin's best friend // steve harrington x fem!reader
summary: you are back in town for the summer to visit your best friend, Robin. That implies to meet her coworker, Steve and Steve's friends. Dustin, specifically, tries his best to achieve a date for his friend Steve with you.
words: 1.9k.
warnings: season 3 baby, fluff, smut, mentions of food (ice cream), this is before they discover about the Russians so everything is fine, Steve just being a complete nervous mess around you because he really likes you. El, Max, Dustin and Robin of course in this. Mentions of the past relationship with Nancy (no hate). spoiler: my man Steve finally gets it.
a/n: hi my loves, just obsessed with my man Steve, English is not my first language so let me know if there is a mistake. Enjoy, hope you like this, love y'all.
-- -- --
“Robin is going to kill me” you said, embarrassed covering your face with the sheets.
“You? she is going to kill both of US!” Steve said, reaching your hands to stop covering your face. Still red from the embarrassment or maybe for the heat of your actions.
“What did we do? fuck!” you sit on the bed and lean your head on the headboard, taking the sheets to cover your naked torso. “The only thing she warned me about and I did it anyways” you confessed.
“I don’t regret it. To be honest, it was the best sex I ever had” Steve said, sitting in the same position as you but without covering his chest with the sheets. He looks directly into your eyes.
“Of course Steve, I know what I’m doing” you teased him. You were not lying tho and you don’t care if it sounds cocky or shameless. You really know your body, how you like it and how to please the other person.
Steve’s thoughts running so fast. Like damn, he is not lying. That was the best sex he ever had, you literally blew his mind and he can get used to this, maybe it caught him off guard but he loves your personality, attitude even if you are more reckless than him. And of course since the moment he saw you he loves every single part of yourself.
“So… you want to keep this as a secret? I don’t want to, but if you want I can keep our secret” Steve said referring not only to this night that you both finally slept together but he refers to the multiple dates you both already had.
You looked at him, his hair messy and his forehead still sweaty from all of the action you both just had. God, Robin told you that he was a loser desperate for a girlfriend or someone to get laid but he also gave you one of the best nights of your life, so you don’t regret having sex with Steve.
“Hell nah, fuck it. She’s already going to kill us anyways” you said moving towards him to sit on his lap, facing him lowering your head to kiss him. His lips still plump from all of the kisses he gave you to your face and the ones he left all over your body.
”God, is this round 2?” Steve asked, his hands moving automatically to the lower of your back to keep you steady on his lap. Just the thought of having more of you made him already hard again.
You gasped at the feeling of his dick hard against your stomach. “What? Like are you tired or something? Because I know you have work tomorrow so if you want we can stop so you can rest and- ” you teased him already kissing his neck.
“Come here and just ride me, please” Steve begged at this point, caressing your curves to make sure you don’t go anywhere. “You are going to be the death of me ya’ know that” he kissed what he had in front of him, that is your chest.
You love to have that effect on him. From the moment you both met you knew he was giving everything flirting with you, trying to take you out on a date but Robin’s voice in your head repeating over and over to not fall in love with Steve ‘The Hair’ Harrington. But you are here for the summer and he already took you out for five dates and despite you tried to hate him, you couldn’t. Every single date was perfect, and he acted like a gentleman. He was dying to kiss you on every single date but he respected your times, and god it was worth it because tonight you couldn’t resist anymore and kiss him right outside the front door of the place you are renting, so that’s how now you both ended up having sex, ready for round 2.
—————
3 weeks ago
“Hi” Dustin greeted Robin so happily.
“Hi” Robin responded seriously.
“Is he here?” Dustin asked her if it was obvious why he was there.
“Is who here?” she asked, still no emotion in her face.
An answer was not needed when Steve abruptly stepped out of the back of the ice cream store. “HENDERSON!” he ran to hug his friend that spent some time out of town.
Meanwhile the boys catch up, it was Robin’s lunch break so you step in to have lunch with her.
“Let me grab my stuff, dessert is on me” Robin told you. Ice cream of course for dessert.
“Hi” Dustin greeted you while you waited for Robin. “I’m Dustin”.
“Hi Dustin” you smiled at the kid.
“Do you work here too? Dustin asked you because he doesn’t remember Steve talking about a second coworker.
“No, I’m Robin’s best friend and I’m here for the summer” you also gave him your name.
“Ohhh I see, so you know my friend Steve? He’s single by the way and- “ Dustin tried to achieve a date for his friend.
But Steve grabbed him quickly and put his hand over his mouth to stop talking.
“Sorry about him, once you gave him the confidence he never stops talking” Steve apologies. “I mean- he’s right I’m single but you already knew that” Steve tried to hide his shyness.
Somehow, Dustin got free from Steve’s grab and just stood there watching how his friend was humiliating himself in front of you.
“Yeah, Steve. I know, Robin told me that you are single because you can’t get over your high school girlfriend” you dropped the bomb at the same time that Robin was ready to leave.
Robin grabs your arm to leave the boys alone. Before turning around you waved bye at Dustin in case he is not there anymore once Robin’s break is over. “Bye Dustin, nice to meet you” you said. “See ya’ later, Steve” while you winked at him and turned around to leave.
“Nice to meet you too!” Dustin said before losing your sight.
Steve was standing there frozen and speechless.
“Damn dude, even people out of town know you are a loser just because a girl broke up with you” Dustin teased his friend.
“Shut up, I tried to flirt with her but Robin warned me to stay away from her” Steve told Dustin.
“I mean, I understand Robin’s warning because if you are still in love with Nance, Robin doesn’t want someone to break her best friend’s heart” Dustin explained to Steve.
“Ugh, please stop with the Nancy thing. She’s happy with Jonathan and I’m happy like this, so I just said yes to Robin because I don’t want to lose her friendship” Steve confessed.
Dustin suddenly slapped him.
“WHAT WAS THAT FOR, HENDERSON?!” Steve put his hand where the punch landed.
“Are you allergic to being happy? or you are just stupid?” Dustin looked at him dead serious.
“WHAT?” Steve is still confused about what is happening right now.
“Do I need to slap you again? or what? That girl is so hot that let’s face it she’s out of your league but she is beautiful and ALSO did you see the wink she gave you? Something tells me that you can win her heart, you just need to use your brain to talk to her and invite her on a date and explain to Robin and her that Nance is in the past otherwise everyone will be thinking that you love Nance” Dustin said once again dead serious.
“Hey hey watch out your mouth talking like that about a lady” Steve refers to how Dustin said that you are hot. “Why do I need enemies if my friends say that I’m out of a lady’s league?”
“I’m just being honest, she is too cool and too sexy for you. So flirt back with her only if it is not going to be someone to replace what you feel for Nance or otherwise with Robin we will punch you in the face” Dustin said.
“You came back wiser from your camp” Steve confessed to his friend.
“Of course, I’m a grown man now, even I have a girlfriend” Dustin said proudly. “Her name is Susie and I like her a lot”.
Steve tried his best to keep listening to Dustin’s story about how he met Susie but his thoughts were in another place thinking about what his little friend told him. It was time to snap out of it and listen to his feelings but god he was so scared to get hurt again or rejected.
—
Next day, same situation except that Dustin brings El and Max to have some ice cream. You are back from Robin’s break, meanwhile Steve introduces you to the girls.
“Nice to meet you” Max smiled at you and El gave you a shy smile. You love kids, and they were so nice so you chatted with them for a while when they started talking about her boyfriends and how stupid men can be. Steve wanted to defend his gender but lately Lucas and Mike are not helping so he just stood there next to Dustin while you sat down with the girls with your ice creams.
“I KNOW RIGHT! THANK YOU” Max exclaimed when you gave her advice that she already told El before.
“Listen to me, girls. All I’m going to say is that you are smart, strong, young, cute so don’t let these boys steal your peace. Sadly, I’m not quite sure if they are going to realise what they are doing wrong but I hope they do” you advise them.
Max thanked you for your words. “Thank god, we needed more girls in the group. Can you stay here forever and join us?” El asked you.
You turned around to check on the boys. “Steve, how many kids are your only friends that you have?” laughing at him.
“Ha ha, very funny y/n” Steve tried to look annoyed.
“Steve is the best, he says that he’s like our babysitter and he’s really good at it but he’s our friend. Well, for me he’s my best friend. Actually, did you know he wants to have 6 kids?” Dustin again tries to pair his friend and get him a date.
“K’ Henderson, time to shut up” Steve just grabs the kid by the jeans jacket and walks out the store. “Robin, I’m taking my break see ya later”.
“Bye, Steve! Thanks for the ice creams” you all said with El and Max. The girls really admired him and you find that cute.
Once outside, “What are you doing, Henderson?” Steve asked his friend dead serious.
“You mean like thank you, Dustin for rooting for me because that could be the love of my life?” Dustin tried to ease his mood.
“Really? I really like her, Dustin. So, do you want me to tell her about all of this shit about the Upside Down and drag her into that hell and put her in danger?” Steve is trying his best to stay calm thinking about telling Robin and you about what is going on in this town.
“They are going to figure it out anyways” Dustin tried to argue but Steve had a really good point. “Like El and Max said, we need more girls in the band. They are reckless, and also what if one of them has powers? You never know. Steve just ask her out, everything is okay right now don’t jinx it”.
“Shut up, man” Steve just kept walking. Dustin was right, just a normal summer. Way before they discover about the Russians.
