reallykaz

[reallykaz]

yeah wow this is PERFECTION ✨

ᯓᡣ𐭩 mr. fix it | yeon sieun

pairing: yeon sieun x afab!reader (weak hero)

synopsis: yeon sieun was notoriously known as your program’s tech handyman. when he wasn’t hunched over calculus problem sets, sieun was busy fixing his peers' laptops, for a price of course—one that was nonexistent for you because you seemed to make his software hard.

genre: another smutty university au

word count: 6.9k

warnings: [MDNI!] explicit sexual content, grinding, making out, oral (f rec.), pussydrunk!sieun, piv sex, protected sex, many consent checks, sieun is so so gone for you, you are literally his pretty little angel, if devotion was a person it would be him, sieun can’t figure out his goddamn integral

reader notes: written with afab reader in mind. reader has breasts and a vagina. reader is described to look ‘small’ at one point. all characters are consenting and over 18 yo.

this fic was requested – thank you so much, i loved coming up with the concept .ᐟ

۶ৎ  𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒  ࿐ park jihoon uggghhhh need need need him. had the most exquisite time picking out the concept pictures.

“You broke it again?”

  His voice sounds flat, but there's a tinge of hope, a sense of subdued anticipation perking his last few syllables.

  Sieun stares at the half-solved integral on his desk, phone pressed to his cheek, screen cold against his skin, fingers loosely gripping the sides. The warm glow of his lamp casts a nimbus over the mess made of a barely punched in calculation and his calculus textbook, pages worn from flipping back and forth between the chapter problem sets and appendix answers. Outside his window, the campus sky is dim, too gray for six in the evening.

  “I didn’t break it!” Your voice crackles through the line, scratchy with frustration. Sieun can hear your breath over the receiver, rough and rushed.

  “It just won’t turn on,” you continue, “I don’t know what happened. I just opened my tabs, and then—dead.” 

  He exhales. “And you tried plugging it in?”

  “Yes, Sieun. I tried everything you taught me—nothing worked,” you huff, “I have an essay due Monday, and everything I need to write it is on this damn laptop.”

  You sound slightly breathless, your voice hoarse with the kind of air that clings to lungs on chilly evenings. Wind rushes past the speaker, muddling your words with static. Sieun’s ears pick up on this.

  “Where are you,” he asks, dull, but more abrupt than intended.

  You’re silent for a few beats.

  “Outside.” Another gust of wind bleeds through the receiver.

  He feels the warmth of perspiration prick across his palms. “Where?”

  The brisk, hollow rustle of plastic, and then, “Walking to your dorm.”

  Sieun feels his breath dissipate in the back of his throat.

  “I’m sorry,” you start. Sieun squeezes his eyes upon hearing these words in your soundwaves, words he thought were too unnecessary when masked in your voice.

  “I saw the forecast, there’s going to be rain—shoot, I forgot my umbrella, I knew I was forgetting something—anyways, I figured I'd head over to yours before it hit,” there’s an unmistakable sincerity in your voice, “I really need you right now, Sieun.”

  Need to murder him, he thought. Clearly, that was more fitting for the illusive objective of your last sentence, one that roused his hand to the back of his neck, called his fingers to smooth over his golden skin, wailed for them to curl against his flesh in hopes of helping him get a grip of himself. Literally.

  He sighs, half flustered, half enlivened. “You’ll be here soon?”

  “Yeah, just five minutes more.”

  There’s a pause. “Okay.”

  A quick exhale breaks past your lips, a restrained puff of air that had been trapped in the back of your throat, waiting for a green light to let it loose. “Thank you, Sieun.”

  He can still feel the ghost of icy plastic against his cheek when you cut the call. Unfocused eyes cloud over the sheets and pens and smudged writing lazing atop his desk.

  Of course. 

  Of course you’re coming over. Because why wouldn’t you? Your laptop’s dead, and he’s the tech guy, and this is just what happens. He fixes things.

  And right now, you need him to fix your things. He couldn’t help but feel his heart jump at the idea, an eagerness creeping into his chest, fogging up his lungs and grabbing hold of the air that dared to escape up his trachea.

  Sieun, as cold as he seemed, felt warmth fixing your things, like he’d swallowed the sun and it dissolved into his blood. Unlike the peers on your campus, he does it for you free-of-charge—hell, he thinks he’d pay you just to let him fidget around with your laptop’s battery that burns to touch or the program functions you can’t seem to figure out even after using the ‘help’ tab. He’d never admit to it though.

  Not yet, at least.

  His eyes flicker to the unfinished problem adorning his notebook, numbers and symbols half-formed, abandoned mid-line. The solution sits just out of reach.

  Much like you.

  His unfinished integral mocks him.

  Your cheeks are flushed, supple and radiant, the dermal symptom of cool drizzle and dewy autumn air. Sieun’s eyes surf the strands of your hair, glinting from subtle rain droplets that catch even in the dim fluorescent light of his dorm hallway.

  You look small like this in his doorway, backpack straps sagging over your shoulders, your sweater sporting little wet spots that are sure to smell like petrichor. Your hands tightly clutch a white plastic bag to your abdomen, the vertices of a cardboard box poking out at him.

  You smile at him, small and sweet and a little flustered. “There was some drizzle when I turned onto your lane.”

  Sieun’s gaze, currently traveling across the ridges tenting your plastic bag, snaps to your face.

  “Oh.” It’s a soft expression, a barely-there phoneme he manages through concern for you—how dare the clouds cry over your angel face?—and some muffled curiosity.

  Sieun just can’t help the fall of his gaze. He stares blankly at the bag in your hands. He’s not surprised when you take notice.

  “It’s brownie mix!”

  He peers at you again.

  “Brownies?”

  You grin sheepishly, fiddling with the plastic handles. “Yeah, I thought, well– you work so hard, you deserve a fun break, one you can get a sweet treat out of!” You pause. “And, I guess it’s also thanks for my laptop. You’ve saved me a lot of money I already don’t have, more than once now.”

  He’s still staring at you, face blank, unreadable, lips sealed in a line, but his eyes gleamed. Whether it was annoyance or humour, you weren’t sure, but his dreamy, tired eyes gleamed.

  Your eyes go wide. “Oh gosh, I should’ve asked you if brownies were okay. They looked so good on the box, I just had to pick them up. You could be allergic to chocolate, or maybe you don’t even like brownies–”

  “Brownies are cool.”

  Sieun watches your lips halt their rambling, configured mid-sentence, before they slowly spread into a toothy grin, one that radiates a warm feeling into his bones and almost—almost—makes his lip twitch up to match yours.

  All you needed to do was force start.

  That’s all.

  No hardware to trifle with, no delinquent software meddling with your computer programs.

  All Sieun had to do was press a couple buttons in tandem before your screen lit back up to life, resurrected from its cry of wolf.

  Your cheeks had heated, bashful from your ignorance, but also a little humoured.

  They blazed further when you caught sight of the calculus massacre on his desk, hurried apologies spilling past your pretty lips to wash out the guilt that crawled up your chest.

  Sieun reassured you all was well—It’s fine, I was almost done anyways—with a look in his eyes that had you capitulating to his sincerity.

  “Can I repay you with brownies?” you had prompted, fingers twiddling behind your back as if it would have subliminally helped rouse the answer you sought after.

  Sieun slowly flattened your laptop to a shut before his Bambi eyes peaked at you and whispered exactly what you needed to know, exactly what you wanted to hear.

  So, you’d both clambered in his tiny, cozy dorm kitchen, ingredients and bowls and utensils scattered across granite, instructions serenading the walls in your voice, Sieun’s hands working to mix the dark sea of cocoa batter.

  You had assumed the role of a conductor but managed to pull a mess over you like a magnet. Whatever hadn’t been mixed into the warm batch of brownies basking atop Sieun’s countertop had found consolation on your being—cocoa powder and melted butter and drying batter decorated your skin and sweater.

  Sieun thought it was the cutest thing he’d ever seen.

  Of course, Sieun had missed any defiant ingredient attacks entirely.

  You’d both picked up a piece each, melted chocolate furnishing your mouths while Sieun, starry-eyed and attentive, listened to you babble about your stress baking and how, no matter the many times you made something, you’d always be left with a bit of a messy souvenir from the process.

  It was during this instance when the rain had hit.

  Hard and harsh and pattering ferociously against the window of his measly living room. You and Sieun had snapped your heads at the sound, sticky embellishments of chocolate coating your fingers.

  You’d looked so worried, so consumed in the thought of how you’d walk home through what was practically a typhoon. You hadn’t checked for a storm warning, all you’d known was a chance of rain. Your umbrella wouldn’t have stood a chance.

  You’d looked so worried, so it felt almost natural when Sieun suggested you just stay over.

  “...Really?” Your eyes were breaking past their sockets, and Sieun had nerely felt the weight of his words crash over him until your orbs softened and he saw the ghost of a smirk brush past your lips.

  “Yeah, you can’t get home through that,” his voice had been tinged with his radiation of care for you. His eyes swept over your chocolate-covered frame. “You can use my shower if you want. I’ll give you some clean clothes to wear.”

  You’d obliged. Quite happily.

  And now, Sieun sat at his desk, unfinished integral staring up at him, the muted sound of his shower silking through the wall, almost louder than the merciless storm outside his window. 

  Sieun hadn’t touched his sheets or pens since he’d retreated to his room, changed into his own set of nightwear, and lowered himself into his desk chair. He couldn’t focus.

  How could he? When you were just a dozen feet away, naked and wet under the rush of his shower.

  He knew he shouldn’t think about it, begged himself not to, but when his mind slipped over the way you had chocolate powder flowering your neck and underneath your sweater, he couldn’t help but let his mind run, just a little.

  Run over the way your fingers probably tucked under the bottom of your sweater, dragging it up along your beautiful body and over your head. What had you worn underneath? Had you even worn anything? 

  In Sieun’s little fantasy, you hadn’t. You’d been bare for him under your clothes, and he’d been ready, quick to ravish you, to kiss and suck and bite at your warm skin.

  But, that was just a fantasy.

  In reality, it didn’t matter whether or not you’d worn anything underneath your sweater. Sieun had just helped you out, made things a little easier for you, eased your anxiety by offering an innocent sleepover so you wouldn’t have to sacrifice yourself to what was the making of an ocean outside his dorm.

  It didn’t matter, just like his integral, still unfinished. Deferred. Mocking.

  The blood had barely made it to his cock before it was rushing back to his brain.

  A couple minutes more of unsuccessfully undressing the math symbols littering his half-blank page and you were padding your way into his room, feet bare, heels marginally lifted off the cold floor of his dorm. Your clothes were folded, carried atop your forearms, and your cute body was swallowed in his t-shirt and shorts, sleeves too long, neck hole too wide, fabric swaying just over your knees with each of your scampered steps.

  You gaze at Sieun from the edge of his bed, clothes now tucked away in your backpack, the hem of his shirt twirling in your fingers. 

  God, Sieun thought you looked ethereal, bare-faced and in his clothes. The warm, mellow glow of his desk lamp illuminates your face like a halo. Your sweet angel eyes are drowning him far past the storm outside.

  Sweet oblivious angel eyes. If only they could see the mess he’d made of you in his head.

  “Are you ready to sleep, or do you want to study some more?” Your voice is so soft, so melodious bouncing within the confines of his skull, and your eyes twinkle just right, brightened from his lamp and the mere cast of moonlight simmering through his window.

  “I’m done,” Sieun starts, “You take the bed. I’m going to sleep in the living room.”

  He’s about to push himself up when you cross your cute arms, defiant and determined. He watches your eyes narrow, eyebrows dip with a scrunch.

  “Absolutely not!” you chide, your squint piercing. Sieun stares, half stood. He sits back down.

  “It’s not fair to you! I showed up, practically unannounced, had you press a couple buttons on my laptop because I was too incompetent to figure it out myself, then made you make brownies with me against your will since you don’t take any economic compensation! And I know you’re not done with your problem set, I can see it from here. It’s exactly how you left it before we made those godforsaken brownies! I completely butted into your evening and messed up your studying, so you best believe you’ll be sleeping in your own bed and getting a good night’s rest!”

  You puff at the end, like you’d said it in one breath, forearms glued to each other, fingers digging into your biceps.

  Sieun is still staring at you, face blank, eyes gentle.

  “You’re not incompetent.”

  You blink.

  “That’s not the point, Sieun.” You huff, pointing to his blankets. 

  “Now, get to bed.”

  His eyes flick, your attention on his bed now shared. There’s an ease in the air, one that helps to hoist Sieun from his desk chair, click his lamp off, and carry himself over to the side of his bed. He lifts the corner of his duvet, slides underneath, and lets it fall over him. All without a peep.

  His eyes scan to your frame, still at the edge of his bed, still in his too-baggy clothes, still looking too ethereal for him to indulge below the moonlight’s gaze, even in your quarrelsome stance.

  You stare back at him.

  “Okay… good.” You sound stifled, almost suspicious of his obedience.

  Your arms unclasp, a little dazed at how fast he’d listened to you. With a hesitant scratch to your neck, you shuffle to what would be your side of Sieun’s bed, just for tonight.

  Even though Sieun wishes it could be a less transient arrangement.

  But he was doing this to help you. 

  Afterall, you’d looked so worried.

  Sieun watches your warm body roll onto his mattress, feels it dip with your added weight from across. You shamble to face him, the duvet bunching in your hands, a relaxed, content tilt gracing your lips. Your cheek presses against the pillow, eyes squinting with warmth and kindness and gratitude and what Sieun could describe as a fatally contagious ray of tranquility.

  You look so sweet like this, cuddled into his bed in clothes—his clothes—that swallow your body whole. The rain had slowed, granting permission to an even larger crowd of moonlight to flow over your face.

  Sieun thought you were unreal, a mythical being from a dreamy world far beyond the current celestial limits.

  A mythical being who saw him only for his technological abilities.

  You were only here for tonight. Sieun was just helping you.

  Because you had looked so worried.

  So, he rolls onto his side, nearing the edge of the bed, hands tittering close to an abyss.

  “Goodnight,” he grumbles. He doesn’t bother to pull the duvet to his front, lets it hang just over his side, as if any extra movement would make him appear more visible to you.

  You gape at his back.

  “Sieun!”

  Sieun closes his eyes. Perhaps the world around him wouldn’t see him if he couldn’t see the world.

  You puff, a frustrated push of air that has Sieun squinting his eyes shut further. He feels the duvet minutely ruffle behind him, feels the dip of the mattress sink gradually.

  “I don’t get it, are you actually upset?” Although you were quiet, you sounded so disgruntled, confused. Sieun could only wish he was better at this so he wouldn’t have to bear your honey-like voice convey such emotion, like thrones stuck in a cloud.

  But, Sieun was Sieun. A man of minimal words who spoke the truth and nothing but—until now.

  “No, just trying to get a good night’s rest.” Just trying to keep my mind off you, so close, for just one night.

  “Ugh! Will you just turn around so I can talk to you?”

  Your hand reaches out and grips the collar of Sieun’s shirt, a tight grip pulling him towards you, a gentle grip to avoid attempted murder.

  His eyes pop open, a hand catching onto the taut fabric around his neck. If there was the slightest chance Sieun’s conscious was to succumb to strangulation tonight, he thinks he’d only remember the warmth of your fingers fogging over the back of his neck.

  Sieun yields to your force, falling onto his back. Why are you so damn strong?

  With a hatch of his neck, his eyes find yours in the dark room, the patch of moonlight from his window dimmed from the roar of thunder and familiar strikes of heavy droplets against the glass.

  There’s light provocation simmering through your face, playful like a child in a game of tag.

  “Talk about what?” His voice is quiet but firm, his body a statue sandwiched between the mattress and sheets, daring not to move a millimeter.

  You peer at him, words hanging along the tip of your tongue, as if debating whether they were worth speaking into the medium shared between your beings.

  You decide they are.

  “I know you take a fee from others when you fix their laptops.” There’s a quirk in his neck, a twitch at the corner of his lips that urges you further. “You’ve never taken one from me, even when I mention it. Why is that?”

  Sieun feels a gradual quickening of his heartbeat at this concoction of your voice, and, like the start of a tornado, the thoughts in his head rampage into a whirlwind.

  To be or not to be? Sieun, who previously seemed to lack any cognitive resources to solve his monster integral, was now calculating his next move with rigorous intricacy.

  Maybe it was the kick in adrenaline that had him instigating your little game.

  Sieun chose to be.

  “Why do you think?”

  Your eyes narrow in an instant, the entire play a chain reaction. Were you also debating your next actions, words? Were you also aware of the string snapping taut between you, tense and nearing a strong, sudden tear?

  Sieun definitely was. Like always, he knew what he was getting himself into, knew he was igniting something far beyond repair, unlike the many laptops he’d resurrected.

  Sieun knew what he’d started. He’d calculated it, perhaps from the very beginning, from the moment he uttered the word “stay.”

  He was just helping you, for one night. Just one night.

  You’d looked so worried, of course.

  Perhaps Sieun had wanted your eyebrows to furrow from another force of nature—him.

  Say something.

  A quirk to your lips. Dark shadows in your eyes.

  And a hand reaching out for his neck, this time to pull him to the plushest centre of your visage.

  His lips graze the fullness of yours when you whisper in a breath.

  “I knew to force start.”

  Sieun isn’t spared a chance to retaliate his sockets stretching back when you press into him.

  The dense pressure molds his own lips flush against yours, an electric fog swarming your face and down the flanks of your neck.

  It’s a reflex, an abrupt, consuming, greedy reflex, when his arm curls over your back, big hand hastily grazing along your spine to knot into your hair.

  Had Sieun fallen asleep?

  This has to be a dream.

  But your lips were too soft against his, too warm.

  And your back curved so well along his forearm, strands so luxurious curled around his fingers.

  Your hand on his chest, basking down his torso… Sieun believes he doesn’t possess even a speckle of the imagination required to muster a feeling as heavenly as that.

  Definitely not enough to muster a feeling as heavenly as your hand sliding over him through his thin flannel pajamas.

  You were a fallen angel who had come to play unsacred games.

  And Sieun proved to be a worthy opponent.

  His fingers grip around the base of your skull to pull you from his lips.

  His eyes are heavy with a murmur of inquisition, flitting over your lips before boring into your own with words unspoken. You mirror his gaze with equal weight, savouring his quiet inhale when you push further down over his hardening curve, feathering your hand up to rest against the supple part of his abdomen.

  “You know where this is going.” It was a statement, a quiet, breathless, almost restrained mutter carrying all the responsibility and uncertainty and anticipation littered within Sieun.

  You gaze, knowing, unbothered.

  “This is what you want? This is what you came for?”

  “Yes,” you whisper, “Take it as part of my thanks.”

  “I thought the brownies were your thanks.”

  You smirk. “That was just the appetizer.”

  Sieun scoffs quietly, a humble pfft to accompany the fingers gently rubbing over the bottom of your scalp, a means of easing into his next utterance.

  You were drowning in his milk chocolate orbs, a velvety sea full of nothing but care and adoration and awe for you.

  “Are you sure you want to go further?” Any quieter and the storm battering upon his window would have drowned his sound completely.

  “Yes, Sieun.”

  That was everything he needed to hear.

  A gentle push to your neck has your lips pressing back into the plushness of his own.

  It’s a slow kiss, chaste but blazing with the need you’d both been bearing for months. You move against the other, the ghost of anticipation urging you further into it.

  Sieun definitely is not dreaming.

  All his prior frustration, graced from his still unsolved practice set and the many long, agonizing weeks of indirect contact with you, melts away, leaving a tender warmth to dry in its place. Your lips feel as soft as—no, they were softer, so much softer, and warm like sun rays on cold skin—the many times he’d imagined the ghost of them wisping against his.

  A transient ghost, barely lasting a mere tortuous ten seconds. He’d stop himself from savouring it, pry the ghost away before his hopes shot higher than the sky above him.

  But now, you were here, tangible, with your mortal lips on his. They were so supple, so plush and warm and real. And they were flush against his. No one else but him.

  Sieun had spent so long denying your fabricated being, the one who would distract him from his problem sets, urge him to isolate from the many gadgets his peers would throw his way in times of technological misfortune.

  Sieun decided it was finally time to show you what your ghost had been doing to him.

  He sucks in your bottom lip, hands grazing over your hips to pull you over his growing hardness with a delicate hold, treating your vessel like original vintage artwork. Fragile. Authentic. Godly.

  The duvet shifts against your back while you shift over him, the core of your heat finding solace over his own. The hem of his borrowed t-shirt rides up your torso like it knows what’s coming.

  It’s an abrupt, consuming, visceral feeling when you first connect with the stiff rod bulging against the stressed material of Sieun’s pajamas.

  It’s the same for Sieun, so when a small groan muses from the depths of his throat at the feeling of your heat radiating along his length, he remains basking in its aftermath.

  Lips still working into each other, you almost don’t acknowledge the slow, tantalizing roll of your hips.

  Sieun does, and it drives him crazy.

  Sieun, who was always so cool, composed, and distant was now growing hot and undone, all while pressing himself further into you, meeting you at an undefined middle, ridding any and all separation from your heating bodies from the insufferable vexation of need.

  His hands knead into your hips, bearing your heat further along him, before they configure to push himself up while embracing you flush against his chest.

  You’re consuming him, physically and mentally. Your lips on his, your body wrapped tightly around his own, hot cunt slowly grinding over the hard curve of his cock, a barrier of too much fabric plastered between your beings and pushing you both into frustrated desperation.

  Your name, your scent, the suppleness of your skin, they all fog his head, conquer it with the ghost of you.

  Both your mortal and immortal forms had possessed him, consumed him whole until he was nothing but a spec of utter devotion to you and you only.

  Your hips grind again, slow, sinful, and Sieun’s breath stutters against your mouth.

  You feel the shiver that rebounds through him like a tremor, feel the tight grip of his hands at your waist falter before steadying again, tighter this time, as if he needs to anchor you, or maybe himself.

  His lips leave yours only to trail hot, desperate, open-mouthed kisses along your jaw, your neck, your crescent of skin beyond the shirt’s collar, the devotion in each press of his mouth turning you molten.

  “You feel…” he murmurs, barely audible, like he’s speaking to himself, “…too good. Too good to be real.”

  You tilt your hips forward again, slower, answering him with equal desperation, and Sieun’s head tips back, a ragged exhale pulling from his throat. The sight strikes you—his lashes trembling, his brows knit together in pleasure so raw it borders on pain. He looks ruined.

  Kiss-swollen lips and flushed cheeks, shades of pink colonizing his visage in the shower of eventide luminosity.

  You don’t realize you’ve gasped until his gaze finds you again, pupils blown wide and gleaming with disbelief. His thumbs rub along your hip bones, a fragrant sensation even through the fabric of his shorts you adorned.

  Your hands glide under his shirt, pushing up until he’s reaching for the edge himself, prying the shirt past his head and letting the fabric fall to the cold hardwood beneath his bed.

  His hands slip beneath the hem of your own, and his touch is hesitant, wavering, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he reaches too far.

  “Can I…?” he asks, voice husky and threadbare, already tugging at the fabric.

  You nod. His hands glide up, slow and reverent, brushing over the curves and valleys he’s only ever imagined, each touch leaving heat in its wake. 

  He drinks in the sight of you like he’s been thirst-starved for days, gentle eyes falling over your face and down to your taut peaks. You weren’t a ghost anymore—you were a dream, glowing and radiant beneath the muted haze of damp moonlight.

  And when your bare chest presses to his, skin to skin, nothing between you but the thundering pace of your hearts, Sieun chokes out a soft, desperate moan.

  The ghost of you has vanished.

  What remains is you—real and soft and warm and all his.

  And he’s no longer a boy haunted by longing. He’s a man who’s finally allowed to feel.

  Your fingers find the nape of his neck, weaving into the soft strands of his hair, and the sound he lets out—broken, hushed, completely unguarded—settles somewhere deep in your chest.

  Sieun’s lips return to yours with more urgency now, less caution, the kind that only comes when desire and restraint blur into the same overwhelming thing. His tongue traces your bottom lip before slipping inside, gentle, exploratory, worshipping, like he’s memorizing you.

  Every movement of his hips under you is hesitant but needy, as if he’s still trying to slow himself down, still trying to process that you’re not slipping away.

  “You’re driving me insane,” he whispers against your mouth, voice hoarse and cracking like lightning behind the storm-glassed windows.

  He kisses you again, softer now, almost like an apology for how his hands are now gripping at the swell of your thighs with mounting desperation.

  Then, with a breath that shakes against your lips, Sieun pulls back. Only just.

  “Lie back,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with something you’ve never heard from him before. Anticipation, maybe. Hunger, definitely.

  You do, painfully unlatching from his warmth and sinking into the pillow behind you.

  Sieun follows, crawling down the length of your body like a man crossing sacred ground, his drowsy gaze never leaving you. It lingers on the slope of your neck, the lines of your collarbone, the tender stretch of skin bare to the cool air of his bedroom. Each inch he memorizes like scripture, utterly fascinated and unspeakably enamoured.

  “You’re…” he begins, almost too quiet to even comprehend, but trails off, like no word quite fits what you are to him.

  And then you see it. The way adoration turns to ache.

  A valley of creases between his brows, a marginal slit parting his pout, the quickened wisps of air trailing out of him. He’s wrecked, far past.

  And you had barely touched him.

  Sieun’s hands slide up your thighs, calloused fingertips brushing along the waistband of the very shorts he lent you, the ones riding too low on your hips, the ones he's dreamed about you in far too many nights to count.

  He kisses the inside of your knee.

  Then your thigh.

  Then the soft dip just above your hip bone.

  His hands move, thumbs hooking into the waistband. There’s a beat—one last, wordless check—and then he draws them down.

  And stops breathing.

  You’re bare beneath them. No panties. Just slick, glistening proof of how long you’ve wanted this too.

  “Fuck,” he breathes, like it’s been torn from him. His jaw goes slack, eyes shadowed with affection and disbelief. “You didn’t wear—?”

  He doesn't finish. He can't.

  His hands twitch.

  You’ve rendered Yeon Sieun speechless.

  Sieun blinks once, twice, like he’s trying to process the sight before him, trying not to let it undo him entirely.

  But it does.

  It does.

  He swallows hard, jaw flexing as his eyes drag along the slick sheen glistening between your thighs, warm and glimmering and pooling out of you sans constraint.

  His hands settle on your hips again, firm, needy, desperate.

  “You’ve been like this this whole time?” he whispers, voice hoarse, eyes flickering up to meet yours, the question half-shattered already. “Wearing my shorts… like this?”

  You don’t have time to answer.

  Because Sieun leans in, drawn like a man starved, mouth ghosting just above your heat and breathing you in.

  His composure fractures there.

  A low, guttural sound breaks from his throat as he presses a slow, devoted kiss to your core. Just one.

  Then another. Then again, deeper, wetter, until his tongue slides through your dampened heat with a shuddering groan of restraint and craving colliding all at once.

  Your hips twitch and Sieun’s grip tightens instinctively, his fingers digging into your waist to anchor you to him like you might vanish otherwise.

  His tongue moves again, slow and patient, still trying to worship even while losing his mind.

  But you’re so wet, and he’s so gone.

  Each soft moan that slips from your lips draws another shaky exhale from him, each roll of your hips a crack in his control.

  He tries to keep it measured. Gentle.

  But then he hears you gasp his name, all broken and raw, and something inside him snaps.

  His pace quickens.

  He licks into you deeper, more desperate, tongue flicking, flattening, circling like he’s chasing a high that stubbornly runs just a step out of his reach. His nose brushes your clit and he doesn’t even think to pull back.

  He wants it all.

  You feel his moan against you, deep and wrecked, and you realize:

  Sieun isn’t composed anymore.

  He’s hungry.

  Possessed.

  And completely, unbearably devoted to the taste of you.

  You’re gasping now, each breath shallower than the last, and Sieun can feel you trembling beneath his palms.

  It spurs him on, wrecks him in ways he never knew were possible.

  His thumbs rub slow circles into your hips, as if to soothe you, steady you, but his mouth is relentless, nose tirelessly working into your nub. His tongue is languid one moment, then firmer the next, lapping through your folds with aching, focused precision, memorizing all that makes you fall apart.

  You roll into a nimble arch, head tipping back, and your thighs quiver where they rest over his shoulders.

  “Sieun—” you whimper.

  His name breaks in your throat, and that’s what crumbles him.

  He groans into you again, the vibration shooting straight through your core as he licks you harder now, deeper, more rhythmic, mouth coaxing you right to the edge, right to the place he’s been aching to take you.

  His hands are cradling your hips now, keeping you spread open, helpless, vulnerable, his.

  And then he whispers it, barely audible, a prayer into your skin.

  “Come for me.”

  Your breath catches.

  “Let me taste all of you,” he mumbles again, like he’s asking for divinity, like your pleasure is holy.

  And when you finally do, when your body tenses and your thighs clamp tight around his head and that beautiful cry of his name leaves your lips, Sieun doesn’t stop.

  He groans into you, licking you through it, drinking it in like he’s never tasted something more sacred.

  Like he’s never belonged more to anything—anyone—than he does to you in this moment.

  And even after the tremors still, even when you’re limp and gasping and glowing beneath him, he keeps kissing you softly, as if he can’t bear to let you go just yet.

  As if this is how he says I’ve wanted you like this forever.

  You’re still panting when he pulls back, lips slick and pink, eyes hooded and blown wide with awe. He looks stunned. Disheveled. Like a man undone by worship.

  But you, squirming and aching and desperate to have all of him, manage to find your voice.

  “Sieun,” you whisper, reaching for him. Your fingers trail along his jaw, coaxing him up until he’s hovering over you again. “I want more.”

  His breath hitches.

  Your palm slides over his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath his ribs. “I want you inside me.”

  Sieun stills completely.

  And then his eyes close, jaw tightening as if your words alone could undo the last shreds of his composure.

  “Fuck,” he breathes, voice rough with disbelief.

  He kisses you, not hard, not hurried, but slow and deep, like it’s all he can do to keep from losing control. You savour the heady taste of your slick coating his lips. He presses his forehead to yours, and mutters shakily, “One second.”

  You watch as he reaches for the drawer beside his bed and pulls out a condom from the crumpled blue box Hu-min had shoved at him weeks ago with a stupid grin and no explanation.

  He’d meant to throw them out. He hadn’t.

  He tears the foil open with controlled fingers and slides his flannels and boxers off his body, finally bearing himself free.

  He’s thick, flushed, already leaking from the tip. He hisses under his breath as he rolls the condom on, fingers twitching like he’s barely holding it together.

  When he settles between your thighs, eyes drowning in your sight, the air changes.

  Gone is the boy who’s too quiet, too closed off, too powered from the urge of indignation.

  What remains is Sieun drowned in passion, eyes wide and dreamy and dazed by the sight of you spread open for him, the warmth of your body beckoning his own.

  “You sure?” he asks again, voice almost too tender.

  You nod, pulling him down into a kiss, and guide him with a soft whisper, “Yes. Please, Sieun. I want all of you.”

  He exhales shakily.

  Then he lines himself just beyond your heat, and with a leisurely push of his hips, he slides inside.

  You both gasp.

  You’re hot and wet and hug onto his inching cock, and he sinks in like he’s always meant to belong there. 

  “God—” he grits, arms quavering on either side of you as he tries not to lose it too fast, forehead dropping to your shoulder.

  “You’re…” His voice cracks. “So good. So—gosh, I don’t—”

  You wrap your legs around him, anchoring him to you, and moan when he rocks forward again, deeper this time. You feel everything, every inch, every pulse, every lazed drag.

  He starts slow, shallow, testing your fit, his own restraint. His hips roll into yours with a tender kind of ache, like he’s afraid to break you, like each inch of him inside you is a miracle he can’t fully comprehend.

  But your body answers with desperate softness, clinging to him like silk caught in wind. You tilt your hips, chasing more friction, and whimper at the way his cock presses deeper, fuller, perfectly where you need him.

  Sieun moans, a sound so broken and quiet it nearly guts you.

  “Please,” you breathe, clutching at his back, your voice hitching with each movement. “Don’t hold back.”

  His jaw clenches. His eyes flutter shut.

  And then he moves deeper, hips rocking into you with a fluid rhythm that makes your breath stutter and your legs tighten around him.

  The friction is delicious. The stretch, overwhelming yet cosmic.

  Sieun presses closer, burying his face further into your neck, panting softly against your skin.

  “You’re so—” He chokes on a groan as your walls flutter around him. “You feel unreal.”

  You drag your nails lightly down his spine, whispering back between moans.

  He fucks into you slowly, like it’s sacred. Each thrust is a vow, a prayer, an unraveling. His hands are everywhere—one gripping your thigh to anchor you to him, the other cradling your jaw like you’re too precious to let go.

  Your body sings for him. You meet each movement with your own, hips rising to greet him, rolling and shifting to take him deeper, to keep him close.

  Your moans mingle with his gasps, the heat between you building with every thrust, until there’s nothing left of restraint, only the desperate, languid drag of two bodies finding rhythm in devotion.

  Sieun lifts his head to look at you—really look—and what he sees makes his hips stutter.

  Your face, flushed and shining, lips parted, still pink and swollen, eyes glassy with bliss and admiration.

  You’re breathtaking. And right now, you were his.

  He moans again, broken and stunned, and leans down to kiss you like he’ll fall apart if he doesn’t, slow, messy, teeth grazing lips, all while his hips begin to move faster, harder, chasing something he’s never dared imagine before you.

  Your bodies are slick with heat and need, the world around you reduced to nothing but the way he fits, the way he fills, the way he worships you with every thrust.

  Sieun is whispering your name like a lifeline, like it’s the only word he knows, murmured into the skin of your throat, your jaw, your lips, as if it can tether him to reality while he teeters on the edge of something vast and consuming.

  “You feel so good,” he rasps, voice hoarse and reverent. “So perfect—you’re perfect.”

  Your back arches, body shuddering as he angles his hips just right, deep and slow and precise, hitting that spot inside you that makes gush over his length.

  Your moans turn high and breathless, desperate.

  “Sieun—” you gasp, legs tightening around his waist, pulling him in deeper. “I’m close—oh god—”

  He knows. 

  He feels it, the way you start to flutter and squeeze around him, the way your breaths collapse into whimpers. And even through the haze of his own rising pleasure, Sieun slows down just enough to draw it out for you, to feel every quivering second of it.

  “I’ve got you,” he whispers, breath stuttering. “Come, please.”

  And you do.

  It rushes over you in waves—white-hot, pulsing, unstoppable—your climax washing through your entire body with a strangled moan, your limbs tightening, your voice shaking as you cry out his name.

  Sieun swears under his breath, something desperate and soft, and then he loses it.

  The way you clamp around him, slick, pulsing, so warm, is all it takes to send him spiraling. His rhythm falters, hips stuttering, muscles trembling as the pressure finally breaks. He groans, deep and guttural, and spills into the condom with a few last shallow thrusts, his whole body curling into yours like he’s trying to fuse the two of you together.

  And when it’s over, when the tremors in both your bodies begin to subside and your chests press together in exhausted, blissful rhythm, he stays. 

  Buried in you, breathless, consumed. His forehead pressed to yours, his lashes fluttering, lips ghosting your cheek.

  And finally, his lips quirk at the corners, gracing his features with a small, gentle smile.

  Because he decides he won’t be washing his shorts.

  And he thinks he’ll get you to ruin another pair when you bring your laptop over for him under the guise of fixing it again.

৬ৎ  𝑙𝑒𝑒'𝑠 𝑝𝘰𝑠𝘵𝑙𝑢𝑑𝑒  ࿐  i decided for a soft, feral rendition of sieun’s university au. this will be the last weak hero fic i write before i move onto skz and atz! need more? you can read hyuntak’s version over here  ⌯⌲  smart girl

───── how do we feel about starting a taglist?

© chanifesto

[reallykaz]

HELLOOOO?!?!?? this is so good I’m obsessed

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐊 𝐎𝐅 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 | kang dae-ho

—summary: a sudden closeness of you and player 333 makes dae-ho's usually sweet mood swing in the opposite way, triggered by pure jealousy. why would you ever need anyone else when you've got him right there? —pairing: kang dae-ho/player 388 x female!reader —word count: 4.5k —contains: +18, smut !!! (minors dni), p in v sex, unprotected sex, creampie, descriptions of the reader having female genitalia, some porn with some plot, really passionate sex, voyeurism, public sex, sub dae-ho!!! (canon), slight praise kink if you squint, he talks to you through it, jealous and possessive behavior, fluff, dae-ho being so in love with the reader.

writer’s note: english is not my mother tongue, so please forgive me if there is a grammatical error. hope you like it!

Kang Dae-ho had been protecting you ever since he had helped you survive Green Light, Red Light, the first game of all this hell in disguise as a promising new opportunity.

Not knowing you from absolutely nothing, he stepped right in front of you, stretching a hand out to the back to hold yours and guide you across the arena, playing human shield until together, you had crossed the finish line. 

And that basically summed up the kind of person Dae-ho is; kind-hearted, courageous, selfless, caring. He was one of the best people you had ever met and he was making this whole calvary into something much better, something brighter, something to keep fighting for until you made it out of there.

Since that, he had stuck by your side, practically standing as your own shadow, constantly putting you first, looking out for your well-being and safety. Without him, you would probably be dead by now, devoid of purpose.

The other players had already gotten used to seeing the two of you together, always watching each other's backs and fooling around and strategizing. Through thick and thin, you were together.

It was only a matter of time —hours—; before something else began to spark between the two of you, growing every time your hands brushed, or when he wrapped an arm around your shoulders or when your bodies cocooned in each other's warmth at night when you slept. A tension was just starting to build, an emotion that for some reason, would always make Dae-ho nervous and flustered, whenever you'd smile at him or clasp his bicep to be by his side every time Gi-hun related a story from his past experience at the games, or when you'd lean your head on his shoulder or when you'd hug each other every time a game ended.

Whatever it was, out of the same feeling, Dae-ho sensed a heaviness in the pit of his stomach, feeling as if his guts were constricting like a viper, every time you chatted with the 333 player.

He looks at you from the distance, frowning slightly as you laugh at something the guy says, he doesn't even know why he dislikes him so much... he just does.

“Why are you all puckered up?” Jung-bae questions him, pausing his own story to express concern for his teammate's face, following his gaze until he finds you, naturally.

Dae-ho clicks his tongue, shaking his head gently, his tone of voice fluctuating between disbelief and annoyance, "Why is she even over there? It's dangerous"

“Dangerous? Buddy, she's just talking to him. He saved her in the last game, remember?” Jung-bae answers him, confused by the uncharacteristic grumpy attitude of the younger man, used to the sight of him being so cheerful and jovial and optimistic.

“If it weren't for him, she wouldn't be here,” Young-il adds, also glancing at how you whisper with player 333, “She's just being polite.”

But Dae-ho huffs humorlessly, forcing his eyes to drag from you to Jung-bae standing in front of him, his fingers still grasping his fork tightly, not really feeling like eating lunch today, “Bullshit, I would've saved her anyway. She didn't need him.”

Gi-hun rolls his eyes, sitting by his side as he quietly observes the whole scene, chewing a mouthful of rice, “You're just jealous, man, admit it,” he pronounces with his mouth half full, eyes attentively scanning Dae-ho's reaction.

The whole group of men laugh upon seeing Dae-ho's face morph to one of embarrassment and some offense, cheeks blushing furiously at Gi-hun's fake allegation.

“I'm n-not jealous” he tries to defend himself with a stuttering voice, looking frantically around the amused faces of the men around him, his fingers letting his fork drop by his twitching and nervous state, attracting the attention of a few players who were nearby, including yours, which only makes Dae-ho to blush even redder.

Jung-bae smiles playfully, picking up the fork that had fallen to the ground, “And you're being overdramatic.”

“I am not!” Dae-ho squeals, his brow furrowing as he stands up and yanks the fork out of Jung-bae's hand. As the whole group laughs at him, his eyes again search for you in the crowd, finding you in record time, and his whole face darkens again as he notices the way your hand is resting down the player 333's forearm, like you would usually do with him.

He sighs heavily and for the first time, he seriously considers the words of the older men.

Time passes unnoticed within that place, hours perhaps, days? No one really knows.

But the warning that the lights go out in thirty minutes usually means that you should lie down and rest for the next event that the monsters who created this have planned for you all.

The first thing you notice when you arrive at the bed you share with Dae-ho, is that he is lying on his side with his back to you, which concerns you a little, since he never had his back to you when he would sleep.

Something is off.

“Dae-ho?” you call out his name in a gentle whisper, sitting down on the bunk and looking across the broadness of his back with worried eyes, “Are you okay?”

No response.

“Hey,” you try again gently, thinking that maybe he's not exactly having a good day, considering the current situation you're stuck in.

Dae-ho is feeling his chest heaving as he senses your hand laying on his shoulder, fingers delicately squeezing his flesh beneath the tracksuit jacket. 

And suddenly, he's cracking up.

“I'm trying to sleep” and yet, he replies to you curtly, without showing even the slightest sign of rolling over and wanting to actually look at you.

You admire his back with unconvinced eyes for a moment, lying down on the bed and resting your head on the pillow, your hand moving from his shoulder, down his back, across his shoulder blades, before dropping to the surface of the bed.

“You sound off.”

Dae-ho considers his options; whether to just keep talking to you in that oh-so-ungentlemanly way —which made him physically cringe—; whether to express everything he was feeling or just stay quiet and pretend to sleep.

In any case, he acts on impulse, rolling over so he can finally look at you, his eyes softening the instant they meet yours, his heart beating hard and fast, pounding in his ears.

“It's not good for you to associate with players outside our group,” he suddenly blurts out and sees how you just stare at him with further confusion washing over your pretty face, “It could be dangerous.”

“What do you mean?” you inquire, silently urging him to elaborate on his point. You are quick to notice how deadly serious his face is, his lips lightly pursed and his eyes solemn, a look that is unusual on him. You don't like to see him like that, like everyone there usually acted.

“Player 333,” he replies, jaw clenched, his eyes following you as you sat up again on the bed, looking down at him in sheer confusion, as if somehow, you aren't recognizing him, “I saw the way he was looking at you.”

He sounds... hurt? Disappointed?

“Lee Myung-gi” your face turns enlightened, finally understanding what he's referring to now.

Dae-ho deflects his gaze away from yours, slightly rolling his eyes. Whatever that idiot's name was...

“I was just talking to him. He saved me in the last game, Dae-ho,” you explain in an overly naive tone, a little smile curving the corner of your lips, “I went to thank him”

“But I am the one doing that, that's why I'm here. You didn't need him, you have me,” he retorts back to you instantly, your name being pronounced by his lips like a plea for mercy, gesturing to himself with his hand for emphasis on his words. Your brow furrows at the same time as his, your lips turning into a small pout, feeling like a scolded child, “I was going to save you anyway! You only need me, no one else...”

His voice fades the more he speaks, shaky hand brushing through his loose hair. And now you notice it, the betrayed and hurt expression on his face, his eyes hiding something more than friendliness, something much deeper and bigger.

He is jealous.

“Why are you acting like this all of a sudden?” you are questioning him, getting more comfortable on the mattress, your voice keeping low so as not to wake the others, but also firm on your side of the little argument. You had done nothing wrong, “He was just being a good companion—”

“He didn't seem to be performing the good companion role,” Dae-ho interrupts you, spitting out the words as if they were venomous, rising himself up to also sit on the bed and face you, gesticulating with his hands, his tone of voice is fueled by sarcasm and subtle irony now, “I didn't like the way he was looking at you... neither how you were touching him with your hand.”

He crosses his arms and resembles a sulky kid who's had his favorite toy taken away, but you're too pissed off to pause and laugh at him.

Instead, you roll your eyes, starting to unbutton your jacket, feeling too hot all of a sudden, Dae-ho's eyes follow your fingers as they pull down the zipper, “You're being overdramatic.”

"I'm not!" he gasps-whispers, expression offended, he genuinely does seem to be feeling betrayed by what you had done. He leans close to you, so close that you feel the natural warmth of his body, but you stand your ground, looking at him with baffled eyes, his gaze remains soft yet aching, “I'm just looking out for you.”

“You'd rather I touch your arm then?” you raise an eyebrow on your forehead, dropping the jacket by the bottom of the bed, holding his gaze, “Is that what this is all about?”

The effect of your words in instantaneous on Dae-ho, blushing and causing him to pull away from you rather abruptly, brushing his hand through his hair again like a maniac.

“Yes,” he replies with certainty, the word barging into his throat before he could even think of a reasonable response, so he shakes his head slightly, “I mean no— I mean yes—” he cuts himself off, flustered by your attentive gaze, “—that's not the point! The point is that you don't need to go to anyone else when you have me right here.”

He gulps hard, eagerly waiting for your reaction through desperate, sheepish eyes.

“I know,” you whisper, letting out a soft sigh from your mouth, switching to a more empathetic postur. Then you nod your head and stretch out a hand towards him, who wastes no second in reaching out to take it and pull it close to his chest, nuzzling your knuckles with his thumb, “But he just dragged me with him, I couldn't do much,” you offer him a small apologetic smile, “I know you would have saved me anyway, Dae-ho.”

“Of course,” he murmurs your name, bringing your hand to his mouth to press his lips onto your knucles, kissing your smooth skin, “You're not alone, you're with me. You are everything...”

Without saying anything, you move closer to him and hug him. Dae-ho is more than happy to reciprocate your embrace, wrapping his beefy arms around your waist and hiding his face in your neck, breathing in your sweet and comforting scent, the scent he so adores. You feel his warm breath against the sensitive skin of your neck and a shiver runs through you from head to toe.

One of your hands goes up to his head, caressing his hair, fingers sinking into his dark long locks, the soothing and so intimate touch making him sigh.

“You're jealous,” you murmur after a moment of comfortable, heart-warming silence, and he stiffens, his body freezing, you can feel the way his muscles tense against yours.

Dae-ho pulls away from you just a little, far enough to be able to look at you, offering you a sheepish little smile, his cheeks blushing from all the attention and touch and closeness, the way you're talking and looking at him has him breathless.

“Maybe a little,” his expression shifts to one of shame as he dares to confess, valiantly enough to hold your gaze, letting himself fall into the gentleness of your eyes, always so lively and playful, but as beautiful and sparkling as a pair of gemstones, with your long lashes brushing your cheekbones every time you blink.

His hands gently squeeze your waist, contouring your curves and fitting into them perfectly, as if crafted for him to touch and hold.

“You don't have to be jealous, sweets,” you assure him, like a promise, a complicity, leaning into him again.

Dae-ho swallows loudly, squeezing his eyes shut as he feels your beautiful soft lips press down onto his throat, kissing his bouncing Adam's apple. He can feel himself in heaven, letting himself be swept up by the way you are treating him, the way your hands run down his body, passing down his chest until they stop at his midsection, just at the moment your tongue traces across his skin, making him hiss, feeling all the air being knocked out of his lungs.

“Fuck— ngh,” he whimpers, his whole body aching with heat, his heart pumping hot blood into his crotch, heartbeats matching up with each of your wet kisses on his neck.

His big hands wander over your waist, lightly caressing your lower back, fingers barely grazing the curve of your ass above the fabric of your tracksuit pants, clasping the flesh, pressing you helplessly against his body. His touch is needy, but nonetheless respectful, as gentlemanly as ever.

“Is this okay?” comically enough he's the one to ask as your mouth reaches his chin by a wet trail of soft kisses through his skin and he almost feels himself cumming into his boxers by the way you open your eyes to look up at him, pupils dilated in pleasure.

You sigh out a soft chuckle and your breath crashes against his half-open lips, needily breathing in your air, breathing you in. Your fingers fiddle with the edge of his jacket.

“You want this?”

It's stupid that you even had the mere thought of that question.

“Yes, please, baby— please,” Dae-ho rushes to answer, hands squeezing everything they could grab from you, desperately, “Can I kiss yo—”

Before he managed to formulate the question your lips are on his and from one second to the next he pulls you close to sit on his lap, making you feel his erection press against the underside of your thigh.

Frantically, between kisses, tongues recognizing each other and hands grasping what they can of the other, he helps you to remove his shirt, breaking away for just a moment to pull it over his head, looking at you with eyes darkened with desire.

He groans against your mouth as you kiss again, your teeth nibbling gently on his bottom lip.

“Shh...” you coo against his lips, pushing him down to make his back lay against the bed, “You don't want the others to hear, do you?”

A playful smile stretches at the corner of his lips, squeezing your butt once you leaned over him to begin kissing his chest, his eyes rolling back in pleasure, feeling the way your back arches.

“I wouldn't mind if 333 listens—”

“Dae-ho,” you name him disapprovingly, but your eyes are heavy with playfulness and longing.

He gazes adoringly up as you take off your shirt, eyes roaming down your neck, across your chest, down your stomach.

“You're so pretty, fuck— come here,” he tugs you closer to him to kiss you one more time, his hands detaching from your hips to lift his own, pulling down his pants and his now, wrecked boxers, clumsily sliding the waistband of the cloth down his thighs.

His dick springs free and it has you open-mouthed, staring down at it with eyes of raw longing and adoration. His mushroom-shaped, leaking, needy head bumps barely against his lower abdomen, lining up with his happy trail.

Dae-ho blushes under your gaze, one of his hands caresses your hip to attract your attention back to his face.

“Can you handle it, baby?” his tone of voice lowers sheepishly.

Your cunt pulsates around nothing from his words only and in less than ten seconds, you're stripping off your pants too, pulling your soaking wet panties aside. He can actually feel how wet you are when your pussy barely brushes against his bare crotch, he has to resist to keep from cumming right there.

“I can— fuck, yeah— I can handle it,” you babble tremblingly through gentle gasps as he reaches his cock, stroking it three times before he aligns it with your inviting hole, rubbing it slowly up and down your slit to scoop up all of your wetness, and use it as a natural lube.

Dae-ho bites down on his lower lip to muffle a moan that ascends his throat, feeling the head of his cock push up into the tight entrance of your pussy, plunging between your slick folds.

He leans his forehead flat against your chest, nestling right between your breasts, his whole body trembling from a riot of pleasure, muffling his moans and noises against your skin.

“Shit, y-you're— h-hah— you're so wet,” he raspes out into your bare skin, his lips slurring insults and name-calling you like a prayer, a poem through your sweaty skin, his tongue rolls out from between his parted lips, coating your skin with his drool. 

His hands are roaming over your hips, each digit digging into the fat of your ass, never applying weight, giving you all the time you needed to settle onto his size, yet his voice was desperate and eager with anticipation, “So tight— so pretty.”

Your lips are pressed against the crown of his head, breathing shakily as you begin to lower yourself into him achingly slow, drawing a gasp from both of you. Your palms squeeze his broad shoulders, suppressing the urge to cry out with every inch he is pushing his way inside you, your pussy fluttering and squishing him deeper.

“Yeah, just like that, that's it,” Dae-ho is praising you, pressing sloppy kisses all over your tits, fingers caressing your lower back while his other hand pats your ass appraisingly, “just a little more, baby, a little m-more and I'm all yours— I'm yours.”

His words really touch your very core, hand sliding up his neck to sink into his hair and pull it, making him hiss as he licks your nipple. Your pussy swallows another inch of him and you feel him in your fucking guts by now. He feels your squishy walls clench around him like a vice and he refuses to even think about the possibility of a life without feeling like this again.

“Dae-ho,” you whimper his name as the bulging tip of his cock reaches a particular spongy spot and instantly your whole body reacts as well.

“Mh-hm,” his lips lick and kiss your collarbone all the way up your neck and then he kisses your lips, “I'm here. I got you, I always got you,” his eyes finally lock with yours again and you nearly feel every single muscle and organ in your abdomen twitch when you notice tears being held back in them, all from the flood of pleasure and bliss your body is giving him.

He can feel himself in heaven, beneath you, his hips grinding up into yours as his cock is plunged so deep inside you.

Dae-ho kisses you again, intoxicated, a thread of spit remains connecting your mouths once you part.

A few more long seconds and you're all the way down sitting on him, his heavy, throbbing balls pressed flush against your ass. Your pussy envelops him thoroughly, molding into his shape as you breathe a deep sigh and Dae-ho breathes out as well when your nails dig into his shoulder blades.

“There you are, my baby, you're doing s-so good,” he croaks, fondling your backside affectionately, feeling your dampness dripping down his thighs, “Holy shit you feel good... I'm so deep—”

And when you start to move on top of him, he has to close his eyes, his sweaty palms pawing your ass, hopeless for your mercy. 

But you have no mercy, your pussy, your thighs, your fucking hips, the way you look down at him and ride him, giving him whiplash with every bounce. And he can swear he knows you from another life, from the way his cock forms a shape inside you, reaching parts within you that no one else has been capable of reaching before, as if your body was made for him— no, as if he was made to fit your body.

“My God—” he hiccups and you press your forehead against his, seeking his lips with yours to silence you both, pushing him down until he's lying flat on the mattress.

The bunk just barely creaks beneath the relentless sway of your hips slamming into his, ass bumping hard down on his thighs, taking him all the way down and up again, so deep that every time you bottom out you feel him in your fucking throat.

“You feel so good, baby,” you whine, looking down at him and all of his body is reacting to the petname.

You take in the gorgeous sight that is his face flushed with utter pleasure, eyes squinting, sweaty arms wrapping all around you and holding you impossibly close, his lower belly tensed and cramped.

He looks so pussy drunk, drinking and drinking in your body and essence, everything you provide. The tought makes you feel your insides flip, squeezing into a knot. And Dae-ho feels it too.

You bend down, lips falling onto his shoulder, trailing down to the tattoo on his side and when your tongue traces the black ink, exactly when his engorged tip brushes against your fucking cervix and your ass does a particularly powerful bounce on his thick thighs, he starts to feel his body twitching, reaching that exquisite release. He begins to cum, wracked by a rush of erotic bliss that has him seeing stars in the pitch-black.

His hips begin to meet yours in mid-between your wild bouncing and your pussy squelches around his cock, ready to take in all he has to give.

“I'm cumming— hah— b-baby, where—” he babbles through breathy hiccups and whimpers, his body is flushing, seeking your gaze with half-closed eyes, his chest gasping fast.

You kiss his tattoo one more time before answering him, having the nerve to smirk, as if you aren't jumping his bones, “Inside— mhm— fill me up, Dae-ho,” your eyes finally meet his and you squish his biceps, “please,” you beg him, with tears on your eyes.

“Holy shit— you don't have to convince me, love” he growls out hoarsely, and you have never hear him insult so much in such a short span of time. He kiss the corner of your lips messily, “I'm so fucking deep, you take it so well, baby— fuck.”

He chokes on his own voice and squeezes your hips until his palms are molded into your flesh. His tip touches that special squishy spot inside you again and you're cumming with him, both of you riding your own high, sinking into each other's bodies, souls becoming one. Straight into the core of the storm of pleasure.

His trembling fingers eventually loosen his grip on your ass, but his imprint stays right there, flushed. His cock softens deep inside you and you can feel it still spurting hot ropes up into your womb. Dae-ho whimpers flush against your mouth, gasping for breath. And you know you might as well die right there, tangled with his body.

Your head is empty, blurry with him and only him, your hips keep rolling on their own motion, slower. Your pussy squelches, full of him, the friction only makes him chant your name over and over in raspy whispers, like a hymn. Your orgasm is rough and strong, rocking your body like an earthquake. It makes you moan his name and he cuts you off, kissing you senselessly.

“Thank you, thank you...” he mumbles repeatedly against your mouth, hissing once you stop all movement on top of him. And he kisses you again, appreciatively, lovingly.

Dae-ho throws his head back on the bunk, trying to catch his breath, his hands drop to your thighs, always with a possessive hold, groping around for your ass, pressed down on his trembling thighs.

And it's ridiculous how absolutely majestic he looks there under you, in an afterglow that has him breathless, eyes narrowed and lost stare, gazing upwards as if he's suspended in paradise. His entire abdomen is sweaty and you hold back the urge to run your tongue across his cute little tummy, since your body is slowly beginning to give in to exhaustion, your legs wobbling.

You are satisfied with tracing your fingers along his sweaty skin, touching what were strong muscles, now softened under your thumbprints. Your hand makes an appreciative path up his pecs and he comes back to reality with the touch, looking up at you and patting your ass lightly, his gaze softening as he met your eyes amidst the darkness. The look of love.

“Don't do that, I'm about to get hard again,” he murmurs in a playful voice, a little sheepish smile growing on his lips. He is blushing, like he's not balls deep inside you, his cum leaking out of your cunt and trickling down your thighs.

You let out a sleepy chuckle, leaning down and snuggling close into his chest, his arms wrap around your shoulders and he tugs a blanket over the two of you.

“I had to take you on a date first,” Dae-ho blurts out suddenly, sounding more like he's talking to himself than to you, but you do manage to hear him, yet not really understanding what he's trying to say.

“What?” you ask curiously, still a little dizzy, fingers tracing light caresses on his chest, right where his heart is.

He clears his voice, bowing his chin so he can look down at you, gaze full pure love and adoration, his fingertips soothingly caressing your spine as he answers you in a hushed whisper, “I was supposed to take you on a date before.... all of this.”

You smile bashfully against his chest, looking up at him with big, soft eyes, “Well, we're not exactly in a position where having a date is doable, Dae-ho.”

But he is confident on the subject, fingers drawing little circles on the small of your back, “After we get out of this, I'll pick you up at your house and take you to the fanciest restaurant.”

You kiss him tenderly. 

And he smiles like he's actually in love.

“I'll be waiting for you in my best dress, then.”

[reallykaz]

i love reader. idc if she’s a bimbo or a crybaby or a little unhinged. good for her tbh. i love her in all shapes and forms. she is barbie. she is a doctor and a student and a barista and she can take five dicks at the same time. what a beautiful world we live in.

[reallykaz]

double cheeked up on a thursday afternoon

[reallykaz]

[reallykaz]

hot girl summer is over it’s officially time for haunted whore halloween

[reallykaz]

[reallykaz]

omg im obsessed with this! one minute im crying over eddie and wayne and then im smiling and kicking my feet over eddie and reader lmao

im just obsessed with that man (especially in this fic) 🩷

Baring Teeth {Eddie Munson x Reader} - Chapters and Warnings

Picture for Banner: pitifulbaby

Chapters: Warnings - Ch. 1 - Ch. 2 - Ch.3 - Ch. 4 - Ch. 5 - Ch. 6 - Ch. 7 - Ch. 8 🔥 - Ch. 9 🔥 - Ch. 10 - Ch. 11 - Ch. 12 - Ch. 13 - Ch. 14 - Ch. 15 - Ch. 16

Pairing: Eddie Munson x Fem!Reader

Tropes: Enemies to Lovers, Non-Traditional Omegaverse, Slow burn, Modern!AU

Warnings: Ab*se, Violence, Mental Health, Cursing, Smut, oral sex, p in v, unprotected sex, A/B/O dynamics but not explicit, dirty talking, breeding kink, bdsm, choking, mental abuse, manipulation, depression, self sabotage

Crossposted on: Wattpad & AO3

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Summary:

The world only reigns in Betas, the middle in between an Alpha and Omega, someone who provides children with the adequate amount of treatments and prescriptions in medications, making them fertile. That is how the world procreated and mutated into just this kind of gender.

Alphas and Omegas were a myth.

Normal jobs, normal people, normal life, great friends. That's what you want. But of course, there's always a needle somewhere that pokes and doesn't stop. Yours was called Eddie Munson.

--------------------------

This has Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics. Let me be clear, NONE of this is going to be relevant till a certain part of the story. It is a very important dynamic indeed, but there's no explicit behaviour in the characters at the beginning or in the middle of it. Like literally, PACKS DO NOT EVEN EXIST.

The smut will be MILD. I know that Omegaverse tends to go EXPLICIT, but I do not write that. There will be at some point, mentions of rut, heat, and other things that I will explain along the way. But if you are uncomfortable at some point, do not read. There will be though, dirty talking, because it cannot really be avoided. But it won't happen in all the smut, I promise.

Just treat this as a normal Enemies to Lovers AU, until the Omegaverse lore appears which won't be too explicit.

No Stranger Things lore involved.

Slowburn, of course. 

Specific topics will be included that may be triggering to some: ab*se, violence, drugs, mental health, and cursing.

There'll be no usage of Y/N in this story. 

I do not own ANY of the characters involved.

The picture of Eddie in the cover (Which is property of Pitifulbaby on tumblr) is actually how Eddie looks in this AU. Same old metal head, just with a beard and using manbuns.

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Now: Let's go over some definitions if you are not familiar in the Omegaverse universe. (ADAPTED TO THIS STORY, OF COURSE)

- Alphas: In some stories, they may exhibit "dominant" behavior or have other temperamental quirks. They are able to impregnate Omegas. Male Alphas usually have a knot when aroused, and they go into rut for a specific amount of time.

- Betas: Betas are often presented as having "normal" human anatomy, with none of the special attributes of Alphas or Omegas. They may be the peacemakers between Alphas and Omegas. They cannot impregnate or get pregnant if not going through special treatment to do so.

- Omegas: They can get pregnant and go into heat for a few days, depending the person. Omegas are often portrayed as the most fragile of the hierarchy, with frailer bodies and painful presentations.

Alphas and Omegas have SCENT glands. They have them on their neck, wrists, and sometimes on their ankles. While Alphas scents are usually musky, dominant, rough; Omegas have a sweet, peachy kind of smell.

This scent only becomes stronger as they go into rut or in heat.

Alphas and Omegas also have a Mating gland, something that Betas do not have. This is always positioned between the junction of the neck and shoulder, and they have to bite one another to seal their bond, and be forever mates. 

It can happen that one of the two might not seal the bond, and not bite the other person. The bite will disappear in time, as well as the bond that the person that bit created, but it is a painful process for the biter. 

As there are no Alphas or Omegas in this story, the world is as we know it, except for the fertility treatments people have to go through to get a baby. 

There are no packs, no 'pups' as people call the children in this AU.

(If you have more questions, please don't be afraid to ask!)

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Follow me for updates! ❤️

[reallykaz]

[reallykaz]

a simple favour | steve harrington x fem!reader

summary: on your senior year of high school, you decided to put your shyness aside and give yourself the opportunity to gain some wisdom and experience. yet nothing would’ve prepared you for the unexpected request that the new popular boy in Hawkins High proposed you a few months later.

virgin!king steve x fem!reader | friend-ish with benefits to lovers | no mentions of specific race, hair type or body type. | no use of y/n.

word count: 8.3k

warnings: this one shot and the content in my blog are +18, minors do NOT interact. mentions of virginity, descriptions of anxiety around sex. reader is one year older than steve. protected p in v, oral (f and m receiving). quick mentions of anal but it doesn’t happen, lol. steve is a softie, lots of fluffy smut.

author’s note: uhh hiii, i’ve been busy this summer and i don’t want to be as active here rn but here’s a fluffy smut one shot for you, babies. i just finished writing it so the last part might be full of typos, and i can’t be bothered to edit much rn, sorry! lmk what you think 💕

[dividers by @cafekitsune]

You would’ve never planned this to happen, but it was happening. You were going to take Steve Harrington’s virginity.

The idea made you feel weird in the pit of your stomach. It wasn’t that important, was it? Should this happen in a different way? You thought as you sprayed some perfume on your chest in front of the mirror, should it be a different person?

You swallowed hard at the reflection in the mirror, the cherry-flavoured lip gloss he’d taste later shining under the dim light of your vanity. Why were you so nervous, anyways? You weren’t gaining or losing anything here. At best it’d stroke your ego a little bit, to be the first something to someone, to be something to anyone. That’s how this had all started.

It was your last year of High School, and you were tired of your uneventful teenage experience. So, your first kiss with a guy from the basketball team had turned into your first date with a guy from your science class and then after that there was the guy from the coffee shop near the school that gave you… Well— what you were about to give Steve.

You guessed there were rumours, but everyone else in your year was doing the same thing in worse ways and much more publicly than what you were doing, you had rules. Never doing anything that could get you in trouble at school or with your parents. Never doing it with someone you knew too well, none of your friends, no one your parents knew. And of course, never having sex with anyone you could develop feelings for.

That morning at school, you realised Steve Harrington ticked all the boxes of your requirements. You had laughed it off casually, as you sightly bent your knees in a serving position in front of the volleyball net, ready to hit the ball. He was on the other side of the gym in basketball practice, but you had caught his brown eyes falling from your legs to your ass twice already. King Steve or not, you were a senior, he was a year younger than you. Of course you laughed it off.

Twenty minutes later you left the gym feeling your shirt sticking to your skin by the sweat, your throat dry as you walked out the doors to get to the water fountain and refresh yourself. He was already there, about to press the button to drink from it when he turned back to find your face.

To your surprise, you smiled softly when he took a step aside and let you drink first, but you couldn’t just let him believe that he had made you shy, so you just decided to tease him. Just a little bit. Leaning in, you made sure to leave your legs exposed enough that he’d get a closer look at what he had been eyeing for the last hour inside the gym. It was just you and him in the hallway, a moment harmless enough to maybe give him something to think about in the shower after practice.

‘Thank you.’ You said cleaning your mouth with the back of your hand, looking at him under your lashes. The threat of a flirty smile on your lips. ‘What’s your name?’

He swallowed hard at your cluelessness, eyebrows arching softly at your innocent cruelty. You felt mean, yes, but didn’t he look cute this flushed?

‘Harrington.’ He said brushing his sweaty hair with his fingers, somehow that gesture seemed to give him some confidence, because next thing you knew, he had taken a step-in front of you and leaned against the wall beside you. ‘Steve.’

‘Well, thank you, Harrington Steve.’ You said simply before turning on your feet towards the gym’s doors.

‘Are you still tutoring for Spanish?’ He asked suddenly before you could open the door.

You turned back to find his cheeks even redder than before, his hands on his hips as he looked back at you.

‘Isn’t it a bit late for you to try to save the last semester?’ You asked, frowning.

‘I can still try.’ He said pathetically, shrugging. All trace of that confidence from before was now gone, and you seemed to be enjoying it too much.

You laughed softly, looking back at him as you entwined your hands behind you and rested your back against the opposite wall.

‘What exactly do you wanna ask me, Steve?’ You said biting your lip. He swallowed hard again, trying to find words that didn’t come out of his mouth. It was so adorable you couldn’t resist helping him. ‘Do you wanna hang out with me?’

‘W-Well, it’s actually more than that.’ He said tentatively. You narrowed your eyes as he took a deep breath, taking a step towards you. ‘See— uh, I’ve got like, a situation.’

‘A situation.’ You repeated, moving to stand up in front of him with a cheeky smile. ‘What kind of situation?’

‘I— Uhm,’ He lifted his hands in the air, as if he was about to say it, but instead he just shut his eyes hard, taking his hand to the bridge of his nose in frustration. ‘No.’

‘Hey—’

‘No, listen, just forget it.’ He said looking away.’

‘Steve.’ You giggled his name. It made him feel even more pathetic as you looked for his eyes with a smile on your lips. ‘What is it?’

‘I’ve…’ He whispered, looking back at you. But your stare was too much, rising the temperatures of his body even more. ‘I’ve never had…’

Realisation fell on your eyes when he finally got the courage to look back at you, his brown eyes soft and pleading as he silently begged you not to make him say it.

‘…Sex.’ You said softly.

He nodded twice, swallowing hard once before he bit his lower lip, shaking his head.

‘I’m sorry.’ He said taking a deep breath, taking his fingers to his nose once again. ‘This is wrong.’

‘There’s nothing wrong with that.’ You said, softly kicking his sneaker with yours so he’d look back at you. When he did, you couldn’t help but look at him with your not-so-innocent eyes, making him flushed for completely different reasons. ‘I can help you.’

So, you were going to take Steve Harrington’s virginity. Why did it feel like such a dramatic thing to do? You had gotten rid of yours just a few months back, it hadn’t been life changing. Yes, you guessed it had boosted your confidence. And yes, it had allowed you to get to know yourself in other ways. But this felt different, you thought as you rubbed some lotion on your knees, this felt strange, because of all the people, why had he chosen you?

The sound of the bell ringing erased the question from your mind. It didn’t matter at this point; he was here, and you were ready. Your parents wouldn’t come back from the city until midnight, and you had plenty of time for as many trial and error attempts he’d need.

‘Hey.’ You said once you opened the door. ‘Come in.’

Anticipation grew from the pit of your stomach as you observed him clean his shoes on the mat outside before he stepped in, looking around the house before he’d place a hand on your hip and left a quick kiss of your cheek. A woody scent filling your lungs as he stepped back.

‘What a gentleman.’ You said mockingly, closing the door behind you.

‘Just tryin’ to be a nice guest.’ He shrugged, a rosy tint taking over his cheeks as he said it. But you weren’t going to allow Steve Harrington to throw a pity party for himself here. You said you were going to help, and you had set your mind on it.

‘My room’s upstairs.’ You simply said, showing him the way as he walked behind you.

Everything was too quiet as you opened the door, and he followed you. He took his jacket off while his eyes lingered on the posters on your walls, of bands he had only heard about but never listened to, of movies that he’d seen in Family Video but he had never actually watched.

‘No candles?’ He joked as you sat on the edge of your bed. His eyes lost the spark of confidence when you opened your legs subtly, letting him see just a little bit of the lilac lace under your skirt. He sighed, longingly, it made you damp and desperate in a way you didn’t think you would be in a situation like this, with him.

You shrugged, biting your lip, feeling your nipples turn sensitive under your top.

‘Do you need them?’ You asked sensually, opening your legs a bit more as you looked back at him.

His eyelids turned heavier as he shook his head, speechless. His body turning warmer at the way you looked at his crotch briefly before looking back at him.

‘Come here.’ You whispered.

He did exactly as you said. And he’d kept doing so, if you kept talking with that voice. Steve’s lips found yours, needy and demanding while he stood in front of you, and you stayed sitting on the bed. His hands held your jaw firmly, yet the soft fingertips of his thumbs stroked your cheeks as his tongue licked yours. The unexpected excitement turned you dizzy, his kiss was sensual, his growls pathetic. This is nice, you thought as you unzipped his jeans and stroked the hardness underneath.

The last thing you wanted was to remind him why he was here, as if his virginity was a problem to solve, as if it was a bad thing. So, you had to control your reaction as you palmed him, but he was big. The thought of him inside you was so delicious you couldn’t help but moan at the size of his length.

You broke the kiss to get rid of his boxers, your head instinctively moving towards his erection when he held your face in his hands to stop you. You couldn’t hide the surprise when he shook his head, holding your chin between his thumb and index while he looked from your lips to your eyes.

‘Don’t worry about it.’ He whispered, and for a second you thought he almost sounded scared.

‘Don’t be silly.’ You laughed softly, your hands finding his dick, so big in comparation as they applied a bit of pressure from the bottom to the top. ‘I’ve been thinking about sucking your dick all day.’

He laughed softly at your confession as you moved once again to place your mouth around him, but he held your chin with the same determination. It shouldn’t have hurt you, as if he was rejecting you, but it did. It was fair though, right? It was his first time. Yet some part of you realised then, that for some reason you wanted it to be special.

‘Okay.’ You whispered softly, trying hard not to kiss the thumb that was now stroking your lower lip.

He smiled back at you as you sat better in the bed, his eyes not leaving yours as you carefully removed the damp lacy thong under your skirt. It was almost as if you were waiting for his instructions of his validation, as if you were waiting for him to tell you what he wanted from you. His shaky fingers stroked your thighs then, and you had to try hard not to smile tenderly at his nerves. Instead, you did something he wasn’t expecting at all.

It was better this way, you thought as you moved to be on your knees, your hands on either side of you as you waited for him. It embarrassed you to think like this but maybe he just didn’t want to see your face, maybe this had been a quick way of fixing something that he thought was broken. Maybe it didn’t matter who was it, as long as they got the job done. But all that overthinking quickly vanished by what Steve Harrington did next.

A gasp of surprise left your lips as you felt his mouth come in contact with your wet pussy, your moan louder at the feeling of his tongue as you looked down to find his head on the edge of the bed as he ate you out in this position. His big hands grabbed your ass, the tongue that had been so demanding inside your mouth before was now twice as hungry as he licked your clit so sloppily and greedily. The image was too perfect not to enjoy it as you rolled your eyes, but this was not part of the deal.

‘Steve.’ You panted. ‘What are you doing?’

He growled softly against you as you bit your lip, feeling yourself getting wetter at the stimulus. Then, he swallowed hard, you were too familiar with the sound by this point. He swallowed you. And you couldn’t help but moan again.

‘Steve.’ You repeated his name.

‘Shut up.’ He simply said against your lips, his tongue diving deeply inside your folds, greedy curiosity trying to taste all of you.

‘Shit.’ You whispered, fists holding onto your bedsheets as you couldn’t help but grind a little bit against him. You couldn’t really help enjoying it, he was warm, shamelessly wet, and good at this.

As if he had understood your aim, you felt him expose his tongue for you to give you more to grind on, moving his head side to side for you. And you couldn’t resist it, he was practically inviting you to fuck his face.

So, that’s what you did. Grinding still softly but consistently, letting your moans out, shaky breaths of yeah, shit, fuck leaving your lips as he soothingly stroked the back of your thighs and your butt cheeks. Until you couldn’t hold it in anymore, and your pretty little moans turned desperate as his tongue licked all over your pulsing pussy while you came.

You released an exhausted sigh as your sweaty body held onto your mattress, your hips resting back on the bed when he lifted his head from inside you.

Now how the fuck were you supposed to look at him in the eye?  The heat was unbearable on your cheeks as you sat down properly on the bed, putting a strand of hair behind your ear out of nervousness. Yet your anxiety was replaced by confusion when he took his jacket from its place on your vanity and you felt your heart break a little as he put it on.

‘We’ll finish this next time, okay?’ He said softly, avoiding your eyes.

He heard you, he heard your scoff as you waited for him to look at you. But he didn’t, he couldn’t, and you didn’t understand why.

‘Steve—’

‘Next time, okay?’ He said finally looking at you. ‘I promise.’

And before you could say anything else, he was walking out of your room.

Nobody likes to be played with. Nobody likes to be used, you thought the next morning at school as you felt the embarrassment sitting on your chest. And yet, Steve hadn’t really used you, had he?

You were just confused, not sure about his intentions, of what this had all meant. If he had even been honest with you about his virginity or not. At this point you would’ve believed anything; didn’t everyone call him King Steve anyways? Didn’t he have a reputation already? Maybe it had all been a way to get you inside his pants and still– it’s not like that had happened.  

The bell rang announcing the beginning of the day and you went to class as usual. At this point of the year, it wasn’t like it mattered anymore, graduation was a month away and then… and then?

You didn’t know, you thought as you left your books inside your locker in your lunch break, when a familiar silhouette leaned against the spot next to you.

‘Hey.’ Steve said with a smile.

You didn’t hesitate, letting out a snorty laugh as you closed your locker, not even wasting your time on him as you turned towards the direction of the cafeteria. Who the fuck did he think he was anyways? You were the hottest senior in the school.

But Steve didn’t find your reaction amusing, or slightly cheeky. The anxiety rose in his chest as he saw you walk down the corridor, and he had to make a decision soon or he’d lose his chance if he hadn’t lost it already.

It caught you by surprise when you felt someone pulling you from your hand to your side.

‘Wha—’ But Steve’s hand was on your mouth as you led you inside the closest classroom. The early summer sunlight that sneaked through the closed blinds softly illuminating the instruments that belong to the school band. Your back was against the wall as he slowly moved his hand away from your mouth, his brown eyes studying your face. ‘What the fuck, Steve?’

He smiled. God, he was smiling, why the fuck was he smiling at you when you were angry at him?

‘What’s up with you?’ He said playfully, squeezing your hips as he looked down at you.

You let out a scoff of disbelief as you looked back at him. The silence that opened between you two as his smile slowly disappeared making the air tense.

‘I don’t like feeling used.’ You admitted then, the heat rushing to your face as you looked to your side.

 ‘You felt used?’ He whispered sweetly. When you looked back at him, with his soft brown stare and his arched eyebrows, you realised he was being sincere, and probably as confused as you. Maybe you had let your anxiety play too many games with your mind, maybe there had been some miscommunication. Now you felt embarrassed for completely different reasons.

You swallowed hard, playing with a strand of your hair as you looked away from him, nodding softly. You felt him lean in, placing his nose on your cheek as his forehead meet yours hand his hands squeezed your hips again.

‘M sorry.’ He shook his head. ‘I didn’t think… I thought you liked it—’

‘I did.’ You whispered immediately, looking back at him.  ‘It was just confusing.’

He nodded, licking his lips and searching for your mouth as his nose brushed against yours.

‘Did you like it, then?’ He sounded small, so small. But at the same time, it was a bit cheeky, you couldn’t help but laugh softly, you couldn’t help but smile while you nodded.

‘Very much.’ You whispered against his mouth.

He pressed his lips against yours then, a longing sigh leaving your mouth instantly as he pushed you against the wall. Your fingers had just dived inside his brown locks of hair when his mouth moved to suck on the skin of your neck as his fingers traced a line from your knees to the skin under your skirt.

‘Steve.’ You sighed as his hands palmed the wet fabric of your underwear.

‘Just wanna make it up to you.’ He whispered against your skin before his fingers teased your entrance over the fabric of your panties. ‘Then you can fuck me at my place tonight.’

His direct proposal turned you even hornier, even more needy as he put the fabric aside and his fingers dived inside your lips.

‘You want that, don’t you?’ He whispered against your neck, and all you could do was nod and take your own hand to your mouth, trying to hide your moans while he fucked you desperately. This could cost you your graduation, it could fuck you up in so many unimaginable ways. But he was stroking your wet clit so softly, and you were pulling those strands of brown hair behind his neck while he sucked on the skin of your neck. You just couldn’t resist.

‘Shit.’ You said under your breath as you threw your head back in pleasure.

The hand that had been on your mouth hiding your soft moans cupped his cheek, and before you could even react, he was sloppily sucking on your fingers. You had to look down at him while your wet pussy tightened around his digits, his mesmerized brown stare waiting for your reassurance in a way that made you feel so moved, and so taken care of, that it made you finally cum.

You shut your eyes hard while he kissed your palm. A sigh of satisfaction turned into a smile when you felt his mouth leaving a trace of kisses from your neck to your cheek, your silly giggles mixing with his. The remains of your orgasm still making your knees shake when he spoke cheekily again.

‘So, tonight?’

There was no reason to be nervous at all. At this point you thought Steve knew more about your body than you knew about his and that was okay. He probably didn’t know what he liked just yet, and that was okay too. Everything was fine.

But you still checked the smell of your breath as you turned on his street, walking slowly so you wouldn’t be too sweaty by the time you got there. Your hair smelled nice too, you applied about three layers of deodorant before leaving the house and had a travel-size bottle of perfume in your bag just in case. That afternoon after school you had gone to the pharmacy to get brand new condoms and two types of lubes, just in case.

The anticipation of the day before had resurfaced, and you felt… hopeful somehow. Like this time things would work out and you’d manage to give him the nice time you felt he deserved. He had earned it, you didn’t know how or why, but he had. The thought made you bite your lip as you found the house number, he had told you earlier after you left the music classroom. And what if you were excited? You were allowed to. Steve was cute, he was sweet and caring. It was nice to have sex with someone like that for once, you thought as you pressed the doorbell.

You just needed to make sure that you weren’t confusing fondness with something else.

‘Hi.’ His hair had been brushed and he had changed from his school clothes, just like you had. The same irresistible woody scent that had made you warm yesterday at your place overwhelmed you.

‘Hey.’ You said shyly, scratching the back of your shin with your shoe.

He smiled softly at the gesture, looking down at your skirt before looking back at your eyes, his hand unexpectedly finding yours, pulling you inside.

‘Come in.’

Steve’s room was what you had expected from any other high school boy. It’s not like you had a lot of time to look around it when he hugged you from behind as you looked at his basketball trophies. He walked you backwards between giggles, falling on his lap when he sat on his bed and his needy mouth found yours in the silence of his empty house.

The hunger took over your body too quickly to even remember why you were doing this. You wanted him all to yourself, biting his lips and stroking his cheekbones as you grinded softly against the bulge on his pants. It wasn’t until you heard him moan under your mouth that you remembered the poor boy was probably nervous as hell.

So, you had to put your needs aside and kiss down his neck, softly at first, then adding a bit of your tongue, then sucking. You felt him sigh under your kisses, his hesitating hands holding onto your butt briefly before they stroked your thighs, not sure about what to do, how to proceed.

But you had it all under control, and you were checking on him, as you placed your forehead against his. Your eyes stayed on his face, his eyes shut and lashes kissing as you unzipped his pants carefully before your hand tentatively stroked him over the fabric of his boxers. He was pretty, God, he was beautiful when his cheeks turned this rosy and his lips this plump by your kisses. You couldn’t help but smile, taking advantage of the fact he wasn’t looking at you, mesmerized by his beauty.

He only opened his eyes when he felt you climb down his lap and kneel in front of him.

‘Is this okay?’ You asked carefully.

Steve took a shaky deep breath as he looked down at you, with your shiny eyes and your pretty mouth so ready for him. He nodded, swallowing hard, and he hated himself for it but at least you were smiling at his pathetic reactions, helping him to pull down his jeans and boxers.

No one had ever looked at you so expectantly, so attentively, as you stroked his length with your hand a couple of times. His hand cupped your jaw while his thumb stroked your cheeks and your smile first made contact with his tip. It wasn’t precisely stimulating in a sexual way, but it was calming for him somehow. He had kissed your smile just this morning, now he got to feel it in a complete different manner before you first kissed the tip of his dick. His eyes lingered on the way his precum shone on your lips, on the way you took your time to taste it by licking your them, it was all very reassuring for him. How it all seemed as if you wanted this too.

You took him inside your mouth when you felt he was ready for it, making sure to start with slow movements just in case he might wanted to stop. But as soon as you opened your mouth and took him deeper inside, he visibly relaxed, leaning his head back and releasing the sweetest sigh of relief.

After that, it was easy to follow your instincts just by his reactions. Not a lot of sucking, lots of saliva. Of course he liked it when he felt the back of your throat, but he seemed to be turned off by the way you almost gagged and how your eyes had suddenly turned too teary. Maybe that wasn’t his thing, it was fine. You limited yourself to other things you knew that could work, like speeding the pace, which turned him on again. Or tentatively stroking his balls, which at first made him jump a little until his grip on your hair tightened in response.

‘L-Let me see your tongue.’ He pleaded in a low moan. You did as he said, just to please him, just because you could, opening your mouth subtly while still moving your head up and down.

It drove you crazy too, the way he rolled his eyes before his eyes went back to look at you, guiding you with his hands.

‘Such a pretty tongue.’ He said under his breath, moving his hips in sensual movements to fuck your mouth. Just the sight of it made you crave his body on top of yours, your panties getting wetter every second that he wasn’t inside you. But your needy thoughts didn’t last long until he was pulling out.

‘Hmm—’ He said your name after a moan. ‘S-Stop.’

You took him out of your mouth carefully, searching for his eyes with a worried look.

‘What is it?’ You straightened your back, still kneeling in front of him. ‘Are you okay?’

‘Y-Yes.’ He said as his thumbs stroked your wrists softly, holding them in the space between you. He seemed embarrassed, but you didn’t know why. ‘I just don’t want to… I don’t wanna cum yet.’

‘Why not?’ You asked confused, your hands moving to cup his cheeks. That worried look was still on your face, and he didn’t know exactly why, he hoped you didn’t think it was because of you that he had stopped.

‘Y-You didn’t do anything wrong.’ He said immediately. ‘I just don’t know if I’ll be able to, like— do it many times, you know? If we…’

‘Oh.’ You nodded, feeling suddenly stupid as your hands fell of your face. ‘Of course.’

You stood back then, moving to grab your bag as you felt his nervous eyes on you.

‘I, uhm…’ You laughed softly, avoiding his eyes as you took out the things you’d gotten from the pharmacy before. ‘I did some shopping earlier, just in case.’

His cheeks turned even redder as he took the bottles of lube you offered him. Something tingly, something gel based.

‘Isn’t this supposed to be for anal?’ He asked perplexed.

You shrugged.

‘I didn’t know what you were into.’ You simply said.

He turned red once again, and all you could do was laugh loudly in response, the sound of your sweet laugh echoing through his walls, making him smile too. It turned into something else when you walked towards him once again, your eyes looking deep into his as you stood between his legs and you cupped his face while his hands sneaked under your skirt, stroking the lines of your ass.

Yet it all died when you were surprised by the door opening downstairs. Steve saw the panic in your eyes as you took a step back and he pulled his boxers and zipped up his jeans in a matter of seconds. You stood in the middle of his room, feeling like an absolute idiot as he hid the bottles of lube and the box of condoms under the bed, wondering how to get out of the house without his parents finding out.

‘Steve, honey?’ You heard the voice of a woman calling him from downstairs, his mother probably. The thought made the heat rush to your cheeks as you looked back at him.

‘W-What do I do?’ You whispered desperately.

‘What do you mean?’ He smiled as he took a step towards you and entwined his hand with yours, leading you towards the hallway.

You didn’t know how it happened, but you ended up being introduced to Steve’s parents and staying over for dinner. It was as if you were watching it all from outside your body, though. Not in a frightening or uncomfortable way, but once again this veil of confusion fell over you as you sat alone on the table while Steve and his dad set the plates, talking about the baseball game they’d attend next weekend. As if this was a habit, as if he was used to you. His mom had asked you what you preferred for dinner, and she had made the tastiest lasagna you’d ever had in your life. They asked an appropriate number of questions without inquiring too much about your friendship with his son, but Steve had shamelessly put his arm over your chair after dessert was over and squeezed your knee under the table a couple of times to get your attention.

After a surprisingly warm goodbye you climbed on Steve’s car, and he drove you back home while you listened to a soft pop song on the radio. You had caught him checking on you a couple of times, nervously brushing his hair with his fingers from the corner of your eye while your stare was fixed on the windshield.

‘Your parents are very sweet.’ You said after a while, sitting back on your seat to have a better look at him.

‘Thanks.’ He laughed nervously, looking at the side mirror to maybe avoid your accusatory gaze. ‘I, uhm, forgot they were coming home early tonight.’

You nodded softly, not sure if he was telling the truth or not. Maybe he wasn’t ready for it yet, and you had an obligation to respect that. His comfort was more important than meeting his parents by accident. It’s not like it meant anything anyways.

The thought still echoed through your mind when he parked in front of your house. He observed you unclasp your seatbelt as slowly and patiently as you had been with him earlier, maybe waiting for him to say something. Yet all he could do was sigh deeply at the way the streetlights illuminated your profile inside the darkness of his car.

‘About the other thing,’ He started, making you look back at him, expectantly. ‘I’m sorry I’ve been a bit, uh, weird about it.’

You shook your head as you sat better to look back at him. He was now looking through his window, clearly avoiding your gaze as you wondered about the right words to say.

‘You haven’t been weird at all.’ You said softly. ‘I’m having lots of fun.’

He looked down at his hands, a smile of relief lighting up his face at your words.

‘Are you having fun?’ You asked sincerely.

He looked back at you. His eyes briefly traced down your body before looking back at your pretty face, nodding.

‘I am.’ He said, this time much calmer than before.

You followed his movements with your eyes as he leaned in towards you, his hand finding your knee and drawing circles over it.

‘I just want you to know…’ He cleared his throat and licked his lips before lifting his eyes. He looked at you, very seriously, the streetlights drawing his profile, the silence in the car suddenly unbearable. ‘I want it to be you.’

You smiled tenderly at his words. Something shifted then, even if neither of you was ready to acknowledge it just yet. There was a new, comfortable warmth in the atmosphere between you two, a sense of trust that went beyond any physical attraction. You were friends, real ones. This wasn’t just something either of you were taking lightly.

You nodded, leaning in to peck his lips, his nose playfully poking yours when you leaned back with a smile adorning your lips. His eyes followed your silhouette as you walked the distance between the car and your house, not leaving the driveway until he saw the light of your room through the window.

On Sunday you stayed home to work on some schoolwork, while your family went to visit your grandparents. You pondered about calling Steve many times since you woke up, your eyes lingering on the telephone on the kitchen while you drank your coffee, but you didn’t want to put any pressure on him. You missed him, and that was unfortunate, considering you had practically broken all the rules you had set for yourself at the beginning of the year.

The morning passed quickly as you did a quick workout in your room and took a cold shower, getting quickly dressed up before sitting on your desk with your calculus book opened and your laptop playing soft music. It wasn’t until you distractedly opened your notebook that you noticed the maroon car beyond your window.

Equally excited and nervous, you sat still, trying to make sure you weren’t just imagining it. How long had he been there? He was still inside, you guessed, as you stood up to open the window and get his attention. He had been watching you, you assumed, by the way he instantly rolled down his window to wave at you. Hands brushing his brown messy locks and a pair of sunglasses covering his shy brown eyes. But you could still see the rosy tint of his cheeks you had grown so familiar with from where you were.

Steve was just testing the waters, feeling his pulse increase and his hands sweat from his place on the driver’s seat. He observed your mischievous smile from where he was, looking for something on your desk, and almost certain that you parents weren’t home by the empty porch of your house. His heart skipped a beat when you lifted your notebook in the air against the window, confirming what he had guessed by the words you had written in capital letters.

Come in.

You closed the window as soon as he stepped out of his car. In what felt like milliseconds, you managed to apply some lip balm and spray some perfume, having a look around your room to see if there was anything that needed to be fixed, anything you had forgotten. And there was one. This one thing you had been thinking about for a while now.

He tried to calm himself down when he closed the front door behind him, trying to make sure that you were really alone, and your dad wouldn’t just appear out of sudden thinking that he was some douchebag that didn’t respect his daughter. He rubbed his hands on his jeans before walking upstairs, slowly but loudly enough so you’d heard him.

The door was already open when he made it to the corridor upstairs. When he pushed it slightly, he found you on the other side, shaking a match in the air as you had just finished lighting up the candles on your bedside table.

‘Hey.’ You said softly, a pretty smile adorning your face as he stood on the threshold of your room. ‘Thought I’d put a little bit of effort this time.’

He laughed nervously, looking back at you feeling a knot on his throat. Your smell was everywhere, mixing with the comforting scent of perfumed candle wax. He thought he’d might cry right there and ruin everything, but he just liked you so much. Too much.

‘Are you okay?’

Concern was written all over your face as you walked towards him. Your palm landed on his chest softly, his woody scent melting you from the inside as you searched for his eyes with sincere care.

‘We don’t…’ You had to swallow hard to hide the fact your heart was possibly about to break right in front of him. ‘We don’t need to—’

A confident hand pulled you closer to him by the hem of your top, your mind too dizzy to finish the sentence as you looked back at the serious stare taking over his eyes. The was a darkness in them that he had kept himself from exploring, one he had to repress so many times in the last few days, having your body so close to his just to end up having to think about it at night after he had screwed yet another opportunity to let you ruin him.

So, you let him lead you. His hand found your lower back, pushing you towards him as his lips met yours decisively. You didn’t waste any time at all, fingers diving inside his brown locks, his tongue guiding yours, letting instinct take over his body as he walked you backwards towards your bed.

Your hands dived underneath his shirt, stroking the skin of his belly and chest. You could feel the goosebumps forming on the surface of his skin as he released the softest, most helpless moan before pushing you softly onto the bed.

You carefully observed him as he drew lines from your knees to your thighs with his fingertips. Tenderness filled your chest as he kissed your legs in his own sweet time, hands squeezing your hips as he slowly climbed on top of you, and you just let him indulge his curiosity as he discovered every inch of your skin. He kissed your chest over your top, left soft kisses on your neck, licked the space under your ear. All in the sweetest slowness.  

He had already showed you what he knew. He had proven he was skilled with his hands and mouth; he knew how to kiss a girl. But he was now facing something he didn’t know, hungry hands holding you without not even knowing where to start.

Tentatively, you pulled down the strip of your top, just to expose the skin of your shoulder for him. His reaction was instant, kissing its curve before his mouth moved to your collarbones, your fingers pulling down the fabric a bit lower to let him know it was okay. Not only was he allowed to, he had the right to know what you hid underneath your clothes.

He felt you play with his hair as he kissed down the valley of your breasts, brown lashes closed as he licked your nipple and you sighed softly. It encouraged him, looking back at you as you arched your eyebrows in response to the stimulus. You couldn’t help but bite your lip when his veiny hands decisively held your breasts and squeezed them while kissing them, letting you see a glimpse of his greediness. And god, did you wish he indulged himself in it.

The more he dared to touch you, the warmer your body turned, and the less you were able to think logically. It took him by surprise when you rolled on the bed, he hadn’t even registered the fact that he was now under you when you removed your top and threw it behind your back, your hips instinctively grinding against his jeans as you leaned in to lick his neck.

The choky breath he took at your sudden desire brought you back to Earth then. You had to act like you had everything under control, sitting back to have a look at him. And all he could do was look at you, at the perfect weight of your breasts, your swollen lip, your messy hair. Your panting chest.

‘Good?’ You asked putting a strand on hair behind your ear. He nodded, sitting straight but still feeling dumb by the effect your body had on him. Your hands cupped his face then, looking for sincere reassurance in his eyes. ‘Steve. Are you good? I need to hear words.’

He nodded again, this time the shadow of a smile lifted the corner of his mouth as his hands stroked the skin under your shoulders. You felt small out of sudden under his tender stare, feeling naked in a way that went beyond the physical as he studied your face.

‘You good?’ You whispered once again, when his nose brushed yours. You couldn’t help but stroke his precious cheekbones with your thumbs, silently begging him not to reject you this time.

He found it funny that he had to nod for the third time, whispering the words that would melt you in an irreversible way.

‘I’m happy.’

You shut your eyes at his sweet words, taking a deep breath as he held you closer against his body on his lap. Seconds of closeness that were much more intimate and precious than anything else you had both shared in the last few days. He was terrified, but you looked so gorgeous as the afternoon light that sneaked through the window and the candles on your bedside table lighted the side of your face. And he could feel you, so warm and wet on top of the bulge under his jeans. He was desperate to make you feel good. God, did he want to make you feel good.

‘Can you, uh—’ You opened your eyes to find his frightened brown eyes on you while he nervously stroked the skin of your back with his fingertips. ‘Can you be gentle?’

He smiled at the soft laugh that left your lips. A laugh of disbelief because how could you not?

‘Of course.’ You whispered kissing his nose, your mouth so easily finding his way down from his cheek to his neck.

Your hands delicately lifted his shirt over his head, gifting you the sight of his chest hair, his soft muscles and belly, that you adoringly traced with your fingers, trying to memorize it all. You kissed him for a while again. Coming back to his mouth, leaving a hickey below his collarbone, pulling his hair a little bit whenever you got too lost on him. Waiting for him as long as he needed you to.

Then your shorts were discarded first, followed by his jeans. The heat of your bodies increased with all the anticipation, making it impossible not to get rid of the underwear right after. It was impossible for him when your wetness rubbed against his hairy leg, when you looked at him while you licked your hand before wrapping it around his heavy dick delicately.

‘Fuck.’ He whispered under his breath at your slow strokes, your eyes hypnotized by the bright drop of pre-cum adorning his tip as you squeezed him softly. He’d be ready soon, he just needed to tell you. You looked back at him, searching for his eyes as he shut them at the pleasure of your hand around him.

The sound of your own heartbeat echoed in your ears, feeling nervous at the possibility of fucking it all up for him. He looked so cute like this, so irresistible with his rosy cheeks adorned by the littlest drops of sweat, the pleasure too much to bear. The fear too palpable in the closeness between you two.

He opened his eyes suddenly, swallowing his own moan as he looked back at you with desperation overflowing his pupils. It scared you so much you had to stop, impulsively cupping his face once again.

‘Hey.’ You whispered tenderly, taking one of your hands to his chest. His breaths were fast, his eyes a bit glossy. ‘It’s me. Baby, it’s just me.’

You pecked his mouth repetitively until it lifted into a smile under your lips, feeling him release a deep breath of relief.

‘I know.’ He said between kisses. ‘It’s you. You’re what’s makin’ me lose my goddamn mind.’

You leaned back to study his face then, your pretty shy eyes equally impressed and mesmerized by him. The fear in his eyes was now replaced by a sweet cheekiness as he rolled you down onto your back, his naked body kneeling on the bed while he took one of the condoms on your bedside table. Now, this he knew how to do. The rest, well… he was about to find out.

‘Take your time.’ You whispered, lovingly stroking the hair on his chest as he positioned himself between you. ‘There’s no rush.’

He laughed softly to himself, shaking his head as his arms caged you and you looked back at him with the most adorable look of confusion.

‘What?’ You asked.

‘You’ve no idea, do you?’ He said, tentatively placing his dick between the lips of your pussy. The soft kiss he placed on your cheek making you more flushed than the compromising position of his erection teasing your cunt.

‘Fucking you.’ He said under his breath as he slowly started to insert himself inside you. His head found its place on the crook of your neck as the first feeling of your tight cunt around him turned him into nothing. ‘S all been dreamin’ about for years.’

You gasped softly at his words, the noise turning into a moan as he unexpectedly thrusted himself inside you. The way he was stretching you made him moan too, a desperate sound that made you pull the hair behind his neck as his fingernails left half-moon marks on your hips.

‘God, you’re so tight.’ He growled helplessly, ‘You’re so goddamn tight and creamy, baby. Shit.’

You smiled at the way he seemed so stimulated, feeling a bit bad at the fact you were enjoying his agony this much. But your enjoyment was quickly replaced by a greater source of pleasure when he started moving, searching for blissful friction in the warmth of your body.

The whine that left your mouth made him lift his head to look down at you now that he was more used to it. You could now wrap your greedy legs comfortably around his hips to get him impossibly closer to you, now that you were able to focus more on your own pleasure, and less scared of hurting him. He observed you then, realising how much you had held yourself back the last few days, by the way your moans were louder, your breaths faster, your eyes softer than they had been all those other times he had spoiled you in other ways.

He couldn’t help but cup your cheek as he fucked you faster, tentatively going harder as he saw you roll your eyes. The room filled with the noise of sickly-sweet obscenity, the vulgar sound of the creaking bed mixing with the music coming from your laptop. You stuck your tongue out to lick his thumb, consumed by the determined aim to see him cum, to see him fall apart in your arms.

‘M not—’ He moaned. ‘M not gonna last long if—’

‘I don’t care.’  You said desperately as you followed the pace of his hips. ‘Cum for me, please. Please, please, please.’ You begged pathetically, feeling your own pussy clenching around his dick and realising you weren’t pleading for him to let go, but to release you from your misery. ‘Please.’

He watched you turn into nothing right in front of his eyes. Eyebrows arched, cheeks sweaty and body exhausted as your pussy pulsed around his dick. It didn’t take him long to fall on your chest, filling the condom with his cum and letting out a chocked noise that grew from his chest.

You hadn’t even recovered your breath when he was already showering you in kisses that started on your belly button and slowly climbed up to your breasts and neck.

‘Thankyou,thankyou,thankyou.’ He kissed your cheekbones and nose. ‘Fuck, you’re just— You’re a dream.’

You laughed softly, pushing his chest playfully as your shy eyes looked up at his, eyelids still heavy over his brown pupils. You felt silly, much younger than you were. Lucky.

‘Was it good?’ You asked timidly.

He scoffed softly, taking the hand that played with his chest to his lips, kissing your knuckles.

‘Best fucking pussy of my fucking life.’ He said.

You rolled your eyes, fighting the smile that took over your mouth at his compliment.

‘It’s the only one you’ve had, idiot.’

‘And the only one I’m gonna have for now on.’ He whispered bumping his nose with yours.

You bit your lip, looking at him in disbelief. Was he a smooth motherfucker. Yet his tender happiness melted you, forcing you to chase his lips and indulge yourself in the joy of sharing the first of many, many times with Steve Harrington.

🏷️: @thytorturedpoet @ellharrington

I do no consent for people to plagiarise, translate, copy or repost any of my written works anywhere. I do not consent people to use any of my written work for AI purposes.

[reallykaz]

plssss this was so good!! i love the simplicity of your writing:) would love a part two or just more perv!eddie in general <333

me reading this :

COME AGAIN? | Best Friend!Perv!Eddie x Virgin!Reader

Summary: When you go to your best friend for dating advice, his perverted ways come in handy.

WC: -5k

Warnings: smut, description of sexual acts in porn, m!masturbation, fingering, oral f!receiving, possessive!Eddie, jealousy, pining, sexual fantasies, Eddie is a perv with a corruption kink (but his intentions are good), friends to lovers, R and Eddie are both 21+

18+ MDNI

Eddie flopped down onto your bed, a sullen frown clouding his otherwise handsome features.

Earlier that afternoon you had surprised your best friend with the news that you’d been asked out on a date by a guy you met at the community college.

Ever since then Eddie had been in a terrible mood — one that had only gotten worse after a long afternoon spent listening to you talk non-stop about Bobby, with his great hair and really cool car.

Leaning back against your pillows, Eddie watched as you pulled one dress after another out of your closet and held them up against your frame in the reflection of the full length mirror.

He couldn’t understand why you were making such a fuss. In all the time he’d known you, you’d never shown much interest in dating.

Besides, Bobby sounded boring, and just like every other douchebag with a sports car who’d probably never had an original thought in their life.

And since when had you started caring about things like flashy cars? You had always seemed perfectly content to ride around town in his van.

Eddie didn’t like this new development one bit.

You had moved to Hawkins two years prior when you’d enrolled in the secretarial sciences program at the community college. To help with rent, you’d taken a part time job at the town library, working mostly weekends and some evenings when your classes didn’t run too late.

On your first day at the library, Eddie had approached you at the desk, hoping to put the latest Terry Pratchett book on hold. When you had looked up at him through your lashes and flashed him your sweetest smile, that had been it for him. He was immediately a goner.

Being a bit quiet and shy, you’d found it hard to make new friends in the close-knit town, but Eddie had taken you under his wing right away.

Since that day you’d been inseparable.

As you got to know him better, you found that despite his metal image, Eddie was a really sweet and sensitive guy. He was also fiercely loyal and protective of his friends, but you held a sacred place above all the rest.

In his eyes you were perfect. His angel.

The upcoming dinner with Bobby was going to be your first date since moving to Hawkins, and you were admittedly a bit nervous. College guys seemed so worldly — and you hadn’t been on many dates, or even had a real relationship to speak of.

It wasn’t that guys never tried to approach you, but when they did you never knew what to say back, and the conversations soon fizzled out and went nowhere.

You’d been kissed a few times over the years, but that was pretty much it.

You knew there was nothing wrong with still being a virgin at your age, but sometimes you felt a bit insecure about your lack of experience. Thankfully the topic wasn’t something that typically came up in casual conversation.

That was, until one night when you had one too many drinks at the Hideout and divulged the information to Eddie.

To your surprise, he hadn’t laughed or teased you when you confided in him that you were still a virgin. In fact, he’d encouraged it, telling you that saving yourself for the right person would only make sex better in the end.

“Guys like these,” he’d warned as he pointed out random men around the bar, “are only after one thing.”

And being a man himself, you supposed that he would know — not that he ever talked about girls around you.

Come to think of it, Eddie hadn’t gone out with anyone since the two of you had started hanging out, which you found strange considering how attractive and outgoing he was.

You couldn’t deny that you thought Eddie was very handsome, and at first you’d even had a little crush on the metalhead. But after a few months had passed and he never made a move, you’d resigned yourself to just being his friend. Which was fine.

In some ways it was kind of a relief that you could let your guard down around him, knowing he didn’t have some hidden agenda to get into your pants.

Though, after a while you started to notice things here and there that gave you pause.

Like how sometimes things would go missing after he visited your apartment.

It was never anything big, usually just small items of clothing or personal trinkets. You felt guilty for even considering that Eddie had taken them, and you couldn’t be sure. It wasn’t exactly something you could just come out and ask him over milkshakes.

Not wanting to falsely accuse your friend and risk hurting his feelings, you let it slide. Besides, you did have a tendency to misplace things, and your missing underwear always turned up eventually.

Then there was the time you’d found his porn.

Finding his secret stash had been innocent on your part, and again, not something you could really blame on Eddie.

One evening he’d left you alone at his place to go sell weed a few trailers down. You’d lost an earring in his room and when you had gotten down to look for it, you’d noticed the ear of a magazine sticking out from underneath his bed. When you’d pulled it out to see what it was, you’d found a treasure trove of nudie magazines and videos with raunchy cover art.

Fascinated, you’d spread the magazines out on his floor.

You’d never seen a nude magazine before, other than a quick glance at the plastic covered issues hidden in the back of the rack at the convenience store. You studied the women’s breasts, hips and thighs, enchanted by their sultry poses and exposed flesh.

As you flipped through the issues you’d found that some pages looked much more well worn than others, and that it definitely looked like Eddie had a type.

You supposed that if you wanted to overthink things, the girls on those pages might have looked a bit a lot like you. It was actually kind of flattering to be honest.

The titles of the video tapes, though? Not ones you’d ever repeat out loud to anyone. They were so dirty. So very, very dirty.

After getting your fill, you’d shoved the pile of porn back under his bed before he got home, and you never mentioned to him that you’d found it.

You rationalized that it was normal for a single man of his age to look at porn. Even though you’d never gone all the way, you weren’t oblivious to how things worked. You knew guys sometimes needed a release, and it wasn’t like Eddie had a girlfriend.

You told yourself you were probably just imagining any resemblance between you and the women. Eddie would never look at you that way, and it wasn’t like he’d ever done anything to make you think otherwise.

Sure, he was affectionate. Always hugging you or resting a hand on your thigh. Sometimes he liked to hold your hand or cuddle with you while you watched TV, but you were sure that didn’t mean anything. You were just really good friends.

Whenever the two of you watched movies in his room, he liked to sit with you snuggled between his legs with your back against his chest. You’d feel so safe and warm as he’d rub soft, comforting circles over your arms or thighs.

Of course, the first time you’d noticed his hard-on poking into your back it had been a little bit awkward, but you’d supposed that wasn’t totally his fault. He likely couldn’t help it if his body reacted to your innocent touches or when you’d wiggle between his legs during the scary parts of the movie.

To avoid embarrassing Eddie, you just pretended you didn’t notice and tried to ignore the firm heat of his cock against your back, though it wasn’t easy.

To be fair, you’d never been close friends with any other guys before, so there was a chance you were blowing everything out of proportion. It was probably nothing.

But still, you had to wonder.

Of course, if anyone had asked Eddie, he would have insisted his intentions for you were nothing but pure. You were his angelic best friend who was totally off limits.

He wasn’t a bad guy.

He knew it would have been wrong to let his hand linger on the soft swell of your bottom when you needed a boost into the passenger seat of his van.

And definitely wrong to lie in bed at night picturing his naughty little librarian, pencil skirt hiked up around your waist and silk blouse pulled open to expose your perfect breasts.

And so very, very wrong to stroke his thick cock to that image, or to imagine his head between your thighs on the circulation desk, lapping at your sweet pussy until you creamed all over his tongue.

He wasn’t a pervert.

Ok sure, sometimes he’d rifle through your things when you weren’t around, but he was just a curious person by nature. He’d never spent much time around girls growing up, and liked the colorful silk and lace of your panties and bras.

And so what if he’d taken a few pairs of your underwear here and there? It’s not like it was hurting anyone. He always returned them later, and made sure to take the worn ones from the laundry hamper so as to leave you plenty of clean pairs fresh in your drawer.

You were the apple of Eddie’s eye, and as your best friend he took it upon himself to protect you from the bad guys out there. Guys who might not have had the purest of intentions at heart.

Did Eddie threaten anyone who showed the slightest interest in you? Yes, but he was only looking out for his sweet best friend. He couldn’t be sure of their motives, and nobody was good enough for his girl.

So when you’d announced that you’d been asked out on a date and had accepted, it was a shock to say the least. He didn’t take the news well.

You see, it just wasn’t fair.

Ever since the day that you’d confessed you were a virgin, Eddie had been consumed with a burning desire to be your first.

But he never tried to rush you. He could be patient.

He had denied himself for so long, edging himself for two whole years with the belief, no, the knowledge, that he would be the one.

He would get painfully hard just thinking about the first time he’d push inside, how you’d feel so tight and warm around his cock.

At times the temptation to give in and tell you how he felt had almost been too strong, but he’d held himself back, not wanting to lose your trust. You only saw him as a friend. What if you got upset and never spoke to him again? He couldn’t bear the thought.

He knew eventually you’d come around and realize he was the one. He just had to be patient and bide his time.

But now you had a date? Someone else might get that honor after years of him getting to know you and building your trust? No, no, no.

Who was this Bobby guy, anyway?

You’d told Eddie that he was a business major and in his final year of college. Eddie had never heard of him before, and he knew everyone in town. Was Bobby even his real name?

He sounded like a jerk, like a real asshole, and Eddie would be damned if Bobby thought you were his to take.

That Friday night you paced your small apartment fretting over your date the next evening.

Bobby was so handsome and charming. You imagined that he’d probably dated women who were much more experienced than you. What if things went well and he wanted to fool around? Would you even have the first clue what to do?

You wished there was a way to just magically know how to be good in bed.

The only books you’d found in the library were either very clinical or bodice rippers that used so many euphemisms you weren’t even sure what body parts they were talking about in the end. What the hell was a “hidden cavern” supposed to be anyway?

Eventually your mind drifted to the videos you’d found under Eddie’s bed. They were the closest thing you could think of to a sex how-to guide.

You supposed it couldn’t hurt to try.

In the grip of desperation, you decided to pay your best friend a visit.

Before you arrived, Eddie had been locked in his bedroom listening to very loud metal - totally not because he was upset about your date - so it took him a few minutes to hear you knocking and open the door.

When he did, you noticed his eyes looked a little red and puffy, but you didn’t have time to ask him what was wrong.

You cut right to the chase.

“Eddie, I’d like to borrow your porn.”

He almost choked. “Come again?”

“I know you have…videos. And I’m not going to Family Video to rent one from your friend Steve. Can I borrow one, please?”

“What…makes you think I have those types of videos?” he stammered.

“I saw them,” you confessed. “I’m sorry. I found them under your bed.”

Eddie couldn’t believe what he was hearing. His perfect best friend had found his stash of porn while snooping through his room.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t even upset that you’d gone through his private things. His cock twitched at the thought of an angel like you seeing such deprived filth. You were so sweet — had you really held his copy of Cum Guzzlers 4 in your perfect hands?

He felt weak in the knees.

“But why do you want to watch something like that?” He was genuinely curious. The request was completely out of character for you.

“I have no idea what I’m doing!” you cried throwing your hands in the air. “I was hoping if I watched one before my date it might…help.”

Eddie stared at you for a moment, his heart beating like a drum in his chest. The thought of you watching dirty videos sounded like a dream, but your reason for wanting to was not.

“Ok,” he relented. “I’ll let you watch one, but on one condition.”

“What’s that?”

You couldn’t think of what he could possibly want in return.

“You have to watch it with me.” When he spoke, you noticed Eddie’s eyes looked darker than when he’d first answered the door.

You bit your lip as you considered his offer. You weren’t sure why he wanted you to stay, but you reasoned it might be nice to have him there if you had any questions.

“Fine.” You shrugged, and he moved to let you walk through the door.

You followed him into his bedroom and sat primly at the edge of the mattress while he kneeled to rifle underneath the bed.

He muttered to himself as he sorted through the videos, finally deciding on one and holding it up with a devilish smirk plastered across his face.

“This’ll do.”

He slid the tape out of its case and popped it into the VCR before turning to look at where you sat uncomfortable and rigid on the bed.

“You ok?” he asked quietly, as he settled next to you. He made sure to press the side of his thigh against yours. It didn’t feel right asking you to cuddle considering what you were about to watch.

You nodded and took a deep, calming breath.

The video started with a woman answering the door of what looked like an apartment. Her breasts were almost obscenely pushed up in her top and her skirt was barely existent. You scoffed at her unrealistic outfit. Nobody just walked around the house in a getup like that, did they?

You looked over at Eddie, who was watching intently. He didn’t seem bothered by her impractical wardrobe.

In the movie, there was a delivery man at the door and they must have known each other, because soon their clothing was off and the fun began.

You stared with wide eyes at the screen, unable to look away as the man and woman engaged in acts that you’d never imagined in your wildest dreams.

For some reason you’d always pictured sex the way it was shown on TV in soap operas — strategically covered bodies moving together as they made love under satin sheets. But this was raw. This was fucking. And you couldn’t look away.

As the woman in the movie knelt down to give the delivery man a blowjob, Eddie snuck a sideways glance over at you. He imagined what it would be like to have you kneeling down before him, your soft eyes looking up at him while you wrapped your pretty lips around his—

“How does she fit all of that in her mouth?” you whispered with horrified curiosity.

“Where there’s a will there’s a way, I guess?” he joked uncomfortably, thanking his lucky stars that his voice didn’t break and betray him. Shit, he was getting so hard.

Eventually you started to become uncomfortable, but not because you didn’t like the movie. It was because you liked it. Really liked it.

You could feel your pussy getting wet. Dripping. Aching. You wanted so badly to sneak out of Eddie’s room and touch yourself in the privacy of his bathroom, but you knew he’d probably catch on to what you were doing.

He must have noticed you squirming because he finally hit pause on the remote.

The man in the video had started to perform oral sex on the woman, and the paused display was a frozen image of his face buried in her pussy.

“What’s wrong?” Eddie asked, his voice sounding thicker than usual.

“Um, nothing,” you squeaked, rubbing your thighs together to relieve some of the pressure that was driving you to distraction.

“Do you want me to turn it off?” Eddie’s eyes were filled with concern but you shook you head.

“No. I like it. It’s just…”

He smiled knowingly and raised an eyebrow.

“It’s okay if you’re turned on. That’s kind of the point.”

“I know…” You smiled shyly and looked down at your hands. “I guess I just didn’t expect to like it quite this much…especially…what they’re doing right now.”

Eddie almost died right then and there, but he needed to recover quickly. The situation with you was delicate and he needed to play his cards just right.

He knew this was his last chance before he lost you to Bobby forever, and he was so close.

He could feel it.

“Yeah, it’s very hot,” he agreed smoothly, making sure his voice remained casual. “Feels even better than it looks, or so I hear.”

“Yeah?” You didn’t sound convinced. “Have you ever done that before?”

“Eating pussy? Yeah, lots of times.” He grinned.

“Oh.”

You felt a strange sensation grow in the pit of your stomach at his admission. You didn’t like the idea of Eddie doing that with anyone.

Suddenly your mind conjured up the image of Eddie’s face looking up from between your thighs, his plush lips slick and shiny with your release.

You tried to will yourself not to get distracted.

“The movie’s fine, but I don’t think it’s what I needed. I mean…it’s just not very realistic.”

You shrugged and went to stand up. “Maybe I should go.”

“No!” Eddie put a hand on your arm. He hadn’t meant to sound so alarmed, but he was desperate for you to stay.

“This might sound a bit out there, but what if I helped you out instead?” he offered.

Your eyes went wide.

“Help me? How?”

“Well, maybe I could show you some things — just as a friend,” he quickly added. “You know, like research. Help you figure out what you like. Plus, I can give you my professional opinion.”

“Professional?” You laughed, but then furrowed your brows. “Are you sure that’s a good idea? We’re friends, won’t it make it weird?”

Eddie pretended to thoughtfully consider your words, pushing down the exquisite hope that was blooming in his chest.

“You trust me, right?” he asked softly. “Who better to help you out than your best friend? Would you really rather wait for a stranger?”

He placed a finger under your chin to force you to look up and meet his gaze. Your head suddenly felt a bit fuzzy, and all you could think was that no, you supposed you wouldn’t.

“Ok,” you yielded with a soft exhale. “But how’s it supposed to work?”

He kept his finger on your chin, his dark eyes burning into yours.

“First, you need to learn to ask for what you want.”

You hesitated, unsure of what to say.

“Tell me,” he coaxed. “What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know…” you said haltingly. “I guess…I want you to do that.” You gestured at the frozen TV screen.

“You want me to eat your pussy?” His voice was a low, thick rasp. “Yeah, I can do that.”

Without another word, he leaned in and pressed his lips to yours, soft at first and then deeper, his tongue dancing over yours as his hand gently gripped your chin.

When he finally pulled back, you noticed a rosy flush had spread across the tops of his cheeks.

You were at a loss for words. The kiss had sparked a yearning deep inside that you’d buried for so long.

And where had Eddie learned to kiss like that?

“Sorry,” he said with a soft chuckle as he met your longing gaze. “Just felt like maybe we should start out slow before jumping right to business.”

“No…that’s good…that’s ok,” you stammered. “We should probably pretend that it’s real…for research purposes.”

“Right.” Eddie’s eyes went wide as he stared into yours. “Then I guess this is normally when I’d start to take off your clothes. Is that ok?”

You nodded and he helped you lift your shirt off over your head, leaving you sitting in just your bra. It must have been a new one because Eddie didn’t recognize it. The sheer lace of the cups hugged your breasts just right, and the sight momentarily took his breath away.

He had pictured your tits so many times, but seeing them up close was better than he could have imagined. He reached out to cup one in his hand, gently squeezing it a few times.

“Yeah, your boobs…they’re good. Professionally speaking.”

You giggled at Eddie’s dazed expression, which caused your breasts to bounce in the delicate lace. His hungry eyes followed their jiggly movement.

You went to stand up from the bed to take off your skirt but he stopped you, prompting you to sit back down.

Eddie had spent two whole years fantasizing about that very moment, and he wanted to be the one to unwrap his present.

“Let me do it, okay?”

Wasting no time, he swiftly got down before you, placing one of his big hands on each of your knees. You couldn’t help but shiver in anticipation of what you knew was coming.

“You can tell me to stop if you don’t like it, ok?”

His big brown eyes looked up at you from where he was kneeling on the floor and a warm feeling swelled inside your chest.

Eddie was so beautiful and such a good friend. In that moment you could almost forget that he was only trying to help you out. It felt so real.

You took a deep breath and nodded to signal you were ready. Then you leaned back, propped up on your elbows so you could watch.

Eddie pushed your skirt up in soft folds around your waist, then gently coaxed your knees apart.

He had to bite back a groan at the sight of you spread out before him. Your panties were already soaked and the thin strip of wet silk was wedged between the puffy lips of your pussy. He remembered that pair. They were one of his favorites.

“Just going to take these off,” he told you, willing his voice to remain steady. He ran a finger over the silky crotch, making sure to press down over your clit, and was rewarded with a soft moan.

He worked your panties down your legs and then shoved them under his bed for safe keeping. As he nudged your thighs apart, he marveled at the sight of your bare pussy, wet and glistening before him.

“Is it—what do you think? Professionally?” you asked breathlessly.

Eddie had gotten so wrapped up in the moment that he’d almost forgotten that he was supposed to be helping you out.

“It’s fucking perfect, sweetheart. Prettiest pussy I’ve ever seen.”

And he wasn’t lying. You were perfect.

He gently spread your folds to reveal your swollen clit, his fingertips gliding with delicious friction over the sensitive bundle of nerves.

“Aww, she’s just aching,” he cooed, his voice mockingly sweet. You could feel his warm breath fan over you as he moved closer.

He couldn’t stop himself from leaning in and flicking his tongue over the it just once, just the slightest graze, and you let out a broken whine and writhed beneath his touch.

He inhaled deeply. Your scent was intoxicating.

Keeping his eyes on yours, he wrapped his plush lips around your clit, then started to flick his tongue over it in a steady rhythm.

You gasped and gripped his wrinkled bedsheets, holding on for dear life. It felt so good — better than anything you’d ever known.

Eddie’s mouth was so warm and wet, and the way he was looking up at you with devotion, made the ache inside of you start to grow to an almost overwhelming peak.

Eddie was in heaven.

He buried his face in your pussy, drinking in your delicious taste and scent. He’d dreamed of eating you out so many times that he almost wanted to pinch himself to make sure it was real; that he wasn’t going to wake up lying in bed with your stolen panties on his face to find it was all a dream.

With one hand keeping your lips spread open so he could suckle at your clit, he slid one of the fingers of his other hand into your dripping entrance. Slowly, carefully.

He chuckled when you gasped at the feeling of it stretching you open.

“Think you can take another one?” His voice was a low grumble against your pussy.

“Yes, Eddie. Please,” you whined.

He inserted a second finger, almost shuddering at how tightly you squeezed them. He just knew you were going to feel so good around his cock.

Soon the only sounds in the room was the wet schlick of pussy, and your soft moans as they floated through the air.

Eddie pulled back a moment to spit on your folds, and watched it drip down slowly, mixing with your creamy release.

He laid his tongue flat and wide as he lapped it up and you whimpered. You fucking whimpered and he felt it to his core. Nobody but him had ever heard that sound before, he just knew it.

Eddie’s cock throbbed in his pants, straining uncomfortably tight against the seam, so he took his hand away from where he was holding you open, and pulled the zipper down.

He gave himself a few slow tugs, knowing he needed to take his time if he wanted to make the moment last.

Even in your blissful state you’d heard the unmistakable rustle of his zipper.

“Are you — are you touching yourself?” you asked breathlessly.

“Mmm…yeah.” Eddie’s voice was ragged as it vibrated against your pussy, and you could feel the gentle rock of his body as he started to thrust into his hand.

The knowledge that he was stroking his cock while eating you out was enough to cause the already intense pleasure inside you to crest.

“Oh…oh god,” you moaned and your legs started to shake. “Eddie, please don’t stop.”

And he didn’t.

Eddie was normally vocal in bed, and he wanted nothing more than to beg for you to cum. To tell you that he needed to taste your sweetness on his tongue. But he didn’t.

He kept going, not pausing his rhythmic licking and sucking for even one second until you cried out that you were cumming, and even then he didn’t stop until you pushed his head and hand away.

Only then did he finally pull back, his chin shiny with your slick.

“Fuckin’ delicious,” he purred.

He stood up, cock still in hand and you watched as he continued to stroke himself standing over you. You left your legs spread open, his tall form caged between your thighs, staring down at the sweetest view he’d ever seen.

He gazed at you with naked adoration, his chest heaving and his cock hard and throbbing in his hand.

As you watched Eddie stroke himself, you suddenly felt a new sense of power, one that you’d never felt before. The power of knowing that he desired you that much. The power that you’d made him lose control.

You knew in that moment that you’d been right all along. You hadn’t just imagined all those times when he touched you or stared a bit too long.

Eddie was a perv, but he was your perv.

“Oh fuck…I’m gonna cum. Shit…can I see your tits?”

You giggled as you unclasped your bra and let your breasts bounce free, your nipples quickly becoming taut peaks in the cool air of the room.

The sight was too much for Eddie.

He groaned loudly, his shoulders shrugging and almost collapsing in on himself as came in hot spurts over your pussy and stomach and thighs, painting your skin with his warm release.

“I want you to think about this when you’re on your little date.” He gasped, still breathless. “Even if you’re out with him this pussy belongs to me.”

Your mouth curled into a sly smile as you nodded. In that moment you knew that, to the contrary, Eddie Munson belonged to you.

The next morning you called Bobby and cancelled your date, using the excuse that you had too much research and studying to do.

It wasn’t exactly a lie.

After hanging up the phone, you walked back to Eddie’s bedroom, and stood in the doorway as he smiled up at you from the bed.

“Ready for our next lesson?”

You raised an eyebrow at the metalhead and shook your head in amusement. He was insatiable.

The hours may have been long and tiring, but with Eddie as your teacher you found you were a very eager student.

Thank you for reading ♥️

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[reallykaz]

i love arm

[reallykaz]

something about this chapter is so raw and real that i was literally sobbing at the end. this and the whole series is so beautifully written <33

i really related to reader in this one wow. i am her and she is me fr

masterlist | the music

19.7k words | Sorry freaks, no smut this chapter - but the series is 18+ and so is my blog so skedaddle on out of here if you're not!

A/N: I have a really long one here - so I'll just say thank you once again and that I love you. Also, another special thank you to @sweetsweetjellybean and @loveshotzz💛💛

chapter warnings: very brief mention of religion (but not reader participating or believing in one in particular) | small mention/description of reader's maternal death and cancer symptoms | teeny tiny spoiler for the ending to the movie 'when harry met sally' | use of dialogue from the movie 'My Best Friends Wedding'

Why do we want to believe in things like fate or destiny - divine intervention? Why do some put their faith in religions with blind following? Why do we look to the stars in moments of despair, when we’re desperate for hope, when we’re lost? 

We seek out answers from something we can’t see but we want to believe in. Whether it’s a fortune cookie in your take out, a penny head’s up on the sidewalk, a community of like minded souls coming together for prayer or worship, or a horoscope you read on your morning Instagram scroll - the reasons have to be the same for choosing to believe, for the hope that starts to rise in you for the promise these things try to offer. 

We look for solutions to problems. We need reason. We need purpose. We need to feel like we’re not alone. We need confirmation that it’s all gonna work out even though nothing can really guarantee that. 

When you look up at the stars that work hard to shine through clouds and a full moon, your chest rises with air trying to fill your lungs and you wonder if they’re up there. Your eyes blink up at that indigo sky, searching. Steve sits next to you and Leigh waves, whispering their hellos. His hand rests next to yours on the plaid blanket, he clears his throat and straightens his shoulders. It’s all too stiff, too on edge, and you hate it. That attempted deep breath is unsuccessful, lungs deflating as it catches in your throat, and your thoughts wander back to the stars again. They wander to him, and them, and seek answers. 

What if they are up there, watching, like it’s one of those movies your mom was always putting on and your dad and you boo’d at from your spot playing cards. When he walked in with her with that on her finger, your mom would have gasped, she would have paused the movie, she would have yelled at you and your dad about the plot. She would have thrown popcorn at the TV and declared there’s something going on, he couldn’t, no way - there was no way. She’d have calmed herself down, rationalized there was still time left, gone to the pantry for more chocolate, kissed the top of your head and your dad’s cheek as she passed. By the end of the film, her prediction would have been right, she’d be crying and sighing at the couple who got their happy ending.

So could Steve declare his feelings for you here in a dramatic scene? Tell you it was all a big misunderstanding - that he’s sorry, that it was a rocky road but being together is worth fighting for? Could you leave here, hand in hand, as a top forty song plays and the credits roll? 

Of course not. 

Because this isn’t a rom com your mom would have loved. Life is not a movie full of soul-mates and cosmic connections. People like your parents are the exception to the rule. The couples who make it work - the ones who don’t let the trials of life take their love away like Allie and Noah, Kate and Sam, or Westley and Buttercup, are fictional characters. They’re stories to escape into when the despairing reality of yours is too much to read or write anymore. It’s exactly why you don’t like most movies or stories like theirs. Because eventually, the movies end, the credits do roll, and you have to face real life once again. Love like that doesn’t exist off the big screen, and you’re just kidding yourself when you fall into their traps. 

Knowing this simple fact of reality doesn’t stop the hope though. 

That painful, aching hope that clings to your skin like honey when you can feel the heat from his arm even through the sleeve of your sweater - like your bodies burn hotter when closer together - too close to the sun. It feeds the hope that your brain tries to squash away but your heart thuds harder for. The what if, what if, what if replacing each beat of it. Hope that makes you want to cry out ‘please let this just be a bad dream’ to the universe. Hope that tries, but can’t escape the gnawing pit in your stomach that’s growing wider, threatening to swallow you whole. Hope that makes you wonder why this can’t be a story - why can’t you just be the grandson, yelling at his grandfather that he can’t be telling it properly? Someone is getting the story wrong. He can’t be marrying her, you’re just sure of it. Screaming at him, at someone, to please, just get it right. 

You wonder if someone were watching, would they be feeling the despair you are? Is this the moment? That scene in the movies is always the gut punch - for the audience and the character. It’s meant to hurt, make you hold your breath. Made to be dramatic - yell at the screen, break your heart, make the character in the action get back up and fight. They’re moments made to ignite that hope - but really, it’s the double tap - coming right after the feeling catches flame, that’s made to shatter you completely. 

The moment that extinguishes the what if for all it’s worth. When the audience’s heart's already breaking for the grandson, only for the grandfather to ask who says life is fair? Where is that written? When the knife is entering your chest, but the mask falls and the killer turns out to be someone you thought you could trust. When you’re untethered in space only for your last moment of consciousness to be watching a friend cut the cord. The person who sucker punched you is now kicking you when you’re weak, taking it one step too far, leaving you crumpled on the mat. It’s all enough to make that fight, that urge to be angry instead of scared or hurt, disappear. It’s enough to knock you down so hard, you can’t possibly get back up - the hope is extinguished, and the story seemingly over. 

Robin squeals quietly, pulling Leigh’s hand across you to admire the ring, knocking Steve on the shoulder and saying something about the Dingus doing good. Your gaze flits down to the brown sugar and apple donuts in your lap, convinced you’re about to get sick right on top of them. Not because he’s marrying her, but because instead of being angry with him, you feel like you’ve been squashed, you’re hurt, you’re betrayed. Despite your better judgment, despite the past several years, you’ve let a man make you some pathetic, sad, heartbroken, and weak version of yourself. 

When Leigh’s hand retreats from Robin’s, lifting and curling a piece of hair behind her ear, diamond sparkling in the moonlight as she smiles over at Steve, your story’s end is written, and you need to accept it if you ever want some semblance of normalcy to return. You can’t lose him and them. But when Steve’s pinky brushes yours and you look over, his eyes resemble the broken beer bottle from the football game all those weeks ago. Shattered emerald and amber, cutting you to shreds with each shard of glass as he murmurs, “Can I tal-“

“I’ll be right back!” You whisper-shout, cutting him off and squeezing Robin’s shoulder as you get up. 

She yanks on your wrist, halting your attempt at an exit. Her eyes narrow as she interrogates, “Where are you going?”

Swallowing harshly as her blue eyes peer directly into your soul. She can probably smell the desire to run on you. Remembering your vow that Steve won’t take them away from you, a not quite a lie falls from your lips as you gesture to the concession food trucks, “You don’t have those cinnamon roasted almonds. They were my mom’s favorite and the smell is driving me crazy. Promise that’s all.”

“I swear to god, if you don’t come back, I will literally come stand outside your window on the sidewalk and scream-sing Monster Mash until someone calls the cops and I’ll drag you down with me.”

Her eyes blink, features incredibly serious despite the amusing threat. Your laugh mixes with Leigh’s and you ignore the shared moment, tugging your wrist free. “Would expect nothing less Robin.”

She motions she’s watching you, fingers to her eyes then yours, lips twitching in the corners before she turns back to the screen. 

Your feet feel heavy as they drag through the damp grass, and come to a stop to wait in line. It shouldn’t be a surprise after ordering when you hear his voice behind you. It floats through the air, soft, barely audible over the popping kettle corn, “I really didn’t know you’d be here. I wouldn’t have…” he sighs, settling on restating, “I didn’t know you’d be here.”

Your shoulders fall and your eyes stay focused on the truck. You’ve had time, since that night on the sidewalk, but your hurt still sits fresh under your layer of armor - tender like an open wound you need to keep protected. Your palms slide further under the sleeves of your sweater, clinging to the garment like the shield you’re willing it to be - you don’t want to fight with him anymore, no matter how hurt and angry you are. 

So the tone you respond with aches to sound indifferent, if not a tad harsh, reminding him you’re mad and pretending there isn’t any spark of hope within you still. It’s over, it has to be over, and all it ever was to him was something to kill time - fun and no strings exactly what you wanted. So your words are really just a reminder to yourself, another layer of the wall you need to keep up around him, “It’s fine Steve. Would have been nice to get a head’s up,” your shoulders shrug, “But, well, that’s probably too generous for the girl you were just fucking while waiting for the one, right?”

The people next to you clear their throats and you can’t find it in yourself to care, to be embarrassed. 

Steve moves in front of you, his face filling your vision. He shaved - no more scruff you like. His jeans are dark again, with fresh, new creases, and a light blue sweater pulls across his chest and shoulders. He’s picture perfect, his polished uniform in place.

He shakes his head, eyes bouncing between yours as he asks, “Is that really all it was?”

Your shoulders shrug again, because it’s easier. It’s easier to try to deny, to ignore the flutter the question causes in your stomach. Easier to bite back the words that try to form on your tongue. Because of course that’s not all it was, at least not to you. You wouldn’t feel the way you do right now if that were true. But what’s the point in telling him that though? What happens? Can you forgive each other for the words said, that, no matter how true, can’t be taken back? Things like this only end in heartbreak - because what happens if you tell him how you were starting to feel - does that change anything for him? And even if it did, that means a broken engagement, it means complicated truths coming out, it means attempts at forgiveness. And even after all of that, life won’t give you a guarantee. There is no promise of zero fights, of nothing bad ever happening. There is no happily ever after where the possibility of a break up, of losing everyone you’ve grown to care for deeply, doesn’t exist. 

So yes, it’s easier to not say any of that, because you know. This isn’t how life works. This isn’t a movie. No one is immune to life’s misfortunes. These sorts of open-ended questions and complicated emotions that come from his simple ask are unmeasurable and unreliable. Wondering and giving into those feelings only open you up to be used as a target for someone else’s shooting practice. You’ve known this, but you allowed yourself to forget, hating it was Steve who had to remind you. 

Which is why you look away from his eyes as you say, “I believe that is what was established a few weeks ago at that party Steve. You were there, remember? You were dressed as a pirate.” 

His head drops, hands running through his perfectly styled hair as he laughs, breath shaky, like the laugh is covering up any feeling in his voice. “So, that’s it? We’re just gonna act like none of it happened? You don’t wanna talk. You run away every time we get a chance to do so, a beer in my face and-“

Your hand rising in the air cuts him off, his mouth clamps shut as you make eye contact with him. “You deserved that and I’m not apologizing for it.”

He takes a step closer to you, his hand reaching towards you, then back into his hair, second guessing himself. “I’m not asking you to, and I’m not apologizing for what I said either.” Steve swallows, hands on his hips as he looks at the ground then back up at you, “What I said wasn’t a lie.” 

He breathes out the next words, both of you staring at each other with the weight of what he says hanging in the air between you.

“You couldn’t tell me.”

Your hands shake from the confrontation, from his request you left unanswered that night. The emotions that still want to bubble over, the time apart did nothing to cool either of you down. That what if, what if, what if that replaced your heartbeat grows louder, but your brain only shuts it down harder. If you hurt now, how will it feel if you keep feeding the flame only for him to extinguish it again?

The beat of your heart and those hopeful words thud in your ears as your head shakes and your voice tries not to, barely audible as the words leave your lips, “I don’t want to do this anymore Steve. We’re just going in circles. You’re getting married. You didn’t tell me. Can you look me in the eye and tell me you were really my friend while you were clearly getting engaged this whole time?”

Blue light flashes from the screen, catching the corner of your eye and illuminating his, their gaze bouncing over your face. Your bodies move closer like they can’t help it, like they know they won’t be this way again. Steve’s tongue darts over his bottom lip before his breath blows out, your name a whisper on it. The way he says your name with that look in his eyes, chests almost touching, it’s easy for your head to tilt with familiarity. Your breath out is his breath in, and it’s even easier to forget the last time you were this close. Sounds other than his harsh swallow and your heartbeat fade away. Time freezes, just a little, and the air pulses with a tangible possibility of hope. 

A shrill classic horror movie scream shatters the bubble. Your name is called, you blink, and take a step away. Guilt washes over you as you see your friends staring intently at the movie you’d practically forgotten you were there for. Leigh and Robin talk quietly and your eyelids flutter as you will whatever wants to escape down your cheeks away.

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore Steve. I just want to go hang out with my friends. I need this to be over. Can it please be over?” You stare intently at the ground, one single tear slipping past your lashes. It feels like it rolls down your cheek for an hour before Steve finally answers. 

“Okay,” he quietly agrees. 

Your head nods once and you brush past him, barely choking out a whispered ‘by the way congratulations’ as you grab your snack. Hand swiping at the stray tear as you make your way back to the blanket slowly. 

When you sit back down, Leigh’s typing on her phone. She squeezes Robin’s hand before whispering a goodbye to everyone. She jogs over to Steve, cocking her head at him. He pushes his hands through his hair again, giving her a short smile. He runs his thumb and forefinger down the bridge of his nose, swiping under it with the back of his hand. His other extends towards her as she reaches him, fingers lacing together as they walk out. 

Robin’s shoulder nudges yours and your head turns to find her with eyebrows pinched together. She leans in and quietly asks, “Is he okay? Did he say something about leaving to you?”

Your head shakes, and you extend the bag to her with a tight smile. You will just keep lying to her. Steve and you will move on, and maybe, one day in the distant future, you’ll be able to tell her. It’ll all work out.

She mirrors your sad smile, the wrinkles in her forehead deepening as she takes a small handful and turns her attention back to the movie. Or she tries, but you watch as her eyes glance down to her phone every few minutes, until it lights up with his name and she quickly starts typing a response. 

It’ll all be fine. 

“Said ‘I’m fine’ but it wasn’t true. I don’t want to keep secrets just to keep you…”

The pop song playing overhead makes your teeth grind, your skin itch, it pries at your armor. It clangs its melody like fists on the metal plates around your heart, screaming to let it in. 

Fuck Taylor Swift and her poetically relevant lyrics. 

You’re fine. 

“Mommy, why is that lady wearing pajamas?”

“Well, sometimes people, um, well maybe they’re sad or-“

“Not sad,” you call over your shoulder, but spin as you decide to face the stranger. The poor, unsuspecting stranger who is unprepared for the wrath of a person wearing blue, fuzzy pajama bottoms with ducks all over them, yellow smiley slippers, and holding several pints of Cherry Garcia in her arms. “Could just be sick. Or lazy. Could be a lot of different things, but sad is not one of them, and it’s rude to assume there’s any reason at all. I could just have wanted to stay comfy today, you don’t know!”

It’s almost laughable, if it wasn’t so humiliating or awkward. A practically audible record scratch kind of moment. Conversations of several other customers quiet then stop altogether. Eyes blink at you in concern and pity under too harsh of fluorescent lights, surrounded by neon advertisements and packaging trying to convince you the world isn’t shit as long as there’s junk food. The poppy beat overhead seems to play even louder, yet a pin could drop and people from another state would hear it. 

The mother’s hand runs through the small child’s hair next to them as she stammers an apology, “I really…I’m sorry, I just-“

“No, no, I’m so sorry. It’s fine…I…” You close your eyes and turn back around, mortified beyond a depth you ever thought possible. The pints of ice cream tumble onto the sticky counter-top, lottery tickets beneath it staring up at you and mocking ‘hey wanna test your luck even more?’. Your hand flies up into the face of the cashier as you grumble, “Not a word, Keith.”

The employee you’ve come to know on your late night and early morning snack runs snorts. His mouth closes, slurping his Mountain Dew through a straw as he rings up the ice cream. His lips leave the red plastic, squeaking it against the lid harshly, about to tell you the price you already know, when a bottle of wine is placed on the counter with a low thunk. A leather clad arm extends across your vision, a second bottle landing beside it. A deep and familiar voice from behind your shoulder calls out, “These too. But definitely not because she’s sad.”

Turning, you find Eddie just as you knew you would, his brown eyes the same as they have been since you met. Full of warmth that’s contagious, except now something darkens them, they’re colder. Reminiscent of how they looked in a bathroom that feels like you were in it ten years ago instead of a month. They’re kind, but they’re hurt, confused, and most importantly - disappointed. 

“Right,” you clear your throat and look away from them. Embarrassed, but adamant in your denial of the purchase and your appearance having any connotation with the emotion they all think you’re feeling. “These are not sad items.”

Despite the look in his eyes, Eddie’s lips twitch in a fight of a smile. He looks over your outfit and the hint of amusement disappears. His mouth turns down in a grimace. He faces Keith, hand waving across your form, “Right. Sad people don’t wear duckie pj’s to the store to buy ice cream and wine, they just don’t. People who ignore their friends though, they might…”

Honestly, the call out is nicer than what you deserve. You hadn’t dared to miss a text or call from Robin again, but all other group contact had gone unreciprocated for two weeks - convincing yourself it was easier for everyone that way. Biting the inside of your cheek, your eyes blink up at him apologetically, hopeful you can fix a small part of the mess you’ve made still. “Yeah. But if a person,” your hands wave as you speak, “Who isn’t sad,” you quickly tack on before continuing, “Did ignore their friends, it was probably for a good reason and she probably feels really bad about it and-“

“Jesus Christ, pay for your sad shit and get out,” Keith groans, snapping his fingers and then waggling them for payment. 

Eddie mashes his lips together, a genuine smile threatening to break as he hands over a bill. He salutes as he grabs the bag of items. “Keep the change, dude.”

“See you tomorrow, new shipment of Ben and Jerry’s at nine A.M!” Keith calls to your retreating forms. Eddie and you turn in tandem, flipping him off. 

“Mommy, what did that mean?”

Eddie snorts, his laugh finally bubbling out of him as you hide your eyes under one of your hands. The door swings closed behind you as the brisk November air does little to cool off your embarrassment.

His laughter trails off in a sigh and yours in a groan. When you peek at him from behind your fingers, you hold your breath as they fall to your side. Eddie’s eyes seem to poke and prod at you with their gaze, like you’re a frog laying open on a table for dissection. Like he already knows what he’s about to find, but he’s giving you an opportunity to just say it before he makes the first cut. 

Gesturing towards the bag in his hand, your eyes drop to the ground as you clear your throat. “Thank you, you didn’t have to pay. And I really am sorry for going radio silent. I’ll get better at that.”

When he doesn’t respond right away, you risk a glance up. His brows are furrowed, meeting under parted bangs, brown eyes glued to your pajama pants. Eddie nods slowly, tucking his tongue into his cheek before clicking it against the roof of his mouth. Rocking back on his heels, the plastic bag swings at his side. “Sure. What are friends for?”

His eyes meet yours again finally, and as your lips part, he keeps going, his voice a little crisper than it’s been to you before. “Cause, we are friends. Right?”

Head nodding as your brows bunch together from the tone delivering the question. That and his gaze makes something under your skin itch, your feet restless against the pavement like a horse before a race. 

Hesitation heavy in your words as you respond, “Yeah, of course…listen, I have to get back but-“

“Great,” he spins on his heel, heading down the sidewalk like he was waiting for those exact words to leave your mouth, “I’ll walk with you, sad girl.”

Blinking at his abrupt interruption, hand still raised to take the bag from him, it takes you several seconds for his words to register. He’s already halfway to the corner, your apartment just around it and you have to take a quick few jogs to catch up with his long strides as you call out, “I’m not sad.”

“Uh-huh,” Eddie nods, flicking a zippo in his hand, converse scuffing against the sidewalk as he kicks a pebble, “And I’m the King of England.”

Tired of his tone and demeanor you didn’t invite or ask for - you don’t need this. Eyes rolling as you huff past him, your shoulder bumping his harshly as you do. Eddie scoffs, but falls back into step close behind you, not letting you get away. “Quite the attitude to have with the friend who just bought your sad girl treat, even threw in the wine.”

Your shoulders hunch at his words, eyebrows pulling together and face growing hot as you fiddle with the first key to the apartment building. “Well, I didn’t ask you to buy it and if you only did to just rub it in my face you’re not really my friend. And I didn’t ask you to come here.”

Eddie’s hand lands on the door above your shoulder as you push it open, arm blocking you from entering. “Quit the tough girl act, you’re not fooling anyone.”

Your skin burns at his accusation, hands balling into fists at your sides. “I’m not trying to fool anyone, Eddie, or do anything. I literally don’t know what you’re talk-“

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, you can keep trying to sell this shit to everyone else, but I’m not buying.” He points inside, “Let’s go.”

Face feeling hotter than when you were six and scolded in public, you stomp through the entryway, each step echoing across the old tile. As you turn to head up the stairs, if only to get away from his all seeing eyes, the realization of what your apartment looks like and how extremely not ready it is for guests has you pausing mid stride. 

When your gaze makes contact with his again, Eddie simply makes a statement. Flat, disappointed, and no question in his tone, “It’s worse than I think isn’t it.”

Before you can argue, before you can tell him to leave, the keys in your hand are snatched by swift fingers, and Eddie’s long legs are jumping up the stairs, skipping over several steps and disappearing around the landing. Chasing after him, the thundering of both of your feet is dulled by the faded and dingy carpet and the shriek of his name leaving your lips. 

Watching as he pushes the key into the lock, turning the knob, you sprint down the hallway. Your body barrels into his, but it’s too late. Eddie falters from your weight crashing into him, but he remains upright, although slightly hunched, as your body clings to his, trying to drag him down. The door swings open and he winces, and you drop to the ground, defeated. 

For the first time in a few days, you take in the state of your living space from an outside perspective. You watch as Eddie reviews it all for the first time - the take out on your counter, the empty beer bottles pushing the lid of the recycling up. The stack of Double O Seven DVDs on the coffee table. The couch covered in blankets because you’ve been sleeping there, your bed still sitting free of sheets in the other room. The bag of chips and the tub of frosting. It’s not a pretty picture. 

Eddie suddenly crouches, hands grabbing at you and you push him away shrieking, crawling into your apartment and away from him. Both of you swat at each other, hair flying in faces and grunting like you’re siblings fighting over the remote. 

 “Go-get off! What the hell is your problem! Eddie!”

He manages to grab your phone out of your sweatshirt pocket and you leap towards him, arms over his shoulders, you reach for the phone, and he holds himself up on his knees, arm extending it away from you. He manages to tilt it just right to get your face to unlock it and you growl, thumping on his bicep as he shoves you off. He presses the familiar green icon on your home screen while you accuse, “What is your deal? What the fuck are you-“

Eddie groans, holding up the screen displaying the last song you’d been listening to and getting to his feet. He points towards your bedroom. “Go put on some jeans. No more sad girl music. No more cheese out of the can. Field trip. Let’s go.”

Your hand holding a slipper that had fallen off in the scuffle points towards the open door, any neighbors paying attention getting a hell of a show. Your scowl meets his frown. “Um, you can go. Don’t basically break into my home and insult Britney and Easy Cheese in the same sentence asshole. I’m not going anywhere with you.”

Eddie raises his eyebrows, they disappear under his bangs and he looks at you as if you’re the child you’re determined to act like. He sighs, voice dripping in drama as he heads into your kitchen, “I really didn’t want to do this, but you’ve left me with no other choice.” He spins the cheap metal cap off of one of the bottles of wine theatrically, flicking the cap onto the counter before turning the bottle upside down as he stares at you. “I’d get going. The ice cream is next.”

Your eyes roll as you scoff, “You’re not gonna do shit to the Ben and Jerry’s, you and I both know it.”

He starts on the second bottle, both ringed hands holding tight to each, red liquid splashing the sides of the sink. “I will literally drag you back out of here in your sad girl jammies to a very public place. I’m generously giving you the opportunity to avoid that embarrassment, but if you insist…”

Eddie sets the bottles down in the sink, stepping over to you in two strides, hands on your waist as he moves like he could toss you over his shoulder.

Your hands push at his chest. “Fucking fine! Give me a few minutes.” You start towards your room but spin sharply on your socked heel, one foot still in a slipper that skids as your finger points in his face. “Touch my ice cream and see what happens.”

He snorts, crossing his arms. “Big, tough words coming from a girl with chocolate frosting on her chest and ducks on her ass.”

You turn away from him, slamming the door on his call of, “If you ever want to see your precious Ben and Jerry’s again, you’ll be back out here in five minutes!”

When you make eye contact with the chocolate stain in the mirror, you have to suppress your groan. 

Eddie’s Jeep tires crunch over gravel before coming to a stop in a homemade parking lot. Tan dust kicked up and floating through the air partially obscures where he’s taken you. 

The entire twenty minute drive had been enveloped in stilted silence. He had managed to dump one of the pints while you changed, claiming to have thought you weren’t coming back out, and now he was on the receiving end of one of your finest silent treatments. His hand flexes on the gear, moving the car into park. As his jaw clenches while yanking the keys out of the ignition, you start to rethink your silence. There’s a part of you that wants, maybe needs, to run back to your apartment, lock the door, and never speak to him again. But there’s another part, far larger, and riddled with guilt, that made you follow him. 

Staring out the window at the dilapidated bar, your voice feels scratchy from the lack of talking as you push out, “What are we doing-” Eddie’s driver’s door slams, and the end of your question falls into the empty car, flat, as you blink at his back walking away from you, “Here.” 

As Eddie makes his way to the building, you hoist yourself out of the Jeep and begin to follow despite the cold shoulder. You’re willing to appease him and participate in whatever this field trip is if it means you can somehow get the apology you definitely owe him out - try to make things right for the mess you’ve pulled him into. 

A faint and familiar sound echoes in the quiet and practically empty parking lot. The distinct whip of a ball and the ting and harsh smack of metal meeting it, mix with the crunch of rocks under your rubber soles. Behind the tired and washed out brick building, chain link fencing rises, hinting further to what the sounds are and where they’re coming from. The large red letters above the doorway spell out “Murray’s” in distinct vintage lettering, hollowed out with unlit bulbs reminiscent of an old theater’s marquee lights. You pause beneath the sign, stealing a deep breath because something tells you Eddie has officially pinned you to the table, and the first inevitable cut of the dissection is imminent. Your fingers curl around the gray, metal door’s industrial handle and pull, and you step inside. 

Billie Holiday’s voice croons from somewhere deeper in the building. Voice and music crackling and staticky, like it’s playing off a real vinyl. The urge to find out why Eddie’s brought you to a place seemingly stuck in the past draws you deeper down the dimly lit hallway. Rich, red paint on the walls partially covered by framed photographs line the entire space. Black and white film prints of American icons, with individual golden lamps lighting up each from their spots attached to the frames. Your feet carry you past Elvis, Jackie Robinson, then Marilyn, and Michael Jackson before you enter a spacious and circular room. 

Red vinyl booths line the curve on one side, small round tables meant for two lit by glowing lamps scattered across the floor. A stage and space for what appears to be a dancefloor sit opposite of you, nestled between the booths and a bar running across the opposite curve. Speckled and worn mirrors behind the bar reflect the wide range of liquor bottles and the different glassware in a variety of shapes and colors, clearly thrifted antiques, hanging above them. Eddie leans against the bar talking to an older man, neither of whom spare a glance in your direction. 

This room’s photographs on the walls are covers of Life and Time, clippings from other renowned news outlets - all famous headlines like when man went to the moon and the JFK assassination, the Cubs winning the world series, spanning all the way to current events. As you spin, you see the vintage photo booth, much older than the one you and Steve took photographs in at Replay, and you push the memory away, focusing on the bulletin board next to it instead.

The flier for Corroded Coffin has your attention as the song crackles on it’s end notes, the next from the album playing softly. Billie’s voice sings the familiar lyrics of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ and your heart drops into your stomach, palms sweating profusely. Why the hell are you here? Why this song? Why, why, why.

“Ouch. Who broke your heart?”

The unfamiliar voice asks the same question Eddie had asked you back in September, and this time you’re even more unprepared for it. Your head whips to the side, gaze looking over your shoulders that hunch. Your body turns to face them head on, but your arms cross in defense. The man Eddie had been chatting with now has his focus solely on you. Wire rimmed glasses frame eyes that stare intently at you as he wipes down a glass. His balding head of hair and the confidence he carries, along with the way he tosses the rag over his shoulder before leaning on the bar, has you feeling like you’ve suddenly entered a sitcom. 

Eddie continues to ignore you, one foot resting on the metal of stool as his ringed fingers crack peanuts. He avoids your gaze as you turn your frown on the man who seemed to have read your mind. You keep your voice as neutral as you can when you ask, “Excuse me?”

“Written all over your face, kid.” The nameless man, but you have a hunch the name of the establishment and him are one in the same, winces with his words. He pulls down three amber colored, short glasses, then a bottle of vodka. Before you can argue, he keeps going as he pours, “Well, maybe you’re not in love. Not yet anyway,” he muses to himself, “Or maybe he is and you don’t know how to let the poor sap down?”

His eyes lift from the glasses of alcohol to yours and he squints. Pausing before pouring the third glass, humming, “Wait, no, well…maybe.” Keeping his eyes on you as he tips back one of the generous shots before he breathes out with finality, “No.”

Eddie smirks into his own shot, as the man snaps in his face, but technically commands, “Name.”

Your mouth opens to stop this nonsense and analysis you absolutely didn’t ask for, but Eddie beats you to it. Eyebrows raised, mouth pursed as he offers up, “Steve.”

The man behind the bar hovers the liquor bottle above the now empty glass, blinking wide behind his frames. He sets the bottle down, pressing his palms to the bar top. Scoffing with an incredulous tone, “You’re kidding.”

“Excuse me!” You try to interrupt, but the man shakes his hands, ignoring your objection. 

“We’ll deal with that little slip in the simulation some other time,” pushing the third glass down the bar towards you as he continues, “So, Steve,” he laughs a little, licking his bottom lip, “Right. So he loves us, maybe, but perhaps it is us who loves Steve? Mm, tragic, because he doesn’t reciprocate? Or are we too scared to tell him how we feel?”

Your shoulders are up to your ears now, arms wrapping around yourself even tighter, trying to make whatever see-through, vulnerable shield this man can penetrate more resilient. Your gaze is harsh on the side of Eddie’s face, death stare glaring and attempting to burn his cheek with only your eyes as you ask again, “What are we doing here?”

“The cosmic question, isn’t it?” The bartender muses, pouring another glass for himself. He raises his eyebrows at Eddie in a silent question who shakes his head no. 

“I’m leaving.” You start to turn towards the door, but Eddie’s call behind you makes you freeze.

“Have fun walking back then!”

Your hands go to your pockets, searching, even though you know they’re empty. When you look at him, you see your phone in his fingers and his brown eyes that have turned to stone. “Yeah, I still have this. So either you can participate in the field trip, or you can walk all the way back home to your sad girl cave.”

“I’ll just have him call me a cab.” Gesturing to the nameless man with your solution. 

“Murray,” he offers with a toothy grin and head nod, confirming your assumption. 

Eddie laughs, cold, tossing a peanut shell on the bar, “Yeah? And pay for it how?”

You’ve been very, very, dumb, because it’s only now you realize the empty pockets would also mean you don’t have your wallet. Your eyes close in defeat. 

When you open them, Eddie is staring at you and it feels an awful lot like that scalpel is resting just over your heart, waiting for any final words. 

He doesn’t take his eyes off of you as he says, “I’ll take those quarters now.”

Murray rolls a tube across the bar to him, eyes darting back and forth between you two like he is watching a ping pong match. 

Eddie grabs the roll, storming past you and down a different hallway, out the back door of the bar. The chipping black paint flutters as the door swings closed, a slam as it meets the frame making you flinch. The final notes of ‘I’ll Be Seeing You’ finish and you release a shaky breath. 

“And I suppose I’m to follow him and his mysterious quarters?”

Murray’s lips twitch and he raises his hands in surrender. Your sigh and step towards the door has him dropping his hands though, nudging the still full glass of vodka towards you. Figuring it’s his way of telling you to clean and sterilize the wound before the prodding at it begins, you take a step closer. Hesitating slightly, your finger wraps around the amber glass, a deep breath leaves you as you tip it to your lips. 

He nods his head towards you and raises his own glass, and as the liquid flows into your mouth, he toasts, “To Steve.”

The liquor sits on your tongue longer than you’d like it to as you glare at him. Swallowing it down, you blame the harsh burn in your throat for the prickle that’s forming behind your eyes.

Spinning on your heel to follow Eddie, Murray’s voice calls out quietly, making you pause.

“I’d tell him sooner, rather than later.”

Looking over your shoulder, he puts the glasses in a bin underneath the bar, not looking back at you as he quietly adds, “In my experience, there’s always space to dive deeper into the story. Things are often not what they appear to be. And well,” he chuckles to himself, “Harrington’s got a lot more going on under all that hair than meets the eye I think.” Your brows furrow as Murray looks up at you, patting his hand over his heart with a smirk on his lips, “And I’m not talking about the stuff on top of his head.”

Normally, the joke about Steve’s chest hair would have your lips twitch into a smile, a roll of your eyes, but instead, his words float through the air until they arrive in your gut, sitting heavy and dragging you down. They try to ignite that hope again, but you know it’s no use in letting it light anymore. 

Your feet push forward, stomping down the hallway without a word back. As the door swings closed behind you, your eyes blink, adjusting to the harsh sunlight you’d forgotten was shining outside. The sounds from earlier now connecting to what’s before you. Several enclosed batting cages sit just beyond a wooden and covered back patio of the bar. There’s two older men with their bags of gear sitting at their feet. Each drinking a beer at a small wooden table, rubbing their shoulders. Eddie is inside one of the cages. His leather jacket hung on the fence, a blue helmet squishing down his curls. The white cotton of his baseball tee stretches over his flexing back muscles as he swings at a ball released by the machine. 

As your feet scuff against the deck and then the gravel, you take another deep breath, mouth opening to just blurt out some sort of apology to him. Eddie stops the machine with a harsh smack to a button on the side of the cage. He comes out the door, holding the helmet and bat out to you, chest moving up and down with each ragged breath. He offers a closed lip smile as he says, “Your turn.”

“Eddie, I really don’t…” you trail off until you settle on just asking, “Why?”

“Would you just do it?” He frowns, tone annoyed as he extends his arms towards you further. 

Eyebrows raised in anticipation he nods once as you take the items with a huff and stomp into the cage. As you place the helmet onto your head, and stare down the machine, you exhale and press the button. It whirs back to life as your hands wrap around the bat and you step up to the metaphorical plate, Eddie’s voice calling from over your shoulder as you do. 

“So, wanna tell me why you’re sad? Talk about anything Murray said?”

Your fingers curl tighter around the grip, shoulders going up in defense again. Your jaw clenches before you grit out, “For the last time Eddie, I’m not sad. I’m fine.”

Eddie snorts behind you as you swing at the first ball released, missing.

Strike one. 

“Sure, figured that’d be your answer. So,” he sighs heavily and you hear the fence rattle like he’s kicking it, “Why’re you avoiding us again then?”

You knew this topic couldn’t be dodged forever. It’s true, you’d been pulling away again since Halloween, and getting the save the date was the nail in your friendship’s coffin. As the wedding looms in the not so distant future, it’s easier to pull away from him, from all of them, because you know that they were and always will be Steve’s friends first. Intentions of not letting Steve keep them from you seem futile now, when you know the history and depth of friendship you’re up against. You’re not gonna say that to Eddie though, so as the next pitch is released, you swing and stammer out a pathetic lie. 

“I-I’m not.” The ball makes contact, causing your forearms to vibrate from the bad swing. Your grip tightens so the bat doesn’t fall from your fingers as the ball pops up and behind you, rattling the fence. 

“Well that’s a load of crap. Wanna know what I think?” Eddie yells, not pausing for you to refute and sarcastically continuing, “Great, I’m overjoyed to tell you.”

Your heel digs into the gravel and your eyes narrow on the whirring machine, waiting for him to sink the scalpel into you, defenseless - trapped from running away from him, stuck in this cage with nowhere to go to avoid what he’s about to tell you. 

“I think you are sad. I think Murray was right and you don’t wanna admit it to him, to anyone, and especially not yourself. Instead of an easy fix of talking about it, you wanna sit in your pity and throw a party.” Eddie’s voice takes on a dramatic, high pitched imitation of you as the next ball is released and you swing, “I’m Y/N! Woe is me! I’m all alone! Nobody loves me!”

You miss the ball again, shoulders hunching in, desperate to make yourself smaller with each of the words that he shouts at your back. Turning to look over your shoulder, you glare at him. 

Strike two. 

Eddie leans against the fence, glaring right back at you with his eyebrows raised as you hiss, “You’re being an asshole.”

“Yeah? At least I’m an asshole who’s got friends,” he gestures towards you, “You clearly think you don’t.” You twist your toe in the gravel deeper, returning your focus to the machine and taking a deep breath as he keeps going. “I’ll have Murray pour you some more vodka and you can sit here and think about how your life is horrible. Truly tragic.”

Your eyes narrow from his bored tone, lifting your chin and elbow, adamant to ignore him. 

“You have nothing and no one.”

Another exhale, your chest rises and falls with a deep inhale and your shoulders relax. Straining to hear the hint of the ball being released instead of Eddie yelling at you. 

“Maybe you’ll get a cat one day, but ultimately you’re gonna die alone!”

SMACK.

Your bat meets the ball and it soars to the end of the cage and you spin on him. Face hot, your emotions bubbling and ready to explode. Anger mingling with adrenaline coursing through your veins from the hit, amping up how the words fall out of you in an angry cry. 

“Yeah! I am Eddie! And that’s what I want! So fucking lay off!”

“Why?” 

“Because it’s easier!” 

When he yells right back, without pausing, asking you for a reason, the excuse falls out of you easily. Your mouth closes immediately after the words tumble out in your scream, tears pricking at the corner of your eyes as Eddie’s narrow. He shakes his head, volume lowering only slightly. 

“Nah, that’s just fucking running. And take it from someone who ran for a long time, it feels easy, but it’s the furthest thing from. Eventually, you are going to get tired, and your problems will be right on your heels. 

Facing the machine again so you don’t have to look into his eyes any longer, you shake your head no at him, letting a ball hit the end of your bat, popping forward limply as you try to speak with confidence. 

“I’m not running from problems Eddie, I’m just…it’s easier to be the one who does the leaving than to be the one who’s left, okay?”

The words float through the air, unable to be taken back, and their weight makes something in your chest squeeze and constrict. 

“That’s some next-level, glass half empty, pessimistic, depressing shit. And who the hell said anyone was going anywhere? You’re refusing to see that if you looked back for one second from the door you’ve been half out since you got here, that nobody else even has their shoes on.”

The squeezing in your chest only intensifies, his cut getting deeper as he searches for answers, and your bat hesitates halfway through your swing, sending a ball straight up into the air above you. You breathlessly ask, “What?”

Eddie waits until you look over your shoulder at him, emphasizing each word. “Nobody’s leaving you.”

His words hit you harder than your bat has hit any of the balls. It feels like one was pitched right into your gut, expelling all the air from your lungs and causing the tears that have been right behind your eyes to well up hard and fast. You spin to avoid his gaze again and square up for another pitch. 

Eddie doesn’t know that it’s not a promise anyone can make - life doesn’t care. 

Your head shakes, tears brimming on your lash line as you argue, “You can’t know that Eddie, not really. It’s better this way.”

SMACK.

A tear slips over your bottom lashes, trailing down your cheek as the bat makes good contact again and Eddie digs the scalpel in for his final cut. “Fine. Believe that. But you need to admit that you’re slamming the door on our faces and pretending like no one is still standing on the other side, knocking and asking to be let back in.”

The machine whirls, it wooshes with the release of a ball as another tear, and then another falls. Your vision progressively grows fuzzy, the world around you blurring as you swing again and his voice washes over you. 

“Did you know that Nancy is a freak just like you, and I’m sure she’d be happy to split some Cherry Garcia any time? God help you both for liking such a disgusting flavor.”

You let the tears fall openly, but silently, as you swing harder this time. The weight in your stomach - the knots that have been forming since the very first lie was told - twist and tug harder. 

“I know you’re not stupid enough to think I wouldn’t come have a beer with you, or take you to Target to get some new sheets or food that doesn’t have the Frito-Lay logo plastered on it.”

Another ball pops up and behind you as you clear your throat. Refusing to believe what he’s saying, you wonder if he can see the tears hitting the tan gravel beneath you and darkening it like drops of rain.

“And Robin! She’d love to watch Double O Seven with you. You should hear her Sean Connery impression. It’s terrible.” Eddie laughs a little and you twist the toe of your converse into the gravel, covering up a dark spot. 

“But no. Instead of any of that, you just gave up. You didn’t give any of us a chance. Steve Harrinngton’s dumb ass is the only thing to blame for all your loneliness, sadness, and problems. So keep ignoring the footsteps running behind you and the knocking, or open the fucking door.”

You want to believe Eddie, you really do. But what happens when you come to rely on someone, need the support to lean on, and they’re gone?

Your head shakes harder, a sob stuck in your throat as you barely murmur, “Eddie, I can’t.”

His voice is softer than it has been all day as he asks, “Can’t or won’t?”

More tears fall past your lashes. The last ball is pitched and you choke out, “I’m sorry.”

You don’t attempt to swing at this one and it hits the fence behind you. The machine whirs one final time then stops. 

“Yeah, me too.”

Heavy, suffocating, disappointment lingers in the air around you. 

It takes several minutes, even more tears falling quietly, for you to remove the helmet from your head and drop both it and the bat on the ground with a clang. When you turn around, swiping at your cheeks, Eddie isn’t there. 

Each drag of your feet inside is an active fight. Limbs heavy, heart even more so, because you know what awaits you inside before it’s confirmed. 

Murray looks up from a keg he’s tapping and simply nods to the end of the bar. Your phone and wallet sit there and you know the Jeep and Eddie will be gone when you push out the door crying. 

You’ve somehow done the leaving and were left this time. 

Strike three. 

It’s literally a symptom, or as some like to claim - stage - of grief. 

Denial. 

We lie all the time. We tell lies to spare or protect feelings, and more importantly, we lie to ourselves, instead of facing truths head on. 

Because it’s easier to lie - to avoid, to shut something down, or deny its existence when it’s too hard to look at directly. Which is interesting. Why has there not been some sort of evolutionary transformation from this reaction? And really, the longer you wait to face something, the harder the truth is going to hit you. The time you give a truth to sit untold, unacknowledged, it only grows larger. That truth takes hearty roots, and your avoidance in the form of lies, whether to yourself or others, or both, only allows it to spread more rapidly. 

Eventually, you will have to stop lying, to stop running, and that truth will have grown in strength. It has sprouted new truths or problems because your lies only fed it the fertilizer it needed to do so, and now it’s suddenly not the one thing you have to face anymore, but the multiple harder truths. 

Which may be why you’re still outside, staring up at Nancy’s brownstone, where all of your friends, or well, the people you hope are still your friends are-

“Out of the bike lane!”

You jump forward onto the sidewalk just in time for a man in bright yellow spandex to zoom past you shouting some sort of curse as you clutch the dessert in your hands tighter. 

Grateful you had a firm handle on it to begin with, it's one of the few family heirlooms you held onto along with the recipe it’s holding. Hoping to gain some sort of courage from deep within it, like your mom can offer you some through the dish, you make your way up the brick steps. 

The only reason you're here, the only reason you’re facing this day the way you’re feeling just so happens to be the one to open the door before you can even ring the bell. 

The door is flung open and her bright blue eyes fight to sparkle behind squinted eyelids that are almost shut she’s smiling so wide at you.

“Happy Friendsgiving!” Robin shouts louder than she needs to and holds her arms out in a dramatic greeting. She’s covered from fingertips to elbows in thick, orange goo, her clearly thrifted oversize old man sweater sleeves pushed up to her shoulders. You smile your first genuine smile in weeks as she goes to hug you and you both pause, rethinking it. 

“Fall in a pumpkin?” You quip as you balance the dessert in your hand to shrug off one arm of your coat. 

Robin wiggles her fingers and hands spirit and jazz style with a beam that shows off her dimple as she corrects, “Sweet potato casserole.”

“You fell in a sweet potato casserole?” Following her deeper into Nancy’s, you take in a long breath, the tight chest you’ve had since Eddie left you at Murray’s loosening with each word exchanged between you and her. But knowing you have to face him, Nancy, Steve and her, and continue to pretend nothing is wrong while around Robin, has the constricting pressure around your heart returning quickly. 

Robin rolls her eyes, turning and walking backwards and making a face at you. She huffs as she turns back around, “No. Steve is making his famous mac and cheese and apparently I was annoying him, can you believe it? So him and Nance put me on mashing duty to keep me busy like a toddler.”

“You said it, not me!” Steve calls, his wine glass stopping before his lips when he makes eye contact with you. 

Weeks of not seeing each other after the way you left things was going to be hard, you knew that. But you really weren’t prepared for how he looks today, or how it would affect you. 

He’s got a burnt orange, almost brown, thick sweater on with light wash jeans. You’re sure both are from the section of his closet you stumbled upon months ago. That part holding his clothes he doesn’t wear often for whatever reason. He looks comfortable, casual, content. Down to the tube socks on his feet and the worn brown leather of the band of his watch. Your chest aches a little as you wonder if it’s Leigh that’s gotten him to relax into this version of himself. Even his hair, longer than a few weeks ago, is different than you’ve seen from him. Far messier than usual - like it hasn’t seen products or been styled lately, and several days of facial hair evident on his jaw. He looks like a version of Steve designed to torture you - a Steve who you’ve only gotten glimpses of and you miss before you’ve even really met. 

“Hi,” he says quietly, smiling closed-lipped at you.

“Hi,” you offer with your own hesitant smile. Your fingers fiddle with the tinfoil over the edge of the dessert from your spot where you linger in the doorway.

“How are you? Do you…wine?” Steve stammers over his questions, cheeks turning pink. He spins and starts pouring you some without waiting for your answer. It gives you a small bit of relief that he’s as anxious as you are, neither of you knowing what comes next. Do you ever return to normal? And what is normal for you and Steve?

“Sure, yeah, good. You?”

Steve nods his head too quickly, spinning to face you again with the wine. “Good, yeah, thanks.”

“Good.” 

“Yeah.”

Steve blinks at you, hazel eyes bright under the soft glow of Nancy’s pendant lighting hanging above her island. As you stare at each other, unsaid words float in the air, it was silly to think it could ever just be over with him. You miss entering a room and not sharing this awkward, palpable, tension - when it was a smile or joke exchanged instead of forced greetings, a warmth and joy felt instead of dread. 

You hate that you don’t hate him. 

You hate that there’s this horrible ache in your chest, like words want to tumble out but you physically can’t say them - why can’t you both just apologize? Why can’t that save the date be ripped to shreds? Why can’t it all work out? 

“You two are acting weird.”

Robin’s voice bursts whatever bubble you were both in, and you clear your throat, looking down. Steve’s fingers adjust on the wine glass and he shakes his head. 

Steve stammers, “N-no, we’re g-”

“Good?” Robin questions, eyebrows raised, “Yeah I gathered that.”

Before either of you can say anything in response, Nancy’s voice calls from the front door, “Crisis averted! I found a bag!”

Her brown curls bounce against her cheeks as she jogs into the kitchen. Dressed up in black suede boots and flared jeans, her tan peacoat left open showing off a silky black blouse. She pauses, mid stride, bag of marshmallows held aloft and her smile faltering as her gaze darts around the room.

Feeling warm under Robin’s sudden perceptiveness, you’re grateful when Nancy springs into action, relieving the awkward tension. 

“Geez Robin, did any sweet potato end up in the dish? I left you alone with them for twenty minutes.”

Robin’s lips twitch slightly, eyes finally leaving Steve’s as she looks down at her hands, flexing her fingers, the orange goo becoming stiff and hard on her skin.  

Nancy gives you a look, her eyes narrowed in a question but smiles when Robin looks back up. She places the marshmallows on the counter and grabs her hand. “Well, Y/N, can finish up.” She directs her next words to you, head nodding to a pan on the counter, “Put those marshmallows on top and stick it in the oven. Steve, your cheese isn’t gonna grate itself. And you,” Nancy tugs Robin out of the kitchen, smiling sweetly at her, “Are gonna come get cleaned up with me.”

Robin’s entire face turns pink, freckles standing out on her skin, from the way Nancy stares at her intently, like no one else exists. You look down, hiding your smile when Robin coughs, sputtering out something that you’re sure is supposed to be a yes. She eagerly nods and Steve huffs loudly, which makes her turn to glare over her shoulder at him, but it quickly turns into a smile as you call out, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” to their retreating forms. 

Their footsteps fade and Steve reaches out with one hand, looking at the dessert as he asks, “I can grab that from you?”

As the door to her bedroom clicks closed, you breathe out an exhale, unsure of how much longer you can keep it all up. His eyes are warm as his fingers brush the dish and you pull it back from his reach a bit, whispering, “It’s really fragile.”

Steve’s eyes bounce over your face, setting the wine down, both hands reaching for the dessert as he promises, quiet and sure, “I got it.”

Your fingertips graze each other as he takes it, and the electricity of just one more touch from him is enough kindling for the hope to spark. The heat from his stare has your cheeks warming and his turning pink. Steve’s lips twitch slightly in the corners as he glances down at the dish, then back up at you. 

“So, this just from Mariano’s then?” 

Your eyes roll hard at his assumption, scoffing as you turn to rip open the bag of marshmallows and keep your back to him. “You would ask if it was from there instead of Jewel.”

Steve knocks the faucet off from washing his hands, shaking them into the sink and flinging water across the stainless steel before drying them. He sucks his teeth with a wince as he turns to the counter, his shoulder next to yours. “Yeah, okay that’s fair.”

You laugh quietly, popping a marshmallow in your mouth in between placing them haphazardly across the orange mixture. Steve sighs next to you and gestures to the dish. “See, this is why I asked. No way you baked something. Didn’t think you could do anything in the kitchen except keep your take out menus impeccably organized.”

“Impeccably huh? That your word of the day on the calendar Robin got you?” You toss another marshmallow in your mouth with a smirk. 

“Actually, no today’s word was assiduous.” 

The veins in his hands flex as he grates the cheese, and he gives you a look as he says the word with confidence and emphasis, eyebrows raised.

You stall, taking a sip of your wine and hiding your smile in the glass before asking, “What, am I supposed to be impressed or something?” 

He dumps the cheese into the pot and turns to you, cocking his head, tongue in his cheek before he frowns. “You’re not?”

Steve’s lips twitch, his facade breaking easily and you both laugh. Your shoulders relax further and so do his. Why does it have to be so easy with him, yet so hard?

“Actually, I think it will be you who’s impressed,” you start, making the marshmallows a little more purposeful and pretty for his sake. 

“Oh yeah?” 

You hum, nodding, “I made that pie from scratch.”

“No you didn’t.”

Looking up, you see him shaking his head. He makes eye contact with you and he shrugs, adamant, “Nope. No way.”

Your hands land on your hips as your tone turns indignant. “Yes I did! I made the crust from scratch, cold butter into flour and everything. Rolled it out, doctored up the filling in a pan on the stove. Brown sugar, the works.”

His hand stops on the second block of cheese, eyes narrowing at you as he questions, “Really?”

A laugh leaves you from the tone of his suspicion as you slide the pan holding Robin’s dish into the oven. “You sound like my dad when my mom made it the first time.”

Steve doesn’t say anything and your lip tugs between your teeth as you remember the moment between your parents. Maybe it’s the holiday, maybe you’re just tired, maybe it’s the few sips of alcohol that let the story fall out of you so easily. 

“She was really awful at cooking,” you laugh, taking a sip of wine and waving your hand in the air, “I mean like, awful. She could serve you a grilled cheese that was somehow burnt but the cheese was cold? She got better, but anyways, I really don’t know why she thought she’d be any better at baking…”

Steve’s eyes meet yours briefly as he takes his own sip of wine and you look away, grabbing some of the cheese and deciding to help as you keep talking. 

“I don’t remember how she decided to do this, but my dad was out of town for work, and she wanted to make him something special, and to her that was a pie, I guess? But she was adamant that it be from scratch. Made and baked with love. And so we did. We went and got all of the ingredients, and we destroyed the kitchen, but it was the most fun I’ve ever had with her. We listened to Dolly Parton and drank wine all day, totally got flour and butter everywhere, I told her about classes, and the guy I was seeing…”

Your eyes drift off the counter, remembering it was right before you knew she was sick and your chin trembles as a watery laugh leaves you, “And then my dad got home. Oh my god, his face. He, he…” you blink away tears as you start laughing harder, “He just dropped his duffle bag on the ground and shook his head looking around in shock and my mom yelled ‘We made you a pie!’ and my dad just raised his eyebrows and said ‘Sure looks like you made somethin’.”

The last words come out shaky and it isn’t until you feel a pressure on top of one of your hands that you realize you had been grating the cheese down to almost nothing, stealing it from him. Glancing up through blurry vision, tears continue to fall down your cheeks as Steve quietly asks, “But it was good?”

You snort, more tears leaving you as you shake your head no. “It was inedible,” you laugh harder, “Like raw, but somehow dry and clumpy, so bad.”

Steve squeezes your hand, eyebrows furrowing together as his confusion settles deeper in his face and he starts cautiously, “So…you…made an inedible pie for us tonight?”

Your head shakes more and you take a deep breath, laughter and tears slowing. “No, after that, she, um…” closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and push out, “She needed to keep her hands working…” 

When you open your eyes again, Steve’s staring intently at you, waiting. You wonder why he can wait patiently for this story, look at you like he’d wait an eternity for you to tell him the ending, but he couldn’t wait for you. But, would you have wanted him to? When you’re certain that the potential of losing him, all of them, completely, isn’t worth the risk. Would he have waited forever for you to change your mind?

Your voice breaks as you finish, “Her chemo…she started to get neuropathy, and making the crust and keeping her hands and brain busy helped. So she kept practicing until it was perfect. And now it’s one of the last things I have from her. The dish too, we went and searched for the right one…” Fingers of your free hand form quotation marks as you roll your eyes with a laugh, remembering her ridiculous insistence on it and the day of estate sales and thrift stores.  

It’s silent as the unsaid ending washes over you both, the importance - the weight - of the dessert and the story. The immediate need to take it all back rises up in you hard, wishing you could put the entire thing back inside yourself and rewind the last few minutes. The vulnerability leaves you cracked open and exposed to him and you’re not sure you can handle his reaction. 

“I’m sorry,” your brows furrow, “I don’t know why I just…”

Steve’s fingers wrap around yours tighter and he squeezes. Your eyes meet the moss and honey you want to avoid because you’re sure they’re looking at you with that look. The pitying one, the one that everyone gets before they tell you a sorry that doesn’t help. 

But Steve’s eyes shine with something stronger - admiration and amusement as he winces, “So, see, that story tells me that your mom practiced and practiced to make a perfect pie not you and-”

Your hand smacks at his chest lightheartedly, laughing around a protest. Steve holds his hands up in surrender, “Hey, hey, okay!” 

Both of your laughter subsides and he smiles, a genuine smile, one side of his lips twisted up as he looks at the pie then you. “I’m sure it’s great. I’m excited to try it. Thank you for telling me that…I wish I could have met…”

As he trails off, your fingers brush against his on the counter, your bodies shift closer, letting the story and laughter pull you into each other’s gravity once more. Maybe it doesn’t have to be hard - there’s a reason you can fall so easily back into each other. A reason you can offer up a story you normally keep close if he’s the one listening, a reason you can forgive. There has to be a reason your body wants to be closer to his, a reason you want to feel his lips on yours again. Maybe there are cosmic connections, unexplainable phenomena of the universe, fate and destiny and invisible strings. 

Hope flourishes inside of you, it catches on every bounce of his eyes over your face, the way his finger nudges against yours just like they did in that car ride to a lake so many weeks ago. It sparks and drifts into the air, it floats around you like embers from an actual fire as he breathes your name out and your body takes one step closer, making you chest to chest. One easy tilt of your head, one bend from his and maybe it’d all be okay again.  

The doorbell rings, making both of you jump apart. The reality of the situation hits you, like someone dumped an entire bucket of water over the hope as Steve looks toward the door and frowns. You keep letting yourself end up in this position and eventually it’s going to hurt so much you’ll never be able to come back from it. 

You’re not his, he’s not yours, and it’s too late. Another girl calls him baby, he calls her honey, and they go on and have the life you were certain you never wanted - all because you can’t let him in the way he wanted you to. This isn’t a movie, there is no rewind, there is no pause, and it’s time to move on. 

“I’ll go get that, you have cheese to…uh…” 

“Y/N, wait-”

You’re already out of the kitchen, speed walking to the front door. Dreading the girl you’re certain is on the other side, you start to pull your shoes back on. Maybe you could slip out with an excuse and leave. Your destiny isn’t Steve, it’s to always run, to always be alone. 

The door swings open and you look up from your crouched position, one shoe on. Eddie is standing in the doorway, holding a bag of Hawaiian Rolls and looking at you, eyebrows raised in wait.  

He holds open the door and gestures outside as he asks, “Should I leave this open?”

Your stomach swoops, thinking of the chance he’s giving you, the opportunity to do what you want, no questions asked. But your heartbeat thuds loudly in your ears at the opposite side of the coin - the other chance he’s giving you. 

A deep breath is exhaled as you shakily ask, “That depends…are you still knocking?”

Eddie shrugs. “Maybe. Only one way to really find out right?”

Nodding once, you stand. A limped step over to the door with one shoe on, and you close it. Your palm rests flat against the wood as you take another calming breath. The sounds of the others in the kitchen are muffled as you turn around and look up at Eddie. You kick off the shoe, take a step forward, and mime opening a door.

Letting a tear slip past your lash line, you shrug, standing in the metaphorical open doorway and hold your breath. 

He smiles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. “Thank god, my arm was getting really tired.”

Another watery laugh starts to escape you and you wrap your arms around him in a hug. “I’m sorry. For everything, for dragging you into all of this and for leading you on and…and…”

He extends his fingers, counting his points as he sighs, “You forgot for being stubborn, for not asking me to be the Inigo to your Buttercup, for-”

“I’m sorry.” You force every ounce of meaning behind the words as you squeeze his waist tighter and he finally meets your hug, long arms wrapping around you. 

“We’re all good sweetheart, don’t sweat it.” He pats your shoulder and takes a step back, cocking his head, “But that’s not all…” he taps his finger to your forehead, “What else is going on up there? Why were you leaving?”

“Y/N, please don’t…” Steve trails off as he comes into the entryway. You duck your head and sniff quietly, hoping there’s no evidence of your tears that escaped and break away as Steve clears his throat. “So-sorry. I thought you were…nevermind.”

Steve turns quickly on his heel, back towards the kitchen where the sounds of Robin and Nancy arguing about something echo louder down the hall. Eddie sighs, rolling his eyes at Steve’s back, and gestures for you to go before him, quietly whispering, “We’ll chat later about that.”

“Why does it smell like that? What did you put in it?” Nancy is bent down, looking at the dish you placed in the oven. Her hair is damp, curls weighed down against her cheeks, but her sleek outfit is back on, sans coat, sleeves rolled up. 

Robin’s hair has a towel twirled on top of it, though she’s otherwise back in her jeans and sweater, her hands on her hips. “I don’t know! I did exactly what you said!”

“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, tossing the bread onto the counter. 

“You don’t smell that?” Nancy shakes her head, hand held out to the air in exasperation. 

Steve’s back is to you as he dumps cooked noodles into his pot of melted cheese and Eddie shakes his head no. Your nose starts to wrinkle though the longer you sit in the space. 

Your hands raise, “I swear I just put the marshmallows on.”

It takes Nancy gagging on a bite she tries to eat of the casserole and Steve going through his spices next to his pot to realize Robin used paprika instead of cinnamon. A lot of paprika. 

She throws her hands up in the air as she storms out to the deck, where you’ve all decided it’d be better to eat, bundled up from the cold, than inside trapped with the smell. “You know what, I never asked to cook anything so eat you’ll eat your paprika sweet potatoes and like it!”

As everyone sits at the table, Eddie looks around and asks, “Shouldn’t we wait for one more?”

“What?” Steve asks him, tone a little sharp, sitting down in the seat across from you.

“Your fiance? Isn’t she coming?” Eddie prods, meeting Steve’s cold attitude with an equal sting and rolled back shoulders. 

“I’m sure she was earlier,” Robin mumbles into her wine glass, “Ow.” She glares at Steve who kicks her under the table. 

Nancy rolls her eyes as Steve shakes his head no, clearing his throat, “She’s…we haven’t…she’s with her family already.”

Robin sighs from her spot next to you and your eyes meet Steve’s before jumping down to your plate. The pressure around your heart squeezes even tighter - maybe it was only easy with him because she’s not here, and that is not always going to be the case. Your fingers itch, neck rolling from the tension. You want to get up and walk away, but Eddie’s knee nudges yours and your shoulders relax slightly. 

Nancy raises her glass, changing the subject, “Okay, before we dig in, I want to say that I’m very grateful for you all, and here’s to many more years of Friendsgiving.” She smiles at Robin when she uses the name. 

Robin beams, holding her glass up too, “Here, here! Now everyone take two scoops of the potatoes.”

Glasses clink and laughter shared, it's easy for you to believe Nancy. Easy with Steve smiling across from you and Eddie and Robin bickering about the food next to you, with her not there, to believe that you’ll be a part of their stories. Maybe - 

“So, Dingus, it’s time to spill all the details about Leigh.” Robin leans forward on the table, her eyebrows raised as Steve’s glass pauses halfway to his mouth. “We don’t know anything and you’re getting married in like five months.”

Nancy and Eddie’s bites and glasses also freeze, not so discreet looks at you from both of them. Nancy finishes swallowing and shakes her head, “Robin, we know enough! Let Steve-”

“No we don’t! I don’t know how you met, or if she’s moved in, and how he proposed and why on earth he didn’t tell his best friend! I have him cornered finally and you’re all gonna help me. Don’t act like you guys don’t want to know either!”

“Robin,” Steve starts licking his lips as he looks at her then you, “Can we not do this right now?”

“Time’s up bub,” Robin frowns, shaking her head, “I promise we like her, she’s cool. But you’ve been dodging the questions and me for weeks now. Start with the easy one, how’d you meet?”

Steve looks at you like he’s in physical pain and you look down at the liquid in your wine glass, swirling the red wine around as you wait for the story that is sure to kill you. You wish he’d just rip the band-aid off, get it over with.  

“We, uh, met through my parents.” Steve swallows a large gulp of wine. 

Your head whips up at the comment and Steve stares at you, frowning before he looks up at the sky. 

Robin’s brows furrow as she asks, “Your parents?” Equally shocked as you are. It isn’t a secret that Steve and his parents aren’t always on the same page. 

Steve rubs at his forehead, closing his eyes before he sets the wine glass down. He straightens, rolling his shoulders back, “Okay, it’s all going to come out anyways so…our parents set us up. It’s been arranged for awhile, we didn’t really date or anything, we’re getting married because that’s what we do. She’s from a good family and I’m from a good family, it makes sense. For business and life and…that’s it.”

The table is silent as Steve’s lips twist, waiting for someone to say something.

Your heartbeat isn’t loud in your ears, your stomach doesn’t swoop - it’s like all noise has left the planet. It’s like someone actually hit pause as his explanation and the last few months catch up with each other in your brain until they meet in a loud explosion. It’s an actual glass shattering sound effect. Heartbreak and hope and disbelief and anger swell inside of you like a wave ready to devour anyone who was stupid enough to enter the unpredictable ocean. 

It’s surprising to everyone, including yourself, when you’re the one to break the silence. The question leaves you so quietly, you weren’t even certain you asked it out loud until he looked at you. 

“So you’re not in love with her?”

As Steve stares at you, the table floats away, it’s just you and him. His mouth parts, but no response falls from it. You stand abruptly, chair scraping against the wood deck harshly as you push back, muttering something about needing to put the dessert into the oven. Your stomach that’s been twisted into knots for months feels like someone pulled one loose thread and it’s unraveling inside of you. A box of bouncy balls released, an unpredictable canon of confetti, trapeze artists, butterflies, boulders, and a deep ocean swallowing you. All of it, finally coming together and creating catastrophe. 

It’s like every single moment you’ve been angry with him is turned up to eleven, but so is every look and touch. Every single one feels like a lie, a slap to your face - he was just using you because he was indecisive, scared, afraid to give up his single life. Steve Harrington was just like every other man. Your entire last few months swirl around inside your brain, replaying every moment, every emotion like a favorite movie. But it’s like someone took that film and told you every single thing wrong with it. Like they pointed out how everything you loved was just covering up the real and horrible plot - bright lights and pretty sets to convince everyone they had a good time, when in reality it was cheaply made and not worth it. 

Your hands shake as you start to rip at the foil covering the pie, and his voice calls out behind you, “Please let me answer that question. Please let me explain.”

A scoff leaves you, eyes closing as you bite back, “It’s fine Steve. Clearly I was just some placeholder for you the whole time.”

“Placeholder?”

You spin, hands in the air as you search for words to make him see how much this hurts you. “Yeah, yes. Some, I don’t know. Last hurrah!”

“What?” The word comes out sharp, like he truly doesn’t understand what you’re saying. His cheeks are pink, his hair blown from the wind outside, eyes wide and blinking at you like you’re crazy.

“You heard me! I was just some fun fuck before you sealed the deal on your spoiled brat fate.”

Steve’s mouth falls open, then quickly closes, taking a step closer, hands clenched into fists as his brows furrow. His jaw tightens with each word, “I’m not a spoiled brat!”

Another scoff, a cold laugh as you wave your hand again. “Oh please Steve! You used me to bide your time and prolong the inevitable! You were just avoiding looking at the contract you signed!”

Steve stands over you, both of your chests rising and falling in time, the air inside the kitchen warmer from the oven being on all day and your words shouted at each other - the sparks leaping from your bodies and engulfing each other. 

“I didn’t use you! You offered! It was all your idea! I’m so sick of this-”

You shove at his chest and he grabs your wrists, as you mock him, voice dripping with fake pity, “Oh, poor Steve Harrington. I have to get married and say goodbye to my single life, but let me use this girl-”

“This isn’t about me, I have to make decisions that affect my whole family, I can’t just say no! And what was I supposed to do? The person I want doesn’t want me!” HIs voice cracks as he drops your hands, fire cracking and sizzling between you both. His admission, the chance to tell him he’s wrong, that you do want him, makes your heart beat turn rapid, like it’s actually trying to punch its way out of your body. 

You shake your head, pushing down the flames of hope threatening to burn you alive, pushing him away. “You saw an opportunity to postpone but not fully deny. It’s fine Steve, I get it. It was the safe option.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Grabbing the pie, you sob, “Security. Money. You couldn’t say no to them. And then when I offered to fuck you no strings attached? Man,” you scoff out another laugh around your tears, “You probably thought you won the lottery, huh?”

Steve grabs for the pie, his eyes wet as he shakes his head. Voice hoarse as he argues, “You’re so unbelievably wrong. I couldn’t fucking wait for you to maybe, hopefully, open up one day! I have to move on! And it’s not like she’s a bad person, and I don’t know why we’re arguing about this again, because clearly you’re with Eddie.”

You tug harder on the dish but Steve doesn’t release as you cry out, “Oh! No! Don’t even try that! Eddie and I aren’t together and we never were! You’re using that as an excuse! Tell me Steve. Tell me you love her, that you want to marry her.”

“I-”

“Is that what your future looks like? Huh? Ten years down the road, it’s her? That’s what you imagined and not your parents?”

“Y/N, it’s not that simple!��

“It is! What do you want, Steve?”

You need him to tell you and he needs you to tell him and neither of you will - because you’re scared, stubborn. Two suns burning too hot and close together, and it was inevitable for it to end this way. You both stood on the edge of that cliff and saw the end you’d meet and you jumped anyway. Was it worth it? 

“I can’t believe you two.” 

This is the moment. 

It wasn’t when he showed up at the football game with her. It wasn’t the party. It wasn’t the engagement.

It’s the look Robin is giving you both from her spot in the doorway. It’s the pie and the glass dish hitting the floor in shards of sapphire blue and orange peaches. It’s Steve and you both turning to her, shaking your heads no, saying her name in the same pleading way.

Her bright blue eyes turn to glass as she chokes around a tearful laugh, “I knew, I knew you both were hiding something, I just…why? Why couldn’t you just tell me?”

Nancy reaches for Robin’s wrist, “Robin, they didn’t mean to…”

Robin recoils, swiping at her cheeks. She looks at Nancy, then at Steve whose head falls, his hands in his hair. Eddie looks down too when Robin turns to him and she steps back again. “Everyone knew, huh? You all have been lying to me this entire time? Why? I don’t…” She shakes her head again and runs past you both, down the hall and slams the door. 

Steve starts to go after her when a small frame stands in front of him like she’s twice his size, hand pressing to his chest. Fury burns in Nancy’s eyes as she blocks the hallway. Her voice low and far more angry than you’ve heard it be before. “I think you’ve done enough.”

“Nance, come on, that’s not fair,” Steve steps forward again and when she stops him with two hands now, his voice turns sharper, “Don’t act like you’re the only one who cares about her.”

“Yeah, well you’ve got a funny way of showing it Steve.” Nancy looks at you, “I think you should leave. All of you.”

Eddie grabs your elbow, speaking quietly, “I can drive you home.”

Steve laughs, “Oh, I’m sure you can.”

“Steve,” you start and he interrupts you, hands running down his face. 

“No. It’s fine. It’s all my fault right? I’m the only one in the wrong?” He pushes past you, shoulder hitting Eddie’s hard and the door slamming even more so behind him. Pictures rattle against the wall, Nancy and her family's smiling faces tilted in their frame. The world turned off its axis. 

It’s Nancy’s quiet knock from down the hall, Robin’s shouted ‘leave her alone’ and Eddie’s sigh of ‘fucking, christ’. It’s that there you stand, the door closed behind him, the mess you made, literally, surrounding you. 

This, the consequences of all of your actions - is the double tap. 

You let the mess build, you let the avoided truths take deeper roots and spread lies to cover them up. All because you wanted the hope to stay - you wanted it both ways - despite telling yourself different, despite lying to yourself for months.

Now, it’s too late. You’re just a girl who isn’t in a rom com with a happy ending. You’re alone, and the hope that maybe you wouldn’t be for once isn’t just gone, it’s ripped from your fingers. 

The book is closed. The knife drips in the killer’s hand as the victim’s chest stops heaving. The spacesuit floats through a noiseless and lifeless galaxy. The body doesn’t get up from the mats and a silence falls over the crowd. 

“Fuck!”

Your hands smack the steering wheel, a sob leaving you as your forehead falls against it. 

You’ve been driving around for hours, hopeless. Your heart hasn’t stopped its erratic and hard beats since you ran out of Nancy’s. Somehow your body still courses with adrenaline, fight or flight still at war inside of yourself. Every time you think about the look Robin had on her face, every time you think about how much you hurt her, or how you may not see her again, you feel real, visceral, pain and panic. Your hands start shaking, the crying starts its cycle over from scratch, and you have to pull over until the snot sobbing stage settles into a calm, sort of silent cry. 

This is a mess, and it’s your mess. Despite wanting to put all of the blame on Steve, you simply can’t run from this truth anymore. It was you who came up with the plan. Steve was hesitant immediately, bringing Robin’s thoughts up right away. It was you who came up with the Red Hot Ranch code, who kept going. It was you who called it off and started it up again despite knowing how it would all inevitably end. It feels like you pushed Steve off the cliff and thought it was okay because you were diving after him. 

As you stare out the windshield, you know you have to stop running. Eddie’s words ring through the air.

Open the fucking door. Nobody’s leaving you.

You have to at least try, right? You have to apologize to her, to tell her it was all your fault so if she at least doesn’t forgive you, maybe you can offer a crack in the door to her forgiveness for the others. The others who simply got caught up in your lies, tripping over the tangled knot of roots they took.  

You’re certain Robin and you met how and when you did not by chance, the universe gave you each other for a reason. You’re certain that there are soul mates, they’re just not in the form you always suspect. And you’re certain that if you don’t try to make things right, you’ll be miserable and truly alone for the rest of your life.

Robin once told you that she was there, and that she would be there when you were ready and you hope the offer still stands. Maybe you can’t make everything right, you can’t rewind, but you have to at least try to make the ending bearable. 

When you turn the key in the ignition though, your car sputters. Your face twists into an expression of disbelief, only deepening when it does it again and your mouth falls open in shock when it suddenly starts to rain, mixing with snow that melts immediately on the ground. You laugh, looking out the windshield at the bleak and miserable sky, washing out the city in a dull gray. 

“Of fucking course,” you mumble under your breath. Getting out of the car, you sigh as you lock it. You shield your eyes as you stare up at the sky and laugh, “You’re real funny. Great joke.”

Maybe it was a sign from the universe that you needed to really work for it, maybe it was bad karma, maybe you really deserved it, maybe it was even supposed to be a blessing - washing away the past to clear the slate for the future. 

Regardless of reason, you don’t take the train, and you make the slow and wet walk back to where you came from. 

The buzzer for her place rings with no answer. You know that she’s home because the light is on, and you intercepted her take out. 

“Buckley I’ll keep buzzing, your egg rolls are getting cold!”

When she doesn’t answer again, you sigh, pressing your wet forehead to the cold brick and hold it down again, pulling out the big guns. “Okay, Robin, I, listen. I am so sorry. And if you want to hate me and never see me again, that’s totally fine, I understand. Because honestly, I am…I am scum for lying to you. I am pond scum. I’m lower than pond scum. I am the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

You release the buzzer and when there still isn’t a click of her responding your chin trembles. Maybe you really did fuck it up that badly and there is no coming back from this. It was silly of you to think she’d ever forgive you, especially when she has Steve. You’re about to set the food down and buzz again to tell her you’ll leave when the front door opens. 

“You’re lower actually.” 

A sob leaves you as Robin stands in the doorway, arms crossed over her favorite Hawkins Band sweatshirt. The fuzzy lime green socks with banjos on them that you got her for her birthday on her feet.  

You nod, swiping at your tears with a free hand. “You’re right. Lower than the fungus. I’m the pus that infects the mucus that cruds up the fungus that feeds on the pond scum.”

Robin’s lips twitch, but she rolls her eyes before they look at the ground. “Quoting Julia Roberts is really unfair. You know how much of a sucker I am for her. Cheap shot.”

A crack in the tightness in your chest starts to pry open as you whisper, “I almost bought roses and had this plan to blare classical music from my car but it broke down and…well, here I am anyways, asking for forgiveness and a chance to explain.”

She raises her eyebrows, waiting, and your chin trembles as your voice shakes, “Robin I’m sorry. I really didn’t mean to lie to you about it all for so long. And there were so many times I wanted to tell you. I was selfish and wrong and scared I would lose you - that you’d pick his side and shut me out - but I’m here trying now…please don’t hate me forever. And don’t hate Steve. He did nothing wrong. Or Nancy, or Eddie. It was all me and I’m so, so, so, sorry, please let me explain everything and give me another chance to be even half the amazing friend that you are.”

It’s silent, for what feels like forever, until her eyes meet yours. Shining from tears and her nose wiggles as she sniffles, “You were going to Pretty Woman me?”

You nod, tears roll down your cheeks and mingle with the rain that coats them. 

Robin sighs, choking on her own tears as she laughs, “You just get me.”

She engulfs you in a hug and both of you cry into each other’s shoulders as she says, “I’m still mad you all lied. You’re not off the hook. I think giving me limitless veto power for movie nights is extremely fair and nonnegotiable.” 

Your body feels lighter than it has in months as your arm tightens around her as you agree with a teary laugh, whispering another apology while silently vowing to never let her go. It doesn’t matter what happens next, because at least you have her, and you know you always will. 

Robin trips on a heel as she emerges from her closet. Tilting your head at the dress she holds up, your nose scrunches as you shake your head no. 

She sighs, throwing it on the no pile and groans, “Ugh! This is hopeless!”

As she flops onto her bed with a huff, you laugh and swap places with her, “No, no, come on. Tell me again.”

Robin sits up, staring at her dresser with a furrow forming under her bangs. “I want to look professional, put together, but not like it’s an interview, you know? I want them to take me seriously, but I want to look like me. Ergo, I am doomed.”

Your fingers trail over her clothes, eyes searching again after they roll. “Ergo, you’ve been facetiming Dustin too much.”

A black dress catches your eyes, velvet and cinched at the waist. Pulling it from her closet you hold it up. “What about this? I’ve never seen you wear it. Is it new?”

Her head tilts, “Huh. I forgot I bought that for…” she trails off and looks at you with a sad smile. “Right. Yeah, you don’t think it’s too low cut?”

You shake your head no, taking a deep breath at her change of subject, thoughts drifting to if she bought it for the wedding or something related to it. Maybe you could ask, but you’ve sort of had a non-verbal agreement to not discuss Steve the last month and it’s been working. After explaining everything to her, including how you felt about him getting married, your complicated feelings, it just felt easier to not discuss anything relating to him. 

“Throw a nice necklace on, you’ll be perfect babe,” you make an a-okay symbol with your fingers, “The Wheeler’s aren’t gonna know what hit em.” You smile and look at the clock on her nightstand, handing the dress out to her, “Get to it though, or you’ll be late.”

Robin makes no move to get up, holding the dress in her hands and staring at it. 

She shakes her head no. “I can’t do this.”

Sitting next to her, the bed bounces lightly and you grab her hand. “You absolutely can do this. It’s just meeting the parents and siblings, all of whom you’ve met already.”

“But not as her girlfriend. When I met them she wasn’t even out. What if they hate me? What if I spill something? What if I order the wrong wine?”

Laughing, you hold her panicking face in your hands, taking a deep breath to encourage her to do so too. “Robin. Breathe.”

She does, her exhale shaky and you smile, head tilting as you let her face go, fixing a curl you smooshed. “You really love her don’t you.”

It’s not a question, but Robin answers anyway. She nods vehemently, words tumbling out of her like she can’t help it. “God so much it’s scary. But also not? I want to spend every second with her. I want to tell her about every dumb little thought that pops into my head and I want to hear what she ate for lunch every day. I want to wake up and fall asleep next to her and that’s insane! How can you love a person like that so quickly? Like everything in your body is screaming for it? It’s…it’s that kind of love I’ve only heard about before? That kind of love…” she trails off, maroon polished fingers covering her smile before she keeps going, “It’s easier than breathing. It is breathing, you know?”

As she says the words that prick at something inside of you, prodding on thoughts you’d locked away, her skin pales, looking like she’s going to be sick. “Oh my god I really can’t do this. I can’t-”

“Robin. One step at a time. Change your outfit, you can do that right?”

She laughs, head falling to your shoulder, a sing-song lilt to her voice, “We’ve been here before.”

“Yeah and look at what happened.”

Robin sits up, biting her lip, nodding once and standing. “Right.”

As she changes, you assess her jewelry box. Your eyes roam over the mirror of her vanity, smiling at the pictures. You pause at the one of her and Steve that’s new to you. He has his tongue out, her arm around him and your fingers touch the corner, an ache in your chest wondering what they were doing and what stories they’ll have from the day. 

“Have you talked to him?”

Her question startles you and your shoulders lift. Clearing your throat, you hold the necklace out to her. “No, um, I haven’t. He’s good?”

Robin starts to hook the necklace as she hums, “I think so. It’s hard to tell some days.” She hesitates, her face pinched into a familiar look to you, the one that looks like she’s physically holding words in, a true test for her. She bends down to buckle her heels as she asks, “Is it always going to be this way? Avoiding talking about each other? Seeing each other?”

“No, I don’t think so. I just need some time. I’ll be okay.” Shrugging with a smile, you grab your purse and coat. 

Robin’s blue eyes sparkle under shimmering gold eyeshadow and she tilts her head, a smile forming on her lips as she nods, confident in her words, “You will be. One step at a time.”

“Cute,” you muse, and take a step back. You twirl your fingers for her to spin and she rolls her eyes but obliges. The black velvet dress cuts off at her calves, hugging her curves in a sexy but modest way and the gold pendant on her necklace matches the blocky old-fashioned heels. You yell out, “Ow-ow!” 

Robin laughs, waving you off and grabs her phone. “Okay picture!”

“Ew, Robin no! You look so good and I am literally in my sweatshirt with the mustard stain on it.” 

She shushes you, “Tough tater tots toots.”

She pulls you in as you laugh, both of you easily falling into a goofy pose as she snaps a selfie. She nods her approval and grabs her coat, “Oh yeah, that one’s definitely going on the board.” She clicks her phone closed and you both head towards the stairwell. 

As you step out of her apartment building, Nancy is getting out of an Uber, an emerald peacoat wrapped around her and she stops, eyes only on Robin. 

“Hi,” she whispers, smiling, “Wow. You’re so beautiful.”

Robin’s face turns as red as her nails and you duck your head. “Well, I think that’s my cue to leave. Have a good night,” you squeeze Nancy’s hand, “Tell your brother and El hey from me?”

She squeezes it back, confirming she will, and holds the door open for Robin, then jogs around to the other side and you have to smile at her lack of wanting to scoot across the seat or maybe it’s just her old fashioned, secret romantic side coming out. 

As you start to walk away, you hear your name and spin back around, Robin is leaning out of the window, smiling wide as she asks, “Benny’s tomorrow? 10?”

“I expect a full report!” You cross your arms over your chest, fore and middle fingers crossed in a good luck to her that she mirrors as the car drives away. 

The walk to the train from there is short, your car still out of commission, and you pop your airpods in, debating how your evening will go. Eddie is already home for Christmas with his uncle in Indiana, Robin and Nancy together tonight, and Steve…

Before them, an evening alone like this never would have bothered you. Eating what you wanted to eat, watching what you wanted to watch - you got good at being alone, enjoying it actually. Now, there’s a funny little feeling that pulls at a thread inside of you, trying to unravel the work you’ve done. 

As you wait for the train, pulling your winter hat tighter over your ears, you watch a couple come up the stairs. They have shopping bags in their hands, dressed in warm, wool coats. Giggly, pink cheeks, gloved hands clinging to each other. They sit just down from where you stand against the railing when you get on, huddled together as they look at a map on his phone, and you wonder what their story is - where they were, where they’re going, and if they love each other. It seems like they do, and you wonder if it’s the kind of love Robin explained.

How can anyone love like that aside from fictional people in the movies? How can you love someone so deeply and intensely, without fear of it being ripped away?

But maybe people do fear it being ripped away, and they love regardless. Fear doesn’t make love disappear, it makes it stronger. Because what if that person is gone one day? What if you never told them how you felt? What if you never even got the chance to see if you could love like that? Isn’t it better to try than never know?

As you look out the train doors, the sky is turning a soft pink and purple. The sun is setting over the city in one of those perfect nights, slow, like each color being revealed is a purposeful brushstroke, hand painted. A sign. 

Sunsets. Steve. A good song. Steve. Your friends. Steve. Your family. Steve. 

Easier than breathing. 

An undeniable, unavoidable, unforgiving wave of heartbreak rolls over you. But it’s not alone, it’s hope, it’s questions and answers, it’s relief and clarity and you know what you have to do. 

You unlock your phone, a desperation and need to get all of it out now, fueling each press of your thumbs to the screen. Maybe the story is wrong, but you’re the main character, narrator, and author and you can change it if you just put in the work to do so. Tears begin to fall down your cheeks, and you let them, unashamed, finally free of the place you’ve kept them locked away. Pressing send on the message, you hold your breath, hoping she’s not already too preoccupied with Nancy. 

The train doors open and you rush down the stairs. Each step slams against the sidewalk, sending shocks up your spine, cold air filling your lungs as each stride brings you closer to him, but not fast enough. You have to try to change the story, you have to tell him.  

But when his location is just out of your reach, when you see him, you slow down. 

Steve stands beneath the gold twinkling lightbulbs of the old brick theater, the white marquee sign displaying the title ‘When Harry Met Sally’. He has a black beanie on, hair sticking out and curling slightly. A dark gray peacoat flutters against the back of his thighs in the wind, open to reveal the yellow sweater he has on and your feet come to a skidding stop. His phone is pressed to his ear as he looks up from where he was scuffing his Nike against the sidewalk and makes eye contact with you. 

Your heart beat has thoroughly been replaced again as your hands start to shake, each slow step to him stretched out and lingering, lasting for what feels like minutes instead of seconds. 

What if. What if. What if.

The phone slips, hand falling to his side. His brows furrow just under his hat and you want to reach forward and brush the worry away with your thumb. His greeting leaves him quietly, a puff of his breath and the word floating in the air just a few feet from you.

 “Hi.”

Gesturing with a trembling hand to the sign above that you can no longer see, fully under the gold lights, you blurt out, “Did you know that it came out in 89’? So technically it’s a bad 80s rom com. I was wrong.”

Steve shakes his head, the twinkle of the lights highlighting the brown in his eyes, warm and sweet and deeply confused as he starts, “What are you-”

“I was wrong about a lot of things, Steve. And I know I’m late in saying that. I know I’m late for a lot more, but I think it’s better to say it late, to say it now, than to never tell you and wonder for the rest of my life.”

Steve’s lips part, your name a whisper on them, but you take a deep inhale and prepare to get it all out fast and without fear of needing a breath akin to the way Robin speaks, just so you can leave yourself open and vulnerable despite knowing that it could, and most likely will, hurt. 

“I’m sorry if Leigh is inside or she’s gonna be here soon, but I have to tell you. I…Steve I’m sorry. I wanted to be friends with benefits because I was selfish. You were right. I wanted it both ways. At first, you were just this guy who was hot and funny and knew what he was doing and I didn’t want to lose that. But then, then I got to know you and that’s when it got complicated, because I really didn’t want to lose you then.” You swallow as Steve freezes in front of you, no longer stepping towards you and his shoulders hunch like he’s holding his breath as you keep going.

“I wanted you, but I was scared to commit, scared that if I did commit, I’d lose you all anyways. And I still am scared. Terrified,” you laugh a little as tears start to roll down your cheeks, “But I think being scared is worth it if I’m doing it with you. Because…” Inhaling, you take a step closer as Steve blinks at you, willing the words to keep coming.

“Because I think we could be something special if we gave it a real chance. And I think that we can’t know what’s going to happen, maybe it all blows up in our faces, but at least we tried and we’ll know and we won’t spend our lives wondering what if.” Tears blur your vision as you leave it all out there, words that feel like they’ve wanted to tumble out of you forever just keep coming, faster and faster, your hands gesturing wildly with each one, stepping closer and closer to him.

“And I want to try so badly Steve. I want to hold your hand in public and go on dates and tease you and make memories with you and I think we could fall in love, I think I was already starting to. Like real love. Like that undeniable, scary, kind of love, and I’m sorry you’ll have to wait for me to get there to say it, but if you give it a chance…I think we’re worth the wait. I don’t care that I’m saying all of this too late, I don’t care that you’re getting married because at least I said it and if you wanna stand up there and say I do to her in May then that’s fine, I can move on, maybe, I think, because at least I’ll know I tried and-”

“Woah, woah, woah.” 

Steve grabs your shaking hands, interrupting you. Cedar and mint hit your nose as you inhale, his cologne lingering on his scarf. His adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. One hand leaves yours, fingers curling under your chin as he murmurs, “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re…” you hiccup a laugh through your tears, “What?”

He tilts his head and clears his throat, repeating it as his thumb brushes a tear from your cheek, fingers squeezing your hand. “I’m not getting married.”

“You’re not getting married,” you repeat it again, quieter, letting the words sink in. 

Steve shakes his head no, the back of his knuckles brushing more tears from your cheek as he lets out a shaky breath. “I called it off the day after…after everything.”

“Oh,” you swallow, eyes blinking up at him under wet lashes as the reality of the extremely vulnerable words you practically just shouted at him sit unreciprocated still, unable to be taken back. 

Steve’s lips twitch on the right, like he’s fighting a smile, eyebrows furrowed deeper as he sighs, “Yeah. Quit my job too.”

“What? Steve, why, what-”

His fingers trace your jaw as he shakes his head again, rolling his eyes but the smile fighting on his lips wins. “This girl that drives me crazy basically quoted The Notebook scene at me and I decided I’d rather have the life I wanted, have her, or have nothing at all. But I didn’t think she felt the same way, and I wasn’t going to push her again.”

You smile, a laugh bubbling out of you as you shake your head, “You’re crazy about me?”

Steve laughs, his hat bumping yours as your foreheads touch. You drop his hand, both of yours pressing to the soft yellow material against his chest. His breath warm against your cheek as you ask, “So what happens now?”

He pulls away, forehead leaving yours and creating a small space between the two of you, you already want closed again. The lights make the green almost disappear from his eyes, golden, sunshine pulling you in and making you beg for more of it to light you up, a tether, your gravity, just like they’ve always been. 

Steve clears his throat, hands reaching up to cup your cheeks, thumbs brushing over the apples of them as he declares, “Well, rule number one, we tell Robin.”

“Deal,” you tilt your head, playing his game. Your hands slowly crawl up his chest, wrapping around his neck, playing with the collar of the coat as you throw out, “Pet names?”

Steve nods dramatically, pinching his eyes closed, “Oh yeah. So many.” He leans in, nose tracing up the line of yours slowly, foreheads knocking together as the tips of your shoes meet. “I’m gonna call you babe and honey loudly at the grocery store for no reason other than I can.”

“Yeah?” Your top lip hits his with the lift of your smile and question.

He nods. “Yeah.”

Steve’s hands cup the back of your head, tilting you open for him as he ducks down, mouth hovering above yours as he speaks like you’re the only two people in the world. 

“But right now? Right now I’m gonna kiss you.”

“Which bad 90s rom com you steal that one out of, Harrington?” You whisper against his lips. 

Steve smiles, gaze tracing the curve of your lips then meeting yours as he takes a deep breath. 

“You liked it.” 

And maybe the marquee lights twinkle above you a little brighter as you finally meet in a kiss. Maybe snowflakes start drifting down from the clouds lazily, covering everything in a fresh start right at the moment his hands wrap around your waist and pull you impossibly closer, your back arching from the passion of his kiss. Maybe a terrible top forty song blares out of someone’s car as it drives past, your foot popping off the pavement a little when he pulls away for a breath only to lean and kiss you deeper and slower. 

The universe can’t guarantee anything for you and Steve, but it is giving you a chance. There is nothing, not even love, that can keep away the inevitable struggle, heartbreak, or loss life will be sure to throw at you. Which is scary, but doing it together, his hand in yours, makes it less so. Yes, it won’t always be easy, but the hard work you’ll both put in when it isn’t, means it’s real. There is no one other than yourselves who can decide if your relationship could be like the movies. The two of you are the only ones that can calculate if there’s still time for a happy ending in your story. Only Steve and you can be certain that the fear of heartbreak or pain is worth taking the risk, because if you don’t, if you let the chance slip away, you’ll never know if one day you could have called it love. 

WCIL Taglist: @loveshotzz @myobmaya @sweetsweetjellybean @pastel-pillows @littlesubbyflower @johnricharddeacy @freezaz123 @selfdeprecatingnerd @big-ope-vibes @manda-panda-monium @hellkaisersangel @yogizzz @soulmatecashton @happytimeunicorns @mandyjo8719 @lunarxeclipse @buckleylips @beckkthewreck @differentdeputyfishpaper @supardupar @micheledawn1975 @imjuststeddietrashatthispoint @sagelittleplace @totally-bogus-timelady @steves-babysitter @fallinginlovewithqueue @aftermidnightwriting @omgshesinsane @pootcullen @definitionwanderlust @nostalgiafool @palmtreesx3 @scoopshxrrington @live-the-fangirl-life @eddiesguitarskills @mannstarkey @keepingitlokiii @silkholland @redbarn1995

[reallykaz]

Problems:

I want this story to be written

I don’t want this story to be written by anyone but me

I don’t want to write this story

[reallykaz]

ex husband! eddie who still loves you. who still brings you and the kids donuts every sunday. who gives you additional child support for you “to get something nice for yourself.” who sends postcards from his tours, saying he wished you were there. who still wrote songs about you, even including your name so you can’t even pretend to be oblivious. eddie ,who asks the kids to talk about him a little more, just to get on your nerves. who looks like a kicked puppy whenever you flip him off after dropping off the kids at his house. who “kidnaps” your kids randomly in the week, charging kisses as ransom. who brings you flowers when he drops the kids off. ex husband! eddie who’s working on not being your ex.

[reallykaz]

Happy June 14th