@cciessuzi. she/her. iced chai tea lattes. weirdcore. horror. digicams. soft glam. silver jewelry. silly skirts. polaroids. thursday afternoons. written by mitski. fluffy blankets. coconut candles. love notes. picnics. history. djo's girl. fresh avocado. cute charms. sabrina carpenter's honey. playlists on repeat. lace tops. cozy cafés. daydreaming.
about thinker bell: djobrina enthusiast, 9teen, she/her, aquarius, ive watched everything and will watch anything, first time writing .. yikes, idk what else to put here
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summary: when you and the cute guy at the storage unit go out to discuss getting your new bookstore set up, things escalate to a little bit more than just handiwork and literature
wc: 5.3k
tw: explicit smut, p in v protected, oral (f recieving, talsk of sobriety, travis does not shut tf up
a/n: hey babes! as a heads up, cold storage also happens to be one of my favorite books. so a lot of the characterization, and the fact that its canon teacake has never been with a woman sober, are taken from the book. but this can absolutely be read without book knowledge, just keep that in mind.
masterlist
Teacake has memorized your schedule by now.
You came into Atchison Storage twice a week, Wednesdays and Sundays, with a stack of books for your unit. Through a couple conversations, mostly led by him, he learned you were opening a used-bookstore-slash-coffee-shop in town. You needed a place to store some of the inventory you were collecting, and he was more than grateful for that.
Wednesday nights were slow. He was sitting at the security desk, trying to focus on his book as his eyes drafted to the door every so often.
The sensor above the door chimed. He looked up and saw you walking in with a box of books, looking exhausted but content.
“Hey there, stranger,” he said, a little too bright for the sleepy hour. “You know the routine. Unit 247, down on your right. You need a hand with those?”
You give him a soft smile, happy for the familiar face. Truthfully, you liked seeing him here. He was always willing to. chat about anything and everything. And it didn't hurt that he was attractive, despite his shitty prison tattoos.
"Theres another couple boxes in the trunk if you don't mind grabbing a dolly for me. I can grab them once I get these inside."
He's already on his feet. "Nonsense, lady. You look like you could use a break. I'll grab 'em all for ya. One trip."
He grabs the dolly from the corner of the office and heads for the door, taking your keys from you.
You watch as he loads up the three boxes and heads back inside with them.
He buzzes you both in with his badge and he walks with you to your unit, chatting away. You both reach your unit and he lifts the heavy rolling door, revealing a space packed to the brim with boxes of books.
"You weren't kidding about stocking up, lady, jeez. You ever think of a name for your shop yet?"
He sets the boxes down with a soft thud and turns to you, wiping sweat from his brow.
You couldn't help but stare. He had a certain... scrappy charm. A well-worn white t-shirt stretched tight across his chest under his orange work button up, black work pants clinging to muscular thighs.
"Yeah, it's called The Book Nook. I'm hoping to open by fall."
"The Book Nook," he repeats. "Cute. I like it. Very... you." He gives a little grin that makes your stomach flip. "So what's in these new boxes? Any good stuff? Find any old treasures today?"
He leans against the doorframe, making no move to leave as you begin to finagle the new boxes in.
"Went to the flea market a town iver, met up with a seller who had a ton of old sci-fi stuff. Got a decent deal on them."
"Last week it was horror, you're gonna have quite the selection, aren't ya?"
You laugh. "Yeah, my goal is to have something for everyone." You pause, looking at him. "So, what do you like to read, Teacake?"
He's quiet for a second, like he wasn't expecting that question. "Uh... I've been reading some self improvement type books lately? Really trying to stop my 'people pleasing mentality' or somethin'? Court appointed psychiatrist said I have that. I'm, uh, impressionable? Can't remember the words she used. But you probably don't wanna hear about all that."
You caught on to his rambling habit early on in meeting him, but it made you smile nonetheless. You loved hearing him talk.
"Hey, nothing wrong with that. I think it's great you're working on yourself."
He just shrugs, a bit embarrassed now. "Yeah, well. Someone's gotta do it, right? No one's gonna do it for me. Couldn't really. Self work an' all."
He rocks a little on his heels. "Well, I should probably get back to the desk before my boss realizes I'm slacking off. Or, you know, that I even exist."
He gives you a little half smile and turns to leave, but stops.
"Hey, you know, if you ever need an extra set of hands for the shop? I'm... I'm pretty good with a hammer. And I lift heavy things. That's my whole job, basically. Besides, buzzin' people in."
You give him a soft smile that he mistakes as sympathetic.
"I mean..." he clears his throat. "I know you probably wouldn't want to hire an ex-con for your pretty little shop, but I figured I'd offer an'all--"
You cut him off immediately as he misunderstood you. "You're not some violent criminal, Teacake. I've known you long enough to know that. I would love the help. The landlord is dragging their feet on some repairs at the storefront and I could use a strong pair of arms."
You watch a real, genuine smile spread across his face. "Yeah? You'd... you'd really let me help? After... well, after me telling you all that?"
"You've told me what got you in prison plenty of times." You gift a gentle laugh, as he did tend to overshare. "Just don't, sit passenger for anyone who plans to rob my books. We're good."
"Wouldn't dream of it," he says, a little breathless. "So... when do you want me? I mean, when do you need me? At the shop. Not need me, need me. Unless you did, which would be—"
"Are you doing the overnight tonight?" You cut him off again after looking at your watch.
8 PM.
"Uh, no actually. Not tonight. On till 10, then home. Why?" He replies, a little sheepish.
"If you're up for it, we could meet for a drink, discuss my plan of attack? I'm buying. To thank you for the help, both now and later."
His face lights up like you'd just offered him the world. "Yeah? You'd— You'd wanna go for a drink? With me?" He seems genuinely surprised, and it makes your heart ache a little.
"Is that weird?" It was your turn to feel nervous, wondering if you crossed some weird boundary. You were, technically, still a customer.
"No! Not at all! I just... I'm not used to people wanting to, you know. Hang out with me. I'd love to." He's nodding enthusiastically now. "Love to. Yeah. Where at? There's that new place down on Church? Heard they've got some good craft beer stuff. Not that I drink beer much anymore. But I could try it. If you liked it. Or we could go somewhere else. I don't care where we go, as long as—"
You put a gentle hand on his arm, and he stops mid-ramble. The contact sends a jolt through both of you. "Church Street is perfect. 10:30 work for you?"
He fidgets in the booth, picking at the peeling vinyl. The bar is dim, lit mostly by neon beer signs and the glow of a jukebox in the corner. He ordered a water. He wanted to be clear-headed for this. For you.
You show up right at 10:30, sliding into the booth across from him.
"Interesting drink of choice." You smile at him softly.
He shrugs, a little self-conscious. "Yeah, well. Figured I should probably, you know. Keep a clear head. For... shop talk." He gives you a lopsided grin.
It was only a half truth. Part of him hoped that maybe this wasn't just a work call. He was gullible sometimes, but he wasn't stupid. He caught you looking at him a little longer every so often, even if he didn't see why you would.
And a guy can hope for a kiss at the end of the night. Even on the cheek. And he wanted to be sober for that.
"So, shop talk," he says, leaning forward on his elbows. "What's the plan, boss?"
The conversation flows easier than he expected. You lay out your vision for The Book Nook: mismatched armchairs, shelves that go all the way to the ceiling, a little nook in the back with an old record player.
You both talk about anything and everything, his side tangents leading to very interesting, albeit random, conversations about things he saw in jail, or a story about his childhood. You hung onto every word.
He doesn't even notice the bartender clearing his throat at the end of the bar.
"Last call, folks."
The words jolt Teacake back to reality.
"We didn't even get actual drinks." You whisper, a little smile on your face. "Think he really wants us out."
Once outside, you take out your phone to get an Uber.
"What, you didn't drive here?" Teacake raises an eyebrow.
"I didn't want to rush it if we had a couple drinks. Figured I'd be responsible."
"I can drive you home. Car's right over there." He points to a beat-up car in the lot. "Safer than she looks, promise.
"Alright."
He pulls up to your place, the engine of his car rumbling in the quiet street. The silence that's fallen between you is different now.
"Well," he starts, his voice a little too loud in the small space. "That was... That was good. The plan. It's a good plan. Very... architectural. And stuff. I can definitely do the things. The hammering. And the lifting. I'm good at that."
"Do you want to come inside?"
You blurt it out like you've been waiting to the whole ride. Teacake freezes, his hand still on the gear shift.
"You... You mean... Right now? Inside your... house?" He glances from your face to the darkened window of your building and back again, like he's trying to solve a puzzle.
"Yes. In my house." You glance over at the small house you rent, dark except for one lamp in the window. "For some coffee. Or water. Or nothing at all. Just to come inside."
His brain feels like it's buffering. He's so used to things being one way, and this feels like a glitch in the matrix. You, with your bookstore dreams and your kind eyes, asking him inside.
"I uh... don't drink coffee. Makes me all... jumpy. But water's good. Water is... hydrating." He shuts the car off. "Yeah. Okay. I'll come in. For water."
He follows you up the path to your front door, a respectful distance behind you, like he's afraid to touch you by accident. Inside, your house is cozy, filled with books in precarious stacks and the scent of old paper and something warm, like vanilla.
You take him into the kitchen and he leans against the counter, watching you grab two glasses from the cupboard. His eyes follow your every move, taking in the small details of your life: the used novelty mug by the sink, the reminder note on the fridge, the way your hair falls over your shoulder.
When you turn, you catch him looking at you.
You put the two glasses down with a sigh.
"I didn't ask you in here for... water." You whisper, your gaze never leaving his. The unspoken truth of the night hangs heavy in the air.
"Oh." He breathes, a shaky, vulnerable sound.
"It's okay if you aren't—" you begin, but he cuts you off.
"No," he says, taking a step closer. "No, I... I am. I am. I was just... I didn't think... You'd want to... I mean, you know about... and you still...?"
You laugh and he smiles sheepishly.
"Those were like... half sentences. See? That's what I'm talking about. I'm a mess." He's still coming closer, like he's being pulled by an invisible string. "I'm just... I'm not very smooth."
"I like that you're not smooth." You say, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Well, shit, lady. That's good to know."
He's right in front of you now, so close you can feel the warmth radiating off him. You reach up and cup his jaw in your hand, your thumb stroking the stubble there.
"I'm sorry," he murmurs, leaning into your touch. "I've never... I don't know what to do here. Not with someone like you. You're so... put together. And I'm just..."
He let's out a deep sigh before continuing.
"I've never done this... sober. I don't know how to be with someone like this when I'm not all... fuzzed up."
"Like sex?"
He laughs at that.
"I've never even kissed a girl sober." He admits. "Sober me is awkward. It's the me that got my ass kicked in the schoolyard and the me that didn't know how to say the right thing to a girl and the me that—" You cut him off by pulling him down by his collar and pressing your lips to his.
He's still for a moment, like a startled animal, then he responds with a soft, almost desperate groan. It's not a kiss of practiced finesse; it's all clumsy eagerness and raw honesty. One of his hands finds your hip, gripping it like a lifeline, while the other cups the back of your head, tangling in your hair.
"You're damn soft," he mumbles against your lips, pulling back just enough to speak. "And you smell good. Like... books and vanilla. And I'm probably gonna say a whole bunch of dumb stuff. 'Cause my brain is... it's not working right now."
"Good." You murmur, pulling him back in. "I like when you talk."
You're kissing him again and he's already getting more confident, his tongue tracing your bottom lip, asking for entrance. You grant it, and the kiss deepens, becomes wetter, hungrier.
"Okay," he says, breaking away, his breathing ragged. "Okay. So... this is happening. This is... yeah." He looks down at your body, then back up to your eyes. "Jesus christ. I can't believe this is happening."
He lifts you onto the counter effortlessly, your thighs bracketing his hips. The position puts you eye-to-eye, and the intensity of his gaze is almost too much.
"God, your eyes," he whispers, mesmerized. "It's like... looking at something I'm not supposed to. Something holy. Which is a weird thing to say to someone you're about to, you know... but it's true."
You run an hand along his jaw and smile.
"What's your real name?" You ask softly. It was a sudden question, but it felt right.
He blinks, surprised by the question.
"My real name?" He repeats, as if you've spoken in another language. "It's... uh... it's Travis. Everyone just calls me Teacake. On account of... well, it's a stupid story."
"Travis..." You say, lips hovering over his. "I like it."
"Shit," he breathes, and then he's kissing you again, harder this time, like your acceptance of his real name was the final key to unlock him. His hands roam from your hips up your back, pulling you flush against him.
You quickly shimmy off his orange button up work shirt off his shoulders, leaving him in just the white tee. You can feel the heat of him through your clothes, the solid muscle of his chest.
"I've thought about this," he confesses, his hands slipping under your shirt to splay across your back. "So many times. Since I met you. I'd see you come in all tired with your books and I'd just... think about what it would be like to... to touch you. I felt like such a creep. But I couldn't help it. You're just... you're nice. You're the nicest person I've met in... ever."
He's kissing down your neck, his lips and tongue exploring the sensitive skin there, making you gasp.
"And you're smart," he continues, his words muffled against your skin. "Way smarter than me, not like thats hard... But you've got plans, you know? You're doing something. You're not just... existing. You're building a life. And I think that's the sexiest thing I've ever seen."
He pulls back, his hands still on you, his eyes dark with desire and something else, something deeper.
"I'm gonna say all the wrong things," he warns you.
You take his hand and travel it under your skirt, between your legs to feel how damp your panties are.
"I told you I like when you talk." You whisper in his ear.
"Okay," he breathes, a shudder running through him as he feels the heat of you through the thin fabric. "Okay. Right. So... okay."
He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're so wet already. God. That's for me? That's... wow. I did that."
You go to lift your shirt off exposing a black lace bra, nipples already hard against the lace. He just stares, transfixed.
"Those are... Jesus, lady." He sounds genuinely awestruck, like he's looking at a masterpiece in a museum. "They're perfect. They're like... like something out of a magazine. A really... really classy magazine. Not one of the ones they had in the joint."
He reaches out, his fingers trembling slightly as they trace the edge of the lace. "Can I...? I just wanna... feel."
You nod, and his thumb brushes over your hardened nipple through the fabric, making you arch into him.
"You liked that," he murmurs, a smidgeon of confidence creeping into his voice. "Okay. Good. That's... that's good to know."
He hooks a finger in the cup of your bra, pulling it down to bare you to his gaze. "Oh," he says again, a reverent whisper. "Oh, wow."
And then he's leaning down, taking the sensitive peak into his mouth, his tongue swirling around it in a way that makes your toes curl. He's not practiced, but he's enthusiastic, and the raw, honest pleasure he's taking in this is intoxicating.
"Your mouth is the sexiest thing about you..." you gsap at the feeling, hands running through his messy bleached waves. He moans around your nipple, the vibration sending a jolt straight to your core.
"Fuck," he pulls back, looking up at you. "I love it when you talk dirty to me. I really, really do. I just... I've gotta tell you, I'm so hard right now it's almost painful. And I'm gonna... I'm gonna probably bust in my pants if we keep going like this. And that's embarrassing. I'm too old for that. But you're just... you're doing things to me."
He's panting, his chest heaving. "But I want to make you feel good. I want to... I want to make you cum. Can I? Please? Let me make you cum."
He doesn't wait for an answer, sliding off the counter onto his knees before you. His hands are on your thighs, pushing your skirt up to your hips.
"You're killing me with these panties," he says, hooking a finger in the black lace. "They're... they're evil. But in the best way."
He pulls them down slowly, his eyes fixed on the place he's uncovering.
"God," he breathes, looking up at you from the floor. "You're perfect. All of you. Just... perfect."
He leans forward, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh, then another, higher up.
"Tell me what to do," he says, his voice husky. "Tell me how you like it. I'm a fast learner, I swear. I just... I wanna do this right. For you."
"If it's anything like how you kiss I'm sure you'll do it right." You tell him breathlessly.
"Yeah? Okay. Yeah, I can do that."
He takes a deep breath and dives in, his tongue exploring your folds with a curious, hungry intensity. He's not trying to mimic anything he's seen in porn; he's just exploring, listening to the sounds you make, the way your body shifts under his touch.
His nose bumps against your clit, and you gasp, your hands tangling in his hair, holding him to you.
"Tastes even better than you smell," he mumbles against you, the words muffled but clear. "Like... heaven. Or something."
He's getting bolder now, his movements more confident. He's found your clit and is focusing on it, his tongue working in circles, then flicking, then sucking gently. You're writhing on the counter, the cool tile a stark contrast to the heat building inside you.
"Travis," you moan, your hips bucking against his face.
He groans when you use his real name like that, the sound vibrating through you. He doubles his efforts, one of his hands coming up to slide a finger inside you, then another.
"I'm gonna cum," you pant, your head thrown back.
"Yeah," he encourages, his voice rough with desire. "Come on. Cum for me. Let me taste it. S'gonna taste so good."
His fingers curl inside you, hitting that spot that makes you see stars. You cry out as your orgasm crashes over you, waves of pleasure washing through you.
He doesn't stop, working you through it, lapping up your release like a man dying of thirst.
When you finally come back to earth, he's looking up at you, his face slick with you, a look of pure, unadulterated awe on his face.
"Good news is I didn't cum in my pants yet." He says with a half grin. "But if you keep looking at me like that I might still."
He climbs to his feet, a smug, boyish grin on his face.
"So..." he says, a little out of breath as he's wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Did you still wanna... do the rest? The, uh, the main event?" He gestures vaguely at his crotch.
You can't help but laugh.
"Yes, Travis. I still want to. Very much so."
"Good," he says, a slow smile spreading across his face. "Like I said though, I might not last. I've thought about... you know... being inside you. A lot. More than is probably healthy. I've got it all worked out--"
You cut him off by hopping off the counter and hooking a finger through his belt loop.
"Bedroom. Now."
He doesn't need to be told twice. He follows you down the hall, his eyes glued to the sway of your hips.
Your room is just as cozy as the rest of your house, with a big, unmade bed piled high with pillows and a duvet.
You strip your clothes off fully and he stands there, a little wide eyes and slack jawed, before rushing to take off his t-shirt and unbuckling his belt.
"Jesus H. Christ," he whispers when you're naked before him.
He walks towards you, grabbing your face in both his hands, kissing you deeply. You can taste yourself on his tongue. He's pushing you gently towards the bed, and you fall back on it, him following you down, hovering over you.
Your hands waste no time getting his work pants off, pushing them and his boxers down with a little difficulty. He kicks them the rest of the way off.
"Shit," he breathes. "I'm naked. In your bed. This is actually happening."
You can't help but trails your eyes from his dark chest hair tapering down to one of the prettiest cocks you've ever seen.
"Holy shit." You say in the softest whisper.
He immediately seems nervous, never having had a woman look at him this way, in such a sober setting.
"What? What is it?" He asks, a knot in his stomach, assuming the worst.
"Nothing... I just... Travis, you're beautiful."
The word beautiful seems to short-circuit him. His jaw goes a little slack. No one's ever called him beautiful before.
"Can dicks be beautiful?" He manages to huff out with a laugh. "Is that a thing? 'Cause if they can, you must be looking at someone else's. I think this is pretty standard issue."
He pushes himself up on his elbows, a frown creasing his brow.
"I'm serious," he insists, misreading your awe for something else. "If you don't want to do this, it's okay. You don't have to... lie to make me feel better. I'm a big boy. I can take it."
"Yeah... definitely big boy." You mumble, licking your lips.
The corners of his lips twitch, fighting a smile before he catches it.
"Lady, you just talking about it like that is gonna..." He trails off as you reach down and wrap your hands around him, feeling the velvety weight of him. He lets out a strangled moan, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. "Okay. Okay. That's... yeah. Good. Very good."
You begin to stroke him and he thrusts gently into your fist.
"I have... a condom in my wallet. In my pants. I... fuck... didn't assume or anythin'... I just like to be prepared. You know, for... for... yeah." He's stammering, lost in the pleasure of your touch. "And I was hoping. God, I was hoping so much."
You let go of him reluctantly and he scrambles off the bed, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to his discarded pants. He fumbles for his wallet, pulling out the small foil packet with a triumphant, slightly shaky "Aha!"
He's back on the bed in a second, tearing it open with his teeth. He starts to roll it on, his movements a little clumsy.
"I can do it," you offer, sitting up and taking it from him. Your touch is sure and confident, and he watches, mesmerized, as you smooth the latex down his length.
"Fuck," he breathes, his eyes closed. "Okay. Okay, I'm ready. I think. No, I know I'm ready. But I'm still probably gonna... you know... be quick. It's not you, it's me. I swear. It's the... you. And the... sober thing. And the--"
"Please just shut up and fuck me, Travis."
Your words hit him like a physical jolt. He opens his eyes, and the raw, unadulterated hunger in them takes your breath away.
"Yeah," he says, his voice a low growl. "Yeah. I can do that."
He settles between your legs, the head of him nudging at your entrance. He pauses, looking down at you, a question in his eyes.
"I've never... I've never done this without... like, a bunch of noise, you know?" he confesses, his voice soft.
"I'm sure you're about to hear plenty of it." You say with a smirk.
He chuckles, a low, rumbling sound that you feel more than you hear. "Yeah. Probably."
He pushes into you, slowly, giving you time to adjust to his size. You both gasp at the sensation, the perfect, aching stretch of it.
"Jesus," he chokes out, his head dropping to your shoulder again. "You feel... so good. So fucking good. And I'm not even all the way in yet."
He's taking his time, savoring it, committing every sensation to memory.
"Okay," he says, after what feels like an eternity. "Okay. I think... I think I can move now."
He starts to move, his thrusts slow and deep at first, then a little faster as he finds a rhythm. It's not the practiced, athletic sex you've had before; it's something else, something more earnest, more vulnerable.
And God, it feels amazing. His hands are everywhere, his lips are on yours, and he's whispering a constant stream of praises and observations against your skin as you cry out with each roll of him inside you.
"You're so tight," he's murmuring, his hips pistoning into you. "And so wet. And you're making these little noises. God, those noises. They're gonna... yeah... they're gonna do it."
"Travis... you're so fucking good at this." You whine, wrapping your legs tighter around his waist, pulling him deeper.
The praise seems to unlock something in him. He growls, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto him with each thrust, hitting that spot inside you that makes your vision blur.
"I'm think," he pants, his movements becoming more erratic. "Think I'm just really... motivated."
He's close, you can feel it in the tension coiling in his body, in the way his breath hitches. "I'm trying to hold on. I really am. I want to... I want to feel you come again. But... around my... fuck... around my cock. But you... you're just..."
You feel the tension in you snap, your second orgasm washing over you, even more intense than the first. You cry out his name, your body clenching around him as you pulse with pleasure.
"Shit, yeah," he growls, his rhythm faltering as he follows you over the edge, burying himself deep inside you as he cums with a loud whimper of your name. "Oh, fuck... fuck...fuck. "
He collapses on top of you and you're both panting, your bodies slick with sweat and satisfaction.
After a long moment, he pushes himself up on his elbows, looking down at you with a dazed, happy expression.
"Wow," he says, that slow boyish grin spreading across his face again. "Just... wow."
He's still inside you, and you can feel him start to soften. He carefully pulls out, disposing of the condom in the small trash can by your bed before flopping down beside you.
"I didn't know it could be like that," he says, turning onto his side to face you, propping his head up on his hand. "I mean. It's never been... like that."
"What was it like before?" you ask, tracing the lines of one of his tattoos, a poorly-done snake that looks blown out on the edges.
"Uh..." he thinks about how to phrase it, his eyebrows creasing together. "It's always been... transactional, I guess? Even when it wasn't... you know... a transaction. It was always about getting off. A means to an end. There was never any... this. The talking. And the... looking." He gestures to your face.
"I like looking at you," you say simply.
"Yeah, well," he flushes, looking away for a second. "Nobody's ever said that to me before. And meant it. People look at me, but it's not... it's not like that. It's usually a 'what's this guy up to' kind of look. Not a 'I wanna take him home and have my way with him' look."
You giggle a little and he does too, just happy he can make you smile.
"It's weird, though, right?" he says, suddenly serious. "That we... that I'm your storage guy. And now I'm... naked in your bed." He shakes his head in disbelief. "I'm waiting for the other shoe to drop. For you to realize I'm just... a guy with a record and has some questionable ink and can't stop talking."
"Mmm, you're also a guy who's sweet and considerate and always willing to help. You listen to my ramblings about books and have a great plan for The Book Nook. You also made me see stars twice in one night." You say, moving closer to him.
You lean in and kiss him, a soft, lingering kiss that has nothing to do with lust and everything to do with affection.
"So you wanna... continue doing this? Like on the regular?" He asks, a knot of anxiety forming in his stomach.
He doesn't know what he'll do if you say no.
"Yes. And not just doing... this." You gesture to the bed. "All of it. If that's something you want."
The relief that washes over him is so profound it's almost painful.
"Are you kidding me? Lady, I... I'd be an idiot to say no to that. I'd be the biggest idiot in the history of idiots." He's practically vibrating with excitement. He kisses you again, still smiling through it. When he pulls back, he's just... looking at you. He's looking at your face and your hair and your body. He's memorizing you.
"You know," he says, his voice a soft murmur. "I've been thinking about what you'd look like in my bed too. Not just... in general, but... in my actual bed. The one at my place. It's got this ugly green comforter my cousin gave me. But the mattress is pretty new. And it's... quiet. You can hear the trains at night, if it's not raining. And I was just... thinking about what it would be like to have you there. To wake up with you."
You're quiet for a moment, just looking at him, at the vulnerable hope in his eyes.
"Well, I guess that's the plan for after our next date." You say, a little smirk playing on your lips.
His face lights up, and it's the most beautiful thing you've ever seen.
Summary: Steve discovers that if he plays with your hair for long enough, you will fall asleep on him every single time.
Warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, minors DNI, no use of y/n, established relationship, fluff, sleepy affection, domestic intimacy, kissing, touch-starved steve harrington, comfort fic (lmk if i missed anything)
W/C: 1.2k
Read more of my writing here: [masterlist]
You’re both sprawled across his couch after a movie, the living room lit only by the television and the warm orange lamp beside the window. Rain taps softly against the glass while some terrible late-night advert mutters quietly in the background now that the film’s ended.
You’re tucked against his side beneath one of his old blankets, half talking about something Robin said earlier while Steve absentmindedly plays with your hair.
Not even consciously, really.
Just something his hands started doing at some point during the relationship and never stopped.
Twisting soft strands around his fingers. Scratching lightly against your scalp. Pushing hair back away from your face whenever it falls forward.
Steve likes touching you. This is not exactly new information.
What is new is the fact your voice suddenly cuts off halfway through a sentence.
Steve glances down.
You’re asleep.
Completely asleep.
Mouth slightly parted against his shoulder, breathing slow and even, one hand still loosely curled in the fabric of his t-shirt.
Steve blinks once.
“…seriously?”
You do not respond, mostly because you are unconscious.
Steve stares at you for another few seconds before looking down at his hand still buried in your hair.
Interesting.
The second time it happens, he starts suspecting a pattern.
You’re sitting between his legs on the floor of his bedroom while he half watches a movie over your shoulder and half messes with your hair mindlessly. You’d insisted you weren’t tired less than ten minutes earlier.
“You literally slept till eleven,” Steve reminds you while separating sections of your hair carefully.
“I know,” you mumble. “That’s why I’m not tired.”
“Hm.”
“You’re so annoying.”
“You like me.”
“Unfortunately.”
Steve grins slightly to himself before dragging his nails lightly across your scalp again.
Your shoulders loosen immediately.
Another few minutes pass.
Then, nothing.
No response to his last comment. No movement either.
Steve leans slightly sideways to look at your face properly.
Dead asleep.
Again.
Still sitting upright between his legs.
Steve laughs so suddenly he nearly wakes you back up.
“Oh my god,” he mutters quietly.
By the fourth or fifth occurrence, it becomes less of a coincidence and more of a genuinely ridiculous amount of power for one person to hold.
Especially because Steve starts testing it.
Not maliciously.
Scientifically.
“You’re doing it on purpose now,” you mumble one afternoon, already sounding half asleep despite having argued thirty seconds earlier that you were “definitely awake.”
Steve, stretched out beside you on his bed, continues scratching softly through your hair with an expression of complete innocence.
“Doing what?”
“The hair thing.”
“What hair thing?”
“The…” You frown weakly. “The sleepy thing.”
Steve bites the inside of his cheek hard trying not to laugh.
Because it really is absurd.
You could be fully awake, actively talking, even complaining about not being tired at all, and within ten minutes of Steve touching your hair for long enough you’re suddenly fighting for your life trying to keep your eyes open.
“You’re being dramatic,” he says.
You squint at him suspiciously through obvious exhaustion. “You’re evil.”
“Mhm.”
“You’re like…” Another yawn interrupts you completely. “Like a tranquiliser gun.”
Steve loses it completely at that.
You fall asleep less than five minutes later with your face squashed into his chest while he quietly laughs into your hair.
After that, it becomes sort of unavoidable.
Steve starts noticing all the tiny signs before you even realise you’re tired.
The slower blinking. The way your body gradually gets heavier against him. The increasingly delayed responses during conversations.
And every single time, without fail, the second his fingers slide into your hair properly, you melt.
On the couch.
In bed.
Once in the passenger seat of his car while he waited for Robin to come out of Family Video after locking up.
Another time at the Wheeler’s house with your head in his lap while everyone else argued loudly over a board game around you.
“You cannot be serious,” Dustin says, staring at your sleeping form in disbelief. “How does she keep doing that?”
Steve barely looks up from where he’s still lazily playing with your hair. “Doing what?”
“She was literally talking.”
“Yeah?”
“And now she’s unconscious.”
Steve shrugs like this is completely normal behaviour.
Robin narrows her eyes immediately from the opposite couch.
“Oh, this is definitely psychological.”
Steve scoffs. “What does that even mean?”
“She’s associated you with sleep now.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“It absolutely is,” Robin says. “You Pavlov’d your girlfriend.”
“I did not Pavlov my girlfriend.”
“You basically turned yourself into a human melatonin gummy.”
Steve rolls his eyes, but his hand never stops moving gently through your hair.
Mostly because Robin’s not entirely wrong.
There’s something about the trust of it that affects him more than he expects. The fact you fall asleep so easily against him. The way your whole body relaxes the second he touches you softly enough.
Like some part of you recognises him as safe before you even consciously think about it.
That part gets to him a little if he thinks about it too long.
Which is why he tries not to.
Unfortunately for him, you make this extremely difficult one rainy afternoon a few weeks later.
You’re both curled together in his bed while thunder rumbles softly outside, Steve lazily tracing shapes against your scalp while you blink sleepily up at him.
“You know,” you mumble eventually, “I think my body’s accidentally been trained.”
Steve grins immediately. “Finally admitting it?”
“This is your fault.”
“My fault you’re always sleepy?”
“My fault for trusting you enough to fall asleep this much.”
The smile slips slightly from Steve’s face at that.
You notice immediately, even half asleep.
“What?”
Steve looks down at you quietly for a second before shrugging one shoulder.
“Nothing.”
“Steve.”
His fingers slow slightly in your hair.
“It’s just…” He huffs softly through his nose. “I dunno. Kinda nice, I guess.”
Your expression softens immediately.
Because there it is.
The actual thing sitting underneath all the teasing.
Steve likes being trusted.
Likes being needed in these tiny quiet ways that nobody else really notices.
The way you automatically reach for his hand crossing roads. The way you sleep better beside him. The way you unconsciously move closer every time you’re tired.
You shift upwards slightly against his chest until you can kiss him properly.
Steve kisses you back slowly, one hand still tangled gently in your hair.
“I genuinely think this is my favourite thing.”
Your lips twitch.
“Me falling asleep?”
“No.” Steve smiles faintly. “You trusting me enough to.”
Something warm twists painfully through your chest.
You kiss him again before you can think too hard about it.
Steve’s fingers slide slowly through your hair once more afterwards, scratching lightly against your scalp in that familiar absentminded rhythm.
Dangerous.
You narrow your eyes immediately. “Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“You know exactly what.”
Steve looks deeply unconvincing. “I’m just touching your hair.”
“You’re literally weaponising affection.”
Steve starts laughing quietly while you attempt to glare at him through increasingly heavy eyelids.
“You’re already falling asleep,” he says.
“No I’m not.”
“You just blinked for like six seconds.”
“That means nothing.”
Steve grins down at you, still gently combing his fingers through your hair.
“You’re done for, sweetheart.”
You open your mouth to argue.
Then immediately yawn instead.
Steve looks so unbearably pleased with himself that you weakly shove at his chest in protest.
It does absolutely nothing.
Mostly because less than ten minutes later, you’re asleep against him again.
And Steve, unfortunately, looks far too happy about it.
🎟️FOR MY FIRST REQUEST DEAREST CINEPHILE, I would like young at heart with perhaps some hurt to comfort for Eddie!🎟️
Thinking about an older Eddie who's been into you for a while but he isn't sure how to make the first step (deep down inside he's still anxious about being "a freak") but then your car breaks down and he's all the more ready to fix it. The pressure builds up, a confession explodes, you both scream, but finally he brings you some flowers (and a finalized car)
-🪦
THIS HAS BEEN IN MY ASK SINCE LAST YEAR IM SO SORRY 😞 This is for you sluggy! I hope you feel better!! ❤️
Pairing: Eddie Munson x fem! Reader
Word count: 2k
Tags: No use of Y/N, no specific physical description of the reader except for clothing, established relationship, mechanic! Eddie, canon divergence, a bit of loser! Eddie, fluff!
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Katy's summer flick screening
The sun grills Eddie’s arm as it dangles from the old van window, its paint is chipping that he could feel it graze the pads of his fingers. Metal music blares from the speakers, muffling the sound of the engine as he goes flat out on the empty highway out of Hawkins. He’s in a bad mood, more than usual since he hasn’t seen you in weeks. Weeks without seeing your smile, weeks without hearing how you utter his name lovingly every time he fixed your old beaten up car for you. It’s like he hasn’t drank water in days, or felt the sunshine on his skin in years. It’s an over exaggeration, he knows that, but that's how harsh his longing is.
For the past year, every other week or so you’d be at the shop, almost in near tears whenever something breaks down in your car. He has told you numerous times that it’s ancient and should be sold for scrap at that point, but you kept it for sentimentalities sake. You love that car, an old cherry red miata that has a story from every scratch and every dent on it. But recently though, you come through the garage with a smile, and a box of donuts for him and his uncle. No tears, no worried wringing of your hands, just all smiles and gentle eyes that he could feel gaze at him whenever he pops the hood of your car to check the pristine engine.
Sometimes he swears that you only come to the garage just to see him. But that’s just wishful thinking on his part when he’s still the same Eddie ‘the freak’ Munson from high school who still hangs out in his friend’s basement to play D&D with them till the sun rises. When you’re all sunshine and flowy summer dresses with that same beaming smile he finds so endearing. If he went to high school with you back then you’d be one of the popular girls that would ignore him in favour of your jock boyfriend. You don’t deserve a man whose hands are always coated in oil grease, and a wardrobe consisting of old faded tees and mechanic overalls covered in paint and oil. Or at least, that’s what Eddie thinks as he speeds down on the highway during a searing summer heat that has his mouth dry and sweat rolling down his nape.
Despite the opened window and his hair tied in a ponytail, it doesn’t grant him much reprieve from the heat, nor for the longing. He feels like a lovelorn schoolboy waiting for his crush to pass by the hallways and acknowledge him with a quick wave.
Eddie’s already late for the house call that he reluctantly took for some quick cash, it’s out of his way but the old lady on the phone was sweet and promised a generous tip once he finishes fixing the brakes in her van. His lashes flutter as he could see the heat coming off in waves whilst he drives by a cherry red miata broken down on the side of the road.
Wait.
He breaks so harshly that he’s sure that he got whiplash.
The van goes to an abrupt stop with the squeak of the tires, and he could see a figure waving him down from his side mirror. A very familiar figure in that familiar yellow sundress with daffodils on it.
“Holy shit.” Eddie swallows thickly, blinking and rubbing at his eyes in case you were a mirage. He lowers the music to see you better.
Once you make it to his side of the van, you’re heaving and sweating underneath a sun hat.
“Fuck, you know how to make a girl run after you, huh?” Your cheeks feel like fire, sweat clinging onto your brows as you smile at him despite the sweltering heat. “Just my luck to see a mechanic pass by. Hi, Eddie.”
“Hi?” He doesn’t mean it to be a question, so he clears his throat, hoping that you didn’t notice his small fumble. “Hey, you good, sweetheart?”
“My baby broke down,” wincing, you suck in your teeth as you look at him apologetically. “Right when I’m already so close to Hawkins.”
Eddie blinks like a fish out of water. He just now acknowledges how much he missed you, an awful feeling when he really really wants to charm you when you’re the one who has effortlessly charmed him.
“Yeah, can I check your car?”
“Please, I’ve been praying to hear those words today.” Your relief is palpable as you step aside for Eddie to get out of the van. “Sorry to bother you, Eds.”
“You’re never a bother.” He lets out without much thinking. He’d take it back but the softened look on your face says that you liked that line, so he mentally pats himself on the back. “What happened?” The sun bears down upon him and he instantly melts like fallen ice cream on pavement.
Eddie follows you closely, but not too close when the heat makes every movement uncomfortable. He keeps a lookout for any cars on the road, an arm ready to push you away if one gets too close for comfort.
“I was on my way home from my cousin’s place and well, I think my baby couldn’t handle the added weight.” Stopping behind the car, he immediately sees the amount of luggages and bags in the backseat while the roof is down. “I thought it could after the upgrade you gave her last time.”
“Well, it looks like she at least got you there without a problem.” Eddie wipes at the sweat collecting at his nape.
“Yeah,” you chuckle, and it sounds like music to his ears. But not like metal music, more akin to a soft jazz, or a classical that his uncle occasionally listens to unwind at the end of the day, one that he confesses he has grown fond of. “Got me into all sorts of places.”
Eddie has to blink lest he’s mesmerized by the pretty expression you have on. “That’s good,” is all he could muster as he goes to pop open the smoking hood, and just like he suspected, the engine is overheating. Coughing, he fans away the smoke from his face to get a better look. “What sort of places?”
“The mountains,” you sigh wistfully, leaning against the car door as your head tilts to take a look at how his biceps flex peeking from his old t-shirt that he snipped the sleeves off with kitchen scissors. “They were huge, and…” you get lost in his biceps.
“What?” Eddie pokes his head out from under the hood, face reddened from the steam and absolutely sweating through his shirt. “Sorry, sweetheart, I didn’t hear you.”
“Nothing,” you shake your head, acting innocent. “I said that my vacation was fun.”
Vacation, Eddie feels so dumb now. You weren’t avoiding him or that you moved away, you were just out on vacation enjoying yourself. But that doesn’t mean that his longing was entirely unfounded. He did truly miss you.
“That’s great that you had fun.” He sends you a wobbly smile, too bashful to give you a full grin. “Listen, it’s just overheated, it’ll cool down on its own. I have some water in my van that should make quick work of it.”
Your sigh in relief. “Thank fuck, I thought I busted the engine again. Thank you, I should just wait here until it cools down.”
Eddie pauses midstep back to the van. “In this heat?”
You chuckle with a shrug. “As if I have a choice.”
“Sweetheart, you’ll cook and probably die of heatstroke.” He facepalms himself mentally after saying such a morbid thing.
To his surprise, you laugh, a good laugh that rumbles your chest and sends him into a tizzy. “Yeah, probably, I’ll haunt you if I do.”
“What if…” biting his lip and clawing at the back of his neck that will surely be sun burned, Eddie tries something that has his heart racing. “What if you come with me? I–I have a house call fifteen minutes away from here but it’ll be a quick job and then I’ll get you back here. By then your baby would’ve cooled off. Just make sure we close the roof or else your stuff won’t be here when we get back.”
“You sure?” Your heart beats a thousand miles per second. “I don’t want to intrude.”
“Yeah,” he shrugs nonchalantly even though it’s the least nonchalant feeling he has ever felt. “It’ll be like a date— I mean.” Fuck, he shouldn’t have let his mouth run before his own thoughts could. “Shit, that’s not what I meant, I just—”
“So it’s not a date?” Taking a deep breath, you pick at your nail as you look at him bashfully. “I’d be disappointed if it’s not.”
“Wait, what?” He’s fifty percent sure that you’re just a mirage. “I–I don’t, I don’t even have flowers for you.”
You step closer, batting your lashes as you chuckle softly, utterly endeared. “I’ll live.”
“Yeah, but, it’s just a housecall to an old lady’s house. Her car probably smells like… old people.”
“I’m fine with that.” Shrugging, you feel the gnawing doubt, maybe you read him wrong? That all the longing glances and fluttered lashes aimed at you were nothing more than just Eddie being Eddie? What his uncle told you one afternoon after you brought in coffee for them was also him misreading his nephew? This man is still a mystery to you, thank goodness you love uncovering mysteries. But if the mystery wants to remain unsolved then you just have to accept it. “It’s— I’m sorry, you’re right, it’s not a date. You’re just trying to be nice so I don’t burn here.”
Shit, Eddie feels like his heart is about to burst out of him. “Yeah, I mean…fuck, not really.”
“Not really?” Brows furrowed, you bite the inside of your cheek. “Shit, Eddie, I’m sorry for making you uncomfortable I thought you liked me and I—”
“Uncomfortable?” Sweat trickles down his temple, a hand reaching out to you out of instinct before moving away. “I’m not uncomfortable.”
His whole shaky and sweaty demeanor says otherwise.
“You sure look like it though.” You answer with a low voice, hands wringing around the other up your front. “Do I make you uncomfortable? I didn’t mean to, I just thought that you’re a great guy and I wanted to be friends with you, no strings attached— and then after what your uncle told me—”
“What did my uncle tell you?” Eddie’s sirens go off inside his head. He’s in full panic mode. What the fuck did his uncle tell you?
“Just that, you like me?” You utter with an apologetic wince. “He’s probably wrong but, it made me like you even more, y’know? That you feel the same way.”
“More?” Repeating your words, Eddie stands there under the heat like a cooked salmon. Red ears and all. “You like me?” Eddie points at himself, befuddled.
“Yeah,” your lips curl into a soft smile and a sigh akin to a chuckle. “For some time now. I don’t bring donuts to anyone, and I just don’t drop by every time my car makes a sound because of it, y’know. I…just wanted to see you is all.”
“I thought you were just being nice, sweetheart.” Eddie steps forward first, and you meet him halfway with your pinky intertwining with his own. He’d hold your hand fully if not for this blasted heat. “But you were being nice to me.”
“Yeah, because I like you.” His ears are the same color as your car. “Is your offer still up?” Squeezing his pinky, you gaze into his eyes affectionately that you swear you heard his breath hitch. “I don’t mind waiting, I’ve waited this long.”
“Yeah, but next time though, I’ll bring you flowers.” Eddie tenderly squeezes your pinky. Damn the heat, he slides his hand into yours properly, and intertwines his fingers with your own. Then he takes it to his lips, pressing a chaste kiss right above your pulse point.
Your grin could rival the sunshine at how bright it is. “Deal.”
Summary: You and Steve, but its in his golden retriever personality to be unable to stay mad at you
A/N: Slightly inspired by Im gonna miss you by milli vanilli if you couldn't tell from the title
It started over nothing.
Not nothing exactly, because in the moment it felt like something. It felt sharp and annoying and personal in the way small arguments sometimes do when both people are tired, when both people are saying things a little too quickly and listening a little too late.
But looking back, it was nothing.
Steve had been late. Only twenty minutes, which was not the end of the world, but you had been waiting outside the video store for him with your arms folded against the evening chill, pretending you weren’t checking your watch every few minutes and pretending even harder that you weren’t starting to feel stupid for standing there alone.
By the time his car finally pulled into the parking lot, music drifting low through the open window, you had already told yourself you weren’t going to make a thing of it. You were just going to get in, let him apologise, and move on, because it was Steve and you missed him and you didn’t want to waste the night being annoyed.
Then he leaned across the passenger seat, pushed the door open for you, and gave you a rushed little smile.
“Hey,” he said, trying for casual. “Sorry. Got held up.”
That was all.
You climbed in and shut the door harder than you meant to, the sound filling the car before you could pretend you hadn’t done it on purpose.
Steve glanced over at you, one hand still resting on the gear stick. “Okay. That sounded personal.”
“It wasn’t,” you said, looking ahead.
“It definitely was.”
“I’m fine.”
Steve stared at you for a second, and even without looking at him properly, you could feel the way his attention settled on the side of your face. “That’s not a fine face.”
You turned to him. “I don’t have a fine face.”
“Yeah, you do. It’s this little…” He gestured vaguely, as if drawing your expression in the air. “Tight mouth thing.”
“Maybe I wouldn’t have a tight mouth thing if you weren’t always late.”
Steve blinked, like he hadn’t expected the conversation to turn that quickly. For a second, there was still room for him to soften, still room for you to smile and make it less serious than it sounded, but neither of you took the chance.
“I said I was sorry,” he said.
“You said you got held up.”
“Okay, and then I said sorry.”
“Barely.”
He let out a small laugh, but there was no humour in it, only frustration starting to edge into his voice. “What do you want me to do, get on my knees in the parking lot?”
“No, Steve. I want you to show up when you say you will.”
The car went quiet.
Steve looked away first, pulling out of the parking lot with his jaw set and his hand a little too tight on the steering wheel. “I’m twenty minutes late.”
“You’re always twenty minutes late.”
“That’s not true.”
“It kind of is.”
“Right,” he said, nodding once as he looked at the road. “Okay. So we’re doing this.”
You frowned. “Doing what?”
“The thing where one small thing suddenly means I’m the worst boyfriend in Hawkins.”
“I never said that.”
“You’re acting like it.”
“I’m acting like I’m annoyed because I was waiting for you.”
“And I’m acting like I’m sorry because I was late.”
“No, you’re acting like I’m dramatic for being annoyed.”
Steve glanced at you, his eyebrows lifting before he could stop himself. “You are being a little dramatic.”
The second he said it, you both felt the shift.
Your face dropped, and Steve’s expression changed too, just enough to show he knew he had said the wrong thing. But pride got there before the apology did, and instead of taking it back, he tightened his grip on the wheel and stared ahead.
“Seriously?” you said.
He exhaled through his nose. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Yes, you did.”
“No, I meant-” He stopped himself, shaking his head as if he already knew whatever came next would make it worse. “Forget it.”
You turned toward the window, watching the passing streetlights blur into soft gold lines against the glass.
Fine.
If he wanted to forget it, you would forget it.
Except neither of you did.
The silence stretched all the way to your house, but it did not make anything better. It only gave you both more time to sit in everything you had said, more time to replay the little digs, more time to feel hurt without admitting that was what you were feeling.
When Steve finally pulled up outside your house, he parked by the curb but left the engine running, one hand still on the wheel like he was already halfway to leaving.
That annoyed you even more, partly because you knew he was probably just unsure what to do, and partly because you hated that he was making you ask.
“You can come in, you know,” you said, though your tone made it sound more like a challenge than an invitation.
Steve looked at you carefully. “Do you want me to?”
“Do you want to?”
He gave a frustrated little laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Why are you answering everything with another question?”
“Why are you acting like being here is a chore?”
“I’m not.”
“You literally haven’t turned the car off.”
Steve looked at the keys, then back at you. “Because I didn’t know if you wanted me to come in.”
“You could ask.”
“I just did.”
“No, you asked like you were hoping I’d say no.”
He leaned back in his seat, his shoulders tense and his expression caught somewhere between hurt and irritation. “I can’t win with you tonight.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
You turned to him fully. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means I’m trying, and everything I say is apparently wrong.”
“You’re not trying. You’re defending yourself.”
“Because you’re acting like I did something awful.”
“I’m acting like I wanted to spend time with you and you showed up late, then made me feel stupid for caring.”
Steve’s expression changed for a second. Softer. Guilty. Like the words had actually reached him.
But then he looked away.
“I didn’t make you feel stupid.”
The softness in you closed again, because for one tiny moment you had thought he understood, and then he had gone straight back to proving his point.
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“I’m not deciding it. I’m saying that wasn’t what I meant.”
“But it is what you did.”
Steve’s fingers tapped once against the wheel. “Okay. So what do you want me to say?”
The question came out tired, but it sounded dismissive, like he was asking for the correct answer instead of actually wanting to understand you.
You stared at him. “Wow.”
“What?”
“Nothing makes a girl feel loved like her boyfriend asking what line he’s supposed to say to stop the argument.”
Steve closed his eyes briefly. “That is not what I meant.”
“Then maybe think before you say things.”
He looked at you then, and for half a second, the hurt on his face was plain before he covered it with a harder expression. “I do think.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
The car went silent.
You regretted it almost immediately. Not enough to say so, not yet, but enough for your stomach to twist and for your fingers to curl slightly in your lap.
Steve looked forward, his jaw tight. “Nice.”
You swallowed. “Steve-”
“No, it’s fine.” He nodded once, eyes fixed on the road ahead even though the car was still parked. “Apparently I don’t think. I don’t try. I’m always late. Got it.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“That is exactly what you said.”
“No, it’s what you’re choosing to hear.”
He laughed under his breath, bitter this time, and you hated it. You hated the way it made you feel like he had already decided you were impossible, like he had stopped seeing why you were hurt and only saw the argument itself.
“Right,” he said. “Yeah. Of course.”
“You know what?” you said, reaching for the door handle because leaving suddenly felt easier than staying there and letting the whole thing get worse. “Forget it.”
Steve turned his head. “Seriously?”
“What?”
“You’re just leaving?”
“You were clearly about to anyway.”
“I was parked outside your house.”
“With the engine still on.”
“Because we were talking.”
“No, we were arguing.”
“Yeah,” he said, his voice rising slightly now, “because you’re mad at me for being late, and I’m trying to explain-”
“You’re not explaining, Steve. You’re making excuses.”
That did it.
His expression shut down.
“Fine,” he said.
The word landed between you like a door slamming.
You waited for him to say something else. To soften. To reach for your hand. To do any of the things he usually did when he realised you were both going too far.
But he didn’t.
He just stared ahead, breathing hard through his nose, and the longer he said nothing, the more impossible it felt for you to say anything either.
Your hand tightened on the door handle.
Fine.
You opened the door and got out.
The cold air hit you instantly, but you barely felt it as you shut the door, harder than you meant to, and started toward your house. Behind you, Steve didn’t drive away, and for one second you thought he might get out.
You wanted him to.
You wanted to hear his car door open. You wanted him to call your name, to come after you, to say the whole thing had been stupid and he was sorry and could you both please just stop before you said something else you couldn’t take back.
But nothing happened.
So you kept walking.
When you reached your front door, you glanced back despite yourself.
Steve was still there, hands on the wheel, head lowered slightly, and for one tiny second your anger wavered because he looked less angry than lost.
Then his headlights shifted as he pulled away from the curb.
Your chest tightened.
Fine.
If he could leave, then you could let him.
You went inside without looking back again.
Hours later, the argument felt even stupider.
That was the worst part.
It hadn’t been about anything serious, not really. It had started with Steve being late, then a comment, then a look, then him saying something sharper than he meant to and you snapping back before you could stop yourself. Within minutes, it had grown into something neither of you knew how to get out of without being the first one to back down.
Now you could barely remember who had actually started it.
All you knew was that Steve had left with his jaw tight and his hands fixed on the steering wheel, and you had let him go because you were too proud to ask him to stay.
You told yourself you weren’t waiting for him.
You weren’t.
You were just sitting on your bed, staring at the same page of your book for the past twenty minutes because the words would not settle in your head. Every little noise outside made your eyes flick toward the window, and every time the phone stayed silent, your chest pulled a little tighter.
He was probably still mad.
Fine.
You were still mad too.
At least, you were trying to be.
You had replayed the argument so many times that the words had started to blur together. One second you remembered Steve’s face when you snapped at him, the way his expression had dropped before he covered it with irritation, and the next you remembered him looking away from you, muttering something under his breath like he didn’t trust himself to speak properly.
You hated that part most.
Not because he had left, exactly, but because you had stood there and watched him go. You had waited for him to turn around. You had wanted him to. But when he didn’t, you had folded your arms, lifted your chin, and pretended you didn’t care.
You cared.
Far too much.
Your room felt quieter without him in it. Usually, Steve had a way of filling the space even when he wasn’t doing much. He would sit at the end of your bed and flick through one of your magazines, making little comments under his breath, or he would complain that your window was impossible to open even though he still insisted on climbing through it half the time.
Now, the silence felt pointed.
Lonely.
You closed your book and threw it lightly beside you before pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes.
“I’m not apologising first,” you muttered to yourself.
The sentence sounded childish out loud, which only made you more annoyed.
Then there was a knock at your window.
You froze.
For a second, you thought you had imagined it. Then another knock came, quieter this time, followed by a familiar voice through the glass.
“Don’t throw anything at me.”
Your heart betrayed you immediately.
You got up slowly, pulling the curtain back to find Steve Harrington standing outside your window, hair slightly messy and jacket zipped halfway, holding a paper bag in one hand and looking far less confident than he usually tried to.
For a second, neither of you moved.
Then he gave you a small, awkward wave with the hand holding the bag.
You opened the window but didn’t move aside yet. “What are you doing here?”
Steve looked down at the bag, then back at you. “I brought you something.”
You glanced at it. “Is that supposed to fix everything?”
“No,” he said quickly. “No, I know it doesn’t. I just…” He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as his eyes dropped from yours. “It’s your favourite snack.”
Your expression softened before you could stop it.
Of course he remembered.
Steve noticed things like that, even when he pretended he didn’t. He remembered which flavour you picked out first, how you always claimed you weren’t hungry and then stole half of his food anyway, and the small details you mentioned once and forgot about until he brought them back to you like they mattered.
“I’m still mad at you,” you said, but your voice had lost most of its edge.
“I know.”
“And you were being annoying.”
“I know.”
“And stubborn.”
He raised his eyebrows slightly. “Okay, that one feels a little unfair coming from you.”
You gave him a look.
Steve immediately nodded. “Right. Not the time.”
For a moment, the silence sat between you both. It wasn’t heavy like before, but it was awkward and careful, like both of you were standing on opposite sides of something fragile and neither wanted to be the one to break it again.
Then Steve held the bag out a little.
“I miss you,” he said.
It was quiet, so quiet you almost thought you had imagined it.
Your throat tightened.
Steve looked embarrassed as soon as the words left his mouth, his eyes dropping to the window ledge as he let out a small breath. “I know it’s only been a few hours, and I know that sounds dramatic, but I do. I hate fighting with you. I hate walking away and pretending I’m fine when I’m just driving around like an idiot, thinking about what I should’ve said instead.”
You looked at him for a long moment.
The anger you had been holding onto felt smaller now, not gone completely, but softer around the edges.
“You were driving around?” you asked.
Steve huffed, glancing away. “Yeah.”
“Steve.”
“I know.”
“That’s very dramatic.”
He looked back at you. “I literally just said that.”
A tiny smile pulled at your mouth, and Steve’s shoulders dropped like that one small reaction had taken half the weight off him.
“I didn’t know where else to go,” he admitted. “I went past Family Video twice. Then Dustin’s house, but I didn’t stop because I knew he’d somehow make it worse. Then I ended up buying that.” He nodded toward the bag. “And then I sat in my car for ten minutes trying to decide if showing up here made me look pathetic.”
You bit the inside of your cheek. “A little.”
Steve sighed. “Great. Love that.”
“But in a sweet way.”
His eyes flicked back to yours. “Yeah?”
You nodded, softer now. “Yeah.”
Steve swallowed, his hand still resting on the window frame. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For what I said. And for leaving like that. I shouldn’t have.”
You looked down at the bag in your hands, the paper crinkling under your fingers.
“I’m sorry too,” you said quietly. “I shouldn’t have snapped at you.”
“You kind of had a reason.”
“So did you.”
“Maybe,” he said, though he didn’t sound convinced. “But I still hated it. The second I walked away, I hated it.”
You glanced up at him.
Steve’s face had gone serious in that way it sometimes did when he was trying not to joke his way out of something. His hair was falling slightly out of place, and there was a nervous little crease between his brows.
“I don’t want us to be like that,” he said. “The whole saying things just to win thing. I don’t want to win if it means you look at me like that after.”
Your chest ached because you knew exactly what he meant. You had both been trying so hard to prove a point that neither of you had stopped to listen properly, and now that the anger had thinned out, all that was left underneath it was how much you hated being apart from him.
“I don’t either,” you said.
Another silence passed, but this one felt different.
Gentler.
You finally stepped back from the window. “Are you coming in or are you planning to stand there looking sad all night?”
Steve blinked, then pointed at himself. “I looked sad?”
“You looked very sad.”
“I was going for regretful.”
“Same thing.”
He started to climb through the window, which would have been much more graceful if his foot had not caught on the frame halfway in.
“Careful,” you said, grabbing his arm.
“I’m fine,” Steve said quickly, despite nearly falling into your room. “Totally fine. Very smooth.”
“You almost face-planted.”
“Didn’t, though.”
You shook your head, but you were smiling properly now, and Steve noticed that too.
Once he was inside, he stood in front of you, close enough that you could smell his cologne and the cold air still clinging to his jacket. For a moment, neither of you said anything, and then Steve reached out gently, his fingers brushing your sleeve like he still wasn’t completely sure he was allowed to touch you.
“I really did miss you,” he said again, softer this time.
Your chest warmed.
You leaned into him before you could overthink it, wrapping your arms around his waist, and Steve didn’t hesitate. He pulled you in immediately, one hand settling against your back while the other cradled the back of your head, holding you like he had been waiting all night to do it.
For a while, neither of you moved.
His hold was firm, almost like he was trying to apologise through it, like he wanted you to understand all the things he had been too stubborn to say earlier.
“I was waiting for you to apologise first,” you mumbled into his jacket.
Steve laughed under his breath. “Yeah, me too.”
“That was stupid.”
“Really stupid.”
“You’re still stubborn.”
“So are you.”
You pulled back just enough to look at him, and Steve’s mouth twitched.
“But, like, in a cute way.”
“Careful.”
“Right. Sorry.”
You shook your head, trying not to laugh as he leaned down and pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. It was slow and soft, lingering just long enough to make your eyes close.
When he pulled back, he brushed his thumb lightly over your sleeve.
“Next time,” he said, “we should probably not wait hours to say sorry.”
“Probably not.”
“And maybe one of us should be the bigger person.”
You looked at him.
He nodded seriously. “I vote you.”
You shoved his shoulder lightly. “Steve.”
“What? You’re very emotionally mature.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“And yet you missed me.”
You tried to glare at him, but it came out too fond to work.
Steve smiled, warm and pleased, then reached for the paper bag still sitting between you. “So,” he said, holding it up, “am I forgiven enough to share these, or is this more of a peace offering I have to surrender completely?”
You took the bag from him. “I’ll think about it.”
“That means yes.”
“That means sit down.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
He kicked off his shoes and sat on the edge of your bed like he belonged there, because he did. You joined him a second later, the space between you smaller than it had been all night, and Steve watched as you opened the bag, his knee brushing yours.
“You really remembered my favourite?” you asked.
He looked almost offended. “Of course I remembered.”
“I’m just checking.”
“I remember everything.”
You raised an eyebrow.
Steve paused. “Okay, not everything. But important things.”
Your smile softened.
He nudged your knee gently with his. “You’re important.”
The words were simple, but they settled into you anyway.
You leaned your head against his shoulder, and Steve shifted at once, making room for you like it was instinct. His arm came around you a moment later, warm and familiar, and for a few minutes neither of you said much at all.
The argument wasn’t fixed all at once, not completely. There were still things to talk about, still feelings to untangle, still apologies that would mean more because of what happened after them rather than what was said in the moment. But Steve was there, holding you like he didn’t want to let go, and your favourite snack was sitting between you like a tiny peace offering.
When he pressed another kiss to the top of your head and whispered, “Still mad?”
You looked up at him, pretending to consider it.
“A little.”
Steve nodded. “Fair.”
“But less.”
His smile came back, soft and relieved. “I can work with less.”
the moment you first sink down onto kurt’s cock, he’s immediately moaning, lost in a pleasure he’s never felt before. your tight, soaking wet cunt closes around him, sucking him in deeper. he whimpers and a small smirk curls onto your lips. his hands bunch into the bedsheets below him and you guide his hands to your hips before brushing some of his sweaty hair away from his eyes. “that feel good, baby?” you ask and he nods with a pathetic whine, his face scrunching in pleasure as you raise your hips for the first time. “you gonna be a good boy for me and take it?” the way he throws his head back with a moan should’ve been enough of an answer, but then kurt whimpers out a broken, “yes, mommy.” and you’re gushing around him. you start to bounce up and down on his cock, keeping one hand on his chest, brushing through his chest hair, and the other curled in the sweaty hair on his head, tugging enough to make him moan. “please, mommy, feels so good.” you continue to ride him, fingers tangled in hair as he squeezes your hips. “you’re so good, baby.” you praise him softly and he whimpers again, his eyes squeezing shut has his face screws up in pleasure. “are you close? gonna cum for mommy?” your tone is sweet, yet almost condescending as kurt nods frantically, whimpering as you bounce faster. “come on, baby, cum for me.” you whisper in his ear and he moans loudly, spilling inside of you. “fuck, mommy… so good.” he mumbles and you giggle, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “good boy.”
A Deal With the Harrington's. Part 5 - Steve Harrington imagine.
(Rich Steve Harrington x fem!reader)
part 1. part 2. part 3. part 4.
Summary: When you and your mother are on the verge of losing everything, the Harringtons offer you a deal you can’t refuse: marry their son, Steve, in exchange for clearing her debts and saving your home. It leaves you with no real choice but to agree.
word count: 6,002
Warnings: arranged marriage/forced engagement. Angst. Emotional distress. sadness. fear of loss. car accident. mentions of grief and death.
A/N: sorry for the long wait after a cliff hanger, that's diabolical and I'm sorry. My dumbass broke my only computer charger and I had no way to write the next part 😭 but I got a new charger and so here it is and hopefully it will get better from here? idk yet...
“This is St. Mary’s Hospital. We’re calling about your mother.”
…
“Ma’am?” the voice prompted gently, like they were trying not to startle you back into your body.
You couldn’t answer because it felt like if you did, it would make this situation too real in a way you weren’t ready to survive, so you just stayed there. Completely frozen—like maybe if you didn’t respond, the moment would lose its shape and you could somehow pull yourself back to before it happened.
You swallowed, forcing yourself back to the present because the moment wasn’t going away no matter how hard you tried to snap out of it. A sharp ringing filled your ears, dulling everything else, like the world had turned distant and underwater, swallowing whatever coherent thoughts you were trying to hold onto.
“What… about my mom?”
Another pause. Papers shifting on the other end. A practiced inhale, the kind people use when they’ve said this too many times and still haven’t learned how to make it sound normal.
“There’s been an accident,” the woman finally said. “Your mother was involved in a vehicle collision. She was transported to St. Mary’s by paramedics a short while ago.”
A car accident?
Your stomach dropped. The words echoed around your head without settling anywhere.
A car accident.
Your mom.
This was the kind of thing that happened to other people. Other families. Not yours. Not now. Not when everything already felt like it was falling apart. The thought hit so hard it almost hurt.
How much more could possibly go wrong?
You had seen her just a couple days ago. She was fine then, completely normal, alive in a way that felt so certain you hadn’t even thought to question it. So why was this woman informing you about an accident?
“…Is she—” Your voice cracked halfway through the question, so you stopped and tried again. “Is she okay?”
“We’re treating her now,” the voice replied carefully. It wasn’t a yes but it wasn’t a no. She said it in such a careful manner you weren’t sure how to react to it. “She’s stable at the moment, but we need you to come in as soon as possible. Are you able to get here?”
Stable.
That word should have helped ground you, but it didn’t. It wasn’t clear enough to hold onto. It could mean too many things—someone resting, someone unconscious, someone slipping just out of reach. Stable didn’t mean okay and it didn’t mean safe. It just meant everything was still happening and you had no control whatsoever—like everything else in your life.
You nodded before you realized they couldn’t see you. “Yes. I—yeah. I can come.”
“Okay,” the voice said, softer now. “Do you have someone who can drive you?”
For a second, your mind went blank again. Like it couldn’t decide where to reach first. Upstairs. The house. Keys. Car. Someone. Steve. Anyone. “I… I can—” You looked toward the staircase where Steve was residing upstairs without seeing it. “I’ll figure it out.”
“Alright,” the lady said. “We’ll be here when you arrive. Do you understand the location?”
“Yes,” you said automatically.
Another pause, shorter this time. “We’re sorry you’re going through this.”
The line clicked, and then there was nothing but a flat dial tone. You stayed there anyway, the phone still pressed to your ear, like if you let go, the moment would become permanent in a way you couldn’t undo.
You finally lowered the phone slowly, like it might break if you moved too fast. And for the first time since the call started, your brain caught up just enough to form one clear thought:
You had to get to the hospital.
You didn’t even realize you were moving until you were already at the bottom of the stairs.
“Steve—” Your voice cracked halfway through his name, sharp and wrong in the quiet house.
“Steve!” you yelled and it came out louder this time, raw enough that it finally pulled him out of wherever he’d gone upstairs. A door opened. Fast footsteps followed, uneven at first, then quickening when he heard you properly.
“Hey—hey, what’s going on?” he called back, already on the stairs. At first, he must have thought you were going to say something about the almost-kiss the two of you had shared moments ago, but your best guess was that whatever he saw in your face the second he caught sight of you made him drop that idea immediately.
He stopped halfway down like he’d hit something invisible. Your face was pale in a way that didn’t look like shock so much as collapse, and your hands were shaking so badly you didn’t even seem to notice it yourself, like your body had started reacting before your mind could catch up. Your breathing wasn’t steady enough to feel like breathing at all, just short uneven pulls of air that didn’t seem to do anything to help.
Whatever had been between you earlier—whatever tension, whatever almost-kiss—was gone. Completely erased. There wasn’t space for it here. It didn’t matter now.
“Talk to me,” he said, softer now, moving the rest of the way down but slower, careful. “What happened?”
You tried to speak, but it came out broken. “My mom—” You swallowed hard, like it hurt. “There was—there was an accident.”
Steve’s expression shifted immediately. The teasing, the awkwardness, everything dropped away. “Oh—okay. Okay,” he said quickly, already moving before he finished processing it. “Where is she? Is she—”
“I don’t know,” you blurted, words spilling too fast now that they’d started. “Hospital. St. Mary’s. They called. I need—I need to get there. Please—can you just—can you drive me?” Your voice cracked again on the last word, and it was like whatever hesitation he might’ve had never even existed.
“Yeah,” Steve said immediately.
No pause. No question.
“Yeah, of course. Come on.”
Steve didn’t waste time asking questions. Before the silence could settle between you again, he was already grabbing his jacket from the back of a chair and shrugging it on. “We’ll go right now.”
He pulled open the front door, and a rush of cold air swept inside. It didn’t calm you, but it gave you something to focus on—something other than the panic threatening to take over.
You stepped outside almost automatically, and Steve followed close behind, locking the door as he went. The walk down the driveway felt strangely unreal, your thoughts moving too fast for the rest of you to keep up.
Steve reached the car first and opened the passenger door.
When you hesitated, his expression softened. “Hey, it’s gonna be alright,” he said quietly. “Just get in, okay?”
You nodded and climbed into the car.
Steve shut your door, circled around, and slid into the driver’s seat. The engine turned over with a rough hum, real and ordinary in a way that felt wrong.
For a second, neither of you spoke.
Then he pulled out of the driveway, one hand tight on the wheel. “You’re gonna get there,” he said after a moment, quieter now. “We’re going right now.”
And the streetlights blurred past as the house disappeared behind you.
- -
The hospital doors slid open too slowly. Or maybe you were moving too fast.
The automatic glass parted with a soft mechanical sigh, and the smell hit you first. Cleaning chemicals, stale air, something faintly metallic underneath it all. Bright lights buzzed overhead, too white, too awake for the time of night.
Steve was right behind you the whole way in, close enough that you could feel him there without needing to look.
“St. Mary’s—my mom—there was a call—” you started at the front desk, words tumbling out before you could shape them properly.
The nurse looked up immediately, expression shifting into something alert and practiced. “Name?”
You said it.
She typed quickly, eyes scanning a screen you couldn’t see.
“She was brought in earlier this evening,” the nurse said. “Car accident. She’s in the emergency room. They’ve been stabilizing her.”
Stable.
The word hit differently here. Worse, somehow. Maybe because it wasn't coming through a phone anymore. Now it was surrounded by fluorescent lights, rushing nurses, and closed doors you couldn't get through. Everyone kept saying it like it was supposed to mean something reassuring, but all it did was remind you that nobody was saying she was okay.
“Can I see her?” you asked, voice breaking halfway through.
“Not yet,” the nurse said gently but firmly. “They’re still working with her. The doctor will come speak with you as soon as they can.”
Your stomach dropped like it had missed a step.
Steve shifted slightly beside you, like he was ready to catch you if you fell without making it obvious.
“How bad is it?” you asked, quieter now.
The nurse hesitated just long enough for you to feel it. “We need the physician to update you,” she said carefully. “She’s alive. That’s what I can tell you right now.”
Hearing the word “alive” should’ve been a relief to you. Instead it felt like you didn’t know what to do with your hands and what to do with yourself. How were you supposed to just sit here and wait while your mom could be dying?
“Waiting area is just down the hall,” she added, softer now. “Someone will come get you soon.”
You turned without really deciding to, legs moving because there was nowhere else for them to go.
The hallway stretched longer than it should’ve, chairs lining the walls like they were placed there for people who didn’t know what to do with time. Steve followed you in silence until you found a seat—and even then, he didn’t leave.
You sat down like your body finally gave up pretending it was in control.
Steve stayed standing for a second, then slowly lowered himself into the chair beside you.
Neither of you spoke.
Because there wasn’t anything that fit inside that room yet.
A few minutes passed in a way that didn’t feel like minutes at all.
The waiting room stayed the same—too bright, too still, too full of other people trying not to look like they were waiting for bad news. Somewhere down the hall, a phone rang and kept ringing until someone finally answered it.
You couldn’t tell how long you’d been sitting there. Your hands stayed clenched in your lap, like letting go would make everything spill out of you.
Steve hadn’t moved.
Every so often, he glanced toward the hallway, then back at you, like he was checking you were still here.
Finally, footsteps.
Not rushed. Not casual either. Controlled.
A man in a white coat appeared at the end of the hall, eyes scanning the room once before settling on you. The way he looked immediately made your stomach tighten.
“Are you here for—” he checked a chart, then said your mother’s name.
You stood up so fast the chair scraped back.
“Yes,” you said immediately. “Is she okay? Can I see her?”
The doctor paused just long enough that your heart started doing something painful.
“She’s alive,” he said first, like he knew that was the only thing holding you up. “But she sustained significant injuries in the collision. Internal bleeding and trauma that required immediate intervention.”
Your ears rang again.
“And she’s—” your voice caught. “She’s stable, right?”
He nodded once. “She’s in surgery right now.”
That word landed harder than the others.
Surgery.
Not waiting. Not observation. Not just a room you could stand outside of and pretend proximity meant something.
Actual hands inside her body trying to fix what had been broken.
Your knees almost gave out.
Steve shifted instantly closer, his hand hovering near your elbow but not grabbing you unless you needed it.
The doctor kept speaking, careful and steady. “The surgical team is doing everything they can. We won’t know more until they’re finished, but she was brought in quickly, which was important.”
You tried to process it, but everything kept slipping. “In surgery,” you repeated under your breath, like saying it differently might change it.
“Yes,” he said gently. “We’ll update you as soon as we have more information.”
Then, softer: “You can stay here. We’ll come get you the moment there’s news.”
And just like that, he was gone again down the hall, leaving the words behind like something you had to carry now.
Surgery.
Steve finally sat closer, his shoulder almost touching yours.
“You heard him,” he said quietly, like he was trying not to shake you more than you already were. “They’re with her. Okay? She’s not alone.”
But all you could see was the word that wouldn’t leave your head.
In surgery.
The words kept echoing long after the doctor disappeared down the hall.
You stared at the empty space he'd left behind, waiting for something else to happen. Another explanation. Another sentence. Something that would make the first one less terrifying.
Nothing came.
Just the waiting room.
Just the lights.
Just the horrible silence.
Your chest tightened.
Steve was still talking, saying something quiet beside you, but the words weren't reaching you anymore.
Surgery.
Internal bleeding.
Trauma.
Alive.
The pieces kept crashing into each other in your head.
You saw your mother standing in the kitchen a few days ago.
You saw her laughing at something stupid.
You saw her telling you to call more often.
You saw her driving away.
And suddenly all you could think was:
What if that was the last normal conversation you ever had with her?
The thought hit so hard it felt physical. A sharp, painful crack somewhere deep inside your chest. Your breath caught. Then another. And another.
Steve stopped talking immediately. "Hey."
You couldn't answer.
Your vision blurred.
"Hey."
The first tear slipped down before you even realized you were crying.
Then another.
Then everything broke.
A sob tore out of you so suddenly it almost hurt. You folded forward, hands flying to your face as the sound escaped your throat.
"No—"
Your shoulders shook violently.
"No, no, no..."
It wasn't even words anymore.
Just pure panic.
Pure fear.
Grief even, trying to arrive before it had permission.
Steve's face drained of color. "Hey, hey—"
Another sob cut through you. "What if she dies?" you choked out.
The question hung between you.
Awful and terrifying.
"What if she dies and I didn't—I didn't get to—"
Your voice shattered completely. You couldn't finish.
Steve moved instantly. One second he was beside you. The next he was kneeling in front of your chair.
"Look at me."
You couldn't.
Fresh tears spilled down your face.
"Hey."
His voice was firm this time. Gentle, but firm.
"Look at me."
Somehow you managed it.
His eyes were already fixed on yours.
It was something steady and focused to look at like he was trying to carry some of the panic for you..
"You don't know that's going to happen."
You shook your head violently.
"They wouldn't tell me anything."
"I know."
"They said surgery."
"I know."
Your breathing hitched again.
Steve swallowed hard.
You could tell he was scared too.
Not just of your mother. But of this. Of watching you fall apart and not knowing how to stop it.
But he stayed anyway.
"They said she's alive."
Your face crumpled. "Barely."
The word slipped out before you could stop it, sounding distant even to your own ears.
"You don't know that," Steve pleaded, his deep brown eyes fixed on yours as though he could somehow convince you to believe him if he looked hard enough.
Maybe under different circumstances, you would've gotten lost in those eyes. Maybe they would've made your pulse skip for reasons that had nothing to do with panic. But Steve wasn't a saint, and no amount of wishing was going to change the fact that your mom was in the hospital.
"They wouldn't let me see her." you cry out.
"Because they're operating on her."
Another sob escaped you.
Steve glanced around the waiting room before looking back.
Then, very carefully, he reached for your hands. His fingers wrapped around them despite how badly they were shaking. "Listen to me."
You couldn't stop crying.
"I need you to listen."
You nodded weakly.
"They got her here." His grip tightened slightly. "They found the bleeding."
Another breath.
"They got her into surgery."
He paused. "Everything the doctor told us means they're fighting for her."
Fresh tears spilled down your cheeks. “But what if—”
“No.” Steve shook his head, cutting you off before the thought could even finish. In his mind, your mom was still going to pull through, still going to come out of this alive. And somehow, that blind certainty felt like the only thing holding the room together. Holding you together.
His eyes locked onto yours. "We're not doing that."
Your breathing hitched.
"Not yet."
The firmness in his voice surprised even you. Steve had always been sarcastic. Playful. The last person who seemed built for moments like this. But right now there wasn't a trace of that. Just someone trying desperately to hold you together.
"We don't know what's going to happen."
His thumb brushed across your knuckles. "So we're not saying goodbye to her in our heads before she's even out of surgery."
That finally made something inside you crack wider. Because it sounded so much like hope. And hope hurt.
You started crying harder.
Steve immediately stood and pulled you toward him.
For a second you resisted.
Then you gave up.
The moment his arms wrapped around you, whatever control you had left just slipped away. You buried your face into his shoulder and fell apart.
The sobs hit in waves—one after another, heavy and unrelenting. Weeks of stress, months of fear, everything that had built up since moving in, everything you’d refused to let yourself feel. It all came crashing out at once, like your body had finally decided it couldn’t hold it in anymore.
Steve held on tightly with one hand against the back of your head. The other around your shoulders. And every time your breathing became uneven enough to scare him, he just held you a little closer.
"It's okay," he whispered softly.
His voice was quiet.
"I'm here."
Another sob shook through you.
"I'm not going anywhere."
You clung to his jacket. The fabric bunching in your fists. And for the first time since the phone call, you stopped trying to hold yourself together.
Steve stayed exactly where he was. Holding you in the middle of the waiting room. Like he could somehow keep the whole world from collapsing if he just didn't let go.
Steve stayed there until the worst of it passed.
Not because the crying stopped.
It didn't.
But eventually the sobs became quieter. Less violent. The kind that left your chest aching every time you inhaled.
The waiting room around you slowly came back into focus.
The lights.
The distant voices.
The sound of someone rolling a cart somewhere down the hall.
You were still holding onto Steve's jacket.
Neither of you acknowledged it.
His hand remained on your back, moving in slow circles.
Not trying to fix anything.
Just there.
- -
The clock on the wall ticked forward.
Another ten minutes passed. Then twenty.
Every time a doctor appeared, your heart jumped into your throat. Every time they walked past without stopping, it dropped again.
Steve never left.
Not for food. Not for water. Not even when a nearby nurse watching offered directions to the cafeteria.
Eventually you noticed.
“You don’t have to stay,” you said quietly, the words coming out softer than you meant them to. Part of you meant it—at least on the surface. The idea of being alone right now made your chest tighten, but you didn’t want to feel like a weight he had to carry.
You pulled back just enough to look away, swallowing hard. “I don’t want to be a burden to you, Steve.”
Steve looked at you like you’d just said something completely absurd, almost offended that you could even think it. “First of all,” he said, firm but not unkind, “you are not a burden.”
He reached out, gently brushing a piece of hair behind your ear. The touch was so careful it made your chest tighten, a small flicker of something warm cutting through everything else—before you forced yourself back down to earth.
“And I’m not going anywhere,” he added, voice steady. “I’m staying, okay? I would never just leave you here. That’s… that’s terrible.”
You wiped at your eyes. “Steve… you really don’t have to stay.”
“I’m staying.”
“Steve—”
“I’m staying.”
You stared at him for a moment, something caught between disbelief and relief tightening in your chest. You were still trying to push him away, still trying to act like you didn’t need it—but the truth was, you were on the verge of falling apart again.
And as much as you wanted to argue, you were glad he wasn’t listening. Because you needed something solid right now. Something to keep you from completely slipping under.
"As long as you're here, I'm here."
The words landed somewhere deep inside your chest. Before you could respond, movement caught your eye.
A doctor.
The same one from before.
Walking toward you.
Fast.
Your stomach dropped instantly.
Steve was already standing. So were you.
The doctor stopped in front of you.
For the longest second of your life nobody spoke.
Your entire body felt frozen.
Then the doctor removed his surgical cap.
And smiled.
Not a huge smile.
Not celebratory.
But enough.
Enough.
"The surgery went well."
The breath left your lungs all at once.
The world tilted.
You grabbed the back of the chair because suddenly your knees didn't feel reliable.
"She's okay?" you whispered.
The doctor's expression softened.
"She's okay." he repeated. "She lost a lot of blood, and recovery is going to take time," he continued. "But she's out of surgery and stable."
For the first time all night, the word stable didn't sound terrifying.
A sound escaped you.
Half laugh.
Half sob.
Your hands flew to your mouth.
Tears immediately filled your eyes again. Only this time they weren't from fear.
Beside you, Steve actually closed his eyes for a second. Like he'd been holding his breath too.
The doctor nodded.
"She's still unconscious, but once she's moved and monitored, we'll let you see her."
You could barely hear the rest.
Because one thing kept repeating in your head.
She's alive.
She's alive.
She's alive.
And before you even realized what you were doing, you turned and threw your arms around Steve. Hard.
For one startled second he froze. Then his arms wrapped around you automatically. Neither of you said anything. Because after hours of imagining the worst, there weren't words big enough for the relief.
- -
After everything had started to settle, the doctor finally allowed you to visit your mom in her room, where she would be staying to recover.
Steve stayed close behind you the entire time.
When you stepped inside, she was already asleep. The steady rise and fall of her breathing was the only real movement in the room. She looked smaller like this—fragile in a way that made your stomach twist. Bruising marked her face and arms, evidence of how badly she’d been hurt, and it was hard to reconcile it with the person you knew. Your kind, steady mother. The one who always felt untouchable in her gentleness.
But this wasn’t something someone had done to her. It was an accident. A car crash. Just an accident.
Still, knowing that didn’t make it any easier to look at her like this. The only thing reassuring you right now was the steady sound of her heartbeat through the monitor. As long as that monitor kept beeping, you could continue to breathe.
“She’s gonna wake up, and you’ll get to tell her all about our little engagement adventures,” Steve said suddenly, pulling you out of your thoughts. “And it’ll all go back to normal. You’ll see.”
His voice was softer than before, like he was trying to build a future you could hold onto, even if only for a moment.
“Yeah, I know…” you whispered softly, eyes still fixed on her. “It’s just weird seeing her like this… but she’s okay.” You said it like you were trying to make it true by repeating it, like if you held onto the words long enough they’d start to feel real.
Suddenly, you noticed your mom’s eyes begin to flutter open, and your heart skipped a beat.
She was waking up.
The room seemed to shift with it—everything narrowing down to that single moment as you instinctively leaned forward, breath catching in your throat.
Her lashes trembled, slow and heavy, like it took effort just to lift them. For a second, her gaze was unfocused—lost somewhere between sleep and pain—until it finally settled on you.
And the moment it did, something in her expression changed. Confusion first. Then recognition.
“Hey…” she whispered, her voice rough and fragile, like it hadn’t been used in a while.
Your chest tightened so hard it almost hurt. You took a step closer before you even realized you were moving.
Her eyes drifted slightly, noticing Steve standing just behind you, and she blinked slowly, like she was trying to piece everything together. “Am I…” she started, then stopped, swallowing carefully. “Am I in the hospital?”
Steve stayed quiet, giving you the space.
You nodded quickly, even though your throat felt tight. “Yeah,” you managed. “You’re in the hospital… you were in a car accident.”
The words sounded too sharp in the quiet room, too real.
Your mom frowned slightly, like she was trying to process it through fog. She shifted a little, then winced—immediately stopping as pain caught up with her body.
“Hey—don’t move,” you said quickly, stepping closer to the bed. Your voice softened without you meaning it to. “You’re okay. You’re safe. Just… just rest.”
Her eyes stayed on you, searching your face like she was trying to make sure you were really there. And then, barely above a whisper, she said your name. The sound of her saying your name hit you harder than you expected.
For a second, you couldn’t speak.
Steve shifted slightly behind you, still quiet, giving you space without leaving your side. The room felt smaller somehow, like everything outside this moment didn’t exist anymore.
Your mom’s hand moved a little on the blanket—slow, careful, like even that much effort took everything she had.
“You’re here,” she murmured, more like a statement than a question.
You nodded again, quickly this time, stepping closer until you were right at her bedside. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I’m here. I’m right here.”
Her eyes shifted past you again, landing on Steve standing a step behind. There was a pause—brief, confused.
Then her brow lifted slightly. “What is he doing here?” she asked, voice still weak but carrying a faint edge of teasing underneath it, like she was trying to make sense of him through the fog.
“Did you bring him… all the way here?”
It wasn’t sharp. More like she was half-aware, half-amused, even in pain.
Your chest tightened, but not in the same way as before—this time it was almost grounding.
You shook your head quickly, leaning in closer to her bedside. “No, mommy—no, it’s okay,” you said softly, squeezing her hand gently. “Steve’s been helping me. He stayed with me… you scared me, you know.”
Your voice cracked slightly at the end, the truth slipping through no matter how hard you tried to keep it steady.
Behind you, Steve didn’t interrupt. He just stood there quietly, steady as ever, like he understood exactly what his place was in the room.
Your mom’s expression softened immediately at your words.
“Helping you?” she repeated slowly, as if testing it out. Then her gaze flicked back to Steve again, a little more focused now, though still dulled by exhaustion. “Well… that’s unexpected.”
There was the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of her mouth, like she was trying to tease you but didn’t quite have the strength to fully pull it off.
“I leave you alone for one moment and you start collecting bodyguards,” she murmured, then winced slightly at her own attempt at humor.
Your breath caught somewhere between relief and a shaky laugh you didn’t fully manage. “Mom…” you whispered, leaning closer, your fingers still holding hers. “Don’t joke. You really scared me.”
Her eyes softened again at that, the teasing fading.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly, a little more serious now. “I didn’t mean to.”
Steve stayed just behind you, still giving you space, but his presence didn’t feel distant anymore—more like something steady holding the room together while everything else felt fragile.
Her expression changed slowly—like something in her mind had shifted, a thought surfacing through the haze of medication and exhaustion.
At first it was subtle. A small crease between her brows. Her eyes narrowing slightly as she looked at you more carefully, as if she was suddenly seeing you in a different context.
Then her hand tightened around yours.
“No…” she whispered.
Your stomach dipped.
“Don’t do it.”
You blinked, confused. “Do what?”
Her gaze sharpened just a little, urgency breaking through the weakness in her voice.
“Don’t marry him,” she said, a little firmer this time. “You can’t, Y/n.”
The words landed wrong in the quiet room.
You froze. “Mom, what are you talking about?”
Her breathing quickened slightly, and she shook her head as much as she could without hurting herself.
“You’re so young,” she said, like it was suddenly obvious, like it had always been obvious and she couldn’t believe she’d ever allowed otherwise. “You shouldn’t be worrying about any of that—about houses, bills, any of it. This is all my fault.”
Her eyes searched yours, urgent now, almost pleading despite her condition.
“I shouldn’t have agreed to that,” she added quietly. “I shouldn’t have put that on you.”
You let out a slow, shaky breath, glancing down as her words hung in the air between you.
Of course you didn’t want it. You were eighteen—you weren’t ready for any of this, let alone marrying someone you barely knew just because of money or expectations. You’d never imagined your life like this, never wanted it to feel like a transaction you couldn’t step out of.
But that wasn’t the reality you were standing in.
Not anymore.
Your mom’s accident changed everything. The hospital bills alone were already a weight you could feel pressing down on you, and there was no version of the future where things suddenly got easier. No safety net waiting to catch you if you said no.
And worse than that—you’d already signed the papers with the Harringtons.
There wasn’t really a way back from that. You signed a real contract.
You swallowed hard, forcing your voice to stay steady even as your chest tightened. “I don’t want to,” you admitted quietly, almost to yourself more than her. “I never did.”
Your fingers tightened slightly around hers.
“But I already signed,” you added after a beat, softer now. “And with everything going on now… we need it, mom. I don’t see another way.”
The words tasted wrong, but they were still true.
Behind you, Steve shifted slightly, like he’d heard every word but was choosing not to interrupt—just standing there, steady, as if he was trying not to make the room any heavier than it already was.
Your mom stared at you for a long moment, like she was trying to push through the fog in her head and find a version of reality where what you were saying wasn’t true.
“No,” she said again, quieter this time, but more certain. “No, there’s always another way.”
Her grip on your hand tightened, weak but desperate in its intent.
“You don’t fix one problem by giving up your life,” she continued, voice trembling slightly with strain. “That’s not… that’s not how it’s supposed to work.”
You shook your head before you even realized you were doing it. “Mom, please—”
But she wasn’t finished.
Her eyes flicked toward Steve again, then back to you, softer now but still urgent.
“I don’t care what agreements were made,” she said. “You’re my daughter. You don’t owe anyone your future because I got hurt.”
A pause. Her breath hitched slightly, pain flashing across her face before she forced herself to continue.
“And I don’t want you trapped,” she added, almost whispering now. “Not for me. Not for bills. Not for anything.”
The room felt too small again, like everything was closing in.
You stood there for a second, caught between everything she was saying and everything you already knew.
Because none of it was wrong.
But none of it changed anything either.
Your throat tightened as you looked down at her hand still holding yours, fragile and warm despite everything she’d just said.
“I know,” you whispered finally. “I know you don’t want that for me.”
Your voice cracked a little, and you hated that it did.
“But it’s already done, mom.”
The words came out quieter this time, heavier.
“I signed it. And they… they’re helping us. With the hospital, with everything. If I back out now, I don’t even know what happens to us.”
You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet her eyes again even though it hurt.
“I didn’t do it because I wanted to,” you added. “I did it because I didn’t see another choice.”
Behind you, Steve’s presence felt even quieter now—like he was trying not to shift the weight of the moment any more than it already was.
Your mom’s expression faltered, like your words had physically hit her.
For a moment, your mom didn’t say anything.
The frustration in her face didn’t disappear, but it softened—like it had nowhere left to go but into helplessness. Her eyes shone a little brighter now, not from strength, but from emotion she didn’t have the energy to fully hold back.
“That’s not fair,” she whispered.
Her hand stayed wrapped around yours, weaker now but still refusing to let go.
“I hate that you felt like you had to choose that,” she added, voice rough. “I hate that I didn’t do anything to stop it.”
You shook your head immediately.
“Mom, don’t—”
But she kept going, slower this time, each word careful like it cost her something.
“You are not a solution to anything,” she said. “You’re not… something to be traded or fixed.”
A pause. Her gaze flicked up to you again, steadying just slightly.
“I don’t care what you signed,” she added, firmer now in spite of the exhaustion. “We will figure something else out. Together.”
The room went quiet after that, the words hanging there like something fragile but real.
Your mom’s hand stayed in yours, even as her strength seemed to fade a little more with every breath.
“I mean it,” she whispered, softer now. “We’ll figure it out. I don’t know how yet… but not like this.”
Your chest tightened, and for once you didn’t argue back—you couldn’t. Not because you agreed, but because hearing her say it made something in you crack in a different way.
Steve shifted slightly behind you, stepping a little closer—not interrupting, just there.
Your mom’s eyes flicked toward him, then back to you.
“And you,” she added faintly, a tired edge of humor returning for just a second, “stop carrying everything alone. I raised you better than that.”
A shaky breath left you that might’ve been a laugh if it didn’t hurt so much.
You squeezed her hand. “I missed you,” you admitted quietly, the truth slipping out before you could stop it.
Her expression softened completely at that.
“I’m right here,” she murmured. “I’m not going anywhere.”
And for the first time since stepping into the hospital room, you let yourself believe—not that everything was okay—but that you weren’t completely alone in it.
summary: you have a nightmare about your boyfriend dying and it prompts you to start reflecting on your relationship
wc: 2.1k
warnings/tags: pure fluff, boyfriend!gator, nightmares, imagined violence and guns, implied sex, gator learning physical intimacy :)
a/n: i had a bad nightmare today and im so gator pilled i immediately thought of his reaction. enjoy!!!
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You didn’t wake suddenly. There was no gasping for air, no cold sweats. It was slow. The fade to black at the end of an episode, leaving you on a cliffhanger. But you knew what was coming after the nightmare ended. You’d seen it clear as day. That gun. All you were left with was a slow, coiling feeling in your gut that you were hyper-aware of.
Reluctantly, you blinked your eyes open, only to be greeted by the dark open space of your room, images still flashing even then. For a moment, you wondered if you were alone. But then you heard the heavy breathing next to you, and the slightest amount of tension released. Your boyfriend was fine, and fast asleep next to you. And that was rare. You closed your eyes again, praying it would go away. That you could just bury yourself deeper under your blanket and drift back to sleep. But it didn’t work. All that played in your head was that gun. Pointed at Gator. The slow-motion as the man pulled that trigger. In your own home. Your throat felt dry, and your stomach continued to twist.
You threw your eyes open again, a frustrated exhale falling from your nose. Maybe it was the wide open space in front of you. Even though you could feel Gator’s presence behind you, you couldn’t see it, and that was making you paranoid. It was like…bad chi or something. The problem was, Gator was the lightest sleeper you’d ever met, and with the late nights and early mornings, you knew he barely got the chance to even try. Slow as you possibly could, you turned yourself around. Still, the bed shook. Once you successfully turned over to the other side, you watched with baited breath. But Gator didn’t stir. Not once. You had to smile, as you watched his figure rising up and down with each deep breath he took. He was ok. Better than ok, he was finally, truly, resting. So why was your body still reeling like he wasn’t? You wanted so badly to pull him close and breathe his scent in just so you could prove that to yourself. But you weren’t the type of couple to do that and you couldn’t wake him up.
You tried to shut your eyes again and basked in the warmth of Gator’s body next to yours, pretending that sleep would come to you. But you sensed the air, and the distant calling of birds, and knew that no such thing would be happening. Especially when you heard the buzz from the nightstand, indicating it was time for Gator to wake up. You kept your eyes closed as you heard him stir beside you. Even though the relationship was still somewhat new, having a boyfriend that was constantly waking up at the crack of dawn for work, you’d gotten used to sleeping through his departure. And right now, as you felt him flip over, pause for a moment and then press the lightest peck on your forehead, you were almost glad to not be.
Most of the time, Gator wasn’t great at the physical affection — the cuddling, casual hand holding, and kisses were all so alien to him, considering where he’d grown up. You knew that it felt like giving a piece of himself away. That’s why a moment like that, and the naturalness with which he did it, warmed everything inside you. You listened quietly as his feet hit the ground and he padded out of the room with all the grace of a bull in a china shop, holding back a smile the whole time. He trudged through the house, footsteps far too heavy, but the moment he stepped back into your room he was softer, movements more careful. Still way too loud but you appreciated that he was trying.
It was when the sunlight began leaking through the windows minutes later that you finally decided to sit up, the warmth of your blanket slipping away as you glanced to where Gator was slicking his hair back. You stared at him, there — all done up in his uniform, the gun sitting on his thigh. You couldn’t believe he had to go out and face this shit everyday. Specifically because the most dangerous part of his job, was the man he worked beside. It came to you again, and you took a deep breath to try and push the worries back. It was just a stupid nightmare. Not real. Not real. Not real.
“You’re awake?” The sound of Gator’s voice snapped you back into reality as he walked over to you.
You just hummed, rubbing at your eyes to get out of your still half-dreaming state. “Want me to make you some food before you go?”
“Don’t worry ‘bout it.” You could already spot the panic behind his eyes, and you knew he was dreading the day ahead. You were too.
“You sure? You should have breakfast.” You tried, desperate to keep him here — safe — for as long as you could.
“I’m fine. Already late. ’S the weekend, you should sleep.” He muttered, eyes flying over the room to check he had everything. In his mind, he was already at Roy’s feet, responding to whatever orders were given.
You sighed defeatedly, leaning back on the headboard. “Alright.” But you couldn’t resist, balling a fist into his shirt, and pulling him close.
“What are you-“ You cut him off with a hard kiss to his lips. When he tried to pull away, you only pulled him back for another and another and another. He smirked against your lips. “Someone’s feelin’ clingy today.”
Usually, you would roll your eyes and shove him away lightly, but today you only whispered. “Promise me you’ll be safe.” He nodded, dumbfounded by your seriousness but too preoccupied to question it. You didn’t take your eyes off him as he stepped out of the room, and as you heard the front door open you sprung to your feet, tracking every step from there to his cruiser through the window. Your eyes didn’t leave the street until the car was a tiny speck in your vision.
It was just a stupid dream.
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You’d spent the entire day doing everything you could to forget. By the end of the day, you had deep cleaned your house, reorganized the pantry, and finished about five pages in some mindful coloring you’d scrounged up from the back of your closet. You weren’t feeling very mindful every time you would flinch at random sounds you heard or jump to check any notifications on your phone, wondering if it was Gator. You even called him at lunch, “just to check in.” He’d only laughed and told you to hold tight until he got home. That was hard when it felt like you were falling apart at the seams.
After an eternity, night finally came. Gator promised he would be home in time for dinner but it was nearing nine and he hadn’t been able to answer your messages. You sat at the dining table, staring down the lasagna you’d made just for him, which was definitely going cold.
The knock on the door hit like a hard smack.
That’s how it started. In the dream. Some guy knocking furiously at that door again and again. Gator telling you to hide as he stalked towards the noise. The slam as it came off it’s hinges, and before you knew it, the gun at his face. Your throat felt dry at the thought.
“Baby, it’s me. I forgot my keys.”
At the sound of Gator’s voice, all the tension in your body released and you sped for the door. You’d barely opened it halfway before you were dragging him inside, and pouncing on him, lips tracing across his cheeks and neck. He caught you instantly, wrapping your legs around his waist and stumbling to the nearest wall. “What is with you today?”
“You hungry?” You asked, cutting straight to the chase. He shook his head. “You tired?”
And he immediately picked up what you were putting down. “Not for you, mama.” He smirked, guiding you back to your room.
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This was the part that you hated most. The awkward after. Especially after today, all you wanted to do was just be wrapped up in his arms, or better yet, wrap your arms around him. Just something solid. But instead, the two of you lay next to each other, catching your breaths as you stared up at the ceiling. You felt the mattress dip as he turned over to face you.
“You’re bein’ loud.” He muttered, and you turned over to him then, genuinely offended.
“What? I haven’t said anything.”
“Whatever’s going on in that pretty little head of yours is doing all the talking. Somethin’s been bothering you all day.” His eyes scanned over your face slowly, like he was genuinely worried.
“It’s nothing Gator.”
He responded with a drawn out, “Mhmmmm,” and you wanted to be mad but he learned that from you. Just as you were about to turn back to the ceiling, he reached for your arm, keeping you still. “What’s going on, sweetheart?” He was so quiet when asked, that you had to give in.
“I…had a nightmare.” You felt your cheeks getting warm as you said it. All this over something that happened in your mind. “There was this guy and I- He killed you, Gator. It just had me spiralling a little bit.”
His eyebrows furrowed and you could tell it was taking everything in him not to laugh. But he was resisting. “That’s what you were scared about?”
“Yes- I mean- Yes.” You caught yourself before you admitted it, not wanting to push his boundaries. Gator, on the other hand had no such idea in mind.
“What?” He leaned a little closer. You shook your head. “No come on, you were going to say somethin’ else.”
You sighed. He was your boyfriend, right? The whole point was to be honest. But you were certainly going to avoid eye contact as you said it. “When it happened, the first thing I wanted to do was like, hold you.”
This time, he did laugh. “Hold me?”
You were in too deep to back out now right. “I just worry about you, sometimes, Gator. You have a dangerous job and if something happened to you… I don’t know what I’d do without you.” You mumbled. “It feels nice to y’know, be in your arms or have you in mine. Know you’re still here.” You cringed as you said the words, but they were true. Your eyes stayed focused on where your fingers were twisting the bedsheets, much like the way your stomach was twisting as you waited for his response.
It came moments later; a small exhale and a whispered, “Ok.”
“What?” You glanced up, eyes going wide as you realized he was being serious.
“I said ok.” He adjusted himself so that he was laying on his back, arms outstretched.
“I don’t want to pressure you into any-”
“Baby, shut the fuck up, and get in my arms.” You didn’t have to be told twice, you settled your head on his chest and swung a leg over his, while his arms came to wrap around you. And god, it felt so nice to hear the steady thump of his heartbeat, breathe in his aftershave, feel enveloped in his warmth.
Still, his body seemed stiff. “Are you sure this is ok?”
“I want to do this.” He mumbled, wrapping his arms around you a little tighter. “I’m just…” His chest rose and fell underneath you as you took a deep breath. “I’m not used to it.”
Your heart split in two hearing that. “I’m sorry baby.”
He didn’t respond to that. “But let’s get somethin' straight…you ain’t holdin’ me, I’m holdin’ you.”
You chuckled, your hand running gently down his front. “Sure, Gator.”
Soon enough, his muscles were loosening a little, and his breath slowed down. He buried his nose in your hair, snuggling closer. “Your hair smells nice.” He mumbled. That, in Gator speak, was akin to “I like this.” And he must have, because bit by bit, he started initiating contact more — an arm around you when you made breakfast in the morning, or keeping his hand on your thigh while driving. Little things. But those little things were big to a man who had never known them before. And you were glad, more than anything, to give him a place where he could feel safe.
summary: steve can’t keep his eyes off his neighbor every time she goes for a night swim
warnings: smut, perv!steve, male masturbation, dubcon (?), peeping tom vibes, cursing
word count: 1.5k
from jen: i love this one so i hope you guys do too!! angst and maybe one more smut fic coming tomorrow. as always, with love <3
Look away. Look away. Look away. Look away.
Steve’s angel on his shoulder is screaming at him, begging for the man to listen but he doesn’t. He can’t.
Because less than a hundred feet away from him, you’re there. Carefree and beautiful, swimming and floating around in your pool.
Never mind that it’s almost one in the morning. Every night for the past two weeks, you’ve stepped onto your patio and swam laps around the pool while Steve watches from his window.
He can’t tell if it’s a blessing or a curse that his bedroom window has the perfect view of your backyard, and the pool you’ve occupied lately.
Steve doesn’t know you well. You moved into the house next to his only a few months ago – renting it from the Belmont’s he’s grown up living next to.
You seemed nice, kind even. On the first week, you had knocked on his door with a plate of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. You introduced yourself with a dizzying smile, and a syrupy sweet voice – he physically had to stop himself from drooling.
And once you were fully settled in, your routine began. You worked at the diner in midtown, and he only knew that because saw you wearing the uniform dress and apron while he was checking the mail – not because he was watching you (he absolutely was).
You seemed to take the mid shifts for the most part. You left for work around 2PM and came home at 9PM, four days out of the week. He wasn’t sure what you did once you were home but once midnight hit, you were in the pool – every night like clockwork.
And tonight’s no exception.
Steve is standing in front of his window, far enough to not be seen unless you’re really looking, but still close enough to see you clearly. There’s not much light outside – most of it comes from the reflection of the moon and a warmer light you’ve installed in your own backyard.
You’ve been swimming for almost thirty minutes now and not once has his eyes wandered from the sight of you. Despite the darkness, he can see you perfectly. You’re floating on your back now and your body is on full display to him.
You’re wearing a red bikini and the color is so stark, it almost glows against the water. Your arms are moving slowly under the water to keep you afloat, your knees and ankles moving carefully to help tread the water.
He can’t tell if your eyes are open or not, and it’s hard to focus on anything except your tits.
Steve inwardly cringes at himself, and tears his eyes away from you – choosing to stare at a patch of carpet on his bedroom floor instead. He’s being disgusting and disrespectful. You’re in the comfort of your own home, doing something that brings you peace and he’s invading that. Even if you don’t know it.
He should close his blinds– no, he’s going to.
Just as Steve looks back up to close the curtains, his eyes land back on where you were floating but something’s different.
You’re still floating, easily treading water but this time, without your fucking top on.
Steve’s mouth goes completely dry and his already half hard cock, hardens even more – straining against the waistband of his sweatpants.
He sees the bikini top you had on barely two minutes ago now hanging off the small stonewall ledge of the pool. For a second, he wonders if you took it off for him. But that would be ridiculous. Surely if you had even an inkling of him watching you, you would storm right up to him and smack him across his face – probably yell obscenities at him, maybe even call the police.
Right?
Steve swallows harshly and despite telling himself to shut the blinds a few moments ago, he grabs the chair from his desk and slides it to in front of the window. He settles into it without much more thought and watches as you move through the water.
He knows he shouldn’t but all common sense has left his mind and has been overtaken by hunger. Steve’s hands find the waistband of his sweatpants and boxers, swiftly tugging them down past his thighs.
The cool air hits his skin and just barely offers him some sense of relief. He can feel the bead of precum wet on his tip. Keeping his eyes on you, he raises his hand and carefully spits into his palm. He wraps his palm around his cock, slowly twisting his wrist as he jerks himself off.
“Fuck,” He breathes aloud. The relief is immediate, and even though he wishes it was your hand instead of his, he welcomes it.
His wet hand keeps working around himself, and he watches you descend under water. You stay under for a few seconds, long enough to make him miss you. Finally, you come back up, your hands raising to push your drenched hair away from your face.
Steve doesn’t even try to silence the moan that spills from his throat. His eyes follow the way the water cascades from down your face, down your throat, all the way till it falls over your tits. Your mouth is just barely hung open, very clearly so you can inhale fresh air, and water slides over your rosy pink lips.
Steve’s hand moves faster as he keeps his gaze glued to you. His room fills with the sound of his slick hand fisting his cock, his hand stroking himself up and down, up and down.
He whines into the air as you lean backwards again, your chest and torso displayed to him again and he’s so, so fucking grateful.
“Oh fuck, mhmm,” Steve groans, his hand moving faster. The lewd schlick sound of his wet palm stroking his cock surrounds him, it’s so loud he’s almost worried you’d be able to hear it.
His breathing getting heavier as he tracks the way you move. His eyes threaten to squeeze shut but he can’t bring himself to look away from you, even for a second.
You keep moving, slowly swimming from the shallow end to the deep end. Your body moves to effortlessly, so beautifully and his mind begins to wander.
He imagines how you’d look riding him. He imagines how your tits would bounce in clear view of his face, perfect for him to grab and squeeze as you fuck yourself on his cock.
His hand tightens around his shaft, a thin layer of sweat building at his temple. He keeps thinking of how you’d look as he fucked you.
He could fuck you in that same pool – push you against the stone wall, holding your hips in place as he fucks into you. He imagines every pretty sound that would slip past your lips, how you’d whine and beg for more.
“S-Shit. Yeah, just like that, baby,” Steve hisses as he moans mindlessly, his hand pumps his dick faster, rougher. He’s so close already.
He focuses back on you. You’re floating in the shallow end again, and Steve’s gaze is fixated on the way your hand rises out of the water, the tips of your fingers gently gliding across the west skin of your stomach, up the valley of your breasts, carefully circling the skin around your nipple.
His hand is frantic now, stroking himself relentlessly as he stares at you. He’s a moaning, blubbering mess as he watches the way you touch yourself. It’s a show perfectly made for him.
Steve felt that rush of adrenaline coursing in his veins, traveling through his chest and all the way down to his cock. He was right there, and as he watches you emerge from the pool – water soaking your tanned body, droplets sliding down your skin, he’s thrown over the edge.
His stomach tightens, head thrown back as he whines your name into the air. He barely has time to throw his shirt upwards, exposing his stomach as warm ropes of cum spurt from his cock, coating his skin.
His chest heaves, and he keeps his hand moving over his skin, drawing out his orgasm. It takes him a few seconds for the ringing to leave his ears and come back to reality. His hand uncurls itself from around his dick, and he lets it drop against his sticky stomach.
Steve tracks you as you step out of the water and reach for a towel. He’s sad as you cover yourself up, but as his mind catches up with his body, he realizes he should feel guilty. His face burns with shame and he moves to clean himself up.
He grabs a few napkins from his nightstand, wiping his cum off his skin, and tells himself this was a one time thing and it will never happen again.
All the while, you continue to dry your own skin off, with a devious smirk covering your face because you got exactly what you wanted. The same fucking show he did.
desc - you and joe find out about a very special new member to your family
influencer / youtuber au
val speaks - yayyy they back ! i think i might've gone over some things i've already said in previous fics bc i haven't written a chapter for them in a while so this was like a refresh for me
if i didnt ignore that
word count: 5.6k
the apartment had settled into that soft, easy rhythm that only came after the last of the wedding chaos had finally faded.
for a few weeks now, everything had felt a little brighter around the edges, like the world itself had decided to be gentler with you both. joe had booked time off before tour, and for once there was no frantic calls between interviews, no half-finished dinners left cooling on the stove because one of you had somewhere to be. it was just the two of you, learning how to be married.
joe was still joe.
still left his coffee mugs everywhere, still sang random songs while brushing his teeth and still wrapped himself around you every night like you were responsible for keeping him alive.
but there was something different now, something that made your chest feel warm whenever you looked at him.
husband.
your husband.
even months later it didn't feel real.
before the wedding people had always joked that nothing changed after getting married. they were liars.
because somehow everything felt brighter.
-
then joe had started going back to meetings.
nothing alarming, just the slow return of work and the fact he was going on tour soon inching its way back into your lives.
some mornings he left early with coffee in one hand and his keys in the other, hair still a little messy, kissing you goodbye with a promise to be back before dinner. some days it was later, meetings stretching on while you stayed home and tried to be productive in the apartment that suddenly felt a little too quiet without him in it.
you told yourself the quiet was fine. normal, even. a natural part of the season you were in.
you were both busy, both trying to prepare for what was ahead.
the tour, the travel, the long stretches apart that would come with it. you'd known from the start that marriage wouldn’t stop life from happening around you, wouldn’t freeze everything in perfect place just because the vows had been said and the rings had been slipped on.
still, on one particular morning, you woke up feeling wrong.
not dramatically wrong, not enough to panic immediately, just enough to notice.
your stomach turned when you sat up, a strange sickly wave rolling through you that made you freeze for a second with your hand braced against the mattress.
you swallowed hard and sat there, eyes half-closed, waiting for it to pass. and it did, eventually. enough that you got through the rest of the morning pretending it hadn’t happened.
it didn't concern you as much as it probably should've. you brushed your teeth, made yourself a little tea and told yourself it was probably something you ate, or maybe just exhaustion.
there was no reason to worry joe about it. he already had enough on his plate, between meetings and rehearsals and tour prep and everything else trying to pull him in a dozen directions at once.
he kissed you on the cheek before leaving that morning with an absentminded “call me if you need anything, okay?” and you smiled and told him you would.
by afternoon, you felt perfectly fine.
which, somehow, made the whole thing easier to dismiss. a fluke. a weird little moment. nothing to spiral over.
except then the next day came.
and the one after that.
and suddenly the “weird little moment” had become a pattern that your body seemed determined to keep repeating.
more nausea.
another morning where you barely made it to the bathroom in time.
a stubborn heaviness in your chest every time you tried to ignore the possibility forming in the back of your mind.
then the period that didn't come, even after you stared at the calendar like maybe it would feel guilty and appear if you looked hard enough.
and that was when the spiral started.
at first you fought it, you really did.
you tried to convince yourself it was stress, or hormones, or your body being dramatic for no reason. but the longer the days stretched on, the more every little sign seemed to align into the same terrifying shape.
the nausea. the missed period. the constant low hum of suspicion that you couldn't shake no matter how hard you tried to distract yourself with work or editing or scrolling mindlessly until your eyes hurt.
pregnancy.
the word sat in your mind like a live wire.
it wouldn't have been the worst thing in the world. that was the part that made it so confusing, so impossible to untangle.
you were married to the love of your life. you both had stable jobs, a home you loved, a life that wasn't perfect but was solid and real and full of room for something bigger.
you had talked before, in soft private moments, about a future family. someday. one day. after the next thing, after the next phase, after the next stretch of work had settled.
in future.
not now.
not when joe was about to go on tour. not when your lives were already shifting into motion again. not when you were supposed to be joining him for a big chunk of it, packing your bags and following him on the road like you always tried to do when you could. not when everything was already in flux and the timing made your head spin just trying to think about it.
and yet if it was true, it would still be yours. yours and joe’s. a tiny, impossible thing growing in the middle of all this love.
-
you lasted longer than you thought you would before finally ordering a pregnancy test.
you made sure joe would be out all day before the package arrived, which was ridiculous because he was not suspicious by nature and never would've asked why you were suddenly hovering around the front door with too much energy and a too-bright smile, but it still felt important to keep this moment yours for a little longer.
something about it had made you strangely private, almost protective, as if saying it aloud too soon might break it.
when the apartment was finally yours alone, you carried the test into the bathroom with hands that felt colder than they should've.
the small, ordinary packaging looked offensively normal for something so capable of changing your life. you set it down on the counter and stood staring at it for a long moment before reaching for your camera.
you didn't know why you did that first, maybe because vlogging had become as natural to you as breathing and because, right then, having the camera there made you feel like you weren't completely alone.
like you could speak out loud into the little lens and keep yourself anchored to something outside the panic beginning to bloom in your chest.
you set it up on the bathroom floor first, as if you were just starting a normal vlog, and with a shaky laugh you talked to it like this was any other day.
you rambled, a little aimlessly, about how nice life had been lately.
how after the wedding and the honeymoon and all the little “officially married” things settling into place, everything somehow felt even softer.
you said how weird it was that you and joe had somehow managed to make this whole grown-up married life thing look easy. you joked weakly about how domestic you both had become, how much time you'd spent together in the kitchen lately.
and while you talked, the tears kept threatening.
you blinked them away and looked over at the test on the counter, trying not to think too hard about what you were doing. trying not to think about the possibility that this one tiny object could confirm everything you had been circling for days.
then the timer went off.
the sound made you flinch.
for one horrible second you just stood there, the bathroom suddenly too small and too bright. then you picked the camera back up from the floor and set it on the counter with hands that had started to tremble.
you stared at your own reflection in the mirror for a beat, like maybe the person looking back at you would have better answers than you did. then you turned the test over.
positive.
the world went strangely quiet.
you stared.
you blinked.
you looked again as if the lines might rearrange themselves if you gave them enough time.
your hand flew to your mouth without you even realising it, your knees almost gave out under you and you had to grab the edge of the sink to steady yourself.
for a few seconds, all you could do was breathe.
"oh my god"
the words came out of you in a cracked whisper, barely audible.
you had no idea how long you stood there like that, frozen in place, camera still recording while your entire life shifted underneath your feet.
maybe five minutes, maybe less.
it felt endless either way.
the tears finally broke free, and you laughed a little through them because what else were you supposed to do?
you covered your mouth again and made a helpless, breathless sound as your eyes kept darting between the test and your reflection and the camera, as if one of them might somehow tell you how to handle this.
what the hell were you going to do?
more importantly, how on earth were you going to tell joe?
that question alone was enough to send another rush of panic through you.
because you knew him, you knew him too well.
he could read you like an open book on your best day, and right now you were a mess of nerves and hormones and disbelief, which meant he would know something was wrong the second he saw your face.
you couldn't keep a secret from him if your life depended on it, you never had been able to.
especially not one this big.
but you also knew you couldn't just blurt it out over takeout containers and dish towels like it was a casual update.
this was too huge for that.
was it too little to just tell him, “i’m pregnant”?
did that sound wrong somehow, too blunt for a moment this important?
should there be a dramatic reveal or some kind of heartfelt speech?
you had no idea.
all you knew was that your heart was hammering hard enough to make your ears ring and your thoughts were spilling over each other so fast you could barely catch one before another took its place.
so you took another test.
just to be sure. just to have the proof sitting there in black and white, as if one positive result somehow wasn’t enough to convince your own brain. you sat on the bathroom floor with the second one in your hand and tried to breathe through the whole thing while your camera quietly recorded every nervous second. then you checked it too, and when it came back positive, your laugh broke into a sob.
you were really pregnant.
somewhere between the shock and the tears, your mind started racing ahead to everything at once.
the future, the baby, joe, tour, your work, the vlogs, the apartment, the nursery you'd not even thought about yet, the tiny life you'd somehow made with the man you loved more than anything.
and in the middle of all that fear, there was also something else. something softer, something almost bright.
you and joe had made a family.
the thought scared you and warmed you in equal measure.
-
by the time afternoon blurred into evening, you cleaned yourself up enough to look almost normal, though your eyes were a little puffy and your hands still shook whenever you held them still for too long.
you spent the rest of the day moving through the apartment in a daze, editing a few clips you probably wouldn't post, rambling softly to the camera whenever the silence got too loud, letting the lens become a kind of lifeline.
every so often, your gaze drifted to the clock.
when joe texted that he was on his way home, your stomach flipped so hard you had to put the phone down for a second and hold onto the counter.
now it was real in a different way, because he was actually coming back, and in a little while you would have to look at him and say the words out loud.
no more rehearsing in your head. no more waiting. no more pretending that tomorrow might somehow feel easier.
-
you finished dinner just in time, plating everything carefully despite your trembling hands.
the recipe was one the two of you had learned together recently, and for some ridiculous reason that made the whole thing feel even more emotional.
the apartment smelled warm and comforting, the kind of smell that usually made joe grin the moment he walked through the door, and when he finally did, it was exactly like that.
his shoes came off by the entryway, his shoulders loosened the second he saw you, and then that smile appeared. the one that always made your heart do something soft and helpless in your chest.
“baby” he said, voice already full of affection, and crossed the room to kiss you.
you melted into it for a second, clinging to him just enough to remind yourself he was really there.
he kissed your forehead, then your cheek, then your lips again, easy and familiar. he looked tired, but in a good way, like the day had actually gone well.
“i made dinner” you said, trying to sound normal and probably failing.
his eyes lit up immediately. “you did?”
you nodded, and he glanced at the table with a grin that made him look almost boyish. “smells amazing.”
“you had a good day?” you asked, because you needed to hear him say something ordinary, needed one more normal thing to hold onto before everything changed.
“actually, yeah,” he said, settling a hand at your waist while he spoke.
“really good day, productive one too. meetings went fine, got a bunch done. no disasters, no weird stress stuff. just.. good.”
that should have made it easier. it should have made it feel like the perfect moment to tell him.
instead, it made the panic bloom harder.
you must have gone quiet, because his expression shifted almost immediately. joe always noticed even the tiniest change in your face.
his brows drew together just slightly and his thumb brushed a slow line against your hip.
“hey,” he said gently. “you okay?”
you took a breath and let it out too slowly. no point pretending now. not with him looking at you like that. not when the words were already pressing at the back of your throat.
“can you sit down?” you asked softly.
the concern on his face sharpened. “that sounds scary.”
you gave him a tiny, shaky smile. “i know. i’m sorry.”
“baby,” he said, suddenly more alert, but he did what you asked. he moved to the chair near the table and sat down, though he kept one hand in yours the whole time, his fingers lacing through yours like he was grounding you both. his eyes stayed on your face, carefully searching. “you’re freaking me out.”
you almost laughed at that, which only made him look more worried, so you squeezed his hand and breathed in through your nose.
“wait here,” you said. “and close your eyes.”
his eyebrows shot up. “absolutely not. that is not helping.”
“joe.”
“you are scaring me, baby.”
you smiled despite yourself, because he always sounded so offended and so fond at the same time, but he obeyed after a second. slowly, warily, he shut his eyes. his free hand flexed once against the table like he was bracing himself.
you hurried back to the bathroom, your heart in your throat, and came back holding the pregnancy test like it was made of glass.
your eyes were already burning again by the time you reached him.
he still had his eyes closed.
“okay,” you whispered, stopping in front of him. “open your hand.”
he did, palm up and uncertain.
you placed the test in it, your fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary.
“open your eyes.”
joe did.
for a second, he just looked at the test.
then up at you.
then back down.
silence stretched between you so completely that it seemed to fill the whole room. not tense silence, not exactly, just stunned silence.
his mouth parted slightly. his eyes widened. he looked like he was trying to process something impossible.
his gaze flicked to the lines on the test and then back to your face.
then his eyes filled with tears.
“are you serious?” he asked, voice breaking on the words.
you nodded before you could stop yourself. “yes.”
he stared at you for another beat, as if the answer had to be said twice to become real. “you’re serious?”
your own tears spilled over then, and you nodded again, smiling so hard it hurt. “yes, joe.”
his face changed all at once.
he stood up so fast the chair scraped lightly against the floor, and then he had you in his arms, pulling you against him with such force that the breath rushed right out of your body.
you clutched at him immediately, laughing and crying at the same time, his arms wrapped so tightly around you it almost felt like he was trying to hold the moment still by sheer force alone.
“oh my god,” he breathed into your hair, and you felt it as much as heard it. “oh my god.”
he laughed a little through the tears, low and disbelieving, and then he pulled back just enough to look at you. both of his hands came up to cup your face, his thumbs brushing over the tears on your cheeks with the most careful tenderness in the world.
“i’m gonna be a dad?” he whispered.
you let out a shaky laugh and nodded. “yeah, baby. you’re gonna be a dad.”
his eyes squeezed shut for a second, and then he laughed again, helpless and full of disbelief. “we’re-” he stopped, shook his head, looked back at you like he was still trying to understand the shape of it.
“we’re together. like.. together together. like parents together. like family.”
that set you off all over again. more tears. more laughing. you reached up and grabbed one of his hands, squeezing it hard.
“yes,” you whispered. “yes, exactly that.”
his forehead dropped against yours, and for one long moment the two of you just stood there breathing each other in, crying and smiling and trying to make sense of how everything had changed in a matter of minutes.
joe’s hand slid down from your face to your stomach, resting there with so much awe it almost made you cry harder. like he was afraid to move, afraid to disturb the delicate miracle of it.
you watched his throat bob as he swallowed.
“i can’t believe this” he whispered, and there was such wonder in it that your heart nearly split open.
“me neither” you admitted.
he looked up at you then, and there was a brightness in his eyes that made your chest ache. “we’ll figure it out” he said immediately, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “everything. we’ll figure it all out together, okay? every part of it. all of it.”
the certainty in his voice did something to you. soothed something jagged inside you that had been spiraling all day.
you nodded, because there was no other answer.
“okay.”
he smiled at that, soft and shaking, then leaned in to kiss you.
it was the kind of kiss that felt like a promise. the kind that said he was here, and he was staying, and whatever came next would not happen to you alone.
when he pulled back, he kept one hand against your cheek and the other still on your stomach, as if he couldn’t quite bear to let go of either place.
then, because he was joe and because he apparently could never stay in one emotional state for too long, his face shifted into something halfway between disbelief and giddy realisation. he started pacing a little in the small space by the table, one hand over his mouth, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.
you could see the smile beneath his fingers, the tears still wet on his cheeks, the way he looked like he might burst right out of his skin from the size of the feeling in him.
“you’re pacing” you said, smiling through your own tears.
“i know,” he said, not stopping. “i know, i just- baby, i’m sorry, i don’t know what to do with myself right now.”
“i think that’s fair.”
he laughed, then turned back to you and came right up again, like he couldn’t stand being away from you for even a second. both of his hands came back to your face, thumbs gentle at your jaw.
“we’re really doing this,” he said, quieter now. “we’re really having a baby.”
you nodded, and your smile trembled at the edges. “yeah.”
he stared at you for a second longer, then leaned in and kissed your forehead, your cheek, your nose, all over your face in a soft, overwhelmed sort of way.
you laughed wetly and tried to shove him lightly away, but he only smiled harder and pulled you close again.
then his hand found your stomach once more, resting there with almost reverent care, and more tears slipped down his face.
“hey,” he said suddenly, his voice turning lighter in a way that only made you suspect trouble, “i have always said i wanted to be inside you forever.”
you let out a shocked laugh that was half gasp, half groan, and immediately smacked his arm. “joe.”
he burst into laughter at your expression, full and bright and completely ridiculous, and you couldn’t help but laugh too, tears still streaking your cheeks.
“what?” he said, grinning wildly now. “i’m just saying, i guess i kind of will be for nine months.”
you stared at him for a second before laughing harder, which only encouraged him.
the two of you were a mess now, crying and laughing at once, and the apartment felt somehow too small for all the love and disbelief and joy packed into the room.
he looked so happy it almost hurt to look at him. so stunned, so undone, so completely and obviously in love with the life the two of you had made.
“you are impossible” you told him, still laughing.
“and you love me.”
“unfortunately, yes.”
“good” he said, and pulled you in for another kiss before you could even finish rolling your eyes.
this one was softer, warm with tears and laughter and the kind of joy that makes the world tilt. he kissed you like he was trying to memorize the moment, like he knew things were changing and he wanted to hold on to this exact second for as long as he could.
when he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against yours again, and both of you were breathing hard in the quiet that followed.
then his gaze dropped.
“wait” he said suddenly, pointing toward the camera you had hidden nearby.
your stomach dropped for half a second before you remembered. right. the vlog.
the proof of the whole surreal, emotional, life-altering day.
you let out a breathless laugh. “i was filming”
joe immediately groaned, though he was still smiling.
“of course you were.”
“i didn’t know if i’d post it,” you admitted, wiping at your face. “i just… needed something.”
he nodded, all the teasing gone from his expression again, replaced by that same soft understanding he always gave you when words got too tangled.
“i’m glad you did” he said.
you looked at him, still a little dazed. “really?”
“yeah,” he said simply. then his smile returned, smaller this time but no less bright.
“i’ll probably want to watch this later and cry all over again.”
that made you laugh, because of course he would. of course he would want to remember every second of this strange, fragile, beautiful beginning.
you reached for his hand again and he took it instantly, intertwining your fingers like he always did when he wanted to make sure you knew he was there.
then, as if the thought had only just hit him properly, he looked down at your stomach one more time and smiled in a way that was so full of love it made your chest ache.
“hi,” he said softly to it, like he was speaking to the tiniest person in the room. “it’s me. your dad. i guess i should probably get used to saying that.”
your heart melted right there on the spot.
you leaned into him and rested your head against his shoulder, and he wrapped an arm around you immediately, holding you close while the two of you stood in the kitchen with dinner cooling on the table and the camera still somewhere nearby and your whole life unfolding in front of you all at once.
it was still scary. that part didn't disappear.
the tour, the timing, the future, the suddenness of it all, the way your mind already tried to leap ahead to everything you didn't yet know.
but in that moment, with joe’s hand on your back and his heartbeat steady under your cheek and his tears drying slowly on his face, the fear didn't feel bigger than the love.
maybe that was what being married was really for.
not avoiding the hard things. not making life neat and easy and perfectly timed. just having someone standing beside you when the hard things arrived, and knowing, with complete certainty, that you would face them together.
joe pressed a kiss to the top of your head and sighed, soft and happy and still a little stunned.
“we’re gonna figure it out” he murmured again.
you smiled into his shirt, tears still hot on your cheeks, and squeezed his hand against your stomach.
“yeah,” you whispered. “together.”
and when he kissed you again, it felt like the beginning of everything.
-
a few weeks later, after countless conversations, a lot of excitement, and joe randomly tearing up at least three times a day whenever he remembered he was going to be a dad, the two of you finally decided to tell everyone.
well.
sort of.
because after watching back the footage from that day, the one where you had found out and then told joe, neither of you could bring yourselves to share it.
it wasn't because you weren't happy. it was the opposite, actually.
it was too special, too raw.
that moment belonged to the two of you.
every shaky breath, every tear, every stunned laugh, every second of joe standing there holding that pregnancy test like it might disappear if he blinked.
that was yours.
and somehow, sharing it with millions of strangers felt wrong.
so instead, you posted a simple announcement.
just a handful of photos. one of you and joe standing outside in golden evening light. another of joe kneeling dramatically beside you with his hand on your stomach despite there being absolutely no bump yet. one of tiny baby shoes resting between your intertwined hands.
and the final photo was your favorite.
joe kissing your cheek while you laughed at something he'd said.
the internet absolutely lost its mind.
your phone practically exploded.
you and joe spent the entire evening curled up together on the couch reading comments.
every few minutes joe would just randomly smile at his phone.
"what?" you asked eventually.
he looked up.
eyes suspiciously shiny.
"people keep calling me a dad."
you immediately burst out laughing.
"joe."
"i'm serious."
he shoved his phone toward you.
sure enough, thousands of comments.
dad keery era.
djo - dad
you looked back at him, he looked genuinely emotional.
"you're crying."
"i'm not."
"you literally are."
he wiped under his eye.
"okay maybe a little."
"oh my god."
"leave me alone."
tour came quicker than either of you wanted.
but thankfully, because you were still early enough in your pregnancy, you were able to travel with him for a big chunk of it.
and honestly?
it became one of your favorite periods of your marriage because it felt like this little bubble. just you. joe. and the tiny thing growing between you.
you got to see cities together, eat food from places you'd never been, wander around unfamiliar streets hand in hand, take photos, film vlogs, make memories before life got a whole lot crazier.
if there was one thing that did change dramatically though, it was joe.
or more specifically how protective he became.
it was ridiculous. genuinely ridiculous. the second he found out you were pregnant it was like some switch flipped inside him.
suddenly you couldn't do anything. absolutely anything.
one morning you reached for a grocery bag.
joe appeared out of nowhere.
"baby."
you blinked.
"what?"
"put that down."
"...it's apples."
"still."
"joe."
he took it from you anyway.
another time you stood on your tiptoes trying to grab a mug from a shelf. a shelf, not a mountain. not a dangerous cliff edge. a shelf.
before your fingers even touched it, joe's voice came from behind you.
"what are you doing?"
you looked over your shoulder.
"getting a mug."
"why?"
"...because i want tea?"
he was already reaching past you.
"i'll get it."
"i can reach it."
"you don't need to."
"i literally do."
"nope."
and then there was the infamous airport incident.
you had picked up your suitcase. your own suitcase. the one you'd been carrying perfectly fine for years.
and joe had gasped, actually gasped, like you'd just attempted to bench press a car.
you stared at him.
he stared at the suitcase.
"put it down."
"joe."
"you're growing a human."
you laughed.
"the human is the size of a grape."
"still."
"you're insane."
"thank you."
and somehow he sounded proud.
later in the tour there was a short break where you both got to spend a couple weeks back home.
it was glorious.
no hotels, no airports, just home.
which was how you ended up sitting on the living room floor one afternoon surrounded by pr packages.
you had decided to vlog opening them because honestly there were so many.
the camera sat on its tripod.
joe lounged beside you on the rug, one arm draped lazily around your shoulders.
"hey," you said.
"today we're opening all the pr that's been piling up while we've been away."
joe nodded.
the first box opened easily.
you pulled out tiny baby clothes.
immediately both of you froze.
because they were tiny. absurdly tiny. joe picked up a little onesie, held it up, stared, stared some more, then looked at you.
"our child is gonna fit in this?"
you nodded.
he looked horrified.
"that's way too small."
you laughed.
"babies are small."
"that's not a baby."
he held it between two fingers.
"that's a hamster."
the next package was bottles, those you both recognised which immediately felt like a win.
"we know these."
"yes!"
you high-fived.
"look at us."
"we're basically parents already."
you both nodded seriously then burst out laughing. the confidence didn't last because the next package contained some bizarre baby contraption.
you pulled it out slowly, turned it around, looked at the instructions, looked back at joe. he looked equally confused.
"what is that?"
"i don't know."
"turn it over."
you did, it didn't help.
"still don't know."
"maybe it's a hat."
"definitely not a hat."
by the middle of the vlog the floor was completely covered.
baby blankets. tiny socks. toys. books. feeding supplies. carriers. little matching outfits. you kept stopping to hold things up and stare at them.
because every now and then it would hit you all over again.
this wasn't hypothetical anymore, these things were for your baby. your actual baby.
and every single realisation felt just as surreal as the first.
at one point you picked up an impossibly tiny pair of shoes.
the room went quiet.
joe immediately reached for them, holding them carefully in his palms. they looked impossibly small there.
you watched his expression soften and instantly knew he was having feelings. again.
"joe."
he sniffed.
"don't."
"are you crying over shoes?"
"maybe."
you laughed.
"they're tiny."
"i know."
"you are unbelievable."
he looked at the camera.
"i'm having a moment."
"over shoes."
"tiny shoes."
which somehow made him cry harder.
toward the end of filming you were both surrounded by baby things.
completely overwhelmed, completely clueless and completely happy.
you leaned against joe's shoulder, he immediately wrapped an arm around you, pulling you closer.
"you know," you said "we have absolutely no idea what we're doing."
"none."
you laughed.
"but," he looked down at you, that soft smile appearing. the one that always made your heart ache.
"we've got each other."
your expression immediately melted.
"that's true."
"and eventually we'll figure out what half this stuff does."
"hopefully before the baby gets here."
you laughed.
he kissed the top of your head then looked at the camera.
"if any parents are watching..."
he held up another mystery baby gadget.
"...please help."
when the vlog went up a few days later, the comments were absolutely flooded.
comments:
user: you two are gonna be the sweetest parents ever
user: the fact they openly admit they have no clue what they're doing is actually so comforting
user: their baby is already so loved and it's not even here yet
user: the way he constantly reaches for her without thinking i'm emotional
user: dad keery era is thriving
user: can't wait to watch this little family grow 🤍
Of Course She’s My Girlfriend! | Steve Harrington x Fem!Reader
SUMMARY: No one knows for sure if you and Steve Harrington are dating or just really close, really touchy, friends. Dustin, with the help of the party, sets out to find out the truth and put an end to the unsolved case of what you and Steve are.
A/N: If you’re a reader of Heroes, take this as my formal apology for chapter 30 and 31 :)
WARNINGS: Fluff, the kids are certified stalkers, kinda suggestive at the end
WC: 2.6K
Main Masterlist!
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Whether you and Steve Harrington were touchy best friends who seemingly had magnets that drew you into one another, or simply just a couple, was a mystery to which no one had a definitive answer to.
It was no secret that you two were best friends for the past couple of years. You both met in middle school and ever since you were put in the same science class, you two were inseparable.
Your playful shoves and harsh pillow fights that left you with a headache for days slowly matured into something more intimate as you both grew up.
Your fingers would brush, your knees would touch, you’d tangle your legs with his.
No one questioned it at first. Not until you and your friends were hanging out at the Wheeler’s place during a movie night.
The kids had taken the floor and you older teens were spread out along the couch. Robin tucked away in the corner with her knees pulled to her chest, Nancy sitting beside her with her legs crossed, Jonathan to her left with his arms crossed, and Eddie sitting next to him, his head drooping back every now and then as he slowly fell asleep.
And of course, there was you and Steve on the other side of the couch.
Your back was pressed against the arm of the couch, legs draped over Steve’s. But that wasn’t the issue. The issue was that his fingers were gently grazing up and down your thigh.
Dustin was lying on his stomach and glanced over his shoulder. The poor kid had to do a double take to ensure his eyes weren’t deceiving him.
And surely enough they weren’t.
One of Steve’s hands was on your knee while the other was caressing the soft skin exposed at your thigh.
You yawned, leaning to rest your head onto his shoulder. Steve smiled at you and snuggled his nose into the crook of your neck.
Dustin’s eyes widened.
Since when were you and Steve a thing?
And that’s the question that made him think for days on end.
He couldn’t go fifteen minutes without his mind wandering back to the idea of you and Steve being a thing. Everyone knew you two were close, but close enough that he was touching your thigh and rubbing his nose along your neck?
What the fuck kind of friendship was that?
Dustin thought maybe that’s the kind of friendship you two had established.
But the more he thought about it, the more he realized that he would never be caught dead doing such a thing with one of his friends.
Then again…you and Steve had always been touchy.
Dustin couldn’t take the spiraling questions in his own head anymore. He needed answers and he needed them fast.
He rounded up the party at his house one late afternoon and paced his living room.
“Does anyone think their relationship is kinda weird?” he asked, walking back and forth, hands on his hips.
Mike’s eyes followed Dustin. “I mean, they’ve always been touchy,” he said. “This isn’t some insane revelation.”
Dustin halted in his tracks. “That’s what I thought, but the other day when we had a movie night, she was pretty much sitting on top of him and he was, like, touching all up on her and rubbing his nose against her neck,” he explained, cringing at each and every word. The vision was forever ingrained into his mind and he wished for a way to delete it.
“That’s disgusting,” Will gagged, scrunching his nose.
“Well, what if they’re dating?” Lucas suggested.
“That’s what I was thinking too,” Dustin replied.
El furrowed her brows, looking between the group. “I do not follow. Wouldn’t they tell us they are boyfriend and girlfriend?”
“I mean, I guess,” Lucas shrugged. “Unless they wanted to keep it a secret.”
“But why?” El asked.
“Who knows,” Max grumbled, leaning back onto the couch. “Can’t we go to the arcade or something?” She was growing increasingly bored by the second. She didn’t really care what you and Steve were. In her mind, it was none of her business.
Dustin’s eyes lit up. “Holy shit,” he breathed out. “They’re hanging out today! We could go spy on them!”
“And see if they’re a thing!” Lucas exclaimed.
Max blinked, standing up. “Woah, woah, woah,” she said, closing her eyes and shaking her head. When she opened them again, Lucas was standing too. “We’re not gonna go spy on them!”
“I think Steve mentioned something about the movies,” Dustin explained, already moving to grab his shoes from beside the door.
“Uh, hello?!” Max shouted. “We’re not spying on them!”
Mike stood up, checking his watch. “Wait, what time is the showing? We should be there before they show up.”
Lucas snapped his fingers. “Smart.”
“Are you all deaf?!” Max yelled.
“Six o’clock showing,” Dustin said, tying his laces. “We can make it if we leave now.”
Dustin shot up, him and Mike already walking out the front door. Lucas went to leave too, looking over his shoulder from the doorway to see Max standing in the living room with a look of bewilderment. “Max, come on!” he said before walking out the door.
Max’s hand landed on her face before turning to face El and Will who were still sitting on the couch with wide eyes. “I hate boys,” Max sighed.
“Hey!” Will scoffed.
“You don’t count.”
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The kids claimed their spots towards the front of the theater, assuming that you and Steve wouldn’t want to sit too close to the screen.
A few minutes had gone by before you and Steve walked in.
Dustin sank into his seat, pulling his cap further down his face in an attempt to cover it. “I’ve got eyes on our targets,” he whispered.
One of Steve’s hands rested against your lower back, the other holding a bucket of popcorn. You were rambling about something and Steve was nodding his head, a small smile on his lips.
“Wow, they’re totally dating, hooray,” Max mused sarcastically. “Can we leave now?”
Dustin turned around, looking over the seats watching as you and Steve sat beside each other. “Not yet. We don’t have solid evidence.”
Will rolled his eyes. “So you’re just gonna sit there looking over the seats like a complete weirdo for the entire movie?”
“Yes.”
El raised a brow. “That is creepy.”
Lucas and Mike peaked over their shoulders. You wrapped your arm around Steve’s looking up at him with eyes that twinkled as if he had given you the moon.
“Aww,” Lucas cooed. He turned to face his friends. “Now that’s what I like to call the look of love.”
Max, El, and Will looked over, Dustin still having his neck completely craned around and staring.
Steve’s thumb brushed your cheek gently, a look in his eyes that none of the kids had ever seen before.
Will turned back around, shaking his head. “This feels invasive.”
“Very,” Max agreed, looking away. “Why can’t we do something fun on a Friday in the middle of the summer?”
“Because this takes priority,” Dustin announced, eyes still fixated on you and Steve. “I’m going to get to the bottom of this. Tonight. Mark my words.”
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After not gathering enough evidence from the movies, the kids then followed you and Steve to a drive in diner later that night.
Your legs were kicked up on the dash, and by the speed in which your mouth was moving, you were definitely talking about whatever new nerdy interest you had gotten into recently.
“No way,” Dustin grumbled, peaking just barely above a bush with his binoculars over his eyes.
“What?!” Lucas whisper shouted, thinking that Dustin had evidence that you two were dating.
“Her feet are on the dash!”
Max threw her head back. “Oh, my God. I told you they’re not dating.”
“They definitely are,” Dustin fired back, removing his binoculars from his face and turning to her. “Steve would kill any one of us if we put our shoes on the dash.”
“That is true,” Mike agreed.
“Okay, and?” Max asked. “They’re, like, super close. I’m sure he doesn’t give a shit.”
“This is ridiculous,” Will mumbled. “I mean look at us! We’re hiding in a bush stalking people!”
“Shh!” Dustin shushed his friend. “You’re going to get us caught,” he whispered.
“Woah, look,” El said softly, pointing a finger straight ahead.
The kids whipped their heads back over to you and Steve.
You were laughing, Steve’s fingers brushing your hair out of your face. He was leaning in slowly when…
You shoved his face out of the way.
“Ha!” Max exclaimed, standing up straight. “Told you they weren’t dating!”
Mike grabbed her wrist, pulling her back down into the bush earning a glare from her. “Get down! You’re gonna expose us!”
“Maybe you need to be exposed for stalking, you creeps!”
“You’re literally stalking too!”
“Doesn’t make any sense,” Dustin mumbled.
“Makes sense to me,” Max spoke up. “They’re not dating. Case closed. Let’s go home.”
“He just kissed her,” El spoke.
“What?!” Lucas exclaimed, looking back to the car.
“Are you sure?” Will asked with uncertainty. The angle in which they were would make it difficult to tell as they were facing your passenger side window.
“On the cheek,” El clarified.
Dustin stood up. “We’re going to their apartment.”
“What?!” Max exclaimed, watching him, Lucas, and Mike climb out from behind the bush and toward their bikes. “You’re joking! You have to be!”
“How would we even get in? Breaking and entering?” Will asked with a scoff.
“Not necessary,” Dustin told them. “I stole his spare. Come on, let’s go!”
Max and Will groaned, rolling their eyes.
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆
Steve’s Beamer pulled into the parking lot of your apartment, the dim lights illuminating the street.
You smiled and turned to face him. “I had fun tonight, Steve,” you said softly, cheeks flushed a shade of pink.
He smiled, turning the car off. “Yeah?”
You nodded. “Mhm.”
Steve leaned in over the center console, face just inches from yours. “Well, I had fun too,” he murmured. His eyes flickered down to your lips. “Good thing I have more planned for tonight.”
You raised your brows. “Oh, really?” He nodded with a low hum. “Why don’t you tell me then?”
“I think it’s better I show you.”
Steve’s lips ghosted over yours before he finally kissed you.
You sighed into his mouth, your fingers raking through his hair. He tilted his head slightly, deepening the kiss. His lips parted slightly as your tongue was just centimeters away from entering his mouth.
He pulled away, nose brushing yours. “But not here,” he murmured. “We’ve got a whole apartment to ourselves.”
You smiled as he hopped out of the car. He walked over to your door and opened it, extending his hand out to you.
You took it and he shut the door before locking the car and leading you up to your shared apartment.
As soon as the door opened, you were back on him again.
His back hit the door, your hands pressed firmly against his chest, lips on his. He groaned, hands moving to grab your waist.
He pulled away, eyes wide. “Holy shit, you want me that bad?” he teased, that stupid smirk on his lips.
“Shut up, Harrington,” you said, rolling your eyes.
Steve chuckled, picking you up before kissing you again, your legs wrapping around him. He walked to your shared bedroom, lying you down onto your back on the bed.
Your legs remained wrapped around his waist as his lips peppered kisses down your jaw. He made his way down to your neck, playfully biting down on the sensitive skin.
You moaned softly, fingers digging into his back through the fabric of his shirt. “Steve…”
“Hmm?” he asked, kissing the spot he just nipped.
“Did I leave my jacket there?”
Steve furrowed his brows, completely caught off guard. He thought you were moaning his name because his mouth was making you feel good. Meanwhile you were asking about an article of clothing. He lifted his face up and glanced down at you. He followed your line of sight, staring at your jacket that was lying on the dresser. “Maybe,” he said with a shrug.
He leaned back down, kissing your lips for about two seconds before you gently pushed his chest and he pulled away. “I know I didn’t leave that there.”
Steve wanted nothing more but to kiss you in peace, yet here you were, stuck on a jacket that was lying on the damn dresser.
“Baby, you had to have left it there,” he reasoned. “Why else would it be there?”
You could’ve sworn you put it back into the closet before you left, but maybe you didn’t.
“I guess…”
Steve’s hand slid up your shirt, causing you to inhale sharply.
He kissed your cheek, fingers trailing along the fabric of your bra. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” you responded as if it were second nature.
He leaned in to kiss you again, this time deeper. His tongue grazed your bottom lip and you let him in, sighing as your fingers ran up the back of his shirt, trailing along his muscles.
Suddenly, something creaked from under the bed.
You both jumped, pulling apart.
“What was that?” you whispered, eyes wide.
Steve’s eyes were wide too as they bore into yours. “I don’t know,” he whispered back.
Bam!
“Ow!”
Something like instant recognition flashed behind Steve’s eyes. “Dustin?!” he shouted, climbing off of the bed.
Dustin groaned, crawling out from under the bed. As soon as half of his body was out, Steve grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, yanking him up. “What the hell are you doing?!”
“I was conducting naturalistic observation!” Dustin defended himself, throwing his hands up.
“What the fuck does that mean?!”
“You were spying on us?!” you shouted, getting off of the bed.
“I needed to know if you two were boyfriend and girlfriend!”
“Of course she’s my girlfriend!” Steve yelled, shoving Dustin back, making him stagger. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”
Both you and Steve thought it was painfully obvious to everyone around you that you two were together. You both did so many things that only a couple would. So, how could anyone not know?
You ran a hand down your face. “You didn’t think to just ask us?!”
Dustin blinked. “Oh…” he trailed off. “I guess I could’ve done that,” he mumbled.
You narrowed your eyes at the jacket on the dresser. “I knew I didn’t leave that there.”
Dustin’s eyes followed yours and he let out a loud sigh. “I told them not to touch anything,” he grumbled, shaking his head in disappointment.
Steve blinked, turning to Dustin with raised brows. “What was that?”
Dustin sucked his teeth, looking up at Steve sheepishly. “Would now be a good time to tell you that the rest of the party is here too?”
Your eyes widened in horror.
“Can we come out now?” you could make out the muffled voice of Mike coming from your closet.
“Yeah, it’s hot as hell in here!” Lucas exclaimed.
“I didn’t condone any of this, I’m sorry,” Max apologized.
“Me either!” Will added.
“Can we sleepover?” El asked.
You pulled your lips into a tight line, nostrils flaring slightly. “How did you guys get in here?”
“Oh,” Dustin chuckled. “I stole his spare key a while back,” he said, motioning to the guy he now could identify as your boyfriend with full confidence, no questions asked.
Steve shut his eyes and ran a hand down his face. “Just a bunch of bad ass little kids.”
Fresh out of prison, Travis finds himself in need of a place to live. You find yourself in need of a new roommate. After responding to your ad, he finds that living with you is actually one of the better decisions he ever made and you learn that you just needed the right person to truly get you.
(part 2 coming soon)
Travis Meacham x fem!reader, roommates to lovers, reader with anxiety, two yearning idiots, Travis is a golden retriever and you are a ray of sunshine.
warnings: nsfw mdni, swearing, mentions of anxiety and self-doubt, trashy ex-friends, making out, dry-humping
***
The dappled sunlight shone through the cab window, hitting Travis’ face as he made his way downtown. The radio up front was playing a heavy bass song, which seemed to pair well with how much his mind was racing at the moment. As he wrung his hands nervously in his lap, his gaze drifted out the window as everything blurred into one.
It had been just two weeks ago that he had been released from prison and still nothing felt quite real to him. His parole officer has instilled in him the need to find a job as one of his probation conditions, so the last few days had been spent dealing with rejection after rejection, until finally he’d managed to get hired by the local storage company. Now his next priority was finding a place to live, there was only so long he could take living in the boxy student rental he’d been temporarily put up in.
It had felt like fate when he’d seen your ad in the shop window. Female, twenties, seeking new roommate. Clean and tidy applicants preferred. Rent negotiated on meeting. The photo provided showed a gorgeous and spacious two-bed apartment with a balcony view over the park. Despite his current situation, Travis couldn’t shake the feeling that this ad had been put there for him to find. Maybe it was stupid of him to believe in fate after everything he’d been through but he tried to remain optimistic that you would like him. Hence the nerve-stricken cab ride he was currently on.
“This is you.” The cab driver told him, jolting him back to reality as the car slowed to a stop. “Nice neighbourhood here.” He glanced at Travis in the rear-view mirror, not being subtle with the look he gave him. Travis suddenly felt very self-conscious, running a hand through his hair nervously.
“Thanks, man.” He threw down the little money he had on him, which included an acceptable tip in an attempt to show that he meant well. “Have a great day.”
He climbed out the cab and checked the directions he’d scribbled down on a piece of paper. Having only spoken to you briefly on the phone to arrange a meeting, you’d given him very specific directions which had warmed his heart a little, clearly you were a conscientious person and it only made him want even more for this to go well. After some searching, he located the building and made his way up, butterflies fluttering around his stomach.
Travis knocked on the door five times and immediately cringed at himself. Was three times too many, was it too insistent? Were you going to think badly of him already? Damn it, he should have stuck with three, that was always a safe bet. His inner monologue was spiralling when you opened the door, beaming out at him with a smile that for some reason made his insides turn to jelly. He straightened up, trying to look presentable.
“Hey.” You held out a hand for him to shake, which he accepted graciously. “You must be Teacake?” You questioned, and he didn’t miss the way your eyes sparkled when he said it.
“Uh, yeah. Hi.” He nodded. “That’s me. I hope I’m not late, I had to take a cab over here and there was a shit-ton of traffic, and then I had to find the place. That actually didn’t take too long, not with the directions you gave me, they were awesome, I found it right away. This is a great building by the way.” He stopped himself when he saw you nodding along, obviously waiting for a break in conversation. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry.” You waved him off. “I’m glad you appreciated the directions, I’ve been told before that sometimes I worry too much. But you’re here now, so why don’t you come in and we can hash out the details.”
Travis followed you inside, taking in the place. It was so much nicer in person and it was obvious you cared about making the place homely. You led him into the living room and signalled for him to sit on the couch, taking the armchair across from him. He sat on the edge of the couch, hands clasped together as you rifled through the application he’d submitted.
“So, you work at Atchinson?” You queried. “You must meet some interesting people there. You know, my uncle has a storage unit over there, maybe you know him?”
Travis ran another hand through his hair. “Yeah, I actually only just started working there. But I’ll get my first pay-check soon, so I’ll be able to cover whatever my half of the rent is. You know, if you offer me the room, that is.”
“What were you doing beforehand?” You asked, not to be nosy but just out of pure curiosity. Travis felt like a bug under a microscope.. He knew at some point he’d have to tell you and he knew once he did, he could most likely kiss the apartment goodbye. He cleared his throat nervously.
“You know, I was sort of between jobs.” He stared down at the floor.
You studied him for a moment, the way he hadn’t quite made it through the door, like he was getting ready to leave at any minute. He was visibly stressed and you could tell there was more to him than he was letting on. “So, uh, Teacake? Is that your real name?”
“Uh, it’s a nickname. Long story.” He told you.
“Right, it’s just I’ll need your name to add to the tenancy if you’re accepted.”
“Oh, yeah.” He grinned. “Sorry, I didn’t think of that. Uh, it’s Travis. Everyone calls me Teacake, though.”
“Alright, Travis.” You nodded, and the way you used his real name made him feel a sense of contentment, the first sense of belonging he’d felt since going to prison. You looked over his application one more time before putting it down and sitting forward, meeting his gaze. “Listen, you seem like a great applicant but I can’t help but feel there’s something you’re not telling me here.”
He sighed, knowing that he’d been caught out. There was no way to side-step this one. “OK, yeah. The truth is, I was just released from prison.”
“Oh.” You blinked in surprise.
“I’m on probation at the moment, I was put up in temporary housing at first but the truth is I wanted someplace new to start over. I saw your ad and it seemed kind of perfect.” He was rambling again. “I know I probably should have said something sooner, but the truth is I’m just tryin’ to make a new start. I swear, no bad intentions. I just want to put the whole thing behind me.”
“Hmm.” You took in everything he was saying. “OK, that’s a lot to process.”
“I’m sorry for wastin’ your time.” Travis said. “I can let myself out.” He made to get up but you held a hand out, stopping him.
“Travis, hang on a second.” You told him. “Look, the truth is I’m kind of eager to rent out that room as soon as possible, not a lot of great memories attached to it.” There was something underlying there but Travis could unpack all of that later. “To be honest, I’ve had a lot of crazy applicants reach out to me and you’re easily the best one.”
He blinked a few times, trying to catch up. “What are you saying?”
“I’m assuming you’re not some kind of dangerous felon.” You joked. “The room’s yours if you want it.”
“Oh, seriously?” He was practically buzzing as he stood up, face beaming. “That’s…wow, that’s amazing, thank you.”
“I will need you to fill out some paperwork first, but why don’t I show you the room, just in case you change your mind.”
“That’s not gonna happen.” He assured you as you got up. “Is it weird if I hug you, this is just the best news I’ve had all week.”
“A hug might break the ice, who knows.” You said, just as he surged forward and swept you up, spinning you around the room. You laughed as he put you down gently, scratching the back of his head.
“Sorry, got a little over-excited.”
“Don’t be sorry, ice well and truly broken.” You told him. “Alright, roomie. Let’s show you this room.
***
The next morning Travis crept into the apartment after having finished a night shift at work, only to find you already awake and bustling about in the kitchen. The smell of coffee and pancakes drifted through, making his stomach growl. There was only so much surviving he could do on a bag of chips during his shift. As he came into the kitchen, you smiled at him and handed him a mug.
“Here you go. I made you some coffee, thought you could probably use one.”
“Thank you.” Travis took it from you, reeling a little at the simple gesture. No one ever really did acts of service for him, but to you it seemed like second nature.
“You’ll have to tell me how you like it made best for future.” You informed him. “I know how important morning coffee is. How was your shift at work?”
“It was long and boring.” Travis responded, taking a sip of coffee and sitting at the kitchen table. “Not too much excitement happening at a self-storage unit, you’d be surprised to hear.”
“You gotta start finding things to do to liven it up.” You told him as you rifled through the cupboards, trying to find the maple syrup for the pancakes. “You know, podcasts, make a playlist. Something like that.”
“I don’t know.” He shrugged. “Never really been much for making things. By the way, I found a box under the bed last night labelled Emily. Should I do something about that?”
“Oh, yeah. That was my old roommate. You can just leave that there.” You didn’t elaborate any further and Travis figured it was best not to push it. Instead he watched as you continued your struggle to reach the top shelf. He stood up and made his way over to you, stopping when he was just behind you. You didn’t hear him at first until you took a step back and collided into him. He instinctively reached out and steadied you with both of his hands.
“Shit, sorry, didn’t mean to scare ya. Can I help you, looks like you’re struggling a little.”
“Yeah, I just…” You stood up on your tiptoes, trying to reach the back of the cabinet. “I can’t reach the syrup.”
Travis could swear that his heart grew three sizes watching you, but he decided to put you out of your misery as he reached up with ease and grabbed the syrup, handing it down to you. Your feet sunk back to the floor, sighing as you took if from him.
“I totally could have gotten it if you’d given me another second.”
“Oh, sure you could.” He teased you a little.
“Are you doubting me?” You asked him.
“I wouldn’t ever dream of it.” Travis held his hands up in surrender. You gave him a fake glare before relenting. “Does this mean I’ve lost out on pancakes?”
You grinned. “I would never do that to you. Unless you’re still too tired from work, don’t feel like you have to eat with me if you don’t want to.”
“Are you kidding? After all that time eating the prison food, I need my fill of pancakes.” He spun around the kitchen. “Where are the plates, let me help by laying the table.”
For a moment, you felt light as air as you took him in, watching as he set the table for breakfast. Recent events had led to doubts bouncing in your brain, that your acts of service were overbearing and you were too much. However, Travis seemed genuinely touched that you’d made him coffee and was excited to eat breakfast with you. You had to remind yourself that it was only day one and the honeymoon period would likely wear off soon. Still, as he sat at the table, rambling about one of the customers he’d met last night, you couldn’t help but feel optimistic.
That you’d struck gold in the roommate department.
***
You were absolutely right. It had been a few weeks now since Travis had moved in and so far everything was going fantastically. Despite the fact that you worked opposing shifts most of the time, you were still able to sit down at least once a day and catch up on each other’s lives, whether it was in the mornings before you darted off to work, or when you were making dinner and boxing some up for Travis to eat on his shifts. The two of you just seemed to fit like two jigsaw pieces. And it wasn’t just the daily catchups. It was the little things as well.
Travis would write silly notes on the mirror after he got out the shower for you to read when you went in after him, knowing it would make you smile and set you up for the day. You would leave your favourite books on the coffee table for him to find after he told you reading was one of his favourite hobbies. The pair of you learnt the others favourite snacks and alternated between doing snack runs. Travis began to seep into every crack and crevice of your life, something that you found you actually quite liked it. You weren't just existing in the same apartment, you were living together.
It didn’t take long for you to realise that you were falling for him.
Which was bad on so many levels. Travis was the best roommate, you couldn’t mess that up by involving mixed up feelings. The two of you had become such good friends and it was best it stayed that way.
Although he did make it exceptionally hard at times.
“Hey, you want a movie night tonight?” He asked as he strolled into the living room, eating a bowl of cereal. Apparently that was his go-to meal no matter how much you tried to get him to eat a real dinner. It was one of the rare evenings that you both had off and had to do something to make the most of it.
“Yeah, sure.” You nodded. “That sounds like fun.”
“Great,” he responded cheerfully. "What are you thinkin'? Action movie?"
"I could go for horror." You said. "Unless you're going to spend the whole time hiding behind a cushion again?"
"I don't do that." His face wrinkled in the most endearing way. "Last time I was just keeping the cushion close in case you needed it."
"Mmm, sure." You nodded, completely unconvinced.
"I totally wasn't scared." He insisted. “Want me to make the popcorn?”
“Oh, fuck.” You cursed loudly.
“I mean, I don’t have to if it’s that bad.” He joked, to which you rolled your eyes with a grin.
“No it’s not that, idiot. I forgot to run to the store yesterday, we don’t have any.”
Travis held a hand to his chest. “What? No popcorn? Who even are you anymore?”
“Shut up.” You chucked a cushion at him, which only made him laugh more. “I guess I can run out quickly now and grab some.”
“Hey, why don’t I come with you?” He offered. “Late night grocery runs are always more fun with company.”
“Is that scientifically proven?” You asked.
“Uh, yeah. Can’t believe you didn’t know that.” He shook his head at you. “I’m actually pretty sure there is some genuine science-y shit that could back that up if you really looked into it. Nothing beats company, trust me. Especially yours.” He finished with a devilish grin.
“Alright, Teacake. You got me.” You stood up. “Let me just grab my jacket and we can get out of here.”
Twenty minutes later the two of you were wandering around the grocery store, searching for movie night supplies. Travis had insisted upon pushing the cart, which had worked for you as it meant you were able to fill it up.
“Alright.” You said as you reached the popcorn aisle. “Sweet or salted?”
“Sweet, obviously.” Travis responded, leaning against the cart.
“Obviously?”
“Come on.” He argued. “You’re telling me that you’d rather have salted over sweet, there’s no way.”
“I can’t believe this is even up for debate.” You shot back. “Salted is the classic choice for movie night, why are we even discussing this?”
“Wow.” Travis shook his head at you. “Can’t believe you could be so wrong about something so crucial. You know how awesome I think you are, but this might just be a dealbreaker for me.”
“Oh.” Now it was your turn to hold a hand to your chest, pretending to be offended. “Are you saying our roommate bond is at risk over popcorn.”
“I’m sensin’ some sarcasm coming from you right now and I need to tell you, it is not a good colour on you.” Travis told you. You rolled your eyes.
“Alright, compromise.” You grabbed both packets. “We’ll get them both, that way we’re both happy.”
“I like your thinkin’.” He pointed at you. “You really are the best.”
“Shut up.” You told him.
“I’m serious.” He said.
“Teacake?” A voice interrupted your conversation and you both spun around, seeing a young guy walking towards you, smile on his face that was directed at Travis. He seemed to reciprocate as he straightened up and held a hand out, shaking with this other guy.
“Hey, Pete.” He said brightly. “Man, how long’s it been?”
“Couple of months, right?” Pete mused. “When did you get out?”
“Bout’ a month ago.” Travis answered. “Been strange.”
“Right? No one prepares you for that, huh? What it’s like after you get released. Did you get a good set-up?”
Travis nodded. “Yeah, man. Got some work at the self-storage company, managed to get back on my feet.” It was then he glanced over at you and immediately beamed. “Sorry, this is my roommate.”
“Hey, nice to meet you.” Pete shook your hand. “How’d you guys meet, then?”
“Oh, total coincidence actually.” You replied. “I needed a roommate, Travis needed a place to live. It was sort of like fate.”
“Yeah, it kinda was.” Travis smiled at you.
Pete glanced between the two of you with a grin. “Wow, man. Looks like you really landed on your feet here. I’m happy for you.”
“Thanks, man. Hey, it was great seeing you.”
“You too. If you’re ever free we should definitely catch up sometime.” Pete told him.
“Yeah, maybe.” Travis nodded.
“Well, I’ll see you around.” Pete waved to you both before wandering away, leaving you to continue your shopping.
“He seems nice.” You said to Travis.
“Oh yeah, Pete was great. He was one of my only friends when I was in the slammer. Got out just a few months before I did.”
“You gonna go out with him? Might be nice to catch up with him?”
“Ah, no.” He waved the idea off. “I don’t think I should.”
“How come?” You asked, hoping you weren’t being too pushy by asking.
“I just…I don’t want to fall back into that mess again. Pete’s great but he knows a lot of shady guys and it’s a slippery slope, you know.” He shrugged. “Don’t want to mess up what I got now. I got my job, I got a roof over my head. I got you.” He added, tilting his head towards you and giving you that smile that made your stomach flip. “I got all I need.”
You nodded on understanding. “I hope you don’t mind me asking about it.” You said.
“Are you kidding? Feels like you know me better now, it’s kinda nice.” He said. “Now, back to the popcorn?”
“Back to the popcorn.”
***
A few days later you were in the apartment alone, waiting for Travis to get back from work when there was a knock on the door. Checking your phone, you frowned as you realised it couldn’t be him, it was still too early. Making your way to the front door, you opened it to find the last person you wanted to see. Or rather, people.
“Emily. Josh. What a nice surprise.” You plastered on a fake smile.
Your former roommate rolled her eyes as her boyfriend leaned against the door-frame, looking bored by you already. “We really don’t have time for small talk. I just came by to grab the rest of my stuff. Do you have it?”
“You know where it is. Be my guest.” You stepped aside. “I’m not getting it for you.”
“Wow? You’re not bending over backwards and invading my privacy? You’re really mixing things up, huh?”
“I thought you didn’t have time for small talk?”
Emily sighed and waltzed into the apartment, making her way into her old room to grab the box of belongings she’d left behind. You turned back to Josh, who was looking you up and down with judgement. “So, are you finally going to find the nerve to say it to my face?”
“Say what?”
“You know what? The crazy lies you were spreading about me, trying to turn Emily against me.” He leaned in slightly. “It was never going to work, you know?”
You refused to be intimidated by him. “I didn’t tell any lies. You know exactly what you did and so do I. Maybe Emily doesn’t see it, but I do.”
He smirked at you. “Don’t waste your time. She already chose me, let’s not embarrass ourselves further, yeah?”
“Go to hell, Josh.”
“Don’t talk to my boyfriend like that.” Emily warned you as stepped back out with the box. “I see you already replaced me?”
“Oh, yeah.” You nodded. “In fact I did. And let me tell you, he’s a hell of a lot more pleasant than you are.”
“Oh, ‘he’?” Emily raised an eyebrow. “So, what’s his name?”
It was at that exact moment that Travis decided to make an appearance, stepping into the door frame and taking Josh and Emily in. As he glanced at you and saw the disdainful look you were giving them both, his hackles immediately went up. Whoever these strangers were, he was pretty sure he had grounds to hate them.
“Is this him?” Emily asked. “Hey, pretty boy. What’s your name?”
“Uh, hey? I’m Travis.” He didn’t offer a hand to shake, feeling the sudden urge not to be friendly which wasn’t like him at all. “Who are you?”
“I’m Emily.” She told him and when she was met with a blank stare, she scoffed. “Oh, so she hasn’t told you about me. Nice.”
Travis’ face suddenly registered recognition. “Oh, Emily? You’re the one who had my room before me, right?”
“Yeah, that’s right.” Her voice was dripping with malice. “Was honestly such a shame when I had to move out.” She flashed a sarcastic grin your way, making you squirm a little. What was it about her that made you feel so bad? You hated it.
Travis folded his arms and came to stand beside you, a silent signal of loyalty. “I’m not sure what you mean, moving in here was the best decision I ever made.”
Emily giggled. “Give it some time.”
“Yeah, I don’t think so.” He shot back.
Emily glared at him, just as Josh’s gaze flickered down to the tattoo on Travis’ arm and devious grin crept across his face. “Nice ink, man. Where’d you get it?”
You suddenly felt defensive. It was bad enough that they’d barged in here on your morning off, but now they were interrogating Travis and that didn’t sit right with you. “Alright, I think it’s time for you both to leave.” You began to usher them both out the door. “Always a pleasure, though.”
“Right, of course. Throwing us out so you can make coffee for your new roommate, right?” Emily turned around and leaned in, voice low so only you could hear her. “You know, it’s only a matter of time before he decides you’re too much.”
“It was great seeing you, Emily.” With that you shut the door on her face, blocking out her harsh words. Though they were already swirling around in your head. Too much. Too much. Too much.
“Well they seemed like a god-damn delight.” Travis weighed in sarcastically from behind you. “What the hell did I just walk into?”
“It’s nothing.” You brushed him off. “I didn’t even know they were coming round, otherwise I would have just left the box outside the door. I don’t love talking to her.” You turned your back to him, making sure he couldn’t see the pained expression on your face. There was the familiar sinking feeling in your stomach and you couldn’t seem to shake it.
“Are you OK?” Travis asked, immediately noticing that you were a little off. “Did she say somethin’ to you?”
“Honestly, don’t worry about it.” You told him, not wanting to burden him with your innermost worries. He surely didn’t care that much anyway. “You must be tired from work, you probably want to go to take a nap, right?”
Travis shook his head. “Actually, what I really wanna do is go shower and grab some coffee. You want to join me?”
You sighed. “Travis, come on. You don’t need to try and cheer me up right now.”
The look of sadness on your face told him otherwise. It wasn’t often thus far that he’d seen you upset but on the rare occasion that he did, Travis wanted to do everything he could to take that feeling away. He’d learnt pretty quickly that going for coffee and a walk was the perfect remedy and despite your protests, he knew how much you needed this. Plus, it meant he got to hang out with you and that was always a bonus to him.
“Too late. I’m already dreamin’ about espresso. We have to go.”
Slowly but surely, a smile crept across your face. “Fine. But only if we can get cookies too.”
“Oh, like you even have to ask.” He said. “Give me ten minutes to wash the storage place off me.”
You grinned after him as he dashed towards the bathroom, wondering what you did to deserve him. Even though he was being so sweet, it still wasn’t quite enough to shake off what Emily had said to you. Sometimes you felt like you were too much, and your biggest fear was that Travis would start to think so as well. The doubt had planted itself in your brain and it was hard to get rid of it.
He wouldn’t think so, right?
***
The thing about Travis was that he was the human equivalent of a golden retriever. The next couple of days, you’d been wrestling with your own self-doubt and he instantly picked up on it, only wanting to try and cheer you up. No matter how much you insisted you were fine, he still went out of his way for you. He brought flowers home, offered to cook you dinner and even surprised you by cleaning the apartment. After a few days, you felt that doubt start to lift like magic. Travis had done that for you and you loved him for it.
It was doing nothing for the feelings you were catching.
That evening, you were searching your freshly cleaned apartment for your house keys, having been called into work for a late shift. Most of the time your keys were thrown on the side in the kitchen but he’d obviously tidied them away somewhere without thinking. You made your way to his bedroom, knocking gently.
“Hey, Travis?” You called through the door.
“Hey, come in.” You heard him shout from the other side. Immediately opening the door, you casually wandered in. “Do you know where-?” You stopped suddenly as you took him in. He was standing in front of the mirror with just a towel around him, having just come out of the shower. His blonde hair was hanging loosely around his face, still a little damp and you could totally appreciate his form. You’d always known he was in good shape but damn, now you could really see it.
You didn’t realise you were staring until he tilted his head, a smirk on his face. “You alright?”
“What?” Your brain was completely crashing out and you needed to recover quickly. “Oh, yeah. Sorry.” What had you come in for again?
“You sure, you’re blushin’ a little.” His voice was cocky. “See somethin’ you like?”
There was absolutely no way you could let him know this was having such an effect on you. Even if your mind was currently drifting elsewhere, wondering what he was hiding under the towel, what might happen if he came a little closer. Your heart was starting to beat faster. Shaking your head quickly, you cleared your throat. “Have you seen my keys?”
“Oh, yeah, They’re in the bowl by the door.”
“Right, thank you.” You tore your gaze away from him. He frowned suddenly.
“You goin’ out?”
“Oh, yeah.” You nodded. “I got called into a late shift at work. I’ll be home later, I’ll try not to wake you up when I come back in.
Travis’ heart sank a little, one of the rare nights he didn’t have to work and you weren’t going to be in? “That kinda sucks, we can’t hang out tonight.”
You smiled. “You can still have a good night off. Don’t miss me too much.”
“I always miss you when you’re gone.” He muttered softly and you tried to ignore the way your stomach flipped when he said it. Did he have any idea the effect he had on you? Was it ever possible to think he might feel the same. It felt scary to cling onto any hope.
“Anyway, I have to shoot off. Have a good night.” You him as you walked out of his bedroom. “Don’t wait up for me.”
As you went off to work, you knew you wouldn’t be able to get the image of Travis out of your head, particularly the one where he was half-dressed with a sad puppy-dog look on his face because you were leaving him.
“Screw you, Travis.” You said to yourself as you walked out the door. Why did he have to be so perfect?
***
The shift at work seemed to drag on for an eternity until eventually you were climbing the stairs back up to the apartment and sneaking back in through the door. The place was quiet and you assumed Travis had turned in for the night, so you tiptoed into the living room to take off your shoes.
And almost jumped out of your skin when you saw him lying on the floor, head resting against the couch with his headphones in, eyes shut as he gently nodded his head along to whatever he was listening to. As soon as the initial shock had worn off, you couldn’t help but grin at how adorable he looked right now, slightly sleepy and a little disheveled. You slowly made your way over to him and crouched down, gently placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Hey, Travis.” You spoke softly.
His eyes drifted open and when he saw you next to him, his entire face lit up. “Hey, you’re home.”
“Yeah, I told you not to wait up for me, what are you doing in here?” You weren’t mad, if anything you were really happy to see him.
“Well I had to make sure you got home safe.” He told you, sitting up. “Besides, I was listening to this new playlist I made for work. Remember you told me to do that? I actually read that it was a good way to boost motivation when you’re working so I figured it was worth a shot.” He shrugged.
“Alright, I like it. What are you listening to?” You reached out and took one of the headphones out his ear, placing it in your own. “NSync?” You smirked.
“What, they’re classic?” Travis defended himself.
“I had no idea you were so cheesy.” You picked his phone up, scrolling through the rest of the playlist. You stopped on one particular song. “Hanson?”
“Yeah, I love this song.”
“Of course you do.” You chuckled, pressing play. “I actually don’t hate it either, weirdly enough.”
You settled down next to him, resting your head on the couch cushions and staring up at the ceiling as the music washed over you. You felt Travis relax next to you, shifting slightly so his arm was pressed up against yours, fingers brushing gently, Butterflies fluttered in your stomach as you realised how close the two of you were all of a sudden. After a while, the initial shock wore off and you unclenched, tiredness suddenly hitting you after your long shift. Your eyes started to droop a little and without even really thinking, you moved in and let your head rest on Travis’ shoulder, a contended sigh escaping you.
You felt Travis laugh softly. “Someone’s sleepy.” His own voice had dropped now from fatigue, a little husky. You groaned in indignation.
“I am not.” You lightly hit his arm which only made him laugh more. He reached out and stroked a hand through your hair and your breath hitched in your throat. Eyes fluttering open, you looked up and saw him gazing down at you with pure adoration. You smiled back at him, eyes subconsciously dropping down to his lips.
And then it happened.
Travis’ hand came to rest on your jaw and before you knew it, he was leaning in and pressing his lips to yours. Your brain completely scrambled as his thumb stroked your jaw softly and you felt his tongue swipe across your bottom lip. Without hesitation, you granted him access and he groaned into your mouth, sitting up and pulling you gently into his lap. The kiss quickly turned into something more as you instantly rocked your hips into him, a moan escaping the both of you as he gripped your hips, encouraging you to move against him again.
“Fuck.” You heard him mutter against your lips, and you felt like you were on fire as his hardness pressed against you.
“Travis.” You breathed softly, reaching down to pull up the shirt he was wearing.
He pulled away from you suddenly, eyes searching yours and suddenly that familiar sinking feeling snuck up on you again. The moment was quickly shattered as you worst fears overtook you again. Maybe he didn’t really want you after all
“Shit, I’m sorry.” You stuttered. “If you don’t want to-“
“No, it’s not that.” Travis assured you, but you didn’t wait to hear more. You were going to give him an easy out.
“It’s alright. You don’t have to explain. We live together, maybe this was a mistake.”
His face fell at your words. “Is that how you feel?”
Of course it wasn’t. But it was easier to pull back now rather than get your heart completely broken. “Let’s just forget it, yeah?” You jumped up and hurried towards your bedroom, leaving Travis sitting there completely alone. He felt your absence immediately.
Looking at his phone, he quickly opened up the other playlist he’d been working on, the one full of songs that reminded him of you. He’d been planning to show it to you tonight, hoping it might make you smile.
But maybe you didn’t need him as much as he hoped you did.
okay so this is my first request ever (yay 😇), i’m typically a silent reader. okay. to the point. could you do one where reader has the biggest puppy eyes ever—and isn’t even aware that she has them? steve’s never able to say no (obviously). and the group always teases him, but he can’t bring himself to stop.
sorry if this lacks detail, but you should get the idea?? if not, that’s okay. thank you!! 🥹✌️
PUPPY EYED LOVER
Steve Harrington x fem!reader
WORD COUNT: 1.7K
NIA'S NOTES: Thank you for this request!! I have my exam tomorrow. I need all the luck I can get honestly 🤞🤞 I'll feedback to you guys as soon as I come out of the exam how it went. Enjoy my lovelies!! 💕
Having a boyfriend that couldn’t help but give into you was something that you put to good use, mostly because it would get a reaction out of other people. Watching the helpless look wash over his face was something that you soaked in every time. You could ask him for anything, and he would say yes immediately, not needing a second to think about it. Your favourite part about it was watching everyone roll their eyes and gag.
For a boy that was known as ‘king Steve’ in high school, he was definitely everything but what people expected of him. Whatever defences he had up crumbled down whenever he simply looked at you, and he got shit from it all the time, constantly being mocked when he was caught off guard.
You’ve never worked out why he can never say no to you, and you know that he has never been like this with anyone else. If anyone else asked him for something, he would probably laugh at them and roll his eyes. People would ask you if he was desperate, but he has been like this since day one of dating him, and you never thought to ask him about it.
The mall was getting quieter, people scattered around to do their last-minute shop before heading home. You’re walking out of the movie theatre with Steve by your side, a large popcorn box in your hands as you munched on them. You had asked him if you could get popcorn, and he went up to the front to ask for a large popcorn box. He knew that you wouldn’t finish it, but anyone that knew him knows that he loves to spoil you.
Robin, Jonathan and Nancy are trailing behind you, still laughing at the movie that you just watched. It had been a tie between you and the others on what movie you wanted to watch, and the final vote that came from Steve was your movie suggestion, of course.
He rests his hand on your lower back, guiding you through the mall. “What did you think of the movie, baby?” He asks, stealing a handful of popcorn from your box and tilting his head back, eating them all at once.
You hum, glancing around like you’re really thinking about it. “I really liked it. What did you think of it?”
A slightly concerned look appears on his face, and he almost wants to laugh at how awful the movie was, but for the sake of you, he doesn’t. “It was quite funny. Good movie.”
You squint at him before laughing. “Wait, really? I was only kidding, I hated it. I think that was the worst suggestion I’ve ever had. Never let me pick a movie.”
He stares at you, more confused than ever. “Oh, right. I mean, it was funny because it was so bad.”
“Okay, Steve.” You laugh, shaking your head before stuffing popcorn in your mouth.
The others catch up with you and fall into a conversation, mostly filled with Robin unable to talk with how much she was laughing. Steve’s hand stays on your lower back, gently rubbing up and down, a gesture that he does without even thinking about it.
You pause mid-step, inches away from the stairs leading to the exit, and you glance up at Steve. “Could we take the elevator? My legs are hurting.” You say innocently with a sweet smile and your big eyes.
“Yeah, of course we can.” He nods, already making his way over to the lift.
“Oh Jesus. The stairs are right here. Can you not walk up a few steps?” Robin asks with a groan, earning a grin from you.
“If her legs hurt, then the elevator would be the best option.” Steve says, pressing the button.
Robin rolls her eyes, already making her way up. “I’m taking the stairs, have fun waiting.”
“Suit yourself.” Jonathan shrugs, following behind Robin with Nancy who’s clearly trying not to laugh.
He turns to you, shrugging. “Don’t know what’s got them so irritated.”
You just laugh, stepping into the elevator with him beside you. The elevator goes up slowly, giving him time to turn to you, gently grabbing your jaw and pulling you in for a sweet, slow kiss. He sighs against you, slipping his hand behind him onto the wall to steady himself.
“You taste like salted caramel.” He grins.
“I am eating salted caramel popcorn, so I’d hope so.” You laugh, leaning your weight against him.
His fingers trail down your arm, and his voice almost comes out in a whine. “I can’t wait to get back home.”
You raise your eyebrows. “Why is that?”
“Why would I not want to get back home?” He sighs, resting his forehead against yours. “I’ve missed you.”
“Steve, baby, you’ve been with me all day. Practically attached to my hip unless you physically haven’t been able to come along with me.” You say with an amused laugh.
“You know what I mean.” He mumbles.
“I don’t, but okay.” You shake your head, huffing out another laugh.
His hand comes back up to the side of your face. “I like being around you.”
“I know.” You hum. “You’ve been very affectionate all day.”
“Am I not always?” He asks.
You blink at him. “Good point.”
The elevator dings and the doors open, the others already waiting at the door, looking impatient. You slip your free hand into his, clutching the popcorn box against your chest as you walk over to the exit.
“Would you like me to carry that for you?” He asks.
“Yes please.” You nod, and he effortlessly takes it from you between his fingers.
Robin fake gags, causing him to roll his eyes. “You two are disgustingly cute, I hate it.” She says, but there’s no real hatred in her tone.
“Who’s driving us back home?” Nancy asks, pushing the exit door open.
“I can.” Jonathan says.
“I also can.” You add.
Robin’s eyes immediately flick to Steve, waiting for his response. “Just say no for once. I will smile for the rest of my life.” She says, dragging her hand down her face.
“It saves me from driving everyone around for hours, actually. I’ll happily let her drive us all home.” Jonathan shrugs.
Steve glances at Robin. “Well, wasn’t that easy?” He says, shooting her a glare.
Robin groans, walking through the exit.
“You’re so easy, Steve.” Robin teases.
“She’s not wrong. I don’t think I ever hear you say no.” Nancy adds, raising her eyebrows.
“No.” Steve says simply.
The group shoot him a look, and you can’t help but laugh.
“Don’t join in with them too.” Steve groans at you, though he only pulls you closer to himself.
“They aren’t wrong, Steve.” You whisper.
“Maybe not, but what’s the problem with it?” He asks you.
Robin gasps comically, sarcastically. “No way. He finally admits it. We must broadcast this to the world.”
“Could you just stop talking for a minute?” Steve shoots back and turns to look at you.
“I don’t have a problem with it.” You say with a sweet smile.
“I’m glad that someone doesn’t.” He rolls his eyes, leading you over to the car.
You slip into the driver’s seat, adjusting the seat to your height whilst Steve gets into the passenger seat, and the group slide into the back. Steve slides a cassette tape into a player to play in the background to fill up the noise, which definitely wasn’t going to be necessary. You drive out of the parking lot and start to drive to everyone’s houses.
They’re relentlessly teasing Steve in the back, dragging out his inability to say no for as long as they could, which you found hilarious. He had nothing else to say to shoot back at them, so he groaned and listened to them.
“You’re completely hopeless, dude.” Jonathan laughs.
“Steve, would you be the sweetest and turn this song off? I hate it.” Robin mocks, and you keep your focus on the road, physically holding yourself back from laughing.
Steve huffs, tilting his head back against the headrest. “You’re relentless.”
“You make me want to barf every time you do that weird squeaky voice.” Robin laughs.
“I thought I was the only one that noticed that.” Nancy adds.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re making things up now.”
“No, no.” Robin shakes her head. “Once I noticed it, it’s now the only thing I can notice.”
“Can I do anything without you commentating on my life?” He asks, turning his head to look back at the group, earning a shrug from them all.
Once you dropped everyone back off at their homes, you watch the tension leave Steve’s shoulders, and he huffs out a breath. You park outside of your house, turning the engine off and looking at Steve with a slightly empathetic look.
“That was an interesting drive.” You whisper.
“I was so close to stepping out of the car.” He groans.
“I think it’s cute that you always say yes to me.” You say with a sweet smile before stepping out of the car, walking up to the door.
Steve jogs behind you, his body pressed tightly against yours as you search for your keys. He rests his chin on your shoulder, his arms around your torso. You unlock the door, stepping inside and slipping your shoes off. As soon as his are off, he carefully backs you against the wall, his lips brushing along your neck.
“Steve!” You laugh, pulling him closer.
“Hm?” He says, acting completely oblivious as he presses kisses along your neck.
“I haven’t even taken my coat off yet.” You whisper.
“Don’t need to.” He mumbles.
Your hands slip through his hair. “I also need to prepare dinner.”
“Just give me a sec, baby.” He murmurs, settling his hands on your hips and settling his head on your shoulder.
“What happened to you always saying yes to me?” You ask with a laugh, and he perks his head up.
“Right.” He nods.
“I’m only kidding. It can wait.” You say with a sweet smile, and he grins, pressing his lips to yours, humming.
Even though Steve knew that the group were going to give him shit for life because of this, he could never contain himself. He was too far into it now, he would never get himself to stop.
Thank you for reading!! 💕 Liking and reblogging is very much appreciated!! 💕 This is the first time in weeks that I've been able to sit for a while and write something without getting distracted. Exam tomorrow, woop woop
Summary: You were humming Madonna "Angel" and this makes Steve more in love than he already is because you hum so pretty.
Steve was sprawled across your bed, mindedly flipping through a magazine that you had while you got ready for the day. The room was quiet except for the soft tune you were humming under your breath.
At first, he didn't pay much attention. Then he realized what song it was. "Angel?" Steve looked up, a smile tugging at his lips. You shrugged. "Maybe."
The familiar Madonna melody filled the room as you continued humming, completely unaware of the way Steve was staring. "Sweetheart."
"Hm?" "You know you're adorable, right?" You laughed. "Says the guy staring at me like I've hung the moon."
"Can't help it, angel." He rested his chin in his hand. "You do this thing where you get lost in a song, and your whole face lights up." Your cheeks warmed. "You're ridiculous."
"you're so pretty."
"Steve"
"No, seriously, honey." His voice softened. "Every time I think I couldn't possibly love you more, you do something like this." You rolled your eyes affectionately. "All because I was humming?"
Steve reached for your hand and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. "Yeah, baby." He grinned. "All because you were humming."
Somehow the look in his eyes made you believe him.
hi, i hope this is ok to request a kind of self indulgent fic of travis and lonely reader. can they be coworkers and he has a huge crush on her and one day she comes into work and she isn't as happy as usual and he finally gets her to tell him and it's because she doesn't have any friends and she's just feeling very lonely. and he's confused because she's cool and he doesn't understand why no one would want to be her friend and he comforts her.
thank you
Of course! This was something I really resonated with and put some of my own experiences into so I hope that's okay. You can always reach out if you're feeling lonely, and I hope you're okay 🖤 dividers by @kodaswrld
Travis Teacake Meacham x Fem!Reader
wc-2.3k
cw- lonely!reader, as in, reader doesn't have friends, and describes her feelings in depth, crying and a lil kiss at the end, that's all!
The way your bag hit the chair was different than normal, Travis’ eyes lifted from his book, watching as the slouchy shoulder bag folded into the plastic chair with more carelessness than it usually did, the pins scratching against the backrest. He looked up at you, the careless way you had thrown your hair up, your glasses sliding down your nose, trying to hide the lack of makeup, and the new presence of blue-ish, half-circles under your eyes. Your eyelids themselves were red, not as if you had only just stopped crying, but in a way that betrayed that you had cried recently. Your uniform was covered with a baggy grey sweatshirt, and your earphones dangled from your ears. That was the first thing that Travis had spoken to you about when you’d been put together on a night shift for the first time. The fact that you both still wore wired earphones. Travis had thought it was some kind of fate taking place, but then again, he thought everything he had in common with you had to be fate.
The main thing he noticed, however, was that you hadn’t looked at him. He could be making it up, projecting something onto you, but he swore, whenever you entered the office and saw that it was him you were working with, your smile brightened just a little more. But there was no smile today as you unpacked your dinner, placing it into the fridge with hands that were usually more delicate. He folded the corner of the page he was reading, so as to not lose his place, and leaned forward, trying to catch your eyes as they pointedly averted him.
“Hey.” He said, his voice was gentle, as if you were a wild animal he was trying not to startle. He noticed you glance in his direction and pull out one of your earphones, leaving it to dangle against your chest.
“Hey.” You mumbled, your voice cracked on the word, and you had to clear your throat as Travis watched you pull out a chair and sink into it. Your forearms rested against the desk, and your eyes locked onto your hands as you began to pick at the skin around your nails, leaving the flesh raw and tender. Travis’ eyes widened slightly when he saw the reddened skin, but chose not to comment.
“Everythin’ okay?” He asked, his own fingers fidgeting with the pocket at his thigh, fastening and unfastening the popper as he waited for your response. It was strange to see you like this, Travis was used to your cheerful demeanor, as if you were sunshine personified. It was something he had instantly fallen for, your kindness. On your third shift together, you found a mouse crawling around one of the hallways, and had taken it upon yourself to care for it for the night, feeding it, giving it water, before releasing it into the nearby woodland on your way home that morning. He had watched your thumb gently stroke the creature’s fur, how you had used your own sweater as a bed for it, and felt his chest leap and his stomach lurch. He was pretty sure that that was the night he fell in love with you, and every shift since then had made it worse, or better. He couldn't decide. But seeing you so deflated, staring down at your hands and staying silent instead of telling him about whatever side quest you’d completed that day, it made his stomach twist for an entirely different reason.
“Mhm.” You hummed, giving him a half-hearted nod, not looking up from your hands as you picked at a stubborn piece of skin by your thumb. Travis watched you for a moment before slowly lifting his hand, and placing it over yours. His skin was warm, a little clammy but not uncomfortable. The feeling of his skin against yours sent a tingle through your arm as his fingers gently pried yours away from your other hand. You let go of your thumb and sat back in your chair, folding your arms over your chest. Travis’s chest panged at the loss of contact, but he sat back again too, still watching you as you refused to meet his gaze.
“You can talk to me. Y’know?” He prompted, his voice tender, not at his usual excitable tone. “I mean, y’dont have to, but I’m a pretty good listener.” He continued, not taking his eyes off you. “S’what the big ears are for.” He gestured upwards towards his ear before shaking his head at his cheap attempt at a self-depricating joke. The short burst of air that you exhaled lightened his eyes a little, relieved that it was good for something. “My therapist keeps sayin’ I should stop talkin’ so bad about myself really.”
“And how’s that going for you?” You muttered, not lifting your eyes from where you were staring at your shoe. Travis smiled when you engaged with him, feeling one step closer to figuring out what had you so distant.
“Oh yeah, really well.” He answered, his tone taking a sarcastic edge. This time when you exhaled sharply, the corner of your mouth lifted ever so slightly. Progress. A moment of silence settled between you, his eyes dropping to your mouth as you chewed on your bottom lip, clearly in the midst of an internal debate, for once, he didn’t involve himself, he just sat with you in the silence as you figured it out yourself.
“I don’t know,” You started, leaning forward to reposition yourself in your chair before leaning back against the backrest again. “I was out with some people last night, and it was just…” You shook your head, glancing to your side before your head tilted, bringing your eyes back down to your shoe. “I was always… left out.” Travis’ eyebrows furrowed slightly as you talked, managing to keep his mouth shut for you to explain what had been plaguing your mind all day. “I was always walking behind everyone else, and no one asked me anything, it was like I wasn't even there. And… I don’t know, I just…” You paused, rubbing at your eye under your glasses. Travis watched, his heart pulsing at the quiver in your voice, the dejected tone that your whole body was projecting. “It just felt like they were all friends and I was just… there.” You said, gesturing with your hands as you continued to stare at your foot. “And the whole night I was just thinking, like… I’ve never been anyone’s best friend.” You said, pausing as the familiar well of emotion bubbled in your chest, biting on the inside of your cheek to stop the tears from spilling over. “I’ve had best friends, but I've never had anyone consider me as theirs… y’know?” You cleared your throat, shifting in your chair and tucking a piece of hair behind your ear.
Travis didn’t say anything, his eyes dropped to your bag, recalling all the times you’d left your phone out during your shift and it would never buzz, or all the times he asked you what you were going to do after work and you’d just shrugged. His eyes lifted as you wiped your nose on the sleeve of your sweatshirt. “I don't know. I’m just in my head a little.” You shrugged, the movement broke Travis’ heart, as if you were trying to play it off, as if it didn’t really matter. He could see it in your face, hear it in your voice that even now, talking to him, you felt like you were bothering him. As if your presence was an inconvenience. He nodded even though you weren’t looking, not wanting to interrupt if you felt like saying more. “Like, if I were to get married I wouldn’t have any bridesmaids… or anyone to come to a bachelorette party or anything.” You mumbled, pulling the sleeves of your sweatshirt over your hands and wiping your nose again as the tears betrayed your instincts and fell over, splashing onto your cheeks. “And I- I just feel like a little kid again wondering why no one wants to be my friend. Why I was always paired with the teacher, or why the other kids only played games where they could run away from me.” The words spilled out of you like an unstoppable damn, like now the sticks were falling away piece by piece. You dropped your elbows to your knees and buried your face in your hands. Travis was out of his seat quicker than he had ever moved in his life, rounding the desk and dropping to his knees by your side. His hand hesitantly lay on your shaking shoulder as you quietly cried, unsure as to whether contact would make things better or worse. It felt so unnatural to see you in this state. You were the one who brought the sunlight into every room you entered, you were the one who could pull him out of his head by giving him silly, random facts that you had found out that day. His hand held onto your shoulder firmer when you didn’t move away. “I just don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
Your whispered statement had him swallowing hard around a lump in his throat. How could the kindest, most wonderful, brightest person he knew, feel this way about themselves? His thumb pressed into your shoulder softly, massaging slowly as he tried to ground you, to bring you back into the moment, hoping to help you out of your thoughts.
“Hey,” He said gently, his hand sliding up from your shoulder to brush his fingers against your jaw. You lifted your head, and his eyes flicked over your face, over your tired, bloodshot eyes, over your damp cheeks, the way your hair was falling out of the bun you had haphazardly thrown it into. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He said softly, watching your eyes roll and your mouth open to protest. His hand moved up to the side of your neck, his palm against your skin, cutting off whatever you were about to say, and making you take in a sharp breath instead. “You are the coolest person I’ve ever met.” He said, a sincerity bleeding into his tone that you had never heard from him before. “Seriously,” he laughed softly when you tried to turn away, “who else do I know that’ll sit and listen to me talk for hours, and hours, and hours, and-”
“Travis.”
He smiled, but it was something softer than his usual cheeky grin as his eyes wandered over your face again. “You’re kind, and you’re like, super smart. And you bite back at me when I’m getting on your nerves.” He said, his thumb absent-mindedly trailing along your jaw as his eyes flicked between yours. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you complain, and there’s like… a lot of shit you could complain about here.” His smile returned as you let out another amused exhale, this time while ducking your head, the corners of your mouth lifting, his eyes dropped to your smile, not for the first time, but there was something new about this smile, something easier. “There’s nothing wrong with you.” He repeated, his voice dipping a little lower as he caught your eyes again. “You’re the best of the best. Anyone who doesn’t see that isn’t worth your time.”
You swallowed thickly, your eyes playing a game of connect-the-dots with his moles as you looked over his face, finally landing on his eyes. “You don’t think I’m weird?” You asked, your voice sounding smaller and more timid than you’d like.
“Obviously I think you’re weird, that's the best thing about you.” He replied, almost having the wind knocked out of his chest by your laugh. It was a sound he had never gotten used to, melodic and loud, and perfect. His eyes dropped to your mouth, he couldn’t help it when you had the most beautiful smile he had ever seen, this time though, you caught him. Travis looked back up into your eyes, his cheeks flushing with being caught staring at your lips, but he didn’t look away. His hand stayed against your neck. All the air rushed out of his lungs when your eyes dropped to his mouth too, his tongue instinctively running over his bottom lip. He tentatively leaned in, acting on the impulse he had had since he met you, he watched your eyes darting between his eyes and his mouth and decided it was now or never. His lips met yours faster than you were expecting, you inhaled sharply from the shock, and for one split second, Travis thought he had gotten it all wrong.
But then you melted into him, your eyes fluttered closed, your lips slotted between his, and your hand came to rest on his shoulder. He sighed in half-relief, half-pleasure as his hand slid around the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your loosely-tied hair. His lips were softer than they had looked, and he moved them gently, his nose pressing against your cheek as he kissed you. After a moment, he remembered where he was, and pulled back a few inches, still staying closer than co-workers should, but enough that it could be explained if a manager or customer were to turn up. He watched your eyes flicker open, and your teeth catch your lower lip as his hand dropped from your neck back to his thigh.
“Um… Are you free on Friday?” He asked, his voice still nervous as if you hadn’t kissed him back. You nodded, tucking your hair behind your ear as your eyes flicked to the monitor screens to check for anyone who might have turned up. “Great… I’ll, uh… It's a date.” He nodded, as if confirming that this was real to himself, before clearing his throat and stepping back, scratching the back of his neck as if he wasn’t sure what to do with himself now he had landed a date with the coolest girl he’d ever met.
mike’s never been with anyone and he’s terrified of messing up, so his roommate offers to help him out. It’s just practice… right?
‧₊˚ ┊𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.5k ˎˊ˗
♡ྀི ┊𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: college au, first kisses, awkward nerd mike🤤, crumbs of vulnerability, not proofread.ᐟ
the dorm was quiet, except for the hum of the minifridge and the scratch of mike’s mechanical pencil against a notebook. it was late, well past the hour where most people were out doing things that they were supposed to do. for a year, this had been their routine. silence, study, the occasional shared takeout, and the polite, careful distance they maintained to keep from tripping over each other’s lives.
mike was hunched over his desk, his posture tight, shoulders pulled up toward his ears. "you’re grinding your teeth again," you said, not looking up from your own book.
mike’s pencil froze. he let out a short, sharp breath, rubbing the back of his neck with his free hand. "i’m not. i’m just… thinking."
"you’ve been thinking for three hours," you said, closing your book and turning your chair to face his back. he didn't turn around, but he shifted, a clear sign that he was retreating. "it’s friday night, mike. do you ever actually go out? i feel like if i looked for you in the dictionary under 'hermit,' i’d find a picture of your laptop."
mike let out a dry, humorless laugh. "very funny. i have things to do. school is hard, in case you hadn't noticed."
"school is hard for everyone," you said, your voice softening because you saw the way he was gripping his pencil, hard enough that the lead snapped. "everyone else seems to balance it. they go out, they meet people, they… i don't know, they date. you’ve been here for a year, mike. i’ve never seen you go on a single date. i’ve never seen you bring anyone back. you’re like a ghost in this room."
mike finally spun his chair around, but he didn't look at you. he looked at the floor, his foot tapping a nervous rhythm against the leg of his desk. "well, i don’t see why that’s your concern."
"it’s not a concern. i’m just… curious," you lied, feeling the heat rise in your own cheeks. the truth was, you’d been wondering since the second month. you’d been watching him, the way he looked when he was stressed, the way his eyes softened when he thought you weren't looking, the way you’d both fallen into this comfortable rhythm that felt like more than friendship to you, even if you were too terrified to name it. "is it… is there someone?"
mike’s head snapped up. he looked startled, his eyes wide and dark, searching your face for a joke you weren't making. "what? no. no, there’s no one."
"so, what? you just don’t like people?"
"it’s not that," he muttered, his voice dropping, turning raspy and defensive. he started picking at the thread on his sleeve, his movements clumsy. "it’s just… it’s a lot, okay? putting yourself out there. it’s not really my thing."
"you’re twenty, mike."
"i know how old i am," he snapped, then immediately softened, his shoulders slumping. "look, i just… i haven't really done any of that. ever. it’s not exactly something you advertise."
the room felt like it had suddenly lost all its oxygen. you sat there, blinking, trying to process the vulnerability he’d just handed you. you’d spent the last year thinking he was just busy, or maybe guarded, but hearing him admit he’d never… it felt like the floor had dropped out from under you. it matched the ache you’d been carrying for him, the secret you’d been keeping under a lock and key because you were too scared of ruining the only space where you felt like you belonged.
"you’ve never…?" you started, then stopped, feeling like an idiot. "oh. i didn’t… i’m sorry. i wasn't trying to pry."
"it’s fine," he said, though it clearly wasn't. he looked miserable. "it’s just… if i started now, i wouldn’t have any idea what i was doing. i’d probably just… be weird. make it awkward. ruin it for whoever it was. i’m not good at the… the stuff people do. the flirting, or the reading the room, or whatever. i’d just be that guy who fumbles through it and makes everything uncomfortable."
he looked at his hands, his knuckles white. he didn't say the rest, he didn't have to. he didn't say that he’d spent the whole year wanting someone, but being too afraid of acting on it because you two shared a dorm, because he didn't want to be the guy who crossed a line, because he didn't want to lose the one person who actually got him.
"mike," you said, your voice shaking just a little. you stood up, moving slowly, cautiously. you didn't want to scare him off. you stopped just a few feet from him, giving him every chance to turn away. "you’re not going to ruin anything. and you’re not weird. you’re just… you’re you."
he looked at you, his gaze searching yours, looking for a way out, but finding none. "you-you don’t know that. you’ve never seen me try."
"maybe," you whispered. the room felt very small, the silence thick with the things you hadn't said for twelve months. you were terrified, too. you were scared that if you did this, you’d change everything, that you’d break the fragile balance of your lives. but looking at him, seeing the raw, quiet desperation in his eyes, you knew you couldn't just walk away. "but… if you’re worried about being bad at it… why don't you practice?"
mike blinked, his breath hitching. "practice? ..like, what do you mean?”
"with me," you said, and your voice was barely a whisper. it was the most vulnerable thing you’d ever said. "it doesn’t… it doesn't have to be anything. we can just… help you get over the hump. if you’re worried about being clumsy, we can just… see. right now."
mike stared at you, his mouth slightly parted. he looked like he was trying to solve an equation that had no solution, his brows furrowed, his eyes darting to your face and then back to your lips. "you’re..being serious?"
"i’m just… trying to help a friend," you said, not able to even believe yourself.
he stood up, but he was shaky. he didn't have any of the confidence he’d seen other guys in the dorm hallway have. he just looked like himself, earnest, anxious, and deeply, painfully careful. he took one step toward you, then another, until he was standing right in your space. he didn't touch you yet. he hovered, his hands coming up and then dropping back to his sides, like he wasn't sure if he had permission to exist in the same space as you.
"if i’m… if i’m not good at this," he said, his voice so quiet it was almost lost in the room, "you have to tell me. don’t just be nice. tell me."
"i won't be nice," you promised, your heart hammering against your ribs. "i’ll be honest."
he took a deep breath, and he finally reached out. his hands landed on your waist, his grip delicate, like he was afraid he might bruise you. his palms were warm, and you could feel the tremor in his fingers. he looked down at your face, his dark eyes searching yours, and for a second, he looked terrified.
"okay," he breathed.
he leaned in, slow and agonizingly hesitant. he was overthinking it, you could see it in the way he squinted, in the way he tilted his head too far, in the way he hesitated when he was inches away. you couldn't take it anymore. you reached up, your fingers finding the collar of his hoodie, and you gently tugged him the rest of the way.
the contact was electric. it was messy, he bumped his nose against yours, and he held his breath, and for a heartbeat, it was exactly as awkward as he’d feared. but then, he let out a sharp exhale, his eyes fluttering shut, and his grip on your waist tightened. he wasn't thinking about the mechanics anymore. he was just feeling.
he wasn't experienced, and you weren't either, but the desperation was there, a year’s worth of unspoken longing pouring into the touch. he moved his hands, pulling you closer, his fingers tangled in your hair, holding you in place like he was afraid you’d vanish if he let go. he kissed you like he was trying to learn the shape of your soul, his mouth searching, then slowly finding a rhythm that was just yours.
he made a small, frustrated sound in his throat, pulling back just an inch, his forehead resting against yours. he was flushed, his hair a disaster, his eyes dazed and wide.
"is that…?" he started, his voice thick. "was that… okay?"
you let out a shaky, breathless laugh, your hands still clutching the front of his hoodie. you could feel his heartbeat through his chest, fast and irregular, matching your own. "y-yeah," you whispered, "that was.. pretty good, i think.”
he let out a long, shuddering breath, the tension in his shoulders finally draining away, replaced by a soft, incredulous look of wonder. he didn't pull away. he stayed right there, in the circle of your arms, looking at you like you were the only thing in the world that made sense.
"okay," he murmured, his voice stronger now, more certain. "i think i might need to practice a little more."
he didn't wait for an answer. he leaned in again, and this time, there was no hesitation.
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