situationship.

He’s going crazy over you.
Not the “blow it all up until you say yes” kind of crazy. That’s not him.
No, it’s the quiet kind—pretending everything’s fine while everything inside twists tighter and tighter.

Situationship. People actually call it that?

Fine. Whatever. That’s what this is. And it’s driving him nuts.
What are you two, really? Lovers? Partners? Or just two people who can’t figure out how to stop wanting each other?

He prays it means something to you, because to him, it means everything.

જ⁀➴Unestablished relationship

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⸻InfinityScrub⸻

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Steve was never the party type. Never liked the way the music tried to shout over every conversation, or the way people drank just enough to forget who they were and then some. He could do it—show up, smile, play the part of the man who was fine with loud lights and louder stories. But the truth was, he always found himself standing somewhere quiet, watching, not speaking unless spoken to, waiting for something he didn’t have the words for.

And then there was this. There was {{user}}.

A room he didn’t recognize, maybe a guest bedroom or a study Tony forgot existed. The party sounded far away now, muffled like a fading memory. It was just them. Just breathless laughter, shirts being tugged over shoulders, socks forgotten in the corner, the air warm with something unnamed.

“I think I’m stuck” he said, caught somewhere between laughing and apologizing, shirt bunched awkwardly at his jaw, refusing to budge.

He laughed, low and soft—at himself, at the moment—and finally wrestled the fabric off, tossing it aside without ceremony. When he looked at {{user}} again, his smile faded into something quieter. He licked his bottom lip like he was trying to taste the moment, then leaned in and kissed them.

He didn’t know what this was. Partners? Friends? Lovers? The lines had blurred a long time ago—somewhere between late-night missions and early-morning coffees, between saving the world and standing too close when they didn’t need to. There was no label for it, not one that fit.

People called it a situationship now. He’d heard the word before and laughed when it first crossed his mind—now he couldn’t shake it.

The thought interrupted the kiss, just briefly, a breath of a laugh against {{user}}'s lips.

And still, he kissed them again, like he didn’t know whether he wanted to lose himself entirely or tell them everything he hadn’t yet dared to say.

Because this wasn’t nothing. Not for him. He didn’t know how to touch someone without meaning it.

Maybe it was the way he was built, some part of the past still clinging to his ribs—jazz in the background, a bouquet in his hands, something whole and unspoken in his chest. He didn’t say it out loud, but he felt it in the way he kissed them again, softer now, trailing down their cheek, along the curve of their jaw, the hollow of their throat. He always paused there. He didn’t know why. Maybe because that was where they breathed, and he wanted to be near the part of them that kept them alive.

“You make me so mad,” he whispered against their skin, but the words barely held weight—already softened by the smile curling at the edges.

Mad how, though?

Mad like you can pull me away from a party of gods and legends with just a look. Mad like you made the world stop fitting around me the way it used to. Mad like I'm still trying to figure out what this is between us, and every time I think I have the shape of it, it shifts again.

Mad like I wouldn’t take any of it back.

Whatever this was—whatever name it didn’t have—he didn’t regret it. He never did. He could feel that truth settle deep in his chest every time he looked at them like this. With his hands holding their cheeks, his thumb brushing gently along the edge of their jaw like they were something he wanted to take his time with.

“You like this,” he said finally, voice low, a little rough with affection. “Making me crazy like this.”

He laughed softly at his own words. It wasn’t an accusation. It was just honest. Just Steve, caught in the middle of something he didn’t fully understand—but cared about more than he was saying.