— steve harrington is only scared of two things: clowns and chief hopper’s gun. unfortunately he is also deeply, hopelessly in love with you, hopper’s daughter and convinced he isn’t good enough for you. when he turns you down to 'do the right thing,' you end up heartbroken but after one rainy confession later you both realize the obvious: you were idiots in love the whole time.
🚛 9.1k — steve harrington x fem!hopper!reader, so much narration it's crazy ( but also if you've been here for some time you'd know how much i love narrations ), fluff, erica and dustin being the ultimate life savers, mutual pining but they share one brain cell, yearning steve harrington, steve “i’m not good enough for her” harrington, hopper being overprotective, reader with a very obvious crush, awkward rejection at family video, rain confession trope, kissing fixes everything, friends to lovers, star wars references ( from someone who has never watched it ) because steve cannot help himself
author's note — the result of me being bored of studying economics and procastinating successfully. hope it still makes you cry when i fail the exam. enjoy <3
masterlist : navigation
gif by @acecroft | divider by @/lavendergalactic
Steve Harrington had only been scared of two things his whole life: clowns, and Chief Hopper’s gun.
The clown thing was ridiculous and he knew it. He had known it since he was eight years old and had cried at a birthday party because a man in a red polka-dot suit made a balloon dog and then smiled at him with too many teeth.
It was embarrassing, deeply uncool, and very much the kind of secret that could destroy what little remained of his reputation if it ever got out.
Still, that fear was manageable. Steve could work around clowns. He could avoid circuses, look away from creepy posters, and pretend those terrifying red noses were part of some joke he simply did not get.
Hopper’s gun, on the other hand, was not something he could avoid so easily. Mostly because it was real, loaded with bullete, and always, always being cleaned in Steve’s general direction whenever he came over to your house.
It did not help that Hopper made a whole performance out of it.
Every single time Steve came over, Hopper was suddenly sitting in the living room cleaning the gun. He would take it apart, put it back together, check it, wipe it down, and then look up just long enough to pin Steve with a stare that said, you know what this means.
Steve, for a fact, did not know what that meant, except if it meant him dying by it, then he was pretty sure he knew what it meant.
But you had reassured Steve at least a hundred times that your dad was not actually going to use it. Still, Steve had his concerns. Very valid ones, in his opinion. Because there was intimidating, and then there was Jim Hopper leaning back on the couch with a firearm in his lap while Steve sat on the opposite end trying to keep a respectable three inches between himself and you like that tiny gap was the only thing preserving his life.
The rule, oh god, the rule itself was torture. If Steve’s hand got too close to yours, Hopper cleared his throat. If Steve leaned in to hear you better, Hopper shifted in his seat. If your knee brushed Steve’s for half a second, Steve could actually feel Hopper’s glare hit the side of his face like heat from the sun.
It was not like you didn’t try to defend his honour. You did, every time. You would roll your eyes and tell your dad he was being overprotective, that Steve was nice, that Steve had literally helped save the world more than once, which should have earned him at least a little trust and maybe the right to sit next to his friend without being treated like a criminal.
But Hopper was persistent in the way only fathers of daughters could be, especially daughters they loved enough to terrify teenage boys over. He would grunt, mumble something about manners and boundaries, and continue staring Steve down like he was waiting for him to do one wrong thing.
Steve, for his part, tried very hard to never do the wrong thing. He was so polite at your house it was actually pathetic. He sat up straight, said sir more than he had ever said it in his life, and once thanked Hopper for passing the salt which very clearly was pepper. And the worst part was that none of it helped.
Still, Steve kept coming over.
Because of you.
Because you were, very simply, the most amazing person Steve had ever met. Ever seen, ever heard about, ever talked with, ever laughed with, ever cried with, ever fought monsters beside, ever bled beside, ever stumbled out of the end of the world beside.
You made Steve feel seen in a way that still startled him sometimes. Like you had looked past all the old versions of him, the ones he was embarrassed by and the ones he still did not fully know what to do with, and decided he was worth keeping anyway. It was a terrifying thing, being cared for by you. Not bad terrifying, not Hopper’s-gun terrifying, but the kind that made his chest ache because he wanted to be worthy of it all the time.
Steve, for his part, liked to think of what he felt for you as admiration. Friendly admiration.
The kind a person might feel for someone they happened to enjoy spending every possible second with, someone whose voice he could pick out in a crowded room without trying, someone whose bad moods he could sense before you even said a word.
It was probably just admiration that made him remember every little thing you told him, like how you hated orange candy but liked orange juice.
It was definitely just admiration that made his chest go warm and oddly tight whenever you smiled at him. And if he thought you were the bravest girl he had ever known, if he found himself wanting to make you laugh even when he was exhausted, if every near-death experience only seemed to increase the thought that being near you mattered more than he knew how to explain, well, that was probably still friendly.
Steve was pretty sure. At least, he was sure enough to keep telling himself that, because the alternative felt a little too big to look at directly.
A hand suddenly snapped in front of Steve’s face, dragging him clean out of the mess of his own thoughts.
“Steve. Hey, Steve. Earth to Steven.”
He blinked hard, like he had just been caught doing something illegal, and turned to find you standing there with your eyebrows raised and your mouth twitching like you were trying not to laugh. “Huh? Hey. What?”
You tilted your head at him, amused in that easy way that always made him feel both warm and deeply ridiculous. “I need to go somewhere. It will only take half an hour. Do you want to stay here, or are you going home?”
Steve glanced automatically toward the living room and narrowed his eyes a little. “If I say stay, is your dad going to kill me?”
You huffed out a laugh. “No, I don't think so. And besides, he is not here today.”
And just like that, the relief on Steve’s face was almost embarrassing. His shoulders dropped, his whole expression loosened, and a smile came over him. “Oh. Okay. Then yeah, I can wait here.”
Your eyes brightened at once, pleased in a way that made something in Steve’s chest do a stupid little flip. You grinned at him, quick and pretty and impossible not to stare at. “Okay. I promise I will come quick. Also, Jane may come in between from school, but I think she will leave for Max’s immediately after. Could you just make sure she has her lunch first?”
Steve nodded without hesitation. “All right.”
You smiled even wider. “Thanks. I will be back. Watch a tape in the meantime?”
He gave you a small nod, still looking at you with a loopy smile. “Yeah. Sure.”
Steve had been sitting there for a while, half-watching Star Wars and half-thinking about you (in a friendly way, of course), which was lately how most of his afternoons went.
Then he heard the clicking at the door.
He barely looked up at first, just assumed it was Jane coming in from school. So he kept watching the tape, eyes still on the screen, waiting for the door to open fully. But when it did, the light from outside was mostly blocked all at once, swallowed by a figure much bigger than Jane had any business being, and Steve knew immediately that it was definitely not her.
For one brief, insane second, he secretly hoped it was a demogorgon.
At least with a demogorgon, he knew where he stood.
But the universe was clearly not on his side, because when he turned, it was Hopper.
Steve swallowed so fast it almost hurt and lunged for the remote, pausing the tape just as Hopper stepped inside and shut the door behind him. Hopper’s eyes landed on Steve in that exact way they always did, like he had come home and found a raccoon in his kitchen trying to act natural. He stared for one long second before grunting, “Where are my daughters?”
Steve opened his mouth. “Out.”
The second the word left him, he knew it was the wrong answer. Too vague. Too much like something a guilty man would say right before being buried in a shallow grave. He corrected himself so quickly he almost tripped over the words. “I mean, Jane is at school. Or at Max’s. And, uh, Y/N is out for some work.”
Hopper narrowed his eyes. “What kind of work?”
“I did not ask,” Steve said, trying for honesty and landing somewhere closer to panic.
Hopper kept looking at him for another second, then walked farther into the room. Steve followed every movement.
Hopper came over and sat down on the seat adjacent to the couch, close enough that Steve could smell cigarettes and general parental disapproval.
Steve stood up on instinct almost immediately, because that seemed like the safest thing to do, maybe the smartest, maybe the thing most likely to save his life expectancy.
Hopper looked up at him. “Sit down.”
Steve froze. “What?”
“I said sit down. I want to talk.”
“Cool,” Steve said, nodding too much, as he sat down and looked around. “Cool, cool. Uh, so. Crime, huh? Terrible.”
Hopper did not blink. “I want to talk about my daughter.”
Steve nodded immediately. “Oh, yes. Jane is a lovely girl. Very. . .” He faltered for a second under Hopper’s stare. “Sweet?”
Hopper’s face did not change. “My other daughter.”
Steve’s stomach dropped. “Y/N?” he said, then attempted a smile that came out strained and weird. “Oh, yeah. Y/N is amazing too. Really smart.”
Hopper leaned back slightly, still watching him with that unreadable expression that made Steve feel like he was being measured for a coffin. “There’s the problem.”
Steve stared. “Her being smart?”
“You.”
Steve went quiet, which for him in a bad situation was saying something. Hopper rested his forearms on his knees and looked straight ahead for a moment before speaking again.
“I don’t like you,” he said.
Steve let out one awkward breath. “Yeah, no, I got that.”
“I don’t like you around her. I don’t like how much time you spend here. I don’t like the way she looks at you.”
Steve’s hands tightened together. He looked down at them, then back up, then down again, unsure where it was safest to look. “We are just hanging out. As friends.” He added the last part quickly although he didn't believe it enough himself.
Hopper let out a humorless little sound. “That supposed to make me feel better?”
Steve did not answer, mostly because he had the strong feeling there was not a single correct answer available to him.
For a moment Hopper said nothing. Then, he continued, “You know why I don’t like it?”
Steve swallowed. “Because you think I am a bad influence?”
“No.” Hopper’s eyes moved to him. “Because I think you and me are too similar.”
That, somehow, was not what Steve had expected, and the confusion must have shown on his face because Hopper kept going.
“You walk around like you are trying real hard to be useful,” he said. “Like if you keep helping, keep showing up, keep making yourself necessary, nobody will notice all the things wrong with you. You act like a kid who already decided what kind of man he is and does not think much of the answer.”
Steve opened his mouth and then shut it again.
Hopper looked away for a second, jaw working. “And I know that look because I know what it feels like. Thinking you care about somebody enough should be enough. Thinking maybe if you want to do better bad enough, that counts for something. Sometimes it does. Sometimes it doesn’t.”
Steve’s throat felt dry. “I care about her. . .”
“I know,” Hopper said. “That’s not what worries me.”
Steve frowned a little. “Then what does?”
“Because I'm not good enough for my little girl,” he said. “And if you’re anything like me, then you’re not good enough for my little girl either.”
The words hit hard enough that Steve actually felt his chest go tight. Like he had reached down into the very worst place inside Steve and pulled out the thing Steve already feared most.
Steve laughed once under his breath, except there was nothing funny in it. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”
Hopper looked at him then, maybe expecting an argument, maybe expecting Steve to push back, to insist he was better than that.
Steve did not. Because the awful part was, he did not really know how to.
He thought about you laughing with him, trusting him, calling him when things went wrong, smiling like he belonged in your life, and all at once that felt less like something lucky and more like something temporary. Like maybe Hopper was just the first person cruel enough to say out loud what Steve should have figured out sooner.
“I am trying,” Steve said after a long moment. “I mean, I know I screw things up sometimes, but I am trying.”
Hopper shrugged. “Trying is a start.”
That was not comfort. That was barely even mercy.
Steve looked down at the paused television screen, at his own faint reflection in it, warped. “She should get somebody better than me,” he thought to himself.
The front door opened.
Both of them looked up at once just as Jane stepped inside, backpack slung over one shoulder.
“Hello,” she said.
By the time you got back, the first thing you noticed was Steve’s car was gone.
You slowed in the driveway, frowning as you looked at the empty spot where it had been parked earlier, a small, confused crease forming between your brows.
For a second you just stood there with your keys in hand, staring at nothing, like maybe if you looked long enough the car would magically reappear and Steve would climb out with one of his sheepish smiles and some rambling explanation that would somehow make perfect sense because it was him. But the driveway stayed empty, and that strange little disappointment settled heavier in your chest than it probably should have.
When you stepped inside, you could smell the dinner, and the sound of conversation from the kitchen.
You slipped your shoes off and headed in, only to stop slightly when you saw your dad already there with Jane.
You looked at Hopper. “Hey. Uh, Dad, you’re early.”
Hopper just nodded once. “Come sit for dinner.”
You glanced between him and Jane, still half-thinking Steve might somehow appear from another room, but when he did not, you pulled out a chair and sat down. “Right.”
For a minute, you tried to ignore the odd feeling curling in your stomach. Then you leaned a little toward Jane and lowered your voice. “Hey, where’s Steve?”
Jane looked at you, then flicked her eyes over your shoulder in a quick glance toward Hopper before answering. “He left ten minutes ago.”
Your face fell before you could stop it. “Oh.”
It came out smaller than you meant it to. You sat back in your chair after that, quieting down a little, your earlier ease gone fuzzy around the edges.
It was not like Steve had to wait around forever for you, obviously. He had his own life. You knew that. Still, he could have stayed. Or at least left a note. Or told Jane something more than that. The whole thing sat strangely with you, like a sentence missing its last word.
Later, shut inside your room with the door closed, you called him.
The phone rang just long enough for you to start thinking maybe he would not pick up, and then there was the familiar click of the line connecting. “Hey,” you said at once, tucking one leg under you on the bed. “You left.”
There was a pause.
Then Steve said, “Yeah. Uh, Henderson called me with code red.”
You furrowed your brows immediately. That made no sense. You had literally been with Dustin earlier because he had forgotten something at home and needed it at school, and he had seemed perfectly fine. Nothing about him had said emergency.
Still, all you said was, “Oh.”
The word sat there between you, uncertain.
You stared at the wall across from your bed, turning the phone cord around your finger. You wondered, not for the first time, why Steve was lying to you. Because he was. You knew he was.
But you pushed the thought aside, deciding for the moment not to make something out of what might be nothing. Maybe there was a reason. Maybe he had just had one of those weird Steve moments where his brain tripped over itself and produced nonsense.
You took a small breath, already getting ready to ask him about the movie, already knowing the answer was probably Star Wars because Steve’s devotion to those tapes bordered on religious, but before you could say anything else, he cut in.
“Can we talk later?” Steve said quickly. “I need to go somewhere.”
You blinked. “Oh. Uh.”
The disappointment hit sharper this time, quick and stupid and annoyingly difficult to hide, but you swallowed it down anyway. “Okay.”
And before you could say bye, or even soften it with a laugh or ask one more question or make sense of the strange distance in his voice, the line clicked dead.
Your bye stayed there, useless, hanging.
The next day, you told yourself Steve had probably just been tired.
That was the easiest explanation, and the one that annoyed you the least, so you held onto it all the way to Family Video.
By the time you pushed open the door and stepped inside, you had managed to convince yourself that everything was normal, that you were not thinking too hard about the awkward phone call, and that Steve would take one look at you and immediately go back to being his usual sweet, slightly frazzled self.
Robin looked up from behind the counter when the bell above the door jingled. “Hey.”
You smiled and wandered over. “Hey.”
She leaned her elbows on the counter and gave you a look that was far too knowing for ten seconds into a conversation. “You here to see Steve?”
You widened your eyes in fake innocence. “I could be here to see you too.”
Robin raised one brow.
You lasted about half a second. “Yeah, I’m here to see Steve.”
“Thought so,” she said, not even pretending to be surprised. Then she jerked her thumb toward the back. “He’s in the back. You could wait here for some time.”
You nodded. “Okay.”
So you stayed there at the counter, trying very hard to look casual and very obviously failing, because every few seconds your eyes drifted toward the back room like maybe Steve would appear if you stared hard enough.
Robin noticed, of course. Robin noticed everything, which was one of the many reasons she was so deeply annoying.
“You know,” she said after a moment, “you’re not really subtle with your whole crush thing.”
Your head snapped toward her so fast it was a miracle your neck survived. “What crush thing?”
Robin looked at you like you were the dumbest person she had met all week, and she worked with Steve, so that was saying something. “The whole you having a crush on dingus thing.”
You let out an offended laugh that was entirely too loud. “I do not have a crush on Steve. Pfft. You’re delirious, Robin.”
She said nothing and kept looking at you with that patient, unbearable expression of someone waiting for you to finish lying to yourself in public. You crossed your arms, then uncrossed them, then sighed.
“Fine,” you muttered. “Ugh. I have a crush on Steve. Is that what you want to hear?”
Robin’s face lit up in immediate satisfaction. “Totally.”
You groaned, but now that it was out there, the words just kept coming, all tripping over each other in one giant embarrassing rush.
“I mean, it’s not like I planned it, okay? It just happened. He’s just. . .” You exhaled and glanced away, suddenly very interested in the tapes behind the counter.
“He’s Steve. He’s sweet, and stupidly brave, and always there when it matters, and he does this thing where he acts like he’s joking even when he’s being really sincere, and I know people think he’s all hair and idiot energy, but he’s not. Well, he is, a little, but he’s also so good. Like actually good.” Your voice softened without your permission. “And he cares so much. About everyone. About the kids. About me.” A dreamy sigh escaped you before you could stop it. “He just makes everything feel easier.”
Robin stared at you for a long second. “And you see all that in Steve Harrington?”
You frowned at her. “Yeah.”
She made a face. “Disgusting.”
You rolled your eyes, but you were still smiling a little despite yourself.
Then Robin’s gaze shifted past you, toward the back, and her expression changed into one of immediate delight at the chance to make things weird. “Anyways,” she said, “looks like he’s free.”
You turned and there was Steve, stepping out from the back.
You did not even think about it before you started walking toward him.
“Hey, Steven.”
For a second, you thought you imagined it. Hoped you imagined it, really. Because the moment he heard your voice, Steve tensed. Just for a second. A tiny thing most people probably would not notice. But you noticed. Your steps faltered slightly, that strange feeling from yesterday creeping back up your spine.
Steve turned to you, and the tension smoothed out so quickly you almost convinced yourself it had never been there.
“You’re here,” he said.
You nodded, smiling the way you always did when you saw him. “Yes. I wanted to see you.”
Steve blinked once. “Why?”
The question landed strangely, like a step where the ground was not quite where you expected it to be. Your smile stayed in place, but you suddenly felt awkward, unsure what exactly had happened between yesterday and today.
“Do I need a reason?” you asked lightly.
“No,” Steve said quickly. “No, of course not.”
The awkwardness eased immediately hearing his normal response, and you felt your shoulders relax again. That was the Steve you knew. The one who would never make you feel weird for showing up.
Then he added, a little too quickly, “I was just busy today. Rush hour, you know.”
You glanced around the store.
There were maybe five customers total, and two of them were arguing near the Holiday movie section.
You looked back at him. “Five is a rush for you?”
Steve paused. “. . . Yes?”
You tilted your head, concerned now. “Steve, is something wrong? Did I do something?”
His face softened instantly. “No. Of course not. You are perfect.”
The words came out so fast they almost tripped over each other.
You felt heat rush to your face before you could stop it, and you looked away quickly, trying very hard not to blush like an idiot in the middle of Family Video.
Unfortunately, Steve noticed.
Which made him immediately start stammering. “I uh well, I just—” He grabbed a stack of tapes beside him like they had personally called for help. “I just need to organize these tapes.”
You pointed at them. “I could help.”
Steve blinked. “Uhhh. . . okay.”
So the two of you ended up in the back room, standing side by side with shelves of tapes between you and the rest of the store.
At first the conversation was normal. Mostly. You talked about school, about Dustin complaining about science homework, about how Steve had apparently rewatched Star Wars again the night before because he was physically incapable of not doing that at least once a week. For a few minutes it almost felt like everything was back to normal.
But the strange tension never really left.
It hovered there, uncomfortable, like a conversation waiting to happen.
Eventually you took a breath. “Hey, Steve?”
“Yeah?”
You kept your eyes on the tapes in your hands. “Do you maybe want to go out sometime?”
Steve stopped moving.
You continued quickly, words tumbling out before your courage could disappear. “Like a date. Nothing big. We could just get milkshakes or something, or watch a movie that is not Star Wars for once, which I know is a big ask—”
Steve did not say anything.
The silence stretched.
Your stomach twisted.
Suddenly you were not sure why you thought this was a good idea. Or why you thought the signs had meant what you thought they meant. Maybe you had just imagined it all. Maybe you had read too much into the way he smiled at you, the way he always showed up when you needed him, the way he said your name in that soft manner.
You let out a small, nervous laugh. “Or not. I mean, that’s fine too, I just thought—”
“No.”
You looked up.
Steve’s eyes were fixed on the shelf in front of him.
“No?” you repeated quietly.
He swallowed. “We can’t.”
Your fingers tightened around the tape case in your hand. “Why?”
Steve finally looked at you then, and something in his expression made your chest drop. “It’s just. . . a bad idea,” he said. “Us dating.”
“Oh.”
The word felt small leaving your mouth.
Steve looked miserable. “We shouldn’t be more than friends.”
The embarrassment came all at once. You laughed a little under your breath, even though you could already feel your eyes starting to sting.
“Right,” you said quickly. “Of course. That makes sense. Totally makes sense.”
You cleared your throat, trying to blink away the stupid tears that were threatening to show up at the worst possible time.
Steve shifted awkwardly. “We can still be friends?”
Even he grimaced a little when he said it.
You forced a smile. “Actually, I think I’m going to need some space,” you admitted.
Steve took a step toward you immediately. “Hey—”
“No, it’s alright,” you said quickly, waving him off before he could say anything comforting that might make you cry for real. “I just feel a bit silly, that’s all.” You attempted another small smile. “Don’t worry. I’ll get back to normal and we can go back to being. . . friends.”
The word caught slightly in your throat.
You looked down at the tape still in your hands before setting it on the shelf. “I just. . . I need to go.”
And before he could stop you, before he could say anything else that might make it harder to leave, you turned and walked out of the back room.
You rushed past the counter.
Robin looked up instantly. “What did you two finally—”
She stopped mid-sentence when you hurried past her, wiping quickly at the tears on your cheeks.
Robin’s expression immediately shifted to concern and she slowly turned her head toward the backroom.
Steve was standing there just inside the doorway, his head in his hands and Robin sighed at the sight.
“Oh, Harrington, what did you do?”
By the time Nancy came over, you had already cried enough to make your head feel heavy and your eyes sore, but the second you saw her standing in your doorway with two tubs of ice cream and that calm look on her face, it all came rushing back again like you had just opened the floodgates.
Now you were sitting cross-legged on your bed with the blanket tangled around your legs, clutching a spoon like it was the only thing keeping you tethered to reality while Nancy sat across from you with the other tub of ice cream resting in her lap.
“I just feel so stupid,” you said for what had to be the twentieth time, your voice thick as you scooped another bite you barely tasted. “Like actually stupid. It's not even the cute kind of stupid where I can laugh about it later. It's just. . . painfully, humiliatingly stupid.”
Nancy took another spoonful of ice cream, watching you.
“I mean,” you continued miserably, waving your spoon around, “who does that? Who just assumes someone likes them back without actually asking first? Me. Apparently. Because clearly I just decided to invent an entire romance in my head like some delusional idiot.”
“You’re not an idiot,” Nancy said.
“Yes, I am,” you sniffed immediately. “I asked him out. Out loud. With actual words. And he just said no.”
Nancy winced a little in sympathy but let you keep going.
“Like immediately. Just no. Like it was obvious that it was a terrible idea.”
Nancy leaned back against your headboard, passing you another napkin. “Boys are idiots.”
You nodded emphatically, your voice breaking. “Boys are idiots.”
You took another shaky breath and stared down into the melting ice cream. “But he was my idiot,” you said weakly.
That was apparently the breaking point because suddenly your face crumpled and you leaned sideways until your head dropped into Nancy’s lap, clutching the ice cream tub as you started crying again.
Nancy immediately set her spoon aside and started absentmindedly running her fingers through your hair in soothing motions.
“I just feel so embarrassed,” you groaned into her sweater. “Like what if he tells everyone? What if Dustin finds out? Oh my god, Dustin is absolutely going to find out. He’s going to tell Mike and then Lucas and then they’re all going to look at me like I’m some pathetic lovesick idiot who can’t take a hint.”
“He won’t tell them,” Nancy said.
“You don’t know that,” you mumbled miserably. “He might. He might accidentally say something to Robin and then she’ll accidentally say something to someone else and suddenly the entire town knows that I asked Steve Harrington out and he rejected me in the back room of Family Video next to the horror tapes.”
Nancy huffed a laugh despite herself. “It sounds excessive.”
“But it could happen,” you said.
You sniffed loudly and wiped at your face again before continuing.
“And the worst part is that I really thought he liked me,” you said, your voice softening into something more wounded now. “Like actually liked me. I mean he’s always there, you know? And he remembers things I say and he always sits close to me and he smiles at me like. . .” You trailed off, your throat tightening again. “Like I mattered.”
“You do matter,” Nancy said immediately.
“I know,” you said weakly. “But apparently not in the way I thought.”
Nancy sighed softly but kept smoothing your hair.
“And now I feel like every moment I thought meant something was probably just him being nice,” you continued miserably. “Like maybe he was just being friendly this whole time and I turned it into this huge thing in my head and now he probably thinks I’m insane,” you groaned.
Nancy paused. “You just asked him on a date.”
“And got rejected,” you muttered.
There was a quiet moment while you both abe more ice cream and then another thought hit you.
“And he lied to me,” you said suddenly, lifting your head slightly from Nancy’s lap.
Nancy looked down at you. “What?”
“He lied yesterday,” you said, frowning as the pieces rearranged themselves in your mind. “When I called him. He said Dustin called him with some code red emergency.”
Nancy raised an eyebrow.
“But I had literally been with Dustin earlier that day,” you continued, sitting up now, your frustration rising again. “He just forgot something at home and needed it for school. There was no emergency. Nothing was wrong.”
Nancy frowned thoughtfully.
“So he just made something up,” you said slowly, realization dawning in a way that made your chest hurt all over again. “Which means he probably didn’t actually want to stay. Which means he probably left my house on purpose.”
You swallowed hard.
“And I should’ve known,” you whispered miserably. “That should’ve been the sign.”
Nancy reached over and squeezed your hand.
“I mean think about it,” you said, your voice cracking again. “He left early, he lied about it, and then today he basically panicked the second I showed up. I just didn’t want to see it because I liked him too much.”
Nancy squeezed your hand again, her thumb brushing over your knuckles.
“You know,” she said, “we could go out tomorrow. Just the two of us. Get dinner somewhere. Somewhere far away from Family Video and idiotic boys.”
You let out a weak laugh, even though your eyes were still wet. “That’s really sweet, Nance.”
Your voice wobbled halfway through the sentence and suddenly the tears were threatening again, welling up despite your best efforts to keep them contained. You sniffed hard and pressed the heel of your hand against your eyes, shaking your head like you could physically shove the embarrassment away.
“I just can’t believe I asked him out,” you muttered miserably. “I feel like I should move to another country. Or at least another state.”
Nancy opened her mouth to say something else, but the door to your room creaked open slowly before she could.
You immediately buried your face back into her lap as Nancy looked up toward the door. “Hey.”
Jane’s head slowly poked into the room, her expression curious and slightly concerned as she looked between the two of you. “I heard crying.”
You groaned quietly into Nancy’s sweater.
“Why is she crying?” Jane asked.
Nancy glanced down at you before answering, but you spoke first.
“Steve rejected me,” you said miserably, your voice muffled.
Jane blinked. “Oh.”
There was a small pause as she processed that.
Then she turned to Nancy with complete seriousness. “What does that mean?”
You lifted your head just enough to glare weakly toward the doorway, your eyes still red and puffy. “It means he dumped my ass but we weren’t even dating.”
Jane stepped further into the room, clearly trying to piece together the logic of that statement and not having much success after the 'dumped my ass' part which she had learnt from Max.
Nancy gave a small shrug and then patted your shoulder. “She’ll be fine.”
You sniffed loudly.
Nancy turned back to Jane and lifted the ice cream tub slightly. “You want some ice cream?”
Jane’s face immediately brightened, and she opened her mouth to say yes but you suddenly peeked your head up from Nancy’s lap just enough to cut in. “She can’t,” you said hoarsely. “She’s having a cold.”
Jane narrowed her eyes at you instantly. “Buzzkill.”
Nancy blinked. “Did Dustin teach you that word?”
Jane smiled proudly and nodded.
You groaned and dropped your forehead back against Nancy’s leg. “He is a terrible influence on her.”
Nancy glanced between the two of you and smirked slightly. “I don’t know. They look cute.”
Jane’s smile widened at that.
You lifted your head again slowly, squinting at Nancy in disbelief through your tear-streaked face. “Oh my God.”
Nancy raised an eyebrow. “What?”
You stared at Jane like you had just noticed something deeply disturbing about the universe.
“Oh God,” you said weakly.
Nancy frowned. “What?”
You gestured vaguely between Jane and the doorway, your voice cracking again in fresh disbelief. “I just realized my little sister is in a relationship. And I’m not.”
Steve was not doing any better.
He was sitting at Dustin’s desk, elbows planted on either side of a half-finished science project involving wires, cardboard, and something that looked mildly capable of exploding if handled incorrectly.
Dustin had been talking for at least ten minutes straight about voltage and signal amplification and something about how if they adjusted the coil just right it could pick up radio chatter from three blocks over.
Steve had not heard a single word.
He was staring at the same screw on the table. Every few seconds he would pick it up, rotate it between his fingers, then put it back down again like his brain had temporarily lost the ability to perform any more complex function.
Dustin finally stopped mid-sentence and leaned back in his chair and squinted at Steve. “Okay,” he said slowly, dragging the word out. “You have not been listening to a thing I’ve said for the last ten minutes.”
Steve blinked like he had just returned from another dimension. “What?”
“Exactly,” Dustin said, throwing his hands in the air. “What is wrong with you?”
Steve rubbed a hand over his face. “Nothing.”
Dustin stared at him. “Steve.”
“I’m fine.”
Dustin stared harder.
“It’s Y/N,” Steve muttered.
Dustin immediately leaned forward. “Oh, what happened?”
Steve dropped his head back against the chair. “She asked me out.”
“Wait,” Dustin said slowly. “Wait, wait, wait. Y/N asked you out?”
“Yeah.”
“And you look like this because. . . ?”
Steve stared at him. “I said no.”
There was a long, stunned silence, then Dustin slapped both hands on the table. “You what?!”
Steve winced. “Keep your voice down.”
“Why would you say no?” Dustin demanded, his voice climbing an entire octave anyway. “That is literally the opposite of the correct answer!”
Steve rubbed his temples. “It’s complicated.”
“It is not complicated!” Dustin said incredulously. “She’s amazing, you like her, she likes you back, that is what we call a win!”
Steve shook his head, his expression tightening again as the memory of Hopper’s voice crept back into his head. “It’s not that simple.”
Dustin crossed his arms. “Explain.”
Steve hesitated for a long moment before speaking again. “Hopper talked to me.”
Dustin made a face immediately. “Oh great. The chief himself.”
Steve let out a quiet breath. “He told me he doesn’t like me around her.”
“Well that’s obvious,” Dustin said. “He doesn’t like anyone around her.”
Steve shook his head again. “That’s not what he meant.” He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearms on his knees as he stared down at the floor. “He said we’re too similar,” Steve said quietly. “That he knows what kind of guy I am because he’s the same kind of guy.”
Dustin frowned.
Steve shrugged weakly, but there was no humor in it.
“He said he wasn’t good enough for his daughter,” Steve continued. “And that if I’m anything like him, then I’m not good enough for her either. And the worst part is I kind of get what he meant,” he said. “I mean. . . look at me, man.”
Dustin frowned immediately.
Steve leaned forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together like he was trying to physically hold his thoughts in place before they ran off in ten different directions.
“I screw things up,” he said. “All the time. I mean, yeah, I try to help, I try to do the right thing now, but you remember how I used to be. Everyone remembers. Half the town probably still thinks I’m the same idiot who peaked in high school and can’t figure out what to do with the rest of his life.”
Dustin opened his mouth to protest, but Steve kept going. “And she’s. . . ” Steve exhaled. “She’s Y/N.”
He said your name like it meant something big, something impossible to explain in one sentence.
“She’s smart and brave and she actually knows where she’s going in life,” Steve said. “She walks into a room and people listen to her. She stands up to Hopper like it’s nothing. She makes everyone around her feel like things are going to be okay.”
He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck.
“And me?” he muttered. “I work at a video store and accidentally adopt children who get chased by monsters.”
Steve shook his head. “That’s not the point. The point is she deserves someone who doesn’t. . . mess things up.”
Dustin leaned forward, staring at him, frustrated. “So your solution,” he said, “was to break her heart before you had the chance to?”
Steve winced. “I didn’t break her heart,” he muttered weakly.
Dustin stared at him in disbelief. “Steve.”
Steve groaned, dropping his face into his hands. “Okay maybe a little.”
“A little?” Dustin said. “She literally asked you out and you rejected her.”
Steve peeked through his fingers. “I was trying to protect her.”
Dustin threw his arms up. “From what? Happiness?”
Steve rubbed his face again, looking completely exhausted now. “From me,” he said.
Dustin leaned forward again, squinting at Steve with the same expression he usually reserved for explaining extremely basic concepts to Lucas.
“Okay,” he said. “I’m going to explain something to you very slowly.”
Steve sighed. “Great.”
“You are being,” Dustin continued, pointing at him for emphasis, “an idiot.”
Steve didn’t even argue.
Dustin leaned back in his chair, folding his arms. “When Hopper tried to intimidate me,” he said, “I shrugged him off.”
Steve blinked. “You what?”
Dustin nodded proudly. “Yeah. He did the whole ‘I’m a scary dad with a gun’ thing and I just kept dating Jane.”
Steve stared at him. “You’re insane.”
“And guess what happened?” Dustin said.
Steve sighed. “What?”
“He gave up,” Dustin said simply. “Because that’s what Hopper does. He acts scary and protective and eventually realizes he can’t control everything.”
Steve frowned.
Dustin leaned forward again, lowering his voice slightly. “Also, you realize Y/N isn’t Hopper, right?” he said. “She gets to decide who she likes. And she likes you,” he contined. “You like her. The only person ruining this situation right now is you.”
Steve slumped back in his chair.
For a moment he just stared at the ceiling, letting Dustin’s words bounce around in his head along with Hopper’s and your tearful voice and the look on your face when he’d said no.
“I think I really screwed this up,” he muttered.
Dustin nodded. “Oh, absolutely.”
Steve dropped his head back down. “Great.”
“But,” Dustin added quickly, leaning forward with a spark of determination in his eyes, “that doesn’t mean it’s over.”
Steve looked at him warily.
Dustin grinned slowly. “We just need a plan.”
Steve frowned. “A plan?”
“Yeah,” Dustin said, already getting excited. “And I know just the someone who’s great at them.”
Steve should have been suspicious the moment Dustin said that sentence with that much confidence. There were only a handful of people Dustin trusted to solve complicated situations, and somehow every single one of them was either a genius, terrifying, or both.
Which was how Steve found himself half an hour later sitting stiffly on the Sinclair family couch while Erica Sinclair leaned back like a queen being forced to listen to the complaints of particularly stupid peasants.
The moment Steve finished explaining the situation, Erica slowly dragged a hand down her face and sighed the way someone did when their patience had been tested far beyond reasonable limits.
“Oh my God,” she said flatly. “You’re an idiot, you absolute dingbat.”
Steve turned toward Dustin who gave him a small nod that clearly translated to see, I told you.
Steve looked back at Erica. “That was unnecessarily aggressive.”
Erica crossed her arms and stared at him. “No,” she said. “Unnecessarily aggressive would be me throwing you out of my house for wasting oxygen with that story. What I said was a fact.”
Steve sank a little deeper into the couch.
Erica leaned forward slightly, her eyes narrowing. “The girl likes you. You like the girl. And when she asked you out, you said no because some grumpy middle-aged man scared you with his feelings.”
Steve rubbed the back of his neck. “I had other reasons.”
Erica leaned forward slightly. “Were those reasons stupid?”
Steve hesitated.
Dustin answered immediately. “Yes.”
“You made her cry?” she asked.
Steve winced. “Probably.”
Erica clicked her tongue in disappointment. “That’s bad.”
Steve blinked. “Bad?”
“Well yeah,” she said. “I actually like her.”
Steve and Dustin both looked at her.
Erica shrugged like it was obvious. “She’s cool. She brings snacks. And she doesn’t treat me like a child.”
“That’s because you are a child,” Steve muttered.
Erica pointed at him without even looking. “See? That attitude right there is why she deserves better.”
Steve slumped further into the couch.
“But,” Erica continued thoughtfully, tapping her finger against the armrest, “she also clearly has terrible taste in men.”
Dustin coughed to hide a laugh.
“So,” Erica said, straightening up slightly, “I will help you.”
“Okay,” he said cautiously. “What’s the plan?”
Erica leaned forward with a slow smile that immediately made Steve nervous. “The problem,” she began, “is that right now she thinks she imagined everything. She thinks you never actually liked her.”
Steve nodded slowly.
“So the solution,” Erica continued, “is not some big dramatic speech where you try to explain your feelings like a sad puppy because you will mess that up. So what you need,” she said, “is proof.”
Dustin leaned forward eagerly. “Proof?”
Erica nodded. “You’re going to show her that you pay attention to her.”
Steve frowned. “I already do that.”
“Good,” Erica said. “Then this won’t be hard.”
She began counting on her fingers.
“You’re going to bring things she’s mentioned liking before. Specific things. Maybe some flowers or something.”
Steve blinked. “You know a lot about this.”
Erica shrugged. “I read.”
Dustin coughed under his breath. “Nerd.”
“You’re going to apologize,” Erica continued, ignoring him. “And then you tell her the truth.”
Steve hesitated slightly.
Erica narrowed her eyes. “All of it.”
Steve sighed. “Yeah.”
“And if she still wants space,” Erica added, “you respect that.”
Dustin frowned slightly. “That doesn’t sound like a winning-her-back plan.”
Erica rolled her eyes. “That’s because the goal isn’t to trick her into dating him,” she said. “The goal is to prove he’s not the complete idiot he pretended to be.”
Steve looked at her for a moment. “. . . You really think that’ll work?”
Erica shrugged. “If she likes you as much as you claim,” she said, “then yes.”
Steve nodded, hope and nervousness mixing together in his chest in a way that made his stomach flip.
Dustin grinned. “See?” he said. “I told you she’d have a plan.”
Erica stood up and stretched slightly. “Well, that will be a month of free video tapes.”
It had been raining for hours by the time the tapping started at your window.
You almost ignored it at first, buried face-down in your pillow with the lights off, the room dim except for the occasional flash of lightning slipping through the curtains.
You had told yourself you were not crying anymore. Technically that was true. You had stopped. Mostly. But the dull ache sitting behind your ribs had not gone anywhere, and every time you thought about Steve’s miserable expression in that back room, your chest tightened all over again.
The tapping came again.
You frowned into the pillow, lifting your head slightly. For a second your brain, still fuzzy with disappointment and lack of sleep, tried to convince you it was just the rain hitting the glass.
Then it tapped again.
You sat up.
When you pushed the curtain aside and opened the window, you nearly jumped out of your skin.
Steve was halfway through climbing in and he was completely soaked.
Rain clung to his hair, dripping down the ends and onto his jacket, his shirt, the floor under the window. His sneakers made a soft wet sound when he stumbled inside, holding a slightly crushed bundle of flowers in one hand looking like they had barely survived the journey.
You stared at him and he stared back, breathing a little hard like he had run here. “Hi,” he said.
You blinked at him. “You climbed through my window.”
Steve nodded once, like that was a normal thing to do on a rainy night after rejecting someone earlier that day. “Yeah.”
“You’re soaking wet.”
“Also yes.”
You looked at the flowers. “Did you steal those?”
He glanced down at them like he had forgotten they existed. “Technically I paid for them.” He hesitated. “I think the cashier pitied me.”
You stared for another long second, trying very hard to make sense of the situation. “Steve.”
“Yeah?”
“What are you doing here?”
Steve swallowed, suddenly looking much less confident than he had climbing through the window in the rain like some kind of very soggy romantic idiot. He ran a hand through his wet hair, immediately messing it up further. “I messed up,” he said.
You crossed your arms, still sitting on the edge of the bed. “You did.”
“I know.”
He stepped a little closer, careful like you might disappear if he moved too fast. The flowers were still clutched awkwardly in his hand, slightly bent but determinedly bright against the dim room.
“I’ve been trying to figure out how to say this without sounding like a complete idiot,” he admitted. “But it turns out that’s kind of unavoidable.”
You watched him, your heart already starting to beat faster in a way you did not want to acknowledge yet.
Steve looked down at the floor for a second before continuing. “Yesterday. . . your dad and I talked.”
Your brows pulled together slightly.
“And he said some stuff,” Steve went on. “Stuff that kind of stuck in my head. About how I’m not good enough for you. And the stupid part is. . .” He let out a breath that sounded almost like a laugh. “I already thought that.”
Something in your chest tightened.
Steve looked back up at you then, eyes honest and a little raw. “You’re amazing,” he said simply. “Like, ridiculously amazing. You’re brave and smart and kind and somehow still patient with people like me who forget basic things like how tapes work or how to act normal when someone pretty, someone just like you, walks into the room. You save the world and then go home and help your sister with lunch like it’s nothing. And you laugh at my dumb jokes like they’re actually funny.”
Your throat felt tight.
“And I’m just. . .” Steve gestured vaguely at himself. “This guy who spent most of high school being a jerk and now works at a video store.”
“You’re more than that,” you said.
Steve shook his head a little. “Maybe. But when you asked me out today, all I could hear in my head was Hopper saying you deserved someone better. And the worst part was I believed him.”
He stepped closer again, placing the flowers on your table like they were something fragile.
“I said no because I thought it was the right thing to do,” he continued. “Like if I stepped back first, maybe I wouldn’t screw things up for you later.”
Your voice came out softer than you meant it to. “Steve. . .”
“But then you left,” he said. “And you looked so hurt, and Robin spent the next hour telling me I was the dumbest human being alive, which, fair, but also I realized something.”
He took another small step toward you.
“I realized that trying to stay away from you hurts way worse than any mistake I could possibly make.”
Your heart stuttered.
Steve rubbed the back of his neck nervously, water still dripping from the ends of his hair onto the floor. “I like you,” he said, voice almost shy now. “Like. . . really like you. In a way that makes me forget how sentences work and stare at you like an idiot whenever you walk into a room. In a way that makes every near-death monster situation a little less terrifying because at least you’re there too.”
You felt a small, disbelieving smile pulling at your mouth.
“And yeah,” Steve continued, glancing at you again. “Maybe I’m not the guy who deserves you. But if there’s even a tiny chance you’d still want me anyway. . . I’d really like to try to be that guy for you.”
For a moment you just looked at him standing there, soaked through, nervous, holding onto hope with the kind of stubborn sincerity that was so unmistakably Steve.
“You climbed through my window,” you said again.
Steve nodded. “Romantic, right?”
You shook your head a little, smiling now despite everything. “You rejected me six hours ago.”
“I know.”
“In the middle of Family Video.”
“I am deeply ashamed.”
“And now you’re telling your feelings in the rain.”
Steve hesitated, then cleared his throat slightly. “Actually I had a quote prepared.”
You raised an eyebrow.
He shifted awkwardly. “It’s from Star Wars.”
“Of course it is.”
Steve took a small breath, then said, very seriously, “You’re the Obi-Wan for me but in a less mentor and more girlfriend boyfriend way.”
You stared at him. “That’s not even—”
“I panicked,” Steve admitted quickly. “The other one was Han Solo.” He glanced up at you, a little sheepish before adding, “You know. . . the ‘I love you.’ ‘I know.’ thing.” He huffed a small laugh. “But that felt way too confident for someone currently dripping rainwater all over your floor.”
You tried very hard not to laugh.
Steve looked at you with a hopeful little shrug. “What I meant was. . . I can’t imagine a life where you’re not in it.”
Your heart softened so fast it almost hurt.
You stood up slowly from the bed and walked over to him, stopping just close enough that you could see the nervous flicker in his eyes. “You’re an idiot,” you told him.
“Yeah,” Steve said immediately. “That checks out.”
“But you’re my idiot.”
His breath caught slightly.
You reached up and brushed a drop of rain from his cheek with your thumb. “And for the record,” you added, “I never asked you to be perfect. I just asked you to be you.”
Steve looked at you like you had just handed him the entire universe. “You still want that date?” he asked.
You pretended to think about it for a second. “Maybe,” you said.
Steve’s shoulders sagged in relief.
You smiled and leaned forward, closing the distance between you and Steve froze for half a second before kissing you back, one hand lifting uncertainly to rest against your waist like he was still not entirely convinced this was actually happening.
When you finally pulled back, he was smiling in an amazed way he sometimes did after surviving something impossible.
☆ — you are in love
a spider-man!steve harrington x fem!reader social media au
you run the biggest spider-man fan page on twitter, unaware that the masked superhero is actually your best friend, steve harrington. but he’s not exactly aware that you’re running the fan page either.
!! this au is separate from my main spidey!steve au !!
spidey!steve masterlist
spidey!steve smau twt version
— this is my first smau series i've ever posted so bare with me lol..
— modern au/no upside down au
— ignore timestamps/dates because they're irrelevant
— they all live in new york
— jancy, henderhop, lumax and byler are all canon cause idgaf (you don't see much of them other than jancy tho icl)
— adults are about 22-23, teens are 18-19
— steve has a big crush on you, and you have a big crush on him
— you and steve don't have each other on your private accounts
— you don't know he's spider-man
☆
profiles !!
☆ — you
nobody knows you run the whoisspidey account except for jonathan (you still don't know how he found out)
☆ — steve
the only people who know he's spider-man are the people on his priv (and most of them found out accidentally)
☆ — dustin
he's steve's "guy in the chair"
☆ — robin + eddie
steve's other best friends who are sick of his ass
☆ — jonathan + nancy
your best friends and co-workers at the daily bugle, and yes they have matching pfps
☆ — max + lucas
they're basically your children
☆ — will + mike + el
jonathan and nancy's little brothers (and yes they have matching usernames)
the sweetest girl ever, and also dustin's girlfriend, you would die for her
☆ that's everyone !! i'll start posting the first few updates asap !!
pls lmk if you'd like to be added to either my regular taglist, my spidey!steve taglist or both! and also lmk if you'd like to be removed!
likes, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <3
MAMA 😊 can i request a blurb for steve harrington where the reader has a really big and bold personality but when he's around she kind of shuts down and goes quiet which makes him all sad and confused because he thinks she hates him but everyone is like hello she likes u
a/n: i wrote this all in one sitting... guys my legs are numb and my fingers are tired please enjoy this or i'll cry
feedback is greatly appreciated! comment, reblog, talk in the tags, send me a message, tell me what you think!
Steve goes through several stages of self-doubt when he finally meets the woman that those six walking disasters have been raving about for weeks. Apparently you're so cool that you've even won Max over, which is impressive to Steve because he doesn't even know if he's done that yet, and it's been four years since they've met.
It helps, of course, that you work at a movie theater. Steve tries to defend himself when Dustin says you've got the coolest job in the world, but the kid insists that the theater is better than Family Video because you give him free access to new movies, and you butter his popcorn halfway through instead of waiting until the end so that it's all on the top.
Apparently you're very versatile- you chat with Max about horror and chick flicks alike, and you even have a skateboard to match hers. But the boys eagerly recount the two hour gossip session they'd had with you about whatever nerd movie you'd snuck them in to see, and it seems like you'd given equal enthusiasm to both.
Will had even broken into a smile as he shrugged off the scrape on his arm, telling Jonathan he didn't have to worry about beating anyone up for shoving him because you'd already done it. Apparently you'd been tasked with picking the kids up from school because Steve was working, and you'd been there early enough to see Will get bumped into the brick wall he'd been sticking tight to. The boy says there's a bloodstain on the bricks that won't wash out from where you'd slammed the dick's face into it.
Additionally, he has reliable intel that you're gorgeous.
Robin said so, and she's always right about girls.
So, all things considered, Steve's happy to tell Mike he can invite you for movie night at his place. He's eager to finally meet you, the new addition to their ever-growing group of day-savers and monster-fighters. Words like amazing, awesome, and cool are thrown around constantly to describe you, and even Eddie nods thoughtfully, proclaiming you, 'pretty badass'.
It's why Steve's so thrown when you knock on his door looking like that.
You're shifting back and forth on your feet, eyes wide and nervous as they blink at him when he greets you. He's surprised none of the little shits draped all over his couch had gotten there before he had, but it's just the two of you in the massive entryway to his house.
"Hi," You smile, but it comes out looking like a grimace, like there's a dull ache in your back that won't go away, "Um, the kids said I could come to movie night? I hope that's okay."
Steve nods mechanically, his hair bouncing and dipping into his eyes on the upswing, "Yeah, yeah! You're Y/N, right?"
He's genuinely asking.
He hasn't once heard anyone describe you as timid but that's the only word for it, doe-eyed and cautious as you step in and your eyes flit around the foyer. It's a wide empty space, but it's dotted with photos and decor that makes it look like an art gallery more than a home. It's excessive to say the least, and Steve feels the urge to usher you through it before you think he's the curator.
He's about to say something, but it gets caught in his throat as you slowly inch towards the den. There's barely any lighting in the house, only the flicker of the tv from the next room over and the glow from the streetlamps outside that spills in through the front windows. But it's enough to see you with, and Steve curses the way he's such a sucker for girls.
He's so predictable. His eyes skate over your profile as you stare at a painting on the wall, watching the way your gaze hangs there like you're interested in it and not beelining for the den. He can tell it intrigues you because you gravitate towards it, body turning slowly and unconsciously, drifting towards the wall as you peer at the abstract, textured smears of paint. Steve's never thought it worthy of much contemplation before but he can admit it's visually appealing, and evidently it's working on you.
He glances at your hands, seeing them slowly curling into the fabric of your jeans and bunching them up at your thighs. He steps forwards like he's been beckoned, it's barely a conscious choice. He stops a foot behind you, but his voice carries enough that you still jolt, "I think that one's supposed to have some deeper meaning.
You turn bewilderedly, nearly bumping into his chest with how suddenly close he is. It means your eyes flare wide, and your lips part then squeeze shut with a gasp that turns Steve's heart to goop.
So predictable.
"Sorry," He breathes, smiling sheepishly, "The painting? I, uh- I think it just looks like a bunch of squares. Pretty squares," He cocks his head, finding immense difficulty in tearing his eyes away from you to nod pointedly back at the painting, "But squares."
"Oh." You nod dazedly, your hands resuming their scrunching of their jeans, "Yeah. I don't know if I can find some hidden message in it." You turn again, flashing the logo of the movie theaters whose vest you're still wearing, evidently straight off of your shift, "But it's really pretty."
Steve can't say thank you because he didn't buy it, or paint it. He also can't tell you that you're really pretty, because that would be fumbling, and he's determined not to do that anymore. So instead he reaches for the hem of your vest, the left front panel that hangs loosely off of your frame instead of sticking tight to it, "Did you want to take this off? You can hang it by the door."
You flounder when you realize Steve's got your vest in his hand. You do this awful side-step that pulls it out of his grip, like he's a mangy dog sniffing around you at a restaurant and you're gonna talk to the manager about him. His hand awkwardly drifts back down to his side, but you fumble for the meshy fabric of your vest with a deep swallow that sounds painfully dry.
"I forgot," You breathe out a laugh, "I didn't realize I still had it on. That's embarrassing." You note, then your eyes screw shut like saying it out loud was worse, "You don't have to hang it, it's- it's not that important." You bunch a corner of it up and tuck the entire thing into your back pocket, much like the way Eddie hangs a bandana from his, and you brush your palms off like it had been dirty.
"Movie room's this way," Steve gestures, pointing towards the flashing light coming from the den, "It's Risky Business. Hope that's okay."
"Mhm," Is all you say as you hightail it towards the den's doorway, a sudden urgency propelling you there.
Steve liked it better when you'd drifted through his foyer, giving him ample time to look at you.
He has to admit, everyone seems like they'd been wrong about you. Well, everyone but Robin, of course. He doesn't get chatterbox vibes from you, nor can he picture you punching out a leering high schooler for getting in Will's face. You seem like a spooked deer, one loud noise away from bolting and high tailing it down the street. But who knows- maybe you're not good with new people. Maybe all it'll take is some Steve Time to get you to loosen up, and he follows you to the den distinctly determined.
"Y/N!" El and Max shriek in unison as you pad over the threshold, and Lucas is promptly kicked off of the sofa to give you room. You apologize for it by squeezing the boy's shoulder, and when El and Max each drape themselves over one of your legs you draw them in closer with arms around their shoulders.
"Hey," Eddie calls, chucking a balled-up hershey's wrapper at you in lieu of a greeting. Steve stands by the doorway, surveying the room for a spot to sit. It looks like he's condemned to Robin's feet, but at least he'll be able to subtly glance at you out of the side of his vision.
Predictable. So fucking predictable, he fights the urge to scrub a hand over his face. He's got to get this under control, because he can't keep falling for girls that he's got no shot with. But if you're just shy, he reasons, that doesn't mean he doesn't have a shot. It means he's got to make one for himself, and he leans himself against the wall while Eddie scrounges around for another wrapper to chuck.
"Hey to you, too," You fling it back at him, and he's so caught up in finding more garbage that you hit him square in the forehead. He yelps, a garbled sound, and Steve snorts at the triumphant grin on your face. Your eyes dart to him at the sound, and widen as your smile dims.
Steve feels his stomach beginning to hurt.
"You were supposed to bring popcorn." Eddie gripes, "And unless you've got it in your bra I think we're all about to go hungry."
"I brought it!" You insist, nudging Max off of your shoulder carefully. You bend down, reaching into your bag with the arm that El has wrapped her own around. You retrieve a bag of kernels- a massive one, but definitely unpopped. There's a few groans that cut across the movie's dialogue but you defend yourself, "I know, I know! But I can't just steal from the popper, they'd totally know. And it doesn't take long to make," Your eyes flit over to Steve, and his stomach melts at the way you duck your head down a few degrees. Your voice comes out softer when you speak to him, "Um, do you have a big pan I could use to pop some? It'll take a few batches, but I can finish in about thirty minutes."
"I'll check." He bites his tongue, "I think so? I'll be back."
He rushes off towards the kitchen, bumping his shoulder into the doorframe on the way out and hissing at the pain.
Smooth.
He fumbles through a noisy cabinet of cookware, and finds a wide-mouthed pan that looks like it'll suit a big batch of popcorn. He even manages to extract a matching lid, and he's eager to provide you with them, even more eager to linger in the kitchen with you and try to sneak past that nervous air you've got about you. This will totally work, he decides, and he strides back into the movie room with a purpose.
You're standing when he enters. You've somehow extracted yourself from the gaggle of girls hanging off of your arms, and they're swinging wide, then joining to clasp your hands between them as you nearly shout. Everyone's gazes are trained on you, amusement tinging their features and Steve only catches nine measly words from you before you notice he's back.
"-so I'm like, sir, we don't sell movies, we-"
You turn to gesticulate in Steve's direction, and when you catch him there you freeze. It's heartbreaking, actually, the way the life leaves your body, your arms dropping back to your sides and your spine going stiff. It's like you've been turned to stone, and he marvels at the way he feels like an intruder in his own home. Now all of a sudden his stomach is dropping further, and not in a good way. How has he fumbled already?
He can barely speak, not while you're looking at him like you're a little afraid of him, "I- uh, I found the pans," He jerks a thumb backwards, "Can I show you to the kitchen?"
"Yeah." You murmur, your voice a far cry away from how boisterous it was mere seconds ago, and you scramble to grab the bag of kernels from El's lap before trailing after him back to the kitchen.
Your eyes rove across this room similar to the last, but they land on the pan and stay there. Before you can reach for them Steve grabs them himself, lid in one hand and pan in the other.
"These," He holds them out, like you couldn't see them before, "Will these work?"
You look cowed, perhaps because he's swinging around pans like he's trying to hit you with them. But you nod, a timid thing, and he sighs through his nose and prays you can't hear it.
"Perfect, I can- I can help you, if you want." He offers, setting the pans back on the counter and trying not to get his hopes up.
It doesn't work, because when you shake your head he feels a wave of shame roll over him like nausea. He's trying to pinpoint exactly what came across as too much to you- if he'd come on too strong with his greeting and triggered this cautious defense mechanism you've initiated.
"It's okay." You hum, voice still dim and low, "I do this all day at work. I don't need help."
"Right," Steve smiles, laughing off the awkward tension. But he pulls a barstool out anyways, sinking down onto the cushion and bracing himself on the counter, "No, I'm sure you know what you're doing. It's just- sometimes my stove is a little unpredictable," He lies through his grin, "So, I mean, I can hang out in case you need help with that."
"O-kay," You nod slowly, hands carefully arranging the pot over the burner, "Am I gonna, like, light myself on fire if I turn the dial?"
"No! No, that's not- it's fine." Steve shakes his head so hard it hurts, "Just- it's just, fire safety, y'know? I'll just stay."
"Okay." You repeat, head tucked nearly to your chest, "Sounds good."
It doesn't sound like it sounds good. It sounds like- it sounds like you're angry, almost, and Steve is hit with yet another wave of dread.
Are you angry at him? God, do you hate him already? This has gotta be the fastest that's ever happened, aside from that one time during the summer he worked at Scoops when he'd spilled a milkshake down a girl's new top just trying to hand it to her.
He's starting to feel hopeless.
Is there something wrong with him? He doesn't understand- he looks the same as he did when he was 'king'. Better, even, cooler hair and a fuller frame. What's wrong with him now that wasn't then? He thinks he's nicer now, even if he's lame, but are you really that put-off by his current demeanor to be irritated with him already?
Or, Steve thinks, and he's not sure which is worse, do you hate him because of his brief reign as king? Had he been rude to you? He'd been rude to a lot of people. The thought makes his chest sting on a normal day, but now it's all-encompassing, aching down to the tips of his toes as he tries frantically recalling if he'd messed around with you during school. He comes up empty, but there's gotta be a reason you're pulling so hard away from him now, and he stands up so suddenly that the barstool nearly tips over behind him.
"I actually- I gotta go make sure they don't break anything," He excuses himself, his voice tight with emotion, "Uh, let me know if you need me."
"Oh-okay!" You blurt, watching bewilderedly as he rushes for the door, "-thank you!"
He charges into the den fast enough to draw attention. Then he flounders, and Robin sits at attention when he nods towards her.
"Uh, can I talk to you outside?" Steve asks, and she throws a cautious glance to Eddie who shrugs minutely.
"Sure thing, dingus," She braces herself on Will's knee to stand, and Steve fights the urge to grab her hand and drag her outside so that she'll move faster and he can barf all the words in his brain out of his mouth.
"Yes, bozo?" She asks, when they're finally outside in the cold Hawkins night, "Why are you all jittery?"
"What did I do?" He asks expectantly, and her brows raise in the way that means sarcasm is imminent.
"What did you do, when?" She asks, "Are we playing this like Clue? Where, with what, what do you want me to say?"
"To Y/N," Steve sneers, "You didn't watch her, like, completely shut down when I walked in the room?"
"Oh. Yeah, I saw that," Robin's aloof posture slumps slightly, "But- she might just be tired after work."
"Only tired around me?" Steve asks, crossing his arms over his chest, "She seems fine around you guys."
"I know, but you barely know her! Just let her warm up to you," Robin shrugs, her voice far too light and airy for a situation of this magnitude, "I'm sure she'll be fine by the end of the night."
"I don't think i did anything to her." Steve speaks more to himself than to his friend, but she throws a sympathetic palm against his arm anyways.
"I'm sure she doesn't hate you." She reasons, "Seriously, not everyone can just jump into a conversation like you do. Even if you don't know what to say, you just- you just say it."
"What?" His brows furrow and his nose scrunches, "What are you talking about?"
"It's like a popular guy thing," She explains, "You can just talk to anyone like you've known them forever. I can't, though. And maybe Y/N can't either, maybe she just needs to get to know you first. So let her."
"Okay." Steve grumbles, because there's nothing else to do. He follows her back into the house still feeling discouraged, but he's softened slightly by the way you offer him the first bite of popcorn from the bowl you'd scrounged around for.
"I hope it's okay I'm using this," You hold up the bowl, and that downcast gaze you shoot through your lashes at Steve makes him forget anything but the way you're looking at him, "Try some?"
He reaches for the bowl, eating a few pieces as politely as he can. In the theater he might try shoving twelve above his molars but he savors the sparse mouthful, nodding appreciatively.
"It's good." He insists, and the smallest smile Steve's ever seen curls your lips at the corners, "It tastes just like the movies."
It's a stupid thing to say, considering that's where it came from. And Steve's glad that you don't say anything about it, though it's because you don't speak to him at all for the rest of the night. Nothing, not a single word, not a 'can you turn it up, please?' or a 'where's the bathroom?'. He's waiting for it all night, waiting to analyze your voice and see if it's brightened at all, strengthened, grown more confident but your mouth remains shut until you stand up to leave post-credits.
"Thanks for inviting me," You stretch out your stiff limbs, talking to the group as Dustin gravitates towards you for a ride home instead of making Steve leave his own house, "It was a good movie."
Steve knows he's fishing but he can't help it, not as you gather your bag to leave and he's about to lose you to the front door, "I can hook up with- I can hook you up with any movie." He offers, stammering over his slip of the tongue, "I mean- like, I can get 'em for you. If you want a tape, just call the store and I'll put something aside for you."
You don't thank him. You look at him, which is why he's such a blubbering mess in the first place, but all you grant him is a soft smile and a nod. It's better than nothing, but Steve's heart clenches as you deny him your voice, and he watches you leave helplessly with Dustin on your tail.
"Close call," Robin smacks his arm once the rest of the kids have migrated towards the door, "She definitely wouldn't warm up to you if you offered to hook up with her."
"I didn't mean to say that," Steve grunts, and Robin laughs, "Just- I figured she'd say thank you."
"I'm sure she meant to," Robin hums, "I mean, she kind of did. She nodded, that's enough."
Not for Steve. He wanted to hear your voice, he wanted you to ask for the store's number so that he could scrawl two down on a scrap of paper, hoping you'd call the wrong one first and his home landline would ring.
"I thought she was supposed to be this motormouth who likes everyone," Steve can't help but mumble, and the way that Robin sucks her lips between her teeth to bite them doesn't help the disheartening feeling Steve's throat is clogged with.
"Steve... she is," Robin sighs, "I don't know. She was- a little quiet tonight." She admits, "But that's not a guarantee that she hates you! Just give her time."
"How much time did it take you?" Steve asks, and Robin winces.
"Ten minutes."
Steve ushers her out within five short minutes so he can wallow in self-pity.
Clocking in at Family Video the next morning makes Steve's stomach churn. Part of it is dread, because he fucking hates the regular who comes on Wednesdays and he knows they'll be busting down the door as soon as he flicks the lights on. But the rest of it is because he'd found your vest on his couch when he'd turned the lights on to clean up stray popcorn kernels- it must have fallen out of your pocket the further you'd slouched into the cushions. It's your work uniform, and he'd brought it with him just in case you wanted to bound through the doors and reward him for returning it to you with a kiss. Probably not, but he's got it clutched in his fist anyways. It smells really nice, which is something he knows not because he'd smelled it on purpose, but because he'd flung it over his shoulder when leaving the house and a whiff of your perfume had hit him like a wave.
The morning is slow, and Steve suffers through the ramblings of their regular nuisance, but it gives him time to daydream, and he's so convinced that you're the one on the other line when the phone rings that he forgoes his company greeting and just blurts your name into the receiver.
"Y/N?" He asks, and a familiar sarcastic scoff comes from the other end.
"Is that how you answer the phones now?" Robin asks, and Steve rolls his eyes even if it's lost on her.
"Why are you calling your own store?" He asks, and Robin shifts around on the other end, muffling her words.
"What?" Steve asks, and she sighs into the phone like it's his problem.
"I said, Y/N asked me to ask you if she left her vest at your house last night. It's her uniform, she works in an hour."
"Yeah, actually," Steve glances at it under the counter, hope blooming in his chest, "I have it here. I figured she'd need it- tell her to stop by."
"Look at you, thinking ahead!" Robin gushes, and Steve has half a mind to hang up on her, "I'll send her over. Hey- I come in at four, don't leave a mess for me!"
The thirty minutes that it takes you to peel into the Family Video parking lot is agonizing for both parties. Steve's drumming his fingers against the counter, trying to keep them out of his hair that he's fluffed and ruffled ten times over. You're gunning it down the icy Hawkins roads, trying not to die from a car wreck before you get murdered for either showing up to work out of uniform, or showing up late.
The bell above the door jingles when you shove it open, and Steve smacks his thigh on the bottom of the counter in an effort to launch himself to his feet.
"Shit," He hisses, "Hi!"
"Hi," Your eyes flit wildly around the store, "Robin said you had my vest?"
Steve takes it as a good sign that you're talking to him now. But you're not as soft as last night, limbs tense and eyes wild. "Here-" He fumbles for your vest beneath the counter and as soon as it's in sight you snatch it up, halfway out the door before he can even register the way your fingers had brushed against his.
"Thanks!" You call, and Steve tries figuring out as he watches you speed away whether you'd been inside the store for more than thirty seconds, or less.
So definitely no reward kiss, then.
Barely any eye contact, either. You hadn't said anything you didn't need to, no small talk, no questions, no inquiries about movies. You'd run in, taken what you needed, and run back out again, and Steve feels frustration thick in his chest as he sits back down again.
He's really having trouble believing that you don't hate him.
"Rob," Steve scoffs, leftover popcorn ground beneath his teeth, a kernel lodged in his gums, "You don't understand. She ran in, she grabbed it, she ran out."
"And she didn't say anything?" Robin asks, balancing an armful of tapes that need rewinding, "Like, anything at all?"
"She said, 'hi' and 'thanks'." Steve recalls, "Oh- and! 'Robin said you had my vest?'. Seriously! Nothing!"
"She was running late for work, and she was panicked!" Robin shrugs, "I wouldn't read into it. Seriously, she's cool. She might just have to warm up to you like I said. It's not like she had time to chat. But she thanked you this time! And that's gotta mean something." Robin eyes him pointedly, "Don't start to spiral about this. Why does it matter, anyways?"
"Because!" Steve starts too strong, and has to rein himself back in, "Because, Robin, everyone's been talking my ear off about how fun and crazy she is, and whenever I walk into a room it's like someone takes her batteries out! I want to know why!"
"Why, though? Why do you care? Plenty of people in Hawkins don't like you," Robin reminds him, and Steve drops his head into his palm, blocking the light from his eyes.
"Yes, I'm aware. Thank you."
"I'm not saying it to be mean." Robin sighs, abandoning all hope of ever getting any actual work done and setting the tapes on the counter to rub a tentatively soothing hand down Steve's back. Their touches usually consists of punches or shoves, but she can tell the former king needs something nicer right now, "Just- don't let it bother you. Even if she does have some sort of crazy hatred for you, don't worry about it. Sometimes people just aren't gonna like you."
He gives her a despairing look, and one shared glance is all Robin needs.
"Oh, fuck." She declares, and Steve's brows furrow, "This again!"
"What?"
"You!" She gushes, "You fall in love with everyone!"
"What?" He sits ramrod straight on his stool, "What does that have to do with this conversation?"
"That's why you care," She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose between her fingers, "Because a new woman has entered your life and she's neither taken nor gay, so she's gotta be your girlfriend now."
"That's not fair," Steve tries, but it totally is, and Robin nails him with a deadly glare.
"Don't even start with me! Are you forgetting that I counted every swing and miss you committed at Scoops? You're a total player!"
"Not anymore," Steve argues, "I haven't done that in a while, okay? Because it wasn't working for me! And all I was ever really after was a date. You really think I saw my future in Jenny Bates or Christie Langfield? I just wanted to feel like I wasn't the biggest loser in Hawkins!"
"You literally never got one 'yes'." Robin reminds him, and he groans despairingly.
"Yeah, I know. Again, that's why I stopped doing it! And- okay, I have a tendency to crush a lot, I don't know! I like women, sue me! So do you!"
Robin's eyes flash wide; he's got her there.
"But I'm not just asking out everything with boobs anymore, okay? I'm trying to only engage in relationships I think might actually work."
"And you think that's Y/N?" Robin asks, collapsing onto her own stool, deep in thought.
Steve flounders, blushes, "It would- I mean, it'd be nice if it was. I think she's really pretty, and she drives the kids around so I don't have to, and she's- y'know, everyone says she's awesome."
"You don't even know her," Robin glares scrutinizingly at him, "We've had this entire conversation because she's not herself when she's around you."
"Which is why I'm trying to get to know her better! I'm not gonna propose," Steve huffs, "I just- I just want a chance. I want one chance, and I want her to like me."
Robin doesn't speak- not right away. She chews on the info, mulling it over while her eyes are glued to Patrick Swayze on the cover of the tape she'd neglected to rewind. She gnaws at the inside of her cheek, then drags her gaze towards Steve who looks entirely too downcast for her liking.
"Alright." She decides, "I'll help you. If you really mean this, and you're serious, and you're not gonna dump her and totally ruin our group dynamic, I'll try to get intel from her."
"Intel?" He asks, instantly nervous.
"I'm going to her place tomorrow," Robin nods, "We're having a sleepover. And sleepovers are, like, prime 'boy talk' time. I might not have anything to contribute myself, but I can definitely weasel something out of her. I promise," She offers a pinky to Steve, and he takes it with a soft, amused grin, "I'm gonna help you land this one, dingus."
"Y/N," El stares boldly at you from the backseat, meeting your eyes through the rearview mirror, "Why don't you kiss Steve?"
You nearly swerve off of the road, and Max snickers while you regain your composure.
"What?" You ask, and El cautiously explains.
"It said in Max's magazine that girls get shy when they like a boy. And you get very quiet around Steve. And that means you like him, and kissing is what you do when you like someone. So why don't you kiss Steve?"
"I don't get quiet around Steve." You defend yourself despite the heat in your cheeks, "I just don't know him."
"So?" Max scoffs, "You're all extroverted and stuff. It doesn't matter when you meet anyone else. It's just Steve that it happens around. You go dead silent and you stare at him with those ooey-gooey eyes, it's disgusting."
"That's so not true!" You're happy to pull into Max's driveway, the cool winter breeze filtering through the windows, "Now get out, before I lock you in here and torture you with bad music."
The girls fumble for the doors, but Max leans in before she leaves to gloat, "You're so, totally in love with Steve Harrington."
"I don't like Steve!" You shriek, clinging to the lie desperately like it'll come true if you say it with enough fervor.
Max blinks blankly at you. No- she blinks blankly behind you, and your head jerks to the side to see a maroon BMW that makes your heart sink.
Steve Harrington is leaning against it, and he's frozen in his tracks, eyes wide and cheek between his teeth. There's no way he hasn't heard you.
"Wow." Max snorts, and El shuts her door behind her, "What are you doing here, Steve?"
"Uh," He has trouble tearing his gaze away from you, his suspicions confirmed but at what cost? Looking away feels like a breakup, like shutting the door and never coming back, like throwing away a phone number. It feels like being alone, like a too-big empty house and no friends to fill it with. Like having no one that wants to be around him. "Your- your dad called, El, wanted to know if you were getting a ride home from me today or if you'd need one. And I said I could get you, so... so he said you'd probably be at Max's. So I'm here," He trails off, and you grip your steering wheel so tightly that you're surprised it doesn't snap, "And... I can drive you home."
There's got to be a reason. He just doesn't know what it is- maybe there is something wrong with him. Maybe he's unlikeable, like he'd always worried about, and maybe he is just a glorified babysitter. He honestly can't remember the last time Dustin called him to do anything but beg him for a ride, and the fact that he has so few friends his own age that he has to rely on validation from a kid hits him like a semi-truck, nausea rushing to his stomach and roiling there so viciously he pales.
El ducks towards your window before joining Steve, and you fight down your own nausea and rushing blood through your ears to hear her.
"That sounded mean." She notes, "Do you want me to tell him you do like him? And that you want to kiss him?"
"No," You seethe, panic making your heart pound, "Just- go! Go and don't say anything!"
You're really not sure how much worse that could have gone. Of course, the girls were right. Unfortunately, those teeny bopper magazines do have the formula down to a science, and you've been crushing on Steve Harrington since you first saw him wait until Max's seatbelt was buckled before driving out of the school parking lot. You hadn't met him for months, but you'd seen him around, sometimes through the window at family video, sometimes at the gas station filling his car up.
He's undeniably handsome, and the exasperated masquerade that he uses when dealing with the kids doesn't fool you. They're your little friends too, and pairing a pretty face with a heart of gold did you in.
Now, however, that you've gone and ruined everything, you're quite certain you won't get any more chances. You hadn't even been able to work up the courage to actually say anything to him, despite having been in his house, and now you don't have a shot in hell, because he slams his door so hard the car shakes.
El would follow your instructions, but it would be rather rude to ride all the way to Hopper's cabin in Steve's car and not say anything. So she settles into the seat, awkward silence thick in the air as your tires screech against the road, and hums, "She does like you."
"That's-" Steve chokes out a laugh, "That's nice of you, El. Really, thanks, but I don't think there's anything you can say to fix that."
"Really," El's brows furrow, "I read it in a magazine. She likes you." She holds up fingers for each piece of evidence, "She doesn't talk to you, and she talks to everyone! And she avoids you, and she tells people she doesn't like you."
"Yeah- thank you," Steve sighs, his own grip on the wheel tight enough to pale his knuckles as he begins the trip to Hopper's cabin, "Now that you put it that way, things are really looking up for me."
You think you have the salesman beat when you ignore the bell three times, but then Robin Buckley falls through your window with an overnight bag, and you realize you're fucked.
"Oh my god!" You shriek, sinking to the floor to help her, "Oh my god, you- that was you! Shit, you were gonna sleep over," You remember as she rubs her stinging elbow, carpet burn evident on her skin, "Robin, I'm so sorry-"
"Hey, don't worry about it," Any indignation she might have felt is gone as soon as she gets a glimpse of your face, tear-stained a puffy, "What's wrong?"
"What?" You ask, but when you're unable to breathe through your nose you remember, "Oh. Oh, god, don't even ask, I- I can't talk about it."
"Did someone die?" She asks, eyes blown wide.
"No," You snort wetly, "I wish."
"Then we can fix it." She declares primly, her cheeks flushed from her second-story window adventure, "Tell me about it."
You should. You know Robin's closer to Steve than anyone else, and you're sure if you don't tell her now, she'll know the second she gets home and gets a phone call from him. And you don't want to lie to her, so you muscle up the courage to smear a tear off of your cheek and admit, "I fucked up."
"I gathered," She nods at the tissues scattered around your room, "Did you trip and fall and split your pants open? Did you drop your favorite ring down the gutter? Did you use your mom's leg razor on your peach fuzz?" She sticks out a finger to poke at your upper lip and it startles you so much you have to laugh.
Her responding grin is toothy and adorable, and you hope that after everything you tell her tonight, Robin still wants to be your friend.
"I messed up things with..." You breathe, in, out, "Steve."
She pales slightly.
"Steve?" She asks, "What- Steve Harrington?"
"What other Steve do you know?" You narrow your eyes at her, unfairly perhaps, because she's set out to help you, "Of course Steve Harrington."
"Sorry." She shakes her head, tucking her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them as you two huddle on the floor together, "What happened?"
"He overheard me," You begin, a rather kind way to put it considering you'd shouted it to Max's whole neighborhood, "-saying that I didn't like him."
Her eyes dim.
"Oh. You don't- uh, you don't like him?" She asks, her voice forcibly casual, too tight and coiled like a snake about to strike.
"No, that's not-!" You struggle for the words, and accept defeat, "I do. I do like him, I-" You scrub your hand over your face, hiding behind it, "I said it because I was trying to keep it private, but Robin... I like him. Like- romantically. Maybe."
She's never been more grateful in her life than she is right now, because the way you're avoiding her gaze means you can't see the blinding grin she's sporting.
"Okay," She muscles it down, treading lightly, "Okay, so you like him! Who could blame you, what a guy!" She exclaims, reaching for your arms and tugging them away from your face, "I mean, he's got a nice car, he's got a steady job, he's got hair that's a foot tall- what else does a girl need!"
"Courage!" You wail, "I need to put on my big girl panties, apparently, because every time I'm around him it's like I'm all sweaty and nervous and blubbery," You recall the movie night where you'd absorbed maybe half of the dialogue, and even less of the plot, "He- like, drives me crazy or something. I'm a total loser around him," You despair, "And now he thinks I hate him!"
She neglects to inform you that he'd thought that from the beginning. It won't help. But she will, and she squeezes your hands with so much excitement they might bruise come morning.
"Okay, so, he heard you say something unflattering. But that doesn't mean he'll shoot you the next time he sees you! We can fix this!" She swears, "I'll call him right now, and you can-"
"No!" You gush, horrified, "Do not call him!"
"You have to fix this!" She moves her hands from your shoulders, shaking them violently, "You have to tell him!"
"No!"
"Yes!"
"No!"
"Yes! You have to, I told him I'd help!"
Your brows furrow, and you push Robin's hands off of you.
"Help with what?"
Several silent seconds later, you snap, "Robin, now's not the time to develop the ability to shut your mouth. Open it, and tell me what you're talking about."
She groans low in her throat, "Fine. We were kind of sort of talking about you yesterday, and he was telling me that you seemed like maybe you weren't crazy about him. So today definitely didn't help," She reasons, "But the only reason he even cared about your opinion of him is 'cause he likes you too! Romantically," She gives you a suave smirk, "So call him, and tell him you didn't mean it, and then kiss!"
"You sound like El," You try griping at her, but the giddiness you feel at her words is undeniable. You're smiling, cheeks burning, chest heaving like you're a lovesick fool. "He really said that?"
"Oh yeah." She nods, tongue jabbing into her inner cheek, "We had a whole fight about it."
She reaches for your phone, finger spinning the dialer so fast she's not even sure she's hit the right numbers. She keeps it pressed to her ear, soothing your nerves with a hand on your knee.
"It's fine," She whispers when the line rings three times, "He's probably peeing or something."
"Oh." Your nose scrunches, and she eyes you pointedly.
"Hey, get used to it. You're about to get a boyfriend."
You shrug, the b-word igniting another wave of elation through you.
He doesn't answer.
"Okay," She hums, dialing again, "He's listening to really loud music, maybe?"
The third time, she guesses that he's taking a walk around the block.
"One more time," She speaks through gritted teeth, "Come on, Harrington."
"Hello?" A lazy voice answers.
"Steve!" She cheers, "Hey, are you busy?"
"No," He drawls, and her brows furrow, inching closer together, "No, I'm not busy. I'm never busy! Not unless someone needs a ride from me!"
"Are you drunk, Steve?" She asks, sharing a worried glance with you.
"Yep," He laughs, "Yeah, because- because why not? Because it's not like there's anyone around to stop me. I don't have any friends," He gripes, "Not besides you, and you're only still hanging out with me because we got tied together and drugged last summer!"
"You got what?" You ask, head rearing backwards.
"Later," Robin hisses, slamming the phone back to her ear, "Steve, listen to me, you're spiraling. You have tons of friends-"
"Yeah, that are all twelve years old." Steve's words run together, unsteady like you're sure he is on his feet, "Which is a great look for me. And nobody likes me, and I don't know why, because I'm trying so hard to be nice and good now, but nothing's working, so I'm drinking instead. And that's at least fun," He chuckles dryly, and your heart feels like it's being squeezed to the verge of pulverization, "Because when I lay on the floor, it feels like I'm spinning."
"Okay," Robin chirps, alarmingly cheery, "Stay on the floor, Steve. Don't drive anywhere, just stay there and spin around."
"Will do," He rasps dryly, "Buh-bye."
The line goes dead, and you share a petrified look with her.
"Let's go," You decide, springing to your feet, and she grins, racing after you.
"Hell yeah! Let's go." She grabs your keys and tosses them to you, "Are you squeamish around puke?"
"Why?" You stop dead in your tracks, so she beats you to your car."
"He's a lightweight," Robin reveals, her lips puffing out in a pout, "Come on! No time to waste."
You steel yourself against vomit, and speed to Steve's house.
It's just as ridiculously large as you remember it. You'd been so caught up in ogling the inside when you'd been here a few days ago that you hadn't remembered the outside much, but it's foreboding and empty with all of the lights off. You picture Steve laying alone in the dark, puking on the carpet, and you beeline for the front door.
"Ah-ah-ah," Robin grabs your elbow, tugging you to the side gate, "He always leaves this one open in case I stop by when he's out."
She holds open a sliding door for you, and you try not to stare at the gorgeous pool the opposite direction. You're here to help Steve, and if all goes well, you'll make it a point to have a pool party afterwards.
"Steve?" Robin calls, traipsing through the dark rooms and flicking lights on as she goes, "Steve, where are you?"
"Robin?" He answers, and you veer left to follow the sound of his garbled speech, "You- s'that you Rob? You come to- are you here my... house?"
You're the one that finds him, flat on his back in the bathroom, a trash can just out of reach. His head is pressed up against the bathtub, and you hope he hadn't hit it on the way to the floor.
"Steve," You breathe, and you wonder if Robin's on her way.
Steve's head shoots up, but the rest of him doesn't. He blinks blearily at you, neck craned, brows pinched in confusion, "Y/N?"
Then, he pukes.
You're quick enough to see it coming, but not quick enough to ensure there's no damage done. He coughs first, and you bolt for the trash can, but there's definitely going to be a stain on his shirt from the few precious nanoseconds you'd lagged in stuffing the can under his chin.
"Oh, fuck," You grunt, steeling yourself against your own queasiness at the sight and sound and smell, "Oh, Steve, how much did you drink?"
"I followed the sounds of retching," Robin declares, appearing behind you in the doorway, her mouth set in a firm grimace as Steve hurls into the bin you're still holding for him, "Well, look on the bright side. Romantic!"
"Robin," You hiss, and Steve hangs his head over the mouth of the trash can for ten seconds after he finishes puking, just to make sure there's nothing left. He dry heaves, but there's simply nothing else in his stomach, and you sympathize with the knotting his gut must be doing right now, uncomfortable and tight.
He groans, throaty and open-mouthed and pathetic. It's really the only sound that sums up the situation, and you wholeheartedly agree.
"Is there more?" You ask, and your voice comes out sweet and kind, doting, even, "Or do you want to go to bed?"
"Bed." He whines, head hanging even when you set the trash can aside, "It's so far."
"Walk with me, Harrington." Robin offers her arm, eyeing the puke stain on his shirt warily, "Just- don't try to give me a hug or anything."
You watch as Robin helps pull Steve off of the floor, giving him time to adjust to his new orientation before he starts barfing again. They inch towards the stairs and Robin calls back towards you, "Get water and pills! Meet us there, first door on the left."
You set off towards the kitchen, hands trembling as you root through the cabinets.
You feel ridiculously guilty.
Evidently you've sent Steve into some existential crisis about how no one likes him. That might honestly be the worst case scenario, the greatest fumble in the history of dating. Your heart gets choked out again as you think about Steve racing home and raiding the liquor cabinet, desperate to distract himself from his big empty house and from his own self-loathing.
You tuck two aspirin into your palm and fill a glass of water to the brim, making your way to Steve's bedroom.
It's... plaid.
Monstrously so, wallpaper and comforter and lampshade and curtains and rug. It's hideous, but you'll look past it for now. Later- if this miraculously works out, you're buying him some new drapes.
"There we go, big boy," Robin congratulates, propping him up shirtless against his headboard and dropping his stained shirt in the laundry, "Y/N brought you some medicine for tomorrow, and some water!"
"Y/N," He mumbles, eyes closed, head still hung, "Why's Y/N here? She- she doesn'even like me."
"That's my cue," Robin smiles sweetly, backing towards the door, "Hurry, before he crashes!"
"Steve," You step warily towards his bed, hearing the door click shut behind Robin, "Can I sit with you?"
"Yeah, sure," He breathes, his voice dull and lifeless, "I'on'care."
You purse your lips as you sit down, spotting a smear of puke on his chin.
"You're a little pukey, Steve." You note, "Do you want to brush your teeth?"
"I can't." He moans, "Bathroom's too far. And my arms don't work."
You march in, retrieve toothpaste and toothbrush and trash can, and march back out.
"Okay," You squeeze the toothpaste onto the bristles, wetting it with a splash of water from the glass you'd filled, "Open up, Steve."
"Huh?" He asks, finally lifting his head. You reach for his jaw, and he watches you with a dazed expression, his eyes half-lidded and dilated as he stares up at you.
"Open," You thumb across his lips, and they part to breathe a sigh onto the pad of your finger.
He widens his mouth, and you get to brushing.
You hadn't realized how awkward it is to brush someone else's teeth. But it's Steve, and he's narrowly avoided drinking himself to death because of you, so you scrub like he's about to see the dentist.
"Tongue," You say, "Show me your tongue."
He sticks it out, and foamy drool drips off of it into the trash can you'd stuffed beneath his chin again.
You scrub his tongue, and fight to keep it extended when he decides it feels weird and retracts it again.
"Steve, you've still got vomit back there." You coax him with another stroke to his jawline, "Stick your tongue out again."
"Why are you doing this?" He moans, but he does as he's told, and you ponder your response as you scrub away at his poor taste buds.
"Rinse," You hum quietly, holding the glass of water to his lips. When he's cleaned and rinsed and spit and swallowed you drop the trash can beside the bed, foreseeing a very nauseous morning in his future.
"I'm doing this because," You finally answer, "I don't- not like you. I don't dislike you, I like you," You insist, unable to stop yourself from guiding his upper body to the mattress and dragging the blankets up beneath his chin, "I was just embarrassed because Max was teasing me, so I said I didn't. And I said it loud, and you heard, and now we're here and you're going to have the hangover of a lifetime all week."
"Why was Max teasing you?" He asks groggily, a yawn eclipsing his features before they smooth again. You sigh, eyeing his hair and fighting to stop yourself from running your fingers through it to elicit a sleepy sigh from the man.
"Because I like you," You repeat, "Like- romantically. Maybe."
His brows raise.
"Romantically? That's-" He laughs, a puff of air from his chest, "'Cause, I like you, romantically. For sure."
"Yeah?" You can't help but grin, squeezing his hand when it erupts from the blankets in search of yours, "Good. I hope you still like me even after you heard me today. I'm sorry," You cringe, relishing the way his palm fits against yours, "I'm really sorry, Steve, I feel awful."
"No, I feel awful," He mumbles, "I've got- I'm drunk. But you- don't feel bad. We can- oh," HIs eyes widen, then scrunch shut, and he rips his hand out of yours to drag it down his face, "Oh, no."
"What? Steve," You reach for the bucket on instinct, "What's wrong?"
"I'm gonna forget this," He wails, "I'm gonna forget this in the morning because I'm stupid and drunk and you're not gonna tell me again because you're gonna run off and avoid me like you always do."
"Steve," You wince, "No, no that's- that's not what's gonna happen. I mean," You eye him carefully, "I'm pretty sure you're gonna forget this. But I'll tell you, I swear. And if I didn't," You reason, "Robin would. You know she almost shook me to death earlier trying to get me to confess to you? She wouldn't let me run away again. And," You sigh, "I'm sorry for running away earlier today. I was just embarrassed, and scared. You're a really good guy, and it's not your fault that I was afraid."
"Robin'll tell me," He nods along, and you wonder if he's absorbed any other information you've presented him with. But it doesn't matter, because it's a conversation better suited for tomorrow than tonight. And you'll have it- you will tell him, and he'll tell you, too, and you'll... kiss, hopefully.
It's an exciting prospect, kissing Steve. You're glad the feeling in your stomach is butterflies and not barf, and you stand up to re-smooth the covers around Steve's drowsy form.
"Go to sleep, Steve." You croon, "You'll need it, as much as you can get. And tomorrow, you can call me." You snag a pen and paper from his desk, "I'm leaving my phone number right here. Call me, and I'll come over, and we can talk."
"Y'swear?" He asks, squinting suspiciously at you. It's endearing, his eyes narrowed and his cheeks flushed.
You nod like a bobblehead, "I swear, Steve." You offer him a pinky, and his teeth gleam in the low light of his bedroom when he grins, hooking his around yours.
"I'm tired," He announces, dragging his arm back under the blankets, and he's out in no more than five seconds as you pad quietly towards the door.
Robin's sitting on the top step. She turns when she hears you, and springs to her feet, "He's out?"
"He's out." You nod.
"You told him?" She asks, her eyes shining.
"I told him," You confirm, your own smile growing, "And I left my number, so he can call me tomorrow."
"And you'll tell him again," She leads you down the stairs, "Because he's probably gonna wake up with no memory of us even being here."
"I know," You laugh softly, "He told me the same thing. But yeah, I'll tell him again," You promise, "And if things really work out, again. And again, and again, and again, 'cause I really do think I like him a ton. I wouldn't brush just anyone's teeth."
"That is intense," Robin nods, accompanying you back out the side gate and crunching gravel beneath her feet as she heads for your car, "But it's cute, in a gross way. Romantic, maybe."
"Yeah," You grin, glancing back at Steve's dark window as you tug open your car door, "Maybe."
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there is no other love (it’s only yours) - steve harrington
Steve Harrington x female! reader
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Summary:
You and your best friend are constantly mistaken for a couple - sometimes you have a little fun with it.
Or, 5 times you were mistaken for Steve Harrington’s girlfriend, and the one time you really were.
Warnings:
Kissing, underage drinking, just fluff
Word Count: 8k
A/N:
Wow this is finally getting posted! This has been in my docs half written since JANUARY. I’m excited to finally share it with you, and anon who requested this, I hope you’re still around to see it! Thank you @punkrockmlchael for my banner ❤️
The first time you were mistaken for Steve’s girlfriend, you were in high school. It was a Friday night and the atmosphere in Hawkins was electric. The basketball team was about to play the championship game, and the whole school was crowded into the gym.
You dressed in a shirt you made with Steve’s number, 11, painted onto it, Harrington across the back. You used face paint to draw little 11s onto your cheeks. When you walked into the gym, Steve spotted you immediately, running up to you and wrapping you in a tight hug.
“I’m so glad you’re here,” he said, a huge grin on his face. “Look at you, all school spirit-ed up!”
“Just for you,” you laughed. “Harrington’s #1 fan.”
Steve looked genuinely touched. He pulled you into another hug, holding you until his coach called for him.
“Harrington! We need you over here!”
Steve pulled back, hands on your shoulders as he smiled at you. “See you after the game. I better hear you in the crowd.” Then he turned and jogged back to where the rest of his team waited for him.
You were still smiling as you climbed the steps, finding a spot with a great view of the whole court. Carol and Tina gave you a strange look as you passed, but you ignored them.
The game started, and the crowd came alive. Your eyes were glued to Steve the whole time, watching as he expertly blocked the other team’s shots and made basket after basket. He was running the court, and you had never felt more proud.
The other team was not having a good time. One of their players in particular started getting rough with Steve, elbowing him and knocking him to the ground. You gasped, standing to get a better look, but he was fine. Jason offered him a hand and helped him up, and the ref called a foul.
Steve was awarded a free throw. He stood behind the free throw line, bouncing the ball a couple of times as he lined up his shot. He tossed the ball and it effortlessly flew through the air, swishing through the basket. He took his second free throw, once again sinking the ball in the basket. His teammates clapped him on the back as they got back to the game. Steve looked into the stands, spotting you immediately and giving you a smile and small wave that you happily returned.
The game was close. The clock ticked down the remainder of the fourth quarter, and the other team was just barely in the lead, 71 to 70. Steve got control of the ball, spinning around to face the net. The timer went on - 2 seconds, 1 second - and Steve took the shot. All of Hawkins held their breath as the ball flew through the air, seemingly in slow motion - and swished through the basket.
The crowd went wild. You stood, jumping up and down as you screamed your head off. The team surrounded Steve, lifting him high in the air as they chanted - “Harrington! Harrington! Harrington!”
You ran down the steps as fast as you could. Steve turned to you like you were the only person in the room, holding his arms out for you to run into. He scooped you up, twirling you around as you laid your head on his sweaty shoulder.
“That was incredible!” You exclaimed once he sat you down. “You were amazing out there!”
“Thank you,” he said, the huge grin plastered to his face. He was riding the high of the win, of being the star player of the Hawkins varsity basketball team. It was a well deserved pride.
Your moment was interrupted by Carol and Tina approaching. They gave you a look, eyes moving between you and Steve.
“So are you guys, like, dating now?” Carol asked, her tone bitchy as usual.
You opened your mouth to say no, you were just friends, but Steve beat you to it.
“Yeah, we are,” he said proudly, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “We’ve been dating for a couple months now. She’s the best, isn’t she?”
You looked up at him in confusion, but decided to go along with it. “Oh, yeah,” you added. “Steve is just amazing. He’s the best boyfriend ever.”
Steve went on. “We’ve been best friends forever, you know, but I finally confessed my feelings and asked her out. I was terrified. But she said she felt the same, and the rest is history, as they say.” He chuckled. “Best thing I’ve ever done. She’s my dream girl.”
Carol and Tina both looked between you, their expressions judgmental as they chewed their bubblegum. “Well, good for you guys, I guess,” Carol said, before the two of them walked off.
When they were out of earshot, you turned to Steve, brows furrowed. “We’ve been dating for a couple months?” You questioned him, a laugh in your voice.
Steve shrugged, grinning. “Why not? It’s none of their business anyway.”
“You came up with a whole backstory.” You shook your head, laughing. “You’re ridiculous.”
Everyone at school thought you were dating after that, and neither of you ever corrected anyone. When prom season rolled around, Steve asked you to go - just as friends. You went shopping with Robin and found the perfect dress - dark purple, sleeveless and with a poofy skirt. It fell to just below your knees. It made you feel beautiful, you had been looking forward to prom your whole life, never having an excuse to dress up like this.
Your older sister, Lori, came over, excited to help you get ready. You sat on the bench of your vanity, talking and laughing with her as she curled your hair, then did your makeup. She did your eyeshadow first, a smokey eye that went well with your dress. She painted your lips with a nude color.
Steve picked you up that evening, knocking on your door and using his Harrington charm on your mom, who already loved him. She always told you that you and Steve should get married, and jokingly called him her son in law when he wasn’t around.
When you walked down the stairs and saw him, your heart skipped a beat. In reality you were just friends, of course, but he looked so handsome it nearly took your breath away. He was dressed in a black tux, a dark purple tie on to match your dress. He might have looked even better than you did, you thought.
“You look beautiful,” Steve said. He held a purple corsage in his hand, still in its clear box.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” You reached for the hall table and grabbed the matching purple boutonniere sitting on top.
Your mom took about a million photos as you pinned the boutonniere to Steve’s jacket and he slid the corsage onto your wrist. Then you were made to pose for another million photos. You didn’t entirely mind, and Steve sure didn’t - he was absolutely eating up the attention - but you were ready to get going when she was finally satisfied.
Steve held out his arm and you looped yours through his. Your parents and Lori watched you from the front door as you walked - and saw a limo sitting out front.
“Steve!” You gasped. “This is too much.”
“It’s not every day we go to prom,” he smiled. “I wanted to make it special.”
Steve held your hand as you climbed into the back of the limo, him right behind you. When the limo began moving, he reached into the mini fridge and pulled out a bottle of champagne, holding it up on display and raising his eyebrows. “Want a drink?”
“Uh, yes,” you said, like it was obvious - which it was. Steve grinned as he grabbed two champagne flutes and filled them with the bubbly liquid.
You laughed together as you drank on the way to school, and by the time you got there you were both pretty tipsy. It was going to be a fun night.
Steve helped you climb out from the limo, escorting you inside. You stopped to take a photo together where Jonathan was running the booth. As you walked into the auditorium, Time After Time was just beginning to play.
Steve held out his hand - “Dance with me?”
You didn’t have to be asked twice. You took his hand and he led you to the dance floor, his hands sliding to your waist as your arms went around his neck and he held you close. You slow danced with your best friend, worried he could feel your heart beating against his own chest. The way he looked at you sent butterflies flying in your stomach. You almost thought he might kiss you.
But that would be silly, wouldn’t it?
After high school, you and Steve both got jobs at Scoops Ahoy. The uniforms were stupid and the job was mundane, but at least you got to work with your best friend. And Steve was pretty cute in the sailor outfit.
“I didn’t even know there were this many ice cream flavors in existence,” Steve said on your first day, looking down at the freezer in wonder. “It’s like…ice cream wonderland.”
You snorted. “Do you want some ice cream, Stevie?”
He looked at you, eyebrows raised. “Uh, yeah, I do. You’re telling me you’re not excited by free ice cream?”
“I guess it’s one perk of this shitty job.” You grabbed two of the sample spoons. “What flavor?”
Steve examined the freezer again. “Rocky Road.”
“Chocolate chip cookie dough for me,” you said, opening the glass door and scooping one of each flavor. You handed the spoon to Steve, who ate it right away.
Steve watched you as you ate the ice cream off the spoon, making you blush. You licked the delicious treat off the spoon, him watching you intently the whole time. “What?”
“Nothing,” Steve said, shaking his head as he turned back to the cash register, acting like he was doing something very important as his shorts suddenly felt uncomfortably tight, the skin of his neck heating in a blush.
The two of you goofed around until the mall opened, then it was a steady stream of customers ready to cool down from the summer heat. It kept you busy, but some of the customers liked to talk.
“You’re such a beautiful girl,” one older lady commented one day as you scooped her mint chocolate chip. “Is that handsome young man your boyfriend?”
You started to laugh, “Oh, he’s-“
But Steve interrupted, putting his arm around you. Your heartbeat sped up, beating hard in your chest, although you didn’t know why. “Yeah, we’ve been dating for years. High school sweethearts. It was our dream to open this ice cream shop together. Now it’s finally come true, hasn’t it sweetheart?”
You looked at him. “That’s right babe. I’m just happy to be on this adventure, setting sail on the ocean of flavor, with you.”
Steve kissed you on the temple before he beamed back at the woman, who seemed to believe you as she took her ice cream, smiling at you both. “How cute. That’s wonderful. You remind me of me and my husband at your age.”
When she left, you and Steve busted out laughing. “Nice job, sweetheart,” he laughed.
“You’ve got to stop telling people we’re together,” you shook your head with a smile.
“Why? It’s fun.” Steve lifted his sailor hat to run a hand through his immaculate hair. You couldn’t help but notice his new sneakers he got to match his uniform. He would do something like that.
Steve was in the back when a group of familiar kids walked in. Before they could even ask, you turned. “Stevie, your kids are here!”
Steve came around the corner, hands on his hips. “Really? Again?”
“It’s Day of the Dead,” Dustin reasoned. “We can’t get in and we aren’t missing it.”
You wandered to the back, leaving Steve to deal with the group of kids using him to sneak into an R rated movie. You decided it was the perfect time to take your break, sitting at the table and grabbing your book from your bag, flipping to where you left off.
Out front, Dustin gave Steve a smirk. “So, that’s her?”
Steve’s head twisted around in a panic to make sure you were out of earshot. When he turned back to the kids, his expression was irritated. “Dude.”
“She’s pretty,” Mike commented. “I see why you’re so obsessed.”
“I am not-“ Steve looked around again before leaning closer onto the counter. “I am not obsessed.”
“Yeah, okay, man,” Lucas said, telling Steve he didn’t believe him for a second.
“You never shut up about her,” Max contributed. “We’re not dumb. It’s obvious you’re in loooove.”
Steve blushed furiously, looking down to hide the redness of his cheeks. “I am not…you know what, don’t you have a movie to catch?”
He quickly led them through the back, not giving a single one of them the opportunity to speak to you. He didn’t trust them one bit. He opened the door to the back hall and the kids all filed out, making kissy noises at him as they left.
Because Steve definitely wasn’t in love with you. You were just his best friend. Nothing more. He swears.
Your sister Lori had a baby girl 6 months after you graduated high school. She named her Annie, and she was really a perfect baby. Always so calm and well behaved, and she loved spending time with you and Steve.
You were basically volunteered for babysitting duty whenever it was needed, but you didn’t mind. You always loved kids, and you loved your sister and your niece. It was fun to play house for the day, go out in public and pretend you were a mom. It was especially fun when Steve tagged along, because, well, he made everything more fun.
When Annie was 1 year old, your sister left you in charge while she and her husband went to Indianapolis for the day. You and Steve decided to have a fun day and take her out to the children’s museum. She had just gotten walking down and always wanted to be independent now.
It took Steve an annoyingly long time to find a parking spot and it was making Annie fussy, so when he finally did, you were all relieved.
“Way too fuckin’ busy for a Tuesday,” Steve grumbled as he killed the car engine and started unbuckling his seat belt. You grabbed Annie from the back and got her buckled in her stroller, which Steve pushed to the front door. He bought three tickets from the counter and you all headed inside, Annie looking at the surrounding ocean exhibit with wide eyed wonder.
Steve was amazing with kids. It always made you feel warm and fuzzy inside to see him interact with them, and the way he played with your niece was no exception. He sat her on his shoulders as he walked through the museum, giving her the best view of anything she could want to see.
When you reached the mini grocery store setup, Steve sat the wiggling toddler down and she grabbed his hand, leading him through the fake store. She added all kinds of pretend food to her mini shopping cart, and when she was done, Steve manned the cash register and scanned her purchases.
“Having a cookout this weekend?” Steve asked as he scanned a pretend pack of hot dogs. “Beautiful weather for it.” When she was done, she walked off with her cart. Steve stopped her - “Ma’am! Your change!”
In the playground area, Annie found some toddlers her age and began playing with the blocks with them. You and Steve took a much needed break as you sat together on a bench with Annie in full view.
“Long day,” Steve sighed, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rode up the slightest bit, revealing a tiny bit of skin. Your eyes went right to it.
“Yeah,” you agreed when you wiped the drool off your chin. “You having fun though?”
“‘Course,” Steve smiled at you. “I love hanging out with my girls.”
His girls. The sentence made you feel giddy, like you weren’t just babysitting your niece and maybe had an actual family with Steve. A wedding ring, an adorable brown haired hazel eyed child. You let yourself entertain the thought.
The couple sat on the bench next to you turned your way, the woman giving you a friendly smile. “Is she yours?” She asked, pointing to Annie.
“Oh, yeah,” you answered. Steve leaned around you to look at the couple. “Her name is Annie.”
“She’s adorable,” the woman said. “That’s mine, Oliver.” She pointed to the little boy handing Annie a block. “Sorry if it’s rude to ask, but how old are you two?”
“We’re nineteen,” Steve answered for you. “Just graduated from Hawkins High a year ago.”
“That’s where we met,” the woman said, smiling at her husband before turning back to you. “You’re so young. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Well,” you began, looking at Steve. “It’s definitely hard, but we always knew we wanted kids. Especially Steve.” You leaned on his shoulder, smiling at the couple like you were head over heels in love. “So we got an early start.”
“I’m 30 and I still feel like I don’t know what I’m doing sometimes,” she laughed. “You two are doing great. You have a beautiful family.”
The comment made your heart soar, as if you hadn’t just completely lied to this woman and it wasn’t all pretend. You squeezed Steve’s hand, and he returned it.
When Annie started fussing and rubbing her eyes, you knew it was time to get her home for a nap. You just hoped the day’s excursion had worn her out enough to lay down without a fuss and take a good one. You put her back in her stroller, and Steve pushed it as you left the building.
“So I have to stop making up stories about us being together?” Steve whispered, teasing you for your earlier words.
You blushed. “It was just the perfect opportunity. She totally assumed we were together and Annie was ours.”
“She did,” Steve agreed. “But you surprised me, I didn’t think you’d go for it. I mean, I would have if you didn’t, but still.”
You burst into laughter. “I knew you were thinking it!”
Steve laughed, too. He shook his head, brown locks brushing against the collar of his shirt. “Of course I was thinking it.”
Annie was passed out by the time you got her back into her car seat. Steve was such a natural with her, it made your heart flutter in your chest. You thought about what it might be like if you were together, if Steve was really your boyfriend - or husband - and you had a child together. You knew he would be the best dad in the world. There wasn’t a doubt in your mind.
He played the radio quietly as you drove back home. Neither of you spoke, not wanting to wake Annie. She probably wouldn’t nap once you got home, so you wanted her to get as much rest as possible. But every now and then Steve would turn to you, giving you a soft smile that made your stomach do flips.
When he dropped you off, he helped you carry the sleeping baby inside. Your sister held her hand over her chest as she watched Steve with Annie, shooting you a knowing look behind his back that had you blushing.
“Thank you for taking her,” she told you both. She kept shooting you glances that were far too obvious for your comfort.
“Oh, it’s no problem,” Steve said, usual charming smile on his face. “We had a good time.”
“Yeah?” Lori asked, smiling between you two like an idiot. You gave her a look that said please stop.
“Yes,” you answered for the both of you. You pushed Steve through the house and to your bedroom as he laughed.
“I like your sister,” Steve said, laughing. “I don’t know why you’re always trying to get away from her.”
“She’s embarrassing,” you muttered.
“She’s nice,” Steve said.
Yeah, when she isn’t trying to embarrass you in front of your friend. You shook your head. “You don’t get it. You don’t have any siblings.”
Steve kind of deflated at that, and you instantly felt bad. You knew Steve’s family was a touchy subject. His parents were pretty emotionally neglectful, never around, hardly cared what Steve did as long as he showed up to school and didn’t get himself killed. But he was lonely, and always had been. He’d wished for a sibling for as long as he could remember.
You put a hand on his shoulder. “You can have her, if you want.”
That got a smile out of Steve. He nudged your forehead with his own. “Nah. I’d rather just spend time with you.”
“You’re coming tonight, right?” Eddie asked excitedly, practically bouncing up and down as he cornered you, Steve, and Robin at Family Video.
“It is Tuesday,” you said, closing up a VHS box and giving Eddie a smile. “Wouldn’t miss it for the world, Ed.”
Eddie was beaming as he turned to Steve and Robin expectantly. Steve had been leaning against the counter on one arm, watching you and Robin. With Eddie’s waiting gaze on him, Steve looked between you and him. “Well, I don’t go anywhere without her, so. Yeah, I’ll be there.”
“We’ll all be there,” Robin said. “Calm down.”
Eddie was practically bouncing off the walls. This was a big show for Corroded Coffin - not the typical Tuesday night crowd with five drunks. The rumor was someone from a label was supposed to be there. Eddie had been demanding you all come for moral support - and to make the crowd look at least a little bit better.
That night, you dug through your closet looking for something metal concert-appropriate. You didn’t have much to choose from. You ultimately decided on a black top that tied in the front and a tiny little matching skirt. Some tall lace up boots and tights pulled the look together.
When you walked outside to Steve’s car, you could see his eyes widen through the window. You had to pull your skirt down as you got in to keep from flashing him.
“Jesus,” Steve practically choked out. “You look-“
“Ridiculous?” you filled in for him. “Yeah, I know.”
“That…is not what I was going to say.” Steve shook his head, blowing out a long breath of air as he backed out of the driveway.
You picked up Robin next, who slid into the backseat behind you. Both Steve and Robin were dressed in their normal wardrobe - you felt kind of like a total fucking idiot. This wasn’t you.
You didn’t notice the way Steve kept looking at you, letting his gaze linger way longer than he knew he should’ve. Robin noticed.
At the Hideout, Steve put a hand on your lower back and led you into the crowded bar. It was packed for a Tuesday. Steve left you and Robin in a booth and took to the bar with his fake ID.
When he came back, he had three beers held in his hands. He placed them down in front of each of you and slid into the booth on your side.
There were a few opening acts before Corroded Coffin - no one particularly interesting. You were barely listening to the music at all as you chatted with Robin and Steve, laughing harder and harder the more drinks you got in your system.
When Eddie came onstage, the three of you cheered louder than anyone. He caught your eyes in the crowd immediately, smiling and waving back. The band started playing, and you nodded along to the music.
“I need another drink,” you said, hinting that Steve should get up to let you out.
“I’ll go get it for you,” he said, standing.
“No, I need to stretch my legs,” you said. You had forgotten just how tiny your skirt was until you stood and could feel the breeze on your upper thighs. “We can go together.”
Steve nodded, leading you through the crowd. You may not have noticed, but Steve didn’t miss the way every guy in the bar was looking at you, letting their eyes freely drop to your barely-covered ass. Steve shot dirty looks to all of them, staying close behind with his hands on you at all times.
You made it to the bar, leaning against it. It was packed, the bartender all the way at the other end. “This is gonna take forever,” you groaned.
“Wait here,” Steve said. “I’ll go catch him down there. Another beer?”
“And some shots,” you smirked, which Steve returned. You watched him go, disappearing into the crowd of people.
“That your boyfriend?”
You turned around, startled. A large man stood behind you, not entirely unfriendly looking, but you knew better than to trust strange men in bars. “What?”
“Was that your boyfriend?” the man asked, gesturing towards Steve. You looked back at him at the bar before turning back to the man.
“Yes,” you said on instinct.
The man looked like he didn’t quite believe you, like maybe you were just trying to get rid of him (you were). “How long you been together?”
“5 years,” you said easily, thinking of the day you and Steve had become official best friends. “High school sweethearts.”
“Oh yeah?” the man said, his little interest waning.
“Yeah,” you said. “Actually, he stole me from that guy up there.” You gestured up to where Eddie was going crazy on stage, and the man’s eyes widened. “We were together for a little while. But Steve? He’s the real rocker, if you know what I mean.”
The man looked thoroughly uncomfortable at this point. The sight of Steve coming back over from over your shoulder was enough of a push for him to get out of this interaction. “Have a good rest of your night.”
“The real rocker, huh?” Steve asked with a smirk, sliding up next to you and handing you a shot. He carried both your beers in his one hand. You tilted your head back and swallowed the shot with ease. “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” you said. “I think he was gonna hit on me. Asked if you were my boyfriend.”
“And you said yes?” Steve asked teasingly.
“Well, yeah. I didn’t want to deal with that.”
“Nice story,” Steve said, and you blushed, realizing he had probably overheard more than you thought. “I’m the real rocker?” he repeated, like he had really gotten a kick out of that.
You shrugged. “It made him uncomfortable. I thought it was funny.” You took a second shot.
Steve looked at you - really looked at you. His eyes slowly trailed over your body, your outfit, taking in every inch of skin exposed by the tiny material. His heart thudded harder, harder in his chest. He opened his mouth to say something he’d probably regret when Robin came up between you, grabbing your arm.
“You guys took forever,” she said. “Now I need a drink.”
It had been a few years since graduation when Richard Harrington decided he was done torturing his son and gave him a job at his insurance company.
Steve’s first real Big Boy Job. A job where he had to dress in business casual, get up early to style his hair and iron his shirts. He did well there, rising up the ladder faster than expected - you knew it was on Steve’s own merit because his dad wasn’t exactly the charitable type.
You were a junior in college, studying education. Dean’s list, soaring grades, on track to be class valedictorian. Things were going well.
“Do you want to come with me to the company Christmas party?” Steve asked one evening as you were lounging at your apartment. He was still in his work clothes, button up shirt undone with his sleeves pushed up to his elbows. He’d come over right after he got off. Most days, all he wanted to do when he got off work was hang out with you.
“You want me to go?” you asked, sitting your mug of hot chocolate on the coffee table.
“Yeah, of course,” Steve said, like it was obvious. “I mean, it’s probably gonna be lame, but if you’re there-“
“I’ll go,” you said. “Do I need to dress up?”
“Uh…yeah. Probably,” Steve said.
“It’s fun to have an excuse to dress up sometimes,” you mused.
You couldn’t find anything in your closet you actually liked that fit the vibe of Steve’s fancy annual company Christmas party - so you dragged Robin and Lori out shopping with you. Lori was having fun, at least.
“How many dresses are you gonna try on?” Robin whined, running her hand absentmindedly through the rack of clothes. “I feel like you’ve tried on everything in the store.”
“I just haven’t found the right dress yet,” you mumbled as you examined a little black number on the rack. For some reason, this had to be perfect. You had to look perfect. It was important to you.
“You’ll find it,” Lori said. “It’s in here. I can feel it.”
It was an hour later, and Robin was dragging her feet. You were starting to feel bad - maybe you shouldn’t have brought her, but you missed her since you no longer worked together. You didn’t get to see each other as often.
“Oh my god,” Lori said, slowly pulling a hanger down. “This…”
You turned and saw your sister holding a glittering short red dress. It was stunning. It fit the Christmas/winter wonderland vibe perfectly. You took it from her, the material softer against your skin than you expected.
“Go try it on,” Lori encouraged.
You went into the changing room for what felt like the millionth time and shed your familiar clothes. You took the dress off the hanger, the fabric cascading across your skin like water. It was easy to put on, too.
You stepped out of the dressing room, and Lori gasped.
“Oh, finally,” Robin said.
Turning to look in the mirror against the wall, seeing yourself in the dress for the first time - it took your breath away. You had never felt particularly confident in yourself, but if anything was going to give you unbeatable confidence, it was this dress.
“You look so hot,” Lori said.
“Agreed,” Robin added. “This is the one. And I’m not just saying that because I wanted to get out of here 6 dresses ago.”
That night you dressed in your new gown. The hem went right to mid thigh, showing off your legs in a very sexy way. It showed off your cleavage just enough without it being too revealing for a company Christmas party.
You knew Steve was just your best friend, but you were about to knock him dead.
He picked you up right on time, the knock on the door coming at 6 on the dot. You opened your apartment door to the sight of Steve dressed in navy pants with a white and grey button up and matching suit jacket - a red tie around his neck that somehow matched your dress perfectly. He wore his glasses, which he hardly ever did.
He had been standing there in his normal bored kinda way, leaning against the door frame as he waited for you to answer like he had much more interesting things to do. But once you opened the door and he saw you, he practically choked, standing up straight and nearly tripping over his own feet.
“Wow,” he finally managed to get out. “You- you look incredible.”
“Looking handsome yourself,” you smiled playfully, grabbing your black clutch from the hall table. “Ready to go?”
“Yeah, ready,” he said, still distracted. Even with his mind reeling and actively trying not to look too hard at your body, he led you to the car with his hand on your back, opening the door for you and holding your hand as you sat down.
“Is this a date, Harrington?” you teased him as he got into the driver’s seat of his new car. “This feels kinda like a date.”
Steve laughed lightly. “Just trying to be a gentleman.” He thought for a second. “I guess you could be considered my date for the night. By some people.”
“Our first date,” you cooed playfully. “Cute.”
At the office building, Steve parked in his designated spot - close to the front. He helped you out and escorted you inside with you hanging onto his arm. You stepped on the elevator and Steve pressed the button for the 15th floor.
The doors closed, and you and Steve were left in the quiet, the only sound the rumbling of the ascending metal box.
Steve cleared his throat. He looked like he was trying to look anywhere but at you. It was starting to make you feel a little bad. “Do you not like my dress?” you asked softly, your earlier confidence being left behind in the ground floor lobby. “Are you embarrassed?”
“No!” Steve said quickly, almost a little too loud. “No, that’s not- I like it. I really like it. You look stunning. Actually…” he thought for a second. “Stunning,” he said again. “You’re gonna be the hottest chick there.”
You laughed, feeling a little better. You just couldn’t understand why Steve was being so weird.
On the top floor, it was much louder. Muffled Christmas music traveled down the bright white hall, and Steve led you down, opening the door for you.
A party had been set up inside, not huge, but pretty big. Lots of guys in suits dressed similarly to Steve, mingling with drinks in their hands and beautiful women on their sides. You were sure most of these women had rings on their fingers, however. Big, flashy rocks.
Steve was quickly wrapped up in a whirlwind of conversations with his colleagues. You were each handed a champagne flute that you sipped on while you listened to Steve talk about things you didn’t understand while smiling and laughing at the appropriate times.
But Steve kept his hands on you. If you weren’t holding onto his arm, his left arm was around your waist, or his hand on the small of your back. And you couldn’t help but notice how handsome and grown he looked. Steve never wore his glasses, but all of a sudden you wished he would more often.
“I’m going to go to the bathroom,” you whispered to Steve just as he got waved over by another man.
He looked down at you. “Do you want me to take you? They’re just over there, but-“
“No, I’m okay,” you smiled. “Keep mingling. I’ll be right back.”
Steve watched you leave, the sway of your hips in the fabric of that dress near hypnotizing. When you were out of sight, he turned and walked over to Tom, the guy who had been calling him over.
“Hey, man,” Tom greeted, clapping Steve on the back. “Enjoying yourself?”
“Yeah, having a pretty good time,” Steve answered with a friendly smile.
“Was that your girl?” Tom asked, nodding in the direction you’d gone. And Steve wasn’t going to play the game tonight - he really wasn’t - but then Tom said, “Because I’ve been watching her all night, and she’s hot as hell. I was going to ask for her number if she’s just a friend. Or maybe you could set a guy up?” He waggled his eyebrows at Steve mischievously, and Steve felt like he could’ve punched the guy.
“She’s my girlfriend,” Steve said. He told Tom your name - and it had never felt quite so right rolling off his tongue.
“Lucky bastard,” Tom teased. “I hope you appreciate what you’ve got. Because that girl is-“
“Yeah, I get it,” Steve said, politely cutting him short. “I’m a lucky guy, believe me I know it.”
“How’d you two meet?”
“High school,” Steve answered easily. “She was, uh…she was my assigned math tutor.” He laughed, rubbing the back of his neck as he recounted the memory. “Brought me from a D to an A in that class. I’d never learned so much in my life.”
“If my math teacher looked like that…”
Steve smiled, as if he was lost down memory lane. “We became best friends after that. Literally inseparable since. I haven’t gone a day without her in 10 years.”
“That’s sweet man, really,” Tom said, more genuine this time. “I’m happy for you. You deserve a nice girl. Just don’t be an idiot - don’t let her go.”
Don’t let her go.
The words rang around in Steve’s ears for the rest of the night. Even when you returned, back by his side while he made the rounds - he couldn’t stop thinking about what Tom had said. Don’t let her go. Don’t let her go.
Steve hadn’t realized how he felt about you until it slapped him in the face in that exact moment - out of nowhere, it nearly knocked him off his feet. He looked down at you, smiling and laughing as you sipped on your champagne and talked with his boss’s wife - and it nearly took his breath away.
How had he been so stupid all these years?
Sure, there had been times he was unbearably attracted to you - but he was only a man, and you usually happened to be wearing something unreasonably sexy when it happened. Like now.
But there was more. It was the way his heart clenched when you laughed. The way you made him smile like no one else. They way you made him laugh, kept up with his sense of humor, never made him feel stupid or less than. You befriended everyone - there wasn’t a cruel bone in your body. Friend of everyone, yet you never let anything get in the way of your friendship with Steve. You were his best friend.
And he loved you.
He had to get out of there.
“Are you ready to go?” he asked you, mid conversation.
You looked up at him, surprised. “What?”
“I think I’m ready to go,” he said. “I just think…I need to get out of here. Get some fresh air.”
You looked at him with your eyebrows drawn together in concern. “Okay. We can go.”
Grateful you didn’t put up a fight while Steve felt like he was losing his mind, he told everyone a quick goodbye and led you back to the elevator. The ride down was silent, and significantly more awkward. Steve couldn’t wait to be out.
The elevator dinged as it stopped at the lobby once more, and Steve speed walked off. You were running as fast as you could in your heels, trying to keep up. “Steve, wait up! Where are you going?”
He was outside now, the cold air whipping through his hair and making his nose burn. He knew you had to be freezing in that tiny little dress. He had made it to the large fountain in the courtyard when he turned abruptly, nearly making you knock onto his chest.
“Jesus,” you said, stopping. “What are you doing, Stevie? What happened in there? Are you okay?”
Steve didn’t answer any of your questions because he didn’t know how to. Instead, he took his suit jacket off and handed it to you. “Here. You’re probably cold.”
You looked at him strangely. But you were cold, so you took the jacket and slipped it over your shoulders. “Thanks.”
It was silent besides the running water sounds of the fountain. You and Steve just looked at each other, the only ones outside at this time of night. The party was still in full swing upstairs. You just stared each other down, both of you waiting on someone - the other or yourselves - to make the first move.
Steve finally took a step closer to you. He said your name, so gently it floated across to you on the breeze.
“What’s going on with you?” you asked. “I thought we were having a good time, and-“
“I’m in love with you.”
Your eyes went wide and you reeled back as if you’d been struck. “What?”
“You heard me.” Steve took another step. “I’m in love with you. I’m fucking in love with you. And I don’t think I can pretend I’m not anymore.”
You were in complete shock. The sounds of the rushing water filled your ears once again, and you gaped at Steve like a fish as you tried to come up with something to say. It felt like your brain had just completely short circuited.
Steve began to look defeated. His head dropped and he held intense eye contact with his loafers. “I…I just had to tell you. I’m sorry.”
More rushing water. Then - “Why are you sorry?”
“Because I think I just ruined the friendship,” he said. “I think I just ruined our fucking friendship.”
“No,” you said immediately. It was your turn to take a step closer. “You didn’t.”
Steve slowly looked up at you, taking his time meeting your eyes as if he were afraid. You’d never seen Steve afraid. “I didn’t?”
“No,” you said. “Because I…I love you too. I’m in love with you too.”
You just stared at each other. That damn fountain carrying the whole atmosphere. Steve took another step, and he was standing so close to you you could smell his cologne and aftershave. His head was tilted down, looking into your eyes like he was reading you from the inside out. “You love me?”
It took you a minute to get your bearings. Your heart was pounding now, and you felt like your body was filled with bubbles from the champagne. Light, bubbly, like you could float away or maybe just pop out of existence. You nodded shakily. “Yeah. I…I love you.”
Steve’s forehead came down to gently rest against your own. Then he slowly raised his arm - his hand finding its spot on the side of your neck, cradling your jaw. “You’re beautiful,” he said, his voice so low you could barely hear him. “And I’m in love with you. So, so in love with you. Think I always have been.”
“Steve…”
He shook his head just barely. “Just let me…”
He leaned in those last couple of inches, and then Steve’s lips were pressed against yours.
When people talk about sparks flying during a kiss, you’d never believed them. It had certainly never happened to you, and you’d kissed plenty of people. But you had never kissed Steve.
He moved his lips against yours so softly and slowly. Like he wanted to feel and savor every second of the kiss, didn’t want to rush. He was hungry for it, but he could take his time. Your hands came to sit on his biceps as his free hand rested on your waist.
It felt so right. It didn’t feel like a first kiss - there was no awkwardness, nothing uncomfortable, just pure passion and love and desire. Steve was a good kisser, too. His tongue traced your lip and you opened for him, his tongue just barely brushing against yours.
Steve let out the slightest breathy moan, like he had finally gotten something he’d been longing for for so long. Your knees wobbled and his grip tightened on your hip, pulling your body closer into his.
“Don’t go fallin’ for me too hard, now,” Steve smirked, his voice so low and deep it gave you chills even though he was being his normal cheesy self.
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Harrington,” you said, still breathless from the kiss. Steve only smiled bigger.
He kissed you again, shorter this time. A couple soft pecks against your lips, then a longer press, like he didn’t want to stop. “Be my girlfriend.”
“Are you serious?” you laughed. “How much champagne did you have?”
“Hardly any,” he said, “and I’m dead serious. Did you not just hear me tell you I love you?”
“You meant that?” you whispered.
“‘Course I did,” he whispered back, nudging your nose with his own. “I want you. I’ve never wanted anyone the way I want you. All those shitty dates…my failed love life…” Steve laughed lightly. “And you were right here in front of me the whole time.”
Your expression softened, looking up at Steve with eyes that were somehow glittering in the night. Steve’s breath hitched in his throat - you were quite literally breathtaking.
“Yeah,” you said. “I’ll be your girlfriend.”
Steve’s smile grew. His only reaction was to pull you in again, wrapping his arms around your body as yours went around his neck and he kissed you nice and slow again with all the love in the world, beneath the December stars.
“Can you help me with the potato salad?” Lori asked, already three dishes in her arms and Annie clung to her leg.
“Yeah, of course,” you said, jumping into action. You grabbed the bowl of potato salad along with the ice bucket and followed Lori out into the backyard.
The sun was shining, a perfect Memorial Day. The cousins were splashing in the pool, the older relatives talking as they sat in the warm sun with smiles on their faces and beers or lemonades in their hands. You and Lori put the dishes down on the buffet table. Lori was dressed in a one piece swimsuit with a sheer coverup on top, while you were in your red bikini top with short jean shorts over the bottoms.
“Finally,” Lori said. “I didn’t think the food was ever gonna get done.” She turned to you, hands on her hips as she caught her breath. There had been a lot of running around, and she was five months pregnant. “Thanks for your help.”
“Of course,” you said. “I couldn’t leave you to fend for yourself with the aunts.” Family had come from all over the surrounding states for this Memorial Day reunion, and it was…a lot.
Lori let out a groan. “Thank god for you.”
You squealed as arms wrapped themselves around your body and lifted you into the air. Lori just watched on with a knowing yet amused smile.
“Steve!” you scolded once he’d set you down. You slapped at his arm lightly.
“What?” he said. “I missed you.”
“It’s been like 20 minutes!”
“Tell me about it,” he said, pulling your body into his and kissing you.
“Get a room,” Lori teased, although she was still smiling as she turned and walked away.
“Are you enjoying the party?” you asked Steve as he picked up a deviled egg and popped it into his mouth.
“Yeah,” he said. He chewed and swallowed. “Your family is nice.”
“You weren’t scared to meet the whole family after only 5 months of dating?” You smiled, your hand running over his bare chest.
“‘Course not,” Steve said. “I’ve already been part of the family for years. The extended family didn’t scare me.”
You loved that about Steve. He was so confident and sure of himself. One of endless things you loved about him.
You heard a voice calling your name. Your grandma was approaching, her paper plate piled high with potluck food. “Is this your boyfriend I’ve heard so much about?” she asked with a sly smile as she reached the two of you.
You smiled, looking up at Steve. He beamed back down at you like he’d never been happier in his life, his hand gently rubbing your lower back. “Yeah,” you said. “He is.”
“Hi,” Steve offered her his hand. “Steve. Nice to meet you.”
“He’s a cute one,” she whispered to you, but Steve definitely heard. You were sure he didn’t need the ego boost. “Don’t let him go.”
You leaned your head against Steve’s shoulder, and he squeezed your hip.
omg my friend that lives in nyc bought tickets for my bday 🥹 ^^^ screaming, crying, throwing up!!
Summary: You think Steve’s using you to get back at your brother for dating Nancy, and he refuses to let you believe that.
WC: 5.2k
Warnings & What To Expect: established relationship between Steve and reader, insecure reader, slightly self destructive reader, excessive use of the pet name ‘pretty girl’ bc it’s my fave, Steve being a yearner, Jonathan being a good brother, allusions to spice, heartbreak w/ a happy ending 💙
Masterlist If Interested!
Author’s Note: tysm to everyone who has shown love on my works - it means the world. Requests are open! No promises on a quick turn around though as I narrate quite a bit, and my job keeps me busy - but feel free to send anything and I can certainly try my best 🫡
Divider template by @saradika-graphics
God, were you lucky to be called Steve Harrington’s girl - which is funny, because there was once a time when you thought you wouldn’t ever want to breathe the same air as him.
Not when he had purposely broken the camera you had bought as a birthday gift for your brother, or later on insulted your family in the alleyway by the Hawk after wrongfully slut shaming Nancy.
You still remember the sting of pain you felt after the slap you’d given him for calling your family a disgrace before all hell broke loose between him and Jonathan.
That’s why when he approached you in the parking lot of Hawkins Middle the night of the Snowball Dance to ask you to be his tutor, you nearly choked on air.
You’d been leaning back on your mom’s Ford Pinto, waiting for the dance to be over. Your mom had a late shift at work, and you promised her you’d be there to look out for Will.
You were watching the doors for him like a hawk when Steve pulled his Beamer into the spot next to you. You knew he was there to pick up Dustin, as you’d seen him drop the kid off. While his actions were sweet with the boy, you didn’t really trust him fully yet.
Steve had apologized, admitted his wrongs, proved himself to be a different man, but you held yourself a bit more carefully around him, not quite knowing if it was a facade or not.
When he got out of his car, sidled up next to you and said, “Byers, you're super smart, right? Ever think about tutoring?” - you were fairly certain you were hallucinating, because while you still measured him in sharp glances for his past mistakes, he was looking at you as if he’d forgotten them.
“You might need to pinch me to make sure I’m awake if you’re about to ask me to tutor you Harrington,” you quipped back, and he had chuckled under his breath at the statement.
“Come on, I could really use the help,” he replied truthfully.
“Why are you asking me of all people?” you asked wearily, unsure of his intentions.
“You know Mrs. Click brags about you being the best student she’s ever had. Plus, it doesn't hurt that you’re easy on the eyes,” he throws a captivating smile your way, ever the flirt. You couldn’t help the small smile that was pulling at your lips at the flattery.
Still, Steve saw the remaining uncertainty that you were feeling, “I’ll pay you.”
That piqued your interest because you could use the money. Despite your high grades, your family couldn’t afford the college you wanted to go to. You were planning to attend Hawkins Community and save up simultaneously for Indiana University in a couple of years, thus leading to your agreement to tutor Steve.
The day he graced your lips with his for the first time was constantly on a loop in your mind; a vivid memory.
He had been getting frustrated at the math problems he was trying to solve. With his head thrown back in aggravation, he had groaned about why God cursed him by being born stupid.
You didn’t like that comment. You had lifted your hand from the book you’d been reading and cupped the back of his neck. You tugged, coaxing his head back up. That surprised him, not expecting your touch, which you kept there even once he was looking at you.
“You’re not stupid, Steve Harrington,” you told him fiercely, holding eye contact, thumb brushing at his exposed skin - tracing the beauty marks lining his neck.
He swallowed hard, mesmerized by the fondness in your eyes for him, “If I asked to kiss you, would you let me?”
You had let him, obviously, and from there your relationship had bloomed in the most tender way.
You refused to accept his money any longer, but Steve paid you in new ways; makeout sessions in his car, swoon worthy dates, an endless stream of compliments thrown your way, and your personal favorite; the longing stares he’d give you - expression filled with an adoration for you that you had never felt before.
It wasn’t easy being a Byers in a town full of stereotypical families, but Steve made you feel seen. Made it feel like loving you was easy, despite feeling your whole life that something was wrong with you.
It helped that Steve was a yearner; you learned quickly that he was simply a guy looking for someone who would give him the affection he was craving - desperately wanting to be someone’s number one choice.
But you were starting to think him a liar after what transpired earlier today.
You had been studying with Steve at the Hawkins Library.
It was a routine the two of you had down to a tee. After he got off his shift at Family Video, and you finished your last class of the day at Hawkins Community College, you’d meet with him for an hour - help him practice for the SAT that he was earnestly trying to pass since he had barely scraped by it the first time around in high school. He planned to retake the exam in the hopes of raising his score high enough to join you at school come next semester.
Your legs were propped up on his lap as he worked on taking notes from a test prep book. He had one hand gripped around his pencil to write - the other gently stroking the calf of your leg. He was lost in his work, while you were completely lost in him.
You were practically drooling over how beautiful he looked with that focused expression on his face, eyebrows drawn in slightly as he concentrated.
Steve really was a beautiful man; with the sleeves of his henley pushed up just enough to see the wiry muscles and corded veins running up his forearms, hair styled back with a single strand caressing his forehead.
You were starving for his attention, but you didn’t want to interrupt him. You decide you need to take a break from watching him, otherwise you’d surely end up curled up next to him despite the public setting.
“I’m going to go try to find that book you need for the writing portion of the exam,” you tell him, popping up out of your seat.
Steve looks at you, gazing lovingly from his spot. He immediately drops his pencil and wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you towards him.
He presses your body against his front and pouts his lips at you; a cue that he wants you to kiss him. You teasingly roll your eyes before granting his wish. You cup his jaw and press your lips adoringly to his, soft and quick. When you pull away from him, Steve lets out a noise of displeasure and leans forward to capture your lips again.
“Steve, we’re in the library,” you chide as he moves to press kisses along your jawline. He hums discontentedly at the reminder and presses one last kiss to your cheek for good measure before pulling back with a wide grin.
“I can’t help it, pretty girl, you’re just so kissable,” he smirks.
You can’t help but blush, still falling for his charm despite being together for quite some time now.
Steve can’t resist you, taking advantage of your closeness, he mischievously slides his hands down the slope of your lower back, dangerously close to trailing his hands to the curve of your ass.
You lean forward to kiss him again, lips slotting easily. You sigh in pleasure, breath escaping your nose deeply when his tongue delves into your mouth.
“Baby, you’re killing me,” he exhales, “Can’t wait to get you home.”
His words make you remember you’re standing in the middle of the library, and his mouth tries to catch yours again when you pull away. You laugh sweetly at his look of disappointment, before swiping at his chin with your thumb and forefinger - telling him you’ll be right back.
You wander the shelves to find the book he needs. You squat down, reading the labels and can’t help but overhear a conversation on the other side of the shelf.
“Ugh, gag me. Did you see that - Steve and the Byers girl?” you hear someone spit out.
You freeze, realizing whoever it is, is talking about you.
“How did a loser like her even pull Steve?” another girl asks, voice laced with disgust.
“Ladies, please. She didn’t. Steve’s clearly just using her to get back at that freak brother of hers for being with Nancy,” a third voice snarkingly replies.
You recognize that one; Carol Perkins.
Your heart rate picks up in speed, and your throat constricts thickly at the horrible words she’s just said. Surely Carol is lying - Steve would never use you like that; but you knew they’d once been close enough that she’d know Steve’s behavior like the back of her hand.
“Once Steve gets what he wants out of her, he’ll be gone,” Carol continues and you hear a chorus of laughter follow.
It echoes in your brain, planting a seed of doubt firmly along your nerves and cells. When you’re sure they’re gone, you briskly grab the book - feeling like you're in a trance as you check out and find your way back to the table you left Steve at. You stare blankly ahead, not paying him any mind this time, thoughts too consumed with what you’d just heard.
Shamefully, the words weren’t hard to believe because you had originally thought maybe Steve asked you out just to upset your brother.
Steve notices the shift the second you’re back, “Hey, you okay?”
Worry is swirling behind those doe eyes of his, and you tell him you’re okay, pretending nothing's wrong.
“You sure, baby?” His voice is soft, like he’s a predator approaching its prey, not wanting to scare you off. He ducks his head, trying to get you to look at him.
You refuse to meet his eyes, knowing you’ll break if you do. You nod, trying to assure him nonverbally. Steve’s learned not to push, but he knows something is wrong by the way you have your fist closed up, nails digging into the flesh there.
He gently pries your fingers out, and you wince when you see the deep crevices left behind. Steve notices them too, and he brings your palm to his lips, kissing the sore skin.
If you weren’t devastated at believing that he’s pretending with you, that action would have had you melting into him - would have had you kissing the hollow of his throat to reward him for being sweet to you.
Steve’s keen to get your mind off whatever has taken over it, not realizing he’s about to make the situation worse.
“I meant to show you earlier,” he shoves some of the materials on the table away, finding a paper labeled with a passing grade from a practice test he had taken. He holds it up for you to see, and his excitement brings a real smile to your face.
“That’s amazing, Steve. I’m proud of you,” you whisper, giving his hand a small squeeze.
“Nancy will be impressed, don't you think?” He asks hopefully, and you swear you feel your heart breaking at the mention of her name.
“Nancy?” you ask unsteadily.
“Yeah, the last time she helped me study for one of these things I failed miserably. Now look at me,” he grins, and it’s the final nail in the coffin that makes you sure Carol’s words ring true.
The sinking feeling in your gut is growing with each passing second, and you know it’s time to leave. Steve’s face falls when you rip your hand out of his and start to rapidly pack your bag.
“What’s the rush, pretty girl?” he asks, concern etched in his tone.
God, you really wish he wouldn’t call you that. It made you feel naive, like everytime he’s called you it before has been a lie, meaningless. It felt like every kind word he’d murmur by the shell of your ear was now just a cruel tease.
You withdraw from him, putting a distance between the two of you that you don’t want, but you could no longer ignore the fact that you’ve been stupid enough to believe that Steve Harrington truly wanted someone like you.
“I can’t do this,” you blurt out, the words making you feel like you were tearing yourself in two. Your hands are trembling, pressed deeply to your sides as if you were trying to hold yourself together at even saying such a thing.
Steve physically rears back at the bite of your abrupt words. His breath catches in shock, color draining from his face.
“Can’t study, or can’t be with me?” he chokes out, disbelief stamped into every line of his face because from your body language he knows which one it is.
You cast him a mournful look, not able to get the words out.
“You seriously feel that way?” Steve’s breathless, rattled, hand running through his hair trying to feel something real because surely this isn’t happening to him again, not with you.
“I’m sorry,” you mumble weakly, and Steve feels like he’s been struck down with a blow so deep that he can barely comprehend what’s happening.
Like a coward, you leave him there alone to sit in the misery you just caused.
“What’s wrong?” Jonathan demands when you slam the front door behind you, clocking your attitude right away.
“Nothing. I’m fine, Jonathan,” you huff out bitterly, ripping your shoes off and tossing your backpack down on the floor.
The book that you had checked out at the library for Steve fell out of your bag, the zipper not having been fully closed. You must’ve stuffed it inside there with the rest of your things in your haste to get away from him.
You kick the book instinctively, your misguided hurt being taken out on the thing. It skids across the hardwood floors and you stare dejectedly as it comes to a sad stop by Will.
“You don’t seem fine,” Will chimes in from his spot on the living room floor. He’s sitting cross legged, using the coffee table to sketch while the TV plays mutely on in the background.
“I’m fine,” you repeat, this time a little less harsh; not wanting to snap at your baby brother when you know he only means well.
Jonathan raises his eyebrows at you, folds his arms and waits for you to be honest with him.
You sigh loudly, about to give in when movement from the kitchen alerts you. It’s Nancy, looking at you with a worried expression, and you realize you can’t deal with this right now; not with her here. You give her a wobbly smile before turning back towards Jonathan.
“Headache. It’s killer. Thanks for the concern, but I’m going to go lay down for a bit,” you push past him to head towards your room.
You close and lock your door, before throwing yourself down on the bed. You stare at the ceiling fan moving in lazy circles, recalling the events from merely moments ago, and fresh tears start to well in your eyes at the memory.
You roll over on your side, and swallow harshly at seeing the stuffed teddy bear that rests on your bed, tucked in between your pillows.
Steve had given it to you, cheesily calling it Mr. Bear, and telling you to hold it in moments when you couldn’t hold him. You pick it up and throw it across the room, letting out a frustrated cry. Every breath you took felt raw, aching from the heaving sobs that have been ripped from the back of your throat.
It was an unsettling hurt that you felt, tangled up with disappointment because it had proved what you’d known all along; that you were just a pawn in a game of fury to get back at your brother.
Jonathan had stationed himself outside of your door, trying to get you to let him in. Nancy had left when she heard the first sounds of heartbreak coming from your room, telling Jonathan that he should talk with you in private. Will was pacing worriedly down the hall, hating to hear you in such distress. Thankfully Joyce wasn’t home yet; there would have been no hiding in your room from her if she were here.
Jonathan sighs in defeat, the back of his head hits your door, and his eyes dart to Will.
“You want to try?” He asks, knowing you’ve always had a soft spot for WIll and might open the door for him.
“Yeah,” Will nods before knocking delicately.
At his pleading, you finally make yourself get up and unlock the door, opening it just a crack, giving them permission to come in.
You snuggle back under your covers, eyes bloodshot and despair embedded into your features.
Will props himself on the edge of your bed, and Jonathan stands by the entryway, apprehensive. They’re silent, giving you the space to share if you want to.
“I sort of broke up with Steve,” you force out, the words feeling heavy on your tongue.
Jonathan’s eyes widened, stunned at what you’ve just admitted, “What?”
“I mean, I didn’t actually say that, but he knows that’s what I meant,” you trail off.
“You’re kidding,” Jonathan splutters, not understanding why you would break up with Steve.
You sit yourself up and motion to the hopeless state you're in, "Obviously I’m not kidding Jonathan.”
“But, Steve makes you happy,” Will says with a puzzled expression.
Your face crumples at that, bursting into a new wave of tears. The ache that’s been in your ribs since you left the library nearly knocks the wind out of you.
“He was using me. To make you upset, or to get back at you for stealing Nance,” you whimper out.
Jonathan tilts his head in bewilderment, “I didn’t steal Nancy from him.”
You glare at him, “Maybe not physically, but emotionally you did - don’t deny it.”
Will takes that as his sign to leave, not wanting to get involved in the spat that’s slowly building between you two.
“It’s not my fault he was a shitty boyfriend,” Jonathan says defensively.
“He’s not a shitty boyfriend - he just wants to be loved,” you retort, the heels of your hands rubbing at your eyes.
“If he’s not a shitty boyfriend then why have you been moping around your room for hours?” He throws his hands up in the air.
“If Nancy had loved him back, I wouldn’t be moping right now,” you say angrily, but not really meaning it.
“If Nancy loved him then I wouldn’t be with her right now. You can’t force someone to love you,” he replies.
“Whatever. I love Steve, but he loves Nancy, and she loves you, and you love her, and no one loves me,” you mumble bitterly, wallowing in self pity.
Jonathan closes his eyes briefly, starting to lose patience with you, before taking the spot that Will was in.
“I’m sorry, but you know that’s not true. Have you seen the way Steve looks at you? If I really thought he didn’t love you I would have told you - you know how against the idea I was of the two of you being together. Besides, how do you even know that Steve was using you?” Jonathan questions.
“I heard Carol talking about it today and I-,” you start, but are cut off by your brother jumping off the bed, giving you an incredulous look.
“Are you telling me you chose to believe bullshit gossip? You know better than that,” he chastises you.
“She used to be one of Steve’s friends,” you shrug.
“Did you even ask Steve about it?” he looks at you in suspicion.
“Well, no, but-,” you try to answer and he interrupts you again.
“Oh my god,” he groans, “What were you thinking?”
You scowl at him, “I was thinking that Steve and I have never made any sense together, and I finally had an explanation for why he was with me in the first place.”
Jonathan shakes his head, “This town’s been unfair to you. They’ve been unfair to all of us, and Lonnie was a shit excuse of a father to show you love,” he says sadly before continuing, “I can’t believe I’m defending the guy, but Steve’s not dad. He’s not going to leave you, and he’s changed. We all can see that.”
It’s like a cold bucket of water has been thrown at you, clearing your head. Shit, you had jumped to conclusions; easily accepting words that weren’t Steve’s own because of your deep rooted insecurities this town has bullied you into believing. And you unfairly projected that onto him, without any sort of explanation.
The trill of the phone ringing cuts through the air, and Jonathan gives you a look of empathy before leaving to answer it. You knew if anyone could understand that it was him, who also felt inadequate in his own relationship sometimes - not feeling like he could measure up to someone like Nancy.
You smack a hand to your forehead, groaning at your impulsivity; how it might’ve just caused you to lose the best thing that you’ve ever had.
You swing your legs to the edge of the bed, ready to go fix the mess you’ve created when suddenly, something smacks hard against your window frame.
It jolts you from your stupor, breath snagging, heart hammering in your chest at the sudden noise. Surprise crackles through you at the sight of Steve, before you're flooded with a dizzying rush of warmth that he’s the one standing there.
It wasn’t the first time he’d shown up outside your window to sneak in, but it was certainly the first time he’d shown up with red rimmed eyes, face full of sorrow.
He’s in the middle of sliding the glass panel up, which he plans to scold you for later for forgetting to lock it again, when Jonathan walks back into your room, having finished up the phone call.
Steve freezes, half his body through the window, legs still hanging out and laughs awkwardly at Jonathan’s dumbfounded expression at seeing him.
“Hey, man,” Steve lifts a hand half heartedly in greeting, unsure about the reaction that’s about to come from your brother.
You look at Jonathan, giving him a pleading look to not make a big deal out of it. He tips his head down, pinching the bridge of his nose before he decides to relent.
“I’m pretending that I don’t see Steve trying to crawl through your window. You owe me,” he points to you, before shaking his head and roughly shutting your door. Your attention turns back to Steve, who’s finally pulled himself all the way
“You scared me,” you whisper, breaking the silence.
“I didn’t mean to. I just, I had to see you,” he replies softly.
Steve takes you in, and swears his heart cleaves clean down the middle at the sight of your disheveled appearance.
“Baby,” he breathes out, rounding the bed to where your legs dangle still, dropping to his knees in front of you.
Steve wasn’t sure how tonight was going to play out when he’d decided on a whim to demand answers from you; but he folded - boy did he fold quickly.
“Pretty girl, I don’t know what I did,” his voice falters, splintering slightly.
His hands slide to your bare thighs, and you’re instantly aware that you’re clad in one of his old shirts left behind and a tiny pair of shorts.
You flush deeply at the contact, and his fingers curl around the backs of your knees, drawing you closer to him.
“Please, I’m sorry - don’t shut me out. Just tell me what I did, I’ll fix it. I’d do anything for you,” his voice carries a weight of fragility, as if he’s already bracing for you to reject his apology.
“Steve-,” you try, but your brain immediately shuts down at the feel of his lips skimming over the plush of one of your legs.
You whimper at the unexpected touch, hands flying out, fingers threading through his hair, effectively tousling it.
“Please,” he repeats, mumbling the word over and over again in between the press of his lips to your skin.
You inhale sharply at his begging, the drag of his mouth making you boneless, and you’re about ready to fall flat on your back and give in to his advances.
“Tell me, tell me what’s wrong. I’d rather you be brutally honest with me than lose you without knowing why,” he pleads, hands slipping from your knees to your waist and hiking your shirt up; exposing the flesh of your hips.
Steve makes quick work of pressing his mouth to your hipbone, lips traveling higher to your belly button, then your ribcage, and he damn nearly has his head underneath the shirt as he continues to litter your skin with velvety kisses.
“I’m not stopping until you tell me, pretty girl,” he rasps out, and the jarring feeling of the trace of his tongue lavishing at you has you seeing stars.
Your grip on his hair tightens, causing a grunt of pleasure to leave his lips. You pull, trying to indicate that he needs to stop if you’re to get a word in edgewise.
Steve understands the hint, and finally pulls away to give you some reprieve - lips flushed a deep pink, a wild look flooding his eyes.
He sits back on his knees, and waits patiently now; hands moving to grasp at the hem of your shorts, large palms resting against your thighs.
“I, um, I heard something today,” you divulge, twiddling with your fingers.
Steve nods, silently encouraging you to continue. You hesitate, unsure of how to approach the topic. At your pause, he leans back in to gently nip at your thigh, warning you to keep going.
You mumble quietly, “That you’re with me because you want to get back at Jonathan.”
“Get back at him for what?” he questions, genuinely confused.
“Nancy,” you mumble out, not even needing to speak in a full sentence because Steve knows right away what you’re insinuating.
“Who the fuck said that?” Steve grits out, breathing harshly, an anger that you rarely see in him rising.
“Carol Perkins,” you tell him.
Steve scoffs at the answer, “Baby, since when do you believe shit talkers like her?”
“Since it justifies why you want to be with me,” you utter weakly. Steve’s hands grab at your face, splaying out to hold you carefully.
“The only justification is that I love you,” he says firmly, “I’m in love with you. No one else. Just you.”
Your lips part, “You mean it?”
Steve stammers out a feeble laugh, “You want proof?”
You don’t answer, and Steve grips onto your hand, urging it to rest against where his heart lies in the cavity behind his sternum. You feel it fluttering frantically, and his eyes close briefly at your touch.
“If I was lying, I wouldn't be here on my knees for you. Just being with you makes my heart feel like it’s going to bust out of my chest,” he implores, which you believe because you can feel the strong beat of it under your fingertips.
“I’m not messing with you. And honestly, thinking that I’m just trying to get revenge on Jonathan is severely overestimating the feelings I had for Nancy. Yeah, I loved her, but I’m in love with you. I would never take that for granted,” he exhales deeply, wishing that you’ll believe him.
“Oh,” you croak out, the emphasis in his tone starts to ebb away the pain, leaving behind a dull throb of endearment for him.
“Oh? That’s the reaction I get after professing my undying love for you?” he replies, a wry smile toying playfully on his lips.
You shakily laugh, overwhelmed by his confession, “I love you.”
Steve pushes himself off the floor and joins you on the bed. His arms wrap around you, turning to pull you against him while he lays down on his side, partially on his back. He’s pressing your body to his, allowing you to fully settle your weight against him. You burrow yourself in his chest, leg hitched up to slip over his own.
“My pretty girl just needs a little love, doesn’t she?” he questions, starting to pepper kisses into the crook of your collarbone.
A ripple of giggles are pulled from you at the feel of his lips grazing your neck, letting your own hands travel the span of his back and up to his broad shoulders.
The two of you rest there, basking in each other’s presence; and as the room grows darker from the setting sun, Steve happily proves his devotion to you with his hands and lips.
It’s much later when Steve finally pulls away to ask in mock offense, “Why is Mr. Bear all the way over there?”
The next time you see Carol at the library, you and Steve have your backs against a bookshelf, stationed on the floor in front of it. All the tables had been taken up by students gearing up for midterms.
“Hey, Carol,” Steve calls out to her as she passes by, “next time you want to pass judgement on someone’s relationship, you could take a long look at your own.”
Carol freezes, mouth dropping open at the dig Steve just threw her way.
“Steve,” you scold lightly, not wanting to cause a scene.
He simply lifts his index finger up to you, “Just a moment, baby.”
“Sorry, I just-,” Carol falters, palpably caught off guard.
“You should be sorry. I’m the happiest I’ve ever been with her,” he gestures to you, “and you’re clearly still miserable with Tommy H.”
You watch her pale at Steve’s cutting words, and you almost feel bad for her.
“I am getting what I want by the way, not that you’d understand that with Hagan, right? The guy never was a sharpshooter was he?” Steve carries on, unwilling to let her get off the hook easily.
“Steve,” you hiss, embarrassment creeping over you at his vulgar words.
Carol’s fuming by now, and doesn’t respond when she sharply turns, stomping away from the two of you. You give Steve a pointed look.
“Oh don’t be like that, baby. Had to defend my pretty girl,” he grins, and leans in to capture your lips with his.
Steve loves his girl, and isn't afraid to show it; even if that means trying to slip his tongue into your mouth in the middle of Hawkins Library.
As he does so, you can’t help but think - yeah, you were lucky to be his.
Pregnant reader who is convinced Steve is still into Nancy. Can be angsty then fluffy. Could go for Joe and one to his exes same scenario. Both would be amazing
notes: Hello! Thank you so much for this request, I looove to think about dad!Steve so this was kinda fun to imagine! I hope you enjoy it <3
cw: none? reader is just worried and a little insecure. no use of yn, no descriptions of reader, not proofread!!!!
pairing: afab!reader x Steve Harrington
dividers by @uzmacchiato
WORRIED FOR TWO
You were 6 months along when it started happening, every friday - no other day - Steve would leave you at home (or work) and he’d be gone for hours on end. Always for the same reason “Nancy needs help with something” or “Nancy needs me to get something for her” it was always “Nancy this, Nancy that”.
And listen, you adored Nancy. You admired her a lot, as a person, as a friend, as a woman, she was amazing in every sense of the word.
Maybe that’s why you were starting to get mad, no, not even mad, jealous.
You didn’t mind for the first few times it happened, she and Jonathan had broken up and she clearly needed some time and support, that’s fine.
What was not fine, however, was that happening every single week. For hours. With no calls.
Naturally, you started to wonder.
Could he be cheating on you?
No, that’s insane.
Is it? Could Steve just happened to fall back in love with his ex to the point of doing everything she asked?
You try to ignore it, hell, you’ve been trying to ignore it, but it’s no use. You’re pregnant, you’re tired, you need to know the truth.
Steve, that beautiful oblivious man, has no idea what is about to come.
—
“Are you in love with Nancy?”
You ask him, sitting on the couch, feet propped up on the coffee table.
Steve is standing by the door, just coming in with a brown bag he got after his run to the grocery store
“Uh… what?” He asks, you can hear him set the bag down on the table in the hall, he can only see the back of your head. The house is dark, illuminated only by the tv show you’re watching.
“Ya heard me.” You pause the show “Are you in love with Nancy?”
You still don’t look at him, so he moves towards the couch to see you.
He stands by the side of it, looking at you
“I- Where the hell is this coming from? Of course I’m not in love with her?” He says, to you it sounds defensive, to him it sounds sincere.
You turn your head. You don’t even try to sugarcoat things, they all just come out like a word vomit.
“Oh, I don’t know, Steve. Maybe cause you have a weekly appointment with her that you never back out from? Maybe cause she’s your ex and your first love? Maybe cause- Maybe cause I’m just the rebound who unfortunately got pregnant and now you can’t get away from me.” The last part makes your voice crack, but you recover quickly.
Steve is astonished.
“Baby- It’s not that.”
“Yes, it is.” You reply, already looking away from him, blinking the tears from your eyes.
It’s no use, he follows to crouch just in front of you
“No, it’s not.” He stares at you “I- Shit, I was so stupid, I should’ve just told you… I never went to see Nancy. I was going there to meet up with Karen.”
“W-what?”
“I…well, I’ve never handled a baby before. She has. Three times. So I thought maybe she could teach me a thing or two…about parenting.”
You look at him, tears still wet in your eyes
“I wanna do this right. I wanna know how to hold our child and- and how to change a diaper and heat up a bottle. I wanna be there, I wanna help you while you rest.”
That just makes you start crying all over again.
“Oh, honey.” Steve cradles your face, carefully pulling you into him
“I’m sorry.” You cry out, sniffling
“No, no, don’t apologise. I’m the one who should be sorry.”
"But you didn't do anything wrong..."
"I still should've told you. I was never there for Nancy, I swear. I just needed some parenting classes." He smiles, pulling back to see your face
You smile just a little, wiping away the tears.
"I'm still sorry for thinking you were cheating." You tell him
"I would never do that to you. Never. I chose you, I chose to be by your side and have this kid with you, not anyone else. Not because you are a 'rebound' you could never be that for me."
You look at him earnestly as he speaks so, oh, so softly to you
"You're everything to me, okay? You both are." He presses a hand to your belly.
You soften, because of course you do.
"I love you. So much."
He knows. And you know that he knows.
He leans in and pecks your lips before raising to sit down besides you, pulling you softly onto his chest.
"I love you more. So much more." He presses a kiss to your forehead.
You sit there, hand on your stomach, thinking of how lucky you got, how lucky your baby already is, to have someone that cares, to have Steve.
a lovely anon requested a version of Gator who wasn’t a completely overbearing/possessive asshole who genuinely wanted to earn your love & affection. so enjoy 🩵
a/n this was a challenging one because locals will know that I’ve never written him as a decent dude before. so this was fun !! thank you, anon!! lmk what yall think of this wildly different iteration of Gator Tillman!
TW/CW: Gator’s running internal monologue the entire time, slow burn, yearning, eventual smut, no use of y/n
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Gator never been known for being soft or gentle. Hell, he wasn’t even kind. But the day that you showed up out of the blue, there was an urge to be all that and more.
He’d never much been the sort of guy to buy into the whole “love at first sight” bullshit, but the moment he laid eyes on you, it was like he’d been struck by lightning.
While he was all hard, rough edges and pent-up anger - you were tenderness and quiet beauty. Not that you were likely boring, weak, or a pushover - no, he wouldn’t’ve stood for someone like that for very long. But there was a dignity with which you carried yourself that he craved to be near. Not to claim or own, for once, but to cherish and adore.
Normally, when he saw something he wanted, he’d take it. Didn’t matter how, didn’t matter who got hurt along the way. He was the son of the most powerful man in town and the deputy sheriff. Proud owner of a badge and multiple gun. Those justifications were really all he’d ever really needed to do anything he pleased. The family name and career choice inspired fear, and no one would say no to him.
Especially not women.
Not that there were a ton of options in this godforsaken town, but he could have anyone he wanted if he just used a little sweet talkin’. Though through the red haze of lust, he always knew deep down that the girls he coerced into engaging with him likely didn’t actually want to be there. But it had always been easy to ignore the way most of their hands trembled as they took his belt off in the back seat of his cruiser, or the terror in their eyes as they got on their knees in the alleyway behind a dive bar. They were only there because his daddy owned the town, and they were scared of him.
Probably because he wasn’t exactly respectful all the time. It wasn’t that he didn’t respect women - he sort of did, in his own way - he just didn’t know how to do it outside of his brain. Wasn’t as if he had a great role model at home, or reliable enough WiFi to figure it out on his own. And the women of this town probably wouldn’t have even given him the time of day if he hadn’t used every bit of his available leverage. Not that he could entirely blame them.
And he’d never really considered changing his ways. Until he saw you, that is.
One look at you, and it felt like the sun was shining on his face, even though it was in the negatives and cloudy on the day he first spotted you. One glimpse and he wanted to crack open his chest cavity and let you crawl inside if it would keep you warm. For the first time in his life - maybe he wouldn’t need to use force or intimidation to prove he was worthy of someone giving a shit about him.
It happened outside the local grocery store. The sky was that bruised purple color that meant a blizzard was rolling in off the plains, wind already whipping around the asphalt with a mean whistle. Gator was supposed to be patrolling, but he’d parked the cruiser at the back of the lot to finish a cigarette and siphon off a little of the adrenaline left over from a argument with his father earlier that morning.
That’s when he first saw you.
You were struggling, breath puffing out in white clouds as you fought with a paper bag that was ripping at the seam. Cans of soup were rolling across the ice-slicked parking lot, and a bag of rice had already burst open, spilling white granules onto the dirty slush. You were shivering, dressed in a coat that looked warm enough for the city but woefully inadequate for a North Dakota winter, your hands red and raw from the cold.
He watched you for a second, his instinct usually to laugh at the misfortune of others. But then you swore. It was a quiet curse, muttered under your breath with a sort of dry resignation that made his lips twitch up. You knelt down, grimacing at the slush soaking into your jeans, and started to collect your fallen items.
Gator looked down at himself. The badge on his chest gleamed under the parking lot light. His utility belt was heavy with the weight of his sidearm, his cuffs, the taser - the tools of his trade that usually made people flinch when he walked into a room. If he marched over there right now, you’d look at him like he was a predator (which wasn’t entirely off the mark, he’d give you that). You’d do whatever he said because you’d be terrified.
For a reason he couldn’t entirely place, he didn’t want that. Not with you.
With a muttered curse of his own, he unbuckled the heavy belt and tossed it onto the passenger seat, covering it with a jacket so no opportunistic passerby would see a gun sitting in an unoccupied cruiser. He stripped off the uniform hat, shaking out his hair, and reached into the back for his leather bomber jacket - the one without the sheriff's department patches. It was just a jacket. It made him look like a regular guy. A nice guy who just wanted to help.
Gator stepped out into the biting wind, shoving his hands into his pockets and hunching his shoulders slightly to lessen his height. He approached slowly, keeping his distance, trying to look as non-threatening as a man his size could possibly look.
"Hey," he called out, keeping his voice low and easy. "Looks like you're fighting a losing battle there."
You looked up, startled, shielding your eyes against the wind and snowflakes. You didn't look scared, exactly. Just wary, eyeing him up and down as if assessing the threat level. Smart girl. He let you look, keeping soft, lopsided grin on his face before kneeling to grab a few of the rogue cans of soup.
“Need a hand?”
"I think I've got it," you said, your voice carrying a hint of wry humor as you tried to balance the ripping bag against your hip. "Unless you happen to have a spare bag and a heating lamp hidden in that jacket. It’s way too cold."
Gator picked up three of the rolling cans in one large hand, his knuckles brushing against the icy pavement. "Can’t say I do, but I’d hate to see you lose all your groceries if I can help it.”
You hesitated for a fraction of a second, looking at his hands, then up at his face. He saw the moment you decided to trust him, or at least accept the help, when your shoulders relaxed - just a fraction.
“Alright," you sighed, a small smile breaking through the grimace. "I appreciate it. I clearly underestimated the local weather. And the structural integrity of your paper bags."
"Weather here gets pretty brutal," Gator said, falling into step beside you as you both headed toward your car. "It'll look calm and then try to kill you the second you turn your back." He reached the car first and popped the trunk for you, gently setting the cans down inside.
"Sounds about right," you said, loading the remaining groceries with a sigh of relief. "My grandmother warned me. She's lived here forever, but I thought she was exaggerating for dramatic effect."
"Grandmas are usually right," Gator said, leaning against the bumper of the car, watching you organize the trunk. He was trying not to stare, but the way the wind whipped a stray lock of hair across your face was mesmerizing. "That why you're in town? Visitin’?"
"Something like that," you said, slamming the trunk shut and turning to face him. You hugged your arms around yourself to ward off the chill. "She needs some help during the winter months. The house gets to be a bit much for her to manage alone with the snow. So I'm here ‘til spring."
"Long way from home?” Gator had no idea where you were actually from. You didn't talk like you were born in the snow. You talked like you had books in your head and an existence that didn’t make your edges rough like sandpaper.
"Chicago," you replied. "It’s cold, sure, but this... This is a different kind of cold."
"Yeah," Gator laughed, a short, genuine sound. "It's the kind that freezes your lungs shut. You need better gloves if you're gonna be shoveling grandma's driveway."
"I'm working on it," you replied, looking down at your red, chapped hands. The sight made his chest pinch strangely.
“Here,” Gator reached into his back pocket without thinking, producing a pair of gloves. They’d be too big for you, but they’d work in a pinch. For some reason, he couldn’t stand the thought of you freezing. “Take these.”
You raised an eyebrow as he extended them towards you. “I can’t take your gloves, sir.”
“Wasn’t like I was wearin’ them.”
“Yeah, but -“
Gator watched you shiver again. The temperature was dropping fast, the clouds turning darker overhead.
“You can give ‘em back after you get your own pair, deal?” He smiled slightly, holding them closer to you.
You chewed your lower lip for a moment, but your desperation for warmth seemed to ultimately win. “Okay, deal. Thank you.” You shakily took the gloves from his hands, pulling them on your own.
"Well," Gator said, pushing off the bumper of your car. "I'll let you get out of here before this storm really hits. Drive safe, alright?"
The wariness was gone from your expression, replaced by a curious friendliness that he’d never really had directed at him before. "I will. And thanks again for the help. You saved dinner."
"Anytime," he said, feeling another strange pang in his chest as he watched you get into the driver's seat. "Seriously. If you get stuck or need anything... I'm around."
You paused, one hand on the door handle. "I'll keep that in mind. Thanks, mister...?"
"Gator," he said, then immediately kicked himself. Why did he say that? It sounded ridiculous to normal people. He should’ve given you a name that wasn’t a fucking reptile.
But you just smiled, a genuine, crinkling-at-the-eyes smile that made him feel lightheaded. "Gator," you repeated. "Nice to meet you." You introduced yourself, your name sounding like music in the cold air.
"Nice to meet you," Gator said, committing the sound of your name to memory. He stepped back as you started the engine, watching the taillights flare red before you pulled away.
As he stood there in the swirling snow long after your car had disappeared, the cold finally seeping through his leather jacket - he knew he was screwed. He didn't know your last name or where your grandmother lived, or really anything about you - yet he’d acted completely out of character. He hadn't used his title, flexed his power, hit on you inappropriately, or made a single crude joke. And for the first time in his life, he felt like maybe, just maybe, that was a good thing.
For the next few weeks, Gator Tillman became a ghost in his own town. For a man who usually announced his presence with the screech of tires, flash of a badge, and the heavy thud of a boot - it was a monumental effort. He didn't tell anyone about you. Not his father, or even the guys at the station. You were a secret. Something shiny that he’d found in the snow, and that he was terrified would shatter if he held it too tight.
Gator put those detective skills his father was always berating him for allegedly not having to good use. It didn't take much effort to find out where you lived. He sat in his cruiser, parked three houses down the street, watching the modest ranch house with the peeling paint. You shoveled the driveway, brought in groceries, sometimes even sat on the porch wrapped in a blanket reading a book. He wanted to make you go back inside - it was too damn cold for you to be out like that. But it wasn’t his place. And he’d have to admit he was watching you - which was ultimately a larger deterrent. He wanted you to like him. Not be freaked out by his existence.
Sometimes, he felt a weird pang of jealousy watching you through the frost-spotted glass of his car. You looked peaceful in that house, a contrast to the chaotic war zone of his own upbringing where he was desperate to prove himself to a larger-than-life father while constantly feeling the stinging void of his mother’s absence.
He ran your plates through the system, just to make sure you weren't a fugitive or an undercover fed, though he had a feeling you weren't. You were exactly who you said you were - a city girl trying to do right by family. You had some work-from-home job with a fancy title that sounded fake. And, most importantly, no boyfriend.
Gator slowly started orchestrating "accidental" run-ins whenever he could. He learned your schedule - coffee run at 8 AM, the trip to the grocery on Tuesdays, a walk around the block each day around noon. He made sure he was never in uniform when he saw you, ditching the duty belt, sidearm, and badge that made people’s eyes skitter away in fear. He wore his jeans and his leather jackets, trying to look like just another guy in town.
To his surprise, it was working. He saw you at the hardware store when you were buying salt for the walkway, and he’d swooped in to lift the heavy bags for you, flashing an easy smile that he’d practiced in the mirror that morning.
"You again," you’d said, leaning against the aisle of shelves, looking at him with those sharp eyes that seemed to see right through the leather jacket to the nervous mess underneath. "You sure get around for a guy who doesn't seem to have a job."
"Independent contractor," Gator had lied smoothly, leaning against the shelf next to you. "I do... Security. Logistics. Borin’ stuff."
"Uh huh," you’d laughed, a sound that he felt in his marrow. "Well, thank you, Mr. Logistics. My back appreciates it."
Every interaction left him buzzing. You were smart - smarter than him, probably - and funny in a way that caught him off guard. You treated him like a normal human being, and it was addicting. He found himself quickly memorizing the way you tucked your hair behind your ear when you were thinking, the specific crinkle of your nose when the icy wind hit you wrong. He was becoming obsessed, a feeling he usually associated with violence or anger, but this was softer. It was a desperate need to just be near the light you radiated so freely
Gator knew he was rapidly creeping up on the line of being a stalker, but he told himself he was just being thorough. Taking an interest. Protecting you. He was waiting for the right moment to speak with you.
He found that moment on an afternoon at the diner.
It was slushy and grey outside, the sky threatening another dump of snow, but the inside of the diner was warm and yellow with artificial light. He parked around the corner, checking his reflection in the rearview mirror. He smoothed his hair down, made sure his jacket was zipped up enough to hide the service weapon he still carried in a shoulder holster - a habit he couldn't quite break - and walked inside, careful to keep his head down & avoid eye contact with anyone who might dare to speak with him.
You were in a booth at the back, a laptop open in front of you, typing away with a look of fierce concentration. There was a mug of coffee next to you and a plate of half-eaten pie.
Gator walked over to your booth, forcing himself to breathe and relax his shoulders while his heart threatened to bruise his ribs. How was it that he wasn't nervous facing down a gun, but the prospect of sitting across from you made his palms sweat? He just wanted to slide in like he belonged there.
"Workin’ hard or hardly workin’?"
You jumped, fingers pausing over the keys, and looked up. When you saw him, your face relaxed into a smile, and that relief almost knocked him over. "Hey. It's Mr. Logistics."
"That's me," Gator said, taking a risk and sliding into the booth across from you. He kept his hands visible on the table, open and relaxed. "Mind if I steal a minute? I promise not to distract you from... Whatever it is that's so important."
"I could use a break," you admitted, closing the laptop. "Just trying to finish up some work. My grandmother's watching her soaps, so I have a window of free time."
"Whatcha do for work?" Gator asked, genuinely interested. "You a writer or somethin’?"
"Or something," you said, taking a sip of your coffee. "I do consulting. Organizing systems and bookkeeping for small businesses. Boring stuff."
"Sounds smart," Gator said. He looked at you, bathed in the dingy fluorescent light of the diner. You looked tired, but still looked beautiful. He felt that urge again, the urge to take care of you. Fix whatever was making your brow furrow.
"Sorta," you sighed, glancing at the pie next to you. "Want the rest of this? Before it gets cold? I think my eyes are higher than my stomach.”
"I’d never say no to pie," Gator said, reaching for the fork.
"Be my guest."
He took a bite, sweet and tart on his tongue, watching you watch him. The air in the booth felt charged, electric in a way that had nothing to do with the static in the air outside. It was then that he realized he didn't want to leave. He wanted to sit here, and watch you drink coffee and answer emails for the rest of his life.
"Listen," Gator said, setting the fork down and leaning in slightly. He tried to measure his tone, to keep it gentle, but he knew his intensity could bleed through. He didn't know how to do this casually. Everything he did was with his whole chest. "I was wondering... Maybe you'd want to get out of this place tonight? Or tomorrow? Let me buy you a real dinner."
You blinked, surprised. The wariness crept back into your eyes, just a flicker, but enough to make him want to kick himself. Fuck, why’d you think cornering her at the diner was a good idea, idiot?
"I mean," he added quickly, holding his hands up, "no pressure. I just... I like talkin’ to you. You're the most interesting person I've met in this town since... Well, ever."
You studied him for a long moment. He wasn’t quite sure why. Maybe looking for a lie, or the threat, but he desperately hoped you weren't finding it. Gator Tillman was a handsome charmer, the way the snake in the garden was, but to his credit, he was trying very hard not to bite.
"Okay," you said slowly, a small smile playing on your lips. "Dinner sounds nice."
"Great. I know a place," Gator said, grinning so wide his face hurt. "I'll pick you up at seven tomorrow? Unless you'd rather meet me there." He added hastily. A modern lady such as your self might not be all too eager to climb into the truck of a stranger - not that he could blame you in the slightest.
"Yeah, I'll meet you," you replied, drumming your fingers thoughtfully against the table. "Can’t let my grandma worry that I’m hopping into cars with men I hardly know."
"Fair enough. Can I, uh, get your number? For the address? For dinner?”
You sound like a damn child. Reel it in, Tillman.
If you thought his request was childish, you didn’t let on as you silently scribbled your number onto a piece of paper and ripped in out of a nearby notebook. He took it almost too eager as you held it out, cursing how excited he was.
Gator pocketed the scrap as he stood up, feeling lighter than he had in years. "See you at seven."
“Seven it is.”
You watched him walk away, a strange mix of curiosity and trepidation in your eyes as he left the diner. He stepped out into the cold wind, smacking his fist once against his leg, a silent, victorious gesture in the empty parking lot. He had a date. And for the first time, he was going to try to earn it.
The next night, Gator took you to the only steakhouse within a fifty like radius that didn't have a flashing neon sign out front or crayons to draw on the tablecloth with - figuring it was the safest bet for his promise of "real dinner." It was quiet - dim lighting, soft music, and an undeniably intimate atmosphere.
Gator spent the entire meal fighting a war with himself.
His gut instinct was to slide his hand up your thigh under the table, to lean in close and whisper something filthy in your ear just to see you blush. Or to get sloppy drunk on whiskey to quiet the voices in his head so he had the courage to be cocky for you. Instead, he sat on his hands, drank iced tea, and listened.
For the first time in his life, it felt like he was listening to learn, not just to respond, or wait for his turn to speak. You talked about the difficulty of finding decent internet in the middle of nowhere, about the weird architecture of your grandmother's house, and about how much you missed deep dish pizza. He watched the way your eyes crinkled when you laughed at his terrible jokes - the clean ones he was scraping from the bottom of his brain, filtering out the crude commentary that usually constituted his personality.
"You're actually really good at this," you said about halfway through the meal, slicing into your steak. "The... normal conversation thing.”
“Didja expect somethin’ else?”
“I don’t know. Haven’t gone out with anyone who wasn’t from a huge city in so long I guess was half-expecting you to take me to a mud wrestling match or something."
"Nah," Gator said, gripping his glass tight. "That’s more of a third date activity.”
“Oh I see,” you laughed, and it was music to his ears.
“I can do civilized. When I want to."
“You most certainly can," you murmured, giving him a look that made his chest ache.
But the guilt was a monster gnawing at the back of his mind. It was sitting there, whispering that this was all a sham. It reminded him of the girls in the back of his cruiser, the ones who laughed too loud at his jokes because they were scared not to. He had treated dates like a negotiation in the past - buy dinner, get dessert. But looking at you across the table, watching you butter a roll with a sort of quiet focus, he realized he didn't want to negotiate. He wanted to... Court you? Or something? Like a gentleman. It was a foreign concept, something he’d only seen in movies his dad sneered at.
You of all people deserved more than a cheap meal and a hurried grope in the back seat. Hell, all those girls deserved way better than he’d treated them, if he was honest with himself. You deserved candles and soft words and someone who didn't have blood under their fingernails from a scuffle earlier that day. He felt a pang of self-loathing so sharp it almost made him lose his appetite. If you knew who he really was - what he really did - you’d probably run for the hills.
Gator hid all his crippling self-doubt behind a practiced smile, refilling your water glass with shaky hands. By the time the check came, he felt like he’d run a marathon. He paid, refusing to let you even look at the bill, and guided you out to the parking lot with a hand on the small of your back, keeping his touch light, respectful.
The air outside was biting, the snow starting to swirl again, but he didn't rush you. He walked you all the way to the driver's side of your own car.
"This was... Really nice, Gator," you said, leaning back against the door, your breath misting in the cold. "Thank you. For not being… What I expected."
"Yeah, well," Gator stuffed his hands in his pockets, rocking back on his heels. "I'm full of surprises."
“You’re really interesting, you know that?”
He raised an eyebrow. That was first time anyone had ever called him that and made it sound like a good thing. Might’ve been the first time anyone had implied he was decent at all.
As the two of you stood there, illuminated by the streetlamp, your hair was messy from the wind and nose pink from the cold - Gator thought you were the most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. A wave of desire hit him so hard it nearly knocked him over. It wasn't the usual angry hunger he felt; it was a desperate, aching need to be close to you.
He took a step closer, crowding into your space a bit without meaning to. He saw your breath hitch and eyes widening slightly, but you didn't back away. You just looked up at him, waiting. Almost trusting.
Gator wanted to kiss you. Fuck, he wanted to grab you by the waist, hoist you up onto the hood of the car, and do more than kiss until you forgot your own name. He wanted to run his hands under that thick coat and sweater dress, feel the warmth of your skin, and lose himself in you until the cops came to scrape him off the pavement.
It took him far too long to realize his face was only inches from yours. He could smell your perfume - something vanilla and warm that made him dizzy in the best way.
"Gator?" Your voice was barely a breathless whisper.
He stopped, frozen with his lips hovering barely an inch from yours, his hands twitching at his sides with the effort of not grabbing you.
The guilt in his heart was silenced by the roar of the monster inside his brain that screamed at him - sounding suspiciously like Roy,
Take. Use your size, badge, and gun if you have to - and take what you want. Just do it. Look at those eyes - she trusts you. And you can make sure she’s scared enough not to fight back if you really want her so bad.
Gator yanked back like he’d been burned. He took a stumbling step backward, putting distance between the two of you, his chest heaving.
"You should go," he said, his voice rough and strained. "It's getting cold. And... I don't wanna ruin tonight."
You looked confused, your brow furrowing as you reached out a hand toward him, then let it drop. "Oh, uh. I don’t think you would be ruining anything if you -“
"Yeah," Gator said, running a hand through his hair, looking anywhere but at your eyes. "But I could. Real easy. You deserve... Much better than me rushin’ you in a parking lot. You deserve better than me, period."
He waited for you to argue, to tell him he was being an idiot, but you just watched him with that quiet dignity he loved so much. You could have told him to get lost, or rolled your eyes and driven away, leaving him standing there in the snow like the fool he was. But you didn't. You were still standing there.
"Well, I had a really good time," you said softly, opening your car door. "We'll do it again? Maybe?"
"For sure," Gator breathed, feeling a grin break across his face despite the turmoil in his gut. "Yeah. Absolutely. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
The taillights of your car had long since faded into the swirling whiteout as Gator stood there for a long time, the cold seeping into his bones. But he didn't feel it. He felt light. Like he’d just done the hardest thing he’d ever done in his life, and he’d somehow, against all odds, succeeded.
As he drove home, navigating the icy roads with ease, he couldn't stop smiling. It was a goofy, dopey grin that he’d have been embarrassed for anyone to see.
He’d held back.
He’d been gentle.
And you wanted to see him again.
For the first time in his life, Gator Tillman felt like a normal person. And while it was exhausting and borderline terrifying - he thought he might become addicted to it.
The next few weeks settled into a rhythm that Gator Tillman had never known existed. It wasn't the adrenaline-fueled chaos of his job, or the suffocating pressure of a family dinner. It was soft. Quiet.
Gator took you to the movies, where he actually sat through the whole thing without getting up to vape or check his phone, hyper-aware of your shoulder resting against his arm. He took you for drives without the sole purpose of trying to get in your jeans, and the two of you ended up sitting in the bed of his truck at the edge of the frozen lake, drinking hot chocolate from a thermos while he talked about nothing in particular, just to hear the sound of his voice blending with yours.
He was sticking to it. The whole being gentle, listening, gentleman thing. And every second he spent with you was worth it.
It wasn't always easy, though. There were times when someone cut him off in traffic or some guy at the next table looked at you a second too long, and Gator felt that familiar, red-hot spike of rage rise in his throat. He wanted to smash a face in. Flash the badge and scream until the room cleared. But the thought of you would sooth the rage, and he’d manage to swallow it down.
He’d take a breath and remind himself that you didn't deserve that guy. You deserve the one who could sit still and hold your hand, and maybe one day your heart, without breaking it.
And Gator wanted to be that guy - he truly did. He was waking up every day wondering how he could be better for you.
After a long shift - days spent dealing with domestic disputes that turned bloody, or chasing down people who spat in his face - Gator felt like he was covered in a layer of grime that soap couldn't wash off. The station house was a cacophony of yelling men and locker-room talk that had begun to make his skin crawl.
Being around his father made it all worse. Roy Tillman didn't know the meaning of the word gentle. To him, love was ownership, and marriage was a contract of servitude.
Gator didn't have a single frame of reference for what he was feeling, or even how to do this whole romance thing. He felt like he was trying to defuse a bomb while wearing oven mitts, but so far, miraculously, he hadn't blown up.
It had been about a month since that first dinner at the steakhouse, and he was lying in bed, staring up at the ceiling of his dark room, listening to the distant furnace rattle. The apartment was empty, quiet in a way that usually drove him to seek solace at the bottom of a bottle, or out to the bar to escape his thoughts. But tonight, he was thinking about you.
Well, in truth, he was fantasizing about you. It wasn't just about sex - though fuck, he thought about that constantly, waking up hard and aching, imagining your soft hands on him, your legs wrapped around his waist as he buried himself inside you.
Most of all though, he wondered what it would be like to be loved by you.
Damn, what would that even look like?
He tried to picture a life with you. A domestic existence. One where he’d come home every night and you’d be happy to see him, maybe greet him with a kiss. That’s what happy couples do? Right? Truth be told, he’d never seen a happy marriage. Gator’s own parents were a disaster - a volatile mix of control, resentment, and violence that had ended in tragedy. He didn't know how to be a partner, or how to be soft without being seen as weak. Or how to be strong without being cruel.
But still, in the darkness of the night, he allowed himself quiet moments of fantasy. Sometimes he imagined you in his kitchen, drinking coffee he made for you. He imagined coming up behind you while you were doing something else and wrapping his arms around your waist, burying his face in your neck - just breathing you in. No taking, just... Being. The thought made his chest tight, a dull ache spreading through his ribs.
He knew he could love you. Easily and without question. But could you ever love him back?
The guilt for lying to you about who he actually was in this town was a constant companion these days, whispering in his ear. You thought he was just some random contractor. You didn't know he was "Gator the cop," the enforcer for a man who owned the town. You didn't know he had a temper that could shatter glass, or that he’d done things that would probably make your blood run cold.
If you knew, would you still look at him like that? Like he was worth something?
As each day passed, Gator felt more and more woefully inexperienced on all fronts. A fraud pretending to play house. He wanted to give you the world - buy you nice things and take you to cities where the snow didn't turn gray and slushy. And sure, those could be done. But he also didn't know how to give you the things you actually needed. He didn't know how to be tender, kind, or romantic without feeling like he was performing a trick.
And he hated himself for it. He hated that he was so broken and rough around the edges that he felt like he needed to hold a huge part of himself back just to keep you from running away.
So he lay there in the dark, hating the silence, and himself, terrified he’d never be good enough for the light he’d found.
The invite came out of nowhere, a text message that made Gator smile like an idiot while he sat in the cruiser.
My grandmother is insisting she meet the ‘young gentleman’ I’ve been spending all my time with. Warning: I am a terrible cook, but the company will be better than the food. Dinner at 6?
Gator had replied instantly, agreeing before he could talk himself out of it. He spent twenty minutes in front of the mirror before he left, trying to make himself look presentable and not threatening. He’d donned a flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up and put less gel in his hair, trying to look like the harmless guy you thought he was. Who he wanted to be.
At a few minutes till six, Gator stood on your grandmother’s front porch, clutching a bouquet of flowers he’d bought at a gas station because it was the only place open. He knocked on the door, his stomach doing nervous somersaults.
You opened the door, smiling when you saw him, and ushered him into the warmth. The house smelled like pot roast and old wood, a comfort he’d never known in his own home.
"Come on in. Awe, are these for me?”
“Sure are, darlin’.”
“I’m impressed you could find any sort of flowers at this time of year,” you said, taking the bouquet from him and admiring the blooms.
Sweetheart, I’d figure out a way to make a whole field of them bloom in December if it’d make you happy.
God you’re whipped, Tillman.
“Well thank you ver much. And for coming over on such a short notice. Grandma's waiting in the dining room. She's been asking about you all week."
Gator followed you down the short hallway, wiping his sweaty palms on his jeans. He’s never been a guy any girl wanted to bring home to meet the family - but then again, he’d never brought anyone over with the specific purpose of introducing them to his either. Regardless, he wanted to make a good impression. For you to be proud of him.
You led him into the dining room just off the kitchen. An older woman was sitting at the head of the table, her gaze sharp despite her age. She had a walker positioned near her elbow, and a blanket draped over her legs, but her posture was rigid.
"Grandma," you said, guiding him forward. "This is Gator. Gator, this is my grandmother."
"Hello, ma'am," Gator said, offering his best polite nod and holding out his hand to shake hers. Or maybe kiss it. He wasn’t sure what older women deemed polite these days other than being helped across the street - and even then, that wasn’t really something he did very often. "Nice to meet you."
Your grandmother didn't smile. She stared at him, her eyes narrowing as she scanned his face, taking in the features he couldn't hide - the nose, jaw, and eyes that were so unmistakably his father's. The room went dead silent.
"You're a Tillman," she said, tone accusatory.
The blood drained from Gator's face. He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. You looked between them, confused.
"You know his name, Grandma. I told you -“
"I know who he is," she interrupted, her voice gaining a steely edge. She turned her gaze to you. "I thought your mother raised you to have better judgement than this."
"What?" You laughed nervously, looking back at Gator. "Grandma, be nice."
"I am being nice," she snapped, her eyes locking onto Gator again with a look of pure disdain. "I'm just wonderin’ why you're at my table instead of out throwing your weight around bully innocent bystanders in town. Deputy Tillman. Isn’t that what your daddy raised you to do?"
Gator stood frozen, his mouth going dry. He looked at you, and saw the confusion slowly melting away into horror as the pieces clicked into place. Why he always seemed to be around. Why all your dates were either at places out of town or involved driving backroads in his truck so no one would recognize him and blow his cover with you.
"Deputy?" You whispered, looking at him. "You told me you did security... You lied to me?”
"I... it's complicated," Gator stammered, his confidence evaporating.
"Is it?" Your grandmother leaned forward, her face hard and gaze never faltering. "His father is Roy Tillman. The man who owns this godforsaken county. Runs it with an iron fist and treats the law like his own personal plaything." She looked back at you. "Is this the kind of man you bring into my house? A Tillman? A man who enforces that tyranny? Justice system my ass.”
"Grandma, please," you said, your voice trembling. “I didn’t know.”
"Tell me, Deputy," she said, spitting the title like it was poison. "Did you arrest any innocent people today because you were bored? Maybe leave another so-called perp to bleed out in an alleyway again?”
“No, ma’am, I -“
“I may be old, but I know Gator Tillman loved a quick screw in the back of his cruiser. Had any of those today, or are you holdin’ out for my granddaughter? Is that the game here?"
“Grandma -“
Gator flinched as if she’d slapped him. The guilt he’d been suppressing for weeks came roaring back, suffocating him. He saw the look on your face - the devastation, the betrayal. You looked at him like you were seeing a stranger. Like you were seeing the enemy. And he knew he deserved it.
"You're a cop," you said, the accusation hanging heavy in the air.
“He’s more than that,” your grandmother muttered, glancing between the two of you sourly. “He’s a cruel brute - just like his father.”
Just like his father.
"And you lied to me? All this time... you let me think you were just... Just a nice guy."
"I want to be," Gator said quickly, stepping toward you, reaching out. "Still do - I just didn't wanna scare you. I know what people think of my dad. What they think of me. I just wanted you to… I dunno. See me."
"Doesn’t seem like you gave me a choice," you said, pulling away from his hand as if it burned. "You made that choice for me."
You looked at your grandmother, then back at him, your eyes filling with hurt tears. "I can't... I need a minute."
You turned on your heel and fled the room, leaving Gator standing there, humiliated and broken with no one to blame but himself.
"She normally has good instincts," your grandmother said coldly, staring him down. "You should leave."
Gator ignored her. He couldn't leave. Not like this. He mumbled an apology he didn't feel and followed you into the living room.
You were standing by the window, looking out at the darkening street, your arms wrapped tight around yourself. When you heard him come in, you stiffened, turning to face him. He saw the fear in your eyes, like you half expected him to hold you at gun point or slap a pair of handcuff on you and drag you down to the station. It was small, flickering, but it was there. He had put it there.
"Please," Gator said, his voice cracking. "Let me explain."
"Explain what?" You asked, voice shaking. "That you're a liar? That you're the son of the man who apparently terrorizes this town and you never thought to mention it? How do you explain that, Gator?"
"I didn't know how to tell you," he said, struggling to keep his voice level, to keep the anger he felt at himself from bleeding out. He wanted to punch the wall and shout his reasoning at you. But he forced himself to stand still, hands open at his sides. "Every time I tried, it felt like I was gonna ruin it - this whole thing we have. And I like... I liked that you didn't look at me the way everyone else does. Like I’m my dad. A monster."
"Maybe you are," you whispered.
A blow to the chest with brass knuckles would’ve hurt less than your words, but he knew he deserved them. He took a step closer, fighting every instinct to grab you and shake you until you understood where he was coming from. The old Gator MO when it came to winning arguments and forcing people to see things his way.
"I'm not him," he said, his eyes pleading. "I know who my father is. What he does. But that's not why I'm here. I didn't tell you because I didn’t want to… Dunno, leverage anything. Make you feel like you had to talk to be just because I have a gun. I just wanted to know you."
"It doesn't matter what you wanted," you said, backing away until your spine hit a bookcase and you winced. "You lied. You omitted the truth because you knew I wouldn't want anything to do with you if I knew. And you were right."
Gator stopped. He saw the way you were looking at him - not with anger, but with a genuine fear. You were waiting for him to snap. You were waiting for the violence the grandmother had warned you about.
And oh, he fucking hated it. He loathed himself for putting that look in your eyes. He wanted to drop to his knees and beg, but he knew that would just look pathetic. Or worse, desperate. Though if doing so meant winning you back, it would be worth it.
"I'm sorry," he said, the words feeling inadequate and hollow. "I'm sorry I wasn't honest. I didn’t wanna scare you."
He stood there for another long moment, watching you retreat further into yourself. He realized there was nothing else he could say. The illusion was shattered. He wasn't the nice "logistics guy" anymore.
He was Gator Tillman. The deputy, liar, thug's son.
Three weeks.
That was how long it had been since Gator had heard your voice or laugh. Twenty-one whole days of silence that felt like a slow suffocation.
He saw you, sometimes. He’d drive past the library and catch a glimpse of you getting into your car, or he’d see you walking down an aisle of the grocery store, turning the corner the second you spotted him. You were ghosting him in the most literal sense - there, but untouchable.
It was eating him alive.
The cold fury that had been building in his chest since the dinner at your grandmother's house needed an outlet. At work, he was snapping at suspects, slamming car doors harder than necessary, and glaring at the other officers until they stopped trying to make small talk. He was a wire pulled tight, vibrating with the urge to just... Fix it.
The old, dark part of him - the part that was undeniably his father's son - kept whispering the solution. It was seductive in its simplicity. He knew where you lived, and as a cop didn’t need a reason to enter the place if he lied about probably cause. He could go over there, kick the door in, throw you over his shoulder, and take you back to his place. He was bigger and stronger than you, and it wouldn’t be hard to just fuck the resistance right out of you, remind you exactly who you were dealing with, make you scream his name until you forgot why you felt so betrayed and angry.
The fantasy was vivid and heated, making him grip the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white. But then the image would shift. He’d see your face in his mind - not the face of the woman who laughed at his jokes, but the face from the living room. The fear. The way you’d backed away from him, eyes wide, waiting for the violence to start.
If he acted on his most terrifying and primal urges, he wouldn't be winning you back. Not even a little. He’d be proving your grandmother completely right - that he was exactly the monster they thought he was: Roy Tillman's boy, incapable of anything but force and brutality.
The thought made him sick to his stomach.
His father eventually noticed, of course. Roy wasn’t stupid - he noticed everything. They were in the sheriff's office, the air thick with cigar smoke and tension, when his father slammed a file down on the desk.
"You're sloppy," Roy grunted, not looking up from his paperwork. "Missing shots. Dragging your feet. What is it? You got a fever?"
"No, sir," Gator muttered, staring at a stain on the carpet.
"Then what is it?”
“Nothin’.”
“Is it a woman?"
Gator didn't answer, but his silence was answer enough.
Roy laughed, a dry, humorless sound. "Ah. That explains it. Listen to me, boy. You let a woman get in your head, you’re gonna lose your edge. If she's causing trouble, if she's forgetting who runs this town, you remind her. You take her by the hair and show her her place."
Gator felt the words like a familiar slap. He looked at his father - the man who ruled the town and those who worked for him with an iron fist, the man who had terrorized Gator's mother into an early grave. For the first time, Gator didn't feel respect. He felt revulsion.
"Yeah, I don't think that's gonna work here," Gator replied quietly.
Roy looked up, his eyes cold and hard. "Excuse me?"
"I said," Gator met his gaze, his heart bruising the inside of his ribcage, "I don't need to take anythin’. I'm handlin’ it."
Roy stared at him for a long moment, then scoffed, dismissing him with a wave of his hand. "Soft. You're getting soft. Don't come cryin’ to me when she makes a fool of you."
Gator left the office, the adrenaline making his hands shake. It hadn’t been a long, or even productive conversation, but his father’s words had helped Gator make up his mind on one thing - he didn't want to be his father. He didn't want to be the kind of man who took what wasn't enthusiastically given. If anything, he just wanted to be the kind of man you wanted to give things to.
So he did the hardest thing he’d ever done. He gave you space.
Gator stopped driving by your house, cruising the grocery store parking lot hoping for a glimpse, and staring at your contact information in his phone, thumb hovering over the call button. He threw himself into work, though he was determined not to let the violent nature of the job act as a release valve for his own frustration this time.
At night, he sat in his empty apartment, the silence mocking him. He drank whiskey he didn't taste, stared blankly at the TV that played shows he didn’t watch. The screen on his phone was almost always dark, a void where your name used to pop up daily.
The thought of never speaking to you again made him want to drive his truck off a cliff. It was a physical ache, a hollowing out of his chest. He couldn't imagine a future where you weren't in it, even as a friend. It took a bit of internal convincing, but after weeks of silence, Gator decided that even if you remained in his life just as a girl who tolerated him - he’d accept that.
But he knew he couldn't force any sort of interaction. If he pushed, you’d break. Or worse - and more likely - you’d hate him. And he couldn't stand the idea of you hating him anymore than you probably already did.
It took him two weeks to draft the text. He deleted it a dozen times, rewriting it until it didn't sound angry or desperate or pathetic. This new version of him wanted to explain his actions, not excuse them. He wanted to apologize, not demand forgiveness.
Finally, late one night, when the snow was falling thick and heavy outside, he hit send on the longest text he’d ever written.
Hey.
I know you don't want to hear from me, & I’ve got no right to ask for your time. But I've been doing a lot of thinking, & I owed you a full explanation.
I didn't tell you who I was because I was a coward. I was scared that if you saw the badge & knew who I was, you'd see my dad, & you'd run.
I wanted so bad for you to just see me that I lied & that was selfish. I took away your choice because I wanted to be close to you. I knew it was wrong, & it's exactly what your grandmother said I was.
I'm not asking you to forgive me or see me again. Just wanted you to know that I'm sorry I scared you & that I wasn't honest. You deserve so much better.
If you never want to speak to me again, I understand. I'll leave you alone. Thanks.
Gator stared at the screen until it dimmed, then tossed the phone onto the couch. He put his head in his hands, waiting for the rejection that he knew was coming, feeling like he’d just jumped out of a plane without a parachute.
Four days of agonizing silence. That’s how long he waited, his phone a useless brick in his pocket, every vibration sending a jolt of electricity through his system only to be a spam call or a work update.
He was on patrol, cruising down the main drag, the snow crunching under the tires, when his phone rang. The screen lit up with your name. Gator stared at it for five seconds, convinced he was hallucinating. He swiped to answer with a shaking hand, nearly dropping it in his lap.
"Hello?"
"Hi," you said. Your voice was small, hesitant, but it was there, and Gator was positive he’d never heard a more beautiful sound. "I got your text."
"Yeah?” Gator breathed, gripping the steering wheel so hard the leather creaked. "I... I meant it. All of it.” No shit.
"I know," you said. There was a pause, filled with the static of the connection. "I think we should talk. In person."
"Okay," Gator said immediately, then realized he sounded too eager. He tried to rein it in. "I mean, yeah. Where’d you like to meet?”
"The diner," you said. "In an hour."
"I'll be there."
Gator hung up and slumped back against the seat, letting out a long, ragged breath. He felt lightheaded, giddy, a rush of relief so powerful it nearly made him pass out. You wanted to talk. You hadn't blocked his number. Maybe, just maybe, he hadn't ruined everything.
Or maybe you wanted to tell him to fuck off and die straight to his face.
Gator got to the diner twenty minutes early and sat in a booth, nursing a coffee and bouncing his knee nervously under the table. He’d ditched his cop uniform before coming in, wearing the leather jacket you’d told him once that you liked. He wanted to look like a man who deserved a second chance. Someone who deserved you.
When you walked in, the breath left his lungs all over again.
You were wearing a sweater he hadn't seen before, fuzzy and grey, and there was an urge that bubbled under the surface of his skin to scoop you up and hold you close. He didn’t fully understand it, but he wanted to protect you from everything because you looked impossibly soft. You also looked tired, there were dark circles under your eyes, but you were somehow even more beautiful than he remembered. It was like his brain had blurred the edges of his memory, but the reality of you was sharp and overwhelming.
The fantasies he’d been suppressing for weeks came roaring back with a vengeance - images of pinning you against his bed, of burying his face in your neck, of tasting your skin - but he shoved them down into the dark pit where he kept his violent urges. This wasn't about that. Those had no place here for the moment.
You slid into the booth opposite him, keeping your bag close to your chest like a shield. You didn't smile.
"Hi," you said quietly.
"Hi," Gator replied. His voice sounded rough to his own ears. "I know you called me, but I wasn’t sure you’d show."
"I almost didn't," you admitted, staring at the table. "My grandmother thinks I'm making a mistake."
"She's probably right to think that," Gator said, the honesty scraping his throat like barbed wire. "She's a smart lady."
You looked up at him, surprised by his agreement. "So," you said, your voice gaining a little strength. "No more games. No more security consultant. Tell me who you really are. Not what everyone says you are, or who your dad is. I want to hear it from you."
Gator took a deep breath, and decided to just rip the bandaid off.
"My name is Gator Tillman," he said, enunciating every word carefully.
He paused, watching for your reaction, but your face was unreadable.
"I'm the Deputy," he continued. "I have a badge and a gun. And... I've used them. In ways I’m not proud of. Not just to uphold the law, but to scare people and get what I wanted. I've treated people like garbage because I knew they couldn't fight back. I've been cruel, an’ violent, and I've done things that I can't take back."
He saw the flicker of fear in your eyes again, and it hurt like a physical wound, but he didn't look away.
"I'm not tellin’ you this because I want you to feel sorry for me," Gator said, leaning forward, his elbows on the table. "I'm doin’ it because I want you to know the truth. I done a lotta bad shit, and I know it. I lived my life thinking that was the only way to be. That was the only way to get respect. Because that’s what I was taught.”
He looked down at his hands, clasping them together to stop the shaking.
"But I don't wanna be that guy anymore," he said, the admission coming out in a rush. "Not just for you - even though that’s kinda why I started tryin’. I wanna do it for myself, snd the people I’m s’posed to be helpin’. I feel like... Like I've been sleepwalkin’ my whole life. And then I met you, and you... You’re were just so kind. Decent and gentle. And I realized I don’t wanna be the thing that ruins that."
Gator looked up from the sticky table, his eyes searching yours, desperate for you to understand.
"I know I don't deserve a shot. Hell, I'm the last guy on earth who should be sittin’ across from you. But I'm tryin’. I'm really tryin’ to be better. And I can’t undo all the shit I’ve done, or like, un-lie to you. I know that. But you made me wanna be a better man, and even if you don’t give be another chance, I wanna keep tryin’.”
The silence that followed was heavy, the hum of other diner-goers and the clatter of dishes from the kitchen falling away as the two of you stared at one another. Gator sat there, his heart in his throat, waiting for the axe to fall. He expected you to get up, throw his coffee in his face, and probably tell him to go to hell.
Instead, you let out a long, shaky breath.
“Can I be honest with you?”
Gator nodded mutely.
"I'm scared," you said finally, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm scared of who your father is, based on what my grandma told me, and of things you've done. I'm scared that if I let you back in, maybe you'll end up hurting me."
"I would never hurt you," Gator said immediately, fiercely. "I swear it. I'd cut my own hand off first."
"You don't know that," you said. "People change, but they don't change this fast."
"I know," Gator said. "I know. But I wanna try."
You looked at him for a long time, your eyes searching his face for any sign of a lie. You looked at the leather jacket, the rough hands, the desperate hope in his big, dark eyes. After a few moments, your expression shifted, looking a tad more relaxed, though no less apprehensive.
"Okay," you said, folding your hands in your lap. "I'll give you a second chance. But Gator... If you lie to me again - that's it. I'm gone. I mean it."
"I won't," Gator breathed, feeling a hopeful grin breaking across his face before he could stop it. "I swear. I won't lie to you again. Ever."
When you returned his smile with a tentative one of your own - it felt like he’d just won the lottery. No, it felt bigger than that. He felt like he’d just been pardoned from a death sentence. The relief was so potent it nearly made him dizzy. He was still a Tillman, with a shitty past and rough edges, but you were giving him a chance.
"Thank you," he said, his voice husky with emotion. "Seriously. Thank you."
"Don't make me regret it," you warned, but you were smiling a little now too.
"I won't," Gator promised, and for the first time in his life, he actually believed he could keep it.
The weeks that followed that meeting in the diner were the hardest work Gator had ever done in his life. Harder than the police academy or even trying to please his father. He was actively rewriting his own programming, day by day, hour by hour - spurred on by the motivation of proving himself to you.
He found himself catching his hand before it slammed a table, stopping a harsh comment before it left his lips, biting his tongue when some drunk idiot at the bar tried to goad him. It was exhausting, but he was becoming addicted to the high of it. The hollow, cruel feeling that had lived in his chest for years was slowly being replaced by something lighter. He didn't feel like he was constantly walking around with a cloud of toxic emotions following him anymore.
Apparently the change was noticeable. And his father hated it.
"You're walkin’ around like a neutered dog, you know that?” Roy sneered at him one morning. "People are talkin’. They say you're goin’ soft. That you don’t bust heads the way you used to. Does that make you feel good, Gator? Being a fuckin’ pussy help you sleep better at night?"
Gator had gripped the edge of the desk until his knuckles turned white, but he didn't take the bait, yell back, or make a scene. Progress. "I'm just doin’ the job, Dad," he’d said quietly. "Following the law."
"The law is what I say it is," Roy had spat, seemingly intent on goading his son into an argument.
But Gator had just ignored his words until he walked away. He’d gone home and taken a shower, scrubbing off the day, and then called you for one of your nightly chats.
The relationship the two of you had was progressing slowly - painfully slowly at times. Not a speed that Gator was all that accustomed to. He only touched you occasionally, and whenever he got the opportunity he made a conscious effort to make sure it was with a gentlemanly reverence. A hand on your back to guide you, or holding your hand when you walked. But he never pushed. He’d decided at some point that he’d wait for you to initiate, terrified that if he moved too fast, he’d break the fragile trust you’d placed in him.
It was about a week before Christmas, the town buried under a fresh blanket of sparkling snow that made everything look clean and new. Gator picked you up in his truck, the heater blasting, two thermoses of hot cocoa sitting in the cupholders.
"You ready for the grand tour, sweetheart?" he asked, grinning as you climbed in.
"I was born ready,” you smiled as you buckled your seatbelt with a click. “Show me your best lights.”
Switching on the radio to a station that played 24/7 Christmas music, the two of you set off. Gator drove you around the richer neighborhoods, where people had enough money and electricity to make their houses look like the North Pole threw up. The two of you made fun of the inflatable Santas, admired the synchronized light shows, and sipped the cocoa he’d made. Gator had trouble keeping his own eyes on the road, mesmerized by the way yours sparkled with delight with each house the two of you passed.
"It's cheesy," you laughed, looking at a house that had covered every inch of the roof in blinking LEDs. "I love it."
"It's classic," Gator said, feeling warm just from the sound of your laugh. He turned down a side street that led toward the lake, where it was darker and quieter - though you could see all the houses that surrounded the lake lit up brightly in the winter night. The snow was falling here, big fluffy flakes that drifted down through the beam of his headlights.
He parked the truck overlooking the frozen water. It was peaceful, just the sound of the wind and Bing Crosby’s crooning.
"Thanks for doing this," you said softly, turning to look at him. The dashboard lights cast a soft glow over your face. "I know it's not exactly your scene."
"Might be my favorite scene now," Gator replied honestly.
You looked at him, eyes searching his. You reached out, your hand resting on his thigh, squeezing gently. The heat of your touch soaked through the denim, searing him.
"I’m really impressed with you, Gator," you murmured. "Everyone sees all the hard work you’re putting in. Even my grandma, and she’s not easy to please."
"Tryin’ to be better," Gator said, his voice rough. He looked down at your hand on his leg, wanting to cover it with his own but holding back.
"I know," you said.
Then, you moved.
You unbuckled your seatbelt with a click that echoed in the quiet cab. Before Gator could process what was happening, you had climbed over the center console. He could practically taste his own heartbeat as you settled onto his lap, straddling his legs, facing him.
Gator froze, suddenly unsure where to place his hands or what to do. It wasn’t as though you were some demure shrinking violet, but you’d certainly never straddled him in the front seat of his truck before. Not to at he had a problem with it. “What -“"
"Shh," you whispered, leaning in.
When your lips met his, it wasn't like anything he’d ever experienced. It wasn't the frantic, messy mashing of mouths in the back seat of a cruiser, fueled by cheap beer and desperation. It was slow, soft, and impossibly sweet.
Gator sat there, utterly stunned, as you kissed him. You were doing this. You had climbed onto his lap because you wanted to, not because he’d intimidated you or pulled you there himself. Not because he had a badge.
A gravely groan escaped his throat, and his hands found your waist. He was hyper-aware of his grip, terrified he’d squeeze too hard, terrified he’d bruise that perfect skin of yours. He kept his touch light, resting his palms on your hips, letting you take the lead.
You deepened the kiss, your fingers tangling in his hair as you pulled him closer. Gator lost himself in the sensation - the taste of cocoa and marshmallows on your tongue, the scent of your perfume, the softness of your body pressed against his. It was intoxicating in a way that even alcohol had never been for him.
But he couldn't fully let go. A part of his brain was still working overtime, monitoring himself - and that was probably for the best. Don't grab her ass. Don't bite her lip. Don't grind up against her or grope her like an animal. He had to be gentle. He had to show you that he could be a man you trusted, even when he was practically delirious with want.
After a few minutes - maybe a few hours, Gator had lost all track of time - you pulled back slightly, breathless, your forehead resting against his. You looked at him, your eyes dark and dilated, and a small smile played on your now swollen lips.
"You okay?" You whispered.
"Oh, yeah," Gator breathed, his thumbs rubbing small circles against your waist. "Yeah. I'm... I'm great."
"You were holding your breath," you teased softly, pecking his lips again.
"Don’t wanna to scare you," Gator admitted, his voice cracking slightly. He didn’t want to admit that the last time he’d been so affected by a kiss was well over a decade before - when he was in highschool and had finally gotten his first one.
"You didn't. I want this. Have for a while, honestly.” You leaned in again, kissing him deeply.
Gator closed his eyes, surrendering to the feeling. He was sitting in his truck, in the dark, with the most beautiful woman in the world on his lap, and you were kissing him because you liked him. Not Deputy Tillman. Not Roy's son. Just Gator.
He realized, with a jolt of shocking clarity, that maybe this was what it felt like to be loved. Cherished. Actually desired without an ulterior motive. And that he would burn the world down before he let anyone take it away from him.
The kissing didn't stop with his realization. If anything, the seal on the cabin had broken, and everything he’d been holding back was flooding out. You tasted like a sweetness that was addictive and dangerous. He kept his hands on your waist, fingers lightly digging into the fabric of your sweater and skirt, anchoring himself to you as the truck rocked gently in the wind.
You pulled back once more, just an inch or so, your breath hitching, eyes glassy and unfocused in the soft glow from the dashboard. The Christmas lights from the houses around the lake filtered through the snowy windshield, painting your face in shifting colors of red and green.
"Gator?”
"Yeah?" he managed, his voice sounding completely wrecked even to his own ears.
"You can... You can touch me," you said, shifting your weight on his lap. The friction made him gasp, his hips bucking involuntarily up against you. You didn't pull away; you leaned into it. "If you want. Properly."
His brain short-circuited. Properly. The word echoed in his skull, clashing with the primal, grunting beast that was currently screaming in his ear to rip your clothes off.
"I don't wanna mess this up," he gritted out, his hands trembling where they rested on your hips. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," you promised, reaching down to take one of his large, rough hands in yours. You pressed a kiss to the palm before guiding it back down slowly, dragging it down your side, over the curve of your hip, until his fingers brushed the hem of your skirt pooled around your thighs. "Show me."
His gut instinct was violent and immediate. He wanted to shove up the fabric of your skirt and tear through the sheer mesh of your tights. Make a hole in the nylon, pull your underwear aside, and sink his fingers into you without preamble, to take what he wanted with a force that would leave you trembling. It was how he operated when it came to sex - fast, hard, greedy. Taking was what he’d always done best.
But he then looked at your face, your eyes wide with desire and trust, and he forced the animal back down into its cage. You were giving him a gift, and if he took it violently, he’d probably lose you forever. And he’d deserve it.
So instead, he let you guide his hand underneath the wool of your skirt. The heat radiating from your body was intense, even through the layers. His knuckles brushed against the inside of your thigh, and he heard your breath catch. You hurriedly kicked off your shoes and they hit the floor of his truck.
Gator swallowed hard. He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your tights, his other hand steadying you by the small of your back. He maneuvered you slightly awkwardly with agonizing slowness, dragging the nylon down over your hips until they were finally off, and he dropped the balled up fabric into the passenger seat. It was a torture of his own making, but the anticipation was dizzying.
Then his hands retuned to you, his knuckles grazing the soft, mostly bare skin of your ass. You shivered as the cool air of the truck hit your newly exposed skin, only to be replaced instantly by the heat of his hand. He traced the lacy edge of your underwear, and for a moment wished it wasn’t so dark so he could see what you wore under all your layers.
"Fuck, sweetheart, you're soft," he breathed, the words slipping out before he could stop them.
He couldn't just dive in. No, he needed to explore. He ran his hand up the back of your thigh, his callused palm feeling every inch of your sensitive flesh. He was hyper-aware of the of contact, mapping the terrain of your body and trying to force himself to memorize each little gasp and shiver.
You shifted again, rolling your hips forward, silently begging him for more. Gator took the hint. His hand slipped between your thighs, pulling your underwear aside before his fingers slid through the slick wetness that had gathered there.
He stopped breathing, and wasn’t sure for how long.
The moment his fingers brushed against your center, Gator knew he was a complete goner. It wasn't just the physical sensation, though that was mind-blowing - it was the realization of what this was. You, opening yourself up to him - of all people. This was trust. Tangible, wet, and trembling under his fingertips.
Gator shook his head slightly, furrowing his brow in concentration. He couldn’t - wouldn’t - just rush to jam his fingers inside. Instead, he used his thumb to gently part your folds, finding the hard, sensitive nub hidden beneath. He circled it slowly, watching your face contort in pleasure, your mouth falling open and breath start coming in short gasps.
"Is that...?" he started, his voice unsteady.
"Y-yeah," you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders, your nails digging into the leather of his jacket. "Don't stop."
Gator certainly didn't plan to unless you told him otherwise. He applied a little more pressure, steadily finding a rhythm that seemed to make your thighs twitch. He watched you, mesmerized. The Christmas lights flashed across your face, highlighting the flush on your cheeks, the way your eyelashes fluttered. You were the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. And he was the one making you feel this way.
He slid one finger inside you, just to the first knuckle, testing the waters. You were incredibly tight, hot and silky, gripping him like a vice. He groaned, his head dropping forward to rest against your shoulder.
"Shit. You feel... Incredible," he muttered, his breath hot against your neck as he pressed a few open-mouthed kisses to your flushed skin.
He began to move his finger, sliding in deeper and curling it slightly the way he’d heard about in passing, hoping to God he was doing it right. Foreplay had never really been part of his sexual exploits, as he always preferred to get to the main event. But the way you were reacting made it abundantly clear that he’d been missing out on the rush. Carefully, he added a second finger when you moaned, stretching you carefully, his palm grinding against your clit.
You started to move on his hand, riding his fingers, chasing the friction. Gator held his arm still while continuing to move his fingers inside of you, letting you use him and take what you needed. He felt powerful, but not in the way he was used to. This wasn't the power of a badge or a gun. This was the power of being the person you chose.
"Gator," you whimpered, your hips rolling faster, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. "I- I- P-please."
It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what you needed. He curled his fingers upward, finding that spot that made you cry out, and he rubbed his thumb firmly against your clit, steadily matching the rhythm of your hips.
"I got you, sweet girl," he whispered, voice ragged and undone with emotion. "Let go for me. There -“
The tension in your body coiled tighter and tighter, like a spring winding down. Gator watched your face, transfixed, as you climbed higher and higher. He felt your internal muscles fluttering around his fingers, signaling that you were close.
"Come for me," he urged, his eyes locking onto yours. "Wanna feel it."
With a cry that was music to his ears, you fell apart. Your body seized up, back arching and inner walls clamping down around his fingers as the wave broke over you. Gator held you through it, his fingers working you through the aftershocks, his other hand holding you tight against his chest. He didn't stop until you collapsed against him, limp and breathless, your face buried in the crook of his neck.
Gator sat there, his hand still trapped between your legs, his heart hammering a frantic rhythm against his ribs. He was shaking and felt utterly undone - and all that had been inside you were his fingers. The high of seeing you like that in his arms was better than any rush of violence or drug.
He pulled his hand away gently, careful not to jar you, and wrapped both arms around your waist, holding you close. He buried his own face in your hair, inhaling your scent, feeling the rapid thump of your heart against his chest.
It was at that moment he realized that he’d would do anything to keep this. To keep you. Whatever the cost so he could keep this feeling - he’d pay it. He would be the man you deserved. He would be gentle and loving. He wouldn’t be his father or the loose canon and town bully.
"You okay, darlin’?" He murmured, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head.
You nodded weakly against him, letting out a soft, contented sigh. "More than okay."
Gator closed his eyes, a small, genuine smile touching his lips as the snow continued to fall outside, blanketing the world in white. He was a goner. Completely and totally at your mercy. And for the first time in his life, he didn't want to be anywhere else.
A few moments later, your voice broke through the silence once more.
"Take me home.” Your voice was husky, still wrecked from the way you’d been crying out his name just moments ago.
Gator’s heart stuttered in his chest. If it’d been up to him, he would’ve stayed like this with you all night - holding you tight to him in the privacy of his truck. Maybe going another round or two so he could commit your fave as you came apart to memory. But obviously it was getting late. You probably needed to get back and go to bed.
“Y-yeah," he mumbled, his brain trying to catch up as you dismounted his lap to climb back into the passenger seat, smoothing your skirt. "I'll get you back safe. I think a storm is comin’ -"
"Not that home," you corrected him softly. You reached across the console, your fingers interlacing with his, squeezing tight. "Your home. Take me to your place."
Gator stared at you, his eyes wide, certain he’d misheard you. "My place?"
"Yes," you said, turning in your seat to face him. The Christmas lights from the nearby house reflected in your eyes, making them sparkle once more. "I want to be with you. Just you. If that’s okay."
A wave of panic crashed over him, followed immediately by a surge of desire so potent it made him lightheaded.
“My place is... It's a mess," he stammered, his mind racing through the state of his apartment - fast food wrappers, empty bottles, the general aura of a bachelor who never had company. "It's not ready for... For you."
"I don't care about the mess, Gator," you said, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. "I just wanna spend some time with you."
He sat there for a moment, every instinct in his body screaming at him to speed back to his place so he could get you behind closed doors and finally let loose. But the other part of him - the part that was trying desperately to be a man you deserved - was petrified. If you saw his apartment and more of the reality of his life, would the spell break?
But looking at you, seeing the trust and the want in your eyes, he knew he couldn't say no.
The drive to his apartment was a blur. Gator’s hands were sweating on the wheel and his mind raced a hundred or so miles a minute. He kept glancing over at you, half-expecting you to change your mind and tell him to turn around. But you just sat there, looking out the window at the holiday lights and falling snow, calm as could be and seemingly at peace with your choice. How are you so calm?
When he pulled into the complex, Gator felt a flush of embarrassment. It was a plain brick building with zero landscaping and flickering outdoor lights. In his defense, it wasn’t as though he spent a ton of time at home. But the whole atmosphere was glaringly different from the cozy, warm vibe of your grandmother’s house. Maybe - if you didn’t run screaming in horror and wanted to keep seeing him - he could work on getting some decorations. Girls like candles and fancy pillows, right?
Gator shrugged off his anxieties for the moment and hurried around to open your door, trying to play the gentleman despite the racing of his heart.
"Sorry about the steps," he muttered, guiding you over a patch of ice near the entrance. “I keep tellin’ ‘em to put salt down but the landlord’s a -“
"It's fine," you replied, holding onto his arm.
The elevator was broken, of course, so they took the stairs. Gator walked behind you, his eyes fixed on your back, his thoughts racing. When they reached his door, he hesitated. This was it. The inner sanctum. Sort of.
It wasn't as much of a disaster as he’d remembered it being, thankfully. He’d remembered to do the dishes earlier that day, and there were only a handful of empty beer bottles on the coffee table. But it was still stark. The furniture was mismatched, the walls were bare, and the air smelled faintly of stale smoke and musty carpet. It was painfully clear that it was just a place where a man existed, not where a person lived.
"Well," Gator said, scratching the back of his neck, feeling awkward and self-conscious. "This is it. It's not... I uh, I’ve been meanin’ to get around to decoratin’ but…”
He trialed off as you began to look around. There was surprisingly little judgement in your expression as you ran your hand over the back of the cheap sofa, taking in the sparse surroundings.
"It's cozy," you decided, turning to look at him. "It's real."
"Real is right," Gator grunted, locking the door behind him. He leaned against it, watching you, his hands shoved deep into his jacket pockets to keep himself from reaching for you.
You walked back over to him slowly, stopping just inches away and reaching up to brush a lock of hair out of his eyes.
"So," you whispered. "Now what?"
Now what?
Gator’s body was screaming at him to act. He wanted to pick you up, pin you against the wall next to the door, and fuck you until you forgot your own name, and maybe his too. To rip that pretty sweater off of you and bury his face in your chest. Then maybe take you on the kitchen floor, hard and fast, just to prove he could.
But as he looked at you - he was reminded that wasn't what this was supposed to be. You hadn't come here for a quick fuck in a messy apartment. You had come here for him. The him he so desperately wanted to be.
So he took a deep breath, forcing the predatory urges of his former self deep down.
"Come here," he said, his voice low and rough.
Gator took your hand, leading you down the short hallway to the bedroom. He hesitated at the door, then flipped the light switch. The room was small, dominated by a queen-sized bed with dark sheets. It was neat, at least, the bed was sort of made and there weren’t any dirty clothes laying around. It felt like the only room in the apartment that had any warmth to it, he noted as he closed the door, shutting out the rest of the world. Now it was just the two of you.
He stepped toward you, reaching out till his hands came to rest on your waist.
"You sure about this?" he asked, his eyes searching yours. He silently vowed that if he saw even a flicker of hesitation, he’d stop. Even if it killed him.
"I’m sure.”
The smile that followed your statement was all the permission he needed. He leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was slow and deep, but controlled. He poured everything he had into it - want, need, gratitude that you were here at all - but he kept the beast on a tight leash.
His hands moved to the hem of your sweater, his fingers brushing against the soft skin of your stomach. He broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head, tossing it onto the floor. The cool air hit your skin, and you shivered.
"You're beautiful," he murmured, his eyes roaming over your torso, taking in the pretty lacy bra you were wearing. "So fucking beautiful."
Gator reached behind you, fumbling clumsily with the clasp of your bra. He was shaking with adrenaline, but he managed to undo it before sliding the straps down your arms, letting the fabric fall away.
The months of waiting and longing finally felt worth it as he stared at you, his breath hitching in his throat. He’d seen women before - plenty of them - but he’d never really looked at them like this. His daily fantasies of what you looked like under your clothes paled in comparison to the woman who stood before him now. The curve of your waist, the swell of your breasts, the way your skin glowed in the lamplight. It was all real, inches away from him.
He reached out, his hands cupping your breasts, thumbs brushing over the hardened peaks. You sighed, leaning into his touch, your head falling back.
Determined not to rush this, Gator began slowly exploring you with both his hands and his mouth. He kissed your neck, tasting the salt on your skin, then moved lower. He took one nipple into his mouth, sucking gently, swirling his tongue around it until you were gasping, your fingers tangling in his hair.
He could feel his own desire thrumming through his veins, hot and demanding. He was hard as a rock and aching to be inside you. But he ignored it. This isn’t about you getting off - it’s about making her feel good. This was about showing you that he could be the man you deserved.
He guided you backward toward the bed, his hands never leaving your skin. When the backs of your legs hit the mattress, he stopped.
"Lie down for me?” Gator was careful to phrase it as a question instead of a command.
You obeyed, crawling onto the bed and lying back against the pillows. Gator stood at the foot of the bed, stripping off his jacket and tossing it aside. He pulled his t-shirt over his head, revealing the scars and modest muscles that were usually hidden under layers of cloth.
You watched him, your eyes darkening as you took him in. He felt exposed, vulnerable, but he didn't look away. As nervous as he was, he still wanted you to see all of him.
He knelt on the bed, crawling over you. He supported his weight on his arms, careful not to crush you. He looked down at you, framed by his dark sheets, looking like an angel who’d fallen into hell, just for him.
"You're sure?" He asked one last time, needing to hear it.
"I'm sure," you breathed, reaching up to pull him down to you.
He lowered himself onto you, a knee slightly wedged between your thighs. He slowly kissed you again, his tongue tangling with yours. His hands roamed your body, touching every inch of skin he could reach.
God, he wanted to rip your skirt off right about then - to tear your underwear away and bury himself inside you in one thrust. Get a few seconds closer to hearing you moan his name loud enough that the neighbors could hear. But he forced himself to breathe. He reached down, undoing the button on the side of your skirt with agonizing slowness. He slid the zipper down, his knuckles brushing against your hip.
You lifted your hips, helping him remove the skirt. Next came your underwear, which matched the lacy bra you’d worn. When you were finally naked beneath him, Gator felt like he’d been struck by lightning. In a good way. The best way.
He sat back on his knees, looking at you. You were sprawled out on his bed, open and vulnerable, waiting for him. It was the most erotic thing he had ever seen. Gator reached out slowly, his hand trailing down your stomach to between your legs. He found you wet, ready for him. He slid a finger inside you, then another, stretching you gently, preparing you.
"I want to make you feel good," he said, his voice rough with emotion, and probably sounding desperately determined. "I want to make it special. For us.”
"You already are," you whispered.
After a few moments, he leaned down, replacing his fingers with his mouth to taste you. His movements were slow and deliberate as he listened to the sounds you made, changing up his technique depending on your response. He felt your hands in his hair, guiding him, holding him close. The smell and taste of you was completely intoxicating, and he realized that he could easily spend hours like this. Hell, he’d willingly spend the rest of his life just trying to make you happy.
The feel of the inside of you on his tongue, your thighs beginning to shake on either side of his head - it was almost too much. He scraped his teeth against you, and you cried out incoherently, begging him for more, which he happily gave until your entire body was shaking. All because of him.
But his own body was steadily also demanding release. He was painfully hard, the fabric of his jeans constricting him. He sat up, fumbling with his belt and button, finally kicking his jeans and boxers off. Your eyes widened a bit at the size of him, and he practically preened under your gaze.
“Are you -“
“Please, Gator. I need you.” Your pupils were blown out and you looked eager for him.
What felt like merely seconds later, he’d settled back between your legs, positioning himself at your entrance. He looked down at you, his eyes locking onto yours.
"I'm clean," Gator said suddenly, needing you to know. "I swear."
"Me too," you replied. "And I'm on the pill."
He let out a sigh of relief and pushed forward, entering you slowly, inch by inch. He watched your face for any sign of pain, but there was only pleasure. You wrapped your legs around his waist, pulling him deeper as your eyes rolled back into your head.
When he was finally seated fully inside you, he stopped, partially to let you get used to him, partially to revel in his good luck. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling of being connected to you like this. It was overwhelming. Perfect.
Then Gator started to move, his thrusts slow and deep. He kept watching your face, committing every expression to memory. He wanted to see you fall apart again. To be the one who made you feel this good.
You gasped his name, your fingernails digging into his shoulders with a pleasant bite. "You feel... S-so good."
"Yeah?" he grunted, his pace increasing slightly. "You like that?"
"I love it," you rolled your hips up to meet his. "D-don't stop."
He didn't. He quickly found a rhythm that was hard enough to satisfy the hunger but slow enough to keep himself in check. He reached between your bodies, finding your clit with his thumb and rubbing it in time with his thrusts, pushing you higher and higher.
Gator could feel his own release building, tightening in his spine, but he held it back. He wanted to wait for you. He wanted to feel you come around him first.
"Come on, baby," he urged, his voice low and rough in your ear. "You gonna be a good girl for me and let go?”
His praise seemed to send you over the edge, and with a cry, you obliged. Your body clenched and spasmed around him, your muscles rippling as the wave crashed over you. Gator groaned, the sensation of your body finishing him off.
He followed you over, burying his face in your neck as he emptied himself inside you. It was intense, shattering, unlike anything he had ever felt before. It wasn't just a physical release; it was an emotional one. He felt like he was pouring his soul into you, giving you the parts of himself that were broken and jagged, trusting you to hold them. It was cathartic in a way he didn’t realize he needed.
The two of you lay there for a long time, tangled together in the sheets. Gator quickly pulled you into his side, wrapping his arms around you and holding you tight against his chest. You snuggled closer, resting your head on his shoulder, your hand placed gently over his heart. Gator closed his eyes, a feeling of peace settling over him that he’d never known.
This was what it was supposed to be like. This was what he had been fighting for. And he knew, with a certainty that terrified him, that he would do anything to keep this. The old version of him would kill or die for this. Honestly - maybe the new version too, although he could unpack the dramatics of his thought process later.
"Thank you," he whispered into the darkness.
"For what?" you murmured sleepily.
"For lettin’ me in," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "For givin’ me another chance."
You hummed happily, already drifting off to sleep. Gator lay there, listening to the sound of your breathing, feeling the warmth of your body against his. For the first time in his life, the apartment didn't feel empty, and neither did he. And he knew that as long as you were in it, he would never be lonely again.
warnings: kissing, mentions of anxiety, super soft gator.
an: sooo this is basically in a universe where gator is a sap and all fluffy
you gave birth to your baby girl 6 months ago. the delivery went well, no complications. gator was amazing, he talked you through it, let you squeeze the life out of his hand, and listened to every instruction the doctors gave.
the rough part was the newborn stage. your baby girl delilah rose tillman, she was well.. definitely a tillman. she cried like crazy, and never wanted to be let go from either of your arms. although she was the prettiest girl you’ve ever seen, some days it felt like she hated you.
today however, was especially rough. delilah had a slight cold developing and it was awful. her cry’s echoed throughout the house and probably could be heard a mile away. she didn’t want any milk and pretty much screamed anytime you tried to give her medicine.
gator was off on a buisness trip for the last week, which he didn’t wanna leave his girls but roy unfortunately wouldn’t let him skip out on this mission. so he kissed your temple and set off.
thankfully though, today was his arrival home. you truly needed a break. even for just an hour. you struggled with anxiety and stress so this really was taking a number on you as well.
gator had come home well past dinner time to the sight of you sniffling and rocking your baby back and forth. he could tell just from one good look at you it was time for him to take over. so he kissed you hello and took the grumpy baby from your arms.
you took this time to change out of your filthy clothes, wash your face, brush your teeth, and finally finally lay down for the night.
just as your eyes began to flutter shut, the baby monitor began to crackle.
the first few words were muffled but slowly gators voice began to make sense.
“gotta take it easy baby… your mamas a strong woman but she gets tired to, just like you, n i love her so we can’t wear her out so much, wish i could of been here this week, missed ma baby so much”
you heart ached all gooey and warm. gator was known as a harsh man, but when he was around you both and all soft. it couldn’t get much better.
you could hear him peppering your little one in kisses, and “night baby” was the last thing that you heard.
you eased out of the covers and slid into your slippers to go meet gator in the hall. he was just barely closing your baby’s door when he made eye contact with you.
something shifted in the air. his face softened and before even a peep could come out of your mouth, he pulled you into him. you felt your self sink into his warmth and felt relief wash over you.
“mm how you feeling mama” he whispered into your hair.
you kissed his bicep, and propped your chin onto his chest.
“mm much better now that your here.” you mumbled “missed you gator”
his pupils grew large, and a small smile appeared.
“glad to be home sweets.” both of his hands made their way up to your cheeks, rubbing the dried up tears away.
he leaned down just a bit to press a soft kiss to your forehead then nose and lastly your lips. you hummed in satisfaction.
“heard you on the monitor,” your hands making their way up his chest as you spoke. “that was sweet of you baby”
gator grew red and all shy as he kissed you again, this time tongue sliding in.
“i love you and our sweet girl” he smiled into your lips.
“you better, after you left us alone all week” you half joked, half sighed.
he pulled away and frowned, gaze dropping towards the floor “m’sorry again sweetheart, jus roy had me do all this shit and i- fuck should of just said no.”
“gator honey..”
his eyes lifted, waiting for you to finish.
“just take me to bed”
he kissed you once more before you turned around. his hand fell to the small of your back, gently leading you towards your bedroom.
tonight he was extra sweet with you, constantly leaving kisses, tucking you into his chest once more, and whispering about never leaving his girls again.
Heyy !! I just wanted to request a steve Harrington x Reader fic
Steve is really insecure from his past relationship with Nancy and he freaks out when the reader accidentally doesn’t say I love you back after they make up from a fight.
Tyy Xx
Thank you so much for this! I hope it turned out like you imagined 💕
can't change the past
Pairing: Steve Harrington x female reader
Warnings: insecurities. dating Steve Harrington. after the argument. no use of y/n.
______________
The fight wasn’t even that big.
That’s the worst part. It started over something stupid - plans, timing, who forgot what - and somehow turned into raised voices and hurt feelings and that awful tension sitting between you.
But you fixed it. Of course you did, because that’s what you always do. Both of you.
Now you’re standing in his room, the air still a little fragile but warmer again, like something carefully put back together.
„I’m sorry,“ you say quietly.
Steve shakes his head. „No, I .. I shouldn’t have snapped like that. I’m sorry.“
There’s a small pause, then you step closer. „It’s okay,“ you murmur. „We’re okay.“
Steve nods. „Yeah. We are.“
Another pause. The kind that usually ends with something soft. Familiar.
„I love you,“ he says, almost automatically. Like breathing. Like something he doesn’t even have to think about anymore.
You smile a little. „Okay,“ you say gently. „I’ll call you later, yeah?“
And then you lean in, press a quick kiss to his cheek … and walk out. The door clicks shut and Steve just … stands there.
Still and frozen in place. Because -
You didn’t say it back.
At first, he tells himself it’s nothing. You were distracted and still thinking about the argument. It happens. Right?
But the silence in his room starts to feel too loud. Too familiar. His chest tightens.
„I don’t love you.“ The memory hits him out of nowhere, sharp and unwanted. „You’re bullshit.“
Nancy’s voice. That night and this feeling… Steve swallows hard, running a hand through his hair.
„No,“ he mutters to himself. „That’s not - this isn’t the same. We are not the same.“
But his brain doesn’t listen, because now it’s replaying everything. The fight you just had and the tone of your voice and his conciseness is trying to find every little detail that is similar to the fight with Nancy a few years ago. He don’t want to compare it, but his fear is louder than anything else.
And the way you said okay instead of I love you too.
His stomach drops. „Shit…“
He starts pacing. Did I push too far? Did she mean it? Is she just staying because it’s easier?
His chest feels tight. Too tight. Before he can talk himself out of it, he grabs his keys.
You’re barely halfway home when you hear a car pull up behind you. It stops so suddenly, that the tires make a funny sound. You turn just as Steve gets out, already walking toward you like he couldn’t wait another second.
„Steve?“ You say confused. „What …?“
„Why didn’t you say it back?“ It comes out fast and raw. Thunder rumbles in the distance. And suddenly the sky … just opens. Rain pours down around you, fast and heavy, soaking through your clothes in seconds. But neither of you move.
You blink. „What?“
„When i said I love you,“ he says, voice tight while trying to keep it together and failing just a little. „You didn’t say it back.“
Your expression shifts - confusion melting into realization. „Oh.“
Steve immediately regrets it, because of the way your face softens. He knew that you understand where he’s coming from. You knew how much it hurt back then.
He runs a hand through his already damp hair, pacing once like he doesn’t know where to put all the energy in his body.
„I wasn’t …“ he starts again, shaking his head. „I’m not trying to make it a big deal, I just…“
But he is. It is a big deal to him. „I just needed to know if you still…“ he cuts himself off. Rain drips down his face, mixing with something that looks a little too much like panic.
If you still love him. If you ever did.
You step closer. „Steve,“ you say gently.
He looks at you, and there it is … that fear it’s silent but heart wrenching. „You don’t have to look at me like that,“ he mutters a little defensive now. „I’m not broken and this isn’t the same. I know that.“
„Hey,“ you interrupt him with a soft tone. „You’re allowed to care.“
That hits him harder than anything else. His shoulders drop just slightly. „I just.. I’ve been here before, you know? Thinking everything’s fine and then it’s not.“
Your heart aches for the boy right in front of you. For him ever feeling unwanted and unloved. For the boy that holds his tears back, because he thought he had to feel like this again.
„I didn’t say it back because my mind was still halfway in the fight,“ you explain gently. „Not because I didn’t mean it.“
Steve searches you face. „Really?“
You nod. „Really.“ You step a bit closer. „I love you, Steve.“
His breath catches. „Okay,“ he whispers, like he needed to hear it exactly like that.
You reach for his hand and squeeze it lightly. „I’m not her. And you’re not that version of you anymore either.“
Steve let’s out a quiet breath, tension slowly leaving his shoulders. „I know. Sorry. I didn’t mean to compare you to her … I was just …“
„Scared,“ a soft smile pulls at your lips. It’s not to laugh about him, but to make sure he sees that he didn’t do anything wrong. „You don’t need to apologize.“
You lean into him and his arms wrap tightly around you. With your cheeks pressed against his chest you both take a few moments to feel the closeness to each other, the warmth of your skin and the beat of your heart. Steve kisses the top of your head and sniffles silently. You could tell, that he tried everything in his power not to lose control over his tears just a moment ago.
„Hey,“ you murmur, tilting your head slightly to look up at him. „Next time your brain does that?“
He huffs softly. „Yeah?“
„Come find me sooner.“ You got up on your tiptoes and kiss him long and lingering. „We are together in this.“
Steve nods with a gentle smile, leaning in again to kiss you. His lips are wet from the rain, but you didn’t mind.
„I love you,“ you repeat.
„I love you too.“
____________
Thank you so much for reading! All interactions are highly appreciated and if any of you have any more requests just let me know 💙
have a couple kids, got the whole block looking like you
steve harrington x reader
summary: you and steve knew that you wanted kids together, you just didn’t expect to see a positive pregnancy test so quickly.
or - you surprise steve by telling him you’re pregnant with your first child.
word count: 2k+ | warnings/tags: mentions of pregnancy, super fluffy, husband steve and wife reader, reader is afab, innuendos? references to sex, kissing, sensuality, brief mentions of nausea, post season 5, reader is implied to be a little shorter than steve, steve picks reader up once. not explicit but mdni.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
Author Rita Mae Brown once said that the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results.
And you right now? You’re a prime example of what she had been talking about.
Because right now, you’re staring down at over half a dozen pregnancy tests that all read the exact same result.
Positive. Positive. Positive. So fucking positive that the test lines are stealing dye from the control lines.
One trembling hand holds one of the many pregnancy tests that you have peed on this morning, the other comes to rest on your nonexistent baby bump as if you actually expect to feel some movement - some proof of life - this early on.
You aren’t sure why you’re surprised. You’re fully aware how babies are made. You’re married to a sex ed teacher, for fuck’s sake.
And it’s not like you were being careful - you weren’t. You want this. Steve wants this. You’d stopped taking preventative measures as soon as the two of you got married - you just didn’t expect it to happen so fucking fast.
People often try for months to get pregnant. Sometimes years.
And here you are. Still very much newlyweds with half of your belongings still waiting to be unpacked in the home you’d just purchased in Forest Hills.
“Oh, it won’t take long at all,” Steve had joked on your honeymoon less than two months ago. “I’ve got very strong swimmers.”
If only he had known just how right he was.
You don’t even realize you’re crying until a singular tear drips onto the test that you’ve been staring down at for the last ten minutes.
Not sad tears. Happy tears. The happiest tears you’ve ever cried.
You’re going to be a mom. Steve’s going to be a dad. You’re going to be parents. Together.
“Holy shit,” you half sob, half laugh.
Steve’s going to be home soon. It’s nearly three o’clock - school is almost over. He has baseball practice afterwards, which leaves you with approximately two hours to figure out how you’re going to tell him that he’s going to be a dad.
Luckily for you, you think your very first pregnancy craving might just present you with the perfect opportunity.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
The second that you smell the sweet and sour chicken and vegetable lo mein that you pick up from your and Steve’s favorite Chinese place in town, your craving disappears.
You spend the entire car ride home with your window rolled down, hoping the fresh air will help dissipate the smell that would normally have your mouth watering but suddenly makes you want to gag.
You make it back home in just enough time. Just enough time to execute the cute pregnancy announcement that you are envisioning your husband coming home to.
Step one? Find the tiniest sticky note you have.
You keep it short and sweet, making sure to write in your best handwriting.
Surprise, baby. You’re going to be a dad!
Step two? Using a pair of tweezers, meticulously remove the original fortune from the fortune cookie that came with your takeout order.
Step three? Fold Steve’s customized fortune up as small as you possibly can and hope that you don’t break the cookie in half as you try to ease the piece of paper inside the tiny opening.
It dawns on you that you should have asked for extra fortune cookies in case of a mishap, but it’s too late for that. Steve will be home soon.
By some miracle, you pull it off without breaking the cookie into pieces. Now for the really hard part - waiting for your husband to get home.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
You’re pacing the kitchen floor, the food already unboxed and waiting for him at the dining room table when you hear his truck pull into the driveway twenty minutes later.
Act naturally. Don’t give anything away. Don’t ruin the surprise by fucking puking or something.
You don’t even realize how nervous you had been until he walks through the front door and all of those nerves melt away. He smiles at you like you hung the moon - the kind of smile that tells you he’s missed you every second since he left for work earlier this morning.
“Mrs. Harrington,” he greets you, pulling a small bouquet of freshly picked, bright yellow daffodils out from behind his back. You’d been too busy staring at his face to notice he’d been hiding them.
“For me?” You ask in faux surprise as he wraps his arms around your waist and picks you up, gently plopping you on the edge of the kitchen counter.
His answer is a melodic hum before pressing his lips to yours. Instinctively, your legs lock around his waist, pulling him flush against you. The flowers, the makeshift fortune cookie, and the tiny life growing inside you are all momentarily forgotten as you drink in the flavor of lemon-lime Gatorade on his tongue.
His hands slip beneath your t-shirt, ghosting up and down your sides. Yours go to his hair, slightly damp with sweat from being out in the sun at baseball practice. Your fingers lace through the soft locks, earning a low, throaty groan from him. It vibrates through you, down to your core, heat flooding your body.
Any other time, you’d let this escalate - let him ease your shorts down your thighs and bury himself between your legs right here on the kitchen counter. And god, do you want to.
But every fiber of your being is buzzing with anticipation. So as much as you’d love to have him right here, right now, you pull away, planting one last kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“I have a surprise for you, too,” you murmur before he can complain that you’ve stopped kissing him. You jerk your head in the direction of the small dining room table to your right.
“Oooh,” he coos, noticing the food already waiting for him on the table. “Take out from Fortune House? What did I do to deserve this?”
You shrug, tucking a stray lock of his hair behind his ear and fighting the urge to blurt out the news before he has a chance to open the fortune cookie. “I guess I just love you. Are you hungry?”
“Starving.” He pecks a kiss to the tip of your nose. “And I love you, too.”
He helps you off the edge of the counter before taking his usual seat at the dining room table just big enough for two people.
Guess you’re going to have to check out the thrift store for a bigger table pretty soon.
“So, how was your day, baby? Do anything fun?” He asks, forking a bite of the sweet and sour chicken that you had divided up for the two of you. Your belly growls, but you don’t think you could eat anything right now. You’re unsure if it’s due to suspense or pregnancy itself, but your stomach feels like it is tying itself in knots right now.
You purse your lips to keep from grinning too big. You shrug. “Oh, you know. Unpacked a few more boxes, folded some laundry, washed some dishes. Nothing too exciting.”
“Speaking of excitement…” He then launches into a story about how he had to break up a fight between two boys at baseball practice today, and you swear you’re trying your hardest to absorb what he’s saying, but you can’t stop glancing at the fortune cookie sitting untouched on his plate.
You’re going to combust if you have to hold in this knowledge for another second.
“Your fortune cookie is getting cold,” you blurt out, interrupting him. He freezes mid sentence, looking at you like you’ve grown a third eye.
Smooth.
“What?” He chuckles, amusement and surprise in his honey colored eyes. “What are you talking about? Fortune cookies don’t get—”
“Just…humor me,” you breathe, your cheeks heating up. You nervously wring your hands together in your lap. “Just humor me and open the cookie already.”
He snorts, picking up the cookie and shaking his head. “Whatever you say, crazy.” There’s no malice in his voice, only love and a little confusion.
He cracks open the cookie and you swear time slows down as he unfolds the tiny slip of paper inside.
Right away, his face contorts. Eyebrows furrow together and lips downturn.
“What the…” He trails off.
You’re on the edge of your seat. Literally.
“Surprise, baby. You’re going to be a…”
He looks up, still confused. Then he sees the smile on your face that you’re no longer attempting to hold back, and his expression morphs into something entirely different.
Not confusion. Shock. Disbelief. And then pure, unrestrained joy.
“Are you serious?” He jumps up from his seat, piece of paper still clutched in his hand. “Is this - are you - you’re really - oh my god, are you serious? You’re pregnant?”
You’re nodding the entire time he’s trying to get the words out, tears of joy welling in your eyes for not the first time today.
“I am,” you breathe. “According to all of the pregnancy tests in our bathroom drawer right now, I am pregnant.”
“Oh my god!” He exclaims, pulling you up from your seat and into his arms. “We’re going to be parents? I’m going to be a dad? I can’t believe this. How did this happen?”
You laugh, pulling back far enough to look up at him. “I think you know the answer to that, Mr. Sex Ed Teacher.”
He rakes a hand over his face, shaking his head in bewilderment. “It happened so fast, though. I told you I have strong swimmers.”
You laugh and he wipes one of your tears away with the pad of his thumb. “This is amazing,” he says softly, looking at you with a kind of emotion reserved for special occasions.
When he told you he loves you for the first time. When he asked you to marry him. When you stood before him at the altar and said I do.
“This is so amazing,” he repeats, voice cracking at the end. He takes your face in his hands. “This is…all I’ve ever dreamed of having. A family of my own. With you.” He leans forward, capturing your lips in his again. It’s short but sweet, and you feel every ounce of his happiness in it.
He pulls away suddenly, a new emotion on his face - panic. “Are you okay? Do you - do you feel okay? Shit, honey. I’m sorry I wasn’t here when you found out—”
“Shh.” You stop him by holding a finger up to his rambling lips. “Don’t be silly. I could have waited to take the tests when you got home, but I was impatient. And I’m fine. A little queasy, but overall, fine. For now, anyway,” you shrug. “It’s still early.”
That seems to appease his worries enough. He nods, his smile returning and he kisses you again.
“We’re gonna have to get all of those boxes out of the spare room if we’re going to set up a nursery,” he sighs when he pulls away. “God, there’s so many things we need to do. I need to build a crib, and baby proof the house, and—”
“Oh my god, Steve,” you laugh, breathless. “I promise we have more than enough time to do everything we need to do. Roughly nine months, actually.”
Your heart swells - his excitement, his rambling, the fact that he’s already making a mental checklist - it’s all a stark reminder that you’ve picked the right person to do this with.
No one will ever be a better dad than Steve Harrington. Your baby is smaller than a gummy bear right now and you already know it in your bones.
“I’m sorry,” he sighs with a breathy laugh. “I’m just…so fucking happy. So happy that we are doing this together.”
“I know,” you hum, smiling up at him. “I’m happy, too. You’re going to be the best dad, Steve.”
He places a gentle, hesitant hand over your stomach. There’s no defined bump or any kind of movement yet, but he looks down between your bodies like he’s looking at his entire world.
✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧
thank you for reading <3 as always, comments and reblogs are very appreciated and i will love you forever
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