For fox sake

When the three of you played together for the first time the other day, Gator kept catching Keys giving him these…looks that he couldn't quite read. And Gator was surprised to discover that he enjoyed the way Keys was looking at him.

None of it makes any sense though, because these interactions almost feel romantic but Gator's not gay. It's probably just some weird connection they have after sharing you. That's what Gator told himself when he tracked Keys walking off stage, feeling a strange flutter low in his gut.

So yeah, it was music to Gator's ears when Keys came up to him and asked that he escort you to the car. He can't wait to get home, take this monkey suit off, and crash into bed after a fucking weird but pretty great week.

Gator keeps a hand at the small of your back as you two make your way to the valet. You're being awfully quiet, clearly drained from the evening.

"You doin' okay?" Gator rubs his thumb on your back, once again feeling the desire to do more than just guard you. Another feeling he's trying not to put too much stock in.

"Yeah." You stare straight ahead with a faraway look in your eyes. "Just wanna get home."

"Me too." Gator offers you a smile, but you don't look up at him. "I'll get you there soon." You only nod in response and Gator notices your steps falter a bit. "Your feet hurtin' ya?"

You guys enter the front lobby of the hotel and the entrance finally comes into view. "A little. But we're almost—"

"Excuse me, Mr. Tillman?"

Gator tenses when an unfamiliar man dressed in what appears to be a hotel uniform approaches and instinctively wraps his arm around your waist, pulling you tighter against him.

"Yes?" Gator narrows his eyes and clocks his name tag that says Brent.

"We've been asked to escort Mr. McKey's group to the side entrance." He eyes you and looks back at Gator. "There's been a security threat. Valet already pulled your car around."

Every alarm in Gator's head goes off. It's not protocol to take you to a more secluded exit in the event of a threat. He does remember seeing a Brent in the list of employees he studied today, but he's not one hundred percent sure this guy matches the photo.

"I'm not authorized to bring her anywhere without explicit permission from Mr. McKey." Gator stares at him, searching his face for any possible tell that might give away his true intention. "And he told me to escort his girlfriend to the front."

The man isn't thrown by Gator at all. "He hasn't been made aware of this yet. We can contact him now if you want."

"Gator," you groan. "Can we just go with him? I'm sure it's fine."

"Not until I talk to Keys or Amelia." Gator continues to stare at the guy. "We'll be right back," he tells Brent.

He smiles in a way that makes Gator's skin crawl. "Of course."

You roll your eyes but don't argue as Gator starts to pull you off to the side, then pauses, his eyes not leaving Brent. The man is completely at ease. Like Gator is feeding directly into his plan already. Which makes sense because if these guys had half a brain they'd know your bodyguard wouldn't just willingly change plans without word from Keys.

What Gator doesn't understand yet is what the end game is. Obviously, they're expecting him to refuse going with them, maybe even making a scene and trying to wrangle the rest of security. But why?

"Gator?" Irritation still pinches your pretty face. "Aren't you going to call—"

"Hang on. I need to think."

His clipped words makes your mouth snap shut and you follow his gaze as it scans the room. Four or five more faces that he doesn't recognize from the briefing have suddenly appeared at the edges of the room, standing by nearly every exit. Gator curses under his breath, planning on ripping the hotel and charity a new one when this is all said and done. But first, he needs to get you out of here.

Gator feels you tense under his palm and lean into him more. "Is something wrong?"

"Yes. But try to act normal." Gator pulls out his phone and tries calling Keys, but there's no answer. He taps on his earpiece. "Donnelly, you there?"

"Ten four," Amelia's voice crackles into Gator's ear.

"We have a hotel employee trying to get us to the side exit due to a supposed threat plus unaccounted for attendees compromising the other exits." Gator's mind races as he tries to relay the issue while also making sure no one else approaches you and keeping you calm, as you've been shaking since he started talking to Amelia. "What's your status?"

"Keys is surrounded by donors, it'll take me at least ten minutes to get him to the front." She lets out a frustrated sigh. "They probably planned on that. Can you get her to a vehicle?"

"Yes." Gator technically has no way of confirming that yet, but he knows in his bones that he's not letting you leave this building unless it's in a car he's driving.

"Then do it. Fast. I'll send the rest of the team to the lobby to round up anyone suspicious. Let me know when she's secure."

Gator drops his hand from his ear and hugs you closer to him, but keeps his eyes on your surroundings while he speaks to you, his voice low. "Sweetheart, I need you to listen to me carefully, okay?"

"Okay," you squeak.

With one final sweep of the room, Gator realizes what he needs to do. "We're gonna go with that guy to the side entrance." You suck in a breath and he squeezes your waist. "I know, baby. But they probably have a car waitin' and I need one to get you out of here. There's too much commotion at the front."

"But you don't know how many of them there are."

"That's why we need to go with them, so I can find out." Gator rubs small circles on your back. "If I insist on takin' you to the front, they'll probably ambush us and we'll be at a bigger disadvantage with the crowd."

"What about Keys? He—"

"My priority right now is you." You freeze at the intensity of his tone, one that implies that his urgency isn't just coming from a need to do his job. You both know you're way past that. "He'll be okay. He's got more security with him and he's not the one they're after."

You choke back a sob, trying your best to muffle it and keep your face neutral. "They're probably armed."

"So am I. They'll be bleedin' out before they even get a chance to raise a gun at you." Gator brings his hand to the back of your neck and tilts your head back to look up at him. "Do you trust me?"

You don't hesitate to answer him. "Yes."

Gator nods once. "Stay close to me." He walks you back over to Brent, who's still waiting patiently. "We're clear to go to this side exit."

It's subtle, but there's a flash of surprise in Brent's eyes. "Great. This way."

While they're still in the noisy lobby, Gator reaches behind him and turns the safety of his handgun off. He slips into the quiet, immoral place of his mind that he hasn't retreated back to in years. Not since those final days in North Dakota. He hasn't needed to.

His previous bodyguard gigs have had their fair share of danger, but the stakes have never been as high as the day he decided to turn his back on everything he knew. Not until you. Gator needs to be in this dangerous, hyper focused headspace because he needs you alive more than he needs to push away the darkness that threatens his own humanity. He needs to see you giggling and playing your stupid farming games on the TV. He needs to be able to lay down on your chest and feel your precious heart beating beneath his ears. He needs you.

If Gator weren't so desperate to get you out of here in one piece, he might've stopped to wonder why he's thinking silly thoughts like that. Right now though, he can't be bothered to unpack the hole he's foolishly dug himself into.

The chatter of the party fades away as Brent leads you two down a quiet hallway of guest rooms. A brief glance over Gator's shoulder reveals that no one is following you. Whoever's waiting for you guys on the other side of this, they've decided they don't need backup. Either because Gator has no chance of beating them, or they're arrogant. Gator says his first prayer in seven years in the hopes that it's the latter.

"What was this supposed threat anyway?" Gator asks. He squeezes your waist once, trying to signal to you that you need to steady your breathing more. "And why are we just hearing about it now?"

They're nearing the end of the hallway where Gator can see the exit that leads to the stairwell to the outside. He remembers from the map that they're coming up on an alcove where this floor's ice machine sits.

"The hotel's security just said they received an email similar to the ones Mr. McKey received." Brent shrugs. "Might be nothing, but given the graphic nature of them, they thought it be best to err on the side of caution."

Gator sees the ice machine come into view on his left and scoffs. "Interestin'."

"Hm?" Brent looks over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. You give Gator a confused look too. "What's that, sir?"

Gator removes his arm from your waist and gently pushes you into the ice machine's alcove. You understand immediately and retreat into the space. "We didn't tell the hotel anythin' about the emails Mr. McKey received."

Brent stops walking and realizes his fuck-up a second too late. Before he has the chance to reach into his pocket, Gator wraps his arm around his neck from behind and squeezes as he drags Brent backwards by the ice machine.

You stand at the other end of the small room, pressed against the corner as much as possible while watching Gator subdue Brent. Or rather, Gator's trying to subdue Brent but the fucker is surprisingly resilient and not passing out. Gator hears something vibrate in Brent's pocket. Whoever he's working with, they're getting impatient and Gator doesn't have anything to restrain him.

It's the last thing he wants to do, not because he gives a shit about Brent's life but because he really doesn't want you to witness what Gator's capable of. He's running out of time though, so he grabs Brent's head with his free hand and snaps his neck.

You watch Gator let the body fall against the linoleum with an unreadable expression. Gator decides that's probably better than immediate disgust and reaches into Brent's pocket to pull out his phone and finds a gun clipped to him as well. He holds the phone in front of Brent's face until it unlocks and quickly changes the security settings to not lock the screen before stepping over to the other side of the machine where you are.

"Hey, sweetheart." He cradles your face in his hands, a little unnerved by how vacant your eyes are but he knows it's likely shock. "Talk to me. You okay?"

A single tear slips from the corner of your eye. "'m fine," you mumble.

"You're doin' so good for me. We're almost out." Gator wraps his arms around you and pulls you against his chest. "I need you to take deep breaths for me. Focus on my heartbeat, okay?"

You nod against him and clutch onto the lapels of his jacket. Gator waits until he hears one good deep breath then pulls Brent's phone back out. An unsaved number had just texted him.

What's taking so long?

Gator types out a reply with one hand while the other rubs your back. Bodyguard got spooked and jumped me. They ran back towards the lobby. Our guys haven't seen them yet?

Three dots appear while the other person typed. Had to clear out. His security team got him out of the ballroom faster than expected. Meet us in the contingency spot while the others sweep.

It's not a lot to go off of, but Gator wasn't expecting them to be dumb enough to reveal their backup plan over text. Now that you feel much calmer against him, Gator reluctantly lets go of you and leans down to meet your eyes.

"Still with me, baby?" You nod, still clutching onto his jacket. Gator covers your hands with his. "We're gonna wait here a couple of minutes to see if anyone comes, then we're gonna run for the exit. Can you do that for me?"

"I—I don't…" You exhale and close your eyes. "I don't think I'm fast enough for that."

"Then I'm going to carry you."

Your eyes snap open. "But that's just gonna slow—"

The door at the end of the hallway opens and Gator covers your mouth with his hand when deep voices fill the space. He pulls out Brent's gun and presses you against the wall facing the hallway, as concealed as possible.

"Hallway appears to be clear," one man speaks into what sounds like a radio by the beeping noise rattling in the air. "We'll wait at the other end in case they come back this way."

Gator removes his hand from your mouth and holds his pointer finger to his lips. He slides in front of you to shield you from the archway that leads back out into the hallway, waiting for these guys to walk by so he can see how many there are.

When he sees two figures come into view, their backs to you guys, Gator lets them walk a little farther to see if any more footsteps trail behind them. Satisfied that it's just these two, Gator steps into the hallway and raises his gun.

After putting a bullet in one guy's head, his partner whips around but Gator's too fast for him and shoots him right between the eyes. Gator doesn't blink at the blood now seeping through the ugly carpet and bends down to wrap his arms around your legs to lift you over his shoulder.

Then he runs.

Luckily it's a short distance to the exit and Gator clears the rest of the hallway faster than any touchdown he made in high school. The frantic breaths coming from you are what keeps him going until you reach outside. By some miracle, the two of you are alone but he knows it's only a matter of time before more guys come to investigate those gun shots.

So he books it straight to the line of cars and sets you down by the trunk of the first one he sees. "Get to the passenger side now and get in as soon as I unlock it."

You do as you're told and trample over surprisingly fast in your heels while Gator smashes in the driver's side window with the butt of his gun and manually unlocks the car.

Both of you climb in quickly and you pant beside Gator as he reaches under the steering wheel to yank out the bundle of wires beneath it and cuts them with his pocket knife. The procedure is like muscle memory at this point and he's able to have the engine revving in seconds.

By the time a herd of goons burst out the door behind you guys, Gator's already burning rubber and halfway out of the parking lot. He stays silent while he watches in the rearview mirror carefully, expecting to see cars following him, but there are none. Whoever these guys are, they don't want to risk drawing attention to themselves.

You and Gator don't say a word while he drives to the nearest police station. Once he whips into the lot and parks in front the building, he gives you one sweeping glance to assess that you're okay before tapping his earpiece to talk to Amelia.

"Angel is secure. We're at the Kennebunk Police Station on Summer Street."

Amelia's voice booms into his ear. "We have police here too searching the property and questioning us. They said they'll have an officer escort you guys back now so that we can get her back in the apartment safely."

"Ten four."

Gator gets out of the car and runs to your door. When he opens it, you're still frozen and visibly shaken. He's seen people in this state a million times before and doesn't bother trying to convince you it's all fine, because it's not.

You don't say a word as he scoops you into his arms and brings you inside. Or the entire drive back to the apartment in Boston.

It's not until you sit down on the living room couch, and stare at Gator kneeling down to take off your shoes, that your face finally crumples and you let out a sob. Gator's heart aches at the sight of you so upset and promptly sits next to you to pull you onto his lap. Selfishly though, he's ecstatic that you're still breathing in his arms.

It's a delicate process getting you out of your fancy evening wear once your cries soften to a sniffle here and there. Gator carries you upstairs and brings you straight into the master bathroom, setting you down gently on your feet.

Gator palms the zipper on the side of your dress. "Can I take this off so you can shower?"

"I don't want to shower right now." You step out of his arms and walk back into the bedroom.

"I think it'd help you feel better." Gator follows you to the walk in closet and leans against the doorway.

"You're probably right." You unzip your dress and let it fall to the floor before undoing the clasp on your bra. "But I'm honestly way too exhausted and just want to sleep."

You pull one of Keys' t-shirts over your head and walk back over to Gator. He examines the mess of hair on your head from all the commotion, pins flying loose and curls sticking up every which way. Your makeup has seen better days too, smudged and streaking down your face from all the tears. What didn't make it onto Gator's shirt at least.

"Well, I'm afraid to touch that contraption you call a hairdo…" Despite everything, you crack a smile and it's the most beautiful thing Gator's seen all night. "But can I help you clean your makeup off?"

You nod and step over to your vanity, sitting on the stool as you rifle through one of the drawers and grab a package of makeup wipes. Gator takes it and pulls out one, tilting your head back to the ceiling so he can wipe your face clean. It takes about five goddamn wipes, but eventually Gator gets everything off your face and you look more like yourself again, save the crazy hair.

Just as you start trying to free your hair from its bobby pin prison, the noise of people entering the apartment downstairs travels up to the room along with Keys yelling your name. He appears in the doorway just as you stand up, his suit jacket gone along with the bowtie, and falls apart at the sight of you physically unharmed.

"Oh my god, baby." He closes the distance between you two in just a few long strides and throws his arms around you. "Thank god you're safe."

You wrap your arms around his waist and nuzzle into his chest. "Thank Gator. Compared to him I have the survival skills of a cockroach."

Gator snorts but doesn't have time to offer a retort before Keys pulls him into a bear hug and whispers, "I'm so glad you were there. I don't know what we'd do without you."

Keys probably doesn't realize how much the words pull on Gator's heart strings, because for a second Gator pretends like he's speaking generally. Like the two of you need him as a permanent fixture in your lives. Gator tries to ignore the way his stomach flips in the embrace and pats Keys on the back.

"Just doin' my job, man."

"Gator." Keys laughs and pulls away, squeezing Gator's bicep once. "Can you ever just take a compliment?"

Gator's cheeks heat, not just as the teasing, but also at the way Keys' eyes stare so…lovingly at Gator. That's probably not the right word to use but Gator can't think of any others, too lost in the way the warm lamp lights of the room make the hazel color of his irises almost look like honey.

"Is Amelia still here?" Gator shuffles his feet, suddenly needing a reason to get out of this room.

"Yeah, downstairs." Keys turns to you when you sit back down at the vanity, resuming your attempts to untangle your hair. "Let me, angel."

"Okay." You sigh and let your arms fall away while Keys carefully searches for pins to take out.

"I'm gonna go talk to her. I'll be right back."

Keys hums in approval while Gator exits the room, stomping downstairs where Amelia is standing in the kitchen with Millie, hovering over an iPad. Both of them look almost as disheveled as you did.

"The hell happened back there?" Gator snaps and puts his hands on his hips.

Amelia presses her mouth into a tight line. "We don't know."

"You don't know." Gator pinches the bridge of his nose. "We had that place surrounded with security and got there two hours early to watch every person trickle in. Yet somehow these guys still got in and no one knows how?"

"Correct." Amelia swipes at the iPad. "The event registrations all check out and security footage didn't catch anything."

Gator practically vibrates with the kind of anger that could make him kill three more people. "What the hot fu—"

"Gator." Millie waves in front of him. "Listen to what we're saying. These guys managed to get in and out of that venue without a trace after all the security measures we put in place."

It takes a second for that to sink in before Gator's hands fall. "There's a rat."

Millie nods. "It's not much, but it's the best lead we've had so far. We're going to be combing through employee data starting tomorrow."

"Alright." Gator rubs the back of his neck. "So what happens here?"

"I have more security guards stationed at this building for a twenty four seven watch." Amelia flips the case shut on her iPad. "And I've told Keys that none of you should leave the apartment for a few days until we get a better handle on this."

"Done." Gator has no issue keeping you in this apartment for a bit. It's the only security he fully trusts.

"We're going to go." Millie grabs her clutch off the island. "Early start tomorrow. But Keys is under strict orders to not log on until Monday."

Amelia smiles at him. "Take care of them, Gator."

"Yeah. Will do." Gator watches them disappear down the front hallway and waits until he hears the elevator doors close before climbing up the stairs again.

In the bedroom, Keys has managed to completely free your hair and is almost done combing all the knots out. Gator shoves his hands in his pockets and approaches you guys at the vanity.

"Well, look at you." Gator locks eyes with you in the mirror. "Right as rain now."

"Sure." You offer a soft smile and grab a clip to secure your hair back.

"Ready for bed, angel?" Keys leans against the vanity and massages your neck with one hand.

"Yeah. Been ready." You stand and pause when you look at the bed, slowly turning your head to Gator. "Will you stay with us?"

It's a terrible idea. One that crosses a million lines Gator promised himself he wouldn't. But how was he ever supposed to deny you when you were standing in front of him with those sweet eyes of yours? Gator looks up at Keys to make sure he's okay with it too. He's got a different sort of look in his eyes that Gator can't quite place, but he does understand the slow nod Keys gives him.

Gator reaches out for you and cups your cheek. "'Course I will, sweet girl."

Keys and Gator both take off the rest of their suits until they're just in t-shirts and boxers then climb into bed on either side of you. You lay on your side, your back to Keys while he spoons you from behind, and reach out to rest a hand on Gator's chest while he lays on his back on your other side.

Gator tells himself to pay no mind to how natural it feels, because it's just for one night.

The rest of the weekend goes by in a daze. The three of you barely leave the room, the exhaustion of Friday night keeping you all rotting in bed for two days aside from meals and showers.

Gator keeps sleeping in the bed with you and Keys. Not necessarily on purpose, as idiotic as that may sound. He lays down beside you each night, telling himself it's just until you fall asleep. But something about the warmth of both your bodies and your natural combined scent soaking the sheets has Gator drifting off before he even realizes it.

Somehow, it's the best he's slept in years too, maybe even his whole life. Come Monday morning, he wakes up feeling actually refreshed.

It's six a.m., the time his body always wakes him up, and you're of course still sleeping soundly on your stomach in between him and Keys, your head facing Gator. You took the week off work to recover from the shock of everything so Keys probably won't try to rouse you for a a few more hours.

Gator yawns and sees that Keys is already awake too, idly tracing patterns on your back. When they lock eyes, Keys smiles and Gator's skin tingles again. This bed sharing arrangement has only made those strange feelings for Keys more prominent. In those first few moments after waking up, when Gator still feels like he could be dreaming, a soft voice inside him puts a name to what he's starting to feel. He wonders how long he can keep ignoring it.

"You sleep okay?" Keys asks, his voice low and thick with sleep.

"In this fancy, overpriced mattress?" Gator smirks. "Yeah, Keys. Slept great. Just like the other two nights."

"Alright, easy." Keys chuckles.

You stir between them and your eyes start to flutter open. Keys splays his hand on your back and you groan as you turn onto your side, your back facing Keys in the usual position you two find yourselves in.

"Morning," you grumble as you reach behind you to wrap Keys' arm around your chest and hold your hand out to Gator, who threads his fingers through yours and kisses your knuckles.

"Good morning, angel." Keys nuzzles your neck and presses one light kiss there. "Sorry, did we wake you?"

"'S fine." You yawn and blink at Gator. "Slept plenty all weekend."

"It's okay if you need to sleep more," Gator offers. "You went through a lot."

"I'm fine." Your voice is sharper suddenly, cutting through the hazy sleepiness of the morning. You turn to look up at Keys. "Can you just keep kissing me?"

Gator can see the hesitancy in Keys' eyes, but he leans down anyway and peppers your neck with more kisses. Gator knows it's not exactly the kind of kissing you're looking for with the way you wriggle against Keys and squeeze Gator's hand. He shifts closer to you and kisses you on your forehead, matching the light pressure Keys has set.

"Guys." You huff and tug on each of their shirts with both of your hands. "Stop treating me like I'm made of glass."

Keys sighs. "That's not what we're doing."

It takes all of Gator's self-control not to grimace. He knows exactly how this is about to go, but there's no point in trying to step in. At the end of the day, you and Keys belong to each other and he's just a guest.

You slap the mattress in between you and Gator and sit up. "You've barely touched me since Friday aside from all these delicate little pets." You cross your arms. "Tell me it's because you're too shaken up still and I'll drop it."

Gator holds his breath, knowing Keys can't tell you that because it's not the truth. He's being careful with you because he's doing that well-meaning but infuriating thing where he assumes it's what's best for you right now.

Keys sits up and reaches on the nightstand for his glasses. "Baby, you were almost kidnapped two days ago."

"Right, the operative word being almost." You push your hair back. "Thanks to Gator, they didn't even lay a hand on me. No shit it was terrifying, but I'm fine. I'm sitting here telling you I'm fine and you refuse to believe me!"

"I believe you," Keys snaps. "But I don't think it's a good idea to do our usual…stuff after everything."

Gator winces. "Keys, kinks got nothing to do with the trauma someone goes through."

Keys glares at Gator. "I know that."

"Do you?" You scoff and climb out of bed. "Because I feel like ever since this whole kidnapping threat came up I keep having the same conversation with you that I need you to trust that I know my own limits."

Keys jumps up. "Because I can't unsee the fucking pictures!"

Gator closes his eyes and exhales when he sees you freeze.

"What pictures?" you ask and turn to look at Gator, noting his equally guilty expression. "You knew about these too?"

All Gator can do is nod and flinches at the anger burning in your eyes.

"Whoever's doing this sent some pretty graphic images of what they'd do to you." Keys runs a hand through his hair. "Lately, it's all I can think about."

"And you didn't think to talk to me about it?" You throw your hands up and let them fall to your side. "Jesus, Keys. You've just been holding on to all this stress and letting me wonder why the dynamic shifted."

"I didn't want to scare you," Keys mumbles, knowing full well it's not helping his case.

"We're supposed to be a team!" You shake as tears threaten to spill from your eyes. "I don't let you be my dom because I want you to control everything and make assumptions on what's too much for me."

Keys clenches his jaw. "I wasn't trying to do that when I kept certain details from you."

"You can't even admit that?" You slide your gaze to Gator. "Did he or did he not tell you to keep the details of these threats from me?"

Gator bites the inside of his cheek, realizing now how they may have made a bad call. "We didn't want to worry you."

You give him a hard stare for a moment and then march to the closet, pulling on some shorts and a sweatshirt before stomping to the door. Keys watches helplessly as you stop in the threshold and look at him over your shoulder.

"Keys, I'm not mad because you made a mistake when you were scared." Your bottom lip quivers. "But you're supposed to know better than anyone what I'm capable of handling."

With the three of you still on lockdown, you decided that you needed as much space from Keys as possible. So you locked yourself in the other guestroom upstairs, where you slept the next couple of nights. Keys didn't object and gave you what you needed, knowing full well he messed up but didn't quite know how to fix it.

He still brings you coffee in the morning and wakes you up, but Gator can tell by the way Keys walks out of the room with his head low that he's still getting shut down. The forced proximity certainly doesn't help and the lack of developments regarding the kidnapping attempt only seem to weigh on all three of you even more. By Wednesday, it's clear to Gator that you're losing your mind.

So when you come down the stairs very clearly on a mission, he braces himself for another argument between you and Keys that he's about to get stuck in the middle of.

You walk up to Gator at the kitchen island and don't even glance at Keys where he's standing by the sink. "I want to go to the bistro on the corner for a drink. Are you ready to go now?"

Gator opens his mouth but Keys cuts in first. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"Keys, I cannot sit in this apartment for another minute." You turn to look at him. "I need a distraction."

"I understand that, but you know it's not safe to leave yet."

You cross your arms. "Actually, I just talked to Amelia and she said as long as I stay on this block it's fine."

Keys blinks. "You talked to Amelia?"

"That's what I just said. I've been calling her directly for updates on the case."

There's a bite to your words that clearly affects Keys by the way he grips the counter behind him. "Well, I'm not comfortable with it. It's not happening, angel."

You stare at him, defiance written all over your face. "Strawberry."

Keys' mouth opens and closes as the realization dawns on him that he now has no choice but to let you go. Otherwise, he'll be doing something you guys really can't come back from.

Gator considers adding marriage counselor to his resume after this gig ends while he escorts to to the restaurant and sits with you at the bar. The bartender recognizes you and asks if you want your usual whiskey sour. You nod and thank him.

He looks at Gator. "What can I get you?"

"Just a diet coke, thanks."

You and Gator sit in silence for the first round, then you order another drink. The bartender drops it off in front of you promptly and it's when you take a big gulp that you finally look at Gator.

"You're not going to tell me to eat something?"

"You said the safe word." Gator scratches at the beard he's let grow out since all the chaos of Friday, needing to simplify his routine as much as possible. "I know you and Keys are the ones in a relationship but for the time being I'm involved too. So I'm not gonna be dominant with you again either until you tell me to."

"You don't have to be my dom to know that alcohol is a poor coping mechanism." You take another sip of your drink.

"No, but it sure as shit can be an effective one." Gator smirks at the the smile you try to bite back. "You deal with this however you need to. I'm just here to keep you safe from external threats."

"Well, you certainly do that well." You sigh and prop your chin on your hand.

Gator stares at you for a moment. "Sweetheart, I'm so sorry about everythin'." He licks his lips and drums his fingers on the bar. "You deserved to know all the details and it was wrong to keep them from you. It's not an excuse, but I honestly thought I could prevent things from escalating." He lets out an unamused laugh. "I can be a little arrogant sometimes.

A quiet moment passes between you two. "I appreciate that, Gator." You lean on the back of your chair as you study him. "How are you so self-aware? Especially for such a macho guy."

Gator sucks his teeth but doesn't look away from you. "Four years of therapy to work through all the abuse I suffered from as I kid."

Your eyebrows shoot up. "Oh. I didn't know."

"How could you?" Gator shrugs. "There's not much of a story. Well, at least not one worth getting into tonight. My dad was an asshole, I spent my life trying to please him until I realized I was wasting my energy."

You furrow your brow and look down at the frothy liquid in your glass. "He's the kinda guy where nothing's ever good enough?"

"Exactly. But still took me twenty seven years to figure that out." Gator reaches out and places a hand on your knee. "The most important lesson I learned is that life's too short to not try to fix things with the people worth caring about."

"Believe me, I know that." You tear up and take a deep breath. "Keys is amazing. It's just so overwhelming sometimes with how much he cares, and then I just hate myself for feeling that way. It's such a dumb problem."

"No it's not." Gator squeezes your leg. "People like us…it's hard to let others in. To hear that they're stressed over our well-being."

You frown. "People like us?"

Gator removes his hand and leans back in his chair. "People who didn't get much love growing up."

Your lips part and your cheeks flush. "But I never said—"

"You didn't need to, sweetheart."

Gator pieced it together fairly easily, especially with the way you two connected so quickly. How you understood him and didn't seem fazed at all by his "quirks" as Dot would say.

"I love Keys so much and I know he's stressed. I really don't want to minimize that." You rub your temple. "But it drives me crazy when he holds back and lets this stuff affect our sex life. He makes me feel like I don't know myself or the right way to respond to all this shit."

Gator shrugs and watches you bring your glass to your lips. "You might be right there."

You hold the drink up for a moment while you look at him and slowly set it down. "You know what I can handle though."

Gator swallows. "Course I do. You're the toughest girl I know."

Your eyes twinkle and Gator's stomach flips. "I know you guys have this…connection. You push Keys in ways I didn't think was possible. I mean what we did last week, I've never seen him like that." You smile, mostly to yourself. "It was incredible. And dealing with something scary doesn't mean I want it to stop."

"Yeah?" Gator feels his heart pound in his ears as your eyelids grow heavy.

"It's like you said…" You lift a hand to his chin and lightly scratch his beard. "Life's short. Might as well enjoy it when you can."

By Friday, Gator still feels like he can cut the tension in the apartment with a knife. Things between you and him have defrosted, but you still spend most of the day in the guest room again, continuing to give Keys the cold shoulder while he stares up at the second level of the apartment with those puppy dog eyes of his before retreating to the office.

Eventually, Gator manages to convince you to come down for dinner, which is takeout because Keys hasn't surfaced from the office in hours. Gator realizes that he hasn't seen him since lunch and it's odd he hasn't made an appearance yet since Amelia told Gator that he signed off work about an hour ago. You don't seem bothered by it though, just sitting in your usual stool at the kitchen island and digging through the paper bag in front of you for your food.

Gator comes up beside you and leans on the counter while he rubs your back. "Can I get you anything else, sweetheart?"

You shake your head, so Gator kisses the side of your head and leaves to check on Keys. When Gator stops outside of the office, where he hears cursing and something banging. He pushes open the door and finds Keys in the center of the floor surrounded by various building pieces as he assembles some sort of shelving unit. Gator notices that his forehead is drenched in sweat, likely due to the fact he was working in a thick hoodie with what looks like a collared undershirt underneath.

"The fuck you doin'?" Gator closes the door behind him.

"Building a new craft cabinet for her." Keys doesn't look up from his tools. "Figured she might—"

"Keys. She doesn't want a fucking craft cabinet." Gator crouches down to be eye level with him. "You know that."

Keys stares at the piece he's holding in his hand for a moment before chucking it across the room and rubbing his eyes. "Yeah. I know."

"Jesus, man. Will you take that sweatshirt off?" Gator sits on the floor and brings his knees to his chest. "You're givin' me heat stroke just lookin' at ya."

"Yeah, I know I didn't dress for the occasion." Keys yanks the sweatshirt over his head, revealing a very sweat soaked gray shirt underneath that's only partially buttoned. Gator can't help but stare at the hair on his torso and the stubble growing on Keys' jaw. The scruffy look works well for him, though Gator doesn't know why he notices this.

Gator looks up at the ceiling and lets out a breath. "What're you doin' Keys?"

Keys pinches his eyebrows together. "I told you…building this cabinet."

"No. I mean why are you up here instead of down there tryin' to fix things with her?"

It's more forward than Gator's ever been, and Keys technically has every right to tell him to fuck off.

But he doesn't. He looks down in his lap, the damp ends of his sweaty hair hanging low in his eyes. "I know what she wants. And I want to give it to her. So badly."

Gator tilts his head to the side. "Then what's the problem?"

Keys squints and rubs his eyes. "I'm worried about losing control." He looks at Gator. "I've been having trouble focusing and going about scenes in that headspace makes me so anxious. I know that's what safewords are for but shit can still happen."

"That makes sense." Gator leans in closer. "But the fact that you care so much, that you know exactly how important approaching this stuff with a clear head, tells me she's in good hands with you."

"I guess." Keys pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. "I know it's small, a slip up that makes her use the safeword, but with all this other shit going on…it'd be hard to handle the guilt."

Gator scratches his beard and twists his mouth. "Well, it's not like you'd be running the scene alone."

Keys lifts his head, the corner of his mouth lifting. "That's true."

"We made a pretty good team last time." Gator grins. "I got your back, man. If things look like they're getting too intense, I'll be there to help you reel it in."

Keys considers this for a moment, his eyes darkening at the thought of finally giving in. Gator can tell he needs this as much as you do.

"Go get her and meet me in the bedroom."

Gator's already half hard when he walks downstairs. You've stepped away from your dinner and are pouring a diet coke over ice. You don't look up as Gator approaches you.

"Your guys' food is getting cold."

"Hm." Gator steps right up behind you and presses you against the counter, making you gasp and slam the soda can on the granite. "Well, how's your dinner, sweetheart?"

"Um…" You suck in a breath when Gator reaches around you to knead your tits. "It's good."

"Yeah?" Gator leans in and kisses your neck, slowly dragging his face up your skin to let you feel the course hair of his beard scratch you. "Think we might be hungry for something else now."

You let out a strangled noise when he pinches your nipples through your shirt. "Like what?"

Gator rubs his prickly jaw against your cheek, enjoying the way you whimper and squirm but can't go anywhere. "Think you know."

"Fuck," you mewl as he nuzzles his beard into your skin even harder. "Gator…"

He slaps your left tit. "Wanna come play with us?"

You nod emphatically. "Please."

Gator steps back and spins you around, immediately throwing you over his shoulder to carry you upstairs where Keys is already waiting in the bedroom by the foot of the bed. He sets you down just inside the door and you frown when you take in the sight of Keys.

"Why the hell are you so sweaty?"

"Doesn't matter." Keys beckons you forward with two fingers. "Come here."

Gator nudges you forward from behind and follows close behind as you step over to Keys. Gator positions you in front of him and Keys smiles at him over your head, nodding once before each of them start tugging your clothes off haphazardly, each of them groping you as they do it.

Once you're fully naked, Keys turns you around to face Gator and pushes on your shoulders. "Kneel."

You sink to your knees as Gator undoes his jeans and pulls out his cock. He loves the way you're practically drooling for it already while Keys pulls your hair back into a makeshift ponytail and shoves your head forward without warning.

"Open up, sweet girl." Gator holds the tip to the seam of your lips and groans as you put your mouth around him.

"That's right, angel," Keys growls. "Take it all in."

You moan around Gator and close your eyes, swirling your tongue around his throbbing dick. He looks up at Keys, meaning to ask permission to take the wheel but his brain empties when he sees Keys still staring at Gator's dick, licking his lips while he guides your head up and down his shaft.

Keys pauses and holds you still. "Go ahead and fuck her mouth, Gator. I know she wants to choke on you."

You hum and hollow your cheeks in response, sucking on him. Gator places a hand on the top of your head and does one brief, shallow thrust forward.

"Tap my leg if it's too much, baby."

You don't get a chance to respond before he thrust into your mouth again, this time hitting the back of your throat. You gag a bit and grab onto Gator's thighs for balance but don't give any indication of wanting to stop.

Keys groans as he watches Gator pump in and out of your mouth. "Fuck, she loves that. Look at her eyes rolling back into her head."

"Yeah?" Gator chuckles when you dig your nails into his thighs. "You like it when I use your mouth like this?"

"Mmph…mmph," is all you can manage. Tears stream down your cheeks and Gator wants to tell you how amazing you are, but this isn't that kind of scene. He'll have to save it for later.

Keys tightens his grip on your hair. "Jesus, I bet she's soaked already just from you shoving your cock down her throat."

"Why don't we find out?" Gator pants. "I won't last much longer with the way she's sucking on me."

"Fair enough." Keys yanks you off of Gator by your hair, a string of spit keeping you connected to his cock.

He drags you onto the bed and shoves your face into the mattress, your ass in the air and part of your glistening pussy visible to them. Keys brings his hand down on your left ass cheek and slaps it hard enough to make you lurch forward.

"If you want us to fuck you like a little whore so bad, you gotta show me how tough you are first." Keys slaps your right cheek. "Count for me."

He spanks you again, your ass already getting red. "One," you moan.

Another spank. "Two."

Keys keeps going, new beads of sweat forming on his forehead and dripping onto your skin until you hit ten and your ass is bright red, fresh tears spilling from your gleaming eyes. Gator got so lost in the sight of you like this that he started absentmindedly jerking himself off.

"Get her ready for me." Keys nods to Gator and steps over to the nightstand while he starts peeling his sweaty shirt off along with his pants.

Gator takes of his shirt before he drops to his knees immediately and dives into your wet folds, moaning obscenely at the discovery of how absolutely drenched you are just from getting your mouth fucked and spanked. Gator spreads your ass cheeks and drags your arousal up to your tight little hole and swirls his tongue around, noticing Keys' sweat mixed with the more familiar taste of you and nearly comes at how incredible it all feels on his tongue.

You cry out in surprise at the vigor of which he laps up your and Keys' combined body fluids and Gator squeezes your flesh, now focusing on rimming your smaller hole. He lavishes you there and loves how he can feel your cunt flutter around nothing when he drags his tongue back down to gather more of your arousal.

The sound of a bottle cap opening pulls Gator out of the trance he's in. He looks up to see Keys holding a bottle of lube over you and letting it pour down your slit.

"Fuck," you shudder at the new sensation. "Gator, Keys…please."

Gator stands and starts dragging the pad of his finger over the smaller hole, eventually pushing it in and being pleased to discover you open beautifully for him.

"God, she's sucking me right in." Gator looks up at Keys. "You fucked her here yet?"

"Just fingers and this." He holds up a metal butt plug. He reaches out to palm your raw ass and spits on Gators finger as they move in and out of you. "Maybe you could be her first."

You moan in agreement, rendered speechless as you fist the comforter by your head when Gator slides another finger into your asshole.

"Shit, you want that, baby?" Gator keeps dragging his fingers in and out, making you a drooling mess on the bed.

"Yes, god…please." You push up onto your hands, your elbows wobbling a bit. "Need you there, Gator."

"Later, angel." Keys drenches the plug with more lube. "We have other plans for you tonight."

Gator withdraws his fingers and uses both hands to spread you open for Keys while he pushes the plug against your hole. "Deep breath for me, honey."

You inhale slowly and as you exhale, Keys pushes the plug all the way into you.

"Fuck, that's gorgeous." Gator rubs your ass and lines himself at your entrance. "Ready to fill her everywhere else now?"

"Shit, yeah." Keys grabs your chin and traces your bottom lip with his thumb. "She's really gonna be cock drunk now."

You whimper and lick Keys' thumb. Gator watches him study you with admiration glowing behind his hard, dark eyes as he grips the base of his cock and pushes it against your lips.

As you're taking Keys in your mouth, Gator slips his cock into you, throwing his head back in the blissful haze of how incredible you feel. With Gator holding your hips and Keys holding your hair behind your head, they both set a rhythm that's in sync with each other's thrusts, stuffing you completely full all at once. Muffled sounds of pleasure gurgle around Keys' cock, already having his hips stutter.

"Fuck, angel. You're such a dirty slut aren't you?" Keys surges forward and makes you gag once before resuming his faster, shallow thrusts. "Needing us to both to fill you like this."

Gator smacks your ass. "You just love bein' our little toy, don't ya?"

"Mmmm." Your eyelashes flutter as you hollow your cheeks, making Keys cry out.

"Fuck, I'm gonna come." He pulls out of your mouth and starts jerking himself off. "Gonna come on this pretty face, yeah?"

"Please," you beg, your voice raspy and stuttering a bit while Gator keeps slamming into you from behind. "Give it to me, baby."

Hearing your desperation is enough to push Keys over the edge, white ropes of come spurting out into your mouth and on your face. Gator shocks himself by practically whining at the sight of it. Keys' eyes snap to him immediately, something wild flashing in his eyes before returning his focus to you.

Keys pushes you up flush against Gator's slick chest, the new angle making you babble a string of curses and their names. Gator places a hand over your throat to steady you while he continues his merciless pace and rubs his beard into your neck again. Keys pinches your nipple with one hand while his other presses against your lower abdomen where Gator is rearranging you guts.

"Oh god…" You reach out and grab onto Keys' neck. "Baby, please."

"Please what?" Keys snaps.

"Please—oh!…make me come."

"Fine." Keys drags his hand down further and begins circling your swollen clit with his fingers.

Your walls clamp down on Gator's cock and it feels heavenly like it always does. But what really starts winding up that coil in his stomach is the feeling of Keys' fingers accidentally brushing Gator's dick as he splits you open. He's pretty sure he only has seconds left at this point.

"Come on, baby." Gator speeds up his thrusting. "Prove to me you're our dirty girl and come on this cock."

Like always, you do exactly as you're told. You vibrate in between Gator and Keys as your orgasm rips through you with Gator following close behind, pumping you full of his come while your pussy clenches around him. Only when Gator slows his thrusts down do a complete stop does Keys stop working you.

Keys presses his forehead to yours and laughs as Gator caresses your hips while slowly pulling out of you. "Christ, angel. You're incredible."

You drag your hands over his glistening chest hair, blinking sleepily. "Yeah?"

"Fuck yeah," Gator agrees and presses a kiss in between your shoulder blades. He grips the base of the butt plug. "I'm gonna take this out, okay beautiful?"

You nod and hold onto Keys, biting your lip as Gator gently pulls the plug out. Keys stares at you longingly, pushing back your hair as he cradles your face.

"I love you, angel. So much." He kisses you softly on the lips. "I'm so fucking sorry."

"I'm sorry, too." You wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him again, nothing but adoration in your bright eyes. "I love you."

Yeah, Gator's definitely putting 'marriage counseling' on his resume.

Gator wakes up the next morning to the smell of coffee. He blinks as he stirs awake and checks his phone, shocked to discover it's already eight in the morning. He's pretty sure he hasn't slept that late since he was a teenager.

But of course, you're still dead asleep beside him. Keys' side of the bed is empty, so Gator deduces that's the source of the coffee. He presses his lips to your forehead and slips out of bed to head downstairs.

In the living room, Keys sits on the couch with a video game controller in hand. His shaggy hair is more unkempt than usual, mussed with sleep, and his eyes are still droopy behind his glasses.

He looks up at Gator when he approaches the couch and smiles. "Hey. You slept late today."

"Guess last night's activities knocked me out good." Gator chuckles and shoves Keys' shoulder.

Keys snorts and holds up his controller. "You wanna play with me while we wait for sleeping beauty to wake up?"

Gator looks at the screen and sees a large field of grass. He scowls. "This ain't that boring root pulling game she likes so much is it?"

"What…oh!" Keys throws his head back laughing. "Are you talking about Animal Crossing? Yeah it can be slow sometimes. But no, this is Legend of Zelda."

"Hm. Never heard of it."

"It's pretty fun." Keys raises his eyebrows. "I could teach you if you want."

Gator yawns. "Maybe later. After coffee."

"Sure." Keys leans forward and tosses the controller on the coffee table. He stares ahead, thinking for a moment before turning towards Gator. "Hey…thank you, by the way."

"Er, for what?" Gator scratches his beard.

Keys lets out a nervous laugh. "Shit, everything I guess." He looks at Gator, his features relaxed and soft. "I know you came for a job, but I really like having you here."

Gator stares at Keys' mouth, like he has plenty of times already in the month he's known the man. Times where he couldn't understand the feelings stirring inside him, but now Gator does. In the softness of the morning, when things always feel less complicated, he's sitting close enough to Keys to smell the faint traces of his leftover cologne, the coffee on his breath, and that natural musk he can now recognize after a week of sharing a bed.

It's clear as day to Gator in this quiet moment where he feels like he can really let go: He wants to kiss Keys.

When he looks back up into Keys' eyes, which sparkle with flecks of green as the sun illuminates the side of his face, Gator recognizes that hungry look of his that's usually reserved for you.

"Gator," Keys whispers. He licks his lips and shifts a little closer.

The small movement is enough of an invitation for Gator to close the distance between them and press his lips to Keys'. Embarrassment floods him immediately when he remembers that he has no idea what the fuck he's doing, and he's just about to pull away when Keys moans into his mouth. The sound goes straight to Gator's cock and the anxiety leaves his body as quickly as it came. He deepens the kiss and is about to push his tongue into Keys mouth, but Keys beats him to it and slips his in first.

Gator's surprised to discover he doesn't feel any need to fight for dominance and encourages Keys by grabbing kiss face to keep him close, groaning at the way the man's large tongue massages his own. With the slow and gentle way that Keys is kissing him, it melts away that usual desire to take charge of someone's pleasure because Keys apparently already knows how to get it. And Gator's surprisingly willing to let him take it.

Keys puts his hands on Gator's waist and squeezes his flesh there, the stark difference in strength between you and him catching Gator off guard enough to make him gasp.

"You okay?" Keys murmurs against Gator's lips and pulls away just enough to look into his eyes, rubbing small circles on Gator's chest. "You're shaking."

Gator swallows and nods. "It's just different."

Keys gives him a lopsided smile. "I know. You feel good though." He trails his hand to the soft pouch of Gator's stomach and gives another gentle squeeze. "We can stop if you need to."

"I don't wanna stop," Gator breathes. "But I got no clue on how to…you know."

That elicits a chuckle from Keys and he leans in to plant light kisses on Gator's burning cheeks. "It's okay. We can just keep kissing and see what happens." He drags his palm down further along Gator's thigh and squeezes it. "If it's too much, just say the safeword."

Gator doesn't understand how Keys has seemingly never been with a guy either yet is totally at ease right now, feeling up Gator's body like it's second nature.

"Thought you said you never done this before," Gator mumbles, staring at Keys' hand work it's way back up his body.

Keys kisses Gator's jaw and nuzzles into his neck. "I've imagined it a couple of times." He smiles against Gator's skin and presses another kiss on his temple. "I can show you what I've been thinking about if you want."

Gator's heart slams against his chest. He's obviously thought about Keys too, he's man enough to admit that now, but never really had a clear picture of it. Something about Keys' confidence though, along with how tenderly he's comforting Gator, makes him feel safe enough to let this guy drive.

"Okay," Gator says. "Show me."

Keys sighs and kisses down Gator's neck, the pressure of the suction from his mouth sending electricity down Gator's spine. Keys tugs on the hemline of Gator's shirt. "Can I take this off?"

Gator nods and sits up to let Keys pull it off of him. Keys takes off his own shirt while Gator instinctively leans back against the cushions. Keys drinks in the sight of Gator's half naked body and climbs over him.

"Fuck, you're gorgeous, Gator." Keys leans down and presses kisses along his chest. "I used to catch myself staring a lot, thinking I just wanted to know your gym routine or something."

Gator huffs out a laugh. "Is this how a woman feels when she's objectified?"

Keys snorts and kisses back up Gator's neck, pecking his lips once before laying down on his side to wedge himself between Gator and the back of the couch. He looks down at Gator as he trails his long fingers through Gator's chest hair before splaying his hand on his torso. "Still feeling good?"

Gator nods quickly, surprising himself with his own enthusiasm as he grabs the back of Keys' neck and pulls him back down for another kiss. Keys melts into it immediately and slots his thigh in between Gator's legs while he licks into Gator's mouth.

They fall into an easy rhythm, slow and wet smacking sounds filling the air as they explore each other's mouths. Gator keeps holding onto Keys' neck for support, feeling so dizzy he's worried he'll float away otherwise. Keys runs his fingers through Gator's hair with one hand while the other continues to roam up and down his bare torso. He holds Gator in that careful, methodical way he always tends to you, like Keys wants to treasure him. It feels amazing, unlike anything Gator could have imagined, but he wants more.

"Keys," Gator whimpers in between kisses, not even recognizing his own voice. "I—can you…"

"You want me to touch you?"

Gator's nose brushes against Keys' while he nods. "Please. I'm sorry, I just—"

"Hey," Keys interrupts, planting a soft kiss on Gator's lips. "Don't apologize. I'm dying to make you come."

Gator sucks in a breath. "Yeah?"

"Yeah." The corner of Keys' mouth lifts as he brings his hand up to cup Gator's cheek, rubbing his thumb along the stubble. "Kept thinking about it last night while watching you fuck our girl's mouth. How badly I wanted to make you fall apart."

"Fuck." Gator's brain short circuits. "I'll let ya."

Keys hums and licks along his jawline before sucking his earlobe into his mouth. "You gonna be a good boy for me?"

Gator's cock strains against his sweatpants. "Whatever you want. Just please don't stop."

This submissive side to Gator is completely new, but it felt damn good letting Keys take the wheel.

The other man's fingers trace Gator's bottom lip. "Open. I wanna feel how that dirty mouth of yours has been sucking my girlfriend's clit."

Gator lips part in shock at his filthy words and Keys uses the opportunity to shove two fingers into his mouth. His other hand tugs on Gator's hair a bit, which feels so good that Gator moans around Keys' fingers and grabs his wrist, swirling his tongue around them and lapping at the salty taste of his skin.

"Fuck, you feel so good." Keys rolls his hips against Gator's thigh, letting Gator feel his hardness.

He pulls his fingers out of Gator's mouth and replaces them with his tongue, immediately giving Gator kisses that grow increasingly sloppy and desperate. Gator feels like his entire body is on fire and reaches down to tug his sweats off.

Keys laughs against Gator's lips. "Someone's impatient. You need me that bad?"

"Shit." Gator's stomach muscles contract as Keys' wet fingers drag down his happy trail. "Yeah I do. Please."

"Okay, okay." Keys presses a kiss to Gator's cheek. "I got you."

Gator watches carefully as Keys finishes pushing down his sweats and boxers just enough to let his cock spring free. Gator feels shy suddenly as Keys just watches his dick flop against his stomach. It's not like Keys hasn't seen it before. Hell, technically he's already touched it a bit too, but that was in the context of them teaming up to fuck you. It feels completely different in this moment with just the two of them, Keys giving Gator his full focus.

Keys brings his hand up to his mouth and spits into his palm, then locks eyes with Gator as he reaches down to grab his shaft. Gator moans and immediately bucks up into Keys touch, pre cum leaking out of his tip already like he's back in middle school getting his first handjob.

"God, I love how responsive you are for me." Keys swipes his thumb over Gator's slit, smearing the mixture of saliva and cum over his cock as he slowly starts pumping Gator's cock with his hand.

"Jesus," Gator pants. "Don't fucking stop, Keys. Please."

"Yeah? That feel good?" Keys kisses the corner of Gator's mouth.

"Holy fuck, yeah." Gator stares at where Keys is gripping him, completely mesmerized by how his massive hand looks while it works him.

"I can't tell you how badly I wanted to do this last night." Keys gives Gator another wet, open mouthed kiss and hovers right above his lips. "Especially when you pulled out of her and this thick cock was glistening with both of your guys' cum. I wanted to see what you tasted like after getting soaked by that pretty pussy."

Gator's head spins at the downright obscene dirty talk coming out of Keys' mouth. He's fucked girls stupid plenty of times, but his own brain has never felt quite so scrambled as it does right now.

He wonders what else Keys' mouth can do. "Mmph…you can taste it now if you want."

Keys lets out a strangled noise and tightens his grip on Gator's cock briefly. "Shit, you sure? I didn't mean to pressure you."

Gator rolls his eyes, now understanding why Keys' gentle reassurance grinds your gears in the heat of the moment like this. "You ain't. Wanna see why that mouth of yours makes her go so crazy."

"Oh, that so?" Keys presses one last frantic kiss to Gator's lips and drags his mouth down Gator's body, licking and sucking on his skin as he goes. "So fucking sexy," he murmurs against Gator, the vibrations making his skin tingle.

Gators mouth falls open as Keys kisses along his hip bone and then drags his tongue up the underside of his cock before taking it all at once.

"Fuck, Keys." Gator throws his head back, completely consumed by how hot and wet this guy's mouth feels.

Keys reaches up and squeezes Gator's pec, releasing his dick with a wet pop. "Eyes on me."

Gator looks down just as Keys takes him back in his mouth and covers the hand resting on his chest with his own while running the other through Keys' messy, brown hair.

Keys wraps his free hand around Gator's thigh, effectively pinning him down with that sneaky strength of his while his head bobs up and down. Gator's heart races as the bottom of his spine tingles, the pleasure already building to its peak. With that came an intense feeling of being overwhelmed.

Gator's not sure if it was the newness of having a guy being the one sucking him off or if the intimacy of this entire moment with Keys was just too much, all he knew was that he wanted him close again.

"Keys," he grunts. "Shit…come back up here, please."

Keys releases Gator from his mouth and climbs back over him, moving to hold his length in one hand and cradling Gator's jaw with the other. "You still good?"

"Yeah, don't stop." Gator grabs onto Keys shoulders. "I just…" He trails off, a brief flicker of shame realizing how pathetic he sounds right now.

Keys resumes jerking him off and rubs his thumb along his jaw. "What is it, baby? You can tell me."

Gator blinks, not fully wrapping his head around why the pet name that you've called him plenty of times feels just as good coming from Keys. Gator presses his mouth into a tight line and reminds himself that he's already had his dick in this guys' mouth. He's past the point of trying to hold on to the straight, tough guy persona.

"I just wanted t'kiss ya some more," he finally mumbles.

Gator braces himself for a smirk or smug smile, but instead Keys' face just softens into a look that could only be described as admiration. He dips his head down and slots his lips against Gator's. It's probably the softest kiss of the morning and makes Gator feel warm all over.

Keys breaks the kiss briefly to whisper. "I'll kiss you as much as you want, Gator." He pumps Gator's cock faster, who in turn moans into Keys' mouth. Keys swallows it with another kiss. "I wanna make you come. Tell me how I can get you there."

"Just keep doing that." Gator brings his hands to the back of Keys' head and pulls his mouth down to his own. Their lips move in sync with Keys' movements on Gator's cock, swirling their tongues around each other while Gator's stomach flips as he climbs towards his peak again.

He shivers despite the warmth of Keys' broad chest covering him and the wet, smacking noises of Keys' hand pumping up and down his shaft fills the air. Gator bucks into Keys' hand again when his thumb swipes over the tip of his cock, collecting another bead of precum.

"You getting close?" Keys asks in between kisses. "Shit, your cock feels so warm and heavy in my hand."

Gator's balls tighten and he pulls on Keys' hair. "Oh fuck…yeah I'm close." He presses his forehead to Keys'. "Christ, how're you so good at this on the first try?"

"Are you forgetting I got one of these too?" Keys laughs and grinds his own erection against Gator's thigh as a reminder. "Plus, I also paid attention to how she gets you off…dreaming of possibly getting my hands on you some day."

The realization that Keys doesn't just watch you closely, but also Gator and is aroused at the idea of curating a pleasurable experience for him too, makes the pressure build again, hurtling Gator towards his release.

"Shit, I'm gonna come."

"Do it. Let me feel you." Keys kisses Gator again, tugging a little on his bottom lip. "I'm right here, baby. You're doing so good for me."

They're words Keys has said to you, and ones Gator has also said to both you and his partners before you. Never once did Gator ever think he'd want to be on the receiving end of them until now while he's in Keys' arms. They seem to activate a part of Gator's brain he didn't even know had been dormant, waiting for the right person to wake it up and give him a little bit of the praise he's been craving his whole life.

"Keys," Gator begs, though he's not sure for what.

"I know." Keys presses his lips to Gators and murmurs against them as he jerks his cock faster, "Come for me, Gator."

The band snaps and Gator cries out into Keys' mouth, hot ropes of his release spurting onto his stomach and chest. Keys slows his movements but keeps his hand on Gator's shaft until the latter whines from the overstimulation.

Keys pulls away to look at Gator's cum covered chest and splays his hand on it, spreading it around. He leans down and laps some of it up with his thick tongue before coming back up to kiss Gator, who's still in a daze coming down from his high.

When his mind clears a bit, Gator places a hand on Keys' chest and pushes him gently away to look at him when he realizes that he's still rock hard against Gator's thigh.

"Should I…I mean do you want me to, erm—" Gator clears his throat. "Y'know…do you now?"

"No. I want you to relax." Keys smiles and presses another soft kiss to his lips. "I should probably get some coffee up to our girl anyway and wake her up."

Gator snorts. "You really think she slept through all that?"

"She's a heavy sleeper." Keys brushes some of Gator's hair back, his eyes twinkling. "Trust me, if she was up, she would've come down to join in by now."

"Guess that's true." Gator's eyes drop to Keys' mouth, still thinking about how much he likes kissing this guy.

Keys apparently reads his mind and leans in for one more deep, tender kiss, nuzzling their noses together when he comes back up for air. "Why don't you go take a shower? I'll make us all breakfast."

All Gator can do is nod and climb off the couch with Keys, tucking himself back into his pants. As he pads into his room, he thinks about how caught off guard he is and not necessarily by the fact that he just let a dude jerk him off.

What's rattled Gator so much is how natural it felt being with Keys specifically. How he made Gator feel so cared for and that Gator is already thinking about all the things the three of you can now do together.

He's in deeper than he should be, but Gator's not so sure he's capable of untangling himself from you two anymore.

Taglist: @bearwithegg @thoroughlymimi @louisbelongstome28 @nicherthanu @lacywithdrawal @puertoricanmami87 @entercarolina @decidessrun @oliviaharrington @tellcherhesgone @kristywidget97 @exooojongdaeee @treebabe @matildaharrysversion @digitalxcandle @tiredpurpleee @sunshinewriterx @aecd27 @larivervixen

Comment below if you’d like to be added/removed! 🩵

Series Masterlist

*.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

For a long time, your life had been built of maybes. Maybe you wouldn’t have enough money for rent this month, maybe your job would get sick of your attitude and fire you, maybe the next person you met would break your heart. 

You’d built your walls so tall and decided those maybes would turn into whens. If pain was inevitable, you might as well act like it had already happened. 

But time, and people — one person in particular — had managed to break that entirely. Your days were no longer spent trying to find the maybe’s or the when’s, waiting for a past you thought was doomed to repeat. Far away from those stories and places, you could look to the now. You could hope for the future. 

That’s why this evening, as you pulled up to the farm, you could stare at the sunset in awe — pinks and oranges streaking across the sky in a sight that made your jaw drop. Back when you lived in Lehigh, you never had the time to stop and enjoy the little things like that, but now, the sunsets were your favorite part of the day. Still, though, you were ready to go home, and the person you were waiting for was still nowhere in sight. 

But you had a sneaking suspicion of where he was, so you stepped out of the car and headed for the now-familiar barn at the edge of the property.

Sure enough, was crouched in front of the red doors, feeding pieces of chicken to a border collie that sat at his feet. Little chuckles fell from his lips as the dog pounced up, gobbling up each piece of meat. Ok, maybe you couldn’t be mad at him for being late. “I know my cooking is bad, but you don’t have to give it all to the dog.” You smirked, placing a hand on your hip. At the sound of your voice, Gator’s head snapped up, the guilty smile on his face all too obvious. “You’ll be done work by five, huh?” 

“Hey, I did finish working at five. But Buck here was hungry.” He scratched under the chin of the dog, the pants of satisfaction from the creature making him smile. “The asshole kid didn’t even feed ya all day, huh, bud?”

Gator had told you about his boss. He was a young kid actually, who only bought the farm as an “investment” for his internet career. He’d spend his days filming the place and acting like he was a dedicated farm owner while the farm hands worked their asses off trying to keep the animals alive. 

It pissed Gator off to no end, especially when it came to Buck. 

You crouched down next to the two, and immediately the dog was jumping up, sniffing at your face. “Ok, ok.” You chuckled, leaning back to avoid the licks to your face. Gator finally managed to tempt him away with another piece of meat and the dog eagerly jumped back into his lap.

“Now I ain’t even gonna see you for two whole weeks.” He sighed, giving the pet more sweet chin scratches. You never saw him smile as big as he did when he was with this dog. 

Just seeing it made you wonder… “Hey, what would you do if we had our own?” 

“What?” He snorted. “Like a dog?” You couldn’t stop the way your lips curled a little. He shifted when he noticed your face. “You mean it?” His voice immediately went soft as he asked it, like a little kid who was too scared his toy would be taken away. 

“Ok, ok. I said if.” You laughed, though recently, the thought did make you just as excited as Gator. “But I mean, it’d be nice, right?” You bit your lip before you said the next thing. “Might fill some empty space.” That's when the silence fell over the two of you, and you felt Gator's pitying eyes on you. He reached over, lightly squeezing your thigh because he knew you wouldn’t give him your hand. 

All you could do was give him a small smile back. 

 *.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The house was quiet when you two got home. It kind of always was now. No TV droning from the back room, not a conversation being had. Tyler was draped over the couch, headphones on and eyes glazing over as he stared at something on his phone. Gator got that mischievous smirk on his face at the sigh, slamming the door just to see if it would scare him. But Tyler didn’t even flinch. 

“Tyler.” You called, but again, he didn’t move. You let out a short, sharp breath and Gator could see you trying to hold back the eye roll as you pulled the headphones off his ears. 

“Join us for dinner. Got the sweet potatoes fries you like.” You dangled the greasy takeout in your hand, a desperate smile on your face. “No thanks.” Tyler said, already looking back to his phone before he even finished the sentence. 

“Did you eat yet?” You tried, only to get a dismissive wave back as Tyler's eyes stayed fixed far away from you. Gator had had just about enough of this, reaching over and snatching the phone out of his hands. “Hey!” Tyler pounced off the couch. “What the hell man?” 

“Your sister’s talkin’ to you.” 

Tyler gave him a knowing face back. One that said, “You know I don’t care.” One that Gator knew you saw too. 

“Y’know what? It’s fine.” You shook your head, beginning to unpack the food on your small dining table. “More for us, I guess.” The boxes hit the table with far too much force, the grease of the takeout flying across the tablecloth.

Gator crossed his arms in challenge. “No, he doesn’t wanna eat, that’s fine, but he should sit with his family at the table. It’s only right.” 

“What the hell did I do to you?” Tyler cried out. 

"Go sit-"

“Gator.” You snapped, a warning. That was the tone you got when he was acting too much like Roy. The one he dreaded the most. Biting his tongue, Gator handed the phone back to Tyler. He took it and spun on his heel with a grunt. Not a second later, the sound of his room door slamming reverberated through the house. 

The boards of your home creaked out alongside your heavy sigh. And then it was back to the electric silence your house became so familiar with recently. The one that Gator wasn’t sure would ever leave again.

He had spent most of his life without knowing what a family really was. Every day in his house was spent looking over his shoulder, a silent prayer not to be hurt in one way or another. The last few years had felt pretty darn close to that dream he once had as a little kid watching those sitcoms. 

But in your mother’s absence, everything had changed.  

 *.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

Gator could always hear it when you were worrying. It was in the the slightly stilted breaths that slipped past your lips, way you blinked a little faster to keep up with the speed of your stresses, the wet squelch of you biting the inside of your cheek again and again till it hurt to do so. The sound of your thoughts were deafening in the quiet bedroom, as you lay staring up at the ceiling. He knew this look. Knew the way that you were lost in your mind, beating yourself up over things that weren’t your fault.

And luckily, he knew exactly how to fix it too. 

“Hey.” He whispered, voice low as he leaned into your neck. The taste of your sweet skin greeted his lips after what felt like a century of thirst. You let out a shaky breath at the contact. The past few weeks hadn't exactly left any room for romance. It’s not like he was upset about it, not really, but god, did he miss you like this.  

Then he felt you squirm. 

“Gator.” You turned away slightly, but your voice sounded as disappointed as he felt. “Not tonight.” With a small, apologetic smile, you leaned over to switch off the lamp on your nightstand. And you didn’t turn back.

Quietly, he wrapped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. Neither of you were good with words. This was the only way he knew how to stop your brain, so what the hell was he meant to do now? He stared at your silhouette in the dark. Truthfully, he couldn’t stop thinking about it either. That day.

Gator was in the gym, sweat beading down his forehead, pushing all his frustrations in to the weights. He didn’t wanna be mad. Goddamnit, he didn’t want to. But after a driving lesson with Tyler, the car was left with a shiny, new dent on the side of the door. And there was no trusty rifle to take his anger out on. Still, he’d managed to bite his tongue, head spinning with the hundreds of dollars he would have to pay for that dent. And worse...with his reaction. One more second and he might just have blown up at Tyler, just like Roy. 

That’s when the phone call came. 

Tyler made a sound that Gator had never heard before, and would never forget. Gator rushed home, where the ambulance was already sitting in the driveway. Then it was sirens, paramedics. Having to call and tell you. You whispered that it should’ve been you, not Tyler. That car kept the dent for the past month, he was more worried about fixing the wreckage of the two of you. 

Only, the damage seemed utterly irreparable. 

No matter how many times he tried to piece the two of you back together, it felt like he was stuck in a burning crash. One caused entirely by his family. A few years ago, Gator was watching that man he dared to call a father destroy everything in his path with stars in his eyes. He was, however much he tried to deny it, an eager foot soldier in the war against your family.

You breathed heavily, and even with your eyes closed, he could see the spiral unfolding in your mind. And he wondered…what if you were thinking it too? That this was all Gator’s fault?

He pulled you a little closer, tucking his head into the crook of your neck so he could inhale the scent on you. Soft lavender, still. It was the now familiar smell and your slow breaths that reminded him of the ground that still remained below him. You picking him up from work, nights of greasy takeout where you had each other’s orders memorized, the quiet weekends that you actually got to yourself now. 

It was shaky for now, but it was there. 

He could make it steady again. 

 *.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

For most people, sleep was a quiet escape. A moment to slip away from the worries of the world, to forget. But some nights, for Gator, sleep was the thing he looked forward to the least. Hour by hour he was plagued with memories — guns, blood, flashes of Roy, pacing footsteps. Footsteps that went back and forth, back and forth. They didn’t sound like they were in his brain. They sounded like… 

Gator rubbed his eyes, trying to bring himself to reality. Steady ground. He glanced to the door and saw exactly where the sounds was coming from, his chest squeezing. You were sound asleep beside him and he silently prayed it would stay that way as he slipped out of bed. He held his breath as he tiptoed down the hallway, already terrified of what he was going to see. 

There, in the room — the one none of you had dared to go into for the past few weeks — Tyler was moving around, stuffing clothes and books and everything else he could into a random cardboard box. Gator lingered at the doorway. “What’re you doin’ kid?” 

“Cleaning.” Tyler responded through gritted teeth. 

“It’s midnight.” Gator took a cautious step into the room. 

“Well, someone’s got to.” 

Gator sighed, “She just needs some time.” And so do you, he thought. 

“It’s been a month.” Tyler spat back, ripping another top off its hanger. “What, does she think Mom’s coming back? She’s not. I saw her with my own two eyes.” Gator sighed, that sound playing in his head yet again. “Gator she’s- Mom! Mom, please- I think she’s…” You wouldn’t have guessed the rosy cheeks or teary eyes if you looked at Tyler now — face flat as he stormed around the room, pulling tops of hangers aggressively. 

“Sit.” Gator commanded, and to his surprise, Tyler joined him on the bed, shoulders slumped. Gator sucked his teeth, trying to figure out what to say. What did an actual pep talk even sound like? He sighed. “Why you tryin’ to throw this shit away?” Tyler’s jaw tensed. “Forgetting isn’t gonna make you miss her any less.” He could’ve told Tyler that all it would was build a rainy tornado of anger inside him. That he would be left with an embarrassingly big hole in his heart and no way to fill it. That forever, he would be left missing the memories he chose to let go of and would hate himself for doing it. Instead, Gator just said, “Think she’d want you two fighting like this?” “She’s dead. What does it matter what she wants?” Tyler retorted instantly, sounding much more like you than he’d ever care to admit. 

“What if she’s watching you, hm?” 

Tyler rolled his eyes. “You and I both know that stuff’s not real.” Gator, truly, wasn’t sure. His whole childhood he’d been told it was true. But then, he’d also been told that the very man that sent your mother into an early grave was on a fast track to join her up there in heaven. 

“Hit the hay, huh?” He gave Tyler a soft pat on the back. “We’ll figure this out when we get back.” 

The two of you were going on a long overdue vacation. Three years living in New England, and you’d just earned enough to get away. You were still terrified of leaving Tyler alone for this long. He, on the other hand couldn't wait for you to leave. And Gator? Well, Gator just wanted it all to be over. Maybe the space would do you some good in the end.

There was one thing you had now, that you never did before — time. 

 *.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

The next morning, you and Gator managed to drag yourselves out of bed early in the morning, and to your surprise, Tyler was even waiting to see you guys off. Bags stuffed in the truck, snacks filled to the brim, and you were ready to go. 

Well, almost…

“I made enough food for a few more days, but if you need any money, just tell me.” You were barely halfway through your list of instructions for Tyler and he was already done with you. “No parties, ok? And I know football’s important but you better get all your homework done and- “ 

“Alright, alright baby, he gets it.” Gator pulled you back towards him. “Relax. ‘Member we’re meant to be on vacation?”  

“‘Scuse me for not wantin’ to return to a burned down house.” You tutted your tongue with a small smile on your face. Tyler didn't smile back. Or playfully roll his eyes. He was completely checked out, like always now, so you left him with a weak, “Call me if you need anything, ok?” He gave you a half-hearted nod that made your stomach twist. But just as quickly, Gator was taking your hand into a reassuring squeeze. 

Reluctantly, you sunk back to the car, stepping into the driver’s seat. You watched as Gator ruffled Tyler’s hair playfully. “Be good, kid.” 

“Not a fucking kid.” Tyler lightly swatted his arm away with a little smirk. 

“Hey! Swear jar.” 

You bit down on your cheek, trying to ignore the sting in your chest watching the two of them. You weren’t used to it — letting yourself feel the loss for as long as you had with your mom — but Tyler seemed to resent you for it, and you had no idea what to do. 

 *.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

“Alright, what is it?” Gator sighed, forcing you to turn towards him for the first time in an hour. “Did you guys do all your road trips in dead silence when you were little too?” You swallowed, knowing he was right. “So, are you gonna avoid my pretty face the whole way there or tell me what you’re thinkin’ about?” He asked, as you pulled to a stop at a traffic light. You were in the middle of nowhere, you had no idea why they even put these up here. Maybe the universe knew just the perfect ways to torment you. Because the few seconds you stayed there, all you could feel was Gator's gaze fixed on you. 

You never would have told anyone else — God, it was one of the pettiest thoughts you’d had in a while — but he had that stupid look in his eyes. The one that made your tongue slip of it’s own volition and admit things you probably shouldn’t have. “That day…” You breathed as you drove through the green light. “He called you, Gator. He called you and not me.” As much as you loved him, to hear the news from Gator’s mouth and not your brother’s, to only get back once the body bag had long been carted away…it made you miserable. You didn’t even get to say goodbye. And worst, it was all your fault that Tyler saw that. “I shouldn’t have taken that overtime.” You shook your head. “If I had just-“ 

“What?” Gator snapped, his volume making you pause. “If you had just what? Cause Tyler could’ve still made it home before you. And so what if you found her instead? You think that’s gonna make him any less mad that she died in the first place?” You shook your head. “He didn’t deserve to see that though-”

“And you do?” He snorted. “You drive me nuts y’know? Make no damn sense, sometimes.” He dramatically crossed his arms like a little kid, genuinely frustrated at the thoughts that tormented you. Only Gator could bring the sunshine to your self-pitying rainstorm, and make you smile right now. 

You rolled your eyes. “Whatever. Don’t need to make sense to you.” He reached over with a chuckle, his hand finding it’s familiar place on your thigh. Something that had now become a comfort for both him and you. 

Yeah, shit was tense in your house right now, but that’s exactly why you were getting this — some time away for just him and you. To breathe. And Gator was right there, always proving that you weren’t alone, and never would be again. If you closed your eyes, you could actually imagine the other side. The three of you becoming a family again. 

“So, were you serious about getting that dog?” Gator smiled, knowing exactly how to pull you out of your dread. 

“Depends. What breed d’you want?” You didn’t get a response, just silence, and when you glanced over you could see just how hard Gator was thinking about it, his eyes sparkling at the thought. 

The answer left you stunned. “How ‘bout a shelter dog?” You glanced to him with a laugh. “Since when’d you get so charitable?” 

He shrugged. “I like those little mutts.” 

“The purebred Tillman wants a mutt?” You gasped dramatically. “What has the world come to?” 

“Oh yeah, y’ think you’re real funny, don’t ya?” He shared in your smile though his grip got tighter on your thigh just slightly. “Just wait till we get to that hotel room.” You shook your head in offence, though your smile had only grown bigger along with the butterflies in your stomach. Not just at the thought of that hotel room in a few hours, but at the thought of all of it. 

“Should we check some shelters when we get back then?” 

You expected him to meet you with the glee, but as you turned back to him, you didn’t see a smile at all. His eyes were blown wide, and he screamed, “Angel!” 

But it was too late. 

Something hard was slamming into your body. You flew forward. Tires screeched, your body throbbed and then…

Nothingness. 

 *.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

When Gator opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was blood. He couldn’t tell if it was his or yours. His vision was cutting in and out, head pulsing with pain. Car doors flung open. A man pulled your unconscious body out of the car. Hands were grabbing at his own. He screamed. These weren’t paramedics. He tried to wrestle out of the hold he was in. A man pushed back and his face met the gravel. Something fell to the ground in front of him. Through his blurred vision, he made out a cap, and three simple words. 

Stark County Sheriff.  

 *.༄⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

"You've been awake long?" you ask.

Joe glances towards the curtains. "I honestly don't know."

"Were you just lying there?"

"I plead the fifth."

One corner of your mouth lifts. "Were you staring at me again?"

He laughs under his breath. "In my defence, it's becoming a bit of a habit."

"I noticed."

"I figured."

Outside, the city has already begun to wake, traffic murmuring somewhere below the hotel windows, but the room still feels suspended from the rest of the world.

You watch him for another moment before saying, almost tentatively, "So..."

Joe's eyebrows lift immediately. "So?"

"So..." A sleepy smile spreads across your face. "Hi."

He laughs, the last traces of nervousness dissolving with surprising ease. "Hi."

It strikes him, somewhat absurdly, that introducing yourselves to each other in daylight feels more vulnerable than kissing each other in the dark.

True to his word, Joe takes you to breakfast less than an hour later, largely because he claims that if he stays in the hotel room much longer, he will abandon the idea of leaving it altogether.

“I made a promise,” he says, pulling yesterday’s T-shirt over his head. “I’m a man of integrity.”

“You promised pancakes.”

“Exactly.”

“I don’t think breakfast generally qualifies as a moral obligation.”

“It does to me.”

He disappears into the bathroom and comes back with damp hair and the faintly betrayed expression of someone who has just discovered what a festival looks like in daylight. When he catches you smiling at him, he squints. “What?”

“You’ve got glitter.”

“So do you.”

“I showered.”

You point towards his ear, and he immediately reaches for the wrong side of his face. “Where?”

“Other side.”

He changes hands.

“Lower.”

“This feels like a trap.”

“It isn’t.”

“It absolutely is.”

Laughing, you step closer and brush your thumb along his jaw until a tiny silver fleck catches against your fingertip. “There.”

Joe glances at it, then smiles. “I kinda like that it survived.”

“So do I.”

The words leave you before you can decide whether they should, and for a second neither of you says anything. Joe’s expression softens, though he has enough sense not to draw attention to it.

The diner is two streets away, wedged between a laundrette and a corner shop with faded postcards turning slowly in the breeze. Inside, cracked red booths line the walls and the smell of coffee seems to have settled permanently into every surface. Joe holds the door open with exaggerated ceremony.

“You really know how to show a girl the glamorous side of the city.”

“Oh, just wait.”

“There’s more?”

“The menus are laminated.”

You gasp. “Full colour?”

“Obviously.”

The waitress barely glances at your festival wristbands or yesterday’s clothes before seating you, apparently accustomed to customers in far stranger conditions. Coffee arrives first, followed by pancakes, eggs and an unnecessarily large plate of hash browns, which Joe immediately pushes towards the middle of the table.

“These are communal.”

“Who decided that?”

“I did.”

“You can’t declare potato diplomacy.”

“I absolutely can.”

You take one anyway. He pretends not to notice.

Conversation comes more easily than either of you expected. Every answer leads somewhere else, and within half an hour you have moved from childhood ambitions to family, school, music and the kinds of humiliating memories people usually ration out over months.

“What did you want to be when you were little?” you ask, stirring sugar into your coffee.

“A dinosaur.”

You blink. “Right.”

“I’m serious.”

“I assumed you’d say actor.”

“I wanted to be a velociraptor.”

“Very realistic.”

“I thought so.”

“What changed?”

“Turns out there aren’t many openings.”

“Competitive industry.”

“Brutal.”

He asks you the same question, and when you admit that you once wanted to work in an aquarium because turtles seemed happier than people, he looks genuinely charmed.

“That’s kind of adorable.”

“It was not a very practical plan.”

“Says who?”

“I didn’t know anything about turtles.”

“You could’ve learnt.”

“I also couldn’t swim properly.”

Joe points his fork at you. “Okay, now that’s the bigger issue.”

By the time the pancakes arrive, he's telling you about getting stuck in a tree at fourteen while trying to impress a girl.

“My dad had to bring a ladder,” he says, staring into his coffee.

“In front of her?”

“In front of everybody.”

You laugh hard enough that you have to put down your knife. “That is horrific.”

“I know.”

“Thank you for telling me.”

“I already regret it.”

“You absolutely don’t.”

“I expect equal vulnerability.”

You think for a moment. “I once cried because my mum cut my toast into squares instead of triangles.”

Joe waits. “How old?”

“Eleven.”

His mouth falls open.

“I was having a difficult morning.”

“You were eleven.”

“I’ve already said I’m sorry.”

He laughs so suddenly that he nearly chokes. “You don’t get to judge the tree after that.”

“My toast incident wasn’t public.”

He concedes the point with a nod.

Somewhere between the second coffee refill and the last hash brown, the conversation slows. Neither of you has run out of things to say; you simply no longer feel compelled to fill every pause.

Joe watches you trace a finger around the rim of your mug.

“I don’t usually do this,” he says.

You glance up. “Eat breakfast?”

He smiles. “No.”

“That would explain a lot.”

“I mean this.” He gestures vaguely between you, suddenly a little self-conscious. “Meeting someone and then... all of it.”

“You know nobody says that after sex, right?”

“I know.”

“It sounds like the opening of a bad rom-com.”

“I know.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

There is no charm offensive in his expression now, no attempt to soften the truth into something easier. He simply looks at you and waits.

“I don’t either,” you admit.

“No?”

You shake your head.

Joe leans back against the booth with a quiet exhale. “Good.”

You smile. “Good?”

“I was starting to think I’d accidentally become someone else’s deeply out-of-character decision.”

“You were.”

His eyebrows rise. “So were you.”

The waitress passes with a fresh pot of coffee while traffic moves beyond the window and someone drops cutlery near the counter. Around you, the diner continues with the ordinary business of the day, but neither of you has checked the time or mentioned leaving.

Joe reaches across the table and steals the final hash brown from your plate.

“Hey.”

“You said they were communal.”

“They were.”

“So that one was mine.”

“It became ours.”

“You’ve known me less than a day and you’re already using socialism against me.”

He grins. “Only when it benefits me.”

You take half his pancake in retaliation.

He watches you do it without protest.

By the time either of you notices, breakfast has become lunch.

The bill remains between you until the waitress begins glancing over with the patient resignation of someone who has already decided you are either ordering dessert or attempting to establish permanent residence in her booth. By then the diner has filled around you: families carrying shopping bags, a toddler colouring beyond the edges of a paper placemat, coffee appearing on neighbouring tables with such dependable regularity that the whole place seems built to resist endings.

“I think she’s starting to resent us,” Joe says.

You look towards the counter. “Can you blame her?”

“Not really.”

He reaches for the receipt at last. “I’ve got it.”

“You paid yesterday.”

“You bought the chips.”

“I bought half the chips.”

“You generously permitted me to eat some of them.”

“I remember that very differently.”

“I know.” He smiles as he takes out his wallet. “I still win.”

“You’ve invented a competition.”

“I usually do.”

The waitress accepts his card with visible relief, and Joe watches her go before saying, with studied casualness, “I’ve got rehearsals tomorrow.”

For a second, the words sound like another detail in a morning full of them. Then their meaning settles.

“Oh,” you say.

“Yeah.”

Outside the window, a cyclist crosses the junction and disappears. Somebody laughs on the pavement. The city continues without any interest in the fact that the two of you have finally reached the edge of the day.

“What about you?” Joe asks.

“I’ve got work Monday.”

He asks what you do, and when you remind him, he listens with genuine curiosity, following every answer with another question until you find yourself explaining the parts of the job you love, the parts you endure, and the colleagues who have somehow become recurring characters in stories he has never heard before. Halfway through one of them, you notice him smiling.

“What?”

“Hm?”

“You’re looking at me.”

“I just like listening to you.” The admission catches you off guard. “You get really animated,” he adds.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“I absolutely don’t.”

“You’ve used that spoon to demonstrate at least three different people.”

You glance down and discover that the teaspoon in your hand has indeed become an illustration tool. You place it carefully back on the saucer.

Joe grins. “I rest my case.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“I think it’s cute.”

Heat rises into your face, and you turn towards the window. “You’re annoying.”

“I’ve gathered.”

He runs one finger around the rim of his mug before asking, “When do you head home?”

“This evening.”

“What time?”

You tell him.

“I leave around eight tomorrow.”

Neither journey is especially dramatic, but each is far enough to remove chance from the equation. If anything happens after today, one of you will have to choose it.

Joe exhales. “That’s kinda shitty.”

“I don’t think that’s the official term.”

“It should be.”

“It probably should.”

His smile is brief. Then he leans back and folds his arms.

“So,” he says, in the tone you have already begun to recognise as the one he uses when sincerity starts to feel dangerous. “I guess this is where we shake hands and thank each other for a lovely festival experience.”

“You don’t mean that.”

His smile falters. “What makes you think that?”

“You joke whenever you’re nervous.”

“I do not.”

“You absolutely do.”

“You’ve known me less than twenty-four hours.”

“And I’m still right.”

Joe studies you, then laughs with reluctant defeat. “That obvious?”

“A little.”

“Damn.”

You trace a finger along the edge of your mug, trying to find a way into the sentence without making it sound larger than it is. “I don’t want this to be something that only happened at a festival.”

Joe becomes very still. When he answers, the humour has gone from his voice. “Neither do I.”

The relief is immediate enough to embarrass you.

“I’ve spent most of the morning telling myself I’m getting carried away,” he admits.

“Are you?”

“Probably.”

“And is it working?”

“Not even slightly.”

You laugh under your breath.

Joe taps his fingers once against the table. “I know it sounds insane. We met yesterday, I barely know anything about you, and this is probably not how sensible adults are supposed to do things.”

“I’m not sure either of us has made a strong case for being sensible.”

“Fair.” His mouth curves, though only briefly. “I just don’t want to spend the next six months wondering what might’ve happened if I’d asked.”

You reach across the table, and he turns his hand beneath yours, threading your fingers together with an ease that feels older than the day you have known him. “So ask.”

Joe looks at you for a moment before smiling. “Would you let me take you out?”

“You’ve already taken me out.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I do.”

“So?”

You squeeze his hand. “I’d really like that.”

The relief on his face is almost comical. He drops his forehead briefly towards your joined hands, then looks up again with a grin he is making no effort to hide. “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah. I can work with okay.”

“So can I.”

The afternoon slips by without either of you paying much attention to it. You leave the diner with coffee warming your hands and no particular destination in mind, drifting through unfamiliar streets, pausing outside record shops and second-hand bookshops simply because they happen to be there. By the time you return to the hotel, Joe is carrying an overfilled paper bag of takeaway while you're balancing two cans of Coke beneath one arm.

“I still think you ordered too much.”

“I was accounting for variables.”

“What variables?”

“Hunger.”

“We've eaten twice already.”

“You don't know what the future holds.”

“I know enough.”

“What if we get upstairs and suddenly become unbelievably hungry?”

“I don't think that's how biology works.”

“You've never met my metabolism.”

The room feels strangely familiar now. Yesterday evening it had belonged to two strangers; today it bears the quiet evidence of shared hours. Your jacket is still where you dropped it after midnight, Joe's festival wristband rests beside the room key, and two damp towels hang forgotten over the back of a chair.

Joe drops the takeaway onto the bed. “We're definitely eating like responsible adults.”

“On the duvet?”

“The table's tiny.”

“The bed isn't.”

“You're impossible.”

“I've heard that before.”

You give in because, irritatingly, he's right. The bed makes a better table than the tiny desk by the window ever could, and before long cartons are spread between you while an overenthusiastic daytime quiz show chatters away in the background. Neither of you follows it for more than a few seconds at a time. Every so often something absurd on the screen catches your attention, earns a laugh, and then you're back where you left off.

The conversation wanders with the same aimlessness as your walk through the city. Music leads to travel, travel to terrible jobs, terrible jobs to childhood ambitions, favourite books, first concerts and everything in between. Joe tells you about the time he waved back at a stranger in an airport, only to realise halfway through the conversation that the man had never intended to wave at him at all.

“You didn't.”

“I committed.”

“You doubled down?”

“I panicked.”

“So what happened?”

“He came over and asked how I'd been.”

“And?”

“I said, ‘Good, man. You?’”

You stare at him.

“I'd never seen him before in my life.”

By the time he reaches the end of the story you're laughing too hard to answer, your drink abandoned somewhere beside you as tears gather in the corners of your eyes. “You're an idiot.”

“I know.”

“You actually had a conversation with him.”

“I was too far in.”

“You were delusional.”

“I've accepted that.”

Joe is laughing too, but somewhere along the way his attention drifts away from the story and settles on you instead. You laugh without restraint, folding in on yourself until your hand lands instinctively on his forearm. Neither of you comments on it. You simply leave it there, and the conversation slips into an easier rhythm, no longer driven by the excitement of discovering someone new but by the comfort of already beginning to know them.

At some point you abandon the cartons, stretch out across the bed and let the television fill the room with background noise. The afternoon light has shifted, leaving the hotel room softer than it had been that morning.

“I've had a really nice day,” you say eventually.

Joe turns his head towards you. “Yeah?”

“I wasn't expecting to.”

He smiles. “Neither was I.”

“I thought today would be awkward. We'd have breakfast, pretend last night hadn't happened, and then politely disappear out of each other's lives.”

“That would've sucked.”

“It would've.”

You lie there in companionable silence, shoulders brushing, listening to the muffled sounds of the city beyond the window. It occurs to you, almost accidentally, that you've stopped thinking about yesterday. Joe is no longer just the stranger who caught your eye across a festival crowd. He's the man who wanted to grow up to be a dinosaur, got stranded in a tree at fourteen, believes hash browns belong to everyone, and somehow still has a fleck of glitter hidden behind one ear despite your best efforts.

You still want him. The difference is that it no longer feels like the most important thing.

“What?” you ask, catching him looking at you again.

He smiles to himself. “I think I was just having the same thought as you.”

“You don't know what I was thinking.”

“I've got a pretty good guess.”

“Oh?”

“I like you.”

The words are so matter-of-fact that they catch you completely off guard.

“I like you too.”

For a moment neither of you says anything else. Joe reaches across the duvet until his fingers find yours, his thumb absent-mindedly brushing across your knuckles.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks.

You nod. “I was hoping you'd say that.”

He leans in slowly, giving you every chance to change your mind, and you meet him halfway. The kiss is quieter than the first one, stripped of the urgency that carried you through the night before. Halfway through he bumps your nose by accident.

You pull back just enough to laugh. “So smooth.”

“I know,” he says with a grin. “I was doing really well.”

“You really weren't.”

“No?”

“Not even slightly.”

“Well,” he murmurs, closing the distance between you again, “good thing you seem to like me anyway.”

His hand tightens on your waist, and your breath catches and holds. He kisses you like he's afraid you might disappear if he stops, his fingers curling into the fabric of your dress, pulling you closer until there's nothing left between you but heat and the faint taste of takeaway on his tongue.

You pull back just enough to look at him. The sunlight has gone softer, the room dimming around you slightly, and his eyes are dark and searching. There's something raw in his expression, something unguarded that makes your chest ache.

"I really like you," he says, and it isn't a question.

"I really like you, too."

His thumb traces the line of your jaw, a slow, deliberate stroke. "I keep expecting to wake up."

"You're awake."

"I know." He shakes his head, a small, wondering movement. "That's the terrifying part."

You laugh, a soft sound that breaks the tension, and he smiles - that crooked grin that has been undoing you all day. His hand slides from your jaw to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair, and he pulls you gently toward him, his lips finding yours with a tenderness that makes your eyes sting.

This kiss was different from the ones last night. Slower. More deliberate. Like he's memorising the shape of your mouth, the way you breathe against him, the small sounds you make when his tongue traces your lower lip. His other hand finds the hem of your dress, fingers brushing the bare skin of your thigh, and you feel the goosebumps rise in their wake.

"Can I tell you something?" he murmurs against your lips.

You hum.

"I've been thinking about this all day." His hand slides higher, palm flat against your leg, warm and steady. "Not just the kissing. All of it. Waking up next to you. Making you laugh. Figuring out what your coffee order is, and what makes you angry, and the way you look when you're about to fall asleep."

You pull back, searching his face. "That's a lot to think about in one day."

"I know." He said it simply, without shame. "I told you. You make me want to get it right."

Something in your chest cracks open, a door you'd been keeping closed since the moment you woke up in his bed this morning. You reach up, your fingers brushing the hair back from his forehead, and he leans into the touch like he'd been waiting for it.

"I want to get it right too," you say.

His eyes hold yours for a long moment, something shifting in his expression - fear, maybe, or hope, or both. Then he leans in, and his lips find yours again, and this time there's nothing tentative in it.

His hand slides higher on your thigh, fingers tracing the edge of your underwear, and you feel the question in the stillness of his touch. You answer by pressing closer, your hand finding the hem of his T-shirt, fingers brushing the warm skin of his stomach.

"Is this okay?" he asks, his voice rough.

"Yes."

His fingers slip beneath the fabric, and you feel the warmth of his palm against your hip, the slight calluses on his fingertips catching on the delicate skin. He moves slowly, deliberately, like he's savouring every inch of you, and you feel the tension in your shoulders ease as you lean into him.

"You're so soft," he says, almost to himself, his thumb tracing a slow circle on your hip. "I've been thinking about this all day. The way you feel. The way you smell. The way you laugh when you're embarrassed."

"I don't get embarrassed."

"You do." He grins, that crooked grin. "It's adorable."

You shove him, laughing, and he catches your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm. The gesture is so tender, so unexpectedly sweet, that it steals the breath from your lungs.

"I want to take my time with you," he says, his voice low. "Before we both leave. Is that okay?"

You nod, not trusting your voice.

His hand slides from your hip to the small of your back, guiding you gently until you're lying back fully against the pillows, the takeaway cartons forgotten somewhere at the foot of the bed. He hovers over you, propped on his elbows, and you can see the question in his eyes - the careful, deliberate way he's checking, always checking, making sure you're still there.

"You're thinking too much again," you say.

"I know." He lowers his head, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, then another, lower. "I'm trying to stop."

His lips trace a slow path down your chest, pausing at the neckline of your dress. His fingers find the strap, sliding it down your shoulder with a slowness that makes your breath catch. He looks up at you, his eyes dark and questioning, and you nod.

The dress pools around your waist as he eases it down, and you feel the cool air against your skin, then the warmth of his gaze. He looks at you like you're something precious, something he's afraid to break, and you feel the vulnerability of it - the way he's letting you see how much this means to him.

"You're beautiful," he says, and the words are simple, unadorned, true.

You reach for him, pulling him down to you, and his lips found yours again. His hand traces the curve of your breast, thumb brushing the nipple, and you gasp against his mouth. He pulls back, watching your face, learning what makes you shiver and what makes you sigh.

"Like that?" he asks.

"Yes."

He does it again, slower, and you feel the heat pool low in your belly. His lips find your neck, your collarbone, the hollow of your throat, and you feel the soft scrape of his scruff against your skin, a pleasant friction that makes you arch into him.

His hand slides down your stomach, fingers tracing the waistband of your underwear, and you feel the question in the pause. You answer by lifting your hips, and he takes the invitation, sliding the fabric down your legs with a tenderness that makes your chest ache.

The cool air hits your skin, and then his hand is there, warm and careful, and you feel the first brush of his fingers against you. You gasp, your hand finding his shoulder, gripping the fabric of his T-shirt.

"Okay?" he asks, his voice rough.

"More than okay."

His fingers trace you slowly, learning your body, and you feel the tension build in your core. He watches your face, his eyes dark and focused, and you can see the way he's reading you - the way he knows when to slow down, when to press harder, when to pull back.

"You're so wet," he says, and there's wonder in his voice.

"You do that to me."

He smiles, a slow, private thing, and lowers his head, pressing a kiss to the inside of your thigh. You feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, and then his mouth is on you, and you can barely breathe.

He's slow, deliberate, his tongue tracing patterns that make you arch off the bed. His hands grip your thighs, holding you open, and you feel the vibration of his hum against you as you gasp his name.

"Joe-"

He looks up, his lips slick, his eyes dark. "Yeah?"

"I-" You can't finish the thought. His mouth returns to you, and you feel the coil tighten in your belly, the pressure building until you can't hold it anymore.

He doesn't stop. He keeps going, his tongue relentless, his fingers finding the spot that makes you see stars, and you come apart beneath him with a sound you don't recognise as your own.

He crawls up your body, his lips finding yours, and you taste yourself on him. His hand cups your face, his thumb tracing your cheekbone, and you can see the tenderness in his eyes, the way he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the room.

"You're incredible," he says.

"You're not so bad yourself."

He laughs, a breathless sound, and kisses you again. You feel his hardness against your thigh, straining against his jeans, and you reach for the button of his fly.

"My turn," you say.

He watches you, his eyes dark and hungry, as you work the button free, sliding the zipper down. You push his jeans down his hips, and he kicks them off, his boxers following. He's hard, straining towards you, and you wrap your hand around him, feeling the heat of his skin, the throb of his pulse.

"You don't have to-" he starts.

"I want to."

You lower your head, taking him in your mouth, and he groans, his hand finding your hair, threading through it gently. You learn him the way he'd learned you, slow and deliberate, watching his face for the signs of what he likes.

"Fuck," he breathes, his head falling back. "You're going to kill me."

You smile around him, and he makes a sound that's half-laugh, half-groan. You take him deeper, and his hand tightens in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself.

"I need-" he starts, and you pull back, looking up at him.

"What do you need?"

"I need to be inside you."

The words land somewhere between you, heavy and bright. You nod, and he positions himself between your legs, and you feel the head of him against you, a question in the pressure. You lift your hips, and he slides inside you, slow, inch by inch, his eyes never leaving yours.

The fullness of him makes you gasp, and you feel the stretch, the ache, the way your body opens for him like it had been waiting. He pauses, letting you adjust, his forehead resting against yours.

"Okay?" he asks, his voice strained.

"Yes." You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper. "Move."

He does. Slow at first, a rhythm that builds and builds, his eyes locked on yours. There's nothing urgent in it, nothing desperate. Just the two of you, moving together, learning each other in the amber light.

"Look at me," he says, and you do. "I want to see you."

His hand finds yours, lacing your fingers together, pressing them into the mattress beside your head. He moves deeper, slower, and you feel the tension build again, the coil tightening low in your belly.

"I'm close," you breathe.

"I know." He kisses you, soft and sweet, even as his hips keep moving. "I've got you."

The coil snaps, and you come apart beneath him, your body arching into his, his name falling from your lips like a prayer. He follows a moment later, his body shuddering against yours, his face buried in your neck.

You lay there, tangled together, your breath evening out. His hand traces lazy patterns on your back, and you feel the warmth of him against you, the solid weight of him, the way he's holding you like he never wants to let go.

"I could get used to this," he murmurs.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He lifts his head, looking at you with those dark hazel eyes. "I could get used to waking up next to you. Making you laugh. Watching you push your hair back when you're thinking."

You reach up, brushing the hair from his forehead. "You've been paying attention."

"I told you. I'm memorising you."

He kisses you, soft and slow, and you feel the smile against your lips.

By the time either of you speaks again, the room has fallen into early evening. The sunlight that had filled it all afternoon has slipped behind the buildings opposite, leaving only the bedside lamp and the distant pulse of festival lights beyond the curtains. The takeaway cartons remain forgotten at the foot of the bed, the television still talking to itself in the background, while Joe traces slow, absent-minded circles across your back as though neither of you has anywhere else to be.

You rest your chin against his chest. “So...”

You feel him tense almost immediately. “So?”

You smile. “Why do you look terrified?”

“I don't.”

“You absolutely do.”

He considers it. “I'm cautiously optimistic.”

“No.”

A reluctant grin appears. “...Moderately terrified.”

“There you are.”

You laugh, drawing lazy patterns across the fabric of his T-shirt before asking the question that's been sitting between you all afternoon. “Do we just... pretend this was a festival thing?”

Joe stares at you for a beat before dropping his head back against the pillow with a laugh. “Oh, thank God.”

“What?”

“I've been trying to figure out how to ask for your number without sounding completely insane.”

“You kissed me for about six hours.”

“I know.”

“You've already crossed that bridge.”

“Fair.”

“You also invited yourself to breakfast.”

“I did.”

“And lunch.”

“I know.”

“You've had plenty of opportunities.”

“I was overthinking.”

“I noticed.”

He groans, covering his face with one hand. “I even had a speech.”

“Oh?”

“It was terrible.”

“I'd still like to hear it.”

“No, trust me.”

“You've made me curious now.”

Joe sighs dramatically. “It started with, ‘So... hypothetically-’”

You immediately bury your face against his shoulder. “No.”

“‘-if you happened to maybe want to-’”

“Joe.”

“‘-keep in touch, perhaps...’”

You can't stop laughing. “That is genuinely awful.”

“I panicked.”

“I can tell.”

He smiles into your hair. “So... can I just ask properly?”

“That depends.”

“On?”

“What do I get out of it?”

“My eternal gratitude?”

You pretend to think about it. “Tempting.”

“And...” He leans over to steal another kiss. “Breakfast again.”

You smile. “Sold.”

Your phone is somewhere beneath yesterday's festival programme. Joe retrieves it before handing it back to you with an amused look. “Trusting.”

“I've seen you naked.”

“Good point.”

He types his number into your contacts and hands the phone back.

Joe

You wrinkle your nose. “That's boring.”

He watches while you rename it.

Festival Boy

“You're really committing to that?”

“You are.”

He reaches for the phone again before you can stop him. “My turn.”

A moment later he hands it back.

Pretty Girl Who Ruined My Life

You laugh. “I ruined your life?”

“You've been here less than twenty-four hours.”

“That feels a little dramatic.”

“I'm an actor.”

“You don't get to use that as an excuse.”

“I absolutely do.”

You save the contact anyway.

For a while neither of you speaks. Joe studies your face before leaning in to kiss you again, softer this time, almost absent-mindedly, as though kissing you has already become something ordinary.

“I'm gonna call you,” he says.

“I know.”

“No, seriously.”

“I know.”

“I mean it.”

You smile. “I know.”

He searches your face for another second before nodding to himself. “Good.”

Leaving proves far harder than either of you expected, largely because there are no excuses left. Your bag is packed, the room key is waiting on the dresser and the taxi has already arrived downstairs. Joe insists on carrying your suitcase anyway.

“It has wheels,” you remind him.

“I know.”

“Then why are you carrying it?”

“'Cause I want to.”

There isn't much to say after that.

The lift carries you down in quiet, and when the hotel doors slide open, the festival is already stirring back to life in the distance, another crowd gathering for a night the two of you won't share. The taxi driver loads your suitcase into the boot with the tact of someone who has seen this sort of goodbye before, then retreats to give you another minute.

You glance down at your trainers. “S-”

Joe laughs. “Please don't start another sentence with ‘So...’”

“I wasn't going to.”

“You were thinking about it.”

“…Maybe.”

Neither of you can quite find a goodbye that fits.

Joe gives up looking for one.

He cups your face in both hands and kisses you slowly, lingering for a moment after your foreheads meet. “Call me if I chicken out.”

“You're going to chicken out?”

“No.”

“You don't sound convinced.”

“I'm working on it.”

You smile. “I'll call you if I have to.”

“You better.”

The taxi driver clears his throat politely. You both laugh.

“Go,” Joe says quietly. “Before I change my mind.”

“You'd stop me?”

“I'd certainly think about it.”

You climb into the taxi, and he waits on the pavement until the car disappears from view. When you look back through the rear window, he's still standing exactly where you left him.

A week later, your phone buzzes while you're halfway through making dinner.

Unknown number.

Then you remember.

Been thinking... Turns out festivals are a terrible place to get to know someone. Wanna let me take you somewhere I can actually hear you talk?

You smile before you've even finished reading.

Thought you'd never ask

His reply arrives almost immediately.

Friday?

You laugh, already reaching for your calendar.

Perhaps body language had only ever been the beginning. The rest, you suspect, would be learned one conversation at a time.

dividers: saradika-graphics

You couldn't wrap your head around the fact that the moment had finally come.

After years of table reads and endless shoots, of friendships formed in trailers and on freezing sets at three in the morning, Stranger Things was ending. There were still interviews to do, of course, press days ahead of you, screenings and weeks before the final season actually belonged to the audience but tonight, the last premiere, marked the end of an era. 

The realization sat somewhere beneath your ribs, heavy and tender.

You didn't know how you were supposed to say goodbye to something that had given you so much.

A career.

Friends who had become a second family to you.

A life you never could have imagined when ten years ago you'd walked onto set for the first time.

And Joe.

Especially him.

Your husband, you reminded yourself. Even months after the wedding, the word still occasionally appeared in your mind with the same strange little spark of disbelief. Every once in a while, one of you would say husband or wife in conversation and the other would smile like an idiot.

You hoped that part never went away.

Your eyes lifted to your own reflection again before looking down.

While one chapter was ending, another — one far bigger than either of you or Joe had ever imagined — had already begun.

You couldn't have been happier, yet you couldn't remember the last time you'd been this nervous.

Slowly, you turned sideways, smoothing the fabric of your dress over your hips before your hands instinctively found the gentle curve of your stomach. It had become second nature over the past few weeks ever since the two of you had found out you were expecting a baby. You tilted your head, studying your reflection from every angle, trying to decide if anyone else would notice what your eyes seemed determined to find every single time.

“Honey?”

Joe's voice carried from the other side of the suite. A second later, he appeared in the doorway, tugging at the sleeve of his jacket.

"You ready? The car's already—"

He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes landing on you immediately. For a moment, he simply stared, a soft smile slowly spreading across his face.

"Wow."

Heat immediately crept into your cheeks as you tried not to smile. 

“Thanks. That was very... articulate."

"Give me a second."

He walked farther into the room, still looking at you.

"I'm processing."

"Oh, are you?"

"Yeah." He nodded. "I mean, have you seen yourself?"

You laughed under your breath.

His smile widened at the sound. Then his expression softened.

"You look beautiful."

Your shoulders relaxed despite yourself.

No matter how many times he looked at you like that, it still managed to steal your breath away every time. 

"Thank you," you murmured, smiling shyly. He came to stand behind you, his hands finding your hips almost automatically. You looked at the two of you in the mirror and for a second, some of the tension in your chest loosened. Then you turned sideways again.

"Are you sure you can't tell?"

His brows pulled together.

"Tell what?"

You looked at him through the mirror.

"Joe."

"I'm kidding."

“You’re not helping."

"I know."

You pressed your palm gently against your stomach.

“It seems bigger tonight.”

He studied your reflection.

"It's not.”

"You're legally obligated to say that."

"I don't think that's part of the vows."

"It was in the fine print."

“Damn, I should've read those."

Joe smiled, but when you didn't, the teasing faded from his face. He stepped closer, his hand slipping over yours. The warmth of his palm covered your fingers where they rested against the small swell beneath your dress, and something about the gesture made your throat tighten unexpectedly.

Four months.

It still sounded unreal when you thought it.

Four months pregnant.

Even now, there were mornings when you woke up and forgot for three or four seconds. Then Joe would roll toward you in his sleep, or you'd feel the strange new heaviness in your body, or your hand would drift instinctively downward, and the reality of it would rush back all at once.

There was a baby.

Your baby.

A tiny person somehow growing quietly in the middle of your otherwise ridiculously busy life.

The bump was beginning to show now, still subtle enough to be mistaken for a little bloating or a few extra pounds, but noticeable enough that you had started paying attention to how certain clothes fell over your stomach. Having been around Hollywood long enough, you were acutely aware of how the machine operated. The moment anyone spotted the slightest shadow of a rounded stomach, the pregnancy rumors would start flying. But you weren't ready for it to become something everyone else could talk about yet. Which was exactly why you and Joe had been so careful and had decided to keep the pregnancy private for a little while longer. Only your families and a handful of close friends knew.

“Hey.”

Joe's thumb moved once over your knuckles.

“When I look at you, I only see the most beautiful woman I've ever met."

You couldn't help smiling.

“Joe... I’m serious.”

"So am I."

He turned you gently so you were facing him rather than the mirror.

"There is nothing to worry about."

"You don't think people will notice?"

"No."

His answer came so quickly that you didn’t believe him.

"Joe."

"They won't."

He reached up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear before cupping your face. You searched his eyes, trying to figure out whether he was sincere or was simply saying whatever he thought would calm you down.

He smiled, impossibly soft.

"Everyone will be way too busy staring at how gorgeous you are to notice anything else."

A quiet laugh escaped you as you rolled your eyes.

"That's a terrible attempt at distracting me."

“But is it working?” You shook your head with a fond smile, feeling some of the tension finally leave your body.

“Maybe. Just a little."

"I'll take it."

Joe leaned forward until his forehead rested against yours. It wasn't that you wanted to hide the pregnancy. Quite the opposite. But this wasn’t the right timing to break the news to the entire world.

This week wasn't yours. Not really. It belonged to the show. To all the cast. And to the incredible job they'd done in the last ten years. 

When your relationship with Joe had gone public years earlier, the internet had exploded. The reactions from the audience had been overwhelmingly positive. Fans had spent months rooting for your characters, convinced their chemistry couldn't possibly be fake and seeing the two of you finally together off-screen had felt, to many of them, like fiction bleeding into real life.

You had been grateful for the support. You still were. People had been overwhelmingly kind about the two of you. But you also remembered sitting beside other cast members during interviews and feeling the conversation change inevitably toward you and Joe.

When did you know?

Who made the first move?

Was it difficult playing a couple before becoming one?

Did everyone on set know?

And every interview became the same conversation.

Every headline revolved around the two of you.

Every appearance without the other turned into endless speculation about your relationship.

But tonight the last thing you wanted was to cast a shadow over anyone else's hard work or hijack the entire night by dropping the news of your pregnancy.

"I just don't want tonight to turn into something else," you murmured.

Joe's hands settled more securely at your waist.

"I know."

"It's their night too."

"Our night," he corrected gently.

"You know what I mean."

"I do."

You looked down at the space between you.

"I don't want everyone spending the next week asking us about this instead of asking about our job."

“I know.” 

He leaned in and pressed a kiss near your temple.

"They won't."

You tipped your head back.

"You absolutely cannot promise that."

"No," he admitted. "But I can promise we’ll do our best to keep this hidden. And if, somehow, someone notices and starts asking questions..."

He shrugged lightly.

"We lie.”

“We lie?”

“Yeah, we lie to them. We’re actors, after all, remember?”

You laughed as he pulled you closer until his nose brushed yours. His eyes dropped briefly. His hand followed, resting carefully against your stomach. The touch was so tender that it made something inside you ache. His thumb moved slowly over the fabric.

“Our little secret.”

Your smile softened.

For the first time since getting dressed, you felt your shoulders loosen completely.

Joe held out his hand.

"Ready, Mrs. Keery?"

You nodded. “Ready.”

You slid your fingers through his and followed him out of the room, this time without looking back at the mirror. 

-

The car ride to the premiere passed in a blur.

Joe stepped out first, then turned back and offered you his hand.

The second your heels touched the carpet, the flashes began, hundreds of them going off in rapid succession as photographers called your names from behind the barricades.

“Joe! Over here!"

"Together!"

"Look this way!"

You smiled automatically, falling into the rhythm you'd known for years.

There had been a time when red carpets had terrified you. You'd never quite known what to do with your hands or where to look, and you'd always worried that someone would catch you doing something awkward. Joe had been the one to make it easier, usually by whispering something ridiculous in your ear right before a photo. His hand settled at the small of your back as you moved into position beside him, and the familiar pressure grounded you instantly.

"You good?" he murmured.

You looked at him.

“Yeah."

Joe smiled at you, his expression softening in a way that made your chest ache. He could be standing in front of hundreds of photographers, surrounded by people calling his name, and somehow still look at you as though you were the only person in the room. It was one of the things you'd fallen in love with long before either of you had ever admitted it — back when you were still pretending you were just friends.

Others cameras turned in your direction.

"Look at each other!"

"Joe, closer!”

“Can we have a kiss? Just one.” 

"One more!" a photographer called.

You turned toward the cameras again.

Joe moved closer, his arm slipping around your waist. You leaned into him instinctively. And then his hand shifted.

Lower.

It was such a familiar movement that neither of you registered it immediately.

Until his palm rested directly over the small curve of your stomach.

You froze for a heartbeat, your body going rigid against his. Joe’s eyes shot downward, a sudden flash of understanding crossing his face as he realized where his hand was resting and pulled it back to your waist. Your eyes locked in a silent panic, though you didn't even have time to wonder if anyone had seen it, or if the photographers had caught the moment — the cameras immediately started going off louder and faster than before.

Click.

Click.

Click.

You forced yourself to keep smiling and acting with nonchalance, as if nothing had happened. 

The rest of the evening went almost exactly as you'd imagined, making you forget everything for a moment, and eventually you made your way inside for the screening. By the time the final sequence ended, your vision was so blurred with tears that you could barely make out the screen. Beside you, Joe silently held out a tissue that you took it without looking. "You okay?" he whispered.

You nodded, dabbing carefully beneath your eyes, trying not to destroy whatever remained of your makeup.

"Yeah. I'm fine."

He studied you for another second, clearly not entirely convinced.

"Are you sure?"

A small laugh escaped you as you leaned closer to him.

"Yeah. It's just the hormones," you murmured, lowering your voice. “Everything feels… bigger.”

Joe reached for your hand, his expression changing instantly and the teasing falling away.

"You need anything?"

"No."

"Water?"

"I'm okay."

"Food?"

"Joe."

"I'm just asking."

You smiled and rested your head against his shoulder.

For a few moments, neither of you spoke. Around you, people were wiping their faces, hugging one another, laughing through tears.

It struck you suddenly that this was really it.

The end of an era. 

You remembered your first day.

The first scene you and Joe had filmed together, back when kissing him had been part of the job and not yet something your body knew instinctively.

The first time you'd kissed when there wasn't a camera pointed at you.

You looked down at your fingers, the wedding ring pressing lightly against his. 

Joe followed your gaze.

"What?" he whispered.

You shook your head.

"Nothing."

He gave you a look that said he knew better.

You smiled, sighing. 

"It's just weird."

"What is?"

"All of this ending. I’ll miss it.”

He was quiet. Then you felt his head rest lightly against yours.

“Yeah." 

Your free hand moved unconsciously toward your stomach.

Joe noticed.

"I don't know whether to be devastated or happy," you whispered.

"You can be both."

You looked at him.

"I think I am."

"Me too."

He lifted your joined hands and kissed your knuckles.

You stayed like that until the lights came up.

-

You woke to pale morning light and the vague sense that something was wrong. Not physically. For once, your stomach was behaving. The room was quiet, the curtains only half-closed, a thin stripe of sunlight stretching across the carpet.

You turned your head. Joe was still asleep beside you, one arm stretched across the empty space between you, his face buried halfway into the pillow.

You smiled.

He looked completely peaceful. 

Careful not to wake him, you reached for your phone on the nightstand. 

Your brows furrowed as you stared at the screen. 

There were hundreds of notifications. Texts. Missed calls. Messages. Social media alerts.

That wasn't unusual after a premiere, especially one as big as this.

You unlocked your phone and opened the first message.

Your stomach dropped.

Have you seen Twitter?

Don't panic.

And then another, this time from Maya.

You two need to wake up. NOW!

You sat up slowly and opened Twitter. The first post you saw was a photograph of you and Joe on the red carpet with his hand resting on your stomach.

You stared at it. For several seconds, you couldn't move. Then you started scrolling.

There were thousand of posts like that.

Is Joe's hand on her stomach?

Guys...

Am I the only one seeing this?

She's been wearing looser dresses lately.

Could they actually be...

You swallowed.

I'm calling it now. She and Joe are expecting.

Your heart began beating faster. You kept scrolling even though every sensible part of your brain told you to stop.

There were zoomed-in versions of the photograph, side-by-side comparisons with photos from previous public appearances and fans analyzing the way you'd stood, how the dress fitted on you, your posture. 

It was exactly what you and Joe had feared.

Everyone was talking about you and your alleged pregnancy. 

You locked your phone and dropped it onto your lap. For a moment, you simply sat there, staring at the ceiling of your room. Then you glanced at Joe. He hadn't moved an inch, still fast asleep and completely oblivious to everything.

The sharp vibration of your phone broke the silence. Another notification. This time from your publicist. Call me when you're awake. No emergency, but we need to talk about this before today's press.

Beneath there was a link, your finger hovered for a second before clicking it. 

BREAKING NEWS: JOE KEERY AND WIFE SPARK PREGNANCY RUMORS AFTER STRANGER THINGS PREMIERE

You exhaled slowly and turned toward Joe, calling his name to wake him up; when he didn't stir, you reached over and gently shook his shoulder.

"Joe."

He made a noise somewhere between a groan and a hum and buried his face deeper into the pillow.

"Five more minutes, please.”

Despite everything, a laugh almost escaped you. Normally, you would have let him sleep but this time, you couldn't.

“Joe,” you tried again. 

“Three minutes."

"No."

"One and a half."

You shook his shoulder again, harder this time. 

“Babe, you need to wake up. Now.”

The urgency in your voice finally reached him.

Joe's eyes flew open and he pushed himself upright.

“What's wrong? Are you okay?”

The question came out sharp with panic. His eyes immediately searched your face, then dropped instinctively toward your stomach.

You shook your head quickly.

"No, I'm fine.”

"Is the baby?"

"No," you said softly. "The baby is fine too."

He let out a breath, his shoulders finally dropping as some of the tension left his body.

"Okay," he murmured. "You scared the hell out of me."

"I'm sorry. It's not that."

His brows furrowed.

"Then what is it?"

You hesitated before turning the phone toward him.

"Look."

Joe squinted at the screen, still trying to wake up properly. He stared at the photograph for a few seconds before a sleepy smile appeared on his face.

"Oh, we look good."

You gave him a look.

"Joe."

"What?" He looked at you, genuinely confused. "We do."

"Look at the picture.”

"I am."

"No. Look at it. Better.”

He glanced back at the screen, his eyes moving over the photograph again. Then they stopped, his smile slowly disappearing as he finally realized what you were really showing him.

"Oh."

"That's the one."

"Yeah."

"The picture."

"Yeah."

He sat up a little straighter, taking the phone from your hand, and started scrolling, his eyes moving rapidly over the article.

"How many-"

"A lot." He kept scrolling. 

"Shit." You watched whatever remained of sleep leave his face. “I know. I woke up to four hundred notifications.”

Joe sighed. 

"I knew they got pictures. I just..." He rubbed a hand over his face. "I didn't think anyone would care."

You gave him a look.

"About a photograph of your hand on my stomach?"

"When you say it like that, I can hear how stupid it sounds."

"A little."

He looked back at the phone.

"I mean, I touch you all the time."

"I know."

"My hands are constantly somewhere."

You raised an eyebrow.

He glanced at you.

"That came out wrong."

Despite yourself, you laughed.

His mouth twitched briefly before his expression fell again. He handed the phone back to you and dragged a hand over his face.

“I’m sorry, babe. I really screwed this up."

“No, Joe, you didn’t."

"I literally put my hand directly on—“

"You weren't thinking."

"Exactly."

"Joe."

He looked at you.

"I'm not mad, okay?”

His expression softened, but the worry didn't leave his eyes. The room was quiet except for the faint hum of the air conditioning.

Joe looked at you, then slowly lowered his gaze toward your stomach. He leaned back against the headboard, rubbing both hands over his face.

“Fuck, we were supposed to tell them when we were ready."

You sighed. ”I know. And now they're going to spend the next week asking questions and trying to figure it out while the focus should be on something else.”

“I know, babe. I’m sorry.”

He looked genuinely upset now.

Not because the secret had potentially been exposed but because he knew what came with it.

The questions.

The photographs.

The speculation.

The feeling of having something deeply personal turned into public property.

You reached for his hand.

"Hey."

He looked at you.

“It’s okay. We’ll figure it out."

His fingers tightened around yours.

"What do you want to do?"

The question caught you off guard. You looked down at your intertwined hands, your thumb slowly brushing over his knuckles.

”I don't know. I just… I just don't want this week to become about us.” You picked absently at the edge of the sheet. "And I know how this works. If we confirm it now, this is what will happen.”

You swallowed.

"I don't want Maya or Natalia sitting in an interview talking about the show and getting asked whether they knew I was pregnant or every article —”

“Hey. Calm down.”

His hand tightened around yours.

"We don't have to confirm anything if that's not what you want,” he said softly.

You looked up at him.

"And if people ask?"

“We just keep talking about the show. Or… we lie.”

"Stop suggesting that. You're terrible at lying."

His eyebrows lifted.

"What? I'm an actor."

"Yes, and you're an excellent actor but a terrible liar."

“That’s not possible.”

“It is.”

You smiled despite yourself. Joe shifted closer until his knee pressed against yours beneath the blanket.

"Let them think whatever they want,” he said after a moment. “Let them speculate. This is our baby. Our life. We don't have to give anyone a piece of it just because they think they've figured something out. It's something only you and I know, and we get to decide when or not we're ready to share it.”

You felt your eyes sting. Annoyed, you blinked rapidly.

“You’ll make me cry.”

His mouth curved.

"I can be mean if that helps."

"Please."

He thought for a second.

"Your feet are freezing me."

You stared at him.

"That's the best you can do?"

"I love you. It's limiting."

You laughed under your breath, but the tears arrived anyway.

Joe's expression softened immediately. He leaned closer, brushing his thumb gently beneath your eye. You closed them for a second, lingering in the warmth of his touch.

"Come here."

You moved into him without hesitation, letting him pull you against his chest and his arms wrapping around you carefully. You tucked your face into the space beneath his chin. The familiar smell of him, his skin and the faint trace of whatever cologne had survived the night before, surrounded you. 

He kissed the top of your head. You could hear his heartbeat beneath your cheek, steady and familiar. You let yourself sink into the warmth of him, allowing some of the tension that had been sitting in your chest since you woke up to finally ease.

Later, there would be interviews, cameras, questions and rumors waiting for you downstairs.

But right now, none of it mattered.

For now, it was just you, Joe, and the little secret growing quietly between you.

Before it became a headline, a question or something for the rest of the world to speculate about, it was yours.

As always, let me know what you thought! If you enjoyed it, I’d love to hear from you in the comments or see you reblogging the fic.

The way the denim clung to his thighs and ass had you quietly squeezing your thighs together. It seemed they had shrunk ever so slightly since his last wear, gripping onto his skin and pulled taut at his crotch. The tightness combined with the lighting, combined with the fact that your boyfriend was hung had you ogling at the subtle imprint of his dick against the medium wash jeans. 

It was fucking criminal how good he looked, and it was almost concerning how badly you wanted to pull him from his conversation and shove him in some closet and take him in your mouth. In fact, you had been imagining finally getting your mouth around him for a while. But Steve, ever doting and caring Steve, had always insisted on taking care of you and your needs first. And by the time the two of you were done, neither had any energy left for you to suck his dick let alone even give him a quick handjob. It was sweet, how much he cared about your satisfaction, but holy shit were you eager to give him some of that same kind of love. 

When Steve had returned to your side, eyeing you up and down, taking in the way you were biting eagerly at your bottom lip and the way your thighs were clenched tightly together, he knew it was time to get the hell out of the bar. The minute you were seated in the car his hand went to your thigh, subtly trying to slide it higher. You carefully kept his touch lower, a quiet hint that things tonight would be different.

When you had officially arrived back at his house, you had all but essentially climbed over the console and followed him out of the car. There was no need to waste time having him open up your door. He laughed and helped you out, before his laugh was quickly swallowed by your lips on his. He placed his hands on your hips, holding you against him.

You could feel the tight tent in his pants, and all you could think about was how uncomfortable his dick was trapped inside those tight little jeans. You wrapped a finger around his belt loop and all but pulled him inside behind you. You tugged on his loop, causing him to stumble slightly after you. You turned then, grabbing his shoulders roughly as his body tumbled into yours. He smiled, a surprised laugh filling the air. 

“Easy now, baby.”

Your fingers splayed out on the warm skin of his stomach, just barely under his shirt, drawing a hiss at your cold touch. “Stevie, please. I wanna take care of you tonight.”

Steve stared down at your needy eyes. His cheeks burned slightly, “I dunno- that’s not really our routine-”

“Fuck the routine, I want you to feel good.” Your nails dug into his skin carefully. 

“I always feel good, though.” He carefully took your hands in his.

You gently slipped your hands from his, pushing him against the wall with a soft thud. “I want tonight to be better than good, Steve. I want tonight to open your eyes to a whole new realm of possibilities. Baby, when was the last time someone took care of you first?”

Heat crept up the back of his neck, “I dunno- like early high school?”

“Jesus, that was over 5 years ago, Steve. I promise it’s better than you remember. I really want to do this for you, baby.” You carefully smoothed over his shirt, lips brushing over the skin of his neck.

His fingers dug into your hips and he licked his lips carefully. Steve wasn't used to this: someone actually wanting to care for his needs. He swallowed hard before giving you a short nod. “Okay- yeah I would like that.”

You smiled immediately, pressing sweet kisses to his collar bone, your hands sliding down his chest. “M’gonna take such good care of you baby. Treat you right, show you just how much I love you.” Steve felt his skin light on fire as your hot breath fanned across his skin and your hands traveled lower. His breath caught violently the moment your palm met the brutally tight tent in his pants. You moan against his neck as you palmed his imprint. “Couldn’t take my eyes off you the whole night, Stevie. You looked so good, all I wanted to do was drop to my knees for you.”

Steve let out a strangled noise, his senses already on fire just from your words. His chest heaved as your fingers expertly pulled his belt from the loops of his pants, letting it clatter on the floor. “Fuck- oh god, you-” his voice was strained, the sound catching in his throat. 

You pulled your face away from his neck, eyes lit up like stars. You quickly unzipped his pants, carefully tugging them down. You followed, pressing a sweet kiss to his lips before sinking onto your knees in front of him. The sight of his length straining against his cotton underwear had your mouth watering. Carefully, you pressed a long kiss to the outline, pulling a loud groan from Steve.

He watched you, eyes unable to truly conceive the fact that you actually looked eager. “Y-ou sure you wanna do this?”

You nodded, licking your lips, “I can take it.” Your hands carefully gripped his thighs as you cast a look up at him.

The sight had Steve’s knees already weak: you on your knees in front of him, giving him that sweet look mixed with love and desire. He watched as your fingers slowly curled under the band of his boxers and tugged them down to meet with his jeans. 

His dick sprang up, carefully slapping his stomach. You stood tall on your knees, eyeing his length and girth as your hands slowly moved up his thighs. He let out a shutter as your hand gently wrapped around his base, his dick twitching ever so slightly. You bit your lip before carefully licking away the drops of pre-cum that had leaked from his tip. 

Steve leaned heavy against the wall, his hands coming up to his head “Oh-fuck- that feels-”

You smiled and licked a long strip down the underside of his length before looking up at him with hooded eyes, “feels good?”

He gave you a strangled sound of agreement, his head tipping back against the wall. You carefully spit into your hand, giving him a few slow strokes before the main course. You reveled in the way his thigh muscles twitched under your free hand. Your thumb carefully rubbed over his tip in slow circles before letting your hand slide back down his entire length. “Steve, baby?”

He squeezed his eyes shut, breath already a mess. “Mhm?”

“I want you to watch me. Watch me show you what you have to look forward to from now on.”

He carefully opened his eyes, peering down at you. You smiled more, pressing a wet kiss to his thigh before letting your tongue twist against his twitch tip. Steve let out a guttural moan, hips bucking closer to your face. You carefully took him into your mouth, hollowing out your cheeks as you slid down his cock. Your tongue slid against his veins, saliva coating his cock as you took him deeper. 

Steve could see stars littering his periphery, the only clear thing he could focus on was you and your mouth. His fingers threaded through his hair, his back pushing hard against the wall. He groaned low as you pulled back, your wet lips sliding against his dick. “Faster- fuck, faster”

You listened, moaning carefully around him before picking up your pace. Your mouth sank lower, your tongue running circles and swirls against him. His hips eagerly bucked into your mouth, sending himself deeper into your warm mouth. Your hands squeezed at his thighs before coming up to aid your mouth. Your hollowed cheeks slid back and forth, your hands eagerly stroking the length that you couldn’t quite reach without gagging. The sound of his groans and whimpers fueled your mouth. Your tongue swirled around his aching tip every time you moved back up his cock, pulling sweet needy whimpers from his throat. 

Steve felt like his mind was melting, the waves of pleasure washing over him were knocking him further and further under the surface. He swallowed hard, his mouth dry from hanging open. His entire body felt like there were bolts of lightning running through his veins. His mind was foggy, the only thing breaking through was you and that perfect mouth. Steve tried many times to form sentences, but they only fell out as incoherent whimpers and moans.

Steve pulled at his own hair, chest heaving. You pulled away with a careful pop, licking your lips as you looked up at him. “Fist my hair, Stevie. Go on, fuck my mouth the way I know you want to. I told you, I can take it.” 

The small encouragement was all Steve needed, his hand came down to the back of your head. He pushed your head forward, his dick slamming to the back of your throat with so much force you had to steady yourself against his thighs. His hips met your mouth, stuttering forward and back eagerly. You met him with the same eagerness, cheeks hollowing out and taking him as deep as you couch.

You felt his cock twitch violently against your mouth the harder you sucked, the faster he bucked into you. “Shit baby- m’gonna come-” His hips faltered as thick ropes of cum shot into your mouth. He slouched against the wall, a droplet of sweat falling down the side of his head as he watched you sit back on your heels. You thumbed off a drop of cum from the corner of your mouth before licking it clean and swallowing the rest. “Fucking Christ baby-” Steve felt himself fall deeper in love. You pressed one last kiss to his tip before pulling up his boxers and his jeans.

Steve watched you with wide eyes as you rebuckled his belt for him, eyes shining with visible hearts. You smiled at his lovesick stare, cupping his cheek. “So? What did ya think?”

“I think… I’ve been missing out on a lot.” He let out a breathless laugh

You laughed with him, fixing the wrinkle in his shirt. “Told ya.”

“You just rocked my world, baby.” He dipped his head, catching your lips. He could still vaguely taste himself on your lips, the taste making his brain fry in real time. 

You pulled away with a smirk. “Come on, loverboy. I wanna shower and get your sweet ass in the bed.” You playfully slapped his ass.

He smirked and lifted you up with ease, tossing you over his shoulder. You let it happen, smiling and letting your arm rest against his back and prop up your head. “Oh you’re not getting away so easily, missy. We’re in for a long night.” 

You smiled happily, as he carried you to your shared bedroom. “Hey, no complaints here.”

He got to see how the other staff treated you when you weren’t on call. How they’d call you ‘lazy’ and ‘useless’ when the day before that, you’d saved a patient that was in a life-threatening condition. How they all planned to go out for drinks but would never invite you to go along with them. Steve tried to bring it up to you, but you shrugged it off and told him it didn’t bother you, but it clearly did, and he saw how much it did.

If you had the choice to not be at an award ceremony of all places right now, you’d be curled up under your sheets, smiling to yourself because you didn’t need to walk from table to table to greet everyone there and try talk about something interesting in your not so interesting life, but you didn’t have the choice. Of course you didn’t.

You’ve been stood at the drinks stand since you arrived at the award ceremony five minutes ago, cup to your lips, tilting your head back, but the liquid doesn’t meet your lips once. You planned on driving yourself home, which meant no drinking. You were trying to keep yourself looking busy whilst you were waiting for Robin and Nancy to arrive. More specifically, Steve.

They were the only reason you were attending tonight. When they heard that there was an award ceremony that you and Steve had to attend, they already invited themselves to go along with you, because they weren’t passing up an opportunity to celebrate with their friends and get free drinks.

They also wanted to get a good look at you and Steve together, even though you’ve told them countless times there’s nothing going on between you and him, but the way you look at him and talk about him apparently says otherwise.

The doors open into the hall, and you stick your head out to get a better look at who’s walked in, hoping that it’s someone you know so that you’re not stood at the drinks table for hours looking like you’re only here to get hammered. Robin and Nancy swerve their way around the circular tables that you’re still not sure which one you’re supposed to be sat at. You’ll be shocked if you got a table reserved for you at all.

“Is Steve not with you?” Robin asks as she stops in front of you, raising her eyebrows like she’s expecting for you to know where Steve is all the time just because she has this slight, well, maybe huge feeling that he’s into you.

Of course that had to be the first thing she asked. It feels like they’re trying to wave it in your face now. It seems like a huge shock to them when they see that you’re not with Steve. You and Steve are friends, and it’s not like you have some sort of attachment to him.

“No.” You sigh, flattening a crease in your dress, glancing around the room. “I mean, I haven’t seen him yet.”

Robin snorts with that stupid smile. “Very bold of you to assume that you’d even need to look around to find him.”

You shoot her a glare. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Nancy steps beside you with a plastic cup in her hand, a sweet smile on her face. “She means he’ll come up to you as soon as he gets here. You won’t need to look for him. You know what he’s like when it comes to you.” She says it like it should be obvious to you, sipping her drink.

“You’re both making this sound romantic.” You huff, resting your hands on the table behind you.

“Because it is!” Robin laughs, bracing her hands on either side of your arms. “He clearly likes you. It makes me want to pull my eyes out and wash them in soap every time I see him basically drooling over you like a puppy. It’s disgusting, don’t get me wrong, but it’s also really obvious.”

You huff, letting your head flop down to Robin’s shoulder and slumping forward. She brings her hand to your back, gently rubbing up and down. By the time Steve gets here, you’ll already have sunk into the floor after hearing everything that has left Robin’s mouth, and she hasn’t even been in here for five minutes yet. God knows what she’s going to be saying in an hour.

She pauses her hand on your back, and your heart almost stops thinking that Steve has arrived. He’s making you react in ways you don’t want to discuss with anyone, and he isn’t here yet. “You do the exact same thing when you see him, by the way.” She grins.

You lift your head from her shoulder and squint at her.

“You know, he’s probably just as nervous as you.” Nancy assures you, looking over her cup at you. She’s too good at noticing how you feel, it’s terrifying. “It’s a pretty big event and he definitely knows he’s going to be walking in to see you in a gorgeous dress tonight. He’s not going to want to make a complete mess of himself around everyone in here, though he probably will. You look so gorgeous.”

Her comment has your cheeks heating up. “I’m not nervous.” You mumble.

Robin glances at Nancy, then back to you. “You totally are. You’re practically shaking like a leaf.”

You fold your arms over your chest, trying to ignore the goosebumps prickling at your skin, looking down at the floor. “Shut up.” You murmur, completely defeated.

Your face is burning up, and you know that if you even slightly lift your head up, Robin will make some comment about you being so hopelessly in love with him that you might as well shout it out to the world. It only makes it worse knowing that if they can see how obvious you are, then Steve probably can too. The thought of Steve knowing how you feel about him makes your stomach turn. He couldn’t possibly know.

“This is your night tonight.” Nancy says quietly, brushing her thumb over your arm with a small smile. “We’ll be cheering you on. So will he.”

“We don’t even know if he likes me like that. You’re probably digging into it too much. It’s not like he’s said anything.” You whisper, shaking your head in disbelief.

Nancy squeezes your arm. “Trust me, he really does. He doesn’t need to say anything at all for us to know.”

“Speak of the devil.” Robin says, rolling her eyes as Steve comes up behind you, resting his hand on your lower back.

You almost pass out on the spot feeling his big hand splayed out on your back. He does this every time he greets you and it makes your throat go dry every time without fail. Everything in you hopes that he didn’t overhear what they were saying to you seconds ago. Then you’d really want to crawl into a hole and never come back out.

“Devil?” Steve asks Robin. “Where?”

“You have zero self-awareness.” Robin laughs.

You’re too aware of the feeling of Steve’s hand on you that you can’t focus on anything but his hand. So much for trying to stay subtle about how you felt in front of everyone. Nobody speaks until Nancy does that breath in that people do when it gets awkwardly silent and she flashes you and Steve a smile.

“Well, me and Robin are going to head over to our seats now.” Nancy says, turning her attention to you more than to Steve. “We’ll be cheering you on from the side the whole time.”

You flash her a sweet smile, taking a few steps towards her and cringe at already feeling the loss of Steve’s hand on you. She wraps her arms around you for a few seconds before pulling back with a knowing smile. You don’t need to be smart to know what she’s smiling about, and the nerves already start to creep in as you realise that you’re about to be left alone with Steve.

Robin grins at you as she slowly walks backwards towards their seats, saluting to you. “You’ve got this.” She says reassuringly as Nancy steps beside her, walking over to their seats which are all the way across the hall from where you and Steve have to sit. You don’t know whether to be relieved or anxious that they’re going to be nowhere near you for the next few hours. You’re not going to have anyone to tease you about Steve, but you also have no one to lean onto if you stumble on your words in front of him.

Now it’s just you and Steve alone together, you can feel the heat spreading across your cheeks. You haven’t been able to look into his eyes since he got here, because the one thing you don’t want to do is to blankly stare at him because you’ve forgotten every word you’ve learnt up until now.

He steps in front of you with that stupid grin that you’d love to wipe off his face, possibly with a kiss. You’re trying so hard not to get too ahead of yourself. “The dress looks amazing on you.” He swallows but replaces his nerves with a wavering smile. God, he needs to shut up before you embarrass yourself in front of him.

You glance down at your golden, glittery dress that goes down to your feet and then look into his eyes, which was your first biggest mistake of the night. You’re going to end up like one of your patients if he doesn’t stop looking at you like that by the end of the night. Like he’s about to pounce on you. He’s wearing a gorgeous black suit, which is very different from the uniform that he wears on shift.

Your eyes flick down to his tie, which is coincidentally, gold. You had no part in coordinating your outfits, and it’s probably starting to look like you’re a couple. Not that you’d exactly be mad at that, but now you’re starting to wonder if he’s doing this on purpose.

“Thank you, Steve.” You say with an awkward smile, feeling your stomach doing flips at his comment. “I like your suit.” You say, suddenly panicking as you try not to let the conversation die down too soon because of your loss for words. “It’s very different.”

“It’s nice not being in uniform for once.” He grins. “I’m glad I have an excuse to wear this suit. I haven’t worn this in years.” He says as he brushes his hand along his sleeve.

You cover your laugh by shoving your lip between your teeth and that only causes Steve to smile at you more. He’s such an idiot. “I was going to say, it looks a bit small on you.” You manage out, slightly breathlessly.

“It’s not often I go out to events. It’s not something that I’ve done in a while anyway.” He laughs. “If you weren’t here tonight, I wouldn’t have turned up either. Then this suit would be left in my wardrobe to get dusty for a few more years.”

Hearing him say that he wouldn’t have turned up if you didn’t turn up made this feel more special than you thought it was. Then you started to think that maybe he only said that to make you feel better about being here. He knew exactly how you felt about this event without having to ask you.

Either way, his comment made your breath catch in your throat and the tips of your ears burn. He’s always too sweet with his words. You have no idea how you’re still upright with him in front of you saying things like that. He could be saying these things to anyone, and he chose to say them to you.

“Should we go find our table?” You ask quietly.

He nods, gently closing his shaky hand around your wrist as if to check that you don’t mind and then guiding you towards the circular tables. There are place cards set out on each table with tiered sweet treat stands in the centre of the tables. He stops at a table that has your names on place cards next to each other.

You felt a moment of relief seeing that you weren’t placed on a table with people that don’t know you, or worse, people that completely despise you. Steve pulls out the seat for you with a grin, resting his other hand behind his back. If Robin was beside you, she’d probably be fake gagging and telling you to go somewhere more private.

You sit down on the chair, and he takes a seat beside you, resting his elbow on the table. The other people that have been placed on your table are already deep in conversation, probably three drinks into their conversation too, so Steve’s full attention is on you.

“Y’know.” He starts, making you jump. “That dress you’re wearing makes you look like a real winner.”

Those words should make you feel good about yourself but knowing how you’re perceived by the staff you work with, it doesn’t. “I’m not a winner of any sorts, Steve.” You say disappointedly.

He tilts his head to the side and places his hand on your knee, giving it a squeeze. “Hey, where’s this coming from? You deserve to be sat here more than, well, most people in this room.” He says gently, almost concerned for you.

You shake your head, and you can see the second that your words devastate him. His lips are parted like he’s lost for words and his eyes have gone wide and you can feel your mouth starting to go dry. “That’s not what our team thinks of me. They’ll never see me as a winner.”

“I don’t care what they think about you.” He whisper shouts, leaning closer to you. “Neither should you. I mean, God, you have more achievements than all of them combined. They can’t say that about themselves, but you can.” He says, pointing to your chest. “That’s really special.”

You sigh, dropping your eyes to his hand that’s still on your knee. “It’s hard to think like you when I’m constantly around them.”

“I know, but I want you to know that whatever they think, or feel, has nothing to do with you. They’ll never be as successful as you, and they know that.” He says seriously, not taking his eyes away from you once. “You’re the most talented woman I know. Don’t let any man, sorry, I mean, boy, make you feel any other way about that.”

At this point, you stay silent, because there really is nothing else you can say to deny him. Nancy and Robin would say the same thing to you, and you wouldn’t disagree with them either. The staff on your team have been commenting on you since your first day, and it hasn’t got any better. There was nothing you could do, but deep down, you knew that a lot of it came from their idea that they were tougher than you, that they could do better than you.

Your heart is pounding in your chest, and it feels like if you try to speak, nothing but air will slip out, so you settle on staying quiet for the time being. He notices your hesitation to say anything, so he keeps talking. “If anyone deserves an award tonight, it’s you. You deserve all the credit for the things that you have done to help people in these past few years, and that includes you helping the team, even when they’ve made you feel like shit.” He whispers, gently taking your hands into his. “One day, you’ll see how much of an impact you have on people. I want to see you talking good about yourself in the future, because that’s what you deserve.”

Before you can think of what to say back to him, a voice blares through the speakers in the hall, and you and Steve turn your heads to look over. A lady is stood at the front, welcoming everyone in whilst the helpers behind her set up the walkway onto the stage and the certificates that’ll be handed out as everyone walks up to collect theirs.

Steve’s hand is still on yours, gently brushing his thumb over your palm, and you’re staying completely still so that he doesn’t suddenly remove his hand. You’re already sweating under his touch, and it isn’t hot in this hall at all. You can’t tell if you’re nervous about the ceremony or if Steve being so close to you is making your body react in ways that can’t be normal.

The lady starts to read the names of people that have been awarded a certificate from the sheet of paper in front of her, and the text on the paper must be tiny if she’s got her face shoved into the sheet. She starts to read out people’s names one by one, sharing a weak smile before going on to read the next person. There are multiple medical teams here, so you’re expecting her to lose her voice by the end of the presentations.

Chairs scrape against the floorboards as people get up to walk to the stage, picking up their certificates and waving to their friends and family. As the lady keeps reading through the list, you realise that they’ve got everyone’s full legal names down. You can imagine the number of people cringing as they stand up to have their full legal name read out instead of their nicknames.

You glance at your hand that’s covered by Steve’s, and then you side glance at him. “Full legal names, huh?” You grin.

He rolls his eyes, but a grin twitches at his mouth despite his annoyance. “I don’t think a single person in here actually goes by their full name.”

“You’re probably right, Steven.” You laugh, nudging his side with your elbow.

He shoots a glare at you, but he completely fails at trying to act annoyed. You’re convinced that you could never really annoy him after all your attempts to do so.

"It’s an extra letter at the end of your name, Steve. I promise you it won’t be half as bad as some of the names that are being read out right now.” You say with a sweet smile and he squeezes your hand.

“Yeah.” He laughs. “I bet Elizabeth is having a great day after having her name read out.”

You grin at his comment, turning your attention back to the stage. It takes a while for people to read out their personal speeches and for the lady to finally get to your team’s names. You watch as one by one, your team members stand up, high fiving each other before they walk up onto the stage, proudly showing off their certificates as if they put any effort into getting them. The most effort they’ve put in during these few years has been them walking up to the stage, nothing more.

“Steven Harrington.” She calls out and Steve quickly turns to look at you, bringing both your hands into his to squeeze for a moment before he slips out his seat, walking across the walkway to receive his certificate.

His eyes land on you as soon as he steps up on the stage and you hope that he can’t see how flushed your face is. She keeps reading through the list and it comes to a stop after a few more names after Steve’s. The hall erupts with cheers and whistles, but you stay sat down, watching as the lady steps off the stage so that people can get a better look at the award winners.

The realisation sinks deep into you once you realise that you were never put down to get an award, and it had everything to do with your team. Your face drops and you watch as Steve frantically looks around the stage, looking around to see if there was more names to be read out. Your stomach drops seeing him look so devastated. He should be celebrating right now. You should be celebrating together.

Some people start to walk off the stage, sprinting over to their friends and family. Some stay on the stage, badly torn pieces of paper shakily moving in their hands as they line up to read speeches out. Steve glances behind him to see if anyone’s going up first, and when he sees that there isn’t a coordinated queue, he steps up to the microphone before anyone else can, resting his hand on top of it.

“Hey.” He clears his throat, awkwardly glancing around the room. “I didn’t plan a speech at all, so don’t expect anything poetic.”

You’ve never seen Steve look this nervous besides him being nervous around you. There are hundreds of people in this room, and whether their attention is on him or not, his attention is on you. Robin’s definitely going to be teasing him about this once he finishes up with whatever he’s going to say, you can already vision her dramatically playing out everything he says.

He grips onto his certificate, leaning back towards the microphone. “There’s someone that should be up here on the stage with a certificate right now, but she’s not.” He starts sadly, pausing as he thinks about how he should say his next words. “She’s the one person that I think deserves to be awarded for everything she’s done. There hasn’t been one day that she hasn’t put all her effort into helping others, even when it’s been hard for her.”

You’re finding it hard to believe that he’s up on stage, talking so sweetly about you in front of people who don’t care about your successes. You bite down on the inside of your cheek nervously, getting more flustered as he continues to speak about you.

“She never gets enough credit for what she does, and a certificate wouldn’t be enough to credit her at all. She’ll go about her day normally as if she didn’t just save someone that was in a life-threatening condition. She comes up with these amazing ideas on the spot whilst she’s in a stressful situation, that not even I would’ve thought of.” He says, shaking his head in disbelief. “She’s also really good with her words. So, whilst she’s helping a patient, she’s comforting that patient’s friend or family member at the same time. How she can multitask like that, I have no idea.” He laughs.

No one else on your team would’ve done this for you, and that’s what’s so special about Steve. He’s never been afraid to talk to people about you. He’s always been there to take care of you after a long day. He always notices when you’re acting off. Now he’s up on the stage, letting everyone know how deserving you are of credit because he loves you so, so much.

It’s only taken you a few years of friendship when you met him through Robin, sobbing in his arms after a long day at work, him listening to your deep conversations on the ride back home in the ambulance after a shift ended and him standing up to talk about you in front of hundreds of people for you to realise that you couldn’t love anyone more than him.

“She shouldn’t be sat at her table right now. She should’ve been the first name that was read out on the list.” He says, looking directly at you. “Nobody deserves an award more than she does.”

He steps back from the microphone, and it takes a few seconds for people to start to stand up, clapping and cheering. Your body blooms with heat as you watch him make his way off the stage, swerving around the tables and breathlessly standing in front of you nervously.

“I’m so sorry that you didn’t get an award.” He manages out, mindlessly throwing his certificate down on the table and placing his hands either side of your face, rubbing his thumbs along your cheeks.

You laugh breathlessly, quickly shaking your head, placing your hands on top of where his are rested on your face. “Hey, Steve, Steve, slow down. It’s okay. I really don’t care.”

“No, that wasn’t okay.” He shakes his head. “You’ve put so much effort in every day, just for you to not be awarded with anything. You deserved to walk up on that stage and be proud of everything that you’ve done. I don’t know who’s in charge of nominating people, but they’re in for serious shit when I…”

“Steve!” You laugh, cutting him off and slipping your hands into his hair, trying to get him to stay still. “Seriously, I don’t care that I didn’t get anything. I don’t put effort in to receive an award. I put effort in because I care about people and I want to help them. This is the least of my worries right now.”

He stays silent as he tries to catch his breath, and you take that as your sign to say more. “What you did for me was all that was important to me. Your speech was more important than a certificate.” You say quietly. “You told people about things I’ve done that nobody would’ve known until today. That’s the sweetest thing anyone has done for me, Steve.”

“That’s what you deserve. You deserved everyone that stood up and cheered for you.” He smiles, leaning down to rest his forehead on yours, dropping his hands to your hips. He’s never been this close to you before, and you can feel your heart in your throat. “I like this.” He says quietly. “I also hope you realise how much I love you because fuck, I think I’m dying over here. Shit… I really hope I’m saying this at the right time.”

“I think I already worked that out a while ago, but it’s a perfect time to tell me.” You whisper with a small laugh, brushing your hands through his hair. “I love you, Steve.”

He grins, pulling you closer to him by your hips. His hand slips up to cup your cheek, carefully lifting your face up so that you’re looking directly at him. He brushes his lips against yours in a gentle kiss and your nerves start to settle for the first time tonight. For the first time tonight, you didn’t feel like you were out of place in a place that wasn’t so accepting of you.

Once he pulled back, you felt the loss of his soft lips on yours and craved more of it. There was no way you were getting to the end of the night with only one kiss from him. His face is hot to the touch, and he was struggling to take a breath in, and you couldn’t blame him. Your mind was moving at a million miles per hour right now.

He slips his hand into yours, and without a thought, leads you through a crowd of people that are drunkenly dancing under a mirrorball. “We’re not staying in here a second longer.” He mutters under his breath, pushing past all the people that were tightly squished together in one space.

Once he manages to get you both outside, he lets out a relieved breath and leads you to his car that’s parked in the front parking lot. He stops in front of his car with a cocky grin, leaning back in and pressing his lips to yours in a frantic kiss. His hands are all over your body, not sure where to place them. Your laughs are muffled against his lips, and he takes his chance to slip his tongue past your parted lips.

“Pretty.” He murmurs against your lips breathlessly.

You slowly pull away, your cheeks flushed. “I see what Robin means.” You laugh.

He raises his eyebrows at you, tilting his head to the side. “Nothing great comes out of Robin’s mouth. Seriously. I don’t think I want to know what she said.”

You grin. “For the best.”

He rests his hands on your hips again, pulling you close to his chest and pressing his lips to the top of your head. His shoulders drop as he holds you close to him. “Think we should move this to my room.”

Thank you for reading!! Liking and reblogging is very much appreciated!! 💕 So sorry it took me a while to get to this. My cramps ended up taking me out 😫 I'm actually sick at how cute this is

You stood there in nothing but a baby blue matching lace set - courtesy of Gators money. A little rhinestoned ‘G’ hanging on the edge of the thong where a cutout sits to frame the letter, right above your ass.

Two knocks. 

Courtesy for your guest.

“Knock knock, girlies. When I get up there, I better see y’all ready to walk out - cause I'm late, meaning were late!”

Victoria begins closing her door, peeking her head out and silently whispering “Go distract him!”

The door fully shuts and you hear him plop off his church boots, he’s looking for food - you just know it.

You scurry down the steps and sure enough, he is pulling one of the fresh cinnamon rolls you made off of the plate. He hears you before he sees you, his back turned around. Gator takes a big bite, filling his mouth full. He smiles as he is turning because your cooking is his kryptonite and he has been missing it for days, its like he’s tasting Heaven.

And then he sees you.

Suddenly, Heaven was you.

Gator immediately breaks out into a coughing fit at the sight of your tanned skin against the baby blue - you looked like you were glowing.

“Hi, Angel”, he coughed out when he finally swallowed his bite. 

“Hi”, you said sheepishly.

He looked good. Too good. Hair loose, white button up with three buttons undone - letting his chest hair free, tight blue jeans. He was mouthwatering.

He sat the cinnamon roll right down on the counter top, and hooked his arm behind your waist - pulling you into him. Your eyes couldn’t help but drop down to the counter, becoming sticky and crumbs sprinkling the surface. And like clockwork, he noticed you, “I’ll clean it up, Mama. Don't worry.”

You tilted your head back up to look at him, and he bit his lip grinning down to you.

“God - you are just gorgeous, you know that?”

He tilted down and captured your lips. He tasted like the pastry, mixed with strawberry from his vape. Your tongue slid across his and he let out a pathetic little moan against you, hands slipping over your ass. 

“Happy birthday, sugar.” He mumbled against your lips, both of you smiling into another kiss.

His fingers pressed into the soft flesh of your ass, massaging your body and coping a feel in the process. One of his hands rounded to the front of your body, never losing contact with your skin. He ran his fingers up your waist and grabbed ahold of your breast, squeezing harshly - just how you liked it. The plush skin spilled over the edge of the fabric and his mouth nipped away at the softness, your head tilting back in pleasure. The Sunday morning ambiance was filled with soft moans, just loud enough for the other to hear. Intimate. His hand that was still planted on your ass switched to your other cheek, to hold you stable as you fell into the mercy of his hands. 

The sound of heels clanking down the wooden steps broke you from the spell, pushing him softly off of you - but not before she saw the whole thing.

“Oh, God. You sure did distract him, didn’t-cha!”

“Good morning, Victoria…”

“Shut up, you said I had rabies in front of the whole bar.”

“Well last year, you told her to shave my hair off in my sleep!”

“Well yer fuckin’ slick back is kinda ugly, hon! Leave that to us pretty girls - you’re not a pretty girl!”

Okay, he looked genuinely hurt.

“Well - I ain't wore it like that in a minute. Been wearin’ it like this lately-”

“Exactly! NOW you look like a pretty girl!”

“Okay, okay. I’m gonna finish getting re-”, you realized no one was listening to you even a little bit so you quickly rushed up the stairs. You could still hear their muffled bickering. Like fucking siblings. So mature.

You quickly pull out a long baby blue dress that hugs all the right places, and you adorn yourself with dainty gold jewelry - accentuating your glow. Its the kind of glow that happens when its your birthday. When you're loved. When you're chosen. Being chosen is a good look on you. It causes your cheeks to wear a natural blush, your eyes glimmer a little more, and your smile - god, your smile. That is the effect of being chosen. Especially being chosen by Gator Tillman.

Your fingers work quickly to decorate your hair with small braids to frame in your face, accenting it with the curls that invite others to stare. You were like a dream. A small bun pulled to the top of your head, letting the rest of the curls cascade over your frame and down your back. There was no competition for bags, you grab ahold of the green faux alligator skin Prada bag and slip on a pair of brown kitten heels. 

As loud as an elephant, you come clambering down the stairs. Your two closest humans were still going at it - Victoria yelling at Gator for being messy, and Gator wiping up his mess. 

“I said that I’d clean it! I didn’t expect her to clean my mess!”

“Good! Don’t be a little bitch boy!”

“Ain't no bitches here besides you, Vicky.”

“Fuck you - You know I hate that nickname!”

“DO YOU THINK I LIKE LITTLE BITCH BOY?!”

“I DIDN’T CALL YOU THAT! I SAID DON’T BE A LITTLE BITCH BOY!”

“HEY - CUT IT OUT!” , you scream from the bottom of the steps.

Gators mouth dropped, eyes wide as the summer moon, “Oh - God, you look-”

“You look so beautiful!”, Victoria ran over and grabbed you.

“We’re late, right? I don’t wanna cause a scene-”

“Babygirl, the whole towns gonna light up in flames with you looking like that - talkin’ bouta scene.”

“OOOO if she does, maybe I can see Wade in action!”

“WADE? No. No no - I didn’t hear that right, right?”

“Oh yeah, his tongue was so far down my throat that it might count as him eatin’ my ass!”

“Gonna fuckin - shit, gonna puke-”, Gator hastily runs out the front door, you yell at Victoria to hurry up - and more important, to shut up.

The drive to church was quick. Gator sped. The last thing the three of you needed was to make a grand entrance by walking all the way to the front of the church while getting stared down by the whole fucking town, right in the middle of Pastor Thomas’s opening prayer.

Jessica and Maude sat with some of their homeschool co-op friends, leaving more space for the three of you. Victoria planted herself confidently next to Wade, you next to Victoria, and of course, Gator next to you.

And all things considered, you think you guys did a pretty good job considering that the choir was still making their way up the risers and the piano hadn’t started. That, and you only got one dirty look from Roy. 

Your thighs were squeezed shut. With both men manspreading, Victoria and you were basically sitting on top of one another. But you didn’t mind being squeezed tight against Gator - hell, if you could sit in his lap and it be acceptable, you would. 

Pastor Thomas begins the sermon, something about David and Goliath.

But you were too busy noticing the threads on Gators jeans stretched tight against his meaty thighs, looking perfect enough to ride on. You had to blink yourself back into the moment, catching Gators eye in the process - he knew. Somehow, in his fucked up head, he knew what you wanted. Maybe it was because he wanted it too. Wanted the precious blue lace panties to be rubbing against his rough denim, soaking the light wash into something dark and sticky. Fuck - he didn’t just want it, he needed it. And you knew that too.

And maybe thats why your fingers reach the inside of his thigh.

Slowly swirling the sharp edges of your nails in dainty circles in his inner thigh, causing his eyelids to lull. Your thumb began to apply pressure to the top of his thigh, and Gator started to stir. You could visibly see him getting harder and harder, his breath shattering under your gentle  , not-so innocent, touches. 

Now neither of you noticed, but you caught the attention of Pastor Thomas. He cleared his throat, stumbling on his words slightly - clearly effected by the soft porn he was watching from the stage. He hid behind the podium. Gator brushed your hand away, giving you a ‘not now… but… definitely later’ look. But that didn’t stop you. Your hand returned back to its spot, wearing into his restraint.

Gator began adjusting in his seat, causing the pew to creak loudly in the quiet auditorium. Out of your peripheral, you could see people looking. But not just any people, Roy Tillman was looking.

You pulled your hand back sharply, causing Gator to winced softly as your nail scratched across his extremely obvious boner. The soft sound from Gator landed on the ears of Victoria and Wade, both who leaned into one another - trying not to laugh. A cough from Roy straightened all of your backs, but the man withheld a smile all at once. It was good seeing Gator and Wade smiling again. Hadn’t seen that sight since they were just boys. It settled something deep inside of Roy, so he turned his attention back to the sermon.

Gator began to nudge your knee with his thigh, eyes desperate for another touch. You looked at him to see if he was sure, and all he could do was slightly buck up his hips - needy boy.

Your hand returned back to his thigh, trailing up to his disparity. When your hand skimmed his boner, Gator let off the smallest whimper. Victoria and Wade instantly began snickering next to you, but then a sharp inhale broke the laughter.

Victoria’s fingers slipped onto Wade’s inner thigh.

The rest of service was quiet. Long, brutal, and quiet.

The piano rings out a sharp, bright song - issuing everyone along their ways. Lunch plans, quick gossip, and polite hellos are in order.

Your body gets slammed on either side, pressure just up to your ribcage - the girls.

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY SISSY!”

“HAPPY BIRTHDAY! WAIT ’TIL YA SEE WHAT WE GOT YA!”

Jessica squeezes you tightly, your fingers clutching her thick braid. Maude grabs your hand, and then quickly extends the other to her big brother - who grabs it like second nature. 

“Y'all better not spoil a damn thing -”

“DADDY! Gator’s cussin’ again!”, Maude yelled.

Gator snatched his hand back from the snitch with a scowl, but quickly conceded when she bumped out her bottom lip. She let go of your hand to hold his with both, ensuring that he cant let go this time.

“Happy birthday, Darlin’!”, Roy pulled you in for a hug, kissing the top of your head in the process. 

Karen quickly grabbed you right after, squeezing you tight - just like Jessica. “Happy birthday, Hon! Were excited your spending the day with us!”

You glance back over to Gator with a smile.

A family. 

A real fuckin’ family. And you were a part of it.

Chosen family.

“Hi, I’m Victoria! Glad to formally meet you instead of at a crime scene - church might be more neutral ground.”, you hear your best friend introduce herself with a strong handshake to Roy and immediately pulls Karen in for a hug. Cute.

“Not so sure about that, considering you got into a bar fight last night.”

“Well - yeah, you might be right about that.”

Roy let out a snort before he was ushered away by Pastor Thomas - you could only pray that he wasn’t letting Roy in on the shenanigans during the sermon.

“So - wanna ride with me? Were all going back to the ranch, so-”, Wade mumbles Victorias way.

“Oh, hell yeah!”, she replies eagerly, turning a good amount of heads with her chosen language in the small church lobby.

You feel a tug at your waist, and suddenly, Gator is pulling you out to the parking lot.

“If she’s goin’ with Wade - we have a few minutes-”

You don’t even wait for him to finish his sentence. This time, you’re dragging him behind you towards his truck before piling in. He turns the engine over quickly, peeling out of the parking lot before the old ladies can take their time crossing in front of it.

“Gator - you nearly hit Greta and Lynnette!”

“They came to church to meet God! They get in front of me, might make em meet Him quicker.”

You bit your lip, trying not to laugh at the dark joke. He sped down the road, jolting onto the small dirt road that he tends to hide out on during speed traps. Ironic… speeding to your speed trap spot.

But he had one thing on his mind, blue. Baby blue. Baby blue lace. Baby blue lace darkened with your arousal. Baby blue lace darkened with your arousal with his mouth on you. 

He slammed the truck into park, and threw himself at you - you had to awkwardly take off your seatbelt in between your bodies, and of course, he didn’t care to wear one. 

“Fuckin’ playing with me in church - fuckin’ temptress. You’re supposed to be my little Angel, huh? What happened there, baby?”, he growled against your mouth, his hands wandering.

Your breath shortened as his mouth found your neck, tongue running hot stripes up your skin. Mechanically, your body arched up into him. One of his hands makes its way to grab at your tit, just like this morning. His hand massaging your soft flesh, putty in his hands. His other hand yanked up your dress to lay on your thighs.

He disconnected his mouth from your neck and pulled the small straps of your dress down, yanking your bra strap with them, before pulling the top down completely. His mouth attached itself to one of your nipples, hardening quick as he pulled it between his teeth. Suddenly, his other hand swooped in between your legs and found that hot, wet spot you had kept hidden.

“Mmmmm, Fuuu-”, he stuffed his mouth with your other nipple as he started circling your clit. 

“Shit, Gator! Oh god, baby!”, you squealed out in response.

“Feels good, mama?”

“Fuck yes. Don’t stop - holy shit, fuck!”

“You’re already close, aren’t ya, birthday girl?”

“Oh my g- fuck fuck fuck Gator!”

Just as your climax starts to spill, the sound of a familiar truck rolls up - your eyes flying open, pulling your from your high.

“Fuckin-”, Gator yanks your dress back up and also back down. 

Thats when you lock eyes with none other than Wade Tillman.

With Victoria.

Sittin’ right on top of him.

With her dress half off.

“FUCK!” You hear him yell from across the road.

Gator whips around, covering you completely. He squints out the window and quickly looks away when he sees Victoria fumbling with the straps of her dress, tumbling off of Wade.

“OH YOU’VE GOTTA BE FUCKIN’ LYIN’”, Gators hand smashed against the steering wheel, making the horn blare. “Fuck. FUCK. FUCK YOU.”

Victoria and you lock eyes, and pull your head back tight to your chest - triple chins on full display trying to stop the laughter… but one more scream from Gator causes you both to lose it. Laughter fills both of the cabs as yours gets muffled by the sound of Gator turning the truck back on. Jaw so tight it could cut a bitch, eyes locked on anything thats in front of him. 

Fuck, you couldn’t help but giggle.

“Think that’s funny?”, he squeals his tires back onto the main road, ripping dust everywhere, “I’ll show you something funny, sweet girl - don’t you worry.”

“Oh, Gator bug - lighten up, it was funny!”

“I ain't tryna sound like I'm only with ya for sex, cause fuck knows I proved I'm not - but damn, I want ya bad baby. I’m not jokin’ round.”

“I want you too, Gate.”

“Prove it.”

You smiled, what does he expect you to do?

“How?”

“Let me come home.”

There it was. That softness. The softness reserved for you. His jaw softened, his knuckles started gaining pigment again after gripping the steering wheel for dear life, his pupils blown.

“I miss you. I miss geico. Hell, I miss Luna. I miss our bed. I miss waking up next to you. I miss your cookin’ and just… shit, just bein’ near ya. Like, it’s killin’ me.”

“I’ve missed you too, baby.”

He glanced over at you before making the turn into the ranch, a smile trying not to come out.

“So - does that mean…”

“Come home.”

A smirk. A smirk that grew into a smile. A smile that grew into a grown man turning pink with joy - you loved his shade of pink.

The truck came to a stop right outside of Gator’s barn. Karens Tahoe was already back from church, and Roys old Chevy was still clicking from the engine cooling. You could hear gravel wearing behind you, Wade and Victoria.

But there was another truck, little ford ranger - actually, it almost looks like…

“SID!”

You barrel out of the truck in excitement as you see your friend wearing the girliest dress you’d ever seen her in. Like full on poofy sleeves, checkered, and she was wearing dainty white gloves.

“What in the world is all this about, huh?”, You laugh as you give her a hug.

“Well aren’t us girls havin’ a-”

“MMMM- nope!” Gator cut her off, motioning you to head into his apartment. He whistles out to Wade, who sends Victoria on her way over to you as well.

“Whats going on?”, Victoria asks.

“I have no clue…”

“Got a surprise for you upstairs.”, Gator whispered with the most shit-eating grin you’d ever seen… oh, he had a whole plan.

The two of you set off upstairs, opening up the apartment to see two fluffy dresses laid out on the bed. Pear necklaces, dainty gloves, and one little tiara - perfect for the birthday girl.

“What-”

“Oh my god!”, Victoria squealed, looking out the side window.

You rush over with her to see Karen finishing up final touches with the twins… they were all wearing poofy dresses too. The long wooden table that sits outside was adorned with different delicate fabrics, laces and satins. Bright pinks, yellows, and baby blues. Tall green candles lined the middle, and in between each candle was a decorative tiered tray filled with small finger sandwiches and teacakes. The string of lights that hangs above the table was wrapped with vines and flowers swooped down.

“IS THAT A PICNIC!”

“NO NO NO, VICTORIA - THIS IS A TEA PARTY!”

You both start screaming as you rush over to the bed, stripping yourselves of your Sunday best and leaving them in heaps on the floor. You drape the layered pink dress over your body, lace grazing your skin. Victoria helps button you in, and then turns for you to return the favor for her green fluffy gown. If there was one thing you loved about growing up, it was always the fashion shows. The try on hauls. The parading around in ridiculous attire for the hell of it - and of course, Gator knows that.

The two of you finished up with your looks, touching up your makeup in the bathroom with the little cosmetic bag that Gator keeps stocked for you. 

“I can’t believe he planned you a tea party.”

“I can’t believe he loves me that much…”

Victoria stopped mid lipliner swipe and grabbed ahold of your hand.

“You deserve him. I know I get on him, but thats my job. I gotta play your mama, daddy, big brother, and sister combined. I love him for you. He’s good for you.”

A soft smile is shared between the two of you, and she gives you one last squeeze before finishing her makeup touchups. She sat the tiara on your head, following it with a curtsy.

You both make your way down the stairs where you find the boys waiting on you, Sid was there too… right next to…

“Charlie!”

You ran up and gave him a quick hug, causing the group to laugh at your dress bouncing around. Twirling away from Charlie, you look up at Gator - he stood there shaking his head softy, eyes locked on you, smile wide.

“You look like a princess.” He whispered to you, a bit shy in front of everyone.

“I FEEL like a princess!”

“Well, we all know you are one”, Sid jabbed a finger into your side.

Gator cleared his throat and straightened his back, offering you his arm. Chin held high, eyes glancing down at you, his smirk filled with amusement. He liked this too.

You slip your arm into his as he guides you through the yard, the train from your dress flowing behind you. Turning back, you see Charlie follow suit and then soon after, Wade joins in. The men led you towards the back, where the table was all set up. Karen’s eyes lit up when she saw you, her dress yellow gingham. The girls were running around chasing each other, blue and purple pastels flying in the wind. 

“Well don’t you look like a fairytale!”, she exclaimed, causing the girls to pause their running and look at you.

“Wow.”, you hear them whisper in unison.

“I think they love you.”, Gator whispers into your ear.

“The feeling is mutual.”, you whisper back, causing him to smile.

Roy steps out onto the back deck, smile growing wide, “Well now, ain't that a sight! Next time you look this pretty, gonna be walkin’ down the aisle.”

“Oh God.”, Gator grumbles.

You squeeze his arm, signaling for him not to get mouthy. See… Gator hasn’t learned yet, but somehow you have. Roy is always gonna cross a line, and its better if you keep your mouth shut - otherwise, it becomes a bigger deal.

“Thank you, Sheriff”, music begins swelling in the background, familiar instrumentals. You recognize it almost immediately, its the bridgerton soundtrack.

“Hey - this is-”, you start, but Gator cuts you off.

“That smutty time piece show you watch, yeah - figured it set a mood for ya."

The group begins to wander around, men dropping off ladies at the table. You lean into Gator.

“And what kinda mood are you tryna set for me, hmm? Smutty time piece?”

“Nah, nothing like that - come on-”, he flushed, “I don’t know what kinda music goes well with this shit, but I figured it wasn’t yer Britney Spears or Nelly girl kinda music - but hey, I think theres some Taylor swift in there somewhere.”

“Right… no, seriously all of this is great, baby. I don’t know why you’re so good to me-”

He pulled you to his chest and looked down at you, with those big hazel doe-eyes. The softest smile crept up on his face.

“Because I love ya, mama. Best thing in my whole life. Gonna give you the life you deserve, promise you that.”

Your heart twisted at his words, and suddenly, you could picture what Roy saw. 

The backyard, decorated with flowers and candles - linens, silks, lace. Sunlight breezing through your hair, and shining into his eyes - greens and gold ablaze. His hands holding yours, fingertips skimming over the gold wrapped delicately around the base of your finger. The whole thing. Marriage and kids. A life. A life with Gator.

Tears welled up in your eyes before you could stop it, you’d never wanted something so bad. You blink them away, and Gator lowers himself to check on you - you cant hear what he’s saying, you’re too busy just… imagining that life. How badly you want it.

“Baby? Whadd-I do?”

“No, nothing - promise, happy tears”, you brush his cheek with the back of your hand in adoration, “I just love you.”

Gator rarely smiled with his teeth, but he let it slide this time for you. 

“Yeah? Well, I love you too, babygirl”, he stepped back with his hands intertwined in yours, “Now c’mon, enjoy your little tea party with the girlies, huh?”

He led you over to the table and you took your seat at the head of the table, in Roys chair. On either side of you, the twins - getting as close to you as possible. Victoria and Karen sat next to one another after Jessica, and Sid on the other side of Maude. Gator wrapped his bicep around your body, resting on your chest. He took a deep breath in of your vanilla cashmere perfume and kissed your cheek, mumbling one little crude joke about your tits from this angle.

Ahh… there he is.

You huff out a disbelieving laugh as he pulled back, sliding his fingers against your cleavage.

“Alight, ladies. Have fun… and if you need us boys… don’t. We’re goin’ shootin’.”

The four of you women all erupted in laughter at Gator, because of course.

“So, this whole thing we to keep us from botherin’ ya for the afternoon - that right?”

“Awwww… baby, don’t say it like that!” He sent you a wink, and turned - jogging back up to the guys who loaded into Roys truck to take them to one of the little ranges they had set up in a different part of the property - where they wouldn’t bother you girls too bad.

Karen said grace, and prayed over you and a fruitful year - blessing your relationship with Gator and how it brought you into their lives. Victoria may have teared up.

Fine china dishes scattered around, all unique and colorful. 

“I finally went down to that store you always go to, that Lucky Mondays place - but I ran straight to the dishes. Thats where I got these! Gator said you’d want me to thrift it all.”

“He is right! This is gorgeous, you couldn’t get this quality and beauty from a Walmart.”

“Now… that is true. I actually found a little wicker basket for when I bring in all the veggies from the garden too. Thrifting ain’t too bad!”

“We should go sometime, Karen!”

“Oh - well… I’m not gonna be shoppin’ in the used clothes. Never know who wore ‘em or how gross they were.”

Victoria intersects, “Do you own a washer?”

Karen looks up at her, you clear your throat.

“Of course she does, V! Just some people have different opinions, and thats good right? Boring world if we all thought the same.”, you attempt to say, trying to shove the pastry you’re eating all into one cheek.

“I think unicorns are real!”, Maude screams out, making you all laugh.

Sid clears her throat, sipping on some tea, “They are! I saw one on the mountain during a patrol last year!”

Karen shot her a look, she didn’t like lying to the girls - but as you laughed, she lightened up. The girls eyes got big and they looked at you.

“Can we go braid Dolly’s hair after the tea party?”

“Well, I don’t see why not!”, you reply, causing them to squeal in excitement.

The party continues as warm violin and pianos echo into the yard, laughter tied together with the ambiance. A perfect day.

A few hours go by and the rumbling of the old Chevy rings through the conversations, the men are back. The sun is casting directly onto the group as they make their way back over to the long wooden table. He looked golden. Sun-kissed and tanned - his biceps prominent in the muscle tank that wrapped his chest. He must have changed or something, because shit… if he looked like that walkin’ away? You might’ve found a reason to excuse yourself from your own party.

But whats stopping you now?

“Hey girlies”, he called out, eyes locked on you with a smile.

He motioned for you to come over to him, and you allow yourself to escape.

“Alright, I'm stealing the birthday girl-”

“NO! We gotta go braid Dolly’s mane!”

“YEAH, YOU PROMISED!”

You look back to him with a pitiful pout, “I did say I would…”

Gator rolled his eyes, “Alright… well - that gives me time to shower… for… ya know…”, he starts tugging you near him by your waist.

“Son”, Roy said sternly, nodding to the girls who watched Gators every move like he was their hero.

Gator cleared his throat and let go of you, nodding you off to the girls who were already running up to grab your hands. Victoria and Sid offered to help Karen clean up, and the three of them stayed behind as the girls dragged you off into the horse barn.

Roy followed behind with a gathered bouquet of flowers that was previously scattered across the table. 

“Dolly girl! We’re here!”

“Gonna make you look as pretty as us!”

The twins ran to her stall as he began poking her head through the top of the half door. Her beautiful white spotted coat looked nearly iridescent in the sunlight peaking through the boards. Mane with peppered colors, begging to be decorated. You begin to brush, gentle and slow - cooing at the majestic creature. She chuffed in agreement to your compliments, a confident girl. Your fingers began working the mane into different sized braids, reminding the girls how to do different styles. They stood on upside down buckets, just barely able to reach - but enough to still enjoy it. Once the braids were worked in, Roy came up behind the three of you and handed you each flowers.

“Oh, daddy these are perfect!”

“Wow, Sheriff - you’ve come a long way from rolling your eyes about making her so girly. Almost proud of you.”

He huffed out a laugh, but the smile was there.

“Well, you’ve certainly been able to give her more attention than me these days… in fact, its got me thinking…”

You turn your head to watch him, he looks around and then settles his eyes back on you.

“You want her? Could keep her here ’til Gator can get ya a barn up.”

The breath escaped your lungs, eyes wide.

“You wanna give me Dolly?”, your head shakes in disbelief.

His smile cracked wider, “I mean - she loves you, you love her. Plus, it would give me an excuse to drop the girls off with you and Gator every once in a while. Ya need to start babysittin’ them - be good practice for ya both.”

Ignoring the second part of that comment, you reply, “I’ll take her.”

You wrap your arm around his waist and squeeze him with a hug, he reciprocates in a bit of surprise. Your daddy never really had money, and shit, your mama sure didn’t - this felt like you were one of those rich girls asking their daddy for a pony. You got one. A father figure, and a horse.

The flowers twisted into her mane, bright oranges, pinks, and reds - she looked like the sunset that was making its way down the North Dakota skyline. And she was yours.

As you and the girls made your way out of the barn, Roy staying behind, you saw Sid walking towards you with a smile.

“Hey - were gonna head out, birthday girl!”, Sid came and gave you a hug, Charlie right behind her. 

“Bye guys! Thank you for being here!”

Lightning bugs started filling the air, causing the girls to run off and chase them. You take a quick look around and notice Victoria is nowhere to be found. Wade. You just know it. A soft laugh leaves your body before you head to the entrance of Gator’s apartment, praying that you’re not about to walk in on your best friend and your boyfriends cousin. 

But what you hear is completely different, you hear Gator - seemingly talking to himself.

You knock on the door, ever so slightly, before cracking it open to see him standing there about to open the door.

“Hi baby!”

“Hi - whatcha doing?”

“I - uh - well…”, he rubbed the back of his neck.

He had been practicing on how to give you your present. So fucking cute.

He was shirtless and freshly showered. He smelled like the eucalyptus body wash you bought for him. Water lingered in his chest hair, reflecting brightly in the sun. 

“I - so… you - do you want your present?”

Your eyes lit up and you swear you might’ve accidentally jumped a little in excitement. 

“Yes! Yes! You’ve hyped it up enough!”

“Okay, okay. Go sit down.”

You shoot him a confused look, but obey. The pink dress fans out across the mattress as you kick off your heels and kneel in the center of the bed.

“Close yer eyes.”

“Oh god. Gator this IS a dick joke!”

“NO, IT IS NOT - STOP IT!”, He said with a laugh.

You close your eyes, smiling ear to ear.

“Put out yer hands, baby.”

You do.

A box gets sat in your hands. Approximately 5 pounds. Square. It’s definitely shoes.

“Can I open them?”

“Yeah, baby - go ‘head.”

You open your eyes to see pink wrapping paper, wrapped… just pitifully - but that’s not the point. A big red bow was stuck in the middle of it. Gator smiling from ear to ear, arms pressing into the mattress still standing at the end of the bed.

Like any ration person would, you rip open the paper - and you reveal that box.

“GATOR.”

“Surprise.”

“NO WAY. YOU DIDN’T.”

Heart? In your ass. 

You held in your hands none other than a Christian Louboutin box. You never spent big money on shoes. Bags? Different story. Shoes, however, you always felt guilty for spending too much on them. Someone could step on them and scuff them, you could trip and ruin the leather, you could step in gum or something - millions of misfortunes could happen to shoes.

But he knew that. He knew you. And thats why he paid for them.

You lift the top of the box and expose the cutest pair of open toed kitten heels, leopard print, with the classic red bottoms. 

“This isn’t real.”

“It better be fucking real, gotten shipped from fuckin’ Paris!”

“No, no - no”, You laughed, “They’re real. I’m just like… this is real. I’m just in shock that you really did this for me.”

Fingers tracing down the stiletto, “Holy shit. Gator, they’re perfect.” 

You reached up, tossing the box to the side and pulled his face to yours. His lips met yours with a soft passion, the kind you have when you just know.

He deepened the kiss as he crawls onto the bed, pushing you backwards - your arm brushing around the bed blind trying to get the box out of his way so he doesn’t crush it. Gator moans into your mouth as you finally fall back flat against the mattress, his mouth following your every move. 

You just now noticed that he had put on the Etta James album, playing it over his cheap speaker - it’s one of your favorite vinyls at home. He hummed the tune into your mouth - low and deep, tongue forcing the music into your own mouth as he treasured you. As his mouth moved against your own, there were times where his mouth would miss you just ever so slightly - and when he did, his humming would reverberate into the room sounding like devotion. His hands travelled over your body tender, but intentional. Needy, but aware of how badly he wanted to savor this moment.

And you were just as generous with your love and attention, your nails running gently over his arms - curving into his biceps and forearms. You’d slide them back up and rake your fingernails into the nape of his neck, twirling his growing curls around your fingers. Teasing him just a bit, you’d tug just a bit… just enough to make him make that face. Oh, that face. His eyebrows scrunch together and his eyes squeeze tight, pairing it perfectly with the moan of your name upon his lips.

Love.

There was no other word for it.

Gator began to travel his hands across the length of your body, touching anything and everything in reach. He wanted all of you. Every square inch of your body deserved his attention in his eyes. His breathing was getting heavier, breath pushed out onto your skin like steam he had to let off or else he’d combust. 

He was already trembling with need, “Baby-”

“I know. I’m here.”, you whisper into his hair, as he travels down your body.

His hands reach the hem of the dress and he takes the fabric into his fist, his eyes glancing up at you for the go ahead - and you reply with a soft whine, desperate for him in every way.

Gator opens the bottom of your dress and crawls inside, laying the fabric back on top of him. Your eyes widen at the loss of sight of him, unsure of what he is about to - ohhhh god!

His tongue takes a wide swipe right over your soaked panties, sucking the fabric in to suck on your gathered juices. Some form of his name spilled out of your mouth, and though you couldn’t see - his eyes rolled into the back of his head because of it. His hips grind down onto the mattress trying to get any ounce of relief for himself. You feel his hands trail over your thighs, massaging them deeply as they grab ahold of your panties and slide them down your legs - Gator working them off your feet, kissing your soles and nipping at your toes in the process. Returning to your soaking pussy right after. One finger slides in as his tongue keeps flicking onto your clit, moving it in and out painfully slow. 

“Baby, I need more…”, you whine to your boyfriend.

“Mmm gettin’ there, princess - trust me.”

His tongue slid in you deep, finger still moving in and out. Gator began to move at the opposite rhythm of his finger, never letting you have a breather. Your thighs start to twitch and one hand holds one thigh, and he pushes a knee into the other - wide open for him. 

You can feel him smiling against your skin, a huff of a laugh as his hair tickles the sides of your thighs. 

“Mine… all mine-” he began kitten licking at your clit, softly, “My girl, my love, my future wife - I swear to God.”

“Gator-”, you whimpered at his words.

“I remember when I first saw you…”, he nipped at your thigh, “Felt like a fuckin’ idiot - grinned the whole way to the gas station after meeting you. Sat in my car for an hour trying to figure out how to see ya again.”

You let out a small laugh which twisted into another moan as he entered in a second finger, pumping it slow and deep.

“Felt like a creep driving through town lookin’ for your damn car”, he pulled himself out of the skirt of your dress, bunching the fabric up on your stomach, “Swear I couldn’t believe my eyes when I found ya, right down the road from the ranch.”

“Gator, baby - keep goin’… multitask, baby.”

“Sorry”, he started circling your clit with his thumb, toying with your juices with a smile on his face. It almost made you embarrassed, you were so exposed for him.

He looked up at you with those eyes, big and vulnerable, “All those years, and I been yours since that night.”

All the slow, deep, loving touches - words like syrup on your skin… it was all becoming so much. You could feel yourself getting close, and of course - he could tell.

“My perfect Angel. My everything, swear to everything holy.”

Your back arched, one of your feet came up and planted itself on he shoulder blade - pushing him down to finish what he started. He went willingly.

His mouth reattached itself to your cunt, sucking harshly in comparison to the sweetness from earlier. Your orgasm was abrupt, heavy - you came with a scream of his name. Your thighs shook, legs twitching, toes curled. As you writhed around, Gator kept his tongue on you - anywhere he had access to. It was becoming too much - so with the same foot, you hooked it onto his forehead and shoved him back.

Oh.

Oh, he loved that.

The guard dogs teeth came out, biting down on your heel as you gasped sharply. His tongue laid flat on your sole, licking upwards towards your toes. He grabbed your foot, massaging it - causing you to groan. He was almost too good at massages. But then he grabbed the other foot, adding it to the mix. His hands worked at any tension you had, no stress on his girls feet on his watch. He dropped one foot to lay on his chest as he reach for the box.

The Louboutins.

He took one out, slipping it on your foot with ease - you gasped at the perfection of the shoes. He did such a perfect job.

He then switched to the other foot, adding the heel on this one as well.

You bent a knee, twirling your ankle around to see just how amazing they were on. His hand wrapped around your ankle mid-air, sprinkling kisses all over your foot and the shoe combined. But then he stuck out his tongue.

Gator swiped his tongue down the stilettoed heel, all the way down to the sole. Your mouth hung wide in lust.

He dropped your feet, plopping them onto the mattress. Gator reached up and pulled your hips, sliding you down the bed toward the end.

He turned around and sat on the edge, and patted his lap.

“C’mere.”

You crawled over to him, and he twisted you sharply - laying you across his lap, belly down.

He tugged the back of your dress up to pool on your back, exposing your bare ass to him.

“What ar-”

“Shhhh. Every birthday girl needs her birthday spankin’s right, honey?”

“Gator! Don’t you d-”

*SMACK*

You inhaled a sharp breath, your eyebrows scrunched together - did he really just do that?

“One.”

“GATOR!”

His hand softly brushed your ass where he just touched you, before coming down again.

*SMACK*

“SHIT!”

“Two.”

You began to wiggle, trying to get out of his lap.

“We got a long way until 27, baby. Y’ain’t goin’ nowhere anytime soon - settle back down fer me.”

*SMACK*

“Three.”

“Fuck - Gator, P-Please”

*SMACK*

“Four.”

*SMACK*

“Five”

“Oh my god - Gator baby!”

“See, I knew you’d come around, sugar.”

*SMACK*

“Six.”

“Oh, fuck yes, baby-”

“Ohhhh, good fucking girl-”

*SMACK*

“Seven.”

“Yeah, come on baby - hurt me”

Gator’s eyebrows came together in confusion. He knew you were liking this… but… how much were you liking it exactly?

*SMACK*

“Eight. Ya like that, babygirl?”

“I l-love it.”

*SMACK*

“Nine.”

“Gator?”

“Hm?”

“Do-.. Nevermind-”

“No, no… baby, tell me”, he pulled your chin to look at him, “You need me to stop?”

“Fuck no. Please don’t.”

“Then tell me-”

“Can - Do you think you can… smack me other places too?”

Gator pulled back slightly, confusion and fear filled his face - he never wanted to hurt you, he didn’t care if you wanted it or not. That wasn’t him.

“Like… where?”

“My-… my pussy? Maybe my tits?”

Oh… oh yeah he could work with that.

He flipped you onto your back, and pulled your top down - exposing your tits, ripping the fabric in the movement. If you weren’t so horny, you might’ve been mad.

With one swift motion, his hand came down on your tit-

*SMACK*

“Ten”

Immediately causing your nipple to perk up. You hissed at the sensitivity, but it was a primal feeling… and you needed it again. He dropped his hand down to your other breast, giving it attention as well.

*SMACK*

“Eleven.”

Twelve and thirteen. Fourteen and fifteen.

Your tits had goose bumps raised where his hand had been.

He threw your dress back up, letting it rest on your belly - not giving you any time to prepare as his hand landed sharply on your pussy.

*SMACK*

“Sixteen”

A ripping cry rang from your throat, your back arched on his thighs. You clutched ahold on his belt for support.

“Fuck, baby - so fuckin’ good for me.”

*SMACK*

“Seventeen. Ten more, princess - gimme ten more.”

Without even meaning to, you had began subconsciously undoing his belt. Your fingers fumbled with the button on his jeans. He popped it open for you, it was almost about to pop open anyways - his cock was pressed up against it.

Giving him no time to protest, you pushed him backwards - crawling onto his lap, your pussy sliding right over his cock. Your juices soaked him, making him tremble just at the simple touch. 

“F-Fuck baby, so fuckin’ wet”

Your core rocked against his cock, your clit dragging right over the tip - causing your body to shudder. 

“C’mon, mama, use me - just like that.”

You got a few more hips rolls in before Gator began bucking upwards towards you, a panting mess below you. With precision, you lifted your body and leaned forward - capturing his lips to yours. He let out a hot breath into you, shaking with need. But you knew that. So while your tongue ran over his, entailing his mind with the taste of you - you shifted, sitting right down and slotting his thick cock inside of you.

Gator groaned shakily into your mouth, one hand finding your face and the other your waist. With all of the build up, a whole week of miscommunications, desperate and needy for one another? You were soaked to the point where it took nearly no effort to fit him in, even with it only ever being your third time. Him, made for you - and you for him.

You rocked your hips against him, breaking the kiss and lifting your torso back up - dress pooling around the sides of his hips. With your tits exposed, Gator leaned up and captured your nipple in his mouth with a load moan of what sounded like a painful exertion of your name. The hand on your waist made its way to your ass - gripping it tightly as he helped you bounce down on his throbbing cock. 

*SMACK*

“Eighteen”

“FUCK GATOR!”

His mouth popped off your tit, and he raised his hand - coming down on the spit soaked skin.

*SMACK*

“Nineteen.”

You were already close to your second orgasm, it was building faster than the first - and he could tell. Gators hand slipped down, coming over your clit and rubbing it fast as you fucked yourself down onto him.

“Fuckfuckfuckfuck GATOR!”

*SMACK*

“Twenty.”

His hand had popped onto your pussy, reaching back - he repeated the action.

*SMACK*

“Twenty-one”

Your orgasm crashed over you, going limp on top of him. Legs trembling, and tears began to fall from your eyes - you were entirely fucked out. He bucked up into you, causing a throaty moan to rip out from your mouth and a smile slipped onto your face. 

And then you laughed.

Tears flowing down your cheeks, dripping onto your tits - and you were laughing.

So… he didn’t stop.

Gator pulled himself up to you, chest to chest and wrapped a heavy arm around you. To him, you were weightless. With all the training he does? This was a breeze. Gator picked up your body with one arm and fucked himself into you as if you were his own personal toy. You head tilted back in ecstasy and the laughing continued - squealing even. His hand came down on your ass.

*SMACK*

“Twenty-two.”

“C’MON - FUCK ME GATOR!”

“Fuck baby!”

*SMACK*

“FUCK - Twenty-t… three!”

He was entirely too close, and he still had four more.

“Fuck - baby, I- shit, I’m about to cum- I cant-”, he groaned into your neck, biting softly, still fucking up into you.

“Finish them.” 

He pulled himself out of your neck, tilting your neck back up to look into your eyes - he saw your pupils blown, and you were fucking drooling. 

“If you don’t finish them, I will.”, you grab his jaw, “On you.”

Gator leaned in, chasing after your lips, which you denied.

“Plea-”

*SMACK*

Your hand went across his face before he could finish, softly - you didn’t want to hurt him.

“Twenty-four.”, you whispered.

“Harder.”

You obeyed.

*SMACK*

“Twenty-five.”

He began shaking, hips faltering - he was close. You began to slam yourself back down onto him, reenergized from the rest he gave you when he took over.

Your hand stung, but it didn’t stop you.

*SMACK*

“Twenty-six.”

“Fuck- Fuckfuckfuck baby - Fuck I’m cu-”

*SMACK*

“SHIT, YES MAMA!”

He came with a loud cry, a tear slipping down his own cheek - he squeezed your body tight against him to the point it started hurting your tits. He was desperate to be as close to you as possible as he came down from his high.

“Twenty-seven.” You whisper against the shell of his ear.

He falls backwards onto the mattress, pulling you with him.

You laid like that for a minute or two, but the sweat of your bodies and the dress that stuck to your skin was becoming overwhelming. With ease, after he ripped the seam - you pull the dress up and off of you. Gator was still inside of you, softening slightly - wincing at your every move. 

“I’m gonna get up, Gator bug.”

He nods quickly, face already contorted in pain of leaving your warmth.

As you pulled off, warm liquid flushed down your legs and onto his waist. You grab the already ruined dress and use it to wipe the two of you off - just like he showed you. Gator was still shaking, ever so slightly.

“You okay, baby?”

He sat still for a moment, then cleared his throat.

“Why the fuck did I like that so much… A guy hits me on the job and I lay him out. You hit me and ya had me fuckin’ beggin’ for more… shit - for more and harder too.”

A laugh escapes you without you meaning for it to. Your big bad deputy… oh, no - gotta get used to that… your big bad Chief, completely fucked out for you.

“It’s cause you love me.”, you teased, standing to your feet.

“You don’t have a fuckin’ clue how m-… fuck, mama.” He looked up at you.

Standing there in nothing but those leopard print red-bottoms, your tiara slightly tilted from the roughhousing.

His head tilted like a dog watching his bone.

You laughed at your boyfriend, turning around to head to the bathroom to freshen up. 

And that’s when you heard him yelp, “FUCKIN’ HELL!”

You spun back around, scared maybe he tried to get up and got a cramp or something - but no. Gator was pushed up onto his elbows, and eyes as wide as the moon. He had his right hand palm facing up, and mouth hanging opened.

“Whats wrong, baby?! What happened?!”

“LOOK AT YER ASS!”

You ran over to the full length mirror that you made him buy years ago, and sure enough - there is was. 

A big ol’ handprint.

The skin was raised perfectly in the shape of Gator big hand, could even see some of the creases on his fingers.

“Guess ya got two pairs of red-bottoms, baby.”

The joke was unfortunately perfect, ripping a laugh out of you - which caused him to join in. He raised himself from the bed and crossed the apartment to where you stood. His fingertips ran across the sore mark on your ass, and he whispered a small apology to you before bringing your mouth to his. 

Once you both were changed, you made good on your promise.

He was coming home tonight.

Gator was eager to get out of the apartment, dragging you right along with him.

“Wait - I really need to make sure Victoria is good… no hate to Wade - but-”

“Alright, wanna sit in the truck and I’ll go snoop around?”

“Sure, baby - my legs are like fuckin’ jelly.”

He helped you climb into the truck, telling you to lock it for precaution. Gator then turned and made his way into the dark - heading down to some of the other barns close by. Close enough to be safe, but far enough where they could let off some moans without the whole ranch hearin’.

Gator went by the first one, and sure enough…

He could hear Wade huffing and the sound of skin on skin - the noise made him want to crawl in a hole and die.

Wades voice was too loud and too clear, “C’mon, Sparky. Keep squeezin’ me like that- fuck yes!”.

Seconds later, a high pitched moan rings through the barn - Gator felt his dinner start coming up. He rapped his fist on the door of the barn, quick and efficient, “Apartments open. We didn’t clean up well though.”

He ran all the way back to the truck, not sticking around for another second. It wasn’t until he saw you asleep in the passenger seat that the nausea went away.

His Angel.

His girl.

His future wife.

He just knew it.

The drive back to your house took longer than usual, he didn’t want to risk waking you up. He knew you hadn’t been sleeping well, and that he would do anything to make sure you got just a little bit more on his watch.

Pulling into your driveway, gravel crunched under the tires - you began to stir. Eyelashes fluttering open, you look over to your man - and he just had the dopiest smile watching you.

“C’mon baby, let’s get to bed.”

Gator hopped out of the truck and rounded the front, opening your door and then helping you out. The two of you made your way up to the porch, and Gator fumbled with his keys to find the house key.

But something caught your eye. 

In the slot between the screen door and the door frame, sat some folded up money.

$27 to be exact.

__________________________________

a/n 💌 HOLY YUMMY. this was I think??? my longest chapter yet. I am so proud of this one, guys. please note that your feedback means the world to me - sleepless nights, scribbling stuff down in my notes app while im cleaning a house for a client, early mornings and late nights, the hate I get... man, its all worth it when a chapter comes together and im able to share it with you. I love you guys so much. We ARE officially working on merch - im so excited. we are also almost at 700 followers which is CRAZY to me. I cannot thank you guys enough for being with me on this ride and for everything you do for me.

love you endlessly,

Xx Kristin 🐊🐞💗🍒

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The feelings of guilt however were much more difficult to distract yourself from. The feeling had edged itself so deep within you that it lived under your skin, had crept its way into your bones and settled there, refusing to leave. The fact that you felt as though you had failed to protect your little sister and the worry that she hated you for not doing enough to save her. It was all consuming but you buried it deep. You told everyone you were fine. Because you had to be. For Max, for your mom, for Lucas, for everyone who cared about your sister.

Nowadays, your days were a blur of hospital, work, the WSQK, hospital, work, the WSQK. Just like today, where you had spent your morning visiting Max before heading to work, then after a shift at the diner going to the WSQK to help Nancy with planning an upcoming crawl. Usually, you would head straight home afterwards, make dinner for your mom and then stay up watching TV so you wouldn’t be alone with your thoughts.

But today, Nancy hadn’t needed as much help as she had initially thought with crawl preparations and you left the radio station while there was still two hours left of visiting time at the hospital. And so, you headed straight over to Hawkins Memorial Hospital to see your sister. 

You hum along mindlessly to the music as you sit on one of the chairs beside Max’s bed. Kate Bush’s music was just another constant soundtrack to your day when visiting Max. You had thought by now that you would be sick of the sound of the opening beat to Running Up That Hill since it was all you played for Max but truthfully, you weren’t even a tiny bit sick of it. Because it was what you believed could be the bridge between the here and now and wherever Max was, that the song was the key to bringing her home.

Your eyes dance around the room, at the dull, grey hospital walls before they land on the drawing just above Max’s bed, the one she had drawn of her and Lucas on their would-be date at the movies. The sight of the two stick figures holding hands had always made you smile while simultaneously ripping your heart in two.

You glance then towards the abundance of gifts that sat on a table directly opposite Max’s bed. You can see one of Will’s paintings leaning against the wall, some friendship bracelets that El had made her, cards from Dustin and Mike and an album of pressed flowers that Lucas was in the process of making for her.

There was once a time where flower arrangements once adorned the table, an abundance of  soft pinks and sunny yellows that made the room feel brighter. But fourteen months on and the number of bouquets had dwindled significantly. But still, someone—you were sure it was Claudia Henderson as you had seen her buying bunches of daisies on many occasions—always left a bunch of daisies on the table every few days. The sight of them always made you since, since daisies had always been your favourite. 

You notice however that the daisies in the vase beside the window had begun to wilt and you were just beginning to wonder if you should throw them away when the door to Max’s room opened and one of her regular nurses, Nurse Rogers, walks in.

“Oh! Hello, Miss Mayfield,” she greets you with a kind, warm smile. “You’re not usually here at this time.”

You smile back, ignoring the slight pity you see in her expression as she looks at you. It was a look that you were used to after so long. People who saw you as the poor Mayfield girl who was in denial about her sister.

“Yeah, um, had some free time,” you say, your fingers digging into the soft cushion of the chair beneath you. “I figured that I should give her some company.”

Nurse Rogers smiles kindly—she doesn’t remind you that there was no evidence that Max was even aware of your presence and for that, you were grateful.

“I’m sure that she appreciates it,” she says, bustling into the room and pulling a rattling hospital cart along behind her. “I just need to replace her feeding tube. Shouldn’t take too long.”

You nod, despite the lump that had suddenly risen in your throat. Because your baby sister needed feeding tubes, because even after fourteen months, seeing Max in this position—it never got any easier. Never.

The nurse set about changing Max’s feeding tube but you couldn’t watch. You felt like a coward—because she was trapped under Vecna’s spell or whatever it was keeping her in the coma while you were in Hawkins, mostly safe and lucky to not be wherever she was. Trapped in her body, bed ridden and unable to find her way home. And yet—you couldn’t watch the nurse change her tubes, couldn’t face the fact that without all this machinery, without medical intervention that your sister would probably be dead. You couldn’t face it. You just couldn’t.

“All done,” Nurse Rogers announces after a minute or two where you had been fiddling with a loose thread on your shorts.

You sit up, your eyes stinging as you glance over at your little sister, at the tube in her mouth that made you want to burst into tears. 

“Thank you,” you say thickly, quickly wiping away a stray tear that had fallen and forcing a smile.

But Nurse Rogers notices.

“She’s still here,” she tells you, placing a gentle hand on your arm and giving you a squeeze. “You gotta be strong, honey. Your sister still needs you.”

You swallow the lump that had formed in your throat and do your best to blink away the tears that were threatening to fall but to no avail. Because it had been fourteen months of hoping and you were tired. 

“Yeah. You’re right.”

Nurse Rogers smiles at you just as there was a knock on the door. You have enough time to collect yourself as another nurse walks in.

“Hi, Miss Mayfield,” she greets you, smiling in a way that told you that she could plainly see the teartracks down your cheeks but was choosing to ignore them for your sake. “Sorry, Mags but you’re needed in Room 14.”

You feel Nurse Rogers’—Mags—hand withdraw from your shoulder and you find that it leaves you feeling a little more than empty inside. Her warm, almost motherly touch had made you realise how long it had been since you had felt that. Because you couldn’t remember a time since Max had been in a coma where your mom had truly felt like your mom. You had taken it upon yourself to take care of her, making sure that she was eating, making sure she was taking care of herself and not drinking to excess like she had been when Neil had left shortly after Billy’s death. 

It had become a strange dynamic but you knew without it that your mom would have fallen apart and so, you had done it without being asked and without complaint. You also knew you would continue doing it until Max woke up. But you couldn’t deny that it left you feeling a little bit numb to your own emotions and desperate for your mom to just hug you because you needed it.

“I’ll be right down the hall if you need anything,” Nurse Rogers tells you, a softness in her eyes that makes you feel almost like a child who doesn’t want to be alone right now. “Seriously. Anything. Just come and get me, okay?”

You nod again, grateful despite the fact you knew that you weren’t to take her up on the offer.

You don’t trust yourself to talk, don’t trust the way you were on the verge of tears and so, you just simply smile at her before turning your attention back to Max, taking her hand and telling yourself not to cry in front of the nurses.

Nurse Rogers seems reluctant to leave you but the nurse who had walked in clears her throat and both of them leave the room to return to their duties.

The door closes softly behind her and you hear the footsteps of both nurses as they walk down the hall. Part of you feels relieved that you were finally alone with your sister and the other part of you was so sick of being alone.

You let out a shaky breath, steeling yourself before looking back at Max. But the sight of your baby sister with a feeding tube down her throat makes the tears near impossible to stop. You feel your bottom lip quiver and your legs begin to shake. 

You couldn’t cry in front of Max. You couldn’t. Even if she couldn’t see you, feel you or know that you were even in the same room. You refused to let her see you like this.

And so, you stand up on shaky legs and head towards the door without a second glance back at your sister.

You walk down the hall and head straight for the bathroom. You can feel the eyes of other patients, of families waiting on news of their loved ones in the hallway linger as you pass by. You hear them whispering about the ‘Mayfield girl’, asking each other if you were the sister who refused to give up. They’re trying to be quiet but you were attuned to what everybody said about you, about Max, about your family, about the fact everyone in town thought you were in denial, that keeping Max alive was cruel and your family were just delaying the inevitable. No matter how quiet the whispers were, you had heard it all. 

But thankfully, there was no one else in the hospital bathroom when you walked in. Which, you were grateful for considering that the very first thing you did as soon the door slammed shut behind you was burst into tears. 

There was no build up, there was no opportunity to stop the sobs that shook your body. Your hands shake and your breathing becomes erratic as the tears are slipping down your cheeks.

Fourteen months. 

Four hundred and twenty six days and you fucking missed your sister.

You missed her stealing your clothes because she thought they were “cooler” than hers. You missed her forcing you to watch horror movies despite the fact that you couldn’t stand them. You missed going to the arcade with her and giving her half your pocket money just to see her smile. You missed fighting with her about whose turn it was to do the dishes, you missed watching skate off down the street to see her friends and you missed the way she would always hug you before leaving.

You missed her so much that it went beyond physical pain. You felt as though part of you was missing, as though it had been ripped away from you. You felt it when you saw her jacket waiting for her by the front door and when you noticed dust collecting on her skateboard.

You would do anything to switch places with her. You would face any storm, would tear down mountains and walk through fire for it to be you in that hospital bed instead of her. Because all you wanted was for Max to be okay.

But it didn’t matter what you were willing to do to switch places with her. Because she was still in that hospital bed, tubes coming out of her mouth and no amount of bargaining was going to save her.

It was a reality that you were finding it increasingly difficult to face.

You emerge from the hospital bathroom almost fifteen minutes later. Your cheeks feel red raw from where you had been rubbing away your tears and there’s a dull ache behind your eyes from how much you had cried. 

You make your way back to Max’s room, sniffling as you did so. Thankfully, you don’t run into Nurse Rogers and have to explain why you were in such a state. But it wasn’t the first time that you had cried in that bathroom and it certainly wouldn’t be the last.

You can hear Kate Bush still playing from inside of Max’s room as you approach and the familiar music pulls your focus back.

Max.

She’s still here. You gotta be strong, honey. Your sister still needs you.

And with Nurse Rogers’ words still ringing in your ears, you push open her hospital room door.

“—and then Robin had this really terrible idea of having an advice segment but every time a woman would call up to complain about her boyfriend she would just tell them to dump him and—”

The last thing—the very last thing—that you expected to hear when you walk back into Max’s room was the sound of Steve Harrington’s voice.

Your breath catches, everything around you feels a little fussy as you see him sitting on the chair beside her bed that you vacated only fifteen minutes ago. 

At the sound of the door closing behind you, Steve stops talking and looks up.

When your eyes finally meet his, everything around you stills.

“Hey,” Steve greets you softly and with a small smile.

“Hi,” you say quietly because you didn’t know what else to say.

Because fourteen months ago, you had finally told him that you loved him after you had thought you lost him to a swarm of demobats. And fourteen months ago, he had told you that he felt the same. He had promised to take you out on a date when everything with the Upside Down was over. But then everything that had happened with Max had derailed those plans entirely and though Steve tried and tried again to be there for you, you pushed him away. And you did so by breaking his heart the only way you knew how.

You did it by repeating the words that Nancy had once said to him. Called him “bullshit” and told him that you didn’t love him. That it was just adrenaline talking after almost watching him almost die. You still remember the look of utter devastation on his face, still remember the way he had gone uncharacteristically quiet, the bag of groceries he had bought for you and your mom still tucked under his arm.

“You don’t mean that,” he had said, his voice thick with emotion. “You don’t.”

“I do,” you had told him, the words like knives in your throat. Because you didn’t mean it. Because you loved him, you really fucking loved him. And it was because you loved him that you knew you needed to let him go. Because the proof that you couldn’t protect the people you loved was laying in a hospital bed.

Your plan had worked, Steve had avoided you after that. You still ran into each other every now and then, at the WSQK mainly where Steve worked alongside Robin or during briefings before crawls. But you had not been alone together since the night you had broken his heart outside of your trailer.

“You okay?” Steve asks, pulling you from your thoughts.

Fuck, you hate the way he speaks so softly to you, his voice full of concern even after everything you had done to him.

“Yeah,” you say too quickly, looking at his face and hating even more just how handsome he still was. Those honeyed brown eyes that made you feel warm inside, the moles scattered around his face and neck and the thick, chocolatey brown hair that you still found yourself wanting to run your fingers through.

Steve looks as though he doesn’t believe you and you couldn’t exactly blame him.

“Just um—allergies,” you sniffle, wiping your nose and looking away from him. “Just really bad this time of year.”

“Yeah,” Steve says, unconvinced. “I bet.”

You don’t look back at him. Because the thought of him visiting your sister and talking to her about things as mundane as working at the radio station was making your heart do traitorous things in your chest. You could feel the tears already threatening to fall again.

You were just trying to think of an excuse to leave when something beside the window catches your eye.

“Was Dustin’s mom just here?” You ask Steve, your eyes on the fresh bunch of daisies that had replaced wilted ones you had seen earlier.

“Huh?” Steve asks, confused as follows your gaze and looks over at the daisies. “No, um, it’s just me.”

You blink, brows pulled together in confusion before you finally look back at him.

“But the daisies, I thought it was—”

“—they weren’t from Claudia,” Steve says, the tips of his ears turning red as he looks back at you. “The daisies are from me.”

Your eyes flicker from his face before they move back over to the daisies. “H-has it—has it always been you?”

“Yeah,” Steve admits quietly. “Always.”

Something about that admission that breaks something inside of you. Perhaps it was the part of you that was desperately trying to hold yourself together, the part of you that was crying out for help or maybe it was the part of you that had convinced yourself that breaking Steve Harrington’s heart was the right thing to do.

“Oh, please don’t—”

Steve rises from his chair, not even finishing his sentence as he crosses the room in a few quick steps to catch you before you could break down into floods of tears.

“Hey, hey, hey,” he tries to hush you gently, one arm wrapping around you while the other hand gently pushes your hair back so he could see your tear stained face more clearly. “Don’t cry. It’s just flowers—”

“—it’s not just f-flowers, Steve,” you stutter out, the tears falling so thick and fast that you couldn’t stop them. “It—it’s the f-fact you’ve been b-been le-leaving them f-for her for m-months and I—I di-didn’t kno-know it was y-you.”

You watch as Steve swallows thickly, his eyes fixed on your face as he seems to mull over his next words carefully.

“I didn’t—the flowers weren’t—they weren’t necessarily for Max,” Steve begins quietly, his thumb carefully wiping a tear from your cheek. “They—they were all for you.”

Your heart feels as though it splits open that.

Because for fourteen months—four hundred and twenty six days—Steve Harrington had been leaving you flowers in your sister’s hospital room and you had no idea.

“Daisies. They’re still your favourite, right?” He asks when you remain speechless. You nod numbly, your breath catching as you look back at him with wide eyes feeling your heart pounding in your chest.

“But why—”

“I just—I just wanted you to have something in this room that was—that was just for you. Because all this—it’s been tough on you too. Really fucking tough. And I wanted you to have something in this room that reminded you that people care about you too. That I—that we all are still thinking about you.”

“I d-don’t de-deserve that,” you say quietly, your fingers curling into the front of his shirt as though you were trying to decide whether or not to pull him closer or push him away. “I don’t de-deserve it, Steve. I don’t—”

“—you do,” Steve tells you firmly, his expression shifting to something close to agony as he watches you crumble in front of him. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that you don’t deserve—”

“—I c-couldn’t pr-protect her, Stevie,” you start to sob, the old nickname falling from your lips before you could stop it. You miss the way his expression falters, the way his own eyes become glassy. “I-I failed a-and I-I can’t d-do anything to h-help her. I d-don’t de-deserve an-anything l-like that.”

“Oh, babygirl,” Steve murmurs, pulling you in and wrapping his arms around you as though it was enough to protect you from everything that hurt inside of you. “You did everything you could. You didn’t fail. You have never failed your sister even a day in your life.”

“I-I just w-wish it w-was me i-instead,” you cry, burying your face into his shirt as you sob into him. “I just w-wish it was m-me.”

Steve doesn’t say anything, his heart cracking open at your words. He doesn’t argue with you, just pulls you closer and cups the back of your head with one large hand. Because he felt the same. Like you, he had spent nights wishing it had been him instead of Max.

And he also knew that if it was you in that hospital bed, he would move heaven and the earth to switch places with you. 

“I know,” he whispers, pressing his lips to the side of your head as you continue to sob into him. “I know, baby. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

The only thing he can do after that is hold you while you cry. His arms act as an anchor around you that refuse to let you go for even a second.

You aren’t sure how long you stayed there, weren't sure how long you cried into his shirt for. All you knew was that when you finally pulled away from him was that his shirt was covered in wet blotches from your tears.

“Sorry,” you murmur, your voice a little hoarse as you look at his face. “About your shirt.”

“It’s okay,” Steve tells you gently, the smallest of smiles tugging at the very corner of his mouth. “S’just a shirt.”

You very nearly smile but something stops you. The memory—the one that had haunted you for the past fourteen months—of Steve’s face outside of your trailer as you broke his heart into pieces. The reminder that you didn’t deserve his kindness, his sympathy and you certainly didn’t deserve flowers.

“Sorry,” you say again, not entirely sure what you were apologising for as your fingers release the front of his shirt. “I shouldn’t have—”

“—I forgive, you know?”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to control the swell of emotions in your chest at his words. 

“You shouldn’t,” you say finally with a shake of your head. “I was cruel to you, Steve. So cruel. You should hate—”

“—don’t try and tell me what I should or shouldn’t feel,” Steve says in a calm but stern voice, one that makes you swallow. He pulls away from you only to rub his hands over his face in frustration, his shoulders tightening as you imagine him reliving that conversation over again in his head. “I knew exactly what you were doing. I knew you didn’t mean it. That’s why I forgive you.”

“But Steve—”

“—no, listen to me, baby, okay? I forgive you. I—I will always forgive you. I don’t care if you think that you don’t deserve it. It’s too late. I’ve already done it.”

You say nothing at first, not trusting your voice as you look back at the man you had never stopped loving.

Steve can perhaps see your apprehension in your face and so, he presses on, “And I—shit—I thought that maybe the daisies would let you know that. That I forgave you and maybe—maybe that we’d find our way back to each other eventually or something.”

“Steve,” you begin gently, your shoulders sagging slightly at his words, at the almost hopeful expression on his face. “I—I can’t—”

“—why not?”

You swallow, your eyes flickering from Steve over to Max who was still laying in her hospital bed, like she had been for the past fourteen months.

“—Steve, you’re always taking care of people,” you say as you look back at him with a careful expression. “And I—I can’t be another burden to you like that. I just can’t.”

You watch as Steve’s jaw clenches at your words, at the way something flashes in his eyes. He takes a breath before he lifts a hand to gently cup your face, the gesture so gentle that you couldn’t help the small breath you let out.

“You are not nor could you ever be a burden to me,” Steve tells you in a fierce voice. “Yeah, you’re going through a lot. But I can help. I want to help. Because bottling it up, pretending you’re fine and taking care of everyone else but yourself isn’t going to help you.”

“But you—”

“—and if Max knew what you were doing—if she knew that you weren’t letting people take care of you, she’d be heartbroken.”

You wanted him to be wrong. You wanted so badly for him to be wrong. But you knew, deep down, that he wasn’t. You knew that if Max saw the way you had become a shell of yourself, if she knew that you cried alone in hospital bathrooms with no one to hold you, if she knew that you had hurt Steve just to push him away—she wouldn’t forgive you.

When you say nothing, Steve takes a step closer, his eyes studying your expression carefully.

“I’ve forgiven you. Now it’s time for you to forgive yourself.”

Fuck. You could have cried all over again.

“I don’t—I don’t know how to do that,” you whisper back, feeling like a child who was about to be scolded as you turn to look away from Steve. 

But Steve’s hand on your cheek gently turns your head to prevent you from doing so.

“That’s okay,” he whispers, his other hand finding yours and lacing your fingers together. The simple act makes you feel more alive than you had ever been and as he lifts your entwined hands to rest over his chest, you feel his heartbeat thumping through his shirt, feel the warmth of his skin against yours like a soothing balm. “Just start by letting me in.”

You’re quiet then, at war with yourself as you try not to think of all the reasons you should say no. They swirl around in your head, taunting you. The guilt, the fear, the worry. All of it. But one glance towards the vase of daisies that stood in front of the window—the reminder that for four hundred and twenty six days that Steve Harrington hadn’t given up on you—seems to quiet them.

It’s time to forgive yourself.

You couldn’t imagine a more courageous act but as you look back at Steve, you find that the task doesn’t seem so daunting with him there to catch you.

“Do you—do you wanna go grab a burger and a milkshake after visiting hours?” You ask him, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you give his hand in yours a gentle squeeze. “My treat.”

It takes Steve several moments to process your words and the moment that he does so, you see the reverence, the softness in his expression that was reserved only just for you.

“Anywhere you wanna go,” Steve tells you, leaning in to press a soft kiss to your hairline. “I’ll go. Always.”

You can’t stop the smile from spreading across your face at the feeling of his lips brushing against your skin after far, far too long. The beep, beep, beep from Max’s heart monitor reminding you that she was still alive, that you were still alive and that maybe forgiving yourself sometimes began with burgers and a milkshake.

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It isn't particularly cold.

Joe has been checking the forecast for three days.

“You ready?” you ask.

Theo twists towards you.

“Cow!”

You laugh. “Apparently.”

The farm had been your idea, though only barely. You had seen a leaflet beside the counter of a café two weeks earlier, picked it up because the front showed a child feeding a lamb, and then forgotten about it inside your handbag until Joe discovered it while looking for a receipt.

He had studied it with the seriousness of somebody considering an investment opportunity. “They have goats.”

“They’re a farm.”

“I know, but he likes goats.”

Theo had, at that point, seen precisely two goats in his life, both illustrated in the same storybook.

“He likes the noise you make when you pretend to be a goat.”

“He knows what it means.”

“He thinks everything with four legs says ‘baa’.”

“That’s not true.”

You had pointed towards the dog asleep beside the sofa. “What does Rosie say?”

Theo had looked at her. “Baa.”

Joe had stared at you. You had stared back.

“He’s still learning.”

The following morning, Joe booked three tickets.

The first real animal Theo sees is a duck.

This seems to temporarily erase all knowledge that cows exist.

He goes completely still in Joe’s arms as the duck waddles across the path in front of you, followed by three others moving with the peculiar officious urgency of creatures convinced they have missed appointments elsewhere.

Theo watches them pass.

His mouth opens. “Dog.”

Joe looks at you. You look at him.

“Close,” he says carefully. “That’s a duck.”

“Dog.”

“Duck.”

“Dog.”

“Okay.”

The ducks continue towards a shallow pond, evidently uninterested in resolving the dispute.

Joe lowers Theo onto the path and takes his hand. Your son has been walking confidently for several months but still approaches unfamiliar ground with a concentration that makes every step look professionally significant, his free arm held slightly away from his body for balance.

The three of you follow the ducks.

Or Theo follows the ducks, while you and Joe follow Theo.

This distinction becomes increasingly important over the next hour.

The farm is larger than it appeared on the leaflet, spreading out across several fields connected by muddy paths and low wooden fences. There are barns painted a red that has faded pleasantly with weather, hand-lettered signs pointing towards the animals, and a small café already sending the smell of coffee and warm pastries into the cool air. Children move between pens in bright coats, their parents carrying bags, cups, dropped gloves and the particular expression of people who left the house believing they were adequately prepared.

Joe reaches for your hand as you walk.

It's such a familiar gesture that neither of you looks down.

Theo has both arms stretched towards the ducks now and is moving at a speed that would be impressive were it not taking him towards the edge of the pond.

Joe catches the back of his dungarees. “Yeah, no.”

Theo continues walking in place, apparently convinced forward momentum should be possible despite being suspended several inches above the ground. “Dog!”

“Duck,” Joe corrects.

“Dog!”

“Buddy, I’m not arguing with you about this.”

You laugh. Joe looks at you with mild offence.

“He’s very sure.”

“He gets that from you.”

“I know what a duck is.”

“That isn’t the part I meant.”

He releases Theo once they are several metres from the water.

Your son immediately turns around and heads towards the pond again.

Joe catches him a second time. “This is gonna be a long day.”

“You wanted to bring him.”

“I still do.”

“He’s been here six minutes.”

“And he’s already trying to drown.”

Theo protests as Joe lifts him back into his arms, his small body stiffening with the profound outrage of somebody whose civil liberties have been repeatedly violated.

The tantrum lasts until he hears a sheep.

The noise comes from somewhere beyond the next fence, one low, unmistakable bleat carrying over the general sound of the farm.

Theo freezes. His head turns. “Baa?”

Joe’s expression changes immediately. “There you go.”

Another sheep answers.

Theo looks at him with enormous eyes. “Baa.”

“Yeah, buddy. That one’s actually right.”

The sheep enclosure is halfway across the field, but Theo begins leaning towards it so decisively that Joe has no choice but to follow. You walk beside them, your shoulder brushing Joe’s arm while your son announces “baa” after every sound, including one produced by a nearby child.

There are perhaps twelve sheep inside the enclosure, though the only one Theo notices is standing close to the fence, chewing with the calm indifference of an animal accustomed to being admired by toddlers.

Joe crouches beside him. “Look.”

Theo looks.

For several seconds, he says nothing.

You had expected excitement because excitement is his default response to most things: bananas, doorbells, the washing machine entering its spin cycle. Silence is rarer. It usually means his attention has become too complete for language.

The sheep moves closer.

Theo lifts one hand.

Joe catches his wrist gently before he can push his fingers through the fence. “Easy.”

“Baa.”

“Yeah.”

The sheep looks at him.

Theo looks back.

Something passes between them that appears, at least to your son, deeply significant.

Then the sheep sneezes.

Theo jolts backwards, loses his balance and lands on his bottom.

There is a single beat of shocked silence.

You brace for tears.

Instead, Theo begins laughing.

It erupts from him with his entire body, his head tipping back and both hands slapping against his knees while the sheep resumes chewing as though it has not just delivered the greatest joke in human history.

Joe looks up at you.

His face has softened in that particular way it does when Theo is delighted by something neither of you could have predicted, as though the child’s pleasure still catches him off guard despite nearly two years of living beside it. “Did you see that?”

“I’m standing here.”

“No, I know. I just-”

“The sheep sneezed.”

“I know.”

Theo points towards it. “Again.”

You laugh. “I don’t think it takes requests.”

Joe rubs one hand over his mouth, still smiling. “Maybe give it a second.”

The sheep does not sneeze again.

Theo waits longer than seems reasonable before accepting this.

The goats are worse.

Not the goats themselves, although one attempts to eat the map from Joe’s back pocket and another becomes fascinated by the zip on your coat. The problem is that Theo loves them with an intensity that immediately removes any interest he previously had in remaining part of your family.

The farm sells small paper bags of feed beside the enclosure. Joe buys one, then another after Theo drops the first directly onto the ground and six goats descend upon it with enough enthusiasm to frighten him into clinging to Joe’s leg.

“You’re okay,” Joe says, though he is laughing slightly as he lifts him. “They’re just hungry.”

Theo points towards the largest goat. “Dog.”

“We’re back to dog?”

“Dog.”

“That’s a goat.”

“Dog.”

“Okay, sure. Weird dog.”

You take several pieces of feed into your palm and hold your hand flat, showing Theo how the goat’s lips collect them.

His face becomes solemn.

“Do you want to try?”

He looks at your palm, then at the goat. “No.”

“That’s okay.”

Joe offers him a piece.

Theo takes it.

For one hopeful moment, it appears he may feed the goat.

Then he puts it in his own mouth.

Both of you move at once. “No, no, no-”

Joe gets there first, catching Theo’s chin and carefully extracting the pellet before he can swallow it.

Your son looks betrayed.

“That’s for the animals,” Joe says.

Theo points towards himself. “Animal.”

You turn away, unable to stifle a laugh.

Joe’s eyes close briefly. “Don’t laugh. He’s making a compelling argument.”

“I’m not laughing.”

“You are.”

Theo points towards the feed again. “More.”

“Not for eating.”

“More.”

Joe looks towards you.

You shake your head. “He’s your son.”

“He’s also yours.”

“You bought the food.”

“You drove us here.”

The goat that had been chewing the map stretches its neck towards Joe’s hand.

While he is distracted, Theo reaches into the bag.

Joe catches him before the second pellet reaches his mouth. “Okay. You’ve lost feed privileges.”

Theo is transferred into your arms while Joe steps closer to the fence, apparently deciding the safest way to demonstrate feeding is to remove the toddler from the immediate area.

The goat eats from his palm.

Theo watches carefully.

“See?” Joe says. “Goat eats it.”

“Daddy.”

“Yeah?”

“Animal.”

You laugh before you can stop yourself.

Joe looks over his shoulder. “Great. Thanks.”

Theo leans away from you, reaching towards him. “Daddy animal.”

“All right.”

The accusation does not prevent Joe from buying another bag five minutes later.

By the time you leave the enclosure, the knees of Theo’s dungarees are muddy, there is goat feed inside Joe’s jacket pocket and you have several photographs in which your son appears to be attempting serious negotiations through the fence.

In one, Joe is crouched behind him with a hand spread protectively across his stomach, both of them looking towards the same small goat.

You look at that photograph for longer than the others.

Joe notices. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“It's definitely not nothing.”

You lock your phone. “He likes it here.”

Joe glances down at Theo, who is holding one finger in each of your hands and swinging his feet between you whenever the path allows. “Yeah.”

There's something quiet in the answer.

You know what he means.

Lunch takes place at a wooden picnic table beside the playground, though very little eating occurs.

You had packed enough food to sustain the three of you through a minor emergency. Theo rejects the sandwich he ate willingly yesterday, accepts half a strawberry, and then spends several minutes trying to return it to the container after chewing it.

Joe watches this process. “That seems sanitary.”

“He doesn’t want it.”

“I got that.”

Theo holds the damp strawberry towards him. “Daddy.”

“No, thanks.”

“Daddy.”

“I’m good.”

“Daddy.”

Joe looks at you. “You take it.”

“He offered it to you.”

“He loves you more.”

“Not right now, he doesn’t.”

Theo moves the strawberry closer to Joe’s mouth. Joe sighs. “You know, someday you’re gonna understand what I do for you.”

He takes the smallest possible bite.

Theo beams. “Good?”

Joe chews with visible reluctance. “Delicious.”

You hand him a napkin. “That’s disgusting.”

“He shared.”

“He regurgitated.”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

“That phrase doesn’t apply here.”

Joe wipes his mouth while Theo turns his attention towards the playground.

It is not an elaborate playground. There is a small slide, two wooden animals mounted on springs and a climbing frame designed for children considerably older than yours, which naturally becomes the only thing Theo wants to use.

He points. “Up.”

“You need to eat.”

“Up.”

“Food first.”

“Up.”

Joe leans closer to you. “He’s doing your thing.”

“What thing?”

“The repeating.”

“He learnt that from you.”

“I don’t do that.”

“You do.”

“No, I don’t.”

“You absolutely do.” You stare at him.

Joe smiles. “See?”

Theo slides from the bench before either of you can stop him.

His feet reach the ground, his balance wobbles, and then he begins running towards the playground with the uncontrolled forward momentum peculiar to toddlers, each step seeming less like a decision than the successful avoidance of falling.

Joe is after him immediately. “Theo.” Your son continues. “Theo, buddy, stop.”

He does not.

Joe catches him beneath the arms several feet from the climbing frame and swings him upwards.

Theo squeals.

Whatever disciplinary intention Joe may have possessed dissolves.

“Yeah, funny, but you gotta wait for us.”

“Up.”

“I know.”

“Up.”

“You didn't eat.”

“Up.”

Joe carries him towards the smallest slide.

You begin packing away the lunch with the resigned efficiency of somebody who has accepted that sandwiches will be revisited in the car.

From across the playground, Theo shouts, “Mama!”

You look up.

Joe is standing at the top of the slide with one hand firmly around your son’s waist, though the equipment was plainly designed for children to climb independently.

“You coming?” Joe calls.

“I’m cleaning up.”

“He wants you.”

Theo waves both hands, almost hitting Joe in the face. “Mama!”

“I see him.”

“Come here.”

“You’re both very demanding.”

Joe grins.

You abandon the lunch.

Theo goes down the slide fourteen times.

The first twelve require Joe to crouch at the top while you wait at the bottom, both of you offering encouragement far more enthusiastic than the three-foot descent warrants. On the thirteenth, he insists you switch places. On the fourteenth, he decides the slide is an intolerable insult and cries when his shoes touch the ground.

He is asleep in Joe’s arms less than five minutes later.

It happens with startling speed.

One moment, Theo is rubbing his face against Joe’s shoulder and protesting weakly when you suggest the pushchair. The next, his body has softened completely, one fist trapped between their chests and his mouth open against the collar of Joe’s jacket.

Joe looks down. “He’s out.”

“He’s been awake since six.”

“I know.”

“You should put him in the pushchair.”

Joe doesn't move.

“You’re going to regret carrying him.”

“I’m fine.”

“He weighs about thirty pounds.”

“Twenty-seven.”

“Of course you know that.”

“He got weighed last month.”

“I was there.”

“Then why’d you say thirty?”

You look at him.

Joe adjusts Theo carefully, one broad hand covering the back of his head. “Right. Sorry.”

You walk more slowly after that.

The farm has quietened slightly in the early afternoon. Families have moved towards the café or begun heading home, leaving the paths around the far fields almost empty. Somewhere nearby, chickens cluck beneath the low rustle of leaves. The sun has appeared without bringing much warmth, spreading a pale light across the grass and catching in Theo’s hair where it curls against Joe’s jaw.

You take another photograph.

Joe hears the faint click. “You taking pictures of me?”

“No.”

“You literally have your phone pointed at me.”

“I’m taking one of him.”

“I’m in it.”

“That’s unfortunate.”

He smiles.

You put your phone away and slip your hand into the pocket of his jacket, where his free hand is already resting.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

This has become rarer since Theo was born, not necessarily because you have more to say but because silence now has competition. Your life is filled with questions, nursery rhymes, toys making electronic noises you cannot disable, the same cartoon episode requested repeatedly, and the constant narration required by a child who wants every object named.

Quiet is usually something that happens after bedtime, when both of you are too tired to use it properly.

Here, it feels different.

Theo is warm and heavy against Joe. The path extends ahead between two fields. Nobody needs anything from you for the next several minutes.

“This was a good idea,” Joe says eventually.

You turn towards him. “You sound surprised.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“You were worried it’d rain.”

“It said forty per cent.”

“You checked every six hours.”

“That’s how weather works.”

“It really isn’t.”

Joe glances down at your joined hands inside his pocket. “We should come back.”

The suggestion is casual. Almost.

You look towards Theo. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He loves it.”

“He called everything a dog.”

“He knew the sheep.”

“The sheep said its own name.”

“That still counts.”

You smile.

Joe nudges your shoulder gently with his. “Maybe next month.”

You had expected him to say someday.

Someday is where good intentions tend to live before schedules, work, travel and ordinary exhaustion quietly overtake them. Next month is different. Next month has edges. It can be written down.

“All right.”

“First weekend?”

“You’re away the first weekend.”

“Second weekend.”

“My brother's coming.”

“Third?”

You think. “Third works.”

Joe nods. “Third Saturday.”

Theo stirs against him.

Both of you stop speaking immediately.

He sighs, presses his face more deeply into Joe’s shoulder and remains asleep.

Joe’s mouth curves. “Third Saturday,” he repeats quietly.

The rest of the day contains very little that could be described as significant.

Theo wakes in the café and eats half of Joe’s cake despite refusing the banana you brought specifically for him. He says “moo” to a horse and becomes frightened by a pig until it rolls into the mud, at which point he decides it's hilarious. Joe spends four dollars attempting to win him a stuffed sheep from a machine near the gift shop before you point out that the same toy is available to purchase for six.

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

“Winning it.”

“For him?”

“Yes.”

“Theo has walked away.”

Joe looks towards your son, who is attempting to open a cupboard containing souvenir mugs. “He’ll come back.”

“You could have bought it by now.”

“I’m close.”

“You’re gambling against a claw.”

“I understand the situation.”

He spends another three dollars.

The claw catches one ear of the sheep, lifts it approximately two inches and drops it.

Joe stares through the glass. “This thing’s rigged.”

“You think?”

A member of staff eventually helps after observing him lose for the sixth time.

She unlocks the machine and hands the sheep directly to Theo, who hugs it for twelve seconds before dropping it in favour of a leaflet.

Joe picks it up. “You're welcome.”

Theo points towards the picture on the leaflet. “Cow.”

“That’s a tractor.”

“Cow.”

“Sure.”

By four o’clock, his dungarees are filthy, one sock has somehow become damp, and there is a streak of chocolate - or mud, who can tell - near his eyebrow. Joe has mud on both knees and a small rip near the pocket of the jacket he didn't mind getting dirty.

You're tired in the satisfying way that follows several hours outdoors rather than the hollow exhaustion produced by poor sleep.

At the exit, Theo notices the painted wooden cow again.

He points with renewed excitement. “Cow!”

Joe stops beside it. “Yeah, buddy, and now you've seen a real one! Do you remember what you saw?”

Theo considers the sign. “Dog.”

You laugh so hard you have to turn away.

Joe closes his eyes. “I give up.”

He lifts Theo into his arms while you retrieve the car keys.

Your son rests his head briefly against Joe’s shoulder, still clutching the stuffed sheep by one leg.

“Bye cow,” you prompt.

Theo looks towards the sign. “Bye, dog.”

Joe carries him towards the car. “We gotta work on this.”

The third Saturday of the following month arrives with rain.

Nothing torrential enough to cancel plans with a clear conscience. It's the persistent, grey drizzle that seems designed specifically to make leaving the house unattractive.

You stand at the kitchen window with a cup of tea while Theo sits on the floor behind you, trying to fit a wooden block into the dog’s water bowl.

“We could go next weekend,” you say.

Joe looks up from the bag he's packing. “He has wellies.”

“He hates the wellies.”

“He’ll get used to them.”

“He screamed last time.”

“He screams when bananas break.”

“That doesn’t make the wellies less upsetting.”

Joe zips the bag. “We said third Saturday.”

You turn towards him.

He is entirely serious.

Not stubborn, exactly, though the distinction is occasionally academic. There's something almost protective in the way he says it, as if the promise itself has acquired weight merely because the three of you made it together.

“The animals will still be there next week.”

“I know.”

“Theo won’t remember that we changed the day.”

“I know.”

You look at him for a moment. Then towards the yellow raincoat hanging beside the door. “All right.”

Joe smiles.

Theo cries when you put on the wellies.

He stops the moment he sees the wooden cow.

The rain makes the farm smell different. Earthier. The paths are soft beneath your feet and water beads along the fences. There are fewer visitors, which means the animals come closer, and Theo is allowed to spend nearly ten uninterrupted minutes informing a rabbit that it is, naturally, a dog.

You eat lunch beneath a covered shelter.

Joe lets Theo splash in a puddle until the water reaches the top of his wellies and then acts astonished when both socks become soaked. “I thought they were waterproof.”

“The wellies are. His trousers aren’t.”

“How did it get inside?”

“Gravity.”

“That seems like a design flaw.”

You change him on the back seat of the car, both of you laughing while Theo kicks his bare legs and attempts to escape wearing only a nappy and raincoat.

The trip becomes monthly after that.

Not perfectly.

There are months when work intervenes, when one of you is away, or Theo is ill, or the weather becomes genuinely impossible. Sometimes the third Saturday moves to the fourth. Once, you go six weeks without visiting, and Joe apologises to a two-year-old who hadn't realised anything was missing.

But you return.

In autumn, Theo learns the word pumpkin and applies it to every orange object for several weeks. In winter, the sheep grow thick coats and Joe buys hot chocolate from the café, then spends twenty minutes blowing on each sip before allowing Theo to taste it. In spring, there are lambs, which he loves so much that leaving requires carrying him horizontally through the gift shop while he shouts “BABY BAA” at everyone you pass.

His language changes between visits.

Dog becomes duck.

Cow becomes horse when appropriate, though occasionally still not.

The goats remain goats, largely because Joe repeats the word with such determination that Theo eventually surrenders.

He begins recognising the road.

At first, you think you're imagining it, but one morning he looks up from his car seat several minutes before you arrive and begins kicking his feet. “Farm.”

Joe glances at him in the rear-view mirror. “What?”

“Farm!”

You look out of the window.

The red barn has just appeared beyond the trees.

Joe’s eyes meet yours briefly. The delight in his face is almost as uncomplicated as Theo’s. “You know where we are?”

“Farm!”

“Yeah, buddy.”

Theo points towards the window. “Animals.”

“All of them?”

“All.”

Joe laughs.

The farm becomes one of the places against which you measure his childhood.

There is Theo at two, sitting on Joe’s shoulders because he refuses the pushchair. Theo at two and a half, crying because a goat eats the entire paper bag along with the feed. Theo at three, running ahead towards the sheep enclosure and turning around to make sure you're following. Theo at four, correcting a younger child who calls a duck a dog, with no apparent awareness of the hypocrisy.

Photographs accumulate.

Some are good.

Most are blurred, badly framed or contain at least one person looking elsewhere. In one, Joe is crouched beside a pig while Theo presses both hands against his father’s cheeks, forcing his mouth into an expression of profound misery. In another, which Joe's sister took when she came to visit, there is Theo on Joe’s shoulders, your arm around Joe’s waist, all of you smiling at something in the distance.

That one becomes your favourite.

Not because its the prettiest.

Because none of you knew it was being taken.

Years later, Joe will claim the farm was his idea.

He will say this in front of Theo, who is old enough by then to listen with scepticism and ask you which version is true.

“It was mine,” you say.

Joe shakes his head. “You picked up a leaflet.”

“That is how ideas begin.”

“I booked it.”

“Administration is not creativity.”

“I said he’d like the goats.”

“You said he liked goats because he laughed when you made a stupid noise.”

“He did like them.”

“You got lucky.”

“I knew my son.”

Theo looks between you. “So Dad planned it?”

“No,” you say.

“Yes,” Joe says simultaneously.

The farm is still there.

Some things have changed. The ticket office has been repainted, the old playground replaced by something larger and safer, the café extended into the space where the picnic tables used to be. The wooden cow remains beside the entrance, though weather has faded its eyes and one horn has been repaired.

Theo is too old to shout when he sees it.

He does, however, touch its side as he walks past.

An automatic gesture.

A greeting.

By then, the visits are less regular. Life has filled itself with school, friends, football practice, work and the logistical complexity of a child becoming a person with plans of his own. Once a month became every few months, then birthdays, then whatever weekends could be reclaimed.

But you still come.

Sometimes because Theo asks. Sometimes because Joe does. Sometimes because you find yourself missing the particular version of your family that exists there.

On one visit, you watch Theo feeding the goats without assistance, his hand held perfectly flat as he warns a smaller child not to curl their fingers.

Joe comes to stand beside you. “He used to eat that.”

“He tried once.”

“Twice.”

“You stopped him the second time.”

“He still tried.”

Theo glances over. “What?”

“Nothing,” you call.

Joe slips his hand into yours.

It's an automatic thing, barely a decision at all.

Across the enclosure, Theo returns to the goats.

For a moment, you can see every version of him at once: the toddler chewing animal feed, the little boy in yellow wellington boots, the child running ahead on the path and the person standing there now, taller than the fence he once could barely see over.

You lean into Joe’s shoulder. “He was so small.”

Joe’s thumb moves over your knuckles. “Yeah.”

“I don’t remember when that stopped.”

“It didn’t happen all at once.”

“I know.”

That's the cruelty of it.

And perhaps the mercy.

Children grow through increments too small to properly witness. The wellies become tight. The pushchair goes unused. A word that once belonged only to the family becomes correctly pronounced, and nobody notices it's gone until months later.

You cannot keep any version of him.

You can only keep returning to the places where they once existed.

Theo turns towards you again. “Are we getting cake?”

Joe looks at you. “There he is.”

You laugh.

The three of you walk towards the café.

On the way, you pass the sheep enclosure. One stands close to the fence, chewing with the same calm indifference its ancestors may have shown years earlier.

Theo barely glances at it.

Joe stops. “Hey, remember the first time we came here?”

Theo continues walking backwards. “No.”

“The sheep sneezed and you fell over.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“You laughed for, like, five minutes.”

“Was I a baby?”

“You were almost two.”

“That’s a baby.”

Joe looks mildly offended. “You could walk.”

“Babies can walk.”

“Not all of them.”

Theo turns around again. “Are we getting cake or not?”

“Yes,” you say.

Joe watches him move ahead. “He really doesn’t remember?”

“Of course he doesn’t.”

His expression changes slightly.

You squeeze his hand. “We do.”

Joe looks at you.

The answer seems to settle somewhere inside him.

“Yeah,” he says. “We do.”

Ahead, Theo reaches the café door and holds it open with exaggerated impatience.

You and Joe walk towards him.

There was nothing remarkable about the first day, not really.

A duck misidentified. A sheep sneezing. Mud, rejected sandwiches, a failed toy machine and a child asleep against his father’s shoulder.

Ordinary things.

That was precisely why you kept returning.

Not because the farm preserved anything or stopped the years from moving, but because it gave the three of you somewhere familiar to meet them as they passed: once a month, then whenever you could, each visit different and recognisably the same.

Joe reaches the door first and ruffles Theo’s hair as he passes.

Theo ducks away. “Dad.”

“What?”

“Don’t.”

“You used to like it.”

“I was a baby.”

“You could walk.”

You follow them inside, laughing when their argument begins again.

The bell above the café door rings.

Somebody behind the counter recognises you.

“The usual place?” she asks, pointing towards the table beside the window.

Joe looks at you. Then at Theo.

“Yeah,” he says, smiling as he leads the way towards it. “The usual place.”

dividers: saradika-graphics

“Go, go, go!” Dustin shouted, the five of you burst into a corridor just as Russian voices echoed from all sides. You could hear boots pounding against the concrete, getting closer by the second.

Steve kept hold of your hand while he ran, dragging you around another corner. “Where are we going?” Robin yelled.

“I don’t know!” Steve shouted back, you barely heard them. They busted open a door, and this time, there was no window glass separating you. Harsh wind from the accelerator blew against you as familiar blue light washed over your features, there it was.

Steve took another step before realizing you weren’t beside him anymore, he turned sharply. You were staring right at the crack, your feet moved before your mind could catch up, taking one step, then another. 

You stopped right at the threshold, your hand paused in the air. For a moment, you were ready to cross, it was all you could think about it. But your heart didn’t feel the way you thought it would, you had spent so long wanting this. So why were you hesitating now?

Steve’s eyes widened when he realized what you were about to do. “Wait—”

A Russian guard shouted as he entered the chamber, Steve’s head snapped towards the sound. He rushed forward, grabbing your arm and pulling you back just as one charged towards you. 

Steve shoved you behind him, before kicking the guard hard enough to send him stumbling backwards. “Run!” You didn’t need to be told twice, the group scattered through another doorway, Steve following behind you. 

Robin slammed the door shut, but the handle immediately jerked violently from the other side. “They’re coming!” Dustin shouted. 

Steve threw his entire weight against the door. “Help me!” You immediately leaned against it, planting both feet beside him, the door shook beneath the force of the guards trying to break through.

Dustin grabbed Erica’s arm. “We need to go!” They crossed the other side of the room, towards an exit.

Robin looked between them and the door you and Steve were holding off. “Go!” Steve motioned. “Find a way out!”

“What?” She asked loudly.

“Get them out of here!” His eyes flickered towards you for half a second. “You can come back for us!”

Robin hesitated, but at Dustin’s urgent call she finally nodded, leaving after them.

You and Steve stared at each other, both breathing heavily. Then, bang! The door burst inward, you stumbled backward as the two of you fell towards the floor. Several Russian guards stood in front of you, their weapons raised, and every single one was aimed directly at you.

For one brief moment, total silence fell over the atmosphere, nobody moved. Then a Russian guard stepped forward, and Steve immediately shifted a hand in front of you. “Hey—”

A hand seized his shoulder and ripped him backward. “No!” You stumbled on your hands and knees. “Wait!”

Another guard grabbed your arm, as Steve fought against their grip, twisting hard enough to nearly break free. “Don’t touch her!”

“Steve!” Your voice echoed down the corridor while they dragged you in opposite directions. Steve looked over his shoulder, eyes wide with panic.

“Don’t hurt her!” You tried pulling away, but winced as the guard’s fingers only dug deeper into your skin. He lunged towards you again, though a guard struck him, knocking him off balance.

“No!” You screamed, Steve caught himself against the wall, immediately trying to push back to his feet. 

“Get your hands off of her!” Your voice cracked as you were thrown into an empty room, the last thing you saw was Steve fighting against the guards, still trying to reach you. Then the door slammed shut, you were alone. 

Being interrogated was much less fun than watching it in a movie. You sat on a bench, your hands trembling in your lap as an officer paced slowly in front of you. 

Questions came one after another. Who were you? How did you enter the facility? Who sent you? What did you know about the machine? 

You answered what you could, but nothing seemed to satisfy them. “I don’t know.” You repeated, trying to keep your voice steady as tears flowed down your cheeks. “I told you, I ended up here by accident.” 

The officer stopped in his tracks. “Accident?” 

You swallowed. “Yes.” His eyes narrowed, you looked down at your hands, you couldn’t tell them. Not because you were trying to protect some elaborate secret, you were scared.

What would happen if they knew you were from the future? Would they believe you, or experiment on you? Use you to find out what the accelerator could do, becoming their own little test subject. 

Your mind raced. “I just want to go home,” you whispered desperately. 

The officer stared at you for several seconds before speaking in Russian. Two soldiers entered, and your heart dropped. “Wait.” You pushed away from them. “Where are you taking me?”

They grabbed your arms tightly again. “No, please!” You fought against them, panic rising as they pulled you out of the room. “Please, I just want to go home.” You cried out.

They didn’t answer, the hallway blurred past you. You could almost see it in the distance, the bright glow reflecting against a window. Your heart jumped now, were they taking you back? Maybe this was it, you were finally going to leave all this behind and go home.

The soldiers pushed open another door, and before you knew it, they were throwing you against the floor. You scrambled up, your eyes widening at the sight in front of you. “Steve?”

He was lying motionless on the floor next to you, his hair disheveled, his scoops uniform now covered in blood and a bruised eye marking his face. He didn’t move, making your breath catch. “No.” 

Your tied hands hovered uncertainly above his shoulders, looking down at him with fear. “Steve…Steve, wake up!”

It didn’t even look like he was breathing, you shook him gently. “Steve, can you hear me?” One of the guards grabbed you from behind, you turned towards him with a threatening stare. “What did you do to him?” You demanded.

You screeched in pain as a guard slapped you harshly against the face, sending you flying back to the floor. They pulled you two apart, strapping you onto oppositely faced chairs. One of the officers stepped closer, watching you with unsettling calm. “I think your friend needs a doctor.”

You glared at him. “Good thing, we have the very best.” He smiled, his laughter echoing through the room, something inside you snapped. Before you could think better of it, you leaned forward and spat directly in his face. 

The officer froze in shock, slowly wiping his cheek as his expression darkened. “You’re going to regret that, little bitch.” 

Your heart pounded, before all the Russians stepped outside the room, locking it shut. You kicked against the floor uselessly, fighting the restraints. “Bastards! Let us out!” 

You were staring at the floor for who knows how long now, while the last of your anger slowly dissolved into exhaustion. You could still feel Steve unconscious behind you, making the dread in your stomach grow heavier.

Then you heard it—a low groan. Your head snapped up hopefully, knocking into his own. “Steve?”

Another strained breath came from behind you. “Steve! Steve! Oh my god, are you okay?” You asked as Steve stirred, blinking slowly as though your voice sounded far away.

He groaned again, squeezing his eyes shut. “My ears are ringing.” He mumbled. “And I can’t really breathe. My eye feels like it’s about to pop out of my skull, but, you know…” he swallowed. “Apart from that, I’m doing pretty good.”

You smiled at his voice, grateful you weren’t the only one conscious in the locked room. “Well, the good news is that they’re calling you a doctor.” You glanced around the room, searching for anything useful. “Okay, do you see that table over there to your right? No, your other right.”

Steve whipped his head to the other side. “Oh.”

“Yeah, and do you see those scissors?” You jerked your head to where they were lying atop a metal table.

“Uh-huh.” Steve sounded.

“I think if we move at the same time, we could get over there. Then maybe I could kick the table and knock them into your lap.” You explained.

“And I could cut the binds.” Steve agreed eagerly. “Gotcha—okay, yeah. We can do that.” He looked towards the scissors again. “Those morons, they left scissors in here?” He scoffed.

“Yeah, morons.” You laughed at their stupidity. “Okay, on three, we’re gonna hop.” 

You both braced yourselves. “One, two, three!” You both lurched sideways, moving over only an inch. 

Steve’s eyes widened. “That…worked.” You nodded in agreement, on the next countdown, you repeated the same motions.

A smile stretched across your face. “This is gonna work!” You both prepared again, shoving as hard as you could. But the leg of the chair slipped, causing you both to tumble towards the floor, back to square one.

You both groaned, then you started giggling from disbelief. Steve stretched his head around to face you, features etched with concern. “Hey, hey,” his tone softened immediately. “Don’t cry.”

Laughter bubbled out of you, throwing your head back. “Are you…laughing?” Steve asked exasperatingly.

You shook your head, laughing through the tears. “Yeah.”

Steve gave a breathless laugh of his own, sighing. “Jesus.” 

“I’m sorry.” You caught your breath. “I’m sorry, it’s just…” the absurdity of everything finally hit you. “I can’t believe I’m going to die in a secret Russian base with sailor boy.” 

Steve rolled his eyes, smile disappearing. “We’re not gonna die.” He spoke seriously. “We’re gonna get out of here, alright? Just let me think for a second.”

For once, there was no Dustin forming a long complicated plan. No Robin arguing with Steve. No Erica demanding more ice cream samples. Just the two of you.

You looked down at your confined hands. “Do you ever think about what this would’ve been like if I never showed up?” You muttered into the silence.

Steve blinked slowly. “What do you mean?” 

“You know.” You gave a small shrug. “If I hadn’t fallen from the future.”

He thought about it for a moment. “I’d probably still be working at scoops, slinging ice cream with no hope in sight.” 

“I think I’d be alone.” You confessed in a whisper. “I’d go home eventually.” You continued. “And maybe everything would go back to normal. But,” 

You chewed on your lower lip. “I don’t think I’d have anyone there who knew what happened to me here.”

You looked down while Steve processed the weight of your words. “I’m terrified.” Your voice shook. “I want to go home, I miss everything I know.” You took a deep breath. “But if I could go back and change the moment I fell through…”

You paused. “I don’t think I would.”

He frowned in confusion. “Why not?” He asked.

“Because I met you.” Steve went completely still, and even though he couldn’t see your face right now, your cheeks warmed. “I know it sounds crazy, but I’ve lived more of a life in these past few days than I ever have.”

A small smile tugged at Steve’s mouth. “Yeah.” He took a breath. “For what it’s worth… I’m glad you showed up.” 

He contemplated his next words. “Before you came here, I didn't have much going for me.” He shrugged. “I had Robin, and Dustin, you know. But you made everything different.” 

You took a shaky breath, suddenly wishing you could see him at this moment. 

Then—the alarm sounded, and the door swung open. The officer from earlier stepped inside, a smirk on his face. “Where were you two going?” He clicked his tongue. “Try telling the truth this time, yes? It will make your visit with Dr. Zharkov less painful.”

The goosebumps on your arm stood up, your stomach dropping all over again. “Wait, hold on.” You pleaded.

He picked something up, and you froze in horror at the unfamiliar dangerously sharp needle in his hand. “Okay! Wait, wait, wait!” Steve shifted in his chair. “What is that thing?”

The officer only smiled in response. “It will make you talk.”

Your eyes widened. “Did you even clean that thing?” Steve asked as you two shuffled around. Before either of you could protest, the device came closer, you screamed as static filled the room.

The room felt strangely quiet, you blinked slowly, staring at the ceiling before speaking again. “Honestly,” you murmured. “I don’t really feel anything.” 

“I mean…” Steve paused, thinking unusually hard about how normal he felt. “I feel fine.” 

A beat passed, before Steve’s mouth curled into a grin. “I kinda feel good.” 

A laugh slipped out of you instinctively, everything suddenly felt ten times funnier for some reason. “Me too.” The two of you dissolved into quiet giggles, laughing at absolutely nothing. “Wanna know a secret?” He whispered.

You nodded, a permanent smile on your face. “Yeah?” 

“I like it, too.” You burst out laughing again.

“I literally just said that, Steve!” A sudden realization came over you, gasping dramatically. “Wait—they messed up the drug!” 

Steve’s mouth dropped open. “They messed it up! Morons!”

“Hey, morons!” You screamed. “Moron—” You both repeated the word until the door buzzer sounded, and the officer stepped in again, followed by a doctor this time.

“Would now be a good time to mention,” you muttered. “That I don’t like doctors?”

Steve nodded, watching as the doctor approached the table, setting a huge knife down. The officer bent down in front of you. “Let’s try this again.” You blinked up at him. “Who do you work for?”

You smiled faintly, unable to think clearly. “Scoops.” You answered. “Not me, just sailor boy over here.”

“Mhm.” Steve hummed. “Scoops ahoy. You want some ice cream?” 

You snorted, as the officer stared unamused. “How did you find us?” 

“Totally by accident.” Steve piped up.

“Completely accidental.” You matched, shrugging your shoulders. The doctor picked up the knife, your smile fell. “Uh…where are you going with that?” 

Steve’s expression changed too once he spotted the tool. “Woah, woah, hold on.” The doctor picked up Steve’s pinky finger as he gasped—

“There was a code!” You blurted, snapping their attention back to you. “The week is long, the silver cat feeds, blah, blah, blah. You broadcasted it all over town, we figured out the message, and followed it here.”

Steve grinned proudly. “We cracked it in a day.” He reminded you. 

You nodded. “Only a day,” you recounted.

But the officer looked furious. “Who knows we are here, little bitch?” He snapped. 

You opened your mouth, but Steve cut you off. “Uh, well, Dustin knows.”

“Steve!” You scowled, realizing that if they knew his name they’d be after him now. 

Steve gave no mind to it apparently. “Yeah, Dustin Henderson, he knows.” 

The officer frowned in thought. “It is your small, curly haired friend?” He asked.

“Kind of like a ‘fro, yeah.” Steve agreed, while you mentally face palmed.

“Where is he?” The officer asked.

“He’s long gone, you big asshole.” Steve laughed in his face. “And he’s probably calling Hopper, and Hopper's calling the US cavalry." He bragged. “They’re gonna come in here—guns ablazin’ and kick your sorry ass back to Russia!”

The officer gave an amused laugh, narrowing his eyes. “Is that so?” 

“Yeah.” Both Steve and the officer began laughing, until alarms started blaring in the distance, soldiers were yelling, and the officer fled as you looked around in confusion.

The door slammed open, revealing Robin, Dustin, and Erica standing in front of you with relieved looks on their faces. “Hey! Henderson!” Steve’s face lit up. “Thats crazy, I was literally just talking about you.” He said as they cut your restraints free, as you finally stood up.

Dustin pointed frantically out the door. “Get ready to run. Now.” 

Steve grabbed your hand, and the five of you sprinted away while giggling. 

⋆✴︎˚⋆ひ⋆✴︎｡⋆

Gator Tillman didn’t love you. He couldn’t. He only loved the approval of his father. And you were the opposite of that. 

That was only proved to you that very same day, when Roy and the rest of the family had returned home while you were still there. There was  frantic rush as you both woke up to Roy’s boot heels against the stairs when he called for Gator. You ended up stuffed in his closet with your clothes half on and surrounded by his own — black shirts, camo pants, leather jackets. Uniform. Before anything, he was a soldier for Roy.

“Gator, I need to speak with you.” Even though this time, he seemed happy, Roy’s voice always came like it was shooting a bullet straight into your chest. “Have you got your outfit ready for next week?”

“Next week?”

“The debate.” Right. The sheriff’s ‘debate’ that Roy had already won simply by default. It was a pre-emptive victory speech if anything. 

“I’m…goin’?” You didn’t want him there, but the shock in Gator’s voice still broke your heart. “Isn’t that election business?” 

“Precisely why you should be there. Look, you’re my kid. And I know you’ve been…slippin’ lately.” Even when he was trying to be nice, it was dripping in condescension. “Should’ve kept you close from the start. Helped you grow. You know the kind of stuff that goes on around here, and we gotta protect it, yeah?” 

“Yeah, of course Dad! I’ll protect it-“

“Good.” The finality of his voice made it click for you exactly what this was — another way to manipulate his own son into letting Roy keep his power. “See you at the debate?”

“See you at the debate.” Gator echoed, trying and absolutely failing to suppress his joy. Roy’s boots turned, and Gator was letting you out of the cupboard, ear to ear grin still on his face. You didn’t know whether to feel angry that he was still chasing after his dad or just sorry. So you said nothing, let him take your hand and sneak you out when the coast was clear. Your own car was parked a few streets down, out of view of the ranch. 

When you pulled up to it, you hesitated to get out. Because you, as always, couldn’t keep your mouth shut. “Y’know he’s just usin’ you right?” Gator scoffed at your sudden outburst. “Why does he suddenly want you on his side? He’s been treatin’ you like shit for months.” 

“He hasn’t been…I’ve been distracted.” His eyes darted up to you for a second. Right. That’s what you were. A distraction. A bandaid. Not someone he loved. Never that. “Don’t act like y’know shit about my life.” Yeah, just like he didn’t know shit about yours.

“Gator…‘m just saying you deserve better.” Words you never thought you’d say. But they were true. Then, you were leaning in and placing a kiss to his lips — delicate, light, and without expectation of more. His hands immediately came up to cradle your face, kissing back like it was instinct. Even when you pulled back, you went in again. And again. And again. Never deepening it, just being there. It didn’t fix anything. But it felt nice to pretend. 

It had been a week since that moment. 

And you both tried to act like it was all normal. That people who just slept together said things like that to each other. And that that kiss meant nothing either. It wasn’t somehow…different. 

He didn’t love you. He didn’t love you. He didn’t love you.

And you, most certainly, didn’t love him. 

Except he was the only one that could make your insides twist with feelings you didn’t think you were capable of anymore. 

One night, he was at the bar — two beers in and nursing a whiskey as you had to make small talk with a young bachelorette. You weren’t paying attention to a word she was saying, instead studying the way Gator’s eyes were intently focused on the condensation on his glass, and how he did that aggressive swallow that forced a lot more down his throat than just alcohol. He was fine when he walked in — soft smile, sunglasses on, even in the dead on night inside a club. Then he got a phone call, and he ordered whiskey, which he only drank when he was stressed.

“He-llooooo?” The girl waved her hands in front of your face, forcing you to turn. “Whatcha lookin’ at?” She followed your gaze to Gator. “Oh- Ohhhh.” Her feet slipped, making her slam on the counter as she tried to lean closer to you. “He’s hot.” It was meant to be a whisper but was so loud you were sure even Gator could hear. “‘S a T-Tillman, right? Heard he’s a baaad boy.” This did not sound like a woman who wanted to get married. But most in Stark County didn’t really. “My man’s fixin’ to be a deputy too.” That made Gator set his glass down, fully immersed in the conversation now.

“Is he?” He turned and suddenly the girl was breaking out into a huge smile.

“Oh, yeah. Has a few people he wants to y’know, put in their place.” She winked and for once, Gator didn’t agree. He tensed a bit. 

“Tell him we’re not lookin’ for anyone right now.” He set the half finished glass down, almost tossing it. “As for you…” He shuffled closer to, anger replaced with a flirty smirk. “She’s right.” One hand took yours as he handed you some bills, leaning close to your ear. “I am a bad boy.” The girl whistled but you were focused on the way his lips grazed your skin for a second.

With a nod, and a slight tip of his sheriff’s cap he walked off. You glanced down at the bills in your hand and something else — a napkin, in Gator’s messily scrawled writing. You squinted your eyes, trying to figure out the words. And when you did, they immediately made you smile. ‘You look really nice today.’ And next to it, a fucking smiley face. Then, right underneath, in much more Gator fashion. ‘My car. 5 minutes.’ 

The problem was, that was enough to get you there. 

⋆✴︎˚⋆ひ⋆✴︎｡⋆

“Baby, baby, baby. Slow down.” 

Gator wasn’t listening to your words, hunched over you in the backseat of the pickup, licking into your mouth. 

“Can’t.” He reluctantly let go of your lips to speak, but it wasn’t for more than a second at a time. “Only have…a few minutes…‘fore you have to go back.”  He didn’t even move to take off your clothes, sliding his hand up your skirt and immediately making you grip his shoulders for anchor. “‘N I have to go work for my dad.” Now you knew what the phone call was about. Not why he was in such a bad mood though. 

“‘S 3am- Jesus- What does he need now?”  You don’t know why you asked when firstly, you knew you weren’t going to get an answer and secondly, you shouldn’t have cared while Gator was literally working his fingers inside you. 

You reached for his pants, fumbling with the fly but not actually being able to see anything. “Can y’ at least take this off?” You tugged at the crushing weight of his deputy vest sitting between your chests. 

That’s when he smirked. “Why? Couldn’t stop staring at me in there.” His thumb traced a slow line from your under your eye along your jaw before finally resting on your bottom lip. “Guess you like a man in uniform.” 

“I don’t.” You grabbed both his cheeks with your hands, lips still moving against his thumb as you spoke. Like your words were more of a kiss than anything else. “Not at all.” You didn’t like a man in uniform, but you liked this man. Because you liked this man. The real one. His smirk faltered then, but he unclipped the entire vest, ripping it off as fast as possible and curling his fingers inside you again. Now able to unzip his cargos, you matched his pace and he moaned into you. But it was pained. This wasn’t fixing him in the way it usually did. “Gator?” With your free hand, you reached to brush his hair back so you could see his eyes. Whatever he tried to hide, you could always see it in them. But his hair all fell forward again immediately.  

“I just…” His fingers sped up inside you, making you gasp. “Need to hear my angel cry out f’me, please.” He moved back to rest his forehead on yours, kissing you soft. My angel. “‘S the only sound that’s gonna get me through tomorrow.” 

The sheriff’s debate was tomorrow. Well, really later today. You didn’t ask why that would be something he had to get through. You wrapped one arm tight around his shoulder, the other hand moving on him at the same pace and you did cry out for him. “Gator, Gator, Gator,” gasped right into his lips. The ones that were crying out for you just the same. 

⋆✴︎˚⋆ひ⋆✴︎｡⋆