For fox sake

His lips are stained with just a little residual red, and you suck the popsicle back into your mouth, smirking at him.

Since then, he hasn’t been able to keep his eyes off you, and you thought it was bad when you’d first stripped off your tank top to reveal the bikini top you were wearing underneath it. You were past the point of worrying about how you looked in a bathing suit in front of your family and extended family—your friends didn’t care, your husband didn’t care, and it was too damn hot for you to care either. You’d worn a pair of jean shorts anyway, which stuck to your legs like glue, so at least they wouldn’t ride up and show everyone that you hadn’t in fact, worn the matching bikini bottom.

You’d spent the rest of the afternoon playing with the twins, the two of them squealing and laughing as Roy found the old water guns from Gator’s youth in the shed, you letting them team up against you to spray you with ice cold water from the hose, ending up soaking wet in the scorching sun, dripping with sweat and water as you urged them to calm down so they could sit quietly and eat, which didn’t help. They had the giggles for the rest of the afternoon, and insisted that you run around with them some more, chasing the bubbles they blew until they were out of reach or popped, following a grasshopper as it fled from your thunderous footsteps, until they lost sight of it and you returned to the family gathering.

“You’re too good with them,” one of your friends said as you slumped down beside her, leaning your sweaty, sunkissed self against Gator’s arm while they ran inside for a bathroom break and you got five minutes of silence amongst adults.

“They’re just kids,” you replied. “They need to have fun. Right, Gates?” You nudged Gator, and immediately regretted it.

“I mean, I ain’t complainin’,” he said, his arm slithering over your skin, a little damp with sweat, to cup one of your tits through the bikini top. “Got these things all wet ‘n slippery, gettin’ me all hot ‘n bothered just thinkin’ about ‘em.”

“Oh my god,” you said, elbowing him in the stomach and standing up; even as you did, his hand slid down over your side to your hip, then your thigh as you started to stalk away from him. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yer irresistible,” he countered, sipping from his bottle of lukewarm beer, the sweat on the outside of the bottle pruning his fingers.

You flipped him off as you rejoined the girls, who grabbed one hand each and tugged you around behind them, making you try and lift them as they skipped on either side of you.

By the time you pulled yourself up into the cab of Gator’s truck hours later, the sun was starting to think about getting lower in the sky, but was still hanging up there, hazy and hot, the shimmering heat visible all along the road on the drive home.

“Fun day?” Gator asked, and you looked over, your tank top balled up in your hand, the other adjusting the air conditioning vents on your side of the truck.

“I could use about six naps,” you said, laughing. “Looking forward to the fireworks tonight. And a shower.”

Gator hummed, noncommittal. “Gonna be a fun evenin’.”

“I’m just glad to be sitting down,” you moaned, stretching your legs out a little. "I’m going to take a shower when we get home and then lie down until it’s time to go.”

Which is exactly what you did when you got home—though you only got as far as entering the bathroom. You’d untied your bathing suit top and unbuttoned your shorts, pushing them down a little over your hips, grimacing at how the denim stuck to your legs, still sweaty, practically glued to your skin, when the bathroom door opened behind you.

You glanced over your shoulder to see Gator, also shirtless, making his way in; you figured he had to take a piss, so you just continued undressing yourself, the scent of sun and sugar and sweat still clinging to you—to you both. You didn’t think much of it when Gator’s hand found its way to your lower back, until his hand slid to the side, gripping your waist, and he moved himself right up against your ass, still half-trapped in your jeans.

Glancing up to meet his eyes in the mirror, you took in his lascivious expression and immediately shook your head, even as he traced both hands now over your sides and up your warm skin, cupping your tits. You gasped as he pinched at your nipples.

“Gator—! I’m all sweaty.”

“Little sweat never hurt no one, sugar,” he said, licking a stripe up the nape of your neck, his front to your back. He boxed you in, pressing your hips against the vanity sink, and ground his hips against yours. Even through your denim shorts and the khakis he was wearing, you could feel how hard he was already. “Go on, tell me y’ain’t been wantin' this all day.”

Your breath caught in your throat. Yes, he’d been staring at you all day, and yes, you’d loved the feeling of his eyes on you, but you hadn’t really had a chance to consider it since you were basically on babysitting duty for Jessica and Maude. So, now that he was asking, well…

“Yeah,” you said, and he nosed at the wet hair at the back of your head, his tongue flicking out against your nape again, skin salty and hot. “But I’m—”

“Don’t give a fuck if yer sweaty, sugar, what part’a that ain’t ya gettin’?” Gator moved his hands down your chest again, and you could feel the little sheen of sweat collecting under your breasts, his hands sliding through it as he moved his palms flat down your stomach to press to the front of your hips.

“Let me shower first, and then we’ll—”

“We’ll just hafta shower again after,” Gator interrupted you. He took half a step back and spun you around, your eyes half-lidded with desire; he gave you credit for trying to be the voice of reason even when you were jonesing just as bad as he was. “So, whaddaya say? Y’giving me the green light?” His hands pressed against the outside of your hips, his first two fingers on your bare skin, the other two playing with the beltloops of your shorts.

“Yes,” you sighed, and even though the shorts took some finagling to work down your thighs, he pushed them off of you, helped you hoist yourself up half onto the sink, and then dropped to his knees on the tile floor of the bathroom, head perfectly between your legs.

“Holy god,” Gator said, his hands skimming up your thighs to push you as far open as he could, exposing your cunt to him, hair and skin both damp from the heat and arousal. “Don’t think I ever wanted ya this bad.”

“Fuck,” you said, one hand scrabbling against the edge of the sink to brace yourself, the other reaching forward to thread through Gator’s hair, soaked a little with sweat of his own, the strands thick between your fingers. His tongue flitted out against the expanse of your thigh.

“Fuck,” he said, breathing in the heady, musky scent of your pussy after a day of running around, of basking in the sun, of soaking up the heat. “Mm, a’right... got a little extra tang down here f’r me, huh? Like it. Love it,” he said, words muffled as he pressed his face back between your thighs, still slick with sweat, and you shivered half with self-consciousness, half with the thrill, as he inhaled deeply.

“Gator,” you said, coaxing him closer to the seam of your lips by his hair, and once his nose brushed against your mound, he opened his mouth and licked straight up, from your wet little hole to your clit.

He didn’t even pull away to make another smartass comment, didn’t have any words at all as he flicked his eyes up at you, making eye contact before just closing them and continuing what he’d started, just a little to the side.

He licked long, wide stripe up one side of your labia, collecting your arousal and the remnants of sweat that had collected there, tasting you at your most raw, most primal, almost animalistic in how he sucked at you, the obscene sounds of his tongue on you as he changed sides, the wet press of his mouth as he even delved into the fold of skin between your thigh and your mound, tasting you everywhere he possibly could.

Lapping at your entire cunt laid out before him, spread open, wide and all his for the taking, he laved over your whole pussy—lips, clit, your folds, your slit—until you were wet with his saliva and not much else, his tongue practically polishing your snatch until he pulled away and then, finally, pressed his mouth open against you. His hands pushed your thighs to the limit, spreading you open for him as you teetered on the edge of the sink, your folds slick and dripping once he spread you apart for his eager mouth.

Gator shifted his hold on your legs, curling his arms around your thighs to hold you above him as he mouthed at your folds, sucked your clit, licked and lapped and fucked you with his tongue, and the whole time, you heard him moaning too, groaning low in his chest as he ate you out like it was the last thing he’d ever do and he wanted to make sure he’d done it right, leaving behind no regrets.

Gator was so enthralled that his enthusiasm, his vigor, brought you to the edge before you even knew it was upon you, and you came, your legs spasming, pussy clenching up a little, a solid moan punched out of your throat as you lost your balance and slid off the sink right onto Gator’s face. His arms around your thighs held you up until you were able to slap your hands down on the sink again, keeping yourself stable as Gator kept his mouth on you, kept working the tip of his tongue from your clit to your hole, pulling away only once you were able to stand on your own.

“Fuck,” you breathed as he stood up, and the hair sitting hot and thick on his chest, soaked with drips of your arousal and his own sweat, tickled you as he leaned in to lick into your mouth, letting you taste yourself as he fucked you with his tongue. It was so strong, so rich, you tasted yourself, just...turned up a little more, and you groaned at how spending a few hours in the sun made things that much more tantalizing.

“Can’t get enough’a ya,” Gator said, lifting your hand from the sink and kissing each fingertip, your palm, down your forearm to your elbow and further, going so far as to press his mouth to the front of your shoulder, inhaling again.

“I’m sweaty,” you said again, self-consciousness clouding even your lust-hazy mind, and Gator pressed a short kiss to the fold of skin beneath your arm before he leaned up to kiss you—no. He was just speaking with his lips on yours.

“‘Nd I done told ya, I like it,” he said. “But I know yer tired ‘nd you wanna lie down, so. How about a quick shower before we take a nice lil’ nap?”

You lifted your arms, wrapped them around him, and tipped your chin up for a real kiss. “Perfect.” He kissed you one more time for good measure, then stepped away and turned the shower faucets on, letting the water run while he undressed himself fully as well. You could see the tan lines on his skin, the back of his neck a little red where the sun had been beating down on him, the same pink that his cheeks turned from a little exertion and the same pretty, rosy pink of the tip of his cock before he got too close to an orgasm and it flushed an even deeper color, reddening at the tip.

“Madame,” he joked, putting on a shitty French accent, holding out a hand for you to help guide you into the tub.

“Such a gentleman,” you said, but took his hand anyway and stepped into the bath. The water was cool, just enough warmth so it wouldn’t give you the shivers. 

To Gator’s credit, he fully let you bathe, washing your hair and he even helping scrub your back, kissing your shoulders as he did, and once you started to lather up your lower half, he spun you and grabbed your wrists.

“Let me,” he said, and you obeyed because you knew you’d get to clean up for real in just a little while.

He pushed you against the wall, the coolness of the tiles actually feeling wonderful on your heated skin, and as he curled two fingers into your pussy, you circled your arms around his neck and pulled his face to yours for a kiss. He obliged, letting you suck his lower lip and tongue as he circled your clit with his thumb, and just as you felt your cunt clench down in interest on his fingers, you were shaking your head.

“Wait,” you said. “No, I—want your cock.”

“All ya had ta do was ask, sugar,” Gator said, and kissed you again even as he put his hands to work. With one, he reached down to curl around your thigh, propping it up on his hip to give himself room to fuck into you—and with the other, he angled the head of his prick against you, slotting the tip into your pussy but—not moving further.

“Gator,” you whined, trying to sound threatening but probably not managing it.

“What?” he asked, like he didn’t know why you were upset. He jerked himself off against your pussy, the tip just barely breaching you, spreading you open but not actually moving in further than a centimeter or two—barely even enough to be considered inside of you, really. He just… kept his hand moving, jerking his cock off, his fingers nudging your pussy lips on each upstroke, until you were flexing your hips, pushing against him, trying to move onto him yourself.

“Fuck me,” you said, annoyed and desperate.

“What’s that?” Gator asked, like he couldn’t hear you over the rushing shower water despite being inches from your face.

“I said fuck me,” you said, keeping your voice low because he was egging you on on purpose and you refused to rise to it.

“Sorry, sugar, come again?”

“I’m trying to!” you yelled. “Fuck me! Fucking fuck me, Gator, oh my—god—!”

As your voice increased in volume, his impish grin had only grown wider and wider, until he shoved into you with one fluid motion, his cock pushing between your walls, spreading them open, impaling you on him until he was entirely seated in you, full of his heavy, fat, dick.

“That whatcha wanted?” Gator asked.

In lieu of answering, you nodded, whimpering, your forehead against his as you pouted, because now that you’d gotten your demand exactly, you were still at his mercy, even though you were rolling your hips and trying to fuck yourself on his cock. 

“That’s my good girl,” Gator said, and he lifted his chin up to kiss you, soft and sweet, still tasting like beer and cherry popsicles and your own pussy, your own musk; the kiss lasted longer than you could have hoped for, before he was pulling back out and then moving right back in, starting to fuck you at a slow, steady pace, the one you loved, where it felt like he was moving further into you with every single thrust, where it felt like you actually could never pull apart from each other after he drilled his cock into you to stay.

You kissed him languorously, reveling in the feel of it, the feel of him, lips on your lips and hands on your thighs and his cock in your cunt, stretching you out around his thick length.

“Play with them titties,” he muttered to you, because as much as you liked it—he liked watching you do it. "Go on."

You felt your cheeks warm again, like the sun had been beating down on you from in your own bathroom, but you slid your hands down his arms to your own body, fingertips trailing up your sides and front until you reached your breasts, toying with your nipples, rubbing and rolling them, pulling them to peaks as Gator watched, his lips parted a little, until he ducked down to try and take one into his mouth. The angle didn’t quite work, but it didn’t stop him—you just cupped your tit and lifted it to his mouth, and as he sucked you tipped your head back into the corner of the shower, sighing wistfully as Gator canted his hips against yours, sucked at your nipple, and then—oh—started rubbing your clit with his thumb again, too.

You would sleep good as fuck after this, of that you were sure. Fuck the fireworks, you’d be happy to let your husband make you see stars for the Fourth of July instead.

Gator pulled you closer to him, his free hand wrapping around you, palm flat on your lower back as he worked you up higher onto his hips, your shoulders leaning against the wall as he supported your weight otherwise, fucking up into you, the angle affording you the opportunity to have the ridge of his cock grinding against your g-spot now, every single time he moved back into you, and with the pressure inside of you mixed with the pressure on your clit, his thumb rubbing smooth circles over it, with his mouth on your nipple, and with your other hand tugging at the other sensitive nub yourself—it didn’t surprise you at all when you felt yourself tensing up, ready to come, the rush between your legs building and building and then impossible to bear, unknowably strong and then you came—

Your cunt spasmed around Gator’s cock, the release in your lower body making you half-moan, half-scream in relief, and you had no knowledge of it until Gator was licking into your mouth again, mumbling words that you were still too fucked out to comprehend, his hips sliding against yours, his cock buried deep inside you as you felt him twitching uncontrollably as he came, filling you so amply that you could already feel it dripping right back out of you around his cock.

“—kin’ squirted,” he said. “Ya fuckin’ squirted, didja hear me? Fuckin’ Christ in Heaven, sugar, you fuckin’ came all over me.”

“What?” you asked, as Gator bullied you up against the wall of the shower, his arms wrapped around you, tight as anything as his cock started to soften inside you, spent, both of you panting a little.

He lowered one hand down between you again, fingertips rubbing over your clit, making you gush weakly around him again, aftershocks rattling you, legs jerking a little around his hips.

“This perfect lil’ puss squirted fer me,” he said, kissing you again. “Next time ya better not let it go t’waste in the shower again.”

Your brain finally clicked back to its On setting as he pulled out of you. “You’re so gross.”

“How many times I gotta tell ya I like it ‘fore it sinks in, huh?” He said, tapping on your temple with his clean hand, now that your feet were firmly back on the shower floor. “Now, lemme clean ya up f’real, yeah?”

A small smile curved your lips. “Yeah,” you replied, and let your husband help you wash up. You did the same for him, and when you both curled into the sheets for a late afternoon nap, it was accidentally on purpose that neither of you remembered to set an alarm for the fireworks show.

Since there was really no room for you by the stove or the counter, the table was already set, and you were hungry, you hesitantly made your way over to the empty seat beside Gator, his eyes trailing you the whole time. 

Bowman’s chair was empty as well, and when you pulled your seat out from the table, you lowered yourself into it, waiting for a reprimand from Roy, but he was still focused on the twins. Gator was the one who spoke instead.

“This ain’t what I meant,” he said, voice low but hurried, like he wanted to say it without anyone else but you knowing. “Just—y’hear that, a’right?”

You turned to look at him, scrunching up your face, because you didn’t understand but you didn’t want to hear shit from him either. You just met his eyes, then lowered your gaze and looked away from him again, over at the twins. Jessica waved to you from across the table, while Maude spoke.

“Why did you leave,” she didn’t ask, but demanded. “We woke up. You were gone.”

“The floor isn’t super comfortable,” you said, putting on a slightly exaggerated frown. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s ok,” Jessica said, but before Maude could comment, Karen and a few of the ranch hands’ wives began carrying over food, pitchers of juice, and serving. Karen gave you a look, taking in the sight of you already seated, and pursed her lips, but sat down in her seat across from Gator and waited for Roy to lift his hands to say grace.

As always, you kept your face angled down and only moved to place your hands in Bowman’s and Gator’s. Bowman’s grip, as always, was firm and sturdy, the way you’d expect someone to shake hands, while it felt like Gator had held your hand differently every single time you’d placed your palm atop his. This time, it was loose again, his hand simply a place for yours to rest, not holding it but just letting it sit on his palm as though it were a bird alighting on a branch. You pulled it back as soon as “Amen” rung out from around the table, and watched as Karen served Roy and the girls, then herself, and then placed the utensils back into the bowl. It was clear what you were meant to do.

Even so, you refused to. You served yourself eggs and potatoes and, to make your point, stuck the serving spoons back into the dishes before pouring yourself juice and then picking up your fork to eat. Karen, Roy, Gator, and even Bowman all stared at you as you began eating your breakfast, leaving Gator’s plate empty.

After a moments’ hesitation, Gator lifted his hand to help himself.

“Stop.”

All eyes—all eyes—at the table turned to Roy, who was focused solely on you.

“Allow me to explain something to you,” he said, looking pointedly at the fork in your hand, plainly meaning for you to put it down. You didn’t, and when you didn’t, Roy looked down at his plate, amused, almost, a cold smile on his face. “Now, what you need to understand is that if I choose to discipline—well, you. Karen. My children”—your heart sank at the thought of Roy hitting either of those little girls across from you—“I do it to teach them something. Instruction.” He smiled just a little wider. “Guidance. Do you understand that?”

You swallowed, thickly, audibly probably, but didn’t acknowledge Roy other than keeping your eyes on his.

“First time, I’ll admit…” He snickered. “You got me, little miss. Caught me off guard. Really, you did it to yourself.” Beside you, Gator tensed, but Roy continued speaking before he could interject, like there was some chance he actually might. “I’m not sure what other choice you thought I might have after you tried something like that. But I digress. I’m explaining this to you so you understand that the next time you try to pull a stunt like this one—not serving Gator here his breakfast, talking back, ignoring or disobeying what you’re told to do—you won’t get a warning. You’ll get a lesson learned on the back of my hand.” He leaned over the table toward you; even Gator flinched a little backward. “Is that sinkin’ in?”

You said nothing—what was there to say? Your cheeks were hot and your stomach was in knots; he’d just threatened you in front of his staff and his family. Even the twins were silent, and yet your only response was to reach your hand out to pick up the spoon you’d stuck in the eggs and pile some onto Gator’s plate.

&&

Neither you, Gator, or Karen spoke during the meal, though the girls were chatty enough, and by the time Roy dismissed the hands and their wives, to let them go about their business out in the fields or the barn or in town, you stayed seated because Gator did, and you didn’t want to incur Roy’s ire more than you already had.

“You’ll be with Karen today,” Roy said, looking at you. “Help with the girls, shadow her as she does the finances. Learn a little bit about caring for a home.” He sipped the dregs of coffee remaining in his mug. “And you,” he said, directing it toward Gator. “You’ll be helping finish the bathroom over in the other house.”

“Dad,” Gator started to say, but Roy spoke over him.

“The sooner it’s all buttoned up over there, the sooner you can move your things in. At least the basics.” Roy stood up, gesturing to you, indicating that now he was speaking to you. “In time he’ll be fully moved in, so I hope you didn’t get too comfortable in there.”

“Don’t worry,” you said, just as cold and bitter as you felt. “I didn’t.”

Roy either missed or ignored your tone and just slid his coffee mug over to Karen, who stood from the table and crossed to the coffee maker to refill it, sliding the carafe out from where it was still half-full and pouring him another mugful. 

As Karen handed him the mug, her free hand curling over his shoulder, Roy continued, “I hope you don’t think Gator will make the same mistake twice.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you replied, choosing not to acknowledge the way you saw Gator turn to look at you out of the corner of your eye.

“You don’t fuckin’ learn,” Gator said, drawing a frown from you and what appeared to be a smirk from Roy.

“She’s your problem now, son,” Roy said. “Make sure she knows how you deal with ‘em.”

Gator didn’t look away from you, didn’t even react to what Roy had said. You had the wherewithal to understand, at least, that there was something unsaid between the people still left in the room, yourself excluded, and you also understood that whatever it was, it would make itself known when Roy allowed it to be. Keeping you in the dark, keeping you ignorant, was his greatest weapon.

The tension grew thicker each moment that you all sat there, Roy leaning against the back of his chair, nursing his coffee mug, until finally he placed it down half-finished beside his plate.

“Day’s growing long,” Roy announced. “Get to it. I’ll be at the station if you need me,” he added to Karen. And then, to you and Gator: “I can’t wait to see what you do with the place.”

&&

Your first task, while Karen cleaned up the kitchen, was to get the girls ready for the day, after which you joined Karen while she went through bills and wrote out checks and made phone calls and checked on the girls and then sat with them for more lessons, which you’d experienced before, early on in your time here. They didn’t want you to leave after you made them lunch, but Karen was all too glad to see Bowman come collect you once the work was finished on the bathroom, and you had to admit that you were thrilled to get out of the main house and back to the small little haven you’d been given, even though now it was going to house Gator along with you. He’d been acting differently, acting like he wanted you to trust him, but you wouldn’t and you weren’t going to. Ever. He was from here, this crazy fucking place, and you couldn’t trust anyone. You barely even trusted Jessica and Maude not to tell Karen or Roy anything you said, and they were children. All of it going on around you, to you, was making you paranoid.

And Aidy. You just had to hold out hope that no one had found her and that she was still ok after being alone for so long. How could you feed her without Gator knowing? You’d have to sneak her out of the mudroom and upstairs into the bathroom where you’d stashed the milk supplement. God forbid he found the ones you had downstairs in a kitchen cabinet.

The door to the carriage house was not only unlocked when you arrived, but it was fully open. You scowled—that would just be letting cold air in and the heat out. You had half a mind to ask if Gator was raised in a barn, but… well.

Stepping into the house, leaving Bowman outside, you took a look around the living area, glancing into the kitchen. Both empty. 

“Hello?” you called, your voice tight and throaty, worried that he would be in here, worried that he wouldn’t be. It felt like walking into a haunted house, the belly of the beast, a lair where anything could be lurking. But there was no answer.

Emboldened, probably and stupidly unwise, you pulled the front door closed behind you, tired of the chill that it was allowing to permeate the room, and made a beeline for the mudroom and uncovered Aidy from where you’d left her. She began purring as soon as you picked her up, squeaking and meowing and wiggling from inside the towel you’d left her wrapped up in. You held her tightly to your chest, wanting her to not only feel your warmth but to feel comfort, feel security. If you couldn’t have it, at least she could.

It was too risky to mix food and feed her in the kitchen, so you just positioned her against your body and peeked out of the mudroom door, just your head looking down the hallway.

“Hello?” you called again, waiting for an answer, but still, there wasn’t one. 

Where was he?

Holding Aidy close, trying to keep her well out of sight, you bustled past the downstairs bathroom—you'd look at it later, like you really even cared about the way they’d rebuilt it—and hurried into the kitchen. Positioning the cat so she would be out of sight if he surprised you in there, you grabbed a cup and a spoon, then scurried up the stairs. The bathroom on the second floor was right across from the balustrade, and as you rounded the newel post at the top of the flight, you heard shuffling footsteps from further down the hall.

You rushed toward the bathroom, desperate not to be spotted, and glanced over to your right at the last moment. Gator was emerging from the master bedroom just as you passed through the bathroom door.

“Hey,” he said, but you slammed the door shut, hoping that a closed bathroom door still afforded you privacy even with a Tillman in the house. You didn't move from where you stood in the center of the room, cradling the cat, and you heard the floor shifting a little as he approached.

There was a pause, then a couple of quiet knocks. “Hey.”

“I'm a little busy,” you said.

“Yeah, uh—listen,” he said.

“I'm busy,” you said, exasperated and not even faking it.

“A’right. I'll—be downstairs. I wanna talk to ya.”

You said nothing in response, and after a moment you heard him walk away, the stairs creaking as he descended.

Exhaling heavily, you lifted Aidy to your face, pressing your nose and mouth against her before letting her rub against your cheek, and then you deposited her, towel and all, into the sink, turning to face the toilet.

If they'd found it, you would have been punished. If they'd found it, you wouldn't be standing here right now with a hungry kitten depending on you. If they'd found it, you would have known. 

And still, as you reached for the lid to the tank, your hands shook with nerves. If the food was missing, there was nothing you could do for Aidy. Nothing.

The porcelain scraped as you lifted the lid, but the containers were still there, and you could have sobbed with relief.

“Hey, it's ok, Aidy,” you said, quietly, and also to yourself, mostly. “It's still here.”

You checked both containers, wiping them dry with toilet paper, and they still seemed fully sealed and perfectly ok to give to the kitten. Replacing the lid on the tank carefully so as not to alert Gator that you weren't just going to the bathroom up here, you went about mixing some of the milk powder with water from the tap, stirring it thoroughly and then offering it to Aidy on the spoon. She drank it ravenously, and you took a shaky breath. She must have been starving.

Petting her gently with the thumb of your other hand, you let her eat her fill, then watched as she snuggled back into the towel and fell asleep. Before lifting the lid off the toilet tank again, you chanced a look under the sink and were thrilled, actually, to see various cleaning products had been placed there. It appeared to be a lot of what you'd been provided to clean the house, along with extra rolls of toilet paper, some drain cleaner, and various cleaning brushes. You shoved the milk containers into the far back, where Gator would probably miss them—if he ever even went under here at all, which you doubted—then straightened up.

You'd done your work for the day, apparently, because all you'd been told to do was figure out how you (and Gator, but fuck him) wanted to organize the house. As far as you were concerned, he could do whatever the fuck he wanted with the furniture as long as he stayed out of the smaller bedroom that you'd claimed for yourself. Rubbing your face with both hands, you turned to the mirror, looking at your reflection. You looked the same, you guessed—it had been a couple of rough weeks, but you were proud of yourself for holding up. The bruise on your eye was fading, but it was a sickly green, turning from the purple it had been previously, with some yellow stretching down your cheek and up near your temple. You stared as long as you could, but then had to turn away—it was making you sick to your stomach, the thought that Roy had done that to you and no one had even seemed to care, much less think twice about it.

A thought struck you—and only part of it was you trying to delay having to go downstairs to talk to Gator. You stripped your clothing off, turning the water on in the shower, and watched as it ran brown for a couple of minutes as it heated up. This house, somehow, actually had hot water. You could have laughed—you hadn't taken a warm shower since you'd been brought here. Once the water draining out of the bottom of the tub was clear, you stepped in, realizing after you did that there weren't any toiletries there, no shampoo or soap but you didn't fucking care. The water was hot and your skin thrummed as it beat down against you. You ran your hands over your body, grinning as you closed your eyes and held your face beneath the spray. It felt like the water was cleansing you, even though you couldn't slough off anything without soap.

The water ran over you for a long time—long enough that your fingers turned pruney and your body felt numb with the sheer temperature of the shower. Steam had filled the room—you could see the mist hovering above you, and when you turned off the water and drew the curtain to the side, the air was viscous, thick, and without the hot water cascading down onto you, you felt a little chill.

There were no towels in here either, other than the one Aidy was wrapped in, but you didn't fucking care about that either. That shower was one of the first things you'd done without permission on this ranch that wouldn't get you in trouble. And that felt freeing.

&&

After practically leaping from the bathroom into your small bedroom to tuck Aidy away and dress yourself, you hesitantly walked downstairs with your hair dripping onto your shoulders. You'd found, upon opening the closet, that all of the clothes you'd had in the main house were hung or folded neatly for you, and the clothes that you'd arrived in were there too. Your jacket. Your own boots, not the workboots you'd been given.

You tried to remember that this was not a kindness, it was undoubtedly a manipulation to make you trust them, because they'd given you your own property back.

You grabbed a hooded sweatshirt and a pair of jeans, pulling on thick socks as well, then returned to the first floor. Gator was in the kitchen, sitting at the table, clearly waiting for you. He had his phone in one hand, scrolling, and was tapping each fingertip in turn onto the table. He looked up at you as you walked into the kitchen.

“Home sweet home, huh?” you asked.

Huffing a sigh, he locked his phone, set it down on the table, and then gestured to the chair perpendicular to him. “Sit.”

You didn’t move, just watched him.

He watched you back, the scowl fixed to his mouth, and then kicked the chair out by one of the legs, his foot against it, skidding it across the floor. “I said, sit.”

A beat. Two. Stretching into a long moment. Then, you said, “No.”

Testing the waters. Testing him. You saw the irritation flick across his face, but just as quickly his expression turned impassive again.

“Fine,” he said. He kicked his feet up onto the chair that he’d moved away from the table, crossing them at the ankles, and looked up at you. “We need t’set some ground rules.”

“Like what?” you asked. “You’re here to watch me. What could I do?”

Gator continued as though you hadn’t spoken. “Y’ain’t gonna try t’run again. Y’ain’t gonna make me look fuckin’ stupid like that again.”

“You made yourself look stupid,” you said. “You left the door unlocked.”

“You know you ain’t s’posed ta go out.”

You looked at him like he was the dumbest fucker on the planet. “Yeah, because your dad is holding me fucking hostage. I’m not supposed to go out because I’m a prisoner. Jesus Christ, you’re even dumber than you look.”

Gator tensed, you saw him, but he managed to keep himself steady in his chair. “Now, you listen,” he said, and his voice was shaking with the effort of remaining seated, you could tell. You’d touched a nerve. “This could all go one’a two ways. Either you listen t’me ‘nd mine, ‘nd maybe yer time here ain’t so fuckin’ bad. Or, you keep talkin’ back and learn”—each word thereafter grew louder, angrier, so much so that you took half a step back with each syllable he spit out—“every fuckin’ LESSON the goddamn HARD way. So you tell me, girly—which sounds better to ya?  Huh? The easy way, or the way that ends the way y’don’t want it t’end?”

“You think I’m scared of you?” you asked.

“Oh, no,” Gator said, and with that, his boots hit the kitchen floor again and he stood up, but he didn’t make his way over to you. He just stood at the table, his hands leaning onto it as he bent slightly at the waist, lowering himself to look at you on your eye level. “I don’t think yer nearly fuckin’ scared enough.”

“And you care? What, now it bothers you?”

Gator’s lip curled up on one side, half grimace, half smirk. “You think I like this? Bein’ made t’play babysitter to a little uppity bitch who won’t behave?”

“Don’t blame me because you can’t remember the one thing you’re responsible for on this fucking ranch,” you said. “You had one job and you fucked it up. I guess locking a door is too complicated for someone who’s had everything handed to him since day one by Daddy.”

“And now I’m locked in here with ya,” Gator said, “so watch who yer fuckin’ talkin’ to.” He straightened up, rounding the table to step closer to you. “You ferget real easy, missy, I came ta get y’outta here. Brought ya food. Set the goddamn time for ya.” You rolled your eyes exaggeratedly, because the bar was literally below sea level and he still couldn’t find his way over it. “Only thing y’got between you and Roy is me.”

“Oh, right, I’m your problem now,” you said.

“Problem is fuckin’ right,” he said. “Any bullshit you pull reflects on me. ‘Nd the harder it is fer me around here, harder it gets fer you. Y’wanna act like y’got a fuckin’ sense’a self-preservation, look the fuck around ya.”

You studied him, keeping silent, because he was saying a lot more than he realized—or maybe he was giving you information without explicitly giving you information. Intentionally. Covertly.

“Is that why you do whatever he tells you?” you asked, a little quieter now, though you were still angry.

“We ain’t talkin’ about me,” Gator said. “We’re talkin’ about you, ‘nd how things’re gonna be now that we’re in this fuckin’ house together.”

It was your turn to continue as though Gator hadn’t spoken. “Why don’t you just—leave?”

And Gator—he did the same, both of you having a one-sided conversation at the other. “Yer gonna listen, startin’ now. Yer gonna do the work they give ya, shut the fuck up, ‘nd come back here at the end of the day.”

“We could both go,” you said, trying to speak over him. “We could—you have to know who the crooked cops are, right? The ones your dad has in his pocket. Find a good one who can help us.”

“There ain’t no us,” Gator said, voice very nearly cracking. “There’s me, and there’s you, and you gotta learn to listen to me. Get it? That’s how this shit works.”

“And then what? Hm? I just wither away and die on this ranch?”

Gator snickered. “If I’m lucky.”

“Fuck you,” you said. “Fuck you, and fuck this place, and fuck your dad for making you think this is how you have to be. You know it’s not like this out there, right? Off of this—dirt farm? I know you, you go—you go into town or the city or whatever. You see normal people. You see how—the world actually is. What did he do to you? To make you think this is right?”

Gator stepped closer, his boots heavy on the checkered tiles. “See, that’s just the thing. The world’s exactly what he says it is. Fuckin’ people out there—you—can’t see it. He got it all figured out. Cracked it. He knows what’s right, ‘nd that ain’t always the law, the written law. The law of the land’s what he follows.” He looked down his nose at you. “‘Nd those laws ain’t always pretty.”

You held his gaze for as long as you could, but finally, you turned away, shaking your head.

“Givin’ up?” Gator asked, as you moved away from him, back to the couch where you’d slept for several days. Where Gator had insisted he was trying to help you after Roy hit you. You didn’t answer his question, and you heard him snicker. “That was easy.”

“Fuck you,” you said again, half-heartedly, and he didn’t answer you but you did hear his footsteps approaching as you sunk down onto the couch.

“Gave my old man such a hard time, but y’just give up, just like that? Thought y’had more fight in ya.”

“I thought you did too,” you said, and given the silence, you could tell you’d thrown him.

“Fuck’s that mean?” he asked after a beat.

“Half the time you’re acting like you sympathize. The other half you’re your dad’s little soldier. Now you’re…whatever the fuck you’re being now. What, did he tell you you could do whatever you want with me in here as long as you convince me to behave?” You turned to look at him, at the indignant frown on his face, the way you could tell he wanted to be contrary but had no words to refute yours. “You made me ice. And now it’s, ‘this is how things are gonna be with us in this house together’ and ‘you’re gonna listen to me starting now.’” 

You let your eyes move over him, his shoulders, stretching the jacket that he’d offered to you. His wrist, twisted by his father when he defied him because you had first. His eyes, that had actually almost looked pained when you’d slapped his hand away from your face the first night you’d spent in here. 

“You didn’t know he was going to make you come in here with me, did you?” you asked.

Gator didn’t reply.

“So what changed between then and now, that you’re all big and tough and making demands?”

He held your gaze, his lips a thin line. “How ‘bout we don’t ask each other questions," he said, and the tone and inflection, despite the phrasing, let you know he was telling.

“Only if you think about the answers to what I already asked you,” you said. “Are you just having a tantrum because he punished you?”

“I ain’t havin’ a tantrum,” Gator said dismissively.

“You didn’t know, you obviously aren’t happy—and you’re not even trying to change his mind. He broke you and now he wants you to break me, is that it?”

“You don’t know what yer fuckin’ talkin’ about,” he said.

“You just can’t see it. Or you don’t want to.” You looked up at him from the couch, and his demeanor had shifted, from the asshole who’d come in hot to the man plaintively trying to get you to just listen. 

“Ain’t nothin’ t’see,” he said, dismissively.

You scoffed. “Keep telling yourself that.” You turned back around, staring into the corner of the room, waiting for him to leave or go upstairs or better—outside, locking you in with your solitude, which you’d come to realize you’d been taking for granted.

“You, uh,” he said, and despite yourself, you tipped your head a little, betraying that you were listening because you didn’t want to even acknowledge him. “You really only 21?”

Taking a moment to internalize the question, you shifted yourself on the couch to look at him, your elbow pressing into the cushioned arm as you turned, an unamused smirk set on your lips. “Not yet.”

“You’re 20,” he said, and his expression, which you could tell he was fighting to keep unreadable, looked troubled. You wondered which version of him was the real one: This man, or that monster.

You bit back the gibe about being proud that he could do simple math and instead just shrugged. “Does he tell you anything?”

Gator opened his mouth, closed it, and looked toward the front door, the afternoon sun shining in through the window. “When he wants me t’know it, yeah.”

“Yeah,” you said, voice low, and the afternoon ticked slowly by as you both spent the rest of it in silence.

“I mean, yes, I will go with you, if only to make sure you don’t end up drooling over the wrong nerd in a fedora.”

“I avoid men in fedoras like the plague,” you replied.

Your sister rolled her eyes at you. “I remember—”

“That was in high school,” you said. “And I dumped him after he said m’lady.”

“So what time are we going?” she asked you, finishing up folding the towels she’d just pulled from the dryer and picking up the stack, heading over to the linen closet in the hall.

“After dinner?” you replied. “If you don’t mind me staying.”

This time, she rolled her eyes. “You practically live here anyway.”

“Only because my game room isn’t set up yet. I need this bar.”

“And you need me as your wingwoman,” she said. “Chinese ok for dinner?”

You grinned. “You know who you’re talking to, right?”

&&

Sue’s—the new retro barcade that was currently hosting its grand opening—was a short walk from your apartment. Your sister had made you stop at your place on the way so she could steal some of your clothes, not wanting to look like a normie (her word, not yours). You’d told her it didn’t matter what she wore, but that didn’t stop her from taking your Kingdom Hearts 2 t-shirt and tying it up into a cute crop top.

You, however, had opted for your Ms. Pac-Man shirt because the bar was literally named after one of the ghosts and you were nothing if not a sucker for a gimmick. After a quick couple of pregaming shots, you two made your way to the bar, actually a little surprised that there was a line to wait on.

“Your people come out in droves for this kind of shit,” your sister said, and you just laughed a little to yourself.

“Yeah, well, we like to be let out of our enclosures on occasion,” you joked back, and she just rolled her eyes, stepping forward as the line moved, and after a few minutes, you were actually let into the bar itself.

It was dimly lit inside, but not too dim to be able to see, red and blue lights washing everyone and everything out, but the decor was great. Vintage arcade games lined the back wall, a pool and air hockey table were adjacent to the bar on either side, and you even saw a door to a separate room with a sign reading “PC방” above it. That sounded promising and kind of fun—but it was packed, and so you made your way to the bar instead.

A couple of cosmos later, and you were eyeing the retro Street Fighter II console while your sister was pushing you off of your stool.

“I’ll be right here,” she said, slapping her phone down on the bar and opening up her crossword puzzle app.

“So much for wingwoman,” you said, slinging your bag over your shoulder and making your way to the token machine. You fished a $10 out of your wallet, took one of the Sue’s Bar + Arcade branded cups to fill with your tokens, and then made your way to the Street Fighter game.

Just as soon as you placed a hand on it, someone else did at the exact same moment, and you sighed inwardly, because you’d definitely gotten there first, and you didn’t feel like getting into an argument with some douchebag about it.

“Oops, sorry,” the other person said, and when you lifted your eyes to his face, you found him smiling at you. He even retracted his hand.

“No problem,” you said, taking that to mean he was about to step away, and leave you to play as God herself (Chun Li) in peace.

“Well,” he said, and you tried not to roll your eyes in a way that was super obvious and allow him to see. “I’ve kinda been waiting for this game to open up all night.”

You shrugged. “I won’t be long. I want to go play Contra after,” you said, pointing over the guy’s left shoulder to another console.

He looked, and then turned right back around. “Would you believe that was my next stop too?” He smiled again, and you noticed, as the overhead lights shifted from red to blue, the freckles on his cheek, the way his eyes crinkled a little.

“No shit,” you said, a little smile making itself known. But just a little one.

“Nope,” he said, and you watched as his smile faltered a little, obviously unsure of how to progress the conversation. That tracked for a guy in a barcade.

“Well,” you said, plucking a couple tokens out of the cup you’d settled onto the console. “What if we play this together… and then move over to Contra?”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you said, then held out your hand, introducing yourself.

He took it, shaking your hand, then spoke. “I’m Keys.”

“Keys. Really?” you asked.

“Really,” he said, keeping a straight face, and you just laughed quietly.

“Ok, gamer,” you said, “let’s go.”

You chose, of course, Chun Li, while Keys went with Dhalsim.

“I’ve never seen anyone pick him before,” you commented, and Keys just smirked over at you.

“I’ve played a lot of Street Fighter in my day,” he said. He reached into the chest pocket of his shirt and pulled out a pair of glasses, slipping them on. You bit your lip, because he looked even cuter with them on.  “Just watch.” 

And you did. Because he schooled you. You were no slouch when it came to the game either, and even though you’d decided on best two out of three, it didn’t even matter—he wiped you in all three games, because you’d insisted on the third after he won the first two.

Sighing heavily, you rested your arms on the edge of the console and pressed your forehead to it, scowling to yourself because you didn’t want him to see how upset you were.

“Hey, c’mon,” Keys said, his voice soft even though he had to speak loudly over the din of the bar. “I didn’t want to go too easy on you… figured you wouldn’t appreciate that.”

“No, it’s fine. I just—I’ve never had my ass so thoroughly handed to me before,” you said, straightening up.

Keys gave you a small smile before he spoke again, leaning his hip on the game. “Could I also maybe… pay for a drink to be handed to you?”

“You want to buy me a drink?”

“Least I could do,” Keys said, “for destroying you. In a video game, I mean.”

“Yeah, ok. True.” You picked up your cup of tokens and followed him over to the bar, sitting opposite your sister. When you looked over, she was watching you, and she waggled her eyebrows at you, nodding approvingly as Keys removed his glasses and slipped them back into his pocket. You subtly flipped her off as Keys ordered a Guinness (draft, not bottle), and then he turned to you, his hand accidentally nudging your upper arm as he did.

“Ack, sorry,” he said, and it brought you back to high school when you guy friends would touch you unintentionally. Half awkward, half endearing. “What did you want?”

“I’ll just have a cosmo,” you said to the bartender, and Keys grinned.

“Pink like Sue,” he said, as the bartender filled a glass with beer for Keys, then stepped away to go mix your drink up.

“Only at first,” you replied. “She turned purple later.” 

“Very true,” he said, sipping his drink. “So—you’re into retro games, clearly… Street Fighter and Contra. What else do you like to play?”

“A little bit of everything,” you replied, nodding to the bartender when he placed your cocktail in front of you with a napkin. The garnish was an orange peel, cut into the shape of one of the Pac-man ghosts. “I dabble, I guess.”

“Dabble,” Keys repeated. “In everything, really?”

“Kind of!” you replied. “Shooters, visual storybooks, walking sims… dating sims.”

Keys smirked. “Like the Arcade Spirits kind of dating sim, or the HuniePop kind?”

“Who showed you my Steam library?” you asked, and at that, you both laughed. “No, try Dream Daddy.”

“I think you can tell a lot about a person by their first dream daddy and their favorite dream daddy,” Keys said.

“Oh yeah?” you asked. “Who are yours?”

“First was obviously Mat,” Keys said. “But favorite? I dunno, there’s just something about Hugo.”

You lifted your drink to your lips, nodding as you took a sip, pondering deeply. “Ok. Yeah, I think you’ve just shown me a side of yourself no one else in here knows.”

“What about you?” he asked, leaning on the bar.

“My first was Craig,” you said, and he scoffed. “What! You have eyes. He’s cute.”

“He is…good-looking,” Keys agreed.

“And my favorite is Robert.”

Keys sucked his teeth. “Yeah, ok. I know you now.”

“Whatever,” you said, grinning into your cocktail. “Now that we’ve bared our souls, let’s just enjoy our drinks.”

You may have imagined it, but he moved a little closer, just a touch.

&&

“I am telling you,” you said, as the two of you wended your way through the crowd toward Contra. “Chris Redfield punching a rock is stupid.”

“Chris Redfield punching a rock, yes, would be stupid,” Keys agreed, as you reached the game, currently occupied by another player. He stepped up and placed a token on the console, signifying that he wanted to play next. “But he punched a boulder.”

“That’s what makes it so dumb,” you said vehemently, and Keys just nodded along as you went on your diatribe. “He’s a regular guy. He might be STARS or whatever, but they’re just regular guys.”

“Do you think Leon could punch a boulder?”

You stopped, biting the inside of your cheek. You’d told him just a few minutes ago how Leon was the ideal guy in the Resident Evil franchise, how he had it all: looks, one-liners, personality. Even in the newest installment where he was 30 years older and more grizzled, you’d still let him hit. (And then you felt absolutely mortified about saying that to a guy who you’d just met.)

“Shut up,” you said, and Keys laughed.

“I’m taking that as a yes,” he said, as the guy currently at the Contra console died, using his last life, and then ambled away from the machine.

“Thanks,” you said after him, because he could very well have chosen to play some more but let you and Keys have the machine.

You both slotted tokens in, and since this was a co-op game, kept your conversation going.

“I’m an Ada guy myself,” he said.

“You would be,” you replied, running your character through the sidescrolling game. 

“You like Claire?”

You scoffed, picking up a powerup in the game so your gun was better. “Try Countess Alcina Dimitrescu,” you said, and Keys hummed approvingly. “Or, honestly. Heinsenberg.”

Keys glanced at you. “How could I possibly measure up?”

You looked at him sharply, shocked that a guy who hadn’t even known how to ask you to play Street Fighter with him was being so brave now. Must have been the liquid courage of the beer.

“Well, you’re real, for starters,” you said. “So that’s like, several ticks in your favor.”

“Yeah?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied. “Big time.”

Contra went great actually, and since no one was waiting for you after you’d both lost all of your lives, you started another game, the two of you working exceptionally well, in sync, and you got to the end of the game before both of you died one final time, the “Enter Token” message flashing on the Start screen again.

“Damn,” Keys said, but before he could keep talking, your sister popped up at your elbow.

“I’m gonna get out of here,” she said, looking Keys up and down, then turning back to you. “You good?”

“I’m good,” you replied, giving her a hug and a kiss goodbye.

“You coming back to my place?”

“Not sure yet,” you said, which was maybe a little too telling, but whatever. 

“All right. Have fun. Be safe,” she said, then pinched your elbow before she walked away.

“My sister,” you said, by way of explanation.

“I could tell,” Keys said, leading you away from the game over to the section of the bar featuring claw machines. “You look uncannily alike.”

“Because it’s so dark in here,” you said, watching as he pulled out a handful of tokens from his pocket and fiddling with them in his hand as he scoped out the machines. “She’s way older than me.” And she would kill you if she ever heard you say that.

Keys smirked, then took a step toward a machine, turning back toward you to make sure you’d follow. You did. You watched in silence as he poked the inside of his cheek with his tongue, concentrating deeply as he put in the required number of tokens, moved the hook, nudged it again a little more, a little more, a little more—then slapped the button to lower the claw.

With bated breath, you both watched as the claw lowered down into the jumble of Kirby plushies, and because it had been quite expertly placed, hooked perfectly around one of the round little bodies and clamped down on it, lifting it into the air. For a moment it looked like it would fall out—but no, down he fell through the chute and into Keys’ waiting hand.

Your expression changed from pleased to surprised as Keys handed the plushie to you.

“How’d you know I like Kirby?” you asked.

He shrugged. “Everyone likes Kirby.”

You took it, hugged it. “Thank you,” you said. “I have plenty of tokens left over, too. I can try to win you something.”

“Maybe next time?” Keys said. “The lights in here are getting to me.”

“Oh,” you said, because again—you weren’t sure if he was angling or just informing you he wanted to leave. So, you took matters into your own hands. “Well, I have normal lights at my place. Like, warm white, low wattage. Super easy on the eyes.”

Keys nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Would you also happen to have, like, a Nintendo Switch?”

“I would,” you said.

“With… Mario Kart?”

“Of course,” you replied.

“Well,” he said. “I guess you convinced me to hang out with you some more. To be clear, it’s because you have a game I like.”

“Right,” you said, heading to the bar to close out the tab you’d made earlier with your sister. “Obviously, duh.”

The walk back to your apartment wasn’t overly long, but a few steps out of the barcade, you felt Keys’ fingers brushing against yours. Without acknowledging them, you turned your hand to his and let him take it. His hand was warm and soft, and as he laced his fingers in between yours, you turned and hid your face in the Kirby plush, because oh my god.

Your apartment was a very recent acquisition—you’d moved in like, literally, two weeks ago, and so everything was still shiny and neat and clean. The spare bedroom hadn’t been set up yet but all of your gaming stuff was in there.

“You can grab a drink if you want,” you said, gesturing to the kitchen, “I’ll be right back.”

You heard the refrigerator door open as you made your way down the hall, grabbing the milk crate that held your Switch stuff, and by the time you’d picked it up and turned around, Keys was silhouetted in the doorway. He reached in, flicked the light switch, and you saw his eyes widen.

“Holy shit,” he said. “You’re like… hard core.”

“I stream in my spare time,” you said. “Been a rough couple weeks without it.”

“I bet,” he replied. “If you want any help setting your stuff up… just let me know.”

“Thank you,” you said, “but for now, I need to kick your ass off Rainbow Road.”

His grin widened but his eyes narrowed. “Oh, you think so.”

“There will not be a repeat of Street Fighter,” you said. “I swear on my Atari 2600.” You jerked your chin to the side, where the retro console that had once belonged to your dad sat atop your otherwise empty desk, a place of honor since it was the only thing unpacked.

“Loser pays for dinner,” Keys said.

“It’s like… 10:30,” you replied.

“Breakfast then?” he asked.

You were so taken aback by his proposition that you scoffed, laughed, and then said, “You know what? Sure. Impress me and maybe I’ll let you buy me breakfast.”

“Wait… so I have to buy even if I win?”

You nodded. “Yup!”

Keys scoffed, but it was more of a laugh than anything else, and he took the milk crate of game paraphernalia from you as you led him back to your living room area, which was immaculate because you spent more time at your sister’s place than you did here. You’d slept at her apartment at least five nights since you’d moved in.

Despite your attempts to elbow Keys out of your way and set up the switch yourself, he didn’t let you, instead uncoiling wires and plugging things in, and so you just went to your kitchen and grabbed a drink for yourself, since you’d clocked that he’d already helped himself to a can of Monster, a wonderful choice after you’d both had alcohol. You grabbed the pitcher of iced tea instead and poured yourself a cup, carrying it back to the couch, sitting down and watching the boy you’d brought back here on a whim set up your video game console for you.

“You an Animal Crossing guy?” you asked.

“Eh,” he said. “I played during the pandemic but fell off of it. You?”

“Still logging in every day.”

“You have to show me your island,” he said.

“Maybe later,” you said. “You’re not getting out of this ass-kicking I’m about to bestow upon you.”

Keys smirked, coming to sit beside you on the couch, handing you one of the controllers and settling in, his knee absolutely resting against yours. You chose to ignore it because he was not going to psych you out using physical touch as psychological warfare.

“Let’s do best three out of five. First one’s a practice race,” you said, starting up the game.

“Sounds fair,” Keys agreed, and when you came in 1st and he came in 6th in the practice round, you felt much, much better about things.

But because the universe could not let you exist peacefully, you ended up tied with two races each after the practice round you’d given yourselves. You’d both already decided to have Rainbow Road as your last race, so it kept getting pushed back as you won, or as he won, and so race 5 was the lucky one. You selected Rainbow Road from the map screen, and then locked the fuck in as Keys took one last swig of his Monster, your tea all but forgotten and surely no longer iced after being out on the floor beside your couch for so long.

It was tense: He picked up a blue shell almost immediately, but you purposely held back just enough to keep yourself out of 1st place. You pulled out in front of Luigi (both of you laughing a little at the stankface he shot you as you passed) and once you heard the chime indicating that the shell was close to you, you eased back—a risky move—but Luigi shot past you, taking the blue shell in your stead—and you continued on your way, in 1st place leaving Keys no way to stop you, unless he managed to get another blue shell.

He didn’t—and you crossed the finish line moments later, 1st place in the race, and besting him three out of five.

“Fuck yes,” you half-shouted, tossing your controller to your side, where it bounced a little on the couch.

“That was slick,” Keys admitted, putting his controller down too, knocking back the rest of his room-temperature Monster. “You are the better racer.”

“You’re the better Street Fighter, and we’re both cracked at Contra, so I guess it all evens out.” You looked over at him, shifting yourself to face him but also settling a little further back on your couch.

“So, what do you like for breakfast?” Keys asked.

You glanced at the TV, the endgame race screen still playing, your character (Toadette) speeding around the raceway, victorious. You looked back at Keys, reaching out to put one of your hands on his knee, then leaned in and closed the distance between you, taking his lips with yours in a kiss, soft and sweet and innocent, not anything more than just something new and tentative, trying it out.

He kissed you back, though, parting his lips just a little against yours, pulling back just to move back in, his hand covering yours on his leg, the other moving to your thigh, skimming up just enough for you to know he was into it, but not necessarily wanting anything more.

“I guess you’ll find out,” you whispered in response, and he smiled, giving you a short peck on the cheek before pulling back. 

“Can I see your island now?” he asked. “I assume there’s an arcade area.”

“Right next to the museum,” you said. “Nothing like checking out some deepsea fish and then going next door to play Brake Tapper.”

“Couldn’t agree more,” Keys said, stretching his arms along the back of your couch.

You grabbed your controller, switched to Animal Crossing, and then—in a move that you wouldn’t have considered if you didn’t get such good vibes from Keys—settled yourself against him. His arm moved down to hold you instead, his hand on your hip, as you gave him a tour of your own little slice of (virtual) heaven.

&& taglist: @sunriseinhawkins @ghostlyriddles @souperbloom @sheisjoeschateau @cheugy-djobe @cpnsteverogers @nowandajenn @configurre @cecesblogg @britt-mf @harringtondarling @valentine-night @charismatickeery @charlston-chews @bearwithegg @starkleila @sommie08 @xoxocelestial @kristywidget97 @calelundaa @mistyblueinks @projections-mortal @cupofdjoplease

In the grand scheme of things, you can consider yourself lucky. Luckier than most, at least.

Your parents are still married, you have a roof over your head and clothes on your back. You weren’t the richest family in the town, but you were comfortable. On the outside, you and your family truly were the picture perfect family of Hawkins.

You really shouldn’t complain.

But on nights like tonight, it’s hard to hold that sentiment.

The lock sitting on your desk ticks as the minutes pass closer to 2AM. You locked yourself in your room hours ago – more specifically after you heard the second pop! From the beer can opening downstairs. You knew it was only a matter of time and you were right.

It starts small. A drink at dinner. Another one to watch the game. A third one when his team starts to lose. A fourth after the game. A fifth because, well why not? Then it becomes a sort of game – how many more can he drink tonight than he did the night before?

It never stays small. Once the drinks settle, the arguing begins. Your parents – well mostly your father – scream all night. It’s not her fault, she’s just as stuck as you are. The house never looks good enough, the food is never good enough, her attitude is never good enough. You know it’s just as exhausting for her than it is for you, more actually.

Tonight’s worse for some reason. Earlier that week, your family had attended a small party in the neighborhood. According to him, your mother was flirting with one of the other husbands around and for a reason you didn’t even know, you’d spend the whole night embarrassing him.

When the argument really heightened, you made the mistake of stepping out. You dished out some of your own words you’ve kept bottled up, and then slurred words shot from his mouth and landed harsh against your skin.

You’re ungrateful.

You’re spoiled.

You’re an embarrassment.

You’re nothing without him.

You’re just like your mother.

Still, as hurt and scared as you were, you kept your head held high. You learned a long time ago showing fear meant he won and you weren’t going to give him that power. Your mother stood between you, earning back his anger to reflect on her as she silently begged you to go back upstairs.

Part of you wanted to stay and scream until your throat was raw. The other part knew whatever you did would come back worse on her. So you relented and left.

Now it’s two hours later and it doesn’t even seem close to being over.

It wasn’t always bad. Granted, you didn’t spent much time during the week actually talking to him and you never spent alone time together but I mean, he was there. He provided for your family.

Truly, it ended there.

But that should be enough, right?

You’re sitting in the middle of your bed, knees hugged to your chest and your back leans against the wall. The four walls around you do very little to suppress the sound of the argument downstairs. The walkman Steve got you for Christmas last year sits on the floor, broken last weekend by your dad.

Steve.

Your mind wanders to him at the memory of the gift.

You peek out your window across from you and see his. His blue curtains are pulled shut tight and there hasn’t been any movement from inside his bedroom since 11PM.

You and Steve have been best friends since elementary school. Through every awkward and stressful phase you can think of, you two were like glue. Growing up neighbors will make sure it stays that way. He’s your closest friend – and the boy you’re so helplessly in love with.

He knows about the hardships between you and your dad. Sort of. He knows you’re not the closest knit family he tries to pretend you are. He knows your parents bicker. But he doesn’t know just how bad it really is.

On the rare occasions you’ve confided in Steve about it, he would talk about his dad so you didn’t feel alone. In a lot of ways, they were similar. Good financial providers, working men, emotionally absent from their kids. But Steve’s dad stopped at borderline neglect. Yours didn’t stop even at physicality.

As you sit curled in your blanket, you want nothing more than to climb through his window like you’ve done your whole life and curl into him instead. Away from the arguments, away from the house, away from him.

But it’s late and showing up now means waking him up. Which means telling him the truth. Which means making yourself emotionally naked and you’re not even sure you’re ready to do that.

It’s unfair to him – burdening him with your issues when he’s sound asleep.

And maybe you were being dramatic. It’s not like your dad ever hit you. Some people have it worse; some people die because of their shitty parents. You can handle a few harsh words thrown your way every weekend.

Maybe he was right. Maybe you were ungrateful.

Every doubt in your mind is thrown out the window when you begin to hear glass shattering downstairs. A string of slurred curse words and brutal comments echo through your house and you know then, you can’t take it anymore.

You slip on your ridiculous bunny slippers (also gifted to you by Steve) and your legs guide you to your window on their own accord. Thankfully, there’s a large oak tree between your houses. The two of your have used those branches to climb onto your own roofs to get to the others.

As you climb onto the tree, to the roof, and to his window, all that’s on your mind is Steve.

How you know he’ll comfort you even if he has a million questions. How good it’ll feel to be in his presence again. How his house is always quiet and on days when he hates it, you love it.

You thank the past version of Steve for leaving his window unlocked and slightly cracked open. Like he knew you’d need him later. One hand holds onto the molding of the window and the other carefully slides the glass up just enough to fit through.

You’re still thankful Steve decided to put a lounge chair next to the window and that softens your fall through the sill. Sure enough, it’s deathly silent in his home. The only sound comes from the spinning ceiling fan above him. His room is dark and a little messy – some clothes thrown over his desk chair and a few random things undoubtedly left by Dustin strewn across the floor.

But you can make out his figure on the bed. He’s shirtless and the blankets are kicked to only cover his legs. He lays on his back, one arm tucked under his head and the other lazily resting along his stomach.

He looks so peaceful you almost turn back around so you don’t disrupt him. But with the window still open, you can hear the distant and faint sound of arguing still coming from your still open window and there’s no more fight left in you.

So instead, you tiptoe over to his bed and gently slide into the other side.

Sharing a bed isn’t weird for you two. Nothing between you two is weird anymore – it’s almost everyday someone new assumes you two are already together and you really wish that were true. Him offering comfort as a best friend is great but you’ve always wondered what the boyfriend version would feel like.

Honestly, probably not that different. The way he is with you is drastically different from anyone else. Even when he was with Nancy. It’s why your feelings for him are so intense.

You shuffle closer to him without the purpose of waking him up but when your foot accidentally nudges his shin, Steve’s eyes flutter open. You freeze as he blinks around his dark room, landing in the ceiling first and then the clock, then his widow and then finally to you.

His tired eyes widen just a bit when he recognizes you. You suddenly feel really small and you regret even coming. He says your name quietly, thick with sleep and confusion.

“Hey, what’re you doing here?” It’s not unkind, simply confused.

You’re unsure what to say at first. It’s not exactly a good time to unload every family secret you’ve kept from him.

“I couldn’t sleep,” You finally land on.

It’s silent for a moment. You lay on your side facing him, hands clasped and under your cheek. Steve still lays on his back but he faces you.

He takes in your answer. When he looks at you, it’s clear he doesn’t exactly believe you – or at least that it’s the whole truth but whatever else he sees in your eyes is enough for him to drop it.

Steve doesn’t respond before he shifts to lay on his side and gently pulls your hands from where they are under you. He holds both of them in one hand and tugs you into him. One hand slides beneath your neck, curling and gently rubbing your back. The other rests over your hip.

The warmth of him consumes you immediately. It’s exactly what you needed. You hadn’t even realized you’d been shaking until your skin meets his and every nerve in your body finally relaxes.

Steve is all too aware of the rigidness of your body and the way you melt into his hold. Your arm wraps around his middle, your nails almost digging into the skin of his back but he doesn’t mention it. You face gets buried into the skin of his neck.

Your throat burns at the feeling of just .. relief. It feels like you’ve been denied air for a thousand years and he’s finally that first breath of fresh air. He offers you the comfort you’ve been wanting to seek for years now but have been too ashamed to ask for.

Your body can’t even hold back when the tears begin to flow. Steve feels them soak his skin first, and then he feels the shaking of your back and shoulders, and he knows. He knows without you even saying it.

Steve’s known for a while that the story you’ve given him about your dad isn’t exactly true. Not that it’s a lie but it’s a more than filtered version. He also knows what it’s like to feel judged, or labeled ungrateful for mentioning it, so he never pressured you.

As he holds your crying frame in his arms, he begins to regret that decision.

Steve gently shushes you, his lips pressing soft kisses across your temple and into your hair. You’re not sobbing and that’s somehow worse. It’s small, helpless whimpers and cries muffled into his neck.

He lets you cry as long as you need, holding you just as tight as you hold onto him. When you finally catch your breath, he cups your cheek in his large palm and gently pulls your face from where it almost sticks to his skin.

It’s a little hard to see in the dark but his eyes adjust to take you in. Your eyes are still closed when he looks down at you. Your thick lashes are wet and stick to your cheeks, tear stains trailing beneath them. Your lips are parted, sucking in short and sporadic breaths. His heart breaks at the sight of you.

He places another kiss to your forehead and it’s so achingly tender, your hand reaches up to grip his wrist that holds your face. He lets you without hesitation.

“What happened?” He murmurs gently.

Your bottom lip wobbles and you inhale a shaky breath.

“I hate being there, Steve,” You confess and once that happens, it all begins to spill out. “I hate hearing them argue. I hate hearing him say those kinds of things about me and my mom,”

Steve’s heart pinches. His thumb strokes across the apple of your cheek. “What kind of stuff?“

That’s when you hesitate.

Because what if you say it and Steve agrees? What if you tell him everything and he confirms every bad thing your dad has ever said about you? What if –

Steve pulls you from your thoughts. “You can tell me anything, okay?” He whispers. “Anything, honey,”

He speaks to you with such gentleness and grace. He’s soft and tender with you that it makes your heart bleed. It cracks every hard foundation you’ve built around yourself.

You pause for a second, trying to find your words and to talk without crying again. “He..He says that I’m ungrateful, and that I’m a dis-disappointment, and sel-selfish. That I’m the reason he is the way he is and that – that I’ll never be any-anything without him.” Your voice breaks all throughout the confession of tonight. More tears fall from your eyes and down your cheeks, sliding over his thumb. You pull your face away from his hold and duck under him, nuzzling into the pillow under you.

“That’s not true.” His response is quick and final. “None of that is true. You’re none of those things, honey. You’re kind and so smart and so damn caring of everyone around you.”

His words bring more tears to your eyes but for a completely different reason. This time it’s relief and tenderness filling your chest.

He keeps talking. “You can be anything you want to be and that’s because of you. Not him.” He shifts to pull you back to him, and encourages you to look at him. He coaxes you to open your eyes and look at him. Your name sounds like a melody when it comes out of his mouth. “You’ve spent years listening to him say all these bad things about you and now I want you to listen to every good thing I’m about to say to you.”

You blink up at him, speechless now.

“You are kinder than anyone I’ve ever met. You’re so patient – with me and with every one of the kids we’re stuck with,” Another tear slips down your skin. “You’re so smart, smarter than you give yourself credit for. You’re the bravest person I know. Brave enough to fight of alien monsters and Russian soldiers,” Steve gives you a sad smile and a gentle laugh slips past your lips. “And you are not selfish. You have always put everyone’s needs above your own, even when you shouldn’t.”

He leans his forehead to rest against your own. One of his hands moves to grab yours that rests on his chest and intertwines his fingers with yours. He raises it to his mouth, planting a kiss to the center of your palm.

“Everything he said to you was because he can’t deal with himself. You’re not to blame for any of his actions. I don’t care how many times he’s said to you, he doesn’t know you like I do. And if he can’t see the most beautiful and loving girl right in front of him, then that just proves what I already knew – and that’s that he doesn’t deserve you, he never did.” Steve keeps your gaze fixed on him and by the time he’s finished, you feel like a puddle at his feet.

His words had the exact effect on you that he intended. For every terrible comment your dads instilled in you, is replaced by the sweet words Steve gave you.

Your brows pinch again and before you know it, your burying yourself against Steve again. He accepts you immediately. His arms circle your waist and he holds you close to his chest.

“I love you so much, honey. If you ever think of the things he’s said, think about that instead. How much I love you,”

His confession is more than just the friendship ‘I love you’s the two of you have shared over the years and you both know it. Even if now isn’t the right time to delve into what it means and how your relationship should change, it’s everything to you.

He is everything to you.

You nod against his skin and for the rest of the night, he holds you tight. Until you fall asleep and even after, all the way until morning and even after then.

summer was coming to an end sooner than you’d like. you just might even say it was the best summer of your life. there was endless movie nights, random adventures with the kids (who weren’t technically kids anymore, more like soon-to-be seniors in high school), self-care nights with max, and soft moments with him.

steve harrington. the boy you’d been in love with since you were a kid.

he practically lived at your house at all times due to how close him and your brother, jake, were. steve was at every family party, dinner, outing, all of it. he’d become such a normal part of your life that you couldn’t tell when you began to look at him differently. or maybe you’d always had this crush on him since the moment you met.

he was sweet and gentle and caring in a way that you didn’t know existed. your parents weren’t exactly the best image of love growing up. their fights got nasty and they often went long periods of time without talking. you knew from a very young age that that wasn’t what you wanted.

and with steve, he never allowed the smallest of disagreement to escalate into anything more. the moment he made a joke that hit you in a way it wasn’t supposed to, he was grabbing your hands and apologizing with that genuine glint in his eyes that made you melt. the second there was even the slightest tone to his voice, he was taking a beat to reset before apologizing.

you may call yourself delusional, but you could swear he’s only like that with you. the kids argue all the time. almost every other minute is spent arguing. whether that be over a movie, what snacks they want, who farted— it was always something. and yet steve would sit there and watch. sometimes he’d even join in with the teasing.

seeing the differences in how he treated you versus the rest of the world made it impossibly hard not to fall even more.

like the time when dustin had fallen off of his bike because his chain had snapped. steve hadn’t even bothered to help because he couldn’t stop laughing for a solid ten minutes, holding his stomach that was starting to actually ache. but the time you’d fallen off of your bike after attempting a trick a few years ago? he was calmly helping you up and into your house, sitting you down on the lid of the toilet as he cleaned up the blood and bandaged you up. he whispered sweet words the entire time so you wouldn’t panic at how bad the scrapes looked.

or the time when lucas ate mike’s leftovers that he’d been saving for this specific movie night. it was practically a war in the kitchen and all steve could say was shut up and watch the goddamn movie. but when jake ate your leftovers that you’d been excited to get home and eat? steve was back in his beamer to get you more.

it was the little things that made you fall down, down, down the rabbit hole of steve harrington.

the thing you always dreaded most was going back to school. sure, you loved it. like, really loved it. your roommates, allie and jackie, were the best people you could’ve ever imagined living with. they were fun and crazy and so full of life. they made forgetting about hawkins feel easy.

but the one thing you still could never forget was steve. even when you were at the bars, borderline plastered with men standing and sitting all around you, your mind was back to steve. none of them were as pretty as him or as sweet to you as he was. you sat and talked to one guy for hours and couldn’t help but compare the two the entire time.

then when you’d occasionally go home for the weekend or for break, you’d see him at your house like he always was and your mind would start wandering. it made you wonder what it’d be like to come home with him waiting for you. not jake, you.

it was a very dangerous game to play. and this summer, was teetering extremely close to the edge.

you were currently in your room, packing up all of your stuff again to go back to your dorm on campus in a few days, when you heard a knock. steve moved to stand in your doorway with his arms crossed over his chest. his hair was a little messy like he’d been messing with it recently and he was in worn sweats with a simple crewneck. and still, you thought he was so stunning. “need any help?”

you stood from your crouched position and placed your hands on your hips while analyzing your room. most of it was packed, now just the smaller more personal things. “uh, i think i’m just about done. thanks though,” you said with a smile. “keep me company while i finish?”

the corner of his lip twitched upwards as he nodded and moved to sit on your bed against the headboard, making himself comfortable like he always did. “of course. jake went out to get groceries. he said the fridge was looking sad.”

you let out a soft laugh and continued stuffing things into bins. “hm. i wonder why that is,” you teased. the two boys were like vacuums. if you didn’t hide your food in a secure location, it was one hundred percent going to be gone in the morning.

“wasn’t me this time,” steve said defensively, holding his hands up. he smiled to himself as he recalled the memory. “he practically inhaled everything last night when we got in.”

the lid to the storage bin clicked as you pushed it down into place. “yeah, sounds just like him. those everything sandwiches cannot be good.”

he huffed out a laugh and stared at his hands that were fumbling with the blanket. “yeah, they’re gross,” steve mumbled. you could see a wave of something unfamiliar wash over his face quickly before returning back to neutral. “you ready to head back to school?”

a long sigh left your lips as you stopped to look at him. it took a second to think of an answer. “i don’t know. i guess? i love it there but… i also just hate having to leave this place. as much as it sucks sometimes.”

his eyes held an intensity that should’ve terrified you. instead, it only had you more intrigued. “that’s good though, right? that you have something so meaningful here that it makes it hard to say goodbye.”

you snorted at that. “jeez, steve. when’d you get so poetic?” you moved to lay on your side beside him once your feet started aching, tucking a big lump of blanket under your head so you could look up at him easier.

he shrugged playfully and placed your legs over his lap, his warm hand resting on the bare skin of your calf. “guess i’ve picked up on a few things being a teacher and all.”

the subconscious movement of his hand running along the length of hour lower leg made it much harder to focus. you cleared your throat. “what about you? excited to get back to teaching?”

his posture relaxed slightly, like the topic of conversation made him go softer than he already was. “yeah, i am,” he replied with a smile he couldn’t fight off. his gaze was still fixed on his hands. “jus’ hope the team can have a better season this year. they deserve a big win.” steve finally looked to you, chuckling as the big grin across your face. “what?”

you shook your head. “nothing. i just like hearing about your job. the way you talk about them is really sweet.”

a soft blush coated his cheeks as his gaze broke away towards your calf again. a wave of sadness washed over his features. “i’m gonna miss you,” he said just barely above a whisper.

the corners of your lips pulled downwards into a frown. “you know, you can always come visit me like you and jake used to do freshman year,” you replied, analyzing the way he looked so focused on his hands rubbing your skin. “you haven’t even gotten to see my new place yet. the couch unfolds.”

the way you said it with such excitement should’ve made him smile or crack a joke about your enthusiasm for a couch. instead, his face fell. he mimics your frown. he wants to visit your again more than anything else. but sitting here, surrounded by boxes and bags full of your items, he can only envision your bright future ahead of you. one where you graduate and move far away to become someone great who can make real change. the realization hits him hard.

this was your senior year. its the time where you should be enjoying the last bit of college left. going to parties, experimenting, experiencing everything the world has to offer. and most importantly, meeting more people. not feeling like you’re trapped in the boring little hawkins that never did anything to deserve someone like you. “yeah. maybe we’ll have to do that,” he whispered, no real intention of following through with it.

not because he didn’t want to— no, of course he did. but college was your space and he quickly realized that after the first few times he visited. he didn’t want to scare off anyone who might become your entire future. was it a little silly? maybe. but to him, he thought it was the right thing to do.

your brows furrowed as you watched him. you sat up a little more, unintentionally scooting a little closer to him. his hand was now resting on the outside of your thigh with his thumb moving soothingly along your skin. “what’s wrong? you look upset,” you asked softly, searching his eyes for anything.

he finally lifted his gaze to look at you, void of anything but sadness. and still, he tries to force a smile onto his face. “nothing. i’m good,” he said quietly. his other hand that was still in the blankets was flexing out and bunching the fabric between his fingers repeatedly like he wanted to reach out and cup your face. “just sad to see you go so soon.”

you let out a soft laugh. “steve, we had all summer. i’d say this one was one for the books,” you joked playfully. the joke didn’t land. if anything, it made him even more sad.

“it was pretty fun, huh?” he muttered, his gaze flickering from your eyes to your lips. never in your life had you seen steve look so heartbroken.

the only sound to break the tense silence was your box fan in the corner of your room. the air began to thicken with the weight of unspoken words and confessions that had been building for the last three months. and subconsciously, you lean in just half an inch. your close enough to feel the soft puffs of air from him.

his eyes were fixed on your lips. how pretty and soft they looked. how badly he wanted to kiss you right now. he could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest as his fingers on your thigh dug into the skin slightly. his palms were beginning to grow hot and clammy as he took in your scent.

your faced were only centimeters away. and you really thought it might actually happen. that he might finally kiss you like you’d been waiting years for.

then he pulled away like he’d been electrocuted.

his eyes became glassy as he looked at you, his lips parting like he was trying to find the words to describe the internal dilemma in his head. “i’m sorry,” he whispered so quietly you almost missed it. “i can’t.”

you visibly deflated, your heart breaking in your chest. “what?” you questioned quietly. he could hear the sadness in your voice as you stared at him with big pleading eyes. getting punched in the face was definitely much easier than this conversation. “what are you talking about?”

he gulped nervously and retracted his hands from your skin like the contact burned him. “i can’t do this,” he replied softly, looking completely defeated.

your hands trembled with the fabric of the blanket as your eyes began to sting. “is it because of jake?” you asked. part of you wished it was. that’d be much easier to find a solution to than anything else. “is it because he’s your best friend? we’re not kids anymore, steve. he doesn’t get to dictate who we like.” he watched a flash of realization wash over your face as your bottom lip wobbled. “or do you… do you just not like me?”

his hands moved quickly to cradle your cheeks when you moved your head to look down. his thumb gently swiped at a tear rolling down your rosy skin. “no! no, i think you’re perfect. trust me, that’s— that’s not it at all,” he said quickly, not even skipping a beat. “it’s not that, or your brother. i promise.”

your sniffled sadly and looked into his brown glassy eyes. “then what is it?” you whispered brokenly, voice cracking more than you would’ve liked.

he moved to hold your hands in his instead like he needed something to ground him too. “it’s about you,” steve stated. “i mean… this is your senior year of college, y’know? this is your final year of fun before you have to go out into the real world. you should be going out to parties and— and meeting new people and trying everything life has to offer you. you have this amazing future ahead of you and i’m just… the guy who coaches baseball in a hopeless place like hawkins.”

there was a moment of silence before he held you a little tighter. “if i kiss you or— or tell you how i feel, you’ll go back to campus carrying all of this. and as much as it hurts me to not be able to do those things, i don’t wanna hold you back from living your life. i don’t wanna be the reason why you skip out on going to a party or feel guilty for having some fun because you feel tied down to me.”

your face fell as you stared at him. there was not a hint of dishonesty in his voice or on him at all. he looked completely torn and wrecked and above all, guilty. “steve. you can’t actually think that,” you began with a gentleness he didn’t think he’d deserved right now. you returned the firm hold on his hands and pulled him a little closer. “look at me. do you really think you’re a burden?”

he didn’t answer. the slight shrug if his shoulders and the slow slide of a tear running down his cheek was enough of an answer for you. “i’ve already lived three great years of the college life. i’ve gone to the parties, i’ve met all the people there is to meet, i’ve done it all. and somehow, the entire time, all i could think about was you,” you admitted, putting your whole heart on the line now. “all i could do was wish i was sitting right here, talking to you. you’re not holding me back from anything, steve. and i really don’t want you to think that, because out of everyone else in the world, you’re still the one i wanna be with.”

you could feel and see steve tense up at the confession. there was no going back now. a summer of lingering touches and gazes, flirting so subtle that everyone else missed it, and late night conversations had led you both straight to this moment.

and steve was fucking terrified.

“i’m sorry,” he whispered so quietly you thought you’d imagined it. he sniffled brokenly and wiped at his eyes, pulling away from you. “i can’t do it.”

just like that, he was gone. he was shuffling off of your bed and slipping downstairs through the front door before jake could come in and ask what happened.

you’d cried the entire night. you barely even slept because of it. the embarrassment of laying all of your feelings out on the line and leaving the ball in his court, just for him to walk away like none of it meant anything to him. it killed you more than you liked to admit.

it’d been three days without seeing him and today was the day you’d be leaving.

jake was currently doing a once over of your car to ensure it would run smoothly all the way to university while robin gave you a big, bone crushing hug. “don’t forget about me while you’re gone,” she mumbled against your shoulder. “and pleaseee bring some of allie’s pie home for thanksgiving.”

you could help but laugh as you pulled away, wiping your tears as you did so. no matter how many times you’d done this previously, it still felt just as hard every time. especially when you were missing a certain someone.

the kids (teenagers actually) all ambushed you into a big group hug, each muttering their goodbyes all at the same time. when you finally got to your parents, you heard the loud engine of some expensive car. your eyes lit up as you looked to the end of the block.

it was just some new red sports car.

jake watched your shoulders drop as your hopes of seeing him one last time shattered. that was what hurt the most. the realization that whatever had been brewing between the tow of you was actually over.

your brother pulled you into a hug, an uncharacteristically sweet one, and muttered a very soft i’m sorry. you weren’t actually sure if he knew what he was apologizing for or if steve had told him what happened, but it was enough to make you cry a little harder.

steve’s leg bounced anxiously as glanced at some of the pictures he’d found in his drawer while searching for his wallet that you all had taken over the summer at nearby photo booths. one in particular had caught his eye. he leaned his elbows on his knees as he stared at it and frowned.

you two were sitting down side by side in the booth, his arms around your waist while yours were around his neck. you were smiling big while his lips were pressed to your cheek. it was meant to be a silly photo, but with the timer counting down unnaturally fast, the two of you picked a random pose. it was actually embarrassing how much he looked at this photo.

something inside of him clicked instantly. he jogged down the steps, almost missing a few, and ran out to his key, quickly shifting it into drive before speeding off towards your house. he didn’t care about the speed limit or the fact that he didn’t have his seatbelt on. he just cared about making it in time to see you. and as he rounded the corner of your street, his heard sank.

your car was gone.

and still, he pulled up to the curb and got out in record breaking time. his hair was a mess, his clothes were completely wrinkled, and his eyes were bloodshot. yet part of him was still optimistic. he needed to see you. he needed to say a real goodbye. but when the front door opened to reveal jake with the slightest frown on his lips, steve knew he was too late.

your brother stepped out onto the front porch as he approached, a cup of coffee in his hand. he looked at his best friend’s disheveled state with the quiet panic behind his eyes, and sighed.

he didn’t yell at steve or ask where he was. he just gave him a comforting pat on his back and a sad smile across his lips. “she just left, man,” jake said softly, voice full of sympathy. he turned to head back inside, leaving the door open for him to follow.

steve stood there, with his heart in his stomach, staring at the road you’d just driven down minutes ago.

🌊⋆｡𖦹 °.🐚⋆❀˖°🫧

almost a year later, and you were finally done. all that was left for you now was graduation in a week.

this particular school year had felt like it dragged on much longer. perhaps it was the fact that you didn’t go home at all like you typically did. or maybe it was because for half of the first semester, you couldn’t stop thinking about the dreadful interaction that happened between you and steve just before you left.

allie and jackie were good at making you forget about all the bad things in your life. you spent countless nights laughing with them while sharing a bottle of wine, staying out until the early hours of the morning at the bars, doing anything and everything possible. it felt better than you’d ever admit.

but now you were in your car, trunk and backseat (and your passenger seat too actually) completely filled with bags and boxes. they were stacked so high you could barely see out of your back window. the drive home was familiar in a way that made your stomach churn with excitement. you had really missed your brother and your friends.

even though you’d be on the road for a while, you didn’t even bother stopping for food or to rest. the adrenaline of getting home was enough to keep you full and ready to go for the entirety of the ride.

a big, wide smile spread across your lips as you pulled into your driveway. you were practically out of the car before you could even fully put it into park and shut it off. you headed up onto the porch and opened up the front door, only to hear the deafening silence of the house.

your brows furrowed as you called out to your parents and jake but got no response. there was a small white note on the dining table that caught your attention. it read ‘see you soon to celebrate. love, jake’.

if anything, you were even more confused now. then there was a loud knock at your door. you cautiously walked toward it and looked through the peep hole to see two familiar faces.

as soon as the door swung open, robin was squealing excitedly and practically tackling you into a hug. vickie was standing beside the two of you, laughing loudly at the interaction.

“oh my god, dude. it feels like it’s actually been forever,” robin muttered into your shoulder before finally pulling away to allow her girlfriend to hug you too. “i hope you know how devastated i was to know you weren’t coming home with pie.”

vickie snorted as she pulled away from you. “she cried when you two got off the phone. like real tears.”

robin glared at her, though there was no real malice in it. “you weren’t supposed to tell her about that,” she whispered incredibly loud without even realizing it. she then turned her attention back to you and ushered you inside the house, following behind you. “ok, hurry up and go change. we’re going on a little walk.”

your face scrunched up in confusion. you were already in comfortable clothes. “what do you mean? why can’t i just go like this?”

she smacked her lips and gestured to her and vickie’s outfits. they both had on much nice outfits than you did. “no, dingus. not that kind of walk,” she teased with a chuckle. “just trust me. put on something cute so we can get going.”

the realization quickly became apparent. “is this about jake’s note?” you asked, a knowing smirk on your face. “how did you guys even know when i’d be getting home?”

robin shrugged. her expression was telling a completely different story. “women’s intuition.”

“we stood at the end of the block for half an hour waiting,” vickie corrected, doing her best to hold back a laugh.

you snorted at that. “you guys are ridiculous,” you remarked playfully as you turned to head up the stairs and into your bedroom. most of your clothes were still packed up in your car. fortunately enough for you, you found a nice pair of jeans and a flattering shirt that could be considered dressy for whatever occasion.

the second you reached the bottom step, the girls were grabbing each of your arms and basically dragging you outside and down you street.

and before you knew it, you were at the bar.

nerves flooded your stomach as they pulled you inside. you’d never been here before but it was safe to say that the place was packed. not to the point weee you couldn’t move, but definitely to a point where you were squeezing through to get past.

“there’s my favorite grad!” you heard from in front of you as your brother— evidently already tispy —shimmied through the crowd to pull you into a suffocatingly tight hug. “congrats, kid. proud of you.”

you pulled away from him and placed your hands on his shoulder to steady him. “thanks, jake,” you smiled. “how much have you had to drink already?”

he gave you that smirk that meant he was up to no good. “not nearly enough,” he replied with a playful wink. one of his friends from work, damien, approached from behind him with four shots in his hands. he quickly passes two to jake, kept one for himself, and handed to last to robin. “to the grad!”

the group cheers’d to you and downed the shot, your brother shaking his head at the disgusting burn. you could hear robin coughing behind you while vickie chuckled and handed her some water. you weren’t entirely sure what alcohol they’d given you, but it was probably in the top ten worst drinks you’d ever had.

as you made your way to the table behind jake, you ran into multiple of his friends. they each congratulated you with a hug and offered to buy another round, which you’d politely decline each time since you were trying to hold off on getting too hammered.

once you finally got to the table by the wall where your party was seated, you froze. your heart had dropped to the depths of your stomach and almost stopped beating right then and there. because there he was.

steve harrington.

sitting at the table that was meant to be celebrating you tonight.

almost as if he could sense the pair of eyes on him, he turned his head and his gaze caught yours. a slow smile spread across his lips as he stood from his seat to greet you. he set the beer he was nursing onto the table and took long strides over to you. “hey,” he beamed. he had this calm, warm confidence that radiated from him as he approached and pulled you into a gentle hug. “congratulations.”

you wrapped your arms around his torso and let out the shaky breath you’d been holding in. “thank you,” you mumbled against his chest.

the two of you stayed like that for a few seconds longer than you should’ve, his chest against the top of your head like you guys molded perfectly together. when he finally reluctantly pulled away, you didn’t miss the way his eyes trailed down your frame. “want a drink?”

you shook your head with a tight-lipped smile. “no, i’m okay for now. thank you though,” you replied gratefully. but he was already grabbing ahold of your hand. “steve, seriously—“

he flashed you a toothy grin and began taking a few steps backwards. “oh, come on. we’re supposed to be celebrating,” he teased playfully. “one drink. that’s all i ask.”

you didn’t have time to protest. he was using the hold on your hand to pull you along with him as he used his own body to clear a path for you, effectively preventing anyone from bumping into you or spilling their drinks on you.

he pulled out of of the high chairs for you and waited for you to be seated before taking a seat in the one beside you. “anything you like in particular?” he asked, one elbow propped up on the table with his chin resting in his palm. his other hand was flat on his thigh.

the attention made your cheeks flush a soft red. “i usually just go for shots whenever i go out with my roommates,” you said honestly, slightly embarrassed that you didn’t have a big palate like the others did. “i’m not the biggest fan of the taste so i’d rather just get it down quick.”

he didn’t judge. of course he didn’t. steve would never. he nodded along as narrowed his eyes at you slightly as he thought. “okay. how ‘bout something sweet then?” he suggested, the hand on your thigh moving to trace shapes over your knee as he stared at it.

your gaze followed his to watch his pointer finger press small circles into your jeans. “what if i hate it?” you asked.

he let out a huff akin to a laugh and lazily grinned. something about the way he looked was doing things to you. “you won’t. just trust me. it’s good,” he said confidently. “and if you do hate it, i’ll get you something else.”

you mimicked him and propped your elbow up with your chin in your palm. “i’ll pay you back.”

his eyes found yours again, brows furrowed slightly as his head tilted the slightest bit. he almost looked offended. “what are you talking about?” he replied, his voice light hearted and playful. “when have i ever asked you to ‘pay me back’?”

you shrugged. “that just means i have a big debt to pay back.” you couldn’t help but begin to feel small under his intense gaze. “which i intend to start paying back.”

steve waved it off like that was the most ridiculous thing you’d ever said. “don’t worry about it. i wouldn’t have done any of those things if i didn’t want to.”

the bartended finally made his way over to the two of you, his eyes mainly focused on you. “what can i get for a beautiful woman like you tonight?” he asked, winking as he leaned on the counter with his palms flat on the surface below the bar.

you pursed your lips into a thin line and looked to steve, unsure of what he had planned.

he noticed the slight tense in your posture instantly. he placed the hand on your thigh over the back of your chair instead, pulling your chair the slightest bit closer with his knee slotting between yours. his eyes never left yours. “can i get a beer,” he began, searching your face one last time like he was really contemplating what you’d like. “and one tequila sunrise please?”

the man nodded like he’d taken the hint and went to prepare the drinks. you glanced at him, then back to the boy in front of you. “tequila sunrise?” you questioned curiously.

the corner of his lip quirked up as he gave you a curt nod. “you’ll like it,” he assured. “thought about a sex on the beach but you don’t like peaches.”

your heart swelled at the fact that he’d remembered something so small. within a few short seconds, your drinks were placed in front of you two. the gorgeous gradient was enough to make you love it already. “thank you,” you replied gratefully when he slowly slid it over to you, careful not to spill. you gave it a small swirl and took a sip. “wow. oh my god. it’s really good.”

steve had this proud smile on his face as he took a swig of his beer. “what can i say,” he replied with a playful cockiness as he shrugged.

you lightly shoved at his shoulder and took another sip. your eyes widened as you remembered something. “robin told you me you got your own place,” you said, genuinely excited for him.

he nodded and took another sip. “mhm. just bought an apartment a few blocks down from here,” he stated, doing his best to stay humble. you could see just how proud of himself he was. “just somewhere temporary for now. jake and i found a couples places a few towns over. thought it’d be fun to get out of here and settle down somewhere nicer.”

you smiled. that sounded nice. “oh boy. that neighborhood is really gonna hate to see the two of you coming,” you teased softly, earning a laugh from him.

“yeah, they definitely will,” he smiled to himself. “the houses are nice. a lot cheaper too. and they’re next door to one another.”

you nodded along and glanced down at your knee that was brushing up against his. “that sounds like the dream.”

he hummed in agreement. “you’ll have to come visit. see the place for yourself and tell me what you think.”

you could feel your face grow hot almost immediately. “i’d love to,” you said, voice shaking a little to much to sound sure. the alcohol was definitely starting to hit you a little bit by now. if it weren’t for the help of it, you surely wouldn’t have asked the next question that left your mouth. “so, my roommate allie has some extra graduation tickets. she didn’t want them going to waste, soo she gave them to me. and i was wondering, if maybe you wanted to go?”

there was a pause of silence as you sipped your drink and he stared at you with a look in his eyes that you couldn’t quite place. “you obviously don’t have to or anything. i just— i don’t know. i figured i’d ask,” you nervously rambles. “robin and jake are carpooling and you know how much they can argue over stupid things. not that that’s the only reason i want you to go but—“

“i’ll be there,” he said gently to stop you from freaking yourself out. he was looking at you with a softness you’d never seen before.

you took a deep breath. “really?”

he nodded and smiled. “of course i will. wouldn’t wanna miss it for the world,” steve replied. “i’m a little offended that you asked me last but i’ll—“

you lightly slapped his arm that was around the back of your chair and glared at him, though there was no real bite behind it. it made him chuckle. “you know that’s not how i meant it. you’ve always had an invite. you’re just the hardest to contact.”

“i know,” he whispered softly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “i really missed you.”

your heart did a little flip in your chest as you looked down at your drink that was just about empty. “i really missed you too, steve.”

he wanted to say sorry for how things left off between the two of you. he really did. but that would only open up old wounds that he was sure would ruin your night. and you didn’t deserve that. so the second you looked down, he got you a refill and swapped your glass for the full one. “c’mon. let’s get back to the table before jake kills me for stealing you for too long. think i just nance and jonathan come in too,” he stated as he stood up, offering you a hand as you hopped off of the high chair.

you took the outstretched hand and allowed him to lead you through the crowd back to the table where your brother and his friends were dishing out more shots. “just in time,” jake hollered excitedly. he’d always had this dream of getting fucked up with you once you were of age.

everyone held their glasses up in a cheers before throwing back the shot and setting the empty cups down onto the tray. steve took yours from you and placed it down with the rest while nancy came over to greet you excitedly.

as the two of you briefly caught up, steve was pulling out the chair with his jacket on it for you to take a seat whenever you were ready. nancy took a seat beside you with jonathan on her side, and robin and vickie across from you. steve was standing next to you between your chair and the wall, his beer in one hand and the other on the back of your chair to keep people from bumping into you as he argued with robin over something silly.

the rest of the night went by in a blur. you had shots practically getting shoved down your throat every few minutes, steve watching over you with a quiet protectiveness, robin and nancy pulling you around the bar to dance, and jake demanding you drink even more.

it was around two am now and majority of the group was beyond drunk. fortunately for you all, steve and damien lived in the same apartment complex nearby. the worst part was that it was still a twenty minute walk.

jake had effectively gotten you absolutely plastered. not to the point where you couldn’t stand or enough to make you puke everywhere, but enough to make steve worry about how you were gonna make it. you were practically beginning to fall asleep leaning against him in your chair.

so he had scooped you up carefully, your arms around his neck and your legs around his waist, while his hands held underneath your thighs as respectfully as he could. he was great at handling his alcohol. so it was no surprise that he was fully functioning better than anyone else was.

jonathan was carefully monitoring nancy as she walked, not quite beside her but also not behind her. just close enough to catch her if she fell at any given moment.

vickie was going through it beside steve. she was fully supporting robin’s weight against her with the help of jake, who was not sober enough to be helping. he was spluttering nonsense and cracking jokes the entire walk home that had the rest of their friends laughing obnoxiously loud.

once you all finally made it, half of the group split to damien’s apartment, while your brother, robin, nancy, vickie, and jonathan stayed with the two of you.

steve mumbled something to jake about the key in his back pocket, which he quickly reached for and unlocked the door. he pushed it open so steve could enter first and make his way towards his bedroom while the others prepared the pullout couch and the floor.

he could feel the slow thump of your heartbeat against his chest as he kicked the door shut and gently sat you down at the edge of his bed. you flopped back immediately, dramatically sighing. it made him chuckle. “you okay?”

you nodded lazily, even though he couldn’t see it, before humming. “mhm. jus’ tired.”

he sank down to his knees and carefully untied your shoes then gently slid them off of your feet. he placed them neatly by his door and moved to his closet. “i know. ‘m gonna find you some clothes ‘nd then we can get ready for bed, ‘kay?”

the only answer you could offer was a barely there hum of acknowledgment as you rolled onto your side to get comfortable. he quickly gathered up some sweatpants and a hoodie he didn’t wear very often and made his way back over to you. “c’mon. how ‘bout you get changed really quick?”

you groaned in protest but took his hand as he helped you up and led you to the bathroom connected to his room. he gestured for you to enter while holding out the clothes. “jus’ lemme know when you’re done,” he said, shutting the door behind you.

with a little but of stumbling around and a few close-calls to falling, you were finally changed. his clothing was extremely comfortable and oversized. you opened up the door. “all done.”

his eyes scanned over your figure, in his clothes, in his apartment. he thought he might actually be dreaming. he stepped inside and moved around you, his hands gentle on your waist as he did so to get to the other side and pull out a spare pink toothbrush. your brows furrowed as you looked at it. “why do you jus’ have this laying around?” you slurred tiredly.

he chuckled to himself and wet down yours and his before squeezing out a big bead of toothpaste on each. “this is the usual crash spot since i live so close to the bars. gotta keep a few extra just incase. and one so happened to be pink.”

you let out a sleepy sigh and began brushing your teeth, staring at yourself in the mirror. you couldn’t help but look over at him every now and then. something about this felt so domestic. the way he was taking care of you. the way you had on his clothes. the way you were literally doing your nighttime routine with him. this was basically all you’d ever wanted.

once the two of you were all finished up, he grabbed out his face wash and a headband, gently sliding it over your forehead to pull your hair back. your brows furrowed slightly at how prepared he was, until he did the same for himself to keep his hair out of the way too. makes sense.

he turned the sunk back on and pumped some of the liquid into your hand before extending on of his own to do the same. “wait, stevje,” you interrupted. “can you watch my back please?”

now it was his turn to look confused as he stared at you through the mirror. “what?”

“can you jus’ like— can you watch my back for me? whenever i wash my face, i get scared that someone’s gonna, like, kill me or something while my eyes are closed,” you explained, a bright blush coating your cheeks from the alcohol and the embarrassment. “‘cause then i can’t defend myself.”

he swallowed down the laugh bubbling in his throat to not embarrass you even further. “yeah. of course. i’ll watch your back,” he said with a warm smile. and he did. he let you wash your face completely and pat it down dry before even thinking about washing his own. and once the two of you were all done, you moved back to his room. “you take the bed. i’ll sleep on the floor.”

you stared at him like he was crazy. “steve, what? no. it’s your place, you can—“

he was already placing a spare blanket on the ground with some extra pillows. “no, seriously. it’s okay. i’ll take the floor.”

this wasn’t a fight you were giving up. “that’s not fair. i will—“

he cut you off with a small smile. “hey, it’s okay. i don’t mind. i wouldn’t have offered it if i did,” he replied softly. “you had a long night. you should really take the bed.”

you huffed out a breath if defeat when he sat down on the ground. “why don’t you jus’ sleep up here with me?” your heart was hammering in your chest. never would you have said something like this if you were sober. “it doesn’t have to be weird.”

there was a beat of silence as he thought. he nodded slowly even though you couldn’t see him. “yeah, okay,” he said hesitantly. “sure.”

he crawled up onto the bed on the opposite side of you, making himself comfortable under the covers.

it took all of ten minutes before you both were knocked out, and wrapped up in one another.

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

The clock ticked loudly.

So loudly.

It was the only thing in the room that filled the silence between you and the boy. He had an unlit cigarette in his mouth, sitting on the end of his bed. You were on the edge of yours, attempting to read a book to distract yourself from the reality of the day. Usually, the fact that a boy and girl are sharing a bedroom would be the biggest scandal to rock both your schools but the administration wanted to use as little facilities as possible for two stragglers. So here you were, trapped in a room with Gator Tillman. On Christmas Day. 

“Can you not do that?” You clicked your tongue as he fished his lighter out of his pocket. Without missing a beat, he looked you dead in the eye and placed the flame against the cigarette. It had been going on five days of this. It was bad enough that your parents’ last minute business trip had left you stranded on the Christmas holidays, but of course you had to stuck with someone who was insistent on making life inconvenient for you.

You’d known him, once upon a time, when you lived in Lehigh. Till your parents decided that life there wasn’t right for a girl like you. That you needed to go somewhere proper to support your education. It had been years, but it seemed like Gator had not grown up since he was a little boy. He never made his bed in the mornings, he ate in the bedroom though you were explicitly told not to, mouthed off to the teachers at every chance he got. His worst offence was this though. The smoking indoors, nicotine perpetually lingering in the room. “Move away from me, God, I hate smoking.”

He didn’t say a word, snarled and took an intentionally deep inhale. As he breathed it back out, it was perfectly in the direction of your face. You immediately held your breath but it was too late. The nicotine was rushing down your lungs.You coughed violently — much more violently than you truly needed to.“Jeez can you at least crack a window?” 

He scoffed and pointed to the window. Outside, all you could see was snow rolling over the fields.  The windows of the surrounding buildings on your campus were barely visible. It was the reason you were stuck like this.

Still, you had to distance yourself in any way you possibly could. 

You kicked your favorite boots off, settling them straight against the bed and brought your feet up so you were pushed against the wall. Gator made a small noise of judgement at your moves but you pulled your book in front of your face so you couldn’t see him. It was one you’d already read earlier in the semester, but all you had time to grab when you were informed your parents weren’t picking you up for the holidays and you’d have to vacate your room immediately. It wasn’t even good. Your peace only lasted the briefest moment.

“When d’ya think she’ll be back?” The one supervisor you had had gone out last night for a Christmas Eve party but gotten stuck there because of the snow. 

“I don’t know.” You answered, clipped, your eyes landing back to the same sentence you’d been trying to read over for the past few minutes. 

He stayed silent for a second, taking another drag of his cigarette. “Don’t ya think it’s kind of unfair? Leavin’ us here while she gets ta go celebrate.” 

You shrugged. “It’s Christmas. Someone deserves a good time.” 

“Yeah my piece o’ shit stepmom certainly didn’t think I deserved it. Got in my dad’s head that I need t’ spend Christmas learnin’ some lesson ‘bout behaving.” You raised your eyebrows. Long ago, you remembered Roy Tillman and Gator’s actual mom Linda. It was always Roy that had been harsh on the boy ,even at such a young age.

Clearly, that had led nowhere, because here, Gator Tillman’s reputation preceded him. The expulsions from two schools before this one, the suspension he’d already managed here, how his father had once yelled at him in the middle of the hallway in front of all the boys. 

“Oh, they didn’t want to show off their super senior son at family dinner? Bummer.” 

Gator clicked his tongue. “I remember how your mommy and daddy love money more than their own daughter. Don’t act like you’ve got it better than me, princess.” 

It cut. Deeper than it was meant to. “My parents actually provide for me, unlike you.”

“Fuck are you talkin’ about?”

You gave up on your book tossing it to your side and crossing your arms in front of you. “I assume  you got into school on some sort of pity scholarship. Your parents must’ve cut you off from the Tillman fund or else you wouldn’t be dressed like…that.” You pointed to his cargos.

“Oh, so those fancy clothes buy your affection, huh? That’s why you expect everyone else to do whatever you ask.” You simply shrugged. It was better than whatever deal he had going on. “You look like you’re still in school uniform. What, your parents don’t give ya enough love so you gotta find it from your teachers?” 

Your stomach twisted. “Fuck you.”

Gator snorted. “Look at that! Princess knows how to cuss.” He smiled like he was proud of himself for getting on your nerves, smoke covering his face. You would have to see this pretentious, arrogant, irritating face for another weeks. Another week of absolute misery. “Parents ship ya outta Lehigh so they don't have to deal with you anymore and suddenly, you think you're hot shit. So tell me then, what’s your favorite piece of love?” He pointed at you with the cigarette. “That tight shirt?” 

“Shut up.” 

“Or is it that short, little skirt?” 

“You’re the worst.”

“Or is it those shiny leather boots? Let ya step on anyone you want.”

“Just put out your stupid cigarette and let me read my book!” You snapped, your usually quiet voice echoing out of the room and down the hall. Big mistake. 

Gator’s eyes followed where his finger was pointing at those boots. He smirked. “Alright. Whatever you want, princess.” He launched forward so quickly it made your heart leap out of your chest. The next thing you knew, one of your boots was in his hand. 

“No!” You shrieked, jumping off the bed as he took a step back. He dangled it above your head with one hand, his cigarette it in the other. “Gator don’t you dare, those were expensive.”

“What’s the problem, princess? Daddy can’t buy you another?” He inched the cigarette closer and your heart stops. 

“Give it back.” You reached for it and he yanked it even higher in the air. “I’m serious, give it back!” You jumped and he pulled it away again. The cigarette moved closer, the smile on Gator’s face only growing bigger. “If you do it, I will kill you!”

“Oh, will ya?” You should’ve known to challenge an obviously stubborn boy.

“No- Noo!” But it was too late, Gator was crushing the stub into the Italian leather, a horrifying sizzling sound filling the air. 

You’d never seen someone as happy as he was at your misery. And your devastation was immediately replaced with pure anger. “You’re the worst!” You screamed, somewhere deep in the chest. “I hate you.” You shoved him and he stumbled back to the corner of the room in shock. “I hate you and your stupid cigarettes.” You lurched forward, trying to snatch them out of the pocket of his pants. Ruin the one good thing he had just like he had ruined yours. 

“What are you-” He tried to twist away but your hand was stuck in his pocket and you moved with him. 

His legs twisted with yours and the next thing you knew you were both on the floor. He was sat against the wall, your body on top of his and your face falling straight into his neck. And as you pulled back, both of you trying to catch your breaths, your lips brushed. You would have liked to chalk it up to a week worth of boredom caught up to you, or adrenaline pumping through your veins, certainly a physical closeness you weren’t often granted in a boarding school with a roommate. One moment you were looking into his eyes and he was looking into yours and the next, your lips were smashing into each other. 

He tasted of smoke but you couldn’t care too much when he was so good at kissing. It was desperate, both of you with a singular shared goal evident in the way your bodies were involuntarily grinding against each other. He tugged at your hair lightly, so his lips could trail down your neck, eliciting soft moans from you. Eagerly, you reached the button of his pants, unbuttoning it with needy hands. “Knew we’d end up here somehow.” He growled against your neck as you did. 

“Cause you’re a sex crazed pig.” You pressed your lips back to his, licking into him as you palmed him through thin fabric. 

He groaned low in his throat. “And you’re a stuck up, prissy bitch. Always have been.” His hand glided up your torso, fisting into the fabric of your shirt. In one movement, he pulled and the whole thing was ripped. You were mad, yes, but as he trailed his lips along your collarbone that feeling was mixed with something else. Something needy. 

“I fucking hate you.” You grunted, pulling him out of his boxers — already hard and aching. 

“Do ya now, princess?” He smirked against your lips. And without warning two fingers were pushing your underwear to the side and sliding into you with no warning. The sound it made was beyond obscene. He curled his fingers making you whimper into his mouth. “Doesn’t feel like it.” You silenced him by pulling his wrist away and pressing your lips to his again, sinking down on him instead.

There was no restraint. The moment he entered you, his hips were snapping into yours like a rabid dog. So were yours. Your lewd moans filled the room and likely echoed down the halls.

Suddenly, you were grateful for the lack of people. As your tongue tackled his and your stomach twisted with delight, maybe the halls began to feel a little less empty. And fuck it, if it didn’t feel good. Filling you up just right and hitting you in that spot that made you see stars. You threw your head back, your high approaching all too fast. “You look so much better when you shut up.” Gator groaned as he sucked marks into your neck. You weren’t sure how you were going to explain that one to your supervisor. 

“I can…tolerate you like this.” Though the sounds you let out between your words said a lot more than that. 

“Tolerate?” Gator spat, his hands tightening at your hips. He drove you down again and again, hitting you so deep your were gripping to his biceps for stability. You felt your thighs shaking as you slipped a hand between your bodies. He was close too, sweat lining his face despite the weather as he concentrated on bringing you to your high. He broke first, and then you shattered. You fell forward, biting his shoulder as your body convulsed with the intensity of it. He replaced your fingers, swiping harshly as he coaxed your orgasm for a little longer. “How’s that for tolerate, princess?”

You didn’t answer, just caught your breath as you held onto him for a second longer. 

Even if it was with the worst person on Earth, at least it was a warm body during a very cold winter for you both. 

₊˚｡⋆❆⋆｡˚₊

You noticed. You would stir and turn over and put a lazy hand on his chest and mumble something about going back to sleep. And every time, that gentle reassurance, as mindless and instinctive as it may be, let him relax enough to fall asleep.

Steve wouldn’t talk about what had happened, save a few vague references. You knew that he had been tortured and then there was the monster in the mall that he fought, but that was all. But, sometimes, he’d slip up when a nightmare has its claws in him, and you’d hear more.

Frantic pleading, begging for it to all just stop. Desperate thrashing as he tried to escape whatever memory he got trapped in.

In the morning, you’d be a little gentler with him. You’d bring him coffee and tread lightly, pretending that you hadn’t heard it all. Steve didn’t seem to know that he talked in his sleep sometimes, and you wouldn’t break the allusion that he was better at holding himself together than he actually was.

“The kids want to come over and swim,” he said at breakfast. His appetite wasn’t all there, so he absently used his toast to soak up runny yolk without any indication that he was interested in taking a bite. “Do a cookout, or something.”

“You want to host?” You questioned. “We don’t have anything to cook out, baby.”

“I’ll just run to Bradley’s and figure something out,” he said with a sideways smile, the kind that he put on when he wanted you to stop worrying about something. “We’ll do hot dogs, or burgers, or something. Or I can make a mean grilled cheese if all else fails.”

You acquiesced, because Steve wanted to pretend it wasn’t bothering him and you wanted Steve to be happy.

And it was all fine until night fell. Until that first whistle and pop of a firework in the sky beyond the trees. You could see the flash of color behind the canopy of trees, blue and white sparkling against the inky sky. After that, it became a cacophony of booms and pops, a war in the sky.

Steve sat on the deck chair, his swimsuit more a decoration than something practical. Just like he had problems with the fourth, he had problems with the pool too. His spine was straight, like someone had pulled him taut on a string. And you watched his chest begin to heave with short, urgent breaths.

“Hey,” you said, settling in beside him. Your thighs slung over his lap, warm, comforting, heavy. “You wanna go inside?”

“No,” he insisted. “No, I’m fine.” But his hand shook where he had it wrapped around his Coke, making it slosh around in the glass. When you met his gaze again he frowned. “I’m fine, stop worrying.”

You nestled into his side and pressed your lips to his jaw. His pulse thrummed rapidly, too fast for anything like excitement. He didn’t want to admit it, you didn’t want to push.

When you weaved your fingers in with his, he squeezed your hand so hard it started to ache, but you swallowed it down and pushed through, just like he was.

After the kids were gone and you were nestled into bed, the fireworks kept on popping outside. He tossed and turned, until finally he just turned to watch you. His brown eyes scanning over your sleepy features until his brain started to feel normal again.

You blinked against the dark and stared right back. The scar on his lip, the one you would always kiss first… that was from the Russians. So was the bump on his nose where it had fractured and healed a little wrong. He didn’t have to tell you anything, you didn’t want him to have to relive it any more than his brain already forced him to.

You closed the gap of cold sheets between you and laid your head on his chest, where the rapid thump of his heartbeat thrummed, and slowed as you breathed with him.

By the time you mosey on out to the garage (approximately five minutes after he slipped out of the house in a backwards cap, an old, white shirt, and criminally short shorts) he already has an old camping chair set up for you like a throne, a can of seltzer covered in condensation in the cup holder, and a fan running at full speed. Carefully arranged, considerate of your comfort, and so entirely like Steve that it warms your chest.

He catches your eye as you settle in the seat, a boyish grin spread across his face, and he asks, “Alright?”

“Yeah,” you say, leaning back and cracking the can open. “Just hanging out.”

He nods and doesn’t comment on what isn’t said as he turns his attention back to the pollen covered truck — something that he’s spent a lot of time complaining about over morning coffee — and drags the hose over, the faucet squealing as he turns it on to fill a soapy bucket, and he gets to work.

You aren’t shocked when, only a few minutes into him climbing into the bed to scrub at the roof, his shirt is completely soaked through with sweat. You’re even less surprised when he grimaces at the wet cotton and peels it from his back, tossing it in your general direction as his sunglasses slip down his nose. The hair not contained by his hat is plastered to his forehead, his ears, his neck, and you observe all of this with what you hope is a detached interest, but you know the truth.

As sweat drips down his chest, traversing through the forest of hair on his chest, tracing down his soft tummy before sinking into his gym shorts, you know.

It doesn’t matter where he goes or what the weather is, you are destined to follow his path the same way Clytie turns her face to track Helios’s path across the sky.

“You think cherry, apple, and peach would be good?” You ask, sifting through the fruit bins.

Gator shrugs. “Maybe blueberry instead ‘a peach. Red, white, n’ blue. Dad’ll get a kick out of that one.”

You nod, swapping the bag of peaches for a few cartons of blueberries. “Great idea, Gates,” you coo, leaning up to press a kiss on his cheek. This immediately makes him duck his head, bashful.

“Babe,” he whispers. “We’re in public.”

“Ohh, right. Can’t have people thinkin’ their deputy’s all soft for his girl,” you tease.

He snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you close, making you giggle. “Damn right,” he murmurs, but places a kiss on your earlobe that proves otherwise.

You spend the rest of the afternoon prepping the fillings and par-baking the crusts so all Karen will have to do is finish them off in the oven after you get there. Gator stands watch, chatting with you and stealing fruit despite your many attempts to smack his hands away from your supplies. Exhausted by the time dinner rolls around, you ask Gator if he’d be okay with takeout, eyebrows a little creased because you know how much he enjoys your cooking, and you always try to make him one of your signature meals when he has a day off.

He runs his hands over your forearms and pulls you in for a hug. “Now why d’ya sound so concerned? Pizza sounds as good to me as anythin’” he says.

“Just wanna make sure y’feel taken care of, I guess,” you say, muffled from your spot, buried in his chest.

He scoffs. “Y’just spent three hours preppin’ shit for my family’s party tomorrow. Don’t think I’ve ever had someone care ‘bout me like that, ever. So if you want takeout for dinner, you’re gettin’ it.”

You smile, leaning up to kiss him. He reciprocates immediately. His lips are tart from the berries he’s been eating, a little cool from his mint vape, and something else that’s entirely his own essence. You relish in these moments, quietly kissing in your kitchen, the snuggles in bed, the grocery shopping. Rare and sometimes far in between, but so so special nonetheless.

-

You get up early the next day, leaving an adorable snoring Gator in your bed while you shower and get dressed, opting for a cute cotton sundress that’s navy with white polka dots, subtly leaving red out of the color scheme for yourself. Gator walks in as you’re drying your hair, his own sticking up in every direction — evidence of a good night’s sleep. He wraps his arms around your middle and pulls your back to his chest as you click the hair dryer off.

“Mornin’ gorgeous girl,” he murmurs, kissing your neck. You close your eyes and lean further into him, smiling. “Mornin, Alligator.”

You can almost hear the playful eye roll Gator gives you as he turns you around and backs you up into the kitchen counter, pulling you to him for a dizzying kiss. You try to pull away, but his hold tightens on you as he goes in for another, and another, pulling a flurry of giggles out of you. “Gator, we can’t be late to this,” you whisper as he continues his ministrations over your face, down your neck, and over your clavicle. “Your dad already doesn’t know how to feel about me,” you sigh out, hand dropping to his hair as you struggle to maintain composure.

Gator finally relents, drawing himself back upright to sweep your hair out of your face. “Nah, that’s not true. He never mentions ya outside of askin’ if you’ll be joining us for dinner now n’ again. Means he’s indifferent, ‘nd with him, that’s better than him likin’ ya, I promise.”

You lean up to peck his jaw. “You really promise?”

“‘Course sweetheart,” he squeezes your hips. “Now you better get outta this room if y’still wanna make the party in time.”

You give him a final peck on the cheek before turning away from him and out of the bathroom, not without a pat on your ass from him that you squealed at on your way out.

-

The two of you pulled into the ranch right on time, with only a couple of Roy’s guys already parked. Gator helps you carry the pies inside, the front door open and letting the warm summer air through the main house.

Karen’s already in the kitchen, and looks up from the various courses she has going at you gratefully as you start unpacking the pies. “These’ll just need about 40 minutes in the oven and you should be good to go,” you say, gently depositing each pie onto the rack before setting the timer.

“Hey, babe, I’ll be outside with some of the other deputies if ya need me,” Gator calls from the back door.

You call out an “okay, sounds good!” Before assessing the kitchen and stepping in to help Karen make the side salad, which she whispers out a ‘thank you’ for. As much as seeing how Roy works her into the ground frustrates you, part of you knows nothing you do or say will change his mind. If anything, he’ll only get more upset with Gator about you ‘speaking out of line’ or whatever bullshit excuse against women he finds at the front of his brain that day. So, any time you’re at the Tillman Ranch, you take pity on Karen and try to help instead. Never asking so as not to draw attention from Roy and just stepping in wherever there’s room — making a side for dinner, setting the table, helping the girls wash their hands.

As you’re carrying the antique glass bowl of salad outside, you almost knock into Roy in the hallway. “Oops! Sorry, Sherrif,” you mutter, side stepping past him.

“Careful with that, sweetheart,” you prickle at the nickname but shove down a snarky response. “It was my mother’s.”

You nod, glancing down at the blue glass, woven with intricate flower patterns. “It’s beautiful.”

He nods. “Karen not givin’ ya too much trouble , is she?”

“No, no. Just like helpin’ out, is all!”

He nods slowly, then sighs as if you’ve passed his test. “What about Gator?”

You smile. “No more than the usual.”

He nods curtly before turning and heading towards the kitchen. You let out a breath you weren’t sure you were holding before heading outside to the picnic tables under the shade and setting the salad down.

Gator spots you from a few yards away and excuses himself to his friends, jogging over to you and greeting you with a kiss, the faint taste of beer on his tongue. “Hey baby. Y’havin’ fun? Y’know you don’t have to help Karen if ya don’t want to, you can join the other wives out here.”

You shrug. “I feel bad that she’s takin’ care of all of this by herself. You know I like helping,” you smile. Gator nods.

“Besides,” you say, a gentle smirk working its way to your features. “‘M not your wife yet, anyway.”

Gators mouth drops open as he scoffs. “‘S that so? Might have to do somethin’ bout that later.”

You laugh, patting his chest to distract from the heat that’s on your cheeks, butterflies wild in your stomach at the thought. “I should get back inside.”

-

The rest of the afternoon goes smoothly. Roy and the rest of the guests love the pies; Gator was on the money with the “red white and blue” pie scheme going over well with the crowd. Kids spent the afternoon running around the grounds, playing cowboys and aliens and shrieking up a storm. Gator sat next to you as everyone ate, hand holding yours under the table, grounding you to him as conversations about the district and politics and so on ran around you.

Eventually, the sun started to dip in the sky and someone mentioned getting the fireworks ready. Gator handed you the keys to his truck so you could meet him in the field at the edge of the property to watch after they were done setting up. In that time, you helped bring the dishes back into the kitchen.

“So, are you gonna watch the fireworks?” You asked as you deposited another load of plates into the sink.

“Oh, no, I’ll catch them from the window. Too much to do here,” she said.

You nodded, wanting to push her to come but knowing that would push Roy’s temper.

“Well, that’ll be better anyway. Less noise and dust and all that,” you said, turning towards the front door to drive yourself over before Karen’s voice stopped you again.

“He really likes you, ya know,” she says, voice thin. “Gator — he’s happier since you’ve been around. Think you’re good for him.”

You smile. “Thank you, Karen. He’s good for me, too.”

A whisper of a smile appears across her face as she nods, turning back to the dishes.

You park the truck so the bed faces the field and climb into the back, wrapping the blanket Gator stashes back there around yourself against the cooling night breeze. You look out to the center of commotion, where you can make out Gator and his deputies as specs in the distance, running between piles of explosives that they’ve gathered.

They form groups of two and take turns setting off what are 100% illegal fireworks from their spot. You plug your ears as you watch the explosives sail into the sky, whistling the whole way there before erupting in bright colors, snazzy flares, and booms that seem to make the ground rattle.

You can hear the whoops and hollers from Gator and his friends after each one, admiring their work. You find yourself smiling every time Gator’s voice cuts through the air, happy that he gets to let loose with his friends for a night.

After a few more fireworks go off, you see the group swapping out, Gator and his partner packing up their bags and heading over to the rest of the onlookers by you.

Slowly, you see his figure growing larger as he jogs closer to the truck. When he finally makes it over, he jumps up into the bed with you, still buzzing and wired from the leftover adrenaline. He leans over and kisses you, smelling like gunpowder and oil and the faint remnants of the sunscreen he put on that morning.

“Baby, did you see that? Rogers and I got our hands on some premium shit from down south. His cousin drove it up here last week. Holy shit,” he’s panting, eyes bright and wild and full of life. Your Gator. You feel an overwhelming sense of joy at his mood, usually one to keep his reactions short, emotions reserved until it’s just the two of you in your bed; late at night or early in the morning. But right now, he’s unabashed. Open, happy. You reach your hand up to cup his cheek and pull him to you for a kiss.

“It was the best fireworks display I think I’ve ever seen, Gator,” you say, grinning so wide that your cheeks hurt. He smiles at that, too— easy and a little shy. The tips of his ears give him away, flushed pink at the compliment.

He cuddles up next to you under the blanket, leaning against the back of the truck bed, your head on his chest. As you watch the other deputies set up the next round of fireworks, you feel Gator lean down and press a kiss to the shell of your ear before saying, “thanks for coming out here, for spendin’ your day celebratin’ the fourth with all of us. I know you’re not crazy ‘bout all the… patriotic shit but ya showed up anyway and.. I love ya for it, okay? I love you.” His voice is a note above a whisper, his sentences choppy, but he’s trying for you and the message is received nonetheless.

“‘Course, hon,” you say, leaning up to kiss him again, soft and sweet in the North Dakota heat. “I love you, too.” His arms give you a squeeze at the sentiment.

The two of you spend the rest of the evening watching fireworks, judging the deputies displays between booms. Eventually, Roy starts a bonfire and Karen drives up with supplies for s’mores, earning cheers from the group as everyone wanders over to toast up their marshmallows. You and Gator argue over the best roasting technique, grins giving away the unseriousness of the topic as you feed each other your creations, moaning at how good they taste.

Eventually, it’s 1am and no longer the Fourth as you’re driving home, Gator’s hand in yours as you drift off in the passenger seat of the truck. “Love you, Gates,” you murmur, voice thick with sleep.

Gator looks over at you, curled in towards him, lashes fluttering over your cheeks as the soft hum of the engine lulls you under. He thinks about how he has no idea what he did to get you in this life, hopes that someday he’ll be able to tell you as such in those exact words. He shakes his head, focusing back on the road before bringing your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

Your daddy would drop you off at the ranch at the crack of dawn, muttering a few words to you before hopping into Roy’s truck and rushing off. You never thought about your daddy’s quietness too much, you shrugged it off as it being important business, and he was focused on getting you somewhere where you could be watched over before leaving.

Roy never paid much attention to you when you were growing up, even though you were on his land every day, and with how close he was with your daddy. Being around him was unsettling, especially in the early days when you were getting used to the new environment. You would hide behind sofas or tighten your grip on your daddy’s hand. Roy would laugh at you, telling you that you’re being silly.

Sometimes Roy would invite your daddy around for dinner when he wasn’t occupied, which meant you were always invited too. It would be the same thing for dinner every time that his wife, Linda, would make for everyone. A juicy, finely cut steak with asparagus to the side, which you could never complain about. You’d settle down at the dining table and say a prayer before tucking in.

You weren’t allowed in Gator’s room, a rule set by Roy because time together was more important than being lazy and sitting in a dark room for hours. That rule had been broken many times when your daddy and Roy were out together because nobody found out.

You’d been sitting at the dining room table together, you and Gator already licked the plates clean half an hour before, and you were both clearly fidgety, wanting to stretch your legs. You stared at your daddy for a moment to get his attention and he turned to you, raising his eyebrows.

“Please may me and Gator be excused from the table?” You asked with a sweet smile. “I’ve finished all my dinner.”

He glanced at Roy, then back at you. “I think it’s best ya sit here until we have all finished.” He said before he was cut off by Roy.

“May as well excuse yourselves. Me ‘n your daddy oughta have a catch up.” Roy said gruffly, patting his hand on your daddy’s shoulder.

“Can we go upstairs?” You asked, a little quieter, unsure if that’s a good question to ask.

Roy huffed out a breath, glancing between the two of you. “Alright, but only for twenty minutes. Ya hear me? Anymore ‘n I’m draggin’ the both of ya out by your feet.”

“Yes, daddy.” Gator nodded. “Twenty.”

“Go on then. ‘m counting.” Roy raises his eyebrows, gesturing for you to wander off.

You grin at Gator and push your chair back as it squeaks against the floorboards, pushing it back under the table and dashing to the stairs. Your head popped out from the wall before you headed upstairs, looking at Linda who’s already washing the dishes, because Roy never did them, at least from what you saw.

“Thank you for dinner. It was lovely.” You whispered from across the room.

She offered you a small smile. “Thank you, sweet.”

Gator was already at the top of the stairs when you finally started going up, and he turned on his heel, pushing his bedroom door open. His walls were filled with posters barely an inch of his wall could be seen. He had different types of cars on his shelves, which you never saw the point in them because he never played with them.

You stepped into his room, and his blinds were shut, the room barely lit up. He shuffled along his bed, folding his arms over his chest and resting his back against the headboard, nodding his head to his left to gesture you to sit beside him. You slid onto the bed beside him, staring off at the Metallica poster on his wall.

Your eyes darted back to him. “You’re lucky your daddy lets you have all these posters on your walls and stuff in your room. My daddy would tear anything off my walls if I put anything up.” You mumbled.

“I mean, he doesn’t care too much ‘bout what goes on in my room. He never comes in here anyway, so I can do what I like really.” Gator shrugged, crossing his leg over to get comfortable.

“He doesn’t even come in to tuck you into bed?” You asked.

“Never done that shit.” He laughed, shaking his head. “My mom years ago when I was five maybe, but nobody comes in here. I like that though. I’s like my own cave.”

You grinned. “Sure does look like one.”

He rolled his eyes at your comment. “Your room is full of fuckin’ plushies everywhere. What are ya, like, four or some shit?” He laughed.

You swatted his shoulder, not too forcefully. “I’m fifteen, thank you very much.” You rolled your eyes. “I just like having ‘em, that’s all. You let no light into your room at all, fuckin’ grotty vampire.”

“Light gives me a headache, ain’t letting nothin’ in.” He huffed.

“Yeah, exactly. Proved my point. Vampire.” You poked your finger against his chest, gently pushing him.

He raised an eyebrow. “Where have your manners gone, hm?”

“Can’t say out your window because you never open it.” You quipped with a grin.

“Ouch.” He laughed.

Roy’s truck pulled up outside and you pushed yourself up from the sofa, peeking through the curtains. He slams the truck door shut, shoves his hands into his pockets and grunts to himself as he walks to the front door. Your daddy was still in the truck, packing some things into a bag.

You tilted your head towards Gator who’s completely absorbed in the shit he’s been watching on the TV for the past hour, a tub of leftovers from the fridge on his lap. Your hand comes to his arm, gently tapping him.

“Your daddy’s back.” You sigh. “He looks pissed off.”

He shrugs. “Sounds ‘bout right, nothing new in that.”

“No, like, he looks like he’s about to break anything that comes in his path.” You mutter, peering to look out the window again.

“Like I said, nothing new.” He repeats, and your heart thumps in your chest hearing him say that so casually.

Unless you took his words the wrong way, you were terrified. You curled your legs underneath you, trying to focus on everything but Gator’s words and Roy storming over to the house, looking like he’s about to take whatever anger he has out on anyone.

The front door slams open, hitting the wall, sounding like he’s definitely put a dent in it. His boots come through the hallway as he shrugs his jacket off, not bothering to take his boots off. A loud groan leaves his mouth, and it’s clear he wants everyone to know that he’s had a shit day.

You helplessly look at Gator, and he glances at you with a worried look in his eyes that only makes you feel more anxious. Roy opens the fridge, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and taking a swig. He walks into the living room in long strides, glancing at the TV, then at Gator.

“This what you’ve been up’ta all day, boy?” He scoffed, sucking his teeth. “Never seen anyone so fuckin’ lazy, you live like you’re rottin’ in a pigsty, ya hearin’ me? Your old man has to work his fuckin’ ass off, and comes home to you sat on your ass, doing nothin’.”

Gator stays silent, though his attention is now on his dad instead of on the TV. You can see how nervous he looks, something that you’ve never seen in him before. Usually, he has an attitude on him, making sarcastic remarks wherever he goes, but that has been completely dropped.

“Ya never tidy up after you’ve made a mess, ‘n I have to come home to it. D’ya have any idea what I do for work? How exhausting it is for me? You get to sit here, bein’ all sloppy ‘n lazy whilst I do work that real men do. Tough up, boy.” He points at Gator, then turns to point at Linda. “Same for you, woman. I expect you to clean up jus’ as much.”

There it is, throwing all his stress and anger at everyone else whilst nobody has said a word to him. Gator has mentioned to you a few times that his dad could be a dick, but you never realised how badly he meant it.

“Bad day?” Gator asks without thinking.

Roy whips his head around. “Say that again.”

“Did you have a bad day?” Gator repeats.

Roy storms over to Gator, and he slowly pushes himself to straighten up. A harsh slap comes to Gator’s face and your eyes widen, watching as Roy’s shoulders move up and down from his heavy breathing. Roy doesn’t look guilty of it for one second, and the look in Gator’s eyes has your heart twisting.

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth and attitude, boy. Quit it.” Roy snaps, turning around and storming back into the kitchen, muttering to himself.

The house goes quiet other than Linda running the tap to wash the plates. Your eyes stay on Gator, watching for any slight change. He’s staring at the floor, hands trembling against his legs, and then he brushes his hands against his thighs like he’s trying to hide himself from you.

You shuffle closer to him, gently resting your hand on his upper arm. “Would you like to go up to your room?” You ask, knowing that Roy wouldn’t like that, but you’re hoping that he’s too occupied with drinking.

It was the only question you felt like you could ask, because asking if he was okay or if he was hurt was going to have a very obvious answer. He uncomfortably shifts on the sofa, slowly tilting his head to look at you, his eyes glossy.

“Yeah.” He mutters, nervously glancing at the kitchen.

Roy’s leaning against the counter, the bottle in his hand as he stares out the window. Your daddy walks into the house, glancing over at you, raising his eyebrows as if to try work out why it’s so silent. You nod your head towards Roy, and he glances at him, slowly nodding.

You stand up and Gator immediately follows, almost pressed up against you. He follows you up the stairs and slightly closes his bedroom door behind the two of you, not fully just in case Roy decides to make another problem up like he usually does. You silently walk over to his bed, settling yourself down against the pillows and he sits beside you.

“I’m so sorry, Gator. I had no idea he was going to do that. That was so fucked up.” You manage out.

He shakes his head. “It’s nothin’ that hasn’t happened before.”

“This shouldn’t happen. It’s not normal.” You whisper.

“It’s how he toughens me up, I need it. Like he said, he’s a real man, and I need to be a real man too.” He mutters.

You raise your eyebrows, realising how much his daddy has brainwashed him. “Gator.” You say firmly.

“Yeah?” He says, completely oblivious.

“If you think Roy is a man after doing that, I think you’re insane.” You shake your head.

“Discipline.” He shrugs, sliding his hand over his gelled hair.

“Which isn’t necessary at all.” You reply, huffing out a breath. “Nothing you did or said deserved that. Not that you should get slapped if you say something awful anyway.”

He groans, gently pressing his hand against the pink mark on his cheek. “Whatever. It happened, and I shouldn’t be a fuckin’ wimp about it.”

“Your daddy hit you, Gator. I’m not saying that you’re a wimp, but you’re allowed to show me that it at least hurt you, because it sure looked like it did.” You sigh.

“I have t’be strong.” He mumbles, more to himself.

“You don’t. Not all the time. I saw how scared you looked, Gator. I’m not blind.” You say, gently brushing your hand over the mark on his cheek, watching his face to see if he’s uncomfortable.

He slowly shifts his position, scooting down the bed a little and resting his head on your lap, settling his hand on the side of your thigh. Your hand comes to his hair, messing up his gelled hair, slowly slipping through the strands. You can feel him still trembling against you, and you don’t move, because he’s letting you into something that he probably never wanted anyone to see.

His voice breaks. “I don’t wanna be scared. I hate that word. I want t’be a man.”

“You are a man, Gator.” You whisper, brushing your hand through his hair as his breath tickles against your skin.

His head stays on your lap for a while until your dad calls for you, and he hesitantly lifted his head up, giving you a pleading look. He followed you down the stairs, leaning against the front door as you said goodbye. You felt guilty having to leave him now that you knew how his dad treated him. The look on his face when his dad stomped over to him was something you knew you weren’t going to forget.

Every time you saw Gator after that, every small thing that Roy said started to make everything a whole lot more obvious. He never called Linda by her name, it was always ‘woman’, he expected everyone to clean up for him, his tone raised a lot more, even with you around, and he hit Gator in front of you multiple times when he took something Gator said the wrong way.

All the rumours you would hear about Roy from your friends and at social gatherings were true, and you hated that it took you so long to realise, even when you were always at the ranch. You wondered if your daddy knew about how Roy treated his family the whole time, and the thought made you feel uneasy.

You’d been used to helping Gator when you were younger when he scraped his knees on the ground, the times he would be pissing around and getting hit foot walked on by one of the horses, when he’d be a little too curious and almost get himself into trouble. He had no sense of danger, and that always worried you.

You’ve been cleaning out in the barn on the ranch, restocking the hay bales, brushing down the horses when Roy and the deputy sheriffs came back from a trip, cleaning their hooves, making yourself busy so that you had an excuse to be away from the house. You’d rather have your back aching than spend one second around Roy.

The door into the barn creaks open and you whip your head around, brushing the dirt from your knees and straightening up. Gator walks over to you, his eye half-open and bloodshot with a bruise forming under his jaw. He rests his hands on his vest jacket, standing in front of you in a wide stance, grinning at you.

Your eyes flick down to his hands, his knuckles bright red. “Jesus Christ.” You mutter.

“Yeah, could do with him turnin’ up right ‘bout now.” Gator huffs out a laugh.

“What could’ve possibly happened in twenty minutes time?” You ask, dropping the reins in your hand on the floor and stepping closer to him.

He shrugs, glancing around the barn. “Apparently daddy is in a bad fuckin’ mood today, if that’s not obvious.” He says, pointing to the bruise on his jaw.

“Think he’s in one daily.” You reply. “Think someone should be slappin’ the attitude out of him instead. Give him what he deserves.”

“In what world would than happen?” He mumbles.

“This one, hopefully.” You sigh, reaching your hand up to rest on his jaw, carefully tilting his head to the side to get a better look. “Pretty harsh, that. Let’s get you sorted with some frozen peas, yeah?”

He shakes his head, taking a step back, tightening his grip on his vest jacket. “I’m fine. I don’t need anyone to sort me out. I’m a man, it doesn’t hurt.”

“Yeah? So why’d ya come to me then?” You ask, raising your eyebrows.

“Just to see you, that’s all. You’ve been hidden in here.” He says, lying through his teeth.

Since the first time you saw Gator get slapped by Roy, he’s been lying to you, telling you that he’s fine and he deserved it. You were shocked he opened up to you it all in the first place, so it wasn’t too much of a shock that he’s shutting down any attempt to talk about it.

You’ve known Gator since you were kids, running around the ranch, saying ‘just pretend’ to each other when a game wasn’t going your way. You know when he’s lying, and he’s pretty fucking obvious about it. He never sounds confident when he lies, always the same tone that gives it away.

“I’m hidden in here for a reason, and you’re the most awful liar I’ve met.” You laugh. “Don’t know how no one else sees it. You came to me for help, so I’m going to give you it.”

He groans. “You’re bein’ soft.”

“And you came to me. We’re on the same boat.” You shrug, making your way out the barn.

He follows behind you as you walk back into the house, quietly opening the front door and peeking inside to check who’s around. You make your way into the kitchen, crouching down to open the freezer. The drawer shrieks as it slides against the ice, and you grab a bag of frozen peas.

Gator leans against the counter with a loud huff, folding his arms over his chest, directing his gaze away from you. You kick the freezer door shut and bring the frozen peas up to his jawline, gently pressing down. He sucks in a breath, his hand grabbing onto yours as you keep the peas against his jaw.

“Fuckin’ Christ. Hurts like a bitch.” He groans.

“It’s either dealing with this bruise or keeping some peas on there for a few minutes.” You mutter.

“The peas any day.” He whispers, looking into your eyes.

You peel the bag of peas back for a second to check his jaw and place it back down, glancing at his eye again. The punch must’ve been powerful, because he’s clearly struggling to keep his eye open. Roy’s getting more aggressive with Gator as time goes by, and it only makes it worse that you can’t do anything about it because Roy has power over everyone, especially Gator.

“I worry about you sometimes.” You sigh.

He flashes you a crooked grin. “That’s my job.”

“Not a very fun one. These heart palpitations are going to get me in hospital at some point.” You shake your head.

“Blame my daddy, not me.” He huffs, leaning into the frozen peas.

“What caused him to get so angry today, anyway? He didn’t look too annoyed when he walked into the barn before, for once.” You ask.

He sighs, shifting his weight onto his other leg. “He thinks I’m weak, says I’ll never be a man. He wants to take the deputy sheriff title away from me. I’m not what he expects of me when he wants me to follow orders. I hadn’t said anythin’ to him, by the way, if you’re goin’ta say somethin’ ‘bout that.” He looks away from you. “He was probably talkin’ ‘bout the order I followed the other day. Got the wrong person and was scolded for it. Don’t know why he’s gotten angry about it now, happened days ago.”

“I think it’s unfair he wants to take your title away from you. He’s acting like he’s never slipped up on something in his life. Roy’s not even close to being perfect, he never will be.” You whisper, brushing your thumb under his eye. “He always needs a reason to be angry, and he’ll hold things against you until you die.”

“It’s weird that ya know all this. You shouldn’t have to.” He mumbles.

“I’ve really seen it all, Gator. Seen this with all three of Roy’s wives, seen it happen to you and the twins, and you’ve seen it all as well.” You reply. “He’ll keep going as long as it makes him feel something. He knows that he can get away with anything. He’s the law and whatever the fuck he rambles on about.”

“Karma will kick at him real hard, he won’t see it comin’.” He says through his teeth. “He’ll deserve anything that comes for him.”

You nod. “Been counting the day’s since I’ve known about this. Your daddy is dangerous, and everyone deserves to know it.”

“Think most people know, they jus’ can’t do anythin’ to stop him. If they could’ve stopped him, I would’ve been safe, what, over ten years ago.” He says quietly.

“I knew what type of person Roy was when I was five, heard ‘bout it when I was in school. Loads of rumours went around about him, yet I hadn’t seen him do anything yet. Thought these people were lying to me, but they weren’t.” You sigh.

“Too young to be havin’ to think about that shit.” He whispers.

You slowly take the bag of frozen peas away from his jaw, looking at the bruise and placing the bag on the counter. He keeps still as your fingers brush over the bruise, not flinching.

“There we go, should be good now. Might need to take painkillers if it starts stinging again.” You say, crouching back down to place the bag of peas back into the freezer.

He follows your movements, stepping closer to you. “Thank you.” He whispers.

“Come to me if it happens again, not that it should have to happen again.” You sigh.

“Will do, nurse.” He grins.

You roll your eyes with a small, sweet smile, walking back out the front door and he follows behind, whistling to himself as he holds onto his vest.

When Roy finally got arrested and locked up, Gator had the freedom he’s never had. He moved out of Lehigh with you into another town where you settled down into a small, one-bedroom house. It wasn’t anything fancy, you didn’t bother with looking around multiple houses, it just needed to be far away from the ranch.

During Roy’s arrest, you all got questioned as you were closely associated with him, which gave Gator the chance to tell them everything he’d been wanted to spill out for years. Your daddy stayed in Lehigh to carry on with sheriff business, and he understood the need for you and Gator to move away.

Gator got himself into different jobs that he was struggling to settle into whilst you were doing a degree in history at a university nearby. He found it uncomfortable at the start, having to start up a new life away from his home, but he knew he couldn’t stay at the ranch after everything.

You encouraged him to go to therapy, which took a lot of convincing and groaning every time you brought it up. He did a few sessions with his therapist, finally opening up during a session after weeks of keeping the conversations shallow and then ending therapy early because he told you he could do everything on his own.

You believed he was going to help himself until the started to come home and head straight to the fridge to drink. His strategy to heal from years of trauma was to drink it away, and it clearly wasn’t helping him. No matter how much he tried to convince you that it was helping, you couldn’t believe it.

After a boring, dragging day at work, Gator walked through the front door, slipping his jacket off and hanging it up. He didn’t bother taking his shoes off and walked straight over to the fridge and opened it up to see no bottle, and he whipped his head around to look at you, raising his eyebrows.

“Where’s it at?” He asks, leaning against the counter.

“Where’s what at?” You ask, acting clueless.

He huffs. “You know exactly what I mean, where’s my Jack Daniel’s at?”

“You drank it all.” You reply with a shrug. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“No, there were two bottles in there last night. I had one, so where’s the other one at, hm?” He asks.

You sigh, shifting from your position and walking over to him. “If you’re going to drink irresponsibly, you won’t be having any more. It’s not healthy, Gator.”

“Look, I’ve had a rough day, baby, and I jus’ wanted to come home to a drink, is that okay?” He says, and his sweet tone should’ve made you give in, but you weren’t going to budge.

“Gator.” You say firmly. “You said no more therapy and told me you’d help yourself, so I’ve let you off because sometimes therapy doesn’t work easily for others, and I understood that. When you said you were going to help yourself, I didn’t think you meant drinking.”

“It is helpin’, it helps me to forget.” He says with a positive tone.

“Yeah, for a few hours maybe. Then you remember again and then have another drink. Notice a pattern?” You ask.

“Well, I’m not gonna go back to fuckin’ therapy, am I? It was the most unhelpful shit ever. It’s a cash grab.” He mumbles.

A huff leaves your lips. “If you think therapy is unhelpful, then drinking is even worse.”

“Cheaper.” He mutters.

“At least therapy is healthier.” You sigh, rubbing your forehead.

The house goes silent for a while other than the radiator in the other room clanking. His eyes are everywhere but on you, tapping his fingers against his upper arms. He seemed exhausted, his shoulders slumped and his eyelashes fluttering, but you weren’t going to let him drink.

He gets distant from you when he’s drunk, his eyes always glassy. He’ll move himself into another room, not letting himself get close to you. When he slips into bed hours after you’re asleep, he scoots himself to the edge of the bed so that he’s as far away from you as he can be. Sometimes he’ll sleep on the sofa if he’s too tired to move himself into the bedroom.

“I can’t let you keep doing this to yourself.” You shake your head. “I hate seeing you drunk.”

“You’re not my mom, baby. I don’t need babyin’. If a man needs a drink, then let him have a drink.” He mutters, turning on his heel and searching through the cupboards.

You stand still, glaring at him as he searches for the bottle that you hid. “You’re being everything but a man right now, Gator.”

He flinches at your words, even with how calm they were. Roy told him many times that he wasn’t a man, but this was a different context that he needed to take seriously.

“I’m a man.” He says to himself.

“No, you’re acting like a boy. You’re not listening to me, Gator. I love you and I really care about you which is why I don’t want you getting into an unhealthy habit.” You say in a softer tone, but he takes it another way.

“I don’t need to listen to ya. You’re talking like how Roy spoke to me. I’m doin’ completely fine.” He says, opening a cupboard and moving things around, pulling out the bottle that you hid with a grin. “Amazing hiding spot, well done.”

His words hit you, and you shake your head slowly, watching him pop the bottle open. “At this rate, you’ll be acting like Roy if you don’t stop.” You manage out.

“Am I fuck goin’ to end up like him. You’re bein’ silly.” He sighs, taking a swig.

“This isn’t normal and I don’t like it. You’re damaging yourself instead of helping yourself. You think this is helping, but I’m watching you get more distant from me the more that you drink. You haven’t thought once that this is affecting me too.” You choke out, tears welling in your eyes. “I don’t want you to end up like Roy, it scares me and you don’t listen.”

His gaze goes to the floor, swishing the alcohol around in the bottle. He doesn’t say anything to you, and he doesn’t look at you once. Whatever he’s thinking about, you hope that it’s what you said to him.

“If you really think drinking is more important, then you can go ahead and think that, Gator. You can ignore me now all you want but I want you to remember everything I just said to you. You’ll end up losing me if you don’t stop, whatever way that may be.” You say as a sob slips from your lips, walking away from the kitchen and out onto the porch.

You sit down on the top step, resting your elbows on your knees and your face in your hands. Your breathing is shaky, and your shoulders tremble with every sob. There will be people driving by, but you couldn’t get yourself to care. You liked not knowing what Gator was doing inside the house. If he’s drinking, you’re glad you’re not there to see him get all distant with you.

You’ve been sitting on the top step on the porch for at least fifteen minutes, watching as the cars drive by and the sky starts to get darker. The fluorescent lights have automatically switched on down the front garden. You settle your hands either side of you, gripping onto the step once your tears have dried.

You never usually leave when Gator starts drinking because it wasn’t a bother at the start, you had drunk when you needed to get your mind off things too, but he crossed a line. You’d curl your legs underneath you on the sofa, keeping your focus on the TV show instead of on Gator. He wasn’t listening, so you figured you’d both need space away from each other.

The front door slowly squeaks open and Gator steps outside. It was never hard to hear when someone was walking in or out with how old this house is. His shoes pad against the floorboard and he sits down beside you with his shoulder pressed against yours, sitting at close as he can get to you.

He doesn’t smell of alcohol, and that’s the first surprise. His arm comes around you, gently rubbing your upper arm. Your head comes to rest on his chest, in a bit of an awkward position, but he rests his chin on top of your head. You can hear how his breathing wavers, his heartbeat unsteady.

“’m not like or goin’ to be like my daddy, I mean, I should be sayin’ Roy. He was never like a dad to me.” He admits quietly, brushing his thumb over your arm. “I’m not like Roy, baby. I don’t like that you’re worried I’ll turn out like him.”

You tuck your head further into his chest. “You won’t, but I just worry about it every time you start drinking.”

“I’d never hurt you. I don’t have any reason to. I dealt with Roy hittin’ me for years over small things, makin’ me feel small. Hurtin’ people has no benefit.” He whispers. “He’s the last person I’d want to be like. I don’t look up at him like I used to.”

You slowly lift your head up to get a better look at him. His eyes are glassy, and it’s clear he was crying before he came to you, but you don’t mention it to him. “I understand why you’d want to drink. I get your reasoning, I really do, but it’s a temporary thing that’ll only make it worse.” You sigh.

“It feels like the easiest option. Helps me more than therapy did.” He says, brushing his fingers through your hair. “Therapy was like havin’ a random person who knows nothin’ about me trying to dig into my whole life story. He’d give me some techniques to walk away with that sounded too pathetic to try out.”

“Did you ever try them out?” You ask.

“Did I fuck?” He laughs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Like I said, the techniques sounded pathetic. I’d be making a right fool out of myself if I tried.”

“If you never tried out what he told you to do, how would you know that therapy never worked for you?” You ask, and he goes quiet. “Maybe they did sound weird to you, but therapy is supposed to be uncomfortable. If it was easy, they you wouldn’t need to be there.”

He holds you close to himself, staying silent for a moment as he makes sense of your words. “I jus’ don’t think therapy was for me.”

“Therapy doesn’t work for everyone, like I said, but you can’t know that if you don’t try it out.” You say with a sweet smile.

He groans, resting his chin back on top of your head. “I feel too vulnerable talkin’ to someone about my life. Y’know how much I hate being vulnerable.”

“That’s the point of it, though, Gator.” You say quietly, gently brushing your hand up and down his chest. “I’d really like for you to go back and try it. If you hate it that much, then we can scrap it, but you also need to scrap the drinking too.”

“I don’t know.” He mutters.

“Just try it out for a few weeks, listen to what they have to say. You can pull out if you don’t like it. We’ll try something else.” You say, trying your best to convince him.

He sighs. “Would I have to go back to the same guy? I didn’t like how bored he looked when I was talkin’, and he was talkin’ a whole load of shit to me.”  

“I’ll ask for you to have someone else.” You nod quickly. You’d do anything for him to go back. If it means changing up his therapist, then you’d happily do so.

“Fine, but if I don’t like it, I’m pulling back out.” He says with a defeated look.

“Thank you.” You whisper, pressing a quick kiss to his neck. “I appreciate you doing this more than you know, baby.”

His hands come to your hips, carefully lifting you up from the step and settling you down on his lap, setting his hands on your thighs. You adjust on his lap, your legs either side of his thighs, resting your hands flat on his chest. He presses a kiss to your cheek and another to your neck, just underneath your ear.

For a moment, you sit in silence, letting him press kisses all over you. “I like your hair when you’ve not got it slicked back in a whole tub of gel.” You admit, lifting your hand to slide through his hair.

“I like it being out of my face.” He sighs, leaning into your hand.

“Still think looks nicer like this though.” You whisper.

He shakes his head with a grin, pressing a slow, deep kiss to your lips. A quiet sound slips from your mouth, and he only pulls you closer to him. It’s clear he needed this more than he could say. His hands slide up to rest on your lower back, and you sigh into his mouth.

You slowly pull away from his lips, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, his loose strands of hair tickling your skin. Your lips are wet and glossy, and you can’t help but want more.

Gator clears his throat and keeps you close to himself, tucking your head underneath his chin. “I wanna be good for you, baby.” He says quietly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “I don’t wanna see ya disappointed in me. Already disappointed Roy many times, so I want to do my best. Not to be too soft, but I really love you, and ‘m glad that someone at least believes in me.”

“You’ll never disappoint me, Gator.” You say, gently gripping onto his shirt. “Whatever expectations Roy had of you aren’t a thing anymore. I saw every part of you back at the ranch, and you’ll never feel like that again. You’re safe from Roy now. No one will ever harm you again.”

A small smile twitches at his lips. “You’re really precious, y’know that?”

You laugh, slightly tilting your head up. “You can be adorable, sometimes.”

“Never say that again.” He rolls his eyes with a grin.

“I’m proud of you, Gator. Even when you’re feeling like shit and you think the world’s gonna end, I’m proud. You’ve been through so much and you’re still trying.” You say, leaning up to kiss his jaw a few times.

“If you hadn’t been with me on the ranch all the time, I would’ve been in real trouble. You saw a lot too, a lot that you shouldn’t have seen. I’m just as proud of you as you are of me.” He presses a kiss to your forehead, holding you close.

His hand stays on your lower back, keeping you on his lap for a while. It had been a long night, he was exhausted from work, and he’d opened up to you again. He presses gentle kisses to you before taking you back into the house when it started to get cooler outside. He brought you over to the sofa, letting you curl up against him, burying his head into your shoulder for a while.

Thank you for reading!! Liking and reblogging is very much appreciated!! 💕 Suffered through a writer's block, but I ended up getting this done eventually. Longest fic I have ever done, woopwoop

The first time it happens, Steve is three beers deep at The Hideout, loose-limbed and laughing at something Robin just said—something crude, probably, given the way Eddie’s wheezing into his whisky, shoulders shaking. Steve’s still grinning when he reaches into his jacket pocket for his lighter, fingers searching for the familiar shape.

Instead, they brush against something stiff.

What the hell?

He pulls it out under the dim, beer-stained lights of the bar, and—

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

It’s you.

Not just you—your bare skin glowing in the grainy tint of a Polaroid, the flash catching every curve, every shadow. One knee is drawn up, giving way to the perfect view, and your arm is thrown across your face like you couldn’t bear to be seen. But your mouth—Christ, your mouth is open in silent ecstasy, lips swollen and parted, and your fingers—

Jesus Christ.

Your fingers are buried in your cunt, working deep like you’re trying to feed an insatiable ache, the wet shine unmistakable even in the cheap film. His throat goes dry. His pulse kicks so hard he can feel it in his fucking teeth. Eddie says something then, some smartass remark that has Robin snorting into her drink, but Steve doesn’t hear it. Doesn’t care. All he can think about is how you’re sitting right across from him, legs crossed, sipping your drink and quipping back like it’s the most normal evening in the world. He slaps the photo face down against his thigh, grip so tight the edges crumple.

How the hell did this get in here?

He doesn’t remember you giving it to him. Doesn’t remember touching it, period. But now that he’s seen it, he can’t unsee it—the curve of your hip, the desperate arch of your back, the way your brows were scrunched together like you were right on the edge—

Stop.

He shoves it back into his pocket, but it’s too late. The image is seared into his skull—it’s just a stupid Polaroid, but now it’s all he can think about. His pulse thrums under his skin, restless and too warm. He shouldn’t be this affected. He shouldn’t. But his traitorous mind keeps circling back to it— how easy it would be to move closer, to let his hands settle where they’ve been itching to go, to see if your breath would catch the way he imagines it would. All he can think about is how badly he wants to tiptoe that thin line between friendship and sex, but it’s a dangerous game. One he’s played before and lost spectacularly. He knows the rules—knows how quickly almost turns into too much, how just friends becomes we shouldn’t have done that in the space of a single reckless moment.

But god, the temptation is killing him.

The way your knee brushes against his under the table like it’s an accident, but he knows it’s not. The way you lick salt off the rim of your margarita, eyes locked on his, like you’re waiting for him to break first. The way you shift just slightly, just enough for him to catch the ghost of a smirk—like you know exactly what he’s picturing.

It’s a slippery slope he’s sworn off.

Or at least, he tried to. But then you catch his eye, lips quirking like you can read every filthy thought racing through his head, and—Fuck. He’s too far gone already.

The following four days, Steve lives in a special kind of hell. The photo should’ve been forgettable. Just some stray Polaroid lost in the chaos of his life—another piece of clutter tossed onto the pile of things he doesn’t have the energy to deal with.

But it’s not. It’s you, branded into his brain with the precision of a lit match pressed to skin. No amount of pretending—no amount of jerking off in the shower with his forehead braced against the tile, teeth gritted around your name—dulls the ache. If anything, it makes it worse. Every time he closes his eyes, there you are.

The worst part?  Nothing’s changed. You still sling your legs over his lap like it’s nothing, like you hadn’t ruined him with a single fucking square of film. No sly glances, no secretive smirks. Just normal, like you haven’t been haunting his dreams with your fingers between—

God. He’s losing his goddamn mind.

The next one hits him like a slap to the face. He’s rummaging through the disaster zone of his coffee table—shoving aside empty beer cans, a half-eaten bag of chips, a crumpled pack of cigarettes—when his fingers brush against something that isn’t his keys. Cold dread slithers down his spine even before he pulls it free.

Another fucking picture.

It steals the air from his lungs.

You.

On your back, sheets a mess beneath you, your hair fanned out like some kind of halo. The angle is intimate, almost reverent—the curve of your bare hip, the dip of your waist, the way your fingers dig into your own thighs, holding yourself open.

Wet.

Exposed.

Your head is tipped back, lips parted around a moan he can almost hear, eyes half-lidded, lost in it. The flush on your chest, the way your body arches—like you’re caught in the thick of pleasure, like you’re drowning in it. Steve’s not sure if he’s surprised or jealous or just furious that he wasn’t the one to pull that expression from you.

He knew you were beautiful—that wasn't news. Everyone with working eyes and half a brain could see that. But this? The way golden light caressed the sweat-slick curve of your throat, the way your pleasure wasn't performative but private, intimate, real—

Christ.

It wasn't just erotic. It was sacred.

The Polaroid nearly slips from his trembling fingers before he catches it, the glossy surface warping slightly under his desperate grip. He forces himself to relax, to breathe, but the damage is done—the image already tattooed behind his eyelids.

Are you leaving these on purpose?

The question claws its way up his throat like a living thing.

It can't be.

But God help him, he needs it to be

His thumb traces the edge of the photograph as he drinks in the details: Your lips—swollen, glistening, the faint indentation of teeth where you'd bitten down to silence yourself. Your eyes—black as spilt ink, heavy-lidded yet startlingly aware, staring through the lens like you were seeing him, like you wanted him to witness this unravelling. A voice whispers through the static of his thoughts: You're missing something, and the realisation hits like a sucker punch—he's been here before, trapped in this limbo between wanting and having, between friends and something else. He remembers the exact moment he first knew you held his heart: The air in family video had been thick with the scent of stale popcorn and the hum of the ancient AC unit fighting a losing battle against the summer heat. You'd laughed at something he had said—and the sound had punched through him like a bullet. Your tongue darted out to catch a drop of Cherry Coke from your lower lip, and suddenly his hands were sweating, his collar too tight, his entire body electric with the need to move, to touch, to— "Steve?" You'd caught him staring, your head tilting in that way that made his ribs ache. "You okay?"

Now. Say it now.

But his tongue had turned to lead. Three words lodged in his throat: I want you. Then the bell chimed, Robin bursting in with arms full of candy, grinning as she spoke, “Okay, who wants to bet Eddie eats all the Red Vines before the movie even starts?” and the moment shattered like dropped glass.

Now, staring at this damning photograph, the same fear coils in his gut—what if he's wrong? What if these Polaroids aren’t for him?

What if they’re just—

Lost.

Left behind.

Not meant for his insatiable eyes.

The thought sends acid flooding through his veins. Because the alternative—that you planted these for him to find, that you wanted him to see you like this—that wasn't just hope. It was arson. And he was already burning; the way you look at him sometimes, like you’re waiting for him to figure it out; the way your fingers linger when you pass him a drink; the way you smile when he stumbles over his words, like you like that he’s flustered.

And now—

The Polaroids. Left where only he would find them.

Taunting him.

Testing him.

Tempting him.

The third Polaroid nearly fucking kills him. By the time your group crowds into the diner booth, Steve's almost convinced himself he imagined it all. Almost. But then, after about an hour of comfortable familiarity, his fingers brushing the edge of his milkshake glass, the coaster shifts –

There.

Tucked beneath it, glossy and damning. He chokes so hard Eddie has to thump him on the back. "Jesus, Harrington, are you allergic to strawberries now?" Eddie's voice is all amusement, but Steve barely hears it over the blood roaring in his ears. He doesn't answer. He's too busy slipping the picture under the table, pulse hammering in his throat as he glances at you across the booth. You're stirring your drink absently, the neon diner lights catching in your hair. And then he risks a look at the Polaroid.

Fuck.

This one's... worse. Or better. He doesn't fucking know anymore. It's a close-up. Your face, tilted up toward the camera, tears streaking through smudged mascara, pupils blown wide. And Christ— there's cum dripping off your chin, your lips parted like you're showing off. The flash had caught every detail: the wet shine on your bottom lip, the way your eyelashes stick together, the way you look up with a glint in your eyes like you were looking at him, like you wanted him to see – His jeans grow uncomfortably tight. He shifts in the booth, pressing his thighs together as heat floods his face. It turns his brain to static.

Obscene. Perfect.

No.

Across the table, you tilt your head, voice dripping with sweet concern. "Steve? You okay?"

That's what really drives the stake in. The way you sound normal, like you're not the same person in the photo — wrecked and wanting. Like you haven't been systematically dismantling his self-control. He forces a smile, fingers twitching against the sticky diner table. "Peachy." His voice comes out strangled. Robin kicks him under the table, her eyes sharp with knowing.

He spends the rest of the evening in quiet agony, debating whether to bring it up, tearing himself apart for an answer that won't come. Every time you laugh at something Eddie says, your throat bobbing, he remembers how it looked in the photo – stretched taut as you tilted your head back. Every time you lick ice cream off your spoon, he thinks about your lips, shiny and parted. His mind drifts back to the first time he met you — Robin's bright smile as she introduced you, her "You two will get along so well!" ringing in his ears like a prophecy. Then, the first flicker of something more – that slow, dawning realisation as you sat there, a giggling mess from the joint he'd rolled, clumsily teaching him pat-a-cake like it was the most crucial lesson in the world. Your fingers had brushed against his palms, warm and sure, and something in his chest had clenched tight. Every moment since has been hidden torment. Every glance across the Family Video counter when you'd come to visit Robin, your eyes lingering just a second too long. Every laugh you'd smothered behind your hand when he'd fumbled his words. Every time he'd caught himself staring at the curve of your neck, wondering how you'd sound if he pressed his mouth there. Every time he caught himself wondering if you felt that same invisible pull.

And now?

Now he's stuck with this.

What the hell is he even supposed to say? "Hey, so, funny story—I found a Polaroid of you fucking yourself the other day. Any reason that might be lying around?"

Yeah. That’d go over real fucking well.

But who else would be leaving these? He knows it has to be you. Because no one else looks at him like that. No one else smirks like that when he stumbles over his words. And God help him—he loves it. But he's Steve Harrington, and Steve Harrington doesn't ruin good things. Doesn't risk friendships for fleeting moments of pleasure, no matter how badly his hands itch to touch. So he tucks the Polaroid into his pocket, lets Eddie tease him about spacing out, lets Robin shoot him looks that promise future interrogation, and pretends his heart isn't pounding loud enough for the whole diner to hear. And when you brush your foot against his under the table, he doesn't pull away; he wonders.—

How much longer can he keep pretending before he snaps and does something stupid? Like pin you against the nearest flat surface and find out if you taste as good as you look in those photos. The thought sends another wave of heat through him. He takes a too-big gulp of his milkshake to hide the way his breath hitches. You smile at him over the rim of your glass, all innocence and sharp edges, and Steve realises with dawning horror that he’s already in too deep to climb back out.

The fourth photo is the last straw. He finds it in his glove compartment that same night, the edge jutting out like a taunt as he sits there, engine off, the silence of the parking lot pressing in around him. For a second, he just stares.

Jesus.

A mirror shot—the kind that feels private.

Except now it’s in his hands.

And fuck, it’s— You’re on your knees, but you’re not facing the glass. No. Your face is tilted up, lips stretched obscenely around your own fingers, glistening with spit, your tongue pressing against the pads like you’re imagining them as something else—someone else. Your lashes flutter, heavy with the kind of pleasure that borders on pain, like the strain is its own sweet torment. And shit, your ass—arched high, round and perfect, the curve of it taunting him, the dimples at the base of your spine begging for his thumbs to press into them. The way your hips tilt just slightly, like you’re already waiting, already needing the sharp bite of a handprint blooming across your skin. He can almost hear the sound it would make—the sharp crack of his palm meeting your flesh and the punched-out whimper you’d choke on right after. Your other hand claws at your own tits, fingers digging in, squeezing hard enough to make your breath hitch. The fabric of your shirt is rucked up, your bra shoved aside, and the sight of your nipple pebbled tight under your own touch—

Christ.

His hands shake. The photo nearly slips from his grip, and he has to white-knuckle the steering wheel just to steady himself. His throat is too tight. His jeans are too fucking tight; he shifts, grinding his hips down against the seat just to relieve the pressure, but it’s worse—so much worse—because now he can feel the rough drag of fabric, the heat of his own desperation, and God, he’s dripping, already slick with the image of you burnt into his skull. This isn’t—

This isn’t fair. He’s imagined it a hundred times. Fantasised about the way your mouth would look wrapped around him, the sounds you’d make when he finally got his hands on you. But never like this. Never with the cruel twist of being nothing more than a spectator to his own undoing.

Fuck.

His head thuds back against the seat, eyes squeezing shut like he can erase the image burnt into the backs of his eyelids. But it doesn’t help. The photo is branded into his soul.

He should stop looking.

He should.

But he can’t.

Because this isn’t just some fantasy anymore. This is proof. Proof that you think about this. Proof that you want this. Proof that you might—

Might—

Want him.

And that’s what terrifies him. Because if he’s wrong— If he misreads this—He’ll ruin everything.

But God, the way your back curves in the photo. The way your lips glisten. The way your fingers dig into your own skin like you’re aching for someone else’s touch. His fingers twitch against his thigh. He could—

He could find you.

Right now. Pull you into the backseat. Make that look in the photo a reality. But what if he’s just—

Projecting. Hopeful. Pathetic. His jaw clenches. He can’t risk it. He won’t. The photo goes back into the glove compartment. His keys twist in the ignition. The engine roars to life. But he doesn’t drive away. Not yet. Because one thought won’t leave him alone—

What if she wants you to come find her?

So he plans to ask you about the Polaroids—if he can ever figure out how the hell to bring it up without sounding like a complete creep.

His apartment is spotless, scrubbed down in a frenzy of nervous energy. Just a regular movie night, he tells himself. You’d had dozens. Nothing to panic about. And for a while, it is normal. You steal his fries, mock his shitty taste in films, and press your ice-cold hands against his thigh just to hear him yelp. It’s easy. It’s you.

But then—

Halfway through, as he gathers empty food containers, something flutters to the floor. Upside down. He knows what it is before he even turns it over. His heart stops. You’re still on the couch, laughing at something on screen—but he can’t help himself. He picks it up. And—

Fuck.

It’s you—sinking down onto a toy like you need it, like you’d die without it. Your eyes are closed, lips parted in relief. One hand braces against the bed, the other at your throat, fingers pressing in like you’re chasing more, like you want to feel it everywhere. The angle is obscene, the slick shine of your arousal glistening where you’re spread open for the camera. Steve swears he can feel it—the phantom roll of your hips, the way you’d clench around him if it was his cock instead— "Something wrong?"

Your voice is too soft, too normal, and it guts him. The photo sticks to his sweat-damp palm as his brain short-circuits between this you—wanting, wrecked, fucking yourself like it’s your only salvation—and the you standing in front of him now, all wide-eyed concern and bitten-pink lips. Ask her. The thought burns through him. Just fucking ask her. But what comes out is, "Nah, just—uh—dropped a napkin." God fucking damnit. You tilt your head, and for one heart-stopping second, he thinks you know. That you’ll smirk, step closer, and whisper, "Like what you see, Harrington?" But you don’t. You just hum, "You’ve been weird all night."

Weird. Yeah. That’s one word for it.

He shoves the Polaroid into his back pocket like it’s evidence of a crime. His crime. Because, Christ, he shouldn’t have looked. Shouldn’t be hard right now, straining against his sweatpants as you blink up at him, all wide-eyed innocence. Like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing to him. He forces himself to step around you, putting the couch between you like it’ll save him. "Just tired," he mumbles, grabbing his half-finished beer. The bottle is slick with condensation, and he clings to that—the cold—instead of the sliver of skin exposed when you stretch, the curve of your waist he knows by heart. Intimately. He’s catalogued every dip and slope of you—the way your hip fits perfectly under his palm when he guides you through a crowded room, the way your waist nips in just enough for his fingers to span it. He’s thought about it. Too much.

You don’t push. Just flop back onto the couch, tucking your legs under you. "Well, hurry up. This movie’s shit, but I want to see how it ends." Steve exhales through his nose. Right. The movie. Except all he can focus on is the weight of the photo in his pocket. The way you’d looked—fuck—like you were made to take cock, like you’d beg for it, like you’d whimper his name if he just—

That’s the problem, isn’t it? He knows you. Knows the way your nose scrunches when you laugh. Knows how you cling to your coffee mug in the morning, both hands wrapped around it like it’s the only thing keeping you upright. Knows the way you’d held his hand that one time he got too high and swore the ceiling was breathing, your thumb brushing over his knuckles like you were anchoring him. But this?

This is a version of you he isn't allowed to have, isn’t allowed to need.

One he is desperate for.

The movie drones on, some cheap horror flick with terrible effects, but Steve’s pulse hasn’t slowed since he found the damn photo. You’re curled into the corner of the couch, knees drawn up, fingers idly tracing the rim of your soda can. Innocent. Bored.

Too innocent.

Because he’s seen the way your gaze lingers on him when you think he’s not looking. The way you bite your lip when he rolls his sleeves up. The way you lean in just a little too close when you laugh. Steve exhales, rough, dragging a hand down his face.

Fuck.

He should say something. Should’ve done something. But the truth is, he’s fucking scared. Terrified of being wrong. Terrified of ruining this—whatever this is—with his stupid, greedy hands. Because what if the Polaroids aren’t for him? What if the way you look at him, all slow smiles and heavy-lidded glances, is just him, reading into things? What if he reaches for you, and you pull away?  Every time you shift, his gaze flicks to your thighs. Every time you laugh, he imagines the way your breath would hitch if he dragged his teeth over your pulse. Every time you look at him, he wonders—

Is this a game to you?

Are you waiting for me to break?

Because he’s close. So fucking close.

When you leave, you linger in the doorway—just a second too long. Your fingers toy with the hem of his shirt, the fabric slipping between them like a secret. It’s innocent. It’s not. The way your knuckles brush against his hip, featherlight, makes his breath catch.

You’re tempting fate.

You’re torturing him.

"Night, Steve," you murmur, lips quirking in that way that drives him insane—like you know exactly what you’re doing to him. And for a wild, reckless moment, he considers it: Pinning you against the door. Trapping you with his body. Letting his mouth finally, finally ask the question that’s been clawing at his ribs for weeks—

Are you doing this on purpose?

But then you’re gone. The door clicks shut. And all he’s left with is the ghost of your perfume—something sweet and sharp, clinging to his clothes like a promise—and the Polaroid in his pocket, burning a hole straight through to his skin.

The get-together on Friday is a grand fucking disaster from minute one. Steve's apartment swims in a haze of cigarette smoke and the stale tang of spilt beer, the kind of party atmosphere that usually feels like second nature but tonight just makes his skin itch. The laughter rings too loud in his ears—Eddie's wheezing cackle from the couch, Robin's snort-giggle as she loses at poker again. Normally, he'd be right there with them, tossing out stupid jokes and soaking up the chaos. But tonight, every word sticks in his throat like gum, and every forced smile makes his jaw ache. And you.

Fucking hell, you.

You're everywhere. Perched on the arm of Eddie's chair, your knee brushing his. Leaning over Robin's shoulder to peek at her cards, your hair falling in a curtain that smells like vanilla when it grazes Steve's arm. Laughing at some stupid story Nancy's telling, your head thrown back, the column of your throat working as you swallow your drink. Every glimpse is a fresh punch to the gut. He's two beers deep and still wound tighter than a spring when it happens. You turn just as he steps forward, and his drink sloshes over the rim, drenching the front of your shirt in cold amber liquid. "Shit—fuck, I'm sorry—" Steve stammers, already grabbing for napkins he knows won’t help.

You look down at the mess, then back up at him with an expression he can't quite read. "Real smooth, Harrington," you deadpan, but there's no real heat in it. Just that same unreadable something that's been in your eyes all night. The fabric clings to your skin as you peel it away, and Steve's mouth goes dry. He forces his gaze up to your face, but it's too late—he's already seen the way the wet cotton moulds to the curve of your breast, the shadow of your nipple through the thin material. "Do you mind if I use your bathroom?" you ask, and your voice is so normal, so casual, like you didn’t just notice him staring. Like you're not standing there half-drenched because of him.

Steve swallows hard. "Yeah, no, I mean—go ahead." He gestures vaguely down the hall, his face burning. "Towels are under the sink if you... you know." You nod, sliding past him so close the heat of your body sears through his shirt, your arm brushing his in a way that sends sparks skittering down his spine. The party's dying embers surround you—empty cups littering sticky tables as the four of you remain in the hollowed-out quiet of the now-empty apartment, and when you disappear into the bathroom, Steve exhales like he's been holding his breath for hours.

Robin materialises at his elbow like the world's smuggest ghost. Her grin vibrates with barely contained glee, fingers digging into his bicep hard enough to leave crescent moons in his skin. "Dude," she stage-whispers, her breath scalding his ear, "you're a walking fucking disaster." Steve doesn't deny it. He's been digging his own grave for weeks – every aborted reach across the Beemer's console, every confession drowned in stale beer, every time he's nearly had you pinned against the Family Video horror section only to choke at the last second. "Christ, Buckley," he hisses through gritted teeth, "not now—" The bathroom door creaks open. You. Polaroid pinched between your fingers like an executioner's blade, edges worn soft from how often he's traced them. Steve's stomach plummets through the scuffed floor.

Oh, fuck.

Oh fuck, oh fuck—

The drawer. He'd forgotten about the goddamn bathroom drawer he left the Polaroids in.

Your approach is lethal. Purposeful. The sharp staccato of your boots on hardwood echoes like a firing squad cocking their rifles. The air between you curdles – thick with tension and something darker, something that makes Steve's pulse stutter in his throat. When you speak, your voice drops to that register—the one that turns his bones to liquid, something that makes the fine hairs on the back of Steve's neck stand at attention.

"Where did you get these?" Not a question. A goddamn death sentence.

Robin's nails bite deeper. "Holy shit," she breathes, eyes darting between you like she's watching the best tennis match of her life. "This is better than my parents' divorce." Steve's heartbeat riots against his ribs as you stop just beyond reach—close enough that your perfume coils around him. The Polaroid dangles from your fingers, the image facing him like an indictment: your lips swollen, lashes fluttering against tear-stained cheeks, fingers twisted in sheets that should be his. The lights hum overhead as you tilt your head, catching the sharp challenge in your gaze. "Where did you get these?" you repeat, each word dripping with deliberate intent. Steve's throat seals shut. Every lie he'd prepared withers under your burning stare, under Robin's vibrating presence at his side, and under the way his body betrays him with every inch you close between you.

"I—" His voice cracks like dry kindling. "My jacket. And—fuck."

You step closer. The brush of your knee against his sends electric currents through the denim. "And?"

"My glove compartment." The admission tears from him like flesh from a wound.

Robin makes a sound between a wheeze and a dying air horn. Your smirk could strip paint from walls. "Interesting."  Another step forward, and now your chest nearly grazes his with each breath. He can't tell if you're moving in for a kiss or a kill shot.

"And what were you planning to do with them, Steve?" His mouth floods. A dozen filthy images flash through his mind—his teeth marking your thigh, your back arching against the employee break room wall, that broken moan you'd make when—

You lean in. Your lips ghost over the shell of his ear as you whisper, hot and deliberate: Steve's vision tunnels to pinpricks. "You—you've been—" Your grin cuts deep. "Leaving them for you?  Yeah." The world tilts on its axis. Steve stares at you, caught between outrage and a hunger so deep it terrifies him. "You've been messing with me this whole time—"

A careless shrug as you step closer—so close your thighs slot between his, your skirt riding up just enough to make his hands twitch with the need to touch. "Maybe I wanted to see if you'd crack."

"Why?" It's barely more than a breath. Your expression turns sweet, soft. "Because I like how you look at me when you think I'm not watching." A heartbeat of silence stretches between you, thick and charged.

"Did you like them?"

The question hangs suspended, heavier than the humid air between your bodies. Steve's control shatters. “I hated those photos,” he grits out, voice shredded.  “Not because—fuck, not because I didn’t want you. But because every time I looked at them—”  His jaw clenches so tight it aches. “All I could think was it should’ve been me making you look like that.”

Your lips part, just slightly, and you step closer. Just one more step. But it’s enough to make his pulse riot. “Prove it,” you murmur, your lips brushing his with provocation.

His hands find your waist.

Your breath hitches.

The space between you collapses. And when he kisses you, it’s not sweet. It’s desperate. It’s what I’ve wanted forever. It’s why the hell did we wait so long? You gasp against his mouth, fingers twisting in his shirt, pulling him closer, every desperate inch of his body imprinting itself on yours like he’s trying to melt into your skin. Then his mouth crashes down—hot, demanding, lips moving with a possessive hunger that rewrites your pulse into something wild. You whimper into the kiss, fingers scrambling at his shoulders as Steve licks into your mouth like a man starved. There's nothing gentle about it – he kisses like he's determined to rewrite your DNA with teeth and tongue and the relentless press of his hips until every cell in your body sings his name. It's everything he's fantasised about and so much more – the heat of you pressed flush against him, the crescent moons your nails carve into his shoulders, and the broken little whimper you make when he nips at your bottom lip. When he finally tears away, you're both panting, foreheads pressed together, his ragged breaths scalding your swollen mouth.

"Took you long enough," you murmur, voice wrecked. Steve huffs a laugh, thumb swiping across your kiss-slick lips with a reverence that belittles the hunger in his eyes. "Yeah, well. You could've just told me."

You grin, all teeth. "Where's the fun in—" "Hell no," Eddie's voice cuts in, strangled. "I am not witnessing Harrington's sexual awakening live and in colour—" Robin's already dragging him backwards by his collar. "We're leaving! Enjoy your— Jesus Christ, Steve, just— use protection—!"

The door slams. Steve's on you before the latch clicks – no hesitation, no space between. He pins you against the wall hard enough to knock the air from your lungs, his body a furnace against yours. One hand fists in your hair while the other slides up your thigh with deliberate roughness, calloused fingers branding your skin through the fabric. "Should've done this years ago," he growls against your throat, thumb circling your nipple with just enough pressure to make you arch into him. "Why the hell didn't we?"

His forehead drops to yours. The warmth of his breath ghosts across your lips as he confesses, "Because you're Robin's best friend. Because Eddie would've never shut up about it." His hips grind forward, the hard line of his erection leaving no room for doubt. "Mostly because I was fucking terrified of losing you."

"You?"

"Thought you'd get bored of me," you admit, the wall biting into your shoulder blades as he presses closer. "Worried I'd just be... another conquest." Steve goes utterly still. When he meets your eyes, the raw intensity in his gaze makes your stomach flip. "You were never just anything." His whisper is rough, like the words were clawed from his chest. "I've been in love with you since you beat me at Mario Kart drunk off your ass in '86." A surprised laugh punches out of you. "That was like our fifth hangout."

"Yeah." His grin is all boyish charm, obscenely at odds with the filthy drag of his fingers on your inner thigh. "Fucking devastating." Then his mouth is at your ear, teeth scraping that sensitive spot that makes your knees weak. "Gonna spend the rest of the night proving it to you," he promises, voice dark with want. Something feral flashes in his eyes. In one fluid motion, he hauls you up — arm hooked under your thighs — and carries you toward the bedroom, your laughter dissolving into a moan as his mouth finds yours again. The last coherent thought you have before he drops you onto the mattress is that you should've let him find those Polaroids much, much sooner.

The hallway smelled like woodsmoke and something fried a few hours back. He led you upstairs, past two closed doors to a third at the end, pushed it open with his shoulder, and reached for the light switch without a second thought, like it hadn't once occurred to him there was anything to think twice about.

You stopped in the doorway.

The walls were dark, wood paneling gone nearly black with age, and every inch of it was covered. A wolf's head mounted over the headboard, glass eyes catching the lamp. A bleached skull beside it, horns still attached. A Metallica poster tacked up crooked. And past that, taped edge to edge with no logic you could find, a spread of pinup photos, women in bikinis and less, alongside a Confederate flag with a coiled snake stitched over the stars and DON'T TREAD ON ME in block letters underneath. An iron bed frame with a thick mattress covered in a heap of blankets that hadn't been made in what looked like a long time, a set of handcuffs hanging suspiciously from the one corner. A bottle of Jack sat on the nightstand, half gone.

He caught you looking. You watched something shift in his face, quick, there and gone, a kid caught out before he could sweep it under the bed.

“Yeah, alright,” he said, stepping half in front of you like that would fix anything. “I know how it looks.”

“Gator…”

“Been my room since I was ten. Never really saw a reason to redo it.” He was already moving past you, yanking the wolf's glass eyes into a different angle for no reason at all, like adjusting a mounted head two inches to the left might undo the whole wall. “Some of it was my Dad's, some of it's mine, I don't know, it just sorta built up over the years.”

“Hey.” You caught him by the wrist, and he went still the way he had at the door earlier, like you’d found the one switch in him that worked that fast. He stood there holding nothing, just his own hand suspended in the air, looking like he'd rather be back in the truck.

It undid you a little, watching it happen. Five dates running you’d had him pegged as a man built entirely out of nerve, the kind who walked into a bar like he'd bought the deed to it, who put a hand on your back like there'd never been a version of the world where you might have told him not to. And here he was in his own childhood bedroom with his ears going red over a flag and a taxidermied wolf, like your opinion of his walls was the one thing that could actually take him down.

“I don't care about the shit on your walls,” you told him, tugging on his arm.

“Maybe you should. It's a lot.”

“It's a lot,“ you agreed. “I still don't care.”

He looked at you like he was deciding whether to believe that. Whatever he found, it let something out of his shoulders. He dropped his hand from the wolf's head, let the whole display go back to whatever it had been before he touched it, and crossed back to you, hooking two fingers into the front of your jacket, not pulling yet, just holding on.

“Well…” His voice found its usual pitch again, easy, sure of itself. “Room's not the reason you came out here anyway.”

“No,” you smirked up at him. “It really wasn’t.”

That got the corner of his mouth working, the confidence sliding back into place now that it had a reason to. He kissed you slow, like picking up a conversation from somewhere else, one hand sliding into your hair while the other worked your jacket off your shoulders and let it drop to the floor. You didn't look to see where it landed - you had better things in front of you.

“Bed's not much either,” he murmured against her mouth. “Fair warning.”

You looked at the ancient-looking frame. “Looks noisy.”

“Y’got no idea.”

“Think I’m about to find out, right?”

He laughed under his breath, low, and it loosened the last of the tension out of him. He walked you back toward the bed with his hands doing most of the talking, catching the hem of your shirt and pulling it over your head, tossing it toward the chair already buried under clothes. You got his flannel shirt open button by button while he stood there and let you, watching your hands with more attention than something that small should have gotten.

“You always this patient?” you asked.

“With clothes, no.” He shrugged out of the flannel, and pulled his undershirt off in one motion. “With you, though? Seems like I am.”

The backs of your knees found the mattress. He eased you down onto it, ignoring the wolf's head glaring down from above, and followed you, one knee braced beside your hip. For a second he just looked at you there against the old iron frame, under the flag and the mounted skull, like he still couldn't square the two things sitting in the same room.

“What?” you asked him

“Nothin'.” He bent to your collarbone, your throat, slow with his kisses on you. “Glad you're not headed for the truck, is all.”

“Give me a reason to go and maybe I will.”

“Bad time to threaten me. I'm bein' very charming right now.”

“You're really not.”

“Workin' up to it.”

He worked up to it. His mouth found your breasts and stayed there long enough your hands twisted in the blankets, long enough his name came out rough, and only then did he move lower, hooking his fingers into your jeans and dragging them down your legs with an efficiency that undercut every bit of the fumbling he'd done over a wolf's head five minutes earlier. He got you bare and settled his weight between your thighs and looked up at you with all his usual cockiness fully restored.

“Gonna need you to be a little patient right back,” he smirked, and put his mouth on you before you could answer.

You lost track of everything after that. He was thorough in a way that didn't match the chaos of the walls around them, adjusting when your hips told him something before your mouth caught up. Your hand found his hair and stayed there, tugging harsh enough to make him hiss against you. When he finally drew back your thighs were shaking and his mouth was glistening wet and he looked entirely too pleased with himself.

“Yeah,” he said, mostly to himself, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “Okay. Shoulda done this sooner.”

“Get up here.”

“You’re fuckin’ bossy -”

“Gator.”

He came up over you, reached blind for a box on the nightstand, and tore the foil wrapper with his teeth without breaking eye contact. He rolled the condom on, then went still for a second, head tilted just slightly toward the window, listening. No tires on the gravel, no doors, nothing but the house settling around them. Whatever he was checking for, it didn’t come, and he settled back over you, and pushed inside you slowly, his forehead dropping to yours once he was fully settled inside you.

“Christ,“ he hissed, sharp and already a little wrecked with it. “Jesus, you feel fuckin’ good. Tight- tight an’ soaking fuckin’ wet for me…”

You pulled him closer, your legs around his hips. “You always talk this much?”

“Y’say that like y’don't like it.”

You didn't answer with words, just pulled him down by the back of the neck and kissed him while he started to move, slow at first and then not, one hand braced by your head and the other finding yours and lacing your fingers together against the sheets like it was nothing, like it wasn't the kind of thing his whole personality was built to avoid. You felt him notice himself doing it. Felt him decide not to stop.

The iron frame complained, old joints with old opinions, and he adjusted his rhythm without being asked, slower, quieter, like some part of him was still tracking the door down the hall even now. When you came apart under him it was with his name caught low in your throat and his hand tightening around yours, and he followed not long after, face buried against your neck, the sound punched out of him, barely more than a breath.

For a while neither of you moved. His weight was warm and you didn't mind it. Above the bed, the wolf watched the whole thing with the same glass-eyed indifference it had probably watched thirteen years of his life, and neither of you looked up at it after that.

“So,” he said eventually, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “Room's still a lot.”

“Yeah.”

“Gonna hold that against me, long term?”

“Little bit.”

He huffed something close to a laugh, rolled onto his back, one arm coming up automatic to pull you into his side like you’d done this a hundred times instead of once. “Might take some of it down,“ he said, like it took a lot for him to admit. “Eventually.”

“There's an eventually?”

“Yeah. I think so.”

Currently it was over your Wi-Fi that you had tried and failed to install. 

“Shane didn’t know how to do it?” Keys pushed his glasses up as he joined you on the floor, then held his hands up innocently at the look you sent him. He thought it was a fair question. Surely your boyfriend would know better than your step brother. And yeah, maybe he was slyly pointing out that Shane was useless, but he really was. 

“I don’t know,” you shrugged your shoulders, “I mean you work in tech. Isn’t this like your whole thing?” You weren’t wrong, but you weren’t necessarily right either. 

“I do more than set up routers.” He mumbled as he shook his head, taking the phone from your hand to see what step you were on. He shifted again, pushing another box out of the way. It was insane to him that you had so many things. 

“So it should be simple,” you replied with a laugh, “help me, please. I’m clueless, and you’re the best big brother ever.” Something inside of him stirred as you pouted your lips out, clasping your fingers together, and fluttering those pretty eyelashes at him. 

“Step brother.” Keys corrected quickly as he shook his head, trying to ignore the warmth that was spreading inside of him. Your eyes locked on his for a moment too long. 

“Is there really that much of a difference?” You raised your brows, giving him a knowing look as he shook his head. 

“Sorta, yeah.” There needed to be, otherwise he had no way of explaining his attraction towards you. Neither of you were related, so that totally made it alright.

Sure. 

You lingered as he worked, your scent lingering across him as you hummed softly to the music playing in the background. With anyone else he would be irritated with how close you were, but he didn’t mind. You were an exception. 

It took him nearly thirty seconds to realize where you’d gone wrong as he scoffed, shaking his head in disbelief. It was hard to believe that someone who was always on their phone could struggle this much with technology. But oh boy, did you. 

“What’s wrong?” You moved even closer, your skin brushing against his. He shook his head as he pulled the ethernet cable free. 

“Well, you have the ethernet in the wrong slot.” Keys scoffed as he turned towards you, lips curled up in amusement. 

“No, it says to put it in any of them.” You argued, pointing back towards the directions on your phone. He nodded his head. 

“Uh, yeah the yellow one. Woah, I think it’s even bolded.” He responded sarcastically, laughing at the way you rolled your eyes.

“You’re such an ass.” You wrinkled up your nose as you shoved at his shoulder hard enough to make his hair fall in front of his eyes. 

“I’m an ass? I think I just fixed your Wi-Fi.” He responded quickly, about to push his hair back into place when you beat him to it. His heart lurched inside of his chest as you gently brought your fingers up, pushing his thick hair out of the way. 

Your fingers lingered against his skin for a moment too long, just enough to leave an electric sensation burning through his body. His heart was hammering so roughly inside of his chest that he was afraid you’d see the outline, or at least be able to hear it. No relief found him when he pulled away, a breathless laugh leaving him. 

“It’s not up yet.” You pointed out in a matter of fact way, though your expression was softer. A nervous chuckle left him as he glanced back down at your phone, confirming that it was connecting. 

“It’s connecting,” he pointed out as he shook his head, “see, says it right there. You’re lucky you’re pretty.” The compliment slipped off of Keys tongue without him fully realizing it.

“You think I’m pretty?” Delight trickled onto your stunning features, your eyes twinkling, and brows raising like you weren’t quite sure if you’d heard him right. 

“Mhm.” Keys distracted himself from the way his cheeks flushed by pulling his glasses off and pretending to scrub a smudge away from the lens. Your gaze on him lingered, burning the side of his face. 

“You’re still mean, but thank you for that compliment. I really appreciate it, Walter.” A groan slipped free as you said his name, knowing how much it annoyed him. You really liked to get under his skin by doing that, always had. 

“I’m not just mean,” he corrected, heart thumping as you leaned in closer, “I’m your mean big brother.” He teased back, bumping his shoulder against yours softly. 

Something in your expression changed, just a slight flicker as the tension in the room grew thicker too. Your eyes drifted across his features for the longest time, then lingered against his lips. The air between the two of you felt electric, heavy as he found himself leaning towards you. 

Your breath was warm, slightly minty from the gum you’d been chewing earlier. Your eyes were hazy, warm, and filled with adoration. The tip of your nose was cool against his as he closed the gap between the two of you, the butterflies in his stomach fluttering roughly as your lips fell against his softly. 

Sparks amplified when your lips grazed against his, kissing him soft and gentle as his hand reached up to cradle the side of your face. Desire burned inside of him as his mouth dragged against yours passionately, tugging you even closer. He poured everything unsaid into that kiss, everything that he wished he could communicate with you. 

Realization dawned inside of him as he realized who he was kissing. He pressed his hands against your shoulders as he forced himself away, afraid that he’d end up making a mistake. The two of you already had.

“Shit,” Keys cursed as he shook his head, licking his bottom lip as you looked up at him with those pretty eyes, “we can’t–, we shouldn’t–,” he trailed off again, sighing at the intense way you were watching him, “fuck it.”

He didn’t care anymore as he brought his lips against yours again, kissing you even deeper as you melted against him. You felt so soft, smelt so good, and tasted even better. You molded against him perfectly, your kisses just as urgent. 

No thoughts of how wrong it was crossed his mind as you pulled yourself onto his lap, making him gasp as your fingers twisted through his thick hair. A moment later you were tugging his glasses off, and discarding them somewhere within the room. They could’ve hit the floor, or perhaps fallen into a box, but he couldn’t care at the moment. Not when he could taste you, feel you. 

Keys groaned as you pushed him until his back hit the floor, your body looming over his as the tip of your tongue dragged against his bottom lip. He eagerly licked at your mouth, just as desperate as you began to rut yourself against his hardening cock. His large hands fell to your waist, helping you move against him as pleasure rippled down his spine. His cock was aching in his pants, leaking against his skin as the want burned deep inside of you.

A brief moment of clarity hit him as you began to fumble with his belt, then tugged his pants down to his knees. You giggled lowly as you cupped your hand against his aching bulge, making him hiss as you locked eyes again. Only in his deepest, dirtiest imaginations had he pictured you like this. His little sister. 

And God, that only made him press himself closer to you. 

“What about-?” Keys began to mumble as the haze continued to grow inside of his mind. He didn’t know if Shane would be back soon, or if anyone else was coming over. Not to mention that your curtain was open, exposing you both to whomever walked by. You shook your head, leaning down towards him again. 

“Don’t talk about him,” you mumbled against his mouth, moaning as you bit down on his bottom lip, “I don’t wanna hear about him. Just wanna feel you.” You whispered as you slowly released his lip, keeping your hand against his chin. 

Keys melted against your touch, skin burning as you slowly fumbled with the buttons on his shirt. He shifted enough to help you tug it off of him, his lips finding the crook of your neck as he began to strip you of your layers. 

“Keys,” you whispered softly, tilting your head as a heavenly moan slipped from your pretty lips. A breathless sigh left him as he searched your body, admiring your curves as his hands traced your body, “you’re so pretty.” You mumbled, taking him by surprise as a flush settled over him.

“You are,” he answered quickly, fingers brushing against your nipples softly. It’d be easier to admire you with his glasses, but relying on the feel of you did just as much. You crooned as you leaned into his touch, whining as he pinched at them gently, “Christ, I’ve dreamt of this.” He told you truthfully, reaching down to push his boxers down. 

“Pervert.” You teased, biting down on your bottom lip. He chuckled, shaking his head. 

“Shut up.” His hand fell against your ass, the sound echoing in the room as you gasped. A mischievous look crossed over your features, a daring look in your eye. 

“You gonna make me?” You challenged him. A squeal left your lips a moment later as he pushed you onto your back, his hands heavy on your waist as he brought his lips against yours again. 

He kissed you deeply, passionately as little moans from you vibrated across his mouth. He reached down slowly, dragging his fingers softly through your soaked folds. You jolted at the sensation, whining as he circled his thumb across your sensitive bud. 

Keys admired you for another moment as he spread your legs apart, getting a good look at your cunt before he pressed a long finger into your slick pussy. His cock was aching, desperate to feel you wrapped around his girth instead of his finger. He curled it deep inside of you, dragging it in and out slowly as pleasure burst across your features. 

“Christ,” he shook his head again, licking his bottom lip as he savored the way your cunt squeezed his finger, “look at you, baby. You’re so wet, you really are desperate for my cock.” He teased as he slipped another finger in, chuckling at the way you shivered around him.

“Oh my God,” you whined underneath him, rocking your hips up to meet his motions, “you feel so good.” You spoke breathlessly, moaning as he curled both fingers deeper inside of you. Your spongy walls were squeezing him tightly, leaking down his digits as he continued to fuck his fingers into you. 

A low groan left him as he tilted his head down to lick at your slick folds, moaning at the taste of you. His brows furrowed together as pure bliss filled him, his fingered curling up against your bundle of nerves as he wrapped his lips around your pretty clit. 

“Fuck!” You squeaked as you reached down to grab his hair, tugging on his thick strands as you rutted your hips up against his face. He eagerly moved his tongue in unison, enjoying the way you were getting yourself off on him. It was hot, sexy. 

He wanted more. 

The tip of Keys tongue lapped against your swollen clit slowly, rolling against your sensitive bud as you continued to croon underneath him. Your grip on his hair grew tighter as you continued to fuck yourself against his face and fingers, whining loudly. 

He sloppily licked at your cunt, kissing at your pussy in a similar way he’d kissed your mouth. The taste of you was overwhelming, made him feel all hot and needy. He liked knowing that he was pleasing you, that you were desperate for him. 

The sounds you were making made his cock twitch, his pulse quickening as the pleasure grew deeper on your features. He was staring up at you in bliss as he slowly rutted his hips into the carpet, hissing into your cunt at the friction. You looked ethereal, like you were glowing. Never before had he needed someone so badly. 

You squirmed underneath him, tugging at his shoulders like you were thinking the same thing. Desperation was etched all across you as you gasped, sliding him between your legs. 

“C’mon, I wanna feel my big brother's cock. Pretty please.” You begged at him, eyes hazy with awe as a whine left his lips. The pleasure he felt now was so intense, something that he’d never felt before. It was unexplainable, passionate. 

Keys was kissing you again, tasting the moans that rolled from your tongue. Your lips were soft and smooth against his, your mouth molding against his perfectly. Your moans mingled with his as he curled his fingers deep inside of you one last time, savoring the way your body squirmed before he pulled his hands free.

You worked quickly to tug his boxers down, your lips hungrily moving against his as you blindly stripped him. A moment later his skin flushed at the way you admired him, eyes lingering against his cock. 

“You’re big,” you pointed out breathlessly, already looking spent as he rubbed his palms across your thighs, “God. Of course you are.” You shook your head as you reached down, fingers wrapping around his thick girth. 

Keys groaned deeply as you spread his precum down the curve of his cock, stroking him slowly. His dick lurched at the sensation as you pressed his round tip against your slick hole, making both of you moan from the sensation. 

You were so slick that the tip of his fat cock slid into you easily, making both of you croon as your thighs trembled around him. Your walls were slick and smooth as he pressed himself deeper inside of you, hissing at the way your cunt wrapped around his girth. Rough pants left your lips as you furrowed your brows together, breathing in deeply as he bullied his cock into you. 

“Slow down, baby,” you told him softly, making him whine at the little pet name, “Christ, you feel so good. Just go slow.” You nodded your head reassuringly, fingers digging into his hips so he was unable to move away. 

Keys felt his lips curling into a grin as he savored the pleasure that was etched across your features, leaning down to gently kiss at the corner of your lips. Your breath was warm against his face as your nipples brushed against his chest, electricity fizzling between the two of you. He was struggling to keep his composure, his heart hammering roughly against the side of his neck as he brushed his lips against yours again. 

Tasting you made his eyes roll into the back of his head as he desperately deepened the kiss, licking away anything that you offered him. You were slowly rutting your hips up in the process, nails digging into his skin as you worked yourself up against the curve of his cock. Keys was breathing deeply as he let you use him, let you get yourself adjusted around his thick girth. 

“Can’t believe I’m–,” he inhaled sharply, voice shaking as he groaned deeply, “fuck, inside of you. You feel so good, baby sister.” The filthy worse rolled off of his tongue with ease, making both of you moan in unison. 

“God,” you cried out, whimpering and crying as he slowly bottomed out inside of you. You looked up in awe, desperation lingering on your features as you clung to him, “you feel so good, baby. Oh my God.” You cried out as you looked down between your bodies, whining at the way you two met. Your spongy walls wrapped around him perfectly, pulling him in deeper each time you inhaled sharply.

He inhaled deeply, nose pressing against yours as a loud whine left his lips. You were so wet around him, so tight that he could feel himself melting into you. Electricity poured through his body, racing up his spine as he looked at you in awe. 

“Fuck,” Keys groaned as he slowly began to drag his cock in and out of your slick cunt, moaning as your nails dug deeper into his skin, “you feel so good, holy fuck. Oh my God.” His nose brushed against yours as your hands moved against the back of his neck, threading through his thick locks. 

Moans rolled off of your tongue as you stared up at him with half lidded eyes, pleasure etched on your features as you rocked your body up to meet his motions. The tip of his cock pressed against your bundle of nerves with each thrust, making you cry out each time. All of this was so intense, so excruciating. 

The passion grew between the two of you as he continued to fuck into your slick cunt, his thumb pressing against your bundle of nerves as you dragged your hips up to meet his motions. Your nails dug into his skin as you peered at him in awe, brows furrowing, and swollen lips parting in bliss. 

“You like that, baby?” Keys cooed as his lips dragged against yours, savoring the little moans that left you. You fit perfectly around the curve of his cock, just like you were made to be a part of him. 

“I love my big brother’s cock,” you corrected in a wanton way, arching your back, and moaning as his thrusts grew rougher, “oh God. Just like that, baby. Oh God.” You cried out, pleasure etched deep between your brows as he continued to fuck himself into your slick cunt. 

Your fingers wrapped desperately around his, squeezing roughly as you dug your heels into the floor and rocked yourself up against him. The pleasure was intense, deep as you continued to squeal around him. He didn’t know how he’d be able to only have you once, to only ever get to feel you this one time. He couldn’t imagine it. 

Sweat formed on the back of his neck as he messily kissed the side of your mouth, his tongue flicking out against your bottom lip as you whined against him. Your lips were sloppy against his mouth as your cunt clamped down around his girth, quivering as you began to tremble underneath him.

You were gripping a hold of him tightly as you came, shivering and whining as your back arched off of the ground. Keys groaned deeply as he squeezed your hands even harder, licking away your moans as he continued to drag his cock in and out of your slick cunt. You were leaking around him, your cum drenching his balls as he felt his high growing nearer and nearer.

“You feel so good, so fuckin’ good,” you were mumbling against his mouth, your fingertips digging into his flesh as you continued to rock yourself against him, “oh my God, Walter. Just like that, baby.” You praised him softly, still reeling in from your orgasm. 

He whined loudly as he buried himself deep inside of you, hips stuttering as his cock throbbed from the sensation of your slick walls. The pleasure burned inside of him like electricity as he moaned louder, clinging to you as he came inside of your pretty cunt. 

You clawed at him desperately, mouth open against his as your chest rose and fell against his. Your fingers rolled down his spine gently as you peppered little kisses against the corners of his mouth, his nose, and his cheeks. His skin was flushed, coated with a thin layer of sweat as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” Keys sighed deeply as he looked down at where your bodies were connected, how the mixture of the two of you was leaking from your cunt, “look at that. God.” A shiver of lust raced through him again, his cock throbbing even though he’d just came. You drove him insane. 

“You’re such a pervert.” You whispered again, grinning as you tugged at the hair on the nape of his neck again. It felt nice, really good. 

A breathless laugh left him as he rubbed his fingers down your face, admiring your pretty expression. He lingered there for a moment too long as he admired you, trying to keep his mind from racing. You were stunning, incredible.