Bambii★

Dustin—who had stumbled into Family Video over half an hour ago alongside Max to try and convince Steve into letting them rent an R rated horror for the party’s weekly movie night—laughs loudly, causing Steve to groan into his hands before resting his head against the cool countertop in defeat.

“I’ll just go alone,” Steve grumbles against his arm. “I’ll just look like a sad, sad loser going to alone to a wedding and—”

“What about Max’s sister?”

Steve can’t help it. He lets out a snort of disbelief before standing up straight.

He doesn’t miss the look of annoyance Max shoots his way.

“What’s wrong with my sister, Harrington?” She asks pointedly and Steve’s ears turn red.

Of course, there was nothing wrong with you per se. In fact, Steve had very briefly considered asking you the moment that he had gotten off the phone with Juliet. But there was just one small problem—

“Nothing!” Steve says quickly, holding his hands up in surrender. “Absolutely nothing! She just—”

“Hates his guts?” Dustin offers.

Max rolls her eyes in exasperation, folding her arms across her chest as she looks from Dustin to Steve.

“She doesn’t hate you,” Max insists. “She just—she just thinks you’re an asshole and would prefer not to be in the same room as you.”

Steve swallows. Something that felt like shame swirls in his gut. Of course, you had every reason to dislike him and Steve would be the first to put his hands up and say he probably deserved it. You two had very much gotten off on the wrong foot after you had overheard him call Billy’s family—and by extension your family—’trash’. It had been in the heat of the moment and he had only said it because Billy had been pushing his buttons all day. The moment he had realised that you were within earshoot, he had regretted saying it. But because he was stubborn and, at that point in time, cared more about what others thought of him than doing the right thing, and so he didn’t take them back. He didn’t apologise.

He later tried, after the first dance with the Upside Down together, after you had stopped Billy from almost killing him in Byers’ home with a syringe but you had scoffed and walked away like you didn’t buy it. You had made it very clear that you didn’t want to accept his apology, that you had made your mind up about him despite the fact your sister could not care less about the comment. He understood why—you were her big sister and you were protecting your family. Especially after Starcourt, especially after Billy died.

And so, Steve wasn’t exactly convinced by Max’s insistence that you didn’t hate him.

“There is no way she’ll go with me,” Steve says with a shake of his head, arms folded across his chest. “She hates—”

“—she will,” Max says with a knowing smile. “She owes me a favour.”

Steve blinks, looking from Max to Dustin and back again, as if waiting for one of them to shout ‘April Fools!’.

When neither of them does, Steve raises a brow at Max.

“What for?”

“She broke my skateboard,” Max explains. “I was gonna make her buy me a new one but making her go to a wedding with you sounds more interesting.”

Dustin laughs and the corner of Max’s mouth twitches but Steve looks thoroughly unconvinced.

“Gee, thanks Max,” Steve mutters, eyes shifting down to the pile of tapes stacked in front of him that he was meant to be rewinding. “But I really don’t think she’ll agree.”

And so, Steve spends the rest of his shift rehearsing exactly what he was going to say to his aunt when he called her to tell him he would be attending the wedding tomorrow, minus his plus one. 

Five minutes before his shift was due to end, Steve was carefully rearranging the candy selection just as the bell above the door sounded. He couldn’t help but roll his eyes.

Of course—it was just his luck that a customer had decided to waltz in five minutes before his shift ended. He would put money on the fact it was a group of teenagers who would refuse to leave, teenagers who would mess up the horror display he had spent forty five minutes rearranging, teenagers who pick up the tape for Body Heat to try and convince Steve that they weren’t fourteen.

“We’re closing in—”

“—in five minutes. I know. I can read a clock, Harrington.”

Steve’s stomach turns at the sound of your voice. His head whips around so quickly it was a wonder he didn’t hurt himself. He certainly dropped all of the bars of candy that he had been holding. 

“Wh-what are you doing here?” Steve asks, blinking as he watches you approach the counter with a schooled expression. “Robin has the flu if that’s what you—”

“—I’m here to see you,” you interrupt, eyes flicking down to the peanut butter bopper still clutched in Steve’s hand before you look back up at his face. “Max told me about your—your plus one situation.”

“Oh,” Steve says, the tips of his ears reddening as he looks down at all the candy bars he had dropped, the ones he had been lovingly arranging for the past ten minutes. “Yeah um, that Juliet cancelled on me. She’s cat sitting or something so can’t um, make it.”

You quirk a brow and Steve can tell by the look on your face that you want nothing more than to make a comment, to crack a joke, perhaps even tell him that he had very clearly been stood up, that there was no way Juliet had actually cancelled on him to cat sit. But you don’t, instead you seem to take a deep breath before you say. “I’ll do it.”

The bopper in Steve’s hand falls to the floor. He scrambles to pick it up before looking back ar you.

“Seriously?” He asks, his eyes wide as he tries his best not to look too hopeful. “You—you’re not—this isn’t a prank, right?”

You frown slightly. “Why would I do that?”

Steve blinks before he shakes his head because really, he knew you would never do anything like that to him. 

“I—I dunno—I just—you know this is a wedding, right?” Steve asks you. “Like I’ll be in a suit and you’d wear—”

“—a dress,” you finish. “I know, Max told me. I have a dress if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Steve swallows, the bopper that was back in his grip starting to melt in his sweaty grasp. “I’m not worried about that, it's just—are you sure? Like, are you sure about coming to this wedding—with me?”

You exhale, looking away from Steve momentarily to look around the store, almost as though you were bracing yourself for something big.

“Yes, Harrington,” you say finally. “As a favour to Max, I’ll go to this wedding with you.”

Steve looks back at you for a long, long moment, as if to make sure he wasn’t dreaming or that you weren’t going to tell him you were joking. When he realises that this wasn’t a dream and you say nothing, he starts to smile.

“Thank you,” he breathes. “Thank you so much. This means a lot. My family are—yeah—this is just, it’s really great of you to—”

“—but I’m not dancing with you,” you cut in quickly, fiddling with your hands as you look away from him. “Or doing anything remotely touchy feely. I’m just your plus one. That’s it. That’s all I’ll be.”

“That’s fine!” Steve says quickly, wiping his clammy hands over his jeans before setting down the bopper onto the countertop beside him, the wrapper crumpled and the chocolate inside a little gooey. “Makes sense. Yeah. Um, totally. No dancing. Limited touching. Ju—just my plus one.”

You look at him for a beat before finally, you nod. “Good. Glad we got that covered,” you say before you lean down to pick up one of the candy bars he had dropped and tear open the wrapper.

“You know you need to pay for th—”

“See you tomorrow, Harrington,” you say, smiling before taking a large bite from the chocolate bar and walking straight out of Family Video.

“Could you sit still? Just for two minutes?”

“Is this really necessary?”

Max looked back at you blankly in the mirror before shaking her head, returning her attention to your hair, ignoring you.

You huff but you don’t question her further.

You didn’t want to admit it to yourself but as it drew nearer to ten in the morning—the time that you agreed to be ready by with Steve late last night when he had called you in a slight panic, having forgotten to tell that the wedding was over an hour away—you found that you were starting to feel nervous. 

The pale green satin dress you were wearing—the one you had been saving for Max’s graduation—hugged your body in a way that you weren’t used to. Max and your mom insisted that you looked beautiful but you didn’t exactly know how to feel about that. Especially knowing you’d be spending the day and most of the evening on the arm of Steve Harrington.

“Is it too late to back out now?” You ask Max hopefully, setting down the blusher you had been applying while she was focused on your hair. “I mean—I could say I got the flu from Robin or—”

“—absolutely not,” Max snaps at you. “Just give him a chance? Alright? He’s not the asshole he was in high school.”

You hum in acknowledgement at her words but you don’t respond. You had heard that sentiment plenty of times before, you just couldn’t allow yourself to believe it.

By some miracle, you were ready just before ten o’clock. After slipping on some silver kitten heels, you stand up straight and catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror next to your bed. It was hard not to smile at how pretty you felt.

“Still wanna back out?” You hear Max ask from the door of your shared bedroom, one of your mom’s nice silver purses she only used for special occasions clutched in her hands.

You look over your shoulder at Max before your eyes flicker back to your reflection, at the hair Max had lovingly styled and the makeup you had delicately applied but mostly at the dress that gave you a fluttery feeling in your stomach. 

“No,” you say with a small shake of your head before you turn to look at your sister. “I made a promise so I should stick to it.”

Max looks at you before she smiles. “You look really pretty, by the way.”

Your face warms a little at the compliment but you try to hide it, walking over to Max to take your mom’s purse from her hands. “Not bad for a last minute wedding.”

The corner of Max’s mouth twitches before she walks over to you to carefully adjust one of your hair clips. “You promise to be nice to Steve? Give him a chance to prove himself?”

“Max—”

Max cuts you off with your name and you look back at her carefully. “I’m serious. I want you two to get along. You’re important to me, he’s important to me.”

You feel yourself soften, just a little. Because if something mattered to your little sister, it mattered to you too.

“Just don’t—don’t tell him I said that,” Max adds.

You fight back a smile. “I won’t.”

It was five minutes later when there was a knock at the front door. Your stomach turned nervously as Max ran to answer it.

“You look great,” your mom smiles reassuringly. You smile back—not entirely knowing why you felt so nervous. This was just Steve. Just Steve—the guy who just last week you had yelled at for breathing too loud. Just Steve—the guy you were now going to a damn wedding with.

You take a deep breath before bidding your mom goodbye and following the voices of Max and Steve out of your room.

“—is the tie the right colour?” You hear Steve ask Max, a nervous edge to his voice. “‘Pale green’ was right of vague, I had to—”

“—you don’t need to match with her dress, it’s not prom, Steve—”

“—but I thought—”

You walk into the open plan living room and suddenly, Steve stops talking.

In fact, Steve Harrington seems to stop breathing as he looks at you.

He was looking at you in a way that took your breath away for a few short seconds before you remember just how infuriating you thought he was. But for a brief moment, you allow yourself to look at Steve—really look at him—and admire just how nice he looked. He had always been good looking, even you could admit that, but right now with his wide hazel eyes, parted lips and the suit he was wearing—the tie of which almost perfectly matched your dress—he looked stupidly handsome. The kind of handsome that made your stomach tighten.

The moment the thought enters your mind, heat spreads throughout your body. You determinedly ignore it.

“You’re late,” you say by way of a hello, hoping your voice doesn’t give any indication that you felt nothing but apathy for the man in front of you. “You know it’s rude to show up after the bride?”

Steve blinks, seeming to snap out of whatever momentary trance you had sent him in so that he could frown at your words.

“It was the tie! And there was some construction near the—”

“—still. You’re late.”

Steve seems to bite his tongue with whatever retort he had ready to go, his eyes flickering over to match who Max watches the exchange, thoroughly entertained. 

“Ready to go?” Steve asks you, choosing to ignore your remark as he steps towards the door.

You nod, opening your mom’s purse to check you had your lip gloss and some extra hair clips before looking back at Steve. “Yeah. Ready to—”

“—wait!” Max exclaims and you know what was coming before she even opens her mouth. “Let me just go grab the camera. I want this moment framed.”

Neither of you stop yourself from groaning loudly at that.

The drive to the wedding venue took a little over an hour and the car ride with Steve was almost completely silent, save for the radio that seemed to be the saving grace of the journey. 

It dawned on you that you hadn’t ever really spent one on one time with Steve before. Sure, you two had been through a lot together when it came to the upside down, but you had never hung out, not really. But now—you face the prospect of spending the entire day together. At a wedding, no less.

One thing you quickly learned about Steve was that he hummed while listening to music. A lot. Like it was beginning to grate on you kind of a lot.

“Do you have to hum while listening to music?” You ask him in a terse voice after almost thirty minutes of biting your tongue.

You watch Steve stiffen slightly out of the corner of your eye, watch the way his knuckles tighten around his steering wheel and you register the instant ceasing of his humming.

“It’s my car,” Steve points out. “I can hum in my car if I want.”

You open your mouth to snap at him, to tell him that his humming was incredibly annoying and to tell him to stop. But then you thought of Max, you thought of your promise to her that you’d try to be nice to Steve, that you would give him a chance. You find yourself pursing your lips, carefully considering your options before you decide to let this minor annoyance slip. 

Baby steps.

But when Steve pulls his Beamer into a church car park that was swarming with pastel coloured dresses, fascinators and expensive suits, it felt more like diving headfirst into cold water than tentative baby steps.

“Are you ready for this?” Steve asks you gently, sensing your apprehension as you make no move to leave the safety of his car.

You swallow nervously, soothing down your dress as you nod because suddenly, you were acutely aware of the fact that your dress cost less than thirty dollars and that your heels were scuffed, owing to the fact you had bought them secondhand from a thrift store.

“Yeah,” you lie because Hawkins was over an hour away and both you and Max had put too much effort in your appearance to turn back now. But as Steve’s hand moves to open the door, you add, “it’s just—I’m not—I’m not great with family.”

Steve’s hand stops mid-air, inches away from the door handle as he looks over at you carefully before the corners of his mouth lift into something akin to a smile. “That makes two of us,” Steve tells you. “So don’t worry. My parents hate everyone. Just don’t take it personally and you’ll be fine.”

You almost laugh. Almost.

To his credit, the moment that you finally stepped out of his car, Steve was right by your side. His hand, though tentative, rests on the small of your back as you walk towards the church, gravel crunching beneath your shoes. You were already regretting the heels.

As you walk by throngs of Steve’s relatives, he gives you a very quick run down of who’s who while you try to keep up.”

“That’s my uncle Simon,” Steve tells you, nodding to a man in a suit that looked so expensive that you briefly wondered if you were even allowed to look at it. “Been married like three times. Doesn’t seem to understand what monogamy is.”

You bit back a laugh.

“That’s my great aunt Sara—”

“—great aunt?” You repeat, looking at the women Steve had subtly pointed to who did not look old enough to even be considered a great aunt. “Are you sure she’s—”

“—she had a face lift,” Steve explains and you nod slowly. “Well, we all suspect she’s had a face lift. She’s never actually said. She just keeps saying it’s because slathers herself in honey or egg whites every morning.”

Another laugh you had to fight back.

Steve was just telling you about some falling out between his grandmother and cousin as someone calls his name. Steve stops talking mid-sentence to look over at who had called out his name and smiles.

“And this,” he murmurs to you as a woman with a kind, heart shaped face and bright smile approaches. “Is my aunt Edith. She’s a bit much but—”

“Stevie! Oh, look at you!”

You watch in fascination as Steve Harrington—the guy who had been known as King Steve, the guy who had once held a keg stand record for almost three years—turns bright red.

“Edith—”

“—what?” Edith beams at the sight of Steve, carefully adjusting his blazer and fusing over his tie. “Is it a crime now to say hello to my favourite nephew?”

Steve doesn’t respond as even the tips of his ears turn red but his aunt doesn’t tease him any further, instead her soft eyes shift over to you.

“And who is this beautiful young lady?” Edith asks, her gaze so warm and friendly that you couldn’t help but smile at her. “Steve, is this your—”

“—friend,” Steve says quickly and with a quick glance over at you. “Just a friend.”

In any other circumstances, you would have corrected Steve if he referred to you as a friend but you let it slide. Baby steps.

“And a friendship is a beautiful foundation for a relationship,” Edith says to a blushing Steve before she looks back at you. “I’m only teasing him, honey. Don’t look so worried.”

You let out a breathy laugh before shaking your head. “No, go ahead. Tease away. I didn’t know he could turn that shade of red.”

Edith laughs and despite Steve rolling his eyes, he lets out a reluctant chuckle. 

“Oh, I like her already.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth twitches before he tells Edith your name and you can’t help but notice the flash of recognition in her eyes when she hears Steve reel off your last name. You can’t blame her. The surname Mayfield and the names of your family had been splashed all over the newspapers after Starcourt, Billy's death.

But Edith doesn’t say anything, which you appreciate.

“You two should probably head inside,” Edith tells you with a nod towards the church. “Or you might be in danger of being run over by the bride.”

You let Steve guide you inside, his hand still on your back as you enter the church.

“Sorry about Edith,” Steve says as you walk towards the church pews. “She’s really—”

“—she was lovely,” you tell Steve. “Really. She wasn’t too much at all.”

Steve nods but you can see the look of quiet gratitude in his eyes.

You sit down in the pews beside Steve, becoming acutely aware of his thigh pressing against yours, of the way he was tapping his finger rhythmically against his thigh as his eyes darted around the church. You knew without asking that he was looking for his parents.

“By the way,” Steve murmurs after a moment, his eyes shifting back to you. “I forgot to say earlier but you look—”

But Steve was cut off by a sudden swell of music that signalled the arrival of the bride and whatever he was about to say dies on his tongue.

As Daisy met her soon to be husband at the altar and the ceremony began, you tried your very best to remain present. But as your eyes flickered around the church, something swirled in your gut. The realisation that the last time you had been in a church—albiet, nowhere near as extravagant as this—had been at Billy’s funeral.  

Despite the fact you hadn’t been very close with Billy nor had you even remotely liked your step-brother, Billy’s death had affected you more than you cared to admit. It wasn’t just because of what had happened to your family in the immediate aftermath of Billy’s death, when your step-dad had left Hawkins and took every bit of stability you had left with him. It was also the immense guilt and complicated things that you found yourself feeling that had made Billy’s death difficult to navigate, guilt that you felt for surviving Starcourt when Billy didn’t, guilt for also feeling so much resentment towards Billy when he had been alive for making your and Max’s life miserable but deep down, desperately things had been different for him.

But most of all, the thing that had been the most difficult about Billy’s death? It was seeing how it had affected Max and the crushing realisation that came the moment you had heard her scream out Billy’s name—was that, try as you might, you couldn’t protect Max from everything.

And so, as you sat beside Steve Harrington in the pews you were barely listening to Daisy and her soon to be husband Dale exchange their vows. And you even miss Steve sniffling quietly beside you.

After the ceremony—of which, you remember very little—you and Steve make the short journey to the reception which would be held at a magnificent farmhouse outside of which there was a beautiful rose garden. You would have thought it a truly breathtaking sight if you still weren’t so in your own head, still thinking about Billy, of the funeral and Max.

Though he wasn’t saying anything, Steve could tell something was wrong. The small rapport you had built before the ceremony had vanished, you didn’t even complain when he had ordered you the wrong drink by accident.

“Okay,” Steve sighs, looking at your expression carefully after pulling you to the side of the bar. “You gonna tell me what’s up? Did I do something or—”

You blink, looking at Steve as though only just seeing him properly for the first time. 

“I haven’t—I haven’t been in a church since—” you stop yourself, averting your eyes in favour of watching a few of Steve’s smaller cousins running around to distract yourself from the slight burn you were feeling behind your eyes.

You miss how Steve’s eyes soften, how his expression shifts and how he half raises his hand as though he had to stop himself from reaching for you.

“Oh,” he says softly, so softly that you barely recognise his voice and you have to look at him just to be sure it was really Steve. “I didn’t—I didn’t even think. I’m sorry. I—”

“—it’s okay,” you say quickly, forcing a smile onto your face as you look back at Steve. “I’m okay. It was a really beautiful ceremony.”

Steve looks at you and there was a brief moment where you thought that he was just going to drop it. That he wasn’t going to push you to talk but he said your name in that new, soft voice and you knew you weren’t going to get away that easily.

“—I know I’m not your favourite person in the world but you know you can talk to me about—”

“—Steven! We’ve been looking everywhere for you!”

You watch as Steve’s face almost completely drains of colour.

“Fuck,” Steve mutters to you as your peer over his shoulder to see a couple—who were undoubtedly his parents—striding towards to two of you. “Okay. It’s just my parent’s. It’s just my—”

“—oh, you must be Steven’s girlfriend!” Steve’s mother exclaims happily as both she and his father approach. You were so taken aback by the hug she pulled you into that you don’t even try to correct her on the fact you were not Steve’s girlfriend and Steve makes no attempt to correct her. Instead, his face reddens and he shoots you an apologetic smile.

That son of a—

“He had told us you were pretty but I don’t think you’d be—”

“—mom,” Steve mutters, his face now burning as he avoids direct eye contact with you, clearly not wanting to give away the fact that you definitely were not his girlfriend. But you didn’t care about it that much anymore, not when you had just learned that Steve Harrington had told his parents that you were pretty.

Steve introduces you to both his parents and, like Edith, you see the flash of recognition across their faces at your surname but unlike Edith, Steve’s parents didn’t let your name pass without acknowledgement.

“Oh dear,” his moms says kindly, placing a gentle hand on your arm that makes your stomach churn uncomfortably. “I thought I recognised your face. Billy Hagrove was your step-brother, right?”

You don’t trust yourself to talk and nor do you look at Steve as you nod.

“We’re terribly sorry for your loss,” his father says to you solemnly, though his expression does not change in the slightest. “Awful accident.”

You smile in acknowledgement but you aren’t quite sure what to say. Thank you? Everything you knew you should say when someone offered their condolences would sound insincere. Unnatural, even. But fortunately—or unfortunately—for you, Steve’s father continues talking.

“And for his father to leave the way he did, leaving your family, a single mother to struggle and live in a trailer park of all places—it must really be awful for your family. Being amongst drug dealers and god knows what else in that park!”

You swallow. It had been awful but you didn’t think much of Danny Harrington’s tone—of the fact he sounded more sorry that your family were living in a trailer park than grieving. You still had Max and your mom—even if she had started drinking to cope—and a roof over your heads. It was all you needed.

But before you could tell Steve’s father any of this, before you could even consider politely standing up for yourself, Steve Harrington got there first.

“Dad, let’s not—let’s not go there, okay?” Steve says, placing a hand on your back as if ready to steer you away from the conversation.

Danny Harrington, for a very brief moment, looks taken aback by his son’s words but had enough sense to understand the topic of Billy Hagrove and the Mayfield family was off limits.

“Very well,” he says with a small nod and a tight lipped smile. “Enjoy the evening, both of you.”

The moment his parents leave you and Steve standing at the side of the bar, you feel immense relief.

You breathe a sigh of relief, not even noticing how tense you had felt for the past two minutes as you turn towards Steve. “That was—”

“—I’m really sorry,” Steve cuts in, his hand leaving your back in order to scrub over his face. Before you could even ask what he was sorry for, he continues. “For making them think that you’re my girlfriend. I panicked a little and didn’t know what to say—”

“—Steve, it’s—”

“—and I’m sorry for butting in like that. I know you can stand up for yourself and you didn’t need me to—you know. I just—my dad he just—I couldn’t—I couldn’t just let him talk to you like that. Like he—”

“—Harrington.”

Steve swallows, looking back at you as though he was bracing himself, ready for you to yell at him for doing something for you that you were perfectly capable of doing yourself. But to his utter surprise, you start to smile at him.

“It’s okay,” you tell him gently. “I—I appreciate it. Really. It’s fine, don’t worry about it.”

Steve looks at you as if to make sure that you weren’t lying, his eyes on you making your stomach turn in a way that you weren’t used to around him. 

“Okay,” Steve says with a grateful smile. “Okay. That—that’s good. I thought you were going to lose your shit at me for a second.”

“No,” you say, stopping yourself from smiling back at him. “But the girlfriend thing though, still undecided about that.”

Steve can’t help it, his face flushes a warm pink and before he knows it, he was laughing and you find yourself joining in.

Baby steps.

He says your name then and you look at him, the expression on his face as he looks at you makes the world around you feel a little fussy, makes your stomach flip and your cheeks grow hot.

“Yeah?” you reply in a voice that you hope doesn’t give away just how slightly flustered you were feeling.

“I wanted to—I forgot to say this earlier,” he begins, scratching the back of his neck as though he was nervous, despite the fact you didn’t think it at all possible for Steve Harrington to be nervous. “I think—you just—you look beautiful, Mayfield.”

You weren’t entirely sure why those words had such a monumental effect on you, but they did. Your breath hitches, your face feels ten times hotter and you were almost positive that Steve could hear your heart beating out of your chest because of those words.

“You look pretty good yourself, Steve,” you say with a small, barely there smile.

Steve blinks and then—

“You just called me Steve,” he says, the corners of his mouth lifting.

You shrug, you pretend it wasn’t a big deal.

Baby steps.

It was hard not to smile watching Steve twirl not one but two of his little cousins around, especially when their laughter was full of unbridled joy as they begged him for just one more spin around the dancefloor.

You sat at the table you and Steve had been convening at for the past few hours. The table where you had sat for the reception dinner with a handful of his cousins, where you had struggled to hold back tears at the speech by the father of the bride and Steve had placed a warm, comforting hand on your arm. Your skin was still tingling from his touch.

“Please Steve!” the youngest of his cousins, maybe five or six, pouted up at him. “Just one more!”

“Later,” Steve promises with a quick glance over at you. “Later, I promise!”

You were fighting back yet another smile at their whines of protest, at Steve ruffling their hair to make them squeal before walking back over to your table.

“What are you smiling at?” He asks, sitting down in the chair beside yours before taking a long swig of his beer.

“Nothing,” you say, hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth of your cheeks. “Just—you’re really good with kids.”

Even the colourful disco lights couldn’t conceal the impressive shade of red that Steve had turned at your words.

“Yeah, well, I’ve had a lot of practice,” Steve murmurs. “Kids are much easier when there’s no Upside Down involved.”

You laugh, which over a few courses of dinner had become something of a common occurrence with Steve. He had made you laugh a lot, more than you wanted to admit. You were beginning to think that Max was right, that perhaps you had been a little too harsh on Steve over the past few years and you even started to feel bad for not giving him a chance sooner. Not that you would ever admit that.

It’s quiet between the two of you then. You watch Steve’s fingers gently drum against the beer bottle in his hands and as he glances over at the dancefloor. You can’t help but look over too, remembering that you had told him no dancing. You found yourself suddenly regretting that part of the deal.

“You want another drink?” Steve asks you, setting down his now empty bottle of beer. “I can get you another—”

“—do you want to dance?”

The words slip out before you could second guess them and you feel your stomach tighten in apprehension. If Steve said no then you would surely have to move far, far away and—

“Yes,” Steve says quietly and with a nod. “I’d love to.”

You look at him to see he was smiling at you and you hate the fact his smile makes your stomach feel a little fussy inside.

“Just keep your hands to yourself,” you tell him with a faint smile as you stand up from your chair, Steve mirroring your action only a few seconds later.

“I’ll be a gentleman,” Steve tells you with a smile that makes you wonder why you had ever disliked him in the first place. “Promise.”

The moment you and Steve were finally on the dancefloor together, the rest of the wedding faded into nothing. From Cyndi Lauper, to a-ha to Elton John, you and Steve Harrington danced until your feet began to hurt. He spun you around, he laughed when you stumbled over your heels and you laughed when a drunken uncle of his had spilled whiskey all over his blazer. Your laughter quickly died when Steve had thrown his blazer aside, leaving him in his white shirt that he had unbuttoned while loosening his tie, giving you a peak at the hair that adorned his chest. Your throat felt a little try at the sight. 

“Do my eyes deceive me,” Steve begins, smiling at you as Heaven Is A Place On Earth fades into Come On Eileen, “or are you checking me out, Miss Mayfield?”

You laugh like it was funny despite the fact you definitely had been checking him out.

“No,” you deny it with a laugh that causes the corners of Steve’s mouth to twitch. “Course not, Harrington.”

“Oh? Are we back to Harrington, now?” Steve asks in a teasing voice that makes you feel so hot it feels as though your stomach was suddenly made from molten lava. “What did I do? I’ve been nothing but a gentleman to you, Mayfield.”

It took you a moment to realise that he was flirting with you and as soon as you did the heat in your gut began to burn. 

“Just keeping you on your toes,” you tell him, your eyes seeming to sparkle in the light as you look back at him. 

Steve hums, unable to stop the smile from spreading over his face as he looks at you. “Misson accomplished.”

There was something in his eyes that seemed to hold you captive, you couldn’t move, could barely breathe and in that second, his eyes dip down to your lips.

“Mayfield, I—”

“—Steve!”

It was the voice of his younger cousins’, the ones he had promised another dance with. You watch as he has to force himself to look away from you, his eyes flickering back for a brief moment to apologise.

“It’s okay,” you tell him with a smile, ignoring the pang of disappointment that had taken refuge in your gut. “I’ll um, I’ll go get another drink while you—”

You gesture towards his younger cousins’ who were both tugging on his arms impatiently, demanding Steve’s attention. He shoots you one last apologetic look before he bends down to pick both squealing girls up with one only arm. You couldn’t deny the way your heart doubled in size at the sight. 

You make your way over to the bar, passing by his parents who you avoid eye contact with while you order yourself another glass of wine and Steve another beer. You tap your nails against the wooden top of the bar, your eyes finding Steve dancing with his younger cousins’ easily. 

“He’s always been great like that with kids.”

The sound of Steve’s Aunt Edith’s voice makes you jump, very nearly spilling Steve’s beer.

“Sorry honey,” she chortles, steading the bottle as you look away from Steve and over at her. 

“It’s okay,” you say with a genuine smile because unlike Steve’s parents, Aunt Edith didn’t make you feel even remotely nervous. “Just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“Becuase you were too busy staring at my nephew?” She offers with a wry smile.

Your face warms but you don’t even try to deny it.

“You know, I’ve seen my nephew with a fair few women over the years but I don’t think I’ve ever seen any who could make him blush like you have over the course of the evening,” she tells you.

You couldn’t stop the look of shock from passing over your face, your body buzzing with something you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

“I’m just saying,” she continues when you say nothing, your fingers still tapping nervously against the table, “that I think, as his favourite auntie, that you’d be pretty grear together.”

You weren’t quite sure what to say and perhaps Edith knew that because she smiled at you kindly before walking away.

Edith’s words play on your mind as you continue to watch Steve and his cousins. You couldn’t lie to yourself, couldn’t deny that the evening had made you see Steve in an entirely different light. It had also made you rethink the Steve you had been so rude to over the past few years; the Steve that always dropped Max back home without a second thought, the Steve that never drove off without ensuring she was safely back inside the trailer, the Steve that had some sort of stupid handshake with Dustin Henderson, the Steve that had brought you tea and made Max lumpy tomato soup after Billy’s funeral. Something inside you twisted as you remembered that fact you had never said thank you to him for doing that.

“You’re looking awfully pensive over here, Mayfield.”

The sound of Steve’s voice pulls you out of your thoughts but his presence does nothing to the swirl of emotions you were feeling.

“Just thinking,” you say finally, turning to face him with a small smile. “Here’s another beer, by the way.”

“Thank you,” Steve grins, taking the bottle from you. Your fingers brush against his and your body feels alive with something you had never had thought you would feel around Steve. “Need it after running around with those kids, I’m too old for this shit.”

You laugh and shake your head in amused disbelief. “You’re twenty one, Steve.”

“Twenty one going on seventy.”

You can barely contain your laughter at that and soon both you and Steve were laughing. You miss the way his eyes flicker down to your lips as you laugh, the way his cheeks flush a shade or so darker when you look over at him as the beginning notes of Heaven by Bryan Adams starts to play.

“I know you just got us some drinks,” Steve begins, setting his bottle down onto the bar and gently prying your own glass of wine from your hands. “But I really want to dance with my date.”

The way he said it, the look in his eyes, it was almost too much.

“Plus one,” you correct him, biting back a smile.

“Synmatics,” he says softly, smiling at you before he holds out a hand, palm up, for you to take. “Dance with me, Mayfield.”

There was no other answer but yes.

You let Steve pull you towards the dancefloor, the fluttering in your stomach making you feel almost dizzy as he wraps his arms around your waist while your arms loop around his neck. It was the closest you had ever been to Steve and all you could think about was how incredible he smelled, how you wanted to trace each and every mole that kissed his skin, how truly gorgeous he looked and how alive you suddenly felt in his presence.

“Ever thought that you’d be slow dancing with me?” He asks with a smile that very nearly takes your breath away. 

“Not even in my wildest dreams,” you tell him, trying to cover up the fact your heart was beating so loud you were beginning to suspect it was trying to escape from its home in your chest. “But—I think today may have helped me change my mind about you.”

“Yeah?” He asks with a hopeful smile. “Or maybe you just finally realised how irresistible I am?”

You laugh and Steve smiles so hard that you were surprised that it didn’t hurt. 

“Something like that.”

You and Steve didn’t leave the dancefloor for a long time after that. Even when the song changed to something more upbeat, you didn’t leave Steve’s arms. You slow danced to Madonna, Bruce Springsteen and Prince as guests left the wedding in their droves—the bride and groom sneaking away hours ago.

“You wanna head back?” Steve murmurs against your hair as you sway to Fleetwood Mac, the dancefloor around you significantly less busy as you pull back to look at him.

“Not really,” you admit quietly, trying to ignore how one of his large hands was resting on your lower back, how his touch had set your skin aflame. “But I think we’re about five minutes away from being kicked off the dancefloor.”

Steve chuckles, looking away from you for a moment to glance at the last few stranglers remaining with you two on the dancefloor. They were all incredibly drunk and you can see the amusement in Steve’s eyes as he looks back at you.

“C’mon,” he murmurs before he pulls himself away from you, though his hand remains on your back. “Let’s go for a walk.”

You follow him without hesitation, walking out of the farmhouse with Steve’s hand still on your back and your heart nearly beating out of your chest.

“I really thought you weren’t going to say yes, by the way,” Steve tells you as you walk over the path, between the red and yellow roses that were illuminated by the glittering lights strung up ahead. “To be my plus one, I mean.”

“I owed Max a favour,” you tell him. “Broke her skateboard. By accident.”

“She mentioned that,” Steve smiles fondly. “I think she thought going to a wedding with me was more tortuous for you.”

You shake your head as you stop in front of the soft pink roses to face him. “Twenty four hours ago, I might have agreed with her but, tonight—I have to admit, it’s been pretty good.”

“Just good?” Steve asks, head tilting to the side as he looks back at you with a smile. 

“No, much better than pretty good,” you say. “Maybe something closer to…pretty incredible.”

“What? Me or the wedding?” Steve asks with a hopeful look back at you.

“Undecided,” you tell with a whisper of a smile.

Silence falls as you continue through the rose garden, the colourful flowers catching your eye as you pass by. But Steve’s eyes remain on you, thought you don’t see it—on the dress that he was sure to dream about, of just how fucking beautiful you looked and how glad he was that you had broken Max’s skateboard.

“For the record, I’m really glad you said yes,” Steve tells you, the hand on your back dipping lower for just a moment and making your insides turn to goo.

“Me too,” you admit. “I um—it made me realise how silly I was—for um, not giving you a chance before. And for you know, not being all that friendly with you.”

Steve says your name and you know by the look on his face that he wanted to tell you that it was okay, that it didn’t matter but you continued talking before he could do so.

“I think I’ve realised that Max may have been right when she said you really were a good guy. I just—I’m her big sister, you know? And—I get my back up a little when people talk bad about my family and I just—I struggled to let go of what you said.”

“Because it was cruel what I said,” Steve begins, slowing down until he stops walking completely, his hand on your back making you do that same. “It was cruel and stupid and I’m sorry. Like, really fucking sorry.”

“I know and—”

“—and if after this you want us to go back to normal then I totally understand and—”

“—Steve!”

“Yeah?”

You smile, shake your head and say, “I don’t want to go back to ‘normal’ after this.”

“Then what do you want?” He asks, hazel eyes twinkling beneath the lights.

You tilt your head to the side, considering him before you say, “another dance?”

Despite the fact there was no music, despite the fact you were in the middle of a rose garden and it was fast approaching midnight, Steve does not deny your request. Instead, he pulls you into his arms like he had on the dancefloor, his body so close to yours that there was barely an inch of space between you and you were very aware of his hand resting on your lower back.

“Did I tell you how beautiful you look?” Steve asks in a voice so soft and gentle that you had to lean in to hear him.

“You did,” you whisper back with a barely contained smile.

“Well, I wanna tell you again. You look fucking beautiful, Mayfield. The moment I saw you I thought—fuck, this wedding is gonna be torture.”

Your face warms and you laugh, leaning into Steve so you could feel his heart thumping loudly in his chest. 

“Because I’m annoying?” You offer with a teasing smile.

“No,” Steve says quietly, one of his hands reaching up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear carefully. “Because I’ve been wanting to kiss you all day, Mayfield. That’s why.”

Everything seems to slow around you. Time, the roses gently dancing in the wind beside you. You can barely believe the words coming out of Steve’s mouth but the way he was looking at you told you that this wasn’t a dream—that Steve Harrington had really admitted to wanting to kiss you.

And it was crazy because twenty four hours ago, you were tossing and turning in your sleep over the idea of today, of the prospect of spending an entire day with Steve at a wedding. And now, you were desperate to feel his lips against yours.

“Then kiss me, before I change my mind.”

Steve blinks, as if to make sure that he had heard you correctly before he pulls you even closer with one arm around your waist. The proximity to Steve makes you feel almost lightheaded, his woodsy, vanillary scent filling your lungs and the hand now cupping your cheek making your body thrum with need.

“As you wish,” he murmurs before he leans in and presses his lips against yours. That first brush of his lips against yours was so inviting, so intoxicating that you felt almost every nerve in your body come alive from the feeling. His mouth was warm, his lips soft and he was kissing like there was nowhere else he would rather be than right here in the rose garden with you.

You kiss him back with no hesitation, warmth seeping through your veins as he gently tilts your head back, coaxing your lips apart with his tongue and making you forget how to breathe. You could have kissed him all night, until the early hours of the morning if you could. Especially when his tongue brushed against yours, making you whine against his lips and tug him even closer.

“Fuck,” Steve murmurs against your lips, your mouths moving together in an almost desperate sort of way as your fingers curl into his shirt. “You’re gonna ruin me, Mayfield.”

You don’t know how long you stayed there, making out with Steve Harrington in the rose garden but all you knew as you finally pulled away from each other was that your lips were bee stung and his were wet and covered in your lip gloss. He had never looked so good.

“So much for keeping my hands to myself,” Steve grins as he reaches up to swipe his thumb across your swollen bottom lip. You roll your eyes and can’t help yourself—you pull him into another kiss that makes him groan against your mouth. The sound makes you feel incredibly glad that you had broken your sister’s skateboard.

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⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Gator Tillman had very few concerns in his life, or at least, that was what he liked to tell himself. The truth was that most things rolled right off his back, only one thing truly mattered. Making his father proud.

Roy Tillman was everything Gator believed a man should be : strong, respected, righteous in the eyes of the town. Roy carried himself with the quiet authority of someone who expected obedience and received it without question. To Gator, he had always seemed larger than life.

So, from the time he was young, Gator had tried to be just like him. He had followed the same path, worked the same kind of job, worn the same badge his father had worn before him. Every choice he made was shaped by the same simple goal to prove he was worthy of the Tillman name.

But there was one thing—one small, humiliating detail—he had never managed to get right.

Women.

For some reason, girls his age didn’t seem interested in him, something his father had noticed and criticized him for. 

“Man your age oughta have a girl by now,” his father had once said, his voice calm but edged with quiet judgment. “A real man builds a family.”

Gator had tried. God knew he had tried to be a good son. But it was always the same. They already had boyfriends, they weren't looking for anything, or worse—sometimes they laughed. 

That was the part that stung the most. Even more so when he thought of all the girlfriends his father had in the past.

It made no sense to him. What could possibly be wrong with him ? He wasn’t ugly, in fact, most people would probably say the opposite. He was tall, broad-shouldered, strong from years of physical work. He could be funny when he wanted to be. Charming, even. Everything a random girl could need.

On top of that, he had a big dick. Not his words, but Lily's, and if she had been telling the truth—back when things were good—he had nothing to be insecure about. Lily had also been the only girl he'd ever truly loved. 

Well, that was before she cheated on him with Carter.

Since then, Gator had been alone and depressed, almost losing hope of ever living up to his father's expectations, which could drive him crazy on nights like this. 

He sat on the floor of his bedroom as his service gun rested in his hands while he methodically checked the magazine, the quiet clink of metal filing the otherwise silent room. Music played softly from an old speaker on his dresser as he rummaged through the small ammunition box in front of him, searching for the right rounds, his back turned toward the window behind him. 

“Yeah, that’s right.” He muttered to himself under his breath.

Suddenly a bright light flared behind him.

Gator squeezed his eyes shut, letting out a long irritated sigh. “Jesus Christ…”

The sudden glow completely broke his concentration. Annoyed, he threw the bullets and his gun to the floor. His moment was completely ruined.

He pushed himself upright and grabbed the hem of his undershirt, yanking it over his head in one sharp motion before tossing it to the other end of the room.

This had been happening for days now. Every night, around the same time, the light in the neighbor’s house across his window would flick on. And it drove him insane.

No one but him was awake at this late hour; no one had the right to disturb him.

The last time it happened, he’d been lying in his bed, one hand in his boxer, trying to relax after the shitty day he'd had. 

Then the same damn light had snapped on, instantly killing any desire he might have had.

Tonight wasn’t much better. He sat on the edge of the bed now, elbows on his thighs as he dragged both hands roughly through his hair, trying to contain his anger. He had to keep quiet. 

The first time the neighbor had turned on his light, he'd been so angry that he'd spoken too loudly. This had interrupted his father’s sleep, and less than ten seconds later Roy’s bedroom door had opened.

His father had come into the room furious, dragging him up around for being loud, careless, stupid enough to wake him in the middle of the night, beating him senseless for being so stupid. 

Gator still thought it had been fair. He should’ve known better.

Since then, Gator had been more cautious, keeping his anger contained and letting it simmer in his chest instead of shouting about it. But tonight, frustration was building. Part of him wanted to march outside, cross the yard and pound on his neighbor’s door until someone answered. 

Maybe even knock their teeth out for good measure.

Instead, he leaned forward, arms resting on his thighs, staring at the floor.

Then, without really knowing why, he felt the urge to peek around the room, so he turned his head and was surprised to see that, for once, the curtains were wide open, revealing the interior of what appeared to be a bedroom.

Gator squinted slightly when suddenly something flew across the room. Gator leaned forward slightly, curiosity pulling him closer to the window before he even realized what he was doing. He tried to intercept another movement when suddenly someone flew past the window, too fast for him to see properly.

He snorted and stood up, taking a few steps toward the window as he wasn't worried about being noticed in the darkness of his room. He took the time to scrutinize the room opposite him in quiet interest. That son of a bitch has strange taste, he thought.

But as his eyes wandered around the room, the neighbor appeared in the window with his back turned to him. And it only took Gator a few seconds to realize that the guy next door wasn't a guy, but a woman.

He blinked in surprise for a moment, but never took his eyes off your figure. Across the way, you were standing near your bed, dressed only in loose pajama bottoms as you unclasped your bra and tossed it somewhere behind you. 

Gator remained perfectly still, watching. Enjoying a bit too much the fact that you had no idea anyone could see you.

A moment later you pulled out a matching pajama top, covering yourself again before stepping out of the center of the room.

“Aw, come on…” he muttered under his breath.

Gator sighed loudly, but as he waited for you to reappear and reveal your face, the light went out, leaving him only with the light from the old streetlamp.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

“Fuck !” The word slipped out under his breath as Gator shoved aside another stack of folders inside the half-open filing cabinet.

Papers rasped against each other while he dug deeper into the drawer, flipping through yellowing records and outdated forms that hadn’t been touched in years. The records room was cramped and poorly lit, the overhead fluorescent bulb buzzing faintly as if it might give up at any moment.

He paused for a second, leaning one forearm against the edge of the cabinet while he scanned the labels again, his patience already wearing thin.

The sheriff’s office had been quiet when he walked in that morning, the usual lazy rhythm of a small-town department settling in for the day. A couple of deputies had been half-awake at their desks, nursing bad coffee and shuffling paperwork around without much urgency. No one had paid him much attention when he passed through, and that was exactly how he liked it.

More importantly, Roy’s office door had still been closed.

That had been the first thing Gator checked.

His father noticed things. Too many things. If Roy caught him rummaging through old residential records without a good reason, the questions would start immediately, and Gator didn’t feel like explaining himself. Not about something like this.

He pushed the thought away and kept searching, sliding another file aside before finally finding the folder he’d been looking for.

Gator pulled it free from the drawer and shut the cabinet with his hip, the metal clanking softly behind him. For a moment he just stood there in the middle of the little room, flipping the folder open and scanning the contents.

Tenant histories. Maintenance complaints. Lease agreements from years ago.

Nothing interesting.

His fingers moved through the papers methodically, until he reached the newest section clipped neatly near the back.

A fresh resident file.

Your name printed clearly across the top.

Gator’s movement slowed. “Well now,” he murmured quietly.

He leaned back against the cabinet again, one shoulder resting against the cool metal while he slid the page free and began reading through the information. It was basic stuff, the kind of thing people filled out without thinking when they signed a lease somewhere new.

Date of birth.

Phone number.

Emergency contact.

His eyes moved over each line carefully, lingering just long enough to memorize the details without looking like he was doing it. Then he reached the small identification photograph attached to the corner of the file.

For a moment, he simply stared. The photo wasn’t anything special—just the kind taken for paperwork. Plain background, neutral lighting, your hair pulled back slightly away from your face. You were smiling a little, not a big grin, just something small and natural.

But even in that dull little picture, you were…

Pretty.

Gator tilted the page slightly, studying it from another angle like that might somehow change what he was seeing.

You were prettier than Lily. The thought came so easily it almost surprised him. For a second he thought he must be imagining it, that the dim light in the records room was playing tricks on him. Because as far as he had always believed, Lily had been the prettiest girl he’d ever seen. That had simply been a fact in his mind for years, something he’d never questioned. The idea that there could be someone prettier hadn’t even crossed his mind before. 

Lily had always known she was attractive, and she’d worn that confidence like armor. Sharp eyes, sharper smile. There had always been something hard about her when she looked at people.

You didn’t have that. Even in a tiny ID photo, there was something softer about your face. And yet here you were, smiling faintly from that dull little ID photo, and the more he looked at it, the more certain he became that you were. It unsettled him a little, that realization. Not enough to look away, though. If anything, it made him stare longer.

Gator’s gaze lingered for another second before he forced himself to keep reading.

Address confirmed.

Lease signed two months ago.

Local employment.

Everything about it looked normal, almost boring. Until his eyes landed on one particular line.

Residence status : single occupant.

He read it once, then again just to be sure. A slow smile began to creep across his face before he could stop it. You lived alone. No partner listed. No roommate. No emergency contact living at the same address.

Just you.

Gator tapped the edge of the paper lightly against the cabinet as he stared down at your picture again, his mind drifting back to the image of your bedroom window glowing in the middle of the night. The way you had moved around the room like you were completely alone in the world, unaware that a creep could be watching from the darkness across the yard.

Footsteps echoed faintly down the hallway outside and Gator moved immediately. His eyes drifted back to the line with your phone number, he quietly repeated the numbers in his mind. Once. Twice. A third time, slower. 

Then, almost absentmindedly, he reached for a pen sitting in a cup nearby and scribbled quickly the digits on the inside of his wrist in small, tight numbers before rolling his sleeve back down over them. 

He slid the paper back into the folder, clipped everything into place again, and shoved the file back into the cabinet drawer just as the door to the records room creaked open.

One of the deputies leaned halfway inside. “Tillman,” the man said. “Your dad’s looking for you.”

Gator straightened, closing the drawer the rest of the way before turning toward the door like nothing unusual had happened. “Yeah,” he replied calmly. “Comin’.”

But as he stepped out into the hallway and pulled the door shut behind him, your name stayed fixed in his head, repeating itself quietly in the back of his mind like something he wasn’t ready to let go of.

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

Eight days passed before it happened again.

Long, irritating nights where Gator found himself glancing toward the window far more often than he cared to admit, pretending he wasn’t waiting for anything. The house across the way stayed dark most evenings, the curtains stubbornly drawn shut. Each night he told himself he didn’t care. That it had only been a coincidence he’d forget about soon enough.

But he didn’t forget.

So when the light finally flicked on again late one evening, cutting through the darkness of the empty lot between the houses, Gator noticed immediately.

He had been sitting on the edge of his bed when it happened, elbows resting on his knees once again, absentmindedly turning his phone over in his hands. But the sudden glow from across the way pulled his attention like a reflex.

For a second, he didn’t move.

Then slowly, almost cautiously, he lifted his head toward the window.

The curtains were open this time.

A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he leaned back slightly, eyes settling on the now-familiar square of light across the yard.

“Well,” he murmured quietly to himself. “Look at that.”

You were moving around your bedroom in a loose tank top that clung to your curves and a pair of black panties, the kind that hugged your ass just right, riding up as you bent to pick something off the floor, revealing more of the smooth skin of your thighs.

“Fuck, look at you.” He whispered, licking his lips, one hand slipping down to palm his hardening cock.

Gator groaned softly, shoving his sweatpants down just enough to free his thick cock, wrapping his fist around it firmly. It throbbed against his fingers, already half-hard from the sight of your thighs flexing. He squeezed himself, stroking slowly from base to tip, his thumb brushing over the sensitive head, imagining those panties soaked with your arousal. “Fucking whore.”

He pumped his hand faster, the pre-cum slicked his movements, making each glide smoother. Your back was to him again as he looked at the two rounded halves that he imagined squeezing, biting, claiming. He let his other hand join, cupping the heavy weight of his balls, rolling them in his palm. A groan escaped him, low and desperate.

“Turn around,” he commanded the empty air. “Let me see those eyes. Let me see you want it.” In his fantasy, you obeyed.

You turned and peeled off the tank top, tossing it aside to stand in just those panties, hands trailing down your sides. 

Gator's balls tightened, his voice dropping to a gravelly whisper. “Goddamn, those tits... gonna suck 'em raw, bite down till you scream baby girl.”

He twisted his wrist on the upstroke, thumb smearing the slick tip, hips bucking into his hand as he chased the edge.

“You’d be so wet for me,” he muttered, picturing you peeling those panties down, showing him everything. “You’d be dripping. You’d open those legs and beg me to watch.”

He shifted on the worn leather of his desk chair, his focus locked.

In the theater of his mind, this was all for him. You knew he was watching. You had to know. Why else would you leave your curtains open like that, a perfect, framed invitation ? Why else would you move with that lazy, unhurried grace, peeling the damp shirt over your head with your back to the window, letting him see the muscles shift in your shoulders.

“You’re so fuckin’ pretty,” he murmured, picturing himself behind you, his body pressing against yours, his hands coming around to cup the full weight of your breasts. “You’re just standin’ there, thinkin’ about me, ain’tcha ? Thinkin’ about how bad you want my hands on you.”

On the other side of the yard, you stretched your arms overhead, your back arching. The movement made the muscles in your stomach tense, and the panties dug just a little deeper into the crease between your thigh and your pussy. Gator’s hips gave an involuntary jerk up into his own fist.

He imagined his mouth there. Then on your neck, your shoulders, trailing lower. He’d get on his knees behind you, hook his thumbs in those panties, and pull them down so slow you’d be shaking. 

“You’d whimper for me,” he told the window, his voice gaining confidence, painting the scene with dirty words. “A-And you’d push that sweet ass back, beggin’ for my tongue.”

His fantasy was visceral. He could feel the imagined heat of your skin, the soft give of your flesh under his lips. He pictured parting you with his fingers, finding your wet and ready for him–because of him. “You’re soakin’ for me right now, just knowin’ I’m watchin’.”

The words, spoken aloud in his empty room, sent a jolt of electricity straight to his groin. His balls drew up tight. He was stroking in earnest now, a rough, fast friction that was all about the building pressure, the imminent release. His eyes were glued to you as you finally climbed onto your bed, lying on your stomach. You picked up your phone, your legs kicking idly in the air behind you. The black fabric stretched taut across your ass, a perfect, mouth-watering heart shape.

“Fuck, look at that,” Gator panted. “Presentin’ it to me. Just… fuck… presentin’ that perfect peach.” He adjusted his stance, planting his feet wider on the floor, his body tensing like a bowstring. The pleasure was a coiling spring in his gut, fed by the visual feast and the filthy soundtrack of his own voice. “You want it, don’t you ? You want me to come over there, tear those off with my teeth, and bury my cock so deep in you, you forget your own name.”

He was close. So close. Spit-slick sounds filled the room, matching the frantic beat of his heart. 

His orgasm hit him like a sledgehammer, a white-hot detonation that ripped a ragged shout from his throat. His body convulsed, his back arching off the chair as pulse after pulse of thick, hot release spurted over his fist and onto his stomach. His gaze never wavered from the window as he rode out the last shudders of pleasure, completely spent.

But completely lost in the fantasy, he didn't even notice you pause, your head tilting toward the window. 

⋆༺𓆩☠︎︎𓆪༻⋆

The phone buzzed against your nightstand, the screen glowing unknown caller in harsh white letters. You frowned at it for a moment, debating whether you should even bother—who the hell called at 3:47 am ? Still, curiosity got the better of you and the third ring decied for you. You reached forward and picked it up, pressing it to your ear with a sigh. “Hello ?”

For a second all you heard was silence. You waited, tilting the phone slightly as if that might somehow make the connection clearer. 

“Hello ?” You repeated, a little louder this time.

Then, there was a subtle breathing : the slow inhale and exhale of someone who was still on the line but refusing to speak. 

“…Okay,” you muttered, sitting up a little straighter. “What is this ?”

The breathing continued and your irritation, started rising quickly. 

“Seriously ?” You said, rubbing a hand over your face. 

No answer. 

“Oh my god.” You sighed loudly, “You think you’re ghostface or something ?” 

You pulled the phone away from your ear and shook your head as you hung up.

“Idiot.” You said under your breath.

The quiet of your bedroom returned instantly while you tossed your phone back onto the table beside you.

But not even ten seconds later passed before the phone buzzed again. You turned your head slowly, and unknown number lit up the screen again. You stared at it, disbelief written all over your face.

“You better be kidding me.”

Finally, with an annoyed exhale, you snatched it up again and answered. “Alright, if this is the same—”

“Don’t hang up.” The voice cut in quickly this time, and you blinked in surprise.

“Oh,” you said slowly, still a bit frustrated. “So you can talk.”

There was a brief pause on the other end of the line, like he wasn’t entirely sure what to say next. Then he asked, completely out of place—“Why do you keep your curtains open ?”

You stared at the wall, “I’m sorry—what ?”

“You heard me.”

The calm certainty in his voice made your confusion shift immediately into suspicion. 

“Okay,” you said carefully. “Who is this ?”

Silence again. 

You huffed quietly. “Right. Cool. Love that for me. Random guy calling in the middle of the night asking about my curtains.”

A faint shift of movement crackled through the speaker, like he had adjusted his grip on the phone.

“I leave nearby.” He finally said.

“Nearby where ?”

“Across from you.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and your gaze instinctively drifted toward your window. Something about the way he said it sent a small knot of unease twisting in your stomach. You slowly pushed yourself up from your bed, phone still pressed to your ear as you walked across the room.

When you reached the window, you hesitated for a second before pulling the curtain aside just enough to peek through. Outside, the street was exactly as quiet as it had been all evening. The old streetlamp buzzed softly, casting its familiar orange glow.

At first you didn’t see anything unusual, just dark glass reflecting the faint light. You adjusted your vision when your stomach dropped slightly. Your eyes fixed on the tall silhouette standing in the dark window across the street.

You squinted across the distance, trying to make out more than just the silhouette. The figure shifted slightly, stepping closer to the glass, and the streetlight finally caught part of his face and recognition his you a second later.

You leaned closer to the window, staring harder now. “You’re the sheriff’s son ?”

There was a brief pause on the line, then his voice came back. “Yeah.”

Across the street, Gator stood in the dark behind his window, phone pressed to his ear, watching you like he hadn’t taken his eyes off you once.

You stayed by the window, one hand holding the curtain aside while the other pressed the phone against your ear. The distance and the poor lighting blurred most of the details, but you didn’t need much more to recognize him now. The broad shoulders, the posture, the stillness—it all matched the man people in town talked about.

For a moment neither of you said anything.

The quiet stretched across the line and across the empty street between your houses, the faint hum of the streetlamp filling the silence while you both stood there watching each other through two panes of glass.

Finally, you spoke first. 

“So,” you said slowly, your voice carrying a mix of disbelief and curiosity, “the sheriff’s son is calling me in the middle of the night to ask about my curtains.”

Across the way, you saw his silhouette shift slightly, like he’d leaned one shoulder against the window frame.

“You didn’t answer the question.”

You let out a small incredulous laugh. “Why should I ?”

“Because I asked.”

You raised an eyebrow, even though you knew he probably couldn’t see it from that distance.

“Wow,” you said dryly. “Compelling argument.”

Another small pause followed, and you had the odd feeling he was studying you just as carefully as you were studying him.

Then he asked another question.

“Why you up so late ?”

Your eyes narrowed slightly. “You’re really not great at introductions, are you ?”

He didn’t respond to that.

The silence stretched long enough that you realized he actually expected an answer.

You leaned your shoulder against the wall beside the window, your eyes fixed on his silhouette across the street. Your grip tightened around your phone.

"How did you get my number ?"

Across the street, Gator didn’t move, neither did he answered. Instead, after along moment, his voice came through the speaker. “You always stay up this late ?”

You blinked again, letting out a disbelieving laugh. “Oh my god.” You stared at him for a beat before letting out a disbelieving laugh, shaking your head. “Are you serious right now ? I ask you how the hell you got my number, and that's what you decide to answer with ?"

"You didn't answer."

Your jaw tightened. "And neither did you. Funny how that works."

Silence settled between you again, stretching long enough to make your skin itch.

“Sometimes.” You admitted finally, understanding he wasn’t going to give you an answer anyway. The word had barely left your mouth before you cursed yourself internally.

Fuck.

He'd gotten exactly what he'd wanted.

You straightened, irritation bubbling into something much sharper. “What about you ?” You asked suddenly. “You always call random women in the middle of the night ?”

“No.”

The simplicity of the answer only made your blood boil faster. "So what ? I'm supposed to feel honored ? Does that mean I'm special or some kind of shit ?"

Another pause.

“Yeah.”

Your expression faltered for the briefest second before hardening again. You hated that a single word from someone like him could catch you off guard.

“You don’t even know me.” You said frustrated.

“I’ve seen you.”

You sighed lightly. “Seen me when ?”

“Couple nights ago.”

Your eyes flicked briefly around your bedroom, suddenly aware of everything around you. "So you've been watching me like some creep." Your voice sharpened with every word. "And instead of thinking, 'Maybe that's crossing every possible line' you somehow decided the logical next step was to call me ?"

Across the street, he leaned a little closer to the glass. “I was curious.”

You let out another laugh, completely devoid of humor. "Curious ?" you repeated. "That's seriously the best excuse you've got ? You watch a woman through her bedroom window, somehow get her private phone number, call her in the middle of the fucking night, and you expect me to hear 'I was curious' and think, 'Oh, fair enough ?'"

He didn't interrupt you, nor tried to apologize.He simply let the silence settle between you, as if he already knew you'd be the one to break it.

Then, quietly, he said, "If you were really as angry as you're pretending to be... you would've hung up by now."

Your lips parted, ready with another insult but strangely nothing came out.

With an irritated sigh, you dragged a hand over your face, letting your head rest briefly against the wall beside the window. "I should," you muttered.

"You should."

Another long silence.

Your shoulders sagged, the adrenaline beginning to give way to exhaustion. It was well past midnight, and somehow you were still standing here, arguing with a stranger you'd never even met.

You closed your eyes for a second before opening them again, finding his silhouette exactly where you'd left it.

"...Curious about what ?"

“About you.”

Neither of you moved away from the window.

He chuckled low, the sound sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. “Tell me, you often wiggle around in just your panties ?”

For a second, your brain refused to process what he'd just said. Then your face twisted with digust, “What the fuck did you just say ?”

“You like showing off your ass ?”

Your eyes widened in disbelief. "Are you actually out of your fucking mind ?" You snapped. "You've been standing over there watching me, and you think you have the right to comment on my body ? You think that's funny ?"

“No, at all. Just true.”

The lack of any apology, any embarrassment, any sign that he understood how insane this was only fueled your anger.

"You know what ?" You said, your breathing uneven now. "Go fuck yourself."