could i PLEASE request an angsty steve x reader fic where reader gets attacked by a demogorgon in season 5??? happy ending ofc 💗🙏🏻
the man who can't be moved ⟡
tags ; steve harrington x fem!wheeler!reader, steve harrington angst, use of y/n, descriptions of blood and gore, descriptions of a hospital, fluff if you squint, happy ending.
word count ; 1392
author's note ; thank you for your request angel! ♡ i had a lot of fun writing it ⌃⌃
also, sorry i haven't posted in a couple of days. i should be back now 🪽
From the end of the cul-de-sac, Steve, along with the rest of the party, watched the lights flicker in the Wheeler house. His heart dropped, his brain replaying when he, Nancy, and Jonathan got attacked a couple of years ago by the grotesque creature.
Now one had come for his girlfriend.
Nancy and Eleven went through the side door to search for Karen and Holly, meanwhile Steve bolted straight to the front door, and wasted no time racing up the stairs.
"Y/N!" He called out, his voice a raw yell as pure panic filled him at the sight of the destroyed house. His head whipped in the direction of your bedroom, and he felt a fear he had never felt before when he saw that your door had a large hole in the middle.
He pushed the door open, stepping inside. "Y/n?" He called out again, his voice quieter and more broken this time as he took in the state of your bedroom.
The lace canopy above your bed had been ripped from the ceiling, large tears throughout the delicate fabric. Feathers covered the floor as your pillow laid with a gash through the middle of it. Your delicate trinkets, perfume, makeup, and other things that decorated the surfaces were knocked to the ground, some smashed. Steve noted the picture of you and him on your bedside table had been ripped by the broken glass from it's frame.
He finally noticed the large blood splatters that covered your pink sheets, and splashed the walls. "No..." He whispered, rushing over to the source with his head spinning.
You laid on the floor in the fetal position, covered in blood. Steve looked at the horrific claw marks along your chest and stomach. He felt bile rise up his throat, but quickly swallowed it down, kneeling beside you. He took your delicate and cold hand into his, tapping your cheek.
"Y/n? Come on, honey, open your eyes..." He whispered, trying not to panic, but failing miserably. When you didn't budge, he tapped you a little harder. "Come on, wake up, please..." His voice broke, tears dripping down his cheeks.
Your eyelids fluttered barely fluttered open, and you let out a weak whimper. "Steve..." You whispered.
"I'm here, I'm here." He said, putting his hands on both of your cheeks. "I- I'm gonna get you help-" He stood up quickly, frantically rummaging through the debris for your telephone, but when he found it, it was completely broken.
Luckily, it seemed Nancy had already called the emergency services, as he could faintly hear sirens in the distance. He snapped out of his panic quickly, and looked back down at you. He reached down and lifted you up, bridal style.
You groaned with pain, fresh blood dripping onto Steve's hands. He felt sick at the feeling, but had to hold it together. "I know it hurts, baby. I know..."
He carefully carried you downstairs, where he saw Nancy standing over Mrs. Wheeler who was being loaded onto a stretcher. A few paramedics quickly took over.
𓆩♡𓆪
What followed was a blur of fluorescent lights and the smell of a sterile hospital. Steve never left the chair beside your bed, not even for a second. He was pale, with dark eye bags and stubble on his cheeks. He couldn't move, what if something happened?
There was a light knock at the door, and Steve turned around to face it, still clutching your hand in his. Nancy stepped through, smiling softly. She was obviously worried about her sister, but she was worried about Steve a lot these days, too. Both things could be true.
"Hey, Steve." She shut the door gently, pulling a chair over and sitting close to him.
"Hi." He mumbled, his eyes flickering between her and you.
Nancy swallowed thickly, awkward silence filling the room. "H- How is she?" She asked, her eyes drifting over all of the wires attached to you, her heart clenching.
Steve just shrugged, too weak and tired to talk much, but too committed to leave. "She woke up for a few minutes earlier." He mumbled, absentmindedly stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. "But she was weak, I told her to just go back to sleep."
Nancy nodded, "Have you eaten?" She asked, to which he shook his head.
"I don't need food. I'm fine." He replied, his tone snippy. He felt that people were more worried about him than you, which was completely unacceptable.
"Steve-"
"No." He cut her off. "I'm fine. It's not me you need to worry about. Your sister's in a hospital bed and she nearly died and you don't even care-" He rambled, his eyes filling with tears. He keeled over your body and sobbed. "I'm sorry."
Nancy put a tentative hand on his shoulder blade, not taking anything he said to heart, she knew he didn't mean it. "Hey, come on... You said she woke up, that's good... She's regaining her strength... She's trying..." She spoke, her voice soft, being careful not to provoke him again. She knew he was sensitive right now, and obviously so.
Steve nodded, his face pressed into your stomach over the thin blue hospital blanket. The only noise in the room for another moment was the beeping from your heartbeat on the machine, and it was noise Steve had found comfort in lately. So long as it beeped, you were alive and (somewhat) kicking.
When he sat up after a moment, Nancy spoke again. "We were going to get some food, you wanna come?" She asked, her voice still soft and careful.
Steve shook his head, not taking his eyes off of your pretty face for a second. "I wanna stay. I have to stay."
Nancy sighed, but nodded, standing up. She couldn't change his mind, nobody could. She walked to the door quietly, and opened it, looking back at him and her sister on the bed for a moment. "We're at the cafeteria if you change your mind."
𓆩♡𓆪
Steve sat there in silence for hours, just holding your hand. His eyes roamed your face, memorizing it. He prayed he wouldn't be seeing it in a casket. No, you'd die as a happy, old lady.
When your eyelids fluttered open, he sat up straighter. You had periodically woken up throughout your time in the hospital bed, as he had told Nancy.
His hand came to your forehead, brushing it gently, his fingers moving up your head and down one of your braids which one of the kind nurses had done for you. "Hi, baby." He whispered, watching as your beautiful eyes adjusted to the lights.
"It hurts..." You whimpered softly, fidgeting in the bed, your voice weak and your throat dry.
His heart clenched, this was exactly what he didn't want to happen. You were supposed to always be warm, always be comfortable. Safe in your lacy, pink bedroom, away from this mess.
"I know, baby. I know. I'm here." He whispered, though he felt like his presence wasn't enough. You needed the best doctors and the strongest medicine in the world.
You seemed more awake and a little stronger than when you woke up earlier, which was good. He knew you were on some strong medications, but he didn't know how fast anything would work.
"Steve..." You whispered, and he smiled weakly when you said his name, a small, warm rush of euphoria filling his body. "I love you..."
The warm turned icy cold when he realised what you were doing, saying goodbye. His smile dropped, and he shook his head. "No- Come on... Baby, I love you too... You're gonna be okay, you know that..." His voice was full of pain and fear.
"No... Steve.... Hurts too much..." You whispered, delicate tears falling down your temples. You started to sob gently. "Hurts..."
Steve panicked again, his heart pounding. You weren't supposed to be in pain, and you definitely weren't supposed to cry. "No, come on. You want me to get a nurse? I-" He was freaking out now, he didn't know what to do anymore. You just nodded tearfully.
𓆩♡𓆪
A couple more hours passed, and the nurses adjusted your pain medication dose, and now you were okay. You were sat up in bed, slowly eating some food. Steve sat rigid in the chair beside you.
"Y/n?" He asked, his eyes still tired but full of so much love.
You turned your head to look at him and nodded. "Hm?" You asked, mouth full of food.
summary ; steve harrington insists on playing your favourite songs through the radio. how else is his girl supposed to hear them?!
tags ; steve harrington x fem!reader, no use of y/n, platonic stobin.
word count ; 435
"Please!" Steve raises his voice slightly, holding a few tapes in his hand. Robin sighs, this wasn't the first time they had gone through this song and dance.
"No, Steve!" She groaned, turning to face him. "I run a tight schedule, I have no time-"
"But, Robin!" Steve stepped closer to her, flashing her the tapes that had your name written on them in thick black marker. "This is more important. How else is she supposed to hear these songs?" He insists, whining a little.
He reaches to take the current tape out of the deck, but Robin holds her hand over it firmly. "Get off!" She insists, a small smile coming over her face. It was cute, even if she would never admit it. "Why don't you just gift her the tapes?"
"I did, why do you think her name is on them?" He replies, putting his hand on his hip. "I spent weeks researching... subtly trying to find out her most favourite songs... I would've gone into the factory and built the tape myself-"
"Alright!" She interrupted, taking her hand off of the tape deck. "Fine, just please be quiet about your love life!"
Steve smiled, but paused a second later. "I thought you liked her?"
Robin smiles and leans back where she's sat. "Oh, I do. I'm just sick of you!" She laughs, which makes Steve smile again.
He pushes the tape into the slot, and clicks play. The sound of Tiffany's I Think We're Alone Now fills their headphones, and Steve grins.
"Thank you." He mouths.
𓆩♡𓆪
"Children behave" That's what they say when we're together...
You smiled when you heard the opening line of your favourite song, the sound soft from your car radio. "Oh, Steve..." You whispered, despite the fact you were alone in your car, driving to work.
You had visited the radio station many times before to see Steve and Robin, most of the time bringing them lunch so you'd have an excuse to stay longer.
Robin was always quick to tell you about whatever shenanigans Steve had pulled today to get the songs you loved on the radio, meanwhile Steve would grouch in the corner. He wasn't grumpy that she was telling you, he was grumpy because she was hogging your attention.
The song drifted to a close as you pulled up to a red light, and you gently closed your eyes for a second, a smile adorning your face.
You hadn't been in a relationship with Steve for very long, only a couple of month, but he had always showed up for you in a way that none of your ex-boyfriends ever had. Your heart had never felt so full.
authors note ; ignore the fact they use records at the radio station and not vhs tapes... i forgot this until i was half way through lol
summary ; husband!steve takes care of you after a terrible day.
tags ; steve harrington x fem!reader, hurt/comfort, pure fluff and not much else,
word count ; 1,301
author's note ; i had the worst day ever yesterday so i wrote this to make me feel better. i need steve to come and take care of me.
You slammed the front door shut, aggressively kicking off your shoes and slamming your bag onto the side table. Steve looked up from where he was sat on the couch, his eyebrows raised in surprise.
He stood up almost immediately, walking over to you. When you left the house for work this morning, your hair was curled perfectly and put into a neat ponytail, your makeup flawless, and your waitress uniform clean. Now, your hair was a mess, you had tear streaks through your makeup, and your clothes were completely dishevelled.
"Oh, baby." He cooed, taking your face in his hands.
"No..." You whined, feeling the tears spring to your eyes almost immediately, collapsing into his broad chest.
He wrapped his arms around you tightly, pulling you tighter to him. "I got you, baby. I got you."
He held you like that for a little while, just gently swaying you in the entrance of your home before you spoke up again. "M' sorry."
"What are you sorry for, honey?" He asked, his voice soft and caring.
"Getting like this." You sobbed again, fisting the back of his shirt in a feeble attempt to ground yourself.
"Nothing to be sorry for, sweet girl." He brought your face to look at his, wiping gently at the smudged mascara under your eyes. "You wanna tell me what happened?"
You admired him for a second before replying, even when you looked like a mess, he looked at you like you were made of pure gold. "Just a terrible string of terrible tables."
"Talk to me, honey."
You sighed, walking away from him and sitting down on the couch, feeling all of the muscles in your legs sigh with relief. "Well... Some girl thought I was hitting on her boyfriend, then I had to do a table of 26 by myself during the lunch rush, little kids were running everywhere, and I almost dropped boiling soup down me—!"
Tears were streaming down your face as you recalled the nightmare of the day. Just pure stress. One thing after the other.
Steve sat down next to you and pulled you onto his lap, your favourite seat. "It's over, baby. It's all over."
"I know, but I was all by myself and I haven't eaten all day and I didn't get a single break because it was so busy-" You rambled, your voice sounding more and more frantic as you went.
"Hold on, honey." Steve interrupted, "You haven't eaten all day?"
"No." You sobbed, clutching the shirt as his chest. You were so exhausted.
Steve paused for a moment, thinking about what he was going to do.
You kept going, almost completely hysterical by now. Steve had never seen you so stressed out and overwhelmed. "I just wanted to come home to you. You'd make it all better, I knew you would."
Steve picked you up bridal style without another word, and walked you to the bathroom. You sat snuggly in his beefy arms, feeling like you were in the safest place in the world. He placed you on the closed toilet lid, and began running a bath.
You pulled your legs up, your knees underneath your chin. You smelled like food and coffee, but somehow Steve still thought you were some perfect goddess. You were, to him.
Steve didn't look back at you once, instead making sure the water was the perfect temperature. Once the bath was full, he finally turned to face you, taking in the way you had completely curled in on yourself.
He gently pushed your legs down, and began unbuttoning your shirt. He went slowly and carefully, before pulling it off and discarding it in the laundry basket. Next, he unclasped your bra, also discarding it in the laundry basket.
"Wow." He grinned, pulling your tights off, but his eyes were elsewhere.
"Stop it." You smiled for the first time since you got home, your cheeks flushing red with shyness.
"Glad I can still make you blush." He untied your apron and let it fall to the floor, before helping you shimmy out of your skirt.
You looked away as he pulled down your panties, and let out a low whistle. "Steve, seriously." You feigned annoyance, but could never withhold a smile from him.
"What!?" He grinned, lifting you off of the toilet seat and into the warm bath tub. "Can't I admire my wife?"
You felt every muscle in your body relax at once, the warm water completely engulfing you, feeling like a safe shield around your aching limbs.
Steve knelt down beside the tub and slowly began to wash your hair with your vanilla scented shampoo, making sure to really work it in. You always loved when he played with your hair, so whenever he did this, you completely revelled in it.
The pair of you sat like that for a while, and you allowed yourself to completely melt into him, letting him take care of you. Your body knew when it was safe, and it was safe around Steve.
You admired him again while he cleaned you. His sunkissed skin, slightly tan from being outside coaching baseball all day. His broad shoulders and big biceps, his soft stomach... And, most importantly, his perfect face with his big brown eyes that looked at you with so much love and fondness, the same eyes that you fell in love with all those years ago.
"I love you." You whispered, and Steve smiled in return.
"I love you too, my sweet girl. Let's get you into bed, yeah?"
He picked you up, wrapping you in a fluffy towel, and carried you bridal style to your bedroom, placing you on the cushy bed. He knelt by the dresser, getting out an old shirt of his, and your favourite boyshorts, and then he helped you into them.
Finally, he pulled the comforter over your body, and climbed in beside you, pulling you tightly into his arms.
"Steve..." You grinned, watching him relax. "I'm hungry."
"I know, baby... Gotta get you comfy first." He mumbled, feeling your warm skin underneath his hands. He always got sleepy when you guys were in bed, it was his weakness.
His hands trailed up your body, interlacing your fingers with his. He brought your hand to his mouth, and placed a tentative kiss on the big rock sitting on your ring finger. He always did that, every single day.
"I hate that people made you feel bad." He confessed, his eyes locked on the ring. His ring.
"I feel so much better."
"I know... Just wish I could've been there."
"You were working too, Steve..."
Steve smiled slightly, nodding. He was so proud to be able to take care of you, even if you had your own job. You only had it because otherwise you had nothing to do all day...
"Waitressing is stupid." He mumbled, kissing your forehead gently.
"It is." You agreed, sighing and leaning into his touch. But, you loved your job, no matter how terrible it was. You loved when you were working late and Steve came in, ordering an appetizer, main, and dessert just so he could hang around you for longer. Loved when he tipped you extra well, with an additional kiss for a job well done, before whispering in your ear, promising that you'll get the rest of your tip later.
"But it makes you happy... Sometimes." Steve continued, chuckling slightly. "Not days like these."
You smiled, he was being cheesy now. "Okay, okay..." You laughed. Steve laughed too, brushing his fingers over your cheek.
"Wanna order food?" He says after a moment of quiet, to which you nodded.
A little while later, the two of you ate in silence, watching a stupid movie on the TV while Steve had to pretend he wasn't staring at you.
It was the perfect ending to the worst day. You felt comfort in knowing that no matter what happened, you could come home and cry to your sweet husband while he took care of you.
Marrying him was the best decision you had ever made.
can you write a fluffy fic with gator?? maybe like their story and how they met,.and she has like a southern gothic style idk how to explain it but yeah
white feather hawk tail deer hunter ♱
tags ; gator tillman x fem!reader, two uses of Y/N, alcohol, unwanted physical contact (not gator).
word count ; 1,456
author's note ; thank you for your request angel! ♡ i had a lot of fun writing it. my first fic for gator, hope i did him justice! ⌃⌃
"You'll sit in those damn pews, and you'll listen, ya hear me, boy?" Roy spoke to Gator, his voice firm and final.
Gator grumbled, opening the cruiser door and looking up at the church. This wasn't how he wanted to spend his sunday, but it was this or morning patrol.
The church was painted white, but had seen better days. It looked haunted, in Gator's opinion.
The two walked in, and Roy busied himself greeting the congregation before the sermon started. Gator looked around, his eyes landing on you. You were sitting in the pews, reading the bible. You wore a white dress, your hair in two loose braids with little lacy bows tied into the ends.
"Ain't seen you around before." Gator spoke, his voice cutting through your quiet bubble. He was smooth, wanting to charm you, he'd had plenty of experience, in fact.
"Just moved." You smiled politely, closing the bible on your lap.
"What's yer name, little lady?" He asked, his face smug, but he was genuinely interested. The feeling scared him, it was completely 'unmanly' for a Tillman to catch feelings, and he absolutely was not.
"Y/N. You?" You asked, your voice soft over the faint chatter behind you.
"Deputy sheriff, Gator Tillman."
You nodded, you'd only been in town for a few days, and you'd heard all about the Tillmans. Roy Tillman, Stark County Sheriff, and his son, Gator Tillman. "Bunch o' trouble." As described by a little old lady at the farmers market you'd visited yesterday.
"Well, it's nice to meet you, deputy." You smiled politely, nodding at him. He was handsome, his hair slicked back tightly, and he wore a black button up shirt and some black pants, but he was trouble.
"Call me Gator, little lady." He winked, before returning to his father as the sermon started.
You tried to listen, your bible in your lap, but you saw Gator's head continuously turning back, his eyes catching yours. He clearly knew what he wanted.
Afterwards, as you were leaving, a firm hand wrapped around your wrist. As you turned around, Gator stood there, holding a small card in between his two fingers.
"Forgot 'er give you this." He placed the card in your hand. It had his name, face, and number on it. "Call me if you need anything, and I mean... anything."
You ignored the implications, holding it in your palm. "You give these out to everyone, deputy?" You asked, purposefully not using his name.
"Only the pretty ones." He winked again, before leaving the church. You stepped outside a little after him, watching the police cruiser disappear down the road.
Later that night, you were sat in your bed, wooden bed frame creaking under you as your lacy canopy swayed lightly in the wind that was coming through the open window.
You looked over at the card which sat on your bedside table. You had honestly meant to throw it away, not wanting to involve yourself in their messy family business, but something wasn't letting you.
That face, his nose, his hard eyes that seemed to soften when he looked at you, how your wrist felt in his hand... This was absolutely not what you wanted to happen.
The next day, you were back at the same farmer's market that you had visited a few days earlier, the one where you first learned about the Tillman family.
As you were inspecting a punnet of vibrant red strawberries, you felt a body behind you. Gator Tillman stood there.
He was wearing a backwards cap, a camo hoodie, and his sheriff vest. You also noticed the pistol in the gun holster wrapped around his thigh.
"Afternoon, deputy." You smiled politely, turning to face him. He had clearly taken an interest in you.
"You ain't use the number yet." His voice was quiet, and it almost sounding like a warning. Thinking about what you had heard, it frightened you a little. He probably wasn't used to not getting what he wanted.
"You... said to call if I needed anything, and I haven't needed anything."
His jaw clenched, and he spoke tightly. "T' wasn't literal, baby girl."
"Maybe you should've been more specific."
Gator smirked at your attitude, his hand coming to your arm to brush the sleeve of your little white lacy dress. "Maybe I should've." His touch was surprisingly gentle.
He let you go, stepping backward, his eyes roaming up your bare legs for a second, before snapping back to your pretty face. "See ya around, little lady."
"Bye." You whispered, unnecessary as he had already walked away. Something about him truly unnerved you and excited you all at once.
Later that night, you were visiting the local dive bar for the first time since you'd arrived in Lehigh.
You were sat at the bar, mindlessly sipping on a beer, hoping to get a bit tipsy tonight so that you could make some friends. Conversing was always easier that way.
You felt a presence behind you, but it wasn't Gator. It felt unwelcome, even more so when he span your stool to face him.
"Um. Hello." You said, looking at the man standing in front of you, his eyes fixed on your chest.
"Yer new, yeah?" He slurred, clearly intoxicated.
You just nodded, suddenly nervous.
"I like yer dress." He slurred again, his hand landing on your knee, sliding up the soft skin.
You laughed nervously, standing up off of the stool so he'd stop touching you.
"Don't need ta be scared o' me." He mumbled, his arms coming to either side of you, trapping you against the bar.
You looked around urgently, everybody either hadn't noticed, or didn't care. Great.
You were stuck there for around twenty minutes, listening to this guy talk, smelling the beer radiating off of him, before the chatter in the bar died down, and everybody turned to look at the doorway where Gator Tillman had walked in, along with a few other cops.
The chatter and noise slowly returned, but Gator's eyes landed directly on you. You made eye contact, silently begging him for help.
He walked over, and forced the man's arm off of the bar, allowing you to step out from his grip, Gator's arm subtly pushing you behind him.
"I was talkin' to 'er." The man slurred.
"She don' wanna talk." Gator warned, his hand taking your forearm from where you stood behind him. His touch felt gentle, unlike the man's touch which felt abrasive and violating. It surprised Gator, too. He had never been gentle before.
"She comin' home with me." He slurred again, clearly way past drunk at this point.
"Get outta here." Gator smacked his arm, and he stumbled backwards before disappearing into the crowd with a grumble.
He turned to you, his eyes softening uncharacteristically. "Ya alright?"
You nodded, clearly embarrassed.
"Shoulda called me." He smirked, his hand brushing up and down your arm, attempting to soothe you although Gator didn't know how.
"How was I supposed to?" You snapped, mad that he was using this opportunity to hit on you.
His smirk faded. "Was a joke. Not in the mood for jokin'..."
You furrowed your brows at him, but you couldn't stay mad at him. Something about his presence here was making you feel warm and very safe. He had protected you...
"Let me take you home." He offered, to which you nodded. Gator walked with you to his police cruiser, the night air cold against your burning skin, hot with embarrassment and something else...
He helped you in, surprisingly chivalrous, although you didn't know he'd never be caught dead doing that for anybody else. You had truly caught his eye in a way that nobody else had or ever could, a feeling that he wasn't ready to face just yet.
You directed him to your house, and he watched as you went inside and shut the door, safe from the ugly lurking in this town.
He sat there for a lot longer than was necessary, mentally noting the directions here and exactly which house was yours on which street. You clearly lived with your parents, but that wasn't a problem for him.
On the drive phone, his phone started ringing with an unfamiliar number, he picked it up, a sneaking suspicion about who might be calling.
"Stark County Sheriff Department, Gator speaking." He said into the phone. It was quiet for a second before your soft voice filled up the other side.
"Hey... It's me, Y/N."
"Hey, little lady." Gator smirked, glad you had finally called him. When he stopped at a red light, he made sure to save your number.
"I just wanted... to thank you for tonight... and for taking me home."
"No problem, little lady. Gotta see ya home safe."
You chuckled, and his heart clenched at the noise, an unfamiliar feeling that was terrifying to him.
"Um. Well, i'll see you soon, okay? That's all I wanted to say."
"Glad to see ya finally makin' use of that number. G'night."
You chuckled again, and his heart had the same reaction as last time he heard it.
"Night, Gator." You whispered, hanging up, also using his name instead of 'deputy'.
Gator knew one thing for certain after tonight, after rescuing you at the bar, seeing you sat all pretty in his passenger seat, and now seeing your number in his phone. He wasn't done with you.
For gator , what if you write about maybe someone breaking into readers house.
It can be that they get hurt or not but I’d love go see how you’d write crashiut gator
Thank you 💗💗💗
robbers ୨୧
tags ; gator tillman x fem!reader, fluff, angst, mentions of home invasion, guns.
word count ; 3,272
Everybody in Fargo knew about you and Gator. The hard-eyed, asshole son of the sheriff, who was attached at the hip with the sweetest girl in town. You, who was all pink ribbons, delicate lace, and soft edges. You, who had never held a gun, nor had a clue about the atrocities committed by Roy Tillman, and the secrets kept by your own best friend.
Gator liked it that way. He liked feeling needed, and he liked feeling that he was the only person in the world who could protect you to a standard that was acceptable to him. He had graduated the year before you, however he was destined to be the deputy the day that he was born. That's what he wanted. He wanted more power so that he could protect you more thoroughly. More up to the standard he'd ideally like to achieve.
Not that you necessarily needed protecting. You didn't, in fact. Everybody in Stark County adored you, you were the kindest thing anyone had ever met, but Roy and Gator both had skeletons in their closet. Shady characters from their shadier past that would stop at nothing to get under their skin, or to simply send a message.
When you closed your locker, you were greeted with Gator's face. He was holding the keys to the police cruiser. "Hi." You giggled, not expecting to see him. His hardened and stoic face softened ever so slightly when he heard your heaven-sent laugh.
"Ready ta go?" He asked, spinning the keys on his finger in an attempt to show off to you. You nodded, still grinning. No matter how rough around the edges Gator appeared, no matter how dark his eyes were, or how grumpy he looked, he was always cute to you. You had seen the real him. You had held him at 2:00am while he wept about something his father had done, cleaned his injured fists after yet another fight, even left food outside your bedroom window for him to take after an argument with Roy that had resulted in him not getting dinner. You knew him.
You gently patted his cheek, feeling your chest burst with affection for him. He grumbled something incoherent, and pulled your pink backpack off of your back as you started to walk, his reluctant and secret chivalry coming through for you in unspoken ways. It was just something that he did for you, and you didn't need to say anything about it. You were the only girl who had ever managed to get him to act somewhat like a gentleman.
He opened the cruiser door for you, and you hopped inside, taking your bag from him and settling it on your lap as the floor was filthy. "Thank you." You smiled, to which he just nodded in return. Then, Gator climbed into the driver's seat, and began the drive. Your intoxicating perfume filled the air, and Gator had to supress the urge to breathe deeply, inhaling as much of you as he possibly could.
When he stopped at a red light, he turned to face you, drinking in as much of your appearance as physically possible. Especially what you were wearing, a baby pink tank top with delicate white stripes, a lacy strip from your bra poking out on either side, a cute, thin cardigan only joined at the top, and some light jeans. Also, around your neck hung a dainty heart necklace. Gator's necklace. He had bought that for you.
He couldn't deny the possessiveness that swirled in his gut when he saw you wear that necklace every single day. An unassuming piece of jewelry, sure, but he had put that there. If a guy ever dared to look at you, his necklace hung around your neck, and there was nothing they could do to take away from this fact. You had never thought about it that way, but Gator had. He always did, whenever he saw it.
"What?" You asked, following his gaze up and down your body. The light turned green, and he continued to drive, reluctantly focussing his eyes back onto the road. Gator shrugged, playing it off smoothly. That was another thing he liked about you, how no matter what it was, you clung to his every word. He could tell you he wasn't staring at you, and you'd wholeheartedly believe him. Why would he lie?
"Nothin'." He supressed a grin, you were so cute sitting beside him, showing just enough skin to satisfy Gator's sick mind, while also keeping you looking innocent and comfortable, the perfect combination that had him feeling smug and secure, yet you seemingly managed it every day. "Ya look real pretty today." He grabbed your delicate hand, the juxtaposition of your soft, perfectly manicured fingers gently holding his calloused and rough ones never failing to amuse him. He actually liked that you would never know real, hard work.
He planted a surprisingly gentle kiss on your knuckles, before placing your hand snuggly back in your lap. "Gator..." You giggled again, shying away from his touch. "Behave yourself!" You grinned, looking at him trying to remain nonchalant, even though you knew how much you affected him, although you didn't know why.
"All I said was that ya look real pretty." He smirked, watching the way you seemingly came undone underneath his touch, and he'd be lying if he said the thought of his actions actually affecting you in such way didn't do anything for him. God, he was so in love with you, but you didn't need to know that. You didn't need to know about any of the ways that Gator thought about you.
"And you kissed my hand!" You exclaimed, your sweet laughs radiating off of the walls in the cruiser, a sound that Gator would never tire of hearing. Gator kept smirking, and he reached over and grabbed your hand from your lap, planting several kisses along your palm and the back of it while he drove, eliciting more laughter from you.
"What? Can't I kiss what's mine?" He asked, feigning disbelief. He loved watching any defenses that you had lower around him, and the way you completely melted under his touch. There was truly nobody else for him, even if you had rejected and friendzoned him more times than he could remember. Persistence is key, right?
"Oh, they're yours?" You questioned lightheartedly, grinning widely. Gator nodded, once again placing your hands snuggly back into your lap, making sure that you were completely comfortable before he even thought about replying to what you had said.
"They are." He confirmed, before parking outside of your house.
Your house was a small, unassuming house in a small neighborhood. The neighborhood that you lived in was quiet, but most importantly of all, it was safe. Roy Tillman was fond of your parents, and so he guided them to the best place to buy a house in the county, a home that just so happened to be a short drive from the ranch in case of emergency.
"Here we are," He sighed, reaching over and unbuckling your seatbelt. He hated having to let you go, you were safer tucked in his cruiser. He got out of the car and opened your door, allowing you to hop out with a smile. It wasn't that he was being a gentleman on purpose, he just didn't want you standing unattended while he got out of the car. Overbearing, but it made perfect sense to him.
"Thank you." You grinned, hugging him tightly, running your hands over his back, feeling the rough material of his sheriff's vest. He hugged you tightly, hands gripping your waist possessively, his entire body almost swallowing you whole due to the size difference, for you were just a tiny thing in his arms, and he liked it that way.
He swayed you side-to-side until you laughed, then pulled away and walked you to the front door, ringing the doorbell and waiting for your mother to answer. If she wasn't home, no way was he leaving you by yourself. This was your routine, and it had been for a very long time. Luckily, your mother quickly opened the door, smiling. "Hi, honey!" She hugged you tightly, ushering you inside. "Thank you for driving her home, sweetheart." She smiled at Gator, reaching out and squeezing his arm.
"No problem, ma'am." Gator smiled politely, the fake act making you smile. Your mother always fell for it, and thought that for the most part, Gator was a perfectly well-mannered young man. You didn't mind her assumptions, you never called Gator out on his act, and never corrected your mother when she spouted opinions on the version of Gator she knew, as it was completely harmless. Also, you didn't really know the half of it, you had a version of Gator that nobody else had.
"Are you coming in?" She smiled, stepping slightly out of the doorframe so that he could come inside if he'd like to. Gator wanted to, so badly. He wanted to curl up in bed with you and stroke down your back until you fell asleep, but he couldn't. He had to work.
"No, thank you, ma'am. I gotta go on patrol real soon." He replied, nodding slightly.
Eventually, Gator left and your mother closed the front door, turning to face you, you were still stood behind her. "How was your day, sweetie?" She asked, turning to walk to the kitchen, and you followed her, placing your backpack on the counter so that you could unpack it.
"It was fine." You shrugged, you really didn't have much to say about it. You missed Gator, and wished that he wasn't on patrol tonight, although you didn't think that saying that would contribute much to the conversation.
A couple of hours passed, and you had showered, eaten dinner, and were now sat at your vanity, part-way through an assignment for your creative writing class. You were bored, wondering if Gator was nearly done, and if he'd appear at your window soon. But you knew that he wouldn't. He worked long hours for the slight chance that his father would say something positive about it.
Your parents were out on a date, leaving you home alone. The wind whistled outside of your window, rustling through the leaves on the trees outside. The only other noises being the pen on your paper, and the faint music playing from your phone which had been discarded on your bed.
From downstairs, you heard the distant sound of glass shattering, and something hard hitting the wooden floors. You gasped quietly, turning around to face your bedroom door, waiting to hear if anything else was going on. When you heard quiet but firm footsteps, you dashed underneath your bed, grabbing your phone before you went.
You tucked the lacy dust ruffle down, pulling it over the gap so you were fully concealed, and you curled yourself into the fetal position, trying to make yourself as small and unassuming as possible. Your heart thumped rapidly in your chest, your head a swirling mixture of emotions. What the hell were you supposed to do?
Text Gator.
𓆩♡𓆪
Gator was sat in his police cruiser, parked in a shadow which concealed him from sight if you were driving down the main road. He was staring at his lock screen, a picture of you. It was from easter, you were holding a small, white bunny against your chest, and you were smiling brightly. You looked beautiful, wearing a little pink dress, your hair tied beautifully with a matching pink ribbon. It was one of his favourite pictures of you, and he loved to stare at it while he was bored on patrols, like right now.
Eventually, he shut it off and reluctantly shifted his eyes so that he was focussed on the road again, and remained that way for five long, boring minutes. That was until his phone started buzzing rapidly, notifications filling up his screen. Frantic notifications with your name attached to them.
He opened his messages instantly.
You: Gator someones in the house
You: They smashed a window I hear footsteps
You: Please please please come quick
You: Gator
He didn't even respond. He wasted no time, flooring the gas and speeding out of the patrol spot, putting his blue lights on immediately. His heart pounded, images of you being attacked assaulting his brain, distracting him from his main objective. He knew your parents were out tonight, leaving you home alone. He begged his father not to put him on patrol, insisting that he needed to be with you in case something happened.
Of course, he had been told that nothing was going to happen. You lived in a safe neighborhood, and nobody had any reason to attack you. Gator couldn't even enjoy the fact that he was right, and Roy was wrong, as bile slowly rose up his throat at the thought of you being injured and alone. How could he let this happen?
Gator zoomed through the traffic, weaving dangerously in between cars. He didn't care how much trouble he'd get in for it, he had to get to you, and he was too far away to relax somewhat at the thought that he was nearly there. Every single second was precious right now, and time was ticking far too quickly for Gator's liking.
Once he pulled into your neighborhood, he hit the gas pedal even harder, pushing the car to it's absolute limits. When he parked outside your house, he wasted no time running to the front door and kicking it as hard as he possibly could until the lock gave out, and it opened. Gun in hand, he shouted loudly into the darkness of the house, "Stark Country Sheriff's Department!"
Saying that usually gave him a rush of endorphins, pure power rushing to his head. But now, it felt hollow. If you were hurt, having a high position in the police force couldn't do anything for that. He had never been so terrified in his life, and he had been in some situations before.
He checked the downstairs, his heart beating so loudly at this point that he could hear it in his ears. He kept seeing images of you laying in a pool of your own blood, or restrained in the bath tub, a gun held to your head. He genuinely had no idea what to expect, any sense of composure completely thrown out of the window when it came to you, as he had never imagined you in this situation. He had always been promised you were protected and safe, and he had always believed it.
He climbed the stairs with haste, his gun held taut in front of him. "Y/N?" He called out, hearing silence in return. He had seen the smashed window when he was downstairs, so he obviously knew someone was in the house that wasn't supposed to be. In the shadows, he saw someone lurking, attempting to hide in the darkness.
Gator pointed his gun at them, and shouted "Get on the ground!"
Luckily, they didn't put up any fight and immediately put their hands where Gator could see them, and laid flat on the ground. Gator was quick to tighten handcuffs around his wrists, making sure they were extra tight. He wanted to cause this guy pain for what he had done, for scaring you, potentially hurting you. He didn't know what state you were in right now, you could be dead.
"I need backup-" He spoke into his radio, listing off your address to his father who had connected onto the other line. After hearing something that vaguely resembled 'On my way', Gator turned back to the man who he had on the ground.
"Are ya alone?" He spat, pressing the nozzle of his gun into the back of the man's head. When he didn't move, Gator pressed it harder, causing pain. "I said, are ya alone?!" He shouted, to which the man finally gave a timid nod. Gator slid the gun from the back of his head around to his temple, the firm pressure holding the man still so that he could readjust himself until he had a knee against his back, pinning him down.
"You touch 'er?" He spoke quietly, not fully trusting that he said he was alone. The man shook his head again. "Wha', cat got yer tongue?" Gator snarled, yet again applying more pressure with his gun.
"N- No..." The man whimpered pathetically, daring to act afraid after inflicting fear within the one girl Gator had sworn to protect. "I didn't touch her, man! I- I came for her- But, I couldn't find her!" He rambled, sweat dripping down his temple from pure fear. He obviosuly knew Gator Tillman, and he was suddenly questioning why he even bothered coming here in the first place, as it ending in this situation was inevitable.
"You came fer her?" Gator scoffed. "What kinda filthy business d'ya think ya have, hm?" He sneered, pushing his knee harder into the man's back until he let out a grunt from the impact.
"I saw her... at a bakery, a few weeks ago... She smiled at me..." His voice turned from fearful to almost wistful and dreamy. "I thought we had something special... I just came to get her, I was gonna take her to my house and keep her there, she'd be happy, I promise!" He insisted, sounding like he genuinely believed his own words.
Gator pressed his gun even harder, swallowing down the sickening feeling when he heard the words. He had to remind this man who was in control, and that he could blow his brains out at any second. "You're disgustin'-" He started, his voice full on venom, but he heard the distant sirens of the requested backup, and stopped talking instantly, waiting until he heard the rest of the cops climbing the stairs.
He handed the man over to his father, then went straight into your bedroom. "Y/N?" He called out, his voice surprisingly gentle. He looked around your bedroom, noting the discarded work on your vanity. He sighed, almost immediately knowing you were hiding under your bed. There was nowhere else for you to be.
He knelt down and lifted the dust ruffle. His heart broke when he saw you curled into a ball on the floor, shaking like a leaf. "Hey..." He spoke softly, reaching out to touch you, his hand hovering above your arm. "'T's just me, baby girl. Just me..." You nodded, crawling out from underneath the bed and sitting opposite him.
Gator immediately pulled you onto his lap, enclosing you securely in his arms. "I got ya, I got ya." He cooed, rocking you backwards and forwards. You clung to him like your life depended on it, clutching his sheriff's vest.
"Gator..." You whispered, your voice tearful and broken. "Did... did you get him?" You asked quietly, your voice nothing more than a meek whisper. Gator nodded fiercely, cupping your cheek to make you look at him.
"We got 'im, he's goin' away for a long time, baby girl." He whispered in your ear, still rocking you back and forth. He sat there like that with you for a while, until you both heard your parents come home, their voices frantic through the other noise of the conversation between the rest of the cops standing outside your bedroom.
The safest place for you was always going to be in Gator's arms. Always. There was never going to be a single person that could protect you or knew how to protect you other than Gator. He had extremely high safety standards when it came to you, and had always seen all of the ugly that happened in this town, and always swore he'd keep you safe from it.
No matter how much you clung to him, he felt like he had failed you.
author's note ; i'm trying out a new layout for my posts and a new style of writing, let me know if you like them, because i'm not sure how i feel ♡
If you need like maybe some smaller ideas what if Kurt gets sick? He’s never had anybody take care of him. His mom doesn’t really take care of him so he had to learn to take care of himself when he’s sick, but now that he lives with the reader, the reader has made it her mission to make sure that she takes care of him while he’s sick. And he’s never had somebody take care of him.
to be so lonely ꨄ︎
chapter twelve 𐙚
summary ; kurt gets the flu.
tags ; kurt kunkle x fem!reader, hurt/comfort, pathetic kurt, mentions of kurt's childhood, domestic fluff, tooth-rotting fluff.
word count ; 1,416
author's note ; thank you so much for your request angel! ♡ keep them coming!
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As the summer fades away, and the warm summer breeze turns into a cold chill, sunny Indiana turns into an explosion of autumnal colours.
Kurt woke up that morning excited to start editing his newest video. But he woke up feeling warm, too warm. Since you were tucked to his chest, his arms firmly around your waist, he just assumed that it was a warm fall day outside, and the room hadn't got much air flow that night.
But, his throat was dry, so no matter how peaceful the bubble you two were in was, and no matter how much it killed him to leave, he carefully peeled your body off of his, making sure you stayed sound asleep.
The first sip of water was when he knew something was wrong. His throat was sore, the first sign that tomorrow, he would wake up with a stuffy nose. Dread quickly filled him, he hated being sick.
Nobody liked being sick, but Kurt's situation was different. His mother stayed away from him when he had the flu, not wanting to get herself sick. He had to go to the pharmacy himself, guessing which medicine to buy. They were too expensive, and he didn't know what he was looking for because nobody had ever told him.
He had to heat himself up cheap, tinned soup, and try to regulate his body temperature that kept flipping from freezing cold to boiling hot. Nobody had ever taught him how to make himself better, and Kurt never knew how to go about learning, so he just suffered until his body fought it.
Kurt spent the rest of the day on edge, dreading having to go to sleep because waking up meant dealing with this himself. You weren't going to help him, why would you? Nobody else had.
Admittedly, he'd been a bit snippy today. He wouldn't tell you what he wanted for lunch, he didn't care. He poked his dinner and barely ate anything, and you had wondered if you did something wrong.
Later that night, you approached him while he watched TV.
"You gonna keep sulking or you gonna tell me what's wrong?" You asked, sitting beside him on the couch.
"Nothing's wrong..." He mumbled, not taking his eyes off of the screen.
"Have I done something?"
"No."
"Okay... Um... Do you want a cookie?"
"No."
"Cake?"
"No."
"Ice cream?"
"No." He paused for a second, ice cream would help his throat. "Actually, yeah."
"Great, it's in the freezer."
Kurt rolled his eyes, unable to fight back the smirk. He was grumpy but he still loved you. You went into the kitchen, smiling too, and brought him a bowl of vanilla ice cream, his favourite, because it reminded him of your vanilla cashmere lotion.
"Here, lazy." You handed the bowl to him.
"Thanks."
"Now I've brought you that, you have to tell me what's the matter."
"Nothing. Just didn't sleep well."
"That's why you've been mean to me all day?"
"I haven't been mean to you." He paused, before continuing, "I just-" Don't want you to get sick... He thought, but he couldn't say that. If he did, he'd have to face the reality that you wouldn't take care of him sooner rather than later.
"Just what?" You asked.
"I'm just tired."
Kurt continued to quietly watch TV for the rest of the evening, every swallow of the ice cream both soothing this throat and reminding him of what was to come, both the sickness and abandoment.
The next morning, he woke up, and couldn't breathe. His nose was blocked, his head was pounding, he was both sweating and shivering, and his skin felt sore and sensitive.
You weren't in bed, but he could smell bacon, so he ventured into the kitchen where he saw you cooking.
"Afternoon, sleepyhead."
"What?" He asked, rubbing his eyes. It was too bright in here.
"It's past noon, honey." You turned around, holding a bacon sandwich on a plate. "Was cooking this for you, gonna wake you up with it."
You noticed Kurt's sweat soaked shirt, his dark eyes, and messy hair. "You feeling okay?" You asked your voice soft.
Kurt nodded and took the plate from you, but you raised an eyebrow at him.
"Are you sick?" You asked, putting a hand over his forehead, he was burning up.
"It's okay. It doesn't matter." He mumbled in between bites, he couldn't taste anything.
"Oh, baby. Finish that and go back to bed..."
He looked at you, confused. Why did you care?
You went into the bedroom and opened the windows wide, letting in plenty of fresh air. You made the bed, folding the comforter over at the top to allow the sheets to cool before Kurt got back into them. Finally, you switched on your fan and aimed it at his pillow.
Kurt shuffled in, his shirt off and slung over his shoulder. "Gonna take a shower."
"Okay, honey. You want me to come with you?" You asked, your voice still soft.
He looked surprised for a second, before replying, "Don't wanna get you sick."
You tilted your head, you didn't care if you got sick. You took his hand, and lead him into the bathroom, switching the water on.
"Get in." You urged, watching him peel the rest of his clothes off and throw them into the laundry basket.
You switched the water to the lukewarm, so it wasn't freezing, but he didn't need to be any warmer and it would help him cool down. Kurt sighed with relief, allowing it to run over his whole body.
You didn't undress, instead stepping into the space where the shower head didn't spray. You washed his hair and his body, and he leaned into you, allowing himself to be taken care of for once. Only a matter of time before you left him to figure it out himself, anyway.
Once he got out, he sat on the bed while you got out some clothes for him, just some sweatpants and boxers, as he'd be too warm in a shirt.
"Thanks." He mumbled, getting dressed and into the cold bed.
"I'm gonna run to the store and get you some medicine... Do you want anything else?" You asked, perching on the end of the bed and scratching his head gently.
He shook his head, leaning into your touch.
"I won't be long, baby." You leaned over and kissed his temple, before heading out to the store.
You knew that this obviously ran deeper than 'not wanting to get you sick', and you had a general idea that he probably never had anyone to take care of him, and based on the look he gave you when you offered to shower with him, you knew you were right.
You decided you were going to make him feel so loved today. At the pharmacy, you bought him medicine, and then headed to the grocery store where you got some soup, some honey, Kurt's favourite chips, and some teabags.
"I'm home!" You called out, putting your purse down, along with the grocery bags, before going into the bedroom. "Hi, baby." You spoke softly, Kurt was on the bed, curled up under the blankets.
"Hey." He mumbled, putting his phone down.
"How you feeling?" You perched on the edge again, feeling his forehead. He had definitely cooled down from earlier.
"Terrible."
"I got you some medicine... some soup for dinner... and some tea."
Kurt didn't react for a second, but when he did, he looked confused. "Why?"
"What do you mean 'why'? You're sick, baby."
"You're taking care of me?" He asked, his voice quiet and thick with emotion.
You nodded, understanding all at once. "Yeah, I am."
"I love you." He whispered.
"I love you too." You smiled. "I'll go and make you some tea, it'll be good for your throat."
Kurt nodded, and you went into the kitchen. You made the tea, and stirred some honey into it, before going back to the bedroom and handing it to him.
He sipped it slowly, and for a couple of hours, you just sat next to him, scratching his scalp while he watched videos on his phone, handing him a tissue whenever he started sniffling.
By the end of the day, Kurt finished his soup, and dozed off quickly. The sickness had exhausted him, but he fell asleep surrounded by so much love, and the feeling of your fingernails trailing up and down his back.
He hadn't known what it felt like to be looked after when he was sick, but now he knew that it was extremely intimate, and that he got emotional if he thought about it for too long.
Whenever you allowed him to replace bad memories from his upbringing with memories full of softness, intimacy, and love, he knew even more that he wanted to be with you forever. He was going to repay the favour one day.
tags ; steve harrington x fem!reader, no use of y/n, fluff.
word count ; 721
Steve Harrington stared at the bouquet of pink roses which were currently burning a hole in his locker. His heart was in his throat, his palms clammy. This was it. The year he was finally going to ask his best friend to be his valentine.
With a shaky hand, he moved the love letter from his backpack and tucked it delicately into the bouquet. An evening's work, his heart and soul had been poured into the paper, now all he had to do was give it to you.
After the letter was comfortably sitting in it's bed of petals, his hand wrapped around the necklace box, moving it into his locker too. The precious gold chain inside was adorned with a dainty heart pendant, and it certainly hadn't come cheap, but only the best for you. The thought of getting a mediocre gift hadn't sat right with him.
He had done this routine consistently, but the additional gifts was something completely new. For the past couple of years, Steve had bought the most beautiful bouquet he could find, and stashed it in his locker, waiting for the perfect moment, and once that moment arrived... He'd completely chicken out, and watch as you'd slip away.
Like clockwork, you came over to him, smiley as always. "Hey, Steve. Happy Valentine's day." You grinned, but he was awestruck. Your hair was curled, a dainty pink bow sitting in the back, peeking at him.
He swallowed thickly, regaining his composure at the sight of your pretty face. "Happy Valentine's Day." He smiled, his eyes not-so-subtly roaming you up and down, he couldn't help it. "Hey, uh- you got plans tonight?" He asked, feeling his face burn red. This wasn't the smooth, romantic gesture he had in mind.
You smiled, tapping your chin playfully, pretending to think. "Hmm... Maybe." You grinned, Steve just gave you a strained smile and looked at the ground for a second, before his eyes flickered into his locker, locking on the flowers. "Why?" You pressed, "Thinking of asking me out? I'm flattered-"
"Yes." Steve interrupted, his hand reaching up and enclosing around the bouquet. "I-" He slowly brought the bouquet down and into your sight, holding it between the two of you. "I'm asking you out. To... be my valentine?" He paused for a split second, watching the thoughts rush through your pretty brain. "Will you be my valentine?"
"Steve..." You whispered, a smile slowly growing on your face, your eyes roaming over the pretty pink petals and the envelope nestled in them. You just nodded, lost for words.
He smiled widely, pressing the bouquet into your chest. "Seriously?" He asked, electricity shooting through his hand and straight into his heart when your fingers brushed his to take the bouquet.
"Seriously."
𓆩♡𓆪
You sit at your vanity, your bedroom bathed in orange candlelight. Your hair has been carefully rolled into pink rollers, and you paint your pretty eyelashes with mascara. The bouquet sits in a vase on your bedside table, the envelope which was still sealed tucked safely in the drawer. Steve had instructed very clearly not to open it until after the date.
You carefully set down the mascara, and exhale, picking up the tube of glittery pink lipgloss, gliding it smoothly over your plump lips. Your eyes flicker to the clock on your bedside table, 6:41pm... You had exactly nineteen minutes before Steve Harrington would come knocking for you.
You focus your attention to the rollers in your hair, the clock ticking behind you, a steady reminder of what tonight was about to bring. You unravel each one carefully, brushing out the princess curls until they lay perfectly down your back.
You stand up from the vanity when you hear the doorbell, quickly grabbing your pretty pink kitten heels and slinging them on.
You walk to the front door, and open it carefully, butterflies swarming your stomach when you see Steve standing there. He was wearing a light blue button-down shirt, holding yet another bouquet of pink roses.
His eyes widened slightly, and flickered over your body, taking in how you seemed to be dressed up just for him. "Wow." He exhaled, lightly pushing the flowers into your chest. His mouth was dry, and a smile worked it's way onto his face.
"Um... Shall we go?" He asked, suddenly having turned quite shy. You just nodded, holding the bouquet and stepping out of your house.
