am i dreaming or is that you, harrington?

Which is why he's standing at the bar with a glass of Coke in one hand when he glances across the room and finds you in animated conversation with a woman at least twenty years older than you, gesturing enthusiastically enough that half your drink is in immediate danger of sloshing onto the floor.

"How bad?" Robin asks, appearing beside him.

Steve watches you pull out your phone.

The woman leans closer.

A second later she starts laughing.

Steve closes his eyes.

"Medium."

Robin follows his gaze. "What is she showing her?"

"I have a horrible feeling I already know."

When you eventually make your way back over, looking deeply pleased with yourself, Steve immediately shifts closer, one hand settling automatically against the small of your back as you slot yourself into the space beside him.

"What were you showing her?"

You blink up at him.

"A picture of you."

Robin nearly inhales her drink.

Steve pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Of course it was."

You look genuinely confused by his reaction.

"What?"

"Why do you have to show strangers pictures of me?"

"Because you looked nice."

"I was sitting on the sofa."

"You looked really nice."

"As opposed to all the times I look terrible?"

You consider this seriously for a moment.

"I don't think that's happened yet."

Robin makes a noise somewhere between a laugh and a wheeze and has to physically turn away from both of you.

Steve, meanwhile, is discovering that there are few things more embarrassing than being adored by someone who has completely lost the ability to keep those thoughts to themselves.

And it doesn't stop there.

If anything, it gets worse.

Steve returns from ordering another round and immediately knows something is wrong when he finds Robin doubled over against the dartboard cabinet, laughing so hard she can barely breathe.

The source of her amusement becomes obvious approximately two seconds later.

You're standing with two girls near the pool table, phone in hand once again.

One of them spots Steve approaching and immediately points.

"Oh my God."

The second one turns.

Her eyes widen.

"That's him."

Steve stops walking.

"No."

The first girl laughs. "That is absolutely him."

"Baby."

You look delighted.

"Steve!"

"What have you done?"

"What?"

The sheer innocence in your voice would almost be convincing if Steve hadn't been dating you long enough to recognise exactly what it sounded like when you were pretending not to know the answer.

"What did you tell them?"

You shrug.

"We were talking."

"About?"

You point at him.

"My boyfriend."

The girls immediately dissolve into laughter.

Steve briefly considers walking directly into traffic.

"Honey."

"What?"

"How many photos did you show them?"

The girls exchange a look.

"Fourteen."

"FOURTEEN?"

"In my defence," you say seriously, "they were all different."

Robin lets out a strangled noise.

"Different?"

"Different situations."

Steve stares at you.

You stare back.

Completely sincere.

"Some of them were from summer."

As though that somehow improves matters.

The worst part is that the girls aren't laughing at him.

They're laughing because it's obvious how much you adore him.

They're laughing because they've clearly spent the last ten minutes listening to you enthusiastically describe your boyfriend like he's simultaneously a movie star, a rescue puppy, and the eighth wonder of the world.

One of them grins.

"Honestly, it's kind of sweet."

"Thank you," you say immediately.

"Stop encouraging her."

"No," says the other girl. "For what it's worth, she's very convincing."

Steve drops his head into his hands.

Robin is crying with laughter.

And somehow the entire situation becomes even more mortifying when he realises that neither of the girls seem remotely surprised by the fact he's standing there. They've clearly heard enough stories over the last ten minutes to feel as though they already know him.

Which is arguably worse.

By the time Steve manages to extract you from introducing him to complete strangers, the pub has grown warmer and louder, the evening crowd settling in around them while conversations overlap into a constant low hum.

You eventually migrate outside, escaping the heat and noise in favour of a small patio strung with fairy lights and crowded with battered wooden tables.

You immediately kick your shoes halfway off and tuck your legs beneath yourself.

Steve sits beside you without thinking.

Within seconds you're leaning against him, naturally, as though gravity has finally remembered where you're supposed to be. The familiar weight of you settles against his side. His arm finds your shoulders. Your fingers drift absent-mindedly towards his hand.

Neither of you acknowledge it. It's simply what happens.

"You having fun?" he asks.

You hum.

"Mhm."

"You've definitely had enough to drink."

"Says who?"

"Says the person who's spent the evening running an unsolicited public relations campaign on my behalf."

Your grin appears immediately.

"There it is."

Steve sighs.

"There what is?"

"The thing."

"What thing?"

You poke his cheek.

The absolute audacity of it.

Steve catches your hand before you can do it again.

"You know exactly what I'm talking about."

"I really don't."

"You do."

"I don't."

"You absolutely do."

The smile pulling at the corner of his mouth gives him away.

You make a triumphant noise.

"There."

"There what?"

"That."

"What?"

"That thing."

Steve turns away.

Which only makes you laugh harder.

For a few moments neither of you say anything.

Music drifts through the open door behind you. Somebody drops a glass inside. A burst of laughter follows.

The night air feels pleasantly cool against his skin after the heat of the pub.

When you speak again, your voice is softer.

Honest in the way drunk people sometimes become when every protective instinct and social filter quietly falls away.

"You don't see what everybody else sees."

Steve glances down.

"What does that mean?"

You trace absent-minded circles across the back of his hand.

"It means you think people love you because you're helpful."

Something shifts in Steve's chest.

Small. Uncomfortable. Familiar.

You continue before he can answer.

"You think people love you because you drive them places."

You squeeze his fingers.

"Or because you fix things."

Another squeeze.

"Or because you look after everyone."

Steve looks away.

The thing about being known is that sometimes people stumble directly into places you've spent years carefully avoiding.

You don't seem to notice.

Or maybe you do.

Maybe that's the problem.

"But that's not why."

Steve swallows.

"No?"

You shake your head.

The answer arrives with complete certainty.

"No."

"Then why?"

You look at him as though he's asked the most ridiculous question imaginable.

"Because you're Steve."

That's it.

No grand speech. No dramatic declaration.

Just four simple words delivered with complete confidence.

As though the answer should have been obvious all along.

As though being Steve is reason enough.

As though it always was.

Robin finds you both twenty minutes later.

One look at the two of you sharing a basket of chips and she immediately narrows her eyes.

"Oh no."

Steve sighs.

"What now?"

"Why do you both look emotional?"

"We don't."

"You do."

"We're eating chips."

"You look like somebody confessed their love before boarding a train in a period drama."

Steve points a chip at her.

"This is why nobody tells you things."

Robin steals it.

"You cried, didn't you?"

"I did not."

"You cried a little bit."

"I didn't."

"You absolutely cried a little bit."

Before Steve can defend himself, you suddenly lift your head from his shoulder.

"Robin."

Robin immediately braces herself.

"What?"

You point at Steve.

"He's really pretty."

Robin folds in half.

Steve groans.

"No, seriously."

"We know."

"You don't."

Robin wipes tears from her eyes.

"I promise you, sweetheart, we do."

You shake your head.

The frustration in your expression suggests neither of them are taking this nearly seriously enough.

"Look at him!"

Robin obediently looks.

Then looks at you.

Then back at Steve.

"Yep."

You throw your hands up.

"His hair!"

"His hair."

"His eyes!"

"His eyes."

"The fact he's nice to old people!"

Steve nearly chokes.

"What does that have to do with anything?"

"It matters."

"It absolutely matters," Robin says.

"Thank you."

"Stop helping."

"No."

Robin's grin is positively evil now.

"You know what the best part is?"

Steve already hates this conversation.

"What?"

Robin points towards you.

"She's not saying any of this because she's drunk."

"Excuse me?"

Robin ignores him.

"She's saying it because she's been thinking it for years and alcohol just removed the quality control department."

The look on your face confirms it instantly.

"Oh."

Steve stares.

"Oh?"

"Yeah."

Robin laughs.

"Oh, buddy."

Steve immediately decides he never wants to speak to either of you again.

By midnight the evening has begun winding down.

The pub is quieter now, conversations fading as people drift home in pairs and groups. Chairs scrape across wooden floors. Glasses clink behind the bar.

The alcohol is wearing off.

Your energy is beginning to fade with it.

Steve notices the change immediately.

The way your words have become slower. The way your eyes linger shut a little longer every time you blink. The way you instinctively seek him out whenever he moves more than a few feet away.

He says his goodbyes. Collects jackets. Finds your missing shoe, somehow.

And eventually guides you towards the car.

Halfway across the car park you mumble something against his shoulder.

"What was that?"

"Hm?"

"What'd you say?"

You squint up at him.

For a moment he thinks you've forgotten.

Then you smile.

Small. Sleepy. Entirely yourself.

"I said thank you."

Steve frowns.

"For what?"

You shrug.

"As a general concept."

A laugh escapes before he can stop it.

"A general concept?"

"Mhm."

"Very specific."

"I know."

When he reaches the car, he opens the passenger door and waits while you climb inside. He makes sure your seatbelt is on, checks you've got your phone, your bag, your jacket.

The routine is so familiar he barely has to think about it anymore.

It's only when he closes the door and walks around to the driver's side that he notices you're watching him through the windscreen.

Still smiling.

The soft kind this time.

Not the reckless grin from earlier.

Something quieter and infinitely more dangerous.

Steve settles into the driver's seat.

"What?"

You continue looking at him.

Nothing but affection in your eyes.

"Nothing."

"Baby."

"I just love you."

The words arrive so casually they almost miss him entirely.

No build-up. No fanfare.

Just a simple statement of fact.

Like commenting on the weather. Like mentioning that it's late. Like saying the sky is blue.

I just love you.

Steve reaches across the centre console and takes your hand.

Your fingers immediately curl around his.

Outside, amber streetlights cast pools of gold across the empty car park. Inside, the heater hums softly to life, filling the silence with something warm and familiar.

You yawn.

Your eyes drift shut.

Your hand remains wrapped around his.

And as Steve starts the engine, he finds himself thinking about every stranger you'd spoken to tonight, every photograph you'd proudly shown off, every conversation he'd been hopelessly embarrassed by.

Because none of them had really been about him being pretty.

Not entirely.

They'd been about something much simpler.

You'd spent the entire evening looking at him the way people look at their favourite place.

Like somewhere safe. Somewhere familiar. Somewhere worth returning to.

And maybe that was what had embarrassed him so much.

Not being admired.

Being seen.

Because loving somebody is easy to understand.

Being known quite that completely is something else entirely.

Steve squeezes your hand once before pulling out of the car park.

You don't even open your eyes.

You just squeeze back.

And somehow, after everything, that feels like the most convincing declaration of love he's heard all night.

You laughed, closing the door behind him. “I knew she’d lose it. You look even better today. The sun’s doing the work for you.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, that shy little smile creeping across his face again. The same one he’d worn when you were drying his hair yesterday. “Yeah, well… I’ve been getting compliments all day. Even Keith at the video store said I looked ‘less like a douchebag.’ High praise.”

He followed you into the kitchen, where you were halfway through making lemonade from the powder mix. You could feel his eyes on you the whole time watching the way you stirred the pitcher, the way your hair fell over your shoulder. The air between you felt different now. Charged. Like the moment in the bathroom had cracked something open and neither of you knew how to close it again.

“You really meant it, didn’t you?” he asked quietly, leaning against the counter beside you. “That I can ask you for anything.”

You glanced over at him. “Of course I did.”

Steve nodded, then reached out and gently tugged the spoon from your hand, setting it down. His fingers brushed yours and stayed there a second longer than necessary.

“I’ve been thinking about yesterday,” he admitted. His voice was low, almost hesitant. “All night, actually. Couldn’t sleep. Kept remembering how it felt when you were washing my hair. The way you looked at me.”

Your heart stuttered. You turned to face him fully, the lemonade forgotten. “Steve…”

“No, let me say it.” He stepped closer, close enough that you could smell his cologne mixed with the faint coconut from your shampoo still lingering in his hair. “I’ve been pretending for a long time that this 'us' is just best friends stuff. But yesterday, when you were looking down at me like that… I couldn’t pretend anymore.”

His hand came up to cup the side of your face, thumb brushing your cheek the same way yours had brushed his forehead in the tub. His eyes searched yours, nervous but determined. The caramel streaks in his hair caught the kitchen light, making him look softer, warmer, impossibly dear.

“I like you,” he said, simple and honest. “Like, really like you. Not just ‘you’re my favorite person’ like-you. The kind where I get stupidly nervous before I come over now. The kind where I let you dye my hair because I wanted an excuse to be close to you for hours.”

You felt your face heat up, but you couldn’t stop smiling. “You absolute dork. You could’ve just asked me on a date.”

Steve let out a breathless laugh, forehead dropping to rest against yours. “Yeah, but then I wouldn’t have gotten the full bathtub experience.”

You laughed too, the sound soft between you. Your hands found his waist, fingers curling into the fabric of his polo. For a moment you just stood there, breathing the same air, noses brushing.

Then Steve tilted his head and kissed you.

It was gentle at first, tentative, like he was still half-afraid you’d pull away. But when you kissed him back, rising up on your toes and sliding your arms around his neck, he made this quiet, relieved sound and pulled you closer. One hand stayed on your face while the other wrapped around your back, holding you like he’d been waiting years to do it.

When you finally broke apart, both of you a little dazed and smiling like idiots, Steve rested his forehead against yours again.

“God, I’ve wanted to do that since you told me to take my shirt off yesterday,” he murmured.

You swatted his chest, laughing. “Steve!”

“What? It was a very romantic moment. You, me, hair dye, no shirt… cinematic, really.”

You rolled your eyes fondly and kissed him again quicker this time, just because you could. “So what now, King Steve? You gonna take me on a real date, or are we just gonna make out in my kitchen?”

His grin was blinding. “Both. Definitely both. Starting with ice cream at that new place by the mall. Then maybe I’ll let you mess with my hair again. You’re the only one allowed to touch it from now on.”

“Possessive already?” you teased.

“Very,” he said, leaning in to kiss the corner of your mouth. “Especially when it looks this good because of you.”

Later that evening, after ice cream and a long walk where Steve kept finding excuses to hold your hand, you ended up back at your place. He was sprawled on your couch, head in your lap, while you ran your fingers through his highlighted hair. The TV was on low, some mindless movie neither of you were really watching.

Steve hummed happily as your nails scratched gently at his scalp, eyes half-closed in contentment.

“You know,” he said sleepily, “if this is what best-friend privileges get me, I should’ve asked you to dye my hair years ago.”

You leaned down and kissed his temple. “Next time we’re doing something even more embarrassing. Matching highlights.”

He laughed, the sound warm and bright, and reached up to pull you down into another kiss, slow and sweet and full of promise.

The highlights weren’t the only thing that had changed.

Everything had. And it felt perfect.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁

But he just grins at you, leaning in, moving himself up and over you, flicking his thumbs over your nipples as he presses a kiss to your lips. You notice he pointedly doesn’t answer, but when his lips meet yours, you find you don’t really care either. Because in addition to, apparently, being very skilled with his hands, he’s goddamn superb with his mouth and that’s a fucking fact. You’d probably tell everyone you could if you talked about that kind of thing with people一his tongue swipes against your lips, begging entrance, and you let him in一ok, maybe you’ll start.

He kisses you slow, deep, his tongue moving against yours as you moan just from the feeling of him licking into you, his hands still at your chest, circling your perked nipples, massaging them in opposite directions, making you arch up against him because he certainly was not lying, you can attest to that now.

And it’s not that you weren’t aware一he’s just that your previous handful of hookups had been so quick and rushed that it was basically just kissing, then you climbing on top of him or bending over something for quick and dirty sex. For the first time you actually had the privacy of your bedroom, and he was actually taking his time with you.

“T-Travis,” you mumbled against his lips as he pulled back, and he let his face remain close to yours, the tip of his nose and his lips brushing over yours as he spoke.

“Can I try something for you?” he asks.

You attempt to focus on him, though he’s so close that it’s not that easy to do. “What?” you ask, searching his face.

“Want to try to getcha to come real hard, babe,” he says, kissing you again, sucking your upper lip between his. “Getcha to come on me, if I can.”

You study him, his breath warm on your cheek as he tilts his head, questioning, hoping you’ll say yes.

“You want me to一squirt on you?” you force the word out, because that was not what you’d expected him to ask, though you’re not… opposed.

But Teacake only gives you a shy little grin that turns impish the longer you look. “Like I said一I’m real good with my hands, babe, I promise.”

His earnestness makes you laugh a little, not derisively, but in genuine amusement, happiness.

“Um, yeah. Ok,” you say, reaching up to tangle your hands in his hair, wrapping your fingers around the strands as you tug him back down to kiss you. He meets your lips and kisses you, soft, sweet, for just a moment before he pulls away from you, moving down between your legs. He kneels between them, and you look down your body as you take him in. Strong thighs and a thick waist, his half-hard cock bobbing a little each time he moves, and his hands coming to rest on your knees. His broad chest isn't quite heaving, but you can tell how excited he is just at the prospect of what he’s about to do.

Dragging his palms down your thighs, Teacake moves himself further down the bed, coming to rest on his front, your legs framing him as he bullies his way between them, shoulders pushing your legs up a little as he presses close in to you; your heels come down to dig into his back, and he leans up and over you to lay a tender kiss on your mound, right where your slit begins, and as his lips linger there, they part and his tongue eases itself down into your folds, finding your clit一you tense and lift your hips into his face, and he just rolls with it, moving with you, undulating his tongue against you as you reach down again, taking a fistful of his hair and holding onto it.

Travis hums quietly against you, drawing your clit gently between his lips, sucking softly on it as he moves one of his hands up, the backs of his fingers tracing over your thigh so you know what he’s doing. You shiver at the glancing touches he’s giving you, until finally his fingers slide against your lips, moving between them to feel for your slit. You whimper when he does, one of his fingertips moving into you, but he doesn’t commit fully to it yet一instead, he just turns his hand and rubs at it, feeling you squeezing down on nothing from the outside.

“Travis,” you whine, and you feel him huff a little bit of a laugh through his nose, but he doesn’t pull away and he doesn’t stop or slow down. He just traces his tongue over your clit before finally, with a touch of urgency now, curls his middle finger inside of you, both of you reveling at the feeling of it; he closes his eyes at the way you tighten down on him, and you arch up off the bed just a little at the intrusion, longing for more fucking immediately. You clench down on his fingers, squeezing him, and he interprets what you want, he must, because he pulls his finger out of you, angles his ring finger beside it, and pushes back in, and you nearly cry out because it feels so goddamn good. He’s not moving too fast, too deep, too hard; he’s for the perfect angle and has them curled just right inside of you that when the pads of his fingers brush your g-spot, you gasp aloud, desperate, hands fisting the sheets now because there’s nothing else you can think to do with them. Just hold the fuck on as he fingers your tight cunt.

“C’mon,” he says. “I know you got it in ya.”

“Travis,” you whimper, lifting your head to look down at him as he pulls away from your clit and instead works on your pussy, rubbing you inside, not hard but firm, focusing intently on your spot. You feel your pussy twitch around him, your whole cunt throbbing. You reach a hand down to rub at your clit, and Travis kisses your wrist as you do, watching your touch yourself as he does too.

“God damn, that’s a sight,” he mutters, and you just lift your other hand from the sheet to curl into your own hair, then fall back to grip the pillow, holding onto it as you roll your hips, riding Teacake’s fingers as he keeps stroking your g-spot.

“Feels一really good,” you breathe, feeling a rush of heat and wetness between your legs as your whole body shudders. You’re getting close to your orgasm because you’re touching your clit, but it doesn’t deter Teacake at all一he just starts fingering you now, properly, making sure to rub at your g-spot on every instroke, but he’s giving you firm pressure, the heel of his hand slamming into you in a way that might hurt if you weren’t so keyed up with pleasure already. Every time his fingers enter you again, every time they curl exactly right into your spot, every time your fingers circle your clit, you feel your body heat rise, your mouth dry, your eyes leak from the corners, and he pulls back a little, just a little, as your thighs start to shake.

“That’s it,” he encourages you. “Come on, babe, show me what you got.”

“Oh my god,” you half-shout一and then actually shout, because you’d felt close for a moment and then all of a sudden you were coming一no build up, no precipice, no leading to the edge. No, out of nowhere you were right there, and you watch, tears of absolute pleasure dripping down your temples as you come, hard, so hard Travis had to pull his fingers out of you, and as he does, you feel your body release, feel yourself let go一feel yourself squirt, the stream landing on Travis and your bed and your legs, your heels digging into his back so hard he can’t move away as you came all over him.

A wrecked sob leaves your lips as you finish, your cunt absolutely soaked, drenched and spasming, and you open your eyes to see Travis, beaming, his face covered in your come.

“Toldja,” he says, lifting his hand to show you his wet fingers, like that wasn’t incredibly lewd and adorably insane.

He straightens up, his chest wet with you too, the dark hair covering it glistening. You feel your pussy clench again, the sight of it almost primal, and you push your tits together, looking down at his cock一now fully erect.

“Your turn,” you say, and he smiles impossibly wider, standing over you on his knees, taking his cock in hand.

You lick your lips, letting your tongue peek out onto your lower lip as he strokes himself, thumb curling over the head of his prick each time he nears it.

“Come on, big boy,” you say, half-joking; you see Teacake smirk a little at the name too. “Get me back.”

“Oh, I’m gonna,” he says. “Gonna getcha right back. I’ll show you.”

His hand moves over himself faster as you play with your nipples a little, fingers sliding over them. Teacake watches, eyes flicking from your hands to your mouth, to your eyes, and when he meets them he smiles down at you, before lowering his gaze back to himself, watching his hand move over his cock, smearing precome now, his tip leaking.

“Gonna,” he says, and you mewl out an “Mhm…” to egg him on.

“Gonna,” he utters, leaning forward, his free hand coming to rest on the wall above your head; he angles his cock down toward your chest and holds your gaze, looking right into your eyes. He keeps stroking, his hand moving quickly over himself, streaking your arousal all over himself as he does, his hand still a little wet with your fluids一and then he’s coming too, thick ropes of his spend landing on your tits, your fingers. You rub it into your hard nipples, and he lets his eyes dip down to watch you, groaning as he finishes, groaning as you circle the hard nubs with your fingers, rubbing his spunk into your skin.

With a sigh, he lowers himself back down to sit on you一you maybe, accidentally, loose a rather undignified Oof as his weight settles onto you, but you’d never admit to it一and then he trails a finger over a line of his come that caught your collarbone.

“I think you won,” he says.

You look at your tits as good as you can一mostly dry, really一and then up to his, where his face and chest still have your release clinging to his skin. Even so, you say, “I think we both won.”

He clambers off of you, lying beside you, pressing himself against you一the feeling of it is filthy, debaucherous, knowing what you’re both covered in一and kisses your lips before he whispers against them, echoing you for emphasis. “We both won.”

To say that the last month had been draining would be putting it politely — but life moved on. The military had created a regulatory schedule including a strict curfew for Hawkins. From sun up to sun down, civilians were free to roam the town, excluding the MAC-Z in the center of downtown. School had even reopened, trying to provide the remaining children of Hawkins with an education and hope that normalcy would return. The people of Hawkins slowly returned to their regular jobs or chose to volunteer for the humanitarian organizations that brought in rations from the outside world. You wondered whether the eyes of the nation were focused on the insanity that had racked your once-small town, or if they had found a new tragedy to focus on. 

The knock of the doorway caught your attention, derailing your thoughts. You lifted your gaze from the manual you had been reading to where Steve stood in the entryway of the WSQK green room. He held a soda in both hands and flashed you an easy smile, approaching your side. 

This was your new normal. After Robin discovered that her favorite radio DJ had skipped town, leaving the station abandoned, the town committee needed new employees to manage the public airwaves. Steve and Robin were fresh out of a job with Family Video, choosing to shut down the Hawkins store. Plus, Robin, Nancy, Jonathan, and you would all be graduating high school and still be stuck in Hawkins until the gate was closed. 

So it was decided that your ragtag group would run the station and utilize it as a base of operations to locate Vecna. Dustin, your younger brother, led the charge in establishing a comms system, but that meant you needed to learn what every part of that tower did. 

“Studying up?” Steve asked as he offered you the cold soda. 

“Trying too. You never know what could happen, and at least one of us should know how all this works in case Dustin’s busy,” You rambled off with an explanation. 

Steve chuckled, his eyes flicking over your face in admiration, “Well, why don’t you take a break? The manual will still be here later, and you can fry your brain trying to become an engineer then. But I just found another box of records to sort through. New releases that arrived at the station before everything went to shit.”

You smiled as you took a half step closer. Steve took the opportunity to wrap an arm around your waist, tugging you against his side.

“Fine, fine. I’ll help you with the music library,” Your tone full of playful mirth, though you were content to spend some time together. It had been hard to just have some quality time as a couple before all the craziness took over. 

Both of you stood at the table, sorting through a cardboard box to alphabetize the new singles. Prince, Bowie, Tiffany – new additions to the extensive catalog. Steve picked out one of the records at random, pulling George Michael’s Faith. 

“Oh, is that your new fave?” You asked, with a warm smile, at his pleased expression. 

His smile morphed into confusion. “Um, no? You love George Michael.”

“No, I love Wham!” You corrected him, moving your attention to the actual task. 

While you thumbed through the records, Steve set the single aside. One large hand settled on his hip, perplexed and brow pinched, “Same thing. You like George Michael.”

“Totally not the same thing,” You scoffed at his lack of discernment between the two, “George Michael is great, and I love that single, but I still prefer Wham! I think George is finding his sound outside of what the band was.”

“Jesus, you sound like Eddie when he corrects me on Black Zeppelin,” Steve sighed, dragging a hand over his face in exasperation. 

“I think you’re trying to say Black Sabbath,” you cringed a little at his lack of musical knowledge, but at least your boyfriend would agree to listen to anything once. Your eyes danced over his confused expression, “Why do you think George Michael is my favorite artist?”

“Um… Dustin mentioned you and your mom listening to it to cheer up, and you’ve asked Robin to queue it a few times. So I made note that this was your favorite song,” Steve explained, attempting not to sound like the worried boyfriend he was, “Y’know, just in case.”

Neither of you needed to elaborate — you both knew what ‘just in case’ meant. Steve beat himself up every day about Max, and he was determined to keep you and everyone else in the party from the same fate. 

You gave him a sympathetic smile, stepping closer to his side, “That’s really sweet, y’know.”

Steve bashfully shook his head, moving his hand to rub soothing circles against your upper back, “Figured you’d do the same for me.”

“Oh, of course. I don’t think your Tears for Fears cassette has seen the light of day since you first put it in your car,” You affectionately teased him, not wanting to burst his bubble just yet. 

“Haha, yeah, you’ve got me figured out,” He hummed, taking a moment to simply admire you in the moment. Steve tucked your hair behind your ear. “So what is your favorite song?”

Your eyes drifted back over the singles, knowing that you wouldn’t find it there. Because your favorite song wasn’t the latest hit from this summer or even last. Music had a way of sticking with you, even if the rest of the world changed. Your eyes trailed back up to meet Steve’s, giving him a gentle smile before pressing a quick kiss to his lips. 

“Thank you, but if that’s an avoidant tactic, it’s not gonna work,” Steve hummed, tugging you half an inch closer by your belt loop, “Tell me. I won’t laugh – promise. Mike likes The Butthole Surfers, so I don’t think it gets much worse than that.”

After mulling it over a moment longer, you admitted with an exasperated sigh, “Well… my favorite song is Time After Time by Cyndi Lauper.”

Steve blinked, not completely shocked but a little stunned at the information, “That cheesy ballad we danced to at Prom?”

“Cyndi Lauper is not cheesy,” You swiftly corrected him with a glare, “And… yes, it is.”

His signature smirk stretched across his lips, “You are such a sap. I can’t even believe it. Time After Time? Really?”

“Really,” you nodded, exasperated by his need for explanation, “It was just… We had just started kind of dating, and you were there. Not just my rom date, but my boyfriend who went dress shopping with me and bought a matching tie and sneaking a flask of your dad’s liquor — it was the perfect night. And then you won Prom King and refused to dance with Tammy Thompson, even though she rightfully won Prom Queen.”

“Because why dance with Tammy Thompson when I’ve got you,” Steve chuckled, reaching to intertwine your fingers, “I stopped caring about winning Prom King after the demodogs. Was shocked I was still nominated.”

“You’re still Steve Harrington, need I remind you?” You teased him, recalling a version of Steve you hadn’t known in a long time now.

“Sure, sure. I’m Steve Harrington to Hawkins,” His brown eyes held intense focus on your own, “But I’m happy here just being your Steve. Which makes us both saps, I guess.”

“You’ve always been a sap,” Your lips twisted into a loving smile before pressing a kiss to his cheek, “And I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Steve nodded in agreement, “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

You sat shotgun, boots kicked up on the dash, the heater blowing warm against your bare legs where your skirt had ridden up. Gator’s cruiser was your private world tonight. No one out here to see, no one to care. He’d picked you up after closing at the diner, like always, muttering something about “needing to clear his head” before he’d kissed you hard enough to leave your lipstick smeared on his collar. Now the silence between you felt charged, the way it always did when the night stretched empty and he was half-hard just from the way you looked at him.

You reached over without asking, fingers brushing the aux cord dangling from his phone mount. He glanced sideways, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “What’re you doin’, baby? My playlist’s fine.”

“It’s not,” you said, soft, already plugging in. Your thumb scrolled quick, queuing up the album you’d been listening to on loop for weeks: Ethel Cain, Preacher’s Daughter. You hit play on “Gibson Girl” and let the first slow, haunting notes bleed through the speakers. The synths were low and pulsing, like a heartbeat under dark water. Gator’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t kill it. He never killed your music.

The opening verse slid in, Ethel’s voice low and velvet-rough:

You wanna love me right now

You wanna get alone with me

You wanna get my clothes off

And hurt me

You started humming it under your breath, barely audible at first, just the melody curling around your tongue like smoke. Your eyes stayed on the road, but you felt Gator’s gaze snap to you, sharp, surprised. He’d never heard this before. You knew that. His playlists were all country grit and trap beats, shit that made his truck shake. This was different. Slower. Filthier in the quiet way it crawled inside your chest.

He shifted in the seat, leather creaking under him. “The fuck is this?” His voice came out rougher than usual, that Midwestern drawl thickening. “Sounds like some haunted church pussy music. Who even sings like that?”

You didn’t answer right away. Just hummed a little louder as the pre-chorus built:

Black leather and dark glasses

Pouring another while I shake my ass

Your fingers traced the edge of the seatbelt across your chest, pressing it just enough to make your tits shift under your thin sweater. Gator’s knuckles went white on the wheel. He was listening now, really listening. The lyrics weren’t subtle. They were a dare wrapped in honey, and you could see the exact second they landed behind his eyes.

He’s cold-blooded so it takes more time to bleed

Obsession with the money, addicted to the drugs

Says he’s in love with my body, that’s why he’s fucking it up

You hummed the next line right along with her, soft and breathy, almost moaning it: And then he says to me… “Baby, if it feels good, then it can’t be bad…”

Gator let out a short, startled laugh that died quick. “Jesus Christ,” he muttered, eyes flicking from the road to your mouth and back. The cruiser drifted a little over the centerline before he corrected. “You put this on purpose, didn’t you? Fuckin’ tease.” His free hand dropped from the wheel to your thigh, palm hot through your skirt. Fingers dug in, possessive. “Never heard nothin’ like it. Sounds like she’s beggin’ to get wrecked.”

You turned your head, still humming, and let your gaze drag down his body: uniform shirt half-unbuttoned, badge glinting, the obvious bulge already straining against his dark pants. The song looped into the second verse, Ethel’s voice dropping lower, more intimate, like she was whispering right in his ear. You matched it, voice barely above a whisper now:

You wanna love me right now…

Gator’s breath hitched. He wasn’t driving straight anymore; the cruiser slowed to a crawl, tires crunching gravel as he veered onto the shoulder of an old access road that dead-ended in a snow-dusted field. No houses for miles. Just cornstalks long since harvested, frost sparkling under the headlights like broken glass.

“Pull over,” you said softly, still humming the hook.

“Already am,” he growled. The cruiser jerked to a stop, lights killing with a click. The song kept playing, filling the cab, low bass thumping under the lyrics like a second pulse. Gator killed the engine but left the keys in, the aux still feeding the music through the speakers. He turned to you fully, eyes dark, pupils blown wide. “First time I hear this shit and you’re hummin’ it like you’re the one sayin’ it. Like you want me to do every fuckin’ thing she’s singin’ about.”

You let the hum fade into a smile. “Maybe I do.”

He was on you before the next line even dropped.

Gator’s mouth crashed into yours, all teeth and desperation, one big hand fisting your hair to yank your head back. The kiss tasted like stale coffee and the mint gum he chewed to hide the cigarettes he wasn’t supposed to smoke on duty. His other hand shoved your skirt up to your hips in one rough motion, fingers immediately hooking into the lace of your panties and tugging them aside. No preamble. The song swelled around you, “You wanna get my clothes off and hurt me” and he groaned into your mouth like the lyrics were permission.

“Fuck, baby,” he panted against your lips, two thick fingers sliding through your slick folds without warning. You were already wet, had been since the first verse and he felt it, cursed low. “Listen to her. Listen to what she’s sayin’. That’s you, ain’t it? Want me to hurt you just right.” He pumped his fingers deep, curling them hard against that spot that made your back arch off the seat. The cruiser’s bench was narrow, but he used it, crowding you against the door, knee shoving your thighs wider.

You moaned, head thunking back against the window, and picked up the hum again, breathy and broken now as he finger-fucked you faster. You came alone to me… from however far away…

“Shit—keep doin’ that,” Gator rasped. His thumb found your clit, rubbing messy circles while his fingers scissored inside you. “Hum it while I make this pussy cry. Never heard a song make me this hard. Sounds like she wants to get used up. Like you do.” His cock was straining so hard against his zipper it looked painful. You reached down, palming him through the fabric, and he bucked into your hand with a strangled sound.

The song hit the pre-chorus again, louder in the sudden quiet of the cab:

And if you want it good, downright iconic… Something they all want that only you can have…

You matched it, voice wrecked: humming the melody while your hips rolled against his hand, chasing the stretch. Gator’s eyes were glued to your face, watching your mouth move with the words he’d never heard before tonight. It was like the song had peeled something open in him, his usual cocky swagger cracking into raw, filthy need.

He yanked his fingers out suddenly, slick and shining, and shoved them into your mouth. “Taste how bad you want it.” You sucked obediently, humming around them as the lyrics kept rolling, “You wanna fuck me right now” and Gator watched, jaw clenched. “That’s my girl. My dirty little Gibson Girl, huh? Singin’ about gettin’ her clothes ripped off and her pussy wrecked in the back of a cop car.”

He fumbled his belt open with one hand, the other still feeding you his fingers. The zipper rasped loud. His cock sprang free, thick, flushed dark, already leaking at the tip. He stroked himself once, twice, smearing the precum, then hauled you across the bench like you weighed nothing. Your back hit the seat; he climbed over you, uniform shirt hanging open, badge cold against your chest as he shoved your sweater up and latched his mouth onto one nipple. He bit down hard enough to make you keen around his fingers.

The song looped seamlessly, Ethel’s voice filling every inch of the cab like she was in the backseat watching:

And then he says to me… “Baby, if it feels good, then it can’t be bad…”

You pulled off his fingers with a wet pop and gasped the line back at him: “If it feels good… then it can’t be bad.”

Gator lost it.

He shoved your panties down your thighs in one brutal yank, not even bothering to get them all the way off just enough to spread you open. The head of his cock nudged your entrance, thick and hot, and he pushed in slow at first, letting you feel every inch split you open. “Fuck—tight as always. Listen to that song, baby. She knows. She knows exactly what you are.” He bottomed out with a groan that vibrated against your throat, hips flush to yours, balls pressed tight. The cruiser rocked once as he started moving, deep, punishing thrusts that punched the air out of your lungs.

You wrapped your legs around his waist, heels digging into the small of his back, and started humming louder, right against his ear. The melody wove through your moans as he fucked you harder, the wet slap of skin on skin mixing with the music. You wanna love me right now… You wanna get alone with me…

“Goddamn right I do,” Gator snarled. Sweat beaded on his forehead, dripping onto your tits as he pounded into you. One hand braced on the headrest; the other gripped your hip hard enough to bruise. “Wanna keep you right here, stuffed full of my cock every night. Make you hum that filthy shit while I fill you up.” He angled his hips, hitting that spot again and again until your vision sparked white. The song built to its hazy, drugged-out chorus, and you came with it, clenching around him, crying out his name mixed with broken fragments of the lyrics.

He didn’t stop. Didn’t even slow. Just fucked you through it, hips snapping relentless, the cruiser’s shocks creaking loud. “That’s it—sing for me while you cum on my dick. Never heard nothin’ hotter.” His voice was wrecked, that cocky deputy edge gone, replaced by something darker, hungrier. He pulled out suddenly, flipping you over the bench seat so your chest pressed to the leather, ass up. The position was cramped, your knees on the floor mat, but he didn’t care. He slammed back in from behind, one hand fisting your hair to yank your head back so you could still hear the speakers.

The song hit the bridge you loved most, Ethel’s voice raw and pleading, repeating the hook like a prayer:

You wanna get my clothes off… And hurt me…

Gator leaned over you, chest to your back, teeth sinking into the junction of your shoulder as he rutted deep. “You hear that? That’s what you do to me. One song and I’m losin’ my fuckin’ mind.” His free hand snaked around to rub your clit in tight, mean circles. “Gonna cum inside you. Right here where anyone could drive by and see the sheriff’s son balls-deep in his girl. You want that? Want me to knock you up to this song?”

You nodded frantically, humming yes-yes-yes into the leather, the vibrations traveling straight to his cock. He fucked you faster, sloppy now, chasing it. The lyrics looped again and Gator came with a guttural shout, hips stuttering as he flooded you. Hot pulses deep inside, so much it leaked out around his shaft, dripping down your thighs onto the seat.

He stayed buried, panting, the song still playing soft in the background like a dirty lullaby. After a minute he pulled out slow, watching his cum spill from your swollen pussy with a satisfied hum of his own. He swiped two fingers through it, pushed them back in, and made you taste the mix, his and yours while you kept humming the fading melody.

“First time I hear that song,” he murmured, voice hoarse, pressing a surprisingly soft kiss to the bite mark on your shoulder, “and it’s gonna be stuck in my head forever now. Every time I’m on patrol, I’m gonna remember you hummin’ it while I wreck this pretty cunt.” He tugged your panties back up, trapping the mess, and settled back into the driver’s seat, pulling you into his lap instead of letting you return to shotgun. His arms wrapped around you, one hand idly stroking your thigh as the song queued up again automatically.

You rested your head on his chest, still humming the chorus under your breath, softer now. Gator’s heartbeat thundered against your cheek. Outside, the night stayed empty and black. Inside, the cruiser smelled like sex and leather and the faint ghost of his cologne, and Ethel Cain kept singing low and sweet about wanting to be loved right now, hurt just right, clothes off and bodies wrecked.

He started the engine eventually, but didn’t pull back onto the road right away. Just sat there with you in his lap, thumb tracing lazy circles on your hip, listening to the song wind down one more time.

“Play it again,” he said quietly, almost shy. “Whole album if you want. I think… I think I get it now.”

You smiled against his neck and hit repeat. The night was young, the roads still empty, and Gator Tillman, cocky deputy, your man, had just heard his new favorite song for the first time.

The cruiser rolled back onto the blacktop slow, your humming blending with Ethel’s voice once more as his hand slipped back under your skirt, already teasing, already promising round two before the next verse even dropped.

You wanna love me right now…

And he did. Over and over, all night long.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁

the problem with steve, at least in his own extremely fair and very rational opinion, wasn't that he was bad at dating.

he had rules, a system. a whole carefully built little routine that he had been refining for months, maybe longer if he was being honest.

he showed up on time. he dressed well. never overdressed, never underdressed. just enough effort to look like he had put thought into it without looking like he had spent three hours in front of a mirror. he held doors open, remembered names, asked questions that made people feel interesting, and listened with the kind of attention that usually made people lean in a little closer and smile a little softer.

he was charming, too, when he wanted to be. not in a loud, showy way. not the way he used to be, back when charm was something he wore like a jacket that never quite fit right. now it was quieter, steadier, something he had grown into, whether he wanted to admit it or not.

and still, every single time, it went nowhere.

the dates always started well. sometimes they even ended well. there would be laughter, easy conversation, a shared dessert, an accidental brush of hands over the table that made steve’s brain do something deeply embarrassing. sometimes there was a kiss goodnight. sometimes there wasn’t.

either way, by the next week, something would shift. a text would come in that was polite and distant. a cancelation would happen twice, then not at all because the other person had simply stopped trying. once, someone told him he was “really great” which somehow felt worse than being told he was awful, because it meant there was no obvious answer to fix.

so he was left with this baffling, humiliating mystery of his own life. he was doing everything right. that had to mean something. it had to.

maybe love was just mean now. maybe it handed out false hope for sport. maybe there was some invisible test no one had thought to tell him about, and he kept failing it with the smiling stupidity of a man who had never been informed about it in the first place.

he was leaning against the chain link fence of the baseball field after practice, baseball cap pushed back on his head and whistle hanging uselessly around his neck, when he saw you.

you were standing near the parking lot with a little boy tugging at your sleeve, both of you half lit by the dying gold of late afternoon. the kid was holding a glove too big for his hand and talking at you with the urgency only little brothers and little brother adjacent people could possess.

you were listening with your whole face, smiling down at him like whatever he was saying mattered more than anything else in the world.

steve looked away first.

then looked back.

because apparently his life had also become that kind of humiliating. the kind where a person he'd never met before managed to make him forget how to breathe for a second.

you caught him looking and gave him a polite, curious smile.

he did what he always did when he was caught off guard by something beautiful. he made it worse by trying to be smooth.

“you here for the game?” he asked, walking over before his brain could file a complaint.

you glanced at the field, then back at him. “my brother. he’s obsessed with baseball for reasons that aren't entirely clear to me.”

the kid beside you brightened. “because it’s awesome.”

“see?” you said, with exaggerated patience.

steve laughed before he could stop himself.

you smiled at that, and something in his chest did a slow, inconvenient turn.

“steve,” he said, lifting a hand a little awkwardly.

“i know” you said.

he blinked. “you do?”

“you coach, right? my brother talks about you like you’re some kind of baseball legend.”

“i don’t know about legend.”

“no, i think he said, and i quote, ‘coach steve is the coolest adult alive.’”

steve pressed a hand to his chest. “wow. that’s actually very accurate.”

that made you laugh, really laugh this time, and he felt stupidly victorious for about half a second.

your brother had wandered off to chase one of his friends by then, leaving the two of you standing a few feet apart near the fence, the noise of the field and the last calls of the other kids and parents thinning out around you.

steve asked your name. you gave it. he repeated it like it mattered, like he was trying it on for size. maybe he was. then, because he had apparently decided subtlety was for people with less at stake, he asked if you would maybe want to get dinner sometime.

it was not smooth, it was not his best work, it was, however, sincere.

you studied him for a second that made his pulse kick against his ribs. then you tilted your head and smiled in a way that made him suspiciously hopeful.

“yeah,” you said. “i think i’d like that.”

and just like that, steve was back in the game.

he spent the next week in a state of organized panic.

he picked the restaurant carefully, something nice but not intimidating, the kind of place where the lighting was flattering and the music was low enough to let conversation breathe. he ironed his shirt. changed his mind about three different shirts. called robin and then immediately regretted it because robin had lots of opinions.

“so,” she’d said, “you finally found someone who won’t treat you like a mildly annoying decorative object?”

“i never said my dates treat me like that.”

“you didn’t have to, i know your tragic little heart.”

“do you want to help or not?”

she had. sort of. in the way robin helped, which meant she insulted him affectionately then offered one genuine piece of advice at the end like a magician producing a dove from a hat.

“stop performing,” she’d said. “you do this thing where you decide ahead of time exactly who you need to be, and then you get weird when the other person is a person and not a checklist. just… be there. actually be there.”

he had stared at her, she had stared back.

“that’s it?” he asked.

“you asked for dating wisdom, not the meaning of life.”

still, her words had stuck with him.

so when friday evening came, steve didn’t show up as a polished version of himself built to impress. he still looked good, because that was unavoidable and frankly not his fault, but he was less rigid about it. more human.

he brought flowers because he thought it was sweet, and because sweet was safer than clever. he rehearsed a joke in the mirror, hated it, then left the house without it.

when he knocked on your door, he had that nervous, hopeful energy he always tried to hide. he was holding the flowers in both hands like they might explode.

you opened the door looking so unfairly beautiful that for a second he forgot the name of the road he’d driven down to get there.

then you saw the flowers.

your face changed in a way he couldn’t quite read immediately, and his confidence took one long, stumbling step backward.

“these are for you,” he said quickly. “obviously.”

you covered your mouth, and he watched with growing horror as you started to laugh.

not cruelly. thankfully not cruelly.

just helplessly.

you made a face that was somewhere between apology and amusement. “i’m actually allergic.”

there was a beat of silence.

then steve blinked. “you’re joking.”

“i wish i was.”

you laughed again, and this time he joined in, because what else was there to do? he set the flowers carefully on the porch railing then he rubbed the back of his neck, smiling despite himself.

“cool,” he said. “great start. really strong opening for me.”

“i do appreciate the effort,” you said, still smiling. “and the gesture. i’m serious, it was very sweet.”

“sweet is what i was going for. though, apparently, also poisonous.”

“only to me.”

“noted.”

he expected the moment to turn awkward. instead it became one of those strange, easy things he never knew how to plan for. the kind he could never have designed with all his perfect little dating rules.

you stepped outside, closing the door behind you, and there was the briefest pause while the two of you figured out where to put your hands, where to look, how much to smile without it feeling like too much.

he asked if you were ready. you said yes. he opened the passenger door for you, and you made an exaggerated face that said he was absurdly committed to the bit.

“what?” he asked as you got in.

“nothing,” you said, settling into the seat. “just trying to decide whether i’m being courted or recruited into a very polite organised crime ring.”

“those aren't mutually exclusive.”

that got another laugh out of you, and for the first time all week, steve felt his shoulders loosen.

-

the drive there actually started surprisingly well.

which, considering steve's recent luck, should've probably been his first warning sign.

usually first dates came with awkward silences. not terrible silences, but the kind where both people were carefully trying to figure each other out. deciding what stories to tell. deciding which parts of themselves were acceptable to put on display first.

but somehow that never happened with you.

the conversation just flowed.

one minute he was pulling away from your house and the next he was halfway across town listening to you complain about a customer you'd dealt with earlier that week.

"and then," you said dramatically, "he asked to speak to someone who actually knew what they were talking about."

steve winced.

"ouch."

"right?"

"what'd you do?"

you grinned. "pointed him toward my manager. obviously"

he laughed loudly enough that he almost missed a turn.

after that the conversation seemed to move naturally from one thing to another. your jobs. your week. your little brother's latest baseball obsession.

it was easy, dangerously easy. steve couldn't remember the last time he'd gotten through a first date without mentally checking off boxes.

ask about family. ask about hobbies. don't talk too much. don't be weird.

with you, he kept forgetting the rules entirely.

and honestly?

it was nice.

by the time they reached the restaurant, steve was feeling good. really good. the flowers had been a minor setback, nothing more.

the date was back on track.

everything was fine, everything was absolutely-

"i'm sorry, can you repeat the name on the reservation?"

steve blinked.

"steve harrington."

the hostess frowned at the screen.

"one second."

that wasn't ideal.

a minute later another employee appeared, then another. steve immediately felt his stomach drop.

beside him, you shifted slightly.

"that's usually not a good sign."

"no" he admitted.

the hostess offered an apologetic smile. "we can't seem to find your booking."

steve stared. "what?"

he had booked it, he knew he had. he'd called days ago. hell, he'd written it down afterward.

"could it be under another name?" she asked.

"no."

a few more minutes passed until eventually the hostess returned looking genuinely sympathetic.

which somehow made it worse.

"i'm really sorry," she said. "we're completely booked tonight."

silence.

steve nodded once, slowly.

"right."

"i apologize."

"no worries."

there were, in fact, many worries.

because seriously? seriously?

first the flowers.

now this.

the two of you walked back outside.

the restaurant door shut behind you.

for a few seconds neither of you said anything. steve was already preparing his apology, he was working on a speech. something mature, something responsible, something that didn't sound like he wanted to throw himself into traffic.

"okay" he started.

you suddenly snorted.

steve looked over.

you had your lips pressed together failing miserably at holding back laughter.

and then you completely lost the battle.

a laugh burst out of you, loud and genuine, you doubled over slightly.

"i'm sorry," you managed. "i'm sorry-"

another laugh escaped.

"this is ridiculous."

steve stared.

then the absurdity finally hit him too, and suddenly he was laughing along with you.

right there in the parking lot like two complete idiots.

"i swear i booked it."

"I believe you."

"thank you."

"this is still hilarious."

he rubbed a hand over his face.

"i've never had a date go this badly."

you looked at him.

"really?"

"absolutely."

you smiled. "that's kind of impressive."

and somehow hearing that made him feel better. a lot better.

so you abandoned the plan completely.

twenty minutes later steve found himself pulling into a drive-thru.

something that had never once appeared in the grand steve harrington first date handbook.

you ordered burgers, fries, drinks. nothing fancy, nothing romantic, nothing remotely close to what he'd planned.

then the two of you parked in the corner of the lot and ate the greasy burgers in the car.

and somehow it was perfect.

you talked about everything, absolutely everything. childhood stories. favourite songs. movies you loved. movies you hated. terrible haircuts. embarrassing family members.

at one point you nearly choked laughing after hearing about steve's middle school attempt at impressing a girl by pretending he knew how to skateboard.

"what happened?" you asked.

"i hit a mailbox."

you stared.

"immediately."

you laughed so hard you had tears in your eyes and steve couldn't stop smiling.

the weirdest part was that eventually he forgot he was on a date.

not because he wasn't interested. quite the opposite. he forgot because talking to you felt less like performing and more like existing.

at some point he started rambling, actually rambling. about baseball, about coaching, about the kids, about some completely pointless story involving a game from three weeks ago.

halfway through he realized he'd been talking for way too long.

normally that would've sent him into panic mode.

instead he glanced over.

you were listening. really listening. eyes fixed on him, smiling softly whenever he got animated, and for some reason that made his chest feel strange.

like maybe he wanted to keep talking forever if it meant you'd keep looking at him like that.

eventually the burgers disappeared, the fries too, and neither of you seemed particularly interested in ending the night.

"we could walk?" you suggested.

steve shrugged.

"a walk's pretty romantic."

"look at you."

"i'm a professional."

you rolled your eyes but smiled.

and so you walked.

for all of six minutes.

because apparently the universe had not yet finished with you.

the rain started without warning.

one second there were clouds, the next it was absolutely pouring.

"oh my god!"

you shrieked.

steve immediately burst out laughing.

"run!"

you were both soaked within seconds.

completely drenched.

your hair sticking to your face, your clothes ruined, the two of you sprinting toward the car while laughing so hard neither of you could breathe properly.

at some point your hand found his. or maybe his found yours.

neither of you really knew.

but suddenly you were running together through the rain.

for a brief second steve thought that maybe this date was cursed.

but if it was?

he honestly didn't care anymore because he was having the best time he'd had in years. maybe ever.

eventually he drove you home.

the heater blasted warm air. both of you still damp, still smiling, still occasionally laughing over something one of you remembered from earlier.

when he pulled up outside your house neither of you moved immediately.

then you looked over at him, a smile pulling at your mouth.

"thanks for the worst date ever."

steve immediately barked out a laugh, dropping his head forward.

"yeah." he rubbed a hand over his face, still grinning, "i'm pretty good at those."

you laughed softly.

and then there was one of those moments. the kind that wasn't awkward, just quiet. the kind where neither person really wanted to leave.

you looked at him, he looked at you, and then you tilted your head.

"so."

"so?"

"next date are we getting food poisoning or something?"

steve laughed, he really did, but honestly? he barely heard the joke. because his brain had immediately latched onto two words.

next date.

next.

date.

there was going to be another one.

you wanted another one.

you.

wanted.

another.

one.

he felt like he was floating.

"hopefully not" he managed.

"hopefully?"

"with my luck i don't want to make promises."

you smiled and god. that smile.

"maybe we should avoid public places altogether."

"smart."

"less opportunities for disaster."

steve thought for a second. "we could do something at my apartment."

you raised an eyebrow.

"brave suggestion, harrington."

he pointed immediately."movies."

"uh-huh."

"food."

"right."

"possibly board games."

you laughed, "okay."

and there it was.

a plan.

a second date.

something to look forward to.

you said goodnight a few minutes later.

steve watched you walk to your door, waited until you got inside safely, then finally pulled away from the curb.

the entire drive home he couldn't stop smiling. he tried, seriously, he tried, but every time he thought about the night another grin appeared.

because somehow everything that could've gone wrong had gone wrong and somehow it had still ended up being the best date of his life.

maybe robin was right, maybe the problem had never been finding the perfect date, maybe it had been finding the right person to have an imperfect one with.

and as steve pulled into his driveway with rain still tapping softly against the roof of his car, all he could think about was next weekend.

and you.

-

the next date went wrong too. obviously.

it started at his apartment. which, according to the plan the two of you had made, was supposed to eliminate any possibility of disaster.

no restaurants, no reservations, no weather, just movies, snacks, and the two of you. simple.

or so steve had thought.

because somehow he managed to burn the popcorn.

not slightly burn it, not accidentally leave it in for ten extra seconds, he completely annihilated it.

you found him standing in front of the microwave looking so very offended.

"how?"

he pointed at the blackened bag, "i don't know."

"it's microwave popcorn."

"i know that."

"there are instructions."

"i followed them."

you stared, he stared back, you both looked at the popcorn, then immediately started laughing.

again.

because of course.

somehow the evening still ended with the two of you sharing snacks from his cupboards while sitting shoulder to shoulder on the couch.

the movie barely held either of your attention.

every ten minutes one of you would make a comment, or tell a story, or laugh at something completely unrelated, and by the end of the night steve found himself thinking the same thing he'd thought after your first date.

that somehow it had been perfect despite absolutely not being perfect.

the date after that somehow went even better and also somehow worse, because steve's car broke down halfway to the drive in movie.

completely.

he sat behind the wheel for a moment, staring ahead, accepting his fate.

you sat beside him, equally silent.

then,

"so."

steve groaned, "don't."

"this is getting ridiculous."

he dropped his forehead against the steering wheel. "i know."

"are you cursed?"

"i might be."

you laughed.

you never made it to the movie, instead you ended up walking to a diner a few streets away.

sharing fries, stealing food off each other's plates, talking until you both forgot there had even been a movie to begin with.

it became a pattern after that.

something always happened.

plans changed, things broke, weather ruined things, food got burned, and yet somehow every single date still ended with steve driving home smiling like an idiot.

because at some point he stopped caring about the plan. he stopped trying to create perfect evenings, he stopped worrying about whether everything was going right.

because every time something went wrong, you just laughed, shrugged, worked around it together, and he night always ended up better than whatever he'd originally planned.

he thought that probably said something.

about you, about him, about whatever this thing between the two of you was becoming. because it was becoming something.

neither of you had said it yet, but steve could feel it.

every time he saw you, every time your name appeared on his phone, every time he found himself smiling at a text like some hopeless teenager.

and then there was the kissing.

god, the kissing.

that had gone very, very right.

for once.

your first kiss happened after another date that had gone completely off the rails.

steve couldn't even remember exactly what had gone wrong that night anymore, only that he was standing outside your house. that you were smiling at him and that there had been this moment.

one of those moments.

the kind where the world seemed to pause for a second. where neither person looked away, where neither person moved.

until eventually steve had quietly asked,

"can i kiss you?"

and you'd smiled. that soft smile he was becoming alarmingly addicted to.

then nodded.

and steve swore every thought in his head immediately vanished.

after that?

well.

it happened a lot. a lot.

he kissed you when he picked you up, kissed you when he dropped you off, kissed you halfway through conversations because he genuinely couldn't help himself. when you picked up your brother from games, he'd walk over and kiss you before even saying hello.

which always earned him dramatic gagging noises from the kids.

especially your brother.

"gross."

"thank you" steve would reply.

"i'm serious."

"i know."

and then he'd kiss you again just to annoy him.

which worked every single time.

sometimes you would show up at practice, sometimes he'd stop by your place after work, sometimes neither of you even had plans you just wanted to see each other.

weekends turned into weekdays, dates turned into casual evenings, phone calls turned into falling asleep with the phone still pressed against his ear.

and before steve really realized it, you had become part of his life.

something woven into the everyday. something that felt so natural it was hard to remember what things had looked like before.

which was probably why he got nervous.

because for all his confidence, all his charm, all his history with dating, this mattered. more than any of the others ever had.

which was why he spent nearly an hour talking himself into asking you out.

but he managed it eventually.

sitting beside you on his couch one evening. your legs stretched across his lap, a movie playing that neither of you were actually watching.

he looked at you, you looked at him, and suddenly every prepared sentence disappeared.

"hey."

"hey."

he swallowed. "this is gonna sound stupid."

you smiled. "okay."

"but i kinda wanted to ask something."

your expression softened.

"what?"

steve rubbed the back of his neck. already embarrassed, already nervous, already wishing he could somehow skip the part where he had to actually say the words.

but he did it anyway because you were worth being nervous for.

"would you maybe wanna be my girlfriend?"

there was a brief silence, just long enough for him to panic, then you smiled.

"yeah."

another pause, then you laughed softly. "i'd like that."

steve stared.

"really?"

you laughed harder.

"yes, really."

"seriously?"

"steve."

"right."

you shook your head, still smiling. "you're ridiculous."

he couldn't stop grinning. didn't even try. because somehow you had said yes. somehow this beautiful, funny, impossible person had looked at him and decided she wanted him too.

later that night, after you'd fallen asleep against his shoulder and he was sitting there trying not to move because he didn't want to wake you, steve found himself thinking about all the dates before you.

all the awkward conversations. all the dead ends. all the nights he'd driven home wondering what he was doing wrong.

wondering why nothing ever seemed to stick. wondering if maybe love just wasn't meant for him.

and maybe modern love was a cruel endeavour.

maybe dating sucked, maybe people hurt each other, maybe timing was terrible, maybe nothing ever worked the way it was supposed to.

but steve looked down at you sleeping against him, felt your hand loosely tangled with his, remembered every disaster date that somehow became a great night anyway.

and for the first time in a very long time, none of that seemed to matter.

because eventually he'd gotten tired of failing. eventually he'd said fuck it, whatever.

and that had led him straight to you. which, as far as steve was concerned, was the best thing that had ever gone wrong.

-

"Why?"

"They shed."

"So do you."

"I do not."

You stare pointedly at the dark hairs currently scattered across the shoulders of his t-shirt. Steve follows your gaze, immediately realises his mistake, and sighs.

"...that's different."

"It literally isn't."

"It is."

You grin.

Steve narrows his eyes immediately.

"Don't."

"Don't what?"

"Decide you've already won."

"I haven't won."

"You have that face."

"What face?"

"That face."

You smile wider as Steve groans.

Because unfortunately for him, you've already started looking at shelters.

The second time the topic comes up, Robin is present, which is ultimately Steve's downfall because Robin immediately takes your side.

"A cat is objectively a great idea."

"Thank you."

"It is not."

"It absolutely is."

Steve looks personally betrayed.

"You've known me for seven years."

"And in those seven years you've developed approximately seventeen different paternal instincts."

"I have not."

Robin starts counting on her fingers.

"You adopted Dustin."

"I did not."

"You adopted all the children."

"They're not my children."

"You drive them places."

"That's called having a car."

"You carry snacks."

"They're growing."

"You own three first-aid kits."

Steve opens his mouth, then closes it again.

Robin points dramatically.

"My point exactly."

Steve glares. You try not to laugh. Robin doesn't bother trying.

"A cat would destroy him."

"A cat would not destroy me."

"A cat would sit on your chest once and you'd start referring to yourself as its father."

Three weeks later, you're standing in the local shelter. Robin comes with you out of excitement. Steve's only there because he insists somebody needs to be "the voice of reason." Unfortunately, the voice of reason immediately gets distracted by a ginger kitten attempting to climb his trouser leg.

"See?" Steve says, carefully lifting the tiny thing up in his arms and away from his jeans. "This is exactly what I mean."

The kitten immediately starts purring.

Steve freezes.

Or, more accurately, something about him softens so visibly that you and Robin both catch it at the exact same moment.

The kitten continues purring. Steve looks down. The kitten looks up. And just like that, you watch something happen behind Steve's eyes. Something small. Something catastrophic.

Then the kitten stretches one tiny paw towards his face.

Steve is finished. Completely.

He just doesn't know it yet.

"You can put him down," you say gently.

Steve clears his throat.

"Yeah."

He doesn't move.

The kitten continues purring happily in his hands while Steve keeps holding him like he's forgotten he was ever planning to put him down in the first place. Across the room, Robin catches your eye.

Neither of you says anything.

Neither of you needs to.

The cat comes home three days later.

Officially, he's your cat.

Steve makes this distinction repeatedly.

"This is your cat."

"Okay."

"I am simply sharing the apartment with your cat."

"Okay."

"I don't want any confusion."

You nod solemnly.

"No confusion."

Steve points.

"Good."

The cat chooses that exact moment to climb directly into Steve's lap and immediately fall asleep.

Steve looks horrified.

You nearly choke on your drink.

It starts gradually after that. Small things. Embarrassing things.

Steve starts learning the cat's favourite sleeping spots. Then his favourite treats. Then which toys he likes. Then which specific brand of food apparently tastes different despite looking exactly the same and all evidence suggesting otherwise.

"You know his routine."

"I do not."

"You just said he gets grumpy if dinner is twenty minutes late."

"Because he does."

You stare.

Steve stares back.

The cat is currently asleep across Steve's shoulders like a furry scarf.

Neither of you acknowledges it.

A month later, Robin walks into your apartment without knocking, which is how she discovers the final stage of Steve Harrington's downfall.

She freezes immediately.

You look up from the kitchen.

"What?"

Robin doesn't answer. She just points silently toward the couch.

You follow her gaze and immediately have to bite the inside of your cheek.

Hard.

Because Steve is asleep.

Flat on his back. One arm wrapped around the cat. Not beside him. Not near him. Around him.

The cat is tucked against Steve's chest like a baby, one of Steve's big hands resting protectively across his tiny little body. The cat looks impossibly pleased with the arrangement.

Robin makes a strangled noise.

You nearly drop your mug.

Neither of you gets a photo.

Mostly because you're both laughing too hard.

Steve wakes up twenty minutes later to find both of you staring.

"What?"

You point.

Steve follows your finger, looks down, sees the cat still asleep on his chest, pauses for a second, then immediately says, "This isn't what it looks like."

Robin practically falls off the armchair laughing.

"It is EXACTLY what it looks like."

"He climbed up here himself."

"You tucked a blanket around him."

Steve looks down.

There is, unfortunately, a blanket tucked around him.

"Okay, that's one time."

"The cat has his own nickname."

"Everybody has nicknames."

"You call him buddy."

"So?"

"You use the same voice you use with Dustin."

Steve looks genuinely offended.

The cat stretches lazily before climbing higher onto Steve's chest. Without even thinking about it, Steve steadies him automatically with both hands before he can slip.

The room falls silent.

Robin points dramatically.

"There."

Steve freezes.

You raise an eyebrow.

Slowly, painfully, Steve slowly realises what he's done.

His face drops into his hands.

"Oh my god."

You finally lose it.

The laughter hits hard enough to make your stomach ache. Robin's crying. The cat is purring.

And Steve Harrington, despite spending two straight months insisting otherwise, is very clearly, very unfortunately, somebody's dad.

The worst part?

The cat knows it too.

“no… no, no, no…” you muttered to yourself as you frantically searched through your purse for the keys to your apartment.

“i know they’ve gotta be here,” you sighed in frustration, pausing the search to run a hand through your hair and retrace your steps.

you remembered doing your makeup in a hurry while your friend kept rushing you, yelling about the car waiting downstairs. then throwing everything in your purse in a hurry, walking out, and slamming the door behind the both of you.

and now, you had a perfectly clear mental image of the exact location of your keys: the kitchen counter.

you forgot your fucking keys inside. 

it was currently 2 a.m. okay, it’s fine, it wasn't that bad, you tried to reason. maybe the building manager was still around and could let you in with a spare key. no big deal.

except it was the weekend, and he always left early on fridays.

“fuck me…” you slid down the wall and sat on the floor because your heels were absolutely killing you. fine, plan B: you'll just text your friend to come back; that was the whole reason you had given her a spare key in the first place, for emergencies just like this.

you tried calling her a few times, but she didn't answer. the texts you sent didn't even go through. she was probably spending the night with someone, her phone discarded elsewhere. 

you were running out of options. technically, you could call a locksmith; but, at this ungodly hour, it was going to be expensive as fuck, and your bank account couldn't handle that hit right now.

contemplating what you could possibly do, you let your head rest against the closed door and looked up at the celling. there wasn't any other option but to wait until morning for someone to come help you out, but you were tired, already in a poor mood, and on top of that it was starting to get chilly, the only coat you had on a flimsy jacket that was far more fashionable than actually warm. 

you were scrolling through the contacts on your phone, desperately rethinking if there was anyone you could bother at this hour, when a sliver of light caught your attention from the corner of your eye. 

there was a dim glow bleeding through the gap beneath keys’ front door. you rolled your eyes and scoffed, of course he would be awake in the middle of the night, probably staring at a monitor playing something stupid.

you stared at that line of light on the floor, the silence of the hallway suddenly feeling far too heavy. your skin goosebumped from the chill air, and your eyes drifted from the floor back up to his doorknob. maybe you could…

no, absolutely not, you cut your own thought off, shaking your head aggressively. there was no way in hell. asking him for a favor was the ultimate defeat.

but then another gush of cold air swept through the corridor, making you shiver. you looked at your own locked door, then back to his. the alternative was spending the next five hours on a dirty hallway floor.

biting the inside of your cheek in deep thought, you forced yourself to stand up, and quietly took a few steps, closing the distance between his door and you.

you stood there completely frozen for a full minute. this was insanely stupid. you were going to regret this.

after taking a deep breath to gather whatever courage you had left, you tightened your jacket around your chest and softly knocked on his door. just once. 

you held your breath. your heart hammered intensely against your ribs. maybe he wasn't even up. maybe he’d just forgotten to turn off a lamp, or maybe he was wearing those stupid headphones of his and wouldn't hear a thing. honestly, part of you hoped he would just ignore it.

your train of thought stopped dead on its tracks when the door handle clicked, and the door cracked open to reveal a very much shirtless keys.

your voice caught in your throat. your gaze immediately dropped to his chest, taking in the faint, dark hair on his skin, and the way it trailed down into a tight, tempting line that disappeared straight into the low waistband of his grey sweatpants. 

keys cleared his throat, the subtle sound snapping your eyes back up to his face.

“can i help you?” he asked somewhat confused, fixing his glasses.

“i- yeah, this is actually pretty dumb…” you chuckled nervously, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. 

he raised an eyebrow in response, leaning his weight against the doorframe, waiting.

"i got locked out of my apartment,” you blurted out

“and that’s any of my business because…?” he asked, a mocking smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

“ugh, whatever, nevermind,” you spat, instantly regretting everything. you turned on your heel, ready to go back to your spot on the cold ground of the hallway.

but you didn't even get to take a step before keys rolled his eyes, his hand darting out to catch your wrist.

“just get in here,” he grumbled, pulling you gently into the warmth of his apartment, locking the door behind you.

you stood there awkwardly in the entryway. you hadn't actually thought this far ahead; you had no plan for what to do if he actually let you in. to avoid looking at him, and specifically to avoid looking at the broad expanse of his distracting bare chest, you forced your eyes to scan the room.

it was so blatantly obvious what a nerd he was just from the decor. there were some movie posters on the far wall near a neat couch, and nearly every shelf was packed with collectibles and trinkets of all sizes and shapes, most of them from franchises you didn't even recognize. everything was meticulously organized. 

the sound of keys’ voice abruptly pulled you back to reality. 

“how exactly did you manage to lock yourself out?” 

he was leaning against the wall now, arms crossed over his chest, the movement made his biceps flex.

“i forgot the keys inside,” you muttered.

“how do you even forget them? were you just not paying attention?”

you rolled your eyes, “i left in a hurry, okay?”

“i have left my apartment in a hurry hundreds of times,” he countered smoothly, “yet not once have i forgotten my keys.”

“oh, i’m sorry. do you want an award for that, or…?”

“did you try calling the building manager?” he asked, ignoring your sarcasm completely. 

“yes,” you said curtly, your patience wearing thin, “but you know he leaves early on weekends.”  

he let out a judgmental tsk. “it’s incredibly irresponsible to only have one copy of your keys.”

“i do not have just one copy!” you snapped, stepping closer without thinking, “the friend who has the spare isn't answering her texts either.”

“well, have you tried-”

“oh my god!” you cut him off, throwing your hands up. “yes! every single option your little analytical brain is running through right now, i have already tried. do you honestly think i would be standing in your living room at two in the morning if i had any other choice?”

keys immediately lifted his hands in a mocking gesture of surrender, “jesus. no need to get defensive.”

“look, i knocked because i didn’t have any other option,” you said, your voice shaking slightly from frustration. “but i don't have to deal with your attitude right now, if you don’t want me here, i’m more than happy to go back into the hallway where i don’t have to listen to your stupid comments anymore.”

you made a move toward the door, but keys didn't budge. 

“no need for the theatrics,” he said quietly, “you can stay the night. at least until someone can come give you a hand in the morning.”

a heavy silence settled between you. 

“thank you,” you muttered, the words were barely audible. you looked away instantly, your cheeks burning with a heat that had nothing to do with the apartment's thermostat.

keys bit back a small, satisfied smile at your stubbornness. shaking his head, he walked away, his bare feet making no sound on the floorboards as he disappeared through a door on the other side of the room. he didn't give you a chance to ask what he was doing, but he returned a minute later.

in his hands, he held a neatly folded stack of clothes: a large, dark t-shirt and a pair of grey sweatpants that matched the one he was wearing right now. he held them out to you, “here.”

you raised your eyebrow in question.

“for you to change into,” he clarified, his eyes tracing the tight fit of your clothes “or are you planning to spend the night sleeping in that?” 

your heart did a nervous flip. before he could notice your hesitation, you snatched the fabric from his hands. and without another word, he turned and guided you toward the bathroom, leaving you to deal with the sudden realization of what you had just agreed to.

taking longer than necessary, you changed into the soft fabric of his clothes. they were ridiculously oversized on you; and they smelled intoxicatingly like him. you stared into the bathroom mirror, smoothing down your hair and trying to ignore the way your heart was thumping. finally taking a deep breath to steady your nerves, you unlocked the door and walked out. 

when you got back into the living room, keys was still very much still shirtless, lounging on the couch, his glasses sliding slightly down the bridge of his nose as he lazily scrolled on his phone. when he heard your footsteps approach, his thumb froze on the screen, and he lifted his gaze to meet yours; his eyes slowly tracked the way his massive clothes drowned you.

“i guess you can just take my bedroom,” he said, casually.

“what? no,” you countered quickly, “i can just crash on the couch.”

“i’m going to stay up working anyway. probably won't even sleep,” he replied gesturing vaguely with his phone toward the hallway. “you can use the bedroom.” 

“it’s really okay, i can use the couch,” you insisted, “i won’t even be here long anyways”

keys stared at you for a second, clearly irritated by your persistence; then he sighed.

“whatever,” he shrugged, standing up from the couch. “just do whatever you want. i’ll be in my office. the bedroom is that way if you change your mind.”

you let out a sigh of relief the second his office door clicked shut.

you had been tossing and turning for a little over twenty minutes, fiercely trying to force yourself to sleep, when the soft click of a door handle broke through the quiet.

your eyes snapped open to see keys walking back into the living room. 

he had a glass of water in one hand and a notebook in the other. he didn't look at you at first, walking straight toward the kitchen island, but his dark eyes carefully tracked your restless movement in his periphery. 

he set the glass down, turned around, and leaned against the counter. his bare chest caught the dim glow of the kitchen light.

"you're still awake," it wasn't a question. 

“i’m fine. just trying to get comfortable,” you said pulling the blanket higher up your chin.

keys let out a mocking breath through his nose, walking over until he was standing right at the edge of the couch, hovering over you. "you're cold. and you look ridiculous trying to fit into a couch that clearly isn't meant for sleeping."

"i said i'm fine, keys," you snapped, sitting up abruptly, the blanket falling off your shoulders. "go back to your office and leave me alone."

"i told you to take the bed," his tone dropping into that stubborn, authoritative register that always made your blood boil. he stepped even closer, his thigh practically brushing against the edge of the cushions. "but your stubborn pride just wouldn't let you, would it?"

"my pride is doing just fine, thank you," you retorted, your eyes defiantly locking onto his behind his glasses. "why do you even care?"

"because it's distracting," he bent down, pinning you to the back of the couch by placing one warm palm on the cushion right next to your hip, his bare chest now mere inches from your face. "hearing you toss and turn out here is annoying. i can't focus on a single line of code."

he was so close you could smell the clean scent of his skin, and you could see the heavy rise and fall of his chest.

"then close your office door tighter," you breathed.

"i did," keys murmured, his eyes darkening as he leaned in closer, his breath fanning over your face. his eyes scanned your flushed cheeks, a sudden, dangerous possessiveness taking over his expression as he remembered every single sound that had crossed that wall last friday night. he wanted to wipe that memory clean. he wanted to be the one making you breathless. "it didn't work."

"maybe you're just overly sensitive to noise," you challenged, your voice trembling slightly, "now you can't even handle the sound of blankets moving? you really need to check your focus."

"friday night," he spat out, the words raw and laced with a bitter jealousy he could no longer hide. his eyes dipped down to your lips before snapping back to yours. "do you have any idea how thin the drywall in this building is? i was trying to sleep, and instead, i had to listen to absolutely everything happening in your bedroom."

your blood turned to ice, your eyes widening in sheer mortification as the realization hit you like a physical blow. he heard.

"keys, i-"

"you were loud," he cut you off, his grip on the couch cushion tightened and his knuckles turned white right next to your hip. his gaze scanned your flushed, panicked face. "every single gasp, every pathetic little whimper... i heard it all."

the words hung heavily in the air, you could feel your face burning with a mix of embarrassment and sudden heat. 

"you..." you swallowed hard, trying to find your voice, to summon back your usual sarcasm, but it failed you completely. "you shouldn't have been listening."

"i didn't have a choice," keys hissed, leaning in so close that his bare chest was inches from your own. "i had to sit there in the dark, listening to some other guy call your name, hearing exactly how you sound when someone else is touching you."

his eyes flicked down to the oversized collar of his own shirt slipping off your shoulder, exposing the smooth skin beneath.

"and the worst part?" he murmured, his thumb suddenly coming up to firmly lift you chin up, forcing you to keep looking straight into his eyes. "i couldn't get it out of my head. i’ve been thinking about it all weekend. and now you’re here, sitting on my couch, wearing my clothes, looking at me like you aren’t driving me fucking crazy."

instead of shrinking back like he expected, something shifted inside you. 

you let out a soft, breathy chuckle, your eyes narrowing as you looked at him through his glasses. "oh, yeah? you spent all weekend obsessing over me, keys?"

he blinked, his grip on your chin tightening slightly in surprise at your sudden change in tone.

"aww, you did," you cut him off, your voice dropping into a low teasing. you brought your hands up to his shoulders, your fingers slowly trailing down the center of his chest, tracing the line of his stomach all the way down to the waistband of his sweatpants. 

keys' breath hitched instantly

 "thats so cute,” you murmured, leaning in just enough to feel the heat radiating off him. “you sat in the dark, desperate, listening to me."

his jaw clenched hard, his eyes drifting down to your lips.

before he could process anything, you grabbed him by the fabric of his sweatpants and pulled him forward while shifting your weight, reversing your positions. caught off guard, keys fell backward onto the cushions of the couch with a low grunt. in a second, you were on your knees on the floor between his thighs, looking up at him.

keys was flushed, his chest heaving as he stared down at you with wide, dark eyes behind his glasses.

"what are you doing?" he managed to ask, his voice rougher.

"shut up for once," you said.

from your position on the floor, right between his thighs, your view of him was dangerously intimate. you didn't hesitate. leaning forward, you pressed your lips to his lower stomach, and licked along the rough path of his happy trail.

keys let out a sharp gasp, his stomach flexing violently under the wet contact. before he could process the sensation, you nipped at his skin, burying your teeth gently into the soft flesh of his lower tummy.

"f-fuck..." he rasped, his hands twitching against the couch.

you pulled back just enough to look at him, a thrill of pure satisfaction rushing through your veins as your hands slid down to the waistband of his sweatpants. you didn't waste time being gentle; you hooked your fingers into the cotton and yanked them down together with his boxers, freeing his length into the cool air of the living room.

he was already rock hard. his thick, heavy shaft twitched. seeing him like this, completely at your mercy, sent a thrill of pure satisfaction through your veins.

keys let out a low, ragged groan, his head snapping back against the couch cushions. his hands shot out, his knuckles turning white as he gripped the armrest.

"god, you're so pathetic," you whispered, leaning in closer.

before he could snap back, you wrapped your fingers firmly around his base, feeling the heavy pulse of his veins against your palm. you leaned down and ran your tongue slowly up the underside of his shaft, collecting the slick pre-cum at the crown.

you looked up at him through your lashes, making direct eye contact behind his lenses as you parted your lips and took the head of his dick into your mouth.

a choked sound left his lips, and his hands flew to the back of your head. his thick fingers tangling into your hair to anchor you against him as you started to slide your mouth slowly up and down his length. he was incredibly thick, filling your mouth entirely.

"fuck, slow down," he muttered, his glasses sliding further down his nose, his cheeks flushed a deep crimson. he tried to pace you, his hand in your hair tightening to guide your movements, his hips were already grinding upward into your mouth in a desperate search for more friction.

you ignored his attempts to take back control, deliberately sucking harder on the tip before sliding all the way down, letting his length coat your throat until your nose brushed against the dark hairs of his groin.

keys completely broke. his eyes blew wide behind his glasses, his chest heaving as a ragged groan tore from his throat, completely stripped of any pride he had left. the hand in your hair turned urgent, guiding your head in a faster, more desperate pace.

he was agonizingly close, his hips twitching against your mouth, but right as his body shuddered on the verge of spilling, his mind snapped back. he wasn't going to let it end like this. 

with a loud groan, he pulled your head back by your hair, forcing you to break the contact. grabbing your wrist he dragged you back up, effortlessly shifting your weight until you were sitting straddling his lap. 

“now it’s my turn to have fun,” he said, guiding his mouth to the open collar of your neck. he dragged his teeth all the way from the underside of your ear down to your shoulder, biting down gently enough to make you whimper before tracing the bruised spot with his wet tongue. 

his large palm made his way up the soft fabric of your shirt and stopped right under your breast. he pulled back for a fraction of a second to look at your flushed face, and then hooking his arm behind your knees, he manhandled you until you were lying flat on your back on the couch, completely pinned beneath him.

lifting your shirt until it was bunched up around your collarbone, he cupped one of your breasts with his hand, squeezing the soft flesh firmly as he guided his mouth to the other, capturing your nipple and sucking hard. 

you let out a sharp cry, your fingers tangling into his dark hair. meanwhile his free hand was already slipping beneath the waistband of your underwear, his thick fingers cupping your heat. he groaned into your skin when he felt how slick you were, his fingertips softly brushing over your already soaked folds.

“were you this wet while fucking that other guy?” he whispered against your chest, his thumb circling your clit once, hard enough to make any possible retort catch violently in your throat.

before you could process his words, his mouth started to slide down, tracing wet, sloppy kisses all the way down your stomach. reaching your waistband, he paused only to hook his thumbs into the fabric, helping you slide the sweatpants and underwear completely off your legs and tossing them onto the floor.

suddenly self conscious under the low lighting of the room, you instinctively squeezed your thighs together; but keys caught the movement and, resting his big heavy palms against the inside of your knees, he forced them back open.

“don't hide from me now,” he murmured, his dark eyes locking onto yours behind his glasses as he crawled down between your open thighs.

he leaned down and licked a slow, heavy stripe directly over your wet pussy, making your back arch off the couch cushions as you let out a gasp.

"yeah, make those sounds for me now," keys muttered against your wet skin, his breath hot against you.

without warning he slipped two thick fingers straight inside your tight walls.

you let out a loud, breathless moan, your head snapping back as his fingers stretched you open, filling that agonizing emptiness you had been chasing in the days prior. keys groaned at how perfectly you gripped him, immediately starting a relentless rhythm, pumping his fingers deep inside you while his tongue kept working onto your clit, applying pressure.

"you're so tight," he hissed, his face burying back between your thighs as his fingers moved deeper, hitting your spot over and over again with precision. "so fucking wet for me. tell me you want it. tell me you want my dick inside you instead of his."

"keys... please," you sobbed out, your fingers tangling desperately into his dark hair, your hips rising from the cushions to chase the brutal pace of his hand. 

you were so close. your chest was heaving, a tight knot of pure pleasure forming low in your stomach, your inner walls beginning to twitch around his fingers. you were a single stroke away from completely shattering.

but right as you let out a high pitched whimper and your hips hitched to chase the orgasm, keys suddenly stopped dead. he ripped his fingers completely out of your soaking pussy and pulled his mouth away from your clit.

“you don't get to come yet,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips as he adjusted his position between your thighs. he maneuvered his way out of his sweatpants completely, kicking them to the side, and freed his length. "not until you admit it." 

he pressed the tip right against your entrance, teasing you, but didn't push inside.

"admit what?" you breathed, trying to move but keys held his ground, his heavy grip on your thighs keeping you perfectly in place.

"tell me whose dick you want inside you," he commanded, his eyes locking onto yours. he nudged his head slightly deeper against your folds, just enough to make you gasp, "say my name. tell me you want me more than anyone else."

"i want you," you sobbed, all your stubborn pride completely disintegrating, as your fingers made they way to his back and gripped hard. "i want your dick, keys... please, fuck me."

keys let out a low groan, his eyes darkening as he finally got exactly what he had been craving since friday night.

"good girl," he gripped your hips tightly and drove his length forward, burying his thick cock entirely inside you in one deep thrust.

a scream tore from your throat and your eyes went wide, watering from the sudden friction. your fingers clawed into the muscles of his bare back as you tried to adjust to the burning heat stretching you open.

keys froze above you, his chest heaving violently over your breasts as he let out a ragged exhale against your neck. his large hands digging bruisingly deep into your hips to anchor himself inside you.

“fuck,” he choked out, his jaw clenching hard, “you take me so fucking well.”

“keys…” you whimpered, “please… move.”

he started thrusting into you. his movements slow and deep at first as he let out a low groan with every slide, the faint hair of chest brushed against your tits and the weight of him pressed you down to the cushions of the couch.

“i’m moving,” he rasped against your ear, his voice trembled, “fuck, you’re so tight... it’s squeezing me so hard.”

as your body finally adjusted to the fullness stretching you open, your hips began to lift instinctively, meeting his heavy thrusts halfway. keys noticed the subtle shift in your movement immediately, and the grip on your hips tightened until his knuckles turned white, completely abandoning his slow pace.

he picked up a heavy speed that had your body sliding up the couch with every stroke. the sound of his skin slapping against yours echoed loudly in the quiet living room, mixing with the wet, messy friction of his cock driving deep inside your soaking walls. 

a series of high pitched, broken whimpers tore from your throat. your fingers clawed into the muscles of his bare back, leaving long, red marks as you clung to him for dear life.

“scream for me,” keys commanded, as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his teeth gently nipping at your sensitive skin. he was hitting your spot over and over again with terrifying precision. “let me hear exactly how much better my dick is.”

you couldn't even answer him, your voice completely cracking as a loud sob left your lips. the friction against your clit from his pelvis with every thrust was pushing you right back over the edge you had been desperate for all night. your inner walls began to clamp down around him in tight, frantic spasms.

keys let out a loud, ragged choke, his eyes blowing wide behind his glasses as he felt you starting to tremble and twitch around his shaft. he knew you were close.

“that’s it, come for me, i wanna feel you coming all over my cock,” he growled, tightening his grip and driving into you even harder.

a loud, broken cry echoed through the room as your orgasm tore through your body. your back arched off the couch, your toes curling as your inner walls clamped around his thick length in rhythmic spasms. your vision blurring with tears of pure pleasure.

keys let out a deep moan against your skin, your tight, pulsing climax completely destroying what little restraint he had left.

his body went rigid, his thigh muscles tightening as he shoved himself into you one last time as deep as he could. he buried himself and stayed there, his fingers digging into your waist as he came. thick waves of his release shot deep inside you, filling you up to the brim while his shuddered with the force of his own orgasm.

his head dropped heavily onto your shoulder as his glasses finally slid off completely, discarded somewhere on the cushions. 

for a long time, the only sound in the dark living room was the heavy, synchronized panting of both your chests heaving against one another. keys remained buried deep inside you. then slowly, he shifted his weight to his elbows, lifting his head just enough to look down at your ruined state. a tired smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. he leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to your sweat damp forehead before brushing a lock of hair away from your face.

"yeah," he whispered, his voice rough, dripping with a smug satisfaction as he stared into your eyes, "you definitely weren't making those kinds of sounds on friday."

you let out a sigh, rolling your eyes, "shut up, keys. don't ruin it."

he let out a soft, genuine chuckle, a low sound that vibrated right against your chest. he slowly, carefully pulled out of you, making you whimper slightly at the sudden loss of heat, and pulled his sweatpants back on.

without saying a word, he hooked his large arms under your back and knees, effortlessly lifting you up from the couch. you instinctively wrapped your arms around his neck, burying your face into his bare shoulder as he carried you down the short hallway.

he walked straight into his bedroom, tossing the blankets back and settling you gently onto the center of his large, neat bed. the sheets smelled exactly like his clothes, and you immediately sank into the plush mattress, completely exhausted.

keys stood by the edge of the bed for a moment, looking down at you in the dark. in the dim light, you could see the faint outline of his messy hair and his bare torso, still looking entirely too tempting.

"the manager doesn't get here until 8 a.m.," keys murmured, his tone shifting back into that casual, slightly bossy register. he turned around to head back to the living room to grab his glasses. "go to sleep. i'll be in the office."

"keys?" you called out softly, your voice thick with sleep.

he paused at the doorway, turning his head back to look at you over his shoulder. "what?"

you considered it for a moment, suddenly feeling a bit exposed by how much you actually wanted him to stay, you shook your head.

“nevermind,” you murmured, burying your face deeper into his pillow. “go back to your office.”

“you’re terrible at lying,” he said softly, then walked out. the soft click of the door closing behind him felt incredibly loud in the sudden quiet of the bedroom.

Your mind kept travelling back to that evening, how he’d kissed you and then some. For a fleeting moment, everything had felt perfect and you had convinced yourself that he shared your feelings, that maybe that was the start of something. But then he’d pulled back and all your insecurities had bubbled to the surface, forcing you to put both physical and emotional distance between you both, not wanting your heart to get shattered.

But God did you miss him. And the hurt wasn’t helped by the fact that despite not speaking, the two of you were still showing up for each other in the small ways. You’d make sure to still leave a cup of coffee in the kitchen for him every morning, slinking off to your bedroom before he came in. He’d still grab your favourite snacks and keep the cupboard stocked up. One night you’d fallen asleep on the couch and when you’d woken up the next morning, you’d found that Travis had draped a blanket over you so you didn’t get cold. It did nothing for your aching heart.

You knew that eventually you’d have to pull the band-aid off and address the elephant in the room, but you were still scared of coming on too strong and being rejected. And Travis was such a sweetheart, he’d find some way to soften the blow which would only make things worse. Still, the only other alternative to end this awkward set-up was for one of you to move out and that thought terrified you even more. Something needed to give, you just needed to wait for the perfect opportunity.

Travis wasn’t doing much better himself. He kept turning over the events of the other night in his brain, wondering where exactly it had gone so wrong. Had he misread the signals that badly, did you really not feel that way about him? The thought was enough to make his stomach sink.

He hated tiptoeing around you, hated the silence even more. He’d spent enough time in solitary confinement, this was not the way he wanted things to be with you. For a guy who loved chatting so much, not being able to chat to you the way he had gotten so used to was weighing down on him hard. He was waiting for the right moment to fix the damage as well.

As it turned out, that opportunity presented itself to you a few days later. You’d finished your long shift at work, tired and achy from the day and when you arrived home, Travis was already in the shower and getting ready for his night shift. Part of you had hoped he might be around to talk to, you knew he’d have some funny anecdote that would lift your spirits after your long day. However, there was one thing you could still do.

You made Travis some sandwiches and put them in a brown paper bag, placing them on the side counter where you hoped he would see them. As soon as you were done, you made you way into your room to get changed out of your work clothes. A few minutes later you heard the front door go, signalling that he had left for work, still no word, and your heart sank a little.

Unbeknownst to you, Travis had gotten ready for work quickly and had spent the last five minutes hovering outside your bedroom door, wondering whether knocking was a good idea or not. He’d heard you come in and desperately wanted to catch-up with you before he had to shoot off. However, he was also aware that you’d had a long day and probably just wanted some space. He sighed and eventually chickened out, dashing out of the apartment with his head in a tailspin.

Wandering back out into the kitchen, the sinking feeling only got worse when you realised he hadn’t spotted the paper bag, going off to work with nothing to eat except his usual bag of chips. Despite everything, you hated the idea of him going hungry. This left you in a moral dilemma.

You stood in the kitchen for a few minutes, leaning against the counter and staring the bag down, feeling as though it was taunting you. On one hand, you wanted to make sure Travis was taken care of. On the other hand, you weren’t sure how to start a conversation with him, least of all at his workplace. You didn’t know what to do for the best.

Eventually, your heart won out in the debate. You grabbed the bag and made for the door, muttering to yourself. “Damn it, Travis.”

***

You took a cab over to the storage units and as soon as the car pulled up, you felt butterflies erupting in your stomach. Maybe this had been a bad idea? No, you shook the thought from your head. This wasn’t a big deal, you were just dropping some sandwiches off to your roommate, you could handle that.

You made your way inside and found another guy dawdling by the front desk. Travis was nowhere to be seen so you made your way over to him, hoping he could help. The guy had long hair, a leather jacket and the second his gaze landed on you, a smile crept across his face that for some reason made your skin crawl.

“Hey there, darlin. What can I do for you?”

You squirmed a little. “Uh, I’m looking for Teacake. Is he around?”

The guy’s face glowered a little. “He’s downstairs in one of the units. But don’t worry, I’m sure I can help you out with whatever you need.”

“Right.” You responded bluntly, putting the paper bag on the counter. “I’m just dropping this food off for him, will you make sure he gets it?”

He studied the bag before nodding. “Oh, you must be his roommate, right? Yeah, he never shuts up about you. Gotta say, you really are as pretty as he says you are.”

You weren’t sure what to process first, the fact that Travis had told people you were pretty, or the fact that whoever this guy was he was making you feel wildly uncomfortable. Your skin prickled as you shuffled your feet nervously.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” He chuckled. “You don’t have to be nervous around me, pretty thing.”

“Could you just make sure Travis gets the bag?”

He looked annoyed at your words. “You know, I could take care of you a lot better than that guy could.” He reached out and placed a hand on your arm. You immediately recoiled, taking a step back which only seemed to spur him on more. He began to follow you, making you feel a little like a caged animal. “You leavin so soon? I didn’t even get your number?”

Just as panic was starting to set in, you heard the elevator doors open and Travis strolled out into the foyer. Relief instantly washed over you as he saw you standing there, stopping for a minute as a smile crept across his face. Then he saw the guy towering over you, noted the scared look in your face and his jaw clenched, alarm bells instantly going off. Travis had heard stories about his boss, always keeping him at arm’s length, but seeing his unwanted advances being directed at you was enough to make his blood boil. He immediately made his way over to you, putting himself between you and the guy.

“Hey, Griffin.” He said, voice a little terse. “Isn’t it time you were headin’ home?”

Griffin glared at him. “I actually wasn’t done talkin’ to your friend here.”

“Yeah, well she’s done talkin’ to you.” Travis told him. “Think maybe it’s time for you to go.”

He smirked, glancing past Travis at you. “Does he always speak for you?” He looked back to Travis. “You know, sometimes you should learn to shut the fuck up and keep your head outta’ things.”

“Don’t talk to him like that.” You chimed in. Travis’ heart warmed a little at how fast you were to stick up for him. No one had his back like you did. “I’m not interested in anything you have to say, so I think you should just go.”

He hesitated for a moment before holding his hands up. “Whatever, man. Not worth my time anyway.” He stepped away and made his way out of the building. “Until next time.” He grinned at you as he walked past, making you feel disgusted.

As soon as he was gone, Travis turned to you with his soft eyes full of concern. “You alright? Did he try anythin’ on you, cause I’ll kill him.”

“No, I’m OK. Really.” You assured him. “He was just being an ass.”

“Yeah, he does that a lot.” He still looked annoyed as he stared out the door that Griffin had disappeared through. But then he looked at you again and that feeling faded to nothing.

“What are you doin’ here?” He asked. “Not that I’m not pleased to see you, I just wasn’t expecting it.”

You pointed to the paper bag on the front desk. “I made you some sandwiches, didn’t want you to get hungry on shift.”

Travis glanced at the bag and his whole face lit up. “You came all the way down here, you didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” You told him. The way he was looking at you was making your resolve slip and it was too much. “Listen, the meter’s running outside, I should head off.”

“Wait.” Travis reached out and placed a gentle hand on your arm. In contrast to the disgust you’d felt when Griffin touched you, now all you felt was electricity shooting up your spine. You spun around to face him and he gave you those stupid puppy dog eyes that always made your knees weak. “Can we just talk a minute?”

“Travis, please don’t.”

“I’m serious. Can we please stop with the whole silent treatment bullshit? I can’t do it anymore, I miss you too much.” He said. “Can we talk about what happened?”

You felt your stomach twist. “We really don’t have to.” You pleaded. “I don’t think I can do it. I know I crossed the line the other night, you weren’t into it and I’m sorry. Let’s just forget it ever happened.”

You made to leave again when Travis grabbed both of your hands. “Wait.” His face was genuinely puzzled now. “You thought I wasn’t into it?”

You blinked. “Well, yeah. You pulled away, that was you shutting me down. Wasn’t it?”

“Jesus Christ, no. That wasn’t it at all.” He shook his head furiously. “I was just checking you were sure. Didn’t want you to feel pressured or anythin’ Then you left, so I figured that was you telling me you didn’t want to.”

“Oh my God.” You couldn’t help but laugh in surprise. “I’m such an idiot.” You shook your head. “Travis, I’m so sorry. The thing is, when you did that, I started panicking, thinking I’d screwed everything up. I just wanted out of there as quickly as possible.”

“But why? You could have talked to me, you know. Maybe then we wouldn’t have been walkin’ on eggshells for the last couple weeks.” He was still smiling but his words hit hard. Because he was absolutely right. And it occurred to you in that moment just how much Travis cared about you. Griffin had looked you the wrong way for a second and he’d been ready to throw hands. He wasn’t like Emily, he never would be. It was time to let go of the past.

“I know.” You nodded. “I think maybe I let Emily get inside my when she came over. It’s a long story.” You told him. “So I guess the last two weeks we’ve been avoiding each other for absolutely no reason? If I’d known you felt the same way, I never would have left.”

Travis’ face lit up and before you knew it, he’d laced his fingers with yours, making your heart skip. “So, you’re saying you do feel that way about me?”

You suddenly felt shy, unable to meet his gaze. “Maybe I do.” You told him.

Letting go of one of your hands, you felt him lift your chin up, forcing you to look at him. “Don’t get all shy on me now, sweetheart.” He smirked at you, making you feel a little dizzy. For the first time in two weeks, you felt that sense of contentment again, like you were finally home.

A sudden beeping interrupted the moment and Travis glanced over at the monitor behind the desk. “Shit, I need to go and check that out.” He told you, turning his gaze back to you and smiling. You grinned right back.

“My cab’s waiting outside.” You responded.

“Listen, I’m not working tomorrow night. You think maybe you might want to come out with me? I wanna talk more about this.”

You giggled. “I think I could probably fit you in, yeah.” You were still holding hands and you took a step forward, suddenly feeling brave. Travis didn’t stop you, eyes flickering down to your lips. You moved impossibly closer, putting your arms around his neck. Christ, he smelled so good it was intoxicating. Just as you were about to make a move, the beeping sounded again, making you both jump.

Travis groaned. “Jesus, I hate this place sometimes.” He sighed as you laughed.

“Don’t worry, we can continue this tomorrow night.” You promised him. “I should probably leave you to it for tonight.”

 “Easy for you to say. I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

“I believe in you.” You assured him, stepping away and heading for the exit. “Tomorrow, though. It’s a date.”

As soon as you were gone, Travis couldn’t help but smile to himself. “It’s a date.” He muttered to himself, feeling your absence already. However this time he was sure, the two of you were going to be just fine.

***

The next day was mostly spent with you completely spiralling. You were going out with Travis this evening and you felt totally unprepared. It had been a while since you’d been on a date, even if it was with your roommate who you already knew so well, it didn’t stop your nerves from shaking. As soon as you were done with work, you came straight home and began throwing the contents of your wardrobe all over your bedroom, trying to find the perfect outfit to wear. Perhaps you were overthinking it, but you wanted to look perfect for tonight and nothing was doing it for you. How had you never realised that you didn’t have a date-worthy outfit at all?

Just as you were about to give up all hope, your eyes settled at the back of your wardrobe on a dress you’d bought a few months ago on a whim. It was a shimmery black number, not too short but just the right length to compliment you. It hadn’t been taken out for a spin yet, maybe tonight was the perfect occasion to debut it. You smiled to yourself as you picked it out.

“Perfect.” You couldn’t help but say to yourself, instantly feeling better about the evening ahead of you.

As you continued to get ready, Travis snuck back into the apartment, having just been out to the store. He was in the same boat as you were, not having been on a date in a very long time and he was panicking over whether the social norms had changed all that much. He’d bought you some flowers, figuring that was a pretty safe bet and he found a vase in the kitchen, arranging them nicely as he waited for you to be ready. His internal monologue was going into overdrive again when he heard your bedroom door open and you stepped out into the kitchen, dressed up and ready to go.

The moment Travis glanced up and drank you in, all thoughts in his head went out the window. In fact, he was pretty sure his brain started to crash as his gaze wandered over you in that dress. Holy shit, you looked incredible. He was pretty sure you were the most gorgeous person he’d ever seen in his life, and the fact he was getting to take you out on a date? Yeah, he was the luckiest guy in the world.

“Hey, Travis?” You waved at him, trying to bring him back to reality. “Are you OK?”

“What?” He asked. “Oh yeah, sorry. I…I just.” Shit, since when did he ever have trouble speaking? “You look amazing.”

“Oh, thank you.” Your whole face lit up. “You like the dress, it’s not too much?”

“Are you kidding? You look fucking spectacular, sweetheart.” He told you. “Are you trying to kill me?”

You chuckled. “Not right now, but I guess we’ll see where the night goes.” A silent promise that Travis instantly caught onto. If he was being honest, he’d be pretty happy not going out at all and taking that dress off you right now. But there were still things you needed to talk about, so he forced himself to get a grip and instead held a hand out to you, walking with you towards the front door. As you walked past the kitchen, you noticed the flowers and gasped in delight.

“Travis, you didn’t have to do that.” Even though you were full on beaming.

“It was nothing. Was hoping it would make you smile.”

“You’re truly the best.” It was then you leaned into him, voice dropping an octave. “You’ll have to wait until after the date for my gift, but I think you’ll be happy with it.”

Fuck, he was completely done for.

***

You recommended a nice bar a few blocks from the apartment and as you arrived there, Travis made sure to hold the door open for you, keeping a steady hand on the small of your back as you made your way over to one of the corner booths, slightly out of the way. In fact, all the way over there he’d been finding some excuse to touch you, whether it was holding your hand, brushing some hair out of your face or like now when he was sitting back down next to you with two drinks, shoulder brushing up against yours as you chatted.

“So,” Travis began as you took a sip of your drink. “Can we talk about what you said yesterday?”

“Which part?” You asked, knowing full well that your interaction at the storage unit had been pretty loaded. There were things you wanted to ask him as well, but he was looking at you with a thoughtful expression and it seemed that his question was more important right now.

“What you said about your old roommate? What did you mean when you said she got inside your head?” Travis had only met Emily for a matter of seconds but the impression he’d gotten was not a good one. “I’m guessin’ there’s a story there?”

“Oh, yeah.” You glanced down at your drink, stirring it with the straw as you wondered how to begin. “OK, the thing is, me and Emily didn’t exactly part on the best of terms.”

“I figured that with how she spoke to you the other day.” Travis nodded. “I didn’t like it.”

“Yeah. When she first moved in, things were pretty good. We were actually really good friends. I used to get on really well with Josh as well. We would hang out all the time, and I used to try and show up for both of them. I thought our set-up was good. But then…” You trailed off, reliving the bad memory.

Travis was listening intently and when you hesitated, he reached over and placed a hand over yours, his thumb rubbing circles gently. “Hey, it’s all good. I’m right here.”

You sighed. “I found out that Josh was cheating on her. I got really mad on her behalf, and so I tried to tell her what was going. But then she got mad at me, she totally blew up at me. Told me I was overbearing and needy, and that I was just sticking my nose into her business and trying to ruin it. And of course she told Josh what I said and they both turned on me. They told me I was just always there when I didn’t need to be, that I was too much.”

Travis’ jaw had clenched has he took in your words, angry on your behalf. He’d never met anyone like you before, and he was pretty sure you were some kind of magic. The idea that anyone would want to dull your sparkle made him sad. You continued on. “I guess that’s why I left that night. I’m always worried that I might cross the line again, and the idea that you might think I was too much, well that would have broken my heart.”

Travis shook his head. “You know, I’ve heard some crazy things in my time, but what you just said might actually win the trophy.”

“What do you mean?” You asked.

“The idea that I could ever think you were too much, that’s impossible.” He told you. “You know, when I got out of prison, I felt like everyone was judgin’ me, always wonderin’ what crime I was gonna commit next. I never felt so self-conscious. But then I saw your ad and I met you, and that was the first time since getting out that I actually felt accepted. You welcomed me in, made me feel like I was worth something’. I finally felt like I had a home. You could never be too much for me, actually I think you’re pretty damn perfect for me.”

A smile crept across your face as his words washed over you. For the first time in forever, all that anxiety you normally felt evaporated into nothing. Because Travis was here and he was looking at you like that, like you were the only person in the damn world. He wasn’t running away. No, he was exactly where he needed to be.

“About what you said last night.” It was your turn to ask your questions and you leaned in slightly. “You said you were into me? Did you mean it?”

Travis’ hand came to rest on your jaw, drawing lazy circles as he pulled you into him and your lips connected. And this time there was no hesitation. You arms came to rest around his neck as his tongue found its way into your mouth. Slowly, your hands wound their way into his hair, gripping softly and eliciting a soft groan from him. He pulled away for a moment, breathing a little ragged.

“You know, sweetheart, I hope you know I think the absolute world of you, but seeing you in that dress is making me wanna do bad things to you.”

You pressed your thighs together, his words having quite the effect on you. “Oh, really? What kind of things?”

“I don’t think I should say those things here.” He told you, making you roll your eyes.

“OK Travis, I love where you’re going but I don’t want to get kicked out of the place, I kinda like it here.”

He nodded, pressing another quick kiss to your lips before jumping up. “I’ll call a cab.”

***

The second you were through the front door, Travis was on you in an instant, pressing you up against the wall and peppering kisses to your neck. It didn’t take him long to find that sensitive spot, sucking gently and causing a loud moan to fall from your lips. He smirked against your skin. “Feel good, baby?”

“Travis.” You breathed softly.

“What is it, sweetheart? Tell me what you need, I’ll give you anything.”

Despite how good he was making you feel right now, it wasn’t enough. You wanted to make him feel good, and your hands found their way down to his belt, unbuckling it. Travis caught on pretty quickly and placed a hand over yours. “Baby, you don’t have to do that.”

“It’s OK, I want to.” You told him. “Please, let me make you feel good.”

Travis groaned and his eyes darkened as you spun him around, pushing him against the wall and dropping straight to your knees. With his jeans removed, you slowly pulled his boxers down and without a second thought, you took him into your mouth. His head fell against the wall as your tongue worked its magic, taking in as much of him as you could. “Fuck, baby. That feels amazing.”

His hands found their way to your hair, gently guiding you up and down as groans fell from his mouth. You snuck a glance up at him, seeing him completely wrecked and it did things to you, making you press your thighs together again. Damn, he was so perfect.

“Shit, just like that baby.” His eyes had closed now, completely blissed out. “Fuck, you’re so good at this.”

You hummed in response, a feeling of satisfaction taking over as you felt his legs starting to shake. “Fuck, baby. I’m close.” He tried to pull you away but you resisted, continuing your pace until you heard a series of curses fall from his mouth, groaning loudly as he blew his load into your mouth. You finally drew away as he came down from his high, hand still stroking your hair gently. After a moment, he pulled you back up and pressed your lips to his again, murmuring against you. “Baby, if I don’t fuck you soon, I think I might actually die.”

You were in exactly the same boat. “Your room’s closer.”

Travis immediately grabbed your thighs and picked you up, carrying you into his room without breaking away from you. As soon as you were inside, he pressed you up against the door and whispered into your ear. “You’re wearing too many clothes.”

You smirked. “Well then maybe you should take this damn dress off me.”

He didn’t need to be told twice, unzipping the dress and letting it pool onto the floor. He took a moment to admire you, pressing a soft kiss to your shoulder. “Fuck, you’re really beautiful.”

You smiled. “I’m also all yours.”

Your words did something to Travis and he practically growled as he led you over to the bed, dropping you down and hovering over you. His lips found your neck, moving slowly down until he found one of your nipples, tongue swirling around it and causing your back to arch off the mattress. “Fuck, Travis. That feels so good.”

“Yeah, baby?” He murmured. “Wanna make you feel so good. You gonna let me?”

“Please, Travis. Need you.” You moaned softly. “Please stop teasing me.”

Travis would have happily stayed there for hours worshipping every part of you, but he knew exactly how you were feeling and so he decided to put you out of your misery. Reaching for his bedside drawer, he grabbed a condom and quickly slid it on. He lined himself up with you, leaning in to whisper in your ear again. “I’ll start slow, sweetheart.” You nodded in response and he slowly eased into you. The burn was intense at first and you gasped lightly. Travis waited patiently for you to adjust and after a moment you squeezed him arm, giving him the green light.

“I’m OK, Travis. You can move.”

He didn’t need any more encouragement, gently thrusting in and out. Travis had never wanted anyone more than he wanted you right now, and as those pornographic sounds fell out of you, he had never been more turned on. “Fuck, baby. Keep making those sounds, want everyone in this damn building to know who’s making you feel this good.” He continued his pace. “You feel fucking amazing, baby.”

“Travis.” You moaned, his words only pushing you closer to the edge.

“God, that’s it, baby. So good, swear I’ve never had anyone like this before, only you.”

“I’m close, baby.” You told him. “Faster, please.”

Travis obliged, picking up the pace as your moans grew louder. “Just like that, baby. You can let go for me, need to feel it so bad.”

His words pushed you over the edge and pleasure consumed you, seeing stars as your orgasm washed over you. Travis held you through it, still whispering sweet nothings into your ear although you couldn’t make out what he was saying anymore, too consumed by pleasure. As you felt yourself coming down from your high, you could tell that Travis was close to finishing himself. Your fingers laced into his hair as you encouraged him to keep going.

“Don’t stop, baby. Keep going.” You moaned into his ear as you tugged softly on his hair. He thrusted into you a few more times before his own release washed over him, burying his face into your shoulder as he came for the second time. As soon as he had come down, he collapsed on top of you, both of you breathing heavily.

After a minute, Travis rolled onto his back and pulled you into him, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You were still completely blissed out, smiling happily to yourself as you rested your head on his chest.

“Stay with me tonight?” He asked you, fingers tracing up and down your arms. You glanced up at him, moving up to press a kiss to his lips.

“I’m not going anywhere.” You promised him.

Travis felt a sense of relief as he realised you weren’t going to leave this time, and you had never felt more at peace in your life, those niggling anxious thoughts finally being put to rest. A peaceful silence rolled over you, but of course it didn’t last long, not that you minded. You never wanted that silent treatment shit with Travis ever again.

“There’s just one thing.” Travis said. “It might seem silly."

"What is it?" You asked him, full of curiosity.

"I actually can’t fall asleep without listening to music. I can’t deal with the silence. Do you mind?”

You grinned, happy that he was comfortable enough to share that with you. “Of course I don't mind. What are we listening to?”

Travis grabbed his phone from the nightstand and plugged his headphones in, passing one to you. “I actually made a playlist for you, all the songs that make me think of you. It’s kinda long, I found you in a lot of songs.”

Your heart sang as you place the headphone in your ear. “You made me a playlist?”

“Is that too cheesy?”

You shook your head. “Absolutely not. It’s actually exactly the kind of thing I would do. I love it.”

Travis hit play and pulled you into him again. As the music filled your ears, your eyes drifted shut, feeling the rise and fall of Travis’ chest as sleep overtook you. As you were serenaded by the music that he had curated just for you, it occurred to you that for once in your life, you had never felt more at home.

***

The next morning you woke up on your side, sunlight streaming through the window and Travis’ arm wrapped around you. He was still asleep, breathing soft and steady. Normally you’d be up early, bustling around the kitchen and keeping busy but for the first time ever, you had absolutely no inclination to leave bed at all. You stirred softly, squeezing Travis’ hand softly.

You felt him press a soft kiss to your shoulder, finally awake, and you smiled softly to yourself as you felt him relax against you. “Mornin’, sweetheart.” He murmured softly into your skin. “You sleep OK?”

“Better than I have in a long time, actually.”

“Mmm.” He hummed in agreement. “I hope this means we have a spare room again now, because I never want to not wake up next to you, sweetheart.” You chuckled softly. “I think I could get used to that set-up.”

***

little bonus- travis' playlist for you

***

tags: @crescentwillow @cciessuzi @puertoricanmami87 @lacyiris @gatorgirlie @loveridge @louisbelongstome28 @sweetpeadc @justreadingthings

What the fuck is Tumblr? he thought the first dozen times. Sounded like some kinda app for artsy kids or book nerds. He figured it was one of those social media things girls used to post pictures of coffee and sunsets. No big deal. You were allowed your hobbies. Hell, he spent half his free time scrolling through truck mods and dumb memes on his own phone.

But the notifications kept coming. Dozens a day sometimes. Little red bubbles popping up with usernames he didn’t recognize and snippets of text that cut off too quick to read. One night, after you’d both crashed on his couch watching some old action flick, you got up to grab a drink from the kitchen. Your phone was right there on the coffee table, screen lighting up again.

tumblr: someone just reblogged your post…

Gator glanced toward the kitchen. You were still rummaging in the fridge, humming under your breath. He wasn’t proud of it, but curiosity won. He snatched the phone quick, your passcode was your birthday, easy enough and swiped open the notification.

The app loaded. Black background, weird white text, a dashboard full of posts. His thumb scrolled before he could talk himself out of it.

At first it was just pictures: aesthetic shit, some fandom stuff he didn’t recognize, a lot of quotes about mental health and “touch grass.” Then he hit your blog. Your username was something cute and random: @deputywhore with a little badge icon. Profile pic was you smiling in the snow, the one he’d taken last winter.

He scrolled faster.

Reblogs. Comments. A whole feed of you interacting with other users. Hearts, fire emojis, long strings of keysmashes. Then he saw the tags.

#deputy x reader

His stomach did a weird flip. Reader? Like, fanfiction reader?

He tapped one of the posts. It was a reblog of something you’d written.

The title: “Patrol Car Confessions – Deputy x Female Reader (18+)”

Below it, your writing started:

The cruiser smelled like pine air freshener and gun oil. Deputy’s hand was heavy on your thigh, fingers digging in just enough to leave marks. “You’ve been teasing me all shift, sweetheart,” he growled, voice low and rough like gravel. “Think you can get away with that?”

Gator’s eyes widened. He kept reading.

You bit your lip, spreading your legs wider in the passenger seat. “Maybe I want you to do something about it, Deputy.” His belt buckle clinked as he freed himself, thick and hard and already leaking. He didn’t bother with niceties just shoved your panties aside and thrust in deep, one hand clamped over your mouth so no one outside would hear you moan his name.

Jesus Christ.

He scrolled down further. There were dozens. Some were short drabbles, quick and dirty: Deputy eating you out in the station bathroom, Deputy bending you over the hood of the cruiser at 2 a.m., Deputy tying your wrists with his handcuffs while he fucked you slow and mean. Others were longer, almost story-like, with plot and feelings mixed in with the filth. You wrote about him being possessive, jealous, a little pathetic underneath the tough-guy act. You wrote him begging. You wrote him making you squirt. You wrote him calling you “good girl” while he came inside you raw.

And the comments. Holy shit, the comments.

“OP I’m deceased this is so in character”

“the way you write Deputy’s dirty talk… ma’am I’m on my knees”

“more breeding kink pls the community is starving”

“girl you’re feeding us SO well, this is why you’re the queen of deputy x reader”

There were hundreds of notes on some posts. Reblogs from blogs with names like @deputygirl69, @deputythirst, @deputywhorehours. People tagging their friends: “@mutual read this and tell me you don’t need him to ruin you.” Kudos. Asks in your inbox begging for continuations, headcanons, “what would Deputy do if he caught you touching yourself thinking about him?”

Gator sat there frozen, thumb hovering. His face felt hot. His dick twitched in his jeans, traitor that it was.

He heard the fridge door close. Footsteps. He barely had time to lock the phone and drop it back on the table before you walked back in with two beers.

“You okay?” you asked, handing him one. “You look kinda… flushed.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, taking a long swig. “Just… hot in here.”

You settled beside him again, legs tucked under you, completely unaware. Gator stared at the TV without seeing it. His brain was spinning.

All this time he thought he was the nasty one in the relationship. He’d whisper filthy shit in your ear while he was balls-deep, call you his little slut, smack your ass hard enough to leave handprints. You’d moan and take it and give it right back, but he always figured girls had a limit. That deep down they wanted the romance novel version, flowers and slow missionary with eye contact.

Apparently not.

Apparently you and a whole army of other girls on that weird blue app were writing shit that made his own dirty thoughts look tame. Breeding kinks. CNC. Somno. Public risk. Him degrading you one paragraph and worshiping you the next. And they ate it up. Thousands of likes. Girls thirsting openly in the comments, talking about how they’d let “Deputy” do whatever he wanted, how they’d drop to their knees in the snow if he snapped his fingers.

He stole glances at you for the rest of the night. You looked so normal. Sweet smile, soft laugh when something funny happened on screen, head on his shoulder like always. But now he knew there was this whole other world in your head. A version of him that was cocky and cruel and tender all at once, a version you shared with strangers who got off on it.

Later, when you were both in bed, lights off, your breathing slow and even, Gator lay awake staring at the ceiling. His hand rested on your hip under the covers. You shifted closer in your sleep, pressing your ass back against him.

He was hard again just thinking about it.

The next morning he waited until you went to shower. Then he grabbed your phone again, guilt twisting in his gut but not enough to stop him and went straight back to Tumblr.

He read more. A lot more.

One fic had him pulling you over for “speeding” on a back road, then fucking you against the trunk while the lights flashed. Another had him coming home after a bad day with Roy, crawling between your thighs and eating you out for hours like it was the only thing that could fix him. There was even one where you wrote him as a little pathetic, whining when you edged him, tears in his eyes while you rode him slow and told him he was a “good boy” for once.

He snorted softly at that one. Yeah, right. Like that’d ever happen.

But the comments… girls losing their minds over it. “The vulnerability mixed with the filth is chef’s kiss” “I need a Deputy who cries when he cums, I don’t make the rules.”

Gator rubbed a hand over his face. He felt… thrown. Not mad. Not even really embarrassed for you. More like his whole view of what girls wanted had cracked open. He’d grown up around guys who talked big, locker room shit, bragging about conquests, calling women names behind their backs. He did it too sometimes, when he was trying to fit in with the other deputies.

But this? This was next level. Women writing whole essays about wanting to be manhandled, degraded, praised, filled up, marked, claimed. And doing it publicly, with usernames and avatars and little heart emojis. Supporting each other. Hyping each other up. Building a whole community around wanting to get absolutely railed by a fictionalized version of him.

He found your masterlist. Over thirty fics, all tagged #deputy x reader. Some had warnings: dubcon, knife play, daddy kink (that one made him raise an eyebrow, Roy would have a stroke). Others were soft: aftercare, cuddling, him whispering “I love you” while he was still inside you.

You had a little bio at the top: “27 | she/her | writing filthy deputy dreams in the frozen north | minnesota girl in ND | asks open for thots & requests”

And a pinned post: “thanks for 5k followers!! you guys are the horniest, sweetest bunch. keep sending me your nasty little ideas, I live for them.”

Five thousand followers. For writing about him. Or at least a version of him.

Gator set the phone down when he heard the shower turn off. He was still half-hard, brain buzzing.

When you came out in one of his old t-shirts, hair damp, he couldn’t help himself.

“Hey,” he said, voice casual even though it wasn’t. “What’s Tumblr?”

You froze mid-step, eyes widening a fraction. “Uh… why?”

He shrugged, leaning back against the headboard. “Saw notifications on your phone. Looked like you got a lot of ’em.”

You laughed nervously, climbing onto the bed. “It’s just… a blogging site. For fandom stuff. Memes. Writing. Whatever.”

“Writing, huh?” He smirked, but there was heat in it. “Like stories?”

Your face went pink. “Maybe.”

“Stories about me?”

The color drained then flooded back. “Gator—”

“I read some,” he admitted, no shame now. “When you were in the kitchen last night. And again this morning.”

You stared at him, mouth open. “You… went through my Tumblr?”

“Yep.” He reached over and tugged you closer until you were straddling his lap. His hands settled on your thighs, thumbs stroking. “Found your whole deputy x reader collection. Real popular, baby. Five thousand people following you just to read about me fucking you in the cruiser.”

“Oh my god,” you whispered, hiding your face in your hands. “I’m so embarrassed.”

“Don’t be.” He pulled your hands away gently, forcing you to look at him. His voice dropped lower. “Kinda hot, actually. All those girls out there reading your nasty little stories. Getting wet over the same shit I do to you every night.”

You bit your lip, squirming on his lap. He could feel you getting warm through the thin fabric of your panties.

“I didn’t think you’d ever see it,” you mumbled. “It’s just… fun. Fantasy. They’re all so supportive and it’s a whole community of girls who like the same stuff. It’s not like real life.”

“Some of it’s pretty close to real life,” he pointed out, grinning. One hand slid up under the t-shirt to cup your breast, thumb brushing your nipple. “The way you wrote me talking dirty? Spot on. And that one where I bend you over the hood? We did that two weeks ago.”

You let out a shaky laugh. “Yeah, well… inspiration strikes.”

Gator’s other hand gripped your hip, rocking you slowly against the growing bulge in his sweatpants. “What threw me is how freaky y’all are. I always figured guys were the nasty ones. Talking shit in the locker room, watching porn, whatever. But reading those comments… girls are out here begging for breeding kinks and handcuff play and wanting me to call them my little cumslut while I’m still in uniform.”

Your breath hitched. “We’re not all like that. It’s just fantasy.”

“Bullshit,” he said softly, leaning up to kiss your jaw. “You wrote it. You get off on it. And so do thousands of other girls. Makes me wonder what else is in that pretty head of yours that you haven’t told me yet.”

He flipped you suddenly, pinning you to the mattress with his body. You gasped, legs wrapping around him instinctively.

“So,” he murmured against your neck, teeth grazing skin, “you gonna show me the rest of your blog? Or do I gotta keep sneaking your phone when you’re not looking?”

You moaned softly as he ground against you. “You’re such an asshole.”

“Yeah, but I’m your asshole deputy.” He kissed you hard, tongue sliding against yours, then pulled back just enough to whisper, “And apparently the star of your horny little fan club.”

Later, after he’d fucked you slow and deep while making you read one of your own fics out loud, voice breaking every time he hit that spot. He lay beside you, both of you sweaty and satisfied.

“You really not mad?” you asked quietly, tracing patterns on his chest.

“Nah.” He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. “Kinda proud, actually. My girl’s out there writing smut that gets thousands of notes. And learning that women are just as filthy as men? Eye-opening.”

You laughed, burying your face in his shoulder. “Welcome to Tumblr, Deputy.”

Gator grinned into your hair. “Yeah. Think I’m gonna need my own account. Gotta keep up with all the competition.”

You swatted his chest, but you were smiling.

He didn’t tell you that part of him wanted to read every single thing you’d ever written about him. That another part wanted to live up to the version of him you’d created: cocky, rough, devoted, a little broken. That knowing you fantasized about him like that, shared it with the world, made him feel wanted in a way his father’s approval never could.

For the first time in a long time, Gator Tillman felt like he might actually be a winner at something.

Even if it was just being the hottest fictional deputy on some weird app full of horny girls.

. ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁ ⟡ ܁ . ⊹ ₊ ܁. . ܁₊ ⊹ . ܁

“Yeah, that's right,” he said, voice gravelly from behind you as he pushed a little too roughly against you, your hands sliding over the reports placed on the desk, scattering them to the floor. Neither of you cared enough to worry about what they might have been or if they were in any particular order.

“Gator,” you moaned, just letting your upper half collapse onto the desk, not trying to move away from him but instead giving yourself the leverage to hike one of your legs up onto the surface beside you, your right knee nudging the sheriff's desk lamp and almost knocking it over, as you spread yourself even further apart for your fellow deputy behind you.

“God, fuckin' good little bitch y'are,” Gator muttered, and you groaned, reaching back with your right hand to dig your fingers into your ass cheek, holding yourself open too, now, so Gator could see himself entering you. You heard him chuckle.

“Fuck me,” you whined in response, half sprawled out on his father's desk as he slid his hands to your waist, pulling you back onto his cock as he just kept pounding into you, the slap of skin on skin audible, the wet sounds of him entering and leaving your tight pussy just serving to make your clit throb, your tongue peek out of your mouth. You were so goddamn worked up you were fucking panting.

And Gator clocked it, because of course he did. He could read your body like no one else ever had. He laughed again, derisive—your pussy clenched down on him, and he groaned before he spoke, his hand skimming up your spine through your uniform shirt, because all you'd bothered to remove was your boots and pants.

“Losin' yer breath there, huh?” Gator asked. “Need it that bad.” That one wasn't a question.

“Yeah,” you agreed, knowing you were better off keeping your wits about you, since you were here for work, after all, but not quite able to shake it off. Gator was a motherfucker with a mouth on him, someone you wouldn't bring home to mama, but with how he took care of you in other ways, that was actually the perfect reason not to bring him to meet her.

“Need me t'fill up this perfect little tang a'yers,” he said, and you loosed a stuttering breath at how filthy he made you feel, the absolutely vile shit he said to you—the way it made you clench down on him, made the slide even easier because he had you gushing at the demeaning words leaving his lips.

“Please,” you moaned, and he shoved into you fully, and stopped.

“N—Gator, don't—don't stop,” you whined, and he just laughed again, pulling out of you, watching as your pussy gaped a little once you were empty, your slit fluttering around nothing.

“Turn over,” he said, waiting as you managed to flip yourself around on shaky legs, leaning back against Roy's desk, watching as he made sure the condom was still exactly where it was supposed to be, not paying you any attention at all.

Your arousal was running down one of your thighs as you stood there waiting, his thick cock jutting straight out from his front, curved up just a little, the rubber sheathing him shiny, doused with you.

“Lean back,” he said, stepping closer to you, and you did, bracing yourself on Sheriff Tillman's desk—your boss and his father, making all of this even more fucked up than it was—and before you really had your balance, Gator had hooked one of his hands beneath your thigh, pulling it up roughly, opening you for him again. He held onto it, crowding you, bullying his cock back into your loose pussy and you groaned as he bottomed out yet again, this time feeling his breath fanning over your lips and cheek, mint mixed with tobacco, his eyes on yours.

“Y'like me close like this, right?”

“Yeah,” you agreed, but you'd take him in any position in any place at any time. You weren't picky, not when it came to him.

“Yeah,” he sneered, echoing you. “Like ya like this too. Grindin' that sweet little tang all over my cock, go on, get movin'.”

He held your leg to the side, making sure that he had enough room to fuck into you as you balanced half on the edge of the desk, the wetness that had been dripping onto your thigh now smearing over his front as he rolled his hips against you.

“I said get movin',” Gator said, and with his free hand he reached back behind you, pressing his fingers beneath you to cup your ass so you were nearly sitting on his hand. It spurred you on—you bucked into him, feeling his cock press even deeper into you, drawing a groan from your chest as you felt his cheek round up as he pressed the side of his face to yours, grinning as he whispered to you. “Y'know yer mine, right?” Gator asked you.

You shuddered, nodding, but that wasn't answer enough for him. He squeezed your ass, squeezed your leg, pushing it back even more to spread you open further, fuck you even deeper.

“All fuckin' mine,” he said. “Ain't no one else ever gonna fuck you like I do, y'know that, right?”

“Yes, G—” you started to say, but he wasn't finished yet. His hips pressed tight into yours as he pushed into you all the way, stilling deep inside you. Your body was squeezing down around him, your walls clinging to him, pulsing, trying to entice him to start moving again, though the weight of him just resting inside you was still satisfying in its own depraved way.

“This pussy belongs to me,” he said, pulling out and thrusting back in. “This mouth belongs to me.” He let his lips brush over yours but didn't kiss you—he never did. “This fuckin' tight little ass belongs to me.” He dug his fingertips into the plush flesh of your backside so hard it almost hurt. “I think y'like that, don'tcha?”

“Yes,” you nearly cried out.

His cheek was against yours again, lips brushing over it as he spoke, the faint tickle of his eyelashes making you shudder. “Then give it all t'me, darlin',” Gator said. “Show me how much y'like it, c'mon.”

“Gator...” you whimpered, and he huffed a short laugh as your hands gripped his arms, shaky fingers pressing into his triceps.

“Fucked ya out already?” he mused. “Fuckin' pillow princess.”

You whined as his hand slid out from beneath your ass and moved to your thigh, splaying out there as his thumb crooked against your mound, sliding down to press between your labia. He rubbed at the hood of your clit for a moment before moving down just a little further, the pad of his finger finally making contact with your neglected clit.

“Ah, fuck, Gator,” you said, not dipping your head back but forward, resting your temple against his shoulder, tipping your chin to kiss his neck.

“Wanna feel ya come, ya little fuckin' slut,” he said, with as much affection as he could muster—which wasn't a lot, but you had done this enough times by now that you knew the tone with which he said it wasn't as harsh as it could be. “Know I ain't done 'til you are.”

“I'm close,” you said, grasping at him. The sun was rising higher in the sky—the other deputies would be arriving soon. Sheriff Tillman would be arriving soon, and if he caught his son with you in his office, one of you would be getting the boot and it wasn't Gator.

“S'prised it took this long,” Gator mumbled, rubbing your clit in slow, deep circles now, feeling it kick against his thumb, feeling your pussy ripple around him in waves. “Must be offa my game.”

“Tried to—hold it back,” you admitted, and Gator didn't pull away to look at you, just kept shallowly dragging his cock out of you and then pushing back in, giving you the depth and pressure you liked rather than the friction he needed.

“What fer?”

“Wanna feel you all day,” you breathed, and you felt Gator's cock twitch when you did, his hips rub against your thighs as his body tried to seat him even further inside you. It affected him, but of course he had to pretend it didn't.

“Think ya wouldn't if it was quick?” he said, starting to fuck you properly again, but keeping it slow for you, snapping his hips in at the last moment so his front hit yours with a little extra pressure.

You whimpered in response, and he fucked you harder, quicker, picking up the pace with his thumb too. After a few passes, he hit just the right angle, and your orgasm hit you, your whole body tightening up around him—vaguely, you heard him groan as he fucked into you one last time, his hips stuttering against yours as your orgasm pulled Gator's along with it, and you both rode it out together, his face pressed into your cheek, your lips kissing his earlobe, drawing it between your lips for a brief moment.

“Fuckin' shit,” Gator half-growled as he came down, holding onto you to ground himself before he even attempted to move.

“Jesus,” you sighed, as he lowered your leg back down but didn't pull out of you, your thighs tight on either side of his hips. You looked up at him, eyes meeting, and he studied you for a moment.

“Fit fer duty?” he asked, as he always did after he wrung you out, and you laughed, because that was what you always did too.

“As a fuckin' fiddle,” you replied, and Gator pulled out of you, the both of you flinching a little at the sensation of losing each other, not wanting to even if this was nearly an every day occurrence for you. You slid off of the sheriff's desk as Gator backed up, tying off the condom and grabbing some tissues out of his jacket pocket for the two of you to clean up.

“Got any more?” you asked, still wiping your thighs. “I'm, um...”

Out of the moment, you were never as good with dirty talk, but Gator didn't have that problem, even a little.

“Got ya soakin' wet, didn't I,” he said, handing you the rest of the tissues he had. “Had ya fuckin' drippin' down yer own leg.”

“Yeah, well,” you said, dismissively, but felt your cheeks burning.

He stepped closer, caging you in against his dad's desk, even though you were at risk of being discovered now more than ever.

“Yeah, well,” he said. “She knows who she belongs to, don't she?”

You swallowed, nodding.

“Who?” Gator asked.

You scoffed, not quite believing he was going to make you say it.

“Who,” he demanded. “Say it.”

“You,” you replied. “You, Gator.”

He put his hand on your hip, sliding it over your abdomen, his thumb dipping into your folds again to brush over your swollen clit, still sensitive and wet, making you tense a little. “Goddamn right.”

He tugged his pants back up, tucked himself away, left you standing at his father's desk half-naked and completely debauched. “Have a good day, Deputy,” he said, smug, and left the office.

&&

The coffee you stopped for an hour later did nothing to calm you the fuck down—in fact, it only made you feel even more wound up. Gator was probably doing a task for his dad—you'd heard the sheriff reaming him for something or other as you twirled your keychain around your finger and headed out to the lot to climb into your cruiser and take off on patrol, waiting to become useful to dispatch.

But it was a slow morning. You'd pulled off the highway just behind a low wooded area, hiding yourself from oncoming vehicles to try and catch anyone who might get the bright idea to speed in broad daylight on the open road, and sipped your coffee. You'd ordered it light and sweet, heavy on the sweet, and apparently the guy who'd made it for you didn't know what either of those words meant because it was still dark and barely tasted of sugar at all.

You nursed the steaming cup, settling back in your seat, watching for anything untoward happening on the highway, but you didn't spot much, other than people slowing down once they noticed your car as they were halfway to passing you.

Wasn't worth pulling someone over for going only a few over the limit. No, you were waiting for the small-dicked show-offs in their overpowered pickup trucks or bright and shiny sports cars, pushing triple-digits because they thought they could.

It didn't take long for your mind to wander—the radio chatter wasn't worth listening to, not really, so you put your tepid coffee in the cupholder and exhaled deeply, sliding a little bit further down in your seat and adjusting your seatbelt so it wasn't pressing against your throat.

Sighing heavily, you tuned back in to the radio for a moment as you heard Gator's voice.

“Anyone know what time the pizza place near the station opens?”

You snickered, and then laughed quietly to yourself as dispatch responded.

“Deputy Tillman, the radio is to be used for official department business.”

“Fuckin' hell,” Gator said back. “Just tryna find out when I can get a slice.”

“It opens at 11,” Lemley answered, and you just smirked as Gator thanked him and a different dispatcher admonished them both.

You let your head tip back against the driver's seat, your hand trailing over your thigh, clad in your thick uniform trousers. Even through the canvas, you still felt yourself get twitchy, your inner thigh jumping a little at your touch.

God, you did still feel him, even though it had been a couple hours since you'd hooked up.

You glanced at the radio—silent. Surely there wouldn't be anything going on so early this morning that you'd be needed to get involved with. You hesitated, then lifted your hand from your thigh to lower the volume. It was fine.

With your right hand, you unbuckled your seatbelt and with your left, you dug into your pocket for your phone, swiping to open it and navigating to your text thread with Gator, which was pretty much exclusively nudes and lewds that you two sent to each other as spank bank material—you didn't have much to talk about otherwise, truthfully.

Scrolling through the photos with one hand, you unbuttoned your pants with the other and tugged down the zipper, lifting your hips and shoving them down just enough that you could slip your hand down between your thighs.

This was some Gator type shit to do, for sure—you smirked, because just as the thought crossed your mind, you passed a photo he'd sent you of his cock, propped up on the steering wheel of his cruiser, his thumb curled over the head, smearing his precome away from the slit. You felt your pussy clench a little at the sight of him, and pressed your fingertips against your slit through your panties, but kept flicking through pictures.

You paused for a moment on one you'd sent, a shot of you from the waist up, one hand gathered in your hair, head cocked slightly to the side, the other playing with one of your nipples, lips swollen from how you'd been biting them. You studied yourself, then nodded approvingly. You were fucking hot. You rubbed at your slit, then stopped. You might be a little conceited but probably not enough to jack off to yourself.

Back to Gator.

You loosed a little groan as you slid your hand up your front and then back down into your panties, letting your middle finger slip between your folds as you kept looking through pictures—and then stopped, finding one he'd sent pretty early in your situationship, when you were both still walking on eggshells around each other and thus going all out in your dick and titty pictures.

His cock was flushed, red at the tip, drooling precome in a streak down the head; he was flexing it toward the camera, so you could see how big he was, how close to coming he'd been when he snapped the picture, his hand not wrapped around it but just propping it up on his palm.

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself, pressing your finger further between your labia to rub over your clit, sighing a little. You were still wet, even though you'd tried to clean yourself up; your fingertip was slicking so goddamn easily over your clit that you felt your nipples perk up in your bra at how easy it was to touch yourself. You were still fucking drenched, and you curled your wrist a little, the pad of your fingertip sliding down from your clit to your leaking cunt, rubbing at your entrance but not moving inside—this was going to be quick and dirty to try to get it out of your system, not you taking your time the way you wanted to.

You tapped the picture of Gator's cock, fullscreening it, and moved your finger back up to your clit, tongue flitting over your lips as you rubbed yourself, looking at the picture but mostly thinking about Gator, especially that morning.

“Ain't no one else ever gonna fuck you like I do," he'd said, and you groaned quietly, because god, he was probably right. It took a special kind of person to walk the line between generous and debaucherous, and Gator balanced on it perfectly.

The sound of your hand working between your legs filled the car, and you closed your eyes, but held your thumb on your phone screen in case you wanted a visual to go with your memory, and you thought of the way you'd felt his lips just brush over yours, the slight graze of his eyelashes on your temple, and your whole body gave a kick, your clit throbbing, your pussy desperate for something inside of it again.

“Y'know yer mine, right?” he'd asked you.

“Yours,” you mumbled, so fucking lost, a little embarrassed of the hold he had on you, but fuck if he wasn't right. You did like it, liked how possessive he was of you, how much he wanted you, desired you. If you belonged to him, you knew that the reverse was also true—he could claim your pussy was his as much as he wanted, but all that meant was he was yours just the same. Wrapped around your little finger.

You opened your eyes and looked down at the picture again, then frantically swiped back through them to find the one of him in the cruiser, because suddenly that one seemed like the right one to see at the moment.

“Fuck,” you said, loudly, because you were about to crest your peak, your finger slipping erratically over your clit, and you still hadn't found the picture you were looking for—and then all of a sudden, a knock came at your window.

You shrieked a little, your hand stilling between your legs, dropping your phone; it bounced off your thigh and slid down between the door and the seat.

“Hell you doin'?” Gator asked, bemused, a smirk on his lips.

“Gator?” you asked, mouth dry, cheeks burning hot. “What are you—?” You got half the question out before you saw his eyes dip down to your lap, and then back up to your face. His lack of a reaction told you he'd seen what you were doing before he'd tapped on your window.

“Open the window,” he said. “Don't move otherwise.”

“Gator,” you said, stern, and started to pull your hand out of your pants as you reached to depress the button to roll the window down.

“Don't you fuckin' dare,” he said, leaning half into the car. You thought for one hysterical moment he was going to kiss you. Your heart sped up a little in your chest, even though it was already fluttering.

But no—he didn't even look at you as he leaned over you, past you, his arm reaching for your radio. He turned the volume knob up until you could hear.

“—pond?” A pause. “Deputy, please respond?” the dispatcher was requesting.

Gator grabbed the radio with one hand.

“Go on,” he said, voice low. “Respond.” He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, hanging half into the window of your cruiser, and held the radio up to your mouth while pressing the button on the side.

With his other hand, he reached down to cup his hand over yours, pressing your hand against yourself. Your breath hitched.

“D-Deputy sheriff, badge number 4101,” you managed to say, trying to keep your voice steady. Gator tucked his hand further between your legs. “All clear, all—all set. Musta accidentally hit the radio knob 'nd turned the volume down.” You looked up at Gator, who just about nudged your cheek with the radio, then slid his hand up just the same as you'd done, and then right back down, fingers lacing with yours as he moved them together, making the pad of your finger slide over your clit again. “Deputy Tillman is on scene,” you said. “No problems, thanks.”

“Thank you Deputy,” the dispatcher said. “Be more careful with that radio.”

“Will do,” you said, shaking a little, waiting for Gator to release the button that would transmit any audio from your cruiser, and once you saw his finger move away, you moaned, moving your free hand to his wrist, clinging to him.

“Jesus fuckin' Christ,” he said, tossing the radio into the passenger seat, the coiled wire bouncing around as he did. “Didn't give it to ya good enough this mornin', ya needed even more?” He crowded into you, even though he was leaning in through the window. “When I said ya were a good little bitch I didn't think you'd start actin' like y'were in heat. God damn.”

“Gator,” you whined, and he smirked down at you, pulling his hand out of your pants and then, as you watched, lifted his wet fingers to his lips and sucked them off.

“Get out,” he said, as he lowered his hand. When you hesitated, he jerked his head toward the backseat. “C'mon. Get movin'.”

You opened the door to your cruiser as he backed up a few steps, taking his hand as he helped you out and then walked you right past the rear door, opening it and waiting for you to sit on the back seat. You sank down and he glanced around, so you did too. You'd been so enthralled in what you were doing that you literally hadn't even noticed the way he'd pulled up in his own cruiser, mostly blocking yours from view from the road, and when he sunk down to his knees and curled his hands into the waistband of your pants, you just lifted your ass up to let him pull down your uniform pants and your underwear, which were so wet they stuck to you just a little.

“Fuck,” Gator said, eyeing the way your panties were almost soaked through in the crotch. He pushed your legs up a little, looking at you between them where he bent you at the waist. “Get yer boots off, gonna be hard enough t'take care'a ya in the backseat, ferget keepin' anything on.” He pushed your thighs up against your stomach as you reached up to unlace your boots, knowing full well that your wet cunt was on full display for him. You let each shoe fall to the floor of the cruiser, and then together you pulled off your pants and underwear—though Gator plucked those from your fingers. You watched, eyes wide, as he crumpled them up in his hand and then lifted them to his face, breathing in your scent deeply, his own eyes slipping closed.

“Mm,” he hummed absently, and then you watched, speechless, as he parted his lips and let the soaked cotton drag against his tongue. “Fuck, that's real nice.”

You could feel your heartbeat in your fingertips, hear it in your ears; beyond aroused, you watched as he lowered his hand to stuff your dirty underwear into his pants pocket, and then pushed your legs back up so you were open and exposed to him.

“Just a taste ain't enough,” he said, holding your gaze as he lowered his face down to your cunt, already pulsing around nothing, already way too needy.

His tongue dragged over your folds, and the warmth of it against your heated core made you shudder, your hands sliding down to grope at your thighs, holding onto them as he sucked at your slit, your cunt squeezing down as he did, wanting to suck something inside of it, hold it there, get fucked hard and harsh, but he wasn't giving anything to you yet.

No—he just moved up, his lips moving over your clit as he sucked at it, tongue circling it, probing at it beneath the hood, between your lips, teasing it as you moaned, loud and unabashed, feeling it throbbing the more he sucked.

“Gator,” you whined, and he didn't pull away to speak; he just groaned against you, sucking you still, letting his tongue cradle it with gentle pressure until you were reaching for him, his hair, his face—he cut you off with his own hand, letting your fingers move between his as he held your hand. You squeezed it, hard, as you felt yourself let go against his face, your hips rolling up against him as he moved with you, not pulling his mouth off of you even as you pushed at his hand, because it was too much.

He flicked his tongue against you a few more times, then pulled away, licking your arousal off of his lips before he gave your ass a playful little slap and leaned up, hands on the backs of your knees, holding himself over you.

“Whatcha think, princess?” he asked. “Make ya feel any better?”

You shook your head.

“No?” he asked, smirking. “You tryna say she aint satisfied?”

“That's exactly what I'm saying,” you replied.

He laughed, releasing one of your legs—you curled your own hand around your knee, holding it up for him—and dipped two fingers into your cunt, still willing and ready for him. When he did, your eyes slipped half closed and a low, heavy moan fell from your lips.

“Got it,” Gator said. “Feelin' all empty without me in ya, huh?”

“Yeah,” you sighed, and he dug his fingers just a little deeper inside of you, feeling your walls pressing around him as you squeezed down onto them.

“Look at her,” Gator said, twisting his wrist so his palm was facing up, curling his fingers to try to find your g-spot. “She knows, don't she?” He scissored his fingers apart just a little, stretching you, pulling another moan from you. You released your legs—they fell against him just a little, but you needed hands on your tits right fucking now; your nipples were peaked inside your shirt, begging for attention from you, from him, you didn't fucking care.

Gator's fingers slowed to a stop inside of you as he watched you practically tear open the buttons of your uniform shirt, pulling it open and then just yanking your bra up, tits spilling out from beneath the cups as they ended up atop your chest, pebbled nipples hard. You cupped them almost immediately, pinching and rolling the perked buds as Gator watched, almost as dumbstruck as you'd felt when he'd interrupted you.

“Lemme in there,” he said, but you didn't relent, just kept your fingers working over your tits, as he pulled his fingers out of you and moved them to his waist, undoing his own belt, button, and fly and shoving his camo pants down along with his boxer briefs, cock springing out of the waistband. He was pink at the tip, not reddened yet, not like the picture you'd been touching yourself to, but he was getting there and the thought alone made you groan eagerly.

With one hand, he slipped two fingers into a pocket of his tac vest; with the other, he braced himself on the backseat of the cruiser and leaned over you, pushing your left hand away from your tit with his face as he covered your nipple with his mouth, sucking at it and making your back arch up off of the seat.

“Feels so good,” you whined, flexing your hips, like that could get him to move any faster; he couldn't even see you doing it.

“Gonna feel—even better,” Gator said, still groping around in a different pocket, “in a fuckin'—minute. There we fuckin' go.”

He pulled away from you and you saw, now, what he'd been looking for—a condom. He tore the corner of the wrapper with his teeth and then, pushing himself so he was kneeling over you, his slicked-back hair brushing the roof of the cruiser, he pulled it out, rolled it on, and with no warning, no preamble, sank right into you, your position and spread legs giving him the easiest access to your cunt he'd ever had.

“Oh my god,” you half-yelled, at the same moment he grunted out, “Shit, fuck yeah.”

He started a brutal pace instantly, not giving you time to acclimate, not waiting to bottom out before he'd pulled back, instead just going at you right away, fucking you hard and fast and making you squeal beneath him as his hips pistoned against yours.

“Gator—!” Your voice was high and broken as you said his name, the cruiser rocking back and forth as he fucked into you, desperate, your previous orgasm doing nothing to sate you—you just wanted everything he could give you and then some.

“Uh huh,” he uttered, bracing his hands on the seats for a moment as he tucked his knees up a little, giving himself more leverage to drill down into you, his cock reaching so fucking deep inside your pussy as you wrapped your legs around him, squeezing his sides with your thighs as you fought to keep him pounding into you, wanting the residual ache from him inside of you for as long as you could keep it.

“Keep—fuckin'—just like that,” you mewled, then moved your left hand down to your clit, your right hand still tugging at your nipple, switching to rubbing over it at the same pace and rhythm as you moved your hand over your swollen clit.

“Shit,” Gator said through gritted teeth. “So fuckin' tight, can't—can't—”

“Come for me,” you said, and he glanced up at you, meeting your eyes—you'd never asked him that before, never took even a little charge with him. His hips faltered for a second, weakened because of how it felt for you to speak that way to him. “Go on,” you coaxed him, squeezing your cunt down on his length. “Come for me, Gator. Give it all to me—”

You gasped as his hips snapped against you, you echoing what he'd said to you that morning bringing him to the edge.

“Fuckin'—gonna,” he moaned, leaning down further over you, his face right above yours, his nose brushing against your nose as he looked down into your eyes. This, probably, was the most intimate you'd ever been, looking right at each other in the throes of passion; or well—lust, at least.

“Please,” you begged, and then your fingers slipped over your clit just right, his cock driving home into you, and your lower half tensed and then snapped, your hips curling upward and fucking your cunt onto his cock as you came, hard, so hard you had to close your eyes and let your jaw drop in a silent scream, breathy gasps falling from your lips as you rode it out on his cock, his front still slapping against yours, his rhythm becoming sloppy as he got even closer.

“Whose am I?” you asked, voice weak.

“Yer fuckin' mine,” he growled at you, his hips canting into yours as he came. “Yer mine.”

Your heels dug into his back, pulling him against you, your pussy quivering, overstimulated, as you held him inside of you, his arms failing, his front falling flat against yours. “Yeah,” you decided, “but vice fuckin' versa.”

He met your eyes from where his cheek rested on your shoulder, the two of you smirking a little. Then, like he wasn't entirely sure about what he was doing, he rose up just enough off of your body to kiss you for the first time.

You could tell it wouldn't be the only.

the waiting room was too bright and too quiet in that strange way that made everything feel a little unreal.

you gave the receptionist a small smile and checked in, then followed the direction down the hallway to the room they’d told you to wait in.

joe was already there, sitting half-upright in the chair with a blanket over his lap and a wad of gauze tucked clumsily between his teeth. his eyes were glassy in that unmistakable way that meant the medication had already started to win.

the moment he saw you, his whole face changed.

his eyebrows shot up like he wanted to say your name, like he had something urgent and important and very possibly ridiculous to tell you, but all that came out was a muffled, airy sound around the gauze.

he frowned at his own mouth, then tried again, squinting at you with complete seriousness.

you stared at him for a second, then laughed.

not meanly, never meanly, but there was something so unbearably sweet about the way he was trying so hard to communicate through the fog, with his cheeks still a little swollen and his hair flattened on one side from the chair.

he narrowed his eyes at you as if he was offended by your amusement, but it was impossible to take him seriously when he looked like that.

“hi” you said softly, crossing the room and stopping beside him.

he made another determined sound, then pointed at you with slow, clumsy emphasis, like he was making a very clear and important point. whatever it was, the gauze and the meds made it impossible to understand.

“i know, baby” you said, still smiling.

he nodded once, solemn as anything, then he patted the chair beside him, offering you the space like it was the most natural thing in the world.

you sat immediately and before you even had a chance to settle, he reached for your hand.

his fingers were a little unsteady, warm and loose around yours, but the grip itself was so sure it made your chest ache a little. he just held on, thumb resting against the side of your hand like he needed the contact to remind himself where he was. you squeezed back, and he turned his head toward you with a slow, stunned kind of affection on his face, like he’d just remembered you were real.

his gaze kept drifting to your face, then away, then back again. every few seconds his mouth moved like he was trying to say something else, but he only managed a few slurred sounds and a little frustrated huff.

you leaned closer. “what is it?”

he frowned, then pointed at you again, then at himself, then at you a second time, looking deeply satisfied with whatever message he thought he was sending.

“i agree,” you told him. “absolutely no questions.”

he blinked at you for a moment, then a slow smile pulled at his mouth. even drugged and swollen and a little helpless, he still looked so absurdly happy to see you that it made you feel warm all the way through.

the dentist came back in not long after, checking his mouth and replacing the gauze with a smaller piece so he could talk a little more easily. joe watched the whole process with exaggerated seriousness, then immediately tried to say something the second the dentist stepped away.

“you’re… so…” he began, then paused, brow furrowing as if the rest of the sentence had slipped straight through his fingers.

you waited, expecting him to struggle with it.

instead he looked at you with the most sincere expression you’d ever seen on him and said, “pretty.”

your face heated instantly, and you laughed again, ducking your head. “joe.”

“no,” he insisted, with all the gravity in the world. “you are.”

his eyes were a little unfocused, but the sincerity was so clear it almost undid you. there was no teasing in it, just the simple, unfiltered fact that he thought you were beautiful and had apparently decided now was the perfect time to tell you.

the nurse returned to help him out to the car, and that was when he became fully committed to embarrassing both of you.

he was wheeled down the hallway in a chair, still blinking slowly and leaning a little too heavily into the backrest, while you walked beside him trying not to smile too obviously.

every person he passed got the same solemn announcement in a slightly slurred voice.

“this is my girlfriend.”

the first time it happened, you froze, then looked at him in disbelief. he was beaming up at the ceiling like he’d just made the most important statement of his life.

the nurse laughed. “she is?”

joe turned his head as far as he could manage and looked at you with intense pride. “yeah.”

you covered your mouth with your free hand, shoulders shaking. “you do not need to tell every single person.”

but he just kept going.

“girlfriend” he told the man holding the elevator door.

“girlfriend” he said again, to the woman at the desk.

“mine” he added at one point, and your face went hot all over again.

you had to keep looking away because every time you met his eyes he smiled at you and seemed utterly unconcerned with how ridiculous he was being. it was impossible not to laugh. e

ven the nurse seemed amused, though she tried very hard to keep a professional expression as she helped him outside.

by the time you got to the car, joe had settled into a kind of affectionate loop. his body was still sluggish and half melted from the meds, but his attention never really wandered from you.

you helped him buckle in, carefully adjusting the seatbelt while he watched your hands like they were doing something fascinating.

once you got in the driver’s seat and started pulling out of the lot, he turned toward the window with wide, curious eyes.

“what’s that?” he asked, pointing at a stop sign like he’d never seen one before in his life.

you glanced over. “a stop sign.”

he looked at it for a long second. “why is it red?”

“so people stop.”

he nodded thoughtfully, as though this answered some deep mystery. then, after another pause “that’s smart.”

you bit your lip to keep from laughing too hard. “yeah”

he turned to look at the buildings sliding past the window as you drove. “is that place new?”

“no, that's the pharmacy baby”

“oh, nice.”

every few seconds he’d decide he had a brand-new question for you.

why are there so many wires on the poles?

where do clouds go at night?

do you think that dog in the yard was a good dog?

why do traffic lights have yellow?

what does “yield” mean again?

each question came with that same wide, earnest concentration, like he genuinely believed you knew the answer to everything.

and every few minutes, because apparently he had no ability to remain silent, he would turn to you and say something completely unnecessary and devastatingly sweet.

“you’re so pretty” he murmured, watching you change lanes.

you laughed under your breath. “you already said that.”

“yeah,” he said, as if that was not only true but important. “still true.”

you glanced over and saw the little blush creeping up his cheeks, probably from the medication and probably from the fact that you were smiling at him like he’d hung the moon.

so you smiled even more.

“you’re cute” you told him.

his head tipped back against the seat. “no, you are.”

“joe.”

“i mean it,” he said, and then, after a beat, quieter and even more sincere, “really pretty.”

you shook your head, grinning. “you're very brave right now, saying all this.”

he looked genuinely confused for a second. “why?”

“because you’re going to remember none of it.”

that seemed to amuse him rather than worry him. he leaned his head toward the window and smiled to himself for a moment, still holding your hand whenever the lights changed and you reached back to rest it against his thigh for a second. it was strange, driving home with him like that, because he was so ridiculously sweet it almost didn’t feel real.

by the time you got home, he was tired enough that the questions slowed and the compliments became softer, mumbled little things he seemed only half-aware of saying. you got him inside carefully, helped him settle on the couch with a blanket, and then, because you both deserved it after the day you’d had, you went to get ice cream.

he looked at the bowl in his hands like it was a gift from the heavens. his eyes were still a little heavy, but when he took the first bite, he made a pleased little noise and perked up.

“this is good” he mumbled.

“that’s cause it’s ice cream” you said.

he looked at you seriously over the rim of his spoon. “i can’t believe you’re mine.”

the words landed so softly it almost hurt.

you stopped with your own spoon halfway to your mouth and looked at him. his cheeks were pink again, his hair still a mess, his lips still a little numb from the surgery, and he was staring at you like he couldn’t quite believe any of this.

you smiled and leaned closer. “yeah, i am, baby.”

the blush deepened immediately. he ducked his head, smiling into his ice cream like he couldn’t help it.

you watched him for a second, then reached over and brushed your fingers lightly against his wrist. he turned his hand over and let your fingers slide into his, still grinning to himself like he’d gotten away with something.

later, he slept for hours. he was out so completely that you had to check on him twice just to make sure he was actually breathing.

when he finally woke up, the first thing he did was blink at you in confusion, then immediately start asking what day it was and whether he had said anything weird.

you told him everything.

as you talked, his expression shifted from confusion to horror to disbelief, and then finally to a helpless, incredulous smile.

“no,” he said, dragging a hand down his face. “i did not say that.”

“you did,” you said, laughing. “many times.”

he stared at you, then covered his mouth with one hand, shoulders shaking with embarrassed laughter. “oh my god.”

you nodded, delighted. “you also called me pretty approximately seventy times.”

he groaned, but he was smiling too hard to be convincing. “i hate that.”

“you do not.”

“i do when you’re telling me about it.”

you leaned in and kissed his cheek, soft and quick. “you were cute.”

that made him go quiet.

when he looked back at you, all the lingering embarrassment had melted into something gentler, something full and grateful. he reached for you without thinking, pulling you closer until your head rested against his shoulder and his arm wrapped around you with sleepy familiarity.

“thank you,” he said after a moment, his voice lower now, more like himself. “for looking after me.”

you tilted your head up to look at him. “always.”

his hand found yours again, squeezing once, carefully this time. he pressed a kiss to the top of your head, slow and tender, then settled back against the couch with a contented sigh like he was exactly where he wanted to be.

“still think you’re pretty” he mumbled.

you laughed softly into his shoulder. “still think you’re adorable.”

he made a sound somewhere between a protest and a laugh, then kissed your forehead again as if that settled the argument.

and when he held you a little tighter, half-asleep and warm and fully himself again, you could still almost hear the echo of his loopy voice from earlier, calling you his girlfriend like it was the simplest truth in the world.

because, apparently, even under anesthesia, joe keery knew exactly what he had.

and by the way he was smiling with his eyes closed, you had a feeling he knew it now too.

-

You notice it properly one rainy Thursday night in his bedroom.

The windows are cracked just enough to let cool air drift through the room, carrying the smell of wet pavement and summer rain. Somewhere outside, thunder rolls softly across Hawkins while Steve kisses you against the edge of his mattress, one hand curved carefully around your waist.

You pull back just enough to murmur, “Hey.”

Steve chases after your mouth instinctively before catching himself halfway there.

“Hm?”

“Slow down.”

The words clearly catch him off guard.

Steve blinks once, hands still settled warm against your waist. “What?”

You smile slightly despite yourself, brushing your thumb softly beneath his jaw.

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“This.” Your hand trails lightly down his arm. “Acting like you’re being timed.”

A faint line appears between Steve’s eyebrows immediately.

“I just thought we were-”

“We are.”

You kiss him again before he can spiral into apologising for something he hasn’t actually done wrong.

Slower this time.

Careful enough that he has to feel it.

Steve makes a quiet sound against your mouth - soft and startled, like the gentleness caught him off guard - and something warm and painful pulls tight beneath your ribs.

The real thing reveals itself quietly after that.

Steve Harrington is very good at taking care of people. He remembers how everybody likes their coffee. Notices when someone’s cold before they do. Gives pieces of himself away so naturally he probably doesn’t even realise he’s doing it anymore.

But the second somebody tries to hand that tenderness back to him, he gets almost shy about it.

You guide him backwards slowly until the backs of his knees hit the mattress.

“There,” you murmur softly. “Better.”

Steve looks at you with an expression that suddenly feels much younger than the rest of him. Not nervous exactly. Just unaccustomed to being handled this carefully.

“You’re being weirdly nice to me,” he says suspiciously.

You laugh under your breath. “That’s a horrible thing to say to your girlfriend.”

“No, I mean-” Steve runs a hand awkwardly through his hair. “Usually you’re the one getting taken care of.”

“And?”

“And…” His shoulders lift faintly in another helpless shrug. “I dunno.”

“Steve,” you say quietly, “when’s the last time you actually relaxed?”

Steve snorts immediately. “Probably 1984.”

“Be serious.”

“I am serious.”

You stare at him for a second before both of you start laughing softly.

The tension loosens after that. Only slightly, but enough.

Steve’s shoulders drop beneath your hands while your fingers continue moving lazily through his hair. He closes his eyes for barely a second at the feeling before catching himself doing it.

Interesting.

“You like that?” you ask softly.

Steve opens one eye immediately. “Don’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Use that voice like you’re discovering something.”

Your smile widens. “I am discovering something.”

Steve groans quietly while you scratch lightly against his scalp again.

His entire body visibly relaxes.

“Oh my god,” you whisper dramatically. “You’re basically a rescue dog.”

“Wow.”

“You are.”

Steve tries rolling his eyes, but it loses some impact when he’s actively leaning into your hand now.

“There he is,” you murmur softly.

Something in Steve’s expression changes at that. Tiny and fleeting, but noticeable. Like the affection in your voice hit him harder than expected.

You kiss him again, carefully, slower than before, and this time Steve follows your pace automatically. His hands still twitch occasionally like instinct keeps trying to pull him back into urgency, but every time he starts rushing ahead, you guide him back down again.

A hand against his jaw.

Fingers through his hair.

A kiss slow enough to feel deliberate.

Gradually, Steve starts melting beneath it.

You can read him everywhere if you know where to look - in the hitch of his breathing, the way his eyes flutter shut when your nails scrape lightly against the nape of his neck, the quiet sounds he tries unsuccessfully to swallow whenever you touch him somewhere sensitive.

The calmer he gets, the softer he becomes.

Not grasping now. Not hurried.

Just warm hands sliding beneath your shirt to feel your skin. His thumb drifting absentmindedly along your waist while he kisses you like there’s nowhere else he needs to be.

At some point he just… looks at you.

Really looks at you.

“What?” you murmur.

Steve shakes his head once, gaze still fixed on your face.

“Nothin’.”

“That’s a lie.”

His mouth twitches faintly. “You’re just really pretty.”

Your stomach flips embarrassingly hard.

“Steve.”

“I’m serious.” His fingertips brush beneath your jaw now, mirroring the way you touched him earlier. “You’re always taking care of everybody too, and somehow you still…” He shrugs slightly. “Look at me like that.”

“Like what?”

His expression softens.

“Like I’m worth being gentle with.”

The air leaves your lungs all at once.

God.

There he is.

You kiss him before he can look away.

Slow, lingering.

Your hand settles against his cheek while Steve sinks gradually backwards onto the mattress beneath you, one arm wrapping around your waist like he wants to keep you there.

“You know what your problem is?” you murmur softly against his mouth.

Steve looks mildly offended already. “Excuse me?”

“You think love only counts when you’re giving it.”

Something fragile flickers briefly across his face.

You smooth your thumb beneath his eye.

“But you’re allowed to have it too, honey.”

Steve goes very still beneath you.

Then, quietly, “Oh.”

Your chest aches.

You kiss him again before he can retreat into embarrassment, letting your hands drift slowly over him without urgency now. Every time he starts trying to touch you more than letting himself simply exist in the moment, you pull him gently back down again.

“Relax,” you murmur at one point, fingers brushing through his hair.

“I am relaxed.”

“You’re flexing every muscle in your body.”

Steve pauses.

“…shit.”

You laugh softly and kiss him before he can get embarrassed about that too.

Slow at first. Patient. Your hands stay gentle where they move across him, fingertips dragging through his hair, down the warm skin of his neck, over his shoulders where tension still sits stubbornly beneath the surface.

Steve keeps trying to kiss you harder. Instinctively reaching for more every time things soften too much, like he doesn’t quite know what to do with tenderness unless it’s swallowed immediately by hunger.

“There you go,” you murmur softly against his mouth when his breathing finally starts slowing again.

Steve exhales shakily through his nose.

His hands slide beneath your shirt, warm and slightly restless against your skin, but even now he’s still touching you more than letting himself be touched.

You notice immediately.

So you shift carefully into his lap, knees settling either side of his hips while Steve looks up at you with that same slightly dazed expression he’s been wearing ever since you told him to slow down.

“Hi,” you whisper.

His hands instinctively settle at your waist.

“…hi.”

You smile softly before kissing him again, slower this time, letting your hips roll gently against his just enough to pull a low sound from deep in his chest.

Steve has never been particularly good at hiding what you do to him.

You kiss along his jaw slowly while your hands push his shirt up over his stomach.

Steve helps automatically, tugging it off quickly before immediately reaching for you again.

“Patient,” you murmur softly, catching his wrist before he can pull you fully against him.

Steve actually flushes.

“Sorry.”

The instinctive apology twists awfully somewhere beneath your ribs.

“You don’t have to apologise for wanting things.”

Something in his face softens immediately.

You kiss him before he can say anything self-deprecating in response.

Then your hands are everywhere.

Slow. Thorough.

Tracing freckles across his shoulders. Fingertips dragging lightly through the hair on his thighs while you push his jeans slowly down his legs, Steve lifting his hips automatically to help you. Nails scratching gently down his stomach just to feel the way his breathing catches every single time.

Steve looks overwhelmed by the attention already.

Not embarrassed exactly.

Just… unaccustomed to being looked at this carefully.

“You okay?” you murmur softly.

Steve nods immediately.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “Just- fuck.”

You laugh quietly against his mouth.

His hands tighten instinctively at your hips when you grind down against him again, only your underwear separating you now, slow enough now that every movement feels deliberate.

Steve’s head tips back slightly against the pillows with a quiet groan.

“Oh, you like this,” you whisper.

Steve opens his eyes immediately, looking mildly betrayed by how easily you figured that out.

“You’re enjoying this way too much.”

“I am.”

The honesty pulls another helpless sound from him.

You kiss him again while your fingers slide into his hair, scratching lightly against his scalp in that same way that made him melt earlier.

Steve’s whole body reacts instantly beneath you.

The version of him that only appears once he finally stops trying so hard to hold everything together.

All soft mouth and pink cheeks and helpless little reactions he clearly wasn't expecting you to notice. It makes your chest ache almost as much as it turns you on.

“You’re so pretty like this,” you murmur without thinking.

Steve goes completely still beneath you.

Then, “Jesus Christ.”

You blink. “What?”

“Nobody’s ever said that to me before.”

The confession hits hard enough to momentarily knock the breath from your lungs.

Because of course they haven’t.

People want things from Steve constantly. Protection. Confidence. Control. They like him loud and capable and steady. Impossible to knock over.

You’re not entirely sure anybody’s ever let him simply be soft before.

One hand settles carefully against his cheek while the other carefully pulls his boxers down his hips.

“Well,” you murmur, kissing him once, “they were stupid.”

Steve laughs weakly into your mouth right before you sink down onto him slowly enough that both of you end up breathless from it.

Not rushed.

Not frantic.

Just warmth and pressure and Steve’s hands gripping your waist almost reverently while his forehead drops heavily against your shoulder.

“Fuck,” he whispers shakily.

You move carefully above him, slow enough to feel every reaction pull across his face. Every little loss of composure. The way his mouth falls open slightly whenever your hips drag just right.

Steve keeps trying to help.

Thrusting upwards instinctively. Grabbing at you like he wants to give more than he’s taking again.

Each time, you guide him back down gently.

“Lemme take care of you for a second,” you whisper against his mouth.

Steve actually whines quietly at that.

Steve hides his face in your neck immediately, clearly mortified.

But he still lets you keep going.

Lets you hold him there long enough for all that constant tightness in him to finally start giving way. Lets himself melt beneath your hands instead of constantly trying to stay composed for your sake.

When he finally falls apart, it happens quietly.

Your name breathed shakily against your throat. Arms wrapped around you so tightly that it almost feels emotional.

Afterwards, Steve just stays there for a second, forehead pressed against your collarbone while both of you try to catch your breath.

Then, quietly, “…I think you broke me a little.”

By the time you finally settle fully against him afterwards, Steve looks almost dazed from the softness of it all.

His hair’s a mess beneath your fingers, cheeks flushed warm pink, one arm wrapped heavily around your waist while rain continues tapping steadily against the windows outside.

Neither of you speaks for a while.

Steve just traces absentminded patterns against your back while your legs tangle together beneath the blankets.

Eventually, very quietly, he says, “That was nice.”

You smile immediately into his shoulder. “Yeah?”

Steve hums softly.

Then, after a pause, “Nobody’s ever really… slowed down for me before.”

The confession lands gently between you.

You lift your head enough to look at him properly.

Steve already looks slightly embarrassed for admitting it out loud.

So you kiss him once, soft and lingering.

Then again. Then one more time just because you can.

Steve laughs quietly against your mouth, finally relaxed enough now that the sound comes easily.

“There he is,” you murmur again.

This time, Steve doesn’t try to hide when he smiles.

In a reality where you fought inter-dimensional monsters and befriended a young girl with telekinesis, you would think there’s nothing worse than dealing with that.

But it’s pretty easy to say going through a breakup with Steve Harrington is infinitely worse.

You’re standing behind the counter of Family Video, eyes fixated on a small piece of fuzz swirling around the air. You’re trying really hard to ignore the customer flirting with your ex boyfriend ten feet away from you.

You’re grateful he doesn’t seem to be reciprocating her advances, but its probably because you’re nearby. Steve really grew out of being an asshole and flirting with her in front of you would put him right back at the top of the official asshole list.

It’s been a month since your breakup and just know whenever someone says it gets easier with time, they’re lying. The first week was spent on Nancy’s couch, surrounded by tissues and a family sized tub of ice cream. You called in sick from work the whole week and cried enough tears to fill an entire ocean.

The second week, she forced you to socialize more. She was considerate enough to start small – an invitation to have breakfast with her and Jonathan. The opportunity to take Mike and El to the new skating rink. Max spent some time with you too but she didn’t push you to talk about it, she just sat with you through four different movies. All horror, there was absolutely no room for romance or comedy.

By the third week, you really had to pull it together. There was no word from Steve and it was probably better that way. Eddie, Mike and Lucas did all the work to get your things from Steve’s house and pack it up to bring to Nancy’s. You really didn’t want to move into her apartment but it was a stepping stone after leaving Steve’s.

Looking back on it now, the breakup was .. well, it was stupid. It was a cumulation of arguing and stress and lack of space all in one. Petty arguments over chores and snide remarks about each others habits. It was something that should’ve been solved with one conversation but you were both equally stubborn and when you angrily shouted maybe you needed space, he didn’t argue.

Still, you missed him. You really fucking missed him.

And the worst part is he seemed to be doing perfectly fine.

Dustin swore he wasn’t taking sides but you haven’t seen much of him these past couple weeks. Whenever the kids hung around you, he and Robin were both missing and Mike let it slip they were at Steve’s. It’s not like you blamed them, you were all friends but Steve was their best friend.

Now, it’s day 34 without him and you’re wishing the ground will swallow you whole and save you from hearing this girl drape herself all over him.

“It’s just so good to see you, Steve,” She says. She wears a wide smile on her face, one palm resting on his bicep. Steve doesn’t seem to mind, he just fiddles with the tape in his hand and smiles back.

“Yeah, you too, Stacey,” He responds.

Stacey.

He never mentioned a Stacey when you two were together and now suddenly they’re a pair of good friends who wish they kept up with each other over the years.

You try not to stare but then she grabs his forearm and snags the pen he had clipped to his vest. Your stomach twists when she begins to write on the skin of his arm. Steve watches her, his brows pulled together and when she finishes, she raises his arm to her mouth – she presses her red lipstick covered lips against his skin, flicking her eyes back up to his and leaves a kiss mark.

You physically feel sick.

She removes her mouth, a quiet pop sound fills the store. You can see now she’s written her phone number on him, the kiss mark a cute little signature. Her thumb brushes over the lipstick stain and smiles up at him again.

“Call me tonight,” Her voice is low and sultry. Steve glances at you and when he sees you already looking, he swallows hard.

You can feel your eyes prick with tears and tear your gaze away from him. Your throat feels tight, you clench your jaw to keep yourself from crying.

Thankfully, a different customer approaches the counter with their own tapes to check out. You clear your throat and take a deep breath, then plaster on the best customer service smile you can muster.

“Find everything okay, Mrs. Langston?” You ask, typing in her information as you complete her sale. The older woman is easy to talk to and maybe for a few seconds, you’re able to forget all about Steve and Stacey.

You’re unsure how the conversation ends but when you hand the receipt to her, Stacey’s gone and Steve is carefully approaching the counter opposite of you.

You bid your goodbyes to Mrs. Langston and busy yourself with cleaning up the papers near the register. There’s nobody left in the store except you and him. Tension fills the air quickly and you can feel him looking at you.

You hope he doesn’t try to make conversation about Stacey. Aside from things related to work, you haven’t spoken since the night you broke up. If he tries now, you’re almost certain you’d burst into tears.

If he’s moving on – even though it’s only been 34 days – you won’t stop him, and you definitely won’t beg him not to.

“Hey, uh listen,” Steve’s voice breaks the awkward silence. “About Stacey, I just want you to know -,”

“You don’t have to explain anything to me,” You cut him off quickly. Your back is still turned to him and you’ve re-piled  the same stack of papers four times now to look busy.

“I know, but I want to.”

You freeze then. Steve notices and you hear the sound of his footsteps coming closer. He approaches you carefully, like he knows you’re seconds away from running away, and stops a few steps behind you. He’s close enough you can feel the warmth from his body.

He says your name softly but you still don’t turn. “I’m sorry you saw that,”

Sorry you saw that.

He’s apologizing it for happening in front of you, not that it happened in the first place. Because he’s not sorry. Clearly, the breakup and space has been good for him and while you’ve been a walking zombie, he’s been moving on.

You swallow hard and bite your lip. “It’s fine, Steve.”

He moves again. This time to stand beside you and his head bends to try and catch your eyes. You keep your eyes trained on the stack of papers and pray he’ll drop it.

Before he has a chance to say anything, the bell at the top of the door sings and the door swings up. You’re more than thankful for the distraction and you look up to greet the customer but you’re met with Eddie, Max and El.

Max and El are talking amongst themselves but Eddie’s eyes are stuck on you. You don’t miss the mischievous glint in his eyes as he looks between you and Steve.

“Look at my two favorite Family Video employees,” He sings and approaches the counter. Max and El follow.

“Hey guys,” Steve greets them, but you can feel his eyes still on you. Eddie clearly notices as well and smirks at you.

“We’re here to pick up the tapes Robin put on hold yesterday. Y’know, movie night and all,”

“Right, I’ll go get those,” You say quickly, taking any opportunity to get as far away from Steve as possible. You miss the way his eyes sadden but he doesn’t stop you.

As you scurry to the break room, Max and El trail behind you.

“You’re coming tonight, right?” Max asks suspiciously. You send her a sideways glance as you fish around the room for where Robin hid the tapes.

You already know your answer – no, you will not be going because movie night is always held at Steve’s house and you can’t bear the thought of being there again so soon. But you haven’t told anybody you weren’t going. Honestly, you planned to just skip out on the whole thing without a word. Clearly, Max knows you well enough to know that’s exactly what you intended.

“I don’t think so, Max. I’m not feeling great today,”

She sees right through you. “Bullshit.”

You scowl at her. “Language, Mayfield.”

“You feel fine, you just don’t want to be around Steve,”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You wave her off, and kneel to the ground in front of a crate of old tapes.

“Why don’t you two get back together?” El asks. You look up from where you’re shuffling through tapes. “Max and Lucas break up and get back together all the time. Even me and Mike have done it before. He still likes you,”

Her oblivious nature is cute and you can feel yourself soften. “Steve and I are a little different from you guys, El. And I don’t think he wants to get back together.”

“That’s bullshit again!” Max exclaims.

“Max!” You groan and finally find the tapes Robin hid. Rising to your feet, you head back up to the front. “It’s just movie night, it’s not a big deal, alright?”

You push through the beaded curtain, the girls following suit and nobody misses Max’s sour face.

“It is a big deal! Eddie, will you tell her it’s a big deal?”

Eddie pulls himself away from the conversation with Steve and looks at you three. “What’s a big deal?”

“Nothing.” You say.

“She doesn’t wanna come tonight,” Max says at the same time.

Eddie makes a face. “Why not? It’s the third time you’ve bailed on movie night.”

Max gasps, realization dawning on her. “It is the third time!” 

You glare at him. Damn him for keeping count.

“Can you two relax? I just feel sick today,” You grumble, punching in Robin’s phone number into the computer.

“Bull.Shit.”

“Maxine Mayfield, I’m gonna wash your mouth out with soap!” You threaten, a finger pointed in her direction. She rolls her eyes but before she can respond, Steve speaks up.

“What’s wrong? Is it your head?” He asks. You look up at him and immediately regret it. He’s looking down at you with those chocolate brown eyes and they’re swirling with concern. “Have you been sleeping okay?”

You still for a moment because no, you haven’t been sleeping okay. Actually, you haven’t been sleeping at all.

“I’m fine,” You say quickly. “Can all of you relax? It’s just movie night,”

Steve ignores you. “But you said you were sick. What’s bothering you?”

“See?” El speaks up. “I told you he still liked -,”

“Okay, I’ll go!” You cut her off. She was one word away from completely embarrassing you. “Can everybody lay off now?”

Max and El look pleased enough, Eddie as well but Steve’s look of concern doesn’t disappear. Still, he doesn’t press you on it and you’re grateful.

The rest of your shift is spent carefully avoiding Steve and taking every opportunity to help a customer or stock shelves. You’re painfully aware of how he keeps an eye on you the whole time but he seems to respect your wishes to not talk.

By the time 8PM rolls around, the store is cleaned and ready to be locked up. Steve waits behind you as you lock the door before you both make your way through the parking lot. Three steps into the same direction, you realize he parked right next to you.

Thick tension surrounds you, and you’re silently wishing the birds chirping will be loud enough to make him not talk.

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” Steve’s voice is low and hesitant. Your heart pinches at that soft tone he carries – it’s something you got so used to but have been deprived of for the last month.

You nod without looking up at him, and pull the strap of your bag closer to your chest. “Everything’s fine,”

He looks torn between asking again or being quiet completely, and he chooses to be quiet.

This is the most you’ve spoken to him since the breakup and it’s even harder than you thought it would be. It’s taking every ounce of self control not to throw yourself into his arms and beg him to hold you. To come back to you and make everything better.

Your ego wins the battle. He didn’t fight for you to stay and hasn’t fought to bring you back either. If anything, he’s proving he prefers being apart from you.

You’ll get there, with time. Hopefully.

You make it to your car and surprising to you, Steve jogs ahead of you to open your car door. You finally look up at him and see him already looking down at you – he has one hand clutched around the handle and the other resting atop the door.

It’s hard looking at him, especially doing something to gentle like opening your door for no reason. Based on the look in his eyes, you’re sure he can see the pain in your eyes.

“Thanks.” You mumble softly and slide into the seat. He doesn’t shut it right away, so you glance up at him.

He takes a deep breath and moves to stand between the car and the open door. Carefully, he bends down to kneel so he’s eye level with you.

Gently, he says your name. “I don’t want you to miss out on things because of me,” He says and your heart sinks.

“I’m not,” You say instinctively. It was a lie and he sees right through you.

“If you’re uncomfortable being around me, I’ll skip out on tonight,”

You sit up, ready to argue that it’s his house and they’re his friends – he shouldn’t have to worry about your feelings. It’s not his responsibility anymore.

But he continues before you have a chance.

“I can find something else to do, it’s really not a problem.”

You frown at his words and your mind immediately goes back to Stacey.

He didn’t say he’d try to be around you, or that he won’t let it get weird – he was offering to leave completely. Maybe this was his way of finding an excuse to go out with her.

Your eyes flick to his arm and you see the faint trace of her phone number still on his skin. He follows your gaze and drops his arm from where it rests on your door.

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He says quickly, almost defensively.

Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he did.

Truthfully, there was no way for you to know. And it wasn’t like you had the right to know either. He wasn’t yours anymore.

When you look back up at him, your face is blank, eyes void.

“You can do whatever you’d like, I won’t make it awkward.” You say simply and Steve’s eyes sadden.

He can tell exactly what you’re doing – steeling yourself off from him and he hates it.

Before he gets the chance, you turn away from him. After sliding the key into the ignition, your hands curl around the steering wheel and you look straight ahead. “I already promised Max and El. I don’t want to let them down,”

He looks at you while you avoid looking at him again. From beside you, you see him nod before standing upright and shutting your door softly.

You don’t waste a second before you’re peeling out of the lot and making your way home, all without even glancing at him again.

Whatever he chooses to do will be on him and has nothing to do with you.

You want to cry – you can feel it about to happen – but you’re so tired of it. Crying and wallowing hasn’t helped you these past few weeks and it’s not about to start now.

Even then, you’re debating just breaking your promise to the girls and staying home. At least then you wouldn’t know if Steve decides to stay home or go do whatever he has planned with whoever.

But you miss your friends, and you’re tired of sitting on Nancy’s couch alone all night and tormenting yourself with your own thoughts.

When you make it home – Nancy’s home – you drag yourself into her apartment and avoid all her questions about how your day was, how it was seeing Steve, if you’re okay.

You give short and simple answers, making sure to skip over the Stacey incident, and tell her you’re going to shower before you leave. She’s happy you’re at least going tonight.

By the time you finish, you showered and changed into more comfortable clothes. You managed to talk yourself off the metaphorical cliff – you’ll stay for one movie and drive separately so you can make an early escape.

You haven’t figured out a way to feel normal once you step back inside his house and when you park on the curb, that feeling of dread consumes you.

You turn the car off but stay sitting for a few seconds as you stare at the house. A month ago, it was your house – your home. Now you’re knocking for someone to let you in. It’s a saddening difference and it just makes you regret coming even more.

You’re five seconds from starting the car and leaving before Nancy knocks on your window, Jonathan next to her. She urges you to get out and you can see the look on her face – the one that’s reading into your every move and it’s obvious she’s worried.

So you gather your things and pull yourself together.

Robin is the one to let you guys in and you glance behind you to see if Steve’s car was in the driveway.

Relief sits heavy in your chest when you see the maroon car.

You follow behind Nancy wordlessly but when you see El peak her head around the corner, Mike lingering next to her, it’s hard to fight your smile – because you really did miss them.

She rushes to you, practically dragging you further into the house and to where she claimed her spot on the floor.

Max and Lucas have their own setup next to El and Mike’s and they’re completely engrossed in their own conversation. Dustin has taken over the recliner on the other side of the room, and Eddie takes the end of the couch closest to him.

Nancy and Jonathan settle into the longer couch, and Robin sits on the obnoxiously big beanbag chair she begged Steve to buy her for Christmas last year.

You still haven’t seen Steve, and you wonder if he did choose to skip out and hide in his room.

You take the chance to look further around the living room. It almost looks like nothing has changed. The furniture is still set up the same way, the color palette is still warm and full.

The posed family pictures he once had with his parents are still replaced with pictures of the group across the room. But when you continue looking around, your heart sinks.

Because all the pictures he had of just you and him are still there.

A picture of you and him at the beach sits on the coffee table. One of you two hugging at graduation hangs on the wall beside the TV. Another one of just you, smiling up at the camera at your birthday two years ago is sitting front and center on the fireplace.

Your throat burns and you feel it begin to tighten. You never really let yourself think of the possibility that he hasn’t moved on either. Leaving of group photos was one thing, but the ones of you both? The one of only you?

It’s all too much and it’s slowly breaking your resolve. It’s only proving the fact that the breakup was all for nothing and if you weren’t so damn prideful, you could’ve fixed it.

Suddenly, Steve emerges from the kitchen with his hands full. He’s holding three different bowls of popcorn and bags of chips and candy tucked into his arms.

Your eyes meet and for just a second, he halts. He looks surprised you actually showed and you don’t blame him. Still, he gives you a half smile and you try your best to mirror it.

Dustin jumps from his spot on the seat and makes grabby hands at the snacks Steve holds. Eddie leans up and helps pass them out and you watch Steve swat Dustin’s hands away as he tries to steal everything.

Beside you, El talks your ear off and you’re eager to welcome the distraction. Otherwise, you would’ve spent the whole night staring at Steve.

Before long, Robin starts the movie and Mike begins to argue with Dustin about being quiet. There’s bickering, and laughing, and food being thrown but it feels nice. Happy even.

Steve ends up settling almost directly behind you on the couch. His elbow sits on the arm rest to his left and your back is directly against the foot of the couch. His legs are almost touching your shoulder. Neither of you say anything.

But even though you’re having a good time and aren’t completely regretting coming, you’re painfully aware of how close Steve is. You can feel the warmth radiating from his skin, the smell of his cologne is almost all you can focus on. Your hand twitches in your lap – begging you to hold onto his ankle and lean your head onto his thigh.

And as you watch the movie, your eyes keep finding the picture of you two at graduation. Steve has you pulled back into his chest, his arms iron clad around you. He’s resting his chin on your shoulder and you’re holding both your diplomas up at the camera. Your shared smiles gleam back at you and it’s enough to make you smile in real time.

It’s also enough to make you sad all over again.

Because it’s not your reality anymore, and you’re not sure it ever will be.

Somehow you end up staying through three movies. By the time credits roll on the last one, everyone is asleep. Mike’s leaning against the wall, his neck bent in a way that’ll leave him with a cramp in the morning, and El’s head resting in his lap.

Max and Lucas are sprawled along the floor across from them, one of his arms tucked under her head. Dustin has his face smushed into a pillow, one arm and one leg hanging off the side of the chair. Eddie is slumped beside him, drool pooling at his mouth.

Robin is curled into a ball on her beanbag chair, quietly snoring. Nancy and Jonathan are curled into each other on their side of the couch. You’re too scared to turn and look at Steve, but he hasn’t moved a muscle in an hour so you’re sure he’s asleep too.

It’s the perfect time to slip out undetected.

Carefully, you push yourself off the floor. It’s a mess around the room and even in a rush, you feel bad just leaving things the way they are. So you grab the bowls and snacks from the coffee table and move towards the kitchen.

“Let me help,”

Steve’s voice startles you so much that you drop the bags of candy to the floor, your palm covering your mouth to minimize the scream ready to slip out.

His eyes widen and he smiles. “Sorry, sorry,”

You exhale and it’s hard not to smile back.

He doesn’t look like he’d been asleep at all, which means he probably just sat there thinking the same thing you were. His hair is a little messy, a few pieces covering his forehead and you’re itching to fix it.

He leans down to pick up the bags and you go back to picking up the cups and bowls. You’re both careful not to wake anyone else as you carry everything to the kitchen.

It’s domestic – the way you fall back into rhythm of cleaning. Steve takes care of the dirty dishes and you begin putting the snacks back into the pantry.

When everything is cleaned, you’re unsure what to do next. At first, you figured you’d clean and leave without having to talk to anyone but now, you’re left alone with only him and he’s looking at you like that again and it’s hard to think properly.

You stand in the middle of the kitchen, facing each other. He has one hand resting on the counter, tapping his finger on the granite. Your bottom lip is pulled between your teeth.

“I, uh, I should go,” You finally say.

“You don’t have to,” He replies easily. “It’s late, you shouldn’t be driving right now,”

You glance at the clock on the stove and it reads back 2:19AM.

He was sweet for offering but it wasn’t far and the last thing you wanted was to prolong the inevitable awkwardness that would come in the morning.

Steve notices your apprehension easily. “You can take the guest room and leave first thing in the morning,”

Your head is screaming at you to say no thank you. To bid him a farewell and get home as quickly as possible. Your heart, however, is begging you to accept and take the chance to be close to him – even just for one night.

And you’re sick of sleeping on Nancy’s couch.

“Okay,” You nod.

His face lights up, a smile covering his mouth. “Okay.” He repeats.

Quietly, he shuts off the lights and TV before setting off upstairs. You follow behind him and when you make it down the hall, you both stop in front of his bedroom door. He turns around to face you.

“Uh, guest rooms right there,” He points at the door across the hall. “Bathroom is just down the hall. Second door on the -,”

“I know,” You cut him off and he nods quickly.

“Right, yeah. Of course,”

It’s awkward to say the least, but it’s not unkind. It’s nice to hear him talk again, even if it’s just telling you where things were.

You stare at each other for a moment. The clock in the hall ticks loudly and you wonder if he can hear how loud your heart is beating.

You break first. “Goodnight, Steve.”

He gives you a soft smile. “Goodnight.”

You enter the room and seconds later, hear his bedroom door click shut.

The guest bedroom is dull. There’s no pictures along the wall, only a painting of a red Cadillac from the 70s. There’s beige curtains covering the window and a matching beige bedspread on the mattress. There’s a small lamp on the bedside table and a desk on the opposite wall.

It’s a drastic contrast from Steve’s bedroom – especially after you helped get rid of his matching striped curtains and wallpaper.

It feels cold and lonely.

But you climb into bed anyway and do your best to stop thinking about how much better you’d sleep with him next to you.

On the other side of the wall, Steve lays on his own bed and feels the same way. His room hasn’t felt like his room since the day you left and now that he knows you’re so close, he’s using all his strength not to climb into bed with you.

He’s spent the last month trying to convince himself if he let you have some space, things would get better and you’d come back to him. To him, it was never a breakup – just a stupid stepping stone in your relationship.

But as the days passed, you pulled further away from him, and next thing he knew, the boys were coming over and packing up your things. He wanted to fight them on it, actually he tried – but then Mike said it was your idea and suddenly everything felt too real.

Maybe he fucked up so bad you were fed up. He thought about showing up to Nancy’s, thought about begging you to come home, but he didn’t want you to feel cornered. So he backed off.

But then he saw the way you reacted when you saw him with Stacey.

It’s not like it meant anything – it took her writing her number on him to realize she was flirting with him, all because he couldn’t stop staring at you. After he tried to talk to you about it, he spent ten minutes in the bathroom trying to scrub it off his skin. And you saw the remnants stained onto his arm later that night.

He didn’t want you to feel jealous or upset over it, he didn’t plan on ever calling her, but a small part inside of him felt relieved you did feel like that. At least you still felt something for him.

And he knew what you were thinking all night as he watched your eyes filter back to the pictures of you two. He didn’t leave them up to prove something, he just couldn’t stand the thought of taking them down. You would always be his, no matter what.

Still, the argument escalated so quickly because of him and he had to make sure if – when – you came back to him, it was on your terms. He wouldn’t rush you.

So he offered the guest room and hoped that would be the first step into forgiveness.

It’s maybe an hour after he’s climbed into bed when he hears the faint sound of .. crying?  

His ears perk up and he leans up on his elbows, turning his head towards the door. He listens for a moment but all he hears is the ticking of the clock.

He thinks he must have imagined it until he hears it again.

It’s still quiet, and easy to miss if he wasn’t already awake, but he can hear it – and it’s familiar.

It’s you.

It’s a cry he’s heard a hundred times over the years. It’s soft, and not the same one that comes from you during a sad movie - it’s fear.

He knows what’s causing it – your nightmares used to be overwhelming but ever since you moved in with him two years ago, they’ve become less frequent. Having him next to you was enough to tether you to reality and comfort you.

But now he hasn’t been there. Have you been dealing with them ever since you left? All the while he’s been making you feel like you should be gone.

His feet are moving before he even has a chance to think – like his body was made with a built in magnetic connected to you. He pulls his door open and pads directly across the hall to your door.

He presses his ear to the door and can hear your crying more clearly. They’re still quiet but they sound more intense now. His hand curls around the handle but then he hesitates.

Should he be the one to comfort you? Should he get Nancy to instead? Would you want him?

When he hears you cry out again, this time louder, he pushes the door open. The light from the hall shines through the doorway and he finds her curled in on yourself, sheets skewed across the bed. He can see you shivering, your brows pulled tight, creasing the beautiful skin of your forehead. He sees your skin is flushed red and your cheeks are stained with tears.

Guilt sits in his chest and without thinking, he’s climbing into bed with you. The mattress dips below his weight and he slides one arm under your head and pulls you from your fetal position so you’re facing him instead. He pulls you into his chest, an arm curled around your shoulders and the other cupping your cheek.

His warmth transfers to you, and as if you were searching for him the entire time, your body instantly relaxes in his hold. Your shaking stops, a soft sigh escapes past your lips, and your hand raises to clutch the fabric of his t-shirt.

You watches the way you bury your face into his chest, the crease between your brows disappears, and he hears the soft melody of your voice.

“Steve..” You don’t say his name as a question – he’s pretty sure you’re still not even awake. It’s relief. Even unconscious, you were given comfort again and you knew with absolute certainty, that comfort was him.

He feels his heart contract in his chest and he tightens his hold on you. “It’s me, baby,” He says softly, lips touching your hairline. “You’re safe, I got you.”

As he holds you in his arms, he knows without an ounce of doubt, he’s never letting go again. Nothing is completely fixed and won’t be overnight but when morning comes, he’s going to tell you exactly this.

He won’t ever let you forget how much he loves you.

When you wake up in the morning, you’re practically shackled to the bed by Steve’s arms. They’re wrapped tightly around your waist and his cheek is resting against the top of your head.

Confusion takes hold of you immediately, but you don’t pull away from his hold. If anything, you burrow yourself deeper into his head but it’s enough to make him stir and groan quietly.

Internally, you’re cursing at yourself for moving even an inch but then his hold tightens around you – if that was even possible. You can feel his head lift from where it rested atop of yours and you hold your breath.

“Hey, you awake?” His morning voice is gruff and it makes your stomach swirl. You hesitate for a second before giving him a timid nod.

“Mhm..”

He pulls his arms apart but only enough to spread his palms over your arms, his thumbs brushing back and forth over your skin.

Silence settles over the room, only the sound of your  breathing and the sound of his heart beating in your ear. It feels normal again.

“You were having a nightmare,” Steve says suddenly and your stomach drops. “Last night. That’s why I came in,”

You sigh softly, eyes squeezing shut from embarrassment.

“I’m-I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to wake you up,”

Steve shakes his head quickly. “No, don’t apologize. Seriously.” His tone leaves no room for arguing.

You’re both blanketed in silence again but for the first time in weeks, it’s not uncomfortable. The feeling of his arms around you again, your body tucked perfectly against his – it feels warm and safe and grounding.

“Thank you,” You say quietly, fingers tracing shapes over his shirt covered chest.

“You don’t need to thank me either, baby,”

The pet name slips out so casually and your heart splits in two, but you grip his shirt even tighter. Steve picks up on your reaction and gently cups your face, encouraging you to look up at him.

You’re more than sure you look disgusting – bags under your eyes, and they’re probably puffy from crying in your sleep, cheeks flushed pink, hair a tousled mess – but he doesn’t look at you like you do, even for a second.

Steve looks down at you like you hung the fucking moon and stars. It’s intense enough to have you nearly shying away but he holds you firmly in place.

“I’m sorry about everything,” He says and you blink up at him. “This past month without you has been fucking hell. And seeing you last night, I don’t ever want you to deal with that alone.”

Tears well in your eyes almost immediately and when one slips down your cheek, he swipes it away gently.

“I love you so much and I don’t want to spend even another  second without –.” Steve makes a surprise sound when you cut him off by pressing your lips to his.

He recovers quickly, arms pulling you tighter into his chest and kissing you back just as hard. Every ounce of emotion you’ve kept bottled up are poured into this kiss and as he keeps kissing you, he’s gently wiping away the tears falling from your eyes.

When you finally pull away for air, you don’t go far – you rest your forehead against his and smile.

“I don’t want to be without you either.” You whisper softly.

Steve’s smile is bright and he quickly tosses you onto your back before he hovers over you, sweetly attacking your face with more kisses.