Kurt Kunkle ⋆˚࿔

Kurt has no experience at all. You're his first kiss, first handjob, first time, first everything. At first, he just fucks you with his tongue because, in his mind, if you like when he does that with his fingers, maybe you'll like his tongue too. He keeps throwing a few attempts until he sucks on your clit and that's what does it for you. The way you squeeze his head between your thighs, how you pull his and moan for him, because of him. This must be how the 1 million followers influencers feel when they post something and it has a thousand comments. He also reads threads about giving oral.

Walter Keys Mckey 💻⋆˚࿔

With Keys, everything is soft. He treats you like his most precious girl. He likes to have your legs over his shoulders, starts slow with long licks, and only increases once you start whining and acting all impatient. He smiles against your pussy and fucks your tight hole gently with his index finger, his tongue also sliding between your soaked folds. And he never, ever forgets to place kisses on your clit.

Baron 🍦˚࿔

Baron is messy in the best way. In the beginning, he doesn't know what to do, but wave goodbye to the end of beginning eventually Baron finds a rhythm that works for you both: desperate. That man eats you out like you're gonna disappear if you don't come on his tongue. He's a listener, so whatever you ask him to do, he will do. There are no bounds to his devotion, and what's a better way to show it other than to make you weak in his mouth? He won't stop until you come at least twice. And he always goes down on you as a make-up offer if you two argue or to relax you if you had a long day, it's his own way to feel useful.

Cole ♦️˚࿔

Cole likes to tease before going down to the real thing. He spreads kisses on your inner thigh, pecks your clothed pussy and likes your panties until it's wet from your arousal and his saliva. Only when you're begging and rubbing your core against his face like a dog in heat will he pull down your panties and start eating you out.

Travis Teacake Meacham 🍵🧁 ⋆˚࿔

Travis is nervous at first, so he asks you to say what makes you feel good. He wants to make sure you'll enjoy every second. Teacake isn't doing it for himself, but because he thinks you may like it.. at least that's what he thinks until he actually gets between your likes. Fuck, fuck, fuck, eating pussy is fucking great, man. It becomes one of his favorite things sex wise. He loves how you taste, how you keep him near, how he feels close to you when he's eating you out. Every little whimper is like a praise, and when you call him a good boy for licking you nice and clean? He almost comes in his pants.

Gabe 📿˚࿔

Gabe is not only inexperienced but also hesitant when it comes to sex. There's a lot of religious trauma trapped in his desires. But the bible taught us something: the apple always gets bitten. He gives into temptation, careful and trying cat licks at first until he's fully lapping against your cunt. And if there's punishment for it, he can't tell when his mouth tastes like your cum.

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Cole ♠️

Cole is used to getting everything he wants and not giving anything in return but cash. That being said, his relationships are usually shallow until you. You like to make him work for it. So, one night you're lying on his bed, making the man who has the world in the palm of his hand lick your pussy through your panties, just because you want to coax him to the edge. He comes rutting into the bed while he kisses your clothed cunt, your panties wet from both his saliva and your arousal (you'll use them to gag him while you suck him off later).

Walter Keys Mckey 💻

You like placing touches and brushes on Keys while he's busy coding, only to get him all worked up. He gets all hot and bothered quicker than a guy his age probably should, but he's just a man and you're his walking daydream, so what can he do? When he's stuck on a particularly difficult piece of code, you get him to follow you to the backroom. You steal a couple of kisses and allow Keys to rock his hips against your hand until he comes, because he's just so adorable all flushed and dumbfounded. And really, he needed to blow off some steam.

Travis Teacake Meacham

Travis had most of his sexual encounters when he was drunk, so everything feels better and more intense when he does it sober with you. To be honest, it's just so nice. Kissing you, hugging you, fucking you. He could do it all day. Unfortunately, he can't because duty calls. As much as you don't work with him, the storage unit is dessert enough in the after-hours for you to visit him without any trouble. You two chat and you bring him some snacks, which he's immensely grateful for (but your presence is still his favorite thing, even though he loves the teacakes you got him). At some point, the shift goes quiet and Travis is just watching the cameras; you sit on his lap, pressing your ass onto him until you feel his cock on your behind. You tell him to keep doing his work and let you do yours, so Travis does his best to focus on the cameras while you rut your hips against him— and he makes a mess of his pants just like that.

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i think all his efforts would be a little clumsy, seeing as you're the first person to ever be with him properly and he's not exactly had role models to look to outside of movies for guidance, but they'd be so genuine and heartfelt and travis that you'd be smitten anyway.

naomi, whose romantic past consists of casual flings and mike 'wouldn't-know-romance-if-cupid-flew-down-and-put-a-gun-to-his-head' snyder, is especially smitten. she loves travis just the way he is, even if that's impossibly more talkative because he's nervous or smoking out the apartment trying to surprise her with breakfast.

he's a big acts of service guy. for all his talking he knows (thinks) he can be a bit much sometimes, and he figures showing is as good as telling.

with naomi, he'd completely take charge of looking after sarah for the day; he'd sort out getting her washed and dressed and fed, keep her entertained, sort out childcare for the evening, all of it... because if naomi's done it for four years alongside school and work, he can sure as shit do it for one day (he does it other days as well, of course, but this is different). no matter how she's bad she's feeling on a given day, naomi never lets it stop her being an incredible mom, and it's one of the things he loves about her most.

he keeps a list of things you want and enjoy. places you want to go, movies you like, your favourite foods... no matter how offhandedly you mention it, he writes it all down for future reference in this crappy little notebook he carries everywhere. even the ones that are way out of budget or infeasible, because if it's something you want, he'll find a way to make it happen someday.

he'd spend the week before writing a poem or letter expressing his love for you; he tells you any chance he gets, but he wanted you to have a tangible reminder of it. by the time he gives it to you his scratchy handwriting's smudged in places, the paper's crinkled, and you can see his scribbled-out spelling mistakes (and it's not even that good a poem, really), but it's so unmistakeably travis, and the effort means everything to you.

on their first valentine's day, the year after the atchison event, he gives naomi the poem from the book (she walks in beauty, by lord byron) and explains the context behind it. she frames the poem in their apartment the same day.

he's the kind of guy who'd go into a florist's looking completely out of his depth, and tell the staff everything about you so that he can get the right flowers. if he doesn't have the money, he'll damn well go and pick you flowers himself.

he recruits sarah's help to find out what flowers naomi likes. they're both horribly unsubtle, on account of sarah being four and travis being travis, and give the game away immediately. she keeps him guessing until the day before, makes him work for it, then offhandedly drops them into a conversation that afternoon. he's out all evening god-bothering every florist in town, but he gets his hands on some before the day is out, and she's charmed.

he'd try so hard to be a proper gentleman like he's seen in the movies; he insists on getting doors for you, pulling out your chair etc, because "that's what the guy does, right? not that i'm doing it 'cause i have to, but like, i want to, because it's you, and what i'm trying to say here is that i love you."

he's definitely more of the 'giving' type. he was never exactly surrounded by romance and grew up on movies where the guy works to get the girl, and that's really all he knows. having you is genuinely enough for him, because he's a simple guy and really, he didn't think he'd even get this far. that's not to say he doesn't like being treated himself; it just doesn't occur to him.

if you gave him something, he'd be absolutely blindsided; thrilled, but totally blindsided. you could be as obvious about it as you want, ask him point-blank if he likes flowers, cards, what have you, and he wouldn't even consider that they could be for him until you're giving them to him and saying "happy valentine's day, these are for you."

his ideal valentine's day is simple; sleeping in late, then having the whole day to spend together doing not a lot. in the evening he'd want to sit outside somewhere (the roof of your apartment building, or perhaps up on the hills) and watch the sun set, ideally with a couple beers and burgers--or, if the weather's poor, watching some 90s action movie is a good alternative. sitting in the grass on a sunny evening with some good food and a pretty girl to really talk to, who makes him feel heard? it's all he's ever wanted.

if he's with naomi, he'd want sarah there during the daytime, too; sure, it's not conventional, but love isn't exclusively romantic and he loves her and she's half-naomi and look, he just wants to spend the day with his people now that he's got people, okay? the evening would be just him and naomi, though, chatting about anything and everything. the beers would be alcohol-free; travis still enjoys the taste and the novelty of finally getting her out for a beer, even though neither of them care much for drinking these days.

refer to him as travis rather than teacake, and he just completely melts. he loves the way you say his name, loves being loved as himself and not a stupid story, but hearing it in a "happy valentine's day"? he's lost for words for quite possibly the first time in his life.

gentle, deliberate touches have much the same effect, although he loves those any day of the year, mind you. a massage would probably kill him in the best way.

naomi will oftentimes cradle his cheek in her hand and run her fingers over the shell of his left ear, where he got all scraped up indulging her want to find the beeping noise, and where he lost a chunk of his ear to griffin's bullet after making sure she wasn't there to get shot at. it's one way of saying 'hey, i haven't forgot you did these things for me'. it makes him shiver every time.

“isn't he married?”

“yeah, bet that's what the lady at the diner asked too,” he scoffs, pulling you upstairs, “and his new secretary, and the sitter, and—”

“so he's a stud.” you could leave it at that. you should. “he must be doing something right.”

gator doesn't turn around to face you, but you know he's frowning when he mutters: “what d'ya mean?”

you shrug, fingers interlocking with his as you both arrive on the second floor, “if all these girls are piling up for him, and his wife who probably knows about it hasn't left him yet, he must be doing something right.”

his jaw clenches as he swiftly turns around to face you, “what the fuck are you saying? you want to go there and try it out for yourself?”

such a reach, but not really. you knew what you were doing when you poked the bear. you just don't know how saying he must be doing something right because his wife didn't leave him sounds to his ears.

a warning. an advice.

mom and daddy. him and you. story repeats itself if you don't kill the narrator. he will pluck out your wings, he will tire you out, he will lock you in this town, he will put a baby in you, anything to keep you chained to him. he won't let you go away like everybody else.

his cock twitches inside his boxers at the thought of breeding you. permanently connected to him. your sweet thang marked with his cum. and anyone who looked your way would know gator was the only one who fucked a baby into you.

“jeez, gator. i just said there has to be a reason for him to be so... popular among women.” you shrug and walk past him to get to his room.

tillman holds your forearm in a tight grip, “don't care about those girls, and ya shouldn't either. the only man you need to be thinkin’ about is me.”

“don't be so possessive, deputy.” you coo, a sly grin glued to your lips. you get on your tiptoes, nose rubbing against his rigid jaw, “it's not your fault he knows how to fuck so good.”

“you fucking slut.”

the words come out in one breath, a warning; gator pulls you towards his body, your frame slamming against his chest before he sweeps you into his arms.

he isn't gentle. he isn't violent.

he's simply claiming.

this is the way that he loves: all teeth, hungry, desperate. this is the way you want him: losing his mind, blind, begging with wandering yet tough hands.

“how d'ya dare to say it to me?”

gator kicks the door open, you hold on to his shoulders.

“fucking thinkin’ about how other man fucks when you got me.”

his expression is hardened, but when he approaches the bed, tillman places you on the mattress so delicately that it makes you sick.

“fuck me until you're the only cock in my mind, then.” you hiss, pushing his shoulder when he crawls back to you. only because you can. only to see the hurt in his face and the way he comes back to you again and again.

“i fucking will.” he mutters, “your tight pussy is gonna take me raw tonight. and ya are gonna thank me. do ya hear me? gonna be a good slut and take me bare?”

gator clings to you like all unloved things do when they find a open hand, even when it turns into a fist. especially then. a stray dog just wants to be touched.

even so, when he's in the middle of his way back to being on top of you, you pull him closer and smash your lips against his. it's a clumsy, sloppy kiss. all teeth and bruises, but your fingers are gently playing with his hair, your legs are wrapping around his waist; your mouth doesn't say it, too busy with his tongue, but your body gets the memo: I need you, I need you so.

gator feels it cracking under the weight of him. like you don't think he's a burden, no need to wash your hands after touching him. loving you is like running close to a precipice. he swears he won't fall, but loves the thrill of almost going there. half foot mid-air, the other on the ground. his mind keeping him in check, whispering all the shit he embodied from his dad. the rest of his body, though, seems more than compliant to follow whatever you say. you're still a pious if you follow the wrong goodness.

in the end, he's too messed up to pull apart love and adoration, he just wants to be good in whatever shape.

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John arches lifts his hands in mock defeat.

Jorge asks, “Did she get all prissy about valentine's day yet?”

“No.” Gator slides his hand into his pocket, fishing for his vape. “She hasn't mentioned it.”

Deep down, he's shitting himself. If women care so much about that stuff, why haven't you mentioned it once?

What if he messed it up? What if you realized he isn't good enough?

Did you not see him as your boyfriend? Was it why you didn't ask him about valentine's day?

Were you seeing other men?

Gator grits his teeth at the thought, fist clenching around the vape. As soon as he leaves the breakroom, the deputy picks up his phone and sends you a text.

Since you, he types. But Gator doesn't send it. He deletes the message and sends you this instead:

Gator immediately calls you up.

“What do you mean no?”

“Is it a new concept for a Tillman?” she taunted. Gator could hear that wry smile in her voice. Damn woman.

“I'm serious, dollface. Why don’t ya want to go out with me on Valentine's Day?” He frowns, pressing the phone harder against his ear. “You... you don't want people to know we are together?” The question comes out in a hushed mumble, insecurity creeping into the light, and suddenly he's naked and not even his gun can make him feel safe. As usually happens when it comes to Gator, his mouth works faster than his brain and he's spilling out words to make himself feel bigger: ”Should've thought about it before you fucking screamed my name in the back of the diner last night.”

You let out a dry laugh. “Wow. You go from sweet to stupid, to sexist, to annoying, all in one breath.”

He groans, “I'm not sweet.”

“That's the part that bothers you?” you sigh, patience running thin.

“You are bothering me.”

You are used to Gator's defensiveness and occasional (more like daily) douchebaggery. It doesn't mean that he doesn't piss you off; pretty much the opposite. You are about to drive to the police station and shove a Valentine's card up his ass if he keeps it up.

Your words drip sarcasm: “Good thing we aren't spending the night together then.”

“The fuck we aren't.” He practically barks, all rottweiler and kid-throwing-a-tantrum like at once. “I'm picking you up at eight. Dress nice.”

“Gator, wait.” you call him before he can hang up.

"I've got work, woman.”

“And I've got plans, man.” You gruff, “Listen, I'll go out with you, if you just admit that you want to spend valentine's day with me.”

Gator doesn't flinch. He furrows his brows, wondering how he didn't make it clear.

“Isn't it obvious? I'm taking you out.” he says, matter-of-the-fact.

You sigh. “You know what I mean.”

Like he wants it. Not like he's doing you a favor.

It takes him a moment to collect his thoughts and some courage. Standing in front of a gun was way less scary than facing how important you were to him. Everybody he had ever loved treated him like shit or left him, what if you were just waiting for those three words to turn it against him, too?

But, right then, Gator thinks about you. About spending valentine's day with you. The way you laugh. How you call him out but never block him out. How you are still here after seeing all his ugly sides.

Romantic shit isn't easy, but he can try today.

“I want to go out with you on Valentine's Day.” Gator says, then adds quietly: “Please.”

“Why's that?” He grunts. Of course you wouldn't make it easy. “What did you say?”

“Because you are my damn girlfriend.”

“Good boy.” Gator rubs his hand over his jeans at that, heart swelling at the praise, “Come get me at 8, I think you'll like you present.”

“Your present—”

You hung up on him, but he doesn't care. You are his girlfriend.

And you're getting him a present.

Gator hasn't received a gift since his 9 year old, a truck toy for birthday before his mother left.

He hopes it's never a goodbye gift.

Travis Meacham:

He has been saving money for two months straight to buy you a bunch of stuff.

Travis prepares his own basket: your favorite snacks, that necklace you wanted (that's where most of the money went), his favorite book with a dedicatory, a bunch of tea-cakes, and everything else.

He also books a room in a really fancy hotel by the beach, because he knows how much you miss it.

Teacake takes you out for dinner at the hotel, and he even wears a tux. Somewhat.

Well, it's a blazer and jeans. But it's about the effort, okay?

You love the expensive stuff and the handmade gift, too. But this is what you like the most: when it's just the two of you at the beach after the meal, Travis babbling about something while you hold tight on to his arm.

“You know, there's still one more gift.”

“Another one?” you frown, “What's it?”

He slides his hand into his pocket and brings out a crumbled piece of paper. The white leaf was stained with yellow marks, but you didn't care. You unfolded it under his wide-eyed gaze.

“This is a poem I had to memorize back in jail.” Teacake explains, a nervous chuckle coming out before his own words run him over again. “When I saw you for the first time, that's all I fucking could think about. Still is.”

Travis doesn't tell you that a prison guard made him know it word by word and wouldn't let him get food unless he recited it.

He just memorizes every beautiful feature of your face while you read it.

I sleep. I dream. I make up things

   that I would never say. I say them very quietly.

                      The trees in wind, the streetlights on,

          the click and flash of cigarettes

being smoked on the lawn, and just a little kiss before we say goodnight.

      It spins like a wheel inside you: green yellow, green blue,

                                  green beautiful green.

   It's simple: it isn't over, it's just begun. It's green. It's still green.

This time, there's no mockery by the end. There's no noise, or chuckles stained with cruelty.

It's just you, smiling at him and jumping in his arms.

You turn around for Teacake to put the necklace on you.

If all this is what got him to find his way to you, he doesn't regret a single thing.

Not even trusting Hazy Davy when he grabbed something "very quickly" from the convenience while Travis kept the car running.

Teacake used to wonder if the world had more than a little life to offer him. What did it have to give him, what could he take that would be in the shape of his hands?

You. Wearing his initial around his neck, kissing jim like he's worth more than money.

He gets a tattoo with your name shortly after. Right above his chest.

Kurt Kunkle:

You aren't his girlfriend.

You aren't even his friend.

You are someone who got in a Spree once and was polite to the driver. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Kurt started rattling about his social media and you entertained him.

Some people pity fuck, you pity followed him.

And sure, it was because he was somewhat cute too. In a weird, little creepy way.

But Kurt has been obsessed with you ever since. You were sweet, funny, and nice to him. That's all it took, really.

“Wait. You are really gonna follow me?”

“Of course, I know a thing or two about insane dreams,” you wink at him playfully, and Kurt can’t help how mesmerized he is. You are flirting, right? “I'm sure you'll be a big streamer someday. Just don't do anything messed up, like supporting Donald Trump or making a racist joke.”

“I hate racists,” he says immediately, throwing his hands up before you hold on to the seat and hiss at him to watch out. Kurt's gaze flicks from you to the street and he jerks his hands back onto the steering wheel. “Sorry, sorry! I hate racists and Donald Trump.”

“It's the same thing.” she scoffs, and then shows him the phone, @kurtsworld96 on instagram. “Is this you?”

He nods eagerly and promises to follow you back, rushing to grab his phone before you stop him.

You aren't trying to get in a car crash today, thank you!

Kurt only calms down when you guarantee he could "follow back" after he parks the car.

You don't drink the water, unfortunately. So, he has to let you go as the car arrives at your destination.

But he follows you back.

In more ways than one.

Kurt starts to stalk you. If you posted that you were somewhere, he'd show up there, and watch you from afar. In his head, it was romantic, like all the cool guys in romcoms.

One of his watchers called it pining.

Okay, he said pathetic pinning, but Kurt is seeing the bright side of things.

He had to Google the meaning, but he likes it.

On Valentine's Day, you post a selfie of yourself in a dress and he almost loses it.

Who are you gonna see?! You are supposed to come and see him. You two are together. Kind of!

He sends you memes and heeeeys on social media, and you answer him sometimes. You react with little hearts to some of his memes.

For all he cares, it's a relationship in the internet world, and that is Kurt's world.

Good thing you tagged the restaurant on the photo.

That night, he kidnaps you when you are getting out of the place. Honestly, it falls down like dominoes:

Kurt parks in front of the diner.

His phone alerts for a new spree drive request.

He looks through the window.

You are at the door, hugging your date goodbye.

He's not even taking you home? You deserve so much more than that. You deserve Kurt.

You get into his car and don't notice it's him right until right after he pulls out.

“Kurt?!” you gasp surprised, fingers digging into the backseat, “Wow.. What are the chances of you being my ride home?”

“More like destiny!” He grins openly, swatting his hand and almost jumping on his seat, looking rather excited about something on his phone. “Sorry, it's the chat. They are asking what are we gonna be doing for valentine's day.”

You let out a nervous laugh. Sure, you thought Kunkle was cute a few weeks ago, but he could barely keep a normal conversation with you on Instagram. At some point, his quirky charm wore off and you realized how weird he was.

“Kurt..”

“Don't worry. I know we weren't exclusive, and we both were keeping our options open,” he gesticulated, glancing at you through the mirror before focusing on the road again. “Because we are a modern couple. But I think I'd rather us to be monogamous. It's more romantic that way, you know.”

You have no idea what the fuck he's talking about. Sure, Kurt was cute. But all you two did was send each other memes, and he got a little too much too quickly. You barely answered him, how the fuck were you two together in his head?

“You are crazy.”

“Crazy for you.” Kurt nods, smiling like it's the perfect line. Kurt is out of it, and you got the main part in his sick dreams. “So, the stream wants to know: how are we gonna spend our first valentine's day, babe?”

Cole:

Cole was born into money and he doesn't falter when it comes to pampering you.

He rents a limo (that's what he calls it), takes you to the most expensive place in town (is that Shakira having dinner a few tables away?), buys you a fancy dress, and gifts you a bracelet that's worth a car.

You aren't used to it. And it's nice, but also a bit too much.

You like Cole. Behind all the brand clothes and presumptuous antics, he's actually a good guy.

Terrible at board games. He always tries to cheat at Uno and Monopoly, yet you always catch him.

Either way, you know there's gold underneath the dirt. But God, sometimes he makes it hard to dig and find it.

The whole night seems like a presentation. As if he's actively trying to impress, sell the "american way of life", other than to make you feel cared for.

Like a ladybug trapped in a web. Greedy wants to eat you alive, but the lights don't blind you.

When he leans in to kiss you by the end of the night, you only allow Cole to press his lips against yours briefly, pulling away before he can do anything else.

“What's wrong?” he asks, eyebrows knitted together.

You wrap your arms around yourself, the cold breeze on the rooftop making you shiver. How do you explain it to him without sounding ungrateful? The view of New York from above seems to mock you.

It's a beautiful view, but life doesn't happen up here.

You take a deep breath and turn to face him.

After all, money or not, all you have is the truth on your tongue. Isn't that why Cole likes you, anyway?

“Tonight was.. really nice.”

“Just nice?” He places his hands on your waist, gently stroking there, “Come on, babe. It was way better than nice. Did you notice the guitar guy was playing only songs you like? That was hard to buy.”

You groan and shoves his chest. “See, that's what I'm talking about.”

“What do you mean, sweetie?”

Cole just stares at you like you grow a second head. Did he do too much? Too little? Should've gotten more brazilian food that you like? Maybe more flowers? His dad always said that the more, the better.

“The whole night seemed like you were trying to show off your luxurious life rather than enjoy time with me.” you point out, your voice sounds like an accusation way more than you intended it to, but you can't retreat your frustration anymore.

“You never complained about it before.” Cole says, immediately defensive. His mind was racing; were you losing interest in him? Why didn't you want him to give you nice stuff anymore?

And you have no idea how to make him understand where you are coming from. How does one know another's origin?

Visiting the place.

“I used to call you Richie behind your back because I didn't know your name.” you grimaced, “And Trust Fund.”

“What?”

“Trust fund Cole.” you laugh, shaking your head. Oh, the old times when you worked as a dealer for Molly during the clandestine games for the rich folks. “That's what we called you back in the poker nights.”

“Wow.” Cole blinks, then squints. “But you still went out with me.”

“You were cute. And tried hard to seem tough.” You say and search for his hand. He immersion looks your fingers together. “Cole, I really liked today, okay? I did. But.. I want you because you are you. Not because of your wallet.”

“That's a first.” He mumbles, avoiding your gaze. He sets his hazel eyes on your hands instead, intertwined. Honestly, Cole never pictured you were some gold digger, but that's how he knows how to keep people close: buy love, buy attention, buy care. Or anything remotely similar to it. A good seller knows how to lie, and a good buyer how to shape his wants into his belongings. “I'm not.. I'm not used to it, okay? My friends are always showing off. My parents are always showing off. It's just.. normal to me. It's what we do. It's how we show..”

How we show we are worthy something. You know, Cole used to talk about his car like they were a personality trait.

“Well, we had a valentine's day in your world. How about we have one in mine?”

“Sounds good.” he nods, and then lifts a brow at you, “We aren't taking the subway, are we?”

“Oh my God, shut up!”

You take him to a brazilian street food cart nearby.

Cole grimaces at the localization, but completely melts when he tries it for the first time.

Pastel de feira is so good, what the heck?

And honestly, even if he hadn't liked it, he'd still do eat every bite for you.

Pretending for a good reason this time.

It's clear as day that you both come from different worlds.

But tonight, underneath the city lights and hearing someone scream on the streets, you know you two can make it work.

Cole will do everything he can for that to happen.

And so will you.

If it's gonna be enough or not, you don't know.

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But the pastel is still great even after a typical NY rat runs right next to you both.

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He hides a smile and ignores thrilling sensation under his skin. Instead, Harrington rolls his eyes at your lighthearted judgment, but his undying affection stains his antics. Even if you are making fun of his music taste, at least you are here, and not with some idiot from the store. “You and Robin are just heartless.” and then, Steve scrunches up his nose, “Whatever your weird, indie artists sing about?”

“The same thing your American boy does, but with spicy and actual, real world problems.”

Steve shrugs, “I think we've got enough of those.”

Your features soften at his words as you nod. If anything, your little gang of friends had enough trouble to fill out an old Western movie script. Maybe even a trilogy.

Steve licks his lips, then scratches his eyebrow. What's he supposed to say? He's not one to get speechless, but he's trying a little too hard to seem nonchalant about the fact that you are here and that's pretty much all he has wanted the whole damn night.

So much for pretending it doesn't matter.

Honest to God, Steve knows he should've made a move on you by now. It's been months. But what good did it get so far? His track record isn't looking good. Besides, he doesn't want to be just another girl, he doesn't want to mess it up. Better to have her as a friend than nothing at all, you know? He had told Robin only a couple hours ago.

That's if you even want him. Why would you? You are amazing. Pretty. Selfless. Caring. Brave. And he's.. Well, Steve Harrington.

That name used to make women swoon back in high school, but nowadays it just means a guy in a dead-end job with a bunch of nasty scars underneath his shirt, and that has no prospect of future — also, his own best friend hates him and he's forced to watch his ex and the guy she left him for, who always calls him dumb and all the lovely names when Steve so much as voices an opinion. So yeah, things are not looking great for good old Steve Harrington.

You are the only good thing about quarantine and the mess he's in right now. Therefore, Steve sticks to stolen touches; brushing your hand when you point at something on the map, leaning in a little too close when you are talking, ignoring personal space and pressing his leg against yours on the couch, pulling you gently by the hand whenever you need to gather for a meeting, or offering to bring you water and snacks just so he can feel your fingertips against his when he hands the items to you.

It's enough. Steve can take the crumbs! it's all love has ever given him, anyway. He's used to it. That way, he won't lose you.

But sometimes, your gaze lingers too long. You grimace when he mentions a girl. You defend him when Byers is a bit too rude to pretend he doesn't hate Steve. You ask to tag along in the van to do nothing but drive around during crawls. You stay late at the station and place your legs in his lap while you both talk. Or you just smile a certain way and Harrington swears you might be falling for him, too.

Suddenly, something like the supermarket guy happens and he's in cold water again. Story of his life.

Steve peers at you, leaning back in his chair. “Shouldn't you be out with.. Kiran?”

You huff. “Kyle. And you know his name.”

“Sure.” Steve drawls, and then points at the box in your hands, “Did he get you this? What is it?”

“Boppers.” You shrug, finally walking inside the booth and placing the food on the counter. “And no, he didn't. I got them for us.”

He blinks, dumbfounded. There's something inherently real, yet delicate in the way you say us and brings him his favorite snack. But Steve doesn't give shape to it, he doesn't want to shatter the moment.

“Oh.” He mumbles instead, clears his throat, and grins at you, “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.” You shoot him a beaming smile, and Steve's heart does a triple jump before falling face-first onto the concrete. How can someone be so in love that it feels like choking and breathing fresh air at the same time? If only he could reach over and touch you. “Shouldn't you be with Amber tonight?”

He laughs. Because of course you'd bring out another girl while he's going insane thinking about pulling you close to him, “Annie, and you know her name.”

“Sure.” It's your turn to roll your eyes, “It might have slipped my mind, so many girls lately.”

“Turns out, not really.” Steve admits. He turns around to open the box and grabs a bopper, stretching a bit to hand it to you. “Besides, I had other plans for tonight.”

You met him halfway, you always do. Harrington wonders if it means you crave those clandestine touches as much as he does. Your fingers brush on his and it sends a shiver down his whole body, and then you're gone, ready to munc on the sweetie before speaking.

“Being alone and crashing the squwsk reputation with your questionable music choices?” you joke and he chuckles with a shake of head. Harrington grabs himself a donut, considering if he should say it or not.

He decides to be bold. It's Valentine's Day, after all.

“I thought you'd be there.” Steve says, plaid and simple. “And, you know, no one should be alone on Valentine's Day.”

You hold on to silence for a moment. Eyes set on him like you know what he meant. He knows you do.

Ultimately, you nod, voice coming out tenderly: “Yeah, no one should.”

For now, you two just enjoy each other's company as Cyndi Lauper plays in the background. Fancy places, house parties, and expensive gifts.. you'd trade it all for this simple moment with Steve Harrington. And so would he. Donuts and music he doesn't care about make the perfect holiday if it means you are there, laughing at his dumb jokes and leaning in just a little too close.

steve's bat (taglist): @sunshine-daydreams0809

Because there's always gonna be someone who loves you, even if they aren't ready to speak it out loud.

Did you like it? Comment and reblog! It helps me to know you want more content. Steve's masterlist with more stories! I recommend this for fluff and this for smut. This if you wanna get real sad about it.

STEVE HARRINGTON TAGLIST & REQUESTS are OPEN!