what we do when it still hurts. ft. steve harrington and jonathan byers
୨୧ pairings ; ex ! steve harrington x jonathan byers x reader
୨୧ genres :｜slightly modern au !, high explicit suggestiveness, toxic relationship dynamic, emotional manipulation, emotional distress, jealousy, possessiveness, strong language, steve is a bit of a meanie but he doesn’t mean it :((, drug use (weed), alcohol consumption
you and steve broke up a while ago.
not the messy kind with shouting—more like a quiet end that left a lot unsaid.
not some bullshit mistake he could just brush off.
he fucked up and shattered the trust you’d built, piece by piece.
since then, he’s been a wreck.
texting you almost every damn day—pleading, apologizing, begging for a second chance.
“baby, i know you see my msgs, can you at least answer?”
“i’m sorry, can we just talk please? i’m losing it without you.”
you read the messages through low, red-rimmed eyes—high out of your mind but still catching the bullshit he was trying to feed you.
with a slow roll of your eyes, you swiped up the notification, burying his words where they belonged.
you didn’t reply. you needed space—distance from him- from the pain and the lies.
your friends really tried their hardest to be there for you, supporting you through every rough night and quiet moment. you truly appreciated it—they were your anchor when everything felt like it was falling apart.
but at the same time, you badly needed time alone, to breathe and piece yourself back together in your own way.
even though jonathan was one of steve's best friends, he was also your plug—your quiet support through the breakup. he let you know he was there for you, no questions asked.
the past couple of weeks the two of you had grown closer.
you found it kind of cute, and deep down, you appreciated it more than you’d admit.
but it was hard—really hard—to try and get over him.
the memories didn’t just fade. some nights, the ache felt like it would swallow you whole.
you knew you weren’t completely innocent either.
you could’ve blocked his number, deleted him from every social, just like you did when you were still together during your petty fights.
those times you made him lose his shit.
but deep down, there was a disgusting adrenaline rush every time you saw his texts, his begging words—even if they were lies.
seeing his username pop up in your instagram and snapchat viewers? that sting was as twisted as it was real.
still, you fought. you leaned on your friends, diving into distractions—loud laughter, late-night talks, even smoking more than you should.
you didn’t understand it.
he was the one who broke you.
so why the hell couldn’t he just leave you alone?
and yet, every time your phone buzzed with his name, that old ache flickered inside you—soft, painful, and stubbornly alive.
you’d planned to stay in—just a quiet night at home, some much-needed downtime to finally relax and breathe.
jonny: "party at mine tn, come. please? :)”
you couldn’t help but let out a slight smile.
parties weren’t really your thing—anyone who knew you well would know that loud crowds and chaos were not your scene.
but maybe… just maybe, a change of scenery wouldn’t be the worst idea.
so you said fuck it. called a couple friends over, and decided to go.
by the time you were halfway through doing your makeup, music bouncing off the walls and your girls hyping you up, another text lit up your screen.
the screen glowed in your palm, casting a pale light across your half-done face. lip gloss wand hovering mid-air, you read the message again.
do not answer ! : “i better not see you at that party tonight.”
you stared at the screen, lips parting just slightly.
controlling. possessive. the same old steve. of course it was
and somehow, it still made your chest tighten in that frustrating, sick kind of way.
he always had a way of saying the exact thing that made you want to do the opposite.
and went right back to putting on your lip gloss.
no “hi.” no “please.” just straight to control, like the words weren’t soaked in jealousy and fear underneath that harsh exterior.
your chest tightened—not out of fear, not exactly—but that familiar sting, the one that always came with him. the kind of ache you hated yourself for missing.
your friends were in the next room over, music bouncing against the walls, laughter spilling down the hallway. the air smelled like weed and vanilla body spray—chaotic, comforting.
you tried to pretend like steve's message didn't mean anything
you dropped your lip gloss on the desk and leaned back, staring at yourself in the mirror. your eyes looked tired, a little red. you hadn’t really been sleeping much lately—not since that night. not since the truth came out.
and yet… there he was. in your inbox every damn day. saying he was sorry. saying he couldn’t eat. couldn’t breathe. couldn’t fucking function without you. you wanted to call it manipulation—and it was—but it was also real. with steve, it always was both.
he’d hold your heart in his hands and swear he never meant to break it… even as the pieces slipped through his fingers.
you exhaled sharply and turned back to the mirror. applied your lip gloss in a single, smooth swipe.
“whatever” you muttered to yourself in the reflection.
you weren’t going for steve. or even really for the party. you were going for you.
and maybe—just maybe—for jonathan.
by the time you stepped into jonathan's house, the music was already thumping heavy through the floorboards. the bass shook the air, and bodies filled every inch of space—laughing, dancing, drinking, grinding.
jonathan met you at the door as promised.
he wasn’t exactly waiting for you… but you knew he was.
his eyes softened the second they landed on you. “you came.” he spoke soft with his usual half smile.
you shrugged, playing cool. “you asked nicely.”
he grinned. “had a feeling you needed it.” this time he shrugged
jonathan didn’t ask questions—not about steve, not about the nights you disappeared into your own silence. he just stayed—quiet, steady, safe. the kind of guy who’d roll your blunt for you and never once ask if the tears in your eyes were from the smoke or something deeper.
still, even his presence wasn’t enough to drown out the static crawling along your skin.
you didn’t have to turn around to know steve had arrived.
the air shifted, thick with something sharp and invisible. you glanced across the room—there he was. leaning against the kitchen counter, arms crossed, a drink untouched in his hand.
he was watching you. of course he was.
what a creep, you thought
jonathan followed your gaze and didn’t say a word. his jaw clenched ever so slightly. his fingers brushed your lower back, like a reminder—i'm here. he had his chance.
steve didn’t move. not yet. he just stood there, soaking in the sight of you, lips tight, eyes dark and unreadable.
but you could feel what he was thinking.
every smile you gave jonathan made something inside him coil tighter.
every laugh that wasn’t his made his fists clench a little harder.
he didn’t have to say a word—you already knew.
jonathan cleared his throat, getting your attention. it worked for the moment being at least you took your eyes and mind off steve. until it became useless
about 15 minutes later, you felt that unease again
you didn’t even have to turn around to know it was him.
that voice—low, quiet, always just a breath behind your ear—had been burned into you long before he ever cheated, long before he ever lied.
“didn’t i say i didn’t wanna see you here?”
who the hell did he think he was?
his words weren’t sharp. not loud or angry. they were almost… calm. dangerously so. like he wasn’t surprised. like he knew you’d come. like he knew you couldn’t stay away either.
you turned slowly, heart already pounding. there he was.
hood down now, eyes locked on yours, soft brown and stormy all at once. he looked tired—no, wrecked. like seeing you undid him in real time.
your lips parted but nothing came out.
he took a slow step forward. not enough to touch you. not yet. just enough to make your breath hitch.
“you ignore all my texts. but the second he calls, you show up?”
he didn’t have to say jonathan's name. it hung there, heavy, thick in the air between you.
you stayed silent, unsure if you were angry, nervous, or both. but steve didn’t wait for an answer.
“he invited you just to get at me. you know that, right?”
you rolled your eyes, trying to slip past him, but his arm extended—blocking your path without touching you. still gentle. still careful. like he knew if he actually laid a hand on you, you might break or worse—lean in.
“you look good,” he murmured. shifting the topic sizing up your appearance “been driving me insane all night.”
he paused, tongue poking the inside of his cheek before he swallowed hard and looked away, jaw tight.
“can’t stand the thought of him touching you.”
his voice cracked slightly.
you hated how much that affected you.
you hated how close he was, how good he still smelled, how stupidly warm your body felt just being near him.
“it’s not like that with jonathan,” you finally whispered. your first directed words to him in a while
“doesn’t matter,” he muttered. brushing off your words completely “he wants it to be.”
he looked at you then. fully.
he leaned down—barely a breath between your lips now. his voice dropped even lower, something broken and desperate leaking through the cracks.
“but he’ll never want you like i do.”
your heart slammed in your chest.
he was begging. in the quietest, most dangerous way possible.
“let’s go somewhere,” he said. “just for a second. i just… i need to talk to you. please.”
his voice slightly trembled. like he was holding something back. something ugly. something honest.
“you owe me five minutes, don’t you?”
he was looking at you like he still belonged to you.
like no amount of mistakes could undo the way you once loved him.
and maybe… just maybe, some part of you was still willing to listen.
you didn’t answer steve. not with words, at least.
your body language said enough—frozen, tense, eyes flickering between his lips and the space behind his shoulder. your mind screamed leave, but your feet were stuck. like they wanted to see how far he’d go if you stayed.
and steve? oh, he was watching that happen in real time. watching the war behind your pretty lashes, the way you chewed your bottom lip like that’d save you from the next mistake you were about to make.
but just when his fingers twitched—just when he was about to reach out and pull you in—
“yo, you good?” jonathan cut in
his voice cut through the tension like a blade. smooth. careless. and sharp in all the right places.
he was already there—closer than you remembered. shoulder brushing yours as he looked between you and steve, one brow cocked, a slow smirk dancing on his lips like he knew exactly what was going on.
steve didn't smile, hell he barely even reacted apart from his eyebrow furrowing slightly.
his whole jaw locked, eyes narrowing as jonathan casually slipped his arm around your waist, resting his hand just above your hip. casual, but not innocent.
“she said she wasn’t feelin’ the crowd,” jonathan said, looking right at steve. “so i figured i’d check on her.”
steve didn’t move. but something in him cracked. visibly.
he licked his bottom lip, nodding once, slow and tight.
“yeah? that why you’ve had your hands on her all night?”
“only when she lets me.” he shrugged
you swear if you weren't the one in the middle of this you'd give jonathan credit for that line, but right now you'd rather nothing more than to disappear.
his voice was lower now, like he wanted steve to hear every syllable like a threat. you could feel the way his fingers pressed just a little tighter against your waist, like he was marking territory.
steve stepped forward, and this time? he wasn’t calm.
“you think this is funny?” he said, voice shaking. “you think you’re not just some rebound she’s using to piss me off?”
jonathan chuckled, eyes never leaving his.
“i think you’re just mad that she doesn’t need you anymore.”
steve’s entire expression shattered into something dangerous—something raw.
he turned to you, breath heavy, words spilling faster now, emotion rushing out like he couldn’t hold it in anymore.
“tell him, y/n,” he said, stepping into your space. “tell him who you cry about when you’re high. tell him who still makes your chest hurt.”
“tell him who you still fuckin’ love.”
your heart was screaming.
jonathan was still holding you.
you were standing right in the middle, wondering which fire you’d rather burn in.
you looked up at jonathan, eyes steady but your voice soft, almost too calm for the storm around you.
“i’m fine, jonny. really.”
steve hearing the stupid nickname fall from your lips almost made his eye twitch
jonathan’s smirk faltered for just a second.
his eyes searched yours like he was trying to decode a secret you weren’t ready to share.
that gut feeling in his chest screamed otherwise.
but hell, sometimes you gotta let people believe what they want, right?
so, with a slow nod, he squeezed your waist one last time—a quiet reminder that he was here—and stepped back, pretending like he was okay with that lie.
steve didn’t waste the moment.
his breath still ragged, he leaned in closer, voice dropping low enough so only you could hear, the words a mix of command and desperation.
“come with me. just talk. i need you to hear me out, princess.”
you blinked, caught in that fragile space between what you wanted and what you knew you should do.
steve’s eyes never left yours, burning with that raw need—the kind that’s dangerous, but oh-so-hard to resist.
you hesitated, heart racing—
then finally, you whispered back,
“okay. one conversation.” you said lowly mostly trying to convince yourself that that’s all this was.
steve lips curled into a dark, possessive smile.
he hummed, contently as if he was happy that you made the right decision.
he reached for your hand, fingers warm and sure, pulling you away from the chaos and into a corner where the world shrunk down to just the two of you.
jonathan watched from a distance, fists clenched, swallowing the pain like a good soldier.
he knew the fight wasn’t over.
but for now, he let it be.
steve led you away from the pulsing chaos of the party, the music muffled and distant now, replaced by the quiet buzz of your racing heart.
his grip on your hand was gentle but firm—like he was afraid you’d slip through his fingers if he loosened even a bit.
you could tell immediately.
he’d been drinking. not wasted—but enough.
you always knew when he did.
the way his usually confident posture on that tall, lean frame slumped just a little more than usual.
his eyes hung low, glassy, weighed down with everything he hadn’t said yet.
his words, even though quiet, came out slower, like he had to force them through the lump in his throat.
“you don’t have to say... anything.” steve murmured, pulling you toward a quieter hallway. “i just… i needed to see you. i needed you to see me, to be near you. please.”
his hand was still in yours, thumb brushing against your skin like it was the only thing grounding him.
his body leaned just a little too close, like he couldn’t stand the space between you, even now.
“i can’t do this without you,” he said suddenly, the words tumbling out all at once. “i’ve been going fucking insane. i can’t sleep, i can’t eat, i can’t think about anything except you.”
his voice cracked on the last word—you—and he stepped even closer, his other hand reaching up, fingers brushing your arm like he needed the contact just to breathe.
his voice, his entire demeanour seemed so shattered, such a contrast to how he'd been with wonbin only a couple of minutes earlier.
“i know i messed up. i know i don’t deserve it. but i swear to god, y/n… i didn’t even feel alive since you stopped talking to me.”
he looked at you then, really looked—eyes red-rimmed, desperate, the way they always got when he was holding back tears and failing.
“i see your name in my phone and my whole chest just—” he exhaled sharply, voice catching. “you don’t even reply, and i still sit there staring at it like an idiot. just hoping. wishing.”
he laughed, but it was bitter. empty.
“i’m pathetic. i know. but i’d rather be pathetic and honest than pretend like losing you didn’t fuck me up.”
you stared at him, arms crossing over your chest, something ugly twisting in your gut.
“well, congrats,” you snapped, voice low and sharp, “you finally told the truth.”
your words cut clean without ever raising your voice, and that was worse than screaming.
“you didn’t care about being honest when you were in someone else’s bed,” you continued, eyes locked on his. “but now that you’re miserable, suddenly you want to be the man i deserved?”
his face crumpled, expression pinching like your words physically hit him.
“i didn’t care?” he echoed, voice rising. “you think i didn’t care?”
“what else am i supposed to think?” you threw back, stepping closer without meaning to. “you cheated on me, steve. that’s not something you do when you care.”
“i hated myself the second it happened!” he snapped. “i hated myself every second after! and you think i didn’t care? i haven’t gone a single day without regretting it—without feeling like i lost the only fucking thing in my life that made me feel real.”
you opened your mouth to fire back—but nothing came.
the air was hot and tense
he laughed, but it was bitter. empty.
“you act like i didn’t lose everything when i lost you.”
your eyes narrowed, jaw tight, that sting in your chest blooming all over again.
“you didn’t lose me, steve,” you snapped. “you threw me away. don’t act like i just slipped through your fingers when you were the one holding the damn scissors.”
that shut him up—at least for a second.
his face twisted, pain written all over his features like ink stains on skin. like it was permanent. he ran a hand down his face, exhaling slow. the alcohol on his breath wasn’t strong, but you knew it was there. you always knew. his tall frame slouched in that way it did when he’d had a few—posture off, eyes low-lidded, voice dragging with a dull slur.
he sighed stepping closer. “you don’t know what it’s been like. every day, wondering if you hate me. if you’ve moved on. if you’re—fuck—letting him touch you.” his face grimaced at the thought alone
you blinked. your throat tightened.
“it’s not about him,” you said flatly, even though your pulse told a different story.
he inched closer again, towering over you in that familiar, suffocating way, his hand twitching at his side like he was fighting the urge to touch you.
“then let it be about us,” he whispered. “just for tonight.”
you should’ve walked away.
but there was something in his voice—shaky, desperate, like he wasn’t anton anymore, just some broken version of him carved out by guilt and loneliness.
anger and grief buzzing between your teeth like static.
without thinking. without warning.
you grabbed him by the front of his hoodie and crashed your lips against his.
hard. angry. full of everything you hadn’t said since the day he broke you.
his breath hitched in your mouth.
and for a second, the world just… stopped.
it was hungry. angry. starved.
his hands gripped your waist like he couldn’t believe you were actually real, pulling you closer, closer, until your body was flush against his and your teeth were catching on his bottom lip.
he kissed you back like he’d been drowning without it.
like this was his only way to breathe.
and maybe you were angry.
maybe it didn’t make sense.
but you kissed him back anyway.
because god, it was easier to kiss him than admit how much you still wanted him.
“fuck, baby—” he mumbled into your mouth, “god, i missed you. missed this. missed us—”
you swallowed it, pressed your hips to his like you had something to prove.
he gasped, forehead falling to your shoulder, hands squeezing your thighs like he didn’t trust himself to hold back.
“you’re the only one who ever made me feel like this,” he said. “i’m not okay without you. i’m not even me without you.”
you bit your lip, breath heavy, fingers dragging up into his hair.
and for one hot, terrifying second?
you didn’t care if this was a mistake.
you just didn’t wanna stop.
his hands were on your waist, but they didn’t stay there.
they slid down—slow and greedy—like he’d been dreaming of this exact moment for months. and maybe he had. maybe every night since he lost you, he imagined what it would feel like to touch you again, to press his lips to your skin and pretend, even for a second, that he hadn’t ruined everything.
you gasped into the kiss when his fingers curled beneath your thighs, lifting you with that same reckless ease like his body had never forgotten how to hold you.
your back met the wall, breath knocked from your lungs as he leaned in close, his lips brushing yours with something raw.
“fuck,” he rasped, voice low and cracked. “you’re driving me insane. i feel like i shouldn't- ”
“then stop,” you breathed, chest rising and falling fast. “if this is wrong, steve, then stop.”
his mouth found your jaw, dragging along your throat with open-mouthed kisses, feverish and reckless. his breath was hot against your skin, words slipping between every kiss like a confession he couldn’t hold back anymore.
“i can’t,” he murmured. “you don’t know what it’s been like… not having you. not being able to touch you. to hear your voice and not have you.”
you whimpered softly when his hands gripped tighter under your thighs, pulling you closer, pressing you against him like he couldn’t get enough. his movements were shaky—barely restrained—but you could feel the way he was holding back. like if you said one word, he’d fall apart.
your fingers twisted in his hair, and that small sound of need that slipped from your lips nearly broke him.
“you still feel like mine,” he whispered, breathless. “do you know that? you still feel like mine.”
you wanted to answer. you should’ve said something.
but your mouth was too busy finding his again—desperate, aching, trying to silence the guilt that came creeping in with every passing second.
he groaned into your mouth, hips pressing closer, and for a second? it didn’t matter what was right or wrong.
it only mattered that he was here.
he groaned again, deeper this time, like the sound had been buried in his chest for weeks, clawing its way out every time he thought about you.
his hands dragged along your thighs, nails lightly digging in as he adjusted his grip—pulling you even closer, like he needed to feel every inch of you against him to breathe.
“fuck, baby…” your voice broke into a whisper, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth, almost reverent. “this is all i’ve been thinking about. every night. every fucking second.”
his eyes met yours—glassy, dark, desperate—and it made your heart stutter. he looked wrecked.
"mhmm?" he questioned as if he waited sick for this confession
completely, utterly wrecked.
“i can’t sleep, can’t eat,” he breathed out, forehead resting against yours. “every time i close my eyes, it’s you. touching me. leaving me. screaming in my head like i’m losing it—”
you swallowed, hard. “steve…”
“tell me you haven’t thought about me too,” he said, hands trailing up under your shirt now, fingertips shaky against your bare skin. “tell me you haven’t missed this. missed me.”
your breath hitched at the contact—at how soft he was touching you, like you’d vanish if he pushed too hard. and god, it would’ve been easier to lie.
but his lips were on your neck again, tongue flicking against your pulse before he sucked, slow and deep, and your hips jerked. involuntary. instinctual.
“that’s what i thought,” he growled.
your hands were tangled in his hoodie now, pulling him closer like you needed him to hold you up. because suddenly your knees didn’t feel like they could carry you.
he kissed you again—sloppier this time. like the thread of control was snapping strand by strand and he was finally letting go.
his hand slid down, cupping the curve of your ass, squeezing just hard enough to make you gasp. and when you did? he smiled against your lips.
“you make the prettiest sounds when you’re close like this,” he muttered, kissing along your jaw. “so fucking sweet. always have been.”
you whined, high pitched and breathy, thighs tightening around his hips. and he felt that—groaned again, loud and sharp as he rolled his hips forward just enough to let you feel what you did to him.
“if you don’t want this,” he whispered, voice ragged, “tell me now. i swear i’ll stop.”
you were already grinding down against him—desperate, shameless, dizzy from the heat rolling off his skin.
your mouth was too busy kissing him like you were starving—like you were punishing him for every second apart and forgiving him for it at the same time.
he kissed you back like he was dying.
his hands were under your shirt now, gliding up your ribs, thumbs grazing the soft skin just under your bra—slow, deliberate, like he was reacquainting himself with what was his.
“i missed this body,” he mumbled against your collarbone, “missed touching you… tasting you…”
his voice cracked, but he didn’t stop.
he dragged his tongue along your skin, teeth nipping at the spot behind your ear that always made you twitch—and when you did, he smiled. like he’d just won.
“still sensitive there,” he whispered and slightly smiled. “still mine.”
your hips rolled against him, the friction making both of you whimper, breath tangled and fast. his hands gripped your thighs tighter, like he needed leverage, like you were the only anchor keeping him from fully losing control.
“you don’t even know,” he whispered, voice shaking, “how many nights i fucked my fist pretending it was you. how bad it’s been, baby—how fucking empty.”
you moaned at the confession, hand fisting the fabric of his hoodie, pulling it up, desperate to feel more—anything.
in any other setting you'd shame steve for such a vile confession, but his shamelessness of his need for you just helped ignite the fire pooling at the bottom of your stomach
“i thought i’d be okay without you,” you murmured against his lips. “i thought it’d get easier…”
“did it?” he breathed, kissing you again. one peck. “tell me the truth.”
you hesitated—just for a second.
and that was long enough.
he saw it in your eyes, in the way your breath stuttered.
“yeah, baby” he whispered, brushing your cheek with his nose. “i know”
his hips rutted against you again, harder this time—your skirt bunched up slightly. needy. dizzying. almost enough.
“tell me you still want me,” he gasped. “say it. say it and i swear—i’ll never fuck it up again.”
you didn’t even recognize your own voice when it came out. it was immediate
“i still want you, steve,..so bad” you whispered. “even if i shouldn’t.”
and steve groaned like those words ruined him.
like they resurrected him at the same time.
his lips found yours again, messy, bruising, unforgiving—and this time, there was no hesitation. no shame. just want.
your shirt was halfway off. his hoodie was gone. hands everywhere, mouths too busy to speak.
you weren’t supposed to be here.
you weren’t supposed to let this happen.
you weren’t supposed to still need him.
“you don’t have to forgive me,” he said, voice breaking like it’s the hardest thing he’s ever done. “but don’t push me away again, baby. not when i’m this close.”
his lips trailed down your neck, hot and demanding, leaving a string of desperate kisses and bruising hickeys that burned beneath your skin. every press of his mouth was a silent plea, a reminder that he was here—holding on tight to the last piece of you he could claim. his hands gripped your waist harder, pulling you closer, as if letting go even for a second would break him completely.
his lips crashed into yours, all tongue and teeth and desperation. it wasn’t gentle. it wasn’t sweet. it was needy, raw—like he was trying to crawl inside your skin and never leave again.
“fuck, baby,” he growled against your mouth, voice wrecked. “you don’t know what you’re doing to me.”
your back slammed into the wall again, hard enough to knock the breath out of you, but you didn’t care—not when his hands were everywhere at once, pushing your clothes out of the way, dragging over bare skin like he’d starve without the taste of you.
he dropped lower, kissing down your collarbone, your chest, teeth grazing and lips sucking until you gasped and arched into him. he left a trail of dark marks down your neck, messy, wet, claiming every inch of you like it was his last chance to.
his hands were under your thighs again, spreading you open, and the way he groaned when your legs wrapped around his waist? sinful.
you choked on a moan as his hips rolled forward, slow and hard, pressing right where you needed him the most, and god—you could feel how hard he was, thick and hot through his jeans. he didn’t hide it. he wanted you to feel it. to remember exactly what you were missing.
“you’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, one hand gripping your jaw as he kissed you again, deep and possessive. “and you’re mine. even if you hate me. even if this is wrong.”
"you're mine y/n," he repeated "you always will be"
his fingers tangled in your hair, tugging your head back so he could look at you—eyes dark, swollen lips, flushed skin. he looked ruined. wrecked. and still, somehow, like he’d never been more sure of anything.
“you want me?” he asked, voice low, breathless. “say it.”
your lips parted, but the only thing that came out was a broken moan—because the truth was already all over your skin, in the way you clawed at his back leaving behind pinkish scratch marks making him wince, the way you moved with him, lost in the heat.
and that? that was enough.
because he slammed his mouth back onto yours, deep and desperate, and this time, he didn’t hold back.
but the tension didn’t fade.
he held you like he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began—forehead pressed to yours, breath mingling, skin flushed and sticky with everything that had just passed between you.
for a moment, there was silence. just the pounding of your hearts and the soft, shaky exhales shared in the space between your lips.
and then, it was you who broke it.
your voice low, frayed at the edges.
“this...doesn't fix what you did steve”
he froze for a beat. eyes still closed. like hearing it from you hurt in a different way.
his breath caught, and when he exhaled, it was ragged.
you pulled back just enough to look at him—really look at him.
his flushed cheeks, the way his lashes clung together from sweat, lips swollen from the weight of everything you couldn’t say with words.
and those eyes. still begging.
“but it meant something,” he said, barely louder than a whisper. “didn’t it?”
you didn’t answer right away.
because you didn’t want to lie.
because you didn’t want to admit the truth either.
your fingers skimmed down the side of his neck, brushing over the fresh marks blooming along his skin—those same ones you’d kissed into him like a secret.
a silent claim you’d made without thinking.
“…it wasn’t nothing,” you said at last. “but it doesn’t mean we’re okay.”
he nodded slowly. his jaw clenched tight like he was forcing himself to accept it.
but still, his hands stayed on your hips. still, he leaned into your touch like he couldn’t survive without it.
“then let me work for it,” he murmured. “let me try.”
you didn’t say no either.
instead, you let your forehead fall back against his.
and for the first time in a long time, you both just breathed.
please do not motify my works.
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