yikes drama

Steve had been at the arcade with a girl that he’d met an hour earlier while closing down Family Video. She looked completely lost in the horror section, and Steve —being the amazing employee he was— offered to help, suggesting that if she were to watch one of those movies, she’d better have someone to hold onto.

Even Steve was surprised that a line guaranteed to make Robin roll her eyes and groan had actually worked.

Steve had been the perfect gentleman. Letting her win, guiding her hands with his on the controllers and tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. They were foolproof steps in the Harrington book of dating.

But then the kids happened.

“I told you we’d find a solution!” someone yelled from across the room, loud and clear above the buzzing of the machines.

Steve turned around to find Dustin, Max and Lucas smiling at him.

“Oh no,” Steve said, shaking his head as they walked over to him.

“I need you to take us home,” Dustin said casually, as if Steve could have nothing better to do.

The girl looked between them. “Is he like—your brother?”

“No, worse,” Steve said, crossing his arms over his chest. “He’s a nuisance.”

“My sister isn’t picking up, so I need you to take us,” Dustin continued, already turning towards the exit. The others nodded in agreement.

“Guys, come on, can’t you see I’m—busy?” He said the last word lower, hoping they would get the hint.

Max, already thoroughly amused, rolled her eyes dramatically. “Take us home first and take her home after?”

Steve looked at the girl, whose eyes had narrowed in frustration.

“Are you—Is that okay with you?” He asked, lowering his hand to the small of her back. She pulled away instantly.

“Never mind,” she said with an angry sigh.

Without giving him another chance to say sorry or change his mind, she grabbed her stuff and rushed past him, muttering something about a stupid babysitter.

Steve Harrington —full-time babysitter and by now the saddest bachelor in Hawkins— got in the car with them and drove to the house, arguing the whole way there.

“Don’t be mad at me, it’s my sister’s fault for not picking us up!” Dustin yelled, sinking deeper into the passenger seat. “Did you want us to walk home and die?”

Steve groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Yes, of course, that’s exactly what I wanted—Lucas, please, stop eating those in my car.”

Lucas stuffed the bag of potato chips in his backpack and stared out the window.

“She wasn’t even that cute,” Max said under her breath.

Steve glared at her through the rear view mirror.

By the time they got to the house, no one was talking to each other.

Dustin slammed the car door shut, ignoring Steve’s protests, and rushed towards the front door. The others followed suit.

Steve was fully prepared to blame you for the fact he wasn’t getting laid —or something equally mature— but then the door opened, and his brain went blank.

Time stretched, caught somewhere between the moment he saw you standing there and the moment your eyes widened, followed by your hands flying up to cover your mouth.

One of the straps of your dress had slipped down your shoulder.

Steve couldn't stop looking at it.

“Oh no, I forgot to pick you up,” you said, eyes widening. “I’m so, so sorry. I was so caught up in the garden—“

The kids rushed past you, as if you were just an obstacle in the doorway, and went to the basement without looking back.

Your attention finally turned to him.

“I guess you must be Steve?” you asked, your voice soft and gentle.

You were. He’d learn that later.

He realized a beat too late that you were waiting for an answer. “I—Yeah. Steve. Harrington.”

You smiled, just like you did in the pictures, only this time it was directed at him. “Nice to finally meet you, Steve.”

And just like that, he was done for.

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Somewhere along the way, it became routine. Him being at the house more than usual was pure coincidence, if anyone asked. How no one seemed to notice was beyond him, but he figured the free rides kept them from thinking too hard about it.

By day five, he could anticipate when you’d come downstairs.

First came the scrape of a chair against the floor, then the creak of your bedroom door.

A moment later, your footsteps padded across the carpet before carrying down the stairs.

Steve would get up, pretend to get a glass of water to separate himself from the others, and linger in the kitchen just a little longer.

He actually couldn’t remember the last time he’d finished the water.

“Hello guys, how’s the campaign going?” you’d ask. He could hear the smile in your voice.

Dustin and the others would mumble replies, too focused on the game. You still lingered because you cared.

And then, like clockwork, your shadow crossed the kitchen first.

Then your perfume.

Then—

“Hello Steve.”

You always said it like you were genuinely happy to see him.

He’d try to be cool about it. Leaning back against the counter, trying to relax his posture, hoping that the usual confidence made it past his nerves.

At night, he tried to imagine all the different ways his name could roll from your lips until he fell asleep.

──────────────────

It became increasingly difficult to justify how often he was at the house, especially after Max blatantly asked why he was always hanging around them.

Steve hadn't had an answer.

He considered pretending to want to join one of their Dungeons & Dragons campaigns, but figured it was the equivalent of saying: “Hey Dustin, your sister? Can’t stop thinking about her. Cool? Thanks dude.”

Luckily, summer helped.

The news was full of warnings about the upcoming heatwave. Stay indoors. Stay hydrated. Avoid unnecessary time in the sun.

Within two days, every conversation seemed to circle back to the weather. Customers at Family Video complained that the air conditioning wasn’t strong enough, Robin threatened to quit every hour she spent behind the counter, and Dustin had somehow worked the words I’m literally melting into every phone call.

Steve didn’t mind.

If anything, the relentless heat finally gave everyone a reason to end up in the same place.

The public pool.

He tried not to think about the possibility. Maybe you’d drive the kids there yourself and he’d happen to run into you. Casual. Normal.

Or maybe Dustin would call, begging for a ride. Or maybe Robin would call, begging for a ride, and you’d be—

The phone rang.

Steve reached for it before the second ring, and just an hour later, everyone was jammed inside his BMW. He even pretended not to notice Dustin spilling soda all over the car seat.

Nothing mattered when today could be his lucky day.

──────────────────

The pool was packed with seemingly everyone in Hawkins, all desperate for some relief from the heat. Every few minutes someone cannonballed into the deep end, splashing water over the scorching concrete.

Steve —who, in the hopes of getting a tan, had been applying sunscreen rather sparingly— was pretty sure his shoulders were already burning.

“Ew,” Max said suddenly.

Steve looked over from where he was digging through the cooler. “What?”

She pointed far too confidently at his chest. “Where’d your chest hair go?”

Steve instinctively looked down, then back at her. “Jesus, Max.”

“I’m just saying,” she shrugged, rubbing sunscreen onto her bare legs. “You used to look hairier.”

Dustin snorted so hard he nearly spat out his drink. “I knew something looked weird!”

“It doesn’t look weird,” Steve shot back. He rubbed a hand over his chest self-consciously.

Did it?

Robin looked up over the rim of her sunglasses, grinning. “Please tell me you didn’t do this for headband-girl.”

Steve hesitated for exactly half a second. “I just trimmed it, it’s—”

“—Oh my God, you did!” Robin’s grin only widened.

“—She mentioned she wasn’t really into chest hair on our first date.” Steve sighed dramatically, already regretting opening his mouth. “I guess she saw it peek out of my shirt or something—”

Robin interrupted him, pushing herself up. “So one random girl says something and you immediately—”

“What are we talking about?” your voice cut through the conversation before Steve even saw you. You were balancing two paper cups of lemonade, eyebrows pinched together in curiosity.

Robin, never one to let an embarrassing story go to waste, answered immediately. “Steve shaved his chest hair because some girl on a date said she wasn’t really into it.”

Steve wanted the ground to open beneath him and swallow him whole. None of the scenarios he’d practiced in his head had ended up in a humiliation ritual.

You blinked, then looked at him. “Really?”

The heat did a decent job of disguising the blush creeping up his neck. He scratched the back of his head. “It wasn’t—like a big deal.”

“You shouldn’t change for somebody else.” The words came out so matter-of-factly that, for once, no one immediately jumped in. “If someone likes you, they should like you as you are.”

Steve tried very hard not to look anywhere but your face, but the bright yellow bikini kept pulling at the corner of his vision.

You glanced at his chest for the briefest moment. “Besides, I actually think the hair suits you.”

The silence felt suffocating. Steve tried to make himself say something —anything— but apparently he'd forgotten how conversations worked.

You smiled, completely unaware of the effect you’d had. “Anyway, you looked like you needed this. Thanks for driving them here, I’ll actually do my job and take them home this time.”

You handed him one of the lemonades, fingers brushing against his, and headed back towards the pool, as if you hadn’t just turned his world upside down.

Steve stood there a little longer, cold condensation running over his fingers, trying to understand how you could disarm him so easily.

Then he caught Max’s eye. The corners of her mouth tugged upward as she looked from him to you, then back again. He could practically see the wheels turning behind her eyes.

Steve quickly looked away.

He was royally fucked.

──────────────────

Steve wasn’t sleeping much anymore.

Robin blamed the heat, and Steve let her. It was easier than admitting he’d spent the last hour wondering whether you’d say hello to him the next morning. Or whether there even would be another morning after that.

He’d never asked anyone how much longer you’d planned to stay, and maybe he didn’t want to know for sure, because what if the answer was tomorrow?

He had considered asking you out like a normal person, but he could not stand the possible shame of it. There was no reason to think that you’d see him as anything else besides Dustin’s weird older-sort-of-friend-babysitter hybrid.

He was also pretty sure Dustin would murder him, which was fair, honestly.

God, he felt pathetic.

Whenever he decided he needed to distance himself and move on with his life, something happened to reel him right back in. Like Dustin casually mentioning how badly he wanted to see Back to the Future and Steve —just as casually— telling him he’d drop it off after his shift.

He fully expected Dustin to open the door when he knocked, but Claudia greeted him instead.

“Hello Steve,” Claudia said warmly, moving aside so he could enter the house. “She’s in the garden.”

He blinked, brows narrowing. “Oh—I was just—Okay.”

Steve walked towards the garden without looking back, not even when he could feel he was being watched.

He heard the quiet snapping of scissors, followed by gentle humming. You were kneeling in the flowerbeds, reaching for stems that were past saving.

He stood there for a few seconds, openly admiring you, the tape dangling forgotten from his fingers.

“Oh, hey Steve,” you said, snapping him out of his thoughts.

“Hi,” Steve said awkwardly, taking another step closer to you. “I—Claudia sent me here. I came to give Dustin this.”

You raised a hand to shield your eyes from the sun while the other stretched towards the VHS box.

“Oh wow, he’ll freak out.” You chuckled, holding out your other hand towards him. “A little help?”

Steve wiped his sweaty palms against his mustard crewneck before taking your hand.

He had to remind himself that this was a perfectly normal occurrence.

You turned the tape around in your hand and then met his eyes again, smiling. “Thank you for taking such good care of Dustin. He really loves you.”

Steve’s heart fluttered as your hand slipped from his.

“I love the kid, I do it—with love. Everything.” He laughed awkwardly.

“Would you like some tea?” you asked, brushing your dirty hands over your equally dirty pants.

He’d never said yes to anything faster.

You returned with a tray holding two cups of steaming water and several glass jars filled with dried leaves, each marked with a handwritten label.

“I didn’t know what flavor you liked so I brought different things,” you said softly, putting the tray down on the wooden table. “I have chamomile, lavender and mint. All grown in my garden at home.”

He picked up each jar, fingertips moving over the labels you’d written yourself. Steve had to stop himself from imagining a future where you had tea with him every day.

He didn’t even like tea.

“That’s amazing. I don’t really know much about gardening, to be honest,” he said honestly.

“I can always teach you! Mom thinks it’s amazing that someone’s willing to do it for free and a little company is always nice.” You shrugged, adding some chamomile to the tea infuser before lowering it in your cup. “But don’t feel obliged! I can totally imagine you have more exciting things to do.”

Steve wanted to scoff and say that there was nothing in the world he wanted more, but decided to shrug instead.

“Sounds fun. There’s a lonely terrace attached to my apartment that could use some love.” He laughed. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll be a changed man after this."

You laughed, bright and unguarded. “I love that!”

Something fluttered triumphantly in his chest.

──────────────────

Steve spent the next three afternoons by your side.

It was pathetic, really, the way he showed up every day. He also didn’t understand why you let him.

He could’ve watched you for hours, kneeling among the flowers as you pointed something out to him.

It wasn’t like he didn’t try to listen. He was just too busy memorizing you, like this, wearing a matching cotton set, the loose bloomer shorts gathered softly around your thighs, the fabric dusted with specks of soil.

He wondered what it would feel like beneath his fingertips.

“—So, that’s it really, but they’re very prone to overwatering,” your voice broke through his thoughts.

He made the mistake of not thinking before he spoke.

“I didn’t know plants could die from too much water,” Steve replied.

Before he could even start to feel embarrassed, you looked up at him, laughter breaking across your features before escaping your lips. “You’re such a dork.”

──────────────────

Steve was so used to spending time with you that he’d almost called in sick for work. You’d asked him to come over again, and he’d had to say no because he had a shift at Family Video.

“Are you planning on telling me what’s wrong?” Robin asked, unbothered by the silent treatment. She blew her bubblegum until it popped.

Steve looked over his shoulder, stuffing another tape back on the shelf. “I’m just tired.”

“Huh,” Robin replied, rolling the desk chair toward him. She bumped into him, nearly knocking over the cart.

“Can’t you at least pretend you’re working?” Steve snapped, pushing her away from him.

“You are snappy.” She stood up, rolling the chair back towards the front of the desk. “Guess all that gardening’s finally catching up with you.”

Steve turned around too quickly, hands tightening around the cart. How did she—?

Robin’s face lit up. “Whaaat?”

He could’ve fought it. Come up with an excuse that sounded believable. Helping you out because you were bored. Keeping you company because Dustin wasn’t around. Anything.

Instead, one thought lodged itself in his brain.

Who told her?

It must be Max or Dustin.

Oh God… Did Dustin know too?

The silence stretched too long for Steve to talk his way out of this one. Instead, he disappeared into the backroom and decided to reshelve every tape in alphabetical order. It had been going pretty well, actually.

The door opened abruptly. Steve turned around, clutching his chest.

“You’ve got a customer,” Robin said, a little too upbeat.

Steve pushed himself off the floor, stretching out his limbs. “Why me?”

Robin only smiled, which was never a good sign.

He followed her to the register, fully expecting some girl to stand there, waiting for Steve Harrington to help her. Maybe it wouldn’t be bad to flirt with someone else, maybe he could even set up a date to help him take his mind off—

You.

Your hair in a braid. A floral sundress. Red lipstick.

“Hello Steve,” you said, setting your wicker basket on the counter.

You rummaged through its contents, pulling the VHS tape from the bottom. “I came to return this. Dustin wanted me to thank you by the way. He would’ve returned it himself if he weren’t so occupied with Suzie—“ you stopped in your tracks, your gaze flicking from Steve to Robin before landing awkwardly somewhere between them. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said that.”

Steve felt Robin’s eyes on him as he walked over to the desk. It reminded him that he should at least try to act normal. “I’ll only mention it when he doesn’t answer my calls.”

“Good thing I’m leaving soon then,” you said so casually that Steve only felt his heart drop seconds later.

“You’re—They’ve finished with—Your bathroom?” Steve asked, forcing a smile.

“Yeah, I’ll probably go back on Saturday,” you said like it didn’t matter. You pulled a purple potted plant from your bag.

Steve recognized it immediately. It stopped his train of thoughts.

“You bought another lavender plant?” he asked.

“You remembered!” you exclaimed, eyes lighting up. “It’s actually a gift because you’ve helped me so much. Now you’ll have your first plant for your terrace.”

There suddenly wasn't enough room in his lungs. He reminded himself to smile. His heart could break later, in the privacy of his own home. “Wow, that’s—Thank you so much.”

You studied him for a moment, as if you wanted to say something else, but then you glanced at Robin and changed your mind.

“I’ll leave you guys to it then. It’s almost closing time, right?” You picked up the basket and slipped the handle over your arm. “See you around.”

You left without looking back, and Steve wished you had. Maybe he would’ve had the courage to say something.

Robin had the decency not to say anything. She just watched him return to the backroom where he hid for the remaining time.

──────────────────

Steve told himself he would not go over on Friday.

He had work to do. Laundry. Groceries. A terrace that now contained exactly one lavender plant and nothing else.

By four o’clock, he had watered it twice.

By five, he was sitting on the edge of his couch, staring at the clock.

By six, he’d called arcade-girl. She told him to fuck off.

By seven, Steve was at the bar, sitting across from headband-girl.

“I didn’t expect you to call me again after last time,” she said, lifting her martini to her lips.

Steve shrugged, taking off his gray jacket. “I was busy.”

Her eyes moved toward the collar of his polo and lingered there for a split second. “Busy doing what?”

His fingers absently wandered towards the spot, brushing over the tuft of hair there. He hadn’t bothered trimming. “I’ve been helping someone with a garden.”

She smiled, genuinely interested. “Oh? Do you garden?”

Steve looked down at the condensation on his bottle. “Not really, no.”

The silence lingered between them.

She nodded, chewing her bottom lip. “So, it was like a one-time thing?”

Steve smiled automatically, because it was easy to be this version of himself. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” The frustration in her tone was painfully obvious.

“It just happened. I don’t know. It won’t—It just happened.” He sighed, scratching the label off the bottle with his fingernail.

She tried to keep the conversation going, but it was futile. He answered every question but couldn’t bring himself to ask her anything back. And when she reached for his hand and he absentmindedly pulled away, the hurt on her face was perfectly justified.

They didn’t speak on the drive to her house. He didn’t even look up when she slammed his door so hard the windows rattled.

Steve drove around for a while, trying to figure out what to do, and somehow ended up at the Henderson house. He didn’t know why he’d come here or what he would say, but he knocked anyway.

Dustin opened the door, eyebrows pinching together as he looked at him. “Steve?”

Steve, still lost in thought, leaned an arm against the doorframe. “Is Dustin home?”

He looked up, dumbfounded. “It’s me... Dustin?” He moved aside so Steve could enter. “Is everything okay?”

Steve considered it for a moment, running a hand through his hair. “Yeah.”

His eyes drifted past Dustin instead, settling on the moving boxes at the foot of the stairs like they had personally offended him.

Dustin followed his gaze. “Oh.” He blinked. Then, more slowly, “You came to see her.”

Steve’s lips had every intention of moving, but nothing actually made it out of his mouth.

When Dustin spoke again, his voice had turned dangerously quiet. “Seriously?”

“I just—I just came to say goodbye.” Steve rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. A nervous chuckle followed. “Can I just...say goodbye?”

“To my sister?” Dustin blinked, gears grinding behind his eyes. “Yeah. She’s—she’s upstairs.”

“Good. Amazing. Thanks man,” Steve said awkwardly, nodding far too many times.

He turned towards the stairs before Dustin could change his mind.

Steve lifted his hand to knock on your bedroom door and then stopped himself, suddenly struck by panic.

What was he going to say? Fuck.

He could just turn on his heel and leave. You’d never have known he was there. But what if Dustin told you? He could make something up.

Steve could come up with excuses quite well. Normally.

The door flew open and you walked out, right into his chest. He staggered a little. Your hands flew up to grab his arms as you regained your balance.

He noticed the way your eyes lit up as you recognized him. “Steve?”

“Yeah. It’s me,” he said dumbly, dropping his gaze to where your hands were still holding onto his arms. You let him go immediately.

The two of you stood there in silence for a moment, chests almost touching.

Your mouth opened and closed a few times, as if seeing him was as unbalancing for you as it was for him.

“Come in. I’m packing, though,” you finally said, stepping out of his way.

Steve followed, closing the door behind him.

“Is everything okay?” you asked, concern immediately softening your expression. He didn’t know how he would make it out of this alive.

Steve replied too quickly. “Yeah.”

Your eyes softened, and Steve had the horrible feeling you could see right through him. “Steve?”

“I—I just...” He tugged at his hair. “I just came to say goodbye.”

You stood there, his words settling into the silence between you.

Steve looked anywhere but at you.

For the first time, he noticed the chair he'd heard scraping across the floor and the carpet that had always muffled your footsteps from downstairs.

A humorless laugh escaped him. “So, I guess—goodbye.”

He didn’t move. His eyes landed on the boxes filled with your clothes and books. You were still looking at him.

“Please reject me,” he said, barely managing to look at you.

Before you could even reply, he continued.

“These past weeks I’ve—I’ve been losing my mind.” He said your name like a plea. “I can’t stop thinking about you. I tried. I went on a date. I watered that stupid lavender plant twice in one afternoon. I don't even like tea—I used to call it stringy water! I don’t garden. I don’t...” He laughed once, breathlessly. “I don't know what happened. Please, just reject me.”

You stared at him for what felt like ages.

Then you laughed.

Steve’s stomach dropped because, of course.

“I—Forget it. This was a terrible idea,” he stammered, turning on his heels.

But then you closed the distance, hands fisting the fabric of his shirt to pull him down to meet your lips.

Steve froze. He didn’t kiss back. His brain stopped working altogether.

You pulled away, hands still holding onto him.

“You kissed me,” Steve said, sounding almost accusing. His lips still tingled.

And he hadn’t even kissed you back.

What was his problem?

You grinned. “I did.”

His thumb brushed over your bottom lip, tentative despite everything that had just happened.

“Okay,” he murmured, mostly to himself. “Okay.”

And then he kissed you again. Hungry. Urgent. Like he was still running out of time.

For a few seconds, Steve almost felt like himself again.

This, at least, he understood. Kissing someone. Pulling them closer. The familiar weight of a body against his own. His nerves finally began to settle, confidence slipping naturally back into place—

Then you said his name.

Not Hello Steve, bright and casual from across the kitchen. Just Steve, quiet and breathless against his mouth.

His forehead dropped against yours.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

You laughed softly. “What?”

“Nothing.” His eyes remained closed. “I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with myself when you say my name like that.”

He walked you backward until your shoulders met the door, catching your soft gasp with his mouth. His hands settled on your waist. Careful. Polite.

Steve had every intention of taking it slow. It seemed like the right thing to do.

But then you tugged his polo free from his jeans.

“I—“ He pulled back slightly, noses brushing together. “I can take you—to dinner first.”

You laughed against his lips. “You can take me to dinner after.”

“After?” Steve asked, moving back so he could look at you.

You laughed. “After.”

Something warm and disbelieving spread across his face. He gave a soft, amused exhale before meeting your lips again.

His hands drifted slowly up your thighs, bunching the fabric of your dress as he squeezed your ass.

He kicked your feet further apart, pressing his thigh up between your legs. You arched into him in response, teeth sinking down his bottom lip.

Your name left his lips like a prayer.

“Steve,” you breathed, his mouth following you as you moved back until your head hit the door. “We have to be quiet.”

Steve nodded, panting against your cheek as his grip on you tightened. He pressed his thigh up higher, muffling your moans by covering your mouth with his.

You slowly rolled against him, the rough denim dragging against the lace fabric of your thong.

“I thought about this so much. Just—you,” he whispered against your neck, nose brushing slowly along the column of your throat before he found your lips again. “At work. In my car. Every time someone said your name.”

He rocked your hips against the length of his thigh. The press of muscle was immediate, hard and rough against your core.

“You like this?” Steve whispered against your mouth.

Before you could reply, he did it again. And again. And again.

“—Yes, fuck,” you whimpered. He rewarded you by pressing against you even harder. Your fingers tightened, nails digging into his chest.

Steve didn’t know what he had done to deserve this.

You were so close, teetering on the edge. He could see it in the way your eyebrows knit together, trying to fight it. His free hand closed over your mouth, and your eyes flew open.

The way he looked at you—his pupils blown wide, his eyes fixed entirely on you, as though you were the center of the universe—made your breath catch before your orgasm finally crashed over you.

You whimpered against his hand, your body trembling as wave after wave rolled through you. His grip tightened instinctively, steadying you as he watched you come undone.

“God...” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “Look at you. I really thought I was saying goodbye and now…”

He didn't finish. Steve wasn't entirely sure he could.

Less than an hour ago, he'd been sitting in his car outside your house, trying to convince himself that saying goodbye would be enough. Before that, he'd been sitting across from another woman, thinking about you.

And now you were here. Looking at him like he was the one who’d done something unbelievable.

He lifted you up with surprising ease, his big hands splayed across the flesh of your thighs as he carried you across the room.

He tried to set you down gently on the edge of your desk, but his elbow caught the cup holding your pens, sending it crashing onto the floor.

Steve pulled back just enough to wince. “I’m—fuck—sorry. I’ll—”

“—Shut up,” you interrupted him, laughing softly as you caught hold of his collar and pulled him back down.

He made a startled sound against your mouth when you kissed him again.

You grabbed the hem of his shirt, yanking it up. “Off.”

It landed somewhere on the floor.

You leaned back on your elbows, watching him through darkened eyes.

Whatever confidence Steve had managed to recover lasted approximately three seconds.

Steve swallowed hard. “Don’t do that.”

Your brows pulled together, teasing. “Do what?”

“Look at me like that,” he said, moving closer.

“Like what?” you said, feigning innocence.

He opened his mouth, then closed it.

“I’m just happy to see you didn’t shave,” you added, biting your lip.

“You like it?” he asked, quieter now.

“I love it,” you whispered, pushing yourself back up.

Your hands wandered slowly over his body, beginning at the soft pudge of his stomach, thumbs tracing the length of his happy trail before moving higher until your fingers disappeared into the hair on his chest.

Steve’s head fell back, a low grunt escaping him.

“You’re going to have to be quiet,” you reminded him, lips curling into a smile.

“I’m trying,” he breathed, unable to tear his eyes away from you. His trembling hands found your thighs again. “You just make it so fucking difficult looking like that.”

You chuckled softly. “Would you rather have us wait until tomorrow?”

“No, no, please,” Steve answered a little too quickly. “Unless you really want—“

Your fingers moved to the buttons of your dress, undoing them one by one without ever looking away from him.

Steve went completely still as he stared at your bare chest.

For weeks, he'd been stealing glances whenever he thought he could get away with it. A fallen dress strap. Bare legs beside the pool. Those stupid little shorts you wore in the garden that had nearly killed him.

Now you were standing in front of him and actually letting him look.

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

You tilted your head. “You’re staring.”

“I can't believe…” He stopped, shaking his head.

There wasn't an ending to that sentence that didn't make him sound completely insane.

“You can touch me, you know,” you said, the corners of your mouth tugging upward.

“Yeah?” He rested his forehead against yours. You nodded.

Steve found your lips again, kissing you with the same desperate tenderness that had been building for weeks.

He palmed your breasts, nipples hardening under his touch. You threw your head back, hair spilling over your shoulders as you leaned into him, wanting —no, needing— more.

“You’re so beautiful,” he said, fingers drifting lower.

His thumb brushed over the damp spot between your legs, grazing over your sensitive clit until you bucked your hips.

“Oh,” you moaned, teeth sinking into your bottom lip.

You looked at him with pure adoration.

He pressed open-mouthed kisses along the curve of your thighs, thumbs hooking through the straps of your thong, slowly pulling it down.

“I can’t believe you’re letting me touch you,” he breathed.

His finger brushed over your slit, painfully slow.

The anticipation made you moan, desperate for more. But then his thumb brushed over your clit again, light and teasing. His attention fully focused on the way your wetness coated his fingers.

“You’re so wet,” he said roughly, slowly teasing your entrance. “I did this to you?”

“Steve,” you pleaded, arching into his fingers.

He pushed inside easily, stretching you in a way that made your toes curl. His thumb continued circling lazily against your clit.

Your own hand came up to cover your mouth this time.

Steve sighed in disappointment. “I wish I could hear every sound you make. I want—” He added another finger. “I need to know what my name sounds like when you cum.”

He continued thrusting inside of you. Labored breathing and the quiet sounds of movement filled the room until you couldn’t take it anymore.

You stilled his hand with yours. His eyes shot up, afraid that he’d done something wrong.

“Take off those jeans and sit down,” you ordered.

Steve blinked, momentarily stunned. He stared at you for a few seconds longer.

“Yeah. Okay. Absolutely,” he muttered.

Steve cursed softly, nearly tripping as his frantic movements made it more difficult than it should’ve been.

Your gaze dropped to the bulge in his boxers, the head of his cock peeking through the waistband.

He saw you swallow. It was very rewarding.

“Take those off too,” you said.

His boxers followed a second later, cock slapping against his stomach.

“Fucking hell,” you said, staring at him with wide eyes.

Steve actually blushed. Which was ridiculous, really.

He’d been naked in front of women before. He’d been complimented before. And yet none of that made it easier when it was you looking at him.

“I’ll be gentle,” he said, cupping your face with his hand.

“No,” you said, guiding him down into the chair. “I’ll be gentle.”

You crawled on top of him before he could reply, straddling his thighs. His cock twitched against your wet pussy.

“Do you have a condom?” Steve asked pathetically. His fingers splayed over your hips, like he couldn’t bear not to touch you for longer than a second.

“I don’t,” you replied. “But I’m on birth control.”

He sighed. “Oh, fuck, I’m not going to last. Just the idea of—of being inside you is—“

Whatever he had been about to say disappeared completely as you rocked your hips over the length of him.

He tried so hard to keep quiet that the sounds leaving his mouth were nothing but soft, needy whimpers.

“Does it feel good?” you whispered, dragging out every stroke of your pussy against his cock.

“Yes, baby...So —ugh— good,” Steve answered, looking at you through his lashes. His grip on your hips tightened, nails digging into the soft flesh.

You licked your lips, hovering over him as the tip of his cock pressed against your entrance.

“Fuck Steve,” you breathed, slowly lowering yourself.

The muscles in his stomach tightened at the feeling of you stretching around him. He said your name, looking down in awe to where you two were connected. “You’re so—“

The words died in his throat when you sank lower, inch by inch, until he was fully seated inside of you.

A broken sound escaped his throat.

“Slow and quiet, okay?” you whispered against his mouth. He nodded, entirely at your mercy, and pulled you into another kiss.

You kept your movements slow and controlled, giving him time to adjust to every shift of your body against his.

Steve buried his face against your collarbone, muffling the increasingly high-pitched sounds escaping him as he fought desperately not to come already.

“You feel so good,” you purred against the shell of his ear. “Touch me.”

Steve’s hand slipped between your bodies, thumb circling your clit as he moved his hips against yours.

“Like this, baby?” he asked, voice strained with arousal.

You leaned back, hands braced against his knees as you rode him faster.

He stared up at you, completely transfixed. His mouth hung open as he struggled to catch his breath. You were just as lost in it, chasing your own orgasm while looking at him through hooded eyes. He couldn’t take it anymore.

“I’m—I’m close, shit,” he warned, almost panicked. His grip tightened as he pulled you against him, the familiar coil of pleasure winding itself tighter inside him.

“Don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” you cooed.

The circles against your clit became firmer and tighter until the change in your expression gave you away.

“I wish I could fuck you hard. This—this is torture,” he panted.

You bit your lip, your movements quickening until you came again, hard, clenching tightly around him.

A low, almost pained sound escaped his throat as he followed soon after. He bit down your collarbone, hips stuttering as he came.

He stayed buried inside of you as he wrapped his arms around you, holding you close. You wrapped yours around him in return.

Steve rested his cheek against your shoulder and listened as your breathing slowly evened out. Your heart still racing against his chest.

Eventually, he pulled back just far enough to look at you.

His fingers came up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

“Hi,” he said. The smile that pulled at his mouth was small and almost shy.

You chuckled. “Hi.”

“Dinner?” Steve asked, brushing his thumb over your bottom lip.

You raised an eyebrow. “Now?”

“You said after,” he added.

The seriousness in his voice made you laugh.

You opened your mouth, lips curling around his thumb, until you released it again with a soft pop.

The idea of marriage suddenly sounded plausible in Steve’s head.

“Because you asked so nicely,” you said.

The two of you returned downstairs ten minutes later, sincerely believing that you would get away with this.

It almost worked.

“Where are you going?” Dustin asked, appearing from the living room like a ghost. He stared at the two of you suspiciously.

Steve startled at the sound. “Jesus, Dustin, don’t sneak up on people.”

His eyes narrowed.

“I’m helping your sister move,” Steve lied. Badly.

“At this hour?” Dustin said, crossing his arms over his chest.

You were remarkably quiet as you pulled on your shoes.

“Yeah,” Steve said, resting a hand on his hip. “Traffic’s low now.”

“Oh okay,” he nodded, rolling his tongue over his teeth. “Good luck.”

Steve’s face fell.

That was it?

He quickly regained himself. “Okay, thanks man. See you.”

Steve almost put a hand against your back as you moved towards the front door, but lifted it to his hair instead.

“Oh, by the way...” Dustin’s voice broke through the silence.

Steve stopped, looking over his shoulder to see him at the foot of the stairs.

“Your shirt’s inside out,” he added.

Steve looked down.

Fuck.

Gator had texted you earlier, something simple and almost shy for him: Come over. Stay the night. Dad’s gone till tomorrow. No emojis, no crude jokes. Just that. And you’d said yes before you could overthink it.

Now you were here, parked behind the big barn so no one driving by on the county road would spot your car. The house was quiet except for the creak of floorboards under your boots as Gator led you upstairs. His hand was warm around yours, thumb brushing your knuckles in a way that felt new, gentle, almost careful.

His bedroom door clicked shut behind you, and the rest of the world fell away.

It wasn’t a big room. The ranch house had that lived-in, slightly worn feel everywhere, but Gator’s space felt like a time capsule. Posters of classic muscle cars and heavy metal bands curled at the edges on the walls. A shelf still held a few dusty toy cars from when he was a kid, lined up next to empty beer cans and a half-dead houseplant someone had probably given him as a joke. The bed was unmade, sheets rumpled, and the lamp on the nightstand cast a warm, golden glow that softened all the hard edges.

Gator stood there for a second, rubbing the back of his neck, looking anywhere but at you. “You want somethin’ to drink? Water? Or… I got soda in the fridge downstairs.”

You smiled, stepping closer. “I’m good.”

He nodded, but his shoulders stayed tense. You’d seen him cocky a hundred times, strutting around in his deputy uniform, cracking dumb jokes, trying way too hard to be the big man his father expected. Tonight he just looked… young. Vulnerable in a way that made your chest ache.

You reached up, brushing a strand of his dark hair off his forehead. “Hey. It’s just me.”

“Yeah,” he muttered, voice rough. “That’s the problem.”

Before you could ask what he meant, he leaned in and kissed you. It started soft, almost hesitant, his lips moving against yours like he was testing the waters. Then you sighed into it, hands sliding up his chest, and something in him unlocked. The kiss deepened, slow and thorough, his arms wrapping around your waist and pulling you flush against him. You tasted the faint mint of his toothpaste and the underlying sweetness that was just Gator.

Clothes came off gradually, between kisses and quiet laughs when his belt buckle got stubborn. He tugged your shirt over your head, reverent fingers tracing the curve of your shoulder. You unbuttoned his flannel, pushing it off his shoulders, then reached for the hem of his white t-shirt.

He caught your wrists gently.

“Wait.”

You paused, searching his face. His cheeks were flushed, eyes darker than usual. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’. Just…” He exhaled through his nose, looking away. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not.” You freed one hand and cupped his jaw, turning him back to you. “Talk to me.”

Gator swallowed hard. For a long moment he didn’t move. Then, like he was ripping off a bandage, he grabbed the back of his t-shirt and pulled it over his head in one motion.

The sight hit you like a quiet punch.

His chest and stomach were lean, corded with muscle from ranch work and whatever half-assed workouts he did to impress his dad. But when he turned slowly, offering you his back, your breath caught.

Scars.

Dozens of them, crisscrossing his skin in pale, raised lines. Some thin and straight, like from a belt or a switch. Others thicker, jagged, as if something had torn instead of sliced. A few looked old, faded to silvery white; others still carried a faint pink edge, newer. They mapped his shoulders, his spine, the backs of his ribs. One particularly nasty one curved over his left shoulder blade like a brand.

You’d known Roy Tillman was a hard man. Everyone in the county knew. But knowing and seeing were two different things.

“Oh, Gator…” The words slipped out soft, full of something you couldn’t name yet.

He didn’t turn around. His voice came out tight, almost defensive. “Yeah. Not exactly pretty, huh? Figured you’d see eventually if we kept doin’ this, but… tonight’s different. You stayin’ over and all.” He laughed, but it sounded hollow. “Didn’t want you thinkin’ I got jumped by a bear or somethin’ dumb.”

You stepped closer until your front brushed his back. Carefully, giving him every chance to pull away, you laid your palms on his scarred skin.

He flinched, just a tiny twitch but didn’t move.

Your fingers traced one of the longer lines, feather-light. “These are from him?”

A long pause. Then, barely audible: “Most of ‘em.”

You pressed a kiss to the spot between his shoulder blades, right over a cluster of smaller marks. His skin was warm, smelling faintly of soap and the outdoors. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t gotta be sorry. Ain’t your fault.” His voice cracked just a little. “Just… didn’t want you lookin’ at me different.”

“I’m not.” You kissed another scar, then another, working your way across his back with slow, deliberate affection. “I’m looking at you, Gator. The guy who makes me laugh even when I’m mad at him. The guy who drove twenty miles in a snowstorm last week just to bring me soup when I was sick. The guy who’s trying so damn hard even when the world keeps kicking him.”

He turned then, capturing your face in his hands and kissing you fiercely. There was gratitude in it, and relief, and something deeper that neither of you had named yet. When he pulled back, his eyes were glassy.

“You don’t gotta say stuff like that.”

“I want to.” You guided him toward the bed, and he let you, sitting on the edge while you knelt between his knees. Your hands never left his skin, stroking up his arms, over his chest, avoiding nothing. “You’re more than what he did to you.”

Gator’s breath hitched when your lips found a scar on his collarbone. “I ain’t… I ain’t good at this soft shit.”

“You’re doing fine.” You smiled against his skin. “Lie down.”

He obeyed, stretching out on his back. You climbed up beside him, pulling the covers over both of you before settling half on top of him, your head on his chest. His heart hammered under your ear.

For a while you just lay there, listening to the wind and the occasional creak of the old house. Your fingers kept moving, light circles over his ribs, tracing the edges of scars you could reach, then smoothing over unmarked skin like you could erase the memory of pain with touch alone.

“You ever talk about it?” you asked quietly.

He snorted. “With who? Dad? Yeah, that’d go over real well.”

“With me. Or anyone.”

Gator was quiet so long you thought he might not answer. Then: “He always said it was to make me tough. Make me a man. Said the world out there’d eat me alive if I was soft.” His hand found your hair, playing with the strands absently. “Guess I believed him for a long time. Still do, sometimes. That’s why I act like an asshole half the time. Figure if I’m loud enough, mean enough, nobody’ll look too close.”

You lifted your head to meet his eyes. “I see you. The real you. The one who’s scared and funny and kind when he thinks no one’s watching.”

His thumb brushed your cheek. “You’re too good for this place. Too good for me.”

“Stop that.” You leaned up and kissed him softly, then again, until he relaxed beneath you. “I’m right where I want to be.”

The kisses grew slower, deeper. Not rushed like your usual hookups in the truck or against the barn wall. This was unhurried, exploratory. You mapped every inch of him with hands and mouth, paying special attention to the scars, kissing them, whispering nonsense words against them, letting him feel cared for in a way you suspected no one ever had.

Gator’s hands roamed your back, gentle despite their calluses. He murmured your name like a prayer when you kissed the worst scar on his shoulder. When you finally settled over him, taking him inside you with a shared sigh, it felt like more than sex. It felt like coming home.

You moved together in a slow rhythm, foreheads pressed together, breaths mingling. His eyes stayed open, locked on yours, raw and unguarded. Every thrust carried quiet emotion: thank you, I see you, I’m here. When you came, it was with his name on your lips, and he followed right after, burying his face in your neck as he shuddered.

Afterward, you stayed tangled up, your head back on his chest, one leg thrown over his. His fingers drew lazy patterns on your bare shoulder.

“You’re stayin’ the whole night?” he asked, voice sleepy and hopeful.

“Mhm. Unless you kick me out at dawn.”

He huffed a laugh. “Not a chance.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, broken only by the distant lowing of cattle and the wind. You traced one of the scars on his side again, feeling the raised tissue under your fingertip.

“Does it still hurt? Any of them?”

“Sometimes. When it’s cold. Or when I think about it too much.” He shifted, pulling you closer. “But right now? Nah. Feels… better with you touchin’ ‘em.”

Your heart squeezed. You pressed another kiss right over his heart. “Good. Because I plan on touching them a lot.”

Gator’s chuckle rumbled under you. “Greedy.”

“Only for you.”

He tilted your chin up for another kiss, sweet, lingering, full of all the things he couldn’t quite say yet. When he pulled back, his expression was softer than you’d ever seen it.

“I ain’t used to this,” he admitted. “Somebody lookin’ at all my ugly parts and not runnin’.”

“They’re not ugly.” You rested your palm flat over a cluster of marks on his ribs. “They’re proof you survived. Proof you’re still here, still trying. That’s beautiful to me.”

His eyes shimmered again. He blinked hard, then tugged the blanket higher around your shoulders like he could shield you both from the world outside this room. “You’re gonna make me go all soft, woman.”

“Good. You deserve to be soft sometimes.” You snuggled deeper into his side. “And I’ll be here to remind you.”

Gator didn’t answer with words. Instead he held you tighter, his breathing evening out as sleep started to pull at him. Just before he drifted off, he mumbled against your hair, “Thank you. For stayin’. For… seein’ me.”

You smiled into the darkness. “Always.”

The ranch house settled around you, old timbers groaning like they approved. Outside, the North Dakota night stretched endless and cold, but inside Gator’s room, wrapped in each other’s warmth, the scars felt less like wounds and more like roads that had led you both right here to this quiet, affectionate moment where fooling around had quietly, beautifully, become something real.

You fell asleep to the steady beat of his heart, your hand still resting protectively over the map of his past, promising silently to help him write a better future.

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

@nerdreader @starstruckfirecat @baguwagu @sunday-bug @murnsondock @7batsinatrenchcoat @overwintering-soldier @surebutwhy @embervelour @bananaminn @butterflies-on-my-ashes @okaytrashpanda @xamapolax @aceofheartsssss @mars-in-a-cup @doilooklikeagiveafrack @cjand10 @aesthetic0cherryblossom @rosemary-beach-babe @pattiemac1 @morphoportis @sugamilkey @dreammiiee @riah1606 @suri-de-city @ordelixx @galaxygoddess30 @magnificentreviewdreamer @flowstatefic @prk-hoon @multifandomrandomgirl @kodzuminx @sarapolare @sinistersnakey @greatenthusiasttidalwave @najdjjfjjdid @thelastbluecookie @squishyfruitloop @cammiwu @livia087 @boomyoulookingforthis @nvr-land @sebastians-love @lilulicious @themareverine

"steviieeee" you whined against his shoulder.

his chest was bare, pyjama pants sitting low on his waist, a slither of a CK waistband peeking out. you were in your pyjamas, a tank and matching shorts, thick woolly socks that bunched half way up your calf’s.

steve stood in the kitchen making coffee with one arm as you clung to his other. your socked feet slipped on the tiled floor as he floated around the counter

"bunny" he matched your tone.

the problem was, you needed him bad, so bad. but you were so tired. your eyes heavy and glassy, unable to keep your head up.

so tired from being out all day, running errands, visiting people, socialising way too much and having to be away from steve for way too long.

steve had unfortunately been working hard all day. giving him the excuse of being equally as tired.

"but please i swear im not that sleepy"

"well im tired too princess"

he probably wasn't, but the minute you showed any sign of desperation it became a game.

you mouthed at his bicep as steve finished stirring sugar into his mug, doing a mighty good job at ignoring you.

“but stevieee please”

he picked up his mug and shuffled into the living room, dragging you along with him. despite the fact you were clinging to him, stopping him from literally walking normally, he didn’t make an attempt to move you.

“you’re very whiny tonight bun”

“just need you so-“ you were cut off by a yawn tearing from your chest.

“hmm”

bending over, steve placed his mug on the coffee table in front of the sofa before dropping into the soft cushions, pulling you down with him.

you fell against Steve’s side, still clutching onto his arm. his skin was warm against your flushed cheeks, biceps seeming extra swelled tonight, not helping the fire burning in your core.

“please i’m desperate”

“i know you are baby”

reaching out, steve turned on the tv flicking through the channels before settling on a plotless movie rerun you’ve both definitely seen already.

you probably would have fallen asleep if it wasn’t for the throbbing ache of your cunt that kept you from drifting.

“steve” you huffed.

without words, steve caved and pulled you over onto his lap properly, your hips bracketing his. you felt his hard cock press into your core, sighing from that small bit of relief as he pressed his lips to your forehead.

his hands slipped under your tank top, pressing his palms against the hot skin of your back. your whole body felt on fire with desire, the points where steve touched sent sparks of electricity through you.

on his shoulder you rested your head, facing into his neck, close enough that your lips ghosted his skin, close enough to push your tongue out slightly and get a taste.

“i want you, i know you want it too” you whispered, attempting to roll your hips before steve’s hands gripped them tight.

“bratty girls don’t get what they want do they?” he hummed casually, leaning forward for another sip of his coffee.

steve smirked into the cup when the movement caused a touch of friction against your clit, you gasping and tensing your thighs around him.

“but..” he continued “you are right, so maybe we can compromise?”

“yes yes anything i’ll be good”

you sat up on steve’s lap as he leant back against the cushions. his hand traveled between you, the front of his fingers grazing over the soaked fabric of your sleep shorts, the backs against the wetness that had seeped through onto his own pyjamas.

“made such a mess” he tutted, slipping his hand into the front of your shorts.

when his fingertip touched your achy clit you gasped, your walls already squeezing around nothing.

he peeled away the shorts, freeing himself at the same time. your mouth watered looking down at his hard length resting against your own lower stomach.

“we’re too tired” steve’s hands came up to cup your jaw, tearing your eyes away from his dick. “you’ve been too whiny so let’s just relax”

letting go of your face, squeezing you jaw as he did, steve guided your hips up to hover, his tip slipping through your dripping folds.

you lowered down onto him, his thick length stretching your soft walls as he sank deeper and deeper. leaning forward, you attached your lips to steve’s, him kissing you back with soft dominance.

“oh fuck”

“feel better bunny?”

“much better” you breathed out, falling back against steve’s chest and resting your head back on your little spot on his shoulder.

as you lent forward, steve’s cock pressed into your stomach, the faint outline of him visible as the tv light casted a shadow over your belly.

“you feel so good around me babygirl- could stay here for hours”

letting out a high pitched sigh, you accepted defeat. steve’s cock filling you up, his spongey head kissing your g-spot and giving you butterflies each time you unconsciously pulsated around him.

it was enough to push aside your achy craving, just enough to satisfy you in to being able to relax.